the occasional practice of the ancients in placing mosaic "histories"
under their feet:[6] the objections are sufficiently obvious. The forms
and hues employed should be merely calculated to gratify the sight.
Among other preliminary considerations, I would also include the nature
of the mere surface, as well as the distinction of every apartment.
Thus a pavement, however decorated, should still express the character
of firmness and solidity. For this reason I would banish even the
lowest kind of life, (that of plants,) and every approach to
perspective. Geometrical forms would thus be alone admissible: the
variety is infinite; but even here I would again exclude abrupt and
irregular contrasts of colour, which have sometimes the effect of
making the evenness of the surface doubtful: the last consideration is
even applicable to carpets. With respect to the classic fashion of
inscriptions on the threshold,[7] I merely remark, that letters are
only ornamental in architecture when disposed symmetrically, and
enclosed in a regular frame-work.
[6] The passion for this kind of decoration was carried so far that
the ornamented floor of the dining-room sometimes represented the
scattered fragments of a repast. _Plin._ I. xxxvi. c. 25.
[7] Even the Mosaic floor at the entrance to bed-rooms, had
inscriptions; a pavement of this kind was found at Brindisi, wit
the words BENE DORMIO.
In approving the common practice of placing statues and bas-reliefs in
the principal hall, I do not depart from the spirit of our first
principles. A statue has generally the advantage of being seen in
various points of view, and thus commands attention in situations where
paintings could not. The rich effect of bas-reliefs is sufficient to
recommend them; associations of classic taste are naturally connected
with the classic materials of marble or bronze; and architecture, when
displayed as such, seems to acquire additional solidity by the presence
of sculpture. But works of sculpture of the first excellence should be
admitted to the library or drawing room, and even fragments of rare
beauty should be enshrined with like distinction. For the present,
however, we are in the hall. I do not recommend mixing mural painting
and sculpture: no painted devices should compete injudiciously with the
bas-reliefs. But let us suppose that your bas-reliefs are in the outer
hall, and that you have only some sculptured vases on detached
pedestals in the inner hall or corridor, then by all means decorate the
walls of the latter with arabesques: to these we shall return. In the
staircase, also, it will be necessary to make your election between the
two arts. I will assume that you decide for painting. Few people linger
in a staircase; still fewer break their necks to look at a painted
ceiling. If the scene affects the eye and the imagination agreeably,
this may be considered sufficient. When we see the whole Pantheon on
the ceiling and walls of great staircases, this undoubtedly might be
defended on the ground that a mere passing impression of magnificence
is intended: but the exuberance of quantity rather than of quality is
here obvious. In whatever mode the walls of the staircase are adorned,
the decoration should be entirely subservient to the architectural
effect. This involves a more radical objection to the mythologic crowds
before alluded to, because they have frequently the effect (and
intentionally so) of destroying all idea of the angles of the building.
I am of opinion, on the contrary, that the decorator should dispose his
paintings in shapes which shall appear to grow out of and complete the
architecture. The inclination of the panelling of the wall to agree
with the line of the stairs, may be considered incompatible with
paintings: a horizontal termination, perhaps level with the chief
landing-place, is essential, and the triangular spaces, or sections of
such spaces, between this and the stairs, had better be left nearly
plain, and not very light in colour. Of all mistakes, that of
introducing painted figures, sometimes the size of life, where living
figures must so often come in contact with them, is the worst.
The compartment or compartments above the horizontal line might be
painted in fresco, certainly not in oil on the wall, nor in the newly
revived encaustic, at least not till it has been further tried. The
figures should not extend to the angles of the walls where the
staircase turns; the pseudo or real compartments which form the frames
might finish at a little distance from the angle; the real wall is, in
short, never to be lost sight of; and whatever merits ocular illusion
may have in paintings generally, it would be injudicious to attempt it
here. Where the light is unfavourable for painting, the flattest style
of bas-relief is still admissible. But as you are especially desirous
of having your staircase coloured, I really can propose nothing fitter
to gratify the eye and imagination merely, than the more refined and at
the same time familiar subjects of the Greek mythology; such as the
personifications of Poetry, the progress of the Hours and of Light, and
so forth. Such subjects afford the best materials for mere beauty of
line and drapery, for composition generally, and, if not too
statue-like, for colour; and even when they suggest no profounder range
of thought, (not that their import is necessarily thus superficial,)
they leave an elegant impression on the mind. The objection is, that
they are old; but there would be some novelty in treating them as
detached compositions, instead of beclouding and peopling the whole
space in the style of the seventeenth century. It is to be remarked,
that Raphael and Michael Angelo bounded their compositions of this kind
by definite forms, especially on ceilings. Pietro da Cortona and the
machinists generally, were as intent on destroying the connection
between painting and architecture as the great masters were to preserve
it.
