NOTE 23. PAGE 67

In nearly all the instances of sublimity quoted by Longinus there is

this particular merit of brevity---the picture is thrown upon the brain

immediately, without pause or anything whatever to complicate the

beauty. But the learned critic directs attention only to the magnificent

thoughts and the appropriate use of them, without pointing out the

extraordinary condensation of the language employed. Apart from the

instance from Genesis given, there is another of his examples in which

practically the whole beauty of the picture is produced by the rapidity

of its presentation. This is the exclamation of Hyperides when accused

of passing an illegal decree for the liberation of slaves--"It was not

an orator that made this decree, but the battle of Chaeronea." Longinus

observes[a]:

At the same time that he exhibits proof of his legal proceedings,

he intermixes an image of the battle, and by that stroke of art

quite passes the bounds of mere persuasion.

But it was rather the manner in which the battle was introduced than the

fact of its introduction, that gave force to the argument. If instead of

confining himself to a short brilliant observation, Hyperides had

carefully traced cause and effect in the matter, he would still have

intermixed an image of the battle, but he would not then have produced a

work of art.

Still finer instances of the use of brevity in expresssion by the orator

are to be found in the speeches of Demosthenes. For example in his

oration On the Crown he says: "Man is not born to his parents only, but

to his country." A whole volume on the meaning and virtue of patriotism

could not say more: hence the sublime art. The simple statement lights

a torch by which we examine every convulsion in history; presents a

moving picture in which we see the motives and aspirations guiding the

patriots of a hundred generations; sets an eternal seal of nobility upon

the love of man for his native country. And a few words suffice. The

same thought might be elaborated into a large volume, but the art would

fly with the brevity.

[a] _On the Sublime_, XV., William Smith translation.

NOTE 24. PAGE 68

There are many translations of the Ode to Anactoria, but the best of

them reflects only slightly the depth of passion in the original. The

version which most nearly represents the substance, while maintaining

the unhalting flow of language, is perhaps that of Ambrose Philips

(1675-1749), which runs thus:--

Blest as th' immortal gods is he,

The youth who fondly sits by thee,

And hears, and sees thee all the while

Softly speak, and sweetly smile.

'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,

And raised such tumults in my breast;

For while I gazed, in transport tost,

My breath was gone, my voice was lost.

My bosom glowed; the subtle flame

Ran quick through all my vital frame;

O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;

My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled;

My blood with gentle horrors thrilled;

My feeble pulse forgot to play;

I fainted, sunk, and died away.

The English reproductions of this ode in the Sapphic measure are not

very successful, the difficulty of course being due to the practical

impossibility of fulfilling the quantitative conditions of the strophe

without stilting the flow of language, or unduly varying the substance.

But it has been shown by Dr. Marion Miller in his translation of

Sappho's Hymn to Aphrodite, which is much higher in substance and

somewhat less condensed in expression than the Ode to Anactoria, that

with certain liberties in respect of quantities, a very beautiful

semblance of the Sapphic measure may be produced in English. His

translation of this hymn is unquestionably the best in our language,

though this is perhaps partly due to the fact that he is almost the only

translator who has adhered to the text in regard to the sex of the loved

person. To make the object of affection a man seems inappropriate to the

language employed in the verse. (It is proper to mention that a license

taken by Dr. Miller in his translation---where he renders the passage

relating to the sparrows, as "clouding with their pinions, Earth's wide

dominions"--suggested to the present writer the somewhat similar picture

to be found on Page 111.)

[Illustration: PLATE 26 (See page 250)

St. Margaret, by Raphael (_Louvre_)]

NOTE 25. PAGE 68

The gradual decadence of the great period of Grecian sculpture is well

marked by the successive variations of the Cnidian Aphrodite of

Praxiteles. The copy of this at the Vatican is no doubt a close

representation of the original, but later there was commenced a long

series of variations, all of them more or less complicating the design.

First a pillar was substituted for the vase, reaching nearly to the

armpits, and the left forearm rested upon it, while drapery fell down

the front, so that some exertion was required to separate the figure to

the eye. Then a dolphin was substituted for the pillar, the head of the

animal resting on the ground, and the body rising up straight with

the bent tail forming the support. Then for this was placed a dolphin

with its body corkscrew shaped, which was particularly weak as it tended

to deprive the figure of repose. After this, while the dolphin was

maintained, a cestus was sometimes added, and heavy drapery applied in

various folds. Finally the attitude of the figure was changed, that of

the Venus de' Medici being adopted, while the pillar or dolphin was

retained. Each alteration necessarily diminished the beauty of the

figure.

NOTE 26. PAGE 69

Reynolds seems to have been disappointed with the frescoes of Raphael

when he first saw them, and this fact has been called in evidence by

some modern critics to support their contention that the art of the

great masters is really inferior to that wherein design is subordinated

to colour. But Reynolds very definitely admitted that his first

impression was wrong, for after studying the frescoes, he notes[a]:

In a short time a new taste and a new perception began to dawn upon

me, and I was convinced that I had originally formed a false

opinion of the perfection of art, and that this great painter was

well entitled to the high rank which he holds in the admiration of

the world.

Reynolds was quite a young man when he went to Rome, and his

appreciation of Raphael increased as his experience matured. More than

twenty years after the visit, he remarked that Raphael had "a greater

combination of the high qualities of the art than any other man,"[b] and

ten years later he affirmed that the Urbino artist stood foremost among

the first painters.[c] Reynolds supposed that his lack of appreciation

of the frescoes when he first saw them arose from want of immediate

comprehension of them: he was unaccustomed to works of such great power,

but it is to be observed that his inspection was a very short one, and

we may reasonably draw the conclusion that changing light conditions had

much to do with the effect the paintings left upon him at the time. When

one enters a room where the light differs materially in intensity or

quality from that experienced just previously, it is advisable to rest

quietly for a little while before examining works defined by colour, in

order that the eyes may become accustomed to the new light.

[a] Reynolds's _Italian Note Book_.

[b] His Fifth Discourse at the Royal Academy.

[c] His Twelfth Discourse.

NOTE 27. PAGE 73

That the judgment of the public upon a work of art is final seems to

have been recognized by all the ancient writers who dealt with the

matter, and that the Greeks generally held this view is evident from

many incidents, notably the reference to public judgment in the great

competition between Phidias and Alcamenes. During the Renaissance also

the opinion held good, and it is worth noting that the suggestion

sometimes made that Michelangelo did not conform to this view is

unsupported by evidence. Vasari relates the following anecdote[a]:

He [Michelangelo] went to see a work of sculpture which was about

to be sent out because it was finished, and the sculptor was taking

much trouble to arrange the lights from the windows to the end that

it might show up well; whereupon Michelangelo said to him: "Do not

trouble yourself, the important thing will be the light of the

piazza"; meaning to infer that when works are in public places, the

people must judge whether they are good or bad.

Lionardo went so far as to advise artists to hear any man's opinion on

his work, "for," he said, "we know very well that though a man may not

be a painter, he has a true conception of the form of another man."[b]

It is a common misconception with the general public, though not among

serious artists, that by reason of their profession artists are better

judges of works of art than other men. Obviously the recognition of

beauty in art is apart altogether from the means by which it is created,

and subject to the exceptions noted elsewhere, all men are alike able to

appreciate high beauty. Winckelmann even advised his readers against the

judgment of artists on the ground that they generally preferred what is

difficult to what is beautiful,[c] but experience with the great art

bodies in Europe who hold exhibitions does not support this view. It is

only the weaker artists who are liable to be prejudiced in such matters,

and when the judges are of high attainments in art, they almost

invariably make the same choice in competitions that would be made if

general opinion were solicited. But although artists cannot be better

judges of high-class works of art (as beautiful things) than other men

of equal intelligence, their training usually enables them to

distinguish obscure forms of beauty which would be unrecognized by the

general public, and in matters of colour to differentiate between

ephemeral and more or less permanent harmonies. Hence while the public

interests would not suffer from the introduction of the lay element in

judging high class sculpture and painting, it is obvious that the

consideration of works where the lower forms of beauty only are

produced, as in formal decoration, should be confined to the profession.

In music alone of the arts, for reasons already given, special

cultivation is necessary for the judgment of the higher forms of beauty.

[a] _Life of Michelangelo Buonarotti_, De Vere translation.

[b] McCurdy's _Lionardo da Vinci's Note Books_.

[c] _History of Ancient Art_, Part V., 6.

NOTE 28. PAGE 74

It is commonly supposed that the vast multitude of men and women--the

toilers in the fields and factories, and their families, do not

appreciate great works of art; that rarely they take an interest in any

kind of art, and then only in simple representations of everyday

incidents. This is so apparently, but it is not strictly true. The great

bulk of working people grow up amidst surroundings where they do not

have an opportunity of seeing good works of art. They toil from morn to

eve during their whole life: their imaginations are almost entirely

confined to their means of livelihood, their daily routine of labour,

and their household duties. A "mute inglorious Milton" remains mute

because he wants the knowledge and experience around which his fancy may

roam, and a potential Raphael dies in obscurity from the enforced

rigidity of his imagination. But even so, notwithstanding that the

nervous activities and the imaginations of the poorer workers remain

undeveloped, they are still subservient to the irrevocable laws of

nature. Their faculties may be little changed from childhood in respect

of matters appertaining to the higher senses, but they still exist. So

it comes about that in all times since art has been practised, the

paintings and sculptures of the greater masters have been well

appreciated by the multitude when they could come into contact with

them. In modern times great works of art are seldom available to the

masses except in public galleries where their sense perception and minds

are quickly confused and fatigued--in fact rendered incapable of

legitimate use, but the trend of popular opinion is very decidedly

settled by the experience of those business houses which undertake the

reproduction of important works. There are many times the demand for

prints and cards of pictures belonging to the higher forms of art, as

for instance, sacred and historical subjects, and portraits, than for

interiors and landscapes, and so incessant is this demand for the better

works, that a painter desiring to copy one of the great Raphael or

Correggio Madonnas at Florence for reproduction, will usually have to

wait three or four years after entering his name, before his turn comes

to set up his easel. It is rather the want of intelligent contact with

them, than indifference to them, that is due the apparent lack of

interest in great works of art on the part of the labouring classes.

There is a deal of truth in the incisive remarks of Leo Tolstoy when

dealing with this question. He says [a]:

Art cannot be incomprehensible to the great masses only because it

is very good, as artists of our day are fond of telling us. Rather

we are bound to conclude that this art is unintelligible because it

is very bad art, or even is not art at all. So that the favourite

argument (naively accepted by the cultured crowd), that in order to

feel art one has first to understand it (which really means to

habituate oneself to it), is the truest indication that what we are

asked to understand by such a method, is either very bad art,

exclusive art, or is not art at all.

One may observe however that, as a rule, it is only inferior artists who

complain of the want of public appreciation of great works of art.

[a] _What is Art?_ Aylmer Maude translation, 1904.

