DIALOGUE, FRENCH AND ENGLISH
French.—Have you seen the whole of our _Exposition_ of the present
year?—
English.—No, but I have looked over a good part of it. I have been much
pleased with many of the pictures. As far as I can judge, or have a
right to say so, I think your artists have improved within these few
years.
French.—Perhaps so, occasionally, but we have not David and some others.
English.—I cannot say that I miss him much. He had, I dare say, many
excellences, but his faults were still more glaring, according to our
insular notions of the art. Have you Guerin now? He had just brought out
his first picture of Phædra and Hippolitus when I was in Paris formerly.
It made a prodigious sensation at the time, and very great things were
expected from him.
French.—No, his works are not much spoken of.
English.—The Hippolitus in the picture I speak of was very beautiful;
but the whole appeared too much cast in the mould of the antique, and it
struck me then that there was a _mannerism_ about it that did not augur
favourably for his future progress, but denoted a premature perfection.
What I like in your present Exhibition is, that you seem in a great
measure to have left this academic manner, and to have adopted a more
natural style.
French.—I do not exactly comprehend.
English.—Why, you know the English complain of French art as too
laboured and mechanical, as not allowing scope enough for genius and
originality, as you retort upon us for being coarse and rustic.
French.—Ah! I understand. _There_ is a picture in the English style; the
subject is a Greek massacre, by Rouget. It is an _ébauche_. It is for
effect. There is much spirit in the expression, and a boldness of
execution, but every part is not finished. It is like a first sketch, or
like the painting of the scenes at our theatres. He has another picture
here.
English.—Yes, of great merit in the same style of dashing, off-hand,
explosive effect. He is something between our Ward and Haydon. But that
is not what I mean. I do not wish you to exchange your vices for ours.
We are not as yet models in the FINE ARTS. I am only glad that you
imitate us, as it is a sign you begin to feel a certain deficiency in
yourselves. There is no necessity for grossness and extravagance, any
more than for being finical or pedantic. Now there is a picture yonder,
which I think has broken through the trammels of the modern French
school, without forfeiting its just pretensions to classical history. It
has the name of Drölling on it. What, pray, is the subject of it?
French.—It is _Ulysses conducting Polyxena to the sacrifice_. He has one
much better at the Luxembourg.
English.—I don’t know; I have not seen that, but this picture appears to
me to be a very favourable specimen of the present French school. It has
great force, considerable beauty, symmetry of form, and expression; and
it is animated flesh, not coloured stone. The action and gestures into
which the figures throw themselves, seem the result of life and feeling,
and not of putting casts after the antique into Opera attitudes.
French.—We do not think much of that picture. It has not been perfected.
English.—Perhaps it passes a certain conventional limit, and is borne
away by the impulse of the subject; and of that the most eminent among
the French artists might be thought to be as much afraid as the old lady
at Court was that her face would fall in pieces, if her features relaxed
into a smile. The Ulysses is poor and stiff: the nurse might be finer;
but I like the faces of the two foremost figures much; they are
handsome, interesting, and the whole female group is alive and in
motion.
French.—What do you think of the picture by Gerard, No. 745, of the
_Meeting between Louis XIV. and the Spanish Ambassador_? It is greatly
admired here.
English.—It appeared to me (as I passed it just now) to be a picture of
great bustle and spirit; and it looks as if Iris had dipped her woof in
it, the dresses are so gay and fine. Really, the show of variegated
colours in the principal group is like a bed of tulips. That is
certainly a capitally painted head of a priest stooping forward in a red
cap and mantle.
French.—And the youth near him no less.
English.—The complexion has too much the texture of fruit.
French.—But for the composition—the contrast between youth and age is so
justly marked. Are you not struck with the figure of the Spanish
Ambassador? His black silk drapery is quite in the Italian style.
English.—I thought Gerard had been chiefly admired for a certain
delicacy of expression, more than for his colouring or costume. He was a
favourite painter of the Empress Josephine.
French.—But in the present subject there is not much scope for
expression.
English.—It is very true; but in a picture of the same crowded and
courtly character (_The last Moments of Henry IV._,) the painter has
contrived to introduce a great deal of beauty and tenderness of
expression in the appearance of some of the youthful attendants. _This_
is a more shewy and finely painted drawing-room picture; but _that_
appears to me to have more character in it. It has also the merit of
being finished with great care. I think the French excel in small
histories of the domestic or ornamental kind. Here, for instance, is a
very pretty picture by Madame Hersent, 897, _Louis XIV. taking leave of
his Grand-child_. It is well painted, the dresses are rich and
correct—the monarch has a great deal of negligent dignity mixed with the
feebleness of age, the contrast of innocence and freshness in the child
is well-managed, and the attendants are decayed beauties and very
confidential-looking persons of that period. One great charm of all
historical subjects is, to carry us back to the scene and time, which
this picture does. Probably from the Age and Court of Louis XVIII. to
that of Louis XIV. it is not far for a French imagination to transport
itself.
