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diff --git a/old/44329-8.txt b/old/44329-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f4242ae..0000000 --- a/old/44329-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18055 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Modern Painters, Volume V (of 5), 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, Volume V (of 5) - -Author: John Ruskin - -Release Date: December 1, 2013 [EBook #44329] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS, VOLUME V (OF 5) *** - - - - -Produced by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - Library Edition - - THE COMPLETE WORKS - - OF - - JOHN RUSKIN - - - - - MODERN PAINTERS - - VOLUME IV--OF MOUNTAIN BEAUTY - - / OF LEAF BEAUTY - VOLUME V < OF CLOUD BEAUTY - \ OF IDEAS OF RELATION - - - - - NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION - NEW YORK CHICAGO - - - - - MODERN PAINTERS. - - VOLUME V., - - COMPLETING THE WORK AND CONTAINING - - - PARTS - - VI. OF LEAF BEAUTY.--VII. OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - VIII. OF IDEAS OF RELATION. - - 1. OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - IX. OF IDEAS OF RELATION. - - 2. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The disproportion, between the length of time occupied in the -preparation of this volume, and the slightness of apparent result, is so -vexatious to me, and must seem so strange to the reader, that he will -perhaps bear with my stating some of the matters which have employed or -interrupted me between 1855 and 1860. I needed rest after finishing the -fourth volume, and did little in the following summer. The winter of -1856 was spent in writing the "Elements of Drawing," for which I thought -there was immediate need; and in examining with more attention than they -deserved some of the modern theories of political economy, to which -there was necessarily reference in my addresses at Manchester. The -Manchester Exhibition then gave me some work, chiefly in its magnificent -Reynolds' constellation; and thence I went on into Scotland, to look at -Dumblane and Jedburgh, and some other favorite sites of Turner's; which -I had not all seen, when I received notice from Mr. Wornum that he had -obtained for me permission, from the Trustees of the National Gallery, -to arrange, as I thought best, the Turner drawings belonging to the -nation; on which I returned to London immediately. - -In seven tin boxes in the lower room of the National Gallery I found -upwards of nineteen thousand pieces of paper, drawn upon by Turner in -one way or another. Many on both sides; some with four, five, or six -subjects on each side (the pencil point digging spiritedly through from -the foregrounds of the front into the tender pieces of sky on the back); -some in chalk, which the touch of the finger would sweep away;[1] others -in ink, rotted into holes; others (some splendid colored drawings among -them) long eaten away by damp and mildew, and falling into dust at the -edges, in capes and bays of fragile decay; others worm-eaten, some -mouse-eaten, many torn half-way through; numbers doubled (quadrupled, I -should say) up into four, being Turner's favorite mode of packing for -travelling; nearly all rudely flattened out from the bundles in which -Turner had finally rolled them up and squeezed them into his drawers in -Queen Anne Street. Dust of thirty years' accumulation, black, dense, and -sooty, lay in the rents of the crushed and crumpled edges of these -flattened bundles, looking like a jagged black frame, and producing -altogether unexpected effects in brilliant portions of skies, whence an -accidental or experimental finger mark of the first bundle-unfolder had -swept it away. - -About half, or rather more, of the entire number consisted of pencil -sketches, in flat oblong pocket-books, dropping to pieces at the back, -tearing laterally whenever opened, and every drawing rubbing itself into -the one opposite. These first I paged with my own hand; then unbound; -and laid every leaf separately in a clean sheet of perfectly smooth -writing paper, so that it might receive no farther injury. Then, -enclosing the contents and boards of each book (usually ninety-two -leaves, more or less drawn on both sides, with two sketches on the -boards at the beginning and end) in a separate sealed packet, I returned -it to its tin box. The loose sketches needed more trouble. The dust had -first to be got off them (from the chalk ones it could only be blown -off); then they had to be variously flattened; the torn ones to be laid -down, the loveliest guarded, so as to prevent all future friction; and -four hundred of the most characteristic framed and glazed, and cabinets -constructed for them which would admit of their free use by the public. -With two assistants, I was at work all the autumn and winter of 1857, -every day, all day long, and often far into the night. - -The manual labor would not have hurt me; but the excitement involved in -seeing unfolded the whole career of Turner's mind during his life, -joined with much sorrow at the state in which nearly all his most -precious work had been left, and with great anxiety, and heavy sense of -responsibility besides, were very trying; and I have never in my life -felt so much exhausted as when I locked the last box, and gave the keys -to Mr. Wornum, in May, 1858. Among the later colored sketches, there was -one magnificent series, which appeared to be of some towns along the -course of the Rhine on the north of Switzerland. Knowing that these -towns were peculiarly liable to be injured by modern railroad works, I -thought I might rest myself by hunting down these Turner subjects, and -sketching what I could of them, in order to illustrate his compositions. - -As I expected, the subjects in question were all on, or near, that east -and west reach of the Rhine between Constance and Basle. Most of them -are of Rheinfelden, Seckingen, Lauffenbourg, Schaffhausen, and the Swiss -Baden. - -Having made what notes were possible to me of these subjects in the -summer (one or two are used in this volume), I was crossing Lombardy in -order to examine some points of the shepherd character in the Vaudois -valleys, thinking to get my book finished next spring; when I -unexpectedly found some good Paul Veroneses at Turin. There were several -questions respecting the real motives of Venetian work that still -troubled me not a little, and which I had intended to work out in the -Louvre; but seeing that Turin was a good place wherein to keep out of -people's way, I settled there instead, and began with Veronese's Queen -of Sheba;--when, with much consternation, but more delight, I found that -I had never got to the roots of the moral power of the Venetians, and -that they needed still another and a very stern course of study. There -was nothing for it but to give up the book for that year. The winter was -spent mainly in trying to get at the mind of Titian; not a light -winter's task; of which the issue, being in many ways very unexpected to -me (the reader will find it partly told towards the close of this -volume), necessitated my going in the spring to Berlin, to see Titian's -portrait of Lavinia there, and to Dresden to see the Tribute Money, the -elder Lavinia, and girl in white, with the flag fan. Another portrait, -at Dresden, of a lady in a dress of rose and gold, by me unheard of -before, and one of an admiral, at Munich, had like to have kept me in -Germany all summer. - -Getting home at last, and having put myself to arrange materials of -which it was not easy, after so much interruption, to recover the -command;--which also were now not reducible to a single volume--two -questions occurred in the outset, one in the section on vegetation, -respecting the origin of wood; the other in the section on sea, -respecting curves of waves; to neither of which, from botanist or -mathematicians, any sufficient answer seemed obtainable. - -In other respects also the section on the sea was wholly unsatisfactory -to me: I knew little of ships, nothing of blue open water. Turner's -pathetic interest in the sea, and his inexhaustible knowledge of -shipping, deserved more complete and accurate illustration than was at -all possible to me; and the mathematical difficulty lay at the beginning -of all demonstration of facts. I determined to do this piece of work -well, or not at all, and threw the proposed section out of this volume. -If I ever am able to do what I want with it (and this is barely -probable), it will be a separate book; which, on other accounts, I do -not regret, since many persons might be interested in studies of the -shipping of the old Nelson times, and of the sea-waves and sailor -character of all times, who would not care to encumber themselves with -five volumes of a work on Art. - -The vegetation question had, however, at all cost, to be made out as -best might be; and again lost me much time. Many of the results of this -inquiry, also, can only be given, if ever, in a detached form. - -During these various discouragements, the preparation of the Plates -could not go on prosperously. Drawing is difficult enough, undertaken in -quietness: it is impossible to bring it to any point of fine rightness -with half-applied energy. - -Many experiments were made in hope of expressing Turner's peculiar -execution and touch by facsimile. They cost time, and strength, and, for -the present, have failed; many elaborate drawings, made during the -winter of 1858, having been at last thrown aside. Some good may -afterwards come of these; but certainly not by reduction to the size of -the page of this book, for which, even of smaller subjects, I have not -prepared the most interesting, for I do not wish the possession of any -effective and valuable engravings from Turner to be contingent on the -purchasing a book of mine.