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diff --git a/38923-8.txt b/38923-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8588eb7 --- /dev/null +++ b/38923-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14101 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Modern Painters Vol. III., by John Ruskin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Modern Painters Vol. III. + Containing Part IV., of many things + +Author: John Ruskin + +Release Date: February 19, 2012 [EBook #38923] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS VOL. III. *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, RSPIII and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + Transcriber's Notes: + + + The original spelling and minor inconsistencies in the spelling and + formatting have been retained. Unusual and alternative spellings have + been retained as they appear on the original publication. Hyphenated + words have been standardized. + + Contractions in the stylized Latin script on page 125 have been + expanded and included in curly brackets {} by the transcriber: + "jahes" has been shown as "jah{ann}es" and "scpsi" as "sc{ri}psi". + + Minor typographical changes are listed at the bottom of this text. + + * * * * * * * * + + + + + Library Edition + + THE COMPLETE WORKS + OF + JOHN RUSKIN + + + MODERN PAINTERS + + VOLUME II--OF TRUTH AND THEORETIC FACULTIES + VOLUME III--OF MANY THINGS + + + NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION + NEW YORK CHICAGO + + + + + MODERN PAINTERS. + + VOL. III., + + CONTAINING + + PART IV., + + OF MANY THINGS. + + + + + TABLE OF CONTENTS. + + PART IV. OF MANY THINGS. + + PAGE + CHAPTER I.--Of the received Opinions touching the "Grand Style" 1 + " II.--Of Realization 16 + " III.--Of the Real Nature of Greatness of Style 23 + " IV.--Of the False Ideal:--First, Religious 44 + " V.--Of the False Ideal:--Secondly, Profane 61 + " VI.--Of the True Ideal:--First, Purist 70 + " VII.--Of the True Ideal:--Secondly, Naturalist 77 + " VIII.--Of the True Ideal:--Thirdly, Grotesque 92 + " IX.--Of Finish 108 + " X.--Of the Use of Pictures 124 + " XI.--Of the Novelty of Landscape 144 + " XII.--Of the Pathetic Fallacy 152 + " XIII.--Of Classical Landscape 168 + " XIV.--Of Mediæval Landscape:--First, the Fields 191 + " XV.--Of Mediæval Landscape:--Secondly, the Rocks 229 + " XVI.--Of Modern Landscape 248 + " XVII.--The Moral of Landscape 280 + " XVIII.--Of the Teachers of Turner 308 + + + APPENDIX. + + + I.--Claude's Tree-drawing 333 + II.--German Philosophy 336 + III.--Plagiarism 338 + + + + + LIST OF PLATES TO VOL. III. + + + Drawn by Engraved by + Frontispiece. Lake, Land, _The Author_ J. C. ARMYTAGE. + and Cloud. + Facing + Plate page + + 1. True and False Griffins _The Author_ R. P. CUFF 106 + + 2. Drawing of Tree-bark _Various_ J. H. LE KEUX 114 + + 3. Strength of old Pine _The Author_ J. H. LE KEUX 116 + + 4. Ramification according _Claude_ J. H. LE KEUX 117 + to Claude + + 5. Good and Bad _Turner and J. COUSEN 118 + Tree-drawing Constable_ + + 6. Foreground Leafage _The Author_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 121 + + 7. Botany of the Thirteenth _Missal-Painters_ HENRY SHAW 203 + Century + + 8. The Growth of Leaves _The Author_ R. P. CUFF 204 + + 9. Botany of the Fourteenth _Missal-Painters_ CUFF; H. SWAN 207 + Century + + 10. Geology of the Middle _Leonardo, etc._ R. P. CUFF 238 + Ages + + 11. Latest Purism _Raphael_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 313 + + 12. The Shores of Wharfe _J. W. M. Turner_ THE AUTHOR 314 + + 13. First Mountain-Naturalism _Masaccio_ J. H. LE KEUX 315 + + 14. The Lombard Apennine _The Author_ THOS. LUPTON 315 + + 15. St. George of the Seaweed _The Author_ THOS. LUPTON 315 + + 16. Early Naturalism _Titian_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 316 + + 17. Advanced Naturalism _Tintoret_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 316 + + + + +PREFACE. + + +As this preface is nearly all about myself, no one need take the trouble +of reading it, unless he happens to be desirous of knowing-- what I, at +least, am bound to state,--the circumstances which have caused the long +delay of the work, as well as the alterations which will be noticed in +its form. + +The first and second volumes were written to check, as far as I +could, the attacks upon Turner which prevented the public from +honoring his genius, at the time when his power was greatest. The +check was partially given, but too late; Turner was seized by +painful illness not long after the second volume appeared; his +works, towards the close of the year 1845, showed a conclusive +failure of power; and I saw that nothing remained for me to write, +but his epitaph. + +The critics had done their proper and appointed work; they had +embittered, more than those who did not know Turner intimately could +have believed possible, the closing years of his life; and had +blinded the world in general (as it appears ordained by Fate that +the world always _shall_ be blinded) to the presence of a great +spirit among them, till the hour of its departure. With them, and +their successful work, I had nothing more to do; the account of gain +and loss, of gifts and gratitude, between Turner and his countrymen, +was for ever closed. _He_ could only be left to his quiet death at +Chelsea,--the sun upon his face; _they_ to dispose a length of +funeral through Ludgate, and bury, with threefold honor, his body in +St. Paul's, his pictures at Charing Cross, and his purposes in +Chancery. But with respect to the illustration and preservation of +those of his works which remained unburied, I felt that much might +yet be done, if I could at all succeed in proving that these works +had some nobleness in them, and were worth preservation. I pursued +my task, therefore, as I had at first proposed, with this only +difference in method,--that instead of writing in continued haste, +such as I had been forced into at first by the urgency of the +occasion, I set myself to do the work as well as I could, and to +collect materials for the complete examination of the canons of art +received among us. + +I have now given ten years of my life to the single purpose of +enabling myself to judge rightly of art, and spent them in labor as +earnest and continuous as men usually undertake to gain position, or +accumulate fortune. It is true, that the public still call me an +"amateur;" nor have I ever been able to persuade them that it was +possible to work steadily and hard with any other motive than that +of gaining bread, or to give up a fixed number of hours every day to +the furtherance of an object unconnected with personal interests. I +have, however, given up so much of life to this object; earnestly +desiring to ascertain, and be able to teach, the truth respecting +art; and also knowing that this truth was, by time and labor, +definitely ascertainable. + +It is an idea too frequently entertained, by persons who are not much +interested in art, that there are no laws of right or wrong concerning +it; and that the best art is that which pleases most widely. Hence the +constant allegation of "dogmatism" against any one who states +unhesitatingly either preference or principle, respecting pictures. +There are, however, laws of truth and right in painting, just as fixed +as those of harmony in music, or of affinity in chemistry. Those laws +are perfectly ascertainable by labor, and ascertainable no other way. +It is as ridiculous for any one to speak positively about painting who +has not given a great part of his life to its study, as it would be for +a person who had never studied chemistry to give a lecture on +affinities of elements; but it is also as ridiculous for a person to +speak hesitatingly about laws of painting who has conscientiously given +his time to their ascertainment, as it would be for Mr. Faraday to +announce in a dubious manner that iron had an affinity for oxygen, and +to put the question to the vote of his audience whether it had or not. +Of course there are many things, in all stages of knowledge, which +cannot be dogmatically stated; and it will be found, by any candid +reader, either of what I have before written, or of this book, that in +many cases, I am _not_ dogmatic. The phrase, "I think so," or, "it +seems so to me," will be met with continually; and I pray the reader to +believe that I use such expression always in seriousness, never as +matter of form. + +It may perhaps be thought that, considering the not very elaborate +structure of the following volumes, they might have been finished +sooner. But it will be found, on reflection, that the ranges of +inquiry engaged in demanded, even for their slight investigation, +time and pains which are quite unrepresented in the result. It often +required a week or two's hard walking to determine some geological +problem, now dismissed in an unnoticed sentence; and it constantly +needed examination and thought, prolonged during many days in the +picture gallery, to form opinions which the reader may suppose to be +dictated by caprice, and will hear only to dispute. + +A more serious disadvantage, resulting from the necessary breadth of +subject, was the chance of making mistakes in minor and accessory +points. For the labor of a critic who sincerely desires to be just, +extends into more fields than it is possible for any single hand to +furrow straightly. He has to take _some_ note of many physical +sciences; of optics, geometry, geology, botany, and anatomy; he must +acquaint himself with the works of all great artists, and with the +temper and history of the times in which they lived; he must be a fair +metaphysician, and a careful observer of the phenomena of natural +scenery. It is not possible to extend the range of work thus widely, +without running the chance of occasionally making mistakes; and if I +carefully guarded against that chance, I should be compelled both to +shorten my powers of usefulness in many directions, and to lose much +time over what work I undertook. All that I can secure, therefore, is +rightness in main points and main tendencies; for it is perfectly +possible to protect oneself against small errors, and yet to make +great and final error in the sum of work: on the other hand, it is +equally possible to fall into many small errors, and yet be right in +tendency all the while, and entirely right in the end. In this +respect, some men may be compared to careful travellers, who neither +stumble at stones, nor slip in sloughs, but have, from the beginning +of their journey to its close, chosen the wrong road; and others to +those who, however slipping or stumbling at the wayside, have yet +their eyes fixed on the true gate and goal (stumbling, perhaps, even +the more because they have), and will not fail of reaching them. Such +are assuredly the safer guides: he who follows them may avoid their +slips, and be their companion in attainment. + +Although, therefore, it is not possible but that, in the discussion +of so many subjects as are necessarily introduced in the following +pages, here and there a chance should arise of minor mistake or +misconception, the reader need not be disturbed by the detection of +any such. He will find always that they do not affect the matter +mainly in hand. + +I refer especially in these remarks to the chapters on Classical and +Mediæval Landscape. It is certain, that in many respects, the views +there stated must be inaccurate or incomplete; for how should it be +otherwise when the subject is one whose proper discussion would +require knowledge of the entire history of two great ages of the +world? But I am well assured that the suggestions in those chapters +are useful; and that even if, after farther study of the subject, +the reader should find cause to differ with me in this or the other +speciality, he will yet thank me for helping him to a certain length +in the investigation, and confess, perhaps, that he could not at +last have been right, if I had not first ventured to be wrong. + +And of one thing he may be certified, that any error I fall into will +not be in an illogical deduction: I may mistake the meaning of a +symbol, or the angle of a rock-cleavage, but not draw an inconsequent +conclusion. I state this, because it has often been said that I am not +logical, by persons who do not so much as know what logic means. Next +to imagination, the power of perceiving logical relation is one of the +rarest among men; certainly, of those with whom I have conversed, I +have found always ten who had deep feeling, quick wit, or extended +knowledge, for one who could set down a syllogism without a flaw; and +for ten who could set down a syllogism, only one who could _entirely_ +understand that a square has four sides. Even as I am sending these +sheets to press, a work is put into my hand, written to prove (I would, +from the depth of my heart, it could prove) that there was no ground +for what I said in the Stones of Venice respecting the logical +probability of the continuity of evil. It seems learned, temperate, +thoughtful, everything in feeling and aim that a book should be, and +yet it begins with this sentence: + + "The question cited in our preface, 'Why not infinite good out + of infinite evil?' must be taken to imply--for it else can + have no weight,--that in order to the production of infinite + good, the existence of infinite evil is indispensable." + +So, if I had said that there was no reason why honey should not be +sucked out of a rock, and oil out of a flinty rock, the writer would +have told me this sentence must be taken to imply--for it else could +have no weight,--that in order to the production of honey, the +existence of rocks is indispensable. No less intense and marvellous are +the logical errors into which our best writers are continually falling, +owing to the notion that laws of logic will help them better than +common sense. Whereas any man who can reason at all, does it +instinctively, and takes leaps over intermediate syllogisms by the +score, yet never misses his footing at the end of the leap; but he who +cannot instinctively argue, might as well, with the gout in both feet, +try to follow a chamois hunter by the help of crutches, as to follow, +by the help of syllogism, a person who has the right use of his reason. +I should not, however, have thought it necessary to allude to this +common charge against my writings, but that it happens to confirm some +views I have long entertained, and which the reader will find glanced +at in their proper place, respecting the necessity of a more +_practically_ logical education for our youth. Of other various charges +I need take no note, because they are always answered the one by the +other. The complaint made against me to-day for being narrow and +exclusive, is met to-morrow by indignation that I should admire schools +whose characters cannot be reconciled; and the assertion of one critic, +that I am always contradicting myself, is balanced by the vexation of +another, at my ten years' obstinacies in error. + +I once intended the illustrations to these volumes to be more numerous +and elaborate, but the art of photography now enables any reader to +obtain as many memoranda of the facts of nature as he needs; and, in +the course of my ten years' pause, I have formed plans for the +representation of some of the works of Turner on their own scale; so +that it would have been quite useless to spend time in reducing +drawings to the size of this page, which were afterwards to be +engraved of their own size.[1] I have therefore here only given +illustrations enough to enable the reader, who has not access to the +works of Turner, to understand the principles laid down in the text, +and apply them to such art as may be within his reach. And I owe +sincere thanks to the various engravers who have worked with me, for +the zeal and care with which they have carried out the requirements in +each case, and overcome difficulties of a nature often widely +differing from those involved by their habitual practice. I would not +make invidious distinction, where all have done well; but may perhaps +be permitted to point, as examples of what I mean, to the 3rd and 6th +Plates in this volume (the 6th being left unlettered in order not to +injure the effect of its ground), in which Mr. Le Keux and Mr. +Armytage have exactly facsimiled, in line engraving, drawings of mine +made on a grey ground touched with white, and have given even the +_loaded_ look of the body color. The power of thus imitating actual +touches of color with pure lines will be, I believe, of great future +importance in rendering Turner's work on a large scale. As for the +merit or demerit of these or other drawings of my own, which I am +obliged now for the sake of illustration often to engrave, I believe I +could speak of it impartially, and should unreluctantly do so; but I +leave, as most readers will think I ought, such judgment to them, +merely begging them to remember that there are two general principles +to be kept in mind in examining the drawings of any writer on art: the +first, that they ought at least to show such ordinary skill in +draughtsmanship, as to prove that the writer knows _what_ the good +qualities of drawing _are_; the second, that they are never to be +expected to equal, in either execution or conception, the work of +accomplished artists,--for the simple reason, that in order to do +_any_thing thoroughly well, the whole mind, and the whole available +time, must be given to that single art. It is probable, for reasons +which will be noted in the following pages, that the critical and +executive faculties are in great part independent of each other; so +that it is nearly as great an absurdity to require of any critic that +he should equal in execution even the work which he condemns, as to +require of the audience which hisses a piece of vocal music that they +should instantly chant it in truer harmony themselves. But whether +this be true or not (it is at least untrue to this extent, that a +certain power of drawing is _indispensable_ to the critic of art), and +supposing that the executive and critical powers always exist in some +correspondent degree in the same person, still they cannot be +cultivated to the same extent. The attention required for the +development of a theory is necessarily withdrawn from the design of a +drawing, and the time devoted to the realization of a form is lost to +the solution of a problem. Choice _must_ at last be made between one +and the other power, as the principal aim of life; and if the painter +should find it necessary sometimes to explain one of his pictures in +words, or the writer to illustrate his meaning with a drawing, the +skill of the one need not be doubted because his logic is feeble, nor +the sense of the other because his pencil is listless. + +As, however, it is sometimes alleged by the opponents of my +principles, that I have never _done_ _any_thing, it is proper that the +reader should know exactly the amount of work for which I am +answerable in these illustrations. When an example is given from any +of the works of Turner, it is either etched by myself from the +original drawing, or engraved from a drawing of mine, translating +Turner's work out of color into black and white, as for instance, the +frontispiece to the fourth volume. When a plate is inscribed as +"_after_" such and such a master, I have always myself made the +drawing, in black and white, from the original picture; as, for +instance, Plate 11, in this volume. If it has been made from a +previously existing engraving, it is inscribed with the name of the +first engraver at the left-hand lowest corner; as, for instance, Plate +18, in Vol. IV. Outline etchings are either by my own hand on the +steel, as Plate 12, here, and 20, 21, in Vol. IV.; or copies from my +pen drawings, etched by Mr. Boys, with a fidelity for which I +sincerely thank him; one, Plate 22, Vol. IV., is both drawn and etched +by Mr. Boys from an old engraving. Most of the other illustrations are +engraved from my own studies from nature. The colored Plate (7, in +this volume) is from a drawing executed with great skill by my +assistant, Mr. J. J. Laing, from MSS. in the British Museum; and the +lithography of it has been kindly superintended by Mr. Henry Shaw, +whose renderings of mediæval ornaments stand, as far as I know, quite +unrivalled in modern art. The two woodcuts of mediæval design, Figs. 1 +and 3, are also from drawings by Mr. Laing, admirably cut by Miss +Byfield. I use this word "admirably," not with reference to mere +delicacy of execution, which can usually be had for money, but to the +perfect fidelity of facsimile, which is in general _not_ to be had for +money, and by which Miss Byfield has saved me all trouble with respect +to the numerous woodcuts in the fourth volume; first, by her excellent +renderings of various portions of Albert Durer's woodcuts; and, +secondly, by reproducing, to their last dot or scratch, my own pen +diagrams, drawn in general so roughly that few wood-engravers would +have condescended to cut them with care, and yet always involving some +points in which care was indispensable. One or two changes have been +permitted in the arrangement of the book, which make the text in +these volumes not altogether a symmetrical continuation of that in +former ones. Thus, I thought it better to put the numbers of +paragraphs always at the left-hand side of the page; and as the +summaries, in small type, appeared to me for the most part cumbrous +and useless, I have banished them, except where there were complicated +divisions of subject which it seemed convenient to indicate at the +margin. I am not sorry thus to carry out my own principle of the +sacrifice of architectural or constructive symmetry to practical +service. The plates are, in a somewhat unusual way, numbered +consecutively through the two volumes, as I intend them to be also +through the fifth. This plan saves much trouble in references. + +I have only to express, in conclusion, my regret that it has been +impossible to finish the work within the limits first proposed. +Having, of late, found my designs always requiring enlargement in +process of execution, I will take care, in future, to set no limits +whatsoever to any good intentions. In the present instance I trust +the reader will pardon me, as the later efforts of our schools of +art have necessarily introduced many new topics of discussion. + +And so I wish him heartily a happy New Year. + +Denmark Hill, Jan. 1856. + + [1] I should be very grateful to the proprietors of pictures or + drawings by Turner, if they would send me lists of the works + in their possession; as I am desirous of forming a systematic + catalogue of all his works. + + + + +[Illustration: Lake, Land, and Cloud. (near Como.)] + + + + + + + MODERN PAINTERS. + + PART IV. + + OF MANY THINGS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +OF THE RECEIVED OPINIONS TOUCHING THE "GRAND STYLE." + + +§ 1. In taking up the clue of an inquiry, now intermitted for nearly +ten years, it may be well to do as a traveller would, who had to +recommence an interrupted journey in a guideless country; and, +ascending, as it were, some little hill beside our road, note how +far we have already advanced, and what pleasantest ways we may +choose for farther progress. + +I endeavored, in the beginning of the first volume, to divide the +sources of pleasure open to us in Art into certain groups, which +might conveniently be studied in succession. After some preliminary +discussion, it was concluded (Part I. Chap. III. § 86), that these +groups were, in the main, three; consisting, first, of the pleasures +taken in perceiving simple resemblance to Nature (Ideas of Truth); +secondly, of the pleasures taken in the beauty of the things chosen +to be painted (Ideas of Beauty); and, lastly, of pleasures taken in +the meanings and relations of these things (Ideas of Relation). + +The first volume, treating of the ideas of Truth, was chiefly occupied +with an inquiry into the various success with which different artists +had represented the facts of Nature,--an inquiry necessarily conducted +very imperfectly, owing to the want of pictorial illustration. + +The second volume nearly opened the inquiry into the nature of ideas +of Beauty and Relation, by analysing (as far as I was able to do so) +the two faculties of the human mind which mainly seized such ideas; +namely, the contemplative and imaginative faculties. + +It remains for us to examine the various success of artists, especially +of the great landscape-painter whose works have been throughout our +principal subject, in addressing these faculties of the human mind, and +to consider who among them has conveyed the noblest ideas of beauty, +and touched the deepest sources of thought. + +§ 2. I do not intend, however, now to pursue the inquiry in a method +so laboriously systematic; for the subject may, it seems to me, be +more usefully treated by pursuing the different questions which rise +out of it just as they occur to us, without too great scrupulousness +in marking connections, or insisting on sequences. Much time is +wasted by human beings, in general, on establishment of systems; and +it often takes more labor to master the intricacies of an artificial +connection, than to remember the separate facts which are so +carefully connected. I suspect that system-makers, in general, are +not of much more use, each in his own domain, than, in that of +Pomona, the old women who tie cherries upon sticks, for the more +convenient portableness of the same. To cultivate well, and choose +well, your cherries, is of some importance; but if they can be had +in their own wild way of clustering about their crabbed stalk, it is +a better connection for them than any other; and, if they cannot, +then, so that they be not bruised, it makes to a boy of a practical +disposition, not much difference whether he gets them by handfuls, +or in beaded symmetry on the exalting stick. I purpose, therefore, +henceforward to trouble myself little with sticks or twine, but to +arrange my chapters with a view to convenient reference, rather than +to any careful division of subjects, and to follow out, in any +by-ways that may open, on right hand or left, whatever question it +seems useful at any moment to settle. + +§ 3. And, in the outset, I find myself met by one which I ought to +have touched upon before--one of especial interest in the present +state of the Arts. I have said that the art is greatest which +includes the greatest ideas; but I have not endeavored to define the +nature of this greatness in the ideas themselves. We speak of great +truths, of great beauties, great thoughts. What is it which makes +one truth greater than another, one thought greater than another? +This question is, I repeat, of peculiar importance at the present +time; for, during a period now of some hundred and fifty years, all +writers on Art who have pretended to eminence, have insisted much on +a supposed distinction between what they call the Great and the Low +Schools; using the terms "High Art," "Great or Ideal Style," and +other such, as descriptive of a certain noble manner of painting, +which it was desirable that all students of Art should be early led +to reverence and adopt; and characterising as "vulgar," or "low," or +"realist," another manner of painting and conceiving, which it was +equally necessary that all students should be taught to avoid. + +But lately this established teaching, never very intelligible, has +been gravely called in question. The advocates and self-supposed +practisers of "High Art" are beginning to be looked upon with doubt, +and their peculiar phraseology to be treated with even a certain +degree of ridicule. And other forms of Art are partly developed +among us, which do not pretend to be high, but rather to be strong, +healthy, and humble. This matter of "highness" in Art, therefore +deserves our most careful consideration. Has it been, or is it, a +true highness, a true princeliness, or only a show of it, consisting +in courtly manners and robes of state? Is it rocky height or cloudy +height, adamant or vapor, on which the sun of praise so long has +risen and set? It will be well at once to consider this. + +§ 4. And first, let us get, as quickly as may be, at the exact +meaning with which the advocates of "High Art" use that somewhat +obscure and figurative term. + +I do not know that the principles in question are anywhere more +distinctly expressed than in two papers in the Idler, written by Sir +Joshua Reynolds, of course under the immediate sanction of Johnson; +and which may thus be considered as the utterance of the views then +held upon the subject by the artists of chief skill, and critics of +most sense, arranged in a form so brief and clear, as to admit of +their being brought before the public for a morning's entertainment. +I cannot, therefore, it seems to me, do better than quote these two +letters, or at least the important parts of them, examining the exact +meaning of each passage as it occurs. There are, in all, in the Idler +three letters on painting, Nos. 76, 79, and 82; of these, the first is +directed only against the impertinences of pretended connoisseurs, and +is as notable for its faithfulness, as for its wit, in the description +of the several modes of criticism in an artificial and ignorant state +of society; it is only, therefore, in the two last papers that we find +the expression of the doctrines which it is our business to examine. + +No. 79 (Saturday, Oct. 20th, 1759) begins, after a short preamble, +with the following passage:-- + + "Amongst the painters, and the writers on painting, there is one + maxim universally admitted and continually inculcated. Imitate + nature is the invariable rule; but I know none who have + explained in what manner this rule is to be understood; the + sequence of which is, that every one takes it in the most + obvious sense, that objects are represented naturally when they + have such relief that they seem real. It may appear strange, + perhaps, to hear this sense of the rule disputed; but it must be + considered, that, if the excellency of a painter consisted only + in this kind of imitation, Painting must lose its rank, and be + no longer considered as a liberal art, and sister to Poetry, + this imitation being nearly mechanical, in which the slowest + intellect is always sure to succeed best; for the painter of + genius cannot stoop to drudgery, in which the understanding has + no part; and what pretence has the art to claim kindred with + poetry but by its power over the imagination? To this power the + painter of genius directs him; in this sense he studies nature, + and often arrives at his end, even by being unnatural in the + confined sense of the word." + + "The grand style of painting requires this minute attention to be + carefully avoided, and must be kept as separate from it as the + style of poetry from that of history. (Poetical ornaments destroy + that air of truth and plainness which ought to characterise + history; but the very being of poetry consists in departing from + this plain narrative, and adopting every ornament that will warm + the imagination.[2]) To desire to see the excellencies of each + style united--to mingle the Dutch with the Italian school, is to + join contrarieties, which cannot subsist together, and which + destroy the efficacy of each other." + +§ 5. We find, first, from this interesting passage, that the writer +considers the Dutch and Italian masters as severally representative +of the low and high schools; next, that he considers the Dutch +painters as excelling in a mechanical imitation, "in which the +slowest intellect is always sure to succeed best;" and, thirdly, +that he considers the Italian painters as excelling in a style which +corresponds to that of imaginative poetry in literature, and which +has an exclusive right to be called the grand style. + +I wish that it were in my power entirely to concur with the writer, +and to enforce this opinion thus distinctly stated. I have never +been a zealous partisan of the Dutch School, and should rejoice in +claiming Reynolds's authority for the assertion, that their manner +was one "in which the slowest intellect was always sure to succeed +best." But before his authority can be so claimed, we must observe +exactly the meaning of the assertion itself, and separate it from +the company of some others not perhaps so admissible. First, I say, +we must observe Reynolds's exact meaning, for (though the assertion +may at first appear singular) a man who uses accurate language is +always more liable to misinterpretation than one who is careless in +his expressions. We may assume that the latter means very nearly +what we at first suppose him to mean, for words which have been +uttered without thought may be received without examination. But +when a writer or speaker may be fairly supposed to have considered +his expressions carefully, and, after having revolved a number of +terms in his mind, to have chosen the one which _exactly_ means the +thing he intends to say, we may be assured that what costs him time +to select, will require from us time to understand, and that we +shall do him wrong, unless we pause to reflect how the word which he +has actually employed differs from other words which it seems he +_might_ have employed. It thus constantly happens that persons +themselves unaccustomed to think clearly, or speak correctly, +misunderstand a logical and careful writer, and are actually in more +danger of being misled by language which is measured and precise, +than by that which is loose and inaccurate. + +§ 6. Now, in the instance before us, a person not accustomed to good +writing might very rashly conclude, that when Reynolds spoke of the +Dutch School as one "in which the slowest intellect was sure to succeed +best," he meant to say that every successful Dutch painter was a fool. +We have no right to take his assertion in that sense. He says, the +_slowest_ intellect. We have no right to assume that he meant the +_weakest_. For it is true, that in order to succeed in the Dutch style, +a man has need of qualities of mind eminently deliberate and sustained. +He must be possessed of patience rather than of power; and must feel no +weariness in contemplating the expression of a single thought for +several months together. As opposed to the changeful energies of the +imagination, these mental characters may be properly spoken of as under +the general term--slowness of intellect. But it by no means follows +that they are necessarily those of weak or foolish men. + +We observe however, farther, that the imitation which Reynolds +supposes to be characteristic of the Dutch School is that which +gives to objects such relief that they seem real, and that he then +speaks of this art of realistic imitation as corresponding to +_history_ in literature. + +§ 7. Reynolds, therefore, seems to class these dull works of the +Dutch School under a general head, to which they are not commonly +referred--that of _Historical_ painting; while he speaks of the +works of the Italian School not as historical, but as _poetical_ +painting. His next sentence will farther manifest his meaning. + + "The Italian attends only to the invariable, the great and + general ideas which are fixed and inherent in universal + nature; the Dutch, on the contrary, to literal truth and + minute exactness in the detail, as I may say, of nature + modified by accident. The attention to these petty + peculiarities is the very cause of this naturalness so much + admired in the Dutch pictures, which, if we suppose it to be a + beauty, is certainly of a lower order, which ought to give + place to a beauty of a superior kind, since one cannot be + obtained but by departing from the other. + + "If my opinion was asked concerning the works of Michael + Angelo, whether they would receive any advantage from + possessing this mechanical merit, I should not scruple to say, + they would not only receive no advantage, but would lose, in a + great measure, the effect which they now have on every mind + susceptible of great and noble ideas. His works may be said to + be all genius and soul; and why should they be loaded with + heavy matter, which can only counteract his purpose by + retarding the progress of the imagination?" + +Examining carefully this and the preceding passage, we find the +author's unmistakable meaning to be, that Dutch painting is _history_; +attending to literal truth and "minute exactness in the details of +nature modified by accident." That Italian painting is _poetry_, +attending only to the invariable; and that works which attend only to +the invariable are full of genius and soul; but that literal truth and +exact detail are "heavy matter which retards the progress of the +imagination." + +§ 8. This being then indisputably what Reynolds means to tell us, +let us think a little whether he is in all respects right. And +first, as he compares his two kinds of painting to history and +poetry, let us see how poetry and history themselves differ, in +their use of _variable_ and _invariable_ details. I am writing at a +window which commands a view of the head of the Lake of Geneva; and +as I look up from my paper, to consider this point, I see, beyond +it, a blue breadth of softly moving water, and the outline of the +mountains above Chillon, bathed in morning mist. The first verses +which naturally come into my mind are-- + + "A thousand feet in depth below + The massy waters meet and flow; + So far the fathom line was sent + From Chillon's snow-white battlement." + +Let us see in what manner this poetical statement is distinguished +from a historical one. + +It is distinguished from a truly historical statement, first, in being +simply false. The water under the castle of Chillon is not a thousand +feet deep, nor anything like it.[3] Herein, certainly, these lines +fulfil Reynolds's first requirement in poetry, "that it should be +inattentive to literal truth and minute exactness in detail." In +order, however, to make our comparison more closely in other points, +let us assume that what is stated is indeed a fact, and that it was to +be recorded, first historically, and then poetically. + +Historically stating it, then, we should say: "The lake was sounded +from the walls of the castle of Chillon, and found to be a thousand +feet deep." + +Now, if Reynolds be right in his idea of the difference between +history and poetry, we shall find that Byron leaves out of this +statement certain _un_necessary details, and retains only the +invariable,--that is to say, the points which the Lake of Geneva and +castle of Chillon have in common with all other lakes and castles. + +Let us hear, therefore. + + "A thousand feet in depth below." + +"Below?" Here is, at all events, a word added (instead of anything +being taken away); invariable, certainly in the case of lakes, but +not absolutely necessary. + + "The massy waters meet and flow." + +"Massy!" why massy? Because deep water is heavy. The word is a good +word, but it is assuredly an added detail, and expresses a character, +not which the Lake of Geneva has in common with all other lakes, but +which it has in distinction from those which are narrow or shallow. + +§ 9. "Meet and flow." Why meet and flow? Partly to make up a rhyme; +partly to tell us that the waters are forceful as well as massy, and +changeful as well as deep. Observe, a farther addition of details, +and of details more or less peculiar to the spot, or, according to +Reynolds's definition, of "heavy matter, retarding the progress of +the imagination." + + "So far the fathom line was sent." + +Why fathom line? All lines for sounding are not fathom lines. If the +lake was ever sounded from Chillon, it was probably sounded in +metres, not fathoms. This is an addition of another particular +detail, in which the only compliance with Reynolds's requirement is, +that there is some chance of its being an inaccurate one. + + "From Chillon's snow-white battlement." + +Why snow-white? Because castle battlements are not usually +snow-white. This is another added detail, and a detail quite +peculiar to Chillon, and therefore exactly the most striking word in +the whole passage. + +"Battlement!" why battlement? Because all walls have not +battlements, and the addition of the term marks the castle to be not +merely a prison, but a fortress. + +This is a curious result. Instead of finding, as we expected, the +poetry distinguished from the history by the omission of details, we +find it consist entirely in the _addition_ of details; and instead +of being characterized by regard only of the invariable, we find its +whole power to consist in the clear expression of what is singular +and particular! + +§ 10. The reader may pursue the investigation for himself in other +instances. He will find in every case that a poetical is distinguished +from a merely historical statement, not by being more vague, but more +specific, and it might, therefore, at first appear that our author's +comparison should be simply reversed, and that the Dutch School should +be called poetical, and the Italian historical. But the term poetical +does not appear very applicable to the generality of Dutch painting; +and a little reflection will show us, that if the Italians represent +only the invariable, they cannot be properly compared even to +historians. For that which is incapable of change has no history, and +records which state only the invariable need not be written, and could +not be read. + +§ 11. It is evident, therefore, that our author has entangled himself +in some grave fallacy, by introducing this idea of invariableness as +forming a distinction between poetical and historical art. What the +fallacy is, we shall discover as we proceed; but as an invading army +should not leave an untaken fortress in its rear, we must not go on +with our inquiry into the views of Reynolds until we have settled +satisfactorily the question already suggested to us, in what the +essence of poetical treatment really consists. For though, as we have +seen, it certainly involves the addition of specific details, it +cannot be simply that addition which turns the history into poetry. +For it is perfectly possible to add any number of details to a +historical statement, and to make it more prosaic with every added +word. As, for instance, "The lake was sounded out of a flat-bottomed +boat, near the crab tree at the corner of the kitchen-garden, and was +found to be a thousand feet nine inches deep, with a muddy bottom." It +thus appears that it is not the multiplication of details which +constitutes poetry; nor their subtraction which constitutes history; +but that there must be something either in the nature of the details +themselves, or the method of using them, which invests them with +poetical power or historical propriety. + +§ 12. It seems to me, and may seem to the reader, strange that we +should need to ask the question, "What is poetry?" Here is a word we +have been using all our lives, and, I suppose, with a very distinct +idea attached to it; and when I am now called upon to give a +definition of this idea, I find myself at a pause. What is more +singular, I do not at present recollect hearing the question often +asked, though surely it is a very natural one; and I never recollect +hearing it answered, or even attempted to be answered. In general, +people shelter themselves under metaphors, and while we hear poetry +described as an utterance of the soul, an effusion of Divinity, or +voice of nature, or in other terms equally elevated and obscure, we +never attain anything like a definite explanation of the character +which actually distinguishes it from prose. + +§ 13. I come, after some embarrassment, to the conclusion, that poetry +is "the suggestion, by the imagination, of noble grounds for the noble +emotions." I mean, by the noble emotions, those four principal sacred +passions--Love, Veneration, Admiration, and Joy (this latter +especially, if unselfish); and their opposites--Hatred, Indignation (or +Scorn), Horror, and Grief,--this last, when unselfish, becoming +Compassion. These passions in their various combinations constitute +what is called "poetical feeling," when they are felt on noble grounds, +that is, on great and true grounds. Indignation, for instance, is a +poetical feeling, if excited by serious injury; but it is not a +poetical feeling if entertained on being cheated out of a small sum of +money. It is very possible the manner of the cheat may have been such +as to justify considerable indignation; but the feeling is nevertheless +not poetical unless the grounds of it be large as well as just. In like +manner, energetic admiration may be excited in certain minds by a +display of fireworks, or a street of handsome shops; but the feeling is +not poetical, because the grounds of it are false, and therefore +ignoble. There is in reality nothing to deserve admiration either in +the firing of packets of gunpowder, or in the display of the stocks of +ware-houses. But admiration excited by the budding of a flower is a +poetical feeling, because it is impossible that this manifestation of +spiritual power and vital beauty can ever be enough admired. + +§ 14. Farther, it is necessary to the existence of poetry that the +grounds of these feelings should be _furnished by the imagination_. +Poetical feeling, that is to say, mere noble emotion, is not poetry. +It is happily inherent in all human nature deserving the name, and +is found often to be purest in the least sophisticated. But the +power of assembling, by the _help of the imagination_, such images +as will excite these feelings, is the power of the poet or literally +of the "Maker."[4] + +Now this power of exciting the emotions depends of course on the +richness of the imagination, and on its choice of those images which, +in combination, will be most effective, or, for the particular work to +be done, most fit. And it is altogether impossible for a writer not +endowed with invention to conceive what tools a true poet will make +use of, or in what way he will apply them, or what unexpected results +he will bring out by them; so that it is vain to say that the details +of poetry ought to possess, or ever do possess, any _definite_ +character. Generally speaking, poetry runs into finer and more +delicate details than prose; but the details are not poetical because +they are more delicate, but because they are employed so as to bring +out an affecting result. For instance, no one but a true poet would +have thought of exciting our pity for a bereaved father by describing +his way of locking the door of his house: + + "Perhaps to himself, at that moment he said, + The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead; + But of this in my ears not a word did he speak, + And he went to the chase with a tear on his cheek." + +In like manner, in painting, it is altogether impossible to say +beforehand what details a great painter may make poetical by his use +of them to excite noble emotions: and we shall, therefore, find +presently that a painting is to be classed in the great or inferior +schools, not according to the kind of details which it represents, +but according to the uses for which it employs them. + +§ 15. It is only farther to be noticed, that infinite confusion has +been introduced into this subject by the careless and illogical +custom of opposing painting to poetry, instead of regarding poetry +as consisting in a noble use, whether of colors or words. Painting +is properly to be opposed to _speaking_ or _writing_, but not to +_poetry_. Both painting and speaking are methods of expression. +Poetry is the employment of either for the noblest purposes. + +§ 16. This question being thus far determined, we may proceed with +our paper in the Idler. + + "It is very difficult to determine the exact degree of + enthusiasm that the arts of painting and poetry may admit. + There may, perhaps, be too great indulgence as well as too + great a restraint of imagination; if the one produces + incoherent monsters, the other produces what is full as bad, + lifeless insipidity. An intimate knowledge of the passions, + and good sense, but not common sense, must at last determine + its limits. It has been thought, and I believe with reason, + that Michael Angelo sometimes transgressed those limits; and, + I think, I have seen figures of him of which it was very + difficult to determine whether they were in the highest degree + sublime or extremely ridiculous. Such faults may be said to be + the ebullitions of genius; but at least he had this merit, + that he never was insipid, and whatever passion his works may + excite, they will always escape contempt. + + "What I have had under consideration is the sublimest style, + particularly that of Michael Angelo, the Homer of painting. + Other kinds may admit of this naturalness, which of the lowest + kind is the chief merit; but in painting, as in poetry, the + highest style has the least of common nature." + +From this passage we gather three important indications of the +supposed nature of the Great Style. That it is the work of men in a +state of enthusiasm. That it is like the writing of Homer; and that +it has as little as possible of "common nature" in it. + +§ 17. First, it is produced by men in a state of enthusiasm. That +is, by men who feel _strongly_ and _nobly_; for we do not call a +strong feeling of envy, jealousy, or ambition, enthusiasm. That is, +therefore, by men who feel poetically. This much we may admit, I +think, with perfect safety. Great art is produced by men who feel +acutely and nobly; and it is in some sort an expression of this +personal feeling. We can easily conceive that there may be a +sufficiently marked distinction between such art, and that which is +produced by men who do not feel at all, but who reproduce, though +ever so accurately, yet coldly, like human mirrors, the scenes which +pass before their eyes. + +§ 18. Secondly, Great Art is like the writing of Homer, and this +chiefly because it has little of "common nature" in it. We are not +clearly informed what is meant by common nature in this passage. Homer +seems to describe a great deal of what is common;--cookery, for +instance, very carefully in all its processes. I suppose the passage +in the Iliad which, on the whole, has excited most admiration, is that +which describes a wife's sorrow at parting from her husband, and a +child's fright at its father's helmet; and I hope, at least, the +former feeling may be considered "common nature." But the true +greatness of Homer's style is, doubtless, held by our author to +consist in his imaginations of things not only uncommon but impossible +(such as spirits in brazen armor, or monsters with heads of men and +bodies of beasts), and in his occasional delineations of the human +character and form in their utmost, or heroic, strength and beauty. We +gather then on the whole, that a painter in the Great Style must be +enthusiastic, or full of emotion, and must paint the human form in its +utmost strength and beauty, and perhaps certain impossible forms +besides, liable by persons not in an equally enthusiastic state of +mind to be looked upon as in some degree absurd. This I presume to be +Reynolds's meaning, and to be all that he intends us to gather from +his comparison of the Great Style with the writings of Homer. But if +that comparison be a just one in all respects, surely two other +corollaries ought to be drawn from it, namely,--first, that these +Heroic or Impossible images are to be mingled with others very +unheroic and very possible; and, secondly, that in the representation +of the Heroic or Impossible forms, the greatest care must be taken in +_finishing the details_, so that a painter must not be satisfied with +painting well the countenance and the body of his hero, but ought to +spend the greatest part of his time (as Homer the greatest number of +verses) in elaborating the sculptured pattern on his shield. + +§ 19. Let us, however, proceed with our paper. + + "One may very safely recommend a little more enthusiasm to the + modern painters; too much is certainly not the vice of the + present age. The Italians seem to have been continually + declining in this respect, from the time of Michael Angelo to + that of Carlo Maratti, and from thence to the very bathos of + insipidity to which they are now sunk, so that there is no + need of remarking, that where I mentioned the Italian painters + in opposition to the Dutch, I mean not the moderns, but the + heads of the old Roman and Bolognian schools; nor did I mean + to include, in my idea of an Italian painter, the Venetian + school, _which may be said to be the Dutch part of the Italian + genius_. I have only to add a word of advice to the painters, + that, however excellent they may be in painting naturally, + they would not flatter themselves very much upon it; and to + the connoisseurs, that when they see a cat or a fiddle painted + so finely, that, as the phrase is, it looks as if you could + take it up, they would not for that reason immediately compare + the painter to Raffaelle and Michael Angelo." + +In this passage there are four points chiefly to be remarked. The +first, that in the year 1759, the Italian painters were, in our +author's opinion, sunk in the very bathos of insipidity. The second, +that the Venetian painters, i.e. Titian, Tintoret, and Veronese, +are, in our author's opinion, to be classed with the Dutch; that is +to say, are painters in a style "in which the slowest intellect is +always sure to succeed best." Thirdly, that painting naturally is +not a difficult thing, nor one on which a painter should pride +himself. And, finally, that connoisseurs, seeing a cat or a fiddle +successfully painted, ought not therefore immediately to compare the +painter to Raphael or Michael Angelo. + +Yet Raphael painted fiddles very carefully in the foreground of his +St. Cecilia,--so carefully, that they quite look as if they might be +taken up. So carefully, that I never yet looked at the picture +without wishing that somebody _would_ take them up, and out of the +way. And I am under a very strong persuasion that Raphael did not +think painting "naturally" an easy thing. It will be well to examine +into this point a little; and for the present, with the reader's +permission, we will pass over the first two statements in this +passage (touching the character of Italian art in 1759, and of +Venetian art in general), and immediately examine some of the +evidence existing as to the real dignity of "natural" painting--that +is to say, of painting carried to the point at which it reaches a +deceptive appearance of reality. + + [2] I have put this sentence in a parenthesis, because it is + inconsistent with the rest of the statement, and with the + general teaching of the paper; since that which "attends only + to the invariable" cannot certainly adopt "every ornament that + will warm the imagination." + + [3] "MM. Mallet et Pictet, se trouvant sur le lac auprès du + château de Chillon, le 6 Août, 1774, plongèrent à la + profondeur de 312 pieds de un thermomètre," &c.--SAUSSURE, + _Voyages dans les Alpes_, chap. ii. § 33. It appears from the + next paragraph, that the thermometer was "au fond du lac." + + [4] Take, for instance, the beautiful stanza in the "Affliction of + Margaret:" + + "I look for ghosts, but none will force + Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said + That ever there was intercourse + Between the living and the dead; + For, surely then, I should have sight + Of him I wait for, day and night, + With love and longing infinite." + + This we call Poetry, because it is invented _or made_ by the + writer, entering into the mind of a supposed person. Next, + take an instance of the actual feeling truly experienced and + simply expressed by a real person. + + "Nothing surprised me more than a woman of Argentière, whose + cottage I went into to ask for milk, as I came down from the + glacier of Argentière, in the month of March, 1764. An epidemic + dysentery had prevailed in the village, and, a few months + before, had taken away from her, her father, her husband, and + her brothers, so that she was left alone, with three children in + the cradle. Her face had something noble in it, and its + expression bore the seal of a calm and profound sorrow. After + having given me milk, she asked me whence I came, and what I + came there to do, so early in the year. When she knew that I was + of Geneva, she said to me, 'she could not believe that all + Protestants were lost souls; that there were many honest people + among us, and that God was too good and too great to condemn all + without distinction.' Then, after a moment of reflection, she + added, in shaking her head, 'But, that which is very strange, is + that of so many who have gone away, none have ever returned. I,' + she added, with an expression of grief, 'who have so mourned my + husband and my brothers, who have never ceased to think of them, + who every night conjure them with beseechings to tell me where + they are, and in what state they are! Ah, surely, if they lived + anywhere, they would not leave me thus! But, perhaps,' she + added, 'I am not worthy of this kindness, perhaps the pure and + innocent spirits of these children,' and she looked at the + cradle, 'may have their presence, and the joy which is denied to + _me_.'"--SAUSSURE, _Voyages dans les Alpes_, chap. xxiv. + + This we do not call Poetry, merely because it is not invented, + but the true utterance of a real person. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +OF REALIZATION. + + +§ 1. In the outset of this inquiry, the reader must thoroughly +understand that we are not now considering _what_ is to be painted, +but _how far_ it is to be painted. Not whether Raphael does right in +representing angels playing upon violins, or whether Veronese does +right in allowing cats and monkeys to join the company of kings: but +whether, supposing the subjects rightly chosen, they ought on the +canvas to look like real angels with real violins, and substantial +cats looking at veritable kings; or only like imaginary angels with +soundless violins, ideal cats, and unsubstantial kings. + +Now, from the first moment when painting began to be a subject of +literary inquiry and general criticism, I cannot remember any +writer, not professedly artistical, who has not, more or less, in +one part of his book or another, countenanced the idea that the +great end of art is to produce a deceptive resemblance of reality. +It may be, indeed, that we shall find the writers, through many +pages, explaining principles of ideal beauty, and professing great +delight in the evidences of imagination. But whenever a picture is +to be definitely described,--whenever the writer desires to convey +to others some impression of an extraordinary excellence, all praise +is wound up with some such statements as these: "It was so +exquisitely painted that you expected the figures to move and speak; +you approached the flowers to enjoy their smell, and stretched your +hand towards the fruit which had fallen from the branches. You +shrunk back lest the sword of the warrior should indeed descend, and +turned away your head that you might not witness the agonies of the +expiring martyr!" + +§ 2. In a large number of instances, language such as this will be +found to be merely a clumsy effort to convey to others a sense of the +admiration, of which the writer does not understand the real cause in +himself. A person is attracted to a picture by the beauty of its color, +interested by the liveliness of its story, and touched by certain +countenances or details which remind him of friends whom he loved, for +scenes in which he delighted. He naturally supposes that what gives him +so much pleasure must be a notable example of the painter's skill; but +he is ashamed to confess, or perhaps does not know, that he is so much +a child as to be fond of bright colors and amusing incidents; and he is +quite unconscious of the associations which have so secret and +inevitable a power over his heart. He casts about for the cause of his +delight, and can discover no other than that he thought the picture +like reality. + +§ 3. In another, perhaps a still larger number of cases, such +language will be found to be that of simple ignorance--the ignorance +of persons whose position in life compels them to speak of art, +without having any real enjoyment of it. It is inexcusably required +from people of the world, that they should see merit in Claudes and +Titians; and the only merit which many persons can either see or +conceive in them is, that they must be "like nature." + +§ 4. In other cases, the deceptive power of the art is really felt +to be a source of interest and amusement. This is the case with a +large number of the collectors of Dutch pictures. They enjoy seeing +what is flat made to look round, exactly as a child enjoys a trick +of legerdemain; they rejoice in flies which the spectator vainly +attempts to brush away, and in dew which he endeavors to dry by +putting the picture in the sun. They take it for the greatest +compliment to their treasures that they should be mistaken for +windows; and think the parting of Abraham and Hagar adequately +represented, if Hagar seems to be really crying. + +It is against critics and connoisseurs of this latter stamp (of +whom, in the year 1759, the juries of art were for the most part +composed) that the essay of Reynolds, which we have been examining, +was justly directed. But Reynolds had not sufficiently considered +that neither the men of this class, nor of the two other classes +above described, constitute the entire body of those who praise Art +for its realization; and that the holding of this apparently +shallow and vulgar opinion cannot, in all cases, be attributed to +the want either of penetration, sincerity, or sense. The collectors +of Gerard Dows and Hobbimas may be passed by with a smile; and the +affectations of Walpole and simplicities of Vasari dismissed with +contempt or with compassion. But very different men from these have +held precisely the same language; and, one amongst the rest, whose +authority is absolutely, and in all points, overwhelming. + +§ 5. There was probably never a period in which the influence of art +over the minds of men seemed to depend less on its merely _imitative_ +power, than the close of the thirteenth century. No painting or +sculpture at that time reached more than a rude resemblance of reality. +Its despised perspective, imperfect chiaroscuro, and unrestrained +flights of fantastic imagination, separated the artist's work from +nature by an interval which there was no attempt to disguise, and +little to diminish. And yet, at this very period, the greatest poet of +that, or perhaps of any other age, and the attached friend of its +greatest painter, who must over and over again have held full and free +conversation with him respecting the objects of his art, speaks in the +following terms of painting, supposed to be carried to its highest +perfection:-- + + "Qual di pennel fu maestro, e di stile + Che ritraesse l' ombre, e i tratti, ch' ivi + Mirar farieno uno ingegno sottile. + Morti li morti, e i vivi parean vivi: + Non vide me' di me, chi vide il vero, + Quant' io calcai, fin che chinato givi." + DANTE, _Purgatorio_, canto xii. 1. 64 + + 'What master of the pencil, or the style, + Had traced the shades and lines that might have made + The subtlest workman wonder? _Dead, the dead, + The living seemed alive; with clearer view + His eye beheld not, who beheld the truth._ + Than mine what I did tread on, while I went, + Low bending.' CAREY. + +Dante has here clearly no other idea of the highest art than that it +should bring back, as in a mirror or vision, the aspect of things +passed or absent. The scenes of which he speaks are, on the pavement, +for ever represented by angelic power, so that the souls which traverse +this circle of the rock may see them, as if the years of the world had +been rolled back, and they again stood beside the actors in the moment +of action. Nor do I think that Dante's authority is absolutely +necessary to compel us to admit that such art as this _might_ indeed be +the highest possible. Whatever delight we may have been in the habit of +taking in pictures, if it were but truly offered to us, to remove at +our will the canvas from the frame, and in lieu of it to behold, fixed +for ever, the image of some of those mighty scenes which it has been +our way to make mere themes for the artist's fancy; if, for instance, +we could again behold the Magdalene receiving her pardon at Christ's +feet, or the disciples sitting with Him at the table of Emmaus; and +this not feebly nor fancifully, but as if some silver mirror, that had +leaned against the wall of the chamber, had been miraculously commanded +to retain for ever the colors that had flashed upon it for an +instant,--would we not part with our picture--Titian's or Veronese's +though it might be? + +§ 6. Yes, the reader answers, in the instance of such scenes as +these, but not if the scene represented were uninteresting. Not, +indeed, if it were utterly vulgar or painful; but we are not yet +certain that the art which represents what is vulgar or painful is +itself of much value; and with respect to the art whose aim is +beauty, even of an inferior order, it seems that Dante's idea of its +perfection has still much evidence in its favor. For among persons +of native good sense, and courage enough to speak their minds, we +shall often find a considerable degree of doubt as to the use of +art, in consequence of their habitual comparison of it with reality. +"What is the use, to me, of the painted landscape?" they will ask: +"I see more beautiful and perfect landscapes every day of my life in +my forenoon walk." "What is the use, to me, of the painted effigy of +hero or beauty? I can see a stamp of higher heroism, and light of +purer beauty, on the faces around me, utterly inexpressible by the +highest human skill." Now, it is evident that to persons of this +temper the only valuable pictures would indeed be _mirrors_, +reflecting permanently the images of the things in which they took +delight, and of the faces that they loved. "Nay," but the reader +interrupts, (if he is of the Idealist school) "I deny that more +beautiful things are to be seen in nature than in art; on the +contrary, everything in nature is faulty, and art represents nature +as perfected." Be it so. Must, therefore, this perfected nature be +imperfectly represented? Is it absolutely required of the painter, +who has conceived perfection, that he should so paint it as to look +only like a picture? Or is not Dante's view of the matter right even +here, and would it not be well that the perfect conception of Pallas +should be so given as to look like Pallas herself, rather than +merely like the picture of Pallas? + +§ 7. It is not easy for us to answer this question rightly, owing to +the difficulty of imagining any art which should reach the perfection +supposed. Our actual powers of imitation are so feeble that wherever +deception is attempted, a subject of a comparatively low or confined +order must be chosen. I do not enter at present into the inquiry how +far the powers of imitation extend; but assuredly up to the present +period they have been so limited that it is hardly possible for us to +conceive a deceptive art embracing a high range of subject. But let +the reader make the effort, and consider seriously what he would give +at any moment to have the power of arresting the fairest scenes, those +which so often rise before him only to vanish; to stay the cloud in +its fading, the leaf in its trembling, and the shadows in their +changing; to bid the fitful foam be fixed upon the river, and the +ripples be everlasting upon the lake; and then to bear away with him +no darkened or feeble sun-stain (though even that is beautiful), but a +counterfeit which should seem no counterfeit--the true and perfect +image of life indeed. Or rather (for the full majesty of such a power +is not thus sufficiently expressed) let him consider that it would be +in effect nothing else than a capacity of transporting himself at any +moment into any scene--a gift as great as can be possessed by a +disembodied spirit': and suppose, also, this necromancy embracing not +only the present but the past, and enabling us seemingly to enter into +the very bodily presence of men long since gathered to the dust; to +behold them in act as they lived, but--with greater privilege than +ever was granted to the companions of those transient acts of +life,--to see them fastened at our will in the gesture and expression +of an instant, and stayed, on the eve of some great deed, in +immortality of burning purpose. Conceive, so far as it is possible, +such power as this, and then say whether the art which conferred it is +to be spoken lightly of, or whether we should not rather reverence, as +half divine, a gift which would go so far as to raise us into the +rank, and invest us with the felicities, of angels? + +Yet such would imitative art be in its perfection. Not by any means +an easy thing, as Reynolds supposes it. Far from being easy, it is +so utterly beyond all human power that we have difficulty even in +conceiving its nature or results--the best art we as yet possess +comes so far short of it. + +§ 8. But we must not rashly come to the conclusion that such art would, +indeed, be the highest possible. There is much to be considered +hereafter on the other side; the only conclusion we are as yet +warranted in forming is, that Reynolds had no right to speak lightly or +contemptuously of imitative art; that in fact, when he did so, he had +not conceived its entire nature, but was thinking of some vulgar +conditions of it, which were the only ones known to him, and that, +therefore, his whole endeavor to explain the difference between great +and mean art has been disappointed; that he has involved himself in a +crowd of theories, whose issue he had not foreseen, and committed +himself to conclusions which he never intended. There is an instinctive +consciousness in his own mind of the difference between high and low +art; but he is utterly incapable of explaining it, and every effort +which he makes to do so involves him in unexpected fallacy and +absurdity. It is _not_ true that Poetry does not concern herself with +minute details. It is _not_ true that high art seeks only the +Invariable. It is _not_ true that imitative art is an easy thing. It is +_not_ true that the faithful rendering of nature is an employment in +which "the slowest intellect is likely to succeed best." All these +successive assertions are utterly false and untenable, while the plain +truth, a truth lying at the very door, has all the while escaped +him,--that which was incidentally stated in the preceding +chapter,--namely, that the difference between great and mean art lies, +not in definable methods of handling, or styles of representation, or +choices of subjects, but wholly in the nobleness of the end to which +the effort of the painter is addressed. We cannot say that a painter is +great because he paints boldly, or paints delicately; because he +generalizes or particularizes; because he loves detail, or because he +disdains it. He is great if, by any of these means, he has laid open +noble truths, or aroused noble emotions. It does not matter whether he +paint the petal of a rose, or the chasms of a precipice, so that Love +and Admiration attend him as he labors, and wait for ever upon his +work. It does not matter whether he toil for months upon a few inches +of his canvas, or cover a palace front with color in a day, so only +that it be with a solemn purpose that he has filled his heart with +patience, or urged his hand to haste. And it does not matter whether he +seek for his subjects among peasants or nobles, among the heroic or the +simple, in courts or in fields, so only that he behold all things with +a thirst for beauty, and a hatred of meanness and vice. There are, +indeed, certain methods of representation which are usually adopted by +the most active minds, and certain characters of subject usually +delighted in by the noblest hearts; but it is quite possible, quite +easy, to adopt the manner of painting without sharing the activity of +mind, and to imitate the choice of subject without possessing the +nobility of spirit; while, on the other hand, it is altogether +impossible to foretell on what strange objects the strength of a great +man will sometimes be concentrated, or by what strange means he will +sometimes express himself. So that true criticism of art never can +consist in the mere application of rules; it can be just only when it +is founded on quick sympathy with the innumerable instincts and +changeful efforts of human nature, chastened and guided by unchanging +love of all things that God has created to be beautiful, and pronounced +to be good. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +OF THE REAL NATURE OF GREATNESS OF STYLE. + + +§ 1. I doubt not that the reader was ill-satisfied with the conclusion +arrived at in the last chapter. That "great art" is art which +represents what is beautiful and good, may not seem a very profound +discovery; and the main question may be thought to have been all the +time lost sight of, namely, "What is beautiful, and what is good?" No; +those are not the main, at least not the first questions; on the +contrary, our subject becomes at once opened and simplified as soon as +we have left those the _only_ questions. For observe, our present task, +according to our old plan, is merely to investigate the relative +degrees of the _beautiful_ in the art of different masters; and it is +an encouragement to be convinced, first of all, that what is lovely +will also be great, and what is pleasing, noble. Nor is the conclusion +so much a matter of course as it at first appears, for, surprising as +the statement may seem, all the confusion into which Reynolds has +plunged both himself and his readers, in the essay we have been +examining, results primarily from a doubt in his own mind _as to the +existence of beauty at all_. In the next paper I alluded to, No. 82 +(which needs not, however, to be examined at so great length), he +calmly attributes the whole influence of beauty to custom, saying, that +"he has no doubt, if we were more used to deformity than to beauty, +deformity would then lose the idea now annexed to it, and take that of +beauty; as if the whole world shall agree that Yes and No should change +their meanings. Yes would then deny, and No would affirm!" + +§ 2. The world does, indeed, succeed--oftener than is, perhaps, +altogether well for the world--in making Yes mean No, and No mean +Yes.[5] But the world has never succeeded, nor ever will, in making +itself delight in black clouds more than in blue sky, or love the dark +earth better than the rose that grows from it. Happily for mankind, +beauty and ugliness are as positive in their nature as physical pain +and pleasure, as light and darkness, or as life and death; and, though +they may be denied or misunderstood in many fantastic ways, the most +subtle reasoner will at last find that color and sweetness are still +attractive to him, and that no logic will enable him to think the +rainbow sombre, or the violet scentless. But the theory that beauty was +merely a result of custom was very common in Johnson's time. Goldsmith +has, I think, expressed it with more force and wit than any other +writer, in various passages of the Citizen of the World. And it was, +indeed, a curious retribution of the folly of the world of art, which +for some three centuries had given itself recklessly to the pursuit of +beauty, that at last it should be led to deny the very existence of +what it had so morbidly and passionately sought. It was as if a child +should leave its home to pursue the rainbow, and then, breathless and +hopeless, declare that it did not exist. Nor is the lesson less useful +which may be gained in observing the adoption of such a theory by +Reynolds himself. It shows how completely an artist may be unconscious +of the principles of his own work, and how he may be led by instinct to +_do_ all that is right, while he is misled by false logic to _say_ all +that is wrong. For nearly every word that Reynolds wrote was contrary +to his own practice; he seems to have been born to teach all error by +his precept, and all excellence by his example; he enforced with his +lips generalization and idealism, while with his pencil he was tracing +the patterns of the dresses of the belles of his day; he exhorted his +pupils to attend only to the invariable, while he himself was occupied +in distinguishing every variation of womanly temper; and he denied the +existence of the beautiful, at the same instant that he arrested it as +it passed, and perpetuated it for ever. + +§ 3. But we must not quit the subject here. However inconsistently or +dimly expressed, there is, indeed, some truth in that commonly +accepted distinction between high and low art. That a thing should be +beautiful is not enough; there is, as we said in the outset, a higher +and lower range of beauty, and some ground for separating into various +and unequal ranks painters who have, nevertheless, each in his +several way, represented something that was beautiful or good. + +Nor, if we would, can we get rid of this conviction. We have at all +times some instinctive sense that the function of one painter is +greater than that of another, even supposing each equally successful +in his own way; and we feel that, if it were possible to conquer +prejudice, and do away with the iniquities of personal feeling, and +the insufficiencies of limited knowledge, we should all agree in this +estimate, and be able to place each painter in his right rank, +measuring them by a true scale of nobleness. We feel that the men in +the higher classes of the scale would be, in the full sense of the +word, Great--men whom one would give much to see the faces of but for +an instant; and that those in the lower classes of the scale (though +none were admitted but who had true merit of some kind) would be very +small men, not greatly exciting either reverence or curiosity. And +with this fixed instinct in our minds, we permit our teachers daily to +exhort their pupils to the cultivation of "great art"--neither they +nor we having any very clear notion as to what the greatness consists +in: but sometimes inclining to think it must depend on the space of +the canvas, and that art on a scale of 6 feet by 10 is something +spiritually separated from that on a scale of 3 feet by 5;--sometimes +holding it to consist in painting the nude body, rather than the body +decently clothed;--sometimes being convinced that it is connected with +the study of past history, and that the art is only great which +represents what the painter never saw, and about which he knows +nothing;-and sometimes being firmly persuaded that it consists in +generally finding fault with, and endeavoring to mend, whatsoever the +Divine Wisdom has made. All which various errors, having yet some +motes and atoms of truth in the make of each of them, deserve some +attentive analysis, for they come under that general law,--that "the +corruption of the best is the worst." There are not _worse_ errors +going than these four; and yet the truth they contain, and the +instinct which urges many to preach them, are at the root of all +healthy growth in art. We ruin one young painter after another by +telling him to follow great art, without knowing, ourselves, what +greatness is; and yet the feeling that it verily _is_ something, and +that there are depths and breadths, shallows and narrows, in the +matter, is all that we have to look to, if we would ever make our art +serviceable to ourselves or others. To follow art for the sake of +being a great man, and therefore to cast about continually for some +means of achieving position or attracting admiration, is the surest +way of ending in total extinction. And yet it is only by honest +reverence for art itself, and by great self-respect in the practice of +it, that it can be rescued from dilettantism, raised to approved +honorableness, and brought to the proper work it has to accomplish in +the service of man. + +§ 4. Let us therefore look into the facts of the thing, not with any +metaphysical, or otherwise vain and troublesome effort at acuteness, +but in a plain way; for the facts themselves are plain enough, and +may be plainly stated, only the difficulty is that out of these +facts, right and left, the different forms of misapprehension branch +into grievous complexity, and branch so far and wide, that if once +we try to follow them, they will lead us quite from our mark into +other separate, though not less interesting discussions. The best +way will be, therefore, I think, to sketch out at once in this +chapter, the different characters which really constitute +"greatness" of style, and to indicate the principal directions of +the outbranching misapprehensions of them; then, in the succeeding +chapters, to take up in succession those which need more talk about +them, and follow out at leisure whatever inquiries they may suggest. + +§ 5. I. CHOICE OF NOBLE SUBJECT.--Greatness of style consists, then: +first, in the habitual choice of subjects of thought which involve wide +interests and profound passions, as opposed to those which involve +narrow interests and slight passions. The style is greater or less in +exact proportion to the nobleness of the interests and passions +involved in the subject. The habitual choice of sacred subjects, such +as the Nativity, Transfiguration, Crucifixion (if the choice be +sincere), implies that the painter has a natural disposition to dwell +on the highest thoughts of which humanity is capable; it constitutes +him so far forth a painter of the highest order, as, for instance, +Leonardo, in his painting of the Last Supper: he who delights in +representing the acts or meditations of great men, as, for instance, +Raphael painting the School of Athens, is, so far forth, a painter of +the second order: he who represents the passions and events of ordinary +life, of the third. And in this ordinary life, he who represents deep +thoughts and sorrows, as, for instance, Hunt, in his Claudio and +Isabella, and such other works, is of the highest rank in his sphere; +and he who represents the slight malignities and passions of the +drawingroom, as, for instance, Leslie, of the second rank: he who +represents the sports of boys or simplicities of clowns, as Webster or +Teniers, of the third rank; and he who represents brutalities and vices +(for delight in them, and not for rebuke of them), of no rank at all, +or rather of a negative rank, holding a certain order in the abyss. + +§ 6. The reader will, I hope, understand how much importance is to be +attached to the sentence in the first parenthesis, "if the choice be +sincere;" for choice of subject is, of course, only available as a +criterion of the rank of the painter, when it is made from the heart. +Indeed, in the lower orders of painting, the choice is always made +from such heart as the painter has; for his selection of the brawls of +peasants or sports of children can, of course, proceed only from the +fact that he has more sympathy with such brawls or pastimes than with +nobler subjects. But the choice of the higher kind of subjects is +often insincere; and may, therefore, afford no real criterion of the +painter's rank. The greater number of men who have lately painted +religious or heroic subjects have done so in mere ambition, because +they had been taught that it was a good thing to be a "high art" +painter; and the fact is that, in nine cases out of ten, the so-called +historical or "high-art" painter is a person infinitely inferior to +the painter of flowers or still life. He is, in modern times, nearly +always a man who has great vanity without pictorial capacity, and +differs from the landscape or fruit painter merely in misunderstanding +and over-estimating his own powers. He mistakes his vanity for +inspiration, his ambition for greatness of soul, and takes pleasure in +what he calls "the ideal," merely because he has neither humility nor +capacity enough to comprehend the real. + +§ 7. But also observe, it is not enough even that the choice be +sincere. It must also be wise. It happens very often that a man of weak +intellect, sincerely desiring to do what is good and useful, will +devote himself to high art subjects because he thinks them the only +ones on which time and toil can be usefully spent, or, sometimes, +because they are really the only ones he has pleasure in contemplating. +But not having intellect enough to enter into the minds of truly great +men, or to imagine great events as they really happened, he cannot +become a great painter; he degrades the subjects he intended to honor, +and his work is more utterly thrown away, and his rank as an artist in +reality lower, than if he had devoted himself to the imitation of the +simplest objects of natural history. The works of Overbeck are a most +notable instance of this form of error. + +§ 8. It must also be remembered, that in nearly all the great periods +of art the choice of subject has not been left to the painter. His +employer,--abbot, baron, or monarch,--determined for him whether he +should earn his bread by making cloisters bright with choirs of +saints, painting coats of arms on leaves of romances, or decorating +presence-chambers with complimentary mythology; and his own personal +feelings are ascertainable only by watching, in the themes assigned to +him, what are the points in which he seems to take most pleasure. +Thus, in the prolonged ranges of varied subjects with which Benozzo +Gozzoli decorated the cloisters of Pisa, it is easy to see that love +of simple domestic incident, sweet landscape, and glittering ornament, +prevails slightly over the solemn elements of religious feeling, +which, nevertheless, the spirit of the age instilled into him in such +measure as to form a very lovely and noble mind, though still one of +the second order. In the work of Orcagna, an intense solemnity and +energy in the sublimest groups of his figures, fading away as he +touches inferior subjects, indicates that his home was among the +archangels, and his rank among the first of the sons of men: while +Correggio, in the sidelong grace, artificial smiles, and purple +languors of his saints, indicates the inferior instinct which would +have guided his choice in quite other directions, had it not been for +the fashion of the age, and the need of the day. + +§ 9. It will follow, of course, from the above considerations, that +the choice which characterises the school of high art is seen as +much in the treatment of a subject as in its selection, and that the +expression of the thoughts of the persons represented will always +be the first thing considered by the painter who worthily enters +that highest school. For the artist who sincerely chooses the +noblest subject will also choose chiefly to represent what makes +that subject noble, namely, the various heroism or other noble +emotions of the persons represented. If, instead of this, the artist +seeks only to make his picture agreeable by the composition of its +masses and colors, or by any other merely pictorial merit, as fine +drawing of limbs, it is evident, not only that any other subject +would have answered his purpose as well, but that he is unfit to +approach the subject he has chosen, because he cannot enter into its +deepest meaning, and therefore cannot in reality have chosen it for +that meaning. Nevertheless, while the expression is always to be the +first thing considered, all other merits must be added to the utmost +of the painter's power: for until he can both color and draw +beautifully he has no business to consider himself a painter at all, +far less to attempt the noblest subjects of painting; and, when he +has once possessed himself of these powers, he will naturally and +fitly employ them to deepen and perfect the impression made by the +sentiment of his subject. + +The perfect unison of expression, as the painter's main purpose, +with the full and natural exertion of his pictorial power in the +details of the work, is found only in the old Pre-Raphaelite +periods, and in the modern Pre-Raphaelite school. In the works of +Giotto, Angelico, Orcagna, John Bellini, and one or two more, these +two conditions of high art are entirely fulfilled, so far as the +knowledge of those days enabled them to be fulfilled; and in the +modern Pre-Raphaelite school they are fulfilled nearly to the +uttermost. Hunt's Light of the World is, I believe, the most perfect +instance of expressional purpose with technical power, which the +world has yet produced. + +§ 10. Now in the Post Raphaelite period of ancient art, and in the +spurious high art of modern times, two broad forms of error divide +the schools; the one consisting in (A) the superseding of expression +by technical excellence, and the other in (B) the superseding of +technical excellence by expression. + +(A). Superseding expression by technical excellence.--This takes place +most frankly, and therefore most innocently, in the work of the +Venetians. They very nearly ignore expression altogether, directing +their aim exclusively to the rendering of external truths of color and +form. Paul Veronese will make the Magdalene wash the feet of Christ +with a countenance as absolutely unmoved as that of any ordinary +servant bringing a ewer to her master, and will introduce the supper +at Emmaus as a background to the portraits of two children playing +with a dog. Of the wrongness or rightness of such a proceeding we +shall reason in another place; at present we have to note it merely as +displacing the Venetian work from the highest or expressional rank of +art. But the error is generally made in a more subtle and dangerous +way. The artist deceives himself into the idea that he is doing all he +can to elevate his subject by treating it under rules of art, +introducing into it accurate science, and collecting for it the +beauties of (so-called) ideal form; whereas he may, in reality, be all +the while sacrificing his subject to his own vanity or pleasure, and +losing truth, nobleness, and impressiveness for the sake of delightful +lines or creditable pedantries. + +§ 11. (B). Superseding technical excellence by expression.--This is +usually done under the influence of another kind of vanity. The +artist desires that men should think he has an elevated soul, +affects to despise the ordinary excellence of art, contemplates with +separated egotism the course of his own imaginations or sensations, +and refuses to look at the real facts round about him, in order that +he may adore at leisure the shadow of himself. He lives in an +element of what he calls tender emotions and lofty aspirations; +which are, in fact, nothing more than very ordinary weaknesses or +instincts, contemplated through a mist of pride. A large range of +modern German art comes under this head. + +A more interesting and respectable form of this error is fallen into by +some truly earnest men, who, finding their powers not adequate to the +attainment of great artistical excellence, but adequate to rendering, +up to a certain point, the expression of the human countenance, devote +themselves to that object alone, abandoning effort in other directions, +and executing the accessaries of their pictures feebly or carelessly. +With these are associated another group of philosophical painters, who +suppose the artistical merits of other parts _adverse_ to the +expression, as drawing the spectator's attention away from it, and who +paint in grey color, and imperfect light and shade, by way of enforcing +the purity of their conceptions. Both these classes of conscientious +but narrow-minded artists labor under the same grievous mistake of +imagining that wilful fallacy can ever be either pardonable or helpful. +They forget that color, if used at all, must be either true or false, +and that what _they_ call chastity, dignity, and reserve, is, to the +eye of any person accustomed to nature, pure, bold, and impertinent +falsehood. It does not, in the eyes of any soundly minded man, exalt +the expression of a female face that the cheeks should be painted of +the color of clay, nor does it in the least enhance his reverence for a +saint to find the scenery around him deprived, by his presence, of +sunshine. It is an important consolation, however, to reflect that no +artist ever fell into any of these last three errors (under head B.) +who had really the capacity of becoming a great painter. No man ever +despised color who could produce it; and the error of these +sentimentalists and philosophers is not so much in the choice of their +manner of painting, as in supposing themselves capable of painting at +all. Some of them might have made efficient sculptors, but the greater +number had their mission in some other sphere than that of art, and +would have found, in works of practical charity, better employment for +their gentleness and sentimentalism, than in denying to human beauty +its color, and to natural scenery its light; in depriving heaven of its +blue, and earth of its bloom, valor of its glow, and modesty of its +blush. + +§ 12. II. LOVE OF BEAUTY.--The second characteristic of the great +school of art is, that it introduces in the conception of its +subject as much beauty as is possible, consistently with truth.[6] + +For instance, in any subject consisting of a number of figures, it +will make as many of those figures beautiful as the faithful +representation of humanity will admit. It will not deny the facts of +ugliness or decrepitude, or relative inferiority and superiority of +feature as necessarily manifested in a crowd, but it will, so far as +it is in its power, seek for and dwell upon the fairest forms, and +in all things insist on the beauty that is in them, not on the +ugliness. In this respect, schools of art become higher in exact +proportion to the degree in which they apprehend and love the +beautiful. Thus, Angelico, intensely loving all spiritual beauty, +will be of the highest rank; and Paul Veronese and Correggio, +intensely loving physical and corporeal beauty, of the second rank; +and Albert Durer, Rubens, and in general the Northern artists, +apparently insensible to beauty, and caring only for truth, whether +shapely or not, of the third rank; and Teniers and Salvator, +Caravaggio, and other such worshippers of the depraved, of no rank, +or, as we said before, of a certain order in the abyss. + +§ 13. The corruption of the schools of high art, so far as this +particular quality is concerned, consists in the sacrifice of truth +to beauty. Great art dwells on all that is beautiful; but false art +omits or changes all that is ugly. Great art accepts Nature as she +is, but directs the eyes and thoughts to what is most perfect in +her; false art saves itself the trouble of direction by removing or +altering whatever it thinks objectionable. The evil results of which +proceeding are twofold. + +[Sidenote: § 14. Evil first,--that we lose the true _force_ of beauty.] + +First. That beauty deprived of its proper foils and adjuncts ceases +to be enjoyed as beauty, just as light deprived of all shadow ceases +to be enjoyed as light. A white canvas cannot produce an effect of +sunshine; the painter must darken it in some places before he can +make it look luminous in others; nor can an uninterrupted succession +of beauty produce the true effect of beauty; it must be foiled by +inferiority before its own power can be developed. Nature has for +the most part mingled her inferior and nobler elements as she +mingles sunshine with shade, giving due use and influence to both, +and the painter who chooses to remove the shadow, perishes in the +burning desert he has created. The truly high and beautiful art of +Angelico is continually refreshed and strengthened by his frank +portraiture of the most ordinary features of his brother monks, and +of the recorded peculiarities of ungainly sanctity; but the modern +German and Raphaelesque schools lose all honor and nobleness in +barber-like admiration of handsome faces, and have, in fact, no real +faith except in straight noses and curled hair. Paul Veronese +opposes the dwarf to the soldier, and the negress to the queen; +Shakspere places Caliban beside Miranda, and Autolycus beside +Perdita; but the vulgar idealist withdraws his beauty to the safety +of the saloon, and his innocence to the seclusion of the cloister; +he pretends that he does this in delicacy of choice and purity of +sentiment, while in truth he has neither courage to front the +monster, nor wit enough to furnish the knave. + +[Sidenote: § 15. Evil second,--we lose the true _quantity_ of beauty.] + +It is only by the habit of representing faithfully all things, that +we can truly learn what is beautiful and what is not. The ugliest +objects contain some element of beauty; and in all, it is an element +peculiar to themselves, which cannot be separated from their +ugliness, but must either be enjoyed together with it, or not at +all. The more a painter accepts nature as he finds it, the more +unexpected beauty he discovers in what he at first despised; but +once let him arrogate the right of rejection, and he will gradually +contract his circle of enjoyment, until what he supposed to be +nobleness of selection ends in narrowness of perception. Dwelling +perpetually upon one class of ideas, his art becomes at once +monstrous and morbid; until at last he cannot faithfully represent +even what he chooses to retain; his discrimination contracts into +darkness, and his fastidiousness fades into fatuity. + +High art, therefore, consists neither in altering, nor in improving +nature; but in seeking throughout nature for "whatsoever things are +lovely, and whatsoever things are pure;" in loving these, in +displaying to the utmost of the painter's power such loveliness as +is in them, and directing the thoughts of others to them by winning +art, or gentle emphasis. Of the degree in which this can be done, +and in which it may be permitted to gather together, without +falsifying, the finest forms or thoughts, so as to create a sort of +perfect vision, we shall have to speak hereafter: at present, it is +enough to remember that art (_cæteris paribus_) is great in exact +proportion to the love of beauty shown by the painter, provided that +love of beauty forfeit no atom of truth. + +§ 16. III. SINCERITY.