EXPRESSION. PART VI--MISCELLANEOUS
Grief--The smile--The open mouth--Contrasts--Representation of
death.
The painter has ever to be on his guard against over-emphasis of facial
expression. His first object is to present an immediately intelligible
composition, and this being accomplished, much has already been done
towards providing appropriate expressions for his characters. It has
been seen that attitude alone may appear to lend to a countenance
suitable expression which is not observed when the head of the figure is
considered separately; and while such a condition is not frequent, its
possibility indicates that the painter is warranted in relying more or
less upon the details of his action for conveying the state of mind of
the personages concerned therein. It is not the purpose here to deal
with the various forms of expression that may be of use to the painter,
nor indeed is it necessary. The work of Raphael alone leaves little to
be learned in respect of the expression of emotion so far as it may be
exhibited in a painting[54]; but there are a few matters in relation to
the subject which appear to require attention, judging from experience
of modern painting, and short notes upon them are here given.
GRIEF
Intense grief is the most difficult expression to depict in the whole
art of painting, because in nature it usually results in distortion of
the features, which the artist must avoid at all cost. Of the thousands
of paintings of scenes relating to the Crucifixion, where the Virgin is
presumed to be in great agony at the foot of the Cross, very rarely has
an artist attempted to portray this agony in realistic manner.[a] He
generally substitutes for grief an expression of sorrow which is
produced without contraction of the features. This expression, which is
invariably accompanied with extreme pallor, does not prevent the
addition of a certain nobility to the countenance, and hence no
suggestion of insufficiency arises in the mind of the observer. But the
sublime expression which may be given to the Virgin would be out of
place in her attendants who are not infrequently made hideous through
attempts to represent them as overcome with grief.
[a] A notable exception is Poussin's Descent from the Cross,
Hermitage.
A method of avoiding the difficulty is to conceal the face of the
personage presumed to be suffering from grief. Timanthes is recorded by
Pliny as having painted a picture of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia in which
the head of Agamemnon was completely covered by his robe; and a picture
of the same subject in a Pompeian fresco represents the Grecian monarch
hiding his face with his right hand, while the left gathers up his
robe.[a] This invention was the subject of considerable discussion in
Europe in the eighteenth century, in which Reynolds, Falconet, Lessing,
and others took part. Reynolds said of the device that an artist might
use it once, but if he did so a second time, he would be justly
suspected of improperly evading difficulties. Falconet compared the
action of Timanthes to that of a poet who avoided expressing certain
sentiments on the ground that the action of his hero was above anything
that could be said[b]; while Lessing held that the grief which overcame
Agamemnon could only find expression in distortion, and hence the artist
was right in covering the face.[c] Unquestionably Lessing was justified,
for nothing more is demanded of the painter than to impress the
imagination of the observer with the intensity of the grief depicted,
and in this he succeeds. Obviously the poet is in a different position
from the painter because he can express deep grief easily enough without
suggesting distortion of the features.
[a] See Plate 14[55].
[b] "Traduction des 34me, 35me, et 36me livres de Pline."
[c] Laocoon.
The artifice of Timanthes was practically unused during the Renaissance,
though Botticelli once conceals the face of a woman lamenting over the
body of Christ,[a] and Richardson quotes a drawing by Polidoro where the
Virgin hides her face in drapery in a lamentation scene. In Flanders at
a little earlier period, Roger van der Weyden used the device,[b] and
the Maitre de Flemalle shows St. John turning his head away and holding
his hand to his face in a Crucifixion scene.[c] In the succeeding
centuries little was known of the practice, but quite lately it has come
into use again. Boecklin painted a Pieta in which the Virgin has thrown
herself over the dead body of Christ in an agony of grief, her whole
form being covered by a cloak. Feuerbach has a somewhat similar
arrangement, and in a picture of the Departure of Jason, he hides the
face of an attendant of Medea, a plan adopted in two or three frescoes
of the subject at Pompeii. Prud'hon, in a Crucifixion scene, hides the
face of the Magdalene in her hands, and Kaulbach in his Marguerite so
bends her head that her face is completely concealed from the observer.
Where the face cannot altogether be hidden owing to the character of the
design, it is sometimes thrown into so deep a shade that the features
are indistinguishable, this being an excellent device for symbolical
figures typifying great anguish.[d]
[a] The Brera, Milan.