[2] - -Feebly and faultfully, therefore, yet as well as I can do it under these -discouragements, the book is at last done; respecting the general course -of which, it will be kind and well if the reader will note these few -points that follow. - -The first volume was the expansion of a reply to a magazine article; and -was not begun because I then thought myself qualified to write a -systematic treatise on Art; but because I at least knew, and knew it to -be demonstrable, that Turner was right and true, and that his critics -were wrong, false, and base. At that time I had seen much of nature, and -had been several times in Italy, wintering once in Rome; but had chiefly -delighted in northern art, beginning, when a mere boy, with Rubens and -Rembrandt. It was long before I got quit of a boy's veneration for -Rubens' physical art-power; and the reader will, perhaps, on this ground -forgive the strong expressions of admiration for Rubens, which, to my -great regret, occur in the first volume. - -Finding myself, however, engaged seriously in the essay, I went, before -writing the second volume, to study in Italy; where the strong reaction -from the influence of Rubens threw me at first too far under that of -Angelico and Raphael, and, which was the worst harm that came of that -Rubens influence, blinded me long to the deepest qualities of Venetian -art; which, the reader may see by expressions occurring not only in the -second, but even in the third and fourth volumes, I thought, however -powerful, yet partly luxurious and sensual, until I was led into the -final inquiries above related. - -These oscillations of temper, and progressions of discovery, extending -over a period of seventeen years, ought not to diminish the reader's -confidence in the book. Let him be assured of this, that unless -important changes are occurring in his opinions continually, all his -life long, not one of those opinions can be on any questionable subject -true. All true opinions are living, and show their life by being capable -of nourishment; therefore of change. But their change is that of a -tree--not of a cloud. - -In the main aim and principle of the book, there is no variation, from -its first syllable to its last. It declares the perfectness and eternal -beauty of the work of God; and tests all work of man by concurrence -with, or subjection to that. And it differs from most books, and has a -chance of being in some respects better for the difference, in that it -has not been written either for fame, or for money, or for -conscience-sake, but of necessity. - -It has not been written for praise. Had I wished to gain present -reputation, by a little flattery adroitly used in some places, a sharp -word or two withheld in others, and the substitution of verbiage -generally for investigation, I could have made the circulation of these -volumes tenfold what it has been in modern society. Had I wished for -future fame, I should have written one volume, not five. Also, it has -not been written for money. In this wealth-producing country, seventeen -years' labor could hardly have been invested with less chance of -equivalent return. - -Also, it has not been written for conscience-sake. I had no definite -hope in writing it; still less any sense of its being required of me as -a duty. It seems to me, and seemed always, probable, that I might have -done much more good in some other way. But it has been written of -necessity. I saw an injustice done, and tried to remedy it. I heard -falsehood taught, and was compelled to deny it. Nothing else was -possible to me. I knew not how little or how much might come of the -business, or whether I was fit for it; but here was the lie full set in -front of me, and there was no way round it, but only over it. So that, -as the work changed like a tree, it was also rooted like a tree--not -where it would, but where need was; on which, if any fruit grow such as -you can like, you are welcome to gather it without thanks; and so far as -it is poor or bitter, it will be your justice to refuse it without -reviling. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The best book of studies for his great shipwrecks contained about - a quarter of a pound of chalk débris, black and white, broken off the - crayons with which Turner had drawn furiously on both sides of the - leaves; every leaf, with peculiar foresight and consideration of - difficulties to be met by future mounters, containing half of one - subject on the front of it, and half of another on the back. - - [2] To Mr. Armytage, Mr. Cuff, and Mr. Cousen, I have to express my - sincere thanks for the patience, and my sincere admiration of the - skill, with which they have helped me. Their patience, especially, - has been put to severe trial by the rewardless toil required to - produce facsimiles of drawings in which the slightness of subject - could never attract any due notice to the excellence of workmanship. - - Aid, just as disinterested, and deserving of as earnest - acknowledgment, has been given me by Miss Byfield, in her faultless - facsimiles of my careless sketches; by Miss O. Hill, who prepared the - copies which I required from portions of the pictures of the old - masters; and by Mr. Robin Allen, in accurate line studies from - nature, of which, though only one is engraved in this volume, many - others have been most serviceable, both to it and to me. - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS. - - - PART VI. - - ON LEAF BEAUTY. - - PAGE - PREFACE v - - CHAPTER I.--The Earth-Veil 1 - " II.--The Leaf Orders 6 - " III.--The Bud 10 - " IV.--The Leaf 21 - " V.--Leaf Aspects 34 - " VI.--The Branch 39 - " VII.--The Stem 49 - " VIII.--The Leaf Monuments 63 - " IX.--The Leaf Shadows 77 - " X.--Leaves Motionless 88 - - - PART VII. - - OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - CHAPTER I.--The Cloud Balancings 101 - " II.--The Cloud-Flocks 108 - " III.--The Cloud-Chariots 122 - " IV.--The Angel of the Sea 133 - - - PART VIII. - - OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--I. OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - CHAPTER I.--The Law of Help 153 - " II.--The Task of the Least 164 - " III.--The Rule of the Greatest 175 - " IV.--The Law of Perfectness 180 - - - PART IX. - - OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - CHAPTER I.--The Dark Mirror 193 - " II.--The Lance of Pallas 202 - " III.--The Wings of the Lion 214 - " IV.--Durer and Salvator 230 - " V.--Claude and Poussin 241 - " VI.--Rubens and Cuyp 249 - " VII.--Of Vulgarity 261 - " VIII.--Wouvermans and Angelico 277 - " IX.--The Two Boyhoods 286 - " X.--The Nereid's Guard 298 - " XI.--The Hesperid Ćglé 314 - " XII.--Peace 339 - - - LOCAL INDEX. - - INDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES. - - TOPICAL INDEX. - - - - -LIST OF PLATES TO VOL. V. - - - Drawn by Engraved by - - Frontispiece, Ancilla Domini _Fra Angelico_ WM. HALL - - Plate Facing page - - 51. The Dryad's Toil _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 12 - 52. Spirals of Thorn _R. Allen_ R. P. CUFF 26 - 53. The Dryad's Crown _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 36 - 54. Dutch Leafage _Cuyp and Hobbima_ J. COUSEN 37 - 55. By the Way-side _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 38 - 56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 61 - 57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese _Durer and Veronese_ R. P. CUFF 65 - 58. Branch Curvature _R. Allen_ R. P. CUFF 69 - 59. The Dryad's Waywardness _J. Ruskin_ R. P. CUFF 71 - 60. The Rending of Leaves _J. Ruskin_ J. COUSEN 94 - 61. Richmond, from the Moors _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 98 - 62. By the Brookside _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 98 - 63. The Cloud Flocks _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 109 - 64. Cloud Perspective (Rectilinear) _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 115 - 65. " " (Curvilinear) _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 116 - 66. Light in the West, Beauvais _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 121 - 67. Clouds _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 118 - 68. Monte Rosa _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 339 - 69. Aiguilles and their Friends _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 125 - 70. The Graić _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 127 - 71. "Venga Medusa" _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 127 - 72. The Locks of Typhon _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 142 - 73. Loire Side _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 165 - 74. The Mill Stream _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 168 - 75. The Castle of Lauffen _J. M. W. Turner_ R. P. CUFF 169 - 76. The Moat of Nuremberg _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 233 - 78. Quivi Trovammo _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 298 - 79. Hesperid Ćglé _Giorgione_ WM. HALL 314 - 80. Rocks at Rest / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \ J. C. ARMYTAGE 319 - \ _W. Turner_ / - 81. Rocks in Unrest / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \ J. C. ARMYTAGE 320 - \ _W. Turner_ / - 82. The Nets in the