CHAPTER XV

COLOUR

In itself colour has no virtues which are not governed by immutable

laws. These are apart from the exercise of human faculties, the

recognition of colour harmony being involuntary and entirely dependent

upon the condition of the optic nerves. Thus there can be no meaning in

colour apart from its application to form, and the extent to which it

may be properly used in the representation of form is necessarily bound

by our experience of nature. Other things being equal, the most perfect

painting is that wherein there is a just balance between the colour and

the form, that is to say, where the colour is not so vivid as to act

upon the sense nerves before the general beauty of the work is

appreciated, or so feeble or discordant that its want of natural truth

is immediately presented to the mind, thus disturbing the impression of

the design.

As with metrical form in poetry, the importance of colour in painting

varies inversely with the character of the art. In the highest art,

where ideals are dealt with, colour is of the least importance. A

composition with ideal figures may be produced by drawing only, that is

to say, by the use of a single tone in outline and shading. The

addition of colour heightens the beauty of a composition of this kind,

not so much because of the new sensorial harmony acquired, as for the

reason that a painting in colours, corresponding better than a

colourless drawing with our experience of nature, assists in defining

the work and so reduces the fractional time necessary for the

recognition of the general beauty of the design, which is a matter of

importance. The comparatively small value of colour in the highest art

is demonstrated by experience. If we were to choose from paintings known

to us, those which general opinion regards as the very greatest works,

we should unquestionably name the frescoes of Raphael and Michelangelo

at the Vatican, and those of Correggio at Parma. These, with a few easel

pictures of Raphael, and perhaps a dozen other pictures by various

masters, are the only works of the painter's art to which the term

"sublime" may be properly applied. As with the great epic poems, they

are concerned entirely with ideals--with personages far above the level

of life, rising to the spiritual domain--or with human beings as they

would be if the highest conceptions of our imagination were possible of

realization. When we recall these splendid legacies of genius to our

minds, and ponder over the apparently limitless range of human vision

which they evidence, it is the designs that absorb us, and not the

colour--the forms and expression, and not the tints by which their

definition is assisted. We do not usually analyse the impression we

receive from these frescoes and pictures, but were we to do so, it

would be borne in upon our minds that while a Raphael, a Michelangelo,

or a Correggio, would be required to conceive and execute such

stupendous designs, many thousands of unknown patient workers could be

found to colour them efficiently. On the other hand if we remove the

colour from the greatest landscape known to us, we find that most of the

beauty of the work has disappeared, and that we have only a kind of

skeleton left, for the beauty of such a picture rests very largely upon

the aerial perspective, which is unobtainable without colour.

That the appreciation of colour is relative to the character of the

design may be observed from common experience. We may see the Sistine

Madonna half a dozen times and then be unable to recall the colours when

bringing the picture to mind, so small an effect have they had upon us

as compared with that of the majesty and general beauty of the central

figure. So with many of Raphael's other pictures. It is a common thing

for one to call attention to the superb colouring of an easel picture by

Correggio, but how rarely does an observer notice the colouring of his

frescoes at Parma, which are his masterpieces? With some of the Venetian

artists, the colouring is often so brilliant, not to say startling, that

it seems to overpower the observer for a moment, and necessity compels

him to accustom himself to the tones before considering the design. The

colouring of Titian is not so strong, but it is always forcible;

nevertheless one seldom hears a comment upon the colours in his works,

the superior design and general beauty of the compositions far

outweighing the purely sensorial elements therein. Titian in fact

secured an approximately just balance between form and colour, while

with his great followers the colour usually exceeded in strength the

requirements of the design. In the time of Tintoretto and Veronese the

prestige and prosperity of Venice were rapidly declining, but we have

been so accustomed to associate with this city during the Renaissance, a

luxurious life with something of the character of an Eastern court, that

gorgeous colour of any kind does not seem out of place as one of its

products. But this special appropriateness has not the effect of

elevating the gay coloured voluptuous forms of the artists named,

observable in their classical and allegorical works, to a high level in

art. We cannot accommodate the forms to the ideas of the poets who

invented or described them, or to the attributes with which they were

commonly associated; and the colouring tends to bring them closer to

earth. While we feel bound to admire the colouring, we are equally

compelled to regret the particular application.[67]

Speaking generally, when the design is good we remember the composition

irrespective of the colours, but when the beauty of the work depends

upon the colour harmony it fades from our memory as soon as our eyes

experience new colour combinations. The imagination may call up the

harmony again upon the mind, but the pleasure experienced from this

reflection must be very feeble indeed because the senses are not

directly affected thereby. It can have no more effect than a written

description of the harmony.

[Illustration: PLATE 20 (See page 206)

The Storm, by Jacob Ruysdael (_Berlin Museum_)]

The painter is at liberty to make what use he will of colour so long as

he provides a thing of beauty, but he must remember that the

appreciation of colour harmony is dependent not only upon the condition

of the optic nerves of the observer, but also upon his experience at the

time of observation. As to the first consideration little heed need be

taken, because rudimentarily the nerve structure is equal or nearly so,

in all persons, and while accident at birth may provide in some an

advanced condition which in others is only obtained by exercise, yet in

respect of colours, experience in complex harmony is gained

involuntarily in contact with every-day nature. Hence for the purpose of

the painter, all men may be considered alike in regard to the

recognition of colour harmony. But individual experience at the time of

observation of a painting varies largely,[68] a circumstance which is

not of importance in dealing with works of the higher art, but becomes

of great significance when considering the lower forms. No organ of the

body is so susceptible to fatigue as the eye, and a painting of the kind

known as a colour scheme may or may not be pleasing according as the

tone is a relief or otherwise to the sight. Sometimes a few seconds are

sufficient to fatigue the eye, as for instance when it is directed

towards a vivid maroon hanging, but let a landscape with a grey tone be

placed on the hanging and considerable pleasure will be involuntarily

experienced through the relief to the optic nerves. Remove the picture

to a grey wall, and it will instantly lose its charm, except such as

it may possess apart from the colour.

As with particular tones, so with colours generally. People habituated

to conditions of nature where extremes of sun effects are uncommon, as

in the northern latitudes, may be temporarily pleased with schemes of

glowing colours on their walls, because these relieve the monotony of

daily experience, but they must necessarily quickly tire, as with all

exceptional conditions of life which are concerned with the senses only.

How soon one is fatigued with bright colours generally is obvious to any

visitor to a public gallery which is crowded with pictures. In an hour

or less the fatigue of his eyes becomes so extreme that his whole

nervous system is affected, and he loses energy of both mind and body.

But brilliant colors used sparingly with good designs may be a perpetual

source of pleasure. Place a fine work by Rubens or Paolo Veronese in a

living-room and it will attract attention every time one enters, for the

colouring will always be a change from the normal eye experience. One

turns to the picture involuntarily, and then the design is observed, and

so one passes from sensual to intellectual pleasure. This process is

repeated day by day, and the work never tires. Of course it is a

condition that the design is able to hold the attention, otherwise the

bright colours would serve little better purpose than if they defined a

geometrical pattern.

Nowadays quite a number of paintings are produced in which unusual tones

are given to signs or shadows, but these are not to be taken seriously

by the earnest student. In the sunlight, amidst certain surroundings,

the arm of a woman may appear for some moments to have a bluish tone,

but the artist would be entirely wrong to paint a bluish arm. The

picture is to be seen under all lights, and if the tones be contrary to

general experience under any of these lights, then the work appears to

be a falsity, for the artist does not, and cannot, reproduce the

conditions which together bring about the exceptional colours. To the

normal eye under ordinary circumstances, the arm of a woman is of flesh

colour, and the artist is not at liberty to vary this tone. He has to

represent what appears to be true in general opinion, whether it be

really true or not under certain conditions. The dictum of Aristotle in

regard to poetry--that what appears probable, though in reality is

impossible, is better than what seems improbable but is really

possible--is equally true in painting. In fact it is of more importance

that this maxim should be remembered in painting than in poetry, because

the signs of the painter are permanent. A poet or novelist may refer to

a passing exceptional sun effect, for the impression on the mind of the

reader would probably be as transient as, or more transient than, the

effect itself, but with the painter the transient effect becomes fixed.

The blue arm is always blue, and in a very short time becomes a

disagreeable unreality. It may be claimed that the objectionable sun

effects are not really exceptional, though they are seldom noticed; but

for the purpose of art, what appears to be exceptional must be

definitely regarded as so, and for this reason discarded by the artist

who desires to paint a good picture.

Generally then, the value of colour lies firstly in its correspondence

with nature, for upon this depends its harmony and the assistance it

lends to the recognition of the beauty in the whole composition. Beyond

this it may or may not have an ephemeral value according to local

conditions. In any case colour must ever be subordinated to design in a

picture, and this is what Poussin meant when he said that particular

attention to colour is an obstacle to the art student.

BOOK II

ILLUSIONS IN THE PAINTER'S ART

INTRODUCTORY

The painter is occupied in a perpetual struggle to produce an illusion.

He does not directly aim for this, but except in the very highest art

where ideals are realized, the better the picture he paints, the greater

the illusion. The natural test of the value of his work is its

correspondence with nature, and the nearer it so corresponds, the more

complete the illusion. But the whole picture is never an illusion (we

leave out of consideration those instances where artificial devices are

used to conceal the surroundings of the actual painted surface), for the

frame and other material evidence inform us of the art. The illusion,

when it exists, is forced upon our minds from moment to moment as our

eyes travel over the work. It occurs to us perhaps that a face "lives,"

that the drapery is true to life, that the tones are real, and so on,

and obviously these circumstances cannot impress us in this way unless

we are momentarily deceived. And it is a sign of good quality in the

work when we are so struck. This does not mean that the closer the

imitation, the better the picture: on the contrary it is rare to find a

good work of art produced by an exact imitator. The duty of the artist

is to generalize everything that can be generalized without departing

from the character of the thing represented. True there are degrees of

generalization which depend on the nature of the design, the size of the

work, the accessories, and other matters, but if a just balance of

generalization be secured throughout, then the imitation is better than

a closely detailed reproduction, because a work is always involuntarily

judged from general, and not from particular, experience. A portrait for

instance is a much better work of art if we can say of it "This is a

good portrait of a man," than if we are compelled to confine ourselves

to "This is a good portrait of Mr. Jones," even if the lineaments of the

particular countenance are better defined in the latter example than in

the former. The illusion would be stronger, for we are more intimately

acquainted with "a man" than with "Mr. Jones." And so with accessories.

An exceptionally fine rose or cabbage is never so good in a painting as

one of these articles which is of an average type, because with this the

illusion is more certain, for it is not likely to be disturbed with a

mental inquiry into the unusual article.

The painter may produce his illusions then without sacrificing anything

in his art, and with the surety that good paintings necessarily result

in momentary illusions except when form or expression above life

experience are dealt with.

The first and most important illusion in the art is that of relief, for

without this no other illusion can be produced. It is a general

condition applying to all work on a flat surface. The other illusions

that may be provided are: (a) of opening distance in landscape; (b) of

motion in natural actions, as in flowing water; (c) of human and animal

actions; (d) of suspension and motion in the air. The two first are

dealt with under "Landscape"; the others are now considered.