[b] In a scene of The Eucharist, Antwerp.
[c] Christ on the Cross, Berlin.
[d] As in Hacker's Cry of Egypt.
It is not a good plan in a tragic design merely to turn the head away to
indicate grief or sorrow, because in such a case the artist is unable to
differentiate between a person experiencing intense grief, and one who
turns his head from horror of the tragedy.[a] The scheme of half veiling
the face is not often successful, since the depth of emotion that would
be presumed from such an action may be more than counterbalanced by the
very limited feeling which can be indicated by the part of the face
remaining exposed. On account of a neutralizing effect of this kind,
Loefftz's fine picture of the Dead Christ at Munich is much weakened,
for there is no stronger expression on the part of the Virgin than
patient resignation. Sorrow may well be displayed by semi-concealment of
the features, because here the necessary expression may be produced by
the eyes alone.[b] In ancient art, to half conceal the face indicated
discretion, as in the case of a Pompeian fresco where a nurse of the
young Neptune, handing him over to a shepherd for education, has her
mouth and chin covered, the meaning of this being that she is acquainted
with the high birth of the boy, but must not reveal it.
[a] See Gros's Timoleon of Corinth.
[b] Leighton's Captive Andromache.
THE SMILE
A pronounced smile in nature is always transitory, and hence should be
avoided when possible in a painting. The only smile that does not tire
is that which is so faint as to appear to be permanent in the
expression, and it has been the aim of many painters to produce this
smile. An examination of numerous pictures where a smile is expressed in
the countenance has convinced the writer that when either the eyes
alone, or the eyes and mouth together, are used to indicate a smile, it
is invariably over-pronounced as a suggestive permanent feature, and
that in every case of such permanence, success arises from work on the
mouth alone.
The permanent smile was not studied in Europe till the Milanese school
was founded, and in this nearly every artist gave his attention to it,
following the example of Lionardo. This great master, who was well
acquainted with the principles of art, is not likely to have had in his
mind an evanescent expression when he experimented with the smile, and
one can hardly understand therefore why this feature is almost
invariably over-emphasized in his works. In his portrayal of women he
used both eyes and mouth to bring about the smile,[a] and more commonly
than not paid most attention to the eyes. Perhaps he had in view the
production of a permanent smile solely by means of the eyes, which play
so great a part in general expression. In nature it is physically
impossible for a smile to be produced without a faint variation in the
mouth line, while the lower eyelids may remain perfectly free from any
change in light and shade, even with a smile more pronounced than is
necessary for apparent permanence. In the Mona Lisa at Boston,[56] the
smile is very faintly indicated by the eyes, and most pronounced at the
mouth, while in the famous Paris picture, the eyes are chiefly
responsible for the smile, the mouth only slightly assisting.[57] Many
smiling faces were produced by others of the Milanese school, and as a
rule the mouth only was used, often with complete success, notably by
B. Luini,[b] Pedrini,[c] and Ferrari.[d] Raphael never used the eyes to
assist in producing a smile, except with the Child Christ,[e] and in all
cases where he exhibits a smile in a Madonna[f] or portrait,[g] it
appears definitely permanent. As a rule the great artists of the
Renaissance other than the disciples of Lionardo, rarely produced a
smile with the intention of suggesting a permanently happy expression,
and in the seventeenth century little attention was given to it.
[a] An exception where the mouth only is used is a drawing for the
Madonna and Child with St. Anne, Burlington House, London.
[b] Salome, Uffizi Gallery, Florence.
[c] Madonna and Child, Arezzo.
[d] Madonna and Child, Brera, Milan.
[e] Cowper Madonna, Panshanger, England.
[f] See Casa Tempi Madonna, Munich; and Virgin with a Goldfinch,
Uffizi.
[g] Portrait of a Young Man, Budapest; and the Fornarina, Barberini
Gallery, Florence.
The great French portraitists of the eighteenth century frequently made
the smile a feature in expression, and a few of them, notably La Tour,
seldom produced a countenance without one. In most cases the smile is a
little too pronounced for permanence, but there are many examples of a
faint and delicate smile which may well suggest an habitual condition.
