EXPRESSION. PART V.--PORTRAITURE
Limitations of the portrait painter--Generalizations--Emphasis
and addition of qualities--Practice of the ancient Greeks--
Dignity--Importance of simplicity--Some of the great masters--
Portraiture of women--The English masters--The quality of
grace--The necessity of repose.
While in the scale of the painter's art, portraiture ranks next to the
higher branches of historical work, yet it is some distance behind them,
for apart from the commonplace of scenic arrangement, the imagination of
the portrait painter cannot be carried further than the consideration of
added or eliminated details of form and expression in relation to a set
subject. But these details are very difficult, and so it comes about
that a good portrait involves a far greater proportion of mental labour
than the result appears on the surface to warrant. It is indirectly
consequent upon the complexity of his task that the work of the artist
who devotes practically his whole time to portraiture, often varies so
largely in quality. He paints some portraits which are generally
appreciated, but as time goes on he is overwhelmed with orders which he
cannot possibly fulfil without reducing the value of his work. He thus
acquires a habit of throwing his whole power into his work only when
the personage he represents is of public importance, or has a
countenance particularly amenable to his manner or style. It is
necessary that this fact should be borne in mind, otherwise erroneous
standards are likely to be set up when artists like Van Dyck, Reynolds,
or Romney, are referred to as examples.
In a general sense nearly all painting where the human figure is
introduced, is portraiture, and it has been so since soon after the
middle of the fifteenth century, when artists commenced to use living
men and women for secondary or accessory figures in sacred pictures. The
increasing importance attached to the anatomy of the figure resulted in
the extensive use of models, and so in a measure portraiture rose to be
a leading feature in the work of the artist. The figures in the larger
compositions of every kind by the greater painters of the late fifteenth
and early sixteenth centuries, consist almost entirely of portraits of
friends and acquaintances of the artists, the exceptions being the
countenances of the Deity and Christ, which had to be modelled from
accepted types, and those of the later Saints the character of whose
features had been handed down by tradition. A few painters, as Raphael
and Correggio, idealized the Virgin away from suggestion of portraiture,
but others, as Del Sarto and Pontormo, even in this case took a wife or
other relative as a model. The practice was continued by many artists in
respect of central figures, till the end of the seventeenth century,
after which time the identity of the figures was, as a rule, purposely
lost. Nevertheless the figures, other than ideals, used in all good
compositions, must necessarily be portraits or adaptations thereof, for
only from life can superior representation of life be obtained.
The first duty of the portraitist is to generalize the expression of his
subject. A face seen once will be thrown upon the mind only with the
particular expression observable at the moment of view. If seen a second
time we involuntarily combine the effects of the dual experience, and
the more often we see the countenance, the more closely will our mental
picture of it correspond with the general or average expression worn. It
is this average appearance that the portraitist tries to represent,
emphasizing of course whatever good qualities may be indicated. The
second most important task of the artist is to balance every part of the
picture, so that neither setting, nor colour, nor handling, is
strikingly noticeable. The portrait should appear at first glance as one
complete whole, in order that the mind of the observer be immediately
directed to the subject, and away from the artist or the manner of
execution. The painter is limited to the actual character and
physiognomy of the figure. He must make each feature harmonize with the
others, and add or subtract, hide or reveal, without changing the
general individuality, but he cannot do more. His scope is, therefore,
strictly limited. Very naturally some of the greatest portraitists have
rebelled at this limit. They appear to have painted with an eye to
posterity, rather than to satisfy their patrons and the people of the
time with an effective generalization of character and bearing. If we
compare the portraits executed by Titian with those representing certain
accessory figures in some important compositions of the great masters,
as for instance, the School of Athens of Raphael,[a] and the Death of
St. Francis of Ghirlandaio,[b] we find a marked difference. The latter
are obviously true portraits of living men, with little accentuated or
eliminated, just such portraits as Carlyle wanted from which to obtain
real instruction for his biographies. Titian painted no portraits of
this kind. He gives a lofty bearing to every person he portrays. His
figures seem to belong to a special race of men, endowed with rare
qualities of nobility and dignity, with little interest in the doings of
ordinary people. Yet we know that some of his characters lived in an
atmosphere of evil. We cannot really believe that the Aretino of
Titian[c] was Aretino the man, and we find it hard to imagine that
Philip II.,[d] or the Duke of Alba,[e] as Titian painted him, could grow
into the monster he proved to be. Nevertheless Titian was justified. It
is not the business of the artist to consider the historian: his art is
all that concerns him. Titian produced beautiful pictures which are
commonly recognized as great portrayals of character; whose character
matters not, though when we have data upon which to rest a judgment, we
find the lineaments in his works are fully sufficient for purposes of
identification.