NOTE 29. PAGE 78

According to Lessing and Watts-Dunton, what the former calls the

dazzling antithesis of Simonides--"Poetry is speaking painting, and

painting dumb poetry"--has had a wide and deleterious effect upon art

criticism. Lessing, who wrote _Laocoon_ about 1761, said in his preface

in reference to this saying:

It was one of those ideas held by Simonides, the truth of which is

so obvious that one feels compelled to overlook the indistinctness

and falsehood which accompany it.... But of late many critics, just

as though no difference existed, have drawn the crudest conclusions

one can imagine from this harmony of painting and poetry.

Watts-Dunton, writing a few years ago, added to this[a]:

It [the saying of Simonides] appears to have had upon modern

criticism as much influence since the publication of Lessing's

_Laocoon_ as it had before.

Lessing points out that the Greeks confined the saying to the effect

produced by the two arts, and (evidently referring to Aristotle) did not

forget to inculcate that these arts differed from each other in the

things imitated and the manner of imitation.

Since the business of both poetry and painting is to throw pictures on

the mind, the declaration of Simonides must be accepted, but it has no

particular meaning as applied either to criticism or the practice of the

arts. It is merely a fact of common knowledge put into the form of a

misleading _jeu d'esprit_, though one has a natural reluctance in so

describing a time-honoured saying. There is room for doubt whether it

really had the effect upon criticism that is alleged. Annibale Carracci

varied it slightly into a better form with "Poets paint with words, and

painters speak with the pencil," and it was certainly as well known in

his time as in the eighteenth century, yet we find no particular

evidence of weak art criticism either in the sixteenth or seventeenth

century. Moreover allegorical painting was not less common in these

centuries than in the century following; and while there was

unquestionably a spurt of descriptive poetry in the eighteenth, it is

difficult to trace a connection between this phenomenon and general

criticism based upon the dictum of Simonides. In regard to later times,

the statement of Watts-Dunton wants demonstration.

[a] Article on "Poetry," _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, 11th edition.

NOTE 30. PAGE 79

A few distinguished poets have attempted to portray beauty of form by

description of features, but they have all been signally unsuccessful.

The best known essay of the kind is Ariosto's portrait of Araminta,

where he closely describes all details of her features and form, using

forty lines for the purpose; but put together the pieces as one will, it

is quite impossible to gain from them an idea of the beauty of her

countenance.[a] This is pointed out by Lessing. The very length of the

catalogue is apt to kill the beauty as one endeavours to dovetail the

separate elements. Perhaps the lines of Cornelius Gallus to Lydia form

the most perfect poetical delineation of a beautiful face known to us,

but as will be seen from the translation below, they are quite

insufficient to enable us to picture the beauty of the combined features

on our minds.[b]

Lydia! girl of prettiest mien,

And fairest skin, that e'er were seen:

Lilies, cream, thy cheeks disclose;

The ruddy and the milky rose;

Smooth thy limbs as ivory shine,

Burnished from the Indic mine.

Oh, sweet girl! those ringlets spread

Long and loose, from all thy head;

Glistening like gold in yellow light

O'er thy falling shoulders white.

Show, sweet girl! thy starry eyes,

And black brows that arching rise:

Show, sweet girl! thy rose-bloom cheeks,

Which Tyre's vermillion scarlet streaks:

Drop those pouting lips to mine,

Those ripe, those coral lips of thine.

[a] _Orlando Furioso_, C. VII.

[b] C. A. Elton translation.

NOTE 31. PAGE 80

If there be one example of descriptive poetry relating to landscape

which throws upon the mind a complete natural scene during the process

of reading, it is the beautiful chant of the Chorus in _Oedipus

Coloneus_. The perfection of form and majestic diction of this poetry

are remarkable, but the successful presentation of the picture on the

mind is largely due to the simple and direct language used, and the

astonishing brevity with which the many features of the scene are

described. Green dells, fields, plains, groves, rocks, flowers, fruit,

and rushing waters, are all brought in, and the few lines used do not

prevent the introduction of the Muses, the jovial Bacchus with the

nursing nymphs, and radiant Aphrodite. All modern poetry descriptive of

landscape entirely fails in presenting a comprehensive view. It is too

discursive--over descriptive, to permit of the mind collecting the

details together as one whole. Here is the best prose version of the

lines of Sophocles[a]:

Thou hast come, O stranger, to the seats of this land, renowned for

the steed; to seats the fairest on earth, the chalky Colonus; where

the vocal nightingale, chief abounding, trills her plaintive note

in the green dells, tenanting the dark-hued ivy, and the leafy

grove of the god, untrodden, teeming with fruits, impervious to the

sun, and unshaken by the winds of every storm; where Bacchus the

reveller ever roams attending his divine nurses. And ever day by

day the narcissus, with its beauteous clusters, bursts into bloom

by heaven's dew, the ancient coronet of the mighty goddesses, and

the saffron with golden ray; nor do the sleepless founts of

Cephisus that wander through the fields fail, but every day it

rushes o'er the plains with its limpid wave, fertilizing the bosom

of the earth; nor have the choirs of the Muses loathed this clime;

nor Aphrodite too, of the golden reign.

[a] Oxford translation.

NOTE 32. PAGE 81

It is perhaps necessary to remind some readers that the term "invention"

is used in two senses in art, referring to the original idea or scheme,

or to the preparation of the design embodying the idea. In poetry and

fiction the term has the former significance; in painting and sculpture

the latter. The restriction in the use of the term in the last named

arts is compulsory. (See Chap. III., and Note 33.)

NOTE 33. PAGE 81

Apparently Lessing did not observe that inasmuch as the painter cannot

present the beginning and end of an incident, he must necessarily take

his moment of action from the literary arts or from nature. The critic

notices that the painter does not invent the action he depicts, but

states that this is due to his indifference towards invention, developed

by the natural readiness of the public to dispense with the merit of

invention in his case. That is to say, the public expects the painter to

take his idea from the poet or from nature, and looks to him only for

correct design and execution: hence the painter is under no necessity to

invent his own scheme.

It is curious that a reason of this kind for the practice of the painter

should be put forward by so keen a critic as Lessing, but it is not

altogether surprising when we remember the discussion as to whether

Virgil drew his representation of the Laocoon incident from the

celebrated sculptured group, or the sculptors adopted the device of the

poet. Lessing definitely settled the point in favour of the poet as the

author of the design, and since his time this decision has been

confirmed over and over again by practical evidence. But the conclusion

of Lessing seems obvious in the absence of any such evidence. As we

must exclude the possibility of both poet and sculptors taking the

design from the same original source, it is clear that the poet could

only have imitated the sculptors on the supposition that they had so

widely varied the legend as to necessitate a new beginning and end of

the story, these being provided by the poet. Consideration of such a

series of events is not permissible, as it would reflect upon the common

sense of the sculptors, and actually degrade the poet.

Consequent upon the inability of the painter to originate a scheme for a

picture, the famous proposition of Lessing as to the relative importance

of invention and execution with the poet and painter, must fall to the

ground. The critic states that our admiration of Homer would be less if

we knew that he took certain of his work from pictures, and asks[a]:

How does it happen that we withdraw none of our esteem from the

painter when he does no more than express the words of the poem in

forms and colours?

He suggests as an answer to this:

With the painter, execution appears to be more difficult than

invention: with the poet on the other hand the case seems to be

reversed, and his execution seems to be an easier achievement than

the invention.

The word "invention" is to be taken here in the sense of plot or fable,

and not as the details of design invented by the painter for the purpose

of representing the action described by the poet. The premisses of

Lessing's argument therefore will not stand, for the painter cannot

originate a fable by means of a picture. And sequential to this of

course, the painter can be of no service to the poet. Homer could not

draw an original scheme from a painting. Nor may the poet take a detail

from the painter, for this has already been borrowed. A poet may vary a

detail in a legend because he can make the successive parts of his

relation fit in with the variation, but the painter can only deal with a

single moment of action, and if this does not correspond with an

accepted legend, then his design appears to be untrue.

It may be said in regard to painting, that the relative difficulty of

the invention (the work of gathering and arranging the signs) and the

execution, varies with the character of the art. In the higher forms, as

sacred and historical work, the invention is the more difficult; in

ordinary scenes of life and labour the trouble involved in invention

would about equal that in execution; while in the lower forms, as

landscape and still-life, the execution is obviously the more difficult.

In the case of the poet, the idea or fable is the hardest part of his

work, but the relative difficulty of the arrangement of the parts, and

the execution, would naturally depend upon the general character of the

composition, and the form of the poem.

[a] _Laocoon_, Phillimore translation.

NOTE 34. PAGE 82

The works here referred to are those designed for the purpose of

achieving a political or social aim, or conveying instruction or moral

lessons. There are many examples of good art where advocacy of a social

or administrative reform is presented by way of incident or accessory,

though the art itself is never, and cannot be, assisted thereby.

"Didactic Art," if such a term may be appropriately used, is practically

a thing of the past, but judging from certain conventions the opinion

seems to be rather widely held that art should point a moral when

possible, and an opinion of Aristotle is not infrequently called in to

support this view. But when Aristotle connected morals with art, he

evidently did not mean to suggest that art should have a moral purpose,

but that it should have a moral tendency in not being morally harmful,

for art which is not morally harmful must necessarily be morally

beneficial. The general connection of the good with the beautiful in

ancient Greece seems to have merely implied that what is good is

beautiful, and what is beautiful is good, or should be good, and not

that goodness is a manifestation of beauty, or beauty of goodness. It

was admitted that the two things may not coincide.

NOTE 35. PAGE 85

That landscape painting may be of considerable value in assisting

scientific exploration is instanced by an anecdote related to the writer

by a geological friend. Professor Jack, formerly Government Geologist of

Queensland, while travelling in that colony, having put up one night at

the house of a small squatter, noticed on the walls of the interior, a

number of colour drawings which had been painted by a son of the settler

from views in the neighbouring hills. One of these drawings showed a

reddish-brown tint running down the slope of a grey and nearly barren

hill. This caught the eye of the professor who asked the artist if the

colours roughly represented the natural conditions, and receiving an

affirmative reply, recommended the squatter to prospect the ground for

minerals. This was done with the result that profitable copper deposits

were found. It seems that in Australia many of the best mineral veins

are capped with iron, and run through schistose rocks traversed by

dioritic dykes. Professor Jack was well aware that the hills in the

district were formed of these rocks and dykes, and as the reddish-brown

streak indicated iron oxide, it occurred to him that the iron might be

the cap of a lode holding valuable minerals.[a]

[a] This note is from _The Position of Landscape in Art_, by the

present author.

NOTE 36. PAGE 87

Remarkable evidence of the universality of ideals, is afforded by the

galaxy of French sculptors who appeared in the thirteenth century. They

could have had no teachers beyond those responsible for the stiff and

formal works characterizing the merging of Norman with Gothic art; they

could have seen few of the fragments of ancient sculpture; and yet they

left behind them monuments which rival in noble beauty much of the work

produced in the greatest art period. How their art grew, and how it

withered; how such a brilliant bloom in the life of a nation should so

quickly fade, needs too detailed an argument to be ventured upon here,

if indeed a properly reasoned explanation can be given at all; but the

flower remains, as great a pride to mankind as it is a glory to France:

remains, though sadly drooping, for the petals of Rheims are gone.

