PARIS--THE LOUVRE.
To those who have had the good fortune to see the pictures and statues
which were preserved in the Louvre, all description of these works must
appear superfluous; and to those who have not had this good fortune,
such an attempt could convey no adequate idea of the objects which are
described. There is nothing more uninteresting than the catalogue of
pictures which are to be found in the works of many modern travellers;
nor any thing in general more ridiculous than the ravings of admiration
with which this catalogue is described, and with which the reader in
general is little disposed to sympathise. Without attempting,
therefore, to enumerate the great works which were there to be met with,
we shall confine ourselves to a simpler object, to the delineation of
the _general character_ by which the different schools of painting are
distinguished, and the great features in which they all differ from the
sculpture of ancient times. For the justice of these observations, we
must of course appeal to those who have examined this great collection;
and in the prosecution of them, we pretend to nothing more than the
simple account of the feelings which, we are persuaded, must have
occurred to all those who have viewed it without any knowledge of the
rules which art has established, or the more despicable principles which
connoisseurs have maintained.
For an attempt of this kind, the Louvre presented, singular advantages,
from the unparalleled collection of paintings of every school and
description which was there to be met with, and the facility with which
you could trace the progress of the art from its first beginning to the
period of its greatest perfection. And it is in this view that the
collection of these works into one museum, however much to be deplored
as the work of unprincipled ambition, and however much it may have
diminished the impression which particular objects, from the influence
of association, produced in their native place, was yet calculated, we
conceive, to produce the greatest of all improvements in the progress of
the art, by divesting particular schools and particular works of the
unbounded influence which the effect of early association, or the
prejudices of national feeling, have given them in their original
situation, and placing them where their real nature is to be judged of
by a more extended circle, and subjected to the examination of more
impartial sentiments.
The character of every school of painting has been determined by some
peculiar circumstances under which that school first originated, which
have contributed to form its greatest excellencies, and been the real
source of its principal defects; and it has unfortunately happened, that
the unbounded admiration for the great production of these schools has
everywhere formed the national taste, and tended to perpetuate their
errors, when the progress of society would otherwise have led to their
earlier abandonment. It deserves well to be considered, therefore,
whether the restoration of these monuments of art to their original
situations, while it must unquestionably enhance the veneration with
which they will severally be regarded, may not perpetuate the defects
which particular circumstances have stamped on their school of
composition; and whether the continuance of them in one vast collection,
however fatal to the implicit veneration for the works of antiquity, was
not calculated, by the comparison of their excellencies and the
exhibition of their defects, to form a new school, possessed of a more
general character, and adapted for the admiration of a more unbiassed
public. It is in the despotic reign of arbitrary governments, if we may
be allowed, in a discussion on matters of taste, to borrow an
illustration from politics, that the influence of ancient error, and the
power of ancient prejudice, is most unbounded; but it is in the
unbiassed discussion which distinguishes a free state, that the
influence of prejudice is forgotten, and truth emerges from the
collision of opposite opinions. However this may be, it will not, it is
hoped, be deemed an useless attempt, if we now endeavour to state, in a
few words, the impression which was produced by this great collection of
the works of art, which has been felt, we doubt not, by all who have
viewed it with untutored eyes, but has not hitherto been described by
those so much better able to do justice to it than ourselves.
The first hall of the Louvre in the Picture Gallery is filled with
paintings of the French school. The principal artists whose works are
here exhibited are, Le Brun, Gaspar and Nicolas Poussin, Claude Lorrain,
Vernet, and the modern painters Gerard and David. The general character
of the school of French historical painting, is the expression of
_passion and violent emotion_. The colouring is for the most part
brilliant; the canvas crowded with figures, and the incident selected,
that in which the painter might have the best opportunity of displaying
his knowledge of the human frame, or the varied expression of the human
countenance. In the pictures of the modern school of French painting,
this peculiarity is pushed to an extravagant length, and, fortunately
for the art, displays the false principles on which the system of their
composition is founded. The moment seized is uniformly that of the
strongest and most violent passion; the principal actors in the piece
are represented in a state of phrenzied exertion, and the whole
anatomical knowledge of the artist is displayed in the endless
contortions into which the human frame is thrown. In David's celebrated
picture of the three Horatii, this peculiarity appears in the most
striking light. The works of this artist may excite admiration, but it
is the limited and artificial admiration of the schools; of those who
have forgot the end of the art in the acquisition of the technical
knowledge with which it is accompanied, or the display of the technical
powers which its execution involves.
The paintings of _Vernet_, in this collection, are perhaps the finest
specimens of that beautiful master, and they entitle him to a higher
place in the estimation of mankind than he seems yet to have obtained
from the generality of observers. There is a delicacy of colouring, an
unity of design, and a harmony of expression in his works, which accord
well with the simplicity of the subjects which his taste has selected,
and the general effect which it was his object to produce. In the
representation of the sun dispelling the mists of a cloudy morning; of
his setting rays gilding the waves of a western sea; or of that
undefined beauty which moonlight throws over the objects of nature, the
works of this artist are perhaps unrivalled.