[a] At the Vatican.
[b] Fresco at Santa Trinita, Florence.
[c] Frick Collection, N. Y.
[d] The Padro, Madrid, and elsewhere.
[e] Huescar Coll., Madrid.
While Titian went further than any other Renaissance painter in
ennobling his subjects, he did not approach the ancient Greeks in this
respect. Their sculptured busts and terms represent the highest
portraiture known to us. Many examples remain, mostly copies it is true,
but quite fifty of them are clearly faithful reproductions, made
apparently in the early days of Imperial Rome, and accord closely with
the few existing originals. The Grecian portraits differ from the Roman,
and all later painted or carved portraits in a most important
feature.[a] The latter aimed at what is still understood as the highest
level in portraiture. They endeavoured to give a general individualism
of mind and bearing, avoiding particular expression; in fact to
represent character. Since the Christian era commenced neither sculptor
nor painter has gone further than this, with very few exceptions in
Roman days when Grecian sculptors of the time imitated the practice of
the fourth and early third centuries. The earlier Greeks on the other
hand not only generalized portraits in an extreme degree, but, except in
the case of athletes, they altered the contour of the head and varied
the actual features of the subject, so that the possession of the higher
human attributes should be indicated as clearly as possible. They
invariably showed a large facial angle, placed the ears well close to
the head, sunk the eyes deep in their sockets, and ennobled the brows to
suggest majesty or profound thought. In fact the Grecian portrait heads
only differ from their sculptured gods in that particular countenances
are depicted, and consequently the expression in them does not appear to
be above the possibility of human experience. Apparently in Grecian
times, only men who had become celebrated in some way were represented
in stone, and hence the artist had features to depict which could be
semi-idealized without impropriety. Even Socrates, whose ugliness was
proverbial, was given a noble and dignified expression.[b]
[a] See Plates 12 and 13.
[b] See heads in the National Museums of Rome and Naples.
That the painter is at liberty to follow the example of the Greeks,
there can be no question from the point of view of art, for his first
object is to produce a beautiful picture; but in portraiture, practical
and conventional considerations have to be met, with which other
branches of painting are not concerned. With rare exceptions the
portraits executed are of living persons, and extreme accentuation of
high qualities would be likely to result in a representation of the
sitter that would appear false to contemporary observers, though we
might well imagine that a work exhibiting this accentuation would seem
to be of high excellence in the judgment of future generations. There
must therefore be a line drawn in respect of added or accentuated
qualities, and the position of this line would naturally vary with the
celebrity of the subject and the power of the artist. Something definite
may, however, be said in regard to the emphasis of certain qualities of
form, and particularly of dignity, a feature that has occupied the
attention of some of the greatest masters.
[Illustration: PLATE 13 (See page 145)
Roman Portraiture
Head of Vespasian
Head of Hadrian]
The question arises, how far may the artist go in imitating the
manner of the stage with his portraits? On the theatrical stage
formalities are required with certain characters in order to emphasize
their position--to assist in the recognition of their standing or
relative significance in the drama, for it is of the first importance
that the audience should comprehend the meaning of the actions presented
as rapidly as possible. The actor must often exaggerate life habits of
pose and manner in order to heighten the contrast between two
characters, or to give special significance to the words. And the
elevation of the diction sometimes compels this exaggeration. In high
drama where the language used is above experience of ordinary life in
measure and force, there must be appropriate pose and action to
accompany it, and hence a height of dignity or even majesty may appear
perfectly proper on the stage, which would be ridiculous in surroundings
away from it. From the practice of certain painters it would seem that
they have looked upon portraiture as the transference of their subjects
to the public stage as it were, so that they might appear to occupy a
higher position in the drama of life than that to which they are
habituated. No harm can arise from this provided the portraitist does
not pass beyond the custom of the theatrical stage, where, whatever the
exaggeration, the representation appears, or should appear, appropriate
to the action; that is to say, where the exaggeration is not recognized
as such. Accentuation of high qualities of expression, or even
variations in certain physical features, such as the Greeks brought
about, would not appear exaggerations in a portrait, but where dignity
of form is added to such an extent that the observer immediately
recognizes it as untrue to experience, then the artist goes too far.