French.—Monsieur, it is so far that we should never have got from the
one to the other, if you had not helped us.
English.—So much the worse! But do you not think that a clever picture
of the _Interior of a Gothic Ruin_, 247, (Bouton.[19]) It seems to me as
if the artist had been reading Sir Walter Scott. That lofty, ruinous
cave looks out on the wintry sea from one of the Shetland Isles. There
is a cold, desolate look of horror pervading it to the utmost extremity.
But the finishing is, perhaps, somewhat too exact for so wild a scene.
Has not the snow, lodged on the broken ledges of the rocks, a little of
the appearance of the coat of candied sugar on a twelfth-cake? But how
comes the dog in possession of so smart a kennel? It is said in the
Catalogue, that by his barking he alarms his master, who saves the poor
woman and her infant from perishing. Who would have thought that such a
scene as this had a master?
French.—Dogs are necessary everywhere in France: there is no place that
we can keep them out of. They are like the machines in ancient poetry—a
part of every plot. Poodles are the true _désirs_: they have ousted even
the priests. They may soon set up a hierarchy of their own. They swarm,
and are as filthy as an Egyptian religion.
English.—But this is a house-dog, not a lap-dog.
French.—There is no saying—but pass on. Is there any other picture that
you like?
English.—Yes, I am much pleased with the one opposite, the _Marriage of
the Virgin_, 268, by Mons. Caminade. It is both elegant and natural. The
Virgin kneels in a simple and expressive attitude; in the children there
is a playful and healthy aspect, and the grouping is quite like a
classic bas-relief. Perhaps, in this respect, it wants depth. Can you
tell me, why French painting so much affects the qualities of sculpture
in general,—flatness and formality in the groups, and hardness of
outline in the single figures?
French.—I cannot answer that question, as it is some time since I left
England, where I remained only ten months to perfect myself in the
language. You probably think more highly of the next picture: _The
Establishment of the Enfans Trouvés_, by M——?
English.—I am afraid not; for it has the old French flimsiness and
flutter. The face of the Foundress resembles a shower of roseate tints.
You may be sure, however, that the English in general will approve
mightily of it, who like all subjects of charitable institutions. I
heard an English lady just now in raptures with the naked children
seated on the blankets, calling them affectionately, ‘poor little
dears!’ We like subjects of want, because they afford a relief to our
own sense of comfortlessness, and subjects of benevolence, because they
soothe our sense of self-importance—a feeling of which we stand greatly
in need.
French.—What is your opinion of the portrait of Louis XVIII., by Gerard?
English.—It seems to have been painted after dinner, and as if his
Majesty was uneasy in his seat—the boots might have been spared.
French.—We have a picture by one of your compatriots—the Chevalier
Lawrence—
English.—Yes, the portrait of a Lady, in the next room. It was accounted
one of the best portraits in our Somerset-house Exhibition last summer.
French.—But there is a portrait of a French Lady, placed as a companion
to it, by Horace Vernet, which is thought better.
English.—I have no doubt. But I believe, in England, the preference
would be given the contrary way.
French.—May I ask on what ground, Sir?
English.—Let me ask, did you ever happen to sit to have a cast of your
head taken? Because I conceive that precisely the same heated, smooth,
oily, close, stifling feeling that one’s face has just before the mask
is taken off, is that which is conveyed by the texture and look of a
finished French portrait, generally speaking, and by this in particular.
I like the Head of a Lady, by Guerin (838), on the opposite side of the
room, better. It is clear, cold, blue and white, with an airy attitude,
and firm drawing. There is no attempt to smother one with dingy flesh
_rouged_ over.
French.—But have you seen our miniatures? The English miniatures, I
imagine, are not good.
English.—At least, we have a good many of them. I know an English
critic, who would at least count you up thirty eminent English
miniature-painters at a breath,—all first-rate geniuses; so differently
do we view these things on different sides of the Channel! In truth, all
miniatures must be much alike. There can be no such thing as an _English
miniature_, that is, as a coarse, slovenly daub in little. We finish
when we cannot help it. We do not volunteer a host of graces, like you;
but we can make a virtue of necessity. There was a Mr. Hayter, who
painted resplendent miniatures, perfect mirrors of the highest heaven of
beauty; but he preferred the English liberty of sign-post painting in
oil. I observe among your miniatures several enamels and copies from the
Old Masters in the Louvre. Has not the coming to them the effect of
looking through a window? What a breadth, what a clearness, what a
solidity? How do you account for this superiority? I do not say this
invidiously, for I confess it is the same, whenever copies are
introduced by stealth in our English Exhibition.
French.—I perceive, Sir, you have a prejudice in favour of the English
style of art.