Rigaud's Louis XV. as a Boy is an instance,[a] though here the illusion
quickly passes when we bring to mind the other portraits of the monarch.
Nattier,[b] Boucher,[c] Dumont le Romain,[d] Perronneau,[e] Chardin,
Roslin, and others, sometimes succeeded, but the French master of the
smile was La Tour who executed quite a dozen examples which Lionardo
might have envied.[f] Of British artists Romney was the most adept in
producing a permanent smile,[g] but strange to say there is no instance
of one in his many portraits of Lady Hamilton, beyond her representation
as a bacchante.[h] Here the smile is far too pronounced for a plain
portrait, but a bacchante may reasonably be supposed to be ever engaged
in scenes of pleasure, and hence the feature does not seem to be out of
place. Reynolds commonly used both eyes and mouth in creating his
smiles,[i] but Raeburn was nearly equal to Romney in the number of his
felicitous smiles, while he seldom exceeded the minimum expression
required for permanence.[j] Gainsborough produced a few portraits of
women with a vague furtive smile, sweet and expressive beyond degree.[k]
They are invariably brought about by a faint curvature of the mouth
line.
[a] At Versailles.
[b] Madame Louise, at Versailles.
[c] Portrait of a Young Woman, the Louvre.
[d] Two examples in the group Madame Mercier and Family, Louvre.
[e] Madame Olivier, Groult (formerly), Coll., Paris.
[f] See Madame de la Popeliniere and Mdlle. Carmago, both at Saint
Quentin Museum; and Madame Pompadour, Louvre.
[g] See Mrs. Yates, Llangattock Coll.; William Booth, Lathom Coll.;
and Mrs. Tickle, A. de Rothschild (formerly) Coll., all England.
[h] T. Chamberlayne Coll., England.
[i] For exceptions see Hon. Lavinia Bingham, Spencer Coll., and Mrs.
Abington, Fife Coll., both England.
[j] See Farmer's Wife, Mitchell Coll.; Mrs. Lauzun, National Gallery,
London; and Mrs. Balfour, Beith Coll., Scotland.
[k] Lady Sheffield, Alice Rothschild Coll.; and Mrs. Leybourne, Popham
Coll.
THE OPEN MOUTH
If there be one transient feature more than another which should be
avoided in a painting, and particularly in the principal figure, it is
a wide-open mouth. Necessarily, after a short acquaintance with a
picture containing such a feature, either the mouth appears to be kept
open by a wedge, or, as in the case of a laugh, the face is likely to
wear an abnormal expression approaching to idiocy, for it is altogether
contrary to experience of normal persons in real life, for a mouth to be
kept open longer than for an instant or two. Hence the first artists
have studiously refrained from exhibiting a wide-open mouth, or indeed
one that is open at all except to such an extent that the parted lips
appear a permanent condition. But a few great men have erred in the
matter. Thus, Mantegna shows the child Christ with the mouth widely open
in a half-vacant and half-startled expression, which is immediately
repelling.[a] Dosso Dossi has several pictures much injured by the
feature,[b] and in Ercole di Roberti's Concert, no less than three
mouths are wide open.[c] One of the figures in Velasquez's Three
Musicians opens his mouth far too widely,[d] while Hals has half a dozen
pictures with the defect.[e] A rare mistake was made by Carlo Dolci when
showing Christ with His mouth open wide in the act of utterance,[f] and
Mengs erred similarly in St. John Baptist Preaching.[g] In more modern
times the fault is seldom noticeable among artists of repute, though
occasionally a bad example occurs, as in Winslow Homer's All's Well.[h]
Even when an open mouth seems unavoidable, the effect is by no means
neutralized.[i]
[a] Virgin and Child at Bergamo.
[b] Notably A Muse Instructing a Court Poet, and Nymph and Satyr,
Pitti Palace.
[c] National Gallery, London.
[d] Berlin Gallery.
[e] See Merry Company at Table, Met. Mus., N. Y., and similar
pictures.
[f] Christ Blessing, a single figure picture.
[g] Hermitage, Petrograd.
[h] Boston Museum, U. S. A. See Plate 15.
[i] As in Dow's The Dentist, Schwerin Mus., and a similar work at the
Louvre.