The paintings of _Claude_ are by no means equal to what we had expected,
from the celebrity which his name has acquired, or the matchless beauty
which the engravings from him possess. They are but eleven in number,
and cannot be in any degree compared with those which are to be found in
Mr Angerstein's collection. To those, however, who have been accustomed
to study the designs of this great master, through the medium of the
engraved copies, and above all, in the unrivalled works of Woollet, the
sight of the original pictures must, perhaps at all times, create a
feeling of disappointment. There is an unity of effect in the engravings
which can never be met with amidst the distraction of colouring in the
original pictures; and the imagination clothes the beautiful shades of
the copy with finer tints than even the pencil of Claude has been able
to supply. "I have shewn you," said Corinne to Oswald, "St Peter's for
the first time, when the brilliancy of its decorations might appear in
full splendour, in the rays of the sun: I reserve for you a finer, and a
more profound enjoyment, to behold it by the light of the moon." Perhaps
there is a distinction of the same kind between the gaudy brilliancy of
varied colours, and the chaster simplicity of uniform shadows; and it is
probably for this reason, that on the first view of a picture which you
have long admired in the simplicity of engraved effect, you
involuntarily recede from the view, and seek in the obscure light and
uncertain tint which distance produces, to recover that uniform tone and
general character, which the splendour of colouring is so apt to
destroy. It is a feeling similar to that which Lord Byron has so finely
described, as arising from the beauty of moonlight scenery:--
------"Mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies."
The Dutch and Flemish school, to which you next advance, possesses
merit, and is distinguished by a character of a very different
description. It was the well-known object of this school, to present an
exact and faithful _imitation of nature_; to exaggerate none of its
faults, and enhance none of its excellencies, but exhibit it as it
really appears to the eye of an ordinary spectator. Its artists
selected, in general, some scene of humour or amusement, in the
discovery of which, the most ignorant spectators might discover other
sources of pleasure than those which the merit of the art itself
afforded. They did not pretend, in general, to aim at the exhibition of
passion or powerful emotion: their paintings, therefore, are free from
that painful display of theatrical effect, which characterises the
French school; their object was not to represent those deep scenes of
sorrow or suffering, which accord with the profound feelings which it
was the object of the Italian school to awaken; they want, therefore,
the dignity and grandeur which the works of the greater Italian
painters possess: their merit consists in the faithful delineation of
those ordinary scenes and common occurrences, which are familiar to the
eye of the most careless observer. The power of the painter, therefore,
could be displayed only in the minuteness of the finishing, or the
brilliancy of the effect; and he endeavoured, by the powerful contrast
of light and shade, to give an higher character to his works, than the
nature of their subject could otherwise admit.
The pictures of Teniers, Ostade, and Gerard Dow, possess these merits,
and are distinguished by this character in the highest degree; but their
qualities are so well known in this country, as to render any
observation on them superfluous. There is a very great collection here
preserved of the works of Rembrandt, and their design and effect bear,
in general, a higher character than belongs to most of the works of this
celebrated master.
In one respect, the collection in the Louvre is altogether
unrivalled--in the number and beauty of the _Wouvermans_ which are there
to be met with; nor is it possible, without having seen it, to
appreciate, with any degree of justice, the variety of design, the
accuracy of drawing, or delicacy of finishing, which distinguish his
works from those of any other painter of a similar description. There
are 38 of his pieces there assembled, all in the finest state of
preservation, and all displaying the same unrivalled beauty of colouring
and execution. In their design, however, they widely differ; and they
exhibit, in the most striking manner, the real object to which painting
should be applied, and the causes of the errors in which its composition
has been involved. His works, for the most part, are crowded with
figures; his subjects are in general battle-pieces, or spectacles of
military pomp, or the animated scenes which the chace presents; and he
seems to have exhausted all the efforts of his genius, in the variety of
incident and richness of execution, which these subjects are fitted to
afford. From the confused and indeterminate expression, however, which
the multitude of their objects exhibit, we turn with delight to those
simpler scenes in which his mind seems to have reposed, after the
fatigues which it had undergone: to the representation of a single
incident, or the delineation of a certain occurrence--to the rest of the
traveller after the fatigues of the day--to the repose of the horse in
the intermission of labour--to the return of the soldier after the
dangers of the campaign;--scenes, in which every thing combines for the
uniform character, and where the genius of the artist has been able to
give to the rudest occupations of men, and even to the objects of animal
life, the expression of general poetical feeling.