CHAPTER I

ILLUSION OF RELIEF

The greatest value in the illusion of relief lies in its assistance to

recognition, for with the forms rounded by shading and separated with

the appearance of relief which they have in nature, details of the work

are less likely to complicate the design to the eye, than if the flat

surface of the canvas be emphasized by the avoidance of relief. For the

eye has to be considered before the mind, and it is of immense

importance that the brain should have the least possible work to do in

assisting the eye to interpret a thing of art. It would appear then that

the minimum extent to which relief should be given in a painting is that

point below which the things painted do not seem to have their three

dimensions indicated. Beyond this the painter is at liberty to proceed

as he pleases. Some great artists, notably Lionardo, were inclined to

think that it is impossible to give too much relief to a figure, and

this may be so theoretically, but practically there is a line to be

drawn because life is limited, and after a certain point is reached, the

work of shading for relief is so tedious an operation, that half a

lifetime would be required to execute a picture of three or four

figures if the artist wished to produce the strongest illusion in his

power to give. A Russian artist of high merit who essayed the task,

spent an average time of five years in ceaseless toil on each figure he

completed, and even then frequently remarked that he had not given to

his figures the full relief he desired to exhibit. It is well known that

Lionardo gave long and close attention to this matter in his pictures,

and he produced some extraordinary examples of relief, of which the

finest is, perhaps, the Litta Madonna,[a] but one cannot help regretting

that he did not rest satisfied with a lower point of excellence in

respect of the illusion, so that he could spend more time in general

design.

[a] At the Hermitage. See Plate 21.

Apart from the relief given by shading in painting, there is an

important mechanical method of improving the illusion, though this can

only be occasionally adopted. The figures in any well painted picture

will appear to stand out in high relief if we lose sight of the frame

and other surroundings which distinctly inform us that the work is a

flat surface. This is why a painting invariably seems to improve if seen

through a tube of such diameter that the frame is excluded from the

vision. Advantage of this fact has been many times taken in the

exhibition of single pictures, when, by the exclusion of the frame, the

concealment of the edges of the work by curtain arrangements, and the

concentration of all the available light upon the canvas, such perfect

relief has been obtained that observers have been sometimes unable to

distinguish the art from the life. It was the effect of the

surroundings of a picture upon the sight, that led to a practice in

design resulting in the exclusion of these surroundings to some extent

when the eye is directed towards the centre of the work where the

principal figure is commonly stationed. This practice is to avoid

accessories as far as possible near the figure, and to provide

considerable open space above it, and also at the sides when the

composition allows, so that the observing eye has not of necessity to

range close to the frame of the picture. In a good design of this kind

the central figure or figures come out in strong relief, the attraction

of the work being consequently much enhanced. Obviously the painted

figures should be of life size, or nearly so, for the illusion of relief

to be strikingly marked, and the conditions necessarily prevent the

adoption of the scheme in a design of many figures. It is most

successful with a single figure, and has been carried out with two

figures, but never with more than two except in a few pictures of great

size.

[Illustration: PLATE 21 (See page 240)

The Litta Madonna, by Lionardo da Vinci (_Hermitage_)]

The number of artists who have taken advantage of this mechanical device

is not large, but it includes some of the first masters. The plan may be

used in both exterior and interior scenes. In the former the figures

must be thrown against the sky, and it is a distinct advantage if there

be no trees or other objects on either side of the figures, which also

stand out above the horizon, though this is immaterial if the figure be

set in a confined space, as an arch, or between the columns of a loggia,

and the foliage is not seen through this space.

The most famous pictures where the scheme is used in exterior work are

amongst the finest portraits known to us, namely, Lionardo's Mona Lisa,

and Raphael's Maddalena Doni and Angelo Doni.[a] In 1504 or thereabouts,

Lionardo painted a portrait of Mona Lisa sitting in a loggia, the wall

of which reached to a third of the height of the canvas.[b] On the wall

at each side of the design is a column divided down the centre by the

edge of the canvas. There is a landscape setting, in which the middle

distance is hidden by rising ground, and only part of the head appears

above the horizon. In 1505 Raphael made a study from this picture in

which he retained the columns, but raised the wall, and threw the whole

head of the figure against the sky. He used this study for the portrait

of Maddalena Doni, but in this he still further improved the design by

removing the columns, and extending to the shoulders that part of the

figure above the horizon, the line of which divides the picture in equal

halves, instead of being drawn at two thirds of the height as in the

first Mona Lisa. When Lionardo executed the Louvre portrait of this

lady, he removed the columns, but slightly reduced the portion of the

head seen against the sky. Raphael's plan, which was also used in the

portrait of Angelo Doni, is obviously far superior to that in the Mona

Lisa design, for the relief is necessarily better marked. The scheme was

not new to Raphael at the time, except in portraiture, for it is

exhibited in three of his very early sacred works.[c]

[a] The first at the Louvre, and the others at the Pitti Palace,

Florence.

[b] This painting, or one corresponding to it, is in the Boston

Museum, U. S. A. See Note 56.

[c] Saint Sebastian, at Bergamo; The Redeemer at Brescia; and The

Prophets and Sybils at Perugia.

One of the best examples in existence of this method of securing relief

is Tintoretto's Presentation of the Virgin.[a] On the right of the

picture is a wide flight of stairs, curving round as they ascend. The

Virgin is moving up these steps in advance of some attendants, and the

curved stairway enables all the figures to stand out in fine relief

against the sky. If well managed some considerable space above the

figures is sufficient for the illusion even if the sides are partly

closed, as in Albertinelli's beautiful Salutation.[b] Where only a small

portion of the figure can be shown above the horizon, the use of a faint

far distance helps in the scheme of relief. Thus, in Marco Basaiti's

Christ on the Mount of Olives,[c] where Christ stands on the top of a

rock which hides the middle distance, His head only is above the

horizon, but the rest of the figure is thrown against a faint far

distance, the relief being excellent. A modification of this plan is

observable in Lionardo's Virgin and Child with St. Anne.[d]

[a] Madonna del Orto, Venice.

[b] Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

[c] Venice Academy.

[d] The Louvre.

So far as the writer has been able to ascertain, the first known

painting where a crucifix is thrown against the sky is by Antonella da

Messina.[a] The Cross is fixed in the foreground and extends to the top

of the picture, being cut half-way up and just below the feet of Christ

by the line of the horizon. The relief is very fine. This scheme was

imitated with more or less success but never quite so perfectly, till

Titian produced his magnificent Cross. Here the Crucifix is cast against

a sombre evening sky, with the Virgin and two imploring Saints at the

foot.[b] Rubens improved upon this design with several variations. In

one he hid the foot of the Cross, though the tops of buildings are seen

in the middle distance[c]; and in another, which is still finer, the

time of the scene is late evening, and dark vague outlines suggest a

landscape. But all these examples are cast into the shade by Van Dyck's

Antwerp picture, than which there is certainly no more impressive

painted Crucifixion in existence. In this the foot of the Cross is not

shown, nor is there any ground to be seen, and the figure stands out

against a dark forbidding sky, awful, but sublimely real, as if set in

boundless space for all eternity.[d]

[a] National Gallery, London.

[b] Ancona Gallery.

[c] Antwerp Museum.

[d] This work was repeated several times with variations. See

Plate 22.

There are many variations of the above designs, particularly among the

Works of Venetian artists, but those quoted may be regarded as typical.

How easy it is to hinder the illusion is seen in Sodoma's Sacrifice of

Abraham,[a] where both figures are set against the sky, but trees behind

them and at the side destroy the relief, though the foliage is by no

means thick. In Girolami da Libri's Madonna and Child with St. Anne, a

pomegranate tree interposes[b]; and a curtain falls at the back of a

group by Bernadino da Conti,[c] the illusion in both cases being

consequently robbed of its effect.

[a] Pisa Cathedral.

[b] National Gallery, London.

[c] Poldo Pezzoli Museum, Milan.

Some of the Dutch artists of the seventeenth century used a clear sky

for the purpose of enhancing the relief of their figures, but as these

are usually of a comparatively small size, the result is only partially

effective. Albert Cuyp and Philip Wouverman painted many pictures with

men and animals silhouetted above the horizon, and Paul Potter executed

a few of the kind, but of all Dutch painters, Jan Steen secured the best

relief with his Terrace Scene.[a] In more recent times the scheme has

seldom been adopted for the purpose of relief, but a few Scottish

painters practised it in the early nineteenth century. Simson followed

Cuyp's plan,[b] and Dyce in a sacred piece equalled the best of the old

masters in his manner of producing the illusion.[c] Grant also painted a

fine example.[d] Some portrait painters of the English school of the

eighteenth century used the scheme in a partial way, but they commonly

placed clouds behind the figures thrown against the sky, thus disturbing

the illusion.

[a] National Gallery, London.

[b] National Gallery, Edinburgh.

[c] St. John Leading the Virgin from the Tomb, National Gallery of

British Art, London.

[d] The Countess of Chesterfield and Mrs. Anson, Gilmour Collection,

Scotland.

There is only one method of using this device for assisting in the

production of relief in interiors. This is to throw the figure against a

high wall which is undecorated or nearly so. The figure must be some

little distance in front of the wall, and it is observable that the best

effect is obtained when the light throughout the room is equal, but in

any case the wall should not have less light than the figure. Inasmuch

as the figure has to be of life size or nearly so, to produce the

desired result, a very large picture would be necessary for the

representation of a standing adult; hence the plan is not attempted with

a life-size figure, except with a sitting adult or a standing child.

Before this scheme was used for the human figure, that master of relief,

M. A. Caravaggio, adopted it for a simple still-life work.[a] A basket

of fruit on a plain table, with a high bare wall at the back--the canvas

now sombre and darkened, like the soul of the artist, but still

remarkable for the relief: this was the first application to interiors

of a plan which had been used in exteriors by some of the greatest

masters for more than a century.

[a] Ambrogia Museum, Milan.

So far as can be gathered from existing works, thirty or forty years

elapsed after the picture of Caravaggio was painted before the scheme

was brought into use for the human figure in interiors. In 1630, or

thereabouts, Velasquez produced his Christ at the Column.[a] Here the

wall is not actually high, but Christ is shown seated on the floor, and

hence there is ample wall space over which the eye may rove. It is

possible that the adoption of the plan in this instance was the result

of accident, but the very unusual pose of Christ hardly warrants the

suggestion. Velasquez painted no more pictures of the kind till a

quarter of a century later, when he produced Las Meninas. In this the

relief is excellent, but it would have been still better without the

picture on the wall, and the open door in the background, though the

figure seen on the steps through the doorway lends assistance to the

illusion.

[a] The Prado, Madrid.

Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, some followers of the

Neapolitan school used the plan occasionally, but the best existing

Italian works of the time where it is seen are from the hand of Evaristo

Baschenis, a Bergamese monk. He was an excellent painter of still-life,

and produced several pictures, each with a boy or a woman seated in the

middle of a room near a plain table on which rests a dish of fruit or a

gathering of various articles, while at the back there is a high bare

wall. In all of these works a fine relief is exhibited, though they are

now considerably marred by darkened shadows. A few years later the plan

was adopted by some Dutch artists, and later still in France and

Germany. Chardin, who in more ways than one seems to have been a French

Baschenis, used it in several pictures. In recent times since the study

of Velasquez has become a vogue, many artists have successfully followed

the plan, and one of the finest examples of it in existence--Lydia

Emmet's Patricia[a]--dates as late as 1915.

[a] Exhibition of the National (American) Association of Portrait

Painters, N. Y., 1915. See Plate 23.

There are several minor mechanical ways of enhancing relief, most of

them providing a setting which acts as a kind of inner frame to the

design, the object being to reduce the effect of the actual frame in

disturbing the illusion. Portrait painters of the Dutch, Flemish, and

English schools, have often placed half length figures in painted ovals

on canvas rectangles, and in the case of Hals he sometimes further

improved the illusion by extending a hand of the subject over the oval.