English.—None at all; but I cannot think our faults any justification of
yours, or yours of ours. For instance, here is a landscape by a
countryman of mine, Mr. Constable (No. 358). Why then all this
affectation of dashing lights and broken tints and straggling lumps of
paint, which I dare say give the horrors to a consummate French artist?
On the other hand, why do not your artists try to give something of the
same green, fresh, and healthy look of living nature, without smearing
coats of varnish over raw _dabs_ of colour (as we do), till the
composition resembles the ice breaking up in marshy ground after a
frosty morning? Depend upon it, in disputes about taste, as in other
quarrels, there are faults on both sides.
French.—The English style has effect, but it is gross.
English.—True: yet in the inner rooms there are some water-colour
landscapes, by Copley Fielding, which strike me as uniting effect with
delicacy, particularly No. 360, with some beautiful trees fringing the
fore-ground. I think our painters do best when they are cramped in the
vehicle they employ. They are abusers of oil-colours.
French.—I recollect the name; but his works did not seem to me to be
finished.
English.—They are finished as nature is finished: that is, the details
are to be found in them, though they do not obtrude themselves. You
French require every thing to be made out like pin’s points or botanic
specimens of leaves and trees. Your histories want life, and your
landscapes air. I could have sworn the little fishing-piece (No. —) was
English. It is such a daub, and yet has such a feeling of out-of-door
scenery in it.
French.—You do not flatter us. But you allow our excellence in
sculpture.
English.—There is an admirable study of a little girl going into a bath,
by Jacquot. It is so simple, true, and expressive, I thought it might be
Chantry’s. I cannot say I saw any others that pleased me. The Eurydice,
by Nantreuil, is a French Eurydice. It is an elegantly-formed female,
affecting trifling airs and graces in the agonies of death. Suppose we
return to the pictures in the Green Room. There is nothing very
remarkable here, except the portrait of an artist by himself, which
looks for all the world as if it fed upon its own white lead.
French.—Do like the figure of a woman in one corner in the _Massacre of
the Innocents_? The artist has done all he could to propitiate the
English taste. He has left his work in a sufficiently barbarous and
unfinished state.
English.—But he has taken pains to throw expression, originality, and
breadth into it. With us it would be considered as a work of genius. I
prefer it much to any thing by our artists of the same kind, both for
the tone, the wild lofty character, and the unctuous freedom of the
pencilling. There is a strange hurly-burly in the background, and a
lurid tone over the whole picture. This is what we mean by
imagination—giving the feeling that there is in nature. You mean by
imagination the giving something _out of_ it—such as the _Nymph_ (No. —)
_appearing to the River God_. The young lady is a very charming
transparency, or gauze-drawing; and the River God is a sturdy wooden
statue, painted over; but I would ask you, is there any thing in the
picture that takes you beyond a milliner’s shop in the Palais-royal, or
a tea-garden in the neighbourhood of St. Cloud? The subject of _Locusta
poisoning a young slave_, by Figalon, is, I think, forcibly and well
treated. The old sorceress is not an every day person. The French too
seldom resort to the grace of Deformity. Yet how finely it tells! They
are more timid and fastidious than the ancients, whom they profess to
imitate. There is one other large historical composition in the room
which I am partial to; and yet the faces, the manners, the colouring,
every thing in it is French. It is the _Henry the Fourth pardoning the
peasants who have supplied the besieged in Paris with food_. That head
of a young woman near the middle is particularly fine, and in the
happiest style of French art. Its effect against the sky is picturesque;
it is handsome, graceful, sensitive, and tinged with an agreeable florid
hue.
French.—But what is your opinion of Horace Vernet’s Battle-piece?
English.—May I ask the subject?
French.—It is the battle of Mont-Mirail, after the return from Russia.
English.—Good: I was sadly afraid it was the Battle of Mont St. Jean.
_We_ ought to blot it forever from our history, if we have been, or
intend to be, free. But I did not know but some Frenchman might be found
to stain his canvass with it, and present it to M. le Vicomte
Chateaubriand.
French.—But I speak of the painting, Sir.
English.—It is something in the same style, but hardly so clever as the
picture of the Queen’s Trial, by Hayter. Did you see that when you were
in London?
French.—No, Sir.
English.—Then we cannot enter into the comparison.
French.—That is true.
English.—We never had a school of painting till the present day. Whether
we have one at present, will be seen in the course of the winter. Yours
flourished one hundred and fifty years ago. For, not to include Nicholas
Poussin and Claude Lorraine in it, (names that belong to time and
nature,) there were Philip Champagne, Jouvenet, Le Sueur, whose works
are surely unequalled by the present race of artists, in colouring, in
conception of the subject, in the imitation of nature, and in
picturesque effect. As a proof of it, they become their places, and look
well in the Louvre. A picture of David’s would be an eye-sore there. You
are familiar with their works?
French.—I have seen those masters, but there is an objection to passing
into that part of the Louvre.
English.—The air is, I own, different.