The pictures of _Vandyke_ and _Rubens_ belong to a much higher school
than that which rose out of the wealth and the limited taste of the
Dutch people. There are 60 pieces of the latter of these masters in the
Louvre, and, combined with the celebrated Gallery in the Luxembourg
Palace, they form the finest assemblage of them which is to be met with
in the world. The character of his works differs essentially from that
both of the French and the Dutch schools; he was employed, not in
painting cabinet pictures for wealthy merchants, but in designing great
altar pieces for splendid churches, or commemorating the glory of
sovereigns in imperial galleries. The greatness of his genius rendered
him fit to attempt the representation of the most complicated and
difficult objects; but in the confidence of this genius, he seems to
have lost sight of the genuine object of composition in his art. He
attempts what it is impossible for painting to accomplish--he aims at
telling a whole story by the expression of a single picture; and seems
to pour forth the profusion of his fancy, by crowding his canvas with a
multiplicity of figures, which serve no other purpose than that of
shewing the endless power of creation which the author possessed. In
each figure there is great vigour of conception, and admirable power of
execution; but the whole possesses no general character, and produces no
permanent emotion. There is a mixture of allegory and truth in many of
his greatest works, which is always painful; a grossness in his
conception of the female form, which destroys the symmetry of female
beauty; and a wildness of imagination in his general design, which
violates the feelings of ordinary taste. You survey his pictures with
astonishment--at the power of thought and brilliancy of colouring which
they display; but they produce no lasting impression on the mind; they
have struck no chord of feeling or emotion, and you leave them with no
other feeling, than that of regret, that the confusion of objects
destroys the effect which each in itself might be fitted to produce. And
if one has made a deeper impression; if you dwell on it with that
delight which it should ever be the object of painting to produce, you
find that your pleasure proceeds from a single figure, or the expression
of a detached part of the picture; and that, in the contemplation of it,
you have, without being conscious of it, detached your mind from the
observation of all that might interfere with its characteristic
expression, and thus preserved that unity of emotion which is essential
to the existence of the emotion of taste, but which the confusion of
incident is so apt to destroy.
A few landscapes by _Ruysdael_ are to be here met with, which are
distinguished by that boldness of conception, fidelity of execution, and
coldness of colouring, which have often been remarked as the
characteristics of this powerful master.
It is in the Italian school, however, that the collection in the Louvre
is most unrivalled, and it is from its character that the general
tendency of the modern school of historical painting is principally to
be determined.
The general object of the Italian school appears to be the expression of
_passion_. The peculiar subjects which its painters were called on to
represent, the sufferings and death of our Saviour, the varied
misfortunes to which his disciples were exposed, or the multiplied
persecutions which the early fathers of the church had to sustain,
inevitably prescribed the object to which their genius was to be
directed, and the peculiar character which their works, were to assume.
They have all, accordingly, aimed at the expression of passion, and
endeavoured to excite the pity, or awaken the sympathy of the spectator;
though the particular species of passion which they have severally
selected, has varied with the turn of mind which the artist possessed.
The works of _Dominichino_ and of the _Caraccis_, of which there are a
very great number, incline, in general, to the representation of what is
dark or gloomy in character, or what is terrific and appalling in
suffering. The subjects which the first of these masters has in general
selected, are the cells of monks, the energy of martyrs, or the
sufferings of the crucifixion; and the dark-blue coldness of his
colouring, combined with the depth of his shadows, accord well with the
gloomy character which his compositions possess. The _Caraccis_, amidst
the variety of objects which their genius has embraced, have dwelt, in
general, upon the expression of sorrow--of that deep and profound sorrow
which the subjects of Sacred History were so fitted to afford, and which
was so well adapted to that religious emotion which it was their object
to excite.
Guido Reni, Carlo Maratti, and Murillo, are distinguished by a gentler
character; by the expression of tenderness and sweetness of
disposition: and the subjects which they have chosen are, for the most
part, those which were fitted for the display of this predominant
expression--the Holy Family, the flight into Egypt, the youth of St
John, the penitence of the Magdalene. While, in common with all their
brethren, they have aimed at the expression of emotion, it was an
emotion of a softer kind than that which arose from the energy of
passion, or the violence of suffering; it was the emotion produced by
more permanent feelings; and less turbulent affections; and from the
character of this emotion, their execution has assumed a peculiar cast,
and their composition been governed by a peculiar principle. Their
colouring is seldom brilliant; there is a subdued tone pervading the
greater part of their pictures; and they have limited themselves, in
general, to the delineation of a single figure, or a small group, in
which a single character of mind is prevalent.
Of the numerous and splendid collection of _Titian's_ which are here
preserved, it is not necessary to give any description, because they
consist for the most part of portraits, and our object is not to dwell
on the richness of colouring, or powers of execution, but on the
principles of composition by which the different schools of painting
are distinguished.