While this is so, we do not condemn Titian, Van Dyck, and the few other
portrait painters who emphasized the quality of dignity of form in past
times. The reason for this appears to be that the usual methods of
teaching history lead us to suppose that nobles and leaders of society
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who were usually the
portrait subjects of the greater artists, commonly assumed a demeanour
and bearing far above our own experience. At the present day, when it is
a matter of universal knowledge that a formal dignified pose is very
rarely assumed by any one, such a bearing in a portrait would be
regarded as untrue.
The portraitist may improve the expression of his subject, adding any
good quality within his power, and he may remove from the features or
figure any marked physical defect, because the portrait would still
appear to be correct; but if he add a strong dignified pose, then the
result would be something that is possibly, but improbably accurate, and
therefore inferior art. The quality of dignity should be expressed
rather in the countenance than in the pose, the bearing of the form
being produced as in life, for this lends assistance to the true
representation of character. A dignified expression may well be
appropriate to an awkward form whose personality would be
undistinguished by dignity of pose.
Titian was the first great artist to give a pronounced dignity of form
to his subjects, and he never varied from the practice unless the
subject were exhibited in action,[a] or too old to be represented as an
upright figure.[b] Nor did he once exaggerate the pose so that arrogance
might be suggested. Though he squared the shoulders, he rarely threw
back the head to emphasize the bearing,[c] and only in one portrait is
the body slightly arched as the result of the pose.[d] In fact so
careful was the artist in avoiding over-emphasis, that there is a
tendency in two or three of his figures for the upper part of the body
to lean a little forward.[e] Obviously Titian gave this dignified
attitude to his portrait subjects of set purpose, as in his general
compositions there is no suggestion of it.[51]
[a] Portrait of his daughter, Berlin Gallery, and of Jacopo di Strada
at Vienna.
[b] Paul III. at Naples, and his own portrait at the Uffizi Gallery.
[c] An exception is Charles V. at Muehlberg, Prado, Madrid.
[d] Portrait of his daughter as a bride, at Dresden.
[e] Notably in the portrait of the Duke of Ferrara, Pitti Palace.
Velasquez no doubt acquired his habit of lending dignity to his
important subjects from the examples of Titian's portraits which came
under his view in Spain. Except in one notable instance where the
bearing is much over-emphasized,[a] he was equally successful with the
Italian master in the practice, though many of his characters are far
from lending him any natural assistance. In the case of a Court Dwarf,
however, the high dignity given to him by the painter seems to require
explanation.[b]
[a] Count-Duke Olivares, Holford, Coll., London.
[b] Don Antonio el Ingles, Prado.
Before he went to Italy, Van Dyck followed the natural system of Rubens
in posing his portrait subjects, but at Genoa he painted under the spell
of Titian's memory, and thereafter during his whole life, he gave a
dignified bearing to his figures whenever this was not opposed to
individual traits. During his English period, when he undertook more
work than he could properly accomplish, he sometimes over-emphasized the
dignity of a figure by arching the body,[a] but as a rule he produced a
just balance of pose and setting, completing altogether a magnificent
series of portraits which remain the astonishment of the world.
[a] Earl of Newport, Northbrook Coll., England; Earl of Bedford
Spencer Coll.; and Queen Henrietta (three-quarter length),
Windsor Castle.