Hanneman used this oval in a most exceptional way. On a large canvas he

painted the bust portraits of Constantine Huygens and his six children,

each in a separate oval, the father being in the centre.[a] The scheme

is strangely effective, for the attention of the observer is

involuntarily confined to one portrait at a time. In genre pictures a

doorway may act as the inner frame, but this is only of material value

if the picture be of considerable size. The Dutch painters, notably

Gerard Dow, loved to paint figures leaning over window-sills, this

method usually enhancing the relief, because the eye is apt to be

confined for a time to the window-frame. Perhaps the best use of a

window for the purpose of relief is Rembrandt's Samson Menacing His

Father-in-law, where the old man's head and hands, of life size, are

seen protruding from a small window.[b]

[a] Hague Gallery.

[b] Berlin Gallery.

CHAPTER II

ILLUSION OF MOTION

With human figures--With animals.

From the earliest times great sculptors, in producing a single figure in

action, have chosen for the representation a moment of rest between two

steps in the action, so that the character of these steps is instantly

recognized by the observer, whose imagination unconsciously carries

through the action. If every part of the figure is built up conformably

with the action, with due regard to the position from which the statue

is to be seen, an illusion of motion will follow, though this is

necessarily so rapid that the effect upon the observer is indirect: he

translates the impression into appreciation of the lifelike attitude of

the figure. Nearly all the ancient Greek sculptured figures known to us,

commencing with those of Myron, are characterized by this excellence in

design, and so with the best work of the Italian Renaissance. Modern

sculptors of repute have also endeavoured to provide the illusion, Rodin

in particular holding that it should be the aim of every sculptor.[69]

The painter is in a different position from the sculptor because the

latter may design his figure with special reference to the position it

is to occupy, and so he can in a measure compel the observer to see it

in a particular way. Thus, the base of the statue may be some height

above the ground, in which case the observer must necessarily run his

eyes up the figure from the feet; or it may be seen first in a

three-quarter view so that the position of the limbs will apparently

change as the observer moves to the front. Such accidental circumstances

may be considered by the sculptor in his plan. The painter has no such

advantage, for his figure is the same from whichever point it is to be

seen, within reasonable limits; but he has compensation in the use of

tones and accessories of which the sculptor is deprived. That the

painter may provide an excellent illusion with a single figure in action

is evidenced by Raphael's superb St. Margaret, where the Saint is seen

stepping over the dragon.[a] Every part of her body, and every fold of

drapery is used in the expression of movement, the effect being so

perfect that we cannot disassociate the figure from the action.[70]

[a] At the Louvre. See Plate 27.

The painters of the first century of the Renaissance never properly

represented a figure in the act of walking, and there are few pictures

even of the fifteenth century where a serious attempt is made to choose

the best moment in which to exhibit such a figure. The first successful

essay in the task seems to have been in The Tribute Money of

Masaccio,[a] who indeed was fifty years ahead of his fellows in the

faithful representation of action. There was a jump of two decades or

so after Masaccio to the next good figure, which was that of an

attendant in Filipo Lippi's complex tondo at Florence.[b] This figure

must have caused considerable surprise at the time, for it was copied

into several works by subsequent artists, notably Domenico

Ghirlandaio,[c] and probably suggested the fine figure carrying a jar of

water on her head in Raphael's Fire at the Borgo.[d] But Raphael, who

mastered every problem in composition, solved this one so completely

that he left nothing for his successors to learn respecting it. Not only

are the limbs of his moving figures so perfectly arranged that we see

only action, but folds of the drapery used on the figures are sufficient

to indicate preceding movements,[e] and this is so even when the figures

are stationary, but the head, arms, or upper part of the body have

moved.[f] This extraordinary feature of Raphael's work will ever form a

subject of astonishment and admiration.

[a] Santa Maria del Carmine, Florence.

[b] Madonna and Child with other scenes from her life, Uffizi,

Florence.

[c] Birth of St. John Baptist, Santa Maria Novello, Florence.

[d] Fresco at the Vatican.

[e] See Deliverance of St. Peter, Flight of Lot and his Family, Moses

Striking the Rock, and others at the Vatican.

[f] The Transfiguration, Vatican.

[Illustration: PLATE 22 (See page 244)

Christ on the Cross, by Van Dyck (_Antwerp Museum_)]

The painter has a comparatively easy task in presenting an illusion with

several figures presumed to be moving, for he has only to comply with

two simple conditions. The first is that the particular step represented

in the act of progression of any individual should vary from the steps

of the persons immediately behind or in front of him; and secondly that

the actions of the different persons be connected with each other so far

as possible. With these conditions reasonably fulfilled, illusion of

motion necessarily follows. Naturally in such a mechanical matter, the

character of the invention depends upon the scale of the design. When

the moving figures are presumed to be comparatively near at hand, the

position of the limbs must be entirely presented, or the progression

will appear broken. The effective illusion presented in Burne-Jones's

Golden Staircase is due to his ingenuity in so arranging the numerous

figures descending the winding stairs, that all their feet are visible.

In the case of a crowd of figures of whom some are supposed to be moving

and others standing still, the visibility of the limbs is of less

importance than the connection of the various actions. In Menzel's

Market in Verona,[a] the illusion, which is remarkable, is entirely

produced by the skill in which innumerable instances of action are made

dependent upon others. An illusion is created in the same way though in

a lesser degree by Gustave Dore in several works.[b] When the motion

arises from the actions of the arms of a number of persons, it suffices

if the arms are in various positions, as in Menzel's Iron Mill, and

Cavalori's Woolworkers[c] where many men are using long tools; but if

the limbs are working together, an illusion is impossible. The beauty of

Guardi's great picture, Regatta on the Grand Canal, is much diminished

by the attitude of the gondoliers, who all hold their poles in the

same position.

[a] Dresden Gallery.

[b] See Samson Slaying the Philistines.

[c] Palazzo Vecchio, Florence.

Where many persons are moving together in the same direction, great care

has to be exercised in presenting the actions conformably with the rate

at which the movement is proceeding, for upon this of course depends the

angles of the bended knees, and the extent to which some of the feet may

be carried from the ground. In slow natural movements, as where a number

of men are dragging a heavy burden, it is rare to find an artist wrong

in his representation[a]; but in the case of numerous figures walking

irregularly, a true nearground design is uncommon, the painter usually

giving insufficient action, with the result that his figures present a

stagy appearance.[b] But a defect of this kind is not so serious as

where several men, not being in marching order, are moving in the same

direction with their feet in similar positions, and each with a foot off

the ground,[c] for this is only an aggravation of a case where the

picture shows but a single figure walking with one foot in the air.

[a] For good examples see Benoit's Morning of July 14, 1789,

Poynter's Building the Treasure City, and Colton's Royal

Artillery Memorial (sculptured relief).

[b] Dehodencq's Bohemians Returning from a Fete, Chaumont Museum.

[c] As in Breton's Cry of Alarm.

An illusion of motion may be given to a line of figures in the middle

distance of a landscape by simply winding the road along which they

pass[a]; but the angles of the turns must be large, for when they are

small, or when there is a distinct zigzag, the illusion is destroyed

through the lengthy operation of the eye in comprehending the whole

scene.

[a] Diaz's Descent of the Bohemians.

When many figures are moving close together, even if they be marching to

the same step, an illusion of movement may be given by the

representation of a flying figure proceeding in the same direction. This

scheme has been adopted in sculpture with high success, as in the Shaw

Memorial at Boston,[a] and the Marseillaise of Rude.[b] In painting,

several horizontal figures may be used, but they must be placed

irregularly to avoid the appearance of formality. Some modern French

artists are responsible for effective designs indicating the arrival of

spring by an overhead figure flying above young people moving through

flowery fields.[c]

[a] By A. Saint-Gaudens.

[b] Arc de Triomphe, Paris.

[c] See Aman-Jean's decorative panels at the Sorbonne.

A suggestion of motion may be obtained by exhibiting a number of persons

engaged in similar actions, but shown in a consecutive series of stages

thereof. This plan is admirably worked out by Watteau in his Embarkation

for Cythera.[a] A line of couples commences at the right of the picture,

proceeds towards the left, and then descends a slope to the place of

embarkation. The first couple are sitting and conversing, the next are

in the act of rising, and the third have just risen and are about to

follow the other couples already walking, the whole device being most

effective. A similar kind of illusion is caused by Rubens in his Diana

and Nymphs pursued by Satyrs.[b] On the extreme right of the picture

some of the figures are stationary; then come a few who are struggling,

and finally some running nymphs and satyrs, a perfect progression of

events being suggested.

[a] In the Louvre, and repeated with variations at Berlin.

[b] The Prado, Madrid. See Plate 27.

Illusion of motion is more easily obtained with animals than with human

figures, providing they are fairly large, because of the greater number

of their feet and the consequent wider variation between the apparent

and the real movements. It is exceedingly difficult to produce a

suggestion of motion with a single animal represented in a natural

attitude, but the painter is only concerned with what appears to be

natural or probable, and not with what is actually so. We have only a

general idea of the action of a horse in nature from what we see, and

consequently in design this action must be generalized irrespective of

natural possibilities. Some artists combine parts of different actions

as exhibited in a series of photographs in order to represent a moment

of action as it is generalized to the eye, but this is only serviceable

where the presumed action of the animal is one of a series of similar

events, as in walking or trotting. It would not answer in the case of an

isolated action, as jumping or rearing, because such actions vary with

the circumstances surrounding them, as the height of the jump or the

cause of the rearing. In these events therefore the artist may

exaggerate to a great extent without appearing to present impossible

movements. In fact nearly all good pictures of one or two horses in

action are strong exaggerations of nature, but this hardly affects

their aesthetic worth because the action is not recognized as abnormal or

impossible. The finest painting of horses in action known to us, is

Regnault's Automedon with the Horses of Achilles,[a] where the animals

exhibit spirit and movement far above experience, but even if we did not

know that they are presumed to be immortal, we should only regard the

action as exceptional, for it does not appear to be impossible.

[a] Boston Museum, U. S. A. See Plate 28.

There is ample scope for the presentation of an illusion with a number

of moving animals. All that is necessary is that they should be kept

fairly well together with their legs in various moving attitudes. This

illusion is perfectly managed by many of the French painters of battle

scenes in the nineteenth century, notably Horace Vernet,[a] Gros,[b]

Chartier,[c] Morot,[d] and Meissonier.[e] The action in the cavalry

charges of Morot and Chartier is amazingly true to life. Even three or

four animals will suffice for an illusion,[f] but this cannot be

provided with the smaller animals, as sheep or goats, because although a

series of progressive actions may be given to those outside animals in a

flock whose legs are visible to the spectator of the picture, the scale

to which they are painted is necessarily so small that the eye has an

entirely insufficient range for operating the illusion. Where several

horses are represented as moving at considerable speed, it is necessary

that some of their feet should touch the ground, otherwise the illusion

is destroyed, or else the animal may appear to be racing through the

air.[g] The effect is not so disturbing when all the feet of the moving

animals are on the ground,[h] or where they are hidden by herbage,[i] or

where all the animals are on their hind legs,[j] though in these

instances an illusion is almost impossible.

[a] La Smalah at Versailles.

[b] The Combat of Nazareth.

[c] Jena, 1806, and Hanau, 1813.

[d] Reichsoffen.

[e] 1814.

[f] Rosa Bonheur's Ploughing in Nivernois.

[g] Fromentin's Couriers des Ooled Nayls, Luxembourg; Schreyer's The

Attack, N. Y. Public Library; and Gericault's Epsom, Louvre.

[h] A. Brown's The Drove.

[i] Uhde's Cavalry Soldiers Going into Action, Muffel Collection.

[j] Snyder's Hunt, Munich Gallery.