There are only six paintings by Salvator Rosa in this collection, but
they bear that wild and original character which is proverbially known
to belong to the works of this great artist. One of his pieces is
particularly striking, a skirmish of horse, accompanied by all the
scenery in which he so peculiarly delighted. In the foreground is the
ruins of an old temple, with its lofty pillars finely displayed in
shadow above the summits of the horizon;--in the middle distance the
battle is dimly discerned through the driving rain, which obscures the
view; while the back ground is closed by a vast ridge of gloomy rocks,
rising into a dark and tempestuous sky. The character of the whole is
that of sullen magnificence; and it affords a striking instance of the
power of great genius, to mould the most varied objects in nature into
the expression of one uniform poetical feeling.
Very different is the expression which belongs to the softer pictures of
Correggio--of that great master, whose name is associated in every one's
mind with all that is gentle or delicate in the imitation of nature.
Perhaps it was from the force of this impression that his works did not
completely come up to the expectations which we had been led to form.
They are but eight in number, and do not comprehend the finest of his
compositions. Their general character is that of tenderness and
delicacy: there is a softness in his shading of the human form which is
quite unrivalled, and a harmony in the general tone of his colouring,
which is in perfect unison with the characteristic expression which it
was his object to produce. You feel a want of unity, however, in the
composition of his figures; you dwell rather on the fine expression of
individual form, than the combined tendency of the whole group, and
leave the picture with the impression of the beauty of a single
countenance, rather than the general character of the whole design. He
has represented nature in its most engaging aspect, and given to
individual figures all the charms of ideal beauty; but he wants that
high strain of spiritual feeling, which belongs only to the works of
Raphael.
The only work of Carlo Dolci in the Louvre is a small cabinet picture;
but it alone is sufficient to mark the exquisite genius which its author
possessed. It is of small dimensions, and represents the Holy Family,
with the Saviour asleep. The finest character of design is here combined
with the utmost delicacy of execution; the softness of the shadows
exceeds Correggio himself; and the dark-blue colouring which prevails
over the whole, is in perfect unison with the expression of that rest
and quiet which the subject requires. The sleep of the Infant is
perfection itself--it is the deep sleep of youth and of innocence, which
no care has disturbed, and no sorrow embittered, and in the unbroken
repose of which the features have relaxed into the expression of perfect
happiness. All the features of the picture are in unison with this
expression, except in the tender anxiety of the Virgin's eye; and all is
at rest in the surrounding objects, save where her hand gently removes
the veil to contemplate the unrivalled beauty of the Saviour's
countenance.
Without the softness of shading or the harmony of colour which Correggio
possessed, the works of Raphael possess a higher character, and aim at
the expression of a sublimer feeling, than those of any other artist
whom modern Europe has produced. Like all his brethren, he has often
been misled from the real object of of his art, and tried, in the energy
of passion, or the confused expression of varied figures, to multiply
the effect which his composition might produce. Like all the rest, he
has failed in effecting what the constitution of the human mind renders
impossible, and in this very failure, warned every succeeding age of the
vanity of the attempt which his transcendent genius was unable to
effect. It is this fundamental error that destroys the effect, even of
his finest pieces; it is this, combined with the unapproachable nature
of the presence which it reveals, that has rendered the Transfiguration
itself a chaos of genius rather than a model of ideal beauty; nor will
it, we hope, be deemed a presumptuous excess, if we venture to express
our sentiments in regard to this great author, since it is from his own
works alone that we have derived the means of appreciating his
imperfections.
It is in his smaller pieces that the genuine character of Raphael's
paintings is to be seen--in the figure of St Michael subduing the demon;
in the beautiful tenderness of the Virgin and Child; in the unbroken
harmony of the Holy Family; in the wildness and piety of the infant St
John;--scenes, in which all the objects of the picture combine for the
preservation of one uniform character, and where the native fineness of
his mind appears undisturbed by the display of temporary passion, or the
painful distraction of varied suffering.
There are no pictures of the English school in the Louvre, for the arms
of France never prevailed in our island. From the splendid character,
however, which it early assumed under the distinguished guidance of Sir
Joshua Reynolds, and from the high and philosophical principles which he
at first laid down for the government of the art, there is every reason
to believe that it ultimately will rival the celebrity of foreign
genius; And it is in this view that the continuance of the gallery of
the Louvre was principally to be wished by the English nation--that the
English artists might possess, so near their own country, so great a
school for composition and design; that the imperfections of foreign
schools might enlighten the views of English genius; and that the
conquests of the French arms, by transferring the remains of ancient
taste to these northern shores, might give greater facilities to the
progress of our art, than can exist when they are restored to their
legitimate possessors.