Rapids _J. M. W. Turner_ J. H. LE KEUX 336 - 83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 337 - 84. Peace _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 338 - - -SEPARATE ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. - - Figure 56, to face page 65 - " 61, " 69 - " 75 to 78, " 97 - " 85, " 118 - " 87, " 127 - " 88 to 90, " 128 - " 98, " 184 - " 100, " 284 - - -[Illustration: Ancilla Domini.] - - - - -MODERN PAINTERS. - -PART VI. - -OF LEAF BEAUTY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE EARTH-VEIL. - - -§ 1. "To dress it and to keep it." - -That, then, was to be our work. Alas! what work have we set ourselves -upon instead! How have we ravaged the garden instead of kept it--feeding -our war-horses with its flowers, and splintering its trees into -spear-shafts! - -"And at the East a flaming sword." - -Is its flame quenchless? and are those gates that keep the way indeed -passable no more? or is it not rather that we no more desire to enter? -For what can we conceive of that first Eden which we might not yet win -back, if we chose? It was a place full of flowers, we say. Well: the -flowers are always striving to grow wherever we suffer them; and the -fairer, the closer. There may indeed have been a Fall of Flowers, as a -Fall of Man; but assuredly creatures such as we are can now fancy -nothing lovelier than roses and lilies, which would grow for us side by -side, leaf overlapping leaf, till the Earth was white and red with them, -if we cared to have it so. And Paradise was full of pleasant shades and -fruitful avenues. Well: what hinders us from covering as much of the -world as we like with pleasant shade and pure blossom, and goodly fruit? -Who forbids its valleys to be covered over with corn, till they laugh -and sing? Who prevents its dark forests, ghostly and uninhabitable, -from being changed into infinite orchards, wreathing the hills with -frail-floretted snow, far away to the half-lighted horizon of April, and -flushing the face of all the autumnal earth with glow of clustered food? -But Paradise was a place of peace, we say, and all the animals were -gentle servants to us. Well: the world would yet be a place of peace if -we were all peacemakers, and gentle service should we have of its -creatures if we gave them gentle mastery. But so long as we make sport -of slaying bird and beast, so long as we choose to contend rather with -our fellows than with our faults, and make battlefield of our meadows -instead of pasture--so long, truly, the Flaming Sword will still turn -every way, and the gates of Eden remain barred close enough, till we -have sheathed the sharper flame of our own passions, and broken down the -closer gates of our own hearts. - -§ 2. I have been led to see and feel this more and more, as I considered -the service which the flowers and trees, which man was at first -appointed to keep, were intended to render to him in return for his -care; and the services they still render to him, as far as he allows -their influence, or fulfils his own task towards them. For what infinite -wonderfulness there is in this vegetation, considered, as indeed it is, -as the means by which the earth becomes the companion of man--his friend -and his teacher! In the conditions which we have traced in its rocks, -there could only be seen preparation for his existence;--the characters -which enable him to live on it safely, and to work with it easily--in -all these it has been inanimate and passive; but vegetation is to it as -an imperfect soul, given to meet the soul of man. The earth in its -depths must remain dead and cold, incapable except of slow crystalline -change; but at its surface, which human beings look upon and deal with, -it ministers to them through a veil of strange intermediate being; which -breathes, but has no voice; moves, but cannot leave its appointed place; -passes through life without consciousness, to death without bitterness; -wears the beauty of youth, without its passion; and declines to the -weakness of age, without its regret. - -§ 3. And in this mystery of intermediate being, entirely subordinate to -us, with which we can deal as we choose, having just the greater power -as we have the less responsibility for our treatment of the unsuffering -creature, most of the pleasures which we need from the external world -are gathered, and most of the lessons we need are written, all kinds of -precious grace and teaching being united in this link between the Earth -and Man: wonderful in universal adaptation to his need, desire, and -discipline; God's daily preparation of the earth for him, with beautiful -means of life. First a carpet to make it soft for him; then, a colored -fantasy of embroidery thereon; then, tall spreading of foliage to shade -him from sunheat, and shade also the fallen rain, that it may not dry -quickly back into the clouds, but stay to nourish the springs among the -moss. Stout wood to bear this leafage: easily to be cut, yet tough and -light, to make houses for him, or instruments (lance-shaft, or -plough-handle, according to his temper); useless it had been, if harder; -useless, if less fibrous; useless, if less elastic. Winter comes, and -the shade of leafage falls away, to let the sun warm the earth; the -strong boughs remain, breaking the strength of winter winds. The seeds -which are to prolong the race, innumerable according to the need, are -made beautiful and palatable, varied into infinitude of appeal to the -fancy of man, or provision for his service: cold juice, or glowing -spice, or balm, or incense, softening oil, preserving resin, medicine of -styptic, febrifuge, or lulling charm: and all these presented in forms -of endless change. Fragility or force, softness and strength, in all -degrees and aspects; unerring uprightness, as of temple pillars, or -undivided wandering of feeble tendrils on the ground; mighty resistances -of rigid arm and limb to the storms of ages, or wavings to and fro with -faintest pulse of summer streamlet. Roots cleaving the strength of rock, -or binding the transience of the sand; crests basking in sunshine of the -desert, or hiding by dripping spring and lightless cave; foliage far -tossing in entangled fields beneath every wave of ocean--clothing with -variegated, everlasting films, the peaks of the trackless mountains, or -ministering at cottage doors to every gentlest passion and simplest joy -of humanity. - -§ 4. Being thus prepared for us in all ways, and made beautiful, and -good for food, and for building, and for instruments of our hands, this -race of plants, deserving boundless affection and admiration from us, -become, in proportion to their obtaining it, a nearly perfect test of -our being in right temper of mind and way of life; so that no one can be -far wrong in either who loves the trees enough, and every one is -assuredly wrong in both, who does not love them, if his life has -brought them in his way. It is clearly possible to do without them, for -the great companionship of the sea and sky are all that sailors need; -and many a noble heart has been taught the best it had to learn between -dark stone walls. Still if human life be cast among trees at all, the -love borne to them is a sure test of its purity. And it is a sorrowful -proof of the mistaken ways of the world that the "country," in the -simple sense of a place of fields and trees, has hitherto been the -source of reproach to its inhabitants, and that the words "countryman," -"rustic," "clown," "paysan," "villager," still signify a rude and -untaught person, as opposed to the words "townsman," and "citizen." We -accept this usage of words, or the evil which it signifies, somewhat too -quietly; as if it were quite necessary and natural that country-people -should be rude, and towns-people gentle. Whereas I believe that the -result of each mode of life may, in some stages of the world's progress, -be the exact reverse; and that another use of words may be forced upon -us by a new aspect of facts, so that we may find ourselves saying: "Such -and such a person is very gentle and kind--he is quite rustic; and such -and such another person is very rude and ill-taught--he is quite -urbane." - -§ 5. At all events, cities have hitherto gained the better part of their -good report through our evil ways of going on in the world -generally;--chiefly and eminently through our bad habit of fighting with -each other. No field, in the middle ages, being safe from devastation, -and every country lane yielding easier passage to the marauders, -peacefully-minded men necessarily congregated in cities, and walled -themselves in, making as few cross-country roads as possible: while the -men who sowed and reaped the harvests of Europe were only the servants -or slaves of the barons. The disdain of all agricultural pursuits by the -nobility, and of all plain facts by the monks, kept educated Europe in a -state of mind over which natural phenomena could have no power; body and -intellect being lost in the practice of war without purpose, and the -meditation of words without meaning. Men learned the dexterity with -sword and syllogism, which they mistook for education, within cloister -and tilt-yard; and looked on all the broad space of the world of God -mainly as a place for exercise of horses, or for growth of food. - -§ 6. There is a beautiful type of this neglect of the perfectness of the -Earth's beauty, by reason of the passions of men, in that picture of -Paul Uccello's of the battle of Sant' Egidio,[1] in which the armies -meet on a country road beside a hedge of wild