--The next[7] characteristic of great art is that +it includes the largest possible quantity of Truth in the most perfect +possible harmony. If it were possible for art to give all the truths of +nature, it ought to do it. But this is not possible. Choice must always +be made of some facts which _can_ be represented, from among others +which must be passed by in silence, or even, in some respects, +misrepresented. The inferior artist chooses unimportant and scattered +truths; the great artist chooses the most necessary first, and +afterwards the most consistent with these, so as to obtain the greatest +possible and most harmonious _sum_. For instance, Rembrandt always +chooses to represent the exact force with which the light on the most +illumined part of an object is opposed to its obscurer portions. In +order to obtain this, in most cases, not very important truth, he +sacrifices the light and color of five sixths of his picture; and the +expression of every character of objects which depends on tenderness of +shape or tint. But he obtains his single truth, and what picturesque +and forcible expression is dependent upon it, with magnificent skill +and subtlety. Veronese, on the contrary, chooses to represent the great +relations of visible things to each other, to the heaven above, and to +the earth beneath them. He holds it more important to show how a figure +stands relieved from delicate air, or marble wall; how as a red, or +purple, or white figure, it separates itself, in clear discernibility, +from things not red, nor purple, nor white; how infinite daylight +shines round it; how innumerable veils of faint shadow invest it; how +its blackness and darkness are, in the excess of their nature, just as +limited and local as its intensity of light: all this, I say, he feels +to be more important than showing merely the exact _measure_ of the +spark of sunshine that gleams on a dagger-hilt, or glows on a jewel. +All this, moreover, he feels to be harmonious,--capable of being joined +in one great system of spacious truth. And with inevitable +watchfulness, inestimable subtlety, he unites all this in tenderest +balance, noting in each hair's-breadth of color, not merely what its +rightness or wrongness is in itself, but what its relation is to every +other on his canvas; restraining, for truth's sake, his exhaustless +energy, reining back, for truth's sake, his fiery strength; veiling, +before truth, the vanity of brightness; penetrating, for truth, the +discouragement of gloom; ruling his restless invention with a rod of +iron; pardoning no error, no thoughtlessness, no forgetfulness; and +subduing all his powers, impulses, and imaginations, to the arbitrament +of a merciless justice, and the obedience of an incorruptible verity. + +[Sidenote: § 17. Corollary 1st: great art is generally distinct.] + +I give this instance with respect to color and shade; but, in the whole +field of art, the difference between the great and inferior artists is +of the same kind, and may be determined at once by the question, which +of them conveys the largest sum of truth? It follows from this +principle, that in general all _great_ drawing is _distinct_ drawing; +for truths which are rendered indistinctly might, for the most part, as +well not be rendered at all. There are, indeed, certain facts of +mystery, and facts of indistinctness, in all objects, which must have +their proper place in the general harmony, and the reader will +presently find me, when we come to that part of our investigation, +telling him that all good drawing must in some sort be _in_distinct. We +may, however, understand this apparent contradiction, by reflecting +that the highest knowledge always involves a more advanced perception +of the fields of the unknown; and, therefore, it may most truly be +said, that to know anything well involves a profound sensation of +ignorance, while yet it is equally true that good and noble knowledge +is distinguished from vain and useless knowledge chiefly by its +clearness and distinctness, and by the vigorous consciousness of what +is known and what is not. + +So in art. The best drawing involves a wonderful perception and +expression of indistinctness; and yet all noble drawing is separated +from the ignoble by its distinctness, by its fine expression and +firm assertion of _Something_; whereas the bad drawing, without +either firmness or fineness, expresses and asserts _Nothing_. The +first thing, therefore, to be looked for as a sign of noble art, is +a clear consciousness of what is drawn and what is not; the bold +statement, and frank confession--"_This_ I know," "_that_ I know +not;" and, generally speaking, all haste, slurring, obscurity, +indecision, are signs of low art, and all calmness, distinctness, +luminousness, and positiveness, of high art. + +[Sidenote: § 18. Corollary 2d: Great art is generally large in masses +and in scale.] + +It follows, secondly, from this principle, that as the great painter +is always attending to the sum and harmony of his truths rather than +to one or the other of any group, a quality of Grasp is visible in his +work, like the power of a great reasoner over his subject, or a great +poet over his conception, manifesting itself very often in missing out +certain details or less truths (which, though good in themselves, he +finds are in the way of others), and in a sweeping manner of getting +the beginnings and ends of things shown at once, and the squares and +depths rather than the surfaces: hence, on the whole, a habit of +looking at large masses rather than small ones; and even a physical +largeness of handling, and love of working, if possible, on a large +scale; and various other qualities, more or less imperfectly expressed +by such technical terms as breadth, massing, unity, boldness, &c., all +of which are, indeed, great qualities when they mean breadth of truth, +weight of truth, unity of truth, and courageous assertion of truth; +but which have all their correlative errors and mockeries, almost +universally mistaken for them,--the breadth which has no contents, the +weight which has no value, the unity which plots deception, and the +boldness which faces out fallacy. + +§ 19. And it is to be noted especially respecting largeness of +scale, that though for the most part it is characteristic of the +more powerful masters, they having both more invention wherewith to +fill space (as Ghirlandajo wished that he might paint all the walls +of Florence), and, often, an impetuosity of mind which makes them +like free play for hand and arm (besides that they usually desire to +paint everything in the foreground of their picture of the natural +size), yet, as this largeness of scale involves the placing of the +picture at a considerable distance from the eye, and this distance +involves the loss of many delicate details, and especially of the +subtle lines of expression in features, it follows that the masters +of refined detail and human expression are apt to prefer a small +scale to work upon; so that the chief masterpieces of expression +which the world possesses are small pictures by Angelico, in which +the figures are rarely more than six or seven inches high; in the +best works of Raphael and Leonardo the figures are almost always +less than life, and the best works of Turner do not exceed the size +of 18 inches by 12. + +[Sidenote: § 20. Corollary 3d: Great art is always delicate.] + +As its greatness depends on the sum of truth, and this sum of truth +can always be increased by delicacy of handling, it follows that all +great art must have this delicacy to the utmost possible degree. +This rule is infallible and inflexible. All coarse work is the sign +of low art. Only, it is to be remembered, that coarseness must be +estimated by the distance from the eye; it being necessary to +consult this distance, when great, by laying on touches which appear +coarse when seen near; but which, so far from being coarse, are, in +reality, more delicate in a master's work than the finest close +handling, for they involve a calculation of result, and are laid on +with a subtlety of sense precisely correspondent to that with which +a good archer draws his bow; the spectator seeing in the action +nothing but the strain of the strong arm, while there is, in +reality, in the finger and eye, an ineffably delicate estimate of +distance, and touch on the arrow plume. And, indeed, this delicacy +is generally quite perceptible to those who know what the truth is, +for strokes by Tintoret or Paul Veronese, which were done in an +instant, and look to an ignorant spectator merely like a violent +dash of loaded color, (and are, as such, imitated by blundering +artists,) are, in fact, modulated by the brush and finger to that +degree of delicacy that no single grain of the color could be taken +from the touch without injury; and little golden particles of it, +not the size of a gnat's head, have important share and function in +the balances of light in a picture perhaps fifty feet long. Nearly +_every_ other rule applicable to art has some exception but this. +This has absolutely none. All great art is delicate art, and all +coarse art is bad art. Nay, even to a certain extent, all _bold_ art +is bad art; for boldness is not the proper word to apply to the +courage and swiftness of a great master, based on knowledge, and +coupled with fear and love. There is as much difference between the +boldness of the true and the false masters, as there is between the +courage of a pure woman and the shamelessness of a lost one. + +§ 21. IV. INVENTION.--The last characteristic of great art is that +it must be inventive, that is, be produced by the imagination. In +this respect, it must precisely fulfil the definition already given +of poetry; and not only present grounds for noble emotion, but +furnish these grounds by _imaginative power_. Hence there is at once +a great bar fixed between the two schools of Lower and Higher Art. +The lower merely copies what is set before it, whether in portrait, +landscape, or still-life; the higher either entirely imagines its +subject, or arranges the materials presented to it, so as to +manifest the imaginative power in all the three phases which have +been already explained in the second volume. + +And this was the truth which was confusedly present in Reynolds's +mind when he spoke, as above quoted, of the difference between +Historical and Poetical Painting. _Every relation of the plain facts +which the painter saw_ is proper _historical_ painting.[8] If those +facts are unimportant (as that he saw a gambler quarrel with another +gambler, or a sot enjoying himself with another sot), then the +history is trivial; if the facts are important (as that he saw such +and such a great man look thus, or act thus, at such a time), then +the history is noble: in each case perfect truth of narrative being +supposed, otherwise the whole thing is worthless, being neither +history nor poetry, but plain falsehood. And farther, as greater or +less elegance and precision are manifested in the relation or +painting of the incidents, the merit of the work varies; so that, +what with difference of subject, and what with difference of +treatment, historical painting falls or rises in changeful eminence, +from Dutch trivialities to a Velasquez portrait, just as historical +talking or writing varies in eminence, from an old woman's +story-telling up to Herodotus. Besides which, certain operations of +the imagination come into play inevitably, here and there, so as to +touch the history with some light of poetry, that is, with some +light shot forth of the narrator's mind, or brought out by the way +he has put the accidents together; and wherever the imagination has +thus had anything to do with the matter at all (and it must be +somewhat cold work where it has not), then, the confines of the +lower and higher schools touching each other, the work is colored by +both; but there is no reason why, therefore, we should in the least +confuse the historical and poetical characters, any more than that +we should confuse blue with crimson, because they may overlap each +other, and produce purple. + +§ 22. Now, historical or simply narrative art is very precious in its +proper place and way, but it is never _great_ art until the poetical +or imaginative power touches it; and in proportion to the stronger +manifestation of this power, it becomes greater and greater, while the +highest art is purely imaginative, all its materials being wrought +into their form by invention; and it differs, therefore, from the +simple historical painting, exactly as Wordsworth's stanza, above +quoted, differs from Saussure's plain narrative of the parallel fact; +and the imaginative painter differs from the historical painter in the +manner that Wordsworth differs from Saussure. + +§ 23. Farther, imaginative art always _includes_ historical art; so +that, strictly speaking, according to the analogy above used, we meet +with the pure blue, and with the crimson ruling the blue and changing +it into kingly purple, but not with the pure crimson: for all +imagination must deal with the knowledge it has before accumulated; it +never produces anything but by combination or contemplation. Creation, +in the full sense, is impossible to it. And the mode in which the +historical faculties are included by it is often quite simple, and +easily seen. Thus, in Hunt's great poetical picture of the Light of the +World, the whole thought and arrangement of the picture being +imaginative, the several details of it are wrought out with simple +portraiture; the ivy, the jewels, the creeping plants, and the +moonlight being calmly studied or remembered from the things +themselves. But of all these special ways in which the invention works +with plain facts, we shall have to treat farther afterwards. + +§ 24. And now, finally, since this poetical power includes the +historical, if we glance back to the other qualities required in great +art, and put all together, we find that the sum of them is simply the +sum of all the powers of man. For as (1) the choice of the high subject +involves all conditions of right moral choice, and as (2) the love of +beauty involves all conditions of right admiration, and as (3) the +grasp of truth involves all strength of sense, evenness of judgment, +and honesty of purpose, and as (4) the poetical power involves all +swiftness of invention, and accuracy of historical memory, the sum of +all these powers is the sum of the human soul. Hence we see why the +word "Great" is used of this art. It is literally great. It compasses +and calls forth the entire human spirit, whereas any other kind of art, +being more or less small or narrow, compasses and calls forth only +_part_ of the human spirit. Hence the idea of its magnitude is a +literal and just one, the art being simply less or greater in +proportion to the number of faculties it exercises and addresses.[9] +And this is the ultimate meaning of the definition I gave of it long +ago, as containing the "greatest number of the greatest ideas." + +§ 25. Such, then, being the characters required in order to +constitute high art, if the reader will think over them a little, +and over the various ways in which they may be falsely assumed, he +will easily perceive how spacious and dangerous a field of +discussion they open to the ambitious critic, and of error to the +ambitious artist; he will see how difficult it must be, either to +distinguish what is truly great art from the mockeries of it, or to +rank the real artists in any thing like a progressive system of +greater and less. For it will have been observed that the various +qualities which form greatness are partly inconsistent with each +other (as some virtues are, docility and firmness for instance), and +partly independent of each other; and the fact is, that artists +differ not more by mere capacity, than by the component _elements_ +of their capacity, each possessing in very different proportions the +several attributes of greatness; so that, classed by one kind of +merit, as, for instance, purity of expression, Angelico will stand +highest; classed by another, sincerity of manner, Veronese will +stand highest; classed by another, love of beauty, Leonardo will +stand highest; and so on; hence arise continual disputes and +misunderstandings among those who think that high art must always be +one and the same, and that great artists ought to unite all great +attributes in an equal degree. + +§ 26. In one of the exquisitely finished tales of Marmontel, a +company of critics are received at dinner by the hero of the story, +an old gentleman, somewhat vain of his _acquired_ taste, and his +niece, by whose incorrigible _natural_ taste, he is seriously +disturbed and tormented. During the entertainment, "On parcourut +tous les genres de littérature, et pour donner plus d'essor a +l'érudition et à la critique, on mit sur le tapis cette question +toute neuve, sçavoir, lequel méritoit le préference de Corneille ou +de Racine. L'on disoit même là-dessus les plus belles choses du +monde, lorsque la petite nièce, qui n'avoit pas dit un mot, s'avisa +de demander naïvement lequel des deux fruits, de l'orange ou de la +pêche, avoit le gout les plus exquis et méritoit le plus d'éloges. +Son oncle rougit de sa simplicité, et les convives baissèrent tous +les yeux sans daigner répondre à cette bêtise. Ma nièce, dit Fintac, +a votre âge, il faut sçavoir écouter, et se taire." + +I cannot close this chapter with shorter or better advice to the +reader, than merely, whenever he hears discussions about the +relative merits of great masters, to remember the young lady's +question. It is, indeed, true that there _is_ a relative merit, that +a peach is nobler than a hawthorn berry, and still more a hawthorn +berry than a bead of the nightshade; but in each rank of fruits, as +in each rank of masters, one is endowed with one virtue, and another +with another; their glory is their dissimilarity, and they who +propose to themselves in the training of an artist that he should +unite the coloring of Tintoret, the finish of Albert Durer, and the +tenderness of Correggio, are no wiser than a horticulturist would +be, who made it the object of his labor to produce a fruit which +should unite in itself the lusciousness of the grape, the crispness +of the nut, and the fragrance of the pine. + +§ 27. And from these considerations one most important practical +corollary is to be deduced, with the good help of Mademoiselle's +Agathe's simile, namely, that the greatness or smallness of a man is, +in the most conclusive sense, determined for him at his birth, as +strictly as it is determined for a fruit whether it is to be a currant +or an apricot. Education, favorable circumstances, resolution, and +industry can do much; in a certain sense they do _everything_; that is +to say, they determine whether the poor apricot shall fall in the form +of a green bead, blighted by an east wind, shall be trodden under foot, +or whether it shall expand into tender pride, and sweet brightness of +golden velvet. But apricot out of currant,--great man out of +small,--did never yet art or effort make; and, in a general way, men +have their excellence nearly fixed for them when they are born; a +little cramped and frost-bitten on one side, a little sun-burnt and +fortune-spotted on the other, they reach, between good and evil +chances, such size and taste as generally belong to the men of their +calibre, and the small in their serviceable bunches, the great in their +golden isolation, have, these no cause for regret, nor those for +disdain. + +§ 28. Therefore it is, that every system of teaching is false which +holds forth "great art" as in any wise to be taught to students, or +even to be aimed at by them. Great art is precisely that which never +was, nor will be taught, it is preeminently and finally the +expression of the spirits of great men; so that the only wholesome +teaching is that which simply endeavors to fix those characters of +nobleness in the pupil's mind, of which it seems easily susceptible; +and without holding out to him, as a possible or even probable +result, that he should ever paint like Titian, or carve like Michael +Angelo, enforces upon him the manifest possibility, and assured +duty, of endeavoring to draw in a manner at least honest and +intelligible; and cultivates in him those general charities of +heart, sincerities of thought, and graces of habit which are likely +to lead him, throughout life, to prefer openness to affectation, +realities to shadows, and beauty to corruption. + + [5] Del "nò," per lì danar, vi "sì" far ita. + + [6] As here, for the first time, I am obliged to use the terms + Truth and Beauty in a kind of opposition, I must therefore + stop for a moment to state clearly the relation of these two + qualities of art; and to protest against the vulgar and + foolish habit of confusing truth and beauty with each other. + People with shallow powers of thought, desiring to flatter + themselves with the sensation of having attained profundity, + are continually doing the most serious mischief by introducing + confusion into plain matters, and then valuing themselves on + being confounded. Nothing is more common than to hear people + who desire to be thought philosophical, declare that "beauty + is truth," and "truth is beauty." I would most earnestly beg + every sensible person who hears such an assertion made, to nip + the germinating philosopher in his ambiguous bud; and beg him, + if he really believes his own assertion, never thenceforward + to use two words for the same thing. The fact is, truth and + beauty are entirely distinct, though often related, things. + One is a property of statements, the other of objects. The + statement that "two and two make four" is true, but it is + neither beautiful nor ugly, for it is invisible; a rose is + lovely, but it is neither true nor false, for it is silent. + That which shows nothing cannot be fair, and that which + asserts nothing cannot be false. Even the ordinary use of the + words false and true as applied to artificial and real things, + is inaccurate. An artificial rose is not a "false" rose, it is + not a rose at all. The falseness is in the person who states, + or induces the belief, that it is a rose. + + Now, therefore, in things concerning art, the words true and + false are only to be rightly used while the picture is + considered as a statement of facts. The painter asserts that + this which he has painted is the form of a dog, a man, or a + tree. If it be _not_ the form of a dog, a man, or a tree, the + painter's statement is false; and therefore we justly speak of + a false line, or false color; not that any line or color can + in themselves be false, but they become so when they convey a + statement that they resemble something which they do _not_ + resemble. But the beauty of the lines or colors is wholly + independent of any such statement. They may be beautiful + lines, though quite inaccurate, and ugly lines though quite + faithful. A picture may be frightfully ugly, which represents + with fidelity some base circumstance of daily life; and a + painted window may be exquisitely beautiful, which represents + men with eagles' faces, and dogs with blue heads and crimson + tails (though, by the way, this is not in the strict sense + _false_ art, as we shall see hereafter, inasmuch as it means + no assertion that men ever _had_ eagles' faces). If this were + not so, it would be impossible to sacrifice truth to beauty; + for to attain the one would always be to attain the other. + But, unfortunately, this sacrifice is exceedingly possible, + and it is chiefly this which characterizes the false schools + of high art, so far as high art consists in the pursuit of + beauty. For although truth and beauty are independent of each + other, it does not follow that we are at liberty to pursue + whichever we please. They are indeed separable, but it is + wrong to separate them; they are to be sought together in the + order of their worthiness; that is to say, truth first, and + beauty afterwards. High art differs from low art in possessing + an excess of beauty in addition to its truth, not in + possessing an excess of beauty inconsistent with truth. + + [7] I name them in order of _in_creasing not decreasing + importance. + + [8] Compare my Edinburgh Lectures, lecture iv. p. 218, et seq. + (2nd edition) + + [9] Compare Stones of Venice, vol. iii. chap. iv. § 7, and § 21. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OF THE FALSE IDEAL:--FIRST, RELIGIOUS. + + +§ 1. Having now gained some general notion of the meaning of "great +art," we may, without risk of confusing ourselves, take up the +questions suggested incidentally in the preceding chapter, and pursue +them at leisure. Of these, two principal ones are closely connected +with each other, to wit, that put in the 12th paragraph--How may beauty +be sought in defiance of truth? and that in the 23rd paragraph--How +does the imagination show itself in dealing with truth? These two, +therefore, which are, besides, the most important of all, and, if well +answered, will answer many others inclusively, we shall find it most +convenient to deal with at once. + +§ 2. The pursuit, by the imagination, of beautiful and strange +thoughts or subjects, to the exclusion of painful or common ones, is +called among us, in these modern days, the pursuit of "_the ideal_;" +nor does any subject deserve more attentive examination than the +manner in which this pursuit is entered upon by the modern mind. The +reader must pardon me for making in the outset one or two statements +which may appear to him somewhat wide of the matter, but which, (if +he admits their truth,) he will, I think, presently perceive to +reach to the root of it. Namely, + +That men's proper business in this world falls mainly into three +divisions: + +First, to know themselves, and the existing state of the things they +have to do with. + +Secondly, to be happy in themselves, and in the existing state of +things. + +Thirdly, to mend themselves, and the existing state of things, as +far as either are marred or mendable. + +These, I say, are the three plain divisions of proper human +business on this earth. For these three, the following are usually +substituted and adopted by human creatures: + +First, to be totally ignorant of themselves, and the existing state +of things. + +Secondly, to be miserable in themselves, and in the existing state +of things. + +Thirdly, to let themselves, and the existing state of things, alone +(at least in the way of correction). + +§ 3. The dispositions which induce us to manage, thus wisely, the +affairs of this life seem to be: + +First, a fear of disagreeable facts, and conscious shrinking from +clearness of light, which keep us from examining ourselves, and +increase gradually into a species of instinctive terror at all truth, +and love of glosses, veils, and decorative lies of every sort. + +Secondly, a general readiness to take delight in anything past, future, +far off, or somewhere else, rather than in things now, near, and here; +leading us gradually to place our pleasure principally in the exercise +of the imagination, and to build all our satisfaction on things as they +are _not_. Which power being one not accorded to the lower animals, and +having indeed, when disciplined, a very noble use, we pride ourselves +upon it, whether disciplined or not, and pass our lives complacently, +in substantial discontent, and visionary satisfaction. + +§ 4. Now _nearly_ all artistical and poetical seeking after the +ideal is only one branch of this base habit--the abuse of the +imagination, in allowing it to find its whole delight in the +impossible and untrue; while the faithful pursuit of the ideal is an +honest use of the imagination, giving full power and presence to the +possible and true. + +It is the difference between these two uses of it which we have to +examine. + +§ 5. And, first, consider what are the legitimate uses of the +imagination, that is to say, of the power of perceiving, or +conceiving with the mind, things which cannot be perceived by the +senses. + +Its first and noblest use is, to enable us to bring sensibly to our +sight the things which are recorded as belonging to our future +state, or as invisibly surrounding us in this. It is given us, that +we may imagine the cloud of witnesses in heaven and earth, and see, +as if they were now present, the souls of the righteous waiting for +us; that we may conceive the great army of the inhabitants of +heaven, and discover among them those whom we most desire to be with +for ever; that we may be able to vision forth the ministry of angels +beside us, and see the chariots of fire on the mountains that gird +us round; but above all, to call up the scenes and facts in which we +are commanded to believe, and be present, as if in the body, at +every recorded event of the history of the Redeemer. Its second and +ordinary use is to empower us to traverse the scenes of all other +history, and force the facts to become again visible, so as to make +upon us the same impression which they would have made if we had +witnessed them; and in the minor necessities of life, to enable us, +out of any present good, to gather the utmost measure of enjoyment +by investing it with happy associations, and, in any present evil, +to lighten it, by summoning back the images of other hours; and, +also, to give to all mental truths some visible type in allegory, +simile, or personification, which shall more deeply enforce them; +and, finally, when the mind is utterly outwearied, to refresh it +with such innocent play as shall be most in harmony with the +suggestive voices of natural things, permitting it to possess living +companionship instead of silent beauty, and create for itself +fairies in the grass and naiads in the wave. + +§ 6. These being the uses of imagination, its abuses are either in +creating, for mere pleasure, false images, where it is its _duty_ to +create true ones; or in turning what was intended for the mere +refreshment of the heart into its daily food, and changing the innocent +pastimes of an hour into the guilty occupation of a life. + +Let us examine the principal forms of this misuse, one by one. + +§ 7. First, then, the imagination is chiefly warped and dishonored +by being allowed to create false images, where it is its duty to +create true ones. And this most dangerously in matters of religion. +For a long time, when art was in its infancy, it remained unexposed +to this danger, because it could not, with any power, realize or +create _any_ thing. It consisted merely in simple outlines and +pleasant colors; which were understood to be nothing more than +signs of the thing thought of, a sort of pictorial letter for it, no +more pretending to represent it than the written characters of its +name. Such art excited the imagination, while it pleased the eye. +But it _asserted_ nothing, for it could realize nothing. The reader +glanced at it as a glittering symbol, and went on to form truer +images for himself. This act of the mind may be still seen in daily +operation in children, as they look at brightly colored pictures in +their story-books. Such pictures neither deceive them nor satisfy +them; they only set their own inventive powers to work in the +directions required. + +§ 8. But as soon as art obtained the power of realization, it +obtained also that of _assertion_. As fast as the painter advanced +in skill he gained also in credibility, and that which he perfectly +represented was perfectly believed, or could be disbelieved only by +an actual effort of the beholder to escape from the fascinating +deception. What had been faintly declared, might be painlessly +denied; but it was difficult to discredit things forcibly alleged; +and representations, which had been innocent in discrepancy, became +guilty in consistency. + +§ 9. For instance, when in the thirteenth century, the nativity was +habitually represented by such a symbol as that on the next page, +fig. 1, there was not the smallest possibility that such a picture +could disturb, in the mind of the reader of the New Testament, the +simple meaning of the words "wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid +him in a manger." That this manger was typified by a trefoiled arch[10] +would no more prevent his distinct understanding of the narrative, than +the grotesque heads introduced above it would interfere with his firm +comprehension of the words "ox" or "ass;" while if there were anything +in the action of the principal figures suggestive of real feeling, that +suggestion he would accept, together with the general pleasantness of +the lines and colors in the decorative letter; but without having his +faith in the unrepresented and actual scene obscured for a moment. But +it was far otherwise, when Francia or Perugino, with exquisite power of +representing the human form, and high knowledge of the mysteries of +art, devoted all their skill to the delineation of an impossible scene; +and painted, for their subjects of the Nativity, a beautiful and +queenly lady, her dress embroidered with gold, and with a crown of +jewels upon her hair, kneeling, on a floor of inlaid and precious +marble, before a crowned child, laid under a portico of Lombardic[11] +architecture; with a sweet, verdurous, and vivid landscape in the +distance, full of winding rivers, village spires, and baronial +towers.[12] It is quite true that the frank absurdity of the thought +prevented its being received as a deliberate contradiction of the +truths of Scripture; but it is no less certain, that the continual +presentment to the mind of this beautiful and fully realized imagery +more and more chilled its power of apprehending the real truth; and +that when pictures of this description met the eye in every corner of +every chapel, it was physically impossible to dwell distinctly upon +facts the direct reverse of those represented. The word "Virgin" or +"Madonna," instead of calling up the vision of a simple Jewish girl, +bearing the calamities of poverty, and the dishonors of inferior +station, summoned instantly the idea of a graceful princess, crowned +with gems, and surrounded by obsequious ministry of kings and saints. +The fallacy which was presented to the imagination was indeed +discredited, but also the fact which was _not_ presented to the +imagination was forgotten; all true grounds of faith were gradually +undermined, and the beholder was either enticed into mere luxury of +fanciful enjoyment, believing nothing; or left, in his confusion of +mind, the prey of vain tales and traditions; while in his best feelings +he was unconsciously subject to the power of the fallacious picture, +and with no sense of the real cause of his error, bowed himself, in +prayer or adoration, to the lovely lady on her golden throne, when he +would never have dreamed of doing so to the Jewish girl in her outcast +poverty, or, in her simple household, to the carpenter's wife. + +[Illustration: Fig. 1.] + +§ 10. But a shadow of increasing darkness fell upon the human mind as +art proceeded to still more perfect realization. These fantasies of +the earlier painters, though they darkened faith, never hardened +_feeling_; on the contrary, the frankness of their unlikelihood +proceeded mainly from the endeavor on the part of the painter to +express, not the actual fact, but the enthusiastic state of his own +feelings about the fact; he covers the Virgin's dress with gold, not +with any idea of representing the Virgin as she ever was, or ever will +be seen, but with a burning desire to show what his love and reverence +would think fittest for her. He erects for the stable a Lombardic +portico, not because he supposes the Lombardi to have built stables in +Palestine in the days of Tiberius, but to show that the manger in +which Christ was laid is, in his eyes, nobler than the greatest +architecture in the world. He fills his landscape with church spires +and silver streams, not because he supposes that either were in sight +of Bethlehem, but to remind the beholder of the peaceful course and +succeeding power of Christianity. And, regarded with due sympathy and +clear understanding of these thoughts of the artist, such pictures +remain most impressive and touching, even to this day. I shall refer +to them in future, in general terms, as the pictures of the "Angelican +Ideal"--Angelico being the central master of the school. + +§ 11. It was far otherwise in the next step of the Realistic progress. +The greater his powers became, the more the mind of the painter was +absorbed in their attainment, and complacent in their display. The +early arts of laying on bright colors smoothly, of burnishing golden +ornaments, or tracing, leaf by leaf, the outlines of flowers, were not +so difficult as that they should materially occupy the thoughts of the +artist, or furnish foundation for his conceit; he learned these +rudiments of his work without pain, and employed them without pride, +his spirit being left free to express, so far as it was capable of +them, the reaches of higher thought. But when accurate shade, and +subtle color, and perfect anatomy, and complicated perspective, became +necessary to the work, the artist's whole energy was employed in +learning the laws of these, and his whole pleasure consisted in +exhibiting them. His life was devoted, not to the objects of art, but +to the cunning of it; and the sciences of composition and light and +shade were pursued as if there were abstract good in them;--as if, +like astronomy or mathematics, they were ends in themselves, +irrespective of anything to be effected by them. And without +perception, on the part of any one, of the abyss to which all were +hastening, a fatal change of aim took place throughout the whole world +of art. In early times _art was employed for the display of religious +facts_; now, _religious facts were employed for the display of art_. +The transition, though imperceptible, was consummate; it involved the +entire destiny of painting. It was passing from the paths of life to +the paths of death. + +§ 12. And this change was all the more fatal, because at first veiled +by an appearance of greater dignity and sincerity than were possessed +by the older art. One of the earliest results of the new knowledge was +the putting away the greater part of the _unlikelihoods_ and fineries +of the ancient pictures, and an apparently closer following of nature +and probability. All the fantasy which I have just been blaming as +disturbant of the simplicity of faith, was first subdued,--then +despised and cast aside. The appearances of nature were more closely +followed in everything; and the crowned Queen-Virgin of Perugino sank +into a simple Italian mother in Raphael's Madonna of the Chair. + +§ 13. Was not this, then, a healthy change? No. It _would_ have been +healthy if it had been effected with a pure motive, and the new +truths would have been precious if they had been sought for truth's +sake. But they were not sought for truth's sake, but for pride's; +and truth which is sought for display may be just as harmful as +truth which is spoken in malice. The glittering childishness of the +old art was rejected, not because it was false, but because it was +easy; and, still more, because the painter had no longer any +religious passion to express. He could think of the Madonna now very +calmly, with no desire to pour out the treasures of earth at her +feet, or crown her brows with the golden shafts of heaven. He could +think of her as an available subject for the display of transparent +shadows, skilful tints, and scientific foreshortenings,--as a fair +woman, forming, if well painted, a pleasant piece of furniture for +the corner of a boudoir, and best imagined by combination of the +beauties of the prettiest contadinas. He could think of her, in her +last maternal agony, with academical discrimination; sketch in first +her skeleton, invest her, in serene science, with the muscles of +misery and the fibres of sorrow; then cast the grace of antique +drapery over the nakedness of her desolation, and fulfil, with +studious lustre of tears and delicately painted pallor, the perfect +type of the "Mater Dolorosa." + +§ 14. It was thus that Raphael thought of the Madonna.[13] + +Now observe, when the subject was thus scientifically completed, it +became necessary, as we have just said, to the full display of all the +power of the artist, that it should in many respects be more faithfully +imagined than it had been hitherto, "Keeping," "Expression," +"Historical Unity," and such other requirements, were enforced on the +painter, in the same tone, and with the same purpose, as the purity of +his oil and the accuracy of his perspective. He was told that the +figure of Christ should be "dignified," those of the Apostles +"expressive," that of the Virgin "modest," and those of children +"innocent." All this was perfectly true; and in obedience to such +directions, the painter proceeded to manufacture certain arrangements +of apostolic sublimity, virginal mildness, and infantine innocence, +which, being free from the quaint imperfection and contradictoriness of +the early art, were looked upon by the European public as true things, +and trustworthy representations of the events of religious history. The +pictures of Francia and Bellini had been received as pleasant visions. +But the cartoons of Raphael were received as representations of +historical fact. + +§ 15. Now, neither they, nor any other work of the period, were +representations either of historical or possible fact. They were, in +the strictest sense of the word, "compositions"--cold arrangements +of propriety and agreeableness, according to academical formulas; +the painter never in any case making the slightest effort to +conceive the thing as it must have happened, but only to gather +together graceful lines and beautiful faces, in such compliance with +commonplace ideas of the subject as might obtain for the whole an +"epic unity," or some such other form of scholastic perfectness. + +§ 16. Take a very important instance. + +I suppose there is no event in the whole life of Christ to which, in +hours of doubt or fear, men turn with more anxious thirst to knew the +close facts of it, or with more earnest and passionate dwelling upon +every syllable of its recorded narrative, than Christ's showing Himself +to his disciples at the lake of Galilee. There is something +preeminently open, natural, full fronting our disbelief in this +manifestation. The others, recorded after the resurrection, were +sudden, phantom-like, occurring to men in profound sorrow and wearied +agitation of heart; not, it might seem, safe judges of what they saw. +But the agitation was now over. They had gone back to their daily work, +thinking still their business lay net-wards, unmeshed from the literal +rope and drag. "Simon Peter saith unto them, 'I go a fishing,' They say +unto him, 'We also go with thee,'" True words enough, and having far +echo beyond those Galilean hills. That night they caught nothing; but +when the morning came, in the clear light of it, behold a figure stood +on the shore. They were not thinking of anything but their fruitless +hauls. They had no guess who it was. It asked them simply if they had +caught anything. They said no. And it tells them to cast yet again. And +John shades his eyes from the morning sun with his hand, to look who it +is; and though the glinting of the sea, too, dazzles him, he makes out +who it is, at last; and poor Simon, not to be outrun this time, +tightens, his fisher's coat about him, and dashes in, over the nets. +One would have liked to see him swim those hundred yards, and stagger +to his knees on the beach. + +Well, the others get to the beach, too, in time, in such slow way as +men in general do get, in this world, to its true shore, much +impeded by that wonderful "dragging the net with fishes;" but they +get there--seven of them in all;--first the Denier, and then the +slowest believer, and then the quickest believer, and then the two +throne-seekers, and two more, we know not who. + +They sit down on the shore face to face with Him, and eat their +broiled fish as He bids. And then, to Peter, all dripping still, +shivering, and amazed, staring at Christ in the sun, on the other +side of the coal fire,--thinking a little, perhaps, of what happened +by another coal fire, when it was colder, and having had no word +once changed with him by his Master since that look of His,--to him, +so amazed, comes the question, "Simon, lovest thou me?" Try to feel +that a little, and think of it till it is true to you; and then, +take up that infinite monstrosity and hypocrisy--Raphael's cartoon +of the Charge to Peter. Note, first, the bold fallacy--the putting +_all_ the Apostles there, a mere lie to serve the Papal heresy of +the Petric supremacy, by putting them all in the background while +Peter receives the charge, and making them all witnesses to it. Note +the handsomely curled hair and neatly tied sandals of the men who +had been out all night in the sea-mists and on the slimy decks. Note +their convenient dresses for going a-fishing, with trains that lie a +yard along the ground, and goodly fringes,--all made to match, an +apostolic fishing costume.[14] Note how Peter especially (whose +chief glory was in his wet coat _girt_ about him and naked limbs) +is enveloped in folds and fringes, so as to kneel and hold his keys +with grace. No fire of coals at all, nor lonely mountain shore, but +a pleasant Italian landscape, full of villas and churches, and a +flock of sheep to be pointed at; and the whole group of Apostles, +not round Christ, as they would have been naturally, but straggling +away in a line, that they may all be shown. + +The simple truth is, that the moment we look at the picture we feel +our belief of the whole thing taken away. There is, visibly, no +possibility of that group ever having existed, in any place, or on any +occasion. It is all a mere mythic absurdity, and faded concoction of +fringes, muscular arms, and curly heads of Greek philosophers. + +§ 17. Now, the evil consequences of the acceptance of this kind of +religious idealism for true, were instant and manifold. So far as it +was received and trusted in by thoughtful persons, it only served to +chill all the conceptions of sacred history which they might otherwise +have obtained. Whatever they could have fancied for themselves about +the wild, strange, infinitely stern, infinitely tender, infinitely +varied veracities of the life of Christ, was blotted out by the vapid +fineries of Raphael; the rough Galilean pilot, the orderly custom +receiver, and all the questioning wonder and fire of uneducated +apostleship, were obscured under an antique mask of philosophical +faces and long robes. The feeble, subtle, suffering, ceaseless energy +and humiliation of St. Paul were confused with an idea of a meditative +Hercules leaning on a sweeping sword;[15] and the mighty presences of +Moses and Elias were softened by introductions of delicate grace, +adopted from dancing nymphs and rising Auroras,[16] + +Now, no vigorously minded religious person could possibly receive +pleasure or help from such art as this; and the necessary result was +the instant rejection of it by the healthy religion of the world. +Raphael ministered, with applause, to the impious luxury of the +Vatican, but was trampled under foot at once by every believing and +advancing Christian of his own and subsequent times; and +thenceforward pure Christianity and "high art" took separate roads, +and fared on, as best they might, independently of each other. + +§ 18. But although Calvin, and Knox, and Luther, and their flocks, +with all the hardest-headed and truest-hearted faithful left in +Christendom, thus spurned away the spurious art, and all art with it, +(not without harm to themselves, such as a man must needs sustain in +cutting off a decayed limb[17]) certain conditions of weaker +Christianity suffered the false system to retain influence over them; +and to this day, the clear and tasteless poison of the art of Raphael +infects with sleep of infidelity the hearts of millions of Christians. +It is the first cause of all that pre-eminent _dulness_ which +characterizes what Protestants call sacred art; a dulness not merely +baneful in making religion distasteful to the young, but in sickening, +as we have seen, all vital belief of religion in the old. A dim sense +of impossibility attaches itself always to the graceful emptiness of +the representation; we feel instinctively that the painted Christ and +painted apostle are not beings that ever did or could exist; and this +fatal sense of fair fabulousness, and well-composed impossibility, +steals gradually from the picture into the history, until we find +ourselves reading St. Mark or St. Luke with the same admiring, but +uninterested, incredulity, with which we contemplate Raphael. + +§ 19. On a certain class of minds, however, these Raphaelesque and +other sacred paintings of high order, have had, of late years, +another kind of influence, much resembling that which they had at +first on the most pious Romanists. They are used to excite certain +conditions of religious dream or reverie; being again, as in +earliest times, regarded not as representations of fact, but as +expressions of sentiment respecting the fact. In this way the best +of them have unquestionably much purifying and enchanting power; and +they are helpful opponents to sinful passion and weakness of every +kind. A fit of unjust anger, petty malice, unreasonable vexation, or +dark passion, cannot certainly, in a mind of ordinary sensibility, +hold its own in the presence of a good engraving from any work of +Angelico, Memling, or Perugino. But I nevertheless believe, that he +who trusts much to such helps will find them fail him at his need; +and that the dependence, in any great degree, on the presence or +power of a picture, indicates a wonderfully feeble sense of the +presence and power of God. I do not think that any man, who is +thoroughly certain that Christ is in the room, will care what sort +of pictures of Christ he has on its walls; and, in the plurality of +cases, the delight taken in art of this kind is, in reality, nothing +more than a form of graceful indulgence of those sensibilities which +the habits of a disciplined life restrain in other directions. Such +art is, in a word, the opera and drama of the monk. Sometimes it is +worse than this, and the love of it is the mask under which a +general thirst for morbid excitement will pass itself for religion. +The young lady who rises in the middle of the day, jaded by her last +night's ball, and utterly incapable of any simple or wholesome +religious exercise, can still gaze into the dark eyes of the Madonna +di San Sisto, or dream over the whiteness of an ivory crucifix, and +returns to the course of her daily life in full persuasion that her +morning's feverishness has atoned for her evening's folly. And all +the while, the art which possesses these very doubtful advantages is +acting for undoubtful detriment, in the various ways above examined, +on the inmost fastnesses of faith; it is throwing subtle endearments +round foolish traditions, confusing sweet fancies with sound +doctrines, obscuring real events with unlikely semblances, and +enforcing false assertions with pleasant circumstantiality, until, +to the usual, and assuredly sufficient, difficulties standing in the +way of belief, its votaries have added a habit of sentimentally +changing what they know to be true, and of dearly loving what they +confess to be false. + +§ 20. Has there, then (the reader asks emphatically), been _no_ true +religious ideal? Has religious art never been of any service to +mankind? I fear, on the whole, not. Of true religious ideal, +representing events historically recorded, with solemn effort at a +sincere and unartificial conception, there exist, as yet, hardly any +examples. Nearly all good religious pictures fall into one or other +branch of the false ideal already examined, either into the Angelican +(passionate ideal) or the Raphaelesque (philosophical ideal). But there +is one true form of religious art, nevertheless, in the pictures of the +passionate ideal which represent imaginary beings of another world. +Since it is evidently right that we should try to imagine the glories +of the next world, and as this imagination must be, in each separate +mind, more or less different, and unconfined by any laws of material +fact, the passionate ideal has not only full scope here, but it becomes +our duty to urge its powers to its utmost, so that every condition of +beautiful form and color may be employed to invest these scenes with +greater delightfulness (the whole being, of course, received as an +assertion of possibility, not of absolute fact). All the paradises +imagined by the religious painters--the choirs of glorified saints, +angels, and spiritual powers, when painted with full belief in this +possibility of their existence, are true ideals; and so far from our +having dwelt on these too much, I believe, rather, we have not trusted +them enough, nor accepted them enough, as possible statements of most +precious truth. Nothing but unmixed good can accrue to any mind from +the contemplation of Orcagna's Last Judgment or his triumph of death, +of Angelico's Last Judgment and Paradise, or any of the scenes laid in +heaven by the other faithful religious masters; and the more they are +considered, not as works of art, but as real visions of real things, +more or less imperfectly set down, the more good will be got by +dwelling upon them. The same is true of all representations of Christ +as a living presence among us now, as in Hunt's Light of the World. + +§ 21. For the rest, there is a reality of conception in some of the +works of Benozzo Gozzoli, Ghirlandajo, and Giotto, which approaches +to a true ideal, even of recorded facts. But the examination of the +various degrees in which sacred art has reached its proper power is +not to our present purpose; still less, to investigate the +infinitely difficult question of its past operation on the Christian +mind. I hope to prosecute my inquiry into this subject in another +work; it being enough here to mark the forms of ideal error, +without historically tracing their extent, and to state generally +that my impression is, up to the present moment, that the best +religious art has been _hitherto_ rather a fruit, and attendant +sign, of sincere Christianity than a promoter of or help to it. +More, I think, has always been done for God by few words than many +pictures, and more by few acts than many words. + +§ 22. I must not, however, quit the subject without insisting on the +chief practical consequence of what we have observed, namely, that +sacred art, so far from being exhausted, has yet to attain the +development of its highest branches; and the task, or privilege, yet +remains for mankind, to produce an art which shall be at once entirely +skilful and entirely _sincere_. All the histories of the Bible are, in +my judgment, yet waiting to be painted. Moses has never been painted; +Elijah never; David never (except as a mere ruddy stripling); Deborah +never; Gideon never; Isaiah never. What single example does the reader +remember of painting which suggested so much as the faintest shadow of +these people, or of their deeds? Strong men in armor, or aged men with +flowing beards, he _may_ remember, who, when he looked at his Louvre +or Uffizii catalogue, he found were intended to stand for David or for +Moses. But does he suppose that, if these pictures had suggested to +him the feeblest image of the presence of such men, he would have +passed on, as he assuredly did, to the next picture,--representing, +doubtless, Diana and Actaeon, or Cupid and the Graces, or a gambling +quarrel in a pothouse,--with no sense of pain, or surprise? Let him +meditate over the matter, and he will find ultimately that what I say +is true, and that religious art, at once complete and sincere, never +yet has existed. + +§ 23. It will exist: nay, I believe the era of its birth has come, +and that those bright Turnerian imageries, which the European public +declared to be "dotage," and those calm Pre-Raphaelite studies +which, in like manner, it pronounced "puerility," form the first +foundation that has been ever laid for true sacred art. Of this we +shall presently reason farther. But, be it as it may, if we would +cherish the hope that sacred art may, indeed, arise for _us_, two +separate cautions are to be addressed to the two opposed classes of +religionists whose influence will chiefly retard that hope's +accomplishment. The group calling themselves Evangelical ought no +longer to render their religion an offence to men of the world by +associating it only with the most vulgar forms of art. It is not +necessary that they should admit either music or painting into +religious service; but, if they admit either the one or the other, +let it not be bad music nor bad painting: it is certainly in nowise +more for Christ's honor that His praise should be sung discordantly, +or His miracles painted discreditably, than that His word should be +preached ungrammatically. Some Evangelicals, however, seem to take a +morbid pride in the triple degradation.[18] + +§ 24. The opposite class of men, whose natural instincts lead them to +mingle the refinements of art with all the offices and practices of +religion, are to be warned, on the contrary, how they mistake their +enjoyments for their duties, or confound poetry with faith. I admit +that it is impossible for one man to judge another in this matter, and +that it can never be said with certainty how far what seems frivolity +may be force, and what seems the indulgence of the heart may be, +indeed, its dedication. I am ready to believe that Metastasio, expiring +in a canzonet, may have died better than if his prayer had been in +unmeasured syllables.[19] But, for the most part, it is assuredly much +to be feared lest we mistake a surrender to the charms of art for one +to the service of God; and, in the art which we permit, lest we +substitute sentiment for sense, grace for utility. And for us all there +is in this matter even a deeper danger than that of indulgence. There +is the danger of Artistical Pharisaism. Of all the forms of pride and +vanity, as there are none more subtle, so I believe there are none more +sinful, than those which are manifested by the Pharisees of art. To be +proud of birth, of place, of wit, of bodily beauty, is comparatively +innocent, just because such pride is more natural, and more easily +detected. But to be proud of our sanctities; to pour contempt upon our +fellows, because, forsooth, we like to look at Madonnas in bowers of +roses, better than at plain pictures of plain things; and to make this +religious art of ours the expression of our own perpetual +self-complacency,--congratulating ourselves, day by day, on our +purities, proprieties, elevations, and inspirations, as above the reach +of common mortals,--this I believe to be one of the wickedest and +foolishest forms of human egotism; and, truly, I had rather, with +great, thoughtless, humble Paul Veronese, make the Supper at Emmaus a +background for two children playing with a dog (as, God knows, men do +usually put it in the background to everything, if not out of sight +altogether), than join that school of modern Germanism which wears its +pieties for decoration as women wear their diamonds, and flaunts the +dry fleeces of its phylacteries between its dust and the dew of heaven. + + [10] The curious inequality of this little trefoil is not a + mistake; it is faithfully copied by the draughtsman from the + MS. Perhaps the actual date of the illumination may be a year + or two past the thirteenth century, i.e., 1300--1310: but it + is quite characteristic of the thirteenth century treatment in + the figures. + + [11] Lombardic, i.e. in the style of Pietro and Tullio Lombardo, + in the fifteenth century (not _Lombard_). + + [12] All this, it will be observed, is that seeking for beauty at + the cost of truth which we have generally noted in the last + chapter. + + [13] This is one form of the sacrifice of expression to technical + merit, generally noted at the end of the 10th paragraph of the + last chapter. + + [14] I suppose Raphael intended a reference to Numbers xv. 38; but + if he did, the _blue_ riband, or "vitta," as it is in the + Vulgate, should have been on the borders too. + + [15] In the St. Cecilia of Bologna. + + [16] In the Transfiguration. Do but try to believe that Moses and + Elias are really there talking with Christ. Moses in the + loveliest heart and midst of the land which once it had been + denied him to behold,--Elijah treading the earth again, from + which he had been swept to heaven in fire; both now with a + mightier message than ever they had given in life,--mightier, + in closing their own mission,--mightier, in speaking to + Christ "of His decease, which He should accomplish at + Jerusalem." They, men of like passions once with us, + appointed to speak to the Redeemer of His death. + + And, then, look at Raphael's kicking gracefulnesses. + + [17] Luther had no dislike of religious art on principle. Even the + stove in his chamber was wrought with sacred subjects. See + Mrs. Stowe's Sunny Memories. + + [18] I do not know anything more humiliating to a man of common + sense, than to open what is called an "illustrated Bible" of + modern days. See, for instance, the plates in Brown's Bible + (octavo: Edinburgh, 1840), a standard evangelical edition. + Our habit of reducing the psalms to doggerel before we will + condescend to sing them, is a parallel abuse. It is + marvellous to think that human creatures with tongues and + souls should refuse to chant the verse: "Before Ephraim, + Benjamin, and Manasseh, stir up thy strength, and come and + help us;" preferring this:-- + + "Behold, how Benjamin expects, + With Ephraim and Manasseh joined, + In their deliverance, the effects + Of thy resistless strength to find!" + + [19] "En 1780, âgé de quatre-vingt-deux ans, au moment de recevoir + le viatique, il rassembla ses forces, et chanta, à son Créateur: + + 'Eterno Genitor + Io t' offro il proprio figlio + Che in pegno del tuo amor + Si vuole a me donar. + + A lui rivolgi il ciglio, + Mira chi t' offro; e poi, + Niega, Signor, se puoi, + Niega di perdonar.'"-- + --DE STENDHAL, _Via de Metastasio_. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +OF THE FALSE IDEAL:--SECONDLY, PROFANE. + + +§ 1. Such having been the effects of the pursuit of ideal beauty on +the religious mind of Europe, we might be tempted next to consider +in what way the same movement affected the art which concerned +itself with profane subject, and, through that art, the whole temper +of modern civilization. + +I shall, however, merely glance at this question. It is a very +painful and a very wide one. Its discussion cannot come properly +within the limits, or even within the aim, of a work like this; it +ought to be made the subject of a separate essay, and that essay +should be written by some one who had passed less of his life than I +have among the mountains, and more of it among men. But one or two +points may be suggested for the reader to reflect upon at his +leisure. + +§ 2. I said just now that we might be tempted to consider how this +pursuit of the ideal _affected_ profane art. Strictly speaking, it +brought that art into existence. As long as men sought for truth +first, and beauty secondarily, they cared chiefly, of course, for +the _chief_ truth, and all art was instinctively religious. But as +soon as they sought for beauty first, and truth secondarily, they +were punished by losing sight of spiritual truth altogether, and the +profane (properly so called) schools of art were instantly +developed. + +The perfect human beauty, which, to a large part of the community, +was by far the most interesting feature in the work of the rising +school, might indeed be in some degree consistent with the agony of +Madonnas, and the repentance of Magdalenes; but could not be +exhibited in fulness, when the subjects, however irreverently +treated, nevertheless demanded some decency in the artist, and some +gravity in the spectator. The newly acquired powers of rounding +limbs, and tinting lips, had too little scope in the sanctities +even of the softest womanhood; and the newly acquired conceptions of +the nobility of nakedness could in no wise be expressed beneath the +robes of the prelate or the sackcloth of the recluse. But the source +from which these ideas had been received afforded also full field +for their expression; the heathen mythology, which had furnished the +examples of these heights of art, might again become the subject of +the inspirations it had kindled;--with the additional advantage that +it could now be delighted in, without being believed; that its +errors might be indulged, unrepressed by its awe; and those of its +deities whose function was temptation might be worshipped, in scorn +of those whose hands were charged with chastisement. + +So, at least, men dreamed in their foolishness,--to find, as the +ages wore on, that the returning Apollo bore not only his lyre, but +his arrows; and that at the instant of Cytherea's resurrection to +the sunshine, Persephone had reascended her throne in the deep. + +§ 3. Little thinking this, they gave themselves up fearlessly to the +chase of the new delight, and exhausted themselves in the pursuit of +an ideal now doubly false. Formerly, though they attempted to reach +an unnatural beauty, it was yet in representing historical facts and +real persons; _now_ they sought for the same unnatural beauty in +representing tales which they knew to be fictitious, and personages +who they knew had never existed. Such a state of things had never +before been found in any nation. Every people till then had painted +the acts of their kings, the triumphs of their armies, the beauty of +their race, or the glory of their gods. They showed the things they +had seen or done; the beings they truly loved or faithfully adored. +But the ideal art of modern Europe was the shadow of a shadow; and +with mechanism substituted for perception, and bodily beauty for +spiritual life, it set itself to represent men it had never seen, +customs it had never practised, and gods in whom it had never +believed. + +§ 4. Such art could of course have no help from the virtues, nor +claim on the energies of men. It necessarily rooted itself in their +vices and their idleness; and of their vices principally in two, +pride and sensuality. To the pride, was attached eminently the art +of architecture; to the sensuality, those of painting and sculpture. +Of the fall of architecture, as resultant from the formalist pride +of its patrons and designers, I have spoken elsewhere. The +sensualist ideal, as seen in painting and sculpture, remains to be +examined here. But one interesting circumstance is to be observed +with respect to the manner of the separation of these arts. Pride, +being wholly a vice, and in every phase inexcusable, wholly betrayed +and destroyed the art which was founded on it. But passion, having +some root and use in healthy nature, and only becoming guilty in +excess, did not altogether destroy the art founded upon it. The +architecture of Palladio is wholly virtueless and despicable. Not so +the Venus of Titian, nor the Antiope of Correggio. + +§ 5. We find, then, at the close of the sixteenth century, the arts +of painting and sculpture wholly devoted to entertain the indolent +and satiate the luxurious. To effect these noble ends, they took a +thousand different forms; painting, however, of course being the +most complying, aiming sometimes at mere amusement by deception in +landscapes, or minute imitation of natural objects; sometimes giving +more piquant excitement in battle-pieces full of slaughter, or +revels deep in drunkenness; sometimes entering upon serious +subjects, for the sake of grotesque fiends and picturesque infernos, +or that it might introduce pretty children as cherubs, and handsome +women as Magdalenes and Maries of Egypt, or portraits of patrons in +the character of the more decorous saints: but more frequently, for +direct flatteries of this kind, recurring to Pagan mythology, and +painting frail ladies as goddesses or graces, and foolish kings in +radiant apotheosis; while, for the earthly delight of the persons +whom it honored as divine, it ransacked the records of luscious +fable, and brought back, in fullest depth of dye and flame of fancy, +the impurest dreams of the un-Christian ages. + +§ 6. Meanwhile, the art of sculpture, less capable of ministering to +mere amusement, was more or less reserved for the affectations of +taste; and the study of the classical statues introduced various ideas +on the subjects of "purity," "chastity," and "dignity," such as it was +possible for people to entertain who were themselves impure, luxurious, +and ridiculous. It is a matter of extreme difficulty to explain the +exact character of this modern sculpturesque ideal; but its relation +to the true ideal may be best understood by considering it as in exact +parallelism with the relation of the word "taste" to the word "love." +Wherever the word "taste" is used with respect to matters of art, it +indicates either that the thing spoken of belongs to some inferior +class of objects, or that the person speaking has a false conception of +its nature. For, consider the exact sense in which a work of art is +said to be "in good or bad taste." It does not mean that it is true, or +false; that it is beautiful, or ugly; but that it does or does not +comply either with the laws of choice, which are enforced by certain +modes of life; or the habits of mind produced by a particular sort of +education. It does not mean merely fashionable, that is, complying with +a momentary caprice of the upper classes; but it means agreeing with +the habitual sense which the most refined education, common to those +upper classes at the period, gives to their whole mind. Now, therefore, +so far as that education does indeed tend to make the senses delicate, +and the perceptions accurate, and thus enables people to be pleased +with quiet instead of gaudy color, and with graceful instead of coarse +form; and, by long acquaintance with the best things, to discern +quickly what is fine from what is common;--so far, acquired taste is an +honorable faculty, and it is true praise of anything to say it is "in +good taste." But so far as this higher education has a tendency to +narrow the sympathies and harden the heart, diminishing the interest of +all beautiful things by familiarity, until even what is best can hardly +please, and what is brightest hardly entertain;--so far as it fosters +pride, and leads men to found the pleasure they take in anything, not +on the worthiness of the thing, but on the degree in which it indicates +some greatness of their own (as people build marble porticos, and inlay +marble floors, not so much because they like the colors of marble, or +find it pleasant to the foot, as because such porches and floors are +costly, and separated in all human eyes from plain entrances of stone +and timber);--so far as it leads people to prefer gracefulness of +dress, manner, and aspect, to value of substance and heart, liking a +well said thing better than a true thing, and a well trained manner +better than a sincere one, and a delicately formed face better than a +good-natured one, and in all other ways and things setting custom and +semblance above everlasting truth;--so far, finally, as it induces a +sense of inherent distinction between class and class, and causes +everything to be more or less despised which has no social rank, so +that the affection, pleasure, or grief of a clown are looked upon as of +no interest compared with the affection and grief of a well-bred +man;--just so far, in all these several ways, the feeling induced by +what is called a "liberal education" is utterly adverse to the +understanding of noble art; and the name which is given to the +feeling,--Taste, Goût, Gusto,--in all languages, indicates the baseness +of it, for it implies that art gives only a kind of pleasure analogous +to that derived from eating by the palate. + +§ 7. Modern education, not in art only, but in all other things +referable to the same standard, has invariably given taste in this bad +sense; it has given fastidiousness of choice without judgment, +superciliousness of manner without dignity, refinement of habit without +purity, grace of expression without sincerity, and desire of loveliness +without love; and the modern "Ideal" of high art is a curious mingling +of the gracefulness and reserve of the drawingroom with a certain +measure of classical sensuality. Of this last element, and the singular +artifices by which vice succeeds in combining it with what appears to +be pure and severe, it would take us long to reason fully; I would +rather leave the reader to follow out for himself the consideration of +the influence, in this direction, of statues, bronzes, and paintings, +as at present employed by the upper circles of London, and (especially) +Paris; and this not so much in the works which are really fine, as in +the multiplied coarse copies of them; taking the widest range, from +Dannaeker's Ariadne down to the amorous shepherd and shepherdess in +china on the drawingroom time-piece, rigidly questioning, in each case, +how far the charm of the art does indeed depend on some appeal to the +inferior passions. Let it be considered, for instance, exactly how far +the value of a picture of a girl's head by Greuze would be lowered in +the market, if the dress, which now leaves the bosom bare, were raised +to the neck; and how far, in the commonest lithograph of some utterly +popular subject,--for instance, the teaching of Uncle Tom by Eva,--the +sentiment which is supposed to be excited by the exhibition of +Christianity in youth is complicated with that which depends upon Eva's +having a dainty foot and a well-made satin slipper;--and then, having +completely determined for himself how far the element exists, consider +farther, whether, when art is thus frequent (for frequent he will +assuredly find it to be) in its appeal to the lower passions, it is +likely to attain the highest order of merit, or be judged by the truest +standards of judgment. For, of all the causes which have combined, in +modern times, to lower the rank of art, I believe this to be one of the +most fatal; while, reciprocally, it may be questioned how far society +suffers, in its turn, from the influences possessed over it by the arts +it has degraded. It seems to me a subject of the very deepest interest +to determine what has been the effect upon the European nations of the +great change by which art became again capable of ministering +delicately to the lower passions, as it had in the worst days of Rome; +how far, indeed, in all ages, the fall of nations may be attributed to +art's arriving at this particular stage among them. I do not mean that, +in any of its stages, it is incapable of being employed for evil, but +that assuredly an Egyptian, Spartan, or Norman was unexposed to the +kind of temptation which is continually offered by the delicate +painting and sculpture of modern days; and, although the diseased +imagination might complete the imperfect image of beauty from the +colored image on the wall,[20] or the most revolting thoughts be +suggested by the mocking barbarism of the Gothic sculpture, their hard +outline and rude execution were free from all the subtle treachery +which now fills the flushed canvas and the rounded marble. + +§ 8. I cannot, however, pursue this inquiry here. For our present +purpose it is enough to note that the feeling, in itself so debased, +branches upwards into that of which, while no one has cause to be +ashamed, no one, on the other hand, has cause to be proud, namely, the +admiration of physical beauty in the human form, as distinguished from +expression of character. Every one can easily appreciate the merit of +regular features and well-formed limbs, but it requires some attention, +sympathy, and sense, to detect the charm of passing expression, or +life-disciplined character. The beauty of the Apollo Belvidere, or +Venus de Medicis, is perfectly palpable to any shallow fine lady or +fine gentleman, though they would have perceived none in the face of an +old weather-beaten St. Peter, or a grey-haired "Grandmother Lois." The +knowledge that long study is necessary to produce these regular types +of the human form renders the facile admiration matter of eager +self-complacency; the shallow spectator, delighted that he can really, +and without hypocrisy, admire what required much thought to produce, +supposes himself endowed with the highest critical faculties, and +easily lets himself be carried into rhapsodies about the "ideal," +which, when all is said, if they be accurately examined, will be found +literally to mean nothing more than that the figure has got handsome +calves to its legs, and a straight nose. + +§ 9. That they do mean, in reality, nothing more than this may be +easily ascertained by watching the taste of the same persons in other +things. The fashionable lady who will write five or six pages in her +diary respecting the effect upon her mind of such and such an "ideal" +in marble, will have her drawing room table covered with Books of +Beauty, in which the engravings represent the human form in every +possible aspect of distortion and affectation; and the connoisseur who, +in the morning, pretends to the most exquisite taste in the antique, +will be seen, in the evening, in his opera-stall, applauding the least +graceful gestures of the least modest figurante. + +§ 10. But even this vulgar pursuit of physical beauty (vulgar in the +profoundest sense, for there is no vulgarity like the vulgarity of +education) would be less contemptible if it really succeeded in its +object; but, like all pursuits carried to inordinate length, it +defeats itself. Physical beauty _is_ a noble thing when it is seen +in perfectness; but the manner in which the moderns pursue their +ideal prevents their ever really seeing what they are always +seeking; for, requiring that all forms should be regular and +faultless, they permit, or even compel, their painters and sculptors +to work chiefly by rule, altering their models to fit their +preconceived notions of what is right. When such artists look at a +face, they do not give it the attention necessary to discern what +beauty is already in its peculiar features; but only to see how +best it may be altered into something for which they have themselves +laid down the laws. Nature never unveils her beauty to such a gaze. +She keeps whatever she has done best, close sealed, until it is +regarded with reverence. To the painter who honors her, she will +open a revelation in the face of a street mendicant; but in the work +of the painter who alters her, she will make Portia become ignoble +and Perdita graceless. + +§ 11. Nor is the effect less for evil on the mind of the general +observer. The lover of ideal beauty, with all his conceptions +narrowed by rule, never looks carefully enough upon the features +which do not come under his law (or any others), to discern the +inner beauty in them. The strange intricacies about the lines of the +lips, and marvellous shadows and watch-fires of the eye, and +wavering traceries of the eyelash, and infinite modulations of the +brow, wherein high humanity is embodied, are all invisible to him. +He finds himself driven back at last, with all his idealism, to the +lionne of the ball-room, whom youth and passion can as easily +distinguish as his utmost critical science; whereas, the observer +who has accustomed himself to take human faces as God made them, +will often find as much beauty on a village green as in the proudest +room of state, and as much in the free seats of a church aisle, as +in all the sacred paintings of the Vatican or the Pitti. + +§ 12. Then, farther, the habit of disdaining ordinary truth, and +seeking to alter it so as to fit the fancy of the beholder, +gradually infects the mind in all its other operation; so that it +begins to propose to itself an ideal in history, an ideal in general +narration, an ideal in portraiture and description, and in every +thing else where truth may be painful or uninteresting; with the +necessary result of more or less weakness, wickedness, and +uselessness in all that is done or said, with the desire of +concealing this painful truth. And, finally, even when truth is not +intentionally concealed, the pursuer of idealism will pass his days +in false and useless trains of thought, pluming himself, all the +while, upon his superiority therein to the rest of mankind. A modern +German, without either invention or sense, seeing a rapid in a +river, will immediately devote the remainder of the day to the +composition of dialogues between amorous water nymphs and unhappy +mariners; while the man of true invention, power, and sense will, +instead, set himself to consider whether the rocks in the river +could have their points knocked off, or the boats upon it be made +with stronger bottoms. + +§ 13. Of this final baseness of the false ideal, its miserable waste of +time, strength, and available intellect of man, by turning, as I have +said above, innocence of pastime into seriousness of occupation, it is, +of course, hardly possible to sketch out even so much as the leading +manifestations. The vain and haughty projects of youth for future life; +the giddy reveries of insatiable self exaltation; the discontented +dreams of what might have been or should be, instead of the thankful +understanding of what is; the casting about for sources of interest in +senseless fiction, instead of the real human histories of the people +round us; the prolongation from age to age of romantic historical +deceptions instead of sifted truth; the pleasures taken in fanciful +portraits of rural or romantic life in poetry and on the stage, without +the smallest effort to rescue the living rural population of the world +from its ignorance or misery; the excitement of the feelings by labored +imagination of spirits, fairies, monsters, and demons, issuing in total +blindness of heart and sight to the true presences of beneficent or +destructive spiritual powers around us; in fine, the constant +abandonment of all the straightforward paths of sense and duty, for +fear of losing some of the enticement of ghostly joys, or trampling +somewhat "sopra lor vanità, che par persona;" all these various forms +of false idealism have so entangled the modern mind, often called, I +suppose ironically, practical, that truly I believe there never yet was +idolatry of stock or staff so utterly unholy as this our idolatry of +shadows; nor can I think that, of those who burnt incense under oaks, +and poplars, and elms, because "the shadow thereof was good," it could +in any wise be more justly or sternly declared than of us--"The wind +hath bound them up in her wings, and they shall be ashamed because of +their sacrifices."[21] + + [20] Ezek. xxiii. 14. + + [21] Hosea, chap. iv. 12, 13, and 19. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +OF THE TRUE IDEAL:--FIRST, PURIST. + + +§ 1. Having thus glanced at the principal modes in which the +imagination works for evil, we must rapidly note also the principal +directions in which its operation is admissible, even in changing or +strangely combining what is brought within its sphere. + +For hitherto we have spoken as if every change wilfully wrought by +the imagination was an error; apparently implying that its only +proper work was to summon up the memories of past events, and the +anticipations of future ones, under aspects which would bear the +sternest tests of historical investigation, or abstract reasoning. +And in general this is, indeed, its noblest work. Nevertheless, it +has also permissible functions peculiarly its own, and certain +rights of feigning, and adorning, and fancifully arranging, +inalienable from its nature. Everything that is natural is, within +certain limits, right; and we must take care not, in over-severity, +to deprive ourselves of any refreshing or animating power ordained +to be in us for our help. + +§ 2. (A). It was noted in speaking above of the Angelican or +passionate ideal, that there was a certain virtue in it dependent on +the expression of its loving enthusiasm. (Chap. IV. § 10.) + +(B). In speaking of the pursuit of beauty as one of the +characteristics of the highest art, it was also said that there were +certain ways of showing this beauty by gathering together, without +altering, the finest forms, and marking them by gentle emphasis. +(Chap. III. § 15.) + +(C). And in speaking of the true uses of imagination it was said, that +we might be allowed to create for ourselves, in innocent play, fairies +and naiads, and other such fictitious creatures. (Chap. IV. § 5.) + +Now this loving enthusiasm, which seeks for a beauty fit to be the +object of eternal love; this inventive skill, which kindly displays +what exists around us in the world; and this playful energy of +thought which delights in various conditions of the impossible, are +three forms of idealism more or less connected with the three +tendencies of the artistical mind which I had occasion to explain in +the chapter on the Nature of Gothic, in the Stones of Venice. It was +there pointed out, that, the things around us containing mixed good +and evil, certain men chose the good and left the evil (thence +properly called Purists); others received both good and evil +together (thence properly called Naturalists); and others had a +tendency to choose the evil and leave the good, whom, for +convenience' sake, I termed Sensualists. I do not mean to say that +painters of fairies and naiads must belong to this last and lowest +class, or habitually choose the evil and leave the good; but there +is, nevertheless, a strange connection between the reinless play of +the imagination, and a sense of the presence of evil, which is +usually more or less developed in those creations of the imagination +to which we properly attach the word _Grotesque_. + +For this reason, we shall find it convenient to arrange what we have +to note respecting true idealism under the three heads-- + + A. Purist Idealism. + B. Naturalist Idealism. + C. Grotesque Idealism. + +§ 3. A. Purist Idealism.--It results from the unwillingness of men +whose dispositions are more than ordinarily tender and holy, to +contemplate the various forms of definite evil which necessarily +occur in the daily aspects of the world around them. They shrink +from them as from pollution, and endeavor to create for themselves +an imaginary state, in which pain and imperfection either do not +exist, or exist in some edgeless and enfeebled condition. + +As, however, pain and imperfection are, by eternal laws, bound up +with existence, so far as it is visible to us, the endeavor to cast +them away invariably indicates a comparative childishness of mind, +and produces a childish form of art. In general, the effort is most +successful when it is most naïve, and when the ignorance of the +draughtsman is in some frank proportion to his innocence. For +instance, one of the modes of treatment, the most conducive to this +ideal expression, is simply drawing everything without shadows, as +if the sun were everywhere at once. This, in the present state of +our knowledge, we could not do with grace, because we could not do +it without fear or shame. But an artist of the thirteenth century +did it with no disturbance of conscience,--knowing no better, or +rather, in some sense, we might say, knowing no worse. It is, +however, evident, at first thought, that all representations of +nature without evil must either be ideals of a future world, or be +false ideals, if they are understood to be representations of facts. +They can only be classed among the branches of the true ideal, in so +far as they are understood to be nothing more than expressions of +the painter's personal affections or hopes. + +§ 4. Let us take one or two instances in order clearly to explain +our meaning. + +The life of Angelico was almost entirely spent in the endeavor to +imagine the beings belonging to another world. By purity of life, +habitual elevation of thought, and natural sweetness of disposition, +he was enabled to express the sacred affections upon the human +countenance as no one ever did before or since. In order to effect +clearer distinction between heavenly beings and those of this world, +he represents the former as clothed in draperies of the purest +color, crowned with glories of burnished gold, and entirely +shadowless. With exquisite choice of gesture, and disposition of +folds of drapery, this mode of treatment gives perhaps the best idea +of spiritual beings which the human mind is capable of forming. It +is, therefore, a true ideal;[22] but the mode in which it is arrived +at (being so far mechanical and contradictory of the appearances of +nature) necessarily precludes those who practise it from being +complete masters of their art. It is always childish, but beautiful +in its childishness. + +§ 5. The works of our own Stothard are examples of the operation of +another mind, singular in gentleness and purity, upon mere worldly +subject. It seems as if Stothard could not conceive wickedness, +coarseness, or baseness; every one of his figures looks as if it had +been copied from some creature who had never harbored an unkind +thought, or permitted itself in an ignoble action. With this immense +love of mental purity is joined, in Stothard, a love of mere +physical smoothness and softness, so that he lived in a universe of +soft grass and stainless fountains, tender trees, and stones at +which no foot could stumble. + +All this is very beautiful, and may sometimes urge us to an endeavor +to make the world itself more like the conception of the painter. At +least, in the midst of its malice, misery, and baseness, it is often a +relief to glance at the graceful shadows, and take, for momentary +companionship, creatures full only of love, gladness, and honor. But +the perfect truth will at last vindicate itself against the partial +truth; the help which we can gain from the unsubstantial vision will +be only like that which we may sometimes receive, in weariness, from +the scent of a flower or the passing of a breeze. For all firm aid and +steady use, we must look to harder realities; and, as far as the +painter himself is regarded, we can only receive such work as the sign +of an amiable imbecility. It is indeed ideal; but ideal as a fair +dream is in the dawn of morning, before the faculties are astir. The +apparent completeness of grace can never be attained without much +definite falsification as well as omission; stones, over which we +cannot stumble, must be ill-drawn stones; trees, which are all +gentleness and softness, cannot be trees of wood; nor companies +without evil in them, companies of flesh and blood. The habit of +falsification (with whatever aim) begins always in dulness and ends +always in incapacity; nothing can be more pitiable than any endeavor +by Stothard to express facts beyond his own sphere of soft pathos or +graceful mirth, and nothing more unwise than the aim at a similar +ideality by any painter who has power to render a sincerer truth. + +§ 6. I remember another interesting example of ideality on this same +root, but belonging to another branch of it, in the works of a young +German painter, which I saw some time ago in a London drawingroom. +He had been travelling in Italy, and had brought home a portfolio of +sketches remarkable alike for their fidelity and purity. Every one +was a laborious and accurate study of some particular spot. Every +cottage, every cliff, every tree, at the site chosen, had been +drawn; and drawn with palpable sincerity of portraiture, and yet in +such a spirit that it was impossible to conceive that any sin or +misery had ever entered into one of the scenes he had represented; +and the volcanic horrors of Radicofani, the pestilent gloom of the +Pontines, and the boundless despondency of the Campagna became under +his hand, only various appearances of Paradise. + +It was very interesting to observe the minute emendations or +omissions by which this was effected. To set the tiles the slightest +degree more in order upon a cottage roof; to insist upon the +vine-leaves at the window, and let the shadow which fell from them +naturally conceal the rent in the wall; to draw all the flowers in +the foreground, and miss the weeds; to draw all the folds of the +white clouds, and miss those of the black ones; to mark the graceful +branches of the trees, and, in one way or another, beguile the eye +from those which were ungainly; to give every peasant-girl whose +face was visible the expression of an angel, and every one whose +back was turned the bearing of a princess; finally, to give a +general look of light, clear organization, and serene vitality to +every feature in the landscape;--such were his artifices, and such +his delights. It was impossible not to sympathize deeply with the +spirit of such a painter; and it was just cause for gratitude to be +permitted to travel, as it were, through Italy with such a friend. +But his work had, nevertheless, its stern limitations and marks of +everlasting inferiority. Always soothing and pathetic, it could +never be sublime, never perfectly nor entrancingly beautiful; for +the narrow spirit of correction could not cast itself fully into any +scene; the calm cheerfulness which shrank from the shadow of the +cypress, and the distortion of the olive, could not enter into the +brightness of the sky that they pierced, nor the softness of the +bloom that they bore: for every sorrow that his heart turned from, +he lost a consolation; for every fear which he dared not confront, +he lost a portion of his hardiness; the unsceptred sweep of the +storm-clouds, the fair freedom of glancing shower and flickering +sunbeam, sank into sweet rectitudes and decent formalisms; and, +before eyes that refused to be dazzled or darkened, the hours of +sunset wreathed their rays unheeded, and the mists of the Apennines +spread their blue veils in vain. + +§ 7. To this inherent shortcoming and narrowness of reach the farther +defect was added, that this work gave no useful representation of the +state of facts in the country which it pretended to contemplate. It was +not only wanting in all the higher elements of beauty, but wholly +unavailable for instruction of any kind beyond that which exists in +pleasurableness of pure emotion. And considering what cost of labor was +devoted to the series of drawings, it could not but be matter for grave +blame, as well as for partial contempt, that a man of amiable feeling +and considerable intellectual power should thus expend his life in the +declaration of his own petty pieties and pleasant reveries, leaving the +burden of human sorrow unwitnessed; and the power of God's judgments +unconfessed; and, while poor Italy lay wounded and moaning at his feet, +pass by, in priestly calm, lest the whiteness of his decent vesture +should be spotted with unhallowed blood. + +§ 8. Of several other forms of Purism I shall have to speak +hereafter, more especially of that exhibited in the landscapes of +the early religious painters; but these examples are enough, for the +present, to show the general principle that the purest ideal, though +in some measure true, in so far as it springs from the true longings +of an earnest mind, is yet necessarily in many things deficient or +blamable, and _always_ an indication of some degree of weakness in +the mind pursuing it. But, on the other hand, it is to be noted that +entire scorn of this purist ideal is the sign of a far greater +weakness. Multitudes of petty artists, incapable of any noble +sensation whatever, but acquainted, in a dim way, with the +technicalities of the schools, mock at the art whose depths they +cannot fathom, and whose motives they cannot comprehend, but of +which they can easily detect the imperfections, and deride the +simplicities. Thus poor fumigatory Fuseli, with an art composed of +the tinsel of the stage and the panics of the nursery, speaks +contemptuously of the name of Angelico as "dearer to sanctity than +to art." And a large portion of the resistance to the noble +Pre-Raphaelite movement of our own days has been offered by men who +suppose the entire function of the artist in this world to consist +in laying on color with a large brush, and surrounding dashes of +flake white with bituminous brown; men whose entire capacities of +brain, soul, and sympathy, applied industriously to the end of their +lives, would not enable them, at last, to paint so much as one of +the leaves of the nettles at the bottom of Hunt's picture of the +Light of the World.[23] + +§ 9. It is finally to be remembered, therefore, that Purism is always +noble when it is _instinctive_. It is not the greatest thing that can +be done, but it is probably the greatest thing that the man who does +it can do, provided it comes from his heart. True, it is a sign of +weakness, but it is not in our choice whether we will be weak or +strong; and there is a certain strength which can only be made perfect +in weakness. If he is working in humility, fear of evil, desire of +beauty, and sincere purity of purpose and thought, he will produce +good and helpful things; but he must be much on his guard against +supposing himself to be greater than his fellows, because he has shut +himself into this calm and cloistered sphere. His only safety lies in +knowing himself to be, on the contrary, _less_ than his fellows, and +in always striving, so far as he can find it in his heart, to extend +his delicate narrowness towards the great naturalist ideal. The whole +group of modern German purists have lost themselves, because they +founded their work not on humility, nor on religion, but on small +self-conceit. Incapable of understanding the great Venetians, or any +other masters of true imaginative power, and having fed what mind they +had with weak poetry and false philosophy, they thought themselves the +best and greatest of artistic mankind, and expected to found a new +school of painting in pious plagiarism and delicate pride. It is +difficult at first to decide which is the more worthless, the +spiritual affectation of the petty German, or the composition and +chiaroscuro of the petty Englishman; on the whole, however, the latter +have lightest weight, for the pseudo-religious painter must, at all +events, pass much of his time in meditation upon solemn subjects, and +in examining venerable models; and may sometimes even cast a little +useful reflected light, or touch the heart with a pleasant echo. + + [22] As noted above in Chap. IV § 20. + + [23] Not that the Pre-Raphaelite is a purist movement, it is stern + naturalist; but its unfortunate opposers, who neither know + what nature is, nor what purism is, have mistaken the simple + nature for morbid purism, and therefore cried out against it. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +OF THE TRUE IDEAL:--SECONDLY, NATURALIST. + + +§ 1. We now enter on the consideration of that central and highest +branch of ideal art which concerns itself simply with things as they +ARE, and accepts, in all of them, alike the evil and the good. The +question is, therefore, how the art which represents things simply as +they are, can be called ideal at all. How does it meet that +requirement stated in Chap. III. § 4, as imperative on all great art, +that it shall be inventive, and a product of the imagination? It meets +it preeminently by that power of arrangement which I have endeavored, +at great length and with great pains, to define accurately in the +chapter on Imagination associative in the second volume. That is to +say, accepting the weaknesses, faults, and wrongnesses in all things +that it sees, it so places and harmonizes them that they form a noble +whole, in which the imperfection of each several part is not only +harmless, but absolutely essential, and yet in which whatever is good +in each several part shall be completely displayed. + +§ 2. This operation of true idealism holds, from the least things to +the greatest. For instance, in the arrangement of the smallest masses +of color, the false idealist, or even the purist, depends upon +perfecting each separate hue, and raises them all, as far as he can, +into costly brilliancy; but the naturalist takes the coarsest and +feeblest colors of the things around him, and so interweaves and +opposes them that they become more lovely than if they had all been +bright. So in the treatment of the human form. The naturalist will +take it as he finds it; but, with such examples as his picture may +rationally admit of more or less exalted beauty, he will associate +inferior forms, so as not only to set off those which are most +beautiful, but to bring out clearly what good there is in the inferior +forms themselves; finally using such measure of absolute evil as +there is commonly in nature, both for teaching and for contrast. + +In Tintoret's Adoration of the Magi, the Madonna is not an enthroned +queen, but a fair girl, full of simplicity and almost childish +sweetness. To her are opposed (as Magi) two of the noblest and most +thoughtful of the Venetian senators in extreme old age,--the utmost +manly dignity, in its decline, being set beside the utmost feminine +simplicity, in its dawn. The steep foreheads and refined features of +the nobles are, again, opposed to the head of a negro servant, and +of an Indian, both, however, noble of their kind. On the other side +of the picture, the delicacy of the Madonna is farther enhanced by +contrast with a largely made farm-servant, leaning on a basket. All +these figures are in repose: outside, the troop of the attendants of +the Magi is seen coming up at the gallop. + +§ 3. I bring forward this picture, observe, not as an example of the +ideal in conception of religious subject, but of the general ideal +treatment of the human form; in which the peculiarity is, that the +beauty of each figure is displayed to the utmost, while yet, taken +separately the Madonna is an unaltered portrait of a Venetian girl, +the Magi are unaltered Venetian Senators, and the figure with the +basket, an unaltered market-woman of Mestre. + +And the greater the master of the ideal, the more perfectly true in +_portraiture_ will his individual figures be always found, the more +subtle and bold his arts of harmony and contrast. This is a universal +principle, common to all great art. Consider, in Shakspere, how Prince +Henry is opposed to Falstaff, Falstaff to Shallow, Titania to Bottom, +Cordelia to Regan, Imogen to Cloten, and so on; while all the meaner +idealists disdain the naturalism, and are shocked at the contrasts. +The fact is, a man who can see truth at all, sees it wholly, and +neither desires nor dares to mutilate it. + +§ 4. It is evident that _within_ this faithful idealism, and as one +branch of it only, will arrange itself the representation of the +human form and mind in perfection, when this perfection is +rationally to be supposed or introduced,--that is to say, in the +highest personages of the story. The careless habit of confining the +term "ideal" to such representations, and not understanding the +imperfect ones to be _equally_ ideal in their place, has greatly +added to the embarrassment and multiplied the errors of artists.[24] +Thersites is just as ideal as Achilles, and Alecto as Helen; and, +what is more, all the nobleness of the beautiful ideal depends upon +its being just as probable and natural as the ugly one, and having +in itself, occasionally or partially, both faults and familiarities. +If the next painter who desires to illustrate the character of +Homer's Achilles, would represent him cutting pork chops for +Ulysses,[25] he would enable the public to understand the Homeric +ideal better than they have done for several centuries. For it is to +be kept in mind that the _naturalist ideal_ has always in it, to the +full, the power expressed by those two words. It is naturalist, +because studied from nature, and ideal, because it is mentally +arranged in a certain manner. Achilles must be represented cutting +pork chops, because that was one of the things which the nature of +Achilles involved his doing: he could not be shown wholly as +Achilles, if he were not shown doing that. But he shall do it at +such time and place as Homer chooses. + +§ 5. Now, therefore, observe the main conclusions which follow from +these two conditions, attached always to art of this kind. First, it +is to be taken straight from nature; it is to be the plain narration +of something the painter or writer saw. Herein is the chief practical +difference between the higher and lower artists; a difference which I +feel more and more every day that I give to the study of art. All the +great men see what they paint before they paint it,--see it in a +perfectly passive manner,--cannot help seeing it if they would; +whether in their mind's eye, or in bodily fact, does not matter; very +often the mental vision is, I believe, in men of imagination, clearer +than the bodily one; but vision it is, of one kind or another,--the +whole scene, character, or incident passing before them as in second +sight, whether they will or no, and requiring them to paint it as they +see it; they not daring, under the might of its presence, to +alter[26] one jot or tittle of it as they write it down or paint it +down; it being to them in its own kind and degree always a true vision +or Apocalypse, and invariably accompanied in their hearts by a feeling +correspondent to the words,--"Write the things _which thou hast seen_, +and the things which _are_." + +And the whole power, whether of painter or poet, to describe rightly +what we call an ideal thing, depends upon its being thus, to him, not +an ideal, but a _real_ thing. No man ever did or ever will work well, +but either from actual sight or sight of faith; and all that we call +ideal in Greek or any other art, because to us it is false and +visionary, was, to the makers of it, true and existent. The heroes of +Phidias are simply representations of such noble human persons as he +every day saw, and the gods of Phidias simply representations of such +noble divine persons as he thoroughly believed to exist, and did in +mental vision truly behold. Hence I said in the second preface to the +Seven Lamps of Architecture: "All great art represents something that +it sees or believes in; nothing unseen or uncredited." + +§ 6. And just because it is always something that it sees or +believes in, there is the peculiar character above noted, almost +unmistakable, in all high and true ideals, of having been as it were +studied from the life, and involving pieces of sudden familiarity, +and close _specific_ painting which never would have been admitted +or even thought of, had not the painter drawn either from the bodily +life or from the life of faith. For instance, Dante's centaur, +Chiron, dividing his beard with his arrow before he can speak, is a +thing that no mortal would ever have thought of, if he had not +actually seen the centaur do it. They might have composed handsome +bodies of men and horses in all possible ways, through a whole life +of pseudo-idealism, and yet never dreamed of any such thing. But the +real living centaur actually trotted across Dante's brain, and he +saw him do it. + +§ 7. And on account of this reality it is, that the great idealists +venture into all kinds of what, to the pseudo-idealists, are +"vulgarities." Nay, _venturing_ is the wrong word; the great men +have no choice in the matter; they do not know or care whether the +things they describe are vulgarities or not. They _saw_ them: they +are the facts of the case. If they had merely composed what they +describe, they would have had it at their will to refuse this +circumstance or add that. But they did not compose it. It came to +them ready fashioned; they were too much impressed by it to think +what was vulgar or not vulgar in it. It might be a very wrong thing +in a centaur to have so much beard; but so it was. And, therefore, +among the various ready tests of true greatness there is not any +more certain than this daring reference to, or use of, mean and +little things--mean and little, that is, to mean and little minds; +but, when used by the great men, evidently part of the noble whole +which is authoritatively present before them. Thus, in the highest +poetry, as partly above noted in the first chapter, there is no word +so familiar but a great man will bring good out of it, or rather, it +will bring good to him, and answer some end for which no other word +would have done equally well. + +§ 8. A common person, for instance, would be mightily puzzled to apply +the word "whelp" to any one with a view of flattering him. There is a +certain freshness and energy in the term, which gives it +agreeableness; but it seems difficult, at first hearing, to use it +complimentarily. If the person spoken of be a prince, the difficulty +seems increased; and when, farther, he is at one and the same moment +to be called a "whelp" and contemplated as a hero, it seems that a +common idealist might well be brought to a pause. But hear Shakspere +do it:-- + + "Invoke his warlike spirit, + And your great uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, + Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, + Making defeat on the full power of France, + While his most mighty father on a hill + Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp + Forage in blood of French nobility." + +So a common idealist would have been rather alarmed at the thought +of introducing the name of a street in Paris--Straw Street--Rue de +Fouarre--into the midst of a description of the highest heavens. Not +so Dante,-- + + "Beyond, thou mayst the flaming lustre scan + Of Isidore, of Bede, and that Richart + Who was in contemplation more than man. + And he, from whom thy looks returning are + To me, a spirit was, that in austere + Deep musings often thought death kept too far. + That is the light eternal of Sigier, + Who while in Rue de Fouarre his days he wore, + Has argued hateful truths in haughtiest ear." CAYLEY. + +What did it matter to Dante, up in heaven there, whether the mob +below thought him vulgar or not! Sigier _had_ read in Straw Street; +that was the fact, and he had to say so, and there an end. + +§ 9. There is, indeed, perhaps, no greater sign of innate and _real_ +vulgarity of mind or defective education than the want of power to +understand the universality of the ideal truth; the absence of +sympathy with the colossal grasp of those intellects, which have in +them so much of divine, that nothing is small to them, and nothing +large; but with equal and unoffended vision they take in the sum of +the world,--Straw Street and the seventh heavens,--in the same +instant. A certain portion of this divine spirit is visible even in +the lower examples of all the true men; it is, indeed, perhaps, the +clearest test of their belonging to the true and great group, that +they are continually touching what to the multitude appear +vulgarities. The higher a man stands, the more the word "vulgar" +becomes unintelligible to him. Vulgar? what, that poor farmer's girl +of William Hunt's, bred in the stable, putting on her Sunday gown, +and pinning her best cap out of the green and red pin-cushion! Not +so; she may be straight on the road to those high heavens, and may +shine hereafter as one of the stars in the firmament for ever. Nay, +even that lady in the satin bodice with her arm laid over a +balustrade to show it, and her eyes turned up to heaven to show +them; and the sportsman waving his rifle for the terror of beasts, +and displaying his perfect dress for the delight of men, are kept, +by the very misery and vanity of them, in the thoughts of a great +painter, at a sorrowful level, somewhat above vulgarity. It is only +when the minor painter takes them on his easel, that they become +things for the universe to be ashamed of. + +We may dismiss this matter of vulgarity in plain and few words, at +least as far as regards art. There is never vulgarity in a _whole_ +truth, however commonplace. It may be unimportant or painful. It +cannot be vulgar. Vulgarity is only in concealment of truth, or in +affectation. + +§ 10. "Well, but," (at this point the reader asks doubtfully,) "if +then your great central idealist is to show all truth, low as well +as lovely, receiving it in this passive way, what becomes of all +your principles of selection, and of setting in the right place, +which you were talking about up to the end of your fourth paragraph? +How is Homer to enforce upon Achilles the cutting of the pork chops +'only at such time as Homer chooses,' if Homer is to have _no_ +choice, but merely to see the thing done, and sing it as he sees +it?" Why, the choice, as well as the vision, is _manifested_ to +Homer. The vision comes to him in its chosen order. Chosen _for_ +him, not _by_ him, but yet full of visible and exquisite choice, +just as a sweet and perfect dream will come to a sweet and perfect +person, so that, in some sense, they may be said to have chosen +their dream, or composed it; and yet they could not help dreaming it +so, and in no other wise. Thus, exactly thus, in all results of true +inventive power, the whole harmony of the thing done seems as if it +had been wrought by the most exquisite rules. But to him who did it, +it presented itself so, and his will, and knowledge, and +personality, for the moment went for nothing; he became simply a +scribe, and wrote what he heard and saw. + +And all efforts to do things of a similar kind by rule or by +thought, and all efforts to mend or rearrange the first order of the +vision, are not inventive; on the contrary, they ignore and deny +invention. If any man, seeing certain forms laid on the canvas, does +by his reasoning power determine that certain changes wrought in +them would mend or enforce them, that is not only uninventive, but +contrary to invention, which must be the involuntary occurrence of +certain forms or fancies to the mind in the order they are to be +portrayed. Thus the knowing of rules and the exertion of judgment +have a tendency to check and confuse the fancy in its flow; so that +it will follow, that, in exact proportion as a master knows anything +about rules of right and wrong, he is likely to be uninventive; and +in exact proportion as he holds higher rank and has nobler +inventive power, he will know less of rules; not despising them, but +simply feeling that between him and them there is nothing in +common,--that dreams cannot be ruled--that as they come, so they +must be caught, and they cannot be caught in any other shape than +that they come in; and that he might as well attempt to rule a +rainbow into rectitude, or cut notches in a moth's wings to hold it +by, as in any wise attempt to modify, by rule, the forms of the +involuntary vision. + +§ 11. And this, which by reason we have thus anticipated, is in +reality universally so. There is no exception. The great men never +know how or why they do things. They have no rules; cannot +comprehend the nature of rules;--do not, usually, even know, in what +they do, what is best or what is worst: to them it is all the same; +something they cannot help saying or doing,--one piece of it as good +as another, and none of it (it seems to _them_) worth much. The +moment any man begins to talk about rules, in whatsoever art, you +may know him for a second-rate man; and, if he talks about them +_much_, he is a third-rate, or not an artist at all. To _this_ rule +there is no exception in any art; but it is perhaps better to be +illustrated in the art of music than in that of painting. I fell by +chance the other day upon a work of De Stendhal's, "Vies de Haydn, +de Mozart, et de Metastase," fuller of common sense than any book I +ever read on the arts; though I see, by the slight references made +occasionally to painting, that the author's knowledge therein is +warped and limited by the elements of general teaching in the +schools around him; and I have not yet, therefore, looked at what he +has separately written on painting. But one or two passages out of +this book on music are closely to our present purpose. + +"Counterpoint is related to mathematics: a fool, with patience, +becomes a respectable savant in that; but for the part of genius, +melody, it has no rules. No art is so utterly deprived of precepts +for the production of the beautiful. So much the better for it and +for us. Cimarosa, when first at Prague his air was executed, Pria +che spunti in ciel l'Aurora, never heard the pedants say to him, +'Your air is fine, because you have followed such and such a rule +established by Pergolese in such an one of his airs; but it would +be finer still if you had conformed yourself to such another rule +from which Galluppi never deviated.'" + +Yes: "so much the better for it, and for us;" but I trust the time +will soon come when melody in painting will be understood, no less +than in music, and when people will find that, there also, the great +melodists have no rules, and cannot have any, and that there are in +this, as in sound, "no precepts for the production of the beautiful." + +§ 12. Again. "Behold, my friend, an example of that simple way of +answering which embarrasses much. One asked him (Haydn) the _reason_ +for a harmony--for a passage's being assigned to one instrument +rather than another; but all he ever answered was, 'I have done it, +because it does well.'" Farther on, De Stendhal relates an anecdote +of Haydn; I believe one well known, but so much to our purpose that +I repeat it. Haydn had agreed to give some lessons in counterpoint +to an English nobleman. "'For our first lesson,' said the pupil, +already learned in the art--drawing at the same time a quatuor of +Haydn's from his pocket, 'for our first lesson may we examine this +quatuor; and will you tell me the reasons of certain modulations, +which I cannot entirely approve because they are contrary to the +principles?' Haydn, a little surprised, declared himself ready to +answer. The nobleman began; and at the very first measures found +matter for objection. Haydn, _who invented habitually_, and who was +the contrary of a pedant, found himself much embarrassed, and +answered always, 'I have done that because it has a good effect. I +have put that passage there because it does well.' The Englishman, +who judged that these answers proved nothing, recommenced his +proofs, and demonstrated to him, by very good reasons, that his +quatuor was good for nothing. 'But, my lord, arrange this quatuor +then to your fancy,--play it so, and you will see which of the two +ways is the best.' 'But why is yours the best which is contrary to +the rules?' 'Because it is the pleasantest.' The nobleman replied. +Haydn at last lost patience, and said, 'I see, my lord, it is you +who have the goodness to give lessons to me, and truly I am forced +to confess to you that I do not deserve the honor.' The partizan of +the rules departed, still astonished that in following the rules to +the letter one cannot infallibly produce a 'Matrimonio Segreto.'" + +This anecdote, whether in all points true or not, is in its tendency +most instructive, except only in that it makes _one_ false inference +or admission, namely, that a good composition can be _contrary_ to +the rules. It may be contrary to certain principles, supposed in +ignorance to be general; but every great composition is in perfect +harmony with all true rules, and involves thousands too delicate for +ear, or eye, or thought, to trace; still it is possible to reason, +with infinite pleasure and profit, about these principles, when the +thing is once done; only, all our reasoning will not enable any one +to do another thing like it, because all reasoning falls infinitely +short of the divine instinct. Thus we may reason wisely over the way +a bee builds its comb, and be profited by finding out certain things +about the angles of it. But the bee knows nothing about those +matters. It builds its comb in a far more inevitable way. And, from +a bee to Paul Veronese, all master-workers work with this awful, +this inspired unconsciousness. + +§ 13. I said just now that there was no exception to _this_ law, +that the great men never knew how or why they did things. It is, of +course, only with caution that such a broad statement should be +made; but I have seen much of different kinds of artists, and I have +always found the knowledge of, and attention to, rules so +_accurately_ in the inverse ratio to the power of the painter, that +I have myself no doubt that the law is constant, and that men's +smallness may be trigonometrically estimated by the attention which, +in their work, they pay to principles, especially principles of +composition. The general way in which the great men speak is of +"_trying_ to do" this or that, just as a child would tell of +something he had seen and could not utter. Thus, in speaking of the +drawing of which I have given an etching farther on (a scene on the +St. Gothard[27]), Turner asked if I had been to see "that litter of +stones which I _endeavored_ to represent;" and William Hunt, when I +asked him one day as he was painting, why he put on such and such a +color, answered, "I don't know; I am just _aiming_ at it;" and +Turner, and he, and all the other men I have known who could paint, +always spoke and speak in the same way; not in any selfish restraint +of their knowledge, but in pure simplicity. While all the men whom I +know, who _cannot_ paint, are ready with admirable reasons for +everything they have done; and can show, in the most conclusive way, +that Turner is wrong, and how he might be improved. + +§ 14. And this is the reason for the somewhat singular, but very +palpable truth that the Chinese, and Indians, and other semi-civilized +nations, can color better than we do, and that an Indian shawl or +Chinese vase are still, in invention of color, inimitable by us. It is +their glorious ignorance of all rules that does it; the pure and true +instincts have play, and do their work,--instincts so subtle, that the +least warping or compression breaks or blunts them; and the moment we +begin teaching people any rules about color, and make them do this or +that, we crush the instinct generally for ever. Hence, hitherto, it has +been an actual necessity, in order to obtain power of coloring, that a +nation should be half-savage: everybody could color in the twelfth and +thirteenth centuries; but we were ruled and legalized into grey in the +fifteenth;--only a little salt simplicity of their sea natures at +Venice still keeping their precious, shellfishy purpleness and power; +and now that is gone; and nobody can color anywhere, except the Hindoos +and Chinese; but that need not be so, and will not be so long; for, in +a little while, people will find out their mistake, and give up talking +about rules of color, and then everybody will color again, as easily as +they now talk. + +§ 15. Such, then, being the generally passive or instinctive character +of right invention, it may be asked how these unmanageable instincts +are to be rendered practically serviceable in historical or poetical +painting,--especially historical, in which given facts are to be +represented. Simply by the sense and self-control of the whole man; +not by control of the particular fancy or vision. He who habituates +himself, in his daily life, to seek for the stern facts in whatever he +hears or sees, will have these facts again brought before him by the +involuntary imaginative power in their noblest associations; and he +who seeks for frivolities and fallacies, will have frivolities and +fallacies again presented to him in his dreams. Thus if, in reading +history for the purpose of painting from it, the painter severely +seeks for the accurate circumstances of every event; as, for instance, +determining the exact spot of ground on which his hero fell, the way +he must have been looking at the moment, the height the sun was at (by +the hour of the day), and the way in which the light must have fallen +upon his face, the actual number and individuality of the persons by +him at the moment, and such other veritable details, ascertaining and +dwelling upon them without the slightest care for any desirableness or +poetic propriety in them, but for their own truth's sake; then these +truths will afterwards rise up and form the body of his imaginative +vision, perfected and united as his inspiration may teach. But if, in +reading the history, he does not regard these facts, but thinks only +how it might all most prettily, and properly, and impressively have +happened, then there is nothing but prettiness and propriety to form +the body of his future imagination, and his whole ideal becomes false. +So, in the higher or expressive part of the work, the whole virtue of +it depends on his being able to quit his own personality, and enter +successively into the hearts and thoughts of each person; and in all +this he is still passive: in gathering the truth he is passive, not +determining what the truth to be gathered shall be; and in the after +vision he is passive, not determining, but as his dreams will have it, +what the truth to be represented shall be; only according to his own +nobleness is his power of entering into the hearts of noble persons, +and the general character of his dream of them.[28] + +§ 16. It follows from all this, evidently, that a great idealist +never can be egotistic. The whole of his power depends upon his +losing sight and feeling of his own existence, and becoming a mere +witness and mirror of truth, and a scribe of visions,--always +passive in sight, passive in utterance,--lamenting continually that +he cannot completely reflect nor clearly utter all he has seen. Not +by any means a proud state for a man to be in. But the man who has +no invention is always setting things in order, and putting the +world to rights, and mending, and beautifying, and pluming himself +on his doings as supreme in all ways. + +§ 17. There is still the question open, What are the principal +directions in which this ideal faculty is to exercise itself most +usefully for mankind? + +This question, however, is not to the purpose of our present work, +which respects landscape-painting only; it must be one of those left +open to the reader's thoughts, and for future inquiry in another +place. One or two essential points I briefly notice. + +In Chap. IV. § 5. it was said, that one of the first functions of +imagination was traversing the scenes of history, and forcing the +facts to become again visible. But there is so little of such force +in written history, that it is no marvel there should be none +hitherto in painting. There does not exist, as far as I know, in the +world a single example of a good historical picture (that is to say, +of one which, allowing for necessary dimness in art as compared with +nature, yet answers nearly the same ends in our minds as the sight +of the real event would have answered); the reason being, the +universal endeavor to get _effects_ instead of facts, already shown +as the root of false idealism. True historical ideal, founded on +sense, correctness of knowledge, and purpose of usefulness, does not +yet exist; the production of it is a task which the closing +nineteenth century may propose to itself. + +§ 18. Another point is to be observed. I do not, as the reader may +have lately perceived, insist on the distinction between historical +and poetical painting, because, as noted in the 22nd paragraph of +the third chapter, all great painting must be both. + +Nevertheless, a certain distinction must generally exist between men +who, like Horace Vernet, David, or Domenico Tintoret, would employ +themselves in painting, more or less graphically, the outward +verities of passing events--battles, councils, &c.--of their day +(who, supposing them to work worthily of their mission, would +become, properly so called, historical or narrative painters); and +men who sought, in scenes of perhaps less outward importance, "noble +grounds for noble emotion;"--who would be, in a certain separate +sense, _poetical_ painters, some of them taking for subjects events +which had actually happened, and others themes from the poets; or, +better still, becoming poets themselves in the entire sense, and +inventing the story as they painted it. Painting seems to me only +just to be beginning, in this sense also, to take its proper +position beside literature, and the pictures of the "Awakening +Conscience," "Huguenot," and such others, to be the first fruits of +its new effort. + +§ 19. Finally, as far as I can observe, it is a constant law that +the greatest men, whether poets or historians, live entirely in +their own age, and that the greatest fruits of their work are +gathered out of their own age. Dante paints Italy in the thirteenth +century; Chaucer, England in the fourteenth; Masaccio, Florence in +the fifteenth; Tintoret, Venice in the sixteenth;--all of them +utterly regardless of anachronism and minor error of every kind, but +getting always vital truth out of the vital present. + +§ 20. If it be said that Shakspere wrote perfect historical plays on +subjects belonging to the preceding centuries, I answer, that they +_are_ perfect plays just because there is no care about centuries in +them, but a life which all men recognise for the human life of all +time; and this it is, not because Shakspere sought to give universal +truth, but because, painting honestly and completely from the men +about him, he painted that human nature which is, indeed, constant +enough,--a rogue in the fifteenth century being, _at heart_, what a +rogue is in the nineteenth and was in the twelfth; and an honest or +a knightly man being, in like manner, very similar to other such at +any other time. And the work of these great idealists is, therefore, +always universal; not because it is _not portrait_, but because it +is _complete_ portrait down to the heart, which is the same in all +ages: and the work of the mean idealists is _not_ universal, not +because it is portrait, but because it is _half_ portrait,--of the +outside, the manners and the dress, not of the heart. Thus Tintoret +and Shakspere paint, both of them, simply Venetian and English +nature as they saw it in their time, down to the root; and it does +for _all_ time; but as for any care to cast themselves into the +particular ways and tones of thought, or custom, of past time in +their historical work, you will find it in neither of them, nor in +any other perfectly great man that I know of. + +§ 21. If there had been no vital truth in their present, it is hard to +say what these men could have done. I suppose, primarily, they would +not have existed; that they, and the matter they have to treat of, are +given together, and that the strength of the nation and its historians +correlatively rise and fall--Herodotus springing out of the dust of +Marathon. It is also hard to say how far our better general +acquaintance with minor details of past history may make us able to +turn the shadow on the imaginative dial backwards, and naturally to +live, and even live strongly if we choose, in past periods; but this +main truth will always be unshaken, that the only historical painting +deserving the name is portraiture of our own living men and our own +passing times,[29] and that all efforts to summon up the events of +bygone periods, though often useful and touching, must come under an +inferior class of poetical painting; nor will it, I believe, ever be +much followed as their main work by the strongest men, but only by the +weaker and comparatively sentimental (rather than imaginative) groups. +This marvellous first half of the nineteenth century has in this +matter, as in nearly all others, been making a double blunder. It has, +under the name of improvement, done all it could to EFFACE THE RECORDS +which departed ages have left of themselves, while it has declared the +FORGERY OF FALSE RECORDS of these same ages to be the great work of +its historical painters! I trust that in a few years more we shall +come somewhat to our senses in the matter, and begin to perceive that +our duty is to preserve what the past has had to say for itself, and +to say for ourselves also what shall be true for the future. Let us +strive, with just veneration for that future, first to do what is +worthy to be spoken, and then to speak it faithfully; and, with +veneration for the past, recognize that it is indeed in the power of +love to preserve the monument, but not of incantation to raise the +dead. + + [24] The word "ideal" is used in this limited sense in the chapter + on Generic Beauty in the second volume, but under protest. + See § 4 in that chapter. + + [25] II. ix. 209. + + [26] "And yet you have just said it shall be at such time and + place as Homer chooses. Is not this _altering_?" No; wait a + little, and read on. + + [27] See Plate XXI. in Chap. III. Vol. IV. + + [28] The reader should, of course, refer for further details on + this subject to the chapters on Imagination in Vol. II., of + which I am only glancing now at the practical results. + + [29] See Edinburgh Lectures, p. 217. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +OF THE TRUE IDEAL: THIRDLY, GROTESQUE. + + +§ 1. I have already, in the Stones of Venice, had occasion to +analyze, as far as I was able, the noble nature and power of +grotesque conception; I am not sorry occasionally to refer the +reader to that work, the fact being that it and this are parts of +one whole, divided merely as I had occasion to follow out one or +other of its branches; for I have always considered architecture as +an essential part of landscape; and I think the study of its best +styles and real meaning one of the necessary functions of the +landscape-painter; as, in like manner, the architect cannot be a +master-workman until all his designs are guided by understanding of +the wilder beauty of pure nature. But, be this as it may, the +discussion of the grotesque element belonged most properly to the +essay on architecture, in which that element must always find its +fullest development. + +§ 2. The Grotesque is in that chapter[30] divided principally into +three kinds: + +(A). Art arising from healthful but irrational play of the +imagination in times of rest. + +(B). Art arising from irregular and accidental contemplation of +terrible things; or evil in general. + +(C). Art arising from the confusion of the imagination by the +presence of truths which it cannot wholly grasp. + +It is the central form of this art, arising from contemplation of +evil, which forms the link of connection between it and the +sensualist ideals, as pointed out above in the second paragraph of +the sixth chapter, the fact being that the imagination, when at +play, is curiously like bad children, and likes to play with fire; +in its entirely serious moods it dwells by preference on beautiful +and sacred images, but in its mocking or playful moods it is apt to +jest, sometimes bitterly, with undercurrent of sternest pathos, +sometimes waywardly, sometimes slightly and wickedly, with death and +sin; hence an enormous mass of grotesque art, some most noble and +useful, as Holbein's Dance of Death, and Albert Durer's Knight and +Death,[31] going down gradually through various conditions of less +and less seriousness into an art whose only end is that of mere +excitement, or amusement by terror, like a child making mouths at +another, more or less redeemed by the degree of wit or fancy in the +grimace it makes, as in the demons of Teniers and such others; and, +lower still, in the demonology of the stage. + +§ 3. The form arising from an entirely healthful and open play of +the imagination, as in Shakspere's Ariel and Titania, and in Scott's +White Lady, is comparatively rare. It hardly ever is free from some +slight taint of the inclination to evil; still more rarely is it, +when so free, natural to the mind; for the moment we begin to +contemplate sinless beauty we are apt to get serious; and moral +fairy tales, and such other innocent work, are hardly ever truly, +that is to say, naturally imaginative; but for the most part +laborious inductions and compositions. The moment any real vitality +enters them, they are nearly sure to become satirical, or slightly +gloomy, and so connect themselves with the evil-enjoying branch. + +§ 4. The third form of the Grotesque is a thoroughly noble one. It +is that which arises out of the use or fancy of tangible signs to +set forth an otherwise less expressible truth; including nearly the +whole range of symbolical and allegorical art and poetry. Its +nobleness has been sufficiently insisted upon in the place before +referred to. (Chapter on Grotesque Renaissance, §§ LXIII. LXIV. &c.) +Of its practical use, especially in painting, deeply despised among +us, because grossly misunderstood, a few words must be added here. + +A fine grotesque is the expression, in a moment, by a series of +symbols thrown together in bold and fearless connection, of truths +which it would have taken a long time to express in any verbal way, +and of which the connection is left for the beholder to work out +for himself; the gaps, left or overleaped by the haste of the +imagination, forming the grotesque character. + +§ 5. For instance, Spenser desires to tell us, (1.) that envy is the +most untamable and unappeasable of the passions, not to be soothed +by any kindness; (2.) that with continual labor it invents evil +thoughts out of its own heart; (3.) that even in this, its power of +doing harm is partly hindered by the decaying and corrupting nature +of the evil it lives in; (4.) that it looks every way, and that +whatever it sees is altered and discolored by its own nature; (5.) +which discoloring, however, is to it a veil, or disgraceful dress, +in the sight of others; (6.) and that it never is free from the most +bitter suffering, (7.) which cramps all its acts and movements, +enfolding and crushing it while it torments. All this it has +required a somewhat long and languid sentence for me to say in +unsymbolical terms,--not, by the way, that they _are_ unsymbolical +altogether, for I have been forced, whether I would or not, to use +_some_ figurative words; but even with this help the sentence is +long and tiresome, and does not with any vigor represent the truth. +It would take some prolonged enforcement of each sentence to make it +felt, in ordinary ways of talking. But Spenser puts it all into a +grotesque, and it is done shortly and at once, so that we feel it +fully, and see it, and never forget it. I have numbered above the +statements which had to be made. I now number them with the same +numbers, as they occur in the several pieces of the grotesque:-- + + "And next to him malicious Envy rode + (1.) Upon a ravenous wolfe, and (2. 3.) still did chaw + Between his cankred[32] teeth a venemous tode + That all the poison ran about his jaw. + (4. 5.) All in a kirtle of discolourd say + He clothed was, y-paynted full of eies; + (6.) And in his bosome secretly there lay + An hatefull snake, the which his tail uptyes + (7.) In many folds, and mortall sting implyes." + +There is the whole thing in nine lines; or, rather, in one image, +which will hardly occupy any room at all on the mind's shelves, but +can be lifted out, whole, whenever we want it. All noble grotesques +are concentrations of this kind, and the noblest convey truths +which nothing else could convey; and not only so, but convey them, +in minor cases with a delightfulness,--in the higher instances with +an awfulness,--which no mere utterance of the symbolised truth would +have possessed, but which belongs to the effort of the mind to +unweave the riddle, or to the sense it has of there being an +infinite power and meaning in the thing seen, beyond all that is +apparent therein, giving the highest sublimity even to the most +trivial object so presented and so contemplated. + + "'Jeremiah, what seest thou?' + 'I see a seething pot, and the face thereof is toward the north, + 'Out of the north an evil shall break forth upon all the + inhabitants of the land.'" + +And thus in all ages and among all nations, grotesque idealism has +been the element through which the most appalling and eventful truth +has been wisely conveyed, from the most sublime words of true +Revelation, to the [Greek: "all' hot' an Hêmionos basileus,"] &c., of +the oracles, and the more or less doubtful teaching of dreams; and so +down to ordinary poetry. No element of imagination has a wider range, +a more magnificent use, or so colossal a grasp of sacred truth. + +§ 6. How, then, is this noble power best to be employed in the art +of painting? + +We hear it not unfrequently asserted that symbolism or +personification should not be introduced in painting at all. Such +assertions are in their grounds unintelligible, and in their +substance absurd. Whatever is in words described as visible, may +with all logical fitness[33] be rendered so by colors, and not only +is this a legitimate branch of ideal art, but I believe there is +hardly any other so widely useful and instructive; and I heartily +wish that every great allegory which the poets ever invented were +powerfully put on canvas, and easily accessible by all men, and that +our artists were perpetually exciting themselves to invent more. And +as far as authority bears on the question, the simple fact is that +allegorical painting has been the delight of the greatest men and of +the wisest multitudes, from the beginning of art, and will be till +art expires. Orcagua's Triumph of Death; Simon Memmi's frescoes in +the Spanish Chapel; Giotto's principal works at Assisi, and partly +at the Arena; Michael Angelo's two best statues, the Night and Day; +Albert Durer's noble Melancholy, and hundreds more of his best +works; a full third, I should think, of the works of Tintoret and +Veronese, and nearly as large a portion of those of Raphael and +Rubens, are entirely symbolical or personifiant; and, except in the +case of the last-named painter, are always among the most +interesting works the painters executed. The greater and more +thoughtful the artists, the more they delight in symbolism, and the +more fearlessly they employ it. Dead symbolism, second-hand +symbolism, pointless symbolism, are indeed objectionable enough; but +so are most other things that are dead, second-hand, and pointless. +It is also true that both symbolism and personification are somewhat +more apt than most things to have their edges taken off by too much +handling; and what with our modern Fames, Justices, and various +metaphorical ideals, largely used for signs and other such purposes, +there is some excuse for our not well knowing what the real power of +personification is. But that power is gigantic and inexhaustible, +and ever to be grasped with peculiar joy by the painter, because it +permits him to introduce picturesque elements and flights of fancy +into his work, which otherwise would be utterly inadmissible; to +bring the wild beasts of the desert into the room of state, fill the +air with inhabitants as well as the earth, and render the least +(visibly) interesting incidents themes for the most thrilling drama. +Even Tintoret might sometimes have been hard put to it, when he had +to fill a large panel in the Ducal Palace with the portrait of a +nowise interesting Doge, unless he had been able to lay a winged +lion beside him, ten feet long from the nose to the tail, asleep +upon the Turkey carpet; and Rubens could certainly have made his +flatteries of Mary of Medicis palatable to no one but herself, +without the help of rosy-cheeked goddesses of abundance, and +seven-headed hydras of rebellion. + +§ 7. For observe, not only does the introduction of these imaginary +beings permit greater fantasticism of _incident_, but also infinite +fantasticism of _treatment_; and, I believe, so far from the pursuit +of the false ideal having in any wise exhausted the realms of +fantastic imagination, those realms have hardly yet been entered, and +that a universe of noble dream-land lies before us, yet to be +conquered. For, hitherto, when fantastic creatures have been +introduced, either the masters have been so realistic in temper that +they made the spirits as substantial as their figures of flesh and +blood,--as Rubens, and, for the most part, Tintoret; or else they have +been weak and unpractised in realization, and have painted transparent +or cloudy spirits because they had no power of painting grand ones. +But if a really great painter, thoroughly capable of giving +substantial truth, and master of the elements of pictorial effect +which have been developed by modern art, would solemnly, and yet +fearlessly, cast his fancy free in the spiritual world, and faithfully +follow out such masters of that world as Dante and Spenser, there +seems no limit to the splendor of thought which painting might +express. Consider, for instance, how the ordinary personifications of +Charity oscillate between the mere nurse of many children, of +Reynolds, and the somewhat painfully conceived figure with flames +issuing from the heart, of Giotto; and how much more significance +might be given to the representation of Love, by amplifying with +tenderness the thought of Dante, "Tanta rossa, che a pena fora dentro +al foco nota,"[34] that is to say, by representing the loveliness of +her face and form as all flushed with glow of crimson light, and, as +she descended through heaven, all its clouds colored by her presence +as they are by sunset. In the hands of a feeble painter, such an +attempt would end in mere caricature; but suppose it taken up by +Correggio, adding to his power of flesh-painting the (not +inconsistent) feeling of Angelico in design, and a portion of Turner's +knowledge of the clouds. There is nothing impossible in such a +conjunction as this. Correggio, trained in another school, might have +even himself shown some such extent of grasp; and in Turner's picture +of the dragon of the Hesperides, Jason, vignette to Voyage of Columbus +("Slowly along the evening sky they went"), and such others, as well +as in many of the works of Watts and Rosetti, is already visible, as I +trust, the dawn of a new era of art, in a true unison of the grotesque +with the realistic power. + +§ 8. There is, however, unquestionably, a severe limit, in the case +of all inferior masters, to the degree in which they may venture to +realize grotesque conception, and partly, also, a limit in the +nature of the thing itself, there being many grotesque ideas which +may be with safety suggested dimly by words or slight lines, but +which will hardly bear being painted into perfect definiteness. It +is very difficult, in reasoning on this matter, to divest ourselves +of the prejudices which have been forced upon us by the base +grotesque of men like Bronzino, who, having no true imagination, are +apt, more than others, to try by startling realism to enforce the +monstrosity that has no terror in itself. But it is nevertheless +true, that, unless in the hands of the very greatest men, the +grotesque seems better to be expressed merely in line, or light and +shade, or mere abstract color, so as to mark it for a thought rather +than a substantial fact. Even if Albert Durer had perfectly painted +his Knight and Death, I question if we should feel it so great a +thought as we do in the dark engraving. Blake, perfectly powerful in +the etched grotesque of the book of Job, fails always more or less +as soon as he adds color; not merely for want of power (his eye for +color being naturally good), but because his subjects seem, in a +sort, insusceptible of completion; and the two inexpressibly noble +and pathetic woodcut grotesques of Alfred Rethel's, Death the +Avenger, and Death the Friend, could not, I think, but with +disadvantage, be advanced into pictorial color. + +And what is thus doubtfully true of the pathetic grotesque, is +assuredly and always true of the jesting grotesque. So far as it +expresses any transient flash of wit or satire, the less labor of +line, or color, given to its expression the better; elaborate +jesting being always intensely painful. + +§ 9. For these several reasons, it seems not only permissible, but +even desirable, that the art by which the grotesque is expressed +should be more or less imperfect, and this seems a most beneficial +ordinance as respects the human race in general. For the grotesque +being not only a most forceful instrument of teaching, but a most +natural manner of expression, springing as it does at once from any +tendency to playfulness in minds highly comprehensive of truth; and +being also one of the readiest ways in which such satire or wit as +may be possessed by men of any inferior rank of mind can be for +perpetuity expressed, it becomes on all grounds desirable that what +is suggested in times of play should be rightly sayable without +toil; and what occurs to men of inferior power or knowledge, sayable +without any high degree of skill. Hence it is an infinite good to +mankind when there is full acceptance of the grotesque, slightly +sketched or expressed; and, if field for such expression be frankly +granted, an enormous mass of intellectual power is turned to +everlasting use, which, in this present century of ours, evaporates +in street gibing or vain revelling; all the good wit and satire +expiring in daily talk, (like foam on wine,) which in the thirteenth +and fourteenth centuries had a permitted and useful expression in +the arts of sculpture and illumination, like foam fixed into +chalcedony. It is with a view (not the least important among many +others bearing upon art) to the reopening of this great field of +human intelligence, long entirely closed, that I am striving to +introduce Gothic architecture into daily domestic use; and to revive +the art of illumination, properly so called; not the art of +miniature-painting in books, or on vellum, which has ridiculously +been confused with it; but of making _writing_, simple writing, +beautiful to the eye, by investing it with the great chord of +perfect color, blue, purple, scarlet, white, and gold, and in that +chord of color, permitting the continual play of the fancy of the +writer in every species of grotesque imagination, carefully +excluding shadow; the distinctive difference between illumination +and painting proper, being, that illumination admits _no_ shadows, +but only gradations of pure color. And it is in this respect that +illumination is specially fitted for grotesque expression; for, when +I used the term "_pictorial_ color," just now, in speaking of the +completion of the grotesque of Death the Avenger, I meant to +distinguish such color from the abstract, shadeless hues which are +eminently fitted for grotesque thought. The requirement, respecting +the slighter grotesque, is only that it shall be _incompletely_ +expressed. It may have light and shade without color (as in etching +and sculpture), or color without light and shade (illumination), but +must not, except in the hands of the greatest masters, have both. +And for some conditions of the playful grotesque, the abstract +color is a much more delightful element of expression than the +abstract light and shade. + +§ 10. Such being the manifold and precious uses of the true +grotesque, it only remains for us to note carefully how it is to be +distinguished from the false and vicious grotesque which results +from idleness, instead of noble rest; from malice, instead of the +solemn contemplation of necessary evil; and from general degradation +of the human spirit, instead of its subjection, or confusion, by +thoughts too high for it. It is easy for the reader to conceive how +different the fruits of two such different states of mind _must_ be; +and yet how like in many respects, and apt to be mistaken, one for +the other;--how the jest which springs from mere fatuity, and vacant +want of penetration or purpose, is everlastingly, infinitely, +separated from, and yet may sometimes be mistaken for, the bright, +playful, fond, far-sighted jest of Plato, or the bitter, purposeful, +sorrowing jest of Aristophanes; how, again, the horror which springs +from guilty love of foulness and sin, may be often mistaken for the +inevitable horror which a great mind must sometimes feel in the full +and penetrative sense of their presence;--how, finally, the vague +and foolish inconsistencies of undisciplined dream or reverie may be +mistaken for the compelled inconsistencies of thoughts too great to +be well sustained, or clearly uttered. It is easy, I say, to +understand what a difference there must indeed be between these; and +yet how difficult it may be always to define it, or lay down laws +for the discovery of it, except by the just instinct of minds set +habitually in all things to discern right from wrong. + +§ 11. Nevertheless, one good and characteristic instance may be of +service in marking the leading directions in which the contrast is +discernible. On the opposite page, Plate I., I have put, beside each +other, a piece of true grotesque, from the Lombard-Gothic, and of +false grotesque from classical (Roman) architecture. They are both +griffins; the one on the left carries on his back one of the main +pillars of the porch of the cathedral of Verona; the one on the +right is on the frieze of the temple of Antoninus and Faustina at +Rome, much celebrated by Renaissance and bad modern architects. + +In some respects, however, this classical griffin deserves its +reputation. It is exceedingly fine in lines of composition, and, I +believe (I have not examined the original closely), very exquisite +in execution. For these reasons, it is all the better for our +purpose. I do not want to compare the worst false grotesque with the +best true, but rather, on the contrary, the best false with the +simplest true, in order to see how the delicately wrought lie fails +in the presence of the rough truth; for rough truth in the present +case it is, the Lombard sculpture being altogether untoward and +imperfect in execution.[35] + +§ 12. "Well, but," the reader says, "what do you mean by calling +_either_ of them true? There never were such beasts in the world as +either of these?" + +No, never: but the difference is, that the Lombard workman did +really see a griffin in his imagination, and carved it from the +life, meaning to declare to all ages that he had verily seen with +his immortal eyes such a griffin as that; but the classical workman +never saw a griffin at all, nor anything else; but put the whole +thing together by line and rule. + +§ 13. "How do you know that?" + +Very easily. Look at the two, and think over them. You know a +griffin is a beast composed of lion and eagle. The classical workman +set himself to fit these together in the most ornamental way +possible. He accordingly carves a sufficiently satisfactory lion's +body, then attaches very gracefully cut wings to the sides: then, +because he cannot get the eagle's head on the broad lion's +shoulders, fits the two together by something like a horse's neck +(some griffins being wholly composed of a horse and eagle), then, +finding the horse's neck look weak and unformidable, he strengthens +it by a series of bosses, like vertebrae, in front, and by a series +of spiny cusps, instead of a mane, on the ridge; next, not to lose +the whole leonine character about the neck, he gives a remnant of +the lion's beard, turned into a sort of griffin's whisker, and +nicely curled and pointed; then an eye, probably meant to look grand +and abstracted, and therefore neither lion's nor eagle's; and, +finally, an eagle's beak, very sufficiently studied from a real +one. The whole head being, it seems to him, still somewhat wanting +in weight and power, he brings forward the right wing behind it, so +as to enclose it with a broad line. This is the finest thing in the +composition, and very masterly, both in thought, and in choice of +the exactly right point where the lines of wing and beak should +intersect (and it may be noticed in passing, that all men, who can +compose at all, have this habit of encompassing or governing broken +lines with broad ones, wherever it is possible, of which we shall +see many instances hereafter). The whole griffin, thus gracefully +composed, being, nevertheless, when all is done, a very composed +griffin, is set to very quiet work, and raising his left foot, to +balance his right wing, sets it on the tendril of a flower so +lightly as not even to bend it down, though, in order to reach it, +his left leg is made half as long again as his right. + +§ 14. We may be pretty sure, if the carver had ever seen a griffin, +he would have reported of him as doing something else than _that_ +with his feet. Let us see what the Lombardic workman saw him doing. + +Remember, first, the griffin, though part lion and part eagle, has +the united _power of both_. He is not merely a bit of lion and a bit +of eagle, but whole lion, incorporate with whole eagle. So when we +really see one, we may be quite sure we shall not find him wanting +in anything necessary to the might either of beast or bird. + +Well, among things essential to the might of a lion, perhaps, on the +whole, the most essential are his _teeth_. He could get on pretty +well even without his claws, usually striking his prey down with a +blow, woundless; but he could by no means get on without his teeth. +Accordingly, we see that the real or Lombardic griffin has the +carnivorous teeth bare to the root, and the peculiar hanging of the +jaw at the back, which marks the flexible and gaping mouth of the +devouring tribes. + +Again; among things essential to the might of an eagle, next to his +wings (which are of course prominent in both examples), are his +_claws_. It is no use his being able to tear anything with his beak, +if he cannot first hold it in his claws; he has comparatively no +leonine power of striking with his feet, but a magnificent power of +grip with them. Accordingly, we see that the real griffin, while his +feet are heavy enough to strike like a lion's, has them also +extended far enough to give them the eagle's grip with the back +claw; and has, moreover, some of the bird-like wrinkled skin over +the whole foot, marking this binding power the more; and that he has +besides verily got something to hold with his feet, other than a +flower, of which more presently. + +§ 15. Now observe, the Lombardic workman did not do all this because +he had thought it out, as you and I are doing together; he never +thought a bit about it. He simply saw the beast; saw it as plainly +as you see the writing on this page, and of course could not be +wrong in anything he told us of it. + +Well, what more does he tell us? Another thing, remember, essential +to an eagle is that it should fly _fast_. It is no use its having +wings at all if it is to be impeded in the use of them. Now it would +be difficult to impede him more thoroughly than by giving him two +cocked ears to catch the wind. + +Look, again, at the two beasts. You see the false griffin _has_ them +so set, and, consequently, as he flew, there would be a continual +humming of the wind on each side of his head, and he would have an +infallible earache when he got home. But the real griffin has his +ears flat to his head, and all the hair of them blown back, even to +a point, by his fast flying, and the aperture is downwards, that he +may hear anything going on upon the earth, where his prey is. In the +false griffin the aperture is upwards. + +§ 16. Well, what more? As he is made up of the natures of lion and +eagle, we may be very certain that a real griffin is, on the whole, +fond of eating, and that his throat will look as if he occasionally +took rather large pieces, besides being flexible enough to let him +bend and stretch his head in every direction as he flies. + +Look, again, at the two beasts. You see the false one has got those +bosses upon his neck like vertebrae, which must be infinitely in his +way when he is swallowing, and which are evidently inseparable, so +that he cannot _stretch_ his neck any more than a horse. But the +real griffin is all loose about the neck, evidently being able to +make it almost as much longer as he likes; to stretch and bend it +anywhere, and swallow anything, besides having some of the grand +strength of the bull's dewlap in it when at rest. + +§ 17. What more? Having both lion and eagle in him, it is probable +that the real griffin will have an infinite look of repose as well +as power of activity. One of the notablest things about a lion is +his magnificent _indolence_, his look of utter disdain of trouble +when there is no occasion for it; as, also, one of the notablest +things about an eagle is his look of inevitable vigilance, even when +quietest. Look, again, at the two beasts. You see the false griffin +is quite sleepy and dead in the eye, thus contradicting his eagle's +nature, but is putting himself to a great deal of unnecessary +trouble with his paws, holding one in a most painful position merely +to touch a flower, and bearing the whole weight of his body on the +other, thus contradicting his lion's nature. + +But the real griffin is primarily, with his eagle's nature, wide +awake; evidently quite ready for whatever may happen; and with his +lion's nature, laid all his length on his belly, prone and +ponderous; his two paws as simply put out before him as a drowsy +puppy's on a drawingroom hearth-rug; not but that he has got +something to do with them, worthy of such paws; but he takes not one +whit more trouble about it than is absolutely necessary. He has +merely got a poisonous winged dragon to hold, and for such a little +matter as that, he may as well do it lying down and at his ease, +looking out at the same time for any other piece of work in his way. +He takes the dragon by the middle, one paw under the wing, another +above, gathers him up into a knot, puts two or three of his claws +well into his back, crashing through the scales of it and wrinkling +all the flesh up from the wound, flattens him down against the +ground, and so lets him do what he likes. The dragon tries to bite +him, but can only bring his head round far enough to get hold of his +own wing, which he bites in agony instead; flapping the griffin's +dewlap with it, and wriggling his tail up against the griffin's +throat; the griffin being, as to these minor proceedings, entirely +indifferent, sure that the dragon's body cannot drag itself one +hair's breadth off those ghastly claws, and that its head can do no +harm but to itself. + +§ 18. Now observe how in all this, through every separate part and +action of the creature, the imagination is _always_ right. It +evidently _cannot_ err; it meets every one of our requirements +respecting the griffin as simply as if it were gathering up the +bones of the real creature out of some ancient rock. It does not +itself know or care, any more than the peasant laboring with his +spade and axe, what is wanted to meet our theories or fancies. It +knows simply what is there, and brings out the positive creature, +errorless, unquestionable. So it is throughout art, and in all that +the imagination does; if anything be wrong it is not the +imagination's fault, but some inferior faculty's, which would have +its foolish say in the matter, and meddled with the imagination, and +said, the bones ought to be put together tail first, or upside down. + +§ 19. This, however, we need not be amazed at, because the very +essence of the imagination is already defined to be the seeing to +the heart; and it is not therefore wonderful that it should never +err; but it is wonderful, on the other hand, how the composing +legalism does _nothing else_ than err. One would have thought that, +by mere chance, in this or the other element of griffin, the +griffin-composer might have struck out a truth; that he might have +had the luck to set the ears back, or to give some grasp to the +claw. But, no; from beginning to end it is evidently impossible for +him to be anything but wrong; his whole soul is instinct with lies; +no veracity can come within hail of him; to him, all regions of +right and life are for ever closed. + +§ 20. And another notable point is, that while the imagination +receives truth in this simple way, it is all the while receiving +statutes of composition also, far more noble than those for the sake +of which the truth was lost by the legalist. The ornamental lines in +the classical griffin appear at first finer than in the other; but +they only appear so because they are more commonplace and more +palpable. The subtlety of the sweeping and rolling curves in the +real griffin, the way they waver and change and fold, down the neck, +and along the wing, and in and out among the serpent coils, is +incomparably grander, merely as grouping of ornamental line, than +anything in the other; nor is it fine as ornamental only, but as +massively useful, giving weight of stone enough to answer the +entire purpose of pedestal sculpture. Note, especially, the +insertion of the three plumes of the dragon's broken wing in the +outer angle, just under the large coil of his body; this filling of +the gap being one of the necessities, not of the pedestal block +merely, but a means of getting mass and breadth, which all composers +desire more or less, but which they seldom so perfectly accomplish. + +So that taking the truth first, the honest imagination gains +everything; it has its griffinism, and grace, and usefulness, all at +once: but the false composer, caring for nothing but himself and his +rules, loses everything,--griffinism, grace, and all. + +§ 21. I believe the reader will now sufficiently see how the terms +"true" and "false" are in the most accurate sense attachable to the +opposite branches of what might appear at first, in both cases, the +merest wildness of inconsistent reverie. But they are even to be +attached, in a deeper sense than that in which we have hitherto used +them, to these two compositions. For the imagination hardly ever +works in this intense way, unencumbered by the inferior faculties, +unless it be under the influence of some solemn purpose or +sentiment. And to all the falseness and all the verity of these two +ideal creatures this farther falsehood and verity have yet to be +added, that the classical griffin has, at least in this place, no +other intent than that of covering a level surface with entertaining +form; but the Lombardic griffin is a profound expression of the most +passionate symbolism. Under its eagle's wings are two wheels,[36] +which mark it as connected, in the mind of him who wrought it, with +the living creatures of the vision of Ezekiel: "When they went, the +wheels went by them, and whithersoever the spirit was to go, they +went, and the wheels were lifted up over against them, for the +spirit of the living creatures was in the wheels." Thus signed, the +winged shape becomes at once one of the acknowledged symbols of the +Divine power; and, in its unity of lion and eagle, the workman of +the middle ages always means to set forth the unity of the human and +divine natures,[37] In this unity it bears up the pillars of the +Church, set for ever as the corner stone. And the faithful and +true imagination beholds it, in this unity, with everlasting +vigilance and calm omnipotence, restrain the seed of the serpent +crushed upon the earth; leaving the head of it free, only for a +time, that it may inflict in its fury profounder destruction upon +itself,--in this also full of deep meaning. The Divine power does +not slay the evil creature. It wounds and restrains it only. Its +final and _deadly_ wound is inflicted by itself. + +[Illustration: 1. True and False Griffins. Mediæval. Classical.] + + [30] On the Grotesque Renaissance, vol. iii. + + [31] See Appendix I. Vol. IV. "Modern Grotesque." + + [32] Cankred--because he cannot then bite hard. + + [33] Though, perhaps, only in a subordinate degree. See farther + on, § 8. + + [34] "So red, that in the midst of the fire she could hardly have + been seen." + + [35] If there be any inaccuracy in the right-hand griffin, I am + sorry, but am not answerable for it, as the plate has been + faithfully reduced from a large French lithograph, the best I + could find. The other is from a sketch of my own. + + [36] At the extremities of the wings,--not seen in the plate. + + [37] Compare the Purgatorio, canto xxix. &c. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +OF FINISH. + + +§ 1. I am afraid the reader must be, by this time, almost tired of +hearing about truth. But I cannot help this; the more I have +examined the various forms of art, and exercised myself in receiving +their differently intended impressions, the more I have found this +truthfulness a final test, the only test of lasting power; and, +although our concern in this part of our inquiry is, professedly, +with the beauty which blossoms out of truth, still I find myself +compelled always to gather it by the stalk, not by the petals. I +cannot hold the beauty, nor be sure of it for a moment, but by +feeling for that strong stem. + +We have, in the preceding chapters, glanced through the various +operations of the imaginative power of man; with this almost +painfully monotonous result, that its greatness and honor were +always simply in proportion to the quantity of truth it grasped. And +now the question, left undetermined some hundred pages back (Chap. +II. § 6), recurs to us in a simpler form than it could before. How +far is this true imagination to be truly represented? How far should +the perfect conception of Pallas be so given as to look like Pallas +herself, rather than like the picture of Pallas? + +§ 2. A question, this, at present of notable interest, and demanding +instant attention. For it seemed to us, in reasoning about Dante's +views of art, that he was, or might be, right in desiring realistic +completeness; and yet, in what we have just seen of the grotesque +ideal, it seemed there was a certain desirableness in incompleteness. +And the schools of art in Europe are, at this moment, set in two +hostile ranks,--not nobly hostile, but spitefully and scornfully, +having for one of the main grounds of their dispute the apparently +simple question, how far a picture may be carried forward in detail, +or how soon it may be considered as finished. + +I propose, therefore, in the present chapter, to examine, as +thoroughly as I can, the real signification of this word, Finish, as +applied to art, and to see if in this, as in other matters, our +almost tiresome test is not the only right one; whether there be not +a _fallacious_ finish and a _faithful_ finish, and whether the +dispute, which seems to be only about completion and incompletion, +has not therefore, at the bottom of it, the old and deep grounds of +fallacy and fidelity. + +§ 3. Observe, first, there are two great and separate senses in +which we call a thing finished, or well finished. One, which refers +to the mere neatness and completeness of the actual work, as we +speak of a well-finished knife-handle or ivory toy (as opposed to +ill-cut ones); and, secondly, a sense which refers to the effect +produced by the thing done, as we call a picture well-finished if it +is so full in its details, as to produce the effect of reality on +the spectator. And, in England, we seem at present to value highly +the first sort of finish which belongs to work_manship_, in our +manufactures and general doings of any kind, but to despise totally +the impressive finish which belongs to the _work_; and therefore we +like smooth ivories better than rough ones,--but careless scrawls or +daubs better than the most complete paintings. Now, I believe that +we exactly reverse the fitness of judgment in this matter, and that +we ought, on the contrary, to despise the finish of work_manship_, +which is done for vanity's sake, and to love the finish of _work_, +which is done for truth's sake,--that we ought, in a word, to finish +our ivory toys more roughly, and our pictures more delicately. + +Let us think over this matter. + +§ 4. Perhaps one of the most remarkable points of difference between +the English and Continental nations is in the degree of finish given to +their ordinary work. It is enough to cross from Dover to Calais to feel +this difference; and to travel farther only increases the sense of it. +English windows for the most part fit their sashes, and their woodwork +is neatly planed and smoothed; French windows are larger, heavier, and +framed with wood that looks as if it had been cut to its shape with a +hatchet; they have curious and cumbrous fastenings, and can only be +forced asunder or together by some ingenuity and effort, and even then +not properly. So with everything else--French, Italian, and German, +and, as far as I know, Continental. Foreign drawers do not slide as +well as ours: foreign knives do not cut so well; foreign wheels do not +turn so well, and we commonly plume ourselves much upon this, believing +that generally the English people do their work better and more +thoroughly, or as they say, "turn it out of their hands in better +style," than foreigners. I do not know how far this is really the case. +There may be a flimsy neatness, as well as a substantial roughness; it +does not necessarily follow that the window which shuts easiest will +last the longest, or that the harness which glitters the most is +assuredly made of the toughest leather. I am afraid, that if this +peculiar character of finish in our workmanship ever arose from a +greater heartiness and thoroughness in our ways of doing things, it +does so only now in the case of our best manufacturers; and that a +great deal of the work done in England, however good in appearance, is +but treacherous and rotten in substance. Still, I think that there is +really in the English mind, for the most part, a stronger desire to do +things as well as they can be done, and less inclination to put up with +inferiorities or insufficiencies, than in general characterise the +temper of foreigners. There is in this conclusion no ground for +national vanity; for though the desire to do things as well as they can +be done at first appears like a virtue, it is certainly not so in all +its forms. On the contrary, it proceeds in nine cases out of ten more +from vanity than conscientiousness; and that, moreover, often a weak +vanity. I suppose that as much finish is displayed in the fittings of +the private carriages of our young rich men as in any other department +of English manufacture; and that our St. James's Street cabs, dogcarts, +and liveries are singularly perfect in their way. But the feeling with +which this perfection is insisted upon (however desirable as a sign of +energy of purpose) is not in itself a peculiarly amiable or noble +feeling; neither is it an ignoble disposition which would induce a +country gentleman to put up with certain deficiencies in the appearance +of his country-made carriage. It is true that such philosophy may +degenerate into negligence, and that much thought and long discussion +would be needed before we could determine satisfactorily the limiting +lines between virtuous contentment and faultful carelessness; but at +all events we have no right at once to pronounce ourselves the wisest +people because we like to do all things in the best way. There are many +little things which to do admirably is to waste both time and cost; and +the real question is not so much whether we have done a given thing as +well as possible, as whether we have turned a given quantity of labor +to the best account. + +§ 5. Now, so far from the labor's being turned to good account which is +given to our English "finishing," I believe it to be usually +destructive of the best powers of our workmen's minds. For it is +evident, in the first place, that there is almost always a useful and a +useless finish; the hammering and welding which are necessary to +produce a sword plate of the best quality, are useful finishing; the +polishing of its surface, useless.[38] In nearly all work this +distinction will, more or less, take place between substantial finish +and apparent finish, or what may be briefly characterized as "Make" and +"Polish." And so far as finish is bestowed for purposes of "make," I +have nothing to say against it. Even the vanity which displays itself +in giving strength to our work is rather a virtue than a vice. But so +far as finish is bestowed for purposes of "polish," there is much to be +said against it; this first, and very strongly, that the qualities +aimed at in common finishing, namely, smoothness, delicacy, or +fineness, _cannot_ in reality _exist_, in a degree worth admiring, in +anything done by human hands. Our best finishing is but coarse and +blundering work after all We may smooth, and soften, and sharpen till +we are sick at heart; but take a good magnifying glass to our miracle +of skill, and the invisible edge is a jagged saw, and the silky thread +a rugged cable, and the soft surface a granite desert. Let all the +ingenuity and all the art of the human race be brought to bear upon the +attainment of the utmost possible finish, and they could not do what is +done in the foot of a fly, or the film of a bubble. God alone can +finish; and the more intelligent the human mind becomes, the more the +infiniteness of interval is felt between human and divine work in this +respect. So then it is not a little absurd to weary ourselves in +struggling towards a point which we never can reach, and to exhaust our +strength in vain endeavors to produce qualities which exist inimitably +and inexhaustibly in the commonest things around us. + +§ 6. But more than this: the fact is that in multitudes of instances, +instead of gaining greater fineness of finish by our work, we are only +destroying the fine finish of nature, and substituting coarseness and +imperfection. For instance, when a rock of any kind has lain for some +time exposed to the weather, Nature finishes it in her own way; first, +she takes wonderful pains about its forms, sculpturing it into +exquisite variety of dint and dimple, and rounding or hollowing it +into contours, which for fineness no human hand can follow; then she +colors it; and every one of her touches of color, instead of being a +powder mixed with oil, is a minute forest of living trees, glorious in +strength and beauty, and concealing wonders of structure, which in all +probability are mysteries even to the eyes of angels. Man comes and +digs up this finished and marvellous piece of work, which in his +ignorance he calls a "rough stone." He proceeds to finish it in _his_ +fashion, that is, to split it in two, rend it into ragged blocks, and, +finally, to chisel its surface into a large number of lumps and knobs, +all equally shapeless, colorless, deathful, and frightful.[39] And the +block, thus disfigured, he calls "finished," and proceeds to build +therewith, and thinks himself great, forsooth, and an intelligent +animal. Whereas, all that he has really done is, to destroy with utter +ravage a piece of divine art, which, under the laws appointed by the +Deity to regulate his work in this world, it must take good twenty +years to produce the like of again. This he has destroyed, and has +himself given in its place a piece of work which needs no more +intelligence to do than a pholas has, or a worm, or the spirit which +throughout the world has authority over rending, rottenness, and +decay. I do not say that stone must not be cut; it needs to be cut for +certain uses; only I say that the cutting it is not "finishing," but +_un_finishing it; and that so far as the mere fact of chiselling goes, +the stone is ruined by the human touch. It is with it as with the +stones of the Jewish altar: "If thou lift up thy tool upon it thou +hast polluted it." In like manner a tree is a finished thing. But a +plank, though ever so polished, is not. We need stones and planks, as +we need food; but we no more bestow an additional admirableness upon +stone in hewing it, or upon a tree in sawing it, than upon an animal +in killing it. + +§ 7. Well, but it will be said, there is certainly a kind of finish in +stone-cutting, and in every other art, which is meritorious, and which +consists in smoothing and refining as much as possible. Yes, assuredly +there is a meritorious finish. First, as it has just been said, that +which fits a thing for its uses,--as a stone to lie well in its place, +or the cog of an engine wheel to play well on another; and, secondly, +a finish belonging properly to the arts; but _that_ finish does not +consist in smoothing or polishing, but in the _completeness of the +expression of ideas_. For in painting, there is precisely the same +difference between the ends proposed in finishing that there is in +manufacture. Some artists finish for the finish' sake; dot their +pictures all over, as in some kinds of miniature-painting (when a wash +of color would have produced as good an effect); or polish their +pictures all over, making the execution so delicate that the touch of +the brush cannot be seen, for the sake of the smoothness merely, and +of the credit they may thus get for great labor; which kind of +execution, seen in great perfection in many works of the Dutch school, +and in those of Carlo Dolce, is that polished "language" against which +I have spoken at length in various portions of the first volume; nor +is it possible to speak of it with too great severity or contempt, +where it has been made an ultimate end. + +But other artists finish for the impression's sake, not to show +their skill, nor to produce a smooth piece of work, but that they +may, with each stroke, render clearer the expression of knowledge. +And this sort of finish is not, properly speaking, so much +_completing_ the picture as _adding_ to it. It is not that what is +painted is more delicately done, but that infinitely _more_ is +painted. This finish is always noble, and, like all other noblest +things, hardly ever understood or appreciated. I must here endeavor, +more especially with respect to the state of quarrel between the +schools of living painters, to illustrate it thoroughly. + +§ 8. In sketching the outline, suppose of the trunk of a tree, as in +Plate 2. (opposite) fig. 1., it matters comparatively little whether +the outline be given with a bold, or delicate line, so long as it is +_outline only_. The work is not more "finished" in one case than in +the other; it is only prepared for being seen at a greater or less +distance. The real refinement or finish of the line depends, not on +its thinness, but on its truly following the contours of the tree, +which it conventionally represents; conventionally, I say, because +there is no such line round the tree, in reality; and it is set down +not as an _imit_ation, but a _limit_ation of the form. But if we are +to add shade to it as in fig. 2., the outline must instantly be made +proportionally delicate, not for the sake of delicacy as such, but +because the outline will now, in many parts, stand not for +limitation of form merely, but for a portion of the _shadow_ within +that form. Now, as a limitation it was true, but as a shadow it +would be false, for there is no line of black shadow at the edge of +the stem. It must, therefore, be made so delicate as not to detach +itself from the rest of the shadow where shadow exists, and only to +be seen in the light where limitation is still necessary. + +Observe, then, the "finish" of fig. 2. as compared with fig. 1. +consists, not in its greater delicacy, but in the addition of a +truth (shadow), a removal, in a great degree, of a conventionalism +(outline). All true finish consists in one or other of these things. +Now, therefore, if we are to "finish" farther we must _know_ more or +_see_ more about the tree. And as the plurality of persons who draw +trees know nothing of them, and will not look at them, it results +necessarily that the effort to finish is not only vain, but +unfinishes--does mischief. In the lower part of the plate, figs. 3, +4, 5, and 6. are facsimiles of pieces of line engraving, meant to +represent trunks of trees; 3. and 4. are the commonly accredited +types of tree-drawing among engravers in the eighteenth century; 5. +and 6. are quite modern; 3. is from a large and important plate by +Boydell, from Claude's Molten Calf, dated 1781; 4. by Boydell in +1776, from Rubens's Waggoner; 5. from a bombastic engraving, +published about twenty years ago by Meulemeester of Brussels, from +Raphael's Moses at the Burning Bush; and 6. from the foreground +of Miller's Modern Italy, after Turner.[40] + +[Illustration: 2. Drawing of Tree-Stems.] + +All these represent, as far as the engraving goes, simply _nothing_. +They are not "finished" in any sense but this,--that the paper has +been covered with lines. 4. is the best, because, in the original work +of Rubens, the lines of the boughs, and their manner of insertion in +the trunk, have been so strongly marked, that no engraving could quite +efface them; and, inasmuch as it represents these facts in the boughs, +that piece of engraving is more finished than the other examples, +while its own networked texture is still false and absurd; for there +is no texture of this knitted-stocking-like description on boughs; and +if there were, it would not be seen in the shadow, but in the light. +Miller's is spirited, and looks lustrous, but has no resemblance to +the original bough of Turner's, which is pale, and does not glitter. +The Netherlands work is, on the whole, the worst; because, in its +ridiculous double lines, it adds affectation and conceit to its +incapacity. But in all these cases the engravers have worked in total +ignorance both of what is meant by "drawing," and of the form of a +tree, covering their paper with certain lines, which they have been +taught to plough in copper, as a husbandman ploughs in clay. + +§ 9. In the next three examples we have instances of endeavors at +finish by the hands of artists themselves, marking three stages of +knowledge or insight, and three relative stages of finish. Fig. 7. +is Claude's (Liber Veritatis, No. 140., facsimile by Boydell). It +still displays an appalling ignorance of the forms of trees, but yet +is, in mode of execution, better--that is, more finished--than the +engravings, because not _altogether_ mechanical, and showing some +dim, far-away, blundering memory of a few facts in stems, such as +their variations of texture and roundness, and bits of young shoots +of leaves. 8. is Salvator's, facsimiled from part of his original +etching of the Finding of Oedipus. It displays considerable power +of handling--not mechanical, but free and firm, and is just so much +more finished than any of the others as it displays more +intelligence about the way in which boughs gather themselves out of +the stem, and about the varying character of their curves. Finally, +fig. 9. is good work. It is the root of the apple-tree in Albert +Durer's Adam and Eve, and fairly represents the wrinkles of the +bark, the smooth portions emergent beneath, and the general anatomy +of growth. All the lines used conduce to the representation of these +facts; and the work is therefore highly finished. It still, however, +leaves out, as not to be represented by such kind of lines, the more +delicate gradations of light and shade. I shall now "finish" a +little farther, in the next plate (3.), the mere _insertion of the +two boughs_ outlined in fig. 1. I do this simply by adding +assertions of more facts. First, I say that the whole trunk is dark, +as compared with the distant sky. Secondly, I say that it is rounded +by gradations of shadow, in the various forms shown. And, lastly, I +say that (this being a bit of old pine stripped by storm of its +bark) the wood is fissured in certain directions, showing its grain, +or _muscle_, seen in complicated contortions at the insertion of the +arm and elsewhere. + +§ 10. Now this piece of work, though yet far from complete (we will +better it presently), is yet more finished than any of the others, +not because it is more delicate or more skilful, but simply because +it tells more truth, and admits fewer fallacies. That which conveys +most information, with least inaccuracy, is always the highest +finish; and the question whether we prefer art so finished, to art +unfinished, is not one of taste at all. It is simply a question +whether we like to know much or little; to see accurately or see +falsely; and those whose _taste_ in art (if they choose so to call +it) leads them to like blindness better than sight, and fallacy +better than fact, would do well to set themselves to some other +pursuit than that of art. + +§ 11. In the above plate we have examined chiefly the grain and +surface of the boughs; we have not yet noticed the finish of their +curvature. If the reader will look back to the No. 7. (Plate 2.), +which, in this respect, is the worst of all the set, he will +immediately observe the exemplification it gives of Claude's principal +theory about trees; namely, that the boughs always parted from each +other, two at a time, in the manner of the prongs of an ill-made +table-fork. It may, perhaps, not be at once believed that this is +indeed Claude's theory respecting tree-structure, without some +farther examples of his practice. I have, therefore, assembled on the +next page, Plate 4., some of the most characteristic passages of +ramification in the Liber Veritatis; the plates themselves are +sufficiently cheap (as they should be) and accessible to nearly every +one, so that the accuracy of the facsimiles may be easily tested. I +have given in Appendix I. the numbers of the plates from which the +examples are taken, and it will be found that they have been rather +improved than libelled, only omitting, of course, the surrounding +leafage, in order to show accurately the branch-outlines, with which +alone we are at present concerned. And it would be difficult to bring +together a series more totally futile and foolish, more singularly +wrong (as the false griffin was), every way at once; they are stiff, +and yet have no strength; curved, and yet have no flexibility; +monotonous, and yet disorderly; unnatural, and yet uninventive. They +are, in fact, of that commonest kind of tree bough which a child or +beginner first draws experimentally; nay, I am well assured, that if +this set of branches had been drawn by a schoolboy, "out of his own +head," his master would hardly have cared to show them as signs of any +promise in him. + +[Illustration: 3. Strength of Old Pine.] + +[Illustration: 4. Ramification, according to Claude.] + +§ 12. "Well, but do not the trunks of trees fork, and fork mostly +into two arms at a time?" + +[Illustration: FIG. 2.] + +Yes; but under as stern anatomical law as the limbs of an animal; +and those hooked junctions in Plate 4. are just as accurately +representative of the branching of wood as this (fig. 2.) is of a +neck and shoulders. We should object to such a representation of +shoulders, because we have some interest in, and knowledge of, human +form; we do not object to Claude's trees, because we have no +interest in, nor knowledge of, trees. And if it be still alleged +that such work is nevertheless enough to give any one an "idea" of a +tree, I answer that it never gave, nor ever will give, an idea of a +tree to any one who loves trees; and that, moreover, no idea, +whatever its pleasantness, is of the smallest value, which is not +founded on simple facts. What pleasantness may be in _wrong_ ideas +we do not here inquire; the only question for us has always been, +and must always be, What are the facts? + +§ 13. And assuredly those boughs of Claude's are not facts: and +every one of their contours is, in the worst sense, unfinished, +without even the expectation or faint hope of possible refinement +ever coming into them. I do not mean to enter here into the +discussion of the characters of ramification; that must be in our +separate inquiry into tree-structure generally; but I will merely +give one piece of Turner's tree-drawing as an example of what +finished work really is, even in outline. In plate 5. opposite, +fig. 1. is the contour (stripped, like Claude's, of its foliage) of +one of the distant tree-stems in the drawing of Bolton Abbey. In +order to show its perfectness better by contrast with bad work (as +we have had, I imagine, enough of Claude), I will take a bit of +Constable; fig. 2. is the principal tree out of the engraving of the +Lock on the Stour (Leslie's Life of Constable). It differs from the +Claude outlines merely in being the kind of work which is produced +by an uninventive person dashing about idly, with a brush, instead +of drawing determinately wrong, with a pen: on the one hand worse +than Claude's, in being lazier; on the other a little better in +being more free, but, as representative of tree-form, of course +still wholly barbarous. It is worth while to turn back to the +description of the uninventive painter at work on a tree (Vol. II. +chapter on Imaginative Association, § 11), for this trunk of +Constable's is curiously illustrative of it. One can almost see him, +first bending it to the right; then, having gone long enough to the +right, turning to the left; then, having gone long enough to the +left, away to the right again; then dividing it; and "because there +is another tree in the picture with two long branches (in this case +there really is), he knows that this ought to have three or four, +which must undulate or go backwards and forwards," &c., &c. + +§ 14. Then study the bit of Turner work: note first its quietness, +unattractiveness, apparent carelessness whether you look at it or +not; next note the subtle curvatures within the narrowest limits, +and, when it branches, the unexpected, out of the way things it +does, just what nobody could have thought of its doing; shooting out +like a letter Y, with a nearly straight branch, and then +correcting its stiffness with a zigzag behind, so that the boughs, +ugly individually, are beautiful in unison. (In what I have +hereafter to say about trees, I shall need to dwell much on this +character of _unexpectedness_. A bough is never drawn rightly if it +is not wayward, so that although, as just now said, quiet at first, +not caring to be looked at, the moment it is looked at, it seems +bent on astonishing you, and doing the last things you expect it to +do.) But our present purpose is only to note the _finish_ of the +Turner _curves_, which, though they seem straight and stiff at +first, are, when you look long, seen to be all tremulous, +perpetually wavering along every edge into endless melody of change. +This is finish in line, in exactly the same sense that a fine melody +is finished in the association of its notes. + +[Illustration: 5. Good and Bad Tree-Drawing.] + +§ 15. And now, farther, let us take a little bit of the Turnerian tree +in light and shade. I said above I would better the drawing of that +pine trunk, which, though it has incipient shade, and muscular action, +has no texture, nor local color. Now, I take about an inch and a half +of Turner's ash trunks (one of the nearer ones) in this same drawing +of Bolton Abbey (fig. 3. Plate 5.), and _this_ I cannot better; this +is perfectly finished; it is not possible to add more truth to it on +that scale. Texture of bark, anatomy of muscle beneath, reflected +lights in recessed hollows, stains of dark moss, and flickering +shadows from the foliage above, all are there, as clearly as the human +hand can mark them. I place a bit of trunk by Constable (fig. 5.),[41] +from another plate in Leslie's Life of him (a dell in Helmingham Park, +Suffolk), for the sake of the same comparison in shade that we have +above in contour. You see Constable does not know whether he is +drawing moss or shadow: those dark touches in the middle are confused +in his mind between the dark stains on the trunk and its dark side; +there is no anatomy, no cast shadow, nothing but idle sweeps of the +brush, vaguely circular. The thing is much darker than Turner's, but +it is not, therefore, finished; it is only blackened. And "to blacken" +is indeed the proper word for all attempts at finish without +knowledge. All true finish is _added fact_; and Turner's word for +finishing a picture was always this significant one, "carry forward." +But labor without added knowledge can only blacken or stain a picture, +it cannot finish it. + +§ 16. And this is especially to be remembered as we pass from +comparatively large and distant objects, such as this single trunk, to +the more divided and nearer features of foreground. Some degree of +ignorance may be hidden, in completing what is far away; but there is +no concealment possible in close work, and darkening instead of +finishing becomes then the engraver's only possible resource. It has +always been a wonderful thing to me to hear people talk of making +foregrounds "vigorous," "marked," "forcible," and so on. If you will +lie down on your breast on the next bank you come to (which is +bringing it _close_ enough, I should think, to give it all the force +it is capable of), you will see, in the cluster of leaves and grass +close to your face, something as delicate as this, which I have +actually so drawn, on the opposite page, a mystery of soft shadow in +the depths of the grass, with indefinite forms of leaves, which you +cannot trace or count, within it, and out of that, the nearer leaves +coming in every subtle gradation of tender light and flickering form, +quite beyond all delicacy of pencilling to follow; and yet you will +rise up from that bank (certainly not making it appear coarser by +drawing a little back from it), and profess to represent it by a few +blots of "forcible" foreground color. "Well, but I cannot draw every +leaf that I see on the bank." No, for as we saw, at the beginning of +this chapter, that no human work could be finished so as to express +the _delicacy_ of nature, so neither can it be finished so as to +express the _redundance_ of nature. Accept that necessity; but do not +deny it; do not call your work finished, when you have, in engraving, +substituted a confusion of coarse black scratches, or in water-color a +few edgy blots, for ineffable organic beauty. Follow that beauty as +far as you can, remembering that just as far as you see, know, and +represent it, just so far your work is finished; as far as you fall +short of it, your work is _un_finished; and as far as you substitute +any other thing for it, your work is spoiled. + +[Illustration: 6. Foreground Leafage.] + +§ 17. How far Turner followed it, is not easily shown; for his +finish is so delicate as to be nearly uncopiable. I have just said +it was not possible to finish that ash trunk of his, farther, on +such a scale.