In cases where horses and men are crowded together, and are struggling

in confusion, it is only necessary in order to provide an illusion, that

no action should be entirely separated from the others. There was a fine

example of this work in a lost drawing or painting of Titian, of

Pharaoh's Host Overwhelmed in the Red Sea[a]; and many artists of the

Renaissance produced like illusions in pictures of the rape of the

Sabines. Where the movement is spread over a large area, and the scale

to which the animals are drawn is comparatively small, the various

groups engaged must obviously be connected together in a series. Franz

Adam arranges a scheme of this kind in a battle scene, using running

soldiers or hauled guns as links in the chain.[b]

[a] An engraving on wood by A. Andreani is in existence.

[b] A Bavarian Regiment before Orleans, Munich.

An illusion of motion is sometimes assisted by the title of the picture.

A remarkable example of this is Robert's The Israelites Depart. Although

individual action cannot be distinguished owing to the scale of the

design, yet when one is acquainted with the title, the imagination is

instinctively set to work, and the enormous crowds packing the wide

streets seem to be streaming in one direction. Obviously for the title

to have this effect, the number of signs must be overwhelming, and there

must be no possibility of interpreting the picture in two ways; that is

to say, accessory signs must be used to indicate the direction in which

the crowd is moving.[71]

CHAPTER III

ILLUSION OF SUSPENSION AND MOTION IN THE AIR

With the assistance of drapery--Of clouds--Of winged

figures--Miscellaneous devices.

The representation of figures suspended in the air, or moving through

it, has never offered much trouble to painters, though necessarily

involving an apparent miracle. The very slightest pretended physical

assistance suffices for the illusion, and this help is usually rendered

in the shape of flying drapery, winged figures, clouds, or artificial

devices based upon the contact of two or more figures. The only

difficulty met with is in respect of an upward vertical movement. Here,

wings or clouds can scarcely be made to differentiate between a rising

and a falling movement, and flying drapery is of little service inasmuch

as a rush through the air would, if the feat were actually performed,

cause the drapery to cling to the figure. The surest remedy for the

disabilty is to support the figure directly by winged figures placed at

a considerable angle from the vertical, but this plan is only rarely

adopted by great masters because of the consequent complications in the

design of the group. Since flying drapery is commonly added to the

figure presumed to be ascending, and seeing that artists almost

invariably insist upon giving their ascending figures upright attitudes,

it is seldom that the movement is correctly expressed. Usually the

figure appears to be held immovably in suspension, but occasionally,

owing to the drapery arrangement, a descending movement is indicated.[a]

Without the assistance of winged figures, the illusion of ascension can

only be given when the figure is shown directed upwards at an angle of

at least fifteen or twenty degrees from the vertical. As a rule the

larger the angle, the more easy is the production of an illusion. With a

fairly large angle, and an appropriate arrangement of limbs and drapery,

heavy figures can be made to appear naturally ascending, as in Rubens's

Boreas and Orithyia, both voluptuous forms.[b]

[a] As in Murillo's Ascension of Christ, Madrid Academy.

[b] Venice Academy.

Only a very few of the first artists have been able to give an illusion

of movement in the air by use of drapery alone, the device adopted by

Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel frescoes being perhaps the most

effective. He throws behind the moving figure of the Deity a large fold

of drapery, which assumes an oval or nearly round shape, the whole

acting as a concave framework for the Deity and attending Angels.[a] The

success of the plan arises of course from the apparent resistance to the

air offered by a large and compact surface. This form with more or less

marked modifications in the concavity was probably used by the ancient

Greeks in their paintings, as a nearly similar arrangement is found in a

sculptured figure which has come down to us, though in this case a

running movement is indicated.[b] It is also seen in some Pompeian

frescoes, where it is applied to figures moving through the air and on

the ground.[c] Raphael adopted the device occasionally,[d] but generally

varied it with excellent effect by flowing out from the waist a large

scarf-like fold to take a circular form above the head and shoulders of

the figure,[e] or by causing heavy drapery to flow out from the lower

part of the body.[f] No doubt in the case of Raphael, the extraordinary

grace of figure, and the perfect pose of the limbs, assist the illusion.

Tintoretto and other artists of the Renaissance used an oval drapery in

a similar way; while sometimes the figure is half hidden within it,[g]

and Le Sueur wrapped part of the figure in folds before forming the

oval.[h] There seems to be a simple virtue in any oval form connected

with figures presumed to be suspended in the air. It was quite common in

the early days of the Renaissance for the Deity or Virgin and Child to

be placed in a regular oval framework, sometimes supported by Angels or

cherubs, and the illusion was usually successful.[i] Rubens by way of

experiment went a little further in one picture, for he placed the

Virgin and Child in an oval picture frame supported by cherubs.[j] This

however does not seem so novel as some of Perugino's ovals which are

bordered with the heads of cherubs.[k]

[a] See Plate 24.

[b] The Son of Niobe, Uffizi Gallery, Florence.[72]

[c] Herculanum et Pompei, vol. iv., by Roux Aine.

[d] Ceiling of the Hall of Heliodorus, Vatican.

[e] Vatican frescoes God Separating Water and Earth, and God Appearing

to Isaac.

[f] The Creation of the Sun and Moon.

[g] Poussin's St. Francis Zavier, Louvre.

[h] The Virgin appearing to St. Martin.

[i] See the Assumption of Orcagna, and of Luca di Tome; Giunto

Pisano's Christ and the Virgin; and Mainardi's Madonna giving

her Girdle to St. Thomas.

[j] Virgin and Child, Chiesa Nuovo, Rome.

[k] Ascension of Christ, Perugia; Assumption, Florence Academy, and

others.

Wings are seldom sufficient to suggest lightness in the air, because

they can scarcely be designed of the size and strength which we judge to

be proportionate to the presumed weight of the body, without making the

form appear abnormal, though there are instances in which partial

success has been achieved by using comparatively small figures and

giving them unusually large wings.[a] The use of more than a single pair

of wings is hardly permissible because of the apparent anomaly. Actually

one pair is not less incomprehensible from an anatomical point of view

than several pairs, but custom has driven from our minds any suggestion

of incongruity in respect of the representation of the common type of

Angel. Naturally when skilfully arranged, the more wings, the stronger

the illusion of flight, and if a habit of giving four wings to an Angel

were engendered, we should perhaps see nothing strange in them. Even six

wings have been given to Angels without making them appear

ungraceful.[b]

[a] J. H. Witt's Bless the Lord.

[b] Picart's The Burning Coal.

When there is no assistance, as clouds or flowing drapery, lent to

Angels to promote the illusion of suspension, it is necessary to give

them an attitude which is nearly horizontal. Properly managed, a pair

of comparatively small wings may in this way appear to support a heavy

form.[a] Luini actually adds the weight of the body of St. Catherine to

three Angels, flying horizontally, who carry her to the tomb[b]; an

invention, strangely enough, followed by Kulmbach in Germany at about

the same time.[c] In both cases the illusion is excellent. Some of the

early Flemish and German masters, including Van Eyck[d] and Holbein,[e]

employed Angels in scenes with the Virgin to hold suspended behind her

seat, large falls of brocaded material, and it is curious to note that

the Angels themselves seem to be supported by the drapery. In order to

assist the suggestion of lightness, Perugino sometimes arched the lower

limbs of the Angels, adding a narrow tape scroll[f]; an addition

improved upon by Raphael who substituted for the scroll a loosened

girdle flying out from the waist.[g]

[a] Rembrandt's The Angel quitting Tobias, Louvre.

[b] The Brera, Milan.

[c] St. Mary's, Krakan.

[d] Virgin and Child at the Fountain, Antwerp.

[e] Virgin and Child, Augsburg.

[f] The Ascension, Borgo San Sepolcro, Perugia.

[g] Creation of Woman, Castello Gallery; Prophets and Sybils, Perugia,

and others.

The most frequently used form of support for figures in suspension are

irregular masses of clouds, upon which the figures sit or stand, and

occasionally are partly enfolded therein. Sometimes the cloud bank is

more or less shaped for the purpose of relief, or for variety in design.

Thus, Raphael makes part of the cloud a perfect footrest for the

Virgin,[a] and Palma Giovane does a similar thing for a figure of

Christ,[b] but in this case the illusion is hazarded as the seat is not

directly indicated. Ingres produces an excellent illusion by making the

footrest a small separate cloud,[c] which is a variation from the

practice of many painters of the Renaissance, who used a separate cloud

for each personage in the composition, or even with each foot as with

Carlo Crivelli.[d] In a fresco of the Evangelists at Florence, each of

them sits with his insignia on a foliated bank of clouds.[e] Perugino in

using a similar plan sometimes places the clouds at the bottom of the

picture, no part of the earth being seen, so that the illusion is

considerably enhanced.[f] At other times he shows Angels apparently

running through the air, with each front foot resting on a tiny cloud,

giving the impression that it is fastened there.[g] Durer extended this

plan by directly attaching a small cloud to each foot, the effect being

somewhat whimsical.[h] Titian was unsuccessful in the use of an isolated

cloud.[i] In a Resurrection scene Christ stands on a small thin cloud,

and holds a flag-pole, the lower end of which rests upon the cloud.

Obviously with such a design no suggestion of ascent can enter the mind.

[a] Foligna Madonna, Vatican.

[b] Christ in Judgment, Venice.

[c] The Oath of Louis XIII.

[d] Coronation of the Virgin, Milan.

[e] Santa Maria. By an unknown artist of the Ghirlandaio school.

[f] Christ's Rule.

[g] Madonna and Child with Penitents, and others.

[h] The Virgin with a Canary, Berlin.

[i] Urbino Gallery.

[Illustration: PLATE 23 (See page 247)

Patricia, by Lydia Emmet (_Private owner, N. Y._)]

Some artists, as Luca Signorelli,[a] hide the lower part of the figure

behind clouds, but this method, while indicating suspension, cannot

provide an illusion of movement without an assisting device. Thus

Schonherr shows an Angel so concealed in a nearly horizontal position

with wings fully expanded, the effect being good.[b] When a figure is

suspended on clouds, very rarely indeed is repose emphasized by placing

it in a horizontal position, but Poussin once adopts the plan,[c] and

Guercino goes so far as to represent a reclining Angel resting her head

on her hand as if suffering from fatigue.[d] Perfect repose of the Deity

in an upright position on clouds is produced by Gustave Dore, who

reduces the size of the earth, above which He stands, to an

insignificant proportion, so that the imagination sends it moving round

below Him.[e]

[a] Madonna and Child in Glory, Arezzo.

[b] The Agony in the Garden.

[c] Adam and Eve.

[d] Martyrdom of St. Peter, Modena.

[e] Creation of the Earth.

Quite a number of artists represent the suspended figures standing on

the backs of cherubs or cupids, which in their turn are supported by

clouds, as for instance, R. Ghirlandaio,[a] Liberale di Verona,[b] and

Francesco da Cotignola.[c] Fra Bartolommeo places a single foot of the

Deity on a cherub who holds a banderole, the illusion being

excellent.[d] Domenichino adopts a most ingenious device in St. Paul's

Vision. He shows the Apostle being carried to Heaven by winged cherubs,

who appear to find the weight considerable, and to struggle under it.