Now these Frenchmen were in much the same position as the early Greeks.

They were confronted with the task of making images of their objects of

worship for great temples. They had no more real knowledge of the

Personality of Christ, the Virgin, and most of the Saints than had the

Greeks of the Homeric gods and legendary heroes, and like the Grecian

sculptors they fully believed in the spiritual personages and religious

events with which they dealt. The Grecian and French artists therefore

started from the same line with similar general ideals, for the ancient

workers took no heed of Homer and Hesiod in respect of the failings of

their gods; and they both had only pure formalities in sculpture behind

them. And what was the result? The ideal divine head of the Christian

Frenchman is much the same as that of the Greeks in regard to form, and

only varies in expression with the character of the respective religious

conceptions.

The French sculptors did not reach the sublime height of the Phidian

school, nor did they attempt the more human beauty typified by the

giants of the fourth century B.C.; but apart from these, and leaving

aside considerations of the nude with which they were little concerned,

they climbed to the highest level of the latter end of the fourth

century and the beginning of the third--the level attained by those

Grecian sculptors who more or less idealized portrait heads by adding

Phidian traits. And it would appear that in reaching towards their goal

they followed the same line of thought as the Greeks, and arrived at

similar conclusions in respect to every detail of the head and pose of

the figure. As a rule they gave to the faces of Christ and the Saints a

large facial angle, set the eyes in deeply and the ears close to the

head, and generally worked on parallel lines with the principal

sculptors of Peloponesia living sixteen hundred years before their time.

It is perhaps natural that they should make similar variations in the

proportions of the figures to provide for the different levels from

which they were to be seen, but it is curious that they should adopt the

practice followed by the Greeks in the representation of children in

arms, by minimizing to the last degree the figure of the Infant Christ

in the arms of the Madonna. They could not have more closely imitated

the Greeks in this respect had they had Grecian models in front of them.

No doubt they fixed the position of the Child at the side of the Virgin

in order that the line of her majestic form might not be broken, and

that her face might be revealed to observers below the level of the

statues, but that they should have made the Child so extremely small and

insignificant considering His relative importance compared with that of

the Grecian infant in arms, is remarkable.

NOTE 37. PAGE 90

It is too early yet to fix definitely the position of Rodin in art.

There is much sifting of his works to be done, for of all artists with a

wide reputation, he was perhaps the most variable. Still he may be

called one of the greater artists, and so is amongst the rare exceptions

mentioned, for he executed one or two hideous figures, the most notable

being La Vieille Heaulmiere.[a] This cannot properly be described as a

work of art because it is revolting to the senses: it is merely a

species of writing--a hieroglyph, and Rodin's own apology for it is a

direct condemnation, since a work of sculpture cannot be good if general

opinion does not approve of it. He says[b]:

What matters solely to me is the opinion of people of taste, and I

have been delighted to gain their approbation for my La Vieille

Heaulmiere. I am like the Roman singer who replied to the jeers of

the populace, _Equitibus Cano_. I sing only for the nobles; that is

to say for the connoisseurs. The vulgar readily imagine that what

they consider ugly is not a fit subject for the artist. They would

like to forbid us to represent what displeases and offends them in

nature. It is a great error on their part. What is commonly called

"ugliness" in nature can in art become full of great beauty. In the

domain of art we call ugly what is deformed, whatever is

unhealthy.... Ugly also is the soul of the vicious or criminal

man.... But let a great artist or writer make use of one or other

of these uglinesses, instantly it becomes transfigured: with a

touch of his fairy wand he has turned it into beauty: it is

alchemy: it is enchantment.

Rodin then goes on to refer to the description of ugly objects by the

poets, in support of his argument that they may be represented by the

painter! It was his error in confusing the objects of the literary with

those of the plastic arts, that led him to carve La Vieille Heaulmiere,

for he admitted that he wished to put into sculpture what Villon had put

into a poem. Professor Waldstein properly pointed out that, this being

so, the observer of the sculpture should be provided with a copy of the

poem when in front of the statue, adding[c]:

and even then the work remains only the presentation of a female

figure deformed in every detail by the wear and tear of time, and

of a life ending in disease and nothing more. It is the worst form

of literary sculpture, of which we have had so much by artists who

represent the very opposite pole of the modern realists.

Elsewhere the respective positions of the poet and painter (or sculptor)

in the representation of ugliness are dealt with, but it may be added

that in the case of La Vieille Heaulmiere, Rodin does not render in

sculpture the poem of Villion, but only a part of it, for of course he

could not show the progression in the life of the courtesan, indicated

by the poet, which progression puts an entirely different complexion

upon the ugly figure of the poet compared with that of the sculptor.

Clearly Rodin was misled when he said that people of taste have given

their approbation to his appalling figure, for it has been condemned

among all classes, while its few defenders have failed to support their

opinions by reason or experience.

We may note that at another time Rodin reflected upon the character of

the ancient Greek sculpture for the very reason upon which he bases his

claim for public approval of La Vieille Heaulmiere. He says[d]:

That was the fault of the Hellenic ideal. The beauty conceived by

the Greeks was the order dreamed of by intelligence, but it only

appealed to the cultivated mind, disdaining the humble.

Here also is a confusion of ideas, for the intelligence cannot dream of

a special kind of beauty which would not be recognized by the humble,

unless it were so feeble as to be altogether below Greek conceptions.

The aim of the Greek sculptors was to appeal to all classes, and in this

they were eminently successful.

[a] At the Luxembourg.

[b] Gsell's _Art, by Auguste Rodin_.

[c] _Greek Sculpture and Modern Art_, 1914.

[d] Gsell's _Art, by Auguste Rodin_.

[Illustration: PLATE 27 (See page 254)

Diana and Nymphs, by Rubens (_Prado, Madrid_)]

NOTE 38. PAGE 92

Ruskin considered the figure of Christ, known as Le Bon Dieu d'Amiens,

at Amiens Cathedral, the noblest ideal of Christ in existence,[a] and

Dean Farrar wrote of it: "Christ is represented as standing at the

central point of all history, and of all Revelation."[b] It is true that

the sculpture is a noble representation of Christ, but this is not

because it is a Christian ideal. In type it is purely Greek of the late

fourth or early third century B.C. The expression is general, exhibiting

the calm repose that the Greeks gave to a great philosopher.

[a] _The Bible of Amiens._ See Plate 2.

[b] _The Life of Christ as Represented in Art._

NOTE 39. PAGE 97

In the case of the Madonna, Michelangelo does not appear to produce an

ideal woman: he only gives an improved woman. His nearest approach to

the ideal is in his early Pieta at St. Peter's, but even here the Virgin

is only a less earthly prototype of his later figures. The Madonna in

the Holy Family at the Uffizi is much inferior, being merely a slightly

ennobled Italian peasant. The other Madonnas are far higher in character

and seem to suggest the antique, except that the more material

qualities of woman are always present. The Madonnas at the Bargello and

San Lorenzo are of the same general type as the figure in the Last

Judgment, the Night in the Medici Chapel, the Leda in the Bargello, and

the Venus in the sketch made for Pontormo. This being so, it may be

imagined when the Leda is called to mind, that it is hard to associate

the two Madonnas with Christian ideals. The figures are magnificent

works, but they are behind the Madonnas of Raphael from the point of

view of Christian conceptions. The expression is general, and all the

countenances except one, indicate unconcern with surroundings; not the

sublime unconcern of a Phidian god, which implies an apparent disregard

of particulars because they are necessarily understood with an

all-powerful comprehension of principles, but an unconcern which

suggests a want of deep interest in life. The exception is the San

Lorenzo Madonna, in which a certain calm resignation is the principal

feature in expression. Michelangelo was more successful with his men

than with his women. His painted prophets in the Sistine Chapel are as

sublime as his scenes from the Creation; and his Moses in St. Peter's is

rightly regarded as the first sculpture of the Renaissance.

NOTE 40. PAGE 99

When the Pieta of Michelangelo (in St. Peter's, Rome) was first exposed,

some comment was made upon the comparatively youthful appearance of the

Virgin, and Condivi relates that he spoke to the sculptor on the

subject. In reply Michelangelo said[a]:

Don't you know that chaste women preserve their beauty and youthful

character much longer than those who are not chaste? How youthful

then must appear the immaculate Virgin who cannot be supposed ever

to have had a vitiated thought. And this is only according to the

natural order of things: but why may not we suppose in this

particular case, that nature might be assisted by Divine

interposition, to demonstrate to the world the virginity and

perpetual purity of the Mother? This was not necessary in the Son,

nay, rather on the contrary, since Divine omnipotence was willing

to show that the Son of God would take upon Him, as he did, the

body of man, with all his earthly infirmities except that of sin.

Therefore it was not necessary for me to make the human subordinate

to the Divine character, but to consider it in the ordinary course

of nature under the actual existing circumstances. Hence you ought

not to wonder that from such a consideration, I should make the

most holy Virgin-Mother of God, in comparison with the Son, much

younger than would otherwise be required, and that I should have

represented the Son at His proper age.

[a] Lanzi's _History of Painting in Italy_, Roscoe translation,

vol. i.

NOTE 41. PAGE 100

A few modern painters have produced works in which the Holy Family are

pictured in lowly surroundings, but generally they appear to shock the

public sense of propriety. Many persons will remember the sensation

caused by Millais's The Carpenter's Shop, where Christ is shown as a boy

of about ten years of age in the workshop of St. Joseph, and Holman

Hunt's Shadow of the Cross. Later artists have been still more

realistic, notably Uhde, whose sacred scenes almost stagger one with

their modern suggestions, and Demont-Breton, whose Divine Apprentice

represents the Boy Christ sharpening a tool at a grindstone which is

turned by the Virgin.

NOTE 42. PAGE 108

Unquestionably the rapid advance in Italian art in the fifteenth century

was largely due to the influence of the ancient Greek and Roman remains.

Indeed there are very few sculptors of the period who fail to show

evidence of studies in Greek forms and ornaments, while in painting

there are hundreds of figures which could scarcely have been designed in

the absence of antique models. True in some cases the artists do not

appear to have gone beyond the ancient literature, as with Masaccio who

must have had Homer in his mind when he painted his figures of Eve in

the Florence frescoes, and Piero di Cosimo, whose fanciful compositions

savour of the old legends wrapped up in fairy stories; but many painters

were steeped both in the art and literature of Greece and Rome, and made

good use of them.