[42] By using a magnifying-glass, and giving the same +help to the spectator, it might perhaps be possible to add and +exhibit a few more details; but even as it is, I cannot by line +engraving express all that there is in that piece of tree-trunk, on +the same scale. I _have_ therefore magnified the upper part of it in +fig 4. (Plate 5.), so that the reader may better see the beautiful +lines of curvature into which even its slightest shades and spots +are cast. Every quarter of an inch in Turner's drawings will bear +magnifying in the same way; much of the finer work in them can +hardly be traced, except by the keenest sight, until it is +magnified. In his painting of Ivy Bridge,[43] the veins are drawn on +the wings of a butterfly, not above three lines in diameter; and in +one of his smaller drawings of Scarborough, in my own possession, +the muscle-shells on the beach are rounded, and some shown as shut, +some as open, though none are as large as one of the letters of this +type; and yet this is the man who was thought to belong to the +"dashing" school, literally because most people had not patience or +delicacy of sight enough to trace his endless detail. + +§ 18. "Suppose it was so," perhaps the reader replies; "still I do +not like detail so delicate that it can hardly be seen." Then you +like nothing in Nature (for you will find she always carries her +detail too far to be traced). This point, however, we shall examine +hereafter; it is not the question now whether we _like_ finish or +not; our only inquiry here is, what finish _means_; and I trust the +reader is beginning to be satisfied that it does indeed mean nothing +but consummate and accumulated truth, and that our old monotonous +test must still serve us here as elsewhere. And it will become us to +consider seriously why (if indeed it be so) we dislike this kind of +finish--dislike an accumulation of truth. For assuredly all +authority is against us, and _no truly great man can be named in the +arts--but it is that of one who finished to his utmost_. Take +Leonardo, Michael Angelo, and Raphael for a triad, to begin with. +_They_ all completed their detail with such subtlety of touch and +gradation, that, in a careful drawing by any of the three, you +cannot see where the pencil ceased to touch the paper; the stroke of +it is so tender, that, when you look close to the drawing you can +see nothing; you only see the effect of it a little way back! Thus +tender in execution,--and so complete in detail, that Leonardo must +needs draw _every several vein in the little agates_ and pebbles of +the gravel under the feet of the St. Anne in the Louvre. Take a +quartett after the triad--Titian, Tintoret, Bellini, and Veronese. +Examine the vine-leaves of the Bacchus and Ariadne, (Titian's) in +the National Gallery; examine the borage blossoms, painted petal by +petal, though lying loose on the table, in Titian's Supper at +Emmaus, in the Louvre, or the snail-shells on the ground in his +Entombment;[44] examine the separately designed patterns on every +drapery of Veronese, in his Marriage in Cana; go to Venice and see +how Tintoret paints the strips of black bark on the birch trunk that +sustains the platform in his Adoration of the Magi: how Bellini +fills the rents of his ruined walls with the most exquisite clusters +of the erba della Madonna.[45] You will find them all in a tale. +Take a quintett after the quartett--Francia, Angelico, Durer, +Hemling, Perugino,--and still the witness is one, still the same +striving in all to such utmost perfection as their knowledge and +hand could reach. + +Who shall gainsay these men? Above all, who shall gainsay them when +they and Nature say precisely the same thing? For where does Nature +pause in _her_ finishing--that finishing which consists not in the +smoothing of surface, but the filling of space, and the +multiplication of life and thought? + +Who shall gainsay them? I, for one, dare not; but accept their +teaching, with Nature's, in all humbleness. + +"But is there, then, no good in any work which does not pretend to +perfectness? Is there no saving clause from this terrible +requirement of completion? And if there be none, what is the meaning +of all you have said elsewhere about rudeness as the glory of Gothic +work, and, even a few pages back, about the danger of finishing, for +our modern workmen?" + +Indeed there are many saving clauses, and there is much good in +imperfect work. But we had better cast the consideration of these +drawbacks and exceptions into another chapter, and close this one, +without obscuring, in any wise, our broad conclusion that "finishing" +means in art simply "telling more truth;" and that whatever we have in +any sort begun wisely, it is good to finish thoroughly. + + [38] "With his Yemen sword for aid; + Ornament it carried none, + But the notches on the blade." + + [39] See the base of the new Army and Navy Clubhouse. + + [40] I take this example from Miller, because, on the whole, he is + the best engraver of Turner whom we have. + + [41] Fig. 5. is not, however, so _lustrous_ as Constable's; I + cannot help this, having given the original plate to my good + friend Mr. Cousen, with strict charge to facsimile it + faithfully: but the figure is all the fairer, as a + representation of Constable's art, for those mezzotints in + Leslie's life of him have many qualities of drawing which are + quite wanting in Constable's blots of color. The comparison + shall be made elaborately, between picture and picture, in + the section on Vegetation. + + [42] It is of the exact size of the original, the whole drawing + being about 15-1/2 inches by 11 in. + + [43] An oil painting (about 3 ft. by 4 ft. 6 in.), and very broad + in its masses. In the possession of E. Bicknell, Esq. + + [44] These snail-shells are very notable, occurring as they do in, + perhaps, the very grandest and broadest of all Titian's + compositions. + + [45] Linaria Cymbalaria, the ivy-leaved toadflax of English + gardens. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +OF THE USE OF PICTURES. + + +§ 1. I am afraid this will be a difficult chapter; one of drawbacks, +qualifications, and exceptions. But the more I see of useful truths, +the more I find that, like human beings, they are eminently biped; +and, although, as far as apprehended by human intelligence, they are +usually seen in a crane-like posture, standing on one leg, whenever +they are to be stated so as to maintain themselves against all +attack it is quite necessary they should stand on two, and have +their complete balance on opposite fulcra. + +§ 2. I doubt not that one objection, with which as well as with +another we may begin, has struck the reader very forcibly, after +comparing the illustrations above given from Turner, Constable, and +Claude. He will wonder how it was that Turner, finishing in this +exquisite way, and giving truths by the thousand, where other +painters gave only one or two, yet, of all painters, seemed to +obtain least acknowledgeable resemblance to nature, so that the +world cried out upon him for a madman, at the moment when he was +giving exactly the highest and most consummate truth that had ever +been seen in landscape. + +And he will wonder why still there seems reason for this outcry. +Still, after what analysis and proof of his being right have as yet +been given, the reader may perhaps be saying to himself: "All this +reasoning is of no use to me. Turner does _not_ give me the idea of +nature; I do not feel before one of his pictures as I should in the +real scene. Constable takes me out into the shower, and Claude into +the sun; and De Wint makes me feel as if I were walking in the +fields; but Turner keeps me in the house, and I know always that I +am looking at a picture." + +I might answer to this; Well, what else _should_ he do? If you want +to feel as if you were in a shower, cannot you go and get wet without +help from Constable? If you want to feel as if you were walking in the +fields, cannot you go and walk in them without help from De Wint? But +if you want to sit in your room and look at a beautiful picture, why +should you blame the artist for giving you one? This _was_ the answer +actually made to me by various journalists, when first I showed that +Turner was truer than other painters: "Nay," said they, "we do not +want truth, we want something else than truth; we would not have +nature, but something better than nature." + +§ 3. I do not mean to accept that answer, although it seems at this +moment to make for me: I have never accepted it. As I raise my eyes +from the paper, to think over the curious mingling in it, of direct +error, and far away truth, I see upon the room-walls, first, +Turner's drawing of the chain of the Alps from the Superga above +Turin; then a study of a block of gneiss at Chamouni, with the +purple Aiguilles-Rouges behind it; another, of the towers of the +Swiss Fribourg, with a cluster of pine forest behind them; then +another Turner, Isola Bella, with the blue opening of the St. +Gothard in the distance; and then a fair bit of thirteenth century +illumination, depicting, at the top of the page, the Salutation; and +beneath, the painter who painted it, sitting in his little convent +cell, with a legend above him to this effect-- + + "ego jah{ann}es sc{ri}psi hunc librum." + I, John, wrote this book. + +None of these things are bad pieces of art; and yet,--if it were +offered to me to have, instead of them, so many windows, out of +which I should see, first, the real chain of the Alps from the +Superga; then the real block of gneiss, and Aiguilles-Rouges; then +the real towers of Fribourg, and pine forest; the real Isola Bella; +and, finally, the true Mary and Elizabeth; and beneath them, the +actual old monk at work in his cell,--I would very unhesitatingly +change my five pictures for the five windows; and so, I apprehend, +would most people, not, it seems to me, unwisely. + +"Well, then," the reader goes on to question me, "the more closely +the picture resembles such a window the better it must be?" + +Yes. + +"Then if Turner does not give me the impression of such a window, +that is of Nature, there must be something wrong in Turner?" + +Yes. + +"And if Constable and De Wint give me the impression of such a +window, there must be something right in Constable and De Wint?" + +Yes. + +"And something more right than in Turner?" + +No. + +"Will you explain yourself?" + +I _have_ explained myself, long ago, and that fully; perhaps too +fully for the simple sum of the explanation to be remembered. If the +reader will glance back to, and in the present state of our inquiry, +reconsider in the first volume, Part I. Sec. I. Chap. V., and Part +II. Sec. _I._ Chap. VII., he will find our present difficulties +anticipated. There are some truths, easily obtained, which give a +deceptive resemblance to Nature; others only to be obtained with +difficulty, which cause no deception, but give inner and deep +resemblance. These two classes of truths cannot be obtained +together; choice must be made between them. The bad painter gives +the cheap deceptive resemblance. The good painter gives the precious +non-deceptive resemblance. Constable perceives in a landscape that +the grass is wet, the meadows flat, and the boughs shady; that is to +say, about as much as, I suppose, might in general be apprehended, +between them, by an intelligent fawn and a skylark. Turner perceives +at a glance the whole sum of visible truth open to human +intelligence. So Berghem perceives nothing in a figure, beyond the +flashes of light on the folds of its dress; but Michael Angelo +perceives every flash of thought that is passing through its spirit; +and Constable and Berghem may imitate windows; Turner and Michael +Angelo can by no means imitate windows. But Turner and Michael +Angelo are nevertheless the best. + +§ 4. "Well but," the reader persists, "you admitted just now that +because Turner did not get his work to look like a window there was +something wrong in him." + +I did so; if he were quite right he would have _all_ truth, low as +well as high; that is, he would be Nature and not Turner; but that +is impossible to man. There is much that is wrong in him; much that +is infinitely wrong in all human effort. But, nevertheless, in some +an infinity of Betterness above other human effort. + +"Well, but you said you would change your Turners for windows, why +not, therefore, for Constables?" + +Nay, I did not say that I would change them for windows _merely_, +but for windows which commanded the chain of the Alps and Isola +Bella. That is to say, for all the truth that there is in Turner, +and all the truth besides which is not in him; but I would not +change them for Constables, to have a small piece of truth which is +not in Turner, and none of the mighty truth which there is. + +§ 5. Thus far, then, though the subject is one requiring somewhat +lengthy explanation, it involves no real difficulty. There is not +the slightest inconsistency in the mode in which throughout this +work I have desired the relative merits of painters to be judged. I +have always said, he who is closest to Nature is best. All rules are +useless, all genius is useless, all labor is useless, if you do not +give facts; the more facts you give the greater you are; and there +is no fact so unimportant as to be prudently despised, if it be +possible to represent it. Nor, but that I have long known the truth +of Herbert's lines, + + "Some men are + Full of themselves, and answer their own notion," + +would it have been without intense surprise that I heard querulous +readers asking, "how it was possible" that I could praise +Pre-Raphaelitism and Turner also. For, from the beginning of this +book to this page of it, I have never praised Turner highly for any +other cause than that he _gave facts_ more _delicately_, more +Pre-Raphaelitically, than other men. Careless readers, who dashed at +the descriptions and missed the arguments, took up their own +conceptions of the cause of my liking Turner, and said to +themselves: "Turner cannot draw, Turner is generalizing, vague, +visionary; and the Pre-Raphaelites are hard and distinct. How can +any one like both?"[46] But _I_ never said that Turner could not +draw. _I_ never said that he was vague or visionary. What _I_ said +was, that nobody had ever drawn so well: that nobody was so certain, +so _un_-visionary; that nobody had ever given so many hard and +downright facts. Glance back to the first volume, and note the +expressions now. "He is the only painter who ever drew a mountain or +a stone;[47] the only painter who can draw the stem of a tree; the +only painter who has ever drawn the sky, previous artists having +only drawn it typically or partially, but he absolutely and +universally." Note how he is praised in his rock drawing for "not +selecting a pretty or interesting morsel here or there, but giving +the whole truth, with all the relations of its parts."[48] Observe +how the _great virtue_ of the landscape of Cima da Conegliano and +the early sacred painters is said to be giving "entire, exquisite, +humble, realization--a strawberry-plant in the foreground with a +blossom, _and a berry just set_, _and one half ripe, and one ripe_, +all patiently and innocently painted from the _real thing, and_ +_therefore most divine_." Then re-read the following paragraph (§ +10.), carefully, and note its conclusion, that the thoroughly great +men are those who have done everything thoroughly, and who have +never despised anything, however small, of God's making; with the +instance given of Wordsworth's daisy casting its shadow on a stone; +and the following sentence, "Our painters must come to this before +they have done their duty." And yet, when our painters _did_ come to +this, did do their duty, and did paint the daisy with its shadow +(this passage having been written years before Pre-Raphaelitism was +thought of), people wondered how I could possibly like what was +neither more nor less than the precise fulfilment of my own most +earnest exhortations and highest hopes. + +§ 6. Thus far, then, all I have been saying is absolutely +consistent, and tending to one simple end. Turner is praised for his +truth and finish; that truth of which I am beginning to give +examples. Pre-Raphaelitism is praised for its truth and finish; and +the whole duty inculcated upon the artist is that of being in all +respects as like Nature as possible. + +And yet this is not all I have to do. There is more than this to be +inculcated upon the student, more than this to be admitted or +established before the foundations of just judgment can be laid. + +For, observe, although I believe any sensible person would exchange +his pictures, however good, for windows, he would not feel, and +ought not to feel, that the arrangement was _entirely_ gainful to +him. He would feel it was an exchange of a less good of one kind, +for a greater of another kind, but that it was definitely +_exchange_, not pure gain, not merely getting more truth instead of +less. The picture would be a serious loss; something gone which the +actual landscape could never restore, though it might give something +better in its place, as age may give to the heart something better +than its youthful delusion, but cannot give again the sweetness of +that delusion. + +§ 7. What is this in the picture which is precious to us, and yet is +not natural? Hitherto our arguments have tended, on the whole, +somewhat to the depreciation of art; and the reader may every now and +then, so far as he has been convinced by them, have been inclined to +say, "Why not give up this whole science of Mockery at once, since +its only virtue is in representing facts, and it cannot, at best, +represent them completely, besides being liable to all manner of +shortcomings and dishonesties,--why not keep to the facts, to real +fields, and hills, and men, and let this dangerous painting alone?" + +No, it would not be well to do this. Painting has its peculiar +virtues, not only consistent with but even resulting from, its +shortcomings and weaknesses. Let us see what these virtues are. + +§ 8. I must ask permission, as I have sometimes done before, to +begin apparently a long way from the point. + +Not long ago, as I was leaving one of the towns of Switzerland early +in the morning, I saw in the clouds behind the houses an Alp which I +did not know, a grander Alp than any I knew, nobler than the +Schreckhorn or the Mönch; terminated, as it seemed, on one side by a +precipice of almost unimaginable height; on the other, sloping away +for leagues in one field of lustrous ice, clear and fair and blue, +flashing here and there into silver under the morning sun. For a +moment I received a sensation of as much sublimity as any natural +object could possibly excite; the next moment, I saw that my unknown +Alp was the glass roof of one of the workshops of the town, rising +above its nearer houses, and rendered aerial and indistinct by some +pure blue wood smoke which rose from intervening chimneys. + +It is evident, that so far as the mere delight of the eye was +concerned, the glass roof was here equal, or at least equal for a +moment, to the Alp. Whether the power of the object over the heart +was to be small or great, depended altogether upon what it was +understood for, upon its being taken possession of and apprehended +in its full nature, either as a granite mountain or a group of panes +of glass; and thus, always, the real majesty of the appearance of +the thing to us, depends upon the degree in which we ourselves +possess the power of understanding it,--that penetrating, possession +taking power of the imagination, which has been long ago defined[49] +as the very life of the man, considered as a _seeing_ creature. For +though the casement had indeed been an Alp, there are many persons +on whose minds it would have produced no more effect than the glass +roof. It would have been to them a glittering object of a certain +apparent length and breadth, and whether of glass or ice, whether +twenty feet in length, or twenty leagues, would have made no +difference to them; or, rather, would not have been in any wise +conceived or considered by them. Examine the nature of your own +emotion (if you feel it) at the sight of the Alp, and you find all +the brightness of that emotion hanging, like dew on gossamer, on a +curious web of subtle fancy and imperfect knowledge. First, you have +a vague idea of its size, coupled with wonder at the work of the +great Builder of its walls and foundations, then an apprehension of +its eternity, a pathetic sense of its perpetualness, and your own +transientness, as of the grass upon its sides; then, and in this +very sadness, a sense of strange companionship with past generations +in seeing what they saw. They did not see the clouds that are +floating over your head; nor the cottage wall on the other side of +the field; nor the road by which you are travelling. But they saw +_that_. The wall of granite in the heavens was the same to them as +to you. They have ceased to look upon it; you will soon cease to +look also, and the granite wall will be for others. Then, mingled +with these more solemn imaginations, come the understandings of the +gifts and glories of the Alps, the fancying forth of all the +fountains that well from its rocky walls, and strong rivers that are +born out of its ice, and of all the pleasant valleys that wind +between its cliffs, and all the châlets that gleam among its clouds, +and happy farmsteads couched upon its pastures; while together with +the thoughts of these, rise strange sympathies with all the unknown +of human life, and happiness, and death, signified by that narrow +white flame of the everlasting snow, seen so far in the morning sky. + +These images, and far more than these, lie at the root of the emotion +which you feel at the sight of the Alp. You may not trace them in your +heart, for there is a great deal more in your heart, of evil and good, +than you ever can trace; but they stir you and quicken you for all +that. Assuredly, so far as you feel more at beholding the snowy +mountain than any other object of the same sweet silvery grey, these +are the kind of images which cause you to do so; and, observe, these +are nothing more than a greater apprehension of the _facts_ of the +thing. We call the power "Imagination," because it imagines or +conceives; but it is only noble imagination if it imagines or +conceives _the truth_. And, according to the degree of knowledge +possessed, and of sensibility to the pathetic or impressive character +of the things known, will be the degree of this imaginative delight. + +§ 9. But the main point to be noted at present is, that if the +imagination can be excited to this its peculiar work, it matters +comparatively little what it is excited by. If the smoke had not +cleared partially away, the glass roof might have pleased me as well +as an alp, until I had quite lost sight of it; and if, in a picture, +the imagination can be once caught, and, without absolute affront +from some glaring fallacy, set to work in its own field, the +imperfection of the historical details themselves is, to the +spectator's enjoyment, of small consequence. + +Hence it is, that poets and men of strong feeling in general, are +apt to be among the very worst judges of painting. The slightest +hint is enough for them. Tell them that a white stroke means a ship, +and a black stain, a thunderstorm, and they will be perfectly +satisfied with both, and immediately proceed to remember all that +they ever felt about ships and thunderstorms, attributing the whole +current and fulness of their own feelings to the painter's work; +while probably, if the picture be really good, and full of stern +fact, the poet, or man of feeling, will find some of its fact _in +his way_, out of the particular course of his own thoughts,--be +offended at it, take to criticising and wondering at it, detect, at +last, some imperfection in it,--such as must be inherent in all +human work,--and so finally quarrel with, and reject the whole +thing. Thus, Wordsworth writes many sonnets to Sir George Beaumont +and Haydon, none to Sir Joshua or to Turner. + +§ 10. Hence also the error into which many superficial artists fall, +in speaking of "addressing the imagination" as the only end of art. +It is quite true that the imagination must be addressed; but it may +be very sufficiently addressed by the stain left by an ink-bottle +thrown at the wall. The thrower has little credit, though an +imaginative observer may find, perhaps, more to amuse him in the +erratic nigrescence than in many a labored picture. And thus, in a +slovenly or ill-finished picture, it is no credit to the artist that +he has "addressed the imagination;" nor is the success of such an +appeal any criterion whatever of the merit of the work. The duty of +an artist is not only to address and awaken, but to _guide_ the +imagination; and there is no safe guidance but that of simple +concurrence with fact. It is no matter that the picture takes the +fancy of A. or B., that C. writes sonnets to it, and D. feels it to +be divine. This is still the only question for the artist, or for +us:--"Is it a fact? Are things really so? Is the picture an Alp +among pictures, full, firm, eternal; or only a glass house, frail, +hollow, contemptible, demolishable; calling, at all honest hands, +for detection and demolition?" + +§ 11. Hence it is also that so much grievous difficulty stands in +the way of obtaining _real opinion_ about pictures at all. Tell any +man, of the slightest imaginative power, that such and such a +picture is good, and means this or that: tell him, for instance, +that a Claude is good, and that it means trees, and grass, and +water; and forthwith, whatever faith, virtue, humility, and +imagination there are in the man, rise up to help Claude, and to +declare that indeed it is all "excellent good, i'faith;" and +whatever in the course of his life he has felt of pleasure in trees +and grass, he will begin to reflect upon and enjoy anew, supposing +all the while it is the picture he is enjoying. Hence, when once a +painter's reputation is accredited, it must be a stubborn kind of +person indeed whom he will not please, or seem to please; for all +the vain and weak people pretend to be pleased with him, for their +own credit's sake, and all the humble and imaginative people +seriously and honestly fancy they _are_ pleased with him, deriving +indeed, very certainly, delight from his work, but a delight which, +if they were kept in the same temper, they would equally derive +(and, indeed, constantly do derive) from the grossest daub that can +be manufactured in imitation by the pawnbroker. Is, therefore, the +pawnbroker's imitation as good as the original? Not so. There is the +certain test of goodness and badness, which I am always striving to +get people to use. As long as they are satisfied if they find their +feelings pleasantly stirred and their fancy gaily occupied, so long +there is for them no good, no bad. Anything may please, or anything +displease, them; and their entire manner of thought and talking +about art is mockery, and all their judgments are laborious +injustices. But let them, in the teeth of their pleasure or +displeasure, simply put the calm question,--Is it so? Is that the +way a stone is shaped, the way a cloud is wreathed, the way a leaf +is veined? and they are safe. They will do no more injustice to +themselves nor to other men; they will learn to whose guidance they +may trust their imagination, and from whom they must for ever +withhold its reins. + +§ 12. "Well, but why have you dragged in this poor spectator's +imagination at all, if you have nothing more to say for it than +this; if you are merely going to abuse it, and go back to your +tiresome facts?" + +Nay; I am not going to abuse it. On the contrary, I have to assert, +in a temper profoundly venerant of it, that though we must not +suppose everything is right when this is aroused, we may be sure +that something is wrong when this is _not_ aroused. The something +wrong may be in the spectator or in the picture; and if the picture +be demonstrably in accordance with truth, the odds are, that it is +in the spectator; but there is wrong somewhere; for the work of the +picture is indeed eminently to get at this imaginative power in the +beholder, and all its facts are of no use whatever if it does not. +No matter how much truth it tells if the hearer be asleep. Its first +work is to wake him, then to teach him. + +§ 13. Now, observe, while, as it penetrates into the nature of +things, the imagination is preeminently a beholder of things _as_ +they _are_, it is, in its creative function, an eminent beholder of +things _when_ and _where_ they are NOT; a seer, that is, in the +prophetic sense, calling "the things that are not as though they +were," and for ever delighting to dwell on that which is not +tangibly present. And its great function being the calling forth, or +back, that which is not visible to bodily sense, it has of course +been made to take delight in the fulfilment of its proper function, +and preeminently to enjoy, and spend its energy, on things past and +future, or out of sight, rather than things present, or in sight. So +that if the imagination is to be called to take delight in any +object, it will not be always well, if we can help it, to put the +_real_ object there, before it. The imagination would on the whole +rather have it _not_ there;--the reality and substance are rather in +the imagination's way; it would think a good deal more of the thing +if it could not see it. Hence, that strange and sometimes fatal +charm, which there is in all things as long as we wait for them, and +the moment we have lost them; but which fades while we possess +them;--that sweet bloom of all that is far away, which perishes +under our touch. Yet the feeling of this is not a weakness; it is +one of the most glorious gifts of the human mind, making the whole +infinite future, and imperishable past, a richer inheritance, if +faithfully inherited, than the changeful, frail, fleeting present; +it is also one of the many witnesses in us to the truth that these +present and tangible things are not meant to satisfy us. The +instinct becomes a weakness only when it is weakly indulged, and +when the faculty which was intended by God to give back to us what +we have lost, and gild for us what is to come, is so perverted as +only to darken what we possess. But, perverted or pure, the instinct +itself is everlasting, and the substantial presence even of the +things which we love the best, will inevitably and for ever be found +wanting in _one_ strange and tender charm, which belonged to the +dreams of them. + +§ 14. Another character of the imagination is equally constant, and, +to our present inquiry, of yet greater importance. It is eminently a +_weariable_ faculty, eminently delicate, and incapable of bearing +fatigue; so that if we give it too many objects at a time to employ +itself upon, or very grand ones for a long time together, it fails +under the effort, becomes jaded, exactly as the limbs do by bodily +fatigue, and incapable of answering any farther appeal till it has +had rest. And this is the real nature of the weariness which is so +often felt in travelling, from seeing too much. It is not that the +monotony and number of the beautiful things seen have made them +valueless, but that the imaginative power has been overtaxed; and, +instead of letting it rest, the traveller, wondering to find himself +dull, and incapable of admiration, seeks for something more +admirable, excites, and torments, and drags the poor fainting +imagination up by the shoulders: "Look at this, and look at that, +and this more wonderful still!"--until the imaginative faculty +faints utterly away, beyond all farther torment or pleasure, dead +for many a day to come; and the despairing prodigal takes to +horse-racing in the Campagna, good now for nothing else than that; +whereas, if the imagination had only been laid down on the grass, +among simple things, and left quiet for a little while, it would +have come to itself gradually, recovered its strength and color, and +soon been fit for work again. So that, whenever the imagination is +tired, it is necessary to find for it something, not _more_ +admirable but _less_ admirable; such as in that weak state it can +deal with; then give it peace, and it will recover. + +§ 15. I well recollect the walk on which I first found out this; it +was on the winding road from Sallenche, sloping up the hills towards +St. Gervais, one cloudless Sunday afternoon. The road circles softly +between bits of rocky bank and mounded pasture; little cottages and +chapels gleaming out from among the trees at every turn. Behind me, +some leagues in length, rose the jagged range of the mountains of the +Réposoir; on the other side of the valley, the mass of the Aiguille de +Varens, heaving its seven thousand feet of cliff into the air at a +single effort, its gentle gift of waterfall, the Nant d'Arpenaz, like +a pillar of cloud at its feet; Mont Blanc and all its aiguilles, one +silver flame, in front of me; marvellous blocks of mossy granite and +dark glades of pine around me; but I could enjoy nothing, and could +not for a long while make out what was the matter with me, until at +last I discovered that if I confined myself to one thing,--and that a +little thing,--a tuft of moss, or a single crag at the top of the +Varens, or a wreath or two of foam at the bottom of the Nant +d'Arpenaz, I began to enjoy it directly, because then I had mind +enough to put into the thing, and the enjoyment arose from the +quantity of the imaginative energy I could bring to bear upon it; but +when I looked at or thought of all together, moss, stones, Varens, +Nant d'Arpenaz, and Mont Blanc, I had not mind enough to give to all, +and none were of any value. The conclusion which would have been +formed, upon this, by a German philosopher, would have been that the +Mont Blanc _was_ of no value; that he and his imagination only were of +value; that the Mont Blanc, in fact, except so far as he was able to +look at it, could not be considered as having any existence. But the +only conclusion which occurred to me as reasonable under the +circumstances (I have seen no ground for altering it since) was, that +I was an exceedingly small creature, much tired, and, at the moment, +not a little stupid, for whom a blade of grass, or a wreath of foam, +was quite food enough and to spare, and that if I tried to take any +more, I should make myself ill. Whereupon, associating myself +fraternally with some ants, who were deeply interested in the +conveyance of some small sticks over the road, and rather, as I think +they generally are, in too great a hurry about it, I returned home in +a little while with great contentment, thinking how well it was +ordered that, as Mont Blanc and his pine forests could not be +everywhere, nor all the world come to see them, the human mind, on the +whole, should enjoy itself most surely in an ant-like manner, and be +happy and busy with the bits of stick and grains of crystal that fall +in its way to be handled, in daily duty. + +§ 16. It follows evidently from the first of these characters of the +imagination, its dislike of substance and presence, that a picture has +in some measure even an advantage with us in not being real. The +imagination rejoices in having something to do, springs up with all +its willing power, flattered and happy; and ready with its fairest +colors and most tender pencilling, to prove itself worthy of the +trust, and exalt into sweet supremacy the shadow that has been +confided to its fondness. And thus, so far from its being at all an +object to the painter to make his work look real, he ought to dread +such a consummation as the loss of one of its most precious claims +upon the heart. So far from striving to convince the beholder that +what he sees is substance, his mind should be to what he paints as the +fire to the body on the pile, burning away the ashes, leaving the +unconquerable shade--an immortal dream. So certain is this, that the +slightest local success in giving the deceptive appearance of +reality--the imitation, for instance, of the texture of a bit of wood, +with its grain in relief--will instantly destroy the charm of a whole +picture; the imagination feels itself insulted and injured, and passes +by with cold contempt; nay, however beautiful the whole scene may be, +as of late in much of our highly wrought painting for the stage, the +mere fact of its being deceptively real is enough to make us tire of +it; we may be surprised and pleased for a moment, but the imagination +will not on those terms be persuaded to give any of its help, and, in +a quarter of an hour, we wish the scene would change. + +§ 17. "Well, but then, what becomes of all these long dogmatic +chapters of yours about giving nothing but the truth, and as much +truth as possible?" + +The chapters are all quite right. "Nothing but the Truth," I say +still. "As much Truth as possible," I say still. But truth so +presented, that it will need the help of the imagination to make it +real. Between the painter and the beholder, each doing his proper +part, the reality should be sustained; and after the beholding +imagination has come forward and done its best, then, with its help, +and in the full action of it, the beholder should be able to say, I +feel as if I were at the real place, or seeing the real incident. +But not without that help. + +§ 18. Farther, in consequence of that other character of the +imagination, fatiguableness, it is a great advantage to the picture +that it need not present too much at once, and that what it does +present may be so chosen and ordered as not only to be more easily +seized, but to give the imagination rest, and, as it were, places to +lie down and stretch its limbs in; kindly vacancies, beguiling it +back into action, with pleasant and cautious sequence of incident; +all jarring thoughts being excluded, all vain redundance denied, and +all just and sweet transition permitted. + +And thus it is that, for the most part, imperfect sketches, +engravings, outlines, rude sculptures, and other forms of abstraction, +possess a charm which the most finished picture frequently wants. For +not only does the finished picture excite the imagination less, but, +like nature itself, it _taxes_ it more. None of it can be enjoyed till +the imagination is brought to bear upon it; and the details of the +completed picture are so numerous, that it needs greater strength and +willingness in the beholder to follow them all out; the redundance, +perhaps, being not too great for the mind of a careful observer, but +too great for a casual or careless observer. So that although the +perfection of art will always consist in the utmost _acceptable_ +completion, yet, as every added idea will increase the difficulty of +apprehension, and every added touch advance the dangerous realism +which makes the imagination languid, the difference between a noble +and ignoble painter is in nothing more sharply defined than in +this,--that the first wishes to put into his work as much truth as +possible, and yet to keep it looking _un_-real; the second wishes to +get through his work lazily, with as little truth as possible, and yet +to make it look real; and, so far as they add color to their abstract +sketch, the first realizes for the sake of the color, and the second +colors for the sake of the realization.[50] + +§ 19. And then, lastly, it is another infinite advantage possessed +by the picture, that in these various differences from reality it +becomes the expression of the power and intelligence of a +companionable human soul. In all this choice, arrangement, +penetrative sight, and kindly guidance, we recognize a supernatural +operation, and perceive, not merely the landscape or incident as in +a mirror, but, besides, the presence of what, after all, may perhaps +be the most wonderful piece of divine work in the whole matter--the +great human spirit through which it is manifested to us. So that, +although with respect to many important scenes, it might, as we saw +above, be one of the most precious gifts that could be given us to +see them with _our own eyes_, yet also in many things it is more +desirable to be permitted to see them with the eyes of others; and +although, to the small, conceited, and affected painter displaying +his narrow knowledge and tiny dexterities, our only word may be, +"Stand aside from between that nature and me," yet to the great +imaginative painter--greater a million times in every faculty of +soul than we--our word may wisely be, "Come between this nature and +me--this nature which is too great and too wonderful for me; temper +it for me, interpret it to me; let me see with your eyes, and hear +with your ears, and have help and strength from your great spirit." + +All the noblest pictures have this character. They are true or +inspired ideals, seen in a moment to _be_ ideal; that is to say, the +result of all the highest powers of the imagination, engaged in the +discovery and apprehension of the purest truths, and having so +arranged them as best to show their preciousness and exalt their +clearness. They are always orderly, always one, ruled by one great +purpose throughout, in the fulfilment of which every atom of the +detail is called to help, and would be missed if removed; this +peculiar oneness being the result, not of obedience to any teachable +law, but of the magnificence of tone in the perfect mind, which +accepts only what is good for its great purposes, rejects whatever is +foreign or redundant, and instinctively and instantaneously ranges +whatever it accepts, in sublime subordination and helpful brotherhood. + +§ 20. Then, this being the greatest art, the lowest art is the +mimicry of it,--the subordination of nothing to nothing; the +elaborate arrangement of sightlessness and emptiness; the order +which has no object; the unity which has no life, and the law which +has no love; the light which has nothing to illumine, and shadow +which has nothing to relieve.[51] + +§ 21. And then, between these two, comes the wholesome, happy, and +noble--though not noblest--art of simple transcript from nature; +into which, so far as our modern Pre-Raphaelitism falls, it will +indeed do sacred service in ridding us of the old fallacies and +componencies, but cannot itself rise above the level of simple and +happy usefulness. So far as it is to be great, it must add,--and so +far as it _is_ great, has already added,--the great imaginative +element to all its faithfulness in transcript. And for this reason, +I said in the close of my Edinburgh Lectures, that Pre-Raphaelitism, +as long as it confined itself to the simple copying of nature, could +not take the character of the highest class of art. But it has +already, almost unconsciously, supplied the defect, and taken that +character, in all its best results; and, so far as it ought, +hereafter, it will assuredly do so, as soon as it is permitted to +maintain itself in any other position than that of stern antagonism +to the composition teachers around it. I say "so far as it ought," +because, as already noticed in that same place, we have enough, and +to spare, of noble _inventful_ pictures; so many have we, that we +let them moulder away on the walls and roofs of Italy without one +regretful thought about them. But of simple transcripts from nature, +till now we have had none; even Van Eyck and Albert Durer having +been strongly filled with the spirit of grotesque idealism; so that +the Pre-Raphaelites have, to the letter, fulfilled Steele's +description of the author, who "determined to write in an entirely +new manner, and describe things exactly as they took place." + +§ 22. We have now, I believe, in some sort answered most of the +questions which were suggested to us during our statement of the +nature of great art. I could recapitulate the answers; but perhaps +the reader is already sufficiently wearied of the recurrence of the +terms "Ideal," "Nature," "Imagination," "Invention," and will hardly +care to see them again interchanged among each other, in the +formalities of a summary. What difficulties may yet occur to him +will, I think, disappear as he either re-reads the passages which +suggested them, or follows out the consideration of the subject for +himself:--this very simple, but very precious, conclusion being +continually remembered by him as the sum of all; that greatness in +art (as assuredly in all other things, but more distinctly in this +than in most of them,) is not a teachable nor gainable thing, but +_the expression of the mind of a God-made great man_; that teach, or +preach, or labor as you will, everlasting difference is set between +one man's capacity and another's; and that this God-given supremacy +is the priceless thing, always just as rare in the world at one time +as another. What you can manufacture, or communicate, you can lower +the price of, but this mental supremacy is incommunicable; you will +never multiply its quantity, nor lower its price; and nearly the +best thing that men can generally do is to set themselves, not to +the attainment, but the discovery of this; learning to know gold, +when we see it, from iron-glance, and diamonds from flint-sand, +being for most of us a more profitable employment than trying to +make diamonds out of our own charcoal. And for this God-made +supremacy, I generally have used, and shall continue to use, the +word Inspiration, not carelessly nor lightly, but in all logical +calmness and perfect reverence. We English have many false ideas +about reverence: we should be shocked, for instance, to see a +market-woman come into church with a basket of eggs on her arm: we +think it more reverent to lock her out till Sunday; and to surround +the church with respectability of iron railings, and defend it with +pacing inhabitation of beadles. I believe this to be _ir_reverence; +and that it is more truly reverent, when the market-woman, hot and +hurried, at six in the morning, her head much confused with +calculations of the probable price of eggs, can nevertheless get +within church porch, and church aisle, and church chancel, lay the +basket down on the very steps of the altar, and receive thereat so +much of help and hope as may serve her for the day's work. In like +manner we are solemnly, but I think not wisely, shocked at any one +who comes hurriedly into church, in any figurative way, with his +basket on his arm; and perhaps, so long as we feel it so, it is +better to keep the basket out. But, as for this one commodity of +high mental supremacy, it cannot be kept out, for the very fountain +of it is in the church wall, and there is no other right word for it +but this of Inspiration; a word, indeed, often ridiculously +perverted, and irreverently used of fledgling poets and pompous +orators--no one being offended then, and yet cavilled at when +quietly used of the spirit that it is in a truly great man; cavilled +at, chiefly, it seems to me, because we expect to know inspiration +by the look of it. Let a man have shaggy hair, dark eyes, a rolling +voice, plenty of animal energy, and a facility of rhyming or +sentencing, and--improvisatore or sentimentalist--we call him +"inspired" willingly enough; but let him be a rough, quiet worker, +not proclaiming himself melodiously in any wise, but familiar with +us, unpretending, and letting all his littlenesses and feeblenesses +be seen, unhindered,--wearing an ill-cut coat withal, and, though he +be such a man as is only sent upon the earth once in five hundred +years, for some special human teaching, it is irreverent to call him +"inspired." But, be it irreverent or not, this word I must always +use; and the rest of what work I have here before me, is simply to +prove the truth of it, with respect to the one among these mighty +spirits whom we have just lost; who divided his hearers, as many an +inspired speaker has done before now, into two great sects--a large +and a narrow; these searching the Nature-scripture calmly, "whether +those things were so," and those standing haughtily on their Mars +hill, asking, "what will this babbler say?" + + [46] People of any sense, however, confined themselves to wonder. + I think it was only in the Art Journal of September 1st, + 1854, that any writer had the meanness to charge me with + insincerity. "The pictures of Turner and the works of the + Pre-Raphaelites are the very antipodes of each other; it is, + therefore, impossible that one and the same individual can + with any _show of sincerity_ [Note, by the way, the Art-Union + has no idea that _real_ sincerity is a thing existent or + possible at all. All that it expects or hopes of human nature + is, that it should have _show_ of sincerity,] stand forth as + the thick and thin [I perceive the writer intends to teach me + English, as well as honesty,] eulogist of both. With a + certain knowledge of art, such as may be possessed by the + author of English Painters, [Note, farther, that the eminent + critic does not so much as know the title of the book he is + criticising,] it is not difficult to praise any bad or + mediocre picture that may be qualified with extravagance or + mysticism. This author owes the public a heavy debt of + explanation, which a lifetime spent in ingenious + reconciliations would not suffice to discharge. A fervent + admiration of certain pictures by Turner, and, at the same + time, of some of the severest productions of the + Pre-Raphaelites, presents an insuperable problem to persons + whose taste in art is regulated by definite principles." + + [47] Part II. Sec. I. Chap. VII. § 46. + + [48] Part II. Sec. IV. Chap. IV. § 23., and Part II. Sec. I. Chap. + VII. § 9. The whole of the Preface to the Second Edition is + written to maintain this one point of specific detail against + the advocates of generalization. + + [49] Vol. II. Chapter on Penetrative Imagination. + + [50] Several other points connected with this subject have already + been noticed in the last chapter of the Stones of Venice, § + 21. &c. + + [51] "Though my pictures should have nothing else, they shall have + Chiaroscuro."--CONSTABLE (in Leslie's Life of him). It is + singular to reflect what that fatal Chiaroscuro has done in + art, in the full extent of its influence. It has been not + only shadow, but shadow of Death: passing over the face of + the ancient art, as death itself might over a fair human + countenance; whispering, as it reduced it to the white + projections and lightless orbits of the skull, "Thy face + shall have nothing else, but it shall have Chiaroscuro." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +OF THE NOVELTY OF LANDSCAPE. + + +§ 1. Having now obtained, I trust, clear ideas, up to a certain +point, of what is generally right and wrong in all art, both in +conception and in workmanship, we have to apply these laws of right +to the particular branch of art which is the subject of our present +inquiry, namely, landscape-painting. Respecting which, after the +various meditations into which we have been led on the high duties +and ideals of art, it may not improbably occur to us first to +ask,--whether it be worth inquiring about at all. + +That question, perhaps the reader thinks, should have been asked and +answered before I had written, or he read, two volumes and a half +about it. So I _had_ answered it, in my own mind; but it seems time +now to give the grounds for this answer. If, indeed, the reader has +never suspected that landscape-painting was anything but good, +right, and healthy work, I should be sorry to put any doubt of its +being so into his mind; but if, as seems to me more likely, he, +living in this busy and perhaps somewhat calamitous age, has some +suspicion that landscape-painting is but an idle and empty business, +not worth all our long talk about it, then, perhaps, he will be +pleased to have such suspicion done away, before troubling himself +farther with these disquisitions. + +§ 2. I should rather be glad, than otherwise, that he _had_ formed +some suspicion on this matter. If he has at all admitted the truth +of anything hitherto said respecting great art, and its choices of +subject, it seems to me he ought, by this time, to be questioning +with himself whether road-side weeds, old cottages, broken stones, +and such other materials, be worthy matters for grave men to busy +themselves in the imitation of. And I should like him to probe this +doubt to the deep of it, and bring all his misgivings out to the +broad light, that we may see how we are to deal with them, or +ascertain if indeed they are too well founded to be dealt with. + +§ 3. And to this end I would ask him now to imagine himself +entering, for the first time in his life, the room of the Old +Water-Color Society; and to suppose that he has entered it, not for +the sake of a quiet examination of the paintings one by one, but in +order to seize such ideas as it may generally suggest respecting the +state and meaning of modern as compared with elder, art. I suppose +him, of course, that he may be capable of such a comparison, to be +in some degree familiar with the different forms in which art has +developed itself within the periods historically known to us; but +never, till that moment, to have seen any completely modern work. So +prepared, and so unprepared, he would, as his ideas began to arrange +themselves, be first struck by the number of paintings representing +blue mountains, clear lakes, and ruined castles or cathedrals, and +he would say to himself: "There is something strange in the mind of +these modern people! Nobody ever cared about blue mountains before, +or tried to paint the broken stones of old walls." And the more he +considered the subject, the more he would feel the peculiarity; and, +as he thought over the art of Greeks and Romans, he would still +repeat, with increasing certainty of conviction: "Mountains! I +remember none. The Greeks did not seem, as artists, to know that +such things were in the world. They carved, or variously +represented, men, and horses, and beasts, and birds, and all kinds +of living creatures,--yes, even down to cuttle-fish; and trees, in a +sort of way; but not so much as the outline of a mountain; and as +for lakes, they merely showed they knew the difference between salt +and fresh water by the fish they put into each." Then he would pass +on to mediæval art: and still he would be obliged to repeat: +"Mountains! I remember none. Some careless and jagged arrangements +of blue spires or spikes on the horizon, and, here and there, an +attempt at representing an overhanging rock with a hole through it; +but merely in order to divide the light behind some human figure. +Lakes! No, nothing of the kind,--only blue bays of sea put in to +fill up the background when the painter could not think of anything +else. Broken-down buildings! No; for the most part very complete +and well-appointed buildings, if any; and never buildings at all, +but to give place or explanation to some circumstance of human +conduct." And then he would look up again to the modern pictures, +observing, with an increasing astonishment, that here the human +interest had, in many cases, altogether disappeared. That mountains, +instead of being used only as a blue ground for the relief of the +heads of saints, were themselves the exclusive subjects of reverent +contemplation; that their ravines, and peaks, and forests, were all +painted with an appearance of as much enthusiasm as had formerly +been devoted to the dimple of beauty, or the frowns of asceticism; +and that all the living interest which was still supposed necessary +to the scene, might be supplied by a traveller in a slouched hat, a +beggar in a scarlet cloak, or, in default of these, even by a heron +or a wild duck. + +And if he could entirely divest himself of his own modern habits of +thought, and regard the subjects in question with the feelings of a +knight or monk of the middle ages, it might be a question whether +those feelings would not rapidly verge towards contempt. "What!" he +might perhaps mutter to himself, "here are human beings spending the +whole of their lives in making pictures of bits of stone and runlets +of water, withered sticks and flying frogs, and actually not a +picture of the gods or the heroes! none of the saints or the +martyrs! none of the angels and demons! none of councils or battles, +or any other single thing worth the thought of a man! Trees and +clouds indeed! as if I should not see as many trees as I cared to +see, and more, in the first half of my day's journey to-morrow, or +as if it mattered to any man whether the sky were clear or cloudy, +so long as his armor did not get too hot in the sun!" + +§ 5. There can be no question that this would have been somewhat the +tone of thought with which either a Lacedæmonian, a soldier of Rome in +her strength, or a knight of the thirteenth century, would have been +apt to regard these particular forms of our present art. Nor can there +be any question that, in many respects, their judgment would have been +just. It is true that the indignation of the Spartan or Roman would +have been equally excited against any appearance of luxurious +industry; but the mediæval knight would, to the full, have admitted +the nobleness of art; only he would have had it employed in decorating +his church or his prayer-book, nor in imitating moors and clouds. And +the feelings of all the three would have agreed in this,--that their +main ground of offence must have been the want of _seriousness_ and +_purpose_ in what they saw. They would all have admitted the nobleness +of whatever conduced to the honor of the gods, or the power of the +nation; but they would not have understood how the skill of human life +could be wisely spent in that which did no honor either to Jupiter or +to the Virgin; and which in no wise tended, apparently, either to the +accumulation of wealth, the excitement of patriotism, or the +advancement of morality. + +§ 6. And exactly so far forth their judgment would be just, as the +landscape-painting could indeed be shown, for others as well as for +them, to be art of this nugatory kind; and so far forth unjust, as +that painting could be shown to depend upon, or cultivate, certain +sensibilities which neither the Greek nor mediæval knight possessed, +and which have resulted from some extraordinary change in human nature +since their time. We have no right to assume, without very accurate +examination of it, that this change has been an ennobling one. The +simple fact, that we are, in some strange way, different from all the +great races that have existed before us, cannot at once be received as +the proof of our own greatness; nor can it be granted, without any +question, that we have a legitimate subject of complacency in being +under the influence of feelings, with which neither Miltiades nor the +Black Prince, neither Homer nor Dante, neither Socrates nor St. +Francis, could for an instant have sympathized. + +§ 7. Whether, however, this fact be one to excite our pride or not, +it is assuredly one to excite our deepest interest. The fact itself +is certain. For nearly six thousand years the energies of man have +pursued certain beaten paths, manifesting some constancy of feeling +throughout all that period, and involving some fellowship at heart, +among the various nations who by turns succeeded or surpassed each +other in the several aims of art or policy. So that, for these +thousands of years, the whole human race might be to some extent +described in general terms. Man was a creature separated from all +others by his instinctive sense of an Existence superior to his own, +invariably manifesting this sense of the being of a God more +strongly in proportion to his own perfectness of mind and body; and +making enormous and self-denying efforts, in order to obtain some +persuasion of the immediate presence or approval of the Divinity. So +that, on the whole, the best things he did were done as in the +presence, or for the honor, of his gods; and, whether in statues, to +help him to imagine them, or temples raised to their honor, or acts +of self-sacrifice done in the hope of their love, he brought +whatever was best and skilfullest in him into their service, and +lived in a perpetual subjection to their unseen power. Also, he was +always anxious to know something definite about them; and his chief +books, songs, and pictures were filled with legends about them, or +especially devoted to illustration of their lives and nature. + +§ 8. Next to these gods he was always anxious to know something +about his human ancestors; fond of exalting the memory, and telling +or painting the history of old rulers and benefactors; yet full of +an enthusiastic confidence in himself, as having in many ways +advanced beyond the best efforts of past time; and eager to record +his own doings for future fame. He was a creature eminently warlike, +placing his principal pride in dominion; eminently beautiful, and +having great delight in his own beauty: setting forth this beauty by +every species of invention in dress, and rendering his arms and +accoutrements superbly decorative of his form. He took, however, +very little interest in anything but what belonged to humanity; +caring in no wise for the external world, except as it influenced +his own destiny; honoring the lightning because it could strike him, +the sea because it could drown him, the fountains because they gave +him drink, and the grass because it yielded him seed; but utterly +incapable of feeling any special happiness in the love of such +things, or any earnest emotion about them, considered as separate +from man; therefore giving no time to the study of them;--knowing +little of herbs, except only which were hurtful, and which healing; +of stones, only which would glitter brightest in a crown, or last +the longest in a wall; of the wild beasts, which were best for food, +and which the stoutest quarry for the hunter;--thus spending only +on the lower creatures and inanimate things his waste energy, his +dullest thoughts, his most languid emotions, and reserving all his +acuter intellect for researches into his own nature and that of the +gods; all his strength of will for the acquirement of political or +moral power; all his sense of beauty for things immediately +connected with his own person and life; and all his deep affections +for domestic or divine companionship. + +Such, in broad light and brief terms, was man for five thousand +years. Such he is no longer. Let us consider what he is now, +comparing the descriptions clause by clause. + +§ 9. I. He _was_ invariably sensible of the existence of gods, and +went about all his speculations or works holding this as an +acknowledged fact, making his best efforts in their service. _Now_ +he is capable of going through life with hardly any positive idea on +this subject,--doubting, fearing, suspecting, analyzing,--doing +everything, in fact, _but_ believing; hardly ever getting quite up +to that point which hitherto was wont to be the starting point for +all generations. And human work has accordingly hardly any reference +to spiritual beings, but is done either from a patriotic or personal +interest,--either to benefit mankind, or reach some selfish end, not +(I speak of human work in the broad sense) to please the gods. + +II. He _was_ a beautiful creature, setting forth this beauty by all +means in his power, and depending upon it for much of his authority +over his fellows. So that the ruddy cheek of David, and the ivory +skin of Atrides, and the towering presence of Saul, and the blue +eyes of Coeur de Lion, were among the chief reasons why they +should be kings; and it was one of the aims of all education, and of +all dress, to make the presence of the human form stately and +lovely. _Now_ it has become the task of grave philosophy partly to +depreciate or conceal this bodily beauty; and even by those who +esteem it in their hearts, it is not made one of the great ends of +education: man has become, upon the whole, an ugly animal, and is +not ashamed of his ugliness. + +III. He _was_ eminently warlike. He is _now_ gradually becoming more +and more ashamed of all the arts and aims of battle. So that the +desire of dominion, which was once frankly confessed or boasted of as +a heroic passion, is now sternly reprobated or cunningly disclaimed. + +IV. He _used_ to take no interest in anything but what immediately +concerned himself. _Now_, he has deep interest in the abstract +natures of things, inquires as eagerly into the laws which regulate +the economy of the material world, as into those of his own being, +and manifests a passionate admiration of inanimate objects, closely +resembling, in its elevation and tenderness, the affection which he +bears to those living souls with which he is brought into the +nearest fellowship. + +§ 10. It is this last change only which is to be the subject of our +present inquiry; but it cannot be doubted that it is closely +connected with all the others, and that we can only thoroughly +understand its nature by considering it in this connection. For, +regarded by itself, we might, perhaps, too rashly assume it to be a +natural consequence of the progress of the race. There appears to be +a diminution of selfishness in it, and a more extended and heartfelt +desire of understanding the manner of God's working; and this the +more, because one of the permanent characters of this change is a +greater accuracy in the statement of external facts. When the eyes +of men were fixed first upon themselves, and upon nature solely and +secondarily as bearing upon their interests, it was of less +consequence to them what the ultimate laws of nature were, than what +their immediate effects were upon human beings. Hence they could +rest satisfied with phenomena instead of principles, and accepted +without scrutiny every fable which seemed sufficiently or gracefully +to account for those phenomena. But so far as the eyes of men are +now withdrawn from themselves, and turned upon the inanimate things +about them, the results cease to be of importance, and the laws +become essential. + +§ 11. In these respects, it might easily appear to us that this +change was assuredly one of steady and natural advance. But when we +contemplate the others above noted, of which it is clearly one of +the branches or consequences, we may suspect ourselves of +over-rashness in our self-congratulation, and admit the necessity of +a scrupulous analysis both of the feeling itself and of its +tendencies. + +Of course a complete analysis, or anything like it, would involve a +treatise on the whole history of the world. I shall merely endeavor +to note some of the leading and more interesting circumstances +bearing on the subject, and to show sufficient practical ground for +the conclusion, that landscape painting is indeed a noble and useful +art, though one not long known by man. I shall therefore examine, as +best I can, the effect of landscape, 1st, on the Classical mind; +2ndly, on the Mediæval mind; and lastly, on the Modern mind. But +there is one point of some interest respecting the effect of it on +_any_ mind, which must be settled first, and this I will endeavor to +do in the next chapter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +OF THE PATHETIC FALLACY. + + +§ 1. German dulness and English affectation, have of late much +multiplied among us the use of two of the most objectionable words +that were ever coined by the troublesomeness of metaphysicians, +--namely, "Objective" and "Subjective." + +No words can be more exquisitely, and in all points, useless; and I +merely speak of them that I may, at once and for ever, get them out +of my way and out of my reader's. But to get that done, they must be +explained. + +The word "Blue," say certain philosophers, means the sensation of +color which the human eye receives in looking at the open sky, or at +a bell gentian. + +Now, say they farther, as this sensation can only be felt when the +eye is turned to the object, and as, therefore, no such sensation is +produced by the object when nobody looks at it, therefore the thing, +when it is not looked at, is not blue; and thus (say they) there are +many qualities of things which depend as much on something else as +on themselves. To be sweet, a thing must have a taster; it is only +sweet while it is being tasted, and if the tongue had not the +capacity of taste, then the sugar would not have the quality of +sweetness. + +And then they agree that the qualities of things which thus depend +upon our perception of them, and upon our human nature as affected +by them, shall be called Subjective; and the qualities of things +which they always have, irrespective of any other nature, as +roundness or squareness, shall be called Objective. + +From these ingenious views the step is very easy to a farther +opinion, that it does not much matter what things are in themselves, +but only what they are to us; and that the only real truth of them +is their appearance to, or effect upon, us. From which position, +with a hearty desire for mystification, and much egotism, +selfishness, shallowness, and impertinence, a philosopher may easily +go so far as to believe, and say, that everything in the world +depends upon his seeing or thinking of it, and that nothing, +therefore, exists, but what he sees or thinks of. + +§ 2. Now, to get rid of all these ambiguities and troublesome words +at once, be it observed that the word "Blue" does _not_ mean the +_sensation_ caused by a gentian on the human eye; but it means the +_power_ of producing that sensation; and this power is always there, +in the thing, whether we are there to experience it or not, and +would remain there though there were not left a man on the face of +the earth. Precisely in the same way gunpowder has a power of +exploding. It will not explode if you put no match to it. But it has +always the power of so exploding, and is therefore called an +explosive compound, which it very positively and assuredly is, +whatever philosophy may say to the contrary. + +In like manner, a gentian does not produce the sensation of blueness +if you don't look at it. But it has always the power of doing so; +its particles being everlastingly so arranged by its Maker. And, +therefore, the gentian and the sky are always verily blue, whatever +philosophy may say to the contrary; and if you do not see them blue +when you look at them, it is not their fault but yours.[52] + +§ 3. Hence I would say to these philosophers: If, instead of using +the sonorous phrase, "It is objectively so," you will use the plain +old phrase, "It _is_ so;" and if instead of the sonorous phrase, "It +is subjectively so," you will say, in plain old English, "It does +so," or "It seems so to me;" you will, on the whole, be more +intelligible to your fellow-creatures: and besides, if you find +that a thing which generally "does so" to other people (as a gentian +looks blue to most men) does _not_ so to you, on any particular +occasion, you will not fall into the impertinence of saying that the +thing is not so, or did not so, but you will say simply (what you +will be all the better for speedily finding out) that something is +the matter with you. If you find that you cannot explode the +gunpowder, you will not declare that all gunpowder is subjective, +and all explosion imaginary, but you will simply suspect and declare +yourself to be an ill-made match. Which, on the whole, though there +may be a distant chance of a mistake about it, is, nevertheless, the +wisest conclusion you can come to until farther experiment.[53] + +§ 4. Now, therefore, putting these tiresome and absurd words quite +out of our way, we may go on at our ease to examine the point in +question,--namely, the difference between the ordinary, proper, and +true appearances of things to us; and the extraordinary, or false +appearances, when we are under the influence of emotion, or +contemplative fancy;[54] false appearances, I say, as being entirely +unconnected with any real power or character in the object, and only +imputed to it by us. + +For instance-- + + "The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould + Naked and shivering, with his cup of gold."[55] + +This is very beautiful and yet very untrue. The crocus is not a +spendthrift, but a hardy plant; its yellow is not gold, but saffron. +How is it that we enjoy so much the having it put into our heads +that it is anything else than a plain crocus? + +It is an important question. For, throughout our past reasonings +about art, we have always found that nothing could be good or +useful, or ultimately pleasurable, which was untrue. But here is +something pleasurable in written poetry which is nevertheless +_un_true. And what is more, if we think over our favorite poetry, we +shall find it full of this kind of fallacy, and that we like it all +the more for being so. + +§ 5. It will appear also, on consideration of the matter, that this +fallacy is of two principal kinds. Either, as in this case of the +crocus, it is the fallacy of wilful fancy, which involves no real +expectation that it will be believed; or else it is a fallacy caused +by an excited state of the feelings, making us, for the time, more +or less irrational. Of the cheating of the fancy we shall have to +speak presently; but, in this chapter, I want to examine the nature +of the other error, that which the mind admits, when affected +strongly by emotion. Thus, for instance, in Alton Locke,-- + + "They rowed her in across the rolling foam-- + The cruel, crawling foam." + +The foam is not cruel, neither does it crawl. The state of mind +which attributes to it these characters of a living creature is one +in which the reason is unhinged by grief. All violent feelings have +the same effect. They produce in us a falseness in all our +impressions of external things, which I would generally characterize +as the "Pathetic fallacy." + +§ 6. Now we are in the habit of considering this fallacy as +eminently a character of poetical description, and the temper of +mind in which we allow it, as one eminently poetical, because +passionate. But, I believe, if we look well into the matter, that +we shall find the greatest poets do not often admit this kind of +falseness,--that it is only the second order of poets who much +delight in it.[56] + +Thus, when Dante describes the spirits falling from the bank of +Acheron "as dead leaves flutter from a bough," he gives the most +perfect image possible of their utter lightness, feebleness, +passiveness, and scattering agony of despair, without, however, for +an instant losing his own clear perception that _these_ are souls, +and _those_ are leaves: he makes no confusion of one with the other. +But when Coleridge speaks of + + "The one red leaf, the last of its clan, + That dances as often as dance it can," + +he has a morbid, that is to say, a so far false, idea about the +leaf: he fancies a life in it, and will, which there are not; +confuses its powerlessness with choice, its fading death with +merriment, and the wind that shakes it with music. Here, however, +there is some beauty, even in the morbid passage; but take an +instance in Homer and Pope. Without the knowledge of Ulysses, +Elpenor, his youngest follower, has fallen from an upper chamber in +the Circean palace, and has been left dead, unmissed by his leader, +or companions, in the haste of their departure. They cross the sea +to the Cimmerian land; and Ulysses summons the shades from Tartarus. +The first which appears is that of the lost Elpenor. Ulysses, +amazed, and in exactly the spirit of bitter and terrified lightness +which is seen in Hamlet,[57] addresses the spirit with the simple, +startled words:-- + + "Elpenor? How camest thou under the Shadowy darkness? Hast + thou come faster on foot than I in my black ship?" + +Which Pope renders thus:-- + + "O, say, what angry power Elpenor led + To glide in shades, and wander with the dead? + How could thy soul, by realms and seas disjoined, + Outfly the nimble sail, and leave the lagging wind?" + +I sincerely hope the reader finds no pleasure here, either in the +nimbleness of the sail, or the laziness of the wind! And yet how is +it that these conceits are so painful now, when they have been +pleasant to us in the other instances? + +§ 7. For a very simple reason. They are not a _pathetic_ fallacy at +all, for they are put into the mouth of the wrong passion--a passion +which never could possibly have spoken them--agonized curiosity. +Ulysses wants to know the facts of the matter; and the very last +thing his mind could do at the moment would be to pause, or suggest +in any wise what was _not_ a fact. The delay in the first three +lines, and conceit in the last, jar upon us instantly, like the most +frightful discord in music. No poet of true imaginative power could +possibly have written the passage. It is worth while comparing the +way a similar question is put by the exquisite sincerity of Keats:-- + + "He wept, and his bright tears + Went trickling down the golden bow he held. + Thus, with half-shut, suffused eyes, he stood; + While from beneath some cumb'rous boughs hard by, + With solemn step, an awful goddess came. + And there was purport in her looks for him, + Which he with eager guess began to read: + Perplexed the while, melodiously he said, + '_How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?_'" + +Therefore, we see that the spirit of truth must guide us in some +sort, even in our enjoyment of fallacy. Coleridge's fallacy has no +discord in it, but Pope's has set our teeth on edge. Without farther +questioning, I will endeavor to state the main bearings of this +matter. + +§ 8. The temperament which admits the pathetic fallacy, is, as I +said above, that of a mind and body in some sort too weak to deal +fully with what is before them or upon them; borne away, or +over-clouded, or over-dazzled by emotion; and it is a more or less +noble state, according to the force of the emotion which has induced +it. For it is no credit to a man that he is not morbid or inaccurate +in his perceptions, when he has no strength of feeling to warp them; +and it is in general a sign of higher capacity and stand in the +ranks of being, that the emotions should be strong enough to +vanquish, partly, the intellect, and make it believe what they +choose. But it is still a grander condition when the intellect also +rises, till it is strong enough to assert its rule against, or +together with, the utmost efforts of the passions; and the whole man +stands in an iron glow, white hot, perhaps, but still strong, and in +no wise evaporating; even if he melts, losing none of his weight. + +So, then, we have the three ranks: the man who perceives rightly, +because he does not feel, and to whom the primrose is very +accurately the primrose, because he does not love it. Then, +secondly, the man who perceives wrongly, because he feels, and to +whom the primrose is anything else than a primrose: a star, or a +sun, or a fairy's shield, or a forsaken maiden. And then, lastly, +there is the man who perceives rightly in spite of his feelings, and +to whom the primrose is for ever nothing else than itself--a little +flower, apprehended in the very plain and leafy fact of it, whatever +and how many soever the associations and passions may be, that crowd +around it. And, in general, these three classes may be rated in +comparative order, as the men who are not poets at all, and the +poets of the second order, and the poets of the first; only however +great a man may be, there are always some subjects which _ought_ to +throw him off his balance; some, by which his poor human capacity of +thought should be conquered, and brought into the inaccurate and +vague state of perception, so that the language of the highest +inspiration becomes broken, obscure, and wild in metaphor, +resembling that of the weaker man, overborne by weaker things. + +§ 9. And thus, in full, there are four classes: the men who feel +nothing, and therefore see truly; the men who feel strongly, think +weakly, and see untruly (second order of poets); the men who feel +strongly, think strongly, and see truly (first order of poets); and +the men who, strong as human creatures can be, are yet submitted to +influences stronger than they, and see in a sort untruly, because +what they see is inconceivably above them. This last is the usual +condition of prophetic inspiration. + +§ 10. I separate these classes, in order that their character may be +clearly understood; but of course they are united each to the other +by imperceptible transitions, and the same mind, according to the +influences to which it is subjected, passes at different times into +the various states. Still, the difference between the great and less +man is, on the whole, chiefly in this point of _alterability_. That +is to say, the one knows too much, and perceives and feels too much +of the past and future, and of all things beside and around that +which immediately affects him, to be in any wise shaken by it. His +mind is made up; his thoughts have an accustomed current; his ways +are steadfast; it is not this or that new sight which will at once +unbalance him. He is tender to impression at the surface, like a +rock with deep moss upon it; but there is too much mass of him to be +moved. The smaller man, with the same degree of sensibility, is at +once carried off his feet; he wants to do something he did not want +to do before; he views all the universe in a new light through his +tears; he is gay or enthusiastic, melancholy or passionate, as +things come and go to him. Therefore the high creative poet might +even be thought, to a great extent, impassive (as shallow people +think Dante stern), receiving indeed all feelings to the full, but +having a great centre of reflection and knowledge in which he stands +serene, and watches the feeling, as it were, from far off. + +Dante, in his most intense moods, has entire command of himself, and +can look around calmly, at all moments, for the image or the word that +will best tell what he sees to the upper or lower world. But Keats and +Tennyson, and the poets of the second order, are generally themselves +subdued by the feelings under which they write, or, at least, write as +choosing to be so, and therefore admit certain expressions and modes +of thought which are in some sort diseased or false. + +§ 11. Now so long as we see that the _feeling_ is true, we pardon, +or are even pleased by, the confessed fallacy of sight which it +induces: we are pleased, for instance, with those lines of +Kingsley's, above quoted, not because they fallaciously describe +foam, but because they faithfully describe sorrow. But the moment +the mind of the speaker becomes cold, that moment every such +expression becomes untrue, as being for ever untrue in the external +facts. And there is no greater baseness in literature than the habit +of using these metaphorical expressions in cool blood. An inspired +writer, in full impetuosity of passion, may speak wisely and truly +of "raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame;" but it is +only the basest writer who cannot speak of the sea without talking +of "raging waves," "remorseless floods," "ravenous billows," &c.; +and it is one of the signs of the highest power in a writer to check +all such habits of thought, and to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the +_pure fact_, out of which if any feeling comes to him or his reader, +he knows it must be a true one. + +To keep to the waves, I forget who it is who represents a man in +despair, desiring that his body may be cast into the sea, + + "_Whose changing mound, and foam that passed away_, + Might mock the eye that questioned where I lay." + +Observe, there is not a single false, or even overcharged, +expression. "Mound" of the sea wave is perfectly simple and true; +"changing" is as familiar as may be; "foam that passed away," +strictly literal; and the whole line descriptive of the reality with +a degree of accuracy which I know not any other verse, in the range +of poetry, that altogether equals. For most people have not a +distinct idea of the clumsiness and massiveness of a large wave. The +word "wave" is used too generally of ripples and breakers, and +bendings in light drapery or grass: it does not by itself convey a +perfect image. But the word "mound" is heavy, large, dark, definite; +there is no mistaking the kind of wave meant, nor missing the sight +of it. Then the term "changing" has a peculiar force also. Most +people think of waves as rising and falling. But if they look at the +sea carefully, they will perceive that the waves do not rise and +fall. They change. Change both place and form, but they do not fall; +one wave goes on, and on, and still on; now lower, now higher, now +tossing its mane like a horse, now building itself together like a +wall, now shaking, now steady, but still the same wave, till at last +it seems struck by something, and changes, one knows not +how,--becomes another wave. + +The close of the line insists on this image, and paints it still +more perfectly,--"foam that passed away." Not merely melting, +disappearing, but passing on, out of sight, on the career of the +wave. Then, having put the absolute ocean fact as far as he may +before our eyes, the poet leaves us to feel about it as we may, and +to trace for ourselves the opposite fact,--the image of the green +mounds that do not change, and the white and written stones that do +not pass away; and thence to follow out also the associated images +of the calm life with the quiet grave, and the despairing life with +the fading foam:-- + + "Let no man move his bones." + "As for Samaria, her king is cut off like the foam upon the water." + +But nothing of this is actually told or pointed out, and the +expressions, as they stand, are perfectly severe and accurate, utterly +uninfluenced by the firmly governed emotion of the writer. Even the +word "mock" is hardly an exception, as it may stand merely for +"deceive" or "defeat," without implying any impersonation of the +waves. + +§ 12. It may be well, perhaps, to give one or two more instances to +show the peculiar dignity possessed by all passages which thus limit +their expression to the pure fact, and leave the hearer to gather +what he can from it. Here is a notable one from the Iliad. Helen, +looking from the Scæan gate of Troy over the Grecian host, and +telling Priam the names of its captains, says at last:-- + + "I see all the other dark-eyed Greeks; but two I cannot + see,--Castor and Pollux,--whom one mother bore with me. Have + they not followed from fair Lacedæmon, or have they indeed + come in their sea-wandering ships, but now will not enter into + the battle of men, fearing the shame and the scorn that is in + me?" + +Then Homer:-- + + "So she spoke. But them, already, the life-giving earth + possessed, there in Lacedæmon, in the dear fatherland." + +Note, here, the high poetical truth carried to the extreme. The poet +has to speak of the earth in sadness, but he will not let that +sadness affect or change his thoughts of it. No; though Castor and +Pollux be dead, yet the earth is our mother still, fruitful, +life-giving. These are the facts of the thing. I see nothing else +than these. Make what you will of them. + +§ 13. Take another very notable instance from Casimir de la Vigne's +terrible ballad, "La Toilette de Constance." I must quote a few +lines out of it here and there, to enable the reader who has not the +book by him, to understand its close. + + "Vite, Anna, vite; au miroir + Plus vite, Anna. L'heure s'avance, + Et je vais au bal ce soir + Chez l'ambassadeur de France. + + Y pensez vous, ils sont fanés, ces noeuds, + Ils sont d'hier, mon Dieu, comme tout passe! + Que du réseau qui retient mes cheveux + Les glands d'azur retombent avec grâce. + Plus haut! Plus bas! Vous ne comprenez rien! + Que sur mon front ce saphir étincelle: + Vous me piquez, mal-adroite. Ah, c'est bien, + Bien,--chère Anna! Je t'aime, je suis belle. + + Celui qu'en vain je voudrais oublier + (Anna, ma robe) il y sera, j'espère. + (Ah, fi, profane, est-ce là mon collier? + Quoi! ces grains d'or bénits par le Saint Père!) + Il y sera; Dieu, s'il pressait ma main + En y pensant, à peine je respire; + Père Anselmo doit m'entendre demain, + Comment ferai-je, Anna, pour tout lui dire? + + Vite un coup d'oeil au miroir, + Le dernier.----J'ai l'assurance + Qu'on va m'adorer ce soir + Chez l'ambassadeur de France. + + Près du foyer, Constance s'admirait. + Dieu! sur sa robe il vole une étincelle! + Au feu. Courez; Quand l'espoir l'enivrait + Tout perdre ainsi! Quoi! Mourir,--et si belle! + L'horrible feu ronge avec volupté + Ses bras, son sein, et l'entoure, et s'élève, + Et sans pitie dévore sa beauté, + Ses dixhuit ans, hélas, et son doux rêve! + + Adieu, bal, plaisir, amour! + On disait, Pauvre Constance! + Et on dansait, jusqu'au jour, + Chez l'ambassadeur de France." + +Yes, that is the fact of it. Right or wrong, the poet does not say. +What you may think about it, he does not know. He has nothing to do +with that. There lie the ashes of the dead girl in her chamber. +There they danced, till the morning, at the Ambassador's of France. +Make what you will of it. + +If the reader will look through the ballad, of which I have quoted +only about the third part, he will find that there is not, from +beginning to end of it, a single poetical (so called) expression, +except in one stanza. The girl speaks as simple prose as may be; there +is not a word she would not have actually used as she was dressing. +The poet stands by, impassive as a statue, recording her words just as +they come. At last the doom seizes her, and in the very presence of +death, for an instant, his own emotions conquer him. He records no +longer the facts only, but the facts as they seem to him. The fire +gnaws with _voluptuousness--without pity_. It is soon past. The fate +is fixed for ever; and he retires into his pale and crystalline +atmosphere of truth. He closes all with the calm veracity, + + "They said, 'Poor Constance!'" + +§ 14. Now in this there is the exact type of the consummate poetical +temperament. For, be it clearly and constantly remembered, that the +greatness of a poet depends upon the two faculties, acuteness of +feeling, and command of it. A poet is great, first in proportion to +the strength of his passion, and then, that strength being granted, +in proportion to his government of it; there being, however, always +a point beyond which it would be inhuman and monstrous if he pushed +this government, and, therefore, a point at which all feverish and +wild fancy becomes just and true. Thus the destruction of the +kingdom of Assyria cannot be contemplated firmly by a prophet of +Israel. The fact is too great, too wonderful. It overthrows him, +dashes him into a confused element of dreams. All the world is, to +his stunned thought, full of strange voices. "Yea, the fir-trees +rejoice at thee, and the cedars of Lebanon, saying, 'Since thou art +gone down to the grave, no feller is come up against us.'" So, still +more, the thought of the presence of Deity cannot be borne without +this great astonishment. "The mountains and the hills shall break +forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the fields shall +clap their hands." + +§ 15. But by how much this feeling is noble when it is justified by +the strength of its cause, by so much it is ignoble when there is not +cause enough for it; and beyond all other ignobleness is the mere +affectation of it, in hardness of heart. Simply bad writing may almost +always, as above noticed, be known by its adoption of these fanciful +metaphorical expressions, as a sort of current coin; yet there is even +a worse, at least a more harmful, condition of writing than this, in +which such expressions are not ignorantly and feelinglessly caught up, +but, by some master, skilful in handling, yet insincere, deliberately +wrought out with chill and studied fancy; as if we should try to make +an old lava stream look red-hot again, by covering it with dead +leaves, or white-hot, with hoar-frost. + +When Young is lost in veneration, as he dwells on the character of a +truly good and holy man, he permits himself for a moment to be +overborne by the feeling so far as to exclaim-- + + "Where shall I find him? angels, tell me where. + You know him; he is near you; point him out. + Shall I see glories beaming from his brow, + Or trace his footsteps by the rising flowers?" + +This emotion has a worthy cause, and is thus true and right. But now +hear the cold-hearted Pope say to a shepherd girl-- + + "Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade! + Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade; + Your praise the birds shall chant in every grove, + And winds shall waft it to the powers above. + But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain, + The wondering forests soon should dance again; + The moving mountains hear the powerful call, + And headlong streams hang, listening, in their fall." + +This is not, nor could it for a moment be mistaken for, the language +of passion. It is simple falsehood, uttered by hypocrisy; definite +absurdity, rooted in affectation, and coldly asserted in the teeth +of nature and fact. Passion will indeed go far in deceiving itself; +but it must be a strong passion, not the simple wish of a lover to +tempt his mistress to sing. Compare a very closely parallel passage +in Wordsworth, in which the lover has lost his mistress: + + "Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid, + When thus his moan he made:-- + + 'Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind yon oak, + Or let the ancient tree uprooted lie, + That in some other way yon smoke + May mount into the sky. + + If still behind yon pine-tree's ragged bough, + Headlong, the waterfall must come, + Oh, let it, then, be dumb-- + Be anything, sweet stream, but that which thou art now.'" + +Here is a cottage to be moved, if not a mountain, and a waterfall +to be silent, if it is not to hang listening; but with what +different relation to the mind that contemplates them! Here, in the +extremity of its agony, the soul cries out wildly for relief, which +at the same moment it partly knows to be impossible, but partly +believes possible, in a vague impression that a miracle _might_ be +wrought to give relief even to a less sore distress,--that nature is +kind, and God is kind, and that grief is strong; it knows not well +what _is_ possible to such grief. To silence a stream, to move a +cottage wall,--one might think it could do as much as that! + +§ 16. I believe these instances are enough to illustrate the main +point I insist upon respecting the pathetic fallacy,--that so far +as it _is_ a fallacy, it is always the sign of a morbid state of +mind, and comparatively of a weak one. Even in the most inspired +prophet it is a sign of the incapacity of his human sight or thought +to bear what has been revealed to it. In ordinary poetry, if it is +found in the thoughts of the poet himself, it is at once a sign of +his belonging to the inferior school; if in the thoughts of the +characters imagined by him, it is right or wrong according to the +genuineness of the emotion from which it springs; always, however, +implying necessarily _some_ degree of weakness in the character. + +Take two most exquisite instances from master hands. The Jessy of +Shenstone, and the Ellen of Wordsworth, have both been betrayed and +deserted. Jessy, in the course of her most touching complaint, says: + + "If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, + Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, + 'Hope not to find delight in us,' they say, + 'For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure.'" + +Compare with this some of the words of Ellen: + + "'Ah, why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself, + 'Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge, + And nature, that is kind in woman's breast, + And reason, that in man is wise and good, + And fear of Him who is a righteous Judge,-- + Why do not these prevail for human life, + To keep two hearts together, that began + Their springtime with one love, and that have need + Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet + To grant, or be received; while that poor bird-- + O, come and hear him! Thou who hast to me + Been faithless, hear him;--though a lowly creature, + One of God's simple children, that yet know not + The Universal Parent, _how_ he sings! + As if he wished the firmament of heaven + Should listen, and give back to him the voice + Of his triumphant constancy and love. + The proclamation that he makes, how far + His darkness doth transcend our fickle light.'" + +The perfection of both these passages, as far as regards truth and +tenderness of imagination in the two poets, is quite insuperable. +But, of the two characters imagined, Jessy is weaker than Ellen, +exactly in so far as something appears to her to be in nature which is +not. The flowers do not really reproach her. God meant them to comfort +her, not to taunt her; they would do so if she saw them rightly. + +Ellen, on the other hand, is quite above the slightest erring +emotion. There is not the barest film of fallacy in all her +thoughts. She reasons as calmly as if she did not feel. And, +although the singing of the bird suggests to her the idea of its +desiring to be heard in heaven, she does not for an instant admit +any veracity in the thought. "As if," she says,--"I know he means +nothing of the kind; but it does verily seem as if." The reader will +find, by examining the rest of the poem, that Ellen's character is +throughout consistent in this clear though passionate strength. + +It then being, I hope, now made clear to the reader in all respects +that the pathetic fallacy is powerful only so far as it is pathetic, +feeble so far as it is fallacious, and, therefore, that the dominion +of Truth is entire, over this, as over every other natural and just +state of the human mind, we may go on to the subject for the dealing +with which this prefatory inquiry became necessary; and why +necessary, we shall see forthwith.