When the blemish is in an accessory figure, it is of lesser importance
as there it becomes an incidental circumstance on the mind of the
observer. Thus, in Reynolds's Infant Hercules, where Alcmena, on seeing
the child holding the snakes, opens her mouth with surprise and alarm,
the action of the central figure is so strong that the importance of the
others present is comparatively insignificant.[a] Nevertheless in a
Pompeian fresco of the same subject, care has been taken to close the
mouth of Alcmena. Where the design represents several persons singing,
it is well possible to indicate the action without showing the mouths
open, as in Raphael's St. Cecilia.[b] In a picture of a like subject,
with the Saint in the centre of a group of five singers, Domenichino
shows only the two outside figures with open mouths, and one of these is
in profile. There are several works where David is seen singing to the
accompaniment of a harp, but though his mouth is open, the figure is in
profile, and the lips are hidden by moustache and beard.[c]
[a] Hermitage, Petrograd.
[b] Bologna Museum.
[c] For example, Rubens's David's Last Song, Frankfort Museum.
It may be observed, however, that in certain cases artificial
conditions may render an open mouth in a picture of comparatively little
significance. A painted laugh for instance may only become objectionable
to the observer when the work is constantly before him; but when it is
in a picture gallery and he sees it but rarely, the lasting character of
the feature is not presented to his mind. The Laughing Cavalier of Franz
Hals, though violating the principle, does not appear in bad taste to
the average visitor to the Wallace Collection. In the case of
Rembrandt's portrait of himself with Saskia on his knee, where the
artist has his lips parted in the act of laughing, there is an
additional reason why the transient expression should not tire. Because
of the number of self-portraits he painted, the countenance of Rembrandt
is quite familiar to most picture gallery visitors, and to these the
laugh in the Dresden picture could not possibly pass as an habitual
expression.
[Illustration: PLATE 15 (See page 176)
Winslow Homer's All's Well (_Boston Museum_)]
CONTRASTS
Designs specially built up for the purpose of contrasting two or more
attributes or conditions are almost invariably uninteresting unless the
motive be hidden behind a definite action which appears to control the
scheme. This is because of the difficulty of otherwise connecting the
personages contrasted in a particular action of common understanding. A
design of Hercules and Omphale affords a superior contrast of strength
and beauty to a composition of Strength and Wisdom. In each case a
herculean figure and a lovely woman represent the respective qualities,
but in the first the figures are connected by expression and action, and
in the second no connection can be established. So in contrasting beauty
of mind with that of form, this is much better represented by such a
subject as Hippocrates and the Bride of Perdiccas than in the Venetian
manner of figures unconnected in the design. And in respect of
conditions, Frith's picture of Poverty and Wealth, where a carriage full
of fashionable women drives through a poor section of London, has little
more than a topographical interest, but in a subject such as The First
Visit of Croesus to Aesop, the contrast between poverty and wealth
would deeply strike the imagination.
In contrasts of good and evil, vice and virtue, and similar subjects, it
is inferior art to represent the evil character by an ugly figure. As
elsewhere pointed out, deformity of any kind injures the aesthetic value
of a picture because it tends to neutralize the pleasurable feeling
derived from the beauty present. The poet may join physical deformity
with beauty because he can minimize the defect with words, but the
painter has no such recourse.[58] A deformed personage in a composition
is therefore to be deprecated unless as a necessary accessory in a
historical work, in which case he must be subordinated to the fullest
extent possible. The figure of Satan, of an exaggerated satyr type, has
often been introduced into subjects such as the Temptation of Christ,
though not by artists of the first rank.[a] Such pictures do not live as
high class works of art however they be painted. Correggio makes a
contrast of Vice and Virtue in two paintings,[b] representing Vice by a
man bound, but usually in the mature time of the Renaissance, Vice was
shown as a woman, either beautiful in features, or with her face partly
hidden, various accessories indicating her character. A notable
exception is Salviati's Justice where a hideous old woman takes the role
of Vice.[c] Even in cases where a witch has to be introduced, as in
representations of Samuel's Curse, it is not necessary to follow the
example of Salvator Rosa, and render her with deformed features, for
there are several excellent works where this defect is avoided.[d]
[a] See examples by Ary Scheffer, Luxembourg; and H. Thoma, Burnitz
Coll.
[b] Both at the Louvre.
[c] The Bargello, Florence.