roses; the tender red -flowers tossing above the helmets, and glowing between the lowered -lances. For in like manner the whole of Nature only shone hitherto for -man between the tossing of helmet-crests; and sometimes I cannot but -think of the trees of the earth as capable of a kind of sorrow, in that -imperfect life of theirs, as they opened their innocent leaves in the -warm spring-time, in vain for men; and all along the dells of England -her beeches cast their dappled shade only where the outlaw drew his bow, -and the king rode his careless chase; and by the sweet French rivers -their long ranks of poplar waved in the twilight, only to show the -flames of burning cities, on the horizon, through the tracery of their -stems: amidst the fair defiles of the Apennines, the twisted -olive-trunks hid the ambushes of treachery; and on their valley meadows, -day by day, the lilies which were white at the dawn were washed with -crimson at sunset. - -§ 7. And indeed I had once purposed, in this work, to show what kind of -evidence existed respecting the possible influence of country life on -men; it seeming to me, then, likely that here and there a reader would -perceive this to be a grave question, more than most which we contend -about, political or social, and might care to follow it out with me -earnestly. - -The day will assuredly come when men will see that it is a grave -question; at which period, also, I doubt not, there will arise persons -able to investigate it. For the present, the movements of the world seem -little likely to be influenced by botanical law; or by any other -considerations respecting trees, than the probable price of timber. I -shall limit myself, therefore, to my own simple woodman's work, and try -to hew this book into its final shape, with the limited and humble aim -that I had in beginning it, namely, to prove how far the idle and -peaceable persons, who have hitherto cared about leaves and clouds, have -rightly seen, or faithfully reported of them. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1]: In our own National Gallery. It is quaint and imperfect, but of - great interest. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE LEAF ORDERS. - - -§ 1. As in our sketch of the structure of mountains it seemed advisable -to adopt a classification of their forms, which, though inconsistent -with absolute scientific precision, was convenient for order of -successive inquiry, and gave useful largeness of view; so, and with yet -stronger reason, in glancing at the first laws of vegetable life, it -will be best to follow an arrangement easily remembered and broadly -true, however incapable of being carried out into entirely consistent -detail. I say, "with yet stronger reason," because more questions are at -issue among botanists than among geologists; a greater number of -classifications have been suggested for plants than for rocks; nor is it -unlikely that those now accepted may be hereafter modified. I take an -arrangement, therefore, involving no theory; serviceable enough for all -working purposes, and sure to remain thus serviceable, in its rough -generality, whatever views may hereafter be developed among botanists. - -§ 2. A child's division of plants is into "trees and flowers." If, -however, we were to take him in spring, after he had gathered his lapful -of daisies, from the lawn into the orchard, and ask him how he would -call those wreaths of richer floret, whose frail petals tossed their -foam of promise between him and the sky, he would at once see the need -of some intermediate name, and call them, perhaps, "tree-flowers." If, -then, we took him to a birch-wood, and showed him that catkins were -flowers, as well as cherry-blossoms, he might, with a little help, reach -so far as to divide all flowers into two classes; one, those that grew -on ground; and another, those that grew on trees. The botanist might -smile at such a division; but an artist would not. To him, as the child, -there is something specific and distinctive in those rough trunks that -carry the higher flowers. To him, it makes the main difference between -one plant and another, whether it is to tell as a light upon the ground, -or as a shade upon the sky. And if, after this, we asked for a little -help from the botanist, and he were to lead us, leaving the blossoms, to -look more carefully at leaves and buds, we should find ourselves able in -some sort to justify, even to him, our childish classification. For our -present purposes, justifiable or not, it is the most suggestive and -convenient. Plants are, indeed, broadly referable to two great classes. -The first we may, perhaps, not inexpediently call TENTED PLANTS. They -live in encampments, on the ground, as lilies; or on surfaces of rock, -or stems of other plants, as lichens and mosses. They live--some for a -year, some for many years, some for myriads of years; but, perishing, -they pass as the tented Arab passes; they leave _no memorials of -themselves_, except the seed, or bulb, or root which is to perpetuate -the race. - -§ 3. The other great class of plants we may perhaps best call BUILDING -PLANTS. These will not live on the ground, but eagerly raise edifices -above it. Each works hard with solemn forethought all its life. -Perishing, it leaves its work in the form which will be most useful to -its successors--its own monument, and their inheritance. These -architectural edifices we call "Trees." - -It may be thought that this nomenclature already involves a theory. But -I care about neither the nomenclature, nor about anything questionable -in my description of the classes. The reader is welcome to give them -what names he likes, and to render what account of them he thinks -fittest. But to us, as artists, or lovers of art, this is the first and -most vital question concerning a plant: "Has it a fixed form or a -changing one? Shall I find it always as I do to-day--this Parnassia -palustris--with one leaf and one flower? or may it some day have -incalculable pomp of leaves and unmeasured treasure of flowers? Will it -rise only to the height of a man--as an ear of corn--and perish like a -man; or will it spread its boughs to the sea and branches to the river, -and enlarge its circle of shade in heaven for a thousand years?" - -§ 4. This, I repeat, is the _first_ question I ask the plant. And as it -answers, I range it on one side or the other, among those that rest or -those that toil: tent-dwellers, who toil not, neither do they spin; or -tree-builders, whose days are as the days of the people. I find again, -on farther questioning these plants who rest, that one group of them -does indeed rest always, contentedly, on the ground, but that those of -another group, more ambitious, emulate the builders; and though they -cannot build rightly, raise for themselves pillars out of the remains of -past generations, on which they themselves, living the life of St. -Simeon Stylites, are called, by courtesy, Trees; being, in fact, many of -them (palms, for instance) quite as stately as real trees.[1] - -These two classes we might call earth-plants, and pillar-plants. - -§ 5. Again, in questioning the true builders as to their modes of work, -I find that they also are divisible into two great classes. Without in -the least wishing the reader to accept the fanciful nomenclature, I -think he may yet most conveniently remember these as "Builders with the -shield," and "Builders with the sword." - -Builders with the shield have expanded leaves, more or less resembling -shields, partly in shape, but still more in office; for under their -lifted shadow the young bud of the next year is kept from harm. These -are the gentlest of the builders, and live in pleasant places, providing -food and shelter for man. Builders with the sword, on the contrary, have -sharp leaves in the shape of swords, and the young buds, instead of -being as numerous as the leaves, crouching each under a leaf-shadow, are -few in number, and grow fearlessly, each in the midst of a sheaf of -swords. These builders live in savage places, are sternly dark in color, -and though they give much help to man by their merely physical strength, -they (with few exceptions) give him no food, and imperfect shelter. -Their mode of building is ruder than that of the shield-builders, and -they in many ways resemble the pillar-plants of the opposite order. We -call them generally "Pines." - -§ 6. Our work, in this section, will lie only among the shield-builders, -sword-builders, and plants of rest. The Pillar-plants belong, for the -most part, to other climates. I could not analyze them rightly; and the -labor given to them would be comparatively useless for our present -purposes. The chief mystery of vegetation, so far as respects external -form, is among the fair shield-builders. These, at least, we must -examine fondly and earnestly. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I am not sure that this is a fair account of palms. I have never - had opportunity of studying stems of Endogens, and I cannot - understand the description given of them in books, nor do I know how - far some of their branched conditions approximate to real - tree-structure. If this work, whatever errors it may involve, - provokes the curiosity of the reader so as to lead him to seek for - more and better knowledge, it will do all the service I hope from it. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE BUD. - - -§ 1. If you gather in summer time an outer spray of any shield-leaved -tree, you will find it consists of a slender rod, throwing out leaves, -perhaps on every side, perhaps on two sides only, with usually a cluster -of closer leaves at the end. In order to understand its structure, we -must reduce it to a simple general type. Nay, even to a very inaccurate -type. For a tree-branch is essentially a complex thing, and no "simple" -type can, therefore, be a right one. - -This type I am going to give you is full of fallacies and inaccuracies; -but out of these fallacies we will bring the truth, by casting them -aside one by one. - -[Illustration: FIG. 1.] - -§ 2. Let the tree spray be represented under one of these two types, A -or B, Fig. 1, the cluster at the end being in each case supposed to -consist of three leaves only (a most impertinent supposition, for it -must at least have four, only the fourth would be in a puzzling -perspective in A, and hidden behind the central leaf in B). So, receive -this false type patiently. When leaves are set on the stalk one after -another, as in A, they are called "alternate;" when placed as in B, -"opposite." It is necessary you should remember this not very difficult -piece of nomenclature. - -If you examine the branch you have gathered, you will see that for some -little way below the full-leaf cluster at the end, the stalk is smooth, -and the leaves are set regularly on it. But at six, eight, or ten inches -down, there comes an awkward knot; something seems to have gone wrong, -perhaps another spray branches off there; at all events, the stem gets -suddenly thicker, and you may break it there (probably) easier than -anywhere else. - -That is the junction of two stories of the building. The smooth piece -has all been done this summer. At the knot the foundation was left -during the winter. - -The year's work is called a "shoot." I shall be glad if you will break -it off to look at; as my A and B types are supposed to go no farther -down than the knot. - -The alternate form A is more frequent than B, and some botanists think -includes B. We will, therefore, begin with it. - -§ 3. If you look close at the figure, you will see small projecting -points at the roots of the leaves. These represent buds, which you may -find, most probably, in the shoot you have in your hand. Whether you -find them or not, they are there--visible, or latent, does not matter. -Every leaf has assuredly an infant bud to take care of, laid tenderly, -as in a cradle, just where the leaf-stalk forms a safe niche between it -and the main stem. The child-bud is thus fondly guarded all summer; but -its protecting leaf dies in the autumn; and then the boy-bud is put out -to rough winter-schooling, by which he is prepared for personal entrance -into public life in the spring. - -[Illustration: FIG. 2.] - -Let us suppose autumn to have come, and the leaves to have fallen. Then -our A of Fig. I, the buds only being left, one for each leaf, will -appear as A B, in Fig. 2. We will call the buds grouped at B, terminal -buds, and those at _a_, _b_, and _c_, lateral buds. - -This budded rod is the true year's work of the building plant, at that -part of its edifice. You may consider the little spray, if you like, as -one pinnacle of the tree-cathedral, which has taken a year to fashion; -innumerable other pinnacles having been built at the same time on other -branches. - -§ 4. Now, every one of these buds, _a_, _b_, and _c_, as well as every -terminal bud, has the power and disposition to raise himself in the -spring, into just such another pinnacle as A B is. - -This development is the process we have mainly to study in this chapter; -but, in the outset, let us see clearly what it is to end in. - -[Illustration: FIG. 3.] - -Each bud, I said, has the power and disposition to make a pinnacle of -himself, but he has not always the opportunity. What may hinder him we -shall see presently. Meantime, the reader will, perhaps, kindly allow me -to assume that the buds _a_, _b_, and _c_, come to nothing, and only the -three terminal ones build forward. Each of these producing the image of -the first pinnacle, we have the type for our next summer bough of Fig. -3; in which observe the original shoot A B, has become thicker; its -lateral buds having proved abortive, are now only seen as little knobs -on its sides. Its terminal buds have each risen into a new pinnacle. The -central or strongest one B C, has become the very image of what his -parent shoot A B, was last year. The two lateral ones are weaker and -shorter, one probably longer than the other. The joint at B is the knot -or foundation for each shoot above spoken of. - -[Illustration: FIG. 4.] - -Knowing now what we are about, we will go into closer detail. - -[Illustration: 51. The Dryad's Toil.] - -§ 5. Let us return to the type in Fig. 2, of the fully accomplished -summer's work: the rod with its bare buds. Plate 51, opposite, -represents, of about half its real size, an outer spray of oak in -winter. It is not growing strongly, and is as simple as possible in -ramification. You may easily see, in each branch, the continuous piece -of shoot produced last year. The wrinkles which make these shoots look -like old branches are caused by drying, as the stalk of a bunch of -raisins is furrowed (the oak-shoot fresh gathered is round as a -grape-stalk). I draw them thus, because the furrows are important clues -to structure. Fig. 4 is the top of one of these oak sprays magnified for -reference. The little brackets, _x_, _y_, &c., which project beneath -each bud and sustain it, are the remains of the leaf-stalks. Those -stalks were jointed at that place, and the leaves fell without leaving a -scar, only a crescent-shaped, somewhat blank-looking flat space, which -you may study at your ease on a horse-chestnut stem, where these spaces -are very large. - -§ 6. Now if you cut your oak spray neatly through, just above a bud, as -at A, Fig. 4, and look at it with a not very powerful magnifier, you -will find it present the pretty section, Fig. 5. - -[Illustration: FIG. 5.] - -That is the proper or normal section of an oak spray. Never quite -regular. Sure to have one of the projections a little larger than the -rest, and to have its bark (the black line) not quite regularly put -round it, but exquisitely finished, down to a little white star in the -very centre, which I have not drawn, because it would look in the -woodcut black, not white; and be too conspicuous. - -[Illustration: FIG. 6.] - -The oak spray, however, will not keep this form unchanged for an -instant. Cut it through a little way above your first section, and you -will find the largest projection is increasing till, just where it -opens[1] at last into the leaf-stalk, its section is Fig. 6. If, -therefore, you choose to consider every interval between bud and bud as -one story of your tower or pinnacle, you find that there is literally -not a hair's-breadth of the work in which the _plan_ of the tower does -not change. You may see in Plate 51 that every shoot is suffused by a -subtle (in nature an _infinitely_ subtle) change of contour between bud -and bud. - -[Illustration: FIG. 7.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 8.] - -§ 7. But farther, observe in what succession those buds are put round -the bearing stem. Let the section of the stem be represented by the -small central circle in Fig. 8; and suppose it surrounded by a _nearly_ -regular pentagon (in the figure it is quite regular for clearness' -sake). Let the first of any ascending series of buds be represented by -the curved projection filling the nearest angle of the pentagon at 1. -Then the next bud, above, will fill the angle at 2; the next above, at -3, the next at 4, the next at 5. The sixth will come nearly over the -first. That is to say, each projecting portion of the section, Fig. 5, -expands into its bud, not successively, but by leaps, always to the -_next but one;_ the buds being thus placed in a nearly regular spiral -order. - -§ 8. I say nearly regular--for there are subtleties of variation in plan -which it would be merely tiresome to enter into. All that we need care -about is the general law, of which the oak spray furnishes a striking -example,--that the buds of the first great group of alternate builders -rise in a spiral order round the stem (I believe, for the most part, the -spiral proceeds from right to left). And this spiral succession very -frequently approximates to the pentagonal order, which it takes with -great accuracy in an oak; for, merely assuming that each ascending bud -places itself as far as it can easily out of the way of the one beneath, -and yet not quite on the opposite side of the stem, we find the interval -between the two must generally approximate to that left between 1 and 2, -or 2 and 3, in Fig. 8.