[58] + + [52] It is quite true, that in all qualities involving sensation, + there may be a doubt whether different people receive the + same sensation from the same thing (compare Part II. Sec. I. + Chap. V. § 6.); but, though this makes such facts not + distinctly explicable, it does not alter the facts + themselves. I derive a certain sensation, which I call + sweetness, from sugar. That is a fact. Another person feels a + sensation, which _he_ also calls sweetness, from sugar. That + is also a fact. The sugar's power to produce these two + sensations, which we suppose to be, and which are, in all + probability, very nearly the same in both of us, and, on the + whole, in the human race, is its sweetness. + + [53] In fact (for I may as well, for once, meet our German friends + in their own style), all that has been subjected to us on + this subject seems object to this great objection; that the + subjection of all things (subject to no exceptions) to senses + which are, in us, both subject and abject, and objects of + perpetual contempt, cannot but make it our ultimate object to + subject ourselves to the senses, and to remove whatever + objections existed to such subjection. So that, finally, that + which is the subject of examination or object of attention, + uniting thus in itself the characters of subness and obness + (so that, that which has no obness in it should be called + sub-subjective, or a sub-subject, and that which has no + subness in it should be called upper or ober-objective, or an + ob-object); and we also, who suppose ourselves the objects of + every arrangement, and are certainly the subjects of every + sensual impression, thus uniting in ourselves, in an obverse + or adverse manner, the characters of obness and subness, must + both become metaphysically dejected or rejected, nothing + remaining in _us_ objective, but subjectivity, and the very + objectivity of the object being lost in the abyss of this + subjectivity of the Human. + + There is, however, some meaning in the above sentence, if the + reader cares to make it out; but in a pure German sentence of + the highest style there is often none whatever. See Appendix + II. "German Philosophy." + + [54] Contemplative, in the sense explained in Part III. Sec. II. + Chap. IV. + + [55] Holmes (Oliver Wendell), quoted by Miss Mitford in her + Recollections of a Literary Life. + + [56] I admit two orders of poets, but no third; and by these two + orders I mean the Creative (Shakspere, Homer, Dante), and + Reflective or Perceptive (Wordsworth, Keats, Tennyson). But + both of these must be _first_-rate in their range, though + their range is different; and with poetry second-rate in + _quality_ no one ought to be allowed to trouble mankind. + There is quite enough of the best,--much more than we can + ever read or enjoy in the length of a life; and it is a + literal wrong or sin in any person to encumber us with + inferior work. I have no patience with apologies made by + young pseudo-poets, "that they believe there is _some_ good + in what they have written: that they hope to do better in + time," etc. _Some_ good! If there is not _all_ good, there is + no good. If they ever hope to do better, why do they trouble + us now? Let them rather courageously burn all they have done, + and wait for the better days. There are few men, ordinarily + educated, who in moments of strong feeling could not strike + out a poetical thought, and afterwards polish it so as to be + presentable. But men of sense know better than so to waste + their time; and those who sincerely love poetry, know the + touch of the master's hand on the chords too well to fumble + among them after him. Nay, more than this; all inferior + poetry is an injury to the good, inasmuch as it takes away + the freshness of rhymes, blunders upon and gives a wretched + commonalty to good thoughts; and, in general, adds to the + weight of human weariness in a most woful and culpable + manner. There are few thoughts likely to come across ordinary + men, which have not already been expressed by greater men in + the best possible way; and it is a wiser, more generous, more + noble thing to remember and point out the perfect words, than + to invent poorer ones, wherewith to encumber temporarily the + world. + + [57] "Well said, Old mole! can'st work i' the ground so fast?" + + [58] I cannot quit this subject without giving two more instances, + both exquisite, of the pathetic fallacy, which I have just + come upon, in Maude: + + "For a great speculation had fail'd; + And ever he mutter'd and madden'd, and ever wann'd with + despair; + And out he walk'd, when the wind like a broken worldling + wail'd, + And the _flying gold of the ruin'd woodlands drove thro' + the air_." + + "There has fallen a splendid tear + From the passion-flower at the gate. + _The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near!'_ + _And the white rose weeps, 'She is late.'_ + _The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear!'_ + _And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'_" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +OF CLASSICAL LANDSCAPE. + + +§ 1. My reason for asking the reader to give so much of his time to +the examination of the pathetic fallacy was, that, whether in +literature or in art, he will find it eminently characteristic of +the modern mind; and in the landscape, whether of literature or art, +he will also find the modern painter endeavoring to express +something which he, as a living creature, imagines in the lifeless +object, while the classical and mediæval painters were content with +expressing the unimaginary and actual qualities of the object +itself. It will be observed that, according to the principle stated +long ago, I use the words painter and poet quite indifferently, +including in our inquiry the landscape of literature, as well as +that of painting; and this the more because the spirit of classical +landscape has hardly been expressed in any other way than by words. + +§ 2. Taking, therefore, this wide field, it is surely a very notable +circumstance, to begin with, that this pathetic fallacy is eminently +characteristic of modern painting. For instance, Keats, describing a +wave, breaking, out at sea, says of it-- + + "Down whose green back the short-lived foam, all hoar, + Bursts gradual, with a wayward indolence." + +That is quite perfect, as an example of the modern manner. The idea +of the peculiar action with which foam rolls down a long, large wave +could not have been given by any other words so well as by this +"wayward indolence." But Homer would never have written, never +thought of, such words. He could not by any possibility have lost +sight of the great fact that the wave, from the beginning to the end +of it, do what it might, was still nothing else than salt water; and +that salt water could not be either wayward or indolent. He will +call the waves "over-roofed," "full-charged," "monstrous," +"compact-black," "dark-clear," "violet-colored," "wine-colored," and +so on. But every one of these epithets is descriptive of pure +physical nature. "Over-roofed" is the term he invariably uses of +anything--rock, house, or wave--that nods over at the brow; the +other terms need no explanation; they are as accurate and intense in +truth as words can be, but they never show the slightest feeling of +anything animated in the ocean. Black or clear, monstrous or +violet-colored, cold salt water it is always, and nothing but that. + +§ 3. "Well, but the modern writer, by his admission of the tinge of +fallacy, has given an idea of something in the action of the wave +which Homer could not, and surely, therefore, has made a step in +advance? Also there appears to be a degree of sympathy and feeling +in the one writer, which there is not in the other; and as it has +been received for a first principle that writers are great in +proportion to the intensity of their feelings, and Homer seems to +have no feelings about the sea but that it is black and deep, surely +in this respect also the modern writer is the greater?" + +Stay a moment. Homer _had_ some feeling about the sea; a faith in +the animation of it much stronger than Keats's. But all this sense +of something living in it, he separates in his mind into a great +abstract image of a Sea Power. He never says the waves rage, or the +waves are idle. But he says there is somewhat in, and greater than, +the waves, which rages, and is idle, and _that_ he calls a god. + +§ 4. I do not think we ever enough endeavor to enter into what a +Greek's real notion of a god was. We are so accustomed to the modern +mockeries of the classical religion, so accustomed to hear and see +the Greek gods introduced as living personages, or invoked for help, +by men who believe neither in them nor in any other gods, that we +seem to have infected the Greek ages themselves with the breath, and +dimmed them with the shade, of our hypocrisy; and are apt to think +that Homer, as we know that Pope, was merely an ingenious fabulist; +nay, more than this, that all the nations of past time were +ingenious fabulists also, to whom the universe was a lyrical drama, +and by whom whatsoever was said about it was merely a witty +allegory, or a graceful lie, of which the entire upshot and +consummation was a pretty statue in the middle of the court, or at +the end of the garden. + +This, at least, is one of our forms of opinion about Greek faith; not, +indeed, possible altogether to any man of honesty or ordinary powers +of thought; but still so venomously inherent in the modern philosophy +that all the pure lightning of Carlyle cannot as yet quite burn it out +of any of us. And then, side by side with this mere infidel folly, +stands the bitter short-sightedness of Puritanism, holding the +classical god to be either simply an idol,--a block of stone +ignorantly, though sincerely, worshipped,--or else an actual diabolic +or betraying power, usurping the place of god. + +§ 5. Both these Puritanical estimates of Greek deity are of course +to some extent true. The corruption of classical worship is barren +idolatry; and that corruption was deepened, and variously directed +to their own purposes, by the evil angels. But this was neither the +whole, nor the principal part, of Pagan worship. Pallas was not, in +the pure Greek mind, merely a powerful piece of ivory in a temple at +Athens; neither was the choice of Leonidas between the alternatives +granted him by the oracle, of personal death, or ruin to his +country, altogether a work of the Devil's prompting. + +§ 6. What, then, was actually the Greek god? In what way were these +two ideas of human form, and divine power, credibly associated in +the ancient heart, so as to become a subject of true faith, +irrespective equally of fable, allegory, superstitious trust in +stone, and demoniacal influence? + +It seems to me that the Greek had exactly the same instinctive +feeling about the elements that we have ourselves; that to Homer, as +much as to Casimir de la Vigne, fire seemed ravenous and pitiless; +to Homer, as much as to Keats, the sea-wave appeared wayward or +idle, or whatever else it may be to the poetical passion. But then +the Greek reasoned upon this sensation, saying to himself: "I can +light the fire, and put it out; I can dry this water up, or drink +it. It cannot be the fire or the water that rages, or that is +wayward. But it must be something _in_ this fire and _in_ the water, +which I cannot destroy by extinguishing the one, or evaporating the +other, any more than I destroy myself by cutting off my finger; _I_ +was _in_ my finger,--something of me at least was; I had a power +over it, and felt pain in it, though I am still as much myself when +it is gone. So there may be a power in the water which is not water, +but to which the water is as a body;--which can strike with it, move +in it, suffer in it, yet not be destroyed in it. This something, +this great Water Spirit, I must not confuse with the waves, which +are only its body. _They_ may flow hither and thither, increase or +diminish. _That_ must be indivisible--imperishable--a god. So of +fire also; those rays which I can stop, and in the midst of which I +cast a shadow, cannot be divine, nor greater than I. They cannot +feel, but there may be something in them that feels,--a glorious +intelligence, as much nobler and more swift than mine, as these +rays, which are its body, are nobler and swifter than my flesh;--the +spirit of all light, and truth, and melody, and revolving hours." + +§ 7. It was easy to conceive, farther, that such spirits should be +able to assume at will a human form, in order to hold intercourse +with men, or to perform any act for which their proper body, whether +fire, earth, or air, was unfitted. And it would have been to place +them beneath, instead of above, humanity, if, assuming the form of +man, they could not also have tasted his pleasures. Hence the easy +step to the more or less material ideas of deities, which are apt at +first to shock us, but which are indeed only dishonorable so far as +they represent the gods as false and unholy. It is not the +materialism, but the vice, which degrades the conception; for the +materialism itself is never positive or complete. There is always +some sense of exaltation in the spiritual and immortal body; and of +a power proceeding from the visible form through all the infinity of +the element ruled by the particular god. The precise nature of the +idea is well seen in the passage of the Iliad which describes the +river Scamander defending the Trojans against Achilles. In order to +remonstrate with the hero, the god assumes a human form, which +nevertheless is in some way or other instantly recognized by +Achilles as that of the river-god: it is addressed at once as a +river, not as a man; and its voice is the voice of a river, "out of +the deep whirlpools."[59] Achilles refuses to obey its commands; and +from the human form it returns instantly into its natural or divine +one, and endeavors to overwhelm him with waves. Vulcan defends +Achilles, and sends fire against the river, which suffers in its +water-body, till it is able to bear no more. At last even the "nerve +of the river," or "strength of the river" (note the expression), +feels the fire, and this "strength of the river" addresses Vulcan in +supplications for respite. There is in this precisely the idea of a +vital part of the river-body, which acted and felt, and which, if +the fire reached it, was death, just as would be the case if it +touched a vital part of the human body. Throughout the passage the +manner of conception is perfectly clear and consistent; and if, in +other places, the exact connection between the ruling spirit and the +thing ruled is not so manifest, it is only because it is almost +impossible for the human mind to dwell long upon such subjects +without falling into inconsistencies, and gradually slackening its +effort to grasp the entire truth; until the more spiritual part of +it slips from its hold, and only the human form of the god is left, +to be conceived and described as subject to all the errors of +humanity. But I do not believe that the idea ever weakens itself +down to mere allegory. When Pallas is said to attack and strike down +Mars, it does not mean merely that Wisdom at that moment prevailed +against Wrath. It means that there are indeed two great spirits, one +entrusted to guide the human soul to wisdom and chastity, the other +to kindle wrath and prompt to battle. It means that these two +spirits, on the spot where, and at the moment when, a great contest +was to be decided between all that they each governed in man, then +and there assumed human form, and human weapons, and did verily and +materially strike at each other, until the Spirit of Wrath was +crushed. And when Diana is said to hunt with her nymphs in the +woods, it does not mean merely as Wordsworth puts it, that the poet +or shepherd saw the moon and stars glancing between the branches of +the trees, and wished to say so figuratively. It means that there +is a living spirit, to which the light of the moon is a body; which +takes delight in glancing between the clouds and following the wild +beasts as they wander through the night; and that this spirit +sometimes assumes a perfect human form, and in this form, with real +arrows, pursues and slays the wild beasts, which with its mere +arrows of moonlight it could not slay; retaining, nevertheless, all +the while, its power, and being in the moonlight, and in all else +that it rules. + +§ 8. There is not the smallest inconsistency or unspirituality in +this conception. If there were, it would attach equally to the +appearance of the angels to Jacob, Abraham, Joshua, or Manoah. In +all those instances the highest authority which governs our own +faith requires us to conceive divine power clothed with a human form +(a form so real that it is recognized for superhuman only by its +"doing wondrously"), and retaining, nevertheless, sovereignty and +omnipresence in all the world. This is precisely, as I understand +it, the heathen idea of a God; and it is impossible to comprehend +any single part of the Greek mind until we grasp this faithfully, +not endeavoring to explain it away in any wise, but accepting, with +frank decision and definition, the tangible existence of its +deities;--blue-eyed--white-fleshed--human-hearted,--capable at their +choice of meeting man absolutely in his own nature--feasting with +him--talking with him--fighting with him, eye to eye, or breast to +breast, as Mars with Diomed; or else, dealing with him in a more +retired spirituality, as Apollo sending the plague upon the Greeks, +when his quiver rattles at his shoulders as he moves, and yet the +darts sent forth of it strike not as arrows, but as plague; or, +finally, retiring completely into the material universe which they +properly inhabit, and dealing with man through that, as Scamander +with Achilles through his waves. + +§ 9. Nor is there anything whatever in the various actions recorded of +the gods, however apparently ignoble, to indicate weakness of belief +in them. Very frequently things which appear to us ignoble are merely +the simplicities of a pure and truthful age. When Juno beats Diana +about the ears with her own quiver, for instance, we start at first, +as if Homer could not have believed that they were both real +goddesses. But what should Juno have done? Killed Diana with a look? +Nay, she neither wished to do so, nor could she have done so, by the +very faith of Diana's goddess-ship. Diana is as immortal as herself. +Frowned Diana into submission? But Diana has come expressly to try +conclusions with her, and will by no means be frowned into submission. +Wounded her with a celestial lance? That sounds more poetical, but it +is in reality partly more savage, and partly more absurd, than Homer. +More savage, for it makes Juno more cruel, therefore less divine; and +more absurd, for it only seems elevated in tone, because we use the +word "celestial," which means nothing. What sort of a thing is a +"celestial" lance? Not a wooden one. Of what then? Of moonbeams, or +clouds, or mist. Well, therefore, Diana's arrows were of mist too; and +her quiver, and herself, and Juno, with her lance, and all, vanish +into mist. Why not have said at once, if that is all you mean, that +two mists met, and one drove the other back? That would have been +rational and intelligible, but not to talk of celestial lances. Homer +had no such misty fancy; he believed the two goddesses were there in +true bodies, with true weapons, on the true earth; and still I ask, +what should Juno have done? Not beaten Diana? No; for it is +un-lady-like. Un-English-lady-like, yes; but by no means +un-Greek-lady-like, nor even un-natural-lady-like. If a modern lady +does _not_ beat her servant or her rival about the ears, it is oftener +because she is too weak, or too proud, than because she is of purer +mind than Homer's Juno. She will not strike them; but she will +overwork the one or slander the other without pity; and Homer would +not have thought that one whit more goddess-like than striking them +with her open hand. + +§ 10. If, however, the reader likes to suppose that while the two +goddesses in personal presence thus fought with arrow and quiver, +there was also a broader and vaster contest supposed by Homer +between the elements they ruled; and that the goddess of the +heavens, as she struck the goddess of the moon on the flushing +cheek, was at the same instant exercising omnipresent power in the +heavens themselves, and gathering clouds, with which, filled with +the moon's own arrows or beams, she was encumbering and concealing +the moon; he is welcome to this out-carrying of the idea, provided +that he does not pretend to make it an interpretation instead of a +mere extension, nor think to explain away my real, running, +beautiful beaten Diana, into a moon behind clouds.[60] + +§ 11. It is only farther to be noted, that the Greek conception of +Godhead, as it was much more real than we usually suppose, so it was +much more bold and familiar than to a modern mind would be possible. +I shall have something more to observe, in a little while, of the +danger of our modern habit of endeavoring to raise ourselves to +something like comprehension of the truth of divinity, instead of +simply believing the words in which the Deity reveals Himself to us. +The Greek erred rather on the other side, making hardly any effort +to conceive divine mind as above the human; and no more shrinking +from frank intercourse with a divine being, or dreading its +immediate presence, than that of the simplest of mortals. Thus +Atrides, enraged at his sword's breaking in his hand upon the helmet +of Paris, after he had expressly invoked the assistance of Jupiter, +exclaims aloud, as he would to a king who had betrayed him, "Jove, +Father, there is not another god more evil-minded than thou!" and +Helen, provoked at Paris's defeat, and oppressed with pouting shame +both for him and for herself, when Venus appears at her side, and +would lead her back to the delivered Paris, impatiently tells the +goddess to "go and take care of Paris herself." + +§ 12. The modern mind is naturally, but vulgarly and unjustly, +shocked by this kind of familiarity. Rightly understood, it is not +so much a sign of misunderstanding of the divine nature as of good +understanding of the human. The Greek lived, in all things, a +healthy, and, in a certain degree, a perfect life. He had no morbid +or sickly feeling of any kind. He was accustomed to face death +without the slightest shrinking, to undergo all kinds of bodily +hardship without complaint, and to do what he supposed right and +honorable, in most cases, as a matter of course. Confident of his +own immortality, and of the power of abstract justice, he expected +to be dealt with in the next world as was right, and left the +matter much in his gods' hands; but being thus immortal, and finding +in his own soul something which it seemed quite as difficult to +master, as to rule the elements, he did not feel that it was an +appalling superiority in those gods to have bodies of water, or +fire, instead of flesh, and to have various work to do among the +clouds and waves, out of his human way; or sometimes, even, in a +sort of service to himself. Was not the nourishment of herbs and +flowers a kind of ministering to his wants? were not the gods in +some sort his husbandmen, and spirit-servants? Their mere strength +or omnipresence did not seem to him a distinction absolutely +terrific. It might be the nature of one being to be in two places at +once, and of another to be only in one; but that did not seem of +itself to infer any absolute lordliness of one nature above the +other, any more than an insect must be a nobler creature than a man, +because it can see on four sides of its head, and the man only in +front. They could kill him or torture him, it was true; but even +that not unjustly, or not for ever. There was a fate, and a Divine +Justice, greater than they; so that if they did wrong, and he right, +he might fight it out with them, and have the better of them at +last. In a general way, they were wiser, stronger, and better than +he; and to ask counsel of them, to obey them, to sacrifice to them, +to thank them for all good, this was well; but to be utterly +downcast before them, or not to tell them his mind in plain Greek if +they seemed to him to be conducting themselves in an ungodly +manner,--this would not be well. + +§ 13. Such being their general idea of the gods, we can now easily +understand the habitual tone of their feelings towards what was +beautiful in nature. With us, observe, the idea of the Divinity is +apt to get separated from the life of nature; and imagining our God +upon a cloudy throne, far above the earth, and not in the flowers or +waters, we approach those visible things with a theory that they are +dead, governed by physical laws, and so forth. But coming to them, +we find the theory fail; that they are not dead; that, say what we +choose about them, the instinctive sense of their being alive is too +strong for us; and in scorn of all physical law, the wilful fountain +sings, and the kindly flowers rejoice. And then, puzzled, and yet +happy; pleased, and yet ashamed of being so; accepting sympathy +from nature, which we do not believe it gives, and giving sympathy +to nature, which we do not believe it receives,--mixing, besides, +all manner of purposeful play and conceit with these involuntary +fellowships,--we fall necessarily into the curious web of hesitating +sentiment, pathetic fallacy, and wandering fancy, which form a great +part of our modern view of nature. But the Greek never removed his +god out of nature at all; never attempted for a moment to contradict +his instinctive sense that God was everywhere. "The tree _is_ glad," +said he, "I know it is; I can cut it down; no matter, there was a +nymph in it. The water _does_ sing," said he; "I can dry it up; but +no matter, there was a naiad in it." But in thus clearly defining +his belief, observe, he threw it entirely into a human form, and +gave his faith to nothing but the image of his own humanity. What +sympathy and fellowship he had, were always for the spirit _in_ the +stream, not for the stream; always for the dryad _in_ the wood, not +for the wood. Content with this human sympathy, he approached the +actual waves and woody fibres with no sympathy at all. The spirit +that ruled them, he received as a plain fact. Them, also, ruled and +material, he received as plain facts; they, without their spirit, +were dead enough. A rose was good for scent, and a stream for sound +and coolness; for the rest, one was no more than leaves, the other +no more than water; he could not make anything else of them; and the +divine power, which was involved in their existence, having been all +distilled away by him into an independent Flora or Thetis, the poor +leaves or waves were left, in mere cold corporealness, to make the +most of their being discernibly red and soft, clear and wet, and +unacknowledged in any other power whatsoever. + +§ 14. Then, observe farther, the Greeks lived in the midst of the +most beautiful nature, and were as familiar with blue sea, clear +air, and sweet outlines of mountain, as we are with brick walls, +black smoke, and level fields. This perfect familiarity rendered all +such scenes of natural beauty unexciting, if not indifferent, to +them, by lulling and overwearying the imagination as far as it was +concerned with such things; but there was another kind of beauty +which they found it required effort to obtain, and which, when +thoroughly obtained, seemed more glorious than any of this wild +loveliness--the beauty of the human countenance and form. This, they +perceived, could only be reached by continual exercise of virtue; +and it was in Heaven's sight, and theirs, all the more beautiful +because it needed this self-denial to obtain it. So they set +themselves to reach this, and having gained it, gave it their +principal thoughts, and set it off with beautiful dress as best they +might. But making this their object, they were obliged to pass their +lives in simple exercise and disciplined employments. Living +wholesomely, giving themselves no fever fits, either by fasting or +over-eating, constantly in the open air, and full of animal spirit +and physical power, they became incapable of every morbid condition +of mental emotion. Unhappy love, disappointed ambition, spiritual +despondency, or any other disturbing sensation, had little power +over the well-braced nerves, and healthy flow of the blood; and what +bitterness might yet fasten on them was soon boxed or raced out of a +boy, and spun or woven out of a girl, or danced out of both. They +had indeed their sorrows, true and deep, but still, more like +children's sorrows than ours, whether bursting into open cry of +pain, or hid with shuddering under the veil, still passing over the +soul as clouds do over heaven, not sullying it, not mingling with +it;--darkening it perhaps long or utterly, but still not becoming +one with it, and for the most part passing away in dashing rain of +tears, and leaving the man unchanged; in nowise affecting, as our +sorrow does, the whole tone of his thought and imagination +thenceforward. + +How far our melancholy may be deeper and wider than theirs, in its +roots and view, and therefore nobler, we shall consider presently; +but at all events, they had the advantage of us in being entirety +free from all those dim and feverish sensations which result from +unhealthy state of the body. I believe that a large amount of the +dreamy and sentimental sadness, tendency to reverie, and general +patheticalness of modern life results merely from derangement of +stomach; holding to the Greek life the same relation that the +feverish night of an adult does to a child's sleep. + +§ 15. Farther. The human beauty, which, whether in its bodily being +or in imagined divinity, had become, for the reasons we have seen, +the principal object of culture and sympathy to these Greeks, was, +in its perfection, eminently orderly, symmetrical, and tender. +Hence, contemplating it constantly in this state, they could not but +feel a proportionate fear of all that was disorderly, unbalanced, +and rugged. Having trained their stoutest soldiers into a strength +so delicate and lovely, that their white flesh, with their blood +upon it, should look like ivory stained with purple;[61] and having +always around them, in the motion and majesty of this beauty, enough +for the full employment of their imagination, they shrank with dread +or hatred from all the ruggedness of lower nature,--from the +wrinkled forest bark, the jagged hill-crest, and irregular, +inorganic storm of sky; looking to these for the most part as +adverse powers, and taking pleasure only in such portions of the +lower world as were at once conducive to the rest and health of the +human frame, and in harmony with the laws of its gentler beauty. + +§ 16. Thus, as far as I recollect, without a single exception, every +Homeric landscape, intended to be beautiful, is composed of a +fountain, a meadow, and a shady grove. This ideal is very +interestingly marked, as intended for a perfect one, in the fifth +book of the Odyssey; when Mercury himself stops for a moment, though +on a message, to look at a landscape "which even an immortal might +be gladdened to behold." This landscape consists of a cave covered +with a running vine, all blooming into grapes, and surrounded by a +grove of alder, poplar, and sweet-smelling cypress. Four fountains +of white (foaming) water, springing _in succession_ (mark the +orderliness), and close to one another, flow away in different +directions, through a meadow full of violets and parsley (parsley, +to mark its moisture, being elsewhere called "marsh-nourished," and +associated with the lotus);[62] the air is perfumed not only by +these violets and by the sweet cypress, but by Calypso's fire of +finely chopped cedar wood, which sends a smoke as of incense, +through the island; Calypso herself is singing; and finally, upon +the trees are resting, or roosting, owls, hawks, and "long-tongued +sea-crows." Whether these last are considered as a part of the +ideal landscape, as marine singing-birds, I know not; but the +approval of Mercury appears to be elicited chiefly by the fountains +and violet meadow. + +§ 17. Now the notable things in this description are, first, the +evident subservience of the whole landscape to human comfort, to the +foot, the taste, or the smell; and, secondly, that throughout the +passage there is not a single figurative word expressive of the +things being in any wise other than plain grass, fruit or flower. I +have used the term "spring" of the fountains, because, without +doubt, Homer means that they sprang forth brightly, having their +source at the foot of the rocks (as copious fountains nearly always +have); but Homer does not say "spring," he says simply flow, and +uses only one word for "growing softly," or "richly," of the tall +trees, the vine, and the violets. There is, however, some expression +of sympathy with the sea-birds; he speaks of them in precisely the +same terms, as in other places of naval nations, saying they "have +care of the works of the sea." + +§ 18. If we glance through the references to pleasant landscape which +occur in other parts of the Odyssey, we shall always be struck by this +quiet subjection of their every feature to human service, and by the +excessive similarity in the scenes. Perhaps the spot intended, after +this, to be most perfect, may be the garden of Alcinous, where the +principal ideas are, still more definitely, order, symmetry, and +fruitfulness; the beds being duly ranged between rows of vines, which, +as well as the pear, apple, and fig-trees, bear fruit continually, +some grapes being yet sour, while others are getting black; there are +plenty of "_orderly_ square beds of herbs," chiefly leeks, and two +fountains, one running through the garden, and one under the pavement +of the palace to a reservoir for the citizens. Ulysses, pausing to +contemplate this scene, is described nearly in the same terms as +Mercury pausing to contemplate the wilder meadow; and it is +interesting to observe, that, in spite of all Homer's love of +symmetry, the god's admiration is excited by the free fountains, wild +violets, and wandering vine; but the mortal's, by the vines in rows, +the leeks in beds, and the fountains in pipes. + +Ulysses has, however, one touching reason for loving vines in rows. +His father had given him fifty rows for himself, when he was a boy, +with corn between them (just as it now grows in Italy). Proving his +identity afterwards to his father, whom he finds at work in his +garden, "with thick gloves on, to keep his hands from the thorns," +he reminds him of these fifty rows of vines, and of the "thirteen +pear-trees and ten apple-trees" which he had given him; and Laertes +faints upon his neck. + +§ 19. If Ulysses had not been so much of a gardener, it might have +been received as a sign of considerable feeling for landscape +beauty, that, intending to pay the very highest possible compliment +to the Princess Nausicaa (and having indeed, the moment before, +gravely asked her whether she was a goddess or not), he says that he +feels, at seeing her, exactly as he did when he saw the young +palm-tree growing at Apollo's shrine at Delos. But I think the taste +for trim hedges and upright trunks has its usual influence over him +here also, and that he merely means to tell the princess that she is +delightfully tall and straight. + +§ 20. The princess is, however, pleased by his address, and tells +him to wait outside the town, till she can speak to her father about +him. The spot to which she directs him is another ideal piece of +landscape, composed of a "beautiful grove of aspen poplars, a +fountain, and a meadow," near the road-side; in fact, as nearly as +possible such a scene as meets the eye of the traveller every +instant on the much-despised lines of road through lowland France; +for instance, on the railway between Arras and Amiens;--scenes, to +my mind, quite exquisite in the various grouping and grace of their +innumerable poplar avenues, casting sweet, tremulous shadows over +their level meadows and labyrinthine streams. We know that the +princess means aspen poplars, because soon afterwards we find her +fifty maid-servants at the palace, all spinning, and in perpetual +motion, compared to the "leaves of the tall poplar;" and it is with +exquisite feeling that it is made afterwards[63] the chief tree in +the groves of Proserpine; its light and quivering leafage having +exactly the melancholy expression of fragility, faintness, and +inconstancy which the ancients attributed to the disembodied +spirit.[64] The likeness to the poplars by the streams of Amiens is +more marked still in the Iliad, where the young Simois, struck by +Ajax, falls to the earth "like an aspen that has grown in an +irrigated meadow, smooth-trunked, the soft shoots springing from its +top, which some coach-making man has cut down with his keen iron, +that he may fit a wheel of it to a fair chariot, and it lies +parching by the side of the stream." It is sufficiently notable that +Homer, living in mountainous and rocky countries, dwells thus +delightedly on all the _flat_ bits; and so I think invariably the +inhabitants of mountain countries do, but the inhabitants of the +plains do not, in any similar way, dwell delightedly on mountains. +The Dutch painters are perfectly contented with their flat fields +and pollards: Rubens, though he had seen the Alps, usually composes +his landscapes of a hayfield or two, plenty of pollards and willows, +a distant spire, a Dutch house with a moat about it, a windmill, and +a ditch. The Flemish sacred painters are the only ones who introduce +mountains in the distance, as we shall see presently; but rather in +a formal way than with any appearance of enjoyment. So Shakspere +never speaks of mountains with the slightest joy, but only of +lowland flowers, flat fields, and Warwickshire streams. And if we +talk to the mountaineer, he will usually characterize his own +country to us as a "pays affreux," or in some equivalent, perhaps +even more violent, German term: but the lowland peasant does not +think his country frightful; he either will have no ideas beyond it, +or about it; or will think it a very perfect country, and be apt to +regard any deviation from its general principle of flatness with +extreme disfavor; as the Lincolnshire farmer in Alton Locke: "I'll +shaw 'ee some'at like a field o' beans, I wool--none o' this here +darned ups and downs o' hills, to shake a body's victuals out of his +inwards--all so vlat as a barn door, for vorty mile on end--there's +the country to live in!" + +I do not say whether this be altogether right (though certainly not +wholly wrong), but it seems to me that there must be in the simple +freshness and fruitfulness of level land, in its pale upright +trees, and gentle lapse of silent streams, enough for the +satisfaction of the human mind in general; and I so far agree with +Homer, that if I had to educate an artist to the full perception of +the meaning of the word "gracefulness" in landscape, I should send +him neither to Italy nor to Greece, but simply to those poplar +groves between Arras and Amiens. + +§ 21. But to return more definitely to our Homeric landscape. When +it is perfect, we have, as in the above instances, the foliage and +meadows together; when imperfect, it is always either the foliage or +the meadow; preëminently the meadow, or arable field. Thus, meadows +of asphodel are prepared for the happier dead; and even Orion, a +hunter among the mountains in his lifetime, pursues the ghosts of +beasts in these asphodel meadows after death.[65] So the sirens sing +in a meadow; and throughout the Odyssey there is a general tendency +to the depreciation of poor Ithaca, because it is rocky, and only +fit for goats, and has "no meadows;" for which reason Telemachus +refuses Atrides's present of horses, congratulating the Spartan king +at the same time on ruling over a plain which has "plenty of lotus +in it, and rushes," with corn and barley. Note this constant +dwelling on the marsh plants, or, at least, those which grow in flat +and well-irrigated land, or beside streams: when Scamander, for +instance, is restrained by Vulcan, Homer says, very sorrowfully, +that "all his lotus, and reeds, and rushes were burnt;" and thus +Ulysses, after being shipwrecked and nearly drowned, and beaten +about the sea for many days and nights, on raft and mast, at last +getting ashore at the mouth of a large river, casts himself down +first upon its _rushes_, and then, in thankfulness, kisses the +"corn-giving land," as most opposed, in his heart, to the fruitless +and devouring sea.[66] + +§ 22. In this same passage, also, we find some peculiar expressions of +the delight which the Greeks had in trees, for, when Ulysses first +comes in sight of land, which gladdens him, "as the reviving of a +father from his sickness gladdens his children," it is not merely the +sight of the land itself which gives him such pleasure, but of the +"land and _wood_." Homer never throws away any words, at least in such +a place as this; and what in another poet would have been merely the +filling up of the deficient line with an otherwise useless word, is in +him the expression of the general Greek sense, that land of any kind +was in nowise grateful or acceptable till there was _wood_ upon it (or +corn; but the corn, in the flats, could not be seen so far as the +black masses of forest on the hill sides), and that, as in being rushy +and corn-giving, the low land, so in being woody, the high land, was +most grateful to the mind of the man who for days and nights had been +wearied on the engulphing sea. And this general idea of wood and corn, +as the types of the fatness of the whole earth, is beautifully marked +in another place of the Odyssey,[67] where the sailors in a desert +island, having no flour or corn to offer as a meat offering with their +sacrifices, take the leaves of the trees, and scatter them over the +burnt offering instead. + +§ 23. But still, every expression of the pleasure which Ulysses has in +this landing and resting, contains uninterruptedly the reference to +the utility and sensible pleasantness of all things, not to their +beauty. After his first grateful kiss given to the corn-growing land, +he considers immediately how he is to pass the night: for some minutes +hesitating whether it will be best to expose himself to the misty +chill from the river, or run the risk of wild beasts in the wood. He +decides for the wood, and finds in it a bower formed by a sweet and a +wild olive tree, interlacing their branches, or--perhaps more +accurately translating Homer's intensely graphic expression--"changing +their branches with each other" (it is very curious how often, in an +entanglement of wood, one supposes the branches to belong to the wrong +trees), and forming a roof penetrated by neither rain, sun, nor wind. +Under this bower Ulysses collects the "_vain_ (or _frustrate_) +outpouring of the dead leaves"--another exquisite expression, used +elsewhere of useless grief or shedding of tears;--and, having got +enough together, makes his bed of them, and goes to sleep, having +covered himself up with them, "as embers are covered up with ashes." + +Nothing can possibly be more intensely possessive of the _facts_ +than this whole passage; the sense of utter deadness and emptiness, +and frustrate fall in the leaves; of dormant life in the human +body,--the fire, and heroism, and strength of it, lulled under the +dead brown heap, as embers under ashes, and the knitting of +interchanged and close strength of living boughs above. But there is +not the smallest apparent sense of there being _beauty_ elsewhere +than in the human being. The wreathed wood is admired simply as +being a perfect roof for it; the fallen leaves only as being a +perfect bed for it; and there is literally no more excitement of +emotion in Homer, as he describes them, nor does he expect us to be +more excited or touched by hearing about them, than if he had been +telling us how the chamber-maid at the Bull aired the four-poster, +and put on two extra blankets. + +§ 24. Now, exactly this same contemplation of subservience to human +use makes the Greek take some pleasure in _rocks_, when they assume +one particular form, but one only--that of a _cave_. They are +evidently quite frightful things to him under any other condition, +and most of all if they are rough and jagged; but if smooth, looking +"sculptured," like the sides of a ship, and forming a cave or +shelter for him, he begins to think them endurable. Hence, +associating the ideas of rich and sheltering wood, sea, becalmed and +made useful as a port by projecting promontories of rock, and +smoothed caves or grottoes in the rocks themselves, we get the +pleasantest idea which the Greek could form of a landscape, next to +a marsh with poplars in it; not, indeed, if possible, ever to be +without these last: thus, in commending the Cyclops' country as one +possessed of every perfection, Homer first says: "They have soft +_marshy_ meadows near the sea, and good, rich, crumbling, +ploughing-land, giving fine deep crops, and vines always giving +fruit;" then, "a port so quiet, that they have no need of cables in +it; and at the head of the port, a beautiful clear spring just +_under a cave_, and _aspen poplars all round it_."[68] + +§ 25. This, it will be seen, is very nearly Homer's usual "ideal;" +but, going into the middle of the island, Ulysses comes on a rougher +and less agreeable bit, though still fulfilling certain required +conditions of endurableness; a "cave shaded with laurels," which, +having no poplars about it, is, however, meant to be somewhat +frightful, and only fit to be inhabited by a Cyclops. So in the +country of the Læstrygons, Homer, preparing his reader gradually for +something very disagreeable, represents the rocks as bare and +"exposed to the sun;" only with some smooth and slippery roads over +them, by which the trucks bring down wood from the higher hills. Any +one familiar with Swiss slopes of hills must remember how often he +has descended, sometimes faster than was altogether intentional, by +these same slippery woodman's track roads. + +And thus, in general, whenever the landscape is intended to be +lovely, it verges towards the ploughed land and poplars; or, at +worst, to _woody_ rocks; but, if intended to be painful, the rocks +are bare and "sharp." This last epithet, constantly used by Homer +for mountains, does not altogether correspond, in Greek, to the +English term, nor is it intended merely to characterize the sharp +mountain summits; for it never would be applied simply to the edge +or point of a sword, but signifies rather "harsh," "bitter," or +"painful," being applied habitually to fate, death, and in Od. ii. +333. to a halter; and, as expressive of general objectionableness +and unpleasantness, to all high, dangerous, or peaked mountains, as +the Maleian promontory (a much dreaded one), the crest of Parnassus, +the Tereian mountain, and a grim or untoward, though, by keeping off +the force of the sea, protective, rock at the mouth of the Jardanus; +as well as habitually to inaccessible or impregnable fortresses +built on heights. + +§ 26. In all this I cannot too strongly mark the utter absence of +any trace of the feeling for what we call the picturesque, and the +constant dwelling of the writer's mind on what was available, +pleasant, or useful; his ideas respecting all landscape being not +uncharacteristically summed, finally, by Pallas herself; when, +meeting Ulysses, who after his long wandering does not recognize his +own country, and meaning to describe it as politely and soothingly +as possible, she says:[69]--"This Ithaca of ours is, indeed, a rough +country enough, and not good for driving in; but, still, things +might be worse: it has plenty of corn, and good wine, and _always +rain_, and soft nourishing dew; and it has good feeding for goats +and oxen, and all manner of wood, and springs fit to drink at all +the year round." + +We shall see presently how the blundering, pseudo-picturesque, +pseudo-classical minds of Claude and the Renaissance landscape +painters, wholly missing Homer's practical common sense, and equally +incapable of feeling the quiet natural grace and sweetness of his +asphodel meadows, tender aspen poplars, or running vines,--fastened +on his _ports_ and _caves_, as the only available features of his +scenery; and appointed the type of "classical landscape" +thenceforward to consist in a bay of insipid sea, and a rock with a +hole through it.[70] + +§ 27. It may indeed be thought that I am assuming too hastily that +this was the general view of the Greeks respecting landscape, because +it was Homer's. But I believe the true mind of a nation, at any +period, is always best ascertainable by examining that of its greatest +men; and that simpler and truer results will be attainable for us by +simply comparing Homer, Dante, and Walter Scott, than by attempting +(what my limits must have rendered absurdly inadequate, and in which, +also, both my time and knowledge must have failed me) an analysis of +the landscape in the range of contemporary literature. All that I can +do, is to state the general impression which has been made upon me by +my desultory reading, and to mark accurately the grounds for this +impression, in the works of the greatest men. Now it is quite true +that in others of the Greeks, especially in Æschylus and Aristophanes, +there is infinitely more of modern feeling, of pathetic fallacy, love +of picturesque or beautiful form, and other such elements, than there +is in Homer; but then these appear to me just the parts of them which +were not Greek, the elements of their minds by which (as one division +of the human race always must be with subsequent ones) they are +connected with the mediævals and moderns. And without doubt, in his +influence over future mankind, Homer is eminently the Greek of Greeks; +if I were to associate any one with him it would be Herodotus, and I +believe all I have said of the Homeric landscape will be found equally +true of the Herodotean, as assuredly it will be of the Platonic; the +contempt, which Plato sometimes expresses by the mouth of Socrates, +for the country in general, except so far as it is shady, and has +cicadas and running streams to make pleasant noises in it, being +almost ludicrous. But Homer is the great type, and the more notable +one because of his influence on Virgil, and, through him, on Dante, +and all the after ages: and in like manner, if we can get the abstract +of mediæval landscape out of Dante, it will serve us as well as if we +had read all the songs of the troubadours, and help us to the farther +changes in derivative temper, down to all modern time. + +§ 28. I think, therefore, the reader may safely accept the +conclusions about Greek landscape which I have got for him out of +Homer; and in these he will certainly perceive something very +different from the usual imaginations we form of Greek feelings. We +think of the Greeks as poetical, ideal, imaginative, in the way that +a modern poet or novelist is; supposing that their thoughts about +their mythology and world were as visionary and artificial as ours +are: but I think the passages I have quoted show that it was not so, +although it may be difficult for us to apprehend the strange +minglings in them of the elements of faith, which, in our days, have +been blended with other parts of human nature in a totally different +guise. Perhaps the Greek mind may be best imagined by taking, as its +groundwork, that of a good, conscientious, but illiterate, Scotch +Presbyterian Border farmer of a century or two back, having perfect +faith in the bodily appearances of Satan and his imps; and in all +kelpies, brownies, and fairies. Substitute for the indignant terrors +in this man's mind, a general persuasion of the _Divinity_, more or +less beneficent, yet faultful, of all these beings; that is to say, +take away his belief in the demoniacal malignity of the fallen +spiritual world, and lower, in the same degree, his conceptions of +the angelical, retaining for him the same firm faith in both; keep +his ideas about flowers and beautiful scenery much as they +are,--his delight in regular ploughed land and meadows, and a neat +garden (only with rows of gooseberry bushes instead of vines,) +being, in all probability, about accurately representative of the +feelings of Ulysses; then, let the military spirit that is in him, +glowing against the Border forager, or the foe of old Flodden and +Chevy-Chase, be made more principal, with a higher sense of +nobleness in soldiership, not as a careless excitement, but a +knightly duty; and increased by high cultivation of every personal +quality, not of mere shaggy strength, but graceful strength, aided +by a softer climate, and educated in all proper harmony of sight and +sound: finally, instead of an informed Christian, suppose him to +have only the patriarchal Jewish knowledge of the Deity, and even +this obscured by tradition, but still thoroughly solemn and +faithful, requiring his continual service as a priest of burnt +sacrifice and meat offering; and I think we shall get a pretty close +approximation to the vital being of a true old Greek; some slight +difference still existing in a feeling which the Scotch farmer would +have of a pleasantness in blue hills and running streams, wholly +wanting in the Greek mind; and perhaps also some difference of views +on the subjects of truth and honesty. But the main points, the easy, +athletic, strongly logical and argumentative, yet fanciful and +credulous, characters of mind, would be very similar in both; and +the most serious change in the substance of the stuff among the +modifications above suggested as necessary to turn the Scot into the +Greek, is that effect of softer climate and surrounding luxury, +inducing the practice of various forms of polished art,--the more +polished, because the practical and realistic tendency of the +Hellenic mind (if my interpretation of it be right) would quite +prevent it from taking pleasure in any irregularities of form, or +imitations of the weeds and wildnesses of that mountain nature with +which it thought itself born to contend. In its utmost refinement of +work, it sought eminently for orderliness; carried the principle of +the leeks in squares, and fountains in pipes, perfectly out in its +streets and temples; formalized whatever decoration it put into its +minor architectural mouldings, and reserved its whole heart and +power to represent the action of living men, or gods, though not +unconscious meanwhile, of + + "The simple, the sincere delight; + The habitual scene of hill and dale + The rural herds, the vernal gale; + The tangled vetches' purple bloom; + The fragrance of the bean's perfume,-- + Theirs, theirs alone, who cultivate the soil, + And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil." + + [59] Compare Lay of the Last Minstrel, canto i. stanza 15., and + canto v. stanza 2. In the first instance, the river-spirit is + accurately the Homeric god, only Homer would have believed in + it,--Scott did not; at least not altogether. + + [60] Compare the exquisite lines of Longfellow on the sunset in + the Golden Legend:-- + + "The day is done, and slowly from the scene + The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, + And puts them back into his golden quiver." + + + [61] Iliad iv. 141. + + [62] Iliad ii. 776. + + [63] Odyssey, x. 510. + + [64] Compare the passage in Dante referred to above, Chap. XII. § 6. + + [65] Odyssey, xi. 571. xxiv. 13. The couch of Ceres, with Homer's + usual faithfulness, is made of a _ploughed_ field, v. 127. + + [66] Odyssey, v. 398. + + [67] Odyssey, xii. 357. + + [68] Odyssey, ix. 132. &c. Hence Milton's + + "From haunted spring, and dale, + Edged with poplar pale." + + [69] Odyssey, xiii. 236. &c. + + [70] Educated, as we shall see hereafter, first in this school, + Turner gave the hackneyed composition a strange power and + freshness, in his Glaucus and Scylla. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +OF MEDIÆVAL LANDSCAPE:--FIRST, THE FIELDS. + + +§ 1. IN our examination of the spirit of classical landscape, we +were obliged to confine ourselves to what is left to us in written +description. Some interesting results might indeed have been +obtained by examining the Egyptian and Ninevite landscape sculpture, +but in nowise conclusive enough to be worth the pains of the +inquiry; for the landscape of sculpture is necessarily confined in +range, and usually inexpressive of the complete feelings of the +workman, being introduced rather to explain the place and +circumstances of events, than for its own sake. In the Middle Ages, +however, the case is widely different. We have written landscape, +sculptured landscape, and painted landscape, all bearing united +testimony to the tone of the national mind in almost every +remarkable locality of Europe. + +§ 2. That testimony, taken in its breadth, is very curiously +conclusive. It marks the mediæval mind as agreeing altogether with +the ancients, in holding that flat land, brooks, and groves of +aspens, compose the pleasant places of the earth, and that rocks and +mountains are, for inhabitation, altogether to be reprobated and +detested; but as disagreeing with the classical mind totally in this +other most important respect, that the pleasant flat land is never a +ploughed field, nor a rich lotus meadow good for pasture, but +_garden_ ground covered with flowers, and divided by fragrant +hedges, with a castle in the middle of it. The aspens are delighted +in, not because they are good for "coach-making men" to make +cart-wheels of, but because they are shady and graceful; and the +fruit-trees, covered with delicious fruit, especially apple and +orange, occupy still more important positions in the scenery. +Singing-birds--not "sea-crows," but nightingales[71]--perch on every +bough; and the ideal occupation of mankind is not to cultivate +either the garden or the meadow, but to gather roses and eat oranges +in the one, and ride out hawking over the other. + +Finally, mountain scenery, though considered as disagreeable for +general inhabitation, is always introduced as being proper to +meditate in, or to encourage communion with higher beings; and in +the ideal landscape of daily life, mountains are considered +agreeable things enough, so that they be far enough away. + +In this great change there are three vital points to be noticed. + +[Sidenote: § 3. Three essential characters: 1. Pride in idleness.] + +The first, the disdain of agricultural pursuits by the nobility; a +fatal change, and one gradually bringing about the ruin of that +nobility. It is expressed in the mediæval landscape by the eminently +pleasurable and horticultural character of everything; by the +fences, hedges, castle walls, and masses of useless, but lovely +flowers, especially roses. The knights and ladies are represented +always as singing, or making love, in these pleasant places. The +idea of setting an old knight, like Laertes (whatever his state of +fallen fortune), "with thick gloves on to keep his hands from the +thorns," to prune a row of vines, would have been regarded as the +most monstrous violation of the decencies of life; and a senator, +once detected in the home employments of Cincinnatus, could, I +suppose, thenceforward hardly have appeared in society. + +[Sidenote: § 4. 2. Poetical observance of nature.] + +The second vital point is the evidence of a more sentimental +enjoyment of external nature. A Greek, wishing really to enjoy +himself, shut himself into a beautiful atrium, with an excellent +dinner, and a society of philosophical or musical friends. But a +mediæval knight went into his pleasance, to gather roses and hear +the birds sing; or rode out hunting or hawking. His evening feast, +though riotous enough sometimes, was not the height of his day's +enjoyment; and if the attractions of the world are to be shown +typically to him, as opposed to the horrors of death, they are never +represented by a full feast in a chamber, but by a delicate dessert +in an orange grove, with musicians under the trees; or a ride on a +May morning, hawk on fist. + +This change is evidently a healthy, and a very interesting one. + +[Sidenote: § 5. 3. Disturbed conscience.] + +The third vital point is the marked sense that this hawking and +apple-eating are not altogether right; that there is something else +to be done in the world than that; and that the mountains, as +opposed to the pleasant garden-ground, are places where that other +something may best be learned;--which is evidently a piece of +infinite and new respect for the mountains, and another healthy +change in the tone of the human heart. + +Let us glance at the signs and various results of these changes, one +by one. + +[Sidenote: § 6. Derivative characters: 1. Love of flowers.] + +The two first named, evil and good as they are, are very closely +connected. The more poetical delight in external nature proceeds +just from the fact that it is no longer looked upon with the eye of +the farmer; and in proportion as the herbs and flowers cease to be +regarded as useful, they are felt to be charming. Leeks are not now +the most important objects in the garden, but lilies and roses; the +herbage which a Greek would have looked at only with a view to the +number of horses it would feed, is regarded by the mediæval knight +as a green carpet for fair feet to dance upon, and the beauty of its +softness and color is proportionally felt by him; while the brook, +which the Greek rejoiced to dismiss into a reservoir under the +palace threshold, would be, by the mediæval, distributed into +pleasant pools, or forced into fountains; and regarded alternately +as a mirror for fair faces, and a witchery to ensnare the sunbeams +and the rainbow. + +[Sidenote: § 7. 2. Less definite gratitude to God.] + +And this change of feeling involves two others, very important. When +the flowers and grass were regarded as means of life, and therefore +(as the thoughtful laborer of the soil must always regard them) with +the reverence due to those gifts of God which were most necessary to +his existence; although their own beauty was less felt, their +proceeding from the Divine hand was more seriously acknowledged, and +the herb yielding seed, and fruit-tree yielding fruit, though in +themselves less admired, were yet solemnly connected in the heart +with the reverence of Ceres, Pomona, or Pan. But when the sense of +these necessary uses was more or less lost, among the upper classes, +by the delegation of the art of husbandry to the hands of the +peasant, the flower and fruit, whose bloom or richness thus became +a mere source of pleasure, were regarded with less solemn sense of +the Divine gift in them; and were converted rather into toys than +treasures, chance gifts for gaiety, rather than promised rewards of +labor; so that while the Greek could hardly have trodden the formal +furrow, or plucked the clusters from the trellised vine, without +reverent thoughts of the deities of field and leaf, who gave the +seed to fructify, and the bloom to darken, the mediæval knight +plucked the violet to wreathe in his lady's hair, or strewed the +idle rose on the turf at her feet, with little sense of anything in +the nature that gave them, but a frail, accidental, involuntary +exuberance; while also the Jewish sacrificial system being now done +away, as well as the Pagan mythology, and, with it, the whole +conception of meat offering or firstfruits offering, the chiefest +seriousness of all the thoughts connected with the gifts of nature +faded from the minds of the classes of men concerned with art and +literature; while the peasant, reduced to serf level, was incapable +of imaginative thought, owing to his want of general cultivation. +But on the other hand, exactly in proportion as the idea of definite +spiritual presence in material nature was lost, the mysterious sense +of _unaccountable_ life in the things themselves would be increased, +and the mind would instantly be laid open to all those currents of +fallacious, but pensive and pathetic sympathy, which we have seen to +be characteristic of modern times. + +[Sidenote: § 3. Gloom caused by enforced solitude.] + +Farther: a singular difference would necessarily result from the far +greater loneliness of baronial life, deprived as it was of all +interest in agricultural pursuits. The palace of a Greek leader in +early times might have gardens, fields, and farms around it, but was +sure to be near some busy city or sea-port: in later times, the city +itself became the principal dwelling-place, and the country was +visited only to see how the farm went on, or traversed in a line of +march. Far other was the life of the mediæval baron, nested on his +solitary jut of crag; entering into cities only occasionally for some +grave political or warrior's purpose, and, for the most part, passing +the years of his life in lion-like isolation; the village inhabited by +his retainers straggling indeed about the slopes of the rocks at his +feet, but his own dwelling standing gloomily apart, between them and +the uncompanionable clouds, commanding, from sunset to sunrise, the +flowing flame of some calm unvoyaged river, and the endless undulation +of the untraversable hills. How different must the thoughts about +nature have been, of the noble who lived among the bright marble +porticos of the Greek groups of temple or palace,--in the midst of a +plain covered with corn and olives, and by the shore of a sparkling +and freighted sea,--from those of the master of some mountain +promontory in the green recesses of Northern Europe, watching night by +night, from amongst his heaps of storm-broken stone, rounded into +towers, the lightning of the lonely sea flash round the sands of +Harlech, or the mists changing their shapes forever, among the +changeless pines, that fringe the crests of Jura. + +[Sidenote: § 9. And frequent pilgrimage.] + +Nor was it without similar effect on the minds of men that their +journeyings and pilgrimages became more frequent than those of the +Greek, the extent of ground traversed in the course of them larger, +and the mode of travel more companionless. To the Greek, a voyage to +Egypt, or the Hellespont, was the subject of lasting fame and fable, +and the forests of the Danube and the rocks of Sicily closed for him +the gates of the intelligible world. What parts of that narrow world +he crossed were crossed with fleets or armies; the camp always +populous on the plain, and the ships drawn in cautious symmetry around +the shore. But to the mediæval knight, from Scottish moor to Syrian +sand, the world was one great exercise ground, or field of adventure; +the staunch pacing of his charger penetrated the pathlessness of +outmost forest, and sustained the sultriness of the most secret +desert. Frequently alone,--or, if accompanied, for the most part only +by retainers of lower rank, incapable of entering into complete +sympathy with any of his thoughts,--he must have been compelled often +to enter into dim companionship with the silent nature around him, and +must assuredly sometimes have talked to the wayside flowers of his +love, and to the fading clouds of his ambition. + +[Sidenote: 4. Dread of mountains.] + +§ 10. But, on the other hand, the idea of retirement from the world +for the sake of self-mortification, of combat with demons, or +communion with angels, and with their King,--authoritatively +commended as it was to all men by the continual practice of Christ +Himself,--gave to all mountain solitude at once a sanctity and a +terror, in the mediæval mind, which were altogether different from +anything that it had possessed in the un-Christian periods. On the +one side, there was an idea of sanctity attached to rocky +wilderness, because it had always been among hills that the Deity +had manifested himself most intimately to men, and to the hills that +His saints had nearly always retired for meditation, for especial +communion with Him, and to prepare for death. Men acquainted with +the history of Moses, alone at Horeb, or with Israel at Sinai,--of +Elijah by the brook Cherith, and in the Horeb cave; of the deaths of +Moses and Aaron on Hor and Nebo; of the preparation of Jephthah's +daughter for her death among the Judea Mountains; of the continual +retirement of Christ Himself to the mountains for prayer, His +temptation in the desert of the Dead Sea, His sermon on the hills of +Capernaum, His transfiguration on the crest of Tabor, and his +evening and morning walks over Olivet for the four or five days +preceding His crucifixion,--were not likely to look with irreverent +or unloving eyes upon the blue hills that girded their golden +horizon, or drew upon them the mysterious clouds out of the height +of the darker heaven. But with this impression of their greater +sanctity was involved also that of a peculiar terror. In all +this,--their haunting by the memories of prophets, the presences of +angels, and the everlasting thoughts and words of the Redeemer,--the +mountain ranges seemed separated from the active world, and only to +be fitly approached by hearts which were condemnatory of it. Just in +so much as it appeared necessary for the noblest men to retire to +the hill-recesses before their missions could be accomplished or +their spirits perfected, in so far did the daily world seem by +comparison to be pronounced profane and dangerous; and to those who +loved that world, and its work, the mountains were thus voiceful +with perpetual rebuke, and necessarily contemplated with a kind of +pain and fear, such as a man engrossed by vanity feels at being by +some accident forced to hear a startling sermon, or to assist at a +funeral service. Every association of this kind was deepened by the +practice and the precept of the time; and thousands of hearts, +which might otherwise have felt that there was loveliness in the +wild landscape, shrank from it in dread, because they knew that the +monk retired to it for penance, and the hermit for contemplation. +The horror which the Greek had felt for hills only when they were +uninhabitable and barren, attached itself now to many of the +sweetest spots of earth; the feeling was conquered by political +interests, but never by admiration; military ambition seized the +frontier rock, or maintained itself in the unassailable pass; but it +was only for their punishment, or in their despair, that men +consented to tread the crocused slopes of the Chartreuse, or the +soft glades and dewy pastures of Vallombrosa. + +§ 11. In all these modifications of temper and principle there +appears much which tends to passionate, affectionate, or awe-struck +observance of the features of natural scenery, closely resembling, +in all but this superstitious dread of mountains, our feelings at +the present day. But _one_ character which the mediævals had in +common with the ancients, and that exactly the most eminent +character in both, opposed itself steadily to all the feelings we +have hitherto been examining,--the admiration, namely, and constant +watchfulness, of human beauty. Exercised in nearly the same manner +as the Greeks, from their youth upwards, their countenances were +cast even in a higher mould; for, although somewhat less regular in +feature, and affected by minglings of Northern bluntness and +stolidity of general expression, together with greater thinness of +lip and shaggy formlessness of brow, these less sculpturesque +features were, nevertheless, touched with a seriousness and +refinement proceeding first from the modes of thought inculcated by +the Christian religion, and secondly from their more romantic and +various life. Hence a degree of personal beauty, both male and +female, was attained in the Middle Ages, with which classical +periods could show nothing for a moment comparable; and this beauty +was set forth by the most perfect splendor, united with grace, in +dress, which the human race have hitherto invented. The strength of +their art-genius was directed in great part to this object; and +their best workmen and most brilliant fanciers were employed in +wreathing the mail or embroidering the robe. The exquisite arts of +enamelling and chasing metal enabled them to make the armor as +radiant and delicate as the plumage of a tropical bird; and the most +various and vivid imaginations were displayed in the alternations of +color, and fiery freaks of form, on shield and crest; so that of all +the beautiful things which the eyes of men could fall upon, in the +world about them, the most beautiful must have been a young knight +riding out in morning sunshine, and in faithful hope. + + "His broad, clear brow in sunlight glowed; + On burnished hooves his war-horse trode; + From underneath his helmet flowed + His coal-black curls, as on he rode. + All in the blue, unclouded weather, + Thick jewelled shone the saddle leather; + The helmet and the helmet feather + Burned like one burning flame together; + And the gemmy bridle glittered free, + Like to some branch of stars we see + Hung in the golden galaxy." + +[Sidenote: § 12. 5. care for human beauty.] + +Now, the effect of this superb presence of human beauty on men in +general was, exactly as it had been in Greek times, first, to turn +their thoughts and glances in great part away from all other beauty +but that, and to make the grass of the field take to them always more +or less the aspect of a carpet to dance upon, a lawn to tilt upon, or +a serviceable crop of hay; and, secondly, in what attention they paid +to this lower nature, to make them dwell exclusively on what was +graceful, symmetrical, and bright in color. All that was rugged, +rough, dark, wild, unterminated, they rejected at once, as the domain +of "salvage men" and monstrous giants: all that they admired was +tender, bright, balanced, enclosed, symmetrical--only symmetrical in +the noble and free sense: for what we moderns call "symmetry," or +"balance," differs as much from mediæval symmetry as the poise of a +grocer's scales, or the balance of an Egyptian mummy with its hands +tied to its sides, does from the balance of a knight on his horse, +striking with the battle-axe, at the gallop; the mummy's balance +looking wonderfully perfect, and yet sure to be one-sided if you weigh +the dust of it,--the knight's balance swaying and changing like the +wind, and yet as true and accurate as the laws of life. + +[Sidenote: § 13. 6. Symmetrical government of design.] + +And this love of symmetry was still farther enhanced by the peculiar +duties required of art at the time; for, in order to fit a flower or +leaf for inlaying in armor, or showing clearly in glass, it was +absolutely necessary to take away its complexity, and reduce it to +the condition of a disciplined and orderly pattern; and this the +more, because, for all military purposes, the device, whatever it +was, had to be distinctly intelligible at extreme distance. That it +should be a good imitation of nature, when seen near, was of no +moment; but it was of highest moment that when first the knight's +banner flashed in the sun at the turn of the mountain road, or rose, +torn and bloody, through the drift of the battle dust, it should +still be discernible what the bearing was. + + "At length, the freshening western blast + Aside the shroud of battle cast; + And first the ridge of mingled spears + Above the brightening cloud appears; + And in the smoke the pennons flew, + As in the storm the white sea-mew; + Then marked they, dashing broad and far + The broken billows of the war. + Wide raged the battle on the plain; + Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain, + Fell England's arrow-flight like rain; + Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, + Wild and disorderly. + Amidst the scene of tumult, high, + _They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly, + And stainless Tunstall's banner white, + And Edmund Howard's lion bright._" + +It was needed, not merely that they should see it was a falcon, but +Lord Marmion's falcon; not only a lion, but the Howard's lion. +Hence, to the one imperative end of _intelligibility_, every minor +resemblance to nature was sacrificed, and above all, the _curved_, +which are chiefly the confusing lines; so that the straight, +elongated back, doubly elongated tail, projected and separate claws, +and other rectilinear unnaturalnesses of form, became the means by +which the leopard was, in midst of the mist and storm of battle, +distinguished from the dog, or the lion from the wolf; the most +admirable fierceness and vitality being, in spite of these +necessary changes (so often shallowly sneered at by the modern +workman), obtained by the old designer. + +Farther, it was necessary to the brilliant harmony of color, and +clear setting forth of everything, that all confusing shadows, all +dim and doubtful lines should be rejected: hence at once an utter +denial of natural appearances by the great body of workmen; and a +calm rest in a practice of representation which would make either +boar or lion blue, scarlet, or golden, according to the device of +the knight, or the need of such and such a color in that place of +the pattern; and which wholly denied that any substance ever cast a +shadow, or was affected by any kind of obscurity. + +[Sidenote: § 14. 7. Therefore, inaccurate rendering of nature.] + +All this was in its way, and for its end, absolutely right, admirable, +and delightful; and those who despise it, laugh at it, or derive no +pleasure from it, are utterly ignorant of the highest principles of +art, and are mere tyros and beginners in the practice of color. But, +admirable though it might be, one necessary result of it was a farther +withdrawal of the observation of men from the refined and subtle +beauty of nature; so that the workman who first was led to think +_lightly_ of natural beauty, as being subservient to human, was next +led to think _inaccurately_ of natural beauty, because he had +continually to alter and simplify it for his practical purposes. + +§ 15. Now, assembling all these different sources of the peculiar +mediæval feeling towards nature in one view, we have: + + 1st. Love of the garden instead of love of the farm, leading + to a sentimental contemplation of nature, instead of a + practical and agricultural one. (§§ 3. 4. 6.) + + 2nd. Loss of sense of actual Divine presence, leading to + fancies of fallacious animation, in herbs, flowers, clouds, + &c. (§ 7.) + + 3rd. Perpetual, and more or less undisturbed, companionship + with wild nature. (§§ 8. 9.) + + 4th. Apprehension of demoniacal and angelic presence among + mountains, leading to a reverent dread of them. (§ 10.) + + 5th. Principalness of delight in human beauty, leading to + comparative contempt of natural objects. (§ 11.) + + 6th. Consequent love of order, light, intelligibility, and + symmetry, leading to dislike of the wildness, darkness, and + mystery of nature. (§ 12.) + + 7th. Inaccuracy of observance of nature, induced by the + habitual practice of change on its forms. (§ 13.) + +From these mingled elements, we should necessarily expect to find +resulting, as the characteristic of mediæval landscape art, compared +with Greek, a far higher sentiment about it, and affection for it, +more or less subdued by still greater respect for the loveliness of +man, and therefore subordinated entirely to human interests; mingled +with curious traces of terror, piety, or superstition, and cramped +by various formalisms,--some wise and necessary, some feeble, and +some exhibiting needless ignorance and inaccuracy. + +Under these lights, let us examine the facts. + +§ 16. The landscape of the Middle Ages is represented in a central +manner by the illuminations of the MSS. of Romances, executed about +the middle of the fifteenth century. On one side of these stands the +earlier landscape work, more or less treated as simple decoration; +on the other, the later landscape work, becoming more or less +affected with modern ideas and modes of imitation. + +These central fifteenth century landscapes are almost invariably +composed of a grove or two of tall trees, a winding river, and a +castle, or a garden: the peculiar feature of both these last being +_trimness_; the artist always dwelling especially on the fences; +wreathing the espaliers indeed prettily with sweet-briar, and +putting pots of orange-trees on the tops of the walls, but taking +great care that there shall be no loose bricks in the one, nor +broken stakes in the other,--the trouble and ceaseless warfare of +the times having rendered security one of the first elements of +pleasantness, and making it impossible for any artist to conceive +Paradise but as surrounded by a moat, or to distinguish the road to +it better than by its narrow wicket gate, and watchful porter. + +§ 17. One of these landscapes is thus described by Macaulay: "We +have an exact square, enclosed by the rivers Pison, Gihon, Hiddekel, +and Euphrates, each with a convenient bridge in the centre; +rectangular beds of flowers; a long canal neatly bricked and railed +in; the tree of knowledge, clipped like one of the limes behind the +Tuileries, standing in the centre of the grand alley; the snake +turned round it, the man on the right hand, the woman on the left, +and the beasts drawn up in an exact circle round them." + +All this is perfectly true; and seems in the description very +curiously foolish. The only curious folly, however, in the matter is +the exquisite _naïveté_ of the historian, in supposing that the +quaint landscape indicates in the understanding of the painter so +marvellous an inferiority to his own; whereas, it is altogether his +own wit that is at fault, in not comprehending that nations, whose +youth had been decimated among the sands and serpents of Syria, knew +probably nearly as much about Eastern scenery as youths trained in +the schools of the modern Royal Academy; and that this curious +symmetry was entirely symbolic, only more or less modified by the +various instincts which I have traced above. Mr. Macaulay is +evidently quite unaware that the serpent with the human head, and +body twisted round the tree, was the universally accepted symbol of +the evil angel, from the dawn of art up to Michael Angelo; that the +greatest sacred artists invariably place the man on the one side of +the tree, the woman on the other, in order to denote the enthroned +and balanced dominion about to fall by temptation; that the beasts +are ranged (when they _are_ so, though this is much more seldom the +case,) in a circle round them, expressly to mark that they were then +not wild, but obedient, intelligent, and orderly beasts; and that +the four rivers are trenched and enclosed on the four sides, to mark +that the waters which now wander in waste, and destroy in fury, had +then for their principal office to "water the garden" of God. The +description is, however, sufficiently apposite and interesting, as +bearing upon what I have noted respecting the eminent _fence_-loving +spirit of the mediævals. + +§ 18. Together with this peculiar formality, we find an infinite +delight in drawing pleasant flowers, always articulating and outlining +them completely; the sky is always blue, having only a few delicate +white clouds in it, and in the distance are blue mountains, very far +away, if the landscape is to be simply delightful; but brought near, +and divided into quaint overhanging rocks, if it is intended to be +meditative, or a place of saintly seclusion. But the whole of it +always,--flowers, castles, brooks, clouds, and rocks,--subordinate to +the human figures in the foreground, and painted for no other end than +that of explaining their adventures and occupations. + +[Illustration: 7. Botany of 13th Century. (Apple-tree and Cyclamen)] + +§ 19. Before the idea of landscape had been thus far developed, the +representations of it had been purely typical; the objects which had +to be shown in order to explain the scene of the event, being firmly +outlined, usually on a pure golden or chequered color background, +not on sky. The change from the golden background, (characteristic +of the finest thirteenth century work) and the colored chequer +(which in like manner belongs to the finest fourteenth) to the blue +sky, gradated to the horizon, takes place early in the fifteenth +century, and is the _crisis_ of change in the spirit of mediæval +art. Strictly speaking, we might divide the art of Christian times +into two great masses--Symbolic and Imitative;--the symbolic, +reaching from the earliest periods down to the close of the +fourteenth century, and the imitative from that close to the present +time; and, then, the most important circumstance indicative of the +culminating point, or turn of tide, would be this of the change from +chequered background to sky background. The uppermost figure in +Plate 7. opposite, representing the tree of knowledge, taken from a +somewhat late thirteenth century Hebrew manuscript (Additional +11,639) in the British Museum, will at once illustrate Mr. +Macaulay's "serpent turned round the tree," and the mode of +introducing the chequer background, will enable the reader better to +understand the peculiar feeling of the period, which no more +intended the formal walls or streams for an imitative representation +of the Garden of Eden, than these chequers for an imitation of sky. + +§ 20. The moment the sky is introduced (and it is curious how +perfectly it is done _at once_, many manuscripts presenting, in +alternate pages, chequered backgrounds, and deep blue skies +exquisitely gradated to the horizon)--the moment, I say, the sky is +introduced, the spirit of art becomes for evermore changed, and +thenceforward it gradually proposes imitation more and more as an +end, until it reaches the Turnerian landscape. This broad division +into two schools would therefore be the most true and accurate we +could employ, but not the most convenient. For the great mediæval +art lies in a cluster about the culminating point, including +symbolism on one side, and imitation on the other, and extending +like a radiant cloud upon the mountain peak of ages, partly down +both sides of it, from the year 1200 to 1500; the brightest part of +the cloud leaning a little backwards, and poising itself between +1250 and 1350. And therefore the most convenient arrangement is into +Romanesque and barbaric art, up to 1200,--mediæval art, 1200 to +1500,--and modern art, from 1500 downwards. But it is only in the +earlier or symbolic mediæval art, reaching up to the close of the +fourteenth century, that the peculiar modification of natural forms +for decorative purposes is seen in its perfection, with all its +beauty, and all its necessary shortcomings; the minds of men being +accurately balanced between that honor for the superior human form +which they shared with the Greek ages, and the sentimental love of +nature which was peculiar to their own. The expression of the two +feelings will be found to vary according to the material and place +of the art; in painting, the conventional forms are more adopted, in +order to obtain definition, and brilliancy of color, while in +sculpture the life of nature is often rendered with a love and +faithfulness which put modern art to shame. And in this earnest +contemplation of the natural facts, united with an endeavor to +simplify, for clear expression, the results of that contemplation, +the ornamental artists arrived at two abstract conclusions about +form, which are highly curious and interesting. + +§ 21. They saw, first, that a leaf might always be considered as a +sudden expansion of the stem that bore it; an uncontrollable +expression of delight, on the part of the twig, that spring had come, +shown in a fountain-like expatiation of its tender green heart into +the air. They saw that in this violent proclamation of its delight and +liberty, whereas the twig had, until that moment, a disposition only +to grow quietly forwards, it expressed its satisfaction and extreme +pleasure in sunshine by springing out to right and left. Let _a b_, +Fig. 1. Plate 8., be the twig growing forward in the direction from +_a_ to _b_. It reaches the point _b_, and then--spring coming,--not +being able to contain itself, it bursts out in every direction, even +springing backwards at first for joy; but as this backward +direction is contrary to its own proper fate and nature, it cannot go +on so long, and the length of each rib into which it separates is +proportioned accurately to the degree in which the proceedings of that +rib are in harmony with the natural destiny of the plant. Thus the rib +_c_, entirely contradictory, by the direction of his life and energy, +of the general intentions to the tree, is but a short-lived rib; _d_, +not quite so opposite to his fate, lives longer; _e_, accommodating +himself still more to the spirit of progress, attains a greater length +still; and the largest rib of all is the one who has not yielded at +all to the erratic disposition of the others when spring came, but, +feeling quite as happy about the spring as they did, nevertheless took +no holiday, minded his business, and grew straightforward. + +[Illustration: 8. The Growth of Leaves.] + +§ 22. Fig. 6. in the same plate, which shows the disposition of the +ribs in the leaf of an American Plane, exemplifies the principle +very accurately; it is indeed more notably seen in this than in most +leaves, because the ribs at the base have evidently had a little +fraternal quarrel about their spring holiday; and the more +gaily-minded ones, getting together into trios on each side, have +rather pooh-poohed and laughed at the seventh brother in the middle, +who wanted to go on regularly, and attend to his work. Nevertheless, +though thus starting quite by himself in life, this seventh brother, +quietly pushing on in the right direction, lives longest, and makes +the largest fortune, and the triple partnerships on the right and +left meet with a very minor prosperity. + +§ 23. Now if we inclose Fig. 1. in Plate 8. with two curves passing +through the extremities of the ribs, we get Fig. 2., the central type +of all leaves. Only this type is modified of course in a thousand ways +by the life of the plant. If it be marsh or aquatic, instead of +springing out in twigs, it is almost certain to expand in soft +currents, as the liberated stream does at its mouth into the ocean, +Fig. 3. (Alisma Plantago); if it be meant for one of the crowned and +lovely trees of the earth, it will separate into stars, and each ray +of the leaf will form a ray of light in the crown, Fig. 5. +(Horsechestnut); and if it be a commonplace tree, rather prudent and +practical than imaginative, it will not expand all at once, but throw +out the ribs every now and then along the central rib, like a +merchant taking his occasional and restricted holiday, Fig. 4. (Elm). + +§ 24. Now in the bud, where all these proceedings on the leaf's part +are first imagined, the young leaf is generally (always?) doubled up in +embryo, so as to present the profile of the half-leaves, as Fig. 7., +only in exquisite complexity of arrangement; Fig. 9., for instance, is +the profile of the leaf-bud of a rose. Hence the general arrangement of +line represented by Fig. 8. (in which the lower line is slightly curved +to express the bending life in the spine) is everlastingly typical of +the expanding powers of joyful vegetative youth; and it is of all +simple forms the most exquisitely delightful to the human mind. It +presents itself in a thousand different proportions and variations in +the buds and profiles of leaves; those being always the loveliest in +which, either by accidental perspective of position, or inherent +character in the tree, it is most frequently presented to the eye. The +branch of bramble, for instance, Fig. 10. at the bottom of Plate 8., +owes its chief beauty to the perpetual recurrence of this typical form; +and we shall find presently the enormous importance of it, even in +mountain ranges, though, in these, _falling_ force takes the place of +_vital_ force. + +[Illustration: FIG. 3.] + +§ 25. This abstract conclusion the great thirteenth century artists +were the first to arrive at; and whereas, before their time, +ornament had been constantly refined into intricate and +subdivided symmetries, they were content with this simple form as +the termination of its most important features. Fig. 3., which is a +scroll out of a Psalter executed in the latter half of the +thirteenth century, is a sufficient example of a practice at that +time absolutely universal. + +[Illustration: 9. Botany of the 14th Century. From the Prayer-book of +Yolande of Navarre.] + +§ 26. The second great discovery of the Middle Ages in floral +ornament, was that, in order completely to express the law of +subordination among the leaf-ribs, two ribs were necessary, _and no +more_, on each side of the leaf, forming a series of three with the +central one, because proportion is between three terms at least. + +[Illustration: FIG. 4.] + +That is to say, when they had only three ribs altogether, as _a_, +Fig. 4., no _law_ of relation was discernible between the ribs, or +the leaflets they bore; but by the addition of a third on each +side as at _b_, proportion instantly was expressible, whether +arithmetical or geometrical, or of any other kind. Hence the +adoption of forms more or less approximating to that at _c_ (young +ivy), or _d_ (wild geranium), as the favorite elements of their +floral ornament, those leaves being in their disposition of masses, +the simplest which can express a perfect law of proportion, just as +the outline Fig. 7. Plate 8. is the simplest which can express a +perfect law of growth. + +Plate 9. opposite gives, in rude outline, the arrangement of the +border of one of the pages of a missal in my own possession, executed +for the Countess Yolande of Flanders,[72] in the latter half of the +fourteenth century, and furnishing, in exhaustless variety, the most +graceful examples I have ever seen of the favorite decoration at the +period, commonly now known as the "Ivy leaf" pattern. + +§ 27. In thus reducing these two everlasting laws of beauty to their +simplest possible exponents, the mediæval workmen were the first to +discern and establish the principles of decorative art to the end of +time, nor of decorative art merely, but of mass arrangement in +general. For the members of any great composition, arranged about a +centre, are always reducible to the law of the ivy leaf, the best +cathedral entrances having five porches corresponding in +proportional purpose to its five lobes (three being an imperfect, +and seven a superfluous number); while the loveliest groups of lines +attainable in any pictorial composition are always based on the +section of the leaf-bud, Fig. 7. Plate 8., or on the relation of its +ribs to the convex curve enclosing them. + +§ 28. These discoveries of ultimate truth are, I believe, never made +philosophically, but instinctively; so that wherever we find a high +abstract result of the kind, we may be almost sure it has been the +work of the penetrative imagination, acting under the influence of +strong affection. Accordingly, when we enter on our botanical +inquiries, I shall have occasion to show with what tender and loving +fidelity to nature the masters of the thirteenth century always +traced the leading lines of their decorations, either in +missal-painting or sculpture, and how totally in this respect their +methods of subduing, for the sake of distinctness, the natural forms +they loved so dearly, differ from the iron formalisms to which the +Greeks, careless of all that was not completely divine or completely +human, reduced the thorn of the acanthus, and softness of the lily. +Nevertheless, in all this perfect and loving decorative art, we have +hardly any careful references to other landscape features than herbs +and flowers; mountains, water, and clouds are introduced so rudely, +that the representations of them can never be received for anything +else than letters or signs. Thus the _sign_ of clouds, in the +thirteenth century, is an undulating band, usually in painting, of +blue edged with white, in sculpture, wrought so as to resemble very +nearly the folds of a curtain closely tied, and understood for +clouds only by its position, as surrounding angels or saints in +heaven, opening to souls ascending at the Last Judgment, or forming +canopies over the Saviour or the Virgin. Water is represented by +zigzag lines, nearly resembling those employed for clouds, but +distinguished, in sculpture, by having fish in it; in painting, both +by fish and a more continuous blue or green color. And when these +unvaried symbols are associated under the influence of that love of +firm fence, moat, and every other means of definition which we have +seen to be one of the prevailing characteristics of the mediæval +mind, it is not possible for us to conceive, through the rigidity of +the signs employed, what were the real feelings of the workman or +spectator about the natural landscape. We see that the thing carved +or painted is not intended in any wise to imitate the truth, or +convey to us the feelings which the workman had in contemplating the +truth. He has got a way of talking about it so definite and cold, +and tells us with his chisel so calmly that the knight had a castle +to attack, or the saint a river to cross dryshod, without making the +smallest effort to describe pictorially either castle or river, that +we are left wholly at fault as to the nature of the emotion with +which he contemplated the real objects. But that emotion, as the +intermediate step between the feelings of the Grecian and the +Modern, it must be our aim to ascertain as clearly as possible; and, +therefore, finding it not at this period completely expressed in +visible art, we must, as we did with the Greeks, take up the written +landscape instead, and examine this mediæval sentiment as we find it +embodied in the poem of Dante. + +§ 29. The thing that must first strike us in this respect, as we +turn our thoughts to the poem, is, unquestionably, the _formality_ +of its landscape. + +Milton's effort, in all that he tells us of his Inferno, is to make +it indefinite; Dante's, to make it _definite_. Both, indeed, +describe it as entered through gates; but, within the gate, all is +wild and fenceless with Milton, having indeed its four rivers,--the +last vestige of the mediæval tradition,--but rivers which flow +through a waste of mountain and moorland, and by "many a frozen, +many a fiery Alp." But Dante's Inferno is accurately separated into +circles drawn with well-pointed compasses; mapped and properly +surveyed in every direction, trenched in a thoroughly good style of +engineering from depth to depth, and divided in the "_accurate_ +middle" (dritto mezzo) of its deepest abyss, into a concentric +series of ten moats and embankments, like those about a castle, with +bridges from each embankment to the next; precisely in the manner of +those bridges over Hiddekel and Euphrates, which Mr. Macaulay thinks +so innocently designed, apparently not aware that he is also +laughing at Dante. These larger fosses are of rock, and the bridges +also; but as he goes further into detail, Dante tells us of various +minor fosses and embankments, in which he anxiously points out to us +not only the formality, but the neatness and perfectness, of the +stonework. For instance, in describing the river Phlegethon, he +tells us that it was "paved with stone at the bottom, and at the +sides, and _over the edges of the sides_," just as the water is at +the baths of Bulicame; and for fear we should think this embankment +at all _larger_ than it really was, Dante adds, carefully, that it +was made just like the embankments of Ghent or Bruges against the +sea, or those in Lombardy which bank the Brenta, only "not so high, +nor so wide," as any of these. And besides the trenches, we have two +well-built castles; one like Ecbatana, with seven circuits of wall +(and surrounded by a fair stream), wherein the great poets and sages +of antiquity live; and another, a great fortified city with walls of +iron, red-hot, and a deep fosse round it, and full of "grave +citizens,"--the city of Dis. + +§ 30. Now, whether this be in what we moderns call "good taste," or +not, I do not mean just now to inquire--Dante having nothing to do +with taste, but with the facts of what he had seen; only, so far as +the imaginative faculty of the two poets is concerned, note that +Milton's vagueness is not the sign of imagination, but of its +absence, so far as it is significative in the matter. For it does +not follow, because Milton did not map out his Inferno as Dante did, +that he _could_ not have done so if he had chosen; only, it was the +easier and less imaginative process to leave it vague than to +define it. Imagination is always the seeing and asserting faculty; +that which obscures or conceals may be judgment, or feeling, but not +invention. The invention, whether good or bad, is in the accurate +engineering, not in the fog and uncertainty. + +§ 31. When we pass with Dante from the Inferno to Purgatory, we have +indeed more light and air, but no more liberty; being now confined +on various ledges cut into a mountain side, with a precipice on one +hand and a vertical wall on the other; and, lest here also we should +make any mistake about magnitudes, we are told that the ledges were +eighteen feet wide,[73] and that the ascent from one to the other +was by steps, made like those which go up from Florence to the +church of San Minieto.