[d] As in K. Meyer's picture.
An effective design with the purpose of contrasting the ages of man is
not possible, firstly, because the number of ages represented must be
very limited, and, secondly, for the reason that the figures cannot be
connected together in a free and easy manner. Hence all such pictures
have been failures, though a few great artists have attempted the
subject. Titian tried it with two children, a young couple, and an old
man, assorting the personages casually in a landscape without attempting
to connect them together in action.[a] At about the same time Lotto
produced a contrast, also with three ages represented, namely, a boy, a
young man, and an elderly man.[b] These personages sit together as if
they had been photographed for the purpose, without a ray of
intelligence passing between them. But this is far better than Grien's
Three Ages,[c] for here the artist has strangely confused life and
death, exhibiting a grown maiden, a middle-aged woman, and a skin-coated
skeleton holding an hour-glass. The best design of the subject is Van
Dyck's Four Ages.[d] He shows a child asleep near a young woman who is
selling flowers to a soldier, and an old man is in the background.
There is thus a presumed connection between three of the personages, but
naturally the composition is somewhat stiff. The only other design worth
mentioning is by Boecklin, who also represents four ages.[e] Two
children play in the background of a landscape; a little farther back is
a young woman; then a cavalier on horseback; and finally on the top of
an arch an old man whom Death in the form of a skeleton is about to
strike. But here again there is no connection between the figures, the
consequent formality half destroying the aesthetic value of the work.
From these examples than which there is none better, it may be gauged
that it is hopeless to expect a good design from a subject where the
ages of man are contrasted. If represented at all, the ages should be
contrasted in separate pictures, as Lancret painted them.
[a] Bridgewater Coll., England.
[b] Pitti Palace, Florence.
[c] The Prado, Madrid.
[d] Vincenza Museum.
[e] Vita somnium breve.
The practice of presenting nude with clothed figures where the subject
does not absolutely compel it, is commonly supposed to be for the
purpose of contrast. This may have been the object in some cases, but
in very few is the interest in the contrast not outweighed by the
bizarre appearance of the work. As a rule in these pictures there is
nothing in the expressions or actions of the personages depicted to
suggest a reason for the absence of clothes from some of them, and so to
the average observer they form a "problem" class of painting. The first
important work of the kind executed was Sebastiano del Piombo's Concert,
in which the group consists of two nude women, one with a reed pipe, and
two men attired in Venetian costume, of whom one handles a guitar.[a]
The figures are very beautiful and the landscape is superb, but as one
cannot account for the nude figures in an open-air musical party, the
aesthetic value of the work is largely diminished. This painting has
suggested several designs to modern artists, the most notable being
Manet's Dejeuner sur l'Herbe, where a couple of nude women with two men
dressed in modern clothes are shown in a picnic on the grass. Not only
is the scheme inexplicable, but the invention is so extravagant as to
provoke the lowest of suggestions. In a composition of this kind only a
great artist can build up a harmonious design.
[a] At the Louvre. Formerly attributed to Giorgione.
Titian's picture known as Sacred and Profane Love,[a] where the figure
of a nude woman is opposed to one clothed, may really signify any of a
dozen ideas, but the artist probably had no other scheme in his mind
than to represent different types of beautiful women. Crowe and
Cavalcaselli's suggested title of L'Amour ingenu et l'Amour satisfait,
was certainly never conceived by Titian, nor is Burckhardt's proposal,
Love and Prudery, possible in view of the flowers in the hand of the
draped figure. In any case this picture is the greatest of its kind, for
the composition is so delicate and harmonious, and the art so perfect,
as to render its precise meaning a matter of little consideration.
Another picture of Sacred and Profane Love was painted by Grien.[b] He
shows a nude woman from whom Cupid has just drawn the drapery, and
another woman concealing her figure with loose drapery. The effect is
weak. The nude figures in the well-known Drinkers of Velasquez[c] are
undisturbing because they are not very prominent in the picture, but
their significance is not apparent.
[a] Borghese Gallery, Rome.
[b] Frankfort Museum.
[c] The Prado, Madrid.