There is little else to induce the illusion, which is complete.[e] A

similar scheme is successfully managed in Prud'hon's Abduction of

Psyche. Tassaert uses a like device, but in addition has a cherub

supporting each arm of the Virgin. Palma Vecchio makes the Virgin stand

on the outstretched wings of a cherub, but her robe blows upwards,

giving her the appearance of descending instead of ascending.[f] Rubens

has three alternatives in the use of cherubs. The figure sits on clouds

with feet resting on small globes sustained by cherubs[g]; or the

cherubs hold the dress and mantle of the Virgin; or they help to control

the clouds upon which she sits.[h] In some of his pictures of the

Immaculate Conception, Murillo also uses globes, but places the cherubs

on them instead of under. Francia has a picture in which cherubs hold up

clouds bearing the Virgin,[i] a device once used by Rembrandt.[j] Genga

shows the Deity kneeling upon the heads of cherubs, a scheme not

satisfactory.[k] Cherubs were used by Titian to hold up the Virgin and

clouds,[l] while Velasquez rested the robes on clouds, but used cherubs

to sustain the Holy Mother.[m]

[a] The Madonna giving her Girdle to St. Thomas, Prato.

[b] The Magdalene and Saints.

[c] Adoration of the Shepherds, Ravenna Academy.

[d] The Deity with SS. Catherine and Magdalene.

[e] Assumption of the Virgin.

[f] Assumption of the Virgin, Venice.

[g] The Deity and Christ, Weimar.

[h] Assumption of the Virgin at Dusseldorf, Augsburg, Brussels, and

Vienna.

[i] Madonna and Child in Glory, Berlin.

[j] The Ascension, Munich.

[k] The Magdalene and Saints, Milan.

[l] Assumption of the Virgin, Venice.

[m] Coronation of the Virgin, Madrid.

The illusion is usually more complete when Angels are used instead of

cherubs for support, apparently because they may be presumed to have

greater strength, and the plan was adopted by some of the earlier

masters of the Renaissance. The simple design of Rubens in resting the

foot of Christ on the arm of a flying Angel is quite successful.[a]

Fontana places the Deity on clouds supported by Angels,[b] a method

adopted by Granacci, who however assists the illusion by adding two

Angels who are directly supporting the figure.[c] Peter Cornelius has

the Deity with His foot on a small globe which is held in position by

Angels.[d] A fine example of their use is shown by Gutherz. Two Angels

with large outstretched wings are bearing the body of a woman to Heaven.

She lies recumbent upon a lengthy hammock formed by the robes of the

Angels, the ends of the drapery being gathered up by the flying

cherubs.[e] The illusion is perfect. Rembrandt also has a beautiful

design in a Resurrection scene, for he shows the figure of Christ as a

shade whose hands are held by a flying Angel lifting Him to Heaven.[f] A

few artists, as Poussin[g] and Bouguereau,[h] use Angels to carry the

figure with no other assisting device, but if the body is recumbent it

is necessary that the Angels should be in a nearly upright position,

otherwise they will appear to be moving horizontally.[i] Rubens in an

Ascension uses the strange method of placing an Angel beneath Christ,

but without touching Him.[j] The drapery flies out at the back, so that

without some assistance he would appear to be descending; but the Angel

below, with her hands held up, seems to correct the position. Guido Reni

carries the Virgin up with Angels who support her beneath, and she seems

in fact to be standing on their shoulders.[k] In one instance Correggio

substitutes a smiling boy for an Angel, and he holds up a cloud on which

the Virgin sits.[l] There are many works where winged figures hold a

body in suspension, most of them providing excellent illusions. Among

the best is Lux's Sarpedon, where the body of the Trojan is held up for

Jupiter to kiss.[m]

[a] Ascension of Christ, Vienna.

[b] Vision of the Resurrection.

[c] The Virgin giving her Girdle to St. Thomas, Uffizi Gallery,

Florence.

[d] Let there be Light.

[e] "They shall bear thee up."

[f] Munich Gallery.

[g] Assumption of the Virgin, and Vision of St. Paul.

[h] Assumption of the Virgin.

[i] Bouguereau's Une Ame au Ciel.

[j] The Academy, Venice.

[k] Assumption of the Virgin, Munich.

[l] Madonna and Child with Saints, Parma.

[m] The Luxembourg.

Even a simple banderole or scarf suffices to indicate movement in the

air if well arranged. Usually a flying cherub holds an end of the

banderole, and Ferri shows a wingless putto even, flying with no other

assistance.[a] Boucher creates an illusion by the bold device of

connecting two cupids with a narrow scarf blown out into a

semicircle[b]; and in another instance very narrow tape streamers

suffice.[c]

[a] David plans a Temple.

[b] Birth of Venus.

[c] Altdorfer's Nativity at Berlin.

The use of thick smoke for suspension purposes is nearly always

successful, because volumes of smoke in nature necessarily tend to move

upwards; but obviously this scheme can only be arranged when an altar is

possible. The plan is not uncommon in pictures relating to Cain and

Abel, and the Translation of Enoch. In one of the latter subject, Hoet

makes part of the smoke from an altar envelop the surrounding ground so

as to widen the volume, while Schnorr achieves the same end by curling

round the smoke as it ascends into the form of a large saucer upon which

the Deity sits,[a] a method slightly varied by Amiconi.[b]

[a] God's Promise to Abraham.

[b] God Appearing to Moses.

Where a number of figures are connected together in a circular form in

the air, the double illusion of suspension and motion follows naturally,

provided their attitudes indicate a circular movement. An excellent

example of this is shown in a picture by Botticelli, where Angels dance

in the air over the hut of the Nativity.[a] The finest work of the kind

in existence is probably Schwind's Pleiads, in which the stars are

represented by a circle of beautiful nude women.[b] Extraordinary

activity is suggested by the perfect arrangement of the limbs and light

flowing drapery used. Bouguereau has a work of a similar kind, The Lost

Pleiad, but here the dancers are upright, and the circle is only

accessory to the title figure.[c] Watteau is fairly successful in giving

an illusion of suspension to cupids even with a half circle, though the

invention is somewhat formal.[d]

[a] National Gallery, London.

[b] Denner Collection. See Plate 25.

[c] Brooklyn Museum, New York.

[d] The Berlin example of the Embarkation for Cythera.

Some of the devices used to bring about an illusion are most ingenious.

Thus in his Bacchus and Ariadne,[a] Tintoretto actually applies a

disability of his art for the purpose. Venus is shown in a horizontal

position in the air, placing a crown of stars upon the head of Ariadne.

Bacchus is standing by, and the form of the goddess floats just at the

back of him, the lower side of her hip being on a level with the top of

his head. Seeing that the head is covered with a profusion of vine

leaves, it is impossible for the artist to indicate, or the observer to

recognize, that the goddess does not actually touch the head of Bacchus,

and she apparently balances herself upon his head while crowning

Ariadne, the artist having been careful to place the centre of gravity

of her figure over the apparent point of contact. A similar kind of

illusion is provided by Burne-Jones, whose Angel of the Annunciation is

upright in midair near the ground, but her feet seem to find support

on the branches of a shrub.[b] Rossetti, in the same subject, shows the

Angel with his feet wrapped in flames, the weight being thus apparently

removed. The design seems bizarre, perhaps because of the absence of an

expression of surprise which one would expect to see on the countenance

of the Virgin at so extraordinary a phenomenon.[73] Schwind also uses a

disability of his art for an illusion in his Phantom of the Forest.[c]

She moves near the ground away from the spectator with such rapidity

that her robe, a simple rectangular piece of drapery, has opened out

wide from the front, and hides her figure from the shoulders down, so

that from the point of view of the observer she may, or may not, be

touching the ground as she moves.

[a] Ducal Palace, Venice.

[b] Tate Gallery, London.

[c] Schack Gallery, Munich.

How slight the apparent support need be, is indicated in Bouguereau's

Aurora and Twilight. Each figure is represented by a nude woman holding

a light scarf, the first rapidly, and the second slowly, skimming the

surface of a stream of water with soft touches of the feet, and yet

there is no anomaly that strikes the mind. A still more daring device is

used by Battistello, though quite successfully. He places two wingless

putti in the air, but one holds up the other, and this action seems to

sustain them both.[a] Another amazing design is from the hand of A. P.

Roll, who shows a nude-man in the air clutching another, and apparently

struggling to pull him down, yet the action seems perfectly natural.[b]

[a] Adoration of the Shepherds, San Martino, Naples.

[b] Design for the Petit Palais, Paris.

* * * * *

NOTES

NOTE 1. PAGE 2

It is usual and proper to distinguish three kinds of beauty in painting,

namely, of colour, of form, and of expression. But form must be defined

by tones, and colour without form is meaningless: hence in the general

consideration of the painter's art, it is convenient to place form and

colour together as representing the sensorial element of beauty.

Nevertheless colour and form are not on the same plane in regard to

sense perception. Harmony of colour is distinguished involuntarily by

nerve sensations, but in the case of harmony of form there must be a

certain consideration before its aesthetic determination. The recognition

of this harmony commonly appears to be instantaneous, but still it is

delayed, the delay varying with the complexity of the signs, that is to

say, with the quality of the beauty.

NOTE 2. PAGE 2

Benedetto Croce, the inventor of the latest serious aesthetic system,

talks of the "science of art," but he says[a]:

Science--true science, is a science of the spirit--Philosophy.

Natural sciences spoken of apart from philosophy, are complexes

of knowledge, arbitrarily abstracted and fixed.

It is perhaps needless to say that Croce's aesthetic system, like all the

others, collapses on a breath of inquiry. On the purely philosophical

side of it, further criticism is unnecessary, and its practical outcome

from the point of view of art is not far removed from the amazing

conclusions of Hegel. From the latter philosopher we learn that an idol

in the form of a stone pillar, or an animal set up by the primitive

races, is higher art than a drama by Shakespeare, or a portrait by

Titian, because it represents the Idea (Hegel's unintelligible

abstraction--see Note 5), while Croce tells us that "the art of savages

is not inferior, as art, to that of civilized peoples, provided it be

correlated to the impressions of the savages." Clearly if this be so, we

are not surprised to learn from Croce that Aristotle "failed to discern

the true nature of the aesthetic." Nevertheless, whatever be the outcome

of Croce's arguments, his system is at least more plausible than that of

either Hegel or Schopenhauer, for while these two invent highly

improbable abstractions upon which to base their systems, Croce only

gives new functions to an old and reasonable abstraction.

[a] _Aesthetic_, Douglas Ainslie Translation, 1909.

NOTE 3. PAGE 3

The writer does not mean to suggest that these systems are set up for

the purpose of being knocked down: he desires only to indicate surprise

that in new works dealing with the perception of beauty, it is

considered necessary to restate the old aesthetic theories and to point

out their drawbacks, albeit the fatal objections to them are so numerous

that there is always fresh ground available for destructive criticism.

The best of the recent works on the subject that have come under the

notice of the writer, is E. F. Carritt's review of the present position

in respect of aesthetic systems. Though profound, he is so comprehensive

that he leaves little or nothing of importance for succeeding critics to

say till the next system is put forward. Yet here is his conclusion[a]:

If any point can be thought to have emerged from the foregoing

considerations, it is this: that in the history of aesthetics we

may discover a growing pressure of emphasis upon the doctrine that

all beauty is the expression of what may be generally called

emotion, and that all such expression is beautiful.

This is all that an acute investigator can draw from the sum of the

aesthetic systems advanced. Now what does this mean? Let us turn to the

last page of Carritt's book and find the object of the search after a

satisfactory aesthetic system. It is, he says, "the desire to understand

goodness and beauty and their relations with each other or with

knowledge, as well as to practise or enjoy them." If we accept beauty as

the expression of emotion, how far have we progressed towards the

indicated goal? Not a step, for we have only agreed upon a new way of

stating an obvious condition which applies to the animal world as well

as to human beings. Beyond this there is nothing--not a glimpse of

sunshine from all the aesthetic systems laid down since the time of

Baumgarten.