[2] - -[Illustration: FIG. 9.] - -§ 9. Should the interval be consistently a little _less_ than that which -brings out the pentagonal structure, the plant seems to get at first -into much difficulty. For, in such case, there is a probability of the -buds falling into a triangle, as at A, Fig. 9; and then the fourth must -come over the first, which would be inadmissible (we shall soon see -why). Nevertheless, the plant seems to like the triangular result for -its outline, and sets itself to get out of the difficulty with much -ingenuity, by methods of succession, which I will examine farther in the -next chapter: it being enough for us to know at present that the -puzzled, but persevering, vegetable _does_ get out of its difficulty and -issues triumphantly, and with a peculiar expression of leafy exultation, -in a hexagonal star, composed of two distinct triangles, normally as at -B, Fig. 9. Why the buds do not like to be one above the other, we shall -see in next chapter. Meantime I must shortly warn the reader of what we -shall then discover, that, though we have spoken of the projections of -our pentagonal tower as if they were first built to sustain each its -leaf, they are themselves chiefly built by the leaf they seem to -sustain. Without troubling ourselves about this yet, let us fix in our -minds broadly the effective aspect of the matter, which is all we want, -by a simple practical illustration. - -§ 10. Take a piece of stick half-an-inch thick, and a yard or two long, -and tie large knots, at any _equal_ distances you choose, on a piece of -pack-thread. Then wind the pack-thread round the stick, with any number -of equidistant turns you choose, from one end to the other, and the -knots will take the position of buds in the general type of alternate -vegetation. By varying the number of knots and the turns of the thread, -you may get the system of any tree, with the exception of one character -only--viz., that since the shoot grows faster at one time than another, -the buds run closer together when the growth is slow. You cannot imitate -this structure by closing the coils of your string, for that would alter -the positions of your knots irregularly. The intervals between the buds -are, by this gradual acceleration or retardation of growth, usually -varied in lovely proportions. Fig. 10 shows the elevations of the buds -on five different sprays of oak; A and B being of the real size (short -shoots); C, D, and E, on a reduced scale. I have not traced the cause -of the apparent tendency of the buds to follow in pairs, in these longer -shoots. - -[Illustration: FIG. 10.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 11.] - -§ 11. Lastly: If the spiral be constructed so as to bring the buds -nearly on opposite sides of the stem, though alternate in succession, -the stem, most probably, will shoot a little away from each bud after -throwing it off, and thus establish the oscillatory form _b_, Fig. 11, -which, when the buds are placed, as in this case, at diminishing -intervals, is very beautiful.[3] - -§ 12. I fear this has been a tiresome chapter; but it is necessary to -master the elementary structure, if we are to understand anything of -trees; and the reader will therefore, perhaps, take patience enough to -look at one or two examples of the spray structure of the second great -class of builders, in which the leaves are opposite. Nearly all -opposite-leaved trees grow, normally, like vegetable weathercocks run to -seed, with north and south, and east and west pointers thrown off -alternately one over another, as in Fig. 12. - -[Illustration: FIG. 12.] - -This, I say, is the normal condition. Under certain circumstances, north -and south pointers set themselves north-east and south-west; this -concession being acknowledged and imitated by the east and west pointers -at the next opportunity; but, for the present, let us keep to our simple -form. - -The first business of the budding stem, is to get every pair of buds set -accurately at right angles to the one below. Here are some examples of -the way it contrives this. A, Fig. 13, is the section of the stem of a -spray of box, magnified eight or nine times, just where it throws off -two of its leaves, suppose on north and south sides. The crescents below -and above are sections through the leaf-stalks thrown off on each side. -Just above this joint, the section of the stem is B, which is the normal -section of a box-stem, as Fig. 5 is of an oak's. This, as it ascends, -becomes C, elongating itself now east and west; and the section next to -C, would be again A turned that way; or, taking the succession -completely through two joints, and of the real size, it would be thus: -Fig. 14. - -[Illustration: FIG. 13.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 14.] - -The stem of the spotted aucuba is normally hexagonal, as that of the box -is normally square. It is very dexterous and delicate in its mode of -transformation to the two sides. Through the joint it is A, Fig. 15. -Above joint, B, normal, passing on into C, and D for the next joint. - -[Illustration: FIG. 15.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 16.] - -While in the horse-chestnut, a larger tree, and, as we shall see -hereafter, therefore less regular in conduct, the section, normally -hexagonal, is much rounded and softened into irregularities; A, Fig. 16, -becoming, as it buds, B and C. The dark diamond beside C is a section -through a bud, in which, however small, the quatrefoil disposition is -always seen complete: the four little infant leaves with a queen leaf in -the middle, all laid in their fan-shaped feebleness, safe in a white -cloud of miniature woollen blanket. - -§ 13. The elementary structure of all important trees may, I think, thus -be resolved into three principal forms: three-leaved, Fig. 9; -four-leaved, Figs. 13 to 16; and five-leaved, Fig. 8. Or, in well-known -terms, trefoil, quatrefoil, cinqfoil. And these are essential classes, -more complicated forms being usually, it seems to me, resolvable into -these, but these not into each other. The simplest arrangement (Fig. -11), in which the buds are nearly opposite in position, though alternate -in elevation, cannot, I believe, constitute a separate class, being only -an accidental condition of the spiral. If it did, it might be called -difoil; but the important classes are three:-- - - Trefoil, Fig. 9: Type, Rhododendron. - Quatrefoil, Fig. 13: Type, Horse-chestnut. - Cinqfoil, Fig. 5: Type, Oak. - -§ 14. The coincidences between beautiful architecture and the -construction of trees must more and more have become marked in the -reader's mind as we advanced; and if he will now look at what I have -said in other places of the use and meaning of the trefoil, quatrefoil, -and cinqfoil, in Gothic architecture, he will see why I could hardly -help thinking and speaking of all trees as builders. But there is yet -one more subtlety in their way of building which we have not noticed. If -the reader will look carefully at the separate shoots in Plate 51, he -will see that the furrows of the stems fall in almost every case into -continuous spiral curves, carrying the whole system of buds with them. -This superinduced spiral action, of which we shall perhaps presently -discover the cause, often takes place vigorously, producing completely -twisted stems of great thickness. It is nearly always existent slightly, -giving farther grace and change to the whole wonderful structure. And -thus we have, as the final result of one year's vegetative labor on any -single spray, a twisted tower, not similar at any height of its -building: or (for, as we shall see presently, it loses in diameter at -each bud) a twisted spire, correspondent somewhat in principle to the -twisted spire of Dijon, or twisted fountain of Ulm, or twisted shafts of -Verona. Bossed as it ascends with living sculpture, chiselled, not by -diminution but through increase, it rises by one consistent impulse from -its base to its minaret, ready, in spring-time, to throw round it at the -crest at once the radiance of fresh youth and the promise of restoration -after that youth has passed away. A marvellous creation: nay might we -not almost say, a marvellous creature full of prescience in its infancy, -foreboding even, in the earliest gladness of its opening to sunshine, -the hour of fainting strength and falling leaf, and guarding under the -shade of its faithful shields the bud that is to bear its hope through -winter's shieldless sleep? - -Men often look to bring about great results by violent and unprepared -effort. But it is only in fair and forecast order, "as the earth -bringeth forth her bud," that righteousness and praise may spring forth -before the nations. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The added portion, surrounding two of the sides of the pentagon, - is the preparation for the stalk of the leaf, which, on detaching - itself from the stem, presents variable sections, of which those - numbered 1 to 4, Fig. 7, are examples. I cannot determine the proper - normal form. The bulb-shaped spot in the heart of the uppermost of - the five projections in Fig. 6 is the root of the bud. - - [2] For more accurate information the reader may consult Professor - Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (Longman, 1848), vol. i. p. 245, - _et seqq._ - - [3] Fig. 11 is a shoot of the line, drawn on two sides, to show its - continuous curve in one direction, and alternated curves in another. - The buds, which may be seen to be at equal heights in the two - figures, are exquisitely proportioned in their distances. There is no - end to the refinement of system, if we choose to pursue it. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE LEAF. - - -§ 1. Having now some clear idea of the position of the bud, we have next -to examine the forms and structure of its shield--the leaf which guards -it. You will form the best general idea of the flattened leaf of -shield-builders by thinking of it as you would of a mast and sail. More -consistently with our classification, we might perhaps say, by thinking -always of the arm sustaining the shield; but we should be in danger of -carrying fancy too far, and the likeness of mast and sail is closer, for -the mast tapers as the leaf-rib does, while the hand holding the -uppermost strap of the buckler clenches itself. Whichever figure we use, -it will cure us of the bad habit of imagining a leaf composed of a short -stalk with a broad expansion at the end of it. Whereas we should always -think of the stalk as running right up the leaf to its point, and -carrying the expanded, or foliate part, as the mast of a lugger does its -sail. To some extent, indeed, it has yards also, ribs branching from the -innermost one; only the yards of the leaf will not run up and down, -which is one essential function of a sailyard. - -§ 2. The analogy will, however, serve one step more. As the sail must be -on one side of the mast, so the expansion of a leaf is on one side of -its central rib, or of its system of ribs. It is laid over them as if it -were stretched over a frame, so that on the upper surface it is -comparatively smooth; on the lower, barred. The understanding of the -broad relations of these parts is the principal work we have to do in -this chapter. - -§ 3. First, then, you may roughly assume that the section of any -leaf-mast will be a crescent, as at _a_, Fig. 17 (compare Fig. 7 above). -The flat side is the uppermost, the round side underneath, and the flat -or upper side caries the leaf. You can at once see the convenience of -this structure for fitting to a central stem. Suppose the central stem -has a little hole in the centre, _b_, Fig. 17, and that you cut it down -through the middle (as terrible knights used to cut their enemies in the -dark ages, so that half the head fell on one side, and half on the -other): Pull the two halves separate, _c_, and they will nearly -represent the shape and position of opposite leaf-ribs. In reality the -leaf-stalks have to fit themselves to the central stem, _a_, and as we -shall see presently, to lap round it: but we must not go too fast. - -[Illustration: FIG. 17.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 18.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 19.] - -§ 4. Now, _a_, Fig. 17, being the general type of a leaf-stalk, Fig. 18 -is the general type of the way it expands into and carries its leaf;[1] -this figure being the enlargement of a typical section right across any -leaf, the dotted lines show the under surface foreshortened. You see I -have made one side broader than the other. I mean that. It is typically -so. Nature cannot endure two sides of a leaf to be alike. By encouraging -one side more than the other, either by giving it more air or light, or -perhaps in a chief degree by the mere fact of the moisture necessarily -accumulating on the lower edge when it rains, and the other always -drying first, she contrives it so, that if the essential form or idea of -the leaf be _a_, Fig. 19, the actual form will always be _c_, or an -approximate to it; one half being pushed in advance of the other, as at -_b_, and all reconciled by soft curvature, _c_. The effort of the leaf -to keep itself symmetrical rights it, however, often at the point, so -that the insertion of the stalk only makes the inequality manifest. But -it follows that the sides of a straight section across the leaf are -unequal all the way up, as in my drawing, except at one point. - -[Illustration: FIG. 20.] - -§ 5. I have represented the two wings of the leaf as slightly convex on -the upper surface. This is also on the whole a typical character. I use -the expression "wings of the leaf," because supposing we exaggerate the -main rib a little, the section will generally resemble a bad painter's -type of a bird (_a_, Fig. 20). Sometimes the outer edges curl up, _b_, -but an entirely concave form, _c_, is rare. When _b_ is strongly -developed, closing well in, the leaf gets a good deal the look of a boat -with a keel. - -[Illustration: FIG. 21.] - -§ 6. If now you take this oblique form of sail, and cut it into any -number of required pieces down to its mast, as in Fig. 21, A, and then -suppose each of the pieces to contract into studding-sails at the side, -you will have whatever type of divided leaf you choose to shape it for. -In Fig. 21, A, B, I have taken the rose as the simplest type. The leaf -is given in separate contour at C; but that of the mountain ash, A, -Fig. 22, suggests the original oval form which encloses all the -subdivisions much more beautifully. Each of the studding-sails in this -ash-leaf looks much at first as if he were himself a mainsail. But you -may know him always to be a subordinate, by observing that the -inequality of the two sides which is brought about by accidental -influences in the mainsail, is an organic law in the studding-sail. The -real leaf tries to set itself evenly on its mast; and the inequality is -only a graceful concession to circumstances. But the subordinate or -studding-sail is always _by law_ larger at one side than the other; and -if he is himself again divided into smaller sails, he will have larger -sails on the lowest side, or one more sail on the lowest side, than he -has on the other. He always wears, therefore, a servant's, or, at least, -subordinate's dress. You may know him anywhere as not the master. Even -in the ash leaflet, of which I have outlined one separately, B, Fig. 22, -this is clearly seen; but it is much more distinct in more finely -divided leaves.[2] - -[Illustration: FIG. 22] - -§ 7. Observe, then, that leaves are broadly divisible into mainsails and -studding-sails; but that the word _leaf_ is properly to be used only of -the mainsail; leaflet is the best word for minor divisions; and whether -these minor members are only separated by deep cuts, or become complete -stalked leaflets, still they are always to be thought of merely as parts -of a true leaf. - -It follows from the mode of their construction that leaflets must always -lie more or less _flat_, or edge to edge, in a continuous plane. This -position distinguishes them from true leaves as much as their oblique -form, and distinguishes them with the same delicate likeness of system; -for as the true leaf takes, accidentally and partially, the oblique -outline which is legally required in the subordinate, so the true leaf -takes accidentally and partially the flat disposition which is legally -required in the subordinate. And this point of position we must now -study. Henceforward, throughout this chapter, the reader will please -note that I speak only of true _leaves_, not of _leaflets_. - -[Illustration: FIG. 23.] - -§ 8. LAW I. THE LAW OF DEFLECTION.--The first law, then, respecting -position in true leaves, is that they fall gradually back from the -uppermost one, or uppermost group. They are never set as at _a_, Fig. -23, but always as at _b_. The reader may see at once that they have more -room and comfort by means of the latter arrangement. The law is carried -out with more or less distinctness according to the habit of the plant; -but is always acknowledged. - -[Illustration: FIG. 24.] - -In strong-leaved shrubs or trees it is shown with great distinctness and -beauty: the phillyrea shoot, for instance, Fig. 24, is almost in as true -symmetry as a Greek honeysuckle ornament. In the hawthorn shoot, -central in Plate 52, opposite, the law is seen very slightly, yet it -rules all the play and fantasy of the varied leaves, gradually -depressing their lines as they are set lower. In crowded foliage of -large trees the disposition of each separate leaf is not so manifest. -For there is a strange coincidence in this between trees and communities -of men. When the community is small, people fall more easily into their -places, and take, each in his place, a firmer standing than can be -obtained by the individuals of a great nation. The members of a vast -community are separately weaker, as an aspen or elm leaf is thin, -tremulous, and directionless, compared with the spear-like setting and -firm substance of a rhododendron or laurel leaf. The laurel and -rhododendron are like the Athenian or Florentine republics; the aspen -like England--strong-trunked enough when put to proof, and very good for -making cartwheels of, but shaking pale with epidemic panic at every -breeze. Nevertheless, the aspen has the better of the great nation, in -that if you take it bough by bough, you shall find the gentle law of -respect and room for each other truly observed by the leaves in such -broken way as they can manage it; but in the nation you find every one -scrambling for his neighbor's place. - -This, then, is our first law, which we may generally call the Law of -Deflection; or, if the position of the leaves with respect to the root -be regarded, of Radiation. The second is more curious, and we must go -back over our ground a little to get at it. - -[Illustration: 52. Spirals of Thorn.] - -§ 9. LAW II. THE LAW OF SUCCESSION.