No one has yet properly explained the meaning of the nude male figures
standing at ease in the background of Michelangelo's celebrated Holy
Family.[a] They are apparently pagan gods, and it is suggested that the
artist intended to signify the overthrow of the Grecian deities by the
coming of Christ. Such an explanation might be possible with another
painter, but it does not accord with our conception of the mind of
Michelangelo. A still greater puzzle is offered by Luca Signorelli who,
in the landscape background of the bust portrait of a man, shows two
nude men to the right of the portrait, and two attired women at the
left.[b] It is impossible to suggest any meaning of this extraordinary
invention.
[a] Uffizi Gallery, Florence.
[b] Berlin Gallery.
THE REPRESENTATION OF DEATH
Death is a subject inappropriate to the art of painting except where it
is dealt with symbolically or as an historical incident. Naturally in
either of these cases any realistic representation of death, or of
distortion connected therewith, should be studiously avoided. For while
many aspects of death may not be unpleasant to the senses, its actual
presence--the cold immobility; the pulseless soulless, decaying thing;
the appalling mirror of our own fate--these things are most unpleasant,
and hence should have no place in painting. In sculpture, represented in
a certain way, death is admissible, for in marble or bronze a body may
be carved indicating only the eternal composure of a beautiful form.
This is how the Greeks showed death, whether in the case of a warrior
fallen on the battlefield, or as the twin brother of Sleep. But the
painter is less fortunate: for him death is decay.
The presence of so many scenes of death in the paintings of the past was
the result of accident. For a long while after the dawn of the
Renaissance, those controlling churches and other religious institutions
of the Christians were the chief and almost the only patrons of art, and
they required paintings as well for didactic purposes as for decoration.
For some time pictures often took the place of writing, where
comparatively few could read, in the inculcation of Christian doctrines
and history, and they were largely used as images before which people
could kneel in prayer. The most important facts bearing upon Christian
faith are concerned with death, and so there have been accumulated
thousands of paintings of scenes of the Crucifixion, the death-beds of
saints, instances of martyrdom, and so on. While these paintings have
been highly useful as tending to invite reverence for a sublime creed,
it would be injurious to suggest that generally they take a high place
in art. Some of them do, but the very large number of them which
indicate dying agony, or recent death with all its mortal changes, must
not be approved from a strict art point of view, for any beauty which
may be present apart from the subject is instantly neutralized by the
pain and horror arising from the invention. But it is evidently
unnecessary to produce such pictures, even in the case of the
Crucifixion, for there are ample works in existence to show that the
face and body of Christ can be so presented as to be free from
indications of physical suffering or decay.
But if we are to protest against designs exhibiting forbidding aspects
of death in sacred works, what can we say of the pictures of executions,
massacres, plagues, and so on, which ever and again have been produced
since the middle of the nineteenth century? Deeds of heroism or
self-sacrifice on the battlefield where bodies of the fallen may be
outlined are well, but simple wholesale murders as presented by
Benjamin-Constant, Heim, and fifty others, where the motive does not
pretend to be anything else than massacre or other ghastly event, can
only live as examples of degraded art. There may be something said for
Verestchagin, who painted heaps of heads and skulls, and scattered
corpses, in order to show the evils of war, but if the arts are to be
used at all for such a purpose, the poet or orator would be much more
impressive because he could veil the hideous side of the subject with
pathos and imagery, and further differentiate between just and unjust
wars. The painter is powerless to do these things. He can only represent
the horrors of war by depicting horrible things which is entirely beyond
the province of his art. The purpose of art is to give pleasure, and if
the design descend below the line where displeasure begins, then the art
is no more.
How easy it is for the aesthetic value of a picture to be lowered by the
representation of a corpse, is shown in three celebrated paintings--the
anatomical works of Rembrandt[a] and De Keyser.[b] Probably these works
were ordered to honour the surgeons or schools concerned, but the object
would have been better served by a composition such as Eakin's Dr.
Cross's Surgical Clinic.[c] Here the leading figure is also giving a
lesson to students, and practical demonstration is proceeding, but there
is no skeleton or corpse to damage the picture. Fromentin said that the
Tulp work left him very cold,[d] and although he endeavoured to find
technical ground for this, it is more than likely that the principal
reason lay in the involuntary mental disturbance brought about by the
corpse. Another fine design largely injured by corporeal evidence of
death is Ingres's Oedipus and the Sphinx,[e] where a foot rises out of
a hole in the rock near the Sphinx, the presumption of course being that
the body of a man who had failed with the riddle had lately been thrown
there. The invention is most deplorable in such a picture.