But the most direct evidence of the influence of Greek art upon Italian

artists of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, is to be found

in the splendid series of bronze statuettes of the period. In their

monumental figures the sculptors were more or less confined in their

designs by considerations of portraiture, conventional drapery and

symbols, and local requirements, and while they were greatly assisted by

Greek experience, yet only rarely were they strictly at liberty except

with ornaments and accessories. But in the small bronze figures their

fancy could roam at will, and they made good use of this freedom in

displaying their ready acceptance of the first principle in the design

of the human figure recognized by the Greeks--that the sculptor must

arrive at perfection of form if that be possible; that this perfection

is not to be found in any single form in life, and consequently the

artist must combine perfected parts into a harmonious whole,

independently of particular models. The agreement with this principle

was general, with scarcely an exception amongst the bronze figure

designers, and the result was that in the period say, from 1450 to 1525,

there was executed a series of bronzes fully representative of the

highest level which plastic art has reached since the greater days of

Greece. Right up to the time of the maturity of Michelangelo, nearly

every bronze figurine cast is purely Grecian in type, and every

ornament, and even every accessory which is not from its nature of

contemporary style, can be traced to Greece, either directly or through

Rome.

Michelangelo brought about a change in accentuating the muscular

development of the body, and before the middle of the sixteenth century

most sculptors had come under his influence. This was unfortunate for he

alone seemed to be capable of harmoniously combining Greek lines with

muscular power. A few of his contemporaries, as Sansovino, Leone,

Cellini, learned how to join, with due restraint, his innovations with

modifications of the Greek torso, but generally the imitation of the

great Florentine initiated a decadence, as it was bound to do, for it

was accompanied with life modelling, and so meant a radical departure

from the Greek forms. Giovanni di Bologna alone among the later

sixteenth century sculptors, was strong enough to move in an independent

direction. He restrained the accentuation of the muscles, and lightened

the Greek type of torso, combining with these conditions an elegance in

design which has never since been surpassed.

This then is the principal cause of the high aesthetic value of the

Renaissance bronzes: the human form exhibited by them is altogether more

beautiful than the form coming within the compass of life experience.

Then the details of work on the bronzes are immensely superior to those

of the general modern handiwork. For instance the chiselling of such men

as Riccio and Cellini, has never been equalled since their time, save

perhaps by Gouthiere. And how poor, comparatively, are the present-day

castings! How carefully the old masters worked; how particular they were

with their clay; how skilfully they prepared their wax, and how slowly

and deliberately the mould! How many artists now would have the patience

to make such a mould? For the beautiful patinas on many of the

Renaissance bronzes, age is mostly responsible, though lacquers were

often used for the provision of artificial patinas, particularly after

the middle of the sixteenth century, the finest being found on some of

the works of Giovanni di Bologna. The tone of natural patina depends

largely upon the kind of oxidation to which the bronze has been

subjected, and it is no doubt often affected by the alloy used. Few

modern artists have given close attention to the alloys, while the

method of casting is now usually regarded as a detail of minor

importance.

Seeing that the production of figurines accompanied every civilization

from the dawn of history to the collapse of the Roman Empire, it is

curious that the renaissance of sculpture after the Dark Age should have

progressed a long way before general attention was again turned to these

bronzes. There are a few figures of animals which seem to be Italian

work of the late trecento, but beyond these the small cast bronzes made

in Italy before the maturity of Ghiberti, were practically confined to

Madonnas and Saints, mostly gilt, made to fill Gothic niches, or adorn

the altars of churches and private chapels. Slender Saints they were as

a rule, but always elegant, with serene countenances and delicate

features; beautifully modelled as became the inheritors of the

traditions of the Pisanos. It was somewhere about the middle of the

fifteenth century that Italy commenced to make ungilt statuettes

suitable for household ornaments, and fully ten or fifteen years more

passed away before they were produced with any regularity. The earliest

of them of any importance appear to be a couple of Flagellators from the

design of Ghiberti. They are fine pieces of work, evidently from clay

models made for the scourging scene in one of the gates of the Florence

Baptistry--gates described by Michelangelo as worthy to fill the portals

of Paradise. These figures date about 1440. There is a Child Christ of a

few years later by Luca della Robbia; and two or three figures from

models of Donatello may be assigned to the neighbourhood of 1450. In the

next ten years were turned out some figures from remaining models of

Donatello which had been used for his work at Prato and Padua.

So far the small bronzes made were from studies for larger works of

sculpture, but about this time intense interest began to be taken in the

remains of Greek and Roman art, and no doubt it was the increased

importance attached to the antique bronze figures, mostly household gods

of the Greeks, Etruscans, and Romans, that first led the principal

Renaissance artists to turn their attention to similar work. From this

time on, for a century and a half, these bronze figures were regularly

made. The existing figurines may be broadly classified in four

divisions, namely, the Paduan and Florentine figures executed prior to

1525; those of the school of Michelangelo; those of the Venetian school

headed by Sansovino; and those of Giovanni di Bologna and his school.

Leaving out of consideration the small ornaments for inkstands, vases,

etc., the little animals, and the purely commercial imitations, chiefly

Venetian, made at the end of the sixteenth century, the total number of

Renaissance bronzes now known is roughly six thousand. Of these under a

hundred are from models for larger works by Ghiberti, Donatello,

Verrocchio, Lionardo, Michelangelo, and a few lesser lights; about two

thousand represent original designs specially prepared for bronze

production; some three thousand five hundred are duplicates of, or

slight variations from, these originals, executed by pupils or near

contemporaries of the masters; and the balance of four hundred or so,

are direct reproductions of, or variations from, antique sculptures.

Naturally all collectors aim for the first two sections, but the third

section contains many fine bronzes, often close to the originals, with

equally good patinas. They vary greatly, though they are all ascribed in

commerce to the artists responsible for the originals.

The character of these variations is best seen in the case of Riccio,

the most prolific of the bronze workers of the Renaissance. He designed

and executed under forty small bronze figures and groups, besides some

large bronze works of high importance. Of his small pieces there are in

existence about a hundred duplicates made by his pupils and immediate

contemporaries, who also adapted into household ornaments, various

details from his larger works, bringing up the number of Riccios made

from his models during his lifetime, other than by himself, to about a

hundred and fifty. These are all bronzes of a high order. Then about an

equal number of both kinds of models were reproduced during the twenty

years following his death, all fairly good, but often slightly varied

from the originals; and finally there are Riccios copied by Venetian

craftsmen in the third quarter of the sixteenth century, sometimes

considerably varied, and occasionally with purely Venetian ornaments

added. These last mark the first distinct decadence in the small bronze

art of the period. Next to Riccio among the earlier sculptors, in the

number of bronzes designed, was his great contemporary, Antico, who

accomplished some thirty or so. He differed from Riccio in that while

the latter adhered to the Grecian practice in the design of details and

ornaments, but varied the modelling somewhat to bring it more in

conformity with the contemporary ideas of elegance, Antico kept strictly

to the Grecian modelling, but commonly varied the ancient designs.

There are few duplicates of Antico's work, made either during his

lifetime or after. As with Riccio, his imitators overcame the difficulty

of the chiselling by leaving it out, relying upon the wax to give close

enough resemblance to the originals.

Of the other small bronze sculptors prior to the maturity of

Michelangelo, few executed more than half a score of figures. The best

known are the immediate successors of Donatello in the Paduan school, as

Bertoldo and Bellano, and the giants of the Florentine school, as

Filarete and A. Pollaiuolo. Bronzes by these artists are very rare, and

so are the duplicates of them made by pupils, though Bertoldo, who

reminds one strangely of Lysippus, had occasional imitators for the next

two centuries. These bronzes include many models which have not been

equalled by the greatest of later sculptors, and they will never be

matched until there arises a new school of sculptors resolved to imbibe

the truths which the Renaissance artists gleaned from the ancient

Greeks.

NOTE 43. PAGE 110

The writer has used Greek and Roman names for these gods to some extent

indiscriminately, in accordance with the universal custom in art.

Nevertheless the practice is to be regretted as it tends to complicate

the general ideas of the Greek and Roman religions. Notwithstanding the

occasional direct association of some of their deities with human

personages by their poets, the Romans regarded their gods as purely

spiritual beings, having no special earthly habitation, or sex relations

with the human race, while their powers widely differed from those of

the respective Greek deities with whom they are commonly identified.

Authorities differ as to whether the gods were supposed to have

spiritual marital relations with each other.[a] In any case the whole

nature of their religion precluded the development amongst the Romans of

a separate sacred art. Their sculptured gods, which were taken from

Grecian models, were symbols rather than presumed types.

[a] See J. G. Frazer's _Adonis, Attis, Osiris_, 1914, vol. ii.; and W.

W. Fowler's _Religious Experience of the Roman People_, 1911.

NOTE 44. PAGE 111

If we may judge from the headless figures of the goddesses, commonly

known as the Three Fates, from the east pediment of the Parthenon, there

seems to be little difference between the general lines of the feminine

torso represented by the Phidian ideal, and those of the Praxitelean

model. The Parthenon torsos are more massive proportionately, but the

object of both Phidias and Praxiteles was evidently to straighten the

outer lines of the torso as nearly as possible, making due allowance for

the varied natural swellings of their respective forms. It is obvious

that the use of attire gave Phidias (presuming the Parthenon figures

referred to were designed by him, as they probably were) a latitude in

varying the proportions of the torsos which he could not have exercised

in the case of nude forms. Unclothed, the figures would appear unwieldy,

and the graceful flowing lines resulting from the partly clinging

drapery could not be so completely presented with nude reclining or

semi-reclining figures. There are other features also which prevent the

nude representation of such massive forms. Thus, the breasts would

necessarily be out of proportion in size, and widely separated. These

conditions are common in fifth century and archaic figures, and do not

appear to be defects in forms of life size or less, but they would be

strikingly noticeable in super figures of the broad massive type with

Phidian lines. The addition of light drapery, however, converts the

apparent faults into virtues, for the artist is enabled therewith to

give new sweeping curves to the forms which conspicuously enhance the

general beauty of the figure.

A still more amazing instance where the use of drapery allows the artist

to vary the recognized proportions of the feminine form to an extent

which would be impossible with nude figures, is the celebrated Ariadne

at the Vatican.[a] This beautiful work, which is of the Hellenistic

period, shows the daughter of Minos attired in a light flowing single

garment, and reclining on a couch, asleep. The upper part of her body

leans against the head of the couch, but the remainder is extended

nearly at full length. The extraordinary feature of the work is that the

length of the figure is altogether out of proportion with the head and

with the breadth of the torso, being much too great, and yet so

skilfully is the drapery arranged that this very defect becomes an

advantage, for it enables a lofty grace, almost approaching grandeur, to

be given to the figure, which would be impossible without the

exaggeration. By the excellent device of a closely arranged cross fold

of drapery passing round the middle of the figure, the artist apparently

shortens it, so that the eye of the observer is not held by its great

length. Only one other example of the supreme use of drapery in this way

seems to be known--a bronze sitting figure of Calliope,[b] which is of

the late Hellenistic period, and is obviously of the same school as the

Ariadne marble.

[a] See Plate 29.

[b] Dreicer Collection, New York.