It is obviously the duty of the portraitist so to design his work that
the attention of the observer is concentrated upon the countenance of
the subject immediately he has grasped the whole composition, and it is
in the successful accomplishment of this object that the power of
Rembrandt lies. He rarely used accessories, and in only a few cases a
background of any kind. He avoided portraits where an elaborate setting
was required, as for instance full length standing figures, of which he
only painted two[a]; and in his many three-quarter length portraits,
there is seldom more than a table or chair to be seen apart from the
figure. With this simplicity of design, and with nearly all the
available light directed full upon the head of the subject, the eye of
the observer of the picture is necessarily centred instantaneously upon
the features. These are invariably cast into bold relief by perfect
management of the chiaroscuro, and the correspondence with life seems as
complete as it well can be. Rembrandt thus accomplishes the aim of every
great artist: he executes a faithful picture, and throws it on the mind
of the observer with the maximum of rapidity. Only artists of a high
order can successfully ignore a more or less elaborate setting for a
portrait, particularly if it be larger than bust size. Great care has to
be taken with such a setting lest the eye of the observer be attracted
by the pose of the figure and the general harmony of the work before
being directed to the countenance. If we take the general opinion of
known portraits, so far as it can be gauged, we find that the most
highly esteemed of them are: the Julius II. of Raphael, the Mona Lisa of
Lionardo, the Man with the Gloves by Titian, the Old Man with a Boy by
Ghirlandaio, and Innocent X. by Velasquez.[b] All of these except Mona
Lisa are remarkable for the simplicity of the setting, and in the
exception the formal landscape is altogether subordinated to the figure.
Raphael was the first artist who saw the value of avoiding accessories
in portraiture. His half-length portraits painted after his arrival in
Florence, are all free from them, and his Julius II. has only the chair
on which the Pope is seated.
[a] Martin Day and Machteld van Doorn, both in Gustave Rothschild
Coll., Paris.
[b] The first at the Pitti Palace, the last at the Doria Gallery, and
the others at the Louvre.
Rembrandt further aided the concentration of attention on the
countenance of a sitter by the use of warm inconspicuous tones in the
clothing, which harmonize with all kinds of surroundings in which the
picture may be seen. The colours never specially attract the eye, and
the attire consequently forms so completely a part of the figure, that
after an inspection of the work one can rarely describe the costume.
This subordination of colour is of the highest importance in
portraiture, though it is not sufficiently practised nowadays. Velasquez
used quiet tones whenever possible, that is, when he was not painting
great personages, and Titian, Rubens, and Van Dyck, followed the same
course in half-length portraits. None of these, however, seemed so
careful as Rembrandt in adapting the tones to the general character of
the figure, so that the impression left on the mind of the observer
should relate entirely to the personality. Rembrandt, in fact, aimed at
a representation of the man, and the man only; and he gave us a natural
human being of a commonly known type, with his virtues somewhat
emphasized, and his faults a little veiled.
The extraordinary power of Velasquez as a portraitist was due to the
same general cause operating in the case of Rembrandt, namely, extreme
simplicity in design. Apart from those instances where royal or official
personages had to be represented in decorative attire, every portrait of
Velasquez is merely the impress of a personality. There are no
accessories; the clothing is subordinated to the last degree, and there
is nothing for the eye to grasp but a perfectly drawn set of features
thrown into strong relief by a method of chiaroscuro unsurpassed in
depth and accuracy. Thus, as in the case of Rembrandt, the portrait
fulfils the first law of art--the picture is thrown on the brain in the
least possible fraction of time.
Velasquez was remarkable in a greater degree than any other artist, if
we except Hals, for his facility in execution. In his brush-work he
appeared to do the right thing at all times without hesitation,
achieving the most perfect balance as if by instinct. So far as we can
judge from those instances where his subjects were painted also by other
artists, his portraits are good likenesses, but he followed the best
practice in generalizing the countenance to the fullest extent. It is
unfortunate that his work was confined to so poor a variety of sitters.