[a] Lesson in Anatomy of Professor Tulp, and the fragment of a similar
work, both at The Hague.
[b] Rijks Museum, Amsterdam.
[c] Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia.
[d] Masters of Other Days.
[e] At the Louvre.
The use of a skeleton as a symbol of death in painting seems to have
been unusual during the Renaissance till towards the end of the
fifteenth century. The earliest artist of note in this period to adopt
it, was Jean Prevost who represented a man taking a letter from a
skeleton without seeing the messenger.[a] Then came Grien who painted
three works of the kind. In the first Death holds an hour-glass at the
back of a woman, and points to the position of the sand[b]; in the
second the bony figure has clutched a girl by the hair[c]; and the third
represents a skeleton apparently kissing a girl.[d] They are all hideous
works, and might well have acted as a warning to succeeding artists.
After Grien the use of a skeleton in design was practically confined to
the smaller German masters till the middle of the second half of the
sixteenth century, when it disappeared from serious work. From this time
on, for the next three centuries artists of repute rarely introduced a
skeleton into a painting, though it is to be found occasionally in
engravings. One might have supposed that the unsightly form had been
abandoned with the imps, evil spirits, and other crudities of past days,
but it was not to be. The search for novelties in recent times has only
resulted in the resuscitation of bygone eccentricities, and we must not
be surprised that the skeleton is amongst them.
[a] Old Man and Death, Bruges.
[b] Imperial Gallery, Vienna.
[c] Girl and Death, Basle Museum.
[d] Basle Museum.
Modern artists have displayed considerable ingenuity in the use of the
skeleton, but the results have necessarily only succeeded in degrading
the art. Rethel figures a skeleton in the costume of a monk who is
ringing a bell at a dance.[a] Several of the dancers have fallen dead,
apparently from plague, and the whole scene is ghastly. Henneberg has a
Fortune allegory in which Death is about to seize a horseman who is
chasing a nude woman,[b] this design being a slight modification of a
variety of prints executed in the sixteenth century. Thoma uses a
skeleton in a most bizarre manner. He substitutes it for the serpent in
a picture of Adam and Eve,[c] and in another work associates it with
Cupid.[d] Two lovers are talking, and Death stands behind the woman
whose hat Cupid is lifting. A terrible picture with a political bearing
was painted by Uhde.[e] It represents a crowd of revolutionists rushing
towards a bridge, while a skeleton in modern costume waves a sword and
cheers them on. These instances suffice to indicate the difficulty in
the production of a fine work of art with so hideous a form as a
skeleton thrown into prominence.
[a] Death at a Masked Ball.
[b] Race for Fortune.
[c] Sin and Death.
[d] Cupid and Death.
[e] Revenge.
How simply one may avoid the introduction of a skeleton in a design
concerned with death, is shown by an example where three artists deal
with the same motive--Death, the Friend. The first composition shows an
old man sitting dead in a chair while a skeleton costumed as a monk,
tolls a bell[a]: in the second there is also an old man in a chair, but
an Angel with a scythe is substituted for the skeleton[b]: in the third
an Angel with huge folded wings forming an oval framework for her
figure, leans over the body of a child which has its face hidden.[c] The
second design is a vast improvement over the first, but the third is
incomparably the best of the three. It may be remarked that a scythe is
too trivial an emblem for the Angel of Death, for whom indeed an emblem
of any kind is only admissible when Death is represented as the result
of eternal justice, in which case a flaming sword is appropriate.
[a] Woodcut by A. Rethel.
[b] Lithograph by O. Redon.
[c] Painting by G. F. Watts.
Very rarely indeed can a good picture be made out of a funeral scene.
Such a scene attending the death of a great man may be fitly produced,
so long as the imagination can be used in the composition; that is to
say, if there are few or no records of the actual funeral[a]; but
paintings relating to the modern burial of unnamed persons are of little
value as works of art, for the imagination of the artist cannot extend
beyond unpleasant prosaic incidents of common acquaintance. The purpose
of the funeral scenes of Courbet[b] and Anne Ancher[c] has never been
explained; and the various interiors, each with a coffin and distracted
relatives of the dead, by Wiertz,[d] Dalsgaard,[e] and other modern
artists, are capable of bringing only misery instead of pleasure to the
observer.