NOTE 45. PAGE 112

Praxiteles is known to have executed at least four other statues of

Aphrodite besides the Cnidian example, but this last is the only one as

to which we have fairly complete records, and of which copies have been

closely identified. It is also the most celebrated. We may therefore

accept the work as typical for comparative purposes.

NOTE 46. PAGE 113

There has been much discussion as to whether Apelles showed the same

extent of figure as is represented in the sculpture, a common suggestion

being that he brought the surface of the water to the waist line; but it

is evident that the painting corresponded with the sculpture in this

particular. The artist had to represent the goddess walking towards the

shore. If he brought the water to the waist line he could not definitely

suggest movement, as a deflection of the shoulder line might mean that

the goddess was in an attitude of rest, corresponding to the pose of

nearly all the sculptured figures of the Praxitelean school. On the

other hand if he carried the water line down towards the knees, the

advance of the right leg would be most marked, and the effect disturbing

because of the loss of repose, a quality at all times valuable in a

painting of a single figure, and really necessary in the representation

of Venus. The artist very properly reduced the portion of the thighs

visible to the smallest fraction possible compatible with an expression

of movement, in order to give the figure the greatest repose attainable.

Under any circumstances there was nothing to gain by showing the water

reaching to the waist.

Certain details of the picture by Apelles are to be obtained from

Grecian epigrams. Thus, one by Antipater of Sidon contains these

lines[a]:

Venus, emerging from her parent sea,

Apelles' graphic skill does here portray:

She wrings her hair, while round the bright drops flee,

And presses from her locks the foamy spray.

From this it would appear that the position of the goddess when painted

was presumed to be comparatively near the artist, otherwise the separate

drops of falling water would not have been observed. The last line in

the following epigram by Leonides of Tarentum indicates the ideal

character of the countenance, though evidence of this is scarcely

necessary[b]:

As Venus from her mother's bosom rose

(Her beauty with the murmuring sea-foam glows),

Apelles caught and fixed each heavenly charm;

No picture, but the life, sincere and warm.

See how those finger tips those tresses wring!

See how those eyes a calm-like radiance fling!

[a] Translated by Lord Neaves.

[b] Translated by Lord Neaves.

NOTE 47. PAGE 124

So far as the writer knows, Piero was the only artist of the Renaissance

who used this mythological story for a composition (his picture has

hitherto been called an allegory), a circumstance which is rather

singular considering the suitableness of the subject for the provision

of effective designs. The Greek sculptors in dealing with the legend

confined themselves to the moment when Athena threw down the pipes,

apparently for the reason that this instant gave an opportunity of

rendering Marsyas in a strong dramatic action. The famous statue of the

faun after Myron in Rome, is supposed to have formed part of a group

representing Athena and Marsyas immediately after the pipes were

dropped, and the design appears on still existing coins and vases of the

fifth and fourth centuries B.C. Piero takes a later moment, showing

Marsyas comfortably squatting in the foreground of a delightful fanciful

landscape, expressing boyish satisfaction with the prizes he is about to

try. He is properly shown as a satyr instead of in the faun form of the

sculptor. There appears to be no legitimate place in painting for a

faun, while a satyr may at times be appropriately introduced into a

pastoral composition.

NOTE 48. PAGE 125

Controversy has raged around this picture for something like seventy

years. The work came to light before 1850 at a public auction sale when

it was attributed to Mantegna, with whom of course it had nothing to do.

Then it was pronounced a Raphael, but this was disputed by Passavant who

held that on account of the thin lower limbs of the figures, and the

minute way in which the landscape was painted, it could not be by

Raphael, but was of the school of Francia, or by Timoteo della Viti.

Morelli brought back the attribution to Raphael, and the work then came

into the possession of the Louvre. Subsequently Pinturicchio and

Perugino were alternately suggested as the painter, and to the latter

the picture was assigned by the Louvre authorities. All are agreed that

the date of the work is about 1502. It does not seem possible that

Perugino could have painted the picture, for the subject and invention

are entirely foreign to him, while the lithe active form of Apollo does

not consort with the least formal of his known figures. The landscape is

much in his manner, but so it is also in the style of Raphael's early

period, while the small buildings therein are closely finished as in

some of Raphael's other works of the time.[a] Perugino used similar

towers and buildings, but being a more experienced painter he did not so

finely elaborate the details. The suggestion relating to the school of

Francia was afterwards very properly withdrawn, and Pinturicchio must be

ruled out on account of the landscape, apart from the supple figure of

Apollo of which he was incapable. There remain then only Timoteo della

Viti and Raphael as the possible painters of the work. But it cannot

reasonably be suggested that Timoteo could have accomplished so perfect

a figure as the Apollo, and moreover so original a figure. It certainly

required an exceptionally bold mind to overcome the difficulty in

rendering the traditionally semi-feminine form of Apollo by representing

him as a young man just past his teens. Besides, the general delicacy of

the work is not in the style of Timoteo. Passavant's objection to the

limbs is overruled by the presence of similar limbs in the Mond

Crucifixion. It would seem then that Morelli was right in assigning the

beautiful little picture to the youthful period of the greatest of all

painters.

[a] See Portrait of a young Man at Budapest, and the Terranuova Virgin

and Child at Berlin.

NOTE 49. PAGE 138

The white races are here referred to merely by way of example, and there

is no intention to suggest that the more or less uncivilized peoples

have no perception of beauty. It is well known that both semi-civilized

and savage races differ from the whites in the matter of beauty, and the

fact has been partly responsible for several theories for explaining

aesthetic perception, notably that of association, laid down by Alison

and Jeffrey, but long since discarded. Seeing that there is no

difference in kind between the sense nerves of the whites and the

blacks, they must necessarily act in the same way. That the blacks

appreciate as beautiful forms which the whites disregard, seems to

arise partly from want of experience, partly from training, and partly

from neglect in the exercise of the sense nerves. Take for example an

inhabitant of Morocco where corpulency is commonly regarded as an

element of beauty in women. If none but Moroccan women are seen or

pictured, it is impossible for a higher form of beauty than is to be

found amongst them to be conceived, for the imagination cannot act

beyond experience. In cases where the Moroccan has had experience of

both white and black, it is certain that, other things being equal, the

white woman would be the more admired, for this is the general

experience among the black races, and is strikingly noticeable in

America with the descendants of African tribes. The appreciation of very

fat women can easily be understood on the ground of custom or training.

A youthful Moroccan may be firmly of opinion that corpulency is not an

element of beauty, but seeing that his older acquaintances hold a

contrary view, he may well form the conclusion that his judgment is

wrong, and so accept the decision of his more mature countrymen. It is

quite common among the whites for people to doubt their own aesthetic

perceptions when an inferior work of art is put forward as a thing of

beauty. The general want of appreciation of certain musical harmonies on

the part of uncivilized peoples is undoubtedly due to the neglect of the

sense nerves concerned, for these are not cultivated except to a small

extent involuntarily. The most ignorant and poor of the whites

unavoidably come into frequent contact with the simpler forms of art,

but the savage races see only the result of their own handiwork. The

uncivilized races can scarcely be expected to admire the higher reaches

of art wherein intellectual considerations enter, except for their

sensorial excellence.

[Illustration: PLATE 28 (See page 256)

Automedon and the Horse of Achilles, by Regnault (_Boston Museum_)]

NOTE 50. PAGE 139

There seems to be some uncertainty as to whether Fragonard intended his

splendid series of the Frick collection to represent the subjects

usually assigned to them, namely, The Pursuit (or The Flight of Design,

a title given to the original sketch for the picture); The Rendezvous

(or The Surprise, or The Escalade); Souvenirs (or Confidences, or The

Reader); The Lover Crowned (or Before the Painter); and The Abandonment

(or The Reverie). It is suggested that the works have an allegorical

signification connected with art, and certainly three of them--the

first, second, and fourth--could be so interpreted. But magnificent

paintings of this kind are usually fitted for many allegorical

suggestions. Each picture represents an incident of common experience,

elaborated with beautiful figures in a perfect setting. This approaches

the summit of the painter's art, for no conception can be greater apart

from spiritual ideals. It is symbolism in its highest form--of universal

experience in which all are interested. The works are not to be taken as

a necessary sequence (the last of the series was painted twenty years

after the others), but the scheme of one or more of them has come within

the experience of every man and woman since the world began.

NOTE 51. PAGE 149

Seeing that this precise dignified pose, coming so near the line of

exaggeration, but never crossing it, is present in all the authenticated

portraits of Titian, save those of very aged persons, we may reasonably

consider the pose an important factor in determining the validity of

certain portraits as to which a doubt has arisen. Thus in the case of

the Physician of Parma[a] (this title is admittedly wrong), which has

been variously given to Titian and Giorgione, the verdict must be in

favour of Titian, for the pose is certainly his, while it is unknown in

any work of Giorgione. On the other hand, the portrait of Catherine

Cornara,[b] commonly ascribed to Titian, but also attributed to

Giorgione,[c] cannot be by the former master; nor is the Portrait of a

Man (with his hand on a bust),[d] which seems to pair with the Cornara

portrait. The portrait known as An Old Man Asleep,[e] sometimes given to

Titian, clearly does not belong to him.

It should be noted that the general confusion observable for many years

in the estimation of Giorgione's work arose from the attribution to him

of paintings executed in the comparatively broad manner of Titian, but

which this artist did not adopt till Giorgione had been dead for a

decade or more. The recent exhaustive critique of Lionelli Venturi[f] of

the earlier master has cleared the air, and we now know the range of his

work very positively. Giorgione was less fine in some of his paintings

than in others, for he paid more attention to chiaroscuro as he matured,

but there is no instance where he painted in the broader manner

occasionally exhibited by Titian. All the works in the style of The

Concert and The Three Ages are now known to be by other hands than those

of Giorgione, and it must be unfortunately admitted that not a single

painting by him exists either in England or America.

[a] Vienna Gallery.

[b] Cook Collection, London.

[c] By Herbert Cook in _Giorgione_.

[d] Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

[e] The Brera, Milan.

[f] _Giorgione e il Giorgionismo_, 1913.

Note 52. Page 156

Hals is another artist as to whom many misconceptions have arisen in

regard to his use of a very broad manner in his portraits. There is a

total of about 350 works attributed to him, of which some two thirds are

single portraits, and twenty are portrait groups. The balance includes

over thirty genre pictures, mostly with single figures, and fifty heads

of boys and girls generally shown in the act of laughing. It is in his

genre work that the broad manner is mostly observable, and only very

occasionally is it to be found in his portraits. In the more important

works of the artist, even during his later period, his manner is by no

means broad,[a] though it is not so fine as in his best years, say from

1635 to 1650. This estimate can however only be general, as his dated

paintings of different periods after 1630 often correspond so closely

that it is difficult to assign dates to the other pictures with

certainty.