More than twenty years ago Leo Tolstoy pointed out the unintelligible

character of these systems, but no further light has been thrown upon

them. Nevertheless Tolstoy's own interpretation of the significance of

beauty cannot possibly meet with general approval. He disputes that art

is directly associated with beauty or pleasure, and finds in fact that

what we call the beautiful representation of nature is not necessarily

art, but that[b]

Art is a human activity, consisting in this, that one man

consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others

feelings he has lived through, and that other people are affected

by these feelings, and also experience them.

This definition may mean almost anything, and particularly it may imply

pure imitation which Tolstoy condemns as outside of art. But it

certainly does not include many forms of what we call art, the author

specially condemning for instance, _Romeo and Juliet_, and declaring

that while _Faust_ is beautiful, "it cannot produce a really artistic

impression." The definition then seems to represent little more than a

quibble over terms. Tolstoy says that the beautiful representation of

nature is not art, but something else is. Very well then, all we have to

do is to find a new term for this representation of nature, and the

position remains as before except that the meaning of the term "art" has

been changed.

[a] _The Theory of Beauty_, 1914.

[b] _What is Art?_ Aylmer Maude Translation.

NOTE 4. PAGE 8

The evolutionary principle has been applied to art by Herbert Spencer

and J. A. Symonds, but not in the sense in which it is used in

connection with the development of living organisms. Spencer traces a

progression from the simple to the complex in the application of the

arts, but not in the arts themselves[a]; and Symonds endeavours to prove

that each separate marked period of art shows a progression which is

common to all; that is, from immature variations to a high type, then

downwards through a lower form represented by romanticism or elegance,

to realism, and from this to hybrid forms.[b] Spencer's argument is

suggestive, but his conclusions have been mostly upset by archaeological

discoveries made since his great book was published. The illustrations

given by Symonds are highly illuminating, but they are very far from

postulating a general law of evolution operating in the production of

art.

[a] _First Principles_.

[b] Essay on _Evolutionary Principles_.

[Illustration: PLATE 24 (See page 260)

The Creation of Adam, by Michelangelo (_Vatican_)]

NOTE 5. PAGE 8

It seems necessary to mention Hegel's art periods, though one can only

do so with a feeling of regret that a man who achieved a high reputation

as a philosopher should have entered the province of art only to

misconstrue its purpose with fantastic propositions which have no

historical or other apparent foundation. He divides art history into

Symbolic, Classic, and Romantic periods respectively. To accomplish this

he invents or discovers a new abstraction which he calls the Idea, this

representing man's conception, not of God, but of His perfection--His

supreme qualities, so that in one sense the Idea may be called the

Absolute, in another the Spirit, and in another, Truth. These terms are

in fact interchangeable, and each may be a manifestation of another, or

of God. This Idea, he says, being perfect beauty, is the basic concept

of art. In archaic times man was unable to give expression to this

concept, so he represented it by symbols: hence the earliest art was

Symbolic art. In the time of the Greeks man had so advanced that he was

able to give higher expression to the Idea, and he embodied it in a

perfect human form. This is the Classic period, which Hegel indicates

continued till Christianity spread abroad, when Classic form, though

perfect as art, was found insufficient for the now desired still higher

expression of the Idea. This expression could not be put into stone, so

other arts than sculpture were used for it, namely, poetry, painting,

and music, which are placed together as Romantic art. This is as nearly

as possible a statement of the periods of Hegel in short compass. It is

impossible to interpret logically his arguments, nor is it necessary,

for his conclusions when tested in the light of experience, develop into

inexplicable paradoxes and contradictions which border on the

ridiculous. Needless to say, the acceptance of this division means the

annihilation of our ideas of the meaning of art, and the condemnation to

the limbo of forgetfulness of nearly all the artists whose memory is

honoured.

The general interpretation of the terms "Classic Art" and "Romantic Art"

widely differs from that of Hegel, and varies with the arts. In the

literary arts the distinction is obvious, but the terms are used to

define both periods and classes; in architecture the Gothic period is

usually called the Romantic epoch; and in painting the terms have

reference to manner, the more formal manner being called Classic, and

the soft manner, Romantic; though it is commonly understood that

Romantic art is especially concerned with subjects associated with the

gentler side of life. But there is no general agreement. Some writers

assert that Giorgione was the first of the romanticists, others give the

palm to Watteau, a third section to Delacroix, and a fourth to the

Barbizon School. We must await a clear definition of "Romantic Art."

NOTE 6. PAGE 8

It may be reasonably argued that the want of development of the plastic

arts in England during the literary revival, was largely due to

artificial restrictions. Fine paintings were ordered out of the churches

by Elizabeth, and many were destroyed; while, following the lead of the

court, there was little or no encouragement offered by the public to

artists except perhaps in portraiture. Flaxman truly said of the

destruction of works of art in this period, that the check to the

national art in England occurred at a time which offered the most

essential and extraordinary assistance to its progress.

NOTE 7. PAGE 16

During the last half century or so, various writers of repute, including

Ruskin and Dean Farrar, have professed to find in the poorer works of

the Italian painters of the fourteenth century, and even in paintings of

Margaritone and others of the previous century, evidence of strong

religious emotion on the part of the artists. It is claimed that their

purpose in giving simple solemn faces to their Madonnas and Saints, was

"to tell the sacred story in all its beauty and simplicity"; that they

possessed a "powerful sincerity of emotion"; that they "delivered the

burning messages of prophecy with the stammering lips of infancy," and

so on. It is proper to say that there is nothing to support this view of

the early painters. We find no trace of any suggestions of the kind till

the last of these artists had been dead for about four hundred years,

while their lives, so far as we have any record, lend no warranty to the

statements. The painters of the fourteenth century took their art

seriously, but purely as a craft, and it was not uncommon with them to

combine two or three other crafts with that of painting. They designed

mostly sacred subjects for the simple reason that the art patrons of the

day seldom ordered anything else. In their private lives they associated

together, were generally agreeable companions, and not averse to an

occasional escapade. Moreover the time in which they lived was notable

for what we should call loose habits, and indeed from the thirteenth

century to the end of the fifteenth, religious observances and practices

were of a more hollow and formal character than they have ever been

since.

The position occupied by these painters in the progression of art from

the crude Byzantine period upwards, corresponds with that of the Roman

painters of the third and fourth centuries in the progression downwards

to the Byzantine epoch, and there is no more reason for supposing that

the Italians were actuated by special emotions in their work, than that

the Romans were so moved. In both cases the character of the work, as

Reynolds put it in referring to the Italians, was the result of want of

knowledge. The countenances usually presented by both Roman and Italian

artists have a half sad, half resigned expression, because this was the

only kind of expression that could be given by an immature painter whose

ideal was restricted by the necessity of eliminating elements which

might indicate happiness. Giotto, Taddeo Gaddi, Duccio, and a few more,

were exceptions in that their art was infinitely superior to the average

of the century, but all from Giotto downwards, laboured as craftsmen

only. No doubt they often worked with enthusiasm, and in this way their

emotions may have been brought into play, but there is no possible means

of identifying in a picture the emotions which an artist may have

experienced while he was painting it.

As to the sad expression referred to in these Italian works, it may be

observed that Edgar A. Poe held that the tone of the highest

manifestation of beauty is one of sadness. "Beauty of whatever kind," he

says, "in its supreme development invariably excites the sensitive soul

to tears."[a] But Poe is clearly mistaken here. It is not the beauty of

the work that affects the emotions to tears, when they are so affected,

but the subject of the design exhibiting the beauty. A picture or poem

representing a sad subject may be very beautiful, but the sadness itself

would not assist the beauty, though it might increase the emotional

effect. The higher forms of beauty rarely draw our tears, but elicit our

admiration without direct thought of anything but the beauty.

Who would weep when in front of the greatest marvels of Greek sculpture?

[a] _The Philosophy of Composition._

NOTE 8. PAGE 21

It is commonly, but wrongfully, supposed that Rembrandt used his

broadest manner in painting commissioned portraits. The number of his

portraits known to exist is about 450, of which fifty-five are

representations of himself, and fifty-four of members of his household,

or relatives. There are, further, more than seventy studies of old men

and women, and thirty of younger men. The balance are commissioned

portraits or groups. This last section includes none at all of his

palette knife pictures, and not more than two or three which are

executed with his heaviest brushes. Generally his work broadened in his

later period, but up to the end of his life his more important works

were often painted in a comparatively fine manner, though the handling

was less careful and close.[a] The broadest style of the artist is

rarely exhibited except in his studies and family portraits. Further it

is extremely unlikely that a palette-knife picture would have been

accepted in Holland during Rembrandt's time as a serious work in

portraiture.

[a] See among works dating after 1660, The Syndics of the Drapers,

Portrait of a Young Man, Wachtmeister Collection; Lady with

a Dog, Colmar Museum; and Portrait of a Young Man, late Beit

Collection.

NOTE 9. PAGE 22

Darwin pointed out the permanent character of the changes in the nerves,

though he submitted another demonstration[a]:

That some physical change is produced in the nerve cells or nerves

which are habitually used can hardly be doubted, for otherwise it

is impossible to understand how the tendency to certain acquired

movements is inherited.

[a] _The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals._

NOTE 10. PAGE 23

Reynolds evidently had little faith in original genius. Addressing Royal

Academy students, he said[a]:

You must have no dependence on your own genius. If you have great

talents, industry will improve them; if you have but moderate

abilities, industry will supply the deficiency. Nothing is denied

to well-directed labour; nothing is to be obtained without it.... I

will venture to assert that assiduity unabated by difficulty, and a

disposition eagerly directed to the object of its pursuit, will

produce effects similar to those which some call the result of

natural powers.

On another occasion Reynolds observed of Michelangelo[b]:

He appears not to have had the least conception that his art was to

be acquired by any other means than great labour; and yet he of all

men that ever lived, might make the greatest pretensions to the

efficacy of native genius and inspiration.

Gibbon said that Reynolds agreed with Dr. Johnson in denying all

original genius, any natural propensity of the mind to one art or

science rather than another.[c] Hogarth also agreed with Reynolds, for

he describes genius as "nothing but labour and diligence."

Croce says that genius has a quantitative and not a qualitative

signification, but he offers no demonstration.[d] Evidently he is

mistaken, for the signification is both quantitative and qualitative. It

is true that what a Phidias, or a Raphael, or a Beethoven puts together

is a sum of small beauties, any one of which may be equalled by another

man, but he does more than represent a number of beauties, for he

combines these into a beautiful whole which is superior in quality and

cannot be estimated quantitatively. We may possibly call Darwin a genius

because of the large number of facts he ascertained, and the correct

inferences he drew from them, but we particularly apply the term to him

by reason of the general result of all these facts and inferences, this

result being qualitative and not quantitative. Croce probably took his

dictum from Schopenhauer, who, however, represented degrees of quality

as quantitative,[e] which is of course confusing the issue.

[a] Reynolds's Second Discourse.

[b] His Fifth Discourse.

[c] Gibbon's _Memoirs of my Life and Writings_.

[d] _Aesthetic._

[e] Essay on "Genius."

NOTE 11. PAGE 32

It is often observed by advocates of "new" forms of art that the work of

many great artists has been variously valued at different periods--that

leaders of marked departures in art now honoured, were frequently more

or less ignored in their own time, while other artists who acquired a

great reputation when living, have been properly put into the background

by succeeding generations. For the first statement no solid ground can

be shown. In painting, the artists since the Dark Age who can be said to

have led departures of any importance, are Cimabue, Giotto, the Van

Eycks, Masaccio, Lionardo, Duerer, Giorgione, Raphael, Michelangelo,

Titian, Holbein, Claude, Rubens, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Watteau,

Reynolds, and Fragonard. All of these had their high talents recognized

and thoroughly appreciated in their lifetime. In sculpture the

experience is the same, for there is no sculptor now honoured whose work

was not highly valued by his contemporaries. So with poetry, but before

the invention of printing and in the earlier days of this industry,

poetry of any kind was very slow in finding its way among the people.