[74] + +Lastly, though in the Paradise there is perfect freedom and infinity +of space, though for trenches we have planets, and for cornices +constellations, yet there is more cadence, procession, and order +among the redeemed souls than any others; they fly, so as to +describe letters and sentences in the air, and rest in circles, like +rainbows, or determinate figures, as of a cross and an eagle; in +which certain of the more glorified natures are so arranged as to +form the eye of the bird, while those most highly blessed are +arranged with their white crowds in leaflets, so as to form the +image of a white rose in the midst of heaven. + +§ 32. Thus, throughout the poem, I conceive that the first striking +character of its scenery is intense definition; precisely the +reflection of that definiteness which we have already traced in +pictorial art. But the second point which seems noteworthy is, that +the flat ground and embanked trenches are reserved for the Inferno; +and that the entire territory of the Purgatory is a mountain, thus +marking the sense of that purifying and perfecting influence in +mountains which we saw the mediæval mind was so ready to suggest. +The same general idea is indicated at the very commencement of the +poem, in which Dante is overwhelmed by fear and sorrow in passing +through a dark forest, but revives on seeing the sun touch the top +of a hill, afterwards called by Virgil "the pleasant mount--the +cause and source of all delight." + +§ 33. While, however, we find this greater honor paid to mountains, I +think we may perceive a much greater dread and dislike of woods. We +saw that Homer seemed to attach a pleasant idea, for the most part, to +forests; regarding them as sources of wealth and places of shelter; +and we find constantly an idea of sacredness attached to them, as +being haunted especially by the gods; so that even the wood which +surrounds the house of Circe is spoken of as a sacred thicket, or +rather, as a sacred glade, or labyrinth of glades (of the particular +word used I shall have more to say presently); and so the wood is +sought as a kindly shelter by Ulysses, in spite of its wild beasts; +and evidently regarded with great affection by Sophocles, for, in a +passage which is always regarded by readers of Greek tragedy with +peculiar pleasure, the aged and blind Oedipus, brought to rest in "the +sweetest resting-place" in all the neighborhood of Athens, has the +spot described to him as haunted perpetually by nightingales, which +sing "in the green glades and in the dark ivy, and in the +thousand-fruited, sunless, and windless thickets of the god" +(Bacchus); the idea of the complete shelter from wind and sun being +here, as with Ulysses, the uppermost one. After this come the usual +staples of landscape,--narcissus, crocus, plenty of rain, olive trees; +and last, and the greatest boast of all,--"it is a good country for +horses, and conveniently by the sea;" but the prominence and +pleasantness of the thick wood in the thoughts of the writer are very +notable; whereas to Dante the idea of a forest is exceedingly +repulsive, so that, as just noticed, in the opening of his poem, he +cannot express a general despair about life more strongly than by +saying he was lost in a wood so savage and terrible, that "even to +think or speak of it is distress,--it was so bitter,--it was something +next door to death;" and one of the saddest scenes in all the Inferno +is in a forest, of which the trees are haunted by lost souls; while +(with only one exception,) whenever the country is to be beautiful, we +find ourselves coming out into open air and open meadows. + +It is quite true that this is partly a characteristic, not merely of +Dante, or of mediæval writers, but of _southern_ writers; for the +simple reason that the forest, being with them higher upon the +hills, and more out of the way than in the north was generally a +type of lonely and savage places; while in England, the +"greenwood," coming up to the very walls of the towns, it was +possible to be "merry in the good greenwood," in a sense which an +Italian could not have understood. Hence Chaucer, Spenser, and +Shakspere send their favorites perpetually to the woods for pleasure +or meditation; and trust their tender Canace, or Rosalind, or +Helena, or Silvia, or Belphoebe, where Dante would have sent no one +but a condemned spirit. Nevertheless, there is always traceable in +the mediæval mind a dread of thick foliage, which was not present to +that of a Greek; so that, even in the north, we have our sorrowful +"children in the wood," and black huntsmen of the Hartz forests, and +such other wood terrors; the principal reason for the difference +being that a Greek, being by no means given to travelling, regarded +his woods as so much valuable property; and if he ever went into +them for pleasure expected to meet one or two gods in the course of +his walk, but no banditti; while a mediæval, much more of a solitary +traveller, and expecting to meet with no gods in the thickets, but +only with thieves, or a hostile ambush, or a bear, besides a great +deal of troublesome ground for his horse, and a very serious chance, +next to a certainty, of losing his way, naturally kept in the open +ground as long as he could, and regarded the forests, in general, +with anything but an eye of favor. + +§ 34. These, I think, are the principal points which must strike us, +when we first broadly think of the poem as compared with classical +work. Let us now go a little more into detail. + +As Homer gave us an ideal landscape, which even a god might have been +pleased to behold, so Dante gives us, fortunately, an ideal landscape, +which is specially intended for the terrestrial paradise. And it will +doubtless be with some surprise, after our reflections above on the +general tone of Dante's feelings, that we find ourselves here first +entering a _forest_, and that even a _thick_ forest. But there is a +peculiar meaning in this. With any other poet than Dante, it might +have been regarded as a wanton inconsistency. Not so with him: by +glancing back to the two lines which explain the nature of Paradise, +we shall see what he means by it. Virgil tells him, as he enters it, +"Henceforward, take thine own pleasure for guide; thou art beyond the +steep ways, and beyond all Art;"--meaning, that the perfectly purified +and noble human creature, having no pleasure but in right, is past +all effort, and past all _rule_. Art has no existence for such a +being. Hence, the first aim of Dante, in his landscape imagery, is to +show evidence of this perfect liberty, and of the purity and +sinlessness of the new nature, converting pathless ways into happy +ones. So that all those fences and formalisms which had been needed +for him in imperfection, are removed in this paradise; and even the +pathlessness of the wood, the most dreadful thing possible to him in +his days of sin and shortcoming, is now a joy to him in his days of +purity. And as the fencelessness and thicket of sin led to the +fettered and fearful order of eternal punishment, so the fencelessness +and thicket of the free virtue lead to the loving and constellated +order of eternal happiness. + +§ 35. This forest, then, is very like that of Colonos in several +respects--in its peace and sweetness, and number of birds; it +differs from it only in letting a light breeze through it, being +therefore somewhat thinner than the Greek wood; the tender lines +which tell of the voices of the birds mingling with the wind, and of +the leaves all turning one way before it, have been more or less +copied by every poet since Dante's time. They are, so far as I know, +the sweetest passage of wood description which exists in literature. + +Before, however, Dante has gone far in this wood,--that is to say, +only so far as to have lost sight of the place where he entered it, +or rather, I suppose, of the light under the boughs of the outside +trees, and it must have been a very thin wood indeed if he did not +do this in some quarter of a mile's walk,--he comes to a little +river, three paces over, which bends the blades of grass to the +left, with a meadow on the other side of it; and in this meadow + + "A lady, graced with solitude, who went + Singing, and setting flower by flower apart, + By which the path she walked on was besprent. + 'Ah, lady beautiful, that basking art + In beams of love, if I may trust thy face, + Which useth to bear witness of the heart, + Let liking come on thee,' said I, 'to trace + Thy path a little closer to the shore, + Where I may reap the hearing of thy lays. + Thou mindest me, how Proserpine of yore + Appeared in such a place, what time her mother + Lost her, and she the spring, for evermore.' + As, pointing downwards and to one another + Her feet, a lady bendeth in the dance, + And barely setteth one before the other, + Thus, on the scarlet and the saffron glance + Of flowers, with motion maidenlike she bent + (Her modest eyelids drooping and askance); + And there she gave my wishes their content, + Approaching, so that her sweet melodies + Arrived upon mine ear with what they meant. + When first she came amongst the blades, that rise, + Already wetted, from the goodly river, + She graced me by the lifting of her eyes." (CAYLEY.) + +§ 36. I have given this passage at length, because, for our +purposes, it is by much the most important, not only in Dante, but +in the whole circle of poetry. This lady, observe, stands on the +opposite side of the little stream, which, presently, she explains +to Dante is Lethe, having power to cause forgetfulness of all evil, +and she stands just among the bent blades of grass at its edge. She +is first seen gathering flower from flower, then "passing +continually the multitudinous flowers through her hands," smiling at +the same time so brightly, that her first address to Dante is to +prevent him from wondering at her, saying, "if he will remember the +verse of the ninety-second Psalm, beginning. 'Delectasti,' he will +know why she is so happy." + +And turning to the verse of the Psalm, we find it written, "Thou, +Lord, hast made me glad _through Thy works_. I will triumph _in the +works of Thy hands_;" or, in the very words in which Dante would +read it,-- + + "Quia delectasti me, Domine, in factura tua, + Et in operibus manuum Tuarum exultabo." + +§ 37. Now we could not for an instant have had any difficulty in +understanding this, but that, some way farther on in the poem, this +lady is called Matilda, and it is with reason supposed by the +commentators to be the great Countess Matilda of the eleventh +century; notable equally for her ceaseless activity, her brilliant +political genius, her perfect piety, and her deep reverence for the +see of Rome. This Countess Matilda is therefore Dante's guide in +the terrestrial paradise, as Beatrice is afterwards in the +celestial; each of them having a spiritual and symbolic character in +their glorified state, yet retaining their definite personality. + +The question is, then, what is the symbolic character of the +Countess Matilda, as the guiding spirit of the terrestrial paradise? +Before Dante had entered this paradise he had rested on a step of +shelving rock, and as he watched the stars he slept, and dreamed, +and thus tells us what he saw:-- + + "A lady, young and beautiful, I dreamed, + Was passing o'er a lea; and, as she came, + Methought I saw her ever and anon + Bending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang: + 'Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, + That I am Leah; for my brow to weave + A garland, these fair hands unwearied ply; + To please me at the crystal mirror, here + I deck me. But my sister Rachel, she + Before her glass abides the livelong day, + Her radiant eyes beholding, charmed no less + Than I with this delightful task. Her joy + In contemplation, as in labor mine.'" + +This vision of Rachel and Leah has been always, and with +unquestionable truth, received as a type of the Active and +Contemplative life, and as an introduction to the two divisions of the +paradise which Dante is about to enter. Therefore the unwearied spirit +of the Countess Matilda is understood to represent the Active life, +which forms the felicity of Earth; and the spirit of Beatrice the +Contemplative life, which forms the felicity of Heaven. This +interpretation appears at first straightforward and certain; but it +has missed count of exactly the most important fact in the two +passages which we have to explain. Observe: Leah gathers the flowers +to decorate _herself_, and delights in _Her Own_ Labor. Rachel sits +silent, contemplating herself, and delights in _Her Own_ Image. These +are the types of the Unglorified Active and Contemplative powers of +Man. But Beatrice and Matilda are the same powers, Glorified. And how +are they Glorified? Leah took delight in her own labor; but +Matilda--"in operibus _manuum Tuarum_"--_in God's labor_: Rachel in +the sight of her own face; Beatrice in the sight of _God's face_. + +§ 38. And thus, when afterwards Dante sees Beatrice on her throne, and +prays her that, when he himself shall die, she would receive him with +kindness, Beatrice merely looks down for an instant, and answers with +a single smile, then "towards the eternal fountain turns." + +Therefore it is evident that Dante distinguishes in both cases, not +between earth and heaven, but between perfect and imperfect happiness, +whether in earth or heaven. The active life which has only the service +of man for its end, and therefore gathers flowers, with Leah, for its +own decoration, is indeed happy, but not perfectly so; it has only the +happiness of the dream, belonging essentially to the dream of human +life, and passing away with it. But the active life which labors for +the more and more discovery of God's work, is perfectly happy, and is +the life of the terrestrial paradise, being a true foretaste of +heaven, and beginning in earth, as heaven's vestibule. So also the +contemplative life which is concerned with human feeling and thought +and beauty--the life which is in earthly poetry and imagery of noble +earthly emotion--is happy, but it is the happiness of the dream; the +contemplative life which has God's person and love in Christ for its +object, has the happiness of eternity. But because this higher +happiness is also begun here on earth, Beatrice descends to earth; and +when revealed to Dante first, he sees the image of the twofold +personality of Christ reflected in her _eyes_; as the flowers, which +are, to the mediæval heart, the chief work of God, are for ever +passing through Matilda's _hands_. + +§ 39. Now, therefore, we see that Dante, as the great prophetic +exponent of the heart of the Middle Ages, has, by the lips of the +spirit of Matilda, declared the mediæval faith,--that all perfect +active life was "the expression of man's delight _in God's work_;" +and that all their political and warlike energy, as fully shown in +the mortal life of Matilda, was yet inferior and impure,--the energy +of the dream,--compared with that which on the opposite bank of +Lethe stood "choosing flower from flower." And what joy and peace +there were in this work is marked by Matilda's being the person who +draws Dante through the stream of Lethe, so as to make him forget +all sin, and all sorrow: throwing her arms round him, she plunges +his head under the waves of it; then draws him through, crying to +him, "_hold me, hold me_" (tiemmi, tiemmi), and so presents him, +thus bathed, free from all painful memory, at the feet of the spirit +of the more heavenly contemplation. + +§ 40. The reader will, I think, now see, with sufficient +distinctness, why I called this passage the most important, for our +present purposes, in the whole circle of poetry. For it contains the +first great confession of the discovery by the human race (I mean as +a matter of experience, not of revelation), that their happiness was +not in themselves, and that their labor was not to have their own +service as its chief end. It embodies in a few syllables the +_sealing_ difference between the Greek and the mediæval, in that the +former sought the flower and herb for his own uses, the latter for +God's honor; the former, primarily and on principle, contemplated +his own beauty and the workings of his own mind, and the latter, +primarily and on principle, contemplated Christ's beauty and the +workings of the mind of Christ. + +§ 41. I will not at present follow up this subject any farther; it +being enough that we have thus got to the root of it, and have a +great declaration of the central mediæval purpose, whereto we may +return for solution of all future questions. I would only, +therefore, desire the reader now to compare the Stones of Venice, +vol. i. chap. xx. §§ 15. 16.; the Seven Lamps of Architecture, chap. +iv. § 3.; and the second volume of this work, Chap. II. §§ 9. 10., +and Chap. III. § 10.; that he may, in these several places, observe +how gradually our conclusions are knitting themselves together as we +are able to determine more and more of the successive questions that +come before us: and, finally, to compare the two interesting +passages in Wordsworth, which, without any memory of Dante, +nevertheless, as if by some special ordaining, describe in matters +of modern life exactly the soothing or felicitous powers of the two +active spirits of Dante--Leah and Matilda, Excursion, book v. line +608. to 625., and book vi. line 102. to 214. + +§ 42. Having thus received from Dante this great lesson, as to the +spirit in which mediæval landscape is to be understood, what else we +have to note respecting it, as seen in his poem, will be +comparatively straightforward and easy. And first, we have to +observe the place occupied in his mind by _color_. It has already +been shown, in the Stones of Venice, vol. ii. chap. v. §§ 30--34, +that color is the most _sacred_ element of all visible things. +Hence, as the mediæval mind contemplated them first for their +sacredness, we should, beforehand, expect that the first thing it +would seize would be the color; and that we should find its +expressions and renderings of color infinitely more loving and +accurate than among the Greeks. + +§ 43. Accordingly, the Greek sense of color seems to have been so +comparatively dim and uncertain, that it is almost impossible to +ascertain what the real idea was which they attached to any word +alluding to hue: and above all, color, though pleasant to their +eyes, as to those of all human beings, seems never to have been +impressive to their feelings. They liked purple, on the whole, the +best; but there was no sense of cheerfulness or pleasantness in one +color, and gloom in another, such as the mediævals had. + +For instance, when Achilles goes, in great anger and sorrow, to +complain to Thetis of the scorn done him by Agamemnon, the sea appears +to him "wine-colored." One might think this meant that the sea looked +dark and reddish-purple to him, in a kind of sympathy with his anger. +But we turn to the passage of Sophocles, which has been above +quoted--a passage peculiarly intended to express peace and rest--and +we find that the birds sing among "wine-colored" ivy. The uncertainty +of conception of the hue itself, and entire absence of expressive +character in the word, could hardly be more clearly manifested. + +§ 44. Again: I said the Greek liked purple, as a general source of +enjoyment, better than any other color. So he did, and so all healthy +persons who have eye for color, and are unprejudiced about it, do; and +will to the end of time, for a reason presently to be noted. But so +far was this instinctive preference for purple from giving, in the +Greek mind, any consistently cheerful or sacred association to the +color, that Homer constantly calls death "purple death." + +§ 45. Again: in the passage of Sophocles, so often spoken of, I said +there was some difficulty respecting a word often translated +"thickets." I believe, myself, it means glades; literally, "going +places" in the woods,--that is to say, places where, either naturally +or by force, the trees separate, so as to give some accessible +avenue. Now, Sophocles tells us the birds sang in these "_green_ going +places;" and we take up the expression gratefully, thinking the old +Greek perceived and enjoyed, as we do, the sweet fall of the eminently +_green_ light through the leaves when they are a little thinner than +in the heart of the wood. But we turn to the tragedy of Ajax, and are +much shaken in our conclusion about the meaning of the word, when we +are told that the body of Ajax is to lie unburied, and be eaten by +sea-birds on the "_green_ sand." The formation, geologically +distinguished by that title, was certainly not known to Sophocles; and +the only conclusion which, it seems to me, we can come to under the +circumstances,--assuming Ariel's[75] authority as to the color of +pretty sand, and the ancient mariner's (or, rather, his hearer's[76]) +as to the color of ugly sand, to be conclusive,--is that Sophocles +really did not know green from yellow or brown. + +§ 46. Now, without going out of the terrestrial paradise, in which +Dante last left us, we shall be able at once to compare with this +Greek incertitude the precision of the mediæval eye for color. Some +three arrowflights further up into the wood we come to a tall tree, +which is at first barren, but, after some little time, visibly opens +into flowers, of a color "less than that of roses, but more than +that of violets." + +It certainly would not be possible, in words, to come nearer to the +_definition_ of the exact hue which Dante meant--that of the +apple-blossom. Had he employed any simple color-phrase, as a "pale +pink," or "violet-pink," or any other such combined expression, he +still could not have completely got at the delicacy of the hue; he +might perhaps have indicated its kind, but not its tenderness; but +by taking the rose-leaf as the type of the delicate red, and then +enfeebling this with the violet grey, he gets, as closely as +language can carry him, to the complete rendering of the vision, +though it is evidently felt by him to be in its perfect beauty +ineffable; and rightly so felt, for of all lovely things which grace +the spring time in our fair temperate zone, I am not sure but this +blossoming of the apple-tree is the fairest. At all events, I find +it associated in my mind with four other kinds of color, certainly +principal among the gifts of the northern earth, namely: + + 1st. Bell gentians growing close together, mixed with lilies + of the valley, on the Jura pastures. + + 2nd. Alpine roses with dew upon them, under low rays of + morning sunshine, touching the tops of the flowers. + + 3rd. Bell heather in mass, in full light, at sunset. + + 4th. White narcissus (red-centred) in mass, on the Vevay + pastures, in sunshine, after rain. + +And I know not where in the group to place the wreaths of +apple-blossoms, in the Vevay orchards, with the far-off blue of the +lake of Geneva seen between the flowers. + +A Greek, however, would have regarded this blossom simply with the +eyes of a Devonshire farmer, as bearing on the probable price of +cider, and would have called it red, cerulean, purple, white, +hyacinthine, or generally "aglaos," agreeable, as happened to suit +his verse. + +§ 47. Again: we have seen how fond the Greek was of composing his +paradises of rather damp grass; but that in this fondness for grass +there was always an undercurrent of consideration for his horses; and +the characters in it which pleased him most were its depth and +freshness; not its color. Now, if we remember carefully the general +expressions, respecting grass, used in modern literature, I think +nearly the commonest that occurs to us will be that of "enamelled" +turf or sward. This phrase is usually employed by our pseudo-poets, +like all their other phrases, without knowing what it means, because +it has been used by other writers before them, and because they do not +know what else to say of grass. If we were to ask them what enamel +was, they could not tell us; and if we asked why grass was like +enamel, they could not tell us. The expression _has_ a meaning, +however, and one peculiarly characteristic of mediæval and modern +temper. + +§ 48. The first instance I know of its right use, though very +probably it had been so employed before, is in Dante. The righteous +spirits of the pre-Christian ages are seen by him, though in the +Inferno, yet in a place open, luminous, and high, walking upon the +"green enamel." + +I am very sure that Dante did not use this phrase as we use it. He +knew well what enamel was; and his readers, in order to understand +him thoroughly, must remember what it is,--a vitreous paste, +dissolved in water, mixed with metallic oxides, to give it the +opacity and the color required, spread in a moist state on metal, +and afterwards hardened by fire, so as never to change. And Dante +means, in using this metaphor of the grass of the Inferno, to mark +that it is laid as a tempering and cooling substance over the dark, +metallic, gloomy ground; but yet so hardened by the fire, that it is +not any more fresh or living grass, but a smooth, silent, lifeless +bed of eternal green. And we know how _hard_ Dante's idea of it was; +because afterwards, in what is perhaps the most awful passage of the +whole Inferno, when the three furies rise at the top of the burning +tower, and catching sight of Dante, and not being able to get at +him, shriek wildly for the Gorgon to come up too, that they may turn +him into stone,--the word _stone_ is not hard enough for them. Stone +might crumble away after it was made, or something with life might +grow upon it; no, it shall not be stone; they will make enamel of +him; nothing can grow out of that; it is dead for ever.[77] + + "Venga Medusa, si lo farem di _Smalto_." + +§ 49. Now, almost in the opening of the Purgatory, as there at the +entrance of the Inferno, we find a company of great ones resting in +a grassy place. But the idea of the grass now is very different. The +word now used is not "enamel," but "herb," and instead of being +merely green, it is covered with flowers of many colors. With the +usual mediæval accuracy, Dante insists on telling us precisely what +these colors were, and how bright; which he does by naming the +actual pigments used in illumination,--"Gold, and fine silver, and +cochineal, and white lead, and Indian wood, serene and lucid, and +fresh emerald, just broken, would have been excelled, as less is by +greater, by the flowers and grass of the place." It is evident that +the "emerald" here means the emerald green of the illuminators; for +a fresh emerald is no brighter than one which is not fresh, and +Dante was not one to throw away his words thus. Observe, then, we +have here the idea of the growth, life, and variegation of the +"green herb," as opposed to the smalto of the Inferno; but the +colors of the variegation are illustrated and defined by the +reference to actual pigments; and, observe, because the other colors +are rather bright, the blue ground (Indian wood, indigo?) is sober; +lucid, but serene; and presently two angels enter, who are dressed +in green drapery, but of a paler green than the grass, which Dante +marks, by telling us that it was "the green of leaves just budded." + +§ 50. In all this, I wish the reader to observe two things: first, the +general carefulness of the poet in defining color, distinguishing it +precisely as a painter would (opposed to the Greek carelessness about +it); and, secondly, his regarding the grass for its greenness and +variegation, rather than, as a Greek would have done, for its depth +and freshness. This greenness or brightness, and variegation, are +taken up by later and modern poets, as the things intended to be +chiefly expressed by the word "enamelled;" and, gradually, the term is +taken to indicate any kind of bright and interchangeable coloring; +there being always this much of propriety about it, when used of +greensward, that such sward is indeed, like enamel, a coat of bright +color on a comparatively dark ground; and is thus a sort of natural +jewelry and painter's work, different from loose and large vegetation. +The word is often awkwardly and falsely used, by the later poets, of +all kinds of growth and color; as by Milton of the flowers of Paradise +showing themselves over its wall; but it retains, nevertheless, +through all its jaded inanity, some half-unconscious vestige of the +old sense, even to the present day. + +§ 51. There are, it seems to me, several important deductions to be +made from these facts. The Greek, we have seen, delighted in the +grass for its usefulness; the mediæval, as also we moderns, for its +color and beauty. But both dwell on it as the _first_ element of the +lovely landscape; we saw its use in Homer, we see also that Dante +thinks the righteous spirits of the heathen enough comforted in +Hades by having even the _image_ of green grass put beneath their +feet; the happy resting-place in Purgatory has no other delight than +its grass and flowers; and, finally, in the terrestrial paradise, +the feet of Matilda pause where the Lethe stream first bends the +blades of grass. Consider a little what a depth there is in this +great instinct of the human race. Gather a single blade of grass, +and examine for a minute, quietly, its narrow sword-shaped strip of +fluted green. Nothing, as it seems there, of notable goodness or +beauty. A very little strength, and a very little tallness, and a +few delicate long lines meeting in a point,--not a perfect point +neither, but blunt and unfinished, by no means a creditable or +apparently much cared for example of Nature's workmanship; made, as +it seems, only to be trodden on to-day, and to-morrow to be cast +into the oven; and a little pale and hollow stalk, feeble and +flaccid, leading down to the dull brown fibres of roots. And yet, +think of it well, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers that +beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly trees, pleasant to +the eyes and good for food,--stately palm and pine, strong ash and +oak, scented citron, burdened vine,--there be any by man so deeply +loved, by God so highly graced, as that narrow point of feeble +green. It seems to me not to have been without a peculiar +significance, that our Lord, when about to work the miracle which, +of all that He showed, appears to have been felt by the multitude as +the most impressive,--the miracle of the loaves,--commanded the +people to sit down by companies "upon the green grass." He was about +to feed them with the principal produce of earth and the sea, the +simplest representations of the food of mankind. He gave them the +seed of the herb; He bade them sit down upon the herb itself, which +was as great a gift, in its fitness for their joy and rest, as its +perfect fruit, for their sustenance; thus, in this single order and +act, when rightly understood, indicating for evermore how the +Creator had entrusted the comfort, consolation, and sustenance of +man, to the simplest and most despised of all the leafy families of +the earth. And well does it fulfil its mission. Consider what we owe +merely to the meadow grass, to the covering of the dark ground by +that glorious enamel, by the companies of those soft, and countless, +and peaceful spears. The fields! Follow but forth for a little time +the thoughts of all that we ought to recognise in those words. All +spring and summer is in them,--the walks by silent, scented +paths,--the rests in noon-day heat,--the joy of herds and +flocks,--the power of all shepherd life and meditation,--the life of +sunlight upon the world, falling in emerald streaks, and falling in +soft blue shadows, where else it would have struck upon the dark +mould, or scorching dust,--pastures beside the pacing brooks,--soft +banks and knolls of lowly hills,--thymy slopes of down overlooked by +the blue line of lifted sea,--crisp lawns all dim with early dew, or +smooth in evening warmth of barred sunshine, dinted by happy feet, +and softening in their fall the sound of loving voices: all these +are summed in those simple words; and these are not all. We may not +measure to the full the depth of this heavenly gift, in our own +land; though still, as we think of it longer, the infinite of that +meadow sweetness, Shakspere's peculiar joy, would open on us more +and more, yet we have it but in part. Go out, in the spring time, +among the meadows that slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to +the roots of their lower mountains. There, mingled with the taller +gentians and the white narcissus, the grass grows deep and free; and +as you follow the winding mountain paths, beneath arching boughs all +veiled and dim with blossom,--paths that for ever droop and rise +over the green banks and mounds sweeping down in scented undulation, +steep to the blue water, studded here and there with new mown heaps, +filling all the air with fainter sweetness,--look up towards the +higher hills, where the waves of everlasting green roll silently +into their long inlets among the shadows of the pines; and we may, +perhaps, at last know the meaning of those quiet words of the 147th +Psalm, "He maketh grass to grow upon the mountains." + +§ 52. There are also several lessons symbolically connected with this +subject, which we must not allow to escape us. Observe, the peculiar +characters of the grass, which adapt it especially for the service of +man, are its apparent _humility_, and _cheerfulness_. Its humility, in +that it seems created only for lowest service,--appointed to be +trodden on, and fed upon. Its cheerfulness, in that it seems to exult +under all kinds of violence and suffering. You roll it, and it is +stronger the next day; you mow it, and it multiplies its shoots, as if +it were grateful; you tread upon it, and it only sends up richer +perfume. Spring comes, and it rejoices with all the earth,--glowing +with variegated flame of flowers,--waving in soft depth of fruitful +strength. Winter comes, and though it will not mock its fellow plants +by growing then, it will not pine and mourn, and turn colorless or +leafless as they. It is always green; and is only the brighter and +gayer for the hoar-frost. + +§ 53. Now, these two characters--of humility, and joy under +trial--are exactly those which most definitely distinguish the +Christian from the Pagan spirit. Whatever virtue the pagan possessed +was rooted in pride, and fruited with sorrow. It began in the +elevation of his own nature; it ended but in the "verde smalto"--the +hopeless green--of the Elysian fields. But the Christian virtue is +rooted in self-debasement, and strengthened under suffering by +gladness of hope. And remembering this, it is curious to observe how +utterly without gladness the Greek heart appears to be in watching +the flowering grass, and what strange discords of expression arise +sometimes in consequence. There is one, recurring once or twice in +Homer, which has always pained me. He says, "the Greek army was on +the fields, as thick as flowers in the spring." It might be so; but +flowers in spring time are not the image by which Dante would have +numbered soldiers on their path of battle. Dante could not have +thought of the flowering of the grass but as associated with +happiness. There is a still deeper significance in the passage +quoted, a little while ago, from Homer, describing Ulysses casting +himself down on the _rushes_ and the corn-giving land at the river +shore,--the rushes and corn being to him only good for rest and +sustenance,--when we compare it with that in which Dante tells us he +was ordered to descend to the shore of the lake as he entered +Purgatory, to gather a _rush_, and gird himself with it, it being to +him the emblem not only of rest, but of humility under chastisement, +the rush (or reed) being the only plant which can grow there;--"no +plant which bears leaves, or hardens its bark, can live on that +shore, because it does not yield to the chastisement of its waves." +It cannot but strike the reader singularly how deep and harmonious a +significance runs through all these words of Dante--how every +syllable of them, the more we penetrate it, becomes a seed of +farther thought! For, follow up this image of the girding with the +reed, under trial, and see to whose feet it will lead us. As the +grass of the earth, thought of as the herb yielding seed, leads us +to the place where our Lord commanded the multitude to sit down by +companies upon the green grass; so the grass of the waters, thought +of as sustaining itself among the waters of affliction, leads us to +the place where a stem of it was put into our Lord's hand for his +sceptre; and in the crown of thorns, and the rod of reed, was +foreshown the everlasting truth of the Christian ages--that all +glory was to be begun in suffering, and all power in humility. + +Assembling the images we have traced, and adding the simplest of +all, from Isaiah xl. 6., we find, the grass and flowers are types, +in their passing, of the passing of human life, and, in their +excellence, of the excellence of human life; and this in a twofold +way; first, by their Beneficence, and then, by their endurance:--the +grass of the earth, in giving the seed of corn, and in its beauty +under tread of foot and stroke of scythe; and the grass of the +waters, in giving its freshness for our rest, and in its bending +before the wave.[78] But understood in the broad human and Divine +sense, the "_herb_ yielding seed" (as opposed to the fruit-tree +yielding fruit) includes a third family of plants, and fulfils a +third office to the human race. It includes the great family of the +lints and flaxes, and fulfils thus the _three_ offices of giving +food, raiment, and rest. Follow out this fulfilment; consider the +association of the linen garment and the linen embroidery, with the +priestly office, and the furniture of the tabernacle: and consider +how the rush has been, in all time, the first natural carpet thrown +under the human foot. Then next observe the three virtues definitely +set forth by the three families of plants; not arbitrarily or +fancifully associated with them, but in all the three cases marked +for us by Scriptural words: + +1st. Cheerfulness, or joyful serenity; in the grass for food and +beauty.--"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil +not, neither do they spin." + +2nd. Humility; in the grass for rest.--"A bruised reed shall He not +break." + +3rd. Love; in the grass for clothing (because of its swift +kindling),--"The smoking flax shall He not quench." + +And then, finally, observe the confirmation of these last two images +in, I suppose, the most important prophecy, relating to the future +state of the Christian Church, which occurs in the Old Testament, +namely, that contained in the closing chapters of Ezekiel. The +measures of the Temple of God are to be taken; and because it is +only by charity and humility that those measures ever can be taken, +the angel has "a line of _flax_ in his hand, and a measuring +_reed_." The use of the line was to measure the land, and of the +reed to take the dimensions of the buildings; so the buildings of +the church, or its labors, are to be measured by _humility_, and its +territory or land, by _love_. + +The limits of the Church have, indeed, in later days, been measured, +to the world's sorrow, by another kind of flaxen line, burning with +the fire of unholy zeal, not with that of Christian charity; and +perhaps the best lesson which we can finally take to ourselves, in +leaving these sweet fields of the mediæval landscape, is the memory +that, in spite of all the fettered habits of thought of his age, +this great Dante, this inspired exponent of what lay deepest at the +heart of the early Church, placed his terrestrial paradise where +there had ceased to be fence or division, and where the grass of the +earth was bowed down, in unity of direction, only by the soft waves +that bore with them the forgetfulness of evil. + + [71] The peculiar dislike felt by the mediævals for the _sea_, is + so interesting a subject of inquiry, that I have reserved it + for separate discussion in another work, in present + preparation, "Harbors of England." + + [72] Married to Philip, younger son of the King of Navarre, in + 1352. She died in 1394. + + [73] "Three times the length of a human body."--Purg. x. 24. + + [74] Purg. xii. 102. + + [75] "Come unto these _yellow_ sands." + + [76] "And thou art long, and lank, and _brown_, + As is the ribbed sea sand." + + [77] Compare parallel passage, making Dante hard or changeless in + good Purg. viii. 114. + + [78] So also in Isa. xxxv. 7., the prevalence of righteousness and + peace over all evil is thus foretold: + + "In the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be + _grass_, with _reeds_ and _rushes_." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +OF MEDIÆVAL LANDSCAPE:--SECONDLY, THE ROCKS. + + +§ 1. I closed the last chapter, not because our subject was +exhausted, but to give the reader breathing time, and because I +supposed he would hardly care to turn back suddenly from the +subjects of thought last suggested, to the less pregnant matters of +inquiry connected with mediæval landscape. Nor was the pause +mistimed even as respects the order of our subjects; for hitherto we +have been arrested chiefly by the beauty of the pastures and fields, +and have followed the mediæval mind in its fond regard of leaf and +flower. But now we have some hard hill-climbing to do; and the +remainder of our investigation must be carried on, for the most +part, on hands and knees, so that it is not ill done of us first to +take breath. + +§ 2. It will be remembered that in the last chapter, § 14., we +supposed it probable that there would be considerable inaccuracies +in the mediæval mode of regarding nature. Hitherto, however, we have +found none; but, on the contrary, intense accuracy, precision, and +affection. The reason of this is, that all floral and foliaged +beauty might be perfectly represented, as far as its form went, in +the sculpture and ornamental painting of the period; hence the +attention of men was thoroughly awakened to that beauty. But as +mountains and clouds and large features of natural scenery could not +be accurately represented, we must be prepared to find them not so +carefully contemplated,--more carefully, indeed, than by the Greeks, +but still in no wise as the things themselves deserve. + +§ 3. It was besides noticed that mountains, though regarded with +reverence by the mediæval, were also the subjects of a certain +dislike and dread. And we have seen already that in fact the place +of the soul's purification, though a mountain, is yet by Dante +subdued, whenever there is any pleasantness to be found upon it, +from all mountainous character into grassy recesses, or slopes to +rushy shore; and, in his general conception of it, resembles much +more a castle mound, surrounded by terraced walks,--in the manner, +for instance, of one of Turner's favorite scenes, the bank under +Richmond Castle (Yorkshire); or, still more, one of the hill slopes +divided by terraces, above the Rhine, in which the picturesqueness +of the ground has been reduced to the form best calculated for the +growing of costly wine, than any scene to which we moderns should +naturally attach the term "Mountainous." On the other hand, although +the Inferno is just as accurately measured and divided as the +Purgatory, it is nevertheless cleft into rocky chasms which possess +something of true mountain nature--nature which we moderns of the +north should most of us seek with delight, but which, to the great +Florentine, appeared adapted only for the punishment of lost +spirits, and which, on the mind of nearly all his countrymen, would +to this day produce a very closely correspondent effect; so that +their graceful language, dying away on the north side of the Alps, +gives its departing accents to proclaim its detestation of hardness +and ruggedness; and is heard for the last time, as it bestows on the +noblest defile in all the Grisons, if not in all the Alpine chain, +the name of the "_evil_ way"--"la Via Mala." + +§ 4. This "evil way," though much deeper and more sublime, +corresponds closely in general character to Dante's "Evil-pits," +just as the banks of Richmond do to his mountain of Purgatory; and +it is notable that Turner has been led to illustrate, with his whole +strength, the character of both; having founded, as it seems to me, +his early dreams of mountain form altogether on the sweet banks of +the Yorkshire streams, and rooted his hardier thoughts of it in the +rugged clefts of the Via Mala. + +§ 5. Nor of the Via Mala only: a correspondent defile on the St. +Gothard,--so terrible in one part of it, that it can, indeed, +suggest no ideas but those of horror to minds either of northern or +southern temper, and whose wild bridge, cast from rock to rock over +a chasm as utterly hopeless and escapeless as any into which Dante +gazed from the arches of Malebolge, has been, therefore, ascribed +both by northern and southern lips to the master-building of the +great spirit of evil--supplied to Turner the element of his most +terrible thoughts in mountain vision, even to the close of his life. +The noblest plate in the series of the Liber Studiorum,[79] one +engraved by his own hand, is of that bridge; the last mountain +journey he ever took was up the defile; and a rocky bank and arch, +in the last mountain drawing which he ever executed with his perfect +power, are remembrances of the path by which he had traversed in his +youth this Malebolge of the St. Gothard. + +§ 6. It is therefore with peculiar interest, as bearing on our own +proper subject, that we must examine Dante's conception of the rocks +of the eighth circle. And first, as to general tone of color: from +what we have seen of the love of the mediæval for bright and +variegated color, we might guess that his chief cause of dislike to +rocks would be, in Italy, their comparative colorlessness. With +hardly an exception, the range of the Apennines is composed of a +stone of which some special account is given hereafter in the +chapters on Materials of Mountains, and of which one peculiarity, +there noticed, is its monotony of hue. Our slates and granites are +often of very lovely colors; but the Apennine limestone is so grey +and toneless, that I know not any mountain district so utterly +melancholy as those which are composed of this rock, when unwooded. +Now, as far as I can discover from the internal evidence in his +poem, nearly all Dante's mountain wanderings had been upon this +ground. He had journeyed once or twice among the Alps, indeed, but +seems to have been impressed chiefly by the road from Garda to +Trent, and that along the Corniche, both of which are either upon +those limestones, or a dark serpentine, which shows hardly any color +till it is polished. It is not ascertainable that he had ever seen +rocky scenery of the finely colored kind, aided by the Alpine +mosses: I do not know the fall at Forli (Inferno, xvi. 99.), but +every other scene to which he alludes is among these Apennine +limestones; and when he wishes to give the idea of enormous mountain +size, he names Tabernicch and Pietra-pana,--the one clearly chosen +only for the sake of the last syllable of its name, in order to make +a sound as of cracking ice, with the two sequent rhymes of the +stanza,--and the other is an Apennine near Lucca. + +§ 7. His idea, therefore, of rock color, founded on these +experiences, is that of a dull or ashen grey, more or less stained +by the brown of iron ochre, precisely as the Apennine limestones +nearly always are; the grey being peculiarly cold and disagreeable. +As we go down the very hill which stretches out from Pietra-pana +towards Lucca, the stones laid by the road-side to mend it are of +this ashen grey, with efflorescences of manganese and iron in the +fissures. The whole of Malebolge is made of this rock, "All wrought +in stone of iron-colored grain."[80] + +Perhaps the iron color may be meant to predominate in Evil-pits; but +the definite grey limestone color is stated higher up, the river +Styx flowing at the base of "malignant _grey_ cliffs"[81] (the word +malignant being given to the iron-colored Malebolge also); and the +same whitish-grey idea is given again definitely in describing the +robe of the purgatorial or penance angel, which is "of the color of +ashes, or earth dug dry." Ashes necessarily mean _wood_-ashes in an +Italian mind, so that we get the tone very pale; and there can be no +doubt whatever about the hue meant, because it is constantly seen on +the sunny sides of the Italian hills, produced by the scorching of +the ground, a dusty and lifeless whitish grey, utterly painful and +oppressive; and I have no doubt that this color, assumed eminently +also by limestone crags in the sun, is the quality which Homer means +to express by a term he applies often to bare rocks, and which is +usually translated "craggy," or "rocky." Now Homer is indeed quite +capable of talking of "rocky rocks," just as he talks sometimes of +"wet water;" but I think he means more by this word: it sounds as if +it were derived from another, meaning "meal," or "flour," and I have +little doubt it means "mealy white;" the Greek limestones being for +the most part brighter in effect than the Apennine ones. + +§ 8. And the fact is, that the great and pre-eminent fault of +southern, as compared with northern scenery, is this rock-whiteness, +which gives to distant mountain ranges, lighted by the sun, sometimes +a faint and monotonous glow, hardly detaching itself from the whiter +parts of the sky, and sometimes a speckled confusion of white light +with blue shadow, breaking up the whole mass of the hills, and making +them look near and small; the whiteness being still distinct at the +distance of twenty or twenty-five miles. The inferiority and +meagreness of such effects of hill, compared with the massive purple +and blue of our own heaps of crags and morass, or the solemn +grass-green and pine-purples of the Alps, have always struck me most +painfully; and they have rendered it impossible for any poet or +painter studying in the south, to enter with joy into hill scenery. +Imagine the difference to Walter Scott, if instead of the single +lovely color which, named by itself alone, was enough to describe his +hills,-- + + "Their southern rapine to renew, + Far in the distant Cheviot's _blue_,"-- + +a dusty whiteness had been the image that first associated itself +with a hill range, and he had been obliged, instead of "blue" +Cheviots, to say, "barley-meal-colored" Cheviots. + +§ 9. But although this would cause a somewhat painful shock even to +a modern mind, it would be as nothing when compared with the pain +occasioned by absence of color to a mediæval one. We have been +trained, by our ingenious principles of Renaissance architecture, to +think that meal-color and ash-color are the properest colors of all; +and that the most aristocratic harmonies are to be deduced out of +grey mortar and creamy stucco. Any of our modern classical +architects would delightedly "face" a heathery hill with Roman +cement; and any Italian sacristan would, but for the cost of it, at +once whitewash the Cheviots. But the mediævals had not arrived at +these abstract principles of taste. They liked fresco better than +whitewash; and, on the whole, thought that Nature was in the right +in painting her flowers yellow, pink, and blue;--not grey. +Accordingly, this absence of color from rocks, as compared with +meadows and trees, was in their eyes an unredeemable defect; nor did +it matter to them whether its place was supplied by the grey neutral +tint, or the iron-colored stain; for both colors, grey and brown, +were, to them, hues of distress, despair, and mortification, hence +adopted always for the dresses of monks; only the word "brown" bore, +in their color vocabulary, a still gloomier sense than with us. I +was for some time embarrassed by Dante's use of it with respect to +dark skies and water. Thus, in describing a simple twilight--not a +Hades twilight, but an ordinarily fair evening--(Inf. ii. 1.) he +says, the "brown" air took the animals of earth away from their +fatigues;--the waves under Charon's boat are "brown" (Inf. iii. +117.); and Lethe, which is perfectly clear and yet dark, as with +oblivion, is "bruna-bruna," "brown, _exceeding_ brown." Now, clearly +in all these cases no _warmth_ is meant to be mingled in the color. +Dante had never seen one of our bog-streams, with its porter-colored +foam; and there can be no doubt that, in calling Lethe brown, he +means that it was dark slate grey, inclining to black; as, for +instance, our clear Cumberland lakes, which, looked straight down +upon where they are deep, seem to be lakes of ink. I am sure this is +the color he means; because no clear stream or lake on the Continent +ever looks brown, but blue or green; and Dante, by merely taking +away the pleasant color, would get at once to this idea of grave +clear grey. So, when he was talking of twilight, his eye for color +was far too good to let him call it _brown_ in our sense. Twilight +is not brown, but purple, golden, or dark grey; and this last was +what Dante meant. Farther, I find that this negation of color is +always the means by which Dante subdues his tones. Thus the fatal +inscription on the Hades gate is written in "obscure color," and the +air which torments the passionate spirits is "aer nero" _black_ air +(Inf. v. 51.), called presently afterwards (line 81.) malignant air, +just as the grey cliffs are called malignant cliffs. + +§ 10. I was not, therefore, at a loss to find out what Dante meant +by the word; but I was at a loss to account for his not, as it +seemed, acknowledging the existence of the color of _brown_ at all; +for if he called dark neutral tint "brown," it remained a question +what term he would use for things of the color of burnt umber. But, +one day, just when I was puzzling myself about this, I happened to +be sitting by one of our best living modern colorists, watching him +at his work, when he said, suddenly, and by mere accident, after we +had been talking of other things, "Do you know I have found that +there is no _brown_ in Nature? What we call brown is always a +variety either of orange or purple. It never can be represented by +umber, unless altered by contrast." + +§ 11. It is curious how far the significance of this remark extends, +how exquisitely it illustrates and confirms the mediæval sense of +hue;--how far, on the other hand, it cuts into the heart of the old +umber idolatries of Sir George Beaumont and his colleagues, the "where +do you put your _brown_ tree" system; the code of Cremona-violin- +colored foregrounds, of brown varnish and asphaltum; and all the old +night-owl science, which, like Young's pencil of sorrow, + + "In melancholy dipped, _embrowns_ the whole." + +Nay, I do Young an injustice by associating his words with the +asphalt schools; for his eye for color was true, and like Dante's; +and I doubt not that he means dark grey, as Byron purple-grey in +that night piece in the Siege of Corinth, beginning + + "'Tis midnight; on the mountains _brown_ + The cold, round moon looks deeply down;" + +and, by the way, Byron's best piece of evening color farther +certifies the hues of Dante's twilight,--it + + "Dies like the dolphin, when it gasps away-- + The last still loveliest; till 'tis gone, and all is _grey_." + +§ 12. Let not, however, the reader confuse the use of brown, as an +expression of a natural tint, with its use as a means of _getting +other tints_. Brown is often an admirable ground, just because it is +the only tint which is _not_ to be in the finished picture, and +because it is the best basis of many silver greys and purples, utterly +opposite to it in their nature. But there is infinite difference +between laying a brown ground as a representation of shadow,--and as a +base for light; and also an infinite difference between using brown +shadows, associated with colored lights--always the characteristic of +false schools of color--and using brown as a warm neutral tint for +general study. I shall have to pursue this subject farther hereafter, +in noticing how brown is used by great colorists in their studies, +not as color, but as the pleasantest negation of color, possessing +more transparency than black, and having more pleasant and sunlike +warmth. Hence Turner, in his early studies, used blue for distant +neutral tint, and brown for foreground neutral tint; while, as he +advanced in color science, he gradually introduced, in the place of +brown, strange purples, altogether peculiar to himself, founded, +apparently, on Indian red and vermilion, and passing into various +tones of russet and orange.[82] But, in the meantime, we must go back +to Dante and his mountains. + +§ 13. We find, then, that his general type of rock color was meant, +whether pale or dark, to be a colorless grey--the most melancholy +hue which he supposed to exist in Nature (hence the synonym for it, +subsisting even till late times, in mediæval appellatives of dress, +"_sad_-colored")--with some rusty stain from iron; or perhaps the +"color ferrigno" of the Inferno does not involve even so much of +orange, but ought to be translated "iron grey." + +This being his idea of the color of rocks, we have next to observe +his conception of their substance. And I believe it will be found that +the character on which he fixes first in them is _frangibility_ +--breakableness to bits, as opposed to wood, which can be sawn or +rent, but not shattered with a hammer, and to metal, which is tough +and malleable. + +Thus, at the top of the abyss of the seventh circle, appointed for +the "violent," or souls who had done evil by force, we are told, +first, that the edge of it was composed of "great broken stones in a +circle;" then, that the place was "Alpine;" and, becoming hereupon +attentive, in order to hear what an Alpine place is like, we find +that it was "like the place beyond Trent, where the rock, either by +earthquake, or failure of support, has broken down to the plain, so +that it gives any one at the top some means of getting down to the +bottom." This is not a very elevated or enthusiastic description of +an Alpine scene; and it is far from mended by the following verses, +in which we are told that Dante "began to go down by this great +_unloading_ of stones," and that they moved often under his feet by +reason of the new weight. The fact is that Dante, by many +expressions throughout the poem, shows himself to have been a +notably bad climber; and being fond of sitting in the sun, looking +at his fair Baptistery, or walking in a dignified manner on flat +pavement in a long robe, it puts him seriously out of his way when +he has to take to his hands and knees, or look to his feet; so that +the first strong impression made upon him by any Alpine scene +whatever, is, clearly, that it is bad walking. When he is in a +fright and hurry, and has a very steep place to go down, Virgil has +to carry him altogether, and is obliged to encourage him, again and +again, when they have a steep slope to go up,--the first ascent of +the purgatorial mountain. The similes by which he illustrates the +steepness of that ascent are all taken from the Riviera of Genoa, +now traversed by a good carriage road under the name of the +Corniche; but as this road did not exist in Dante's time, and the +steep precipices and promontories were then probably traversed by +footpaths, which, as they necessarily passed in many places over +crumbling and slippery limestone, were doubtless not a little +dangerous, and as in the manner they commanded the bays of sea +below, and lay exposed to the full blaze of the south-eastern sun, +they corresponded precisely to the situation of the path by which he +ascends above the purgatorial sea, the image could not possibly have +been taken from a better source for the fully conveying his idea to +the reader: nor, by the way, is there reason to discredit, in _this_ +place, his powers of climbing; for, with his usual accuracy, he has +taken the angle of the path for us, saying it was considerably more +than forty-five. Now a continuous mountain slope of forty-five +degrees is already quite unsafe either for ascent or descent, except +by zigzag paths; and a greater slope than this could not be climbed, +straightforward, but by help of crevices or jags in the rock, and +great physical exertion besides. + +§ 14. Throughout these passages, however, Dante's thoughts are +clearly fixed altogether on the question of mere accessibility or +inaccessibility. He does not show the smallest interest in the +rocks, except as things to be conquered; and his description of +their appearance is utterly meagre, involving no other epithets than +"erto" (steep or upright), Inf. xix. 131., Purg. iii. 48. &c.; +"sconcio" (monstrous), Inf. xix. 131.; "stagliata" (cut), Inf. xvii. +134.; "maligno" (malignant), Inf. vii. 108; "duro" (hard), xx. 25.; +with "large" and "broken" (rotto) in various places. No idea of +roundness, massiveness, or pleasant form of any kind appears for a +moment to enter his mind; and the different names which are given to +the rocks in various places seem merely to refer to variations in +size: thus a "rocco" is a part of a "scoglio," Inf. xx. 25. and +xxvi. 27.; a "scheggio" (xxi. 69. and xxvi. 17.) is a less fragment +yet; a "petrone," or "sasso," is a large stone or boulder (Purg. iv. +101. 104.), and "pietra," a less stone,--both of these last terms, +especially "sasso," being used for any large mountainous mass, as in +Purg. xxi. 106.; and the vagueness of the word "monte" itself, like +that of the French "montagne," applicable either to a hill on a +post-road requiring the drag to be put on,--or to the Mont Blanc, +marks a peculiar carelessness in both nations, at the time of the +formation of their languages, as to the sublimity of the higher +hills; so that the effect produced on an English ear by the word +"mountain," signifying always a mass of a certain large size, cannot +be conveyed either in French or Italian. + +§ 15. In all these modes of regarding rocks we find (rocks being in +themselves, as we shall see presently, by no means monstrous or +frightful things) exactly that inaccuracy in the mediæval mind which +we had been led to expect, in its bearings on things contrary to the +spirit of that symmetrical and perfect humanity which had formed its +ideal; and it is very curious to observe how closely in the terms he +uses, and the feelings they indicate, Dante here agrees with Homer. +For the word stagliata (cut) corresponds very nearly to a favorite +term of Homer's respecting rocks "sculptured," used by him also of +ships' sides; and the frescoes and illuminations of the Middle Ages +enable us to ascertain exactly what this idea of "cut" rock was. + +§ 16. In Plate 10. I have assembled some examples, which will give +the reader a sufficient knowledge of mediæval rock-drawing, by men +whose names are known. They are chiefly taken from engravings, with +which the reader has it in his power to compare them,[83] and if, +therefore, any injustice is done to the original paintings the fault +is not mine; but the general impression conveyed is quite accurate, +and it would not have been worth while, where work is so deficient +in first conception, to lose time in insuring accuracy of facsimile. +Some of the crags may be taller here, or broader there, than in the +original paintings; but the character of the work is perfectly +preserved, and that is all with which we are at present concerned. + +[Illustration: 10. Geology of the Middle Ages.] + +Figs. 1. and 5. are by Ghirlandajo; 2. by Filippo Pesellino; 4. by +Leonardo da Vinci; and 6. by Andrea del Castagno. All these are +indeed workmen of a much later period than Dante, but the system of +rock-drawing remains entirely unchanged from Giotto's time to +Ghirlandajo's;--is then altered only by an introduction of +stratification indicative of a little closer observance of nature, +and so remains until Titian's time. Fig 1. is exactly representative +of one of Giotto's rocks, though actually by Ghirlandajo; and Fig. +2. is rather less skilful than Giotto's ordinary work. Both these +figures indicate precisely what Homer and Dante meant by "cut" +rocks. They had observed the concave smoothness of certain rock +fractures as eminently distinctive of rock from earth, and use the +term "cut" or "sculptured" to distinguish the smooth surface from +the knotty or sandy one, having observed nothing more respecting its +real contours than is represented in Figs. 1. and 2., which look as +if they had been hewn out with an adze. Lorenzo Ghiberti preserves +the same type, even in his finest work. + +Fig. 3., from an interesting sixteenth century MS. in the British +Museum (Cotton, Augustus, A. 5.), is characteristic of the best +later illuminators' work; and Fig. 5., from Ghirlandajo, is pretty +illustrative of Dante's idea of terraces on the purgatorial +mountain. It is the road by which the Magi descend in his picture of +their Adoration, in the Academy of Florence. Of the other examples I +shall have more to say in the chapter on Precipices; meanwhile we +have to return to the landscape of the poem. + +§ 17. Inaccurate as this conception of rock was, it seems to have been +the only one which, in mediæval art had place as representative of +mountain scenery. To Dante, mountains are inconceivable except as +great broken stones or crags; all their broad contours and undulations +seem to have escaped his eye. It is, indeed, with his usual undertone +of symbolic meaning that he describes the great broken stones, and the +fall of the shattered mountain, as the entrance to the circle +appointed for the punishment of the violent; meaning that the violent +and cruel, notwithstanding all their iron hardness of heart, have no +true strength, but, either by earthquake, or want of support, fall at +last into desolate ruin, naked, loose, and shaking under the tread. +But in no part of the poem do we find allusion to mountains in any +other than a stern light; nor the slightest evidence that Dante cared +to look at them. From that hill of San Miniato, whose steps he knew so +well, the eye commands, at the farther extremity of the Val d'Arno, +the whole purple range of the mountains of Carrara, peaked and mighty, +seen always against the sunset light in silent outline, the chief +forms that rule the scene as twilight fades away. By this vision Dante +seems to have been wholly unmoved, and, but for Lucan's mention of +Aruns at Luna, would seemingly not have spoken of the Carrara hills in +the whole course of his poem: when he does allude to them, he speaks +of their white marble, and their command of stars and sea, but has +evidently no regard for the hills themselves. There is not a single +phrase or syllable throughout the poem which indicates such a regard. +Ugolino, in his dream, seemed to himself to be in the mountains, "by +cause of which the Pisan cannot see Lucca;" and it is impossible to +look up from Pisa to that hoary slope without remembering the awe that +there is in the passage; nevertheless, it was as a hunting-ground only +that he remembered those hills. Adam of Brescia, tormented with +eternal thirst, remembers the hills of Romena, but only for the sake +of their sweet waters: + + "The rills that glitter down the grassy slopes + Of Casentino, making fresh and soft + The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, + Stand ever in my view." + +And, whenever hills are spoken of as having any influence on +character, the repugnance to them is still manifest; they are always +causes of rudeness or cruelty: + + "But that ungrateful and malignant race, + Who in old times came down from Fesole, + _Ay, and still smack of their rough mountain flint_, + Will, for thy good deeds, show thee enmity. + Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways." + +So again-- + + "As one _mountain-bred_, + Rugged, and clownish, if some city's walls + He chance to enter, round him stares agape." + +§ 18. Finally, although the Carrara mountains are named as having +command of the stars and sea, the _Alps_ are never specially +mentioned but in bad weather, or snow. On the sand of the circle of +the blasphemers-- + + "Fell slowly wafting down + Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow + On Alpine summit, when the wind is hushed." + +So the Paduans have to defend their town and castles against +inundation, + + "Ere the genial warmth be felt, + On Chiarentana's top." + +The clouds of anger, in Purgatory, can only be figured to the reader +who has + + "On an Alpine height been ta'en by cloud, + Through which thou sawest no better than the mole + Doth through opacous membrane." + +And in approaching the second branch of Lethe, the seven ladies +pause,-- + + "Arriving at the verge + Of a dim umbrage hoar, such as is seen + Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches oft + To overbrow a bleak and Alpine cliff." + +§ 19. Truly, it is unfair of Dante, that when he is going to use +snow for a lovely image, and speak of it as melting away under +heavenly sunshine, he must needs put it on the Apennines, not on the +Alps: + + "As snow that lies + Amidst the living rafters, on the back + Of Italy, congealed, when drifted high + And closely piled by rough Sclavonian blasts, + Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls, + And straightway melting, it distils away, + Like a fire-washed taper; thus was I, + Without a sigh, or tear, consumed in heart." + +The reader will thank me for reminding him, though out of its proper +order, of the exquisite passage of Scott which we have to compare +with this: + + "As snow upon the mountain's breast + Slides from the rock that gave it rest, + Sweet Ellen glided from her stay, + And at the monarch's feet she lay." + +Examine the context of this last passage, and its beauty is quite +beyond praise; but note the northern love of rocks in the very first +words I have to quote from Scott, "The rocks that gave it rest." Dante +could not have thought of his "cut rocks" as giving rest even to snow. +He must put it on the pine branches, if it is to be at peace. + +§ 20. There is only one more point to be noticed in the Dantesque +landscape; namely, the feeling entertained by the poet towards the +sky. And the love of mountains is so closely connected with the love +of clouds, the sublimity of both depending much on their +association, that having found Dante regardless of the Carrara +mountains as seen from San Miniato, we may well expect to find him +equally regardless of the clouds in which the sun sank behind them. +Accordingly, we find that his only pleasure in the sky depends on +its "white clearness,"--that turning into "bianca aspette di +celestro" which is so peculiarly characteristic of fine days in +Italy. His pieces of pure pale light are always exquisite. In the +dawn on the purgatorial mountain, first, in its pale white, he sees +the "tremola della marina"--trembling of the sea; then it becomes +vermilion; and at last, near sunrise, orange. These are precisely +the changes of a calm and perfect dawn. The scenery of Paradise +begins with "Day added to day," the light of the sun so flooding the +heavens, that "never rain nor river made lake so wide;" and +throughout the Paradise all the beauty depends on spheres of light, +or stars, never on clouds. But the pit of the Inferno is at first +sight obscure, deep, and so _cloudy_ that at its bottom nothing +could be seen. When Dante and Virgil reach the marsh in which the +souls of those who have been angry and sad in their lives are for +ever plunged, they find it covered with thick fog; and the condemned +souls say to them,-- + + "We once were sad, + In the _sweet air, made gladsome by the sun_. + Now in these murky settlings are we sad." + +Even the angel crossing the marsh to help them is annoyed by this +bitter marsh smoke, "fummo acerbo," and continually sweeps it with +his hand from before his face. + +Anger, on the purgatorial mountain, is in like manner imaged, +because of its blindness and wildness, by the Alpine clouds. As they +emerge from its mist they see the white light radiated through the +fading folds of it; and, except this appointed cloud, no other can +touch the mountain of purification. + + "Tempest none, shower, hail, or snow, + Hoar-frost, or dewy moistness, higher falls, + Than that brief scale of threefold steps. Thick clouds, + Nor scudding rack, are ever seen, swift glance + Ne'er lightens, nor Thaumantian iris gleams." + +Dwell for a little while on this intense love of Dante for +light,--taught, as he is at last by Beatrice, to gaze on the sun +itself like an eagle,--and endeavor to enter into his equally +intense detestation of all mist, rack of cloud, or dimness of rain; +and then consider with what kind of temper he would have regarded a +landscape of Copley Fielding's or passed a day in the Highlands. He +has, in fact, assigned to the souls of the gluttonous no other +punishment in the Inferno than perpetuity of Highland weather: + + "Showers + Ceaseless, accursed, heavy and cold, unchanged + For ever, both in kind and in degree,-- + Large hail, discolored water, sleety flaw, + Through the dim midnight air streamed down amain." + +§ 21. However, in this immitigable dislike of clouds, Dante goes +somewhat beyond the general temper of his age. For although the calm +sky was alone loved, and storm and rain were dreaded by all men, +yet the white horizontal clouds of serene summer were regarded with +great affection by all early painters, and considered as one of the +accompaniments of the manifestation of spiritual power; sometimes, +for theological reasons which we shall soon have to examine, being +received, even without any other sign, as the types of blessing or +Divine acceptance: and in almost every representation of the +heavenly paradise, these level clouds are set by the early painters +for its floor, or for thrones of its angels; whereas Dante retains +steadily, through circle after circle, his cloudless thought, and +concludes his painting of heaven, as he began it upon the +purgatorial mountain, with the image of shadowless morning: + + "I raised my eyes, and as at morn is seen + The horizon's eastern quarter to excel, + So likewise, that pacific Oriflamb + Glowed in the midmost, and toward every part, + With like gradation paled away its flame." + +But the best way of regarding this feeling of Dante's is as the +ultimate and most intense expression of the love of light, color, +and clearness, which, as we saw above, distinguished the mediæval +from the Greek on one side, and, as we shall presently see, +distinguished him from the modern on the other. For it is evident +that precisely in the degree in which the Greek was agriculturally +inclined, in that degree the sight of clouds would become to him +more acceptable than to the mediæval knight, who only looked for the +fine afternoons in which he might gather the flowers in his garden, +and in no wise shared or imagined the previous anxieties of his +gardener. Thus, when we find Ulysses comforted about Ithaca, by +being told it had "plenty of rain," and the maids of Colonos +boasting of their country for the same reason, we may be sure that +they had some regard for clouds; and accordingly, except +Aristophanes, of whom more presently, all the Greek poets speak +fondly of the clouds, and consider them the fitting resting-places +of the gods; including in their idea of clouds not merely the thin +clear cirrus, but the rolling and changing volume of the +thundercloud; nor even these only, but also the dusty whirlwind +cloud of the earth, as in that noble chapter of Herodotus which +tells us of the cloud, full of mystic voices, that rose out of the +dust of Eleusis, and went down to Salamis. Clouds and rain were of +course regarded with a like gratitude by the eastern and southern +nations--Jews and Egyptians; and it is only among the northern +mediævals, with whom fine weather was rarely so prolonged as to +occasion painful drought, or dangerous famine, and over whom the +clouds broke coldly and fiercely when they came, that the love of +serene light assumes its intense character, and the fear of tempest +is gloomiest; so that the powers of the clouds which to the Greek +foretold his conquest at Salamis, and with whom he fought in +alliance, side by side with their lightnings, under the crest of +Parnassus, seemed, in the heart of the Middle Ages, to be only under +the dominion of the spirit of evil. I have reserved, for our last +example of the landscape of Dante, the passage in which this +conviction is expressed; a passage not less notable for its close +description of what the writer feared and disliked, than for the +ineffable tenderness, in which Dante is always raised as much above +all other poets, as in softness the rose above all other flowers. It +is the spirit of Buonconte da Montefeltro who speaks: + + "Then said another: 'Ah, so may thy wish, + That takes thee o'er the mountain, be fulfilled, + As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine! + Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I: + Giovanna, nor none else, have care for me; + Sorrowing with these I therefore go.' I thus: + From Campaldino's field what force or chance + Drew thee, that ne'er thy sepulchre was known?' + 'Oh!' answered he, 'at Casentino's foot + A stream there courseth, named Archiano, sprung + In Apennine, above the hermit's seat. + E'en where its name is cancelled, there came I, + Pierced in the throat, fleeing away on foot, + And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech + failed me; and finishing with Mary's name, + I fell, and tenantless my flesh remained. + ... + _That evil will, which in his intellect + Still follows evil, came;_ + ... the valley, soon + As day was spent, _he covered o'er with cloud_. + From Pratomagno to the mountain range, + And stretched the sky above; so that the air, + Impregnate, changed to water. Fell the rain; + And to the fosses came all that the land + Contained not; and as mightiest streams are wont. + To the great river, with such headlong sweep, + Rushed, that nought stayed its course. My stiffened frame, + Laid at his mouth, the fell Archiano found, + And dashed it into Arno; from my breast + Loosening the cross, that of myself I made + When overcome with pain. He hurled me on, + Along the banks and bottom of his course; + Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.'" + +Observe, Buonconte, as he dies, crosses his arms over his breast, +pressing them together, partly in his pain, partly in prayer. His +body thus lies by the river shore, as on a sepulchral monument, the +arms folded into a cross. The rage of the river, under the influence +of the evil demon, _unlooses this cross_, dashing the body supinely +away, and rolling it over and over by bank and bottom. Nothing can +be truer to the action of a stream in fury than these lines. And how +desolate is it all! The lonely flight,--the grisly wound, "pierced +in the throat,"--the death, without help or pity,--only the name of +Mary on the lips,-and the cross folded over the heart. Then the rage +of the demon and the river,--the noteless grave,--and, at last, even +she who had been most trusted forgetting him,-- + + "Giovanna, none else have care for me." + +There is, I feel assured, nothing else like it in all the range of +poetry; a faint and harsh echo of it, only, exists in one Scottish +ballad, "The Twa Corbies." + +Here, then, I think, we may close our inquiry into the nature of the +mediæval landscape; not but that many details yet require to be worked +out; but these will be best observed by recurrence to them, for +comparison with similar details in modern landscape,--our principal +purpose, the getting at the governing tones and temper of conception, +being, I believe, now sufficiently accomplished. And I think that our +subject may be best pursued by immediately turning from the mediæval +to the perfectly modern landscape; for although I have much to say +respecting the transitional state of mind exhibited in the sixteenth +and seventeenth centuries, I believe the transitions may be more +easily explained after we have got clear sight of the extremes; and +that by getting perfect and separate hold of the three great phases of +art,--Greek, mediæval, and modern,--we shall be enabled to trace, with +least chance of error, those curious vacillations which brought us to +the modern temper while vainly endeavoring to resuscitate the Greek. I +propose, therefore, in the next chapter, to examine the spirit of +modern landscape, as seen generally in modern painting, and especially +in the poetry of Scott. + + [79] It is an unpublished plate. I know only two impressions of it. + + [80] (Cayley.) "Tutto di pietra, e di color ferrigno"--Inf. xviii. 2. + + [81] "Maligne piagge grige."--Inf. vii. 108. + + [82] It is in these subtle purples that even the more + elaborate passages of the earlier drawings are worked; as, + for instance, the Highland streams, spoken of in + Pre-Raphaelitism. Also, Turner could, by opposition, get what + color he liked out of a brown. I have seen cases in which he + had made it stand for the purest _rose_ light. + + [83] The references are in Appendix I. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +OF MODERN LANDSCAPE. + + +§ 1. We turn our eyes, therefore, as boldly and as quickly as may +be, from these serene fields and skies of mediæval art, to the most +characteristic examples of modern landscape. And, I believe, the +first thing that will strike us, or that ought to strike us, is +their _cloudiness_. + +Out of perfect light and motionless air, we find ourselves on a +sudden brought under sombre skies, and into drifting wind; and, with +fickle sunbeams flashing in our face, or utterly drenched with sweep +of rain, we are reduced to track the changes of the shadows on the +grass, or watch the rents of twilight through angry cloud. And we +find that whereas all the pleasure of the mediæval was in +_stability_, _definiteness_, and _luminousness_, we are expected to +rejoice in darkness, and triumph in mutability; to lay the +foundation of happiness in things which momentarily change or fade; +and to expect the utmost satisfaction and instruction from what is +impossible to arrest, and difficult to comprehend. + +§ 2. We find, however, together with this general delight in breeze +and darkness, much attention to the real form of clouds, and careful +drawing of effects of mist: so that the appearance of objects, as +seen through it, becomes a subject of science with us: and the +faithful representation of that appearance is made of primal +importance, under the name of aerial perspective. The aspects of +sunset and sunrise, with all their attendant phenomena of cloud and +mist, are watchfully delineated; and in ordinary daylight landscape, +the sky is considered of so much importance, that a principal mass +of foliage, or a whole foreground, is unhesitatingly thrown into +shade merely to bring out the form of a white cloud. So that, if a +general and characteristic name were needed for modern landscape +art, none better could be invented than "the service of clouds." + +§ 3. And this name would, unfortunately, be characteristic of our +art in more ways than one. In the last chapter, I said that all the +Greeks spoke kindly about the clouds, except Aristophanes; and he, I +am sorry to say (since his report is so unfavorable), is the only +Greek who had studied them attentively. He tells us, first, that +they are "great goddesses to idle men;" then, that they are +"mistresses of disputings, and logic, and monstrosities, and noisy +chattering;" declares that whoso believes in their divinity must +first disbelieve in Jupiter, and place supreme power in the hands of +an unknown god "Whirlwind;" and, finally, he displays their +influence over the mind of one of their disciples, in his sudden +desire "to speak ingeniously concerning smoke." + +There is, I fear, an infinite truth in this Aristophanic judgment +applied to our modern cloud-worship. Assuredly, much of the love of +mystery in our romances, our poetry, our art, and, above all, in our +metaphysics, must come under that definition so long ago given by +the great Greek, "speaking ingeniously concerning smoke." And much +of the instinct, which, partially developed in painting, may be now +seen throughout every mode of exertion of mind,--the easily +encouraged doubt, easily excited curiosity, habitual agitation, and +delight in the changing and the marvellous, as opposed to the old +quiet serenity of social custom and religious faith,--is again +deeply defined in those few words, the "dethroning of Jupiter," the +"coronation of the whirlwind." + +§ 4. Nor of whirlwind merely, but also of darkness or ignorance +respecting all stable facts. That darkening of the foreground to +bring out the white cloud, is, in one aspect of it, a type of the +subjection of all plain and positive fact, to what is uncertain and +unintelligible. And as we examine farther into the matter, we shall +be struck by another great difference between the old and modern +landscape, namely, that in the old no one ever thought of drawing +anything but as well _as he could_. That might not be _well_, as we +have seen in the case of rocks; but it was as well as he _could_, +and always distinctly. Leaf, or stone, or animal, or man, it was +equally drawn with care and clearness, and its essential characters +shown. If it was an oak tree, the acorns were drawn; if a flint +pebble, its veins were drawn; if an arm of the sea, its fish were +drawn; if a group of figures, their faces and dresses were drawn--to +the very last subtlety of expression and end of thread that could be +got into the space, far off or near. But now our ingenuity is all +"concerning smoke." Nothing is truly drawn but that; all else is +vague, slight, imperfect; got with as little pains as possible. You +examine your closest foreground, and find no leaves; your largest +oak, and find no acorns; your human figure, and find a spot of red +paint instead of a face; and in all this, again and again, the +Aristophanic words come true, and the clouds seem to be "great +goddesses to idle men." + +§ 5. The next thing that will strike us, after this love of clouds, is +the love of liberty. Whereas the mediæval was always shutting himself +into castles, and behind fosses, and drawing brickwork neatly, and +beds of flowers primly, our painters delight in getting to the open +fields and moors; abhor all hedges and moats; never paint anything but +free-growing trees, and rivers gliding "at their own sweet will;" +eschew formality down to the smallest detail; break and displace the +brickwork which the mediæval would have carefully cemented; leave +unpruned the thickets he would have delicately trimmed; and, carrying +the love of liberty even to license, and the love of wildness even to +ruin, take pleasure at last in every aspect of age and desolation +which emancipates the objects of nature from the government of +men;--on the castle wall displacing its tapestry with ivy, and +spreading, through the garden, the bramble for the rose. + +§ 6. Connected with this love of liberty we find a singular +manifestation of love of mountains, and see our painters traversing +the wildest places of the globe in order to obtain subjects with +craggy foregrounds and purple distances. Some few of them remain +content with pollards and flat land; but these are always men of +third-rate order; and the leading masters, while they do not reject +the beauty of the low grounds, reserve their highest powers to paint +Alpine peaks or Italian promontories. And it is eminently +noticeable, also, that this pleasure in the mountains is never +mingled with fear, or tempered by a spirit of meditation, as with +the mediæval; but it is always free and fearless, brightly +exhilarating, and wholly unreflective; so that the painter feels +that his mountain foreground may be more consistently animated by a +sportsman than a hermit; and our modern society in general goes to +the mountains, not to fast, but to feast, and leaves their glaciers +covered with chicken-bones and egg-shells. + +§ 7. Connected with this want of any sense of solemnity in mountain +scenery, is a general profanity of temper in regarding all the rest +of nature; that is to say, a total absence of faith in the presence +of any deity therein. Whereas the mediæval never painted a cloud, +but with the purpose of placing an angel in it; and a Greek never +entered a wood without expecting to meet a god in it; _we_ should +think the appearance of an angel in the cloud wholly unnatural, and +should be seriously surprised by meeting a god anywhere. Our chief +ideas about the wood are connected with poaching. We have no belief +that the clouds contain more than so many inches of rain or hail, +and from our ponds and ditches expect nothing more divine than ducks +and watercresses. + +§ 8. Finally: connected with this profanity of temper is a strong +tendency to deny the sacred element of color, and make our boast in +blackness. For though occasionally glaring, or violent, modern color +is on the whole eminently sombre, tending continually to grey or +brown, and by many of our best painters consistently falsified, with +a confessed pride in what they call chaste or subdued tints; so +that, whereas a mediæval paints his sky bright blue, and his +foreground bright green, gilds the towers of his castles, and +clothes his figures with purple and white, we paint our sky grey, +our foreground black, and our foliage brown, and think that enough +is sacrificed to the sun in admitting the dangerous brightness of a +scarlet cloak or a blue jacket. + +§ 9. These, I believe, are the principal points which would strike +us instantly, if we were to be brought suddenly into an exhibition +of modern landscapes out of a room filled with mediæval work. It is +evident that there are both evil and good in this change; but how +much evil, or how much good, we can only estimate by considering, as +in the former divisions of our inquiry, what are the real roots of +the habits of mind which have caused them. + +[Sidenote: Distinctive characters of the modern mind:] + +And first, it is evident that the title "Dark Ages," given to the +mediæval centuries, is, respecting art, wholly inapplicable. They +were, on the contrary, the bright ages; ours are the dark ones. I do +not mean metaphysically, but literally. They were the ages of gold: +ours are the ages of umber. + +[Sidenote: 1. Despondency arising from faithlessness.] + +This is partly mere mistake in us; we build brown brick walls, and +wear brown coats, because we have been blunderingly taught to do so, +and go on doing so mechanically. There is, however, also some cause +for the change in our own tempers. On the whole, these are much +_sadder_ ages than the early ones; not sadder in a noble and deep way, +but in a dim, wearied way,--the way of ennui, and jaded intellect, and +uncomfortableness of soul and body. The Middle Ages had their wars and +agonies, but also intense delights. Their gold was dashed with blood; +but ours is sprinkled with dust. Their life was interwoven with white +and purple; ours is one seamless stuff of brown. Not that we are +without apparent festivity, but festivity more or less forced, +mistaken, embittered, incomplete--not of the heart. How wonderfully, +since Shakspere's time, have we lost the power of laughing at bad +jests! The very finish of our wit belies our gaiety. + +§ 10. The profoundest reason of this darkness of heart is, I believe, +our want of faith. There never yet was a generation of men (savage or +civilized) who, taken as a body, so wofully fulfilled the words, +"having no hope, and without God in the world," as the present +civilized European race. A Red Indian or Otaheitan savage has more +sense of a Divine existence round him, or government over him, than +the plurality of refined Londoners and Parisians; and those among us +who may in some sense be said to believe, are divided almost without +exception into two broad classes, Romanist and Puritan; who, but for +the interference of the unbelieving portions of society, would, either +of them, reduce the other sect as speedily as possible to ashes; the +Romanist having always done so whenever he could, from the beginning +of their separation, and the Puritan at this time holding himself in +complacent expectation of the destruction of Rome by volcanic fire. +Such division as this between persons nominally of one religion, that +is to say, believing in the same God, and the same Revelation, cannot +but become a stumbling-block of the gravest kind to all thoughtful and +far-sighted men,--a stumbling-block which they can only surmount under +the most favorable circumstances of early education. Hence, nearly all +our powerful men in this age of the world are unbelievers; the best of +them in doubt and misery; the worst in reckless defiance; the +plurality in plodding hesitation, doing, as well as they can, what +practical work lies ready to their hands. Most of our scientific men +are in this last class; our popular authors either set themselves +definitely against all religious form, pleading for simple truth and +benevolence (Thackeray, Dickens), or give themselves up to bitter and +fruitless statement of facts (De Balzac), or surface-painting (Scott), +or careless blasphemy, sad or smiling (Byron, Beranger). Our earnest +poets, and deepest thinkers, are doubtful and indignant (Tennyson, +Carlyle); one or two, anchored, indeed, but anxious, or weeping +(Wordsworth, Mrs. Browning); and of these two, the first is not so +sure of his anchor, but that now and then it drags with him, even to +make him cry out,-- + + "Great God, I had rather be + A Pagan suckled in some creed outworn: + So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, + Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn." + +In politics, religion is now a name; in art, a hypocrisy or +affectation. Over German religious pictures the inscription, "See +how Pious I am," can be read at a glance by any clear-sighted +person. Over French and English religious pictures, the inscription, +"See how Impious I am," is equally legible. All sincere and modest +art is, among us, profane.