The great object, then, of all the modern schools of historical
painting, seems to have been, the delineation of an _affecting scene_ or
_interesting occurrence_; they have endeavoured to tell a story by the
variety of incidents in a single picture; and seized, for the most part,
the moment when passion was at its greatest height, or suffering
appeared in its most excruciating form. The general character,
accordingly, of the school, is the expression of passion or violent
suffering; and in the prosecution of this object, they have endeavoured
to exhibit it under all its aspects, and display all the effects which
it could possibly produce on the human form, by the different figures
which they have introduced. While this is the general character of the
whole, there are of course numerous exceptions; and many of its greatest
painters seem, in the representation of single figures, or in the
composition of smaller groups, to have had in view the expression of
less turbulent affections; to have aimed at the display of settled
emotion, or permanent feeling, and to have excluded every thing from
their composition which was not in unison with this predominant
expression.
The _Sculpture Gallery_, which contains 220 remains of ancient statuary,
marks, in the most decided manner, the different objects to which this
noble art was applied in ancient times. Unlike the paintings of modern
Europe, their figures are almost uniformly at rest; they exclude passion
or violent suffering from their design; and the moment which they select
is not that in which a particular or transient emotion may be
displayed, but in which the settled character of mind may be expressed.
With the two exceptions of the Laocoon and the Fighting Gladiator, there
are none of the statues in the Louvre which are not the representation
of the human figure in a state of repose; and the expression which the
finest possess, is invariably that permanent expression which has
resulted from the habitual frame and character of mind. Their figures
seem to belong to a higher class of beings than that in which we are
placed; they indicate a state in which passion, anxiety, and emotion are
no more; and where the unruffled repose of mind has moulded the features
into the perfect expression of the mental character. Even the
countenance of the Venus de Medicis, the most beautiful which it has
ever entered into the mind of man to conceive, and of which no copy
gives the slightest idea, bears no trace of emotion, and none of the
marks of human feeling; it is the settled expression of celestial
beauty, and even the smile on her lip is not the fleeting smile of
temporary joy, but the lasting expression of that heavenly feeling which
sees in all around it the grace and loveliness which belongs to itself
alone. It approaches nearer to that character which sometimes marks the
countenance of female beauty; when death has stilled the passions of
the world; but it is not the cold expression of past character which
survives the period of mortal dissolution; it is the living expression
of present existence, radiant with the beams of immortal life, and
breathing the air of eternal happiness.
The paintings of Raphael convey the most perfect idea of earthly beauty;
and they denote the expression of all that is finest and most elevated
in the character of the female mind. But there is a "human meaning in
their eye," and they bear the marks of that anxiety and tenderness which
belong to the relations of present existence. The Venus displays the
same beauty, freed from the cares which existence has produced; and her
lifeless eye-balls gaze upon the multitude which surround her, as on a
scene fraught only with the expression of universal joy.
In another view, the Apollo and the Venus appear to have been intended
by the genius of antiquity, as expressive of the character of mind which
distinguishes the different sexes; and in the expression of this
character, they have exhausted all which it is possible for human
imagination to produce upon the subject. The commanding air, and
advanced step, of the Apollo, exhibit _Man_ in his noblest aspect, as
triumphing over the evils of physical nature, and restraining the energy
of instinctive passion by the high dominion of moral power: the averted
eyes and retiring grace of the Venus, are expressive of the modesty,
gentleness, and submission, which form the most beautiful features of
the _female_ character.
Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed,
For valour He, and contemplation, formed,
For beauty She, and sweet attractive grace,
He for God only, She for God in Him.
These words were said of our first parents by our greatest poet, after
the influence of a pure religion had developed the real nature of the
female character, and determined the place which woman was to hold in
the scale of nature; but the idea had been expressed in a still finer
manner two thousand years before, by the sculptors of antiquity; and
amidst all the degradation of ancient manners, the prophetic genius of
Grecian taste contemplated that ideal perfection in the character of the
sexes, which was destined to form the boundary of human progress in the
remotest ages of human improvement.
The Apollo strikes a stranger with all its divine grandeur on the first
aspect; subsequent examination can add nothing to the force of the
impression which is then received; The Venus produces at first less
effect, but gains upon the mind at every renewal, till it rivets the
affections even more than the greatness of its unequalled
rival--emblematic of the charm of female excellence, which, if it
excites less admiration at first than the loftier features of manly
character, is destined to acquire a deeper influence, and lay the
foundation of more indelible affection.