What might seem nowadays to have been inappreciation of certain poets

was really want of knowledge of them.

There is more truth in the assertion that many artists who had a high

reputation in their lifetime are now more or less disregarded, though

it does not follow from this that there has been a reversal of opinion

on the part of the public, or a variation in the acuteness of aesthetic

perception. Generally we find that these artists very properly held the

position they occupied in their time and country, and if they do not now

stand on exalted pedestals it is only because we compare them with men

of other periods and places, which their contemporary countrymen did

not do, at least for the purpose of establishing their permanent

position in art. Carlo Maratta for instance was celebrated in Italy as

the best painter of his country in his time, and even now we must so

regard him, but his contemporaries as with ourselves did not place him

on so high a level as his great predecessors of the sixteenth century,

and some of the seventeenth. A special reason why many of the

seventeenth century artists of Italy have fallen in public esteem may be

found in the fact that they excelled mostly in the production of

sensorial beauty, paying little attention to intellectual grace, and the

ripening of general intelligence as time goes on makes us more and more

sensitive to beauty of mind.

NOTE 12. PAGE 34

There have been many definitions of "Impressionism" given, but they vary

considerably. Professor Clausen describes it as the work of a number of

artists whose interest is in recording effects of light, seeking to

express nature only and disregarding old conventions.[a] Mr. D. S.

MacColl says that an impressionist is[b]

a painter who, out of the completed contacts of vision constructs

an image moulded upon his own interest in the thing seen, and not

on that of any imaginary schoolmaster.

This definition is insufficient by itself, but the writer makes his

meaning clearer in the same article when he says:

Impressionism is the art that surveys the field, and determines

which of the shapes and tones are of chief importance to the

interested eye, and expresses these and sacrifices the rest.

According to C. Mauclair, an acknowledged authority on impressionism,

the impressionist holds:

Light becomes the one subject of a picture. The interest of the

objects on which it shines is secondary. Painting thus understood

becomes an art of pure optics, a seeking for harmonies, a species

of natural poem, entirely distinct from expression, style, drawing,

which have formed the main endeavour of preceding painting. It is

almost necessary to invent a new word for this special art, which,

while remaining throughout pictural, approaches music in the same

degree as it departs from literature or psychology.[c]

What can be said of so amazing a declaration? The arts of painting and

music do not, and cannot, have any connection with each other. They are

concerned with different senses and different signs, and by no stretch

of the imagination can they be combined. Seeing that musical terms when

used in respect of painting by modern critics are almost invariably made

to apply to colour harmonies, we may infer that a confusion of thought

arises in the minds of the writers from the similar physical means by

which colour and sound are conveyed to the senses concerned. But this

similarity has nothing to do with the appreciation of art. The aesthetic

value of a work is determined when it is conveyed to the mind,

irrespective of the means by which it is so conveyed.

According to La Touche it was Fantin Latour who invented modern

impressionism. Braquemond relates that La Touche told him the following

story.[d] He (La Touche) was one day at the Louvre with Manet, when they

saw Latour copying Paolo Veronese's Marriage at Cana in a novel manner,

for instead of blending his colours in the usual way, he laid them on in

small touches of separate tones. The result was an unexpected brilliancy

("papillotage imprevu") which amazed but charmed the visitors.

Nevertheless when Manet left the Louvre with La Touche, he appeared

anything but satisfied with what he had seen, and pronounced it humbug.

But Latour's method evidently sunk into his mind, for a few days later

he commenced to use it himself. Thus, added La Touche, was modern

impressionism unchained. The date of this visit was not given by La

Touche, but 1874 was subsequently suggested. This account does not fit

in with the statement of MacColl that when Monet and Pissarro were in

London during the siege of Paris, the study of Turner's pictures gave

them the suggestion of these broken patches of colour.[e] If this be

true Monet must have antedated Manet in the application of isolated

tones.

D. S. Eaton asserts that in the Salon of 1867, there was exhibited a

picture by Monet which was entitled Impressions,[f] and from this arose

the word "Impressionist"; but Phythian says that the word resulted from

Monet's "Impression, soleil levant," exhibited in 1874 at the Nadar

Gallery in Paris with other works from Le Societe Anonyme des Artistes,

Peintres, Sculpteurs, et Graveurs. Phythian adds[g]:

Thus, unwittingly led by one of the exhibitors, visitors to the

exhibition came to use the word "impressioniste," and within a few

days a contemptuously unfavourable notice of the exhibition

appeared in _Le Charivari_ under the heading "Exposition des

Impressionistes." It was not until the lapse of several years that

the name came into general use. The painters to whom it was applied

disowned it because it was used in a depreciatory sense. Eventually

however, unable to find a better one, they adopted it.

Another origin of Impressionism is given by Muther. He says[h]:

The name "Impressionists" dates from an exhibition in Paris which

was given at Nadar's in 1871. The catalogue contained a great deal

about impressions--for instance, "Impression de mon pot au feu,"

"Impression d'un chat qui se promene." In his criticism Claretie

summed up the impressions, and spoke of the Salon des

Impressionistes.

But the real origin of impressionism must be sought earlier than 1871,

for in 1865 Manet exhibited his Olympia in the Salon des Refuses. This

picture did not represent what was understood as impressionism ten years

later, but it led the way towards the establishment of the innovation,

in that it pretended that healthy ideas and noble designs were secondary

considerations in art. Certainly Manet could not descend lower than this

wretched picture, and in this sense his subsequent work was a distinct

advance.

[a] Royal Academy Lectures.

[b] Article on "Impressionism," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th

Edition.

[c] _L'Impressionism, son histoire, son esthetique, ses maitres._

[d] _Le Journal des Arts_, 1909.

[e] Article on "Impressionism," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th

edition.

[f] _Handbook of Modern French Painting._

[g] _Fifty Years of Modern Painting._

[h] _History of Modern Painting_, vol. iii.

NOTE 13. PAGE 35

The reason given by impressionists for the juxtaposition of pure colours

is that the natural blend produced is more brilliant than the tone from

the mixed colours applied, but it is pointed out by Moreau-Vauthier that

the contrary is the case. He says[a]:

We find in practice that the parent colours do not, with material

colours, produce the theoretical binaries. We get dark, dull

greens, oranges, and violets, that clash with the parent colours.

To make them harmonize we should be obliged to dim these material

colours, to transform them, and consequently to lose them partly.

[a] _The Technique of Painting_, 1912.

NOTE 14. PAGE 37

Cezanne and Van Gogh are not usually put forward as representative

impressionists, but it is impossible to differentiate logically between

the various "isms" of which impressionism is the mother, and to attempt

a serious argument upon them would be apt to reflect upon the common

sense of the reader. The sincere impressionist certainly produces a

thing of beauty, however ephemeral and lacking in high character the

beauty may be, but most of the productions of the other "isms" only

serve the purpose of degrading the artist and the art.

NOTE 15. PAGE 40

This form of picture is by no means new, though except among the

inventors of sprezzatura, and the modern impressionists, it has always

been executed as a rough sketch for the purpose of settling harmonies

for serious work. Lomazzo relates that Aurelio, son of Bernadino Luini,

while visiting Titian, asked him how he managed to make his landscape

tones harmonize so well. For reply the great master showed Aurelio a

large sketch, the character of which could not be distinguished when it

was closely inspected, but on the observer stepping back, a landscape

appeared "as if it had suddenly been lit up by a ray of the sun."[a]

From Luini's surprise, and inasmuch as we have no record of similar work

before his time, it is reasonable to suppose that Titian was the first

great artist to use this form of sketch for experimental purposes.

[a] _Trattato dell' Arte de la Pittura._

[Illustration: PLATE 25 (See page 269)

The Pleiads, by M. Schwind]

NOTE 16. PAGE 40

The example of this picture at the Pitti Palace is specially noted

because it seems impossible that the duplicate in the Uffizi Gallery can

be by Raphael, for it has obvious defects, some of which have many times

been pointed out. The expression is vastly inferior to that in the Pitti

portrait, for instead of a calm, noble, benign countenance, we have a

half-worried senile face which is anything but pleasant. Raphael was the

last man to execute a portrait of a Pope without generalizing high

character in the features. It will be observed also that in the Uffizi

portrait, the left hand is stiff and cramped, and the drapery

ungracefully flowing, while both uprights of the chair are actually out

of drawing. There are other examples of the same picture in different

museums, but the Pitti work is far above these in every respect, and

seems the only one which can be properly attributed to the master.

Passavant affirms that some of the repetitions of the work were

certainly made in the studio of Raphael under his orders, and thinks

that the duplicates passed for originals even in his time.[a]

[a] _Raphael d'Urbin_, vol. ii.

NOTE 17. PAGE 41

To the knowledge of the writer, the only logical connection between the

work of Rembrandt and impressionism that has been suggested, is from the

pen of Professor Baldwin Brown, who remarks[a]:

Rembrandt in his later work attended to the pictorial effect alone,

and practically annulled the objects by reducing them to pure tone

and colour. Things are not there at all, but only the semblance, or

effect, or impression of things. Breadth is in this way combined

with the most delicate variety, and a new form of painting, now

called "impressionism" has come into being.

The professor is mistaken here. During the last fifteen years of his

life, apart from portraits, a few studies of heads, and some colour

experiments with carcases of meat, Rembrandt executed, so far as is

known, about three dozen pictures, and in all of these he effectually

prevents us from forming a general impression of the designs before

considering the more important details, by concentrating nearly all the

available light upon the countenances of the principal personages

represented; while in the management of the features, the whole purpose

of the chiaroscuro is for the purpose of obtaining relief. Moreover the

pictures are nearly all groups of personages in set subjects, and there

would be no meaning in the designs if the objects were "practically

annulled," for particular action and expression are necessary for their

comprehension.

As to Velasquez there is no evidence tending to support the statement

that he was an impressionist. The first authority on the artist has

definitely pointed out that he never took up his brushes except for an

important and definite work: "he neither painted impressions nor

daubs."[b]

[a] Article on "Painting," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th edition.

[b] _Velasquez_, by De Beruete, 1902.

NOTE 18. PAGE 49

It will always be a matter of surprise that so much popularity was

secured by the light sketches of the Barbizon School, considering their

general insignificance from the point of view of art, and the

conspicuously artificial means adopted for their exploitation. Some of

the artists of this school, having accomplished many studio works of

merit, acquired the habit of painting in the open air. By this method

it is impossible to execute a comprehensive natural scene, and the

painters did not attempt the task, but they produced numberless sketchy

works of local scenes under particular atmospheric conditions. They

laboured honestly and conscientiously, and their sketches were put out

for what they were and nothing more. The paintings would probably have

retained their place as simple studies had not some commercial genius

conceived the idea of putting them into heavy, gorgeous, gilt frames.

With this embellishment they were successfully scattered round the

world, mostly in the newer portions, much to the general astonishment.

The _raison d'etre_ of the frames puzzled many persons, though it was

frequently observed that the pictures do not look well unless surrounded

by ample gold leaf. Thus, C. J. Holmes, Director of the London National

Gallery, and an authority on impressionism, notes[a]:

Barbizon pictures are almost invariably set in frames with an

undeniably vulgar look. Yet in such a rectangle of gilded

contortion a Corot or a Daubigny shows to perfection: place it in a

frame of more reticent design, and it becomes in a moment flat,

empty, and tame.