Perhaps the frequent attribution to Hals of works by his pupils and

imitators, has had something to do with the public estimation of the

breadth of his manner. This was often greatly exaggerated by his

followers, and many portraits are given to him which he could not

possibly have painted. In his important work on the artist, Dr. von Bode

points out that some of the duplicates of his pictures were apparently

executed by his pupils, but these are not separated in the book.[b] It

is a simple matter to divide the works painted by Hals from the studio

copies and the portraits of imitators. His brushwork and impasto were

quite exceptional. He had a firm direct stroke, never niggled or

scumbled, and his loading was restrained though very effective. Quite

naturally his pupils, however industrious and skilled, could not

closely imitate his remarkable freedom in handling. They were incapable

of firm decisive strokes throughout a portrait, and endeavoured to

overcome the loading difficulty by using brushes of a coarseness foreign

to the master when rendering light tones. Moreover Hals was nearly

perfect in drawing, and in this there are usually marked defects in the

studio copies.

[a] See Stephanus Gereardts, Antwerp Museum; Isabella Coymans,

E. Rothschild Collection, Paris; Lady with a Fan, National

Gallery, London; and William van Heythuysen, Liechtenstein

Collection, Vienna.

[b] _Frans Hals: his Life and Work_, 1914.

NOTE 53. PAGE 161

The term "grace" as applied in art has so many significations that it is

difficult to deal with one of them without confusion. What is here

specially referred to is the grace of pose designed by the artist. The

object of the portrait painter is to pose his sitter so that the grace

indicated shall appear natural and habitual, a feature as important now

in the appearance of women as it was twenty-five centuries ago when

Sappho asked[a]:

What country maiden charms thee,

However fair her face,

Who knows not how to gather

Her dress with artless grace?

But the grace of pose never appears to be artless, after the first

inspection, unless there is something in the expression to hold the

mind. Without this appeal to the mind the portrait must soon tire, and

the pose become artificial and stiff, that is to say, in representations

of life size, for in miniature portraiture the countenance seldom or

never crosses the vision involuntarily.

In the ancient Greek forms, Winckelmann distinguishes four kinds of

grace--lofty, pleasing, humble, and comic--but the grace exhibited by

sculptured forms necessarily depends upon the harmony of expression,

character of form, and pose. This should be the case with painted

portraits also, but drapery restrictions and accessories commonly compel

a limitation in the design of the artist. In three quarter and full

length portraits it is impossible to depart from the dress customary at

the period of execution, unless the sitter assume a classical character,

and this is only possible in comparatively few instances. In any case

the pose should always be subordinated to the expression.

[a] Free translation (quoted by Wharton), the term "artless grace"

being implied but not expressed by Sappho.

NOTE 54. PAGE 167

The remarkable range of Raphael in expression has been commented upon by

many critics, and practically all agree with Lanzi in his eloquent

summary[a]:

There is not a movement of the soul, there is not a character of

passion known to the ancients and capable of being expressed in

art, that he (Raphael) has not caught, expressed, and varied in a

thousand different ways, and always within the bounds of

propriety.... His figures are passions personified; and love, hope,

fear, desire, anger, placability, humility, and pride, assume their

places by turns as the subject changes; and while the spectator

regards the countenances, the air, and the gestures of the figures,

he forgets that they are the work of art, and is surprised to find

his own feelings excited, and himself an actor in the scene before

him.

[a] _History of Painting in Italy_, vol. i., Roscoe translation.

NOTE 55. PAGE 169

This Pompeian fresco is supposed to be a copy of the picture of

Timanthes, but there is an ancient marble relief of the same subject at

Florence, the design of which is also said to have been taken from the

Grecian painter, though it differs considerably from the fresco.

Quintilian observes as to the work of Timanthes, that having rendered

Calchas sad, Ulysses still more sad, and Menelaus with the deepest

expression of grief possible in art, the painter could not properly

portray the countenance of Agamemnon, who as father of Iphigenia was

presumed to be the most deeply affected of all present, and so covered

his head, leaving the intensity of his suffering to be understood.[a]

[a] _School of Oratory_, ii.

NOTE 56. PAGE 172

The authenticity of the Boston example of Mona Lisa is still in dispute.

So far no serious objection to it has been brought forward, and there

are certain points in its favour, as the presence of the columns which

are reproduced in Raphael's sketch, and the bold brushwork of the

drapery where this can be distinguished. But there is another example of

the work in existence, and this fact, with the natural hesitation in

pronouncing definitely on so important a matter, will probably leave the

authenticity of the picture undecided for a long time. Meanwhile the

literature upon Mona Lisa is ever increasing, and some important facts

have been recently brought out. Amongst these is an announcement by A.

C. Coppier that the lady was not a Florentine, but a Neapolitan of the

Gheradini family, and that she was married in 1495, when eighteen years

of age.[a] She would therefore be twenty-seven years old in 1504 when

the picture which Raphael sketched is supposed to have been painted. But

the Mona Lisa in the Louvre was completed between 1515 and 1519; hence

there is much to ascertain as to the history of the work.

[a] _Les Arts_, No. 145, 1914.

NOTE 57. PAGE 172

The various suggestions that have been made as to the meaning of Mona

Lisa's smile, seem to have no other foundation than the fancies of

mystic minds. The smile has been called dangerous, sinister, ambiguous,

provocative, purposely enigmatic, significant of a loose woman,

expressive of sublime motherhood, reminiscent of Eastern intrigue, and

so on, the mildest criticism of this kind affirming that the smile will

ever remain an enigma. It is of course impossible for any meaning to be

put into a smile by the painter, other than that of pleasure.

Psychological suggestions are possible with the poet or novelist, but

not with the painter. If there be any enigma or mystery in a picture,

then the art is bad, for the work is incomprehensible, but there is no

problem to be solved in Mona Lisa's smile. It is not different from any

other smile except in degree, and of course in the quality appertaining

to the particular countenance. Lionardo, with his scientific turn of

mind, was not likely to attempt the impossible by trying to mix

psychology with paint.

NOTE 58. PAGE 178

It is necessary to dissent from the conclusion of Lessing as to the

representation of ugliness by the poet. He says in referring to Homer's

portrayal of Thersites[a]:

Why in the case of ugliness did he adopt a method from which he so

judiciously refrained in that of beauty? Does not a successive

enumeration of its compound parts diminish the effect of ugliness,

just as a similar enumeration of its parts destroys that of beauty?

Undoubtedly it does, but in this very fact lies Homer's

justification. For the very reason that ugliness in the poet's

description is reduced to a less repulsive appearance of bodily

imperfection, and in point of its effect ceases as it were to be

ugliness, the poet is enabled to make use of it.

It is true that as he cannot present a particular form of beauty by

description, so the poet cannot describe an ugly countenance in such a

way that it may be pictured on the mind as a whole; but on the other

hand, as he can, by reference to its effect, or by imagery, present a

greater beauty than the painter can portray, so he may by similar means

suggest a more hideous form of ugliness. And apart from this, while a

detail in the description of a beautiful countenance is immaterial until

it is combined with other details, a detail of ugliness may in itself be

sufficient to render the countenance wholly repulsive to the reader.

Thus, if one said of a maid that her cheeks were a compound of the lily

and the rose, this would not necessarily imply that she was generally

beautiful; but if it were said of a man that he had a large bulbous

nose, we should consider him ugly whatever the character of his other

features. It was only necessary for Milton to refer to one or two

details of the figure of Sin, to throw upon our minds a form of

appalling ugliness.[b]

A successive enumeration of its component parts, does not therefore

diminish the effect of ugliness, as Lessing claims, but increases it. On

the other hand a successive enumeration of the parts of beauty does not

destroy the beauty, but simply fails to represent it.

The poet may use ugliness where the painter cannot, because his ugly

form does not dominate the scene, save for an instant or two, being

quickly subordinated by surrounding conditions of speech and action;

whereas the ugly figure of the painter is fixed for ever. Further, the

poet may surround his description of the ugly thing with beautiful

imagery and lofty sentiment, practically hiding the ugliness with a

cloak of beauty; but the painter can only depict the ugly thing as it

is, naked to the sight, without gloss or apology.

[a] _Laocoon_, Ronnfeldt translation.

[b] _Paradise Lost_, ii.

NOTE 59. PAGE 190

It has been suggested that the foot of Hercules in this fine bronze was

placed upon the skull of an ox to indicate a successful hunt,[a] but

Hercules was a demigod, and so could not be connected in art with any

but a superhuman task or exploit. Moreover the only instance recorded in

mythological history where Hercules fought with an ox (unless the feat

of strength against the white bull of Augeas be called a fight), is that

of the Cretan bull, which was captured and not killed. There is no other

sculptured figure now known where a foot is placed on the skull of an

ox, but Pausanias records that he saw one in a temple of Apollo at

Patrae, the figure being that of the god himself.[b] Pausanias attributes

the motive of the design to Apollo's love of cattle. There is no doubt

about the significance of the Frick bronze. The skull of an ox, and

rams' heads are frequently found on ancient tombs, and acanthus leaves

were commonly used both in Greece and Rome as funereal signs, while the

base of the statuette, which is cast with the figure, is clearly

intended to represent an altar. It is noticeable that the form of

acanthus leaf used is Roman, suggesting that Pollaiuolo had access to

the reproductions of tomb inscriptions made to the order of Lorenzo de'

Medici.

There is apparently no other existing design of a hero contemplating

death, but Lysippus carved several figures, now lost, of Hercules in a

sad or depressed mood. In the most celebrated of these, the demigod was

seated in a thoughtful attitude on a lion's skin, and it is possible

that this design was connected with the contemplation of death, because

it was produced in relief soon after the time of Lysippus, and later in

a Pompeian fresco, in both cases in the presence of Lichas, the bearer

of the poisoned garment.

[a] Bode's Preface to the _Catalogue of the Morgan Bronzes_.

[b] Pausanias, vii.

NOTE 60. PAGE 192

The attempt of Ruskin to raise landscape to a high level in the art of

the painter[a] need scarcely be referred to here, so completely have his

arguments been refuted elsewhere.

The authority of Alexander Humboldt has been sometimes quoted in support

of the assertion that landscape can appeal to the higher attributes, the

passage relied upon affirming that descriptive poetry and landscape

painting "are alike capable in a greater or lesser degree of combining

the visible and invisible in our contemplation of nature." But it is

clear from the whole references of the writer to these arts, that he

means nothing more by his statement than that a painting or descriptive

poem may, like an actual landscape, induce a feeling of wonder at the

powers of the original Cause of nature. The opinion of Humboldt upon the

position of landscape painting may be gathered from his definite

observation that it has "a more material origin and a more earthly

limitation than the art which deals with the human form."[b]

[a] _Modern Painters_, vols i. and ii., and the preface to the second

edition of the work.

[b] _Cosmos_, vol. ii.

NOTE 61. PAGE 194

It is doubtful whether an artist can invent a form of tree which does

not exist in nature, without producing something of the character of a

monstrosity. From the point of view of dimensions, the two extreme forms

of trees used in painting, are represented in Raphael's Madonna with

the Goldfinch[a] as to the slender forms, and as to the giant trunks, in

two or three of Claude's pictures. The very beautiful trees of Raphael

have been often regarded as pure inventions, and Ruskin was actually

surprised that the artist did not delineate the "true form of the trees

and the true thickness of the boughs";[b] but as a matter of fact

precisely similar trees (a variety of ash) are to be found in the

valleys of the Apennines to this day. All the change that Raphael made

was to transport the trees from a sheltered spot to an open position.