The Dying Gladiator is perhaps, after the two which we have mentioned,
the finest statue which the Louvre contains. The moment chosen is finely
adapted for that expression of ideal beauty, which may be produced even
in a subject naturally connected with feelings of pain. It is not the
moment of energy or struggling, when the frame is convulsed with the
exertion it is making, or the countenance is deformed by the tumult of
passion; it is the moment of expiring nature, when the figure is relaxed
by the weakness of decay, and the mind is softened by the approach of
death; the moment when the ferocity of combat is forgotten in the
extinction of the interest which it had excited, when every unsocial
passion is stilled by the weakness of exhausted nature, and the mind,
in the last moments of life, is fraught with finer feelings than had
belonged to the character of previous existence. It is a moment similar
to that in which Tasso has so beautifully described the change in
Clorinda's mind, after she had been mortally wounded by the hand of
Tancred, but in which he was enabled to give her the inspiration of a
greater faith, and the charity of a more gentle religion:--
Amico h'ai vinto: io te perdon. Perdona
Tu ancora, al corpo no che nulla pave
All'alma si: deh per lei prega; e dona
Battesme a me, ch'ogni mia colpa lave;
In queste voci languide risuona
Un non so che di flebile e soave
Ch'al cor gli scende, ed ogni sdegno ammorza,
Egli occhi a lagrimar gl'invoglia e sforza.
The greater statues of antiquity were addressed to the worshippers in
their temples; they were intended to awaken the devotion of all classes
of citizens--to be felt and judged by all mankind. They were intended to
express characters superior to common nature, and they still express
them. They are free, therefore, from all the peculiarities of national
taste; they are purified from all the peculiarities of local
circumstances; they have been rescued from that inevitable degradation
to which art is uniformly exposed, by taste being confined to a limited
society; they have assumed, in consequence, that general character,
which might suit the universal feelings of our nature, and that
permanent expression which might speak to the hearts of men through
every succeeding age. The admiration, accordingly, for those works of
art, has been undiminished by the lapse of time; they excite the same
feelings at the present time, as when they came fresh from the hand of
the Grecian artist, and are regarded by all nations with the same
veneration on the banks of the Seine, as when they sanctified the
temples of Athens, or adorned the gardens of Rome.
Even the rudest nations seem to have felt the force of this impression.
The Hungarians and the Cossacks, as we ourselves have frequently seen,
during the stay of the allied armies in Paris, ignorant of the name or
the celebrity of those works of art, seemed yet to take a delight in the
survey of the statues of antiquity; and in passing through the long line
of marble greatness which the Louvre presents, stopt involuntarily at
the sight of the Venus, or clustered round the foot of the pedestal of
the Apollo;--indicating thus, in the expression of unaffected feeling,
the force of that genuine taste for the beauty of nature, which all the
rudeness of savage manners, and all the ferocity of war, had not been
able to destroy. The poor Russian soldier, whose knowledge of art was
limited to the crucifix which he had borne in his bosom from his native
land, still felt the power of ancient beauty, and in the spirit of the
Athenians, who erected an altar to the Unknown God, did homage in
silence to that unknown spirit which had touched a new chord in his
untutored heart.
* * *
From the impression produced on our minds by the collection in the
Louvre, we were led to form some general conclusions concerning the
history and object of the arts of Painting and Sculpture, which we shall
presume to state, as what suggested themselves to us on the
contemplation of the greatest assemblage of the works of art which has
ever been formed; but which we give, at the same time, with the utmost
diffidence, and merely as the result of our own feelings and
reflections.
The character of art in every country appears to have been determined by
the _disposition of the people_ to whom it was addressed, and the
object of its composition to have varied with the purpose it was called
on to fulfil.--The Grecian statues were designed to excite the devotion
of a cultivated people; to embody their conceptions of divine
perfection; to realise the expression of that character of mind which
they imputed to the deities whose temples they were to adorn: It was
grace, or strength, or majesty, or the benignity of divine power, which
they were to represent by the figures of Venus, of Hercules, of Jupiter,
or of Apollo. Their artists accordingly were led to aim at the
expression of _general character_; to exclude passion, or emotion, or
suffering, from their design, and represent the figures in that state of
repose where the permanent expression of mind ought to be displayed. It
is perhaps in this circumstance that we are to discern the cause both of
the peculiarity and the excellence of the Grecian statuary.
The Italian painters were early required to effect a different object.
Their pictures were destined to represent the sufferings of nature; to
display the persecution or death of our Saviour, the anguish of the Holy
Family, the heroism of martyrs, the resignation of devotion. In the
infancy of the arts, accordingly, they were led to study the expression
of passion, of suffering, and of temporary emotion; to aim at rousing
the pity, or exciting the sympathy, of the spectators; and to endeavour
to characterise their works by the representation of temporary passion,
not the expression of permanent character. Those beautiful pictures in
which a different object seems to have been followed--in which the
expression is that of permanent emotion, not transient passion, while
they captivate our admiration, seem to be exceptions from the general
design, and to have been suggested by the peculiar nature of the subject
represented, or a particular firmness of mind in the artist. In these
causes we may perhaps discern the origin of the peculiar character of
the Italian school.