Of his known portraits more than half represent Philip IV. or his
relatives; eight others are nobles of the time, and another half dozen
are dwarfs and buffoons, leaving only seventeen examples of the artist's
work amongst ordinary people. There never was a weaker royal family than
that of Philip IV., and it is really astonishing how Velasquez was able
to produce such excellent works of art by means of their portraits. With
his abnormal lips and weak face, the king himself must have been a most
difficult person to ennoble, yet the painter managed in three portraits
to give him a highly distinguished countenance and bearing, without in
any way suggesting exaggeration.[a] Of another weak man--Innocent
X.--Velasquez painted what Reynolds described as the greatest portrait
he saw in Rome; and it is truly one of the most amazing life
representations ever executed.[b] A reddish face peers out through a
blaze of warm surroundings and background; a face in full relief as if
cut out of apoplectic flesh--almost appalling in its verity. It is like
nothing else that Velasquez painted: it overpowers with its combined
strength and realism. But it is a picture to see occasionally, and
admire as a great imitation. If one lived with it, the colour would hurt
the eye, the unpleasant face would tire the mind. Such a face should not
be painted: it should be carved in stone, where truth may be given to
form without the protrusion of mortal decay. Bernini sculptured the
countenance, and gave the Pope a certain majesty which no painting could
present. As a life portrait the work of Velasquez is unrivalled, but as
a pure work of art, it is behind the three portraits of Philip IV.
already mentioned. A distinctly unhealthy face cannot be produced in
portraiture without injuring the art, for it is a variety of distortion.
[a] The full example at the Prado; the Parma full length, in the Frick
Coll., N. Y.; and the three-quarter length portrait at the
Imperial Gallery, Vienna.
[b] In the Doria Gallery, Rome.
Velasquez was so naturally a portraitist that apart from his actual
portrait work, every figure composition he painted seems to consist
merely of the portraits of a group of persons. He took little pains to
connect the figures in a life action, often painting them with a look of
unconcern with the proceedings around them, as if specially posing for
the artist. In several of his works there are faces looking right out
of the picture, and it is evident that in these the artist had little
thought in his mind away from portrait presentation.[a] The Surrender of
Breda and Las Meninas,[b] regarded generally as his best compositions,
are admittedly portrait groupings, but the setting in each case is one
of action, and hence the faces looking out of the picture are a great
drawback, as they disrobe the illusion of a natural scene. That a man so
accurate in his drawing, so perfect in his chiaroscuro, and so skilful
in his brushwork, should yet be so conspicuously limited in imagination,
is a problem which art historians have yet to solve.
[a] See The Breakfast, Hermitage; Christ in the House of Martha,
National Gallery, London; and The Drinkers, Prado.
[b] Both at the Prado.
Franz Hals was on a level with Velasquez in respect of facility in
execution, and like him seems to have been a born portraitist. His
brushwork was so rapid and decisive that in scarcely any of his designs
is there evidence of deliberation. He seems to have been able to take in
the essential features of a subject at a glance, and to transfer them to
canvas without preliminaries, producing an amazing countenance with the
least possible detail. Though some of his large groups are a little
stiff, this is rather through his want of capacity in invention than a
set purpose of exaggeration with a view to heightening the dignity of
pose, for it is obvious that Hals had little imagination, and knew
nothing of the boundless possibilities of his art in general
composition. He appears to have passed through life without concern for
his work beyond material results, being well convinced that the magic
of his execution would leave nothing further for the public to desire.
In the last forty years of his life he made no advance in his art except
in one respect, but the change was great, for it doubled the art value
of his portraits. He learned how to subordinate his colours; how to
modify his chiaroscuro in order to force the immediate attention of the
observer on the countenance of his subject.[52] Such an advance with
such an artist placed him in the rank of the immortals among the
portraitists.
It will be seen that in the judgment of the greatest painters,
decoration in a portrait should be altogether subordinated to the
truthful representation of character, this practice being only varied
when the personage portrayed is of public importance, and the portrait
is required more or less as a monument. The rule is natural and
reasonable, being based upon the universal agreement that the
all-important part of a man comprehended by the vision is his
countenance. But the rule only strictly applies to a single figure
portrait, for when the painter goes beyond this, and executes a double
portrait or a multiple group, he restricts the scope of his art. Other
things being equal a double portrait is necessarily inferior art to a
single figure picture, since the dual objective complicates the
impression of the work on the brain, and the only remedy, or partial
remedy, for this drawback possessed by the painter is to introduce
accessories and arrange his group in a subject design. This plan results
in detracting from the force of the actual portraits, as it divides the
attention of the observer, but there is no help for it unless one is
content with the representation of the figures in a stiff and formal way
which extinguishes the pictorial effect of the work.
The greatest artists have avoided dual or triple portrait works where
possible except in cases of gatherings of members of the same family, as
one of these groups may be regarded as a unity by the observer.