But this separation of the compositions into compartments supposes at
once a great latitude in the choice of subjects. Milton's smaller
poems, and many other English sources, might be preferred to classic
inventions; only it should be remembered, that fresco, from the nature
of its means, is privileged to aim at the ideal rather than the actual
world, and that the character of the decorations required for the place
must necessarily influence the selection and treatment of the subjects.
Dark effects are equally unfit for the situation and for the powers of
fresco. In the ornamented divisions of the compartments, perhaps
partial gilding might be employed with better effect than colours; on
the ceiling both might be introduced, (in merely decorative forms,)
unless your staircase ends in light, in which case your glass must of
course be ornamented, even if colourless.
Dining rooms, strictly so called and employed, are generally unadorned
with pictures: this hardly seems necessary. In theory we may admit that
subjects requiring some contemplation would be out of place in a room
exclusively devoted to "the table;" but portraits of celebrated
individuals, and landscapes, although they cannot be duly examined in
such moments, may convey associations, to which the spectator, even if
not particularly conversant in pictures, is supposed to be alive at all
times. Portraits of the class alluded to, as historic texts, are
connected with _time_; and landscape, especially if founded on actual
scenes, suggests the conditions of _place_. A room used for the purpose
in question, and for _nothing else_, is, however, not the place where
fine works of art should be bestowed; and I incline to think that this
is the fittest field for small frescos and arabesques. This, in short,
is one of the occasions to please the eye and the imagination merely.
Accordingly, in the mode proposed, no definite idea is presented to the
mind, but an air of elegant and festive splendour surrounds the guests.
There should, however, be endless variety; scarcely a form should be
repeated in the details, although an architectural symmetry is, as
usual, to be preserved in the masses.
A dining room _per se_ is not uncommon; but a professed and exclusive
breakfast room supposes a degree of order in the family migrations, to
which the muses could hardly be expected to accommodate themselves.
Nevertheless, to complete my catalogue, I will suppose one; or rather I
will suppose that one of your drawing rooms is used chiefly as a
morning room. Indeed, without condemning a family to betake themselves
to particular rooms at stated hours, it may be allowable to decorate
and furnish apartments on such a supposition, by way of ensuring a
marked and agreeable variety of character. Lucullus had even a series
of dining rooms from the "Apollo" downwards; and we learn from
Vitruvius,[8] that the opulent Romans changed the scene of their
banquets according to the season of the year. The morning has its own
feelings even for those whom affluence frees from any kind of labour.
The purposes of the day are unfinished--every thing is contingent.
Under such circumstances the character or subject of pictures is to be
adapted to the mind--not the mind to the subject. The open face of
nature by sea and land may here enliven the walls, and agree with the
excursive feelings of the hour. The chase and its incidents may here
triumph. The English pastoral is here strictly in its place. Solemn
themes, solemn effects, should not be admitted; while all that responds
to buoyancy of spirit would, on the contrary, be appropriate. It need
not be gravely objected, that accidental or even average states of
feeling may be little in unison with the impressions which the arts
profess to give; for the same objection is frequently applicable to all
of the accompaniments of civilized life, nay, to the beauties of
nature, which so often appeal even to cultivated human sympathies in
vain. The occasional contradiction is unavoidable, where, of two
conditions, one is permanent, the other mutable.
[8] De Architect, 1. vi. c. 7.
Corridors on the ground-floor, or even upstairs in houses where
pictures do not abound, may be fitly decorated with arabesques. The
same kind of ornament might be applied to garden pavilions, and, in the
present instance, even to your portico next the lake, if there are no
statues there, but not to conservatories, where the conventional forms
and tints of art would contend injudiciously with nature. In these
decorations it is absolutely necessary to set out with an architectural
scheme, and subdivide the spaces with some attention to congruity and
subordination. In the details, pleasing masses and forms are essential,
because here nothing can be concealed; there is, strictly speaking, no
chiaro-scuro, no perspective: form and colour are the chief means. The
possibility of approaching and even coming in contact with the painted
wall, suggests the necessity of a small scale in the objects, and of
precision and delicacy of outline; yet, from the circumstance of the
forms and hues being relieved on a light ground, they are at the same
time effective at a considerable distance.[9] Stucco ornaments in very
low relief, mixed with the painting, are admissible, (as they can
hardly be said to come under the head of sculpture,) but they require a
strong light to display them.
[9] The best examples of decorations of this kind are now accessible
to all, in a recently published work by Thurmer and Gutensohn,
containing the arabesques of the Vatican, the Farnesina, the Villa
Lanti, and the Villa Madama: edited by Ludwig Gruner, to be had of
Mr. Murray, Albemarle Street: with this work may be classed the
publications of Zahn, on the ornamental inventions of Giulio Romano
at Mantua, and on the decorations of Pompeii.