[a] As in Rubens's Funeral of Decius, Vienna.
[b] The Burial at Ornans.
[c] The Funeral.
[d] The Orphans.
[e] The Child's Coffin.
But while funerals are unsuitable for the painter, interior scenes where
death has occurred and friends are watching the body, offer special
inducements to artists, because the perfect stillness of the living
persons represented may be properly assumed, and so the illusion of life
is little likely to be disturbed through the non-completion of an
indicated action. On this account these works appear very impressive
when well executed, and they may take high rank even when the artist is
limited in his scope by the conditions of an actual scene. Very little
is required however to destroy the illusion of continuity. In Kampf's
picture of the lying-in-state of William I.,[a] where many watchers are
shown who are presumed to be motionless, a boy in the middle distance in
the act of walking, is a most disturbing element. An example where an
illusion of continuity is perfectly maintained is Orchardson's Borgia,
where Caesar Borgia stands in contemplation over the body of his poisoned
victim. The silence indicated appears practically as permanent as the
painted design, for any reasonable time spent by the observer in
examining the picture, is not likely to be longer than that during which
Caesar may be presumed to have remained still at the actual occurrence.
Scenes of approaching death may be arranged to produce a similar
illusion, as for instance where those present are praying, or a single
figure is waiting for the life to pass from the sick person.
[a] The Night of March 31, 1888, at Berlin.
[Illustration: PLATE 16 (See page 190)
Hercules Contemplating Death, in Bronze, by Pollaiuolo
(_Frick Collection_)]
Little attention has been paid in art to the expression of dying
persons. There are many pictures representing celebrated men and women
in their dying moments, but very few of them exhibit an expression of
noble resignation and fearlessness, qualities which are naturally
associated with a great man as his end draws near. No doubt the artist
is often limited in his invention by the actual circumstances of the
death scene, as in Copley's Death of Chatham,[a] for the statesman was
unconscious at the moment of representation. Other than this the best
known works of the kind relate to the death of Seneca,[b] Queen
Elizabeth,[c] and General Wolfe.[d] In the last instance only is there a
fine expression. How it was that Rubens missed his opportunity with
Seneca is hard to understand. The presence of a clerk taking down the
utterances of a philosopher as he bleeds to death, gives the design a
theatrical appearance, and removes any suggestion of unconcerned
resignation which might have arisen. One of the most powerful designs in
existence relating to approaching death, is a sculptured figure in
bronze of Hercules contemplating death.[e] The demi-god is
represented standing on an altar. His left foot is raised upon the skull
of an ox; his head is slightly bent, and the whole attitude suggests a
few moments of rest while he contemplates his coming fate. The
conception is as fine as the subject is rare.
[a] National Gallery, London.
[b] By Rubens, at Munich.
[c] By Delaroche, at the Louvre.
[d] By Benjamin West, Westminster Coll., London.
[e] By A. Pollaiuolo, Frick Coll., New York. See Plate 16[59].
The artist should glorify death if possible, but he can only do this
when the subject has a general application. Many painters have
introduced the Angel of Death into scenes where death has occurred, and
have thus converted them into work of pathos and beauty. Notable
examples of this are Watts's Death, the Friend, already referred to, and
H. Levy's Young Girl and Death, where the Angel gently clasps the body
of a girl whose face is hidden. One of the finest designs of the kind is
Lard's Glory Forgets not Obscure Heroes. On a battlefield, where all
else has gone, lies the body of a soldier over whom stoops a lovely
winged figure who raises the head of the hero, and seems to throw a halo
of glory over him.[a] In historical paintings the appearance of sleep is
often given to a dead body, as in Cogniet's Tintoretto Painting his Dead
Daughter, a pathetic picture, bringing to mind the story of Luca
Signorelli painting his dead son.[b]
[a] The design for this picture was probably suggested by Longepied's
fine sculptured group of Immortality at the Louvre, the idea
of which was no doubt drawn from Canova's L'Amour et Psyche.
There are Tangara groups and fragments of larger works in
existence showing that the Greeks executed many designs of
a similar character.
[b] See also Girodet's Burial of Atala, and Le Brun's Death of Cato.