Nevertheless in his picture of Leo X., and the two younger Medici,[a]
Raphael was careful to subordinate the cardinals so that they should
appear little more than accessories in a painting of the Pope; an
example which was followed not quite so successfully by Titian in his
triple portrait of Paul III. with the two brothers Farnese.[b] A group
of two persons who are in some way associated with each other, though
unconnected in action, rarely looks out of place, as in the pictures of
father and son, or of two brothers, painted by Van Dyck, or in The
Ambassadors of Holbein,[c] but no painter has yet succeeded in producing
a first-class work of art out of a multiple portrait group when the
personages represented are unconnected with each other, either directly
in action, or indirectly through association derived from the title. The
picture of Rubens representing Lipsius and three others, would appear
much more stiff and formal than it is, without one of the two titles
given to it, notwithstanding the general excellence of the
composition.[d] When the figures introduced are very numerous, as in the
many groups of civic organizations painted by Hals, Ravesteyn, and
others, the compulsory formality seriously detracts from the aesthetic
value of the works, however superior they may be in execution, or
whatever the connection of the personages represented; and when we come
to such crowded paintings as Terburg's Signing the Peace of Muenster,[e]
we obtain but little more than a record, though it be of absorbing
historical interest.
[a] Pitti Palace, Florence.
[b] Naples Museum.
[c] National Gallery, London.
[d] The Four Philosophers, or Lipsius and his Disciples, Pitti Palace.
[e] National Gallery, London.
It is observable that as a rule portraitists have been more successful
with delineations of men than of women. This is to be accounted for by
the necessity for subordinating the representation of character to the
art in the case of women unless they have passed the prime of life;
while with men the art is usually subordinated to the portrait,
character being sought independently of sensorial beauty. Strictly it is
the duty of the artist to make his portrait, whether of a man or a
woman, sensorially attractive, but here again in portraiture custom and
convention have to be considered with the rules of art. It is agreed
that with a woman sensorial beauty must be produced if that be possible,
even with the sacrifice of certain elements of character; but with a man
the portrait must be recognized by the acquaintances of the subject as
corresponding in most details with his life appearance. The future of
the portrait is out of the question for the time being. Nevertheless the
painter has certain advantages in dealing with the features of a man,
for the presence of lines in the brow, or other evidence of experience,
does not interfere with the nobility or dignity which may be added to
his general bearing; but what would be lines in the countenance of a man
would be wrinkles in that of a woman, because here they can scarcely be
neutralized by attitude and expression which imply strength of
character, without destroying what is best described as womanly charm,
which is a compulsory feature in every woman's portrait. With a man
therefore the portraitist considers character first and emphasizes
qualities of form within his power; while with a woman, during the
period of her bloom, beauty of form and feature must be the first care
of the artist, unconflicting qualities of character being emphasized or
added.
All this was of course recognized by the great portraitists of the
Renaissance and the seventeenth century, but while most of them
endeavoured to enhance the sensorial beauty of their men subjects,
little attempt was made to add intellectual grace to the portrayals of
women. Antonio Moro[a] and Van Dyck, in their full length portraits of
women, sometimes succeeded in converting dignity of form into what we
understand as grandeur, which implies dignity of expression as well as
grace and dignity of form, but they were largely handicapped by the
dress fashions of their times. They had to deal with heavy formal
drapery which hung over the figures like elongated bells, and bid
defiance to freedom of pose. When fashions and customs had so changed as
to allow of definition being given to the figures, Van Dyck had been
dead for many years. Meanwhile Hals, Rembrandt, Velasquez, and hundreds
of lesser lights, were casting around their flowers of form and mind,
but all on the old plan, for it is difficult to find a portrait of a
woman painted during the century succeeding Van Dyck, where beauty of
feature is allied to nobility in expression.
[a] Catilina of Portugal, and Maria of Austria, both at the Prado.
[Illustration: PLATE 14 (See page 168)
Sacrifice of Iphigenia (Pompeian Fresco)
Supposed copy of a painting by Timanthes]
The production of this combination awaited the maturity of Reynolds, who
with Gainsborough, broke into a new field in the portraiture of women.