Very similar trees are introduced in the same master's Apollo and

Marsyas.[c] Perugino was the first painter to use them, and in some of

his earlier works he made them of great height,[d] but he gradually

modified the form till he approached the perfect symmetry and delicacy

of Raphael's examples.[e] Marco Basaiti introduced them into at least

three of his pictures, and they are also to be found in works by Timoteo

della Viti and Francia.[f] Higher and equally slender trees have been

appropriately used by Antonio della Ceraiuolo,[g] and even by so late a

painter as Nicholas Poussin.[h]

[a] Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

[b] _Modern Painters_, vol. iv.

[c] The Louvre.

[d] Baptism of Christ, Perugia; and The Crucifixion, Florence.

[e] The Deposition, Pitti Palace.

[f] Madonna and Child in a Rose Garden, Munich.

[g] The Crucifixion, Florence Academy.

[h] Diana sleeps in the Forest, Prado, Madrid.

NOTE 62. PAGE 194

In noting the fact that the great landscape artist invents his designs,

Byron observes that nature does not furnish him with the scenes that he

requires, and adds[a]:

Nature is not lavish of her beauties; they are widely scattered,

and occasionally displayed, to be selected with care, and gathered

with difficulty.

Had Byron been a painter, he would have known that the trouble of the

artist is due to the over, and not the under, supply of beauty by

nature. The artist sees the beauty, but cannot identify it with

particular signs, and so has to invent a scene himself, using nature

only for sketches or ideas.

[a] _Art and Nature._

NOTE 63. PAGE 200

"The force of natural signs," says Lessing, "consists in their

resemblance to the things they represent."[a] In a criticism upon the

second part of _Faust_, G. H. Lewes writes[b]:

The forms which are his (the artist's) materials, the symbols which

are his language, must in themselves have beauty and an interest

readily appreciable by those who do not understand the occult

meaning. Unless they have this they cease to be art: they become

hieroglyphs. Art is picture painting, not picture writing.

While this is generally true, beauty in the lesser signs of the poet is

of greater importance than in those of the painter, because a painting

is looked upon direct as a whole, while a poem has to be comprehended in

its parts before it can be properly considered as a whole.

[a] Laocoon.

[b] _Life of Goethe_, 2d edition.

NOTE 64. PAGE 203

Although those of the fifteenth-century artists who treated landscape

seriously did not thoroughly understand perspective, yet they were

seldom at a loss in representing distance, that is, in the clear

atmosphere which they invariably used. They were diffident in attempting

distance with unbroken level country, and till quite the end of the

century there is no instance where middle and far distance are shown

together, even with the assistance of hilly ground. The almost

invariable practice of the leading painters who made landscape a feature

in their works, was to introduce water leading back from the foreground,

so that breaks therein could be used to indicate distance. More or less

numerous jutting forks of low lying land were thrown into the stream

from either side, this plan being successfully adopted in Italy,[a]

Flanders,[b] and Germany.[c]

Early in the sixteenth century much improvement was made in the use of

water for providing distance, and a few of the Venetian painters gave

some consideration to aerial perspective, but the most perfect example

of this perspective in the period is contained in an early work of

Raphael.[d] In the background is a lake extending into a gradually

deepening haze, and in this a boat is so skilfully placed as to increase

considerably the apparent distance to the horizon. This picture is a

distinct advance upon the Venetian distance work of the time.[e] Later

on in the century an artist rarely introduced water into a view

specially to assist in producing distance by means of boats, more

advanced methods being adopted. Titian used sunlight effects with

varying shadows,[f] or alternating clear and wooded ground.[g] These

plans, and the use of water with the addition of trees and low hills,[h]

constitute the chief devices to be found in the late sixteenth-century

Italian pictures. Some of the sun effects rendered for distance purposes

even before Titian's best time are quite effective, though formal.[i]

[a] See Piero di Cosimo's Death of Procris, National Gallery, London,

and Mars and Cupid, Berlin.

[b] Van Eyck's Chancellor Rollin before the Virgin, and Bout's

Adoration of the Magi.

[c] Lucas Moser's Voyage of the Saints (1431), Tiefenbroun, Germany.

[d] Central panel in a triptych of the Crucifixion, Hermitage,

Petrograd. This picture has been sometimes attributed to

Perugino, but it is unquestionably from the hand of Raphael.

[e] See Titian's Jacopo Pesaro presented to St. Peter, Antwerp.

[f] Charles V. at Muehlberg, Madrid.

[g] Meeting of Joachim and Anna, Padua; and others.

[h] Bronzino's Venus and Cupid, Uffizi, Florence.

[i] Schiavone's Jupiter and Io, Hermitage.

NOTE 65. PAGE 204

Lessing apparently overlooked the possibilities of landscape painting in

his dictum as to progressive actions. He writes[a]:

If painting on account of the signs and means of imitation which it

employs, and which can only be combined in space, must entirely

renounce time, then progressive actions cannot, in so far as they

are progressive, be included in the number of its subjects, but it

must content itself with coexistent actions, or with mere bodies,

which on account of their position cause an action to be suspected.

It is true that a series of progressive human actions cannot be included

in one painting, but progressive natural actions can be so included when

the progression is regular and repeated and the actions are clearly

separated to the eye. Although the painter can only depict a moment of

time, he can show the whole progression, which is not the case in a

series of human actions, as in the example quoted by Lessing, of

Pandarus arranging his bow, opening his quiver, choosing an arrow, and

so on.

Strange to say, De Quincey, in an explanatory note to Lessing's

observations, also overlooks the movement of water broken by rocks,

though he refers specially to landscape painting. He says[b]:

In the succession of parts which make up appearance in nature,

either the parts simply repeat each other (as in the case of a man

walking, a river flowing, etc.), or they unfold themselves through

a cycle, in which each step effaces the preceding, as in the case

of a gun exploding, where the flash is swallowed up by the smoke

effaced by its own dispersion.

But for the purpose of the painter, the action of water breaking over

ledges and boulders does not correspond with the case of a man walking

or a river flowing, because the series of events forming the progression

in the case of the water breaking, cover such time and space that the

events can be distinctly separated by the eye. Clearly also this action

should not be included in De Quincey's second category, because the

repetition is both regular and (to all intents and purposes) perpetual.

There should therefore be a third category to comprise those repeated

progressive acts in which the events can be so separated by the eye as

to be portrayed on canvas in the order of their progression, and in such

a way that the whole progression, and the meaning of it, are at once

apparent.

[a] _Laocoon_, Phillimore translation.

[b] Essay on "Lessing."

[Illustration: PLATE 29 (See page 329)

Greek Sculpture of Ariadne (_Vatican_)]

NOTE 66. PAGE 208

Professor Clausen relates that Whistler told him that his object in

painting nocturnes was to try and exhibit the "mystery and beauty of the

night." It is obvious that Whistler was here confusing psychological

with visual impressions. The depth of gloom, the apparently limitless

dark void which the eye cannot penetrate, mean mystery in a sense,

because we can never accustom ourselves to the suggestion of infinity

involved in something which is boundless to the senses. A sensation of

the sublime may consequently arise, and this means beauty in a

psychological sense. But we are considering art and not psychology.

Where nothing is distinguished, nothing can be painted, and if there be

sufficient light for objects to be determined, there can be no mystery

for the painter. If he be desirous of representing Night, he must follow

the example of Michelangelo and symbolize it.

It is curious that since the death of Whistler, a picture entitled

Mysteries of the Night has been painted by another American artist--J.

H. Johnston. A figure of a beautiful nude woman is standing on a rocky

shore in a contemplative attitude, with the moonlight thrown upon her.

The design is excellent, but the realistic modelling of the figure

effectually kills any suggestion of mystery.

NOTE 67. PAGE 231

Vasari mentions that Michelangelo, though admiring the colour and manner

of Titian regretted that the Venetian painters did not pay more

attention to drawing in their studies.[a] In quoting this, Reynolds

observed[b]:

But if general censure was given to that school from the sight of a

picture by Titian, how much more heavily and more justly would the

censure fall on Paolo Veronese, and more especially on Tintoretto.

Reynolds himself rightly excluded Titian when he condemned the later

Venetian painters of the Renaissance for their exaggeration of colour,

and no doubt Titian was also exempted by J. A. Symonds in his trenchant

criticism of the work of this school. When dealing with the decline of

Lesbian poetry after the brilliant period of Sappho, he wrote[c]:

In this the Lesbian poets were not unlike the Provencal

troubadours, who made a literature of love, or the Venetian

painters, who based their art on the beauty of colour, the

voluptuous charms of the flesh. In each case the motive of

enthusiastic passion sufficed to produce a dazzling result. But as

soon as its freshness was exhausted there was nothing left for art

to live on, and mere decadence to sensuality ensued.

[a] _Life of Titian_.

[b] Reynolds's Fourth Discourse.

[c] _Studies of the Greek Poets_, vol. i.

NOTE 68. PAGE 232

Sir George Beaumont relates of Reynolds[a]:

On his return from his second tour over Flanders and Holland, he

observed to me that the pictures of Rubens appeared much less

brilliant than they had done on his former inspection. He could not

for some time account for this little circumstance; but when he

recollected that when he first saw them he had his notebook in his

hand for the purpose of writing down short remarks, he perceived

what had occasioned their now making a less impression than they

had done formerly. By the eye passing immediately from the white

paper to the picture, the colours derived uncommon richness and

warmth; but for want of this foil they afterwards appeared

comparatively cold.

[a] Cunningham's _Lives of the British Painters_.

NOTE 69. PAGE 249

Rodin[a] observes that in giving movement to his personages, the artist

represents the transition from one pose to another--he indicates

how insensibly the first glides into the second. In his work we

still see a part of what was, and we discover a part of what is to

be.

Rodin points to Rude's fine statue of Marshal Ney, and practically says

that here the illusion is created by a series of progressive actions

indicated in the attitude: the legs remaining as they were when the

sword was about to be drawn, and the hand still holding the scabbard

away from the body, while the chest is being thrown out and the sword

held aloft. Thus the sculptor

compels, so to speak, the spectator to follow the development of an

act in an individual. The eyes are forced to travel upwards from

the lower limbs to the raised arm, and as in so doing they find the

different parts of the figure represented at successive instants,

they have the illusion of beholding the movement performed.

Rodin himself has followed a similar course with much success. The

ancient Greek sculptors, when representing a figure in action,

invariably chose a moment of rest between two progressive steps in the

action. The Discobolus and Marsyas of Myron, and particularly the

Atalanta in the Louvre, are fine examples.

[a] _Art, by Auguste Rodin_, compiled by Paul Gsell, 1916.