I cannot recommend frescos for the sitting rooms of dwelling houses.
The sum of enjoyment to be derived from one or two large paintings is
not to be compared to that which the contributions of various schools
can afford, even assuming the highest merit. It is true, frescos like
those of the Villa Madama near Rome, from the school of Raphael, may be
beautifully executed in a small size, but they still seem fitter for
open galleries than for rooms. (I have only ventured to except the
dining room.) The impossibility of change in such situations is an
unpleasant feeling; in a public building, on the contrary, it is
satisfactory, and a staircase approaches this character. I may here
observe, that a staircase covered with ancient family portraits is
seldom agreeable to the eye; indeed if it were a desirable kind of
decoration, centuries must often elapse before the materials would be
ready. The first impression on seeing a quantity of portraits in a
staircase is, that it is an accidental if not a troublesome
accumulation, and that there is no room for the pictures in better
situations. Far be it from me to speak with any disrespect of the taste
for family portraits so peculiar to the English. The domestic
"charities," it has been often observed, are pleasingly fostered by
them; but I hold it not always necessary to place the portraits of the
household in prominent situations. The interest such works inspire is
in most cases strictly domestic and private. The portrait has, in
short, no pretension to be conspicuous to all eyes till the individual
is celebrated, or till the work of art is canonized. These conditions,
I admit, may often exist from the first; but then, _à fortiori_, a
staircase is not the place for such a production. The Romans
appropriated one of the most public rooms of the house (the _tablinum_)
to genealogies, records, and inscriptions relating to the family
history, and covered the remaining space--often the _atrium_ as
well--with the portraits and busts of their ancestors.[10] This does
not appear to have been the custom with the Athenians.
[10] Juv. Sat. 8; Plin. 1. xxxv. c. 2.
We have decided against frescos in what are called sitting rooms: your
oil pictures are, however, to be selected. I shall consider the library
as distinct from the drawing rooms; but it is quite possible to blend
their character. The library in the ducal palace at Urbino, had a room
or study adjoining it, decorated with portraits (in this case, by the
way, they appear to have been frescos) of learned men of all ages. In a
library, literally to be used as such, pictures of extensive interest
seem to be inappropriate. They may be said to divert the attention from
the business or amusement of the place. But the portrait of the poet,
or the sage, is a source of pleasing and elevating associations, and
may sometimes command a deep interest. The library may contain the
cabinets of gems and medals, the collections of engravings, the terra
cottas, &c.; or if the drawing room is ample enough, all these
treasures of virtù may be deposited there. I prefer a library without
coloured decorations; the wood-work may be carved in flat relief, even
to the panels of the walls; a mode of decoration now beautifully
supplied by embossed leather, which need not be dark in colour.
Whatever colour appears, except in the portraits, miniatures, or
illuminations hung around, should be in the books; these should strike
the eye, and be, so to speak, in the foreground of the picture. Vases,
or busts, may surmount the cases. The ancients preferred the latter;
and many, like Asinius Pollio, collected in their libraries the
authentic, and even imaginary, portraits of great men. Among the latter
was the bust of Homer.[11] The light is generally so unfavourable in
the upper part of modern rooms, that busts when placed so high, are
reduced to mere ornaments, and require the addition of names. This,
indeed, is not objectionable in any case, for the interest of a
portrait commonly depends on historical associations. I see no
objection even to inscribing both the subject and the name of the
master under works of art generally: a volume bears its title and
author's name; and pictures, to many, are as sealed books till inquiry
is stimulated or interest quickened by similar means. When the
description is too long to admit of this, the words "see Catalogue, No.
--" might be added.
[11] Plin. 1. xxxv. c. 2.
If colour is admitted any where in the library, it might be in subjects
on the ceiling, allowable here, if at all, in the region of easy chairs
and occasional meditation; perhaps too, to a certain extent, in the
windows. The introduction of subjects on ceilings has not been
recommended generally, but in the system of arabesque painting the
universal decoration of the walls requires to be carried into the
ceiling. Sculpture, from the reasons already given, or rather in
accordance with the same taste, is quite admissible in the library.
Cicero frequently writes to his friend at Athens, to send him any good
works in sculpture, fit to adorn the library and residence of a man of
letters.[12]
[12] Epist. ad Attic. 1. i. c. 3, 8, 9, 10, &c. It is remarkable that
a bas-relief, in the finest Greek style, representing a philosopher
reading, was found in the ruins of Cicero's Tusculan villa. Some
English sculptors and myself, during an excursion from Rome, first, I
may almost say, discovered this marble, walled into the staircase of
the Episcopal palace at Grotta Ferrata. A mould was afterwards taken
from it, through the exertions of Mr. Gibson, and the cast is now
common in Rome. The marble was, I think, afterwards removed to the
Vatican.