Gainsborough took the grandeur of Van Dyck for his pattern, but improved
upon it by substituting simplicity for dignity and elaboration, which he
was able to manage without great difficulty, as he had a clear advantage
over the Flemish master in that the costumes in use in his time were
lighter in character, and permitted of the contour of form being
properly exhibited. This simple grace of form allied to grandeur in
bearing, naturally brings about an apparent modification in expression
in conformity with it, so long as there are no conflicting elements in
expression present, which Gainsborough was careful to avoid. Reynolds
went further than Gainsborough, for after the middle of his career he
directly added an expression of nobility to his portraits of women
whenever the features would admit of it, and so brought about the
highest type of feminine portraiture known in art. He was more nearly
allied to Titian than Van Dyck, and though in sheer force of sensorial
beauty he did not reach the level of the Venetian master, yet in pure
feminine portraiture, where high beauty of expression is combined with a
perfect generalization of the features, Reynolds is unsurpassed in
the history of painting, so far as we can judge from examples remaining
to us. For we must estimate an artist from his best work. Reynolds
painted forty or fifty portraits of women of the character indicated,
and a few of them, notably Mrs. Siddons as Tragedy,[a] and Mrs.
Billington as St. Cecilia,[b] are amongst the most luminous examples of
feminine portraiture in existence. There are many artists who equalled
Reynolds in the representation of men, but there are very few indeed who
even attempted to strike a just balance between sensorial and
intellectual effects in the countenance of a woman.
[a] Westminster Coll., London.
[b] New York Public Library.
With such great leaders as Reynolds and Gainsborough, it might have been
hoped that the school they founded in portraiture would have taken a
long lease of life, but it rapidly died away, leaving very few indeed of
footsteps sunk deep in the sands of glory, save those of Raeburn,
Hoppner, Lawrence, and Romney. But between Reynolds and Romney there is
a wide gulf, for while the former sought for his beauty among the higher
gifts of nature, Romney, with rare exceptions, was content with a formal
expression allied to grace of pose. We may shortly consider this
graceful attitude for it seems to be often regarded as an all-sufficing
feature in the representation of women.[53]
The charm of grace lies chiefly in movement, and a graceful attitude in
repose implies rest from graceful movement, but this attitude is
ephemeral in nature, for if prolonged it quickly becomes an artificial
pose. In art therefore, a graceful pose, whether exhibited in action or
at rest, must soon tire unless attractive expression be present to
deepen the impress of the work upon the mind of the observer. The
general aesthetic value of graceful form in a painted figure varies with
the scale to which the figure is drawn. With a heroic figure, grace is
of the smallest importance; in one of life size, as a portrait for
instance, the quality is of considerable assisting value; and as the
scale is diminished, so does the relative value of grace increase. This
is because details of expression can be less truthfully rendered in
small figures than in those of life size, while in miniature figures
certain high qualities of expression, as nobility, or a combined
expression of mind and form, as grandeur, can be scarcely indicated at
all, so that purely sensorial beauty, as that arising from grace of
pose, becomes of comparatively vast importance. This was well understood
in ancient times. The Grecian sculptured life-size figures are nearly
always graceful, but the grace arises naturally from perfection of form
and expression, and not from a specially added quality, a particular
grace of pose being always subordinated, if present at all. On the other
hand, in the smaller Grecian figures, such as those found at Tanagra and
in Asia Minor, anything in expression beyond regularity of features is
not attempted, but grace is always present, and it is entirely upon this
that the beauty of the figurines depends. We may presume from the
frescoes opened out at Pompeii, that the ancients were well aware of the
value and limitations of grace in art. In all these decorations where
the figures are of a general type, as fauns, bacchantes, nereids,
dancers, and so on, they are represented in motion, flying drapery being
skilfully used to provide illusion. Grace is the highest quality evident
in these forms, while the expression is invariably negative. For pure
wall decorations, which are observed in a casual way, a high quality of
grace such as these frescoes provide is all-sufficient, but as with the
Greeks, the Romans did not make grace a leading feature in serious art.