[84] + +[Sidenote: § 11. 2. Levity from the same cause.] + +This faithlessness operates among us according to our tempers, +producing either sadness or levity, and being the ultimate root +alike of our discontents and of our wantonnesses. It is marvellous +how full of contradiction it makes us; we are first dull, and seek +for wild and lonely places because we have no heart for the garden; +presently we recover our spirits, and build an assembly room among +the mountains, because we have no reverence for the desert. I do not +know if there be game on Sinai, but I am always expecting to hear of +some one's shooting over it. + +§ 12. There is, however, another, and a more innocent root of our +delight in wild scenery. + +[Sidenote: 3. Reactionary love of inanimate beauty.] + +All the Renaissance principles of art tended, as I have before often +explained, to the setting Beauty above Truth, and seeking for it +always at the expense of truth. And the proper punishment of such +pursuit--the punishment which all the laws of the universe rendered +inevitable--was, that those who thus pursued beauty should wholly lose +sight of beauty. All the thinkers of the age, as we saw previously, +declared that it did not exist. The age seconded their efforts, and +banished beauty, so far as human effort could succeed in doing so, +from the face of the earth, and the form of man. To powder the hair, +to patch the cheek, to hoop the body, to buckle the foot, were all +part and parcel of the same system which reduced streets to brick +walls, and pictures to brown stains. One desert of Ugliness was +extended before the eyes of mankind; and their pursuit of the +beautiful, so recklessly continued, received unexpected consummation +in high-heeled shoes and periwigs,--Gower Street, and Gaspar Poussin. + +§ 13. Reaction from this state was inevitable, if any true life was +left in the races of mankind; and, accordingly, though still forced, +by rule and fashion, to the producing and wearing all that is ugly, +men steal out, half-ashamed of themselves for doing so, to the +fields and mountains; and, finding among these the color, and +liberty, and variety, and power, which are for ever grateful to +them, delight in these to an extent never before known; rejoice in +all the wildest shattering of the mountain side, as an opposition to +Gower Street; gaze in a rapt manner at sunsets and sunrises, to see +there the blue, and gold, and purple, which glow for them no longer +on knight's armor or temple porch; and gather with care out of the +fields, into their blotted herbaria, the flowers which the five +orders of architecture have banished from their doors and casements. + +[Sidenote: § 14. 4. Disdain of beauty in man.] + +The absence of care for personal beauty, which is another great +characteristic of the age, adds to this feeling in a twofold way: +first, by turning all reverent thoughts away from human nature; and +making us think of men as ridiculous or ugly creatures, getting +through the world as well as they can, and spoiling it in doing so; +not ruling it in a kingly way and crowning all its loveliness. In +the Middle Ages hardly anything but vice could be caricatured, +because virtue was always visibly and personally noble; now virtue +itself is apt to inhabit such poor human bodies, that no aspect of +it is invulnerable to jest; and for all fairness we have to seek to +the flowers, for all sublimity, to the hills. + +The same want of care operates, in another way, by lowering the +standard of health, increasing the susceptibility to nervous or +sentimental impressions, and thus adding to the other powers of +nature over us whatever charm may be felt in her fostering the +melancholy fancies of brooding idleness. + +[Sidenote: § 15. 5. Romantic imagination of the past.] + +It is not, however, only to existing inanimate nature that our want +of beauty in person and dress has driven us. The imagination of it, +as it was seen in our ancestors, haunts us continually; and while we +yield to the present fashions, or act in accordance with the dullest +modern principles of economy and utility, we look fondly back to the +manners of the ages of chivalry, and delight in painting, to the +fancy, the fashions we pretend to despise, and the splendors we +think it wise to abandon. The furniture and personages of our +romance are sought, when the writer desires to please most easily, +in the centuries which we profess to have surpassed in everything; +the art which takes us into the present times is considered as both +daring and degraded; and while the weakest words please us, and are +regarded as poetry, which recall the manners of our forefathers, or +of strangers, it is only as familiar and vulgar that we accept the +description of our own. + +In this we are wholly different from all the races that preceded us. +All other nations have regarded their ancestors with reverence as +saints or heroes; but have nevertheless thought their own deeds and +ways of life the fitting subjects for their arts of painting or of +verse. We, on the contrary, regard our ancestors as foolish and +wicked, but yet find our chief artistic pleasures in descriptions of +their ways of life. + +The Greeks and mediævals honored, but did not imitate, their +forefathers; we imitate, but do not honor. + +[Sidenote: § 16. 6. Interest in science.] + +[Sidenote: 7. Fear of war.] + +With this romantic love of beauty, forced to seek in history, and in +external nature, the satisfaction it cannot find in ordinary life, +we mingle a more rational passion, the due and just result of newly +awakened powers of attention. Whatever may first lead us to the +scrutiny of natural objects, that scrutiny never fails of its +reward. Unquestionably they are intended to be regarded by us with +both reverence and delight; and every hour we give to them renders +their beauty more apparent, and their interest more engrossing. +Natural science--which can hardly be considered to have existed +before modern times--rendering our knowledge fruitful in +accumulation and exquisite in accuracy, has acted for good or evil, +according to the temper of the mind which received it; and though it +has hardened the faithlessness of the dull and proud, has shown new +grounds for reverence to hearts which were thoughtful and humble. +The neglect of the art of war, while it has somewhat weakened and +deformed the body,[85] has given us leisure and opportunity for +studies to which, before, time and space were equally wanting; lives +which once were early wasted on the battle field are now passed +usefully in the study; nations which exhausted themselves in annual +warfare now dispute with each other the discovery of new planets; +and the serene philosopher dissects the plants, and analyzes the +dust, of lands which were of old only traversed by the knight in +hasty march, or by the borderer in heedless rapine. + +§ 17. The elements of progress and decline being thus strangely +mingled in the modern mind, we might beforehand anticipate that one +of the notable characters of our art would be its inconsistency; +that efforts would be made in every direction, and arrested by every +conceivable cause and manner of failure; that in all we did, it +would become next to impossible to distinguish accurately the +grounds for praise or for regret; that all previous canons of +practice and methods of thought would be gradually overthrown, and +criticism continually defied by successes which no one had expected, +and sentiments which no one could define. + +§ 18. Accordingly, while, in our inquiries into Greek and mediæval +art, I was able to describe, in general terms, what all men did or +felt, I find now many characters in many men; some, it seems to me, +founded on the inferior and evanescent principles of modernism, on +its recklessness, impatience, or faithlessness; others founded on +its science, its new affection for nature, its love of openness and +liberty. And among all these characters, good or evil, I see that +some, remaining to us from old or transitional periods, do not +properly belong to us, and will soon fade away; and others, though +not yet distinctly developed, are yet properly our own, and likely +to grow forward into greater strength. + +For instance: our reprobation of bright color is, I think, for the +most part, mere affectation, and must soon be done away with. +Vulgarity, dulness, or impiety, will indeed always express +themselves through art in brown and grey, as in Rembrandt, +Caravaggio, and Salvator; but we are not wholly vulgar, dull, or +impious; nor, as moderns, are we necessarily obliged to continue so +in any wise. Our greatest men, whether sad or gay, still delight, +like the great men of all ages, in brilliant hues. The coloring of +Scott and Byron is full and pure; that of Keats and Tennyson rich +even to excess. Our practical failures in coloring are merely the +necessary consequences of our prolonged want of practice during the +periods of Renaissance affectation and ignorance; and the only +durable difference between old and modern coloring, is the +acceptance of certain hues, by the modern, which please him by +expressing that melancholy peculiar to his more reflective or +sentimental character, and the greater variety of them necessary to +express his greater science. + +§ 19. Again: if we ever become wise enough to dress consistently and +gracefully, to make health a principal object in education, and to +render our streets beautiful with art, the external charm of past +history will in great measure disappear. There is no essential +reason, because we live after the fatal seventeenth century, that we +should never again be able to confess interest in sculpture, or see +brightness in embroidery; nor, because now we choose to make the +night deadly with our pleasures, and the day with our labors, +prolonging the dance till dawn, and the toil to twilight, that we +should never again learn how rightly to employ the sacred trusts of +strength, beauty, and time. Whatever external charm attaches itself +to the past, would then be seen in proper subordination to the +brightness of present life; and the elements of romance would exist, +in the earlier ages, only in the attraction which must generally +belong to whatever is unfamiliar; in the reverence which a noble +nation always pays to its ancestors; and in the enchanted light +which races, like individuals, must perceive in looking back to the +days of their childhood. + +§ 20. Again: the peculiar levity with which natural scenery is +regarded by a large number of modern minds cannot be considered as +entirely characteristic of the age, inasmuch as it never can belong +to its greatest intellects. Men of any high mental power must be +serious, whether in ancient or modern days: a certain degree of +reverence for fair scenery is found in all our great writers without +exception,--even the one who has made us laugh oftenest, taking us +to the valley of Chamouni, and to the sea beach, there to give peace +after suffering, and change revenge into pity.[86] It is only the +dull, the uneducated, or the worldly, whom it is painful to meet on +the hill sides; and levity, as a ruling character, cannot be +ascribed to the whole nation, but only to its holiday-making +apprentices, and its House of Commons. + +§ 21. We need not, therefore, expect to find any single poet or +painter representing the entire group of powers, weaknesses, and +inconsistent instincts which govern or confuse our modern life. But +we may expect that in the man who seems to be given by Providence as +the type of the age (as Homer and Dante were given, as the types of +classical and mediæval mind), we shall find whatever is fruitful and +substantial to be completely present, together with those of our +weaknesses, which are indeed nationally characteristic, and +compatible with general greatness of mind; just as the weak love of +fences, and dislike of mountains, were found compatible with Dante's +greatness in other respects. + +§ 22. Farther: as the admiration of mankind is found, in our times, +to have in great part passed from men to mountains, and from human +emotion to natural phenomena, we may anticipate that the great +strength of art will also be warped in this direction; with this +notable result for us, that whereas the greatest painters or painter +of classical and mediæval periods, being wholly devoted to the +representation of humanity, furnished us with but little to examine +in landscape, the greatest painters or painter of modern times will +in all probability be devoted to landscape principally; and farther, +because in representing human emotion words surpass painting, but in +representing natural scenery painting surpasses words, we may +anticipate also that the painter and poet (for convenience' sake I +here use the words in opposition) will somewhat change their +relations of rank in illustrating the mind of the age; that the +painter will become of more importance, the poet of less; and that +the relations between the men who are the types and firstfruits of +the age in word and work,--namely, Scott and Turner,--will be, in +many curious respects, different from those between Homer and +Phidias, or Dante and Giotto. + +It is this relation which we have now to examine. + +§ 23. And, first, I think it probable that many readers may be +surprised at my calling Scott the great representative of the mind +of the age in literature. Those who can perceive the intense +penetrative depth of Wordsworth, and the exquisite finish and +melodious power of Tennyson, may be offended at my placing in higher +rank that poetry of careless glance, and reckless rhyme, in which +Scott poured out the fancies of his youth; and those who are +familiar with the subtle analysis of the French novelists, or who +have in any wise submitted themselves to the influence of German +philosophy, may be equally indignant at my ascribing a principality +to Scott among the literary men of Europe, in an age which has +produced De Balzac and Goethe. + +So also in painting, those who are acquainted with the sentimental +efforts made at present by the German religious and historical +schools, and with the disciplined power and learning of the French, +will think it beyond all explanation absurd to call a painter of +light water-color landscapes, eighteen inches by twelve, the first +representative of the arts of the age. I can only crave the reader's +patience, and his due consideration of the following reasons for my +doing so, together with those advanced in the farther course of the +work. + +§ 24. I believe the first test of a truly great man is his humility. +I do not mean, by humility, doubt of his own power, or hesitation in +speaking of his opinions; but a right understanding of the relation +between what _he_ can do and say, and the rest of the world's +sayings and doings. All great men not only know their business, but +usually know that they know it; and are not only right in their main +opinions, but they usually know that they are right in them; only, +they do not think much of themselves on that account. Arnolfo knows +he can build a good dome at Florence; Albert Durer writes calmly to +one who had found fault with his work, "It cannot be better done;" +Sir Isaac Newton knows that he has worked out a problem or two that +would have puzzled anybody else;--only they do not expect their +fellow-men therefore to fall down and worship them; they have a +curious under-sense of powerlessness, feeling that the greatness is +not _in_ them, but _through_ them; that they could not do or be +anything else than God-made them. And they see something divine and +God-made in every other man they meet, and are endlessly, foolishly, +incredibly merciful. + +§ 25. Now, I find among the men of the present age, as far as I know +them, this character in Scott and Turner preeminently; I am not +sure if it is not in them alone. I do not find Scott talking about +the dignity of literature, nor Turner about the dignity of painting. +They do their work, feeling that they cannot well help it; the story +must be told, and the effect put down; and if people like it, well +and good; and if not, the world will not be much the worse. + +I believe a very different impression of their estimate of +themselves and their doings will be received by any one who reads +the conversations of Wordsworth or Goethe. The _slightest_ +manifestation of jealousy or self-complacency is enough to mark a +second-rate character of the intellect; and I fear that especially +in Goethe, such manifestations are neither few nor slight. + +§ 26. Connected with this general humility is the total absence of +affectation in these men,--that is to say, of any assumption of +manner or behavior in their work, in order to attract attention. Not +but that they are mannerists both. Scott's verse is strongly +mannered, and Turner's oil painting; but the manner of it is +necessitated by the feelings of the men, entirely natural to both, +never exaggerated for the sake of show. I hardly know any other +literary or pictorial work of the day which is not in some degree +affected. I am afraid Wordsworth was often affected in his +simplicity, and De Balzac in his finish. Many fine French writers +are affected in their reserve, and full of stage tricks in placing +of sentences. It is lucky if in German writers we ever find so much +as a sentence without affectation. I know no painters without it, +except one or two Pre-Raphaelites (chiefly Holman Hunt), and some +simple water-color painters, as William Hunt, William Turner of +Oxford, and the late George Robson; but these last have no +invention, and therefore by our fourth canon, Chap. III. sec. 21., +are excluded from the first rank of artists; and of the +Pre-Raphaelites there is here no question, as they in no wise +represent the modern school. + +§ 27. Again: another very important, though not infallible, test of +greatness is, as we have often said, the appearance of Ease with +which the thing is done. It may be that, as with Dante and Leonardo, +the finish given to the work effaces the evidence of ease; but where +the ease is manifest, as in Scott, Turner, and Tintoret; and the +thing done is very noble, it is a strong reason for placing the men +above those who confessedly work with great pains. Scott writing his +chapter or two before breakfast--not retouching, Turner finishing a +whole drawing in a forenoon before he goes out to shoot (providing +always the chapter and drawing be good), are instantly to be set +above men who confessedly have spent the day over the work, and +think the hours well spent if it has been a little mended between +sunrise and sunset. Indeed, it is no use for men to think to appear +great by working fast, dashing, and scrawling; the thing they do +must be good and great, cost what time it may; but if it _be_ so, +and they have honestly and unaffectedly done it with _no effort_, it +is probably a greater and better thing than the result of the +hardest efforts of others. + +§ 28. Then, as touching the kind of work done by these two men, the +more I think of it I find this conclusion more impressed upon +me,--that the greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is +to _see_ something, and tell what it _saw_ in a plain way. Hundreds +of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think +for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and +religion,--all in one. + +Therefore, finding the world of Literature more or less divided into +Thinkers and Seers, I believe we shall find also that the Seers are +wholly the greater race of the two. A true Thinker, who has practical +purpose in his thinking, and is sincere, as Plato, or Carlyle, or +Helps, becomes in some sort a seer, and must be always of infinite use +in his generation; but an affected Thinker, who supposes his thinking +of any other importance than as it tends to work, is about the vainest +kind of person that can be found in the occupied classes. Nay, I +believe that metaphysicians and philosophers are, on the whole, the +greatest troubles the world has got to deal with; and that while a +tyrant or bad man is of some use in teaching people submission or +indignation, and a thoroughly idle man is only harmful in setting an +idle example, and communicating to other lazy people his own lazy +misunderstandings, busy metaphysicians are always entangling _good_ +and _active_ people, and weaving cobwebs among the finest wheels of +the world's business; and are as much as possible, by all prudent +persons, to be brushed out of their way, like spiders, and the meshed +weed that has got into the Cambridgeshire canals, and other such +impediments to barges and business. And if we thus clear the +metaphysical element out of modern literature, we shall find its bulk +amazingly diminished, and the claims of the remaining writers, or of +those whom we have thinned by this abstraction of their straw +stuffing, much more easily adjusted.[87] + +§ 29. Again: the mass of sentimental literature, concerned with the +analysis and description of emotion, headed by the poetry of Byron, +is altogether of lower rank than the literature which merely +describes what it saw. The true Seer always feels as intensely as +any one else; but he does not much describe his feelings. He tells +you whom he met, and what they said; leaves you to make out, from +that, what they feel, and what he feels, but goes into little +detail. And, generally speaking, pathetic writing and careful +explanation of passion are quite easy, compared with this plain +recording of what people said or did, or with the right invention of +what they are likely to say and do; for this reason, that to invent +a story, or admirably and thoroughly tell any part of a story, it is +necessary to grasp the entire mind of every personage concerned in +it, and know precisely how they would be affected by what happens; +which to do requires a colossal intellect; but to describe a +separate emotion delicately, it is only needed that one should feel +it oneself; and thousands of people are capable of feeling this or +that noble emotion, for one who is able to enter into all the +feelings of somebody sitting on the other side of the table. Even, +therefore, when this sentimental literature is first rate, as in +passages of Byron, Tennyson, and Keats, it ought not to be ranked so +high as the Creative; and though perfection, even in narrow fields, +is perhaps as rare as in the wider, and it may be as long before we +have another In Memoriam as another Guy Mannering, I unhesitatingly +receive as a greater manifestation of power the right invention of a +few sentences spoken by Pleydell and Mannering across their +supper-table, than the most tender and passionate melodies of the +self-examining verse. + +§ 30. Having, therefore, cast metaphysical writers out of our way, +and sentimental writers into the second rank, I do not think Scott's +supremacy among those who remain will any more be doubtful; nor +would it, perhaps, have been doubtful before, had it not been +encumbered by innumerable faults and weaknesses. But it is +preeminently in these faults and weaknesses that Scott is +representative of the mind of his age: and because he is the +greatest man born amongst us, and intended for the enduring type of +us, all our principal faults must be laid on his shoulders, and he +must bear down the dark marks to the latest ages; while the smaller +men, who have some special work to do, perhaps not so much belonging +to this age as leading out of it to the next, are often kept +providentially quit of the encumbrances which they had not strength +to sustain, and are much smoother and pleasanter to look at, in +their way; only that is a smaller way. + +§ 31. Thus, the most startling fault of the age being its +faithlessness, it is necessary that its greatest man should be +faithless. Nothing is more notable or sorrowful in Scott's mind than +its incapacity of steady belief in anything. He cannot even resolve +hardily to believe in a ghost, or a water-spirit; always explains +them away in an apologetic manner, not believing, all the while, +even his own explanation. He never can clearly ascertain whether +there is anything behind the arras but rats; never draws sword, and +thrusts at it for life or death; but goes on looking at it timidly, +and saying, "it must be the wind." He is educated a Presbyterian, +and remains one, because it is the most sensible thing he can do if +he is to live in Edinburgh; but he thinks Romanism more picturesque, +and profaneness more gentlemanly: does not see that anything affects +human life but love, courage, and destiny; which are, indeed, not +matters of faith at all, but of sight. Any gods but those are very +misty in outline to him; and when the love is laid ghastly in poor +Charlotte's coffin; and the courage is no more of use,--the pen +having fallen from between the fingers; and destiny is sealing the +scroll,--the God-light is dim in the tears that fall on it. + +He is in all this the epitome of his epoch. + +§ 32. Again: as another notable weakness of the age is its habit of +looking back, in a romantic and passionate idleness, to the past ages, +not understanding them all the while, nor really desiring to +understand them, so Scott gives up nearly the half of his intellectual +power to a fond, yet purposeless, dreaming over the past, and spends +half his literary labors in endeavors to revive it, not in reality, +but on the stage of fiction; endeavors which were the best of the +kind that modernism made, but still successful only so far as Scott +put, under the old armor, the everlasting human nature which he knew; +and totally unsuccessful, so far as concerned the painting of the +armor itself, which he knew _not_. The excellence of Scott's work is +precisely in proportion to the degree in which it is sketched from +present nature. His familiar life is inimitable; his quiet scenes of +introductory conversation, as the beginning of Rob Roy and +Redgauntlet, and all his living Scotch characters, mean or noble, from +Andrew Fairservice to Jeanie Deans, are simply right, and can never be +bettered. But his romance and antiquarianism, his knighthood and +monkery, are all false, and he knows them to be false; does not care +to make them earnest; enjoys them for their strangeness, but laughs at +his own antiquarianism, all through his own third novel,--with +exquisite modesty indeed, but with total misunderstanding of the +function of an Antiquary. He does not see how anything is to be got +out of the past but confusion, old iron on drawingroom chairs, and +serious inconvenience to Dr. Heavysterne. + +§ 33. Again: more than any age that had preceded it, ours had been +ignorant of the meaning of the word "Art." It had not a single fixed +principle, and what unfixed principles it worked upon were all wrong. +It was necessary that Scott should know nothing of art. He neither +cared for painting nor sculpture, and was totally incapable of forming +a judgment about them. He had some confused love of Gothic +architecture, because it was dark, picturesque, old, and like nature; +but could not tell the worst from the best, and built for himself +perhaps the most incongruous and ugly pile that gentlemanly modernism +ever designed; marking, in the most curious and subtle way, that +mingling of reverence with irreverence which is so striking in the +age; he reverences Melrose, yet casts one of its piscinas, puts a +modern steel grate into it, and makes it his fireplace. Like all pure +moderns, he supposes the Gothic barbarous, notwithstanding his love of +it; admires, in an equally ignorant way, totally opposite styles; is +delighted with the new town of Edinburgh; mistakes its dulness for +purity of taste, and actually compares it, in its deathful formality +of street, as contrasted with the rudeness of the old town, to +Britomart taking off her armor. + +§ 34. Again: as in reverence and irreverence, so in levity and +melancholy, we saw that the spirit of the age was strangely +interwoven. Therefore, also, it is necessary that Scott should be +light, careless, unearnest, and yet eminently sorrowful. Throughout +all his work there is no evidence of any purpose but to while away +the hour. His life had no other object than the pleasure of the +instant, and the establishing of a family name. All his thoughts +were, in their outcome and end, less than nothing, and vanity. And +yet, of all poetry that I know, none is so sorrowful as Scott's. +Other great masters are pathetic in a resolute and predetermined +way, when they choose; but, in their own minds, are evidently stern, +or hopeful, or serene; never really melancholy. Even Byron is rather +sulky and desperate than melancholy; Keats is sad because he is +sickly; Shelley because he is impious; but Scott is inherently and +consistently sad. Around all his power, and brightness, and +enjoyment of eye and heart, the far-away Æolian knell is for ever +sounding; there is not one of those loving or laughing glances of +his but it is brighter for the film of tears; his mind is like one +of his own hill rivers,--it is white, and flashes in the sun fairly, +careless, as it seems, and hasty in its going, but + + "Far beneath, where slow they creep + From pool to eddy, dark and deep, + Where alders moist, and willows weep, + You hear her streams repine." + +Life begins to pass from him very early; and while Homer sings +cheerfully in his blindness, and Dante retains his courage, and +rejoices in hope of Paradise, through all his exile, Scott, yet +hardly past his youth, lies pensive in the sweet sunshine and among +the harvest of his native hills. + + "Blackford, on whose uncultured breast, + Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, + A truant boy, I sought the nest, + Or listed as I lay at rest, + While rose on breezes thin + The murmur of the city crowd, + And, from his steeple jangling loud, + St. Giles's mingling din! + Now, from the summit to the plain, + Waves all the hill with yellow grain; + And on the landscape as I look, + Nought do I see unchanged remain, + Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook; + To me they make a heavy moan + Of early friendships past and gone." + +§ 35. Such, then, being the weaknesses which it was necessary that +Scott should share with his age, in order that he might sufficiently +represent it, and such the grounds for supposing him, in spite of +all these weaknesses, the greatest literary man whom that age +produced, let us glance at the principal points in which his view of +landscape differs from that of the mediævals. + +I shall not endeavor now, as I did with Homer and Dante, to give a +complete analysis of all the feelings which appear to be traceable +in Scott's allusions to landscape scenery,--for this would require a +volume,--but only to indicate the main points of differing character +between his temper and Dante's. Then we will examine in detail, not +the landscape of literature, but that of painting, which must, of +course, be equally, or even in a higher degree, characteristic of +the age. + +§ 36. And, first, observe Scott's habit of looking at nature neither +as dead, or merely material, in the way that Homer regards it, nor +as altered by his own feelings, in the way that Keats and Tennyson +regard it, but as having an animation and pathos of _its own_, +wholly irrespective of human presence or passion,--an animation +which Scott loves and sympathizes with, as he would with a fellow +creature, forgetting himself altogether, and subduing his own +humanity before what seems to him the power of the landscape. + + "Yon lonely thorn,--would he could tell + The changes of his parent dell, + Since he, so grey and stubborn now, + Waved in each breeze a sapling bough! + Would he could tell, how deep the shade + A thousand mingled branches made, + How broad the shadows of the oak, + How clung the rowan to the rock, + And through the foliage showed his head, + With narrow leaves and berries red!" + +Scott does not dwell on the grey stubbornness of the thorn, because he +himself is at that moment disposed to be dull, or stubborn; neither on +the cheerful peeping forth of the rowan, because he himself is that +moment cheerful or curious: but he perceives them both with the kind +of interest that he would take in an old man, or a climbing boy; +forgetting himself, in sympathy with either age or youth. + + "And from the grassy slope he sees + The Greta flow to meet the Tees, + Where issuing from her darksome bed, + She caught the morning's eastern red, + And through the softening vale below + Rolled her bright waves in rosy glow, + All blushing to her bridal bed, + Like some shy maid, in convent bred; + While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay + Sing forth her nuptial roundelay." + +Is Scott, or are the persons of his story, gay at this moment? Far +from it. Neither Scott nor Risingham are happy, but the Greta is; +and all Scott's sympathy is ready for the Greta, on the instant. + +§ 37. Observe, therefore, this is not _pathetic_ fallacy; for there +is no passion in _Scott_ which alters nature. It is not the lover's +passion, making him think the larkspurs are listening for his lady's +foot; it is not the miser's passion, making him think that dead +leaves are falling coins; but it is an inherent and continual habit +of thought, which Scott shares with the moderns in general, being, +in fact, nothing else than the instinctive sense which men must have +of the Divine presence, not formed into distinct belief. In the +Greek it created, as we saw, the faithfully believed gods of the +elements: in Dante and the mediævals, it formed the faithfully +believed angelic presence; in the modern, it creates no perfect +form, does not apprehend distinctly any Divine being or operation; +but only a dim, slightly credited animation in the natural object, +accompanied with great interest and affection for it. This feeling +is quite universal with us, only varying in depth according to the +greatness of the heart that holds it; and in Scott, being more than +usually intense, and accompanied with infinite affection and +quickness of sympathy, it enables him to conquer all tendencies to +the pathetic fallacy, and, instead of making Nature anywise +subordinate to himself, he makes himself subordinate to +_her_--follows her lead simply--does not venture to bring his own +cares and thoughts into her pure and quiet presence--paints her in +her simple and universal truth, adding no result of momentary +passion or fancy, and appears, therefore, at first shallower than +other poets, being in reality wider and healthier. "What am I?" he +says continually, "that I should trouble this sincere nature with my +thoughts. I happen to be feverish and depressed, and I could see a +great many sad and strange things in those waves and flowers; but I +have no business to see such things. Gay Greta! sweet harebells! +_you_ are not sad nor strange to most people; you are but bright +water and blue blossoms; you shall not be anything else to me, +except that I cannot help thinking you are a little alive,--no one +can help thinking that." And thus, as Nature is bright, serene, or +gloomy, Scott takes her temper, and paints her as she is; nothing of +himself being ever intruded, except that far-away Eolian tone, of +which he is unconscious; and sometimes a stray syllable or two, like +that about Blackford Hill, distinctly stating personal feeling, but +all the more modestly for that distinctness and for the clear +consciousness that it is not the chiming brook, nor the cornfields, +that are sad, but only the boy that rests by them; so returning on +the instant to reflect, in all honesty, the image of Nature as she +is meant by all to be received; nor that in fine words, but in the +first that come; nor with comment of far-fetched thoughts, but with +easy thoughts, such as all sensible men ought to have in such +places, only spoken sweetly; and evidently also with an undercurrent +of more profound reflection, which here and there murmurs for a +moment, and which I think, if we choose, we may continually pierce +down to, and drink deeply from, but which Scott leaves us to seek, +or shun, at our pleasure. + +§ 38. And in consequence of this unselfishness and humility, Scott's +enjoyment of Nature is incomparably greater than that of any other +poet I know. All the rest carry their cares to her, and begin +maundering in her ears about their own affairs. Tennyson goes out on +a furzy common, and sees it is calm autumn sunshine, but it gives +him no pleasure. He only remembers that it is + + "Dead calm in that noble breast + Which heaves but with the heaving deep." + +He sees a thundercloud in the evening, and _would_ have "doted and +pored" on it, but cannot, for fear it should bring the ship bad +weather. Keats drinks the beauty of Nature violently; but has no more +real sympathy with her than he has with a bottle of claret. His palate +is fine; but he "bursts joy's grape against it," gets nothing but +misery, and a bitter taste of dregs out of his desperate draught. + +Byron and Shelley are nearly the same, only with less truth of +perception, and even more troublesome selfishness. Wordsworth is more +like Scott, and understands how to be happy, but yet cannot altogether +rid himself of the sense that he is a philosopher, and ought always to +be saying something wise. He has also a vague notion that Nature would +not be able to get on well without Wordsworth; and finds a +considerable part of his pleasure in looking at himself as well as at +her. But with Scott the love is entirely humble and unselfish. "I, +Scott, am nothing, and less than nothing; but these crags, and heaths, +and clouds, how great they are, how lovely, how for ever to be +beloved, only for their own silent, thoughtless sake!" + +§ 39. This pure passion for nature in its abstract being, is still +increased in its intensity by the two elements above taken notice +of,--the love of antiquity, and the love of color and beautiful form, +mortified in our streets, and seeking for food in the wilderness and +the ruin: both feelings, observe, instinctive in Scott from his +childhood, as everything that makes a man great is always. + + "And well the lonely infant knew + Recesses where the wallflower grew, + And honeysuckle loved to crawl + Up the long crag and ruined wall. + I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade + The sun in all its round surveyed." + +Not that these could have been instinctive in a child in the Middle +Ages. The sentiments of a people increase or diminish in intensity +from generation to generation,--every disposition of the parents +affecting the frame of the mind in their offspring: the soldier's +child is born to be yet more a soldier, and the politician's to be +still more a politician; even the slightest colors of sentiment and +affection are transmitted to the heirs of life; and the crowning +expression of the mind of a people is given when some infant of +highest capacity, and sealed with the impress of this national +character, is born where providential circumstances permit the full +development of the powers it has received straight from Heaven, and +the passions which it has inherited from its fathers. + +§ 40. This love of ancientness, and that of natural beauty, +associate themselves also in Scott with the love of liberty, which +was indeed at the root even of all his Jacobite tendencies in +politics. For, putting aside certain predilections about landed +property, and family name, and "gentlemanliness" in the club sense +of the word,--respecting which I do not now inquire whether they +were weak or wise,--the main element which makes Scott like +Cavaliers better than Puritans is, that he thinks the former _free_ +and _masterful_ as well as loyal; and the latter _formal_ and +_slavish_. He is loyal, not so much in respect for law, as in +unselfish love for the king; and his sympathy is quite as ready for +any active borderer who breaks the law, or fights the king, in what +Scott thinks a generous way, as for the king himself. Rebellion of a +rough, free, and bold kind he is always delighted by; he only +objects to rebellion on principle and in form: bare-headed and +open-throated treason he will abet to any extent, but shrinks from +it in a peaked hat and starched collar: nay, politically, he only +delights in kingship itself, because he looks upon it as the head +and centre of liberty; and thinks that, keeping hold of a king's +hand, one may get rid of the cramps and fences of law; and that the +people may be governed by the whistle, as a Highland clan on the +open hill-side, instead of being shut up into hurdled folds or +hedged fields, as sheep or cattle left masterless. + +§ 41. And thus nature becomes dear to Scott in a threefold way: dear +to him, first, as containing those remains or memories of the past, +which he cannot find in cities, and giving hope of Prætorian mound +or knight's grave, in every green slope and shade of its desolate +places;--dear, secondly, in its moorland liberty, which has for him +just as high a charm as the fenced garden had for the mediæval: + + "For I was wayward, bold, and wild, + A self-willed imp--a grandame's child; + But, half a plague, and half a jest, + Was still endured, beloved, caressed. + For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask + The classic poet's well-conned task? + Nay, Erskine, nay. On the wild hill + Let the wild heathbell flourish still; + Cherish the tulip, prune the vine; + But freely let the woodbine twine, + And leave untrimmed the eglantine;" + +--and dear to him, finally, in that perfect beauty, denied alike in +cities and in men, for which every modern heart had begun at last to +thirst, and Scott's, in its freshness and power, of all men's, most +earnestly. + +§ 42. And in this love of beauty, observe, that (as I said we might +except) the love of _color_ is a leading element, his healthy mind +being incapable of losing, under any modern false teaching, its joy +in brilliancy of hue. Though not so subtle a colorist as Dante, +which, under the circumstances of the age, he could not be, he +depends quite as much upon color for his power or pleasure. And, in +general, if he does not mean to say much about things, the _one_ +character which he will give is color, using it with the most +perfect mastery and faithfulness, up to the point of possible modern +perception. For instance, if he has a sea-storm to paint in a single +line, he does not, as a feebler poet would probably have done, use +any expression about the temper or form of the waves; does not call +them angry or mountainous. He is content to strike them out with two +dashes of Tintoret's favorite colors: + + "_The blackening wave edged with white_; + To inch and rock the seamews fly." + +There is no form in this. Nay, the main virtue of it is, that it +gets rid of all form. The dark raging of the sea--what form has +that? But out of the cloud of its darkness those lightning flashes +of the foam, coming at their terrible intervals--you need no more. + +Again: where he has to describe tents mingled among oaks, he says +nothing about the form of either tent or tree, but only gives the +two strokes of color: + + "Thousand pavilions, _white as snow_, + _Chequered_ the borough moor below, + Oft giving way, where still there stood + Some relics of the old oak wood, + That darkly huge did intervene, + _And tamed the glaring white with green_." + +Again: of tents at Flodden: + + "Next morn the Baron climbed the tower, + To view, afar, the Scottish power, + Encamped on Flodden edge. + The white pavilions made a show, + Like remnants of the winter snow, + Along the dusky ridge." + +Again: of trees mingled with dark rocks: + + "Until, where Teith's young waters roll + Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, + That graced the _sable_ strath with _green_, + The chapel of St. Bride was seen." + +Again: there is hardly any form, only smoke and color, in his +celebrated description of Edinburgh: + + "The wandering eye could o'er it go, + And mark the distant city glow + With gloomy splendor red; + For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, + That round her sable turrets flow, + The morning beams were shed, + And tinged them with a lustre proud, + Like that which streaks a thundercloud. + Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, + Where the huge castle holds its state, + And all the steep slope down, + Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, + Piled deep and massy, close and high, + Mine own romantic town! + But northward far with purer blaze, + On Ochil mountains fell the rays, + And as each heathy top they kissed, + It gleamed a purple amethyst. + Yonder the shores of Fife you saw; + Here Preston Bay and Berwick Law: + And, broad between them rolled, + The gallant Frith the eye might note, + Whose islands on its bosom float, + Like emeralds chased in gold." + +I do not like to spoil a fine passage by italicizing it; but +observe, the only hints at form, given throughout, are in the +somewhat vague words, "ridgy," "massy," "close," and "high;" the +whole being still more obscured by modern mystery, in its most +tangible form of smoke. But the _colors_ are all definite; note the +rainbow band of them--gloomy or dusky red, sable (pure black), +amethyst (pure purple), green, and gold--a noble chord throughout; +and then, moved doubtless less by the smoky than the amethystine +part of the group, + + "Fitz Eustace' heart felt closely pent, + The spur he to his charger lent, + And raised his bridle hand. + And making demivolte in air, + Cried, 'Where's the coward would not dare + To fight for such a laud?'" + +I need not multiply examples: the reader can easily trace for +himself, through verse familiar to us all, the force of these color +instincts. I will therefore add only two passages, not so completely +known by heart as most of the poems in which they occur. + + "'Twas silence all. He laid him down + Where purple heath profusely strown, + And throatwort, with its azure bell, + And moss and thyme his cushion swell. + There, spent with toil, he listless eyed + The course of Greta's playful tide; + Beneath her banks, now eddying dun, + Now brightly gleaming to the sun, + As, dancing over rock and stone, + In yellow light her currents shone, + Matching in hue the favorite gem + Of Albin's mountain diadem. + Then tired to watch the current play, + He turned his weary eyes away + To where the bank opposing showed + Its huge square cliffs through shaggy wood. + One, prominent above the rest, + Reared to the sun its pale grey breast; + Around its broken summit grew + The hazel rude, and sable yew; + A thousand varied lichens dyed + Its waste and weather-beaten side; + And round its rugged basis lay, + By time or thunder rent away, + Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, + Were mantled now by verdant thorn." + +§ 43. Note, first, what an exquisite chord of color is given in the +succession of this passage. It begins with purple and blue; then +passes to gold, or cairngorm color (topaz color); then to _pale +grey_, through which the yellow passes into black; and the black, +through broken dyes of lichen, into green. Note, secondly,--what is +indeed so manifest throughout Scott's landscape as hardly to need +pointing out,--the love of rocks, and true understanding of their +colors and characters, opposed as it is in every conceivable way to +Dante's hatred and misunderstanding of them. + +I have already traced, in various places, most of the causes of this +great difference: namely, first, the ruggedness of northern temper +(compare § 8. of the chapter on the Nature of Gothic in the Stones +of Venice); then the really greater beauty of the northern rocks, as +noted when we were speaking of the Apennine limestone; then the need +of finding beauty among them, if it were to be found anywhere,--no +well-arranged colors being any more to be seen in dress, but only in +rock lichens; and, finally, the love of irregularity, liberty, and +power, springing up in glorious opposition to laws of prosody, +fashion, and the five orders. + +§ 44. The other passage I have to quote is still more interesting; +because it has _no form_ in it _at all_ except in one word +(chalice), but wholly composes its imagery either of color, or of +that delicate half-believed life which we have seen to be so +important an element in modern landscape. + + "The summer dawn's reflected hue + _To purple changed Loch Katrine blue_; + Mildly and soft the western breeze + Just kissed the lake; just stirred the trees; + _And the pleased lake, like maiden coy_, + _Trembled, but dimpled not, for joy_; + The mountain-shadows on her breast + Were neither broken nor at rest; + In bright uncertainty they lie, + Like future joys to Fancy's eye. + The water-lily to the light + Her chalice reared of silver bright: + The doe awoke, and to the lawn, + Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; + The grey mist left the mountain side; + The torrent showed its glistening pride; + Invisible in flëcked sky, + The lark sent down her revelry; + The blackbird and the speckled thrush + Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; + In answer cooed the cushat dove + Her notes of peace, and rest, and love." + +Two more considerations are, however, suggested by the above +passage. The first, that the love of natural history, excited by the +continual attention now given to all wild landscape, heightens +reciprocally the interest of that landscape, and becomes an +important element in Scott's description, leading him to finish, +down to the minutest speckling of breast, and slightest shade of +attributed emotion, the portraiture of birds and animals; in strange +opposition to Homer's slightly named "sea-crows, who have care of +the works of the sea," and Dante's singing-birds, of undefined +species. Compare carefully a passage, too long to be quoted,--the +2nd and 3rd stanzas of canto VI. of Rokeby. + +§ 45. The second, and the last point I have to note, is Scott's +habit of drawing a slight _moral_ from every scene, just enough to +excuse to his conscience his want of definite religious feeling; and +that this slight moral is almost always melancholy. Here he has +stopped short without entirely expressing it-- + + "The mountain shadows ... + ... lie + Like future joys to Fancy's eye." + +His completed thought would be, that those future joys, like the +mountain shadows, were never to be attained. It occurs fully uttered +in many other places. He seems to have been constantly rebuking his +own worldly pride and vanity, but never purposefully: + + "The foam-globes on her eddies ride, + Thick as the schemes of human pride + That down life's current drive amain, + As frail, as frothy, and as vain." + + "Foxglove, and nightshade, side by side, + Emblems of punishment and pride." + + "Her dark eye flashed; she paused and sighed;-- + 'Ah, what have I to do with pride!'" + +And hear the thought he gathers from the sunset (noting first the +Turnerian color,--as usual, its principal element): + + "The sultry summer day is done. + The western hills have hid the sun, + But mountain peak and village spire + Retain reflection of his fire. + Old Barnard's towers are purple still, + To those that gaze from Toller Hill; + Distant and high the tower of Bowes + Like steel upon the anvil glows; + And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, + Rich with the spoils of parting day, + In crimson and in gold arrayed, + Streaks yet awhile the closing shade; + Then slow resigns to darkening heaven + The tints which brighter hours had given + Thus, aged men, full loth and slow, + The vanities of life forego, + And count their youthful follies o'er + Till Memory lends her light no more." + +That is, as far as I remember, one of the most finished pieces of +sunset he has given; and it has a woful moral; yet one which, with +Scott, is inseparable from the scene. + +Hark, again: + + "'Twere sweet to mark the setting day + On Bourhope's lonely top decay; + And, as it faint and feeble died + On the broad lake and mountain's side, + To say, 'Thus pleasures fade away; + Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, + And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey.'" + +And again, hear Bertram: + + "Mine be the eve of tropic sun: + With disk like battle target red, + He rushes to his burning bed, + Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, + Then sinks at once; and all is night." + +In all places of this kind, where a passing thought is suggested by +some external scene, that thought is at once a slight and sad one. +Scott's deeper moral sense is marked in the _conduct_ of his +stories, and in casual reflections or exclamations arising out of +their plot, and therefore sincerely uttered; as that of Marmion: + + "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, + When first we practise to deceive!" + +But the reflections which are founded, not on events, but on scenes, +are, for the most part, shallow, partly insincere, and, as far as +sincere, sorrowful. This habit of ineffective dreaming and moralizing +over passing scenes, of which the earliest type I know is given in +Jaques, is, as aforesaid, usually the satisfaction made to our modern +consciences for the want of a sincere acknowledgment of God in nature: +and Shakspere has marked it as the characteristic of a mind "compact +of jars" (Act II. Sc. VII., As You Like It). That description attaches +but too accurately to all the moods which we have traced in the +moderns generally, and in Scott as the first representative of them; +and the question now is, what this love of landscape, so composed, is +likely to lead us to, and what use can be made of it. + +We began our investigation, it will be remembered, in order to +determine whether landscape-painting was worth studying or not. We +have now reviewed the three principal phases of temper in the +civilized human race, and we find that landscape has been mostly +disregarded by great men, or cast into a second place, until now; +and that now it seems dear to us, partly in consequence of our +faults, and partly owing to accidental circumstances, soon, in all +likelihood, to pass away: and there seems great room for question +still, whether our love of it is a permanent and healthy feeling, or +only a healthy crisis in a generally diseased state of mind. If the +former, society will for ever hereafter be affected by its results; +and Turner, the first great landscape painter, must take a place in +the history of nations corresponding in art accurately to that of +Bacon in philosophy;--Bacon having first opened the study of the +laws of material nature, when, formerly, men had thought only of the +laws of human mind; and Turner having first opened the study of the +aspect of material nature, when, before, men had thought only of the +aspect of the human form. Whether, therefore, the love of landscape +be trivial and transient, or important and permanent, it now becomes +necessary to consider. We have, I think, data enough before us for +the solution of the question, and we will enter upon it, +accordingly, in the following chapter. + + [84] Pre-Raphaelitism, of course, excepted, which is a new phase + of art, in no wise considered in this chapter. Blake was + sincere, but full of wild creeds, and somewhat diseased in + brain. + + [85] Of course this is only meant of the modern citizen or country + gentleman, as compared with a citizen of Sparta or old + Florence. I leave it to others to say whether the "neglect of + the _art_ of war" may or may not, in a yet more fatal sense, + be predicated of the English nation. War, _without_ art, we + seem, with God's help, able still to wage nobly. + + [86] See David Copperfield, chap. lv. and lviii. + + [87] Observe, I do not speak thus of metaphysics because I have no + pleasure in them. When I speak contemptuously of philology, + it may be answered me, that I am a bad scholar; but I cannot + be so answered touching metaphysics, for every one conversant + with such subjects may see that I have strong inclination + that way, which would, indeed, have led me far astray long + ago, if I had not learned also some use of my hands, eyes, + and feet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE MORAL OF LANDSCAPE. + + +§ 1. SUPPOSING then the preceding conclusions correct, respecting +the grounds and component _elements_ of the pleasure which the +moderns take in landscape, we have here to consider what are the +probable or usual _effects_ of this pleasure. Is it a safe or a +seductive one? May we wisely boast of it, and unhesitatingly indulge +it? or is it rather a sentiment to be despised when it is slight, +and condemned when it is intense; a feeling which disinclines us to +labor, and confuses us in thought; a joy only to the inactive and +the visionary, incompatible with the duties of life, and the +accuracies of reflection? + +§ 2. It seems to me that, as matters stand at present, there is +considerable ground for the latter opinion. We saw, in the preceding +chapter, that our love of nature had been partly forced upon us by +mistakes in our social economy, and led to no distinct issues of +action or thought. And when we look to Scott--the man who feels it +most deeply--for some explanation of its effect upon him, we find a +curious tone of apology (as if for involuntary folly) running +through his confessions of such sentiment, and a still more curious +inability to define, beyond a certain point, the character of this +emotion. He has lost the company of his friends among the hills, and +turns to these last for comfort. He says, "there is a pleasure in +the pain" consisting in such thoughts + + "As oft awake + By lone St. Mary's silent lake;" + +but, when we look for some definition of these thoughts, all that we +are told is, that they compose + + "A mingled sentiment + Of resignation and content!"[88] + +a sentiment which, I suppose, many people can attain to on the loss +of their friends, without the help of lakes or mountains; while +Wordsworth definitely and positively affirms that _thought_ has +nothing whatever to do with the matter, and that though, in his +youth, the cataract and wood "haunted him like a passion," it was +without the help of any "remoter charm, by thought supplied." + +§ 3. There is not, however, any question, but that both Scott and +Wordsworth are here mistaken in their analysis of their feelings. +Their delight, so far from being without thought, is more than half +made up of thought, but of thought in so curiously languid and +neutralized a condition that they cannot trace it. The thoughts are +beaten to a powder so small that they know not what they are; they +know only that in such a state they are not good for much, and +disdain to call them thoughts. But the way in which thought, even +thus broken, acts in producing the delight will be understood by +glancing back to §§ 9. and 10. of the tenth chapter, in which we +observed the power of the imagination in exalting any visible +object, by gathering round it, in farther vision, all the facts +properly connected with it; this being, as it were, a spiritual or +second sight, multiplying the power of enjoyment according to the +fulness of the vision. For, indeed, although in all lovely nature +there is, first, an excellent degree of simple beauty, addressed to +the eye alone, yet often what impresses us most will form but a very +small portion of that visible beauty. That beauty may, for instance, +be composed of lovely flowers and glittering streams, and blue sky, +and white clouds; and yet the thing that impresses us most, and +which we should be sorriest to lose, may be a thin grey film on the +extreme horizon, not so large, in the space of the scene it +occupies, as a piece of gossamer on a near at hand bush, nor in any +wise prettier to the eye than the gossamer; but, because the +gossamer is known by us for a little bit of spider's work, and the +other grey film is known to mean a mountain ten thousand feet high, +inhabited by a race of noble mountaineers, we are solemnly impressed +by the aspect of it; and yet, all the while the thoughts and +knowledge which cause us to receive this impression are so obscure +that we are not conscious of them; we think we are only enjoying the +visible scene; and the very men whose minds are fullest of such +thoughts absolutely deny, as we have just heard, that they owe their +pleasure to anything but the eye, or that the pleasure consists in +anything else than "Tranquillity." + +§ 4. And observe, farther, that this comparative Dimness and +Untraceableness of the thoughts which are the sources of our +admiration, is not a _fault_ in the thoughts, at such a time. It is, +on the contrary, a necessary condition of their subordination to the +pleasure of Sight. If the thoughts were more distinct we should not +_see_ so well; and beginning definitely to think, we must +comparatively cease to see. In the instance just supposed, as long as +we look at the film of mountain or Alp, with only an obscure +consciousness of its being the source of mighty rivers, that +consciousness adds to our sense of its sublimity; and if we have ever +seen the Rhine or the Rhone near their mouths, our knowledge, so long +as it is only obscurely suggested, adds to our admiration of the Alp; +but once let the idea define itself,--once let us begin to consider +seriously _what_ rivers flow from that mountain, to trace their +course, and to recall determinately our memories of their distant +aspects,--and we cease to behold the Alp; or, if we still behold it, +it is only as a point in a map which we are painfully designing, or as +a subordinate object which we strive to thrust aside, in order to make +room for our remembrances of Avignon or Rotterdam. + +Again: so long as our idea of the multitudes who inhabit the ravines +at its foot remains indistinct, that idea comes to the aid of all +the other associations which increase our delight. But let it once +arrest us, and entice us to follow out some clear course of thought +respecting the causes of the prosperity or misfortune of the Alpine +villagers, and the snowy peak again ceases to be visible, or holds +its place only as a white spot upon the retina, while we pursue our +meditations upon the religion or the political economy of the +mountaineers. + +§ 5. It is thus evident that a curiously balanced condition of the +powers of mind is necessary to induce full admiration of any natural +scene. Let those powers be themselves inert, and the mind vacant of +knowledge, and destitute of sensibility, and the external object +becomes little more to us than it is to birds or insects; we fall +into the temper of the clown. On the other hand, let the reasoning +powers be shrewd in excess, the knowledge vast, or sensibility +intense, and it will go hard but that the visible object will +suggest so much that it shall be soon itself forgotten, or become, +at the utmost, merely a kind of key-note to the course of purposeful +thought. Newton, probably, did not perceive whether the apple which +suggested his meditations on gravity was withered or rosy; nor could +Howard be affected by the picturesqueness of the architecture which +held the sufferers it was his occupation to relieve. + +§ 6. This wandering away in thought from the thing seen to the +business of life, is not, however, peculiar to men of the highest +reasoning powers, or most active benevolence. It takes place more or +less in nearly all persons of average mental endowment. They see and +love what is beautiful, but forget their admiration of it in +following some train of thought which it suggested, and which is of +more personal interest to them. Suppose that three or four persons +come in sight of a group of pine-trees, not having seen pines for +some time. One, perhaps an engineer, is struck by the manner in +which their roots hold the ground, and sets himself to examine their +fibres, in a few minutes retaining little more consciousness of the +beauty of the trees than if he were a rope-maker untwisting the +strands of a cable: to another, the sight of the trees calls up some +happy association, and presently he forgets them, and pursues the +memories they summoned: a third is struck by certain groupings of +their colors, useful to him as an artist, which he proceeds +immediately to note mechanically for future use, with as little +feeling as a cook setting down the constituents of a newly +discovered dish; and a fourth, impressed by the wild coiling of +boughs and roots, will begin to change them in his fancy into +dragons and monsters, and lose his grasp of the scene in fantastic +metamorphosis: while, in the mind of the man who has most the power +of contemplating the thing itself, all these perceptions and trains +of idea are partially present, not distinctly, but in a mingled and +perfect harmony. He will not see the colors of the tree so well as +the artist, nor its fibres so well as the engineer; he will not +altogether share the emotion of the sentimentalist, nor the trance +of the idealist; but fancy, and feeling, and perception, and +imagination, will all obscurely meet and balance themselves in him, +and he will see the pine-trees somewhat in this manner: + + "Worthier still of note + Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, + Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; + Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth + Of intertwisted fibres serpentine + Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; + Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks + That threaten the profane; a pillared shade, + Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, + By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged + Perennially,--beneath whose sable roof + Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked + With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes + May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope, + Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton, + And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, + As in a natural temple scattered o'er + With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, + United worship." + +§ 7. The power, therefore, of thus fully _perceiving_ any natural +object depends on our being able to group and fasten all our fancies +about it as a centre, making a garland of thoughts for it, in which +each separate thought is subdued and shortened of its own strength, +in order to fit it for harmony with others; the intensity of our +enjoyment of the object depending, first, on its own beauty, and +then on the richness of the garland. And men who have this habit of +clustering and harmonizing their thoughts are a little too apt to +look scornfully upon the harder workers who tear the bouquet to +pieces to examine the stems. This was the chief narrowness of +Wordsworth's mind; he could not understand that to break a rock with +a hammer in search of crystal may sometimes be an act not +disgraceful to human nature, and that to dissect a flower may +sometimes be as proper as to dream over it; whereas all experience +goes to teach us, that among men of average intellect the most +useful members of society are the dissectors, not the dreamers. It +is not that they love nature or beauty less, but that they love +result, effect, and progress more; and when we glance broadly along +the starry crowd of benefactors to the human race, and guides of +human thought, we shall find that this dreaming love of natural +beauty--or at least its expression--has been more or less checked by +them all, and subordinated either to hard work or watching of +_human_ nature. Thus in all the classical and mediæval periods, it +was, as we have seen, subordinate to agriculture, war, and religion; +and in the modern period, in which it has become far more powerful, +observe in what persons it is chiefly manifested. + + (1.) It is subordinate in (2.) It is intense in + Bacon. Mrs. Radclyffe. + Milton. St. Pierre. + Johnson. Shenstone. + Richardson. Byron. + Goldsmith. Shelley. + Young. Keats. + Newton. Burns. + Howard. Eugene Sue. + Fenelon. George Sand. + Pascal. Dumas. + +§ 8. I have purposely omitted the names of Wordsworth, Tennyson, and +Scott, in the second list, because, glancing at the two columns as +they now stand, we may, I think, draw some useful conclusions from +the high honorableness and dignity of the names on one side, and the +comparative slightness of those on the other,--conclusions which may +help us to a better understanding of Scott and Tennyson themselves. +Glancing, I say, down those columns in their present form, we shall +at once perceive that the intense love of nature is, in modern +times, characteristic of persons not of the first order of +intellect, but of brilliant imagination, quick sympathy, and +undefined religious principle, suffering also usually under strong +and ill-governed passions: while in the same individual it will be +found to vary at different periods, being, for the most part, +strongest in youth, and associated with force of emotion, and with +indefinite and feeble powers of thought; also, throughout life, +perhaps developing itself most at times when the mind is slightly +unhinged by love, grief, or some other of the passions. + +§ 9. But, on the other hand, while these feelings of delight in +natural objects cannot be construed into signs of the highest +mental powers, or purest moral principles, we see that they are +assuredly indicative of minds above the usual standard of power, and +endowed with sensibilities of great preciousness to humanity; so +that those who find themselves entirely destitute of them, must make +this want a subject of humiliation, not of pride. The apathy which +cannot perceive beauty is very different from the stern energy which +disdains it; and the coldness of heart which receives no emotion +from external nature, is not to be confounded with the wisdom of +purpose which represses emotion in action. In the case of most men, +it is neither acuteness of the reason, nor breadth of humanity, +which shields them from the impressions of natural scenery, but +rather low anxieties, vain discontents, and mean pleasures; and for +one who is blinded to the works of God by profound abstraction or +lofty purpose, tens of thousands have their eyes sealed by vulgar +selfishness, and their intelligence crushed by impious care. + +Observe, then: we have, among mankind in general, the three orders +of being;--the lowest, sordid and selfish, which neither sees nor +feels; the second, noble and sympathetic, but which sees and feels +without concluding or acting; the third and highest, which loses +sight in resolution, and feeling in work.[89] + +Thus, even in Scott and Wordsworth themselves, the love of nature +is more or less associated with their weaknesses. Scott shows it +most in the cruder compositions of his youth, his perfect powers of +mind being displayed only in dialogues with which description has +nothing whatever to do. Wordsworth's distinctive work was a war with +pomp and pretence, and a display of the majesty of simple feelings +and humble hearts, together with high reflective truth in his +analysis of the courses of politics and ways of men; without these, +his love of nature would have been comparatively worthless. + +§ 10. "If this be so, it is not well to encourage the observance of +landscape, any more than other ways of dreamily and ineffectually +spending time?" + +Stay a moment. We have hitherto observed this love of natural beauty +only as it distinguishes one man from another, not as it acts for +good or evil on those minds to which it necessarily belongs. It may, +on the whole, distinguish weaker men from stronger men, and yet in +those weaker men may be of some notable use. It may distinguish +Byron from St. Bernard, and Shelley from Sir Isaac Newton, and yet +may, perhaps, be the best thing that Byron and Shelley possess--a +saving element in them; just as a rush may be distinguished from an +oak by its bending, and yet the bending may be the saving element +in the rush, and an admirable gift in its place and way. So that, +although St. Bernard journeys all day by the Lake of Geneva, and +asks at evening "where it is," and Byron learns by it "to love earth +only for its earthly sake,"[90] it does not follow that Byron, +hating men, was the worse for loving the earth, nor that St. +Bernard, loving men, was the better or wiser for being blind to it. +And this will become still more manifest if we examine somewhat +farther into the nature of this instinct, as characteristic +especially of youth. + +§ 11. We saw above that Wordsworth described the feeling as +independent of thought, and, in the particular place then quoted, he +_therefore_ speaks of it depreciatingly. But in other places he does +not speak of it depreciatingly, but seems to think the absence of +thought involves a certain nobleness: + + "In such high hour + Of visitation from the living God + _Thought_ was not." + +And he refers to the intense delight which he himself felt, and +which he supposes other men feel, in nature, during their +thoughtless youth, as an intimation of their immortality, and a joy +which indicates their having come fresh from the hand of God. + +Now, if Wordsworth be right in supposing this feeling to be in some +degree common to all men, and most vivid in youth, we may question if +it can be _entirely_ explained as I have now tried to explain it. For +if it entirely depended on multitudes of ideas, clustering about a +beautiful object, it might seem that the youth could not feel it so +strongly as the man, because the man knows more, and must have more +ideas to make the garland of. Still less can we suppose the pleasure +to be of that melancholy and languid kind, which Scott defines as +"Resignation" and "Content;" boys being not distinguished for either +of those characters, but for eager effort and delightsome discontent. +If Wordsworth is at all right in this matter, therefore, there must +surely be some other element in the feeling not yet detected. + +§ 12. Now, in a question of this subtle kind, relating to a period +of life when self-examination is rare, and expression imperfect, it +becomes exceedingly difficult to trace, with any certainty, the +movements of the minds of others, nor always easy to remember those +of our own. I cannot, from observation, form any decided opinion as +to the extent in which this strange delight in nature influences the +hearts of young persons in general; and, in stating what has passed +in my own mind, I do not mean to draw any positive conclusion as to +the nature of the feeling in other children; but the inquiry is +clearly one in which personal experience is the only safe ground to +go upon, though a narrow one; and I will make no excuse for talking +about myself with reference to this subject, because, though there +is much egotism in the world, it is often the last thing a man +thinks of doing,--and, though there is much work to be done in the +world, it is often the best thing a man can do,--to tell the exact +truth about the movements of his own mind; and there is this farther +reason, that, whatever other faculties I may or may not possess, +this gift of taking pleasure in landscape I assuredly possess in a +greater degree than most men; it having been the ruling passion of +my life, and the reason for the choice of its field of labor. + +§ 13. The first thing which I remember as an event in life, was being +taken by my nurse to the brow of Friar's Crag on Derwentwater; the +intense joy, mingled with awe, that I had in looking through the +hollows in the mossy roots, over the crag, into the dark lake, has +associated itself more or less with all twining roots of trees ever +since. Two other things I remember, as, in a sort, beginnings of +life;--crossing Shapfells (being let out of the chaise to run up the +hills), and going through Glenfarg, near Kinross, in a winter's +morning, when the rocks where hung with icicles; these being +culminating points in an early life of more travelling than is usually +indulged to a child. In such journeyings, whenever they brought me +near hills, and in all mountain ground and scenery, I had a pleasure, +as early as I can remember, and continuing till I was eighteen or +twenty, infinitely greater than any which has been since possible to +me in anything; comparable for intensity only to the joy of a lover in +being near a noble and kind mistress, but no more explicable or +definable than that feeling of love itself. Only thus much I can +remember, respecting it, which is important to our present subject. + +§ 14. First: it was never independent of associated thought. Almost +as soon as I could see or hear, I had got reading enough to give me +associations with all kinds of scenery; and mountains, in +particular, were always partly confused with those of my favorite +book, Scott's Monastery; so that Glenfarg and all other glens were +more or less enchanted to me, filled with forms of hesitating creed +about Christie of the Clint Hill, and the monk Eustace; and with a +general presence of White Lady everywhere. I also generally knew, or +was told by my father and mother, such simple facts of history as +were necessary to give more definite and justifiable association to +other scenes which chiefly interested me, such as the ruins of +Lochleven and Kenilworth; and thus my pleasure in mountains or ruins +was never, even in earliest childhood, free from a certain awe and +melancholy, and general sense of the meaning of death, though in its +principal influence, entirely exhilarating and gladdening. + +§ 15. Secondly: it was partly dependent on contrast with a very +simple and unamused mode of general life; I was born in London, and +accustomed, for two or three years, to no other prospect than that +of the brick walls over the way; had no brothers, nor sisters, nor +companions; and though I could always make myself happy in a quiet +way, the beauty of the mountains had an additional charm of change +and adventure which a country-bred child would not have felt. + +§ 16. Thirdly: there was no definite religious feeling mingled with +it. I partly believed in ghosts and fairies; but supposed that +angels belonged entirely to the Mosaic dispensation, and cannot +remember any single thought or feeling connected with them. I +believed that God was in heaven, and could hear me and see me; but +this gave me neither pleasure nor pain, and I seldom thought of it +at all. I never thought of nature as God's work, but as a separate +fact or existence. + +§ 17. Fourthly: it was entirely unaccompanied by powers of +reflection or invention. Every fancy that I had about nature was put +into my head by some book; and I never reflected about anything till +I grew older; and then, the more I reflected, the less nature was +precious to me: I could then make myself happy, by thinking, in the +dark, or in the dullest scenery; and the beautiful scenery became +less essential to my pleasure. + +§ 18. Fifthly: it was, according to its strength, inconsistent with +every evil feeling, with spite, anger, covetousness, discontent, and +every other hateful passion; but would associate itself deeply with +every just and noble sorrow, joy, or affection. It had not, however, +always the power to repress what was inconsistent with it; and, +though only after stout contention, might at last be crushed by what +it had partly repressed. And as it only acted by setting one impulse +against another, though it had much power in moulding the character, +it had hardly any in strengthening it; it formed temperament, but +never instilled principle; it kept me generally good-humored and +kindly, but could not teach me perseverance or self-denial: what +firmness or principle I had was quite independent of it; and it came +itself nearly as often in the form of a temptation as of a +safeguard, leading me to ramble over hills when I should have been +learning lessons, and lose days in reveries which I might have spent +in doing kindnesses. + +§ 19. Lastly: although there was no definite religious sentiment +mingled with it, there was a continual perception of Sanctity in the +whole of nature, from the slightest thing to the vastest:--an +instinctive awe, mixed with delight; an indefinable thrill, such as +we sometimes imagine to indicate the presence of a disembodied +spirit. I could only feel this perfectly when I was alone; and then +it would often make me shiver from head to foot with the joy and +fear of it, when after being some time away from the hills, I first +got to the shore of a mountain river, where the brown water circled +among the pebbles, or when I saw the first swell of distant land +against the sunset, or the first low broken wall, covered with +mountain moss. I cannot in the least _describe_ the feeling; but I +do not think this is my fault, nor that of the English language, +for, I am afraid, no feeling _is_ describable. If we had to explain +even the sense of bodily hunger to a person who had never felt it, +we should be hard put to it for words; and this joy in nature seemed +to me to come of a sort of heart-hunger, satisfied with the presence +of a Great and Holy Spirit. These feelings remained in their full +intensity till I was eighteen or twenty, and then, as the reflective +and practical power increased, and the "cares of this world" gained +upon me, faded gradually away, in the manner described by Wordsworth +in his Intimations of Immortality. + +§ 20. I cannot, of course, tell how far I am justified in supposing +that these sensations may be reasoned upon as common to children in +general. In the same degree they are not of course common, otherwise +children would be, most of them, very different from what they are +in their choice of pleasures. But, as far as such feelings exist, I +apprehend they are more or less similar in their nature and +influence; only producing different characters according to the +elements with which they are mingled. Thus, a very religious child +may give up many pleasures to which its instincts lead it, for the +sake of irksome duties; and an inventive child would mingle its love +of nature with watchfulness of human sayings and doings: but I +believe the feelings I have endeavored to describe are the pure +landscape-instinct; and the likelihoods of good or evil resulting +from them may be reasoned upon as generally indicating the +usefulness or danger of the modern love and study of landscape. + +§ 21. And, first, observe that the charm of romantic association (§ +14.) can be felt only by the modern European child. It rises +eminently out of the contrast of the beautiful past with the +frightful and monotonous present; and it depends for its force on +the existence of ruins and traditions, on the remains of +architecture, the traces of battlefields, and the precursorship of +eventful history. The instinct to which it appeals can hardly be +felt in America, and every day that either beautifies our present +architecture and dress, or overthrows a stone of mediæval monument, +contributes to weaken it in Europe. Of its influence on the mind of +Turner and Prout, and the permanent results which, through them, it +is likely to effect, I shall have to speak presently. + +§ 22. Again: the influence of surprise in producing the delight, is +to be noted as a suspicious or evanescent element in it. Observe, my +pleasure was chiefly (§ 19.) when I _first_ got into beautiful +scenery, out of London. The enormous influence of novelty--the way +in which it quickens observation, sharpens sensation, and exalts +sentiment--is not half enough taken note of by us, and is to me a +very sorrowful matter. I think that what Wordsworth speaks of as a +glory in the child, because it has come fresh from God's hands, is +in reality nothing more than the freshness of all things to its +newly opened sight. I find that by keeping long away from hills, I +can in great part still restore the old childish feeling about them; +and the more I live and work among them, the more it vanishes. + +§ 23. This evil is evidently common to all minds; Wordsworth himself +mourning over it in the same poem: + + "Custom hangs upon us, with a weight + Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life." + +And if we grow impatient under it, and seek to recover the mental +energy by more quickly repeated and brighter novelty, it is all over +with our enjoyment. There is no cure for this evil, any more than for +the weariness of the imagination already described, but in patience +and rest: if we try to obtain perpetual change, change itself will +become monotonous; and then we are reduced to that old despair, "If +water chokes, what will you drink after it?" And the two points of +practical wisdom in this matter are, first, to be content with as +little novelty as possible at a time; and, secondly, to preserve, as +much as possible in the world, the sources of novelty. + +§ 24. I say, first, to be content with as little change as possible. +If the attention is awake, and the feelings in proper train, a turn +of a country road, with a cottage beside it, which we have not seen +before, is as much as we need for refreshment; if we hurry past it, +and take two cottages at a time, it is already too much: hence, to +any person who has all his senses about him, a quiet walk along not +more than ten or twelve miles of road a day, is the most amusing of +all travelling; and all travelling becomes dull in exact proportion +to its rapidity. Going by railroad I do not consider as travelling +at all; it is merely "being sent" to a place, and very little +different from becoming a parcel; the next step to it would of +course be telegraphic transport, of which, however, I suppose it has +been truly said by Octave Feuillet, + + "_Il y aurait des gens assez bêtes_ pour trouver ça amusant."[91] + +If we walk more than ten or twelve miles, it breaks up the day too +much; leaving no time for stopping at the stream sides or shady +banks, or for any work at the end of the day; besides that the last +few miles are apt to be done in a hurry, and may then be considered +as lost ground. But if, advancing thus slowly, after some days we +approach any more interesting scenery, every yard of the changeful +ground becomes precious and piquant; and the continual increase of +hope, and of surrounding beauty, affords one of the most exquisite +enjoyments possible to the healthy mind; besides that real knowledge +is acquired of whatever it is the object of travelling to learn, and +a certain sublimity given to all places, so attained, by the true +sense of the spaces of earth that separate them. A man who really +loves travelling would as soon consent to pack a day of such +happiness into an hour of railroad, as one who loved eating would +agree, if it were possible, to concentrate his dinner into a pill. + +§ 25. And, secondly, I say that it is wisdom to preserve as much as +possible the innocent _sources_ of novelty;--not definite +inferiorities of one place to another, if such can be done away; but +differences of manners and customs, of language and architecture. The +greatest effort ought especially to be made by all wise and +far-sighted persons, in the present crisis of civilization, to enforce +the distinction between wholesome reform, and heartless abandonment of +ancestral custom; between kindly fellowship of nation with nation, and +ape-like adoption, by one, of the habits of another. It is ludicrously +awful to see the luxurious inhabitants of London and Paris rushing +over the Continent (as they say, to _see_ it), and transposing every +place, as far as lies in their power, instantly into a likeness of +Regent Street and the Rue de la Paix, which they need not certainly +have come so far to see. Of this evil I shall have more to say +hereafter; meantime I return to our main subject. + +§ 26. The next character we have to note in the landscape-instinct +(and on this much stress is to be laid), is its total inconsistency +with all evil passion; its absolute contrariety (whether in the +contest it were crushed or not) to all care, hatred, envy, anxiety, +and moroseness. A feeling of this kind is assuredly not one to be +lightly repressed, or treated with contempt. + +But how, if it be so, the reader asks, can it be characteristic of +passionate and unprincipled men, like Byron, Shelley, and such +others, and not characteristic of the noblest and most highly +principled men? + +First, because it is itself a passion, and therefore likely to be +characteristic of passionate men. Secondly, because it is (§ 18) +wholly a separate thing from moral principle, and may or may not be +joined to strength of will, or rectitude of purpose[92]; only, this +much is always observable in the men whom it characterizes, that, +whatever their faults or failings, they always understand and love +noble qualities of character; they can conceive (if not certain +phases of piety), at all events, self-devotion of the highest kind; +they delight in all that is good, gracious, and noble; and though +warped often to take delight also in what is dark or degraded, that +delight is mixed with bitter self-reproach; or else is wanton, +careless, or affected, while their delight in noble things is +constant and sincere. + +§ 27. Look back to the two lists given above, § 7. I have not lately +read anything by Mrs. Radclyffe or George Sand, and cannot, +therefore, take instances from them; Keats hardly introduced human +character into his work; but glance over the others, and note the +general tone of their conceptions. Take St. Pierre's Virginia, +Byron's Myrrha, Angiolina, and Marina, and Eugene Sue's Fleur de +Marie; and out of the other lists you will only be able to find +Pamela, Clementina, and, I suppose, Clarissa,[93] to put beside +them; and these will not more than match Myrrha and Marina; leaving +Fleur de Marie and Virginia rivalless. Then meditate a little, with +all justice and mercy, over the two groups of names; and I think you +will, at last, feel that there is a pathos and tenderness of heart +among the lovers of nature in the second list, of which it is nearly +impossible to estimate either the value or the danger; that the +sterner consistency of the men in the first may, in great part, have +arisen only from the, to them, most merciful, appointment of having +had religious teaching or disciplined education in their youth; +while their want of love for nature, whether that love be originally +absent, or artificially repressed, is to none of them an advantage. +Johnson's indolence, Goldsmith's improvidence, Young's worldliness, +Milton's severity, and Bacon's servility, might all have been less, +if they could in any wise have sympathized with Byron's lonely joy +in a Jura storm,[94] or with Shelley's interest in floating paper +boats down the Serchio. + +§ 28. And then observe, farther, as I kept the names of Wordsworth +and Scott out of the second list, I withdrew, also, certain names +from the first; and for this reason, that in all the men who are +named in that list, there is evidently _some_ degree of love for +nature, which may have been originally of more power than we +suppose, and may have had an infinitely hallowing and protective +influence upon them. But there also lived certain men of high +intellect in that age who had _no_ love of nature whatever. They do +not appear ever to have received the smallest sensation of ocular +delight from any natural scene, but would have lived happily all +their lives in drawingrooms or studies. And, therefore, in these men +we shall be able to determine, with the greatest chance of accuracy, +what the real influence of natural beauty is, and what the character +of a mind destitute of its love. Take, as conspicuous instances, Le +Sage and Smollett, and you will find, in meditating over their +works, that they are utterly incapable of conceiving a human soul as +endowed with any nobleness whatever; their heroes are simply beasts +endowed with some degree of human intellect;--cunning, false, +passionate, reckless, ungrateful, and abominable, incapable of noble +joy, of noble sorrow, of any spiritual perception or hope. I said, +"beasts with human intellect;" but neither Gil Blas nor Roderick +Random reach, morally, anything near the level of dogs; while the +delight which the writers themselves feel in mere filth and pain, +with an unmitigated foulness and cruelty of heart, is just as +manifest in every sentence as the distress and indignation which +with pain and injustice are seen by Shelley and Byron. + +§ 29. Distinguished from these men by _some_ evidence of love for +nature, yet an evidence much less clear than that for any of those +named even in the first list, stand Cervantes, Pope, and Molière. It +is not easy to say how much the character of these last depended on +their epoch and education; but it is noticeable that the first two +agree thus far in temper with Le Sage and Smollett,--that they delight +in dwelling upon vice, misfortune, or folly, as subjects of amusement; +while yet they are distinguished from Le Sage and Smollett by capacity +of conceiving nobleness of character, only in a humiliating and +hopeless way; the one representing all chivalry as insanity, the other +placing the wisdom of man in a serene and sneering reconciliation of +good with evil. Of Molière I think very differently. Living in the +blindest period of the world's history, in the most luxurious city, +and the most corrupted court, of the time, he yet manifests through +all his writings an exquisite natural wisdom; a capacity for the most +simple enjoyment; a high sense of all nobleness, honor, and purity, +variously marked throughout his slighter work, but distinctly made the +theme of his two perfect plays--the Tartuffe and Misanthrope; and in +all that he says of art or science he has an unerring instinct for +what is useful and sincere, and uses his whole power to defend it, +with as keen a hatred of everything affected and vain. And, singular +as it may seem, the first definite lesson read to Europe, in that +school of simplicity of which Wordsworth was the supposed originator +among the mountains of Cumberland, was, in fact, given in the midst of +the court of Louis XIV., and by Molière. The little canzonet "J'aime +mieux ma mie," is, I believe, the first Wordsworthian poem brought +forward on philosophical principles to oppose the schools of art and +affectation. + +§ 30. I do not know if, by a careful analysis, I could point out any +evidences of a capacity for the love of natural scenery in Molière +stealing forth through the slightness of his pastorals; but, if not, +we must simply set him aside as exceptional, as a man uniting +Wordsworth's philosophy with Le Sage's wit, turned by circumstances +from the observance of natural beauty to that of human frailty. And +thus putting him aside for the moment, I think we cannot doubt of +our main conclusion, that, though the absence of the love of nature +is not an assured condemnation, its presence is an invariable sign +of goodness of heart and justness of moral _perception_, though by +no means of moral _practice_; that in proportion to the degree in +which it is felt, will _probably_ be the degree in which all +nobleness and beauty of character will also be felt; that when it is +originally absent from any mind, that mind is in many other respects +hard, worldly, and degraded; that where, having been originally +present, it is repressed by art or education, that repression +appears to have been detrimental to the person suffering it; and +that wherever the feeling exists, it acts for good on the character +to which it belongs, though, as it may often belong to characters +weak in other respects, it may carelessly be mistaken for a source +of evil in them. + +§ 31. And having arrived at this conclusion by a review of facts, +which I hope it will be admitted, whether accurate or not, has at +least been candid, these farther considerations may confirm our +belief in its truth. Observe: the whole force of education, until +very lately, has been directed in every possible way to the +destruction of the love of nature. The only knowledge which has been +considered essential among us is that of words, and, next after it, +of the abstract sciences; while every liking shown by children for +simple natural history has been either violently checked, (if it +took an inconvenient form for the housemaids,) or else scrupulously +limited to hours of play: so that it has really been impossible for +any child earnestly to study the works of God but against its +conscience; and the love of nature has become inherently the +characteristic of truants and idlers. While also the art of drawing, +which is of more real importance to the human race than that of +writing (because people can hardly draw anything without being of +some use both to themselves and others, and can hardly write +anything without wasting their own time and that of others),--this +art of drawing, I say, which on plain and stern system should be +taught to every child, just as writing is,--has been so neglected +and abused, that there is not one man in a thousand, even of its +professed teachers, who knows its first principles: and thus it +needs much ill-fortune or obstinacy--much neglect on the part of his +teachers, or rebellion on his own--before a boy can get leave to use +his eyes or his fingers; so that those who _can_ use them are for +the most part neglected or rebellious lads--runaways and bad +scholars--passionate, erratic, self-willed, and restive against all +forms of education; while your well-behaved and amiable scholars are +disciplined into blindness and palsy of half their faculties. +Wherein there is at once a notable ground for what difference we +have observed between the lovers of nature and its despisers; +between the somewhat immoral and unrespectable watchfulness of the +one, and the moral and respectable blindness of the other. + +§ 32. One more argument remains, and that, I believe, an unanswerable +one. As, by the accident of education, the love of nature has been, +among us, associated with _wilfulness_, so, by the accident of time, +it has been associated with _faithlessness_. I traced, above, the +peculiar mode in which this faithlessness was indicated; but I never +intended to imply, therefore, that it was an invariable concomitant of +the love. Because it happens that, by various concurrent operations of +evil, we have been led, according to those words of the Greek poet +already quoted, "to dethrone the gods, and crown the whirlwind," it is +no reason that we should forget there was once a time when "the Lord +answered Job _out of_ the whirlwind." And if we now take final and +full view of the matter, we shall find that the love of nature, +wherever it has existed, has been a faithful and sacred element of +human feeling; that is to say, supposing all circumstances otherwise +the same with respect to two individuals, the one who loves nature +most will be _always_ found to have more _faith in God_ than the +other. It is intensely difficult, owing to the confusing and counter +influences which always mingle in the data of the problem, to make +this abstraction fairly; but so far as we can do it, so far, I boldly +assert, the result is constantly the same: the nature-worship will be +found to bring with it such a sense of the presence and power of a +Great Spirit as no mere reasoning can either induce or controvert; and +where that nature-worship is innocently pursued,--i.e. with due +respect to other claims on time, feeling, and exertion, and associated +with the higher principles of religion,--it becomes the channel of +certain sacred truths, which by no other means can be conveyed. + +§ 33. This is not a statement which any investigation is needed to +prove. It comes to us at once from the highest of all authority. The +greater number of the words which are recorded in Scripture, as +directly spoken to men by the lips of the Deity, are either simple +revelations of His law, or special threatenings, commands, and +promises relating to special events. But two passages of God's +speaking, one in the Old and one in the New Testament, possess, it +seems to me, a different character from any of the rest, having been +uttered, the one to effect the last necessary change in the mind of +a man whose piety was in other respects perfect; and the other, as +the first statement to all men of the principles of Christianity by +Christ Himself--I mean the 38th to 41st chapters of the book of Job, +and the Sermon on the Mount. Now the first of these passages is, +from beginning to end, nothing else than a direction of the mind +which was to be perfected to humble observance of the works of God +in nature. And the other consists only in the inculcation of _three_ +things: 1st, right conduct; 2nd, looking for eternal life; 3rd, +trusting God, through watchfulness of His dealings with His +creation: and the entire contents of the book of Job, and of the +Sermon on the Mount, will be found resolvable simply into these +three requirements from all men,--that they should act rightly, hope +for heaven, and watch God's wonders and work in the earth; the right +conduct being always summed up under the three heads of _justice_, +_mercy_, and _truth_, and no mention of any doctrinal point whatsoever +occurring in either piece of divine teaching. + +§ 34. As far as I can judge of the ways of men, it seems to me that +the simplest and most necessary truths are always the last +believed; and I suppose that well-meaning people in general would +rather regulate their conduct and creed by almost any other portion +of Scripture whatsoever, than by that Sermon on the Mount, which +contains the things that Christ thought it first necessary for all +men to understand. Nevertheless, I believe the time will soon come +for the full force of these two passages of Scripture to be +accepted. Instead of supposing the love of nature necessarily +connected with the faithlessness of the age, I believe it is +connected properly with the benevolence and liberty of the age; that +it is precisely the most healthy element which distinctively belongs +to us; and that out of it, cultivated no longer in levity or +ignorance, but in earnestness and as a duty, results will spring of +an importance at present inconceivable; and lights arise, which, for +the first time in man's history, will reveal to him the true nature +of his life, the true field for his energies, and the true relations +between him and his Maker. + +§ 35. I will not endeavor here to trace the various modes in which +these results are likely to be effected, for this would involve an +essay on education, on the uses of natural history, and the probable +future destiny of nations. Somewhat on these subjects I have spoken +in other places; and I hope to find time, and proper place, to say +more. But one or two observations maybe made merely to suggest the +directions in which the reader may follow out the subject for +himself. + +The great mechanical impulses of the age, of which most of us are so +proud, are a mere passing fever, half-speculative, half-childish. +People will discover at last that royal roads to anything can no +more be laid in iron than they can in dust; that there are, in fact, +no royal roads to anywhere worth going to; that if there were, it +would that instant cease to be worth going to,--I mean so far as the +things to be obtained are in any way estimable in terms of _price_. +For there are two classes of precious things in the world: those +that God gives us for nothing--sun, air, and life (both mortal life +and immortal); and the secondarily precious things which he gives us +for a price: these secondarily precious things, worldly wine and +milk, can only be bought for definite money; they never can be +cheapened. No cheating nor bargaining will ever get a single thing +out of nature's "establishment" at half-price. Do we want to be +strong?