But the choicest works of taste should unquestionably be in the room
most occupied in hours of calm seclusion and leisure; and in order to
find wall enough for the pictures, this may be assumed to be the
principal drawing room. Here, therefore, may be the best specimens of
painting, and even of sculpture, if the space permits: here, the
chimney-piece may be by Flaxman, and the doors of the print-case by
Stothard. The pictures cannot be very large, on account of their number
and the size of the room. This, the objection which in a great measure
excludes the grandest works from our dwelling houses, was met by the
Italians, and by Nicolo Poussin, by reducing the grand to domestic
conditions. If you have only small pictures, however, you cannot cover
the upper part of the walls, for you are not supposed to have any work
of art _here_ which can be sacrificed.
Enlightened connoisseurs see excellence both in the Dutch and Italian
schools, but they are often embarrassed in arranging them together. I
am convinced, however, from instances I have seen, that this is to be
accomplished satisfactorily. It is sometimes argued, that no one reads
Milton and Crabbe alternately; but this is hardly a parallel case. Many
go to a gallery to look at a particular picture, and see nothing else;
the eye is blind when the attention is not actively exerted. So in a
room, the spectator selects his favourites--his favourites at least for
the time, and scarcely looks beyond them. At another moment, he will
perhaps direct his undivided attention to works which he passed over on
a former occasion. A certain congruity is sometimes to be accomplished,
by attending to impressions rather than names and schools. Many an
Italian picture would not be out of place with the Flemish and Dutch
school; while Vandyck, Rembrandt, Cuyp, and others, might sometimes
harmonize in many respects with the genius of the south. The
arrangement of pictures comprehends some of the difficulties which the
artist experiences in the production of _one_; for a certain balance
and repose are as essential for the eye, as an harmonious impression
for the mind. Much must, therefore, depend on the nature of the
materials; and the (assumed) different character of your two drawing
rooms may here be an advantage.
You, I know, will not ask whether the productions of the English school
are admissible in this "Tribune" as well as elsewhere. Such is the
variety of English art, that the more refined Dutch, the Flemish, and
the Italian taste, may be recognized in it by turns, and no modern
pictures harmonize with the scheme of colour and effect which
characterize the master-works of former ages so well as the English of
the last century. Thus much of schools, and those we have not mentioned
may be tried by the same tests.
With regard to subjects, the mind as well as the eye must be respected:
the _ethos_ of painting is quite compatible with familiar and homely
subjects; and, on the other hand, the greatest Italian masters have
sometimes sought for poetic impressions in regions where it would be
unsafe to follow them. But, with this reservation, you must not be
exclusive: various minds, or the same mind in various moods, will like
variety of aliment. In other situations, which we have had occasion to
consider, the subject has been in a great degree calculated on the
probable feelings of the spectator; here, the subject is independent,
because the attention is free, and the whole art appeals by turns to
the whole range of thought. The leisure of cultivated human beings
should be so far complimented as to assume that all the strivings of
the mind are worthy to be ministered to. It is a mistake to suppose
that solemn or even terrible themes are always objectionable; I believe
it will be found that the grander efforts of invention (I speak of
works by the ancient masters) are very generally appreciated by the
gentler sex. On the other hand, the fondness for humbler subjects is
not always referable to the homeliness of the incident represented. The
subject often acquires elevation, and commands respect, by the evidence
of mental labour and power in the artist. To a true connoisseur, this
skilful application of principles derived from universal nature,
supersedes the mere subject; and the idea which he recognizes, whatever
may be its vehicle, is grand and poetical. Less experienced observers
are often deceived by the title of pictures: "A Court Yard" (de Hooghe)
sounds unpromising enough; but when it is seen that the painter has
represented _daylight_ with magical truth, and that all is subservient
to this, his aim must be acknowledged to be dignified. It is to be
observed too, that the influence of this high aim on the part of the
artist, often extends itself to the treatment of the materials which
constitute his ostensible subject. It is easy to see from the
unaffected feeling, as well as from the _relative_ character of the
execution in some (though not all) of the Dutch masters, that the real
subject of their meditation was noble. I should like to see a
_catalogue raisonné_ on the principle to which I have alluded,
distinguishing the title of a picture from the real intention of the
artist. Many frequenters of the National Gallery criticise Reynolds's
Three Graces, whence it appears they are not sufficiently aware that
the personages in question are portraits of three fashionable ladies of
the day, under the name of the Graces, &c. If some titles were
translated, what a contrast the real import of the work would present
to the actual name! What a change, for instance, from the modesty of
some of ----'s titles, "Crossing the Brook,"--"Coal-barges in the
Thames: Night," to the beauty and grandeur that would have to be
clothed in language! But what language would be adequate?