With the great painters of the Renaissance, nobility, grandeur, and
general perfection of form and expression, though necessarily implying a
certain grace in demeanour, altogether dwarfed the feature of grace of
pose. In the seventeenth century, grace was subordinated to dignity of
form in the case of Van Dyck and Velasquez, and to actual life
experience with Rubens and Rembrandt. When either of these last two
added a quality of form to their figures, it was always dignity and not
grace. Murillo was the first Spanish painter to pay particular attention
to the grace of his figures, but he never gave it predominance. The
French masters of the period, Le Brun, Le Sueur, Poussin, Mignard, and
Rigaud, leaned too closely to classical traditions to permit of grace
playing a leading part in their designs, though some of slightly lesser
fame as Noel and Antoine Coypel, appeared to attribute considerable
value to the quality. It was during this century in Italy that grace
first appeared as a prominent feature in figure painting. In his
pastoral and classical scenes, Albani seems to have largely relied upon
it for his beauty, and Cignani, Andrea Sacchi, Sassoferrato, and others
followed in his footsteps in this respect, though up to the end of the
century no attempt was made in portraiture to sacrifice other features
to grace of pose. Rosalba then made her appearance as a portraitist, and
she was the first to rest the entire beauty of her work on sensorial
charm of feature and grace of pose. She developed a weakened school in
France which culminated with Nattier; and in England, Angelica
Kauffmann, and some miniature painters, notably Cosway and Humphrey,
took up her system for their life-size portraits, while many artists "in
small" as Cipriani and Bartolozzi, assisted in forming a cult of the
style. But of the greater British painters, only Romney gave high
importance to grace of pose in portraits of women. It is safer for an
artist to eschew grace of pose altogether than to sacrifice higher
qualities to it. A little added dignity is always preferable to a
graceful attitude in a portrait, because in nature it is not so
evanescent a feature. Grace is a good assisting quality, but an inferior
substitute.
The greatest repose possible is necessary in a portrait, as a suggestion
of action tends to draw the attention of the observer to it, thus
impeding the impression of the whole upon his mind. The leading
portraitists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries never erred in
this matter, unless we except a single work by Titian--the portrait
group of Paul III. and the Cardinals Farnese, where the last named has
just arrived and is apparently in the act of bowing before completing
his final step; but even here it may be fairly argued that a moment of
rest between two parts of the final action is to be presumed. It was not
an uncommon practice of Van Dyck to pose a subject arrested in the act
of walking, or with one foot on the lowest step of a stairway as if
about to ascend; but in each of these instances the head is turned, and
it is obvious that the motion is temporarily stayed.[a] A similar pose
was sometimes adopted by British artists of the eighteenth century with
conspicuous success. If a portrait figure be painted in the act of
walking on level ground, the feet must be together even if the moment
represented be that between two steps in the action, because it is
contrary to all experience for a man to rest while so walking, with one
foot in front of the other. In a general composition the representation
of a man walking with the feet separated is permissible, because it is
part of a general action, and accessory in its nature, but in a portrait
the beginning and end of the action depicted are usually unknown, and
hence any action must be meaningless and disturbing to the observer.[b]
[a] See Earl of Pembroke, Wilton Coll., Countess of Devonshire,
Chatsworth, and Philip le Roy, Wallace Coll., all in England.
[b] See Chase's Master Roland, private Coll., N. Y.; and Manet's Boy
with a Sword, Met. Museum, N. Y.
The French and English artists of the eighteenth century followed the
practice of their predecessors in avoiding the exhibition of movement in
their portraits, but occasionally they departed from the rule. In his
fine portrait of Mrs. Thomas Raikes, Romney shows the lady playing a
harpsichord, with the fingers apparently in motion; and in his group of
the Ladies Spencer, one of them is fingering a harp. The result in each
case is a stiff attitude which detracts from the beauty of the work. Van
Dyck managed such a design in a much better way, for in his portrait of
his wife with a cello, she holds the bow distinctly at rest.[a] Titian
also, when representing a man at an organ, shows his hands stayed, while
turning his head.[b] Reynolds moved aside once from the custom in
respect of action,[c] and Raeburn seems also to have erred only on a
single occasion.[d]
[a] Munich Gallery.
[b] Venus and the Organ Player, Prado.
[c] Viscountess Crosbie, Tennant Coll., London.
[d] Dr. Nathaniel Spens, Royal Co. of Archers, Edinburgh.