The purpose of this frame is obvious. The eye is caught by the dazzling

glitter, and feels immediate relief when it rests upon the quiet grey

tone of the painting, the pleasurable sensation resulting therefrom

being mistaken for involuntary appreciation of the beauty of the work.

As finished paintings these Barbizon sketches are novel, but as studies

they are not, for similar work has been executed for two or three

centuries, and particularly by the Dutch artists of the seventeenth

century. In every considerable collection of drawings such sketches may

be found, and there is scarcely a Barbizon painter whose work was not

anticipated by a Dutch master. One has only to examine the drawings in

the public art institutions of Europe by De Molyn, Blyhooft, Jan de

Bischop, Lambert Doomer, Berghem, Avercamp, and others, to find examples

which, if executed now, might easily be taken for works by the Barbizon

masters.

[a] _Notes on the Science of Picture-Making._

NOTE 19. PAGE 52

In recent times attempts have been made to upset the dictum of Aristotle

as to the imitative character of the arts generally, exception being

taken in respect of music and architecture. The first objection as to

music arose with Schopenhauer, though he does not appear to have been

quite certain of his position. He stated that while the other arts

represent ideas, music does not, but being an art it must represent

something, and he suggested that this something is the "Will," the term

being used in the Schopenhauer philosophical sense, that is to say,

implying the active principle of the universe, not being God. This means

nothing at all from the point of view of art, and cannot even be

seriously considered. The most notable essay on the subject since

Schopenhauer is from the pen of Sidney Colvin who places music and

architecture in a non-imitative group by themselves, the former on the

principal ground that "it is like nothing else; it is no representation

or similitude of anything whatever"; while architecture, he says,

"appeals to our faculties for taking pleasure in non-imitative

combinations of stationary masses."[a] But what Aristotle meant is that

the arts are imitative in character, and not that they necessarily

attempt to produce works of similitude with nature, this being evident

from the fact that he pointed out that the higher works of art surpass

nature, and he divided poetry and painting into three sections, of

which the first is better than life, and the third inferior to it.

The musician in producing his art proceeds in precisely the same way as

the poet or painter. He takes natural signs and rearranges them in a new

order, producing a combination which is not to be found complete in

nature, but every sign therein is natural and must necessarily be so.

The higher the flight of the poet, or musician, or painter, or sculptor,

the farther is the result from nature, but nevertheless the whole aim of

the musician, as of the poet, is to represent emotional effects or

natural phenomena beyond experience in life, as the great sculptor

represents form and expression, and the great poet besides these things,

every abstract quality, passion, and emotional effect, above this

experience; but he cannot do more; he cannot represent something outside

of nature, and so must imitate, that is, in the sense of representation.

Darwin notes that even a perfect musical scale can be found in nature.

He says[b]:

It is a remarkable fact that an ape, a species of the gibbon

family, produces an exact octave of musical sounds, ascending and

descending the scale by half tones. From this fact, and from the

analogy of other animals, I have been led to infer that the

progenitors of man probably uttered musical tones, and that

consequently, when the voice is used under any strong emotion, it

tends to assume, through the principle of association, a musical

character.

It has been further demonstrated that the strength of the sensory

impressions from certain sounds is due to the structure of the ear, and

that generally a particular kind of sound produces a similar kind of

emotional effect in animals as in man. Obviously the musician is

powerless to do more than widen or deepen this effect. Colvin admits

that the musician sometimes directly imitates, as when he produces the

notes of birds or the sounds of natural forces, or when he represents

particular emotions; but he regards the former instances as hazardous

and exceptional, and indicates that a particular emotional harmony may

affect the hearers differently. True, but the hazard of the first

condition is the result of the limitations of the artist, and the second

condition is the consequence of the limitations of the art. The effect

of music being purely sensorial must vary with the emotional conditions

surrounding the hearer. The musician does what he can, but he is unable

to go so far as the poet and produce an emotional effect which will with

certainty be recognized by every person affected, at all times, as

having the same particular bearing.

Taine separates music ("properly so called" as distinguished from

dramatic music) and architecture from the imitative arts, as they

"combine mathematical relationships so as to create works that do not

correspond with real objects."[c] Obviously the whole purpose of

dramatic music is to imitate the effects of the passions, but its

necessary inclusion amongst the imitative arts upsets the dictum of

Taine, for the emotional effects of one kind of music only differ from

those of another kind when they differ at all, in the character of the

natural emotional effects represented.

In the case of the architect, seeing that his art is subordinated to

utility, his scheme, his measurements, and the character of his

materials, are largely or almost entirely governed by conditions outside

of his art, and consequently it is only possible for him to represent

nature to a limited extent. Rarely can he vaguely suggest a natural

aisle beneath the celestial dome, a rock-walled cave whose roof soars

into obscurity, or a fairy grotto backed by a beetling cliff. Sometimes

he may cause us to experience similar effects in kind to those we feel

when we recognize grandeur in nature, but usually he is compelled to

confine his beauty to harmonies produced by symmetrical designs of

straight lines and curves. But in his simplest as in his most complex

designs, he must follow nature as closely as possible. Purely ornamental

forms always appear more beautiful when the parts have a direct

mathematical relationship with each other than when they have not; that

is to say, when the parts appear to be naturally related. Thus, that a

cross appears to be less agreeable to the sight when the horizontal bar

is below the centre of the perpendicular than when it is above this

point, is due to what appears to be a want of balance because the form

is unobservable in nature. In trees the horizontal parts are usually

above the middle of the height of the observable trunk, and in the

exceptions nature gives the whole tree a conical or other shape, the

relative position of the horizontal parts being obscured in the general

form.

As with parts of forms, so with the forms as wholes. Other things being

equal, that design is the best where the forms are directly proportioned

one with the other and with the whole, and this is because we are

accustomed to the order of design in nature where everything is balanced

by means of direct proportions and corresponding relations. The

architect therefore, like the musician or poet, must represent nature so

far as he can within the limits of his art, though his representation is

comparatively weak owing to the artificial restrictions imposed upon

him.

[a] Article on "Fine Arts," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th Edition.

[b] _The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals._

[c] _On the Ideal in Art._

NOTE 20. PAGE 54

The dictum of Aristotle in reference to metre in poetry related only to

epic and dramatic verse, for what we understand as lyric poetry was

separated by the Greeks as song in which of course metre is compulsory.

It is doubtful whether a single definition can cover both epic poetry,

whose beauty lies almost wholly in the substance, and lyric verse where

the beauty rests chiefly in qualities of expression and musical form,

and in which indeed the substance may be altogether negligible. A

cursory examination of Watts-Dunton's definition of "Poetry," which is

admittedly the best put forward in recent times, shows its entire

inadequacy. "Absolute poetry," he says, "is the concrete and artistic

expression of the human mind in emotional and rhythmical language."[a]

This would exclude from the art some of the finest sacred verse, which,

though in the form of prose, has been recognized as poetry from time

immemorial. Metre is only one of the devices of the poet for

accomplishing his end---the presentation of beautiful pictures upon the

mind, but in high poetry there is a still more compulsory artifice which

is not included in Watts-Dunton's definition, and that is metaphor. In

the form of words the details of a picture can only be dealt with

successively, and not simultaneously, and without metaphor the poet

would sometimes be in the position of the painter who should present a

dozen different pictures each containing only one part of a composition,

and call upon the observer to put the pieces together in his mind.

Further the term "absolute" in the definition quoted has no

comprehensible meaning if it does not exclude a good deal of verse which

is commonly recognized as poetry, while, as is admitted by Watts-Dunton,

there is much accepted lyric verse without concrete expression.

In high poetry as in high painting, the beauty appeals both to the

senses and the mind, and in each art the quality descends as the

sensorial overbalances the intellectual appeal, and the effect becomes

more ephemeral. In the very highest of the plastic arts, colour has

little value except in assisting definition; and in the very highest

poetry musical form has only an emphasizing value, for the sensorial

beauty arising from form in the one case, and form and action in the

other, entirely overpowers the harmonies of colour and tone

respectively. But colour without design is meaningless, so that it

cannot be applied in the fine arts apart from design: hence in painting,

colour presents no complication in respect of definition. On the other

hand music, with or without association with poetry, is equally an art

since in either case it imitates the effects of human emotions in a

beautiful way. Thus, where metre is present poetry is a combined art,

and seeing that metre may not be present, a definition of "Poetry" must

cover what may be in one case a pure, and in another, a compound art.

[a] Article on "Poetry," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th edition.

NOTE 21. PAGE 55

There seems to be a tendency to overestimate the disparity between

translations of high poetry and the originals. The value of a

translation depends primarily upon the character of the thing

translated, since it is the form that is unreproducible in another

tongue, and not the substance. In epic and dramatic poetry where the

form is of secondary importance, a good literal translation may come

much nearer to the original than a translation of a lyric where the form

is usually of at least equal importance with the substance. We lose less

of Homer or Sophocles than of Sappho or Theocritus in translation. In

the case of epic poetry the higher its character, the closer to the

original appears the translation, because the form is of less relative

importance. More of Dante is lost than of Homer in literal translation,

but the difference narrows when the new versions are in metrical form,

for the use of metre in translation is necessarily more detrimental as

the substance of the original increases in power, and this relative

weakening is emphasized as the beauty of form in the translation is

raised. Pope is farther from Homer than Chapman, and Chapman than the

prose translations of Buckley and Lang. As we descend in the scale of

the art, so it becomes more difficult to reproduce the poet in

translation, and in most lyric poetry the beauty seems almost entirely

lost in another tongue from the original, though when the substance is

of weight, and the translator is himself a good poet, he sometimes gives

us a paraphrase with a high beauty of its own. Some modern poets seem to

eschew substance altogether. Much of the verse of esteemed French and

Belgian poets is quite meaningless in literal translation, the authors

relying for the effects entirely upon musical form and beauty of

expression.

NOTE 22. PAGE 66

Lessing points out this remarkable picture of Homer as emphasizing the

beauty of Helen, observing:

What could produce a more vivid idea of beauty than making old age

confess that it is well worth while the war which cost so much

blood, and so much treasure?

Nevertheless the remark of the old men does not seem to mean so much as

the description of the sages and their reference to the goddesses. It is

difficult to imagine several wise men agreeing that the sanguinary war

of nine years was really excusable in view of Helen's beauty, and the

statement therefore is naturally received as a permissible overcolour.

Consequently the effect of the remark would be discounted, and unlikely

to be sufficient for the purpose of the poet. True, the Greeks seem to

have been childlike sometimes in their simplicity, but there is no

evidence that they were so wanting in a sense of proportion as to accept

literally this opinion of the elders. But when we observe the senility

of the elders, and the physical feebleness which has apparently rendered

them incapable of sensual pleasures, then indeed we must marvel at a

beauty which excites their emotions so powerfully as to bring the

goddesses to their minds.[a]

In discussing the suitableness of this incident as a subject for a

painting, Lessing remarks that the passion felt by the old men was "a

momentary spark which their wisdom at once extinguished," but later on,

referring to the possibility that the veil worn by Helen when she passed

through the streets of Troy had not been removed when she was seen by

the elders, he points out[b]:

When the elders displayed their admiration for her, it must not be

forgotten that they were not seeing her for the first time. Their

confession therefore did not necessarily arise from the present

momentary view of her, for they had doubtless often experienced

before the feelings which they now for the first time acknowledged.

This is very true, but it only serves to deepen the impression of

Helen's beauty, for the element of surprise is removed from the minds of

the elders, the mere sight of her, veiled or unveiled, being sufficient

to recall the passionate thrills previously experienced.

[a] See on this subject Quintilian, viii., 4.

[b] _Laocoon_, Roennfeldt translation.