In the French school, the character and manners of the people seem to
have carried this peculiarity to a still greater length. Their character
led them to seek in every thing for stage effect; to admire the most
extravagant and violent representations, and to value the efforts of
art, not in proportion to their imitation of the expressions of nature,
but in proportion to their resemblance to those artificial expressions
on which their admiration was founded. The vehemence of their manner on
the most ordinary occasions, rendered the most extravagant gestures
requisite for the display of real passion; and their drama accordingly
exhibits a mixture of dignity of sentiment, with violence of gesture,
beyond measure surprising to a foreign spectator. The same disposition
of the people has influenced the character of their historical painting;
and it is to be remembered, that the French school of painting succeeded
the establishment of the French drama. It is hence that they have
generally selected the moment of theatrical effect--the moment of
phrenzied passion, of unparalleled exertion, and that their composition
is distinguished by so many striking contrasts, and so laboured a
display of momentary effect.
The Flemish or Dutch school of painting was neither addressed to the
devotion nor the theatrical feelings of mankind; it was neither intended
to awaken the sympathy of religious emotion, nor excite the admiration
of artificial composition--it was addressed to wealthy men of vulgar
capacities, whose taste advanced in no proportion to their riches, and
who were capable of appreciating only the merit of minute detail, or the
faithfulness of exact imitation. It is hence that their painting
possesses excellencies and defects of so peculiar a description; that
they have carried the minuteness of finishing to so unparalleled a
degree of perfection; that the brilliancy of their lights has thrown a
splendour over the vulgarity of their subjects; and that they are in
general so utterly destitute of all the refinement and sentiment which
sprung from the devotional feelings of the Italian people.
The subjects which the Dutch painters chose were subjects of low humour,
calculated to amuse a rich and uncultivated people; the subjects of the
French school were heroic adventures, suited to the theatrical taste of
a more elevated society; the subjects of the Italian school were the
incidents of Sacred History, adapted to the devotional feelings of a
religious people. In all, the subjects to which painting was applied,
and the character of the art itself, was determined by the peculiar
circumstances or disposition of the people to whom it was addressed: so
that, in these instances, there has really happened what Mr Addison
stated should ever be the case, that "the taste should not conform to
the art, but the art to the taste."
* * *
We soon perceived that the statues rivetted our admiration more than any
of the other works of art which the Louvre presents; and that amongst
the pictures, those made the deepest impression which approached nearest
to the character by which the Grecian statuary is distinguished. In the
prosecution of this train of thought, we were led to the following
conclusions, relative to the separate objects to which painting and
statuary should be applied.
1. That the object of Statuary should ever be the same to which it was
always confined by the ancients, viz. the representation of CHARACTER.
The very materials on which the sculptor has to operate, render his art
unfit for the expression either of emotion or passion; and the figure,
when finished, can bear none of the marks by which they are to be
distinguished. It is a figure of cold, and pale, and lifeless marble,
without the varied colour which emotion produces, or the living eye
which passion animates. The eye is the feature which is expressive of
present emotion; it is it which varies with all the changes which the
mind undergoes; it is it which marks the difference between joy and
sorrow, between love and hatred, between pleasure and pain, between life
and death. But the eye, with all the endless expressions which it bears,
is lost to the sculptor; its gaze must ever be cold and lifeless to him;
its fire is quenched in the stillness of the tomb. A statue, therefore,
can never be expressive of living emotion; it can never express those
transient feelings which mark the play of the living mind. It is an
abstraction of character which has no relation to common existence; a
shadow in which all the permanent features of the mind are expressed,
but none of the temporary passions of the mind are shewn; like the
figures of snow, which the magic of Okba formed to charm the solitude of
Leila's dwelling, it bears the character of the human form, but melts at
the warmth of human feeling. The power of the sculptor is limited to the
delineation of those signs alone by which the permanent qualities of
mind are displayed: his art, therefore, should be confined to the
representation of that permanent character of which they are expressive.
2. While such is the object to which statuary would appear to be
destined, Painting embraces a wider range, and is capable of more varied
expression: It is expressive of the living form; it paints the eye and
opens the view of the present mind; it imitates all the fleeting changes
which constitute the signs of present emotion. It is not, therefore, an
abstraction of character which the painter is to represent; not an ideal
form, expressive only of the qualities of permanent character; but an
actual being, alive to the impressions of present existence, and bound
by the ties of present affection. It is in the delineation of these
affections, therefore, that the powers of the painter principally
consists; in the representation, not of simple character, but of
character influenced or subdued by emotion. It is the representation of
the joy of youth, or the repose of age; of the sorrow of innocence, or
the penitence of guilt; of the tenderness of parental affection, or the
gratitude of filial love. In these, and a thousand other instances, the
expression of the emotion constitutes the beauty of the picture; it is
that which gives the tone to the character which it is to bear; it is
that which strikes the chord which vibrates in every human heart. The
object of the painter, therefore, is the expression of EMOTION, of that
emotion which is blended with the character of the mind which feels, and
gives to that character the interest which belongs to the events of
present existence.