NOTE 70. PAGE 250

Mengs, in referring to the arrangement of the drapery in Raphael's

figures, says[a]:

With him every fold has its proper cause; either in its own weight

or in the motion of the limbs. Sometimes the folds enable us to

tell what has preceded; herein too Raphael has endeavoured to find

significance. It can be seen by the position of the folds, whether

an arm or a leg has been moved forwards or backwards into the

attitude which it actually occupies; whether a limb has been, or is

being, moved from a contracted position into a straightened one, or

whether it was extended at first and is being contracted.

[a] _The Works of Anton Raphael Mengs_, vol. ii., D'Azara translation.

NOTE 71. PAGE 258

Besides assisting in providing an illusion, the title of a picture may

lend great additional interest to it. Thus in Millet's The Angelus the

associations called up by the title act most powerfully on the mind, and

one almost listens for the sound of the bell.[a] A work of a

similar character is Bonvin's Ave Maria, where the nuns of a convent are

answering the call[b]; and Horace Walker has a picture with the same

title, in which a boy who is driving cattle, stops in front of a

Crucifix by the wayside[c]. An excellent example of this added interest

is the title of Turner's great picture of the _Temeraire_,[d] as to

which R. Phillimore writes[e]:

It is not difficult to imagine the picture of an old man-of-war

towed by a steam tug up a river. The execution of such a subject

may deserve great praise and give great satisfaction to the

beholder. But add to the representation the statement that it is

"The fighting Temeraire towed to her last berth, " and a series of

the most stirring events of our national history fills our

imagination.

[a] The Louvre.

[b] The Luxembourg.

[c] Corcoran Gallery, Washington.

[d] National Gallery, London.

[e] Preface to translation of Lessing's _Laocoon_.

NOTE 72. PAGE 261

There is an antique sculptured group in the Vatican in which a precisely

similar figure of the son of Niobe has his left hand on the shoulder of

his sister who has fallen to her knees from the effect of a wound, and

it is very reasonably suggested that the Florence figure originally

formed part of a like group. But the explanation of the act given by

Perry[a] and others, that the drapery was raised by the brother to

shield the girl, will scarcely hold good, as the folds are spread out at

the back, forming a concavity, whereas they would fall loosely if the

youth were resting. Apart from this, his legs are widely separated, and

in a running position. It may therefore be surmised that in the Vatican

group the artist intended to represent the precise moment when the

fleeing youth reached his sister.

[a] _Greek and Roman Sculpture._

NOTE 73. PAGE 270

It is curious that among the countless pictures of the Annunciation, in

very few indeed has surprise been expressed in the countenance and

attitude of the Virgin, though it is impossible to imagine an incident

more properly calling for profound astonishment on the part of the

principal personage in a composition, even in the absence of startling

miraculous accessories such as that introduced by Rossetti. Probably the

reason for this is connected with the difficulty of expressing great

surprise unaccompanied with some other feeling, as pleasure, or sorrow,

or fear, but there does not seem to be any cause why an exalted joyful

excitement should not be exhibited. Mrs. Jameson thinks that the Virgin

should not appear startled, as She was "accustomed to the perpetual

ministry of Angels who daily and hourly attended on Her,"[a] but it is

questionable whether this can be properly assumed by the artist, and in

any case from the point of view of art, the action should correspond

with the nature of the event as it is generally understood. Of the few

masters who have indicated surprise in an Annunciation picture,

Tintoretto has gone the farthest. He shows the Virgin with Her lips

parted, and both hands held up, evidently with astonishment,[b] an

example followed by Paris Bordone.[c] Raphael in an early picture

represents Her holding up one hand, but the attitude might signify the

reception of an announcement of importance.[d] Perugino shows Her with

both hands raised, but otherwise She appears unconcerned.[e] A few other

artists, including Venusti and Foppa, and among modern men, Girodet,

adopt Raphael's method of composition. Rubens goes a step farther, and

represents the Virgin apparently standing back with surprise, though

this is only faintly suggested by the facial expression.[f]

[a] _Legends of the Madonna._

[b] Scuolo di San Rocoo, Venice.

[c] Sienna Gallery.

[d] The Vatican.

[e] Santa Maria Nouvo, Perugia.

[f] Vienna Gallery.

INDEX OF SCULPTORS, PAINTERS, AND WORKS OF ART

NOTE.--The Schools to which the earlier Italian painters belonged are

given in brackets.

A

Adam, Franz, 1815-1886, German

--Bavarian Regiment before Orleans, 257

Aivasovsky, I. K., 1817-1900, Russian, 205

Albani, Francesco, 1578-1660, Italian, 163

--Toilet of Venus, 118

Albertinelli, Mariotto, 1467-1512, Italian [Florentine]

--The Salutation, 243

Alcamenes, fifth century B.C., Greek, 304

Altdorfer, A., 1480 (_c._)-1538, German

--The Nativity, 268

Aman, Jean, 1860-, French

--Sorbonne panels, 254

Ancher, Anna K., 1859-, Danish

--The Funeral, 189

Andreani, A., 1540-1623, Italian, 257

Angelico, Fra (Giovanni da Fiesole), 1387-1455,

Italian [Florentine], 17, 101

Antico (Pier Giacomo Ilario), worked late 15th and early 16th century,

Italian, 326

Antonella da Messina, 1421 (_c._)-1493, Italian [Venetian]

--Crucifixion, 243

Antonio del Ceraiolo, worked first half sixteenth century,

Italian [Florentine], 345

Apelles, fourth century B.C., Greek, 10, 44

--Venus Anadyomene, 113, 330, Plate 4;

Alexander in the character of Jupiter, 209

Avercamp, Hendrick van, 1585-1663, Dutch, 292

B

Bartolommeo da Bagnacavallo (Bart. Ramenghi), 1484-1542,

Italian [Bolognese]

--Holy Family, 103

Bartolommeo, Fra (Baccio della Porta, or Bart. di Pagholo), 1475-1517,

Italian [Florentine]

--Adoration of the Shepherds, 265

Bartolozzi, Francesco, 1725-1815, Italian, 164

Basaiti, Marco, died after 1521, Italian [Venetian]

--The Dead Christ, 93;

Calling of the Children of Zebedee, 93;

Christ on the Mount of Olives, 243

Baschenis, Evaristo, 1617-1677, Italian, 247

Battistello (Giovanni Battista Caracciolo), 1580-1641, Italian, 17

--Adoration of the Shepherds, 271

Bellano, Bartolommeo, 1430-1498, 327

Benjamin-Constant, J. J., 1845-1902, French, 184

Benoit-Levy, Jules, 1866-, French

--Morning of July 4, 1789, 253

Berghem, Nicholas (or Berchem), 1620-1683, Dutch, 47, 292

Bernadino da Conti, died 1525, Italian [Venetian]

--Virgin and Child, 245

Bernini, G. L., 1598-1669, Italian, 31, 33

Berritini, Pietro, 1596-1669, Italian, 31

Bertoldo di Giovanni, 1420 (_c._)-1491, Italian, 327

Bischop, C, 1630-1674, Dutch, 292

Blyhooft, Z., 1622 (_c._)-1698, Dutch, 292

Boecklin, A., 1827-1901, German, 208

--Vita Somnium breve, 180;

Pieta, 170

Boltraffio, G. A., 1467-1516, Italian [Milanese]

--Virgin and Child, 103

Bonfiglio, Benedetto, 1420-1496 (_c._) Italian [Perugian]

--Virgin and Child, 103

Bonheur, Rosa, 1822-1899, French

--Ploughing in Nivernois, 256

Bordone, Paris, 1500-1570, Italian [Venetian]

--Annunciation, 354

Both, Andries, 1609-1644, Flemish, 47

Both, Jan, 1610 (_c._)-1652, Flemish, 47

Botticelli, Sandro (Alessandro di Mariano dei Filippi), 1444-1510,

Italian [Florentine] 96

--Pieta, 169;

Nativity, 269;

Reposing Venus, 117;

Athena and the Centaur, 124

Boucher, Francois, 1704-1770, French

--Louvre Portrait, 173;

Sleeping Venus, 118;

Birth of Venus, 268

Bough, S., 1822-1878, British

--Borrowdale, 204

Bouguereau, A. W., 1825-1905, French

--Assumption of the Virgin, 267;

Une ame au Ciel, 267;

Birth of Venus, 115;

Aurora, 271;

Twilight, 271;

The Lost Pleiad, 269

Bouts, Dirk, 1400-1475, Flemish

--Adoration of the Magi, 347

Braquemond, J. F., 1833-, French, 285

Bramantino (Bartolommeo Suardi), 1468-(_c._) 1530, Italian [Milanese]

--Christ, 93;

Virgin and Child, 103

Breton, Jules, 1827-1906, French

--Cry of Alarm, 253

Breughel, Jan, 1569-1642, Flemish, 46

Breughel, Pieter, 1528-1569, Flemish, 90

Bril, Paul, 1554-1626, Flemish, 46

Bronzino (Angelo Allori), 1502-1572, Italian [Florentine]

--Venus and Cupid, 348

Brown, Arnesby, 1866-, British

--The Drove, 257

Burne-Jones, E. B., 1833-1898, British

--Annunciation, 270;

Golden Stairs, 252;

Dies Domini, 93

C

Cabanel, Aexandre, 1823-1889, French

--Venus Anadyomene, 115

Calamis, fifth century B.C., Greek, 9

Canaletto (Antonio Canale), 1697-1768, Italian, 47

Canova, Antonio, 1757-1822, Italian

--L'Amour et Psyche, 191

Cappelle, Jan van de, 1624(_c._)-1679, Dutch, 46

Carracci, Agostino, 1558-1601, Italian, 31

Carracci, Annibale, 1560-1609, Italian, 31

Carracci, Ludovico, 1555-1619, Italian, 31

Caravaggio, M. (Michelangelo Amerighi), 1569-1609, Italian, 17, 246

Cavalori, Mirabello, middle sixteenth century, Italian [Florentine]

--The Carpet Weavers, 252

Cellini, Benvenuto, 1500-1571, Italian, 17, 323

Cephisodostos, early fourth century B.C., Greek

--Irene and Pluto, 101

Cezanne, Paul, 1839-1906, French, 37, 288

Chardin, J. S., 1699-1779, French, 173, 247

Chartier, H., 1870 (_c._)-, French

--Jena, 256;

Hanan, 256

Chase, W. M., 1849-1916, American

--Master Roland, 165

Cignani, Carlo, 1628-1719, Italian, 32, 164

Cimabue, Giovanni, 1240 (_c._)-1302, Italian [Florentine] 92, 95, 283

--Virgin and Child, 101

Cipriani, G. B., 1727-1785, Italian, 164

Claude Lorraine (Claude Gelee), 1600-1682,

French, 17, 30, 47, 195, 198, 201, 283

--Arcadian Landscape, Plate 17

Clausen, George, 1852-, British, 284, 349

Cogniet, L., 1794-1880, French.

--Tintoretto Painting his Dead Daughter, 191