--we must work. To be hungry?--we must starve. To be +happy?--we must be kind. To be wise?--we must look and think. No +changing of place at a hundred miles an hour, nor making of stuffs a +thousand yards a minute, will make us one whit stronger, happier, or +wiser. There was always more in the world than men could see, walked +they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for going fast. And +they will at last, and soon too, find out that their grand +inventions for conquering (as they think) space and time, do, in +reality, conquer nothing; for space and time are, in their own +essence, unconquerable, and besides did not want any sort of +conquering; they wanted _using_. A fool always wants to shorten +space and time: a wise man wants to lengthen both. A fool wants to +kill space and kill time: a wise man, first to gain them, then to +animate them. Your railroad, when you come to understand it, is only +a device for making the world smaller: and as for being able to talk +from place to place, that is, indeed, well and convenient; but +suppose you have, originally, nothing to say.[95] We shall be +obliged at last to confess, what we should long ago have known, that +the really precious things are thought and sight, not pace. It does +a bullet no good to go fast; and a man, if he be truly a man, no +harm to go slow; for his glory is not at all in going, but in being. + +§ 36. "Well; but railroads and telegraphs are so useful for +communicating knowledge to savage nations." Yes, if you have any to +give them. If you know nothing _but_ railroads, and can communicate +nothing but aqueous vapor and gunpowder,--what then? But if you have +any other thing than those to give, then the railroad is of use only +because it communicates that other thing and the question is--what +that other thing may be. Is it religion? I believe if we had really +wanted to communicate that, we could have done it in less than 1800 +years, without steam. Most of the good religious communication that +I remember has been done on foot; and it cannot be easily done +faster than at foot pace. Is it science? But what science--of +motion, meat, and medicine? Well; when you have moved your savage, +and dressed your savage, fed him with white bread, and shown him how +to set a limb,--what next? Follow out that question. Suppose every +obstacle overcome; give your savage every advantage of civilization +to the full: suppose that you have put the Red Indian in tight +shoes; taught the Chinese how to make Wedgwood's ware, and to paint +it with colors that will rub off; and persuaded all Hindoo women +that it is more pious to torment their husbands into graves than to +burn themselves at the burial,--what next? Gradually, thinking on +from point to point, we shall come to perceive that all true +happiness and nobleness are near us, and yet neglected by us; and +that till we have learned how to be happy and noble, we have not +much to tell, even to Red Indians. The delights of horse-racing and +hunting, of assemblies in the night instead of the day, of costly +and wearisome music, of costly and burdensome dress, of chagrined +contention for place or power, or wealth, or the eyes of the +multitude; and all the endless occupation without purpose, and +idleness without rest, of our vulgar world, are not, it seems to me, +enjoyments we need be ambitious to communicate. And all real and +wholesome enjoyments possible to man have been just as possible to +him, since first he was made of the earth, as they are now; and they +are possible to him chiefly in peace. To watch the corn grow, and +the blossoms set; to draw hard breath over ploughshare or spade; to +read, to think, to love, to hope, to pray,--these are the things +that make men happy; they have always had the power of doing these, +they never _will_ have power to do more. The world's prosperity or +adversity depends upon our knowing and teaching these few things: +but upon iron, or glass, or electricity, or steam, in no wise. + +§ 37. And I am Utopian and enthusiastic enough to believe, that the +time will come when the world will discover this. It has now made +its experiments in every possible direction but the right one; and +it seems that it must, at last, try the right one, in a mathematical +necessity. It has tried fighting, and preaching, and fasting, buying +and selling, pomp and parsimony, pride and humiliation,--every +possible manner of existence in which it could conjecture there was +any happiness or dignity; and all the while, as it bought, sold, +and fought, and fasted, and wearied itself with policies, and +ambitions, and self-denials, God had placed its real happiness in +the keeping of the little mosses of the wayside, and of the clouds +of the firmament. Now and then a weary king, or a tormented slave, +found out where the true kingdoms of the world were, and possessed +himself, in a furrow or two of garden ground, of a truly infinite +dominion. But the world would not believe their report, and went on +trampling down the mosses, and forgetting the clouds, and seeking +happiness in its own way, until, at last, blundering and late, came +natural science; and in natural science not only the observation of +things, but the finding out of new uses for them. Of course the +world, having a choice left to it, went wrong as usual, and thought +that these mere material uses were to be the sources of its +happiness. It got the clouds packed into iron cylinders, and made it +carry its wise self at their own cloud pace. It got weavable fibres +out of the mosses, and made clothes for itself, cheap and +fine,--here was happiness at last. To go as fast as the clouds, and +manufacture everything out of anything,--here was paradise, indeed! + +§ 38. And now, when, in a little while, it is unparadised again, if +there were any other mistake that the world could make, it would of +course make it. But I see not that there is any other; and, standing +fairly at its wits' end, having found that going fast, when it is +used to it, is no more paradisiacal than going slow; and that all +the prints and cottons in Manchester cannot make it comfortable in +its mind, I do verily believe it will come, finally, to understand +that God paints the clouds and shapes the moss-fibres, that men may +be happy in seeing Him at His work, and that in resting quietly +beside Him, and watching His working, and--according to the power He +has communicated to ourselves, and the guidance He grants,--in +carrying out His purposes of peace and charity among all His +creatures, are the only real happinesses that ever were, or will be, +possible to mankind. + +§ 39. How far art is capable of helping us in such happiness we +hardly yet know; but I hope to be able, in the subsequent parts of +this work, to give some data for arriving at a conclusion in the +matter. Enough has been advanced to relieve the reader from any +lurking suspicion of unworthiness in our subject, and to induce him +to take interest in the mind and work of the great painter who has +headed the landscape school among us. What farther considerations +may, within any reasonable limits, be put before him, respecting the +effect of natural scenery on the human heart, I will introduce in +their proper places either as we examine, under Turner's guidance, +the different classes of scenery, or at the close of the whole work; +and therefore I have only one point more to notice here, namely, the +exact relation between landscape-painting and natural science, +properly so-called. + +§ 40. For it may be thought that I have rashly assumed that the +Scriptural authorities above quoted apply to that partly superficial +view of nature which is taken by the landscape-painter, instead of +to the accurate view taken by the man of science. So far from there +being rashness in such an assumption, the whole language, both of +the book of Job and the Sermon on the Mount, gives precisely the +view of nature which is taken by the uninvestigating affection of a +humble, but powerful mind. There is no dissection of muscles or +counting of elements, but the boldest and broadest glance at the +apparent facts, and the most magnificent metaphor in expressing +them. "His eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. In his neck +remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him." And +in the often repeated, never obeyed, command, "Consider the lilies +of the field," observe there is precisely the delicate attribution +of life which we have seen to be the characteristic of the modern +view of landscape,--"They toil not," There is no science, or hint of +science; no counting of petals, nor display of provisions for +sustenance: nothing but the expression of sympathy, at once the most +childish, and the most profound,--"They toil not." + +§ 41. And we see in this, therefore, that the instinct which leads +us thus to attribute life to the lowest forms of organic nature, +does not necessarily spring from faithlessness, nor the deducing a +moral out of them from an irregular and languid conscientiousness. +In this, as in almost all things connected with moral discipline, +the same results may follow from contrary causes; and as there are a +good and evil contentment, a good and evil discontent, a good and +evil care, fear, ambition, and so on, there are also good and evil +forms of this sympathy with nature, and disposition to moralize over +it.[96] In general, active men, of strong sense and stern principle, +do not care to see anything in a leaf, but vegetable tissue, and are +so well convinced of useful moral truth, that it does not strike +them as a new or notable thing when they find it in any way +symbolized by material nature; hence there is a strong presumption, +when first we perceive a tendency in any one to regard trees as +living, and enunciate moral aphorisms over every pebble they stumble +against, that such tendency proceeds from a morbid temperament, like +Shelley's, or an inconsistent one, like Jaques's. But when the +active life is nobly fulfilled, and the mind is then raised beyond +it into clear and calm beholding of the world around us, the same +tendency again manifests itself in the most sacred way: the simplest +forms of nature are strangely animated by the sense of the Divine +presence; the trees and flowers seem all, in a sort, children of +God; and we ourselves, their fellows, made out of the same dust, and +greater than they only in having a greater portion of the Divine +power exerted on our frame, and all the common uses and palpably +visible forms of things, become subordinate in our minds to their +inner glory,--to the mysterious voices in which they talk to us +about God, and the changeful and typical aspects by which they +witness to us of holy truth, and fill us with obedient, joyful, and +thankful emotion. + +§ 42. It is in raising us from the first state of inactive reverie +to the second of useful thought, that scientific pursuits are to be +chiefly praised. But in restraining us at this second stage, and +checking the impulses towards higher contemplation, they are to be +feared or blamed. They may in certain minds be consistent with such +contemplation; but only by an effort: in their nature they are +always adverse to it, having a tendency to chill and subdue the +feelings, and to resolve all things into atoms and numbers. For most +men, an ignorant enjoyment is better than an informed one; it is +better to conceive the sky as a blue dome than a dark cavity, and +the cloud as a golden throne than a sleety mist. I much question +whether any one who knows optics, however religious he may be, can +feel in equal degree the pleasure or reverence which an unlettered +peasant may feel at the sight of a rainbow. And it is mercifully +thus ordained, since the law of life, for a finite being, with +respect to the works of an infinite one, must be always an infinite +ignorance. We cannot fathom the mystery of a single flower, nor is +it intended that we should; but that the pursuit of science should +constantly be stayed by the love of beauty, and accuracy of +knowledge by tenderness of emotion. + +§ 43. Nor is it even just to speak of the love of beauty as in all +respects unscientific; for there is a science of the aspects of +things as well as of their nature; and it is as much a fact to be +noted in their constitution, that they produce such and such an +effect upon the eye or heart (as, for instance, that minor scales of +sound cause melancholy), as that they are made up of certain atoms +or vibrations of matter. + +It is as the master of this science of _Aspects_, that I said, some +time ago, Turner must eventually be named always with Bacon, the +master of the science of _Essence_. As the first poet who has, in +all their range, understood the grounds of noble emotion which exist +in Landscape, his future influence will be of a still more subtle +and important character. The rest of this work will therefore be +dedicated to the explanation of the principles on which he composed, +and of the aspects of nature which he was the first to discern. + + [88] Marmion, Introduction to canto II. + + [89] The investigation of this subject becomes, therefore, + difficult beyond all other parts of our inquiry, since + precisely the same sentiments may arise in different minds + from totally opposite causes; and the extreme of frivolity + may sometimes for a moment desire the same things as the + extreme of moral power and dignity. In the following extract + from "Marriage," the sentiment expressed by Lady Juliana (the + ineffably foolish and frivolous heroine of the story) is as + nearly as possible what Dante would have felt, under the same + circumstances: + + "The air was soft and genial; not a cloud stained the bright + azure of the heavens; and the sun shone out in all his + splendor, shedding life and beauty even over the desolate + heath-clad hills of Glenfern. But, after they had journeyed a + few miles, suddenly emerging from the valley, a scene of + matchless beauty burst at once upon the eye. Before them lay + the dark blue waters of Lochmarlie, reflecting, as in a + mirror, every surrounding object, and bearing on its placid, + transparent bosom a fleet of herring-boats, the drapery of + whose black, suspended nets contrasted, with picturesque + effect, the white sails of the larger vessels, which were + vainly spread to catch a breeze. All around, rocks, meadows, + woods, and hills mingled in wild and lovely irregularity. + + "Not a breath was stirring, not a sound was heard, save the + rushing of a waterfall, the tinkling of some silver rivulet, + or the calm rippling of the tranquil lake; now and then, at + intervals, the fisherman's Gaelic ditty, chanted as he lay + stretched on the sand in some sunny nook; or the shrill, + distant sound of childish glee. How delicious to the feeling + heart to behold so fair a scene of unsophisticated nature, and + to listen to her voice alone, breathing the accents of + innocence and joy! But none of the party who now gazed on it + had minds capable of being touched with the emotions it was + calculated to inspire. + + "Henry, indeed, was rapturous in his expressions of admiration; + but he concluded his panegyrics by wondering his brother did + not keep a cutter, and resolving to pass a night on board one + of the herring-boats, that he might eat the fish in perfection. + + "Lady Juliana thought it might be very pretty, if, instead of + those frightful rocks and shabby cottages, there could be + villas, and gardens, and lawns, and conservatories, and + summer-houses, and statues. + + "Miss Bella observed, if it was hers she would cut down the + woods, and level the hills, and have races." + + [90] Childe Harold, canto iii. st. 71. + + [91] Scènes et Proverbes. La Crise; (Scène en calèche, hors + Paris.) + + [92] Compare the characters of Fleur de Marie and Rigolette, in + the Mystères de Paris. I know no other instance in which the + two tempers are so exquisitely delineated and opposed. Read + carefully the beautiful pastoral, in the eighth chapter of + the first Part, where Fleur de Marie is first taken into the + fields under Montmartre, and compare it with the sixth of the + second Part, its accurately traced companion sketch, noting + carefully Rigolette's "Non, _je déteste la campagne_." She + does not, however, dislike flowers or birds: "Cette caisse de + bois, que Rigolette appellait le jardin de ses oiseaux, était + remplie de terre recouverte de mousse, pendant l'hiver. Elle + travaillait auprès de la fenêtre ouverte, à-demi-voilée par + un verdoyant rideau de pois de senteur roses, de capucines + oranges, de volubilis bleus et blancs." + + [93] I have not read Clarissa. + + [94] It might be thought that Young _could_ have sympathized with + it. He would have made better use of it, but he would not + have had the same delight in it. He turns his solitude to + good account; but this is because, to him, solitude is + sorrow, and his real enjoyment would have been of amiable + society, and a place at court. + + [95] "The light-outspeeding telegraph + Bears nothing on its beam." EMERSON. + + See Appendix III., Plagiarism. + + [96] Compare what is said before in various places of good and bad + finish, good and bad mystery, &c. If a man were disposed to + system-making, he could easily throw together a + counter-system to Aristotle's, showing that in all things + there were two extremes which exactly resembled each other, + but of which one was bad, the other good; and a mean, + resembling neither, but better than the one, and worse than + the other. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +OF THE TEACHERS OF TURNER. + + +§ 1. The first step to the understanding either the mind or position +of a great man ought, I think, to be an inquiry into the elements of +his early instruction, and the mode in which he was affected by the +circumstances of surrounding life. In making this inquiry, with +respect to Turner, we shall be necessarily led to take note of the +causes which had brought landscape-painting into the state in which +he found it; and, therefore, of those transitions of style which, it +will be remembered, we overleaped (hoping for a future opportunity +of examining them) at the close of the fifteenth chapter. + +§ 2. And first, I said, it will be remembered, some way back, that +the relations between Scott and Turner would probably be found to +differ very curiously from those between Dante and Giotto. They +differ primarily in this,--that Dante and Giotto, living in a +consistent age, were subjected to one and the same influence, and +maybe reasoned about almost in similar terms. But Scott and Turner, +living in an inconsistent age, became subjected to inconsistent +influences; and are at once distinguished by notable contrarieties, +requiring separate examination in each. + +§ 3. Of these, the chief was that Scott, having had the blessing of +a totally neglected education, was able early to follow most of his +noble instincts; but Turner, having suffered under the instruction +of the Royal Academy, had to pass nearly thirty years of his life in +recovering from its consequences;[97] this permanent result +following for both,--that Scott never was led into any fault +foreign to his nature, but spoke what was in him, in rugged or idle +simplicity; erring only where it was natural to err, and failing +only where it was impossible to succeed. But Turner, from the +beginning, was led into constrained and unnatural error; diligently +debarred from every ordinary help to success. The one thing which +the Academy _ought_ to have taught him (namely, the simple and safe +use of oil color), it never taught him; but it carefully repressed +his perceptions of truth, his capacities of invention, and his +tendencies of choice. For him it was impossible to do right but in +the spirit of defiance; and the first condition of his progress in +learning, was the power to forget. + +§ 4. One most important distinction in their feelings throughout +life was necessitated by this difference in early training. Scott +gathered what little knowledge of architecture he possessed, in +wanderings among the rocky walls of Crichtoun, Lochleven, and +Linlithgow, and among the delicate pillars of Holyrood, Roslin, and +Melrose. Turner acquired his knowledge of architecture at the desk, +from academical elevations of the Parthenon and St. Paul's; and +spent a large portion of his early years in taking views of +gentlemen's seats, temples of the Muses, and other productions of +modern taste and imagination; being at the same time directed +exclusively to classical sources for information as to the proper +subjects of art. Hence, while Scott was at once directed to the +history of his native land, and to the Gothic fields of imagination; +and his mind was fed in a consistent, natural, and felicitous way +from his youth up, poor Turner for a long time knew no inspiration +but that of Twickenham; no sublimity but that of Virginia Water. All +the history and poetry presented to him at the age when the mind +receives its dearest associations, were those of the gods and +nations of long ago; and his models of sentiment and style were the +worst and last wrecks of the Renaissance affectations. + +§ 5. Therefore (though utterly free from affectation), his early +works are full of an _enforced_ artificialness, and of things +ill-done and ill-conceived, because foreign to his own instincts; +and, throughout life, whatever he did, because he thought he _ought_ +to do it, was wrong; all that he planned on any principle, or in +supposed obedience to canons of taste, was false and abortive: he +only did right when he ceased to reflect; was powerful only when he +made no effort, and successful only when he had taken no aim. + +§ 6. And it is one of the most interesting things connected with the +study of his art, to watch the way in which his own strength of +English instinct breaks gradually through fetter and formalism; how +from Egerian wells he steals away to Yorkshire streamlets; how from +Homeric rocks, with laurels at the top and caves in the bottom, he +climbs, at last, to Alpine precipices fringed with pine, and fortified +with the slopes of their own ruins; and how from Temples of Jupiter +and Gardens of the Hesperides, a spirit in his feet guides him, at +last, to the lonely arches of Whitby, and bleak sands of Holy Isle. + +§ 7. As, however, is the case with almost all inevitable evil, in +its effect on great minds, a certain good rose even out of this +warped education; namely, his power of more completely expressing +all the tendencies of his epoch, and sympathizing with many feelings +and many scenes which must otherwise have been entirely profitless +to him. Scott's mind was just as large and full of sympathy as +Turner's; but having been permitted always to take his own choice +among sources of enjoyment, Scott was entirely incapable of entering +into the spirit of any classical scene. He was strictly a Goth and a +Scot, and his sphere of sensation may be almost exactly limited by +the growth of heather. But Turner had been forced to pay early +attention to whatever of good and right there was even in things +naturally distasteful to him. The charm of early association had +been cast around much that to other men would have been tame: while +making drawings of flower-gardens and Palladian mansions, he had +been taught sympathy with whatever grace or refinement the garden or +mansion could display, and to the close of life could enjoy the +delicacy of trellis and parterre, as well as the wildness of the +wood and the moorland; and watch the staying of the silver fountain +at its appointed height in the sky, with an interest as earnest, if +not as intense, as that with which he followed the crash of the +Alpine cataract into its clouds of wayward rage. + +§ 8. The distinct losses to be weighed against this gain are, first, +the waste of time during youth in painting subjects of no interest +whatsoever,--parks, villas, and ugly architecture in general: +secondly, the devotion of its utmost strength in later years to +meaningless classical compositions, such as the Fall and Rise of +Carthage, Bay of Baiæ, Daphne and Leucippus, and such others, which, +with infinite accumulation of material, are yet utterly heartless and +emotionless, dead to the very root of thought, and incapable of +producing wholesome or useful effect on any human mind, except only as +exhibitions of technical skill and graceful arrangement: and, lastly, +his incapacity, to the close of life, of entering heartily into the +spirit of any elevated architecture; for those Palladian and classical +buildings which he had been taught that it was right to admire, being +wholly devoid of interest, and in their own formality and barrenness +quite unmanageable, he was obliged to make them manageable in his +pictures by disguising them, and to use all kinds of playing shadows +and glittering lights to obscure their ugly details; and as in their +best state such buildings are white and colorless, he associated the +idea of whiteness with perfect architecture generally, and was +confused and puzzled when he found it grey. Hence he never got +thoroughly into the feeling of Gothic; its darkness and complexity +embarrassed him; he was very apt to whiten by way of idealizing it, +and to cast aside its details in order to get breadth of delicate +light. In Venice, and the towns of Italy generally, he fastened on the +wrong buildings, and used those which he chose merely as kind of white +clouds, to set off his brilliant groups of boats, or burning spaces of +lagoon. In various other minor ways, which we shall trace in their +proper place, his classical education hindered or hurt him; but I feel +it very difficult to say how far the loss was balanced by the general +grasp it gave his mind; nor am I able to conceive what would have been +the result, if his aims had been made at once narrower and more +natural, and he had been led in his youth to delight in Gothic legends +instead of classical mythology; and, instead of the porticos of the +Parthenon, had studied in the aisles of Notre Dame. + +§ 9. It is still more difficult to conjecture whether he gathered +most good or evil from the pictorial art which surrounded him in his +youth. What that art was, and how the European schools had arrived +at it, it now becomes necessary briefly to inquire. + +It will be remembered that, in the 14th chapter, we left our +mediæval landscape (§ 18.) in a state of severe formality, and +perfect subordination to the interest of figure subject. I will now +rapidly trace the mode and progress of its emancipation. + +§ 10. The formalized conception of scenery remained little altered +until the time of Raphael, being only better executed as the +knowledge of art advanced; that is to say, though the trees were +still stiff, and often set one on each side of the principal +figures, their color and relief on the sky were exquisitely +imitated, and all groups of near leaves and flowers drawn with the +most tender care, and studious botanical accuracy. The better the +subjects were painted, however, the more logically absurd they +became: a background wrought in Chinese confusion of towers and +rivers, was in early times passed over carelessly, and forgiven for +the sake of its pleasant color; but it appealed somewhat too far to +imaginative indulgence when Ghirlandajo drew an exquisite +perspective view of Venice and her lagoons behind an Adoration of +the Magi;[98] and the impossibly small boats which might be pardoned +in a mere illumination, representing the miraculous draught of +fishes, became, whatever may be said to the contrary, inexcusably +absurd in Raphael's fully realized landscape; so as at once to +destroy the credibility of every circumstance of the event. + +§ 11. A certain charm, however, attached itself to many forms of +this landscape, owing to their very unnaturalness, as I have +endeavored to explain already in the last chapter of the second +volume, §§ 9. to 12.; noting, however, there, that it was in no wise +to be made a subject of imitation; a conclusion which I have since +seen more and more ground for holding finally. The longer I think +over the subject, the more I perceive that the pleasure we take in +such unnatural landscapes is intimately connected with our habit of +regarding the New Testament as a beautiful poem, instead of a +statement of plain facts. He who believes thoroughly that the events +are true will expect, and ought to expect, real olive copse behind +real Madonna, and no sentimental absurdities in either. + +[Illustration: 11. Latest Purism.] + +§ 12. Nor am I at all sure how far the delight which we take (when I +say _we_, I mean, in general, lovers of old sacred art) in such +quaint landscape, arises from its peculiar _falsehood_, and how far +from its peculiar _truth_. For as it falls into certain errors more +boldly, so, also, what truth it states, it states more firmly than +subsequent work. No engravings, that I know, render the backgrounds +of sacred pictures with sufficient care to enable the reader to +judge of this matter unless before the works themselves. I have, +therefore, engraved, on the opposite page, a bit of the background +of Raphael's Holy Family, in the Tribune of the Uffizii, at +Florence. I copied the trees leaf for leaf, and the rest of the work +with the best care I could; the engraver, Mr. Armytage, has +admirably rendered the delicate atmosphere which partly veils the +distance. Now I do not know how far it is necessary to such pleasure +as we receive from this landscape, that the trees should be both so +straight and formal in stem, and should have branches no thicker +than threads; or that the outlines of the distant hills should +approximate so closely to those on any ordinary Wedgewood's china +pattern. I know that, on the contrary, a great part of the pleasure +arises from the sweet expression of air and sunshine; from the +traceable resemblance of the city and tower to Florence and Fesole; +from the fact that, though the boughs are too thin, the lines of +ramification are true and beautiful; and from the expression of +continually varied form in the clusters of leafage. And although all +lovers of sacred art would shrink in horror from the idea of +substituting for such a landscape a bit of Cuyp or Rubens, I do not +think that the horror they feel is because Cuyp and Rubens's +landscape is _truer_, but because it is _coarser_ and more vulgar in +associated idea than Raphael's; and I think it possible that the +true forms of hills, and true thicknesses of boughs, might be +tenderly stolen into this background of Raphael's without giving +offence to any one. + +§ 13. Take a somewhat more definite instance. The rock in Fig. 5., +at the side, is one put by Ghirlandajo into the background of his +Baptism of Christ. I have no doubt Ghirlandajo's own rocks and trees +are better, in several respects, than those here represented, since +I have copied them from one of Lasinio's execrable engravings; +still, the harsh outline, and generally stiff and uninventful +blankness of the design are true enough, and characteristic of all +rock-painting of the period. In the plate below I have etched[99] +the outline of a fragment of one of Turner's cliffs, out of his +drawing of Bolton Abbey; and it does not seem to me that, supposing +them properly introduced in the composition, the substitution of the +soft natural lines for the hard unnatural ones would make +Ghirlandajo's background one whit less sacred. + +[Illustration: FIG. 5.] + +§ 14. But be this as it may, the fact is, as ill luck would have it, +that profanity of feeling, and skill in art, increased together; so +that we do not find the backgrounds rightly painted till the figures +become irreligious and feelingless; and hence we associate +necessarily the perfect landscape with want of feeling. The first +great innovator was either Masaccio or Filippino Lippi: their works +are so confused together in the Chapel of the Carmine, that I know +not to whom I may attribute,--or whether, without being immediately +quarrelled with, and contradicted, I may attribute to anybody,--the +landscape background of the fresco of the Tribute Money. But that +background, with one or two other fragments in the same +chapel, is far in advance of all other work I have seen of the +period, in expression of the rounded contours and large slopes of +hills, and the association of their summits with the clouds. The +opposite engraving will give some better idea of its character than +can be gained from the outlines commonly published; though the dark +spaces, which in the original are deep blue, come necessarily +somewhat too harshly on the eye when translated into light and +shade. I shall have occasion to speak with greater speciality of +this background in examining the forms of hills; meantime, it is +only as an isolated work that it can be named in the history of +pictorial progress, for Masaccio died too young to carry out his +purposes; and the men around him were too ignorant of landscape to +understand or take advantage of the little he had done. Raphael, +though he borrowed from him in the human figure, never seems to have +been influenced by his landscape, and retains either, as in Plate +11., the upright formalities of Perugino; or, by way of being +natural, expands his distances into flattish flakes of hill, nearly +formless, as in the backgrounds of the Charge to Peter and Draught +of Fishes; and thenceforward the Tuscan and Roman schools grew more +and more artificial, and lost themselves finally under round-headed +niches and Corinthian porticos. + +[Illustration: 12. The Shores of Wharfe.] + +[Illustration: 13. First Mountain Naturalism.] + +[Illustration: 14. The Lombard Apennine.] + +[Illustration: 15. St. George of the Seaweed.] + +§ 15. It needed, therefore, the air of the northern mountains and of +the sea to brace the hearts of men to the development of the true +landscape schools. I sketched by chance one evening the line of the +Apennines from the ramparts of Parma, and I have put the rough note +of it, and the sky that was over it, in Plate 14., and next to this +(Plate 15.) a moment of sunset, behind the Euganean hills at Venice. +I shall have occasion to refer to both hereafter; but they have some +interest here as types of the kind of scenes which were daily set +before the eyes of Correggio and Titian, and of the sweet free +spaces of sky through which rose and fell, to them, the colored rays +of the morning and evening. + +§ 16. And they are connected, also, with the forms of landscape +adopted by the Lombardic masters, in a very curious way. We noticed +that the Flemings, educated entirely in flat land, seemed to be +always contented with the scenery it supplied; and we should +naturally have expected that Titian and Correggio, living in the +midst of the levels of the lagoons, and of the plain of Lombardy, +would also have expressed, in their backgrounds, some pleasure in +such level scenery, associated, of course, with the sublimity of the +far-away Apennine, Euganean, or Alp. But not a whit. The plains of +mulberry and maize, of sea and shoal, by which they were surrounded, +never occur in their backgrounds but in cases of necessity; and both +of them, in all their important landscapes, bury themselves in wild +wood; Correggio delighting to relieve with green darkness of oak and +ivy the golden hair and snowy flesh of his figures; and Titian, +whenever the choice of a scene was in his power, retiring to the +narrow glens and forests of Cadore. + +§ 17. Of the vegetation introduced by both, I shall have to speak at +length in the course of the chapters on Foliage; meantime, I give in +Plate 16. one of Titian's slightest bits of background, from one of +the frescoes in the little chapel behind St. Antonio, at Padua, +which may be compared more conveniently than any of his more +elaborate landscapes with the purist work from Raphael. For in both +these examples the trees are equally slender and delicate, only the +formality of mediæval art is, by Titian, entirely abandoned, and the +old conception of the aspen grove and meadow done away with for +ever. We are now far from cities: the painter takes true delight in +the desert; the trees grow wild and free; the sky also has lost its +peace, and is writhed into folds of motion, closely impendent upon +earth, and somewhat threatening, through its solemn light. + +§ 18. Although, however, this example is characteristic of Titian in +its wildness, it is not so in its _looseness_. It is only in the +distant backgrounds of the slightest work, or when he is in a hurry, +that Titian is vague: in all his near and studied work he completes +every detail with scrupulous care. The next Plate, 17., a background +of Tintoret's, from his picture of the Entombment at Parma, is more +entirely characteristic of the Venetians. Some mistakes made in the +reduction of my drawing during the course of engraving have cramped +the curves of the boughs and leaves, of which I will give the true +outline farther on; meantime the subject, which is that described in +§ 16. of the chapter on Penetrative Imagination, Vol. II., will just +as well answer the purpose of exemplifying the Venetian love of +gloom and wildness, united with perfect definition of detail. Every +leaf and separate blade of grass is drawn; but observe how the +blades of grass are broken, how completely the aim at expression of +faultlessness and felicity has been withdrawn, as contrary to the +laws of the existent world. + +[Illustration: 16. Early Naturalism.] + +[Illustration: 17. Advanced Naturalism.] + +§ 19. From this great Venetian school of landscape Turner received +much important teaching,--almost the only healthy teaching which he +owed to preceding art. The designs of the Liber Studiorum are founded +first on nature, but in many cases modified by _forced_ imitation of +Claude, and _fond_ imitation of Titian. All the worst and feeblest +studies in the book--as the pastoral with the nymph playing the +tambourine, that with the long bridge seen through trees, and with the +flock of goats on the walled road--owe the principal part of their +imbecilities to Claude; another group (Solway Moss, Peat Bog, +Lauffenbourg, &c.) is taken with hardly any modification by pictorial +influence, straight from nature; and the finest works in the book--the +Grande Chartreuse, Rizpah, Jason, Cephalus, and one or two more--are +strongly under the influence of Titian. + +§ 20. The Venetian school of landscape expired with Tintoret, in the +year 1594; and the sixteenth century closed, like a grave, over the +great art of the world. There is _no_ entirely sincere or great art +in the seventeenth century. Rubens and Rembrandt are its two +greatest men, both deeply stained by the errors and affectations of +their age. The influence of the Venetians hardly extended to them; +the tower of the Titianesque art fell southwards; and on the dust of +its ruins grew various art-weeds, such as Domenichino and the +Carraccis. Their landscape, which may in few words be accurately +defined as "Scum of Titian," possesses no single merit, nor any +ground for the forgiveness of demerit; they are to be named only as +a link through which the Venetian influence came dimly down to +Claude and Salvator. + +§ 21. Salvator possessed real genius, but was crushed by misery in his +youth, and by fashionable society in his age. He had vigorous animal +life, and considerable invention, but no depth either of thought or +perception. He took some hints directly from nature, and expressed +some conditions of the grotesque of terror with original power; but +his baseness of thought, and bluntness of sight, were unconquerable; +and his works possess no value whatsoever for any person versed in the +walks of noble art. They had little, if any, influence on Turner; if +any, it was in blinding him for some time to the grace of tree trunks, +and making him tear them too much into splinters. + +§ 22. Not so Claude, who may be considered as Turner's principal +master. Claude's capacities were of the most limited kind; but he +had tenderness of perception, and sincerity of purpose, and he +effected a revolution in art. This revolution consisted mainly in +setting the sun in heaven.[100] Till Claude's time no one had +seriously thought of painting the sun but conventionally; that is to +say, as a red or yellow star, (often) with a face in it, under which +type it was constantly represented in illumination; else it was kept +out of the picture, or introduced in fragmentary distances, breaking +through clouds with almost definite rays. Perhaps the honor of +having first tried to represent the real effect of the sun in +landscape belongs to Bonifazio, in his pictures of the camps of +Israel.[101] Rubens followed in a kind of bravado, sometimes making +the rays issue from anything but the orb of the sun;--here, for +instance, Fig. 6., is an outline of the position of the sun (at _s_) +with respect to his own rays, in a sunset behind a tournament in the +Louvre: and various interesting effects of sunlight issuing from the +conventional face-filled orb occur in contemporary missal-painting; +for instance, very richly in the Harleian MS. Brit. Mus. 3469. But +all this was merely indicative of the tendency to transition which +may always be traced in any age before the man comes who is to +_accomplish_ the transition. Claude took up the new idea seriously, +made the sun his subject, and painted the effects of misty shadows +cast by his rays over the landscape, and other delicate aerial +transitions, as no one had ever done before, and, in some respects, +as no one has done in oil color since. + +§ 23. "But, how, if this were so, could his capacities be of the +meanest order?" Because doing _one_ thing well, or better than others +have done it, does not necessarily imply large capacity. Capacity +means breadth of glance, understanding of the relations of things, and +invention, and these are rare and precious; but there are very few men +who have not done _something_, in the course of their lives, better +than other people. I could point out many engravers, draughtsmen, and +artists, who have each a particular merit in their manner, or +particular field of perception, that nobody else has, or ever had. But +this does not make them great men, it only indicates a small special +capacity of some kind: and all the smaller if the gift be very +peculiar and single; for a great man never so limits himself to one +thing, as that we shall be able to say, "That's all he can do." If +Claude had been a great man he would not have been so steadfastly set +on painting effects of sun; he would have looked at all nature, and at +all art, and would have painted sun effects somewhat worse, and nature +universally much better. + +[Illustration: FIG. 6.] + +§ 24. Such as he was, however, his discovery of the way to make +pictures look warm was very delightful to the shallow connoisseurs +of the age. Not that they cared for sunshine; but they liked seeing +jugglery. They could not feel Titian's noble color, nor Veronese's +noble composition; but they thought it highly amusing to see the sun +brought into a picture: and Claude's works were bought and +delighted in by vulgar people then, for their real-looking suns, as +pictures are now by vulgar people for having real timepieces in +their church towers. + +§ 25. But when Turner arose, with an earnest desire to paint the +whole of nature, he found that the existence of the sun was an +important fact, and by no means an easily manageable one. _He_ loved +sunshine for its own sake; but he could not at first paint it. Most +things else, he would more or less manage without much technical +difficulty; but the burning orb and the golden haze could not, +somehow, be got out of the oil paint. Naturally he went to Claude, +who really had got them out of oil paint; approached him with great +reverence, as having done that which seemed to Turner most difficult +of all technical matters, and he became his faithful disciple. How +much he learned from him of manipulation, I cannot tell; but one +thing is certain, that he never quite equalled him in that +particular forte of his. I imagine that Claude's way of laying on +oil color was so methodical that it could not possibly be imitated +by a man whose mechanism was interfered with by hundreds of thoughts +and aims totally different from Claude's; and, besides, I suppose +that certain useful principles in the management of paint, of which +our schools are now wholly ignorant, had come down as far as Claude, +from the Venetians. Turner at last gave up the attempt, and adopted +a manipulation of his own, which indeed effected certain objects +attainable in no other way, but which still was in many respects +unsatisfactory, dangerous, and deeply to be regretted. + +§ 26. But meantime his mind had been strongly warped by Claude's +futilities of conception. It was impossible to dwell on such works for +any length of time without being grievously harmed by them; and the +style of Turner's compositions was for ever afterwards weakened or +corrupted. For, truly, it is almost beyond belief into what depth of +absurdity Claude plunges continually in his most admired designs. For +instance; undertaking to paint Moses at the Burning Bush, he +represents a graceful landscape with a city, a river, and a bridge, +and plenty of tall trees, and the sea, and numbers of people going +about their business and pleasure in every direction; and the bush +burning quietly upon a bank in the corner; rather in the dark, and +not to be seen without close inspection. It would take some pages of +close writing to point out, one by one, the inanities of heart, soul, +and brain which such a conception involves; the ineffable ignorance of +the nature of the event, and of the scene of it; the incapacity of +conceiving anything even _in_ ignorance, which should be impressive; +the dim, stupid, serene, leguminous enjoyment of his sunny +afternoon--burn the bushes as much as they liked--these I leave the +reader to think over at his leisure, either before the picture in Lord +Ellesmere's gallery, or the sketch of it in the Liber Veritatis. But +all these kinds of fallacy sprung more or less out of the vices of the +time in which Claude lived; his own peculiar character reaches beyond +these, to an incapacity of understanding the _main point_ in anything +he had to represent, down to the minutest detail, which is quite +unequalled, as far as I know, in human nugatoriness. For instance; +here, in Fig. 7., is the head, with half the body, of Eneas drawing +his Bow, from No. 180. of the Liber Veritatis. Observe, the string is +too long by half; for if the bow were unbent, it would be two feet +longer than the whole bow. Then the arrow is too long by half, has too +heavy a head by half; and finally, it actually is _under_ the +bow-hand, instead of above it. Of the ideal and heroic refinement of +the head and drapery I will say nothing; but look only at the wretched +archery, and consider if it would be possible for any child to draw +the thing with less understanding, or to make more mistakes in the +given compass.[102] + +[Illustration: FIG. 7.] + +§ 27. And yet, exquisite as is Claude's instinct for blunder, he has +not strength of mind enough to blunder in a wholly original manner, +but he must needs falter out of his way to pick up other people's +puerilities, and be absurd at second-hand. I have been obliged to +laugh a little--though I hope reverently--at Ghirlandajo's +landscapes, which yet we saw had a certain charm of quaintness in +them when contrasted with his grand figures; but could any one have +believed that Claude, with all the noble landscapes of Titian set +before him, and all nature round about him, should yet go back to +Ghirlandajo for types of form. Yet such is the case. I said that the +Venetian influence came dimly down to Claude; but the old Florentine +influence came clearly. The Claudesque landscape is not, as so +commonly supposed, an idealized abstract of the nature about Rome. +It is an ultimate condition of the Florentine conventional +landscape, more or less softened by reference to nature. Fig. 8., +from No. 145. of the Liber Veritatis, is sufficiently characteristic +of Claude's rock-drawing; and compared with Fig. 5. (p. 314), will +show exactly the kind of modification he made on old and received +types. We shall see other instances of it hereafter. + +[Illustration: FIG. 8.] + +Imagine this kind of reproduction of whatever other people had done +worst, and this kind of misunderstanding of all that he saw himself +in nature, carried out in Claude's trees, rocks, ships--in +everything that he touched,--and then consider what kind of school +this work was for a young and reverent disciple. As I said, Turner +never recovered the effects of it; his compositions were always +mannered, lifeless, and even foolish; and he only did noble things +when the immediate presence of nature had overpowered the +reminiscences of his master. + +§ 28. Of the influence of Gaspar and Nicolo Poussin on Turner, there +is hardly anything to be said, nor much respecting that which they +had on landscape generally. Nicolo Poussin had noble powers of +design, and might have been a thoroughly great painter had he been +trained in Venice; but his Roman education kept him tame; his +trenchant severity was contrary to the tendencies of the age, and +had few imitators compared to the dashing of Salvator, and the mist +of Claude. Those few imitators adopted his manner without possessing +either his science or invention; and the Italian school of landscape +soon expired. Reminiscences of him occur sometimes in Turner's +compositions of sculptured stones for foreground; and the beautiful +Triumph of Flora, in the Louvre, probably first showed Turner the +use of definite flower, or blossom-painting, in landscape. I doubt +if he took anything from Gaspar; whatever he might have learned from +him respecting masses of foliage and golden distances, could have +been learned better, and, I believe, _was_ learned, from Titian. + +§ 29. Meantime, a lower, but more living school had developed itself +in the north; Cuyp had painted sunshine as truly as Claude, gilding +with it a more homely, but far more honestly conceived landscape; and +the effects of light of De Hooghe and Rembrandt presented examples of +treatment to which southern art could show no parallel. Turner +evidently studied these with the greatest care, and with great benefit +in every way; especially this, that they neutralized the idealisms of +Claude, and showed the young painter what power might be in plain +truth, even of the most familiar kind. He painted several pictures in +imitation of these masters; and those in which he tried to rival Cuyp +are healthy and noble works, being, in fact, just what most of Cuyp's +own pictures are--faithful studies of Dutch boats in calm weather, on +smooth water. De Hooghe was too precise, and Rembrandt too dark, to be +successfully or affectionately followed by him; but he evidently +learned much from both. + +§ 30. Finally, he painted many pictures in the manner of Vandevelde +(who was the accepted authority of his time in sea painting), and +received much injury from him. To the close of his life, Turner +always painted the sea too grey, and too opaque, in consequence of +his early study of Vandevelde. He never seemed to perceive color so +truly in the sea as he saw it elsewhere. But he soon discovered the +poorness of Vandevelde's forms of waves, and raised their meanly +divided surfaces into massive surge, effecting rapidly other +changes, of which more in another place. + +Such was the art to which Turner, in early years, devoted his most +earnest thoughts. More or less respectful contemplation of Reynolds, +Loutherbourg, Wilson, Gainsborough, Morland, and Wilkie, was +incidentally mingled with his graver study; and he maintained a +questioning watchfulness of even the smallest successes of his +brother artists of the modern landscape school. It remains for us +only to note the position of that living school when Turner, helped +or misled, as the case may be, by the study of the older artists, +began to consider what remained for him to do, or design. + +§ 31. The dead schools of landscape, composed of the works we have +just been examining, were broadly divisible into northern and +southern: the Dutch schools, more or less natural, but vulgar; the +Italian, more or less elevated, but absurd. There was a certain +foolish elegance in Claude, and a dull dignity in Gaspar; but then +their work resembled nothing that ever existed in the world. On the +contrary, a canal or cattle piece of Cuyp's had many veracities +about it; but they were, at best, truths of the ditch and dairy. The +grace of nature, or her gloom, her tender and sacred seclusions, or +her reach of power and wrath, had never been painted; nor had +_anything_ been painted yet in true _love_ of it; for both Dutch and +Italians agreed in this, that they always painted for the +_picture's_ sake, to show how well they could imitate sunshine, +arrange masses, or articulate straws,--never because they loved the +scene, or wanted to carry away some memory of it. + +And thus, all that landscape of the old masters is to be considered +merely as a struggle of expiring skill to discover some new +direction in which to display itself. There was no love of nature in +the age; only a desire for something new. Therefore those schools +expired at last, leaving the chasm of nearly utter emptiness between +them and the true moderns, out of which chasm the new school rises, +not engrafted on that old one, but, from the very base of all +things, beginning with mere washes of Indian ink, touched upon with +yellow and brown; and gradually feeling its way to color. + +But this infant school differed inherently from that ancienter one, +in that its motive was love. However feeble its efforts might be, +they were _for the sake of the nature_, not of the picture, and +therefore, having this germ of true life, it grew and throve. Robson +did not paint purple hills because he wanted to show how he could +lay on purple; but because he truly loved their dark peaks. Fielding +did not paint downs to show how dexterously he could sponge out +mists; but because he loved downs. + +This modern school, therefore, became the only true school of +landscape which had yet existed; the artificial Claude and Gaspar +work may be cast aside out of our way,--as I have said in my +Edinburgh lectures, under the general title of "pastoralism,"--and +from the last landscape of Tintoret, if we look for _life_, we must +pass at once to the first of Turner. + +§ 32. What help Turner received from this or that companion of his +youth is of no importance to any one now. Of course every great man is +always being helped by everybody,[103] for his gift is to get good out +of all things and all persons; and also there were two men associated +with him in early study, who showed high promise in the same field, +Cousen and Girtin (especially the former), and there is no saying what +these men might have done had they lived; there might, perhaps, have +been a struggle between one or other of them and Turner, as between +Giorgione and Titian. But they lived not; and Turner is the only great +man whom the school has yet produced,--quite great enough, as we shall +see, for all that needed to be done. To him, therefore, we now finally +turn, as the sole object of our inquiry. I shall first reinforce, with +such additions as they need, those statements of his general +principles which I made in the first volume, but could not then +demonstrate fully, for want of time to prepare pictorial illustration; +and then proceed to examine, piece by piece, his representations of +the facts of nature, comparing them, as it may seem expedient, with +what had been accomplished by others. + + * * * * * + +I cannot close this volume without alluding briefly to a subject of +different interest from any that have occupied us in its pages. For +it may, perhaps, seem to a general reader heartless and vain to +enter zealously into questions about our arts and pleasures in a +time of so great public anxiety as this. + +But he will find, if he looks back to the sixth paragraph of the +opening chapter of the last volume, some statement of feelings, +which, as they made me despondent in a time of apparent national +prosperity, now cheer me in one which, though of stern trial, I will +not be so much a coward as to call one of adversity. And I derive +this encouragement first from the belief that the War itself, with +all its bitterness, is, in the present state of the European +nations, productive of more good than evil; and, secondly, because I +have more confidence than others generally entertain, in the justice +of its cause. + +I say, first, because I believe the war is at present productive of +good more than of evil. I will not argue this hardly and coldly, as +I might, by tracing in past history some of the abundant evidence +that nations have always reached their highest virtue, and wrought +their most accomplished works, in times of straitening and battle; +as, on the other hand, no nation ever yet enjoyed a protracted and +triumphant peace without receiving in its own bosom ineradicable +seeds of future decline. I will not so argue this matter; but I will +appeal at once to the testimony of those whom the war has cost the +dearest. I know what would be told me, by those who have suffered +nothing; whose domestic happiness has been unbroken; whose daily +comfort undisturbed; whose experience of calamity consists, at its +utmost, in the incertitude of a speculation, the dearness of a +luxury, or the increase of demands upon their fortune which they +could meet fourfold without inconvenience. From these, I can well +believe, be they prudent economists, or careless pleasure-seekers, +the cry for peace will rise alike vociferously, whether in street or +senate. But I ask _their_ witness, to whom the war has changed the +aspect of the earth, and imagery of heaven, whose hopes it has cut +off like a spider's web, whose treasure it has placed, in a moment, +under the seals of clay. Those who can never more see sunrise, nor +watch the climbing light gild the Eastern clouds, without thinking +what graves it has gilded, first, far down behind the dark +earth-line,--who never more shall see the crocus bloom in spring, +without thinking what dust it is that feeds the wild flowers of +Balaclava. Ask _their_ witness, and see if they will not reply that +it is well with them, and with theirs; that they would have it no +otherwise; would not, if they might, receive back their gifts of +love and life, nor take again the purple of their blood out of the +cross on the breastplate of England. Ask them: and though they +should answer only with a sob, listen if it does not gather upon +their lips into the sound of the old Seyton war-cry--"Set on." + +And this not for pride--not because the names of their lost ones +will be recorded to all time, as of those who held the breach and +kept the gate of Europe against the North, as the Spartans did +against the East; and lay down in the place they had to guard, with +the like home message, "Oh, stranger, go and tell the English that +we are lying here, having obeyed their words;"--not for this, but +because, also, they have felt that the spirit which has discerned +them for eminence in sorrow--the helmed and sworded skeleton that +rakes with its white fingers the sands of the Black Sea beach into +grave-heap after grave-heap, washed by everlasting surf of +tears--has been to them an angel of other things than agony; that +they have learned, with those hollow, undeceivable eyes of his, to +see all the earth by the sunlight of deathbeds;--no inch-high stage +for foolish griefs and feigned pleasures; no dream, neither, as its +dull moralists told them;--_Any_thing but that: a place of true, +marvellous, inextricable sorrow and power; a question-chamber of +trial by rack and fire, irrevocable decision recording continually; +and no sleep, nor folding of hands, among the demon-questioners; +none among the angel-watchers, none among the men who stand or fall +beside those hosts of God. They know now the strength of sacrifice, +and that its flames can illumine as well as consume; they are bound +by new fidelities to all that they have saved,--by new love to all +for whom they have suffered; every affection which seemed to sink +with those dim life-stains into the dust, has been delegated, by +those who need it no more, to the cause for which they have expired; +and every mouldering arm, which will never more embrace the beloved +ones, has bequeathed to them its strength and its faithfulness. + +For the cause of this quarrel is no dim, half-avoidable involution +of mean interests and errors, as some would have us believe. There +never was a great war caused by such things. There never can be. The +historian may trace it, with ingenious trifling, to a courtier's +jest or a woman's glance; but he does not ask--(and it is the sum of +questions)--how the warring nations had come to found their +destinies on the course of the sneer, or the smile. If they have so +based them, it is time for them to learn, through suffering, how to +build on other foundations--for great, accumulated, and most +righteous cause, their foot slides in due time; and against the +torpor, or the turpitude, of their myriads, there is loosed the +haste of the devouring sword and the thirsty arrow. But if they have +set their fortunes on other than such ground, then the war must be +owing to some deep conviction or passion in their own hearts,--a +conviction which, in resistless flow, or reckless ebb, or consistent +stay, is the ultimate arbiter of battle, disgrace, or conquest. + +Wherever there is war, there _must_ be injustice on one side or the +other, or on both. There have been wars which were little more than +trials of strength between friendly nations, and in which the +injustice was not to each other, but to the God who gave them life. +But in a malignant war of these present ages there is injustice of +ignobler kind, at once to God and man, which _must_ be stemmed for +both their sakes. It may, indeed, be so involved with national +prejudices, or ignorances, that neither of the contending nations +can conceive it as attaching to their cause; nay, the constitution +of their governments, and the clumsy crookedness of their political +dealings with each other, may be such as to prevent either of them +from knowing the actual cause for which they have gone to war. +Assuredly this is, in a great degree, the state of things with _us_; +for I noticed that there never came news by telegraph of the +explosion of a powder-barrel, or of the loss of thirty men by a +sortie, but the Parliament lost confidence immediately in the +justice of the war; reopened the question whether we ever should +have engaged in it, and remained in a doubtful and repentant state +of mind until one of the enemy's powder-barrels blew up also; upon +which they were immediately satisfied again that the war was a wise +and necessary one. How far, therefore, the calamity may have been +brought upon us by men whose political principles shoot annually +like the leaves, and change color at every autumn frost:--how loudly +the blood that has been poured out round the walls of that city, up +to the horse-bridles, may now be crying from the ground against men +who did not know, when they first bade shed it, exactly what war +was, or what blood was, or what life was, or truth, or what anything +else was upon the earth; and whose tone of opinions touching the +destinies of mankind depended entirely upon whether they were +sitting on the right or left side of the House of Commons;--this, I +repeat, I know not, nor (in all solemnity I say it) do I care to +know. For if it be so, and the English nation could at the present +period of its history be betrayed into a war such as this by the +slipping of a wrong word into a protocol, or bewitched into +unexpected battle under the budding hallucinations of its sapling +senators, truly it is time for us to bear the penalty of our +baseness, and learn, as the sleepless steel glares close upon us, +how to choose our governors more wisely, and our ways more warily. +For that which brings swift punishment in war, must have brought +slow ruin in peace; and those who have now laid down their lives for +England, have doubly saved her; they have humbled at once her +enemies and herself; and have done less for her, in the conquest +they achieve, than in the sorrow that they claim. + +But it is not altogether thus: we have not been cast into this war +by mere political misapprehensions, or popular ignorances. It is +quite possible that neither we nor our rulers may clearly understand +the nature of the conflict; and that we may be dealing blows in the +dark, confusedly, and as a soldier suddenly awakened from slumber by +an unknown adversary. But I believe the struggle was inevitable, and +that the sooner it came, the more easily it was to be met, and the +more nobly concluded. France and England are both of them, from +shore to shore, in a state of intense progression, change, and +experimental life. They are each of them beginning to examine, more +distinctly than ever nations did yet in the history of the world, +the dangerous question respecting the rights of governed, and the +responsibilities of governing, bodies; not, as heretofore; foaming +over them in red frenzy, with intervals of fetter and straw crown, +but in health, quietness, and daylight, with the help of a good +Queen and a great Emperor; and to determine them in a way which, by +just so much as it is more effective and rational, is likely to +produce more permanent results than ever before on the policy of +neighboring States, and to force, gradually, the discussion of +similar questions into their places of silence. To force it,--for +true liberty, like true religion, is always aggressive or +persecuted; but the attack is _generally_ made upon it by the nation +which is to be crushed,--by Persian on Athenian, Tuscan on Roman, +Austrian on Swiss; or, as now, by Russia upon us and our allies: her +attack appointed, it seems to me, for confirmation of all our +greatness, trial of our strength, purging and punishment of our +futilities, and establishment for ever, in our hands, of the +leadership in the political progress of the world. + +Whether this its providential purpose be accomplished, must depend +on its enabling France and England to love one another, and teaching +these, the two noblest foes that ever stood breast to breast among +the nations, first to decipher the law of international charities; +first to discern that races, like individuals, can only reach their +true strength, dignity, or joy, in seeking each the welfare, and +exulting each in the glory, of the other. It is strange how far we +still seem from fully perceiving this. We know that two men, cast on +a desert island, could not thrive in dispeace; we can understand +that four, or twelve, might still find their account in unity; but +that a multitude should thrive otherwise than by the contentions of +its classes, or _two_ multitudes hold themselves in anywise bound by +brotherly law to serve, support, rebuke, rejoice in one another, +this seems still as far beyond our conception, as the clearest of +commandments, "Let no man seek his own, but every man another's +wealth," is beyond our habitual practice. Yet, if once we comprehend +that precept in its breadth, and feel that what we now call jealousy +for our country's honor, is, so far as it tends to other countries' +_dis_honor, merely one of the worst, because most complacent and +self-gratulatory, forms of irreligion,--a newly breathed strength +will, with the newly interpreted patriotism, animate and sanctify +the efforts of men. Learning, unchecked by envy, will be accepted +more frankly, throned more firmly, guided more swiftly; charity, +unchilled by fear, will dispose the laws of each State without +reluctance to advantage its neighbor by justice to itself; and +admiration, unwarped by prejudice, possess itself continually of new +treasure in the arts and the thoughts of the stranger. + +If France and England fail of this, if again petty jealousies or +selfish interests prevail to unknit their hands from the armored +grasp, then, indeed, their faithful children will have fallen in +vain; there will be a sound as of renewed lamentation along those +Euxine waves, and a shaking among the bones that bleach by the +mounds of Sebastopol. But if they fail not of this,--if we, in our +love of our queens and kings, remember how France gave to the cause +of early civilization, first the greatest, then the holiest, of +monarchs;[104] and France, in her love of liberty, remembers how +_we_ first raised the standard of Commonwealth, trusted to the grasp +of one good and strong hand, witnessed for by victory; and so join +in perpetual compact of our different strengths, to contend for +justice, mercy, and truth throughout the world,--who dares say that +one soldier has died in vain? The scarlet of the blood that has +sealed this covenant will be poured along the clouds of a new +aurora, glorious in that Eastern heaven; for every sob of wreck-fed +breaker round those Pontic precipices, the floods shall clap their +hands between the guarded mounts of the Prince-Angel; and the +spirits of those lost multitudes, crowned with the olive and rose +among the laurel, shall haunt, satisfied, the willowy brooks and +peaceful vales of England, and glide, triumphant, by the poplar +groves and sunned coteaux of Seine. + + [97] The education here spoken of is, of course, that bearing on + the main work of life. In other respects, Turner's education + was more neglected than Scott's, and that not beneficently. + See the close of the third of my Edinburgh Lectures. + + [98] The picture is in the Uffizii of Florence. + + [99] This etching is prepared for receiving mezzotint in the next + volume; it is therefore much heavier in line, especially in + the water, than I should have made it, if intended to be + complete as it is. + + [100] Compare Vol. I. Part II. Sec. I. Chap. VII. I repeat here + some things that were then said; but it is necessary now to + review them in connection with Turner's education, as well + as for the sake of enforcing them by illustration. + + [101] Now in the old library of Venice. + + [102] My old friend Blackwood complains bitterly, in his last + number, of my having given this illustration at one of my + late lectures, saying, that I "have a disagreeable knack of + finding out the joints in my opponent's armor," and that "I + never fight for love." I never do. I fight for truth, + earnestly, and in no wise for jest; and against all lies, + earnestly, and in no wise for love. They complain that "a + noble adversary is not in Mr. Ruskin's way." No; a noble + adversary never was, never will be. With all that is noble + I have been, and shall be, in perpetual peace, with all that + is ignoble and false everlastingly at war. And as for these + Scotch _bourgeois gentilshommes_ with their "Tu n'as pas la + patience que je pare," let them look to their fence. But + truly, if they will tell me where Claude's strong points + are, I will strike there, and be thankful. + + [103] His first drawing master was, I believe, that Mr. Lowe, + whose daughters, now aged and poor, have, it seems to me, + some claim on public regard, being connected distantly with + the memory of Johnson, and closely with that of Turner. + + [104] Charlemagne and St. Louis. + + + + +APPENDIX. + +I. CLAUDE'S TREE-DRAWING. + + +The reader may not improbably hear it said, by persons who are +incapable of maintaining an honest argument, and therefore incapable +of understanding or believing the honesty of an adversary, that I +have caricatured, or unfairly chosen, the examples I give of the +masters I depreciate. It is evident, in the first place, that I +could not, if I were even cunningly disposed, adopt a worse policy +than in so doing; for the discovery of caricature or falsity in my +representations, would not only invalidate the immediate statement, +but the whole book; and invalidate it in the most fatal way, by +showing that all I had ever said about "truth" was hypocrisy, and +that in my own affairs I expected to prevail by help of lies. +Nevertheless it necessarily happens, that in endeavors to facsimile +any work whatsoever, bad or good, some changes are induced from the +exact aspect of the original. These changes are, of course, +sometimes harmful, sometimes advantageous; the bad thing generally +gains; the good thing _always_ loses: so that I am continually +tormented by finding, in my plates of contrasts, the virtue and vice +I exactly wanted to talk about, eliminated from _both_ examples. In +some cases, however, the bad thing will lose also, and then I must +either cancel the plate, or increase the cost of the work by +preparing another (at a similar risk), or run the chance of +incurring the charge of dishonest representation. I desire, +therefore, very earnestly, and once for all, to have it understood +that whatever I say in the text, bearing on questions of comparison, +refers _always_ to the _original_ works; and that, if the reader has +it in his power, I would far rather he should look at those works +than at my plates of them; I only give the plates for his immediate +help and convenience: and I mention this, with respect to my plate +of Claude's ramification, because, if I have such a thing as a +prejudice at all, (and, although I do not myself think I have, +people certainly say so,) it is against Claude; and I might, +therefore, be sooner suspected of some malice in this plate than in +others. But I simply gave the original engravings from the Liber +Veritatis to Mr. Le Keux, earnestly requesting that the portions +selected might be faithfully copied; and I think he is much to be +thanked for so carefully and successfully accomplishing the task. +The figures are from the following plates:-- + + No. 1. Part of the central tree in No. 134. of the Liber Veritatis. + 2. From the largest tree " 158. + 3. Bushes at root of tree " 134. + 4. Tree on the left " 183. + 5. Tree on the left " 95. + 6. Tree on the left " 72. + 7. Principal tree " 92. + 8. Tree on the right " 32. + +If, in fact, any change be effected in the examples in this plate, it +is for the better; for, thus detached, they all look like small +boughs, in which the faults are of little consequence; in the original +works they are seen to be intended for large trunks of trees, and the +errors are therefore pronounced on a much larger scale. + +The plate of mediæval rocks (10.) has been executed with much less +attention in transcript, because the points there to be illustrated +were quite indisputable, and the instances were needed merely to show +the _kind_ of _thing_ spoken of, not the skill of particular masters. +The example from Leonardo was, however, somewhat carefully treated. +Mr. Cuff copied it accurately from the only engraving of the picture +which I believe exists, and with which, therefore, I suppose the world +is generally content. That engraving, however, in no respect seems to +me to give the look of the light behind Leonardo's rocks; so I +afterwards darkened the rocks, and put some light into the sky and +lily; and the effect is certainly more like that of the picture than +it is in the same portion of the old engraving. + +Of the other masters represented in the plates of this volume, the +noblest, Tintoret, has assuredly suffered the most (Plate 17.); +first, in my too hasty drawing from the original, picture; and, +secondly, through some accidental errors of outline which occurred +in the reduction to the size of the page; lastly, and chiefly, in +the withdrawal of the heads of the four figures underneath, in the +shadow, on which the composition entirely depends. This last evil is +unavoidable. It is quite impossible to make _extracts_ from the +great masters without partly spoiling every separated feature; the +very essence of a noble composition being, that none should bear +separation from the rest. + +The plate from Raphael (11) is, I think, on the whole, satisfactory. +It cost me much pains, as I had to facsimile the irregular form of +every leaf; each being, in the original picture, executed with a +somewhat wayward pencil-stroke of vivid brown on the clear sky. + +Of the other plates it would be tedious to speak in detail. +Generally, it will be found that I have taken most pains to do +justice to the masters of whom I have to speak depreciatingly; and +that, if there be calumny at all, it is always of Turner, rather +than of Claude. + +The reader might, however, perhaps suspect me of ill-will towards +Constable, owing to my continually introducing him for depreciatory +comparison. So far from this being the case, I had, as will be seen +in various passages of the first volume, considerable respect for +the feeling with which he worked; but I was compelled to do harsh +justice upon him now, because Mr. Leslie, in his unadvised and +unfortunate _réchauffé_ of the fallacious art-maxims of the last +century, has suffered his personal regard for Constable so far to +prevail over his judgment as to bring him forward as a great artist, +comparable in some kind with Turner. As Constable's reputation was, +even before this, most mischievous, in giving countenance to the +blotting and blundering of Modernism, I saw myself obliged, though +unwillingly, to carry the suggested comparison thoroughly out. + + +II. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY. + +The reader must have noticed that I never speak of German art, or +German philosophy, but in depreciation. This, however, is not +because I cannot feel, or would not acknowledge, the value and +power, within certain limits, of both; but because I also feel that +the immediate tendency of the English mind is to rate them too +highly; and, therefore, it becomes a necessary task, at present, to +mark what evil and weakness there are in them, rather than what +good. I also am brought continually into collision with certain +extravagances of the German mind, by my own steady pursuit of +Naturalism as opposed to Idealism; and, therefore, I become +unfortunately cognizant of the evil, rather than of the good; which +evil, so far as I feel it, I am bound to declare. And it is not to +the point to protest, as the Chevalier Bunsen and other German +writers have done, against the expression of opinions respecting +their philosophy by persons who have not profoundly or carefully +studied it; for the very resolution to study any system of +metaphysics profoundly, must be based, in any prudent man's mind, on +some preconceived opinion of its worthiness to be studied; which +opinion of German metaphysics the naturalistic English cannot be led +to form. This is not to be murmured against,--it is in the simple +necessity of things. Men who have other business on their hands must +be content to choose what philosophy they have occasion for, by the +sample; and when, glancing into the second volume of "Hippolytus," +we find the Chevalier Bunsen himself talking of a "finite +realization of the infinite" (a phrase considerably less rational +than "a black realization of white"), and of a triad composed of +God, Man, and Humanity[105] (which is a parallel thing to talking of +a triad composed of man, dog, and canineness), knowing those +expressions to be pure, definite, and highly finished nonsense, we +do not in general trouble ourselves to look any farther. Some one +will perhaps answer that if one always judged thus by the +sample,--as, for instance, if one judged of Turner's pictures by the +head of a figure cut out of one of them,--very precious things might +often be despised. Not, I think, often. If any one went to Turner, +expecting to learn figure-drawing from him, the sample of his +figure-drawing would accurately and justly inform him that he had +come to the wrong master. But if he came to be taught landscape, the +smallest fragment of Turner's work would justly exemplify his power. +It may sometimes unluckily happen that, in such short trial, we +strike upon an accidentally failing part of the thing to be tried, +and then we may be unjust; but there is, nevertheless, in multitudes +of cases, no other way of judging or acting; and the necessity of +occasionally being unjust is a law of life,--like that of sometimes +stumbling, or being sick. It will not do to walk at snail's pace all +our lives for fear of stumbling, nor to spend years in the +investigation of everything which, by specimen, we must condemn. He +who seizes all that he plainly discerns to be valuable, and never is +unjust but when he honestly cannot help it, will soon be enviable in +his possessions, and venerable in his equity. + +Nor can I think that the risk of loss is great in the matter under +discussion. I have often been told that any one who will read Kant, +Strauss, and the rest of the German metaphysicians and divines, +resolutely through, and give his whole strength to the study of them, +will, after ten or twelve years' labor, discover that there is very +little harm in them; and this I can well believe; but I believe also +that the ten or twelve years may be better spent; and that any man who +honestly wants philosophy not for show, but for _use_, and knowing the +Proverbs of Solomon, can, by way of Commentary, afford to buy, in +convenient editions, Plato, Bacon, Wordsworth, Carlyle, and Helps, +will find that he has got as much as will be sufficient for him and +his household during life, and of as good quality as need be. + +It is also often declared necessary to study the German +controversialists, because the grounds of religion "must be inquired +into." I am sorry to hear they have not been inquired into yet; but +if it be so, there are two ways of pursuing that inquiry: one for +scholarly men, who have leisure on their hands, by reading all that +they have time to read, for and against, and arming themselves at +all points for controversy with all persons; the other,--a shorter +and simpler way,--for busy and practical men, who want merely to +find out how to live and die. Now for the learned and leisurely men +I am not writing; they know what and how to read better than I can +tell them. For simple and busy men, concerned much with art, which +is eminently a practical matter, and fatigues the eyes, so as to +render much reading inexpedient, I _am_ writing; and such men I do, +to the utmost of my power, dissuade from meddling with German books; +not because I fear inquiry into the grounds of religion, but because +the only inquiry which is _possible_ to them must be conducted in a +totally different way. They have been brought up as Christians, and +doubt if they should remain Christians. They cannot ascertain, by +investigation, if the Bible be true; but _if it be_, and Christ ever +existed, and was God, then, certainly, the Sermon which He has +permitted for 1800 years to stand recorded as first of all His own +teaching in the New Testament, must be true. Let them take that +Sermon and give it fair practical trial: act out every verse of it, +with no quibbling or explaining away, except the reduction of such +_evidently_ metaphorical expressions as "cut off thy foot," "pluck +the beam out of thine eye," to their effectively practical sense. +Let them act out, or obey, every verse literally for a whole year, +so far as they can,--a year being little enough time to give to an +inquiry into religion; and if, at the end of the year, they are not +satisfied, and still need to prosecute the inquiry, let them try the +German system if they choose. + + +III. PLAGIARISM. + +Some time after I had written the concluding chapter of this work, +the interesting and powerful poems of Emerson were brought under my +notice by one of the members of my class at the Working Men's +College. There is much in some of these poems so like parts of the +chapter in question, even in turn of expression, that though I do +not usually care to justify myself from the charge of plagiarism, I +felt that a few words were necessary in this instance. + +I do not, as aforesaid, justify myself, in general, because I know +there is internal evidence in my work of its originality, if people +care to examine it; and if they do not, or have not skill enough to +know genuine from borrowed work, my simple assertion would not +convince them, especially as the charge of plagiarism is hardly ever +made but by plagiarists, and persons of the unhappy class who do not +believe in honesty but on evidence. Nevertheless, as my work is so +much out of doors, and among pictures, that I have time to read few +modern books, and am therefore in more danger than most people of +repeating, as if it were new, what others have said, it may be well +to note, once for all, that any such apparent plagiarism results in +fact from my writings being more original than I wish them to be, +from my having worked out my whole subject in unavoidable, but to +myself hurtful, ignorance of the labors of others. On the other +hand, I should be very sorry if I had _not_ been continually taught +and influenced by the writers whom I love; and am quite unable to +say to what extent my thoughts have been guided by Wordsworth, +Carlyle, and Helps; to whom (with Dante and George Herbert, in olden +time) I owe more than to any other writers;--most of all, perhaps, +to Carlyle, whom I read so constantly, that, without wilfully +setting myself to imitate him, I find myself perpetually falling +into his modes of expression, and saying many things in a "quite +other," and, I hope, stronger, way, than I should have adopted some +years ago; as also there are things which I hope are said more +clearly and simply than before, owing to the influence upon me of +the beautiful _quiet_ English of Helps. It would be both foolish and +wrong to struggle to cast off influences of this kind; for they +consist mainly in a real and healthy help;--the master, in writing +as in painting, showing certain methods of language which it would +be ridiculous, and even affected, not to employ, when once shown; +just as it would have been ridiculous in Bonifacio to refuse to +employ Titian's way of laying on color, if he felt it the best, +because he had not himself discovered it. There is all the +difference in the world between this receiving of guidance, or +allowing of influence, and wilful imitation, much more, plagiarism; +nay, the guidance may even innocently reach into local tones of +thought, and must do so to some extent; so that I find Carlyle's +stronger thinking coloring mine continually; and should be very +sorry if I did not; otherwise I should have read him to little +purpose. But what I have of my own is still all there, and, I +believe, better brought out, by far, than it would have been +otherwise. Thus, if we glance over the wit and satire of the popular +writers of the day, we shall find that the _manner_ of it, so far as +it is distinctive, is always owing to Dickens; and that out of his +first exquisite ironies branched innumerable other forms of wit, +varying with the disposition of the writers; original in the matter +and substance of them, yet never to have been expressed as they now +are, but for Dickens. + +Many people will suppose that for several ideas in the chapters on +Landscape I was indebted to Humboldt's Kosmos, and Howitt's Rural +Scenery. I am indebted to Mr. Howitt's book for much pleasure, but +for no suggestion, as it was not put into my hands till the chapters +in question were in type. I wish it had been; as I should have been +glad to have taken farther note on the landscape of Theocritus, on +which Mr. Howitt dwells with just delight. Other parts of the book +will be found very suggestive and helpful to the reader who cares to +pursue the subject. Of Humboldt's Kosmos I heard much talk when it +first came out, and looked through it cursorily; but thinking it +contained no material (connected with my subject)[106] which I had +not already possessed myself of, I have never since referred to the +work. I may be mistaken in my estimate of it, but certainly owe it +absolutely nothing. + +It is also often said that I borrow from Pugin. I glanced at Pugin's +Contrasts once, in the Oxford architectural reading-room, during an +idle forenoon. His "Remarks on Articles in the Rambler" were brought +under my notice by some of the reviews. I never read a word of any +other of his works, not feeling, from the style of his architecture, +the smallest interest in his opinions. + +I have so often spoken, in the preceding pages, of Holman Hunt's +picture of the Light of the World, that I may as well, in this +place, glance at the envious charge against it, of being plagiarized +from a German print. + +It is indeed true that there was a painting of the subject before; +and there were, of course, no paintings of the Nativity before +Raphael's time, nor of the Last Supper before Leonardo's, else those +masters could have laid no claim to originality. But what was still +more singular (the verse to be illustrated being, "Behold, I stand +at the door and knock"), the principal figure in the antecedent +picture was knocking at a door, knocked with its right hand, and had +its face turned to the spectator! Nay, it was even robed in a long +robe, down to its feet. All these circumstances were the same in Mr. +Hunt's picture; and as the chances evidently were a hundred to one +that if he had not been helped to the ideas by the German artist, he +would have represented the figure as _not_ knocking at any door, as +turning its back to the spectator, and as dressed in a short robe, +the plagiarism was considered as demonstrated. Of course no defence +is possible in such a case. All I can say is, that I shall be +sincerely grateful to any unconscientious persons who will adapt a +few more German prints in the same manner. + +Finally, touching plagiarism in general, it is to be remembered that +all men who have sense and feeling are being continually helped: +they are taught by every person whom they meet, and enriched by +everything that falls in their way. The greatest is he who has been +oftenest aided; and, if the attainments of all human minds could be +traced to their real sources, it would be found that the world had +been laid most under contribution by the men of most original power, +and that every day of their existence deepened their debt to their +race, while it enlarged their gifts to it. The labor devoted to +trace the origin of any thought, or any invention, will usually +issue in the blank conclusion that there is nothing new under the +sun; yet nothing that is truly great can ever be altogether +borrowed; and he is commonly the wisest, and is always the happiest, +who receives simply, and without envious question, whatever good is +offered him, with thanks to its immediate giver. + + [105] I am truly sorry to have introduced such words in an + apparently irreverent way. But it would be a guilty + reverence which prevented us from exposing fallacy, + precisely where fallacy was most dangerous, and shrank from + unveiling an error, just because that error existed in + parlance respecting the most solemn subjects to which it + could possibly be attached. + + [106] See the Fourth Volume. + + * * * * * * * * + + + + + Transcriber's Notes (continued from top of text): + + + Typographical changes to the original work are as follows: + + Minor punctuation changes have been made without annotation. + + pg 242 paus/pause: Matilda pause where ... + pg 277 charater/character: the character of this ... + pg 330 cloads/clouds: clouds of rage ... + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Modern Painters Vol. III., by John Ruskin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS VOL. 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