3. The object of the painter, being the representation of emotion in all
the varied situations which life produces, it follows, that every thing
in his picture should be in unison with the predominant expression which
he wishes it to bear; that the composition should be as simple as is
consistent with the developement of this expression; and the colouring
such as accords with the character by which this emotion is
distinguished. It is here that the genius of the artist is principally
to be displayed, in the selection of such figures as suit the general
impression which the whole is to produce; and the choice of such a tone
of colouring, as harmonises with the feelings of mind which it is his
object to awaken. The distraction of varied colours--the confusion of
different figures--the contrast of opposite expressions, completely
destroy the effect of the composition; they fix the mind to the
observation of what is particular in the separate parts, and prevent
that uniform and general emotion which arises from the perception of one
uniform expression in all the parts of which it is composed. It is in
this very perception, however, that the source of the beauty is to be
found; it is in the undefined feeling to which it gives rise, that the
delight of the emotion of taste consists. Like the harmony of sounds in
musical composition, it produces an effect of which we are unable to
give an account; but which we feel to be instantly destroyed by the
jarring sound of a different note, or the discordant effect of a foreign
expression. It is in the neglect of this great principle that the defect
of many of the first pictures of modern times is to be found--in the
confused multitude of unnecessary figures--in the contradictory
expression of separate parts--in the distracting brilliancy of gorgeous
colours; in the laboured display, in short, of the power of the artist,
and the utter dereliction of the object of the art. The great secret, on
the other hand, of the beauty of the most exquisite specimens of modern
art, lies in the simplicity of expression which they bear, in their
production of one uniform emotion, from all the parts of one harmonious
composition. For the production of this unity of emotion, the surest
means will be found to consist in the selection of _as few figures_ as
is consistent with the developement of the characteristic expression of
the composition; and it is, perhaps, to this circumstance, that we are
to impute the unequalled charm which belongs to the pictures of single
figures, or small groups, in which a single expression is alone
attempted.
4. The last principle of the art appeared to be, that both painting and
sculpture are wholly unfit for the representation of PASSION, as
expressed by motion; and that, to attempt to delineate it, necessarily
injures the effect of the composition. Neither, it is clear, can express
actual motion: they should not attempt, therefore, to represent those
passions of the mind which motion alone is adequate to express. The
attempt to delineate violent passion, accordingly, uniformly produces a
painful or a ridiculous effect; it does not even convey any conception
of the passion itself, because its character is not known by the
expression of any single moment, but by the rapid changes which result
from the perturbed state into which the mind is thrown. It is hence that
passion seems so ridiculous when seen at a distance, or without the
cause of its existence being known, and it is hence, that if a human
figure were petrified in any of the stages of passion, it would have so
painful or insane an appearance.--As painting, therefore, cannot exhibit
the rapid changes in which the real expression of passion consists, it
should not attempt its delineation at all. Its real object is, the
expression of _emotion_, of that more settled state of the human mind
when the changes of passion are gone--when the countenance is moulded
into the expression of permanent feeling, and the existence of this
feeling is marked by the permanent expression which the features have
assumed.
The greatest artists of ancient and modern times, accordingly, have
selected, even in the representation of violent exertion, that moment of
temporary repose, when a permanent expression is given to the figure.
Even the Laocoon is not in the state of actual exertion: it is
represented in that moment when the last effort has been made; when
straining against an invincible power has given to the figure the aspect
at last of momentary repose; and when despair has placed its settled
mark on the expression of the countenance. The Fighting Gladiator is not
represented in a state of actual activity, but in that moment when he is
preparing his mind for the future and final contest, and when, in this
deep concentration of his powers, the pause which the genius of the
artist has given, expresses more distinctly to the eye of the spectator
the determined character of the combatant, than all that the struggle or
agony of the combat itself could afterwards display.
The Grecian statues which were assembled in the Louvre may be considered
as the most perfect works of human genius; and after surveying the
different schools of painting which it contains, we could not but feel
those higher conceptions of human form, and of human nature, which the
taste of ancient statuary had formed. It is not in the moment of action
that it has represented man, but in the moment after action, when the
tumult of passion has ceased, and all that is great or dignified in
moral nature remains; and the greatest works of modern art are those
which approach nearest to the same principle. It is not Hercules in the
moment of earthly combat, when every muscle was swollen with the
strength he was exerting, that they represent; but Hercules in the
moment of transformation into a nobler being, when the exertion of
mortality has passed, and his powers seem to repose in the tranquillity
of Heaven: not Apollo, when straining his youthful strength in drawing
the bow; but Apollo, when the weapon was discharged, watching, with
unexulting eye, its resistless course, and serene in the enjoyment of
immortal power: not St Michael when struggling with the Demon, and
marring the beauty of angelic form by the violence of earthly passion,
but St Michael in the moment of unruffled triumph, restraining the might
of Almighty power, and radiant with the beams of eternal mercy.