--From what we saw of the position of -buds, it follows that in every tree the leaves at the end of the spray, -taking the direction given them by the uppermost cycle or spiral of the -buds, will fall naturally into a starry group, expressive of the order -of their growth. In an oak we shall have a cluster of five leaves, in a -horse-chestnut of four, in a rhododendron of six, and so on. But -observe, if we draw the oak-leaves all equal, as at _a_, Fig. 25, or the -chestnut's (_b_), or the rhododendron's (_c_), you instantly will feel, -or ought to feel, that something is wrong; that those are not foliage -forms--not even normally or typically so--but dead forms, like crystals -of snow. Considering this, and looking back to last chapter, you will -see that the buds which throw out these leaves do not grow side by side, -but one above another. In the oak and rhododendron, all five and all -six buds are at different heights; in the chestnut, one couple is above -the other couple. - -[Illustration: FIG. 25.] - -§ 10. Now so surely as one bud is above another, it must be stronger or -weaker than that other. The shoot may either be increasing in strength -as it advances, or declining; in either case, the buds must vary in -power, and the leaves in size. At the top of the shoot, the last or -uppermost leaves are mostly the smallest; of course always so in spring -as they develope. - -[Illustration: FIG. 26.] - -Let us then apply these conditions to our formal figure above, and -suppose each leaf to be weaker in its order of succession. The oak -becomes as _a_, Fig. 26, the chestnut shoot as _b_, the rhododendron, -_c_. These, I should think, it can hardly be necessary to tell the -reader, are true normal forms;--respecting which one or two points must -be noticed in detail. - -§ 11. The magnitude of the leaves in the oak star diminishes, of course, -in alternate order. The largest leaf is the lowest, 1 in Figure 8, p. -14. While the largest leaf forms the bottom, next it, opposite each -other, come the third and fourth, in order and magnitude, and the fifth -and second form the top. An oak star is, therefore, always an oblique -star; but in the chestnut and other quatrefoil trees, though the -uppermost couple of leaves must always be smaller than the lowermost -couple, there appears no geometrical reason why the opposite leaves of -each couple should vary in size. Nevertheless, they always do, so that -the quatrefoil becomes oblique as well as the cinqfoil, as you see it is -in Fig. 26. - -[Illustration: FIG. 27.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 28.] - -The normal of four-foils is therefore as in Fig. 27, A (maple): with -magnitudes, in order numbered; but it often happens that an opposite -pair agree to become largest and smallest; thus giving the pretty -symmetry, Fig. 27, B (spotted aucuba). Of course the quatrefoil in -reality is always less formal, one pair of leaves more or less hiding or -preceding the other. Fig. 28 is the outline of a young one in the maple. - -[Illustration: FIG. 29.] - -§ 12. The third form is more complex, and we must take the pains to -follow out what we left unobserved in last chapter respecting the way a -triplicate plant gets out of its difficulties. - -Draw a circle as in Fig. 29, and two lines, AB, BC, touching it, equal -to each other, and each divided accurately in half where they touch the -circle, so that AP shall be equal to PB, BQ, and QC. And let the lines -AB and BC be so placed that a dotted line AC, joining their extremities, -would not be much longer than either of them. - -[Illustration: FIG. 30.] - -Continue to draw lines of the same length all round the circle. Lay five -of them, AB, BC, CD, DE, EF. Then join the points AD, EB, and CF, and -you have Fig. 30, which is a hexagon, with the following curious -properties. It has one side largest, CD, two sides less, but equal to -each other, AE and BF; and three sides less still, and equal to each -other, AD, CF, and BE. - -[Illustration: FIG. 31.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 32.] - -Now put leaves into this hexagon, Fig. 31, and you will see how -charmingly the rhododendron has got out of its difficulties. The next -cycle will put a leaf in at the gap at the top, and begin a new hexagon. -Observe, however, this geometrical figure is only to the rhododendron -what the _a_ in Fig. 25 is to the oak, the icy or dead form. To get the -living normal form we must introduce our law of succession. That is to -say, the five lines A B, B C, &c., must continually diminish, as they -proceed, and therefore continually approach the centre; roughly, as in -Fig. 32. - -[Illustration: FIG. 33.] - -§ 13. I dread entering into the finer properties of this construction, -but the reader cannot now fail to feel their beautiful result either in -the cluster in Fig. 26, or here in Fig. 33, which is a richer and more -oblique one. The three leaves of the uppermost triad are perfectly seen, -closing over the bud; and the general form is clear, though the lower -triads are confused to the eye by unequal development, as in these -complex arrangements is almost always the case. The more difficulties -are to be encountered the more licence is given to the plant in dealing -with them, and we shall hardly ever find a rhododendron shoot fulfilling -its splendid spiral as an oak does its simple one. - -Here, for instance, is the actual order of ascending leaves in four -rhododendron shoots which I gather at random. - -[Illustration: FIG. 34.] - -Of these, A is the only quite well-conducted one; B takes one short -step, C, one step backwards, and D, two steps back and one, too short, -forward. - -[Illustration: FIG. 35.] - -§ 14. LAW III. THE LAW OF RESILIENCE.--If you have been gathering any -branches from the trees I have named among quatrefoils (the box is the -best for exemplification), you have perhaps been embarrassed by finding -that the leaves, instead of growing on four sides of the stem, did -practically grow oppositely on two. But if you look closely at the -places of their insertion, you will find they indeed spring on all four -sides; and that in order to take the flattened opposite position, each -leaf twists round on its stalk, as in Fig. 35, which represents a -box-leaf magnified and foreshortened. The leaves do this in order to -avoid growing downwards, where the position of the bough and bud would, -if the leaves regularly kept their places, involve downward growth. The -leaves always rise up on each side from beneath, and form a flattened -group, more or less distinctly in proportion to the horizontality of the -bough, and the contiguity of foliage below and above. I shall not -trouble myself to illustrate this law, as you have only to gather a few -tree-sprays to see its effect. But you must note the resulting -characters on _every_ leaf; namely, that not one leaf in a thousand -grows without a fixed turn in its stalk; warping and varying the whole -of the curve on the two edges, throughout its length, and thus producing -the loveliest conditions of its form. We shall presently trace the law -of resilience farther on a larger scale: meanwhile, in summing the -results of our inquiry thus far, let us remember that every one of these -laws is observed with varying accuracy and gentle equity, according not -only to the strength and fellowship of foliage on the spray itself, but -according to the place and circumstances of its growth. - -§ 15. For the leaves, as we shall see immediately, are the feeders of -the plant. Their own orderly habits of succession must not interfere -with their main business of finding food. Where the sun and air are, the -leaf must go, whether it be out of order or not. So, therefore, in any -group, the first consideration with the young leaves is much like that -of young bees, how to keep out of each other's way, that every one may -at once leave its neighbors as much free-air pasture as possible, and -obtain a relative freedom for itself. This would be a quite simple -matter, and produce other simply balanced forms, if each branch, with -open air all round it, had nothing to think of but reconcilement of -interests among its own leaves. But every branch has others to meet or -to cross, sharing with them, in various advantage, what shade, or sun, -or rain is to be had. Hence every single leaf-cluster presents the -general aspect of a little family, entirely at unity among themselves, -but obliged to get their living by various shifts, concessions, and -infringements of the family rules, in order not to invade the privileges -of other people in their neighborhood. - -§ 16. And in the arrangement of these concessions there is an exquisite -sensibility among the leaves. They do not grow each to his own liking, -till they run against one another, and then turn back sulkily; but by a -watchful instinct, far apart, they anticipate their companions' courses, -as ships at sea, and in every new unfolding of their edged tissue, guide -themselves by the sense of each other's remote presence, and by a -watchful penetration of leafy purpose in the far future. So that every -shadow which one casts on the next, and every glint of sun which each -reflects to the next, and every touch which in toss of storm each -receives from the next, aid or arrest the development of their advancing -form, and direct, as will be safest and best, the curve of every fold -and the current of every vein. - -§ 17. And this peculiar character exists in all the structures thus -developed, that they are always visibly the result of a volition on the -part of the leaf, meeting an external force or fate, to which it is -never passively subjected. Upon it, as on a mineral in the course of -formation, the great merciless influences of the universe, and the -oppressive powers of minor things immediately near it, act continually. -Heat and cold, gravity and the other attractions, windy pressure, or -local and unhealthy restraint, must, in certain inevitable degrees, -affect the whole of its life. But it is _life_ which they affect;--a -life of progress and will,--not a merely passive accumulation of -substance. This may be seen by a single glance. The mineral,--suppose an -agate in the course of formation--shows in every line nothing but a dead -submission to surrounding force. Flowing, or congealing, its substance -is here repelled, there attracted, unresistingly to its place, and its -languid sinuosities follow the clefts of the rock that contains them, in -servile deflexion and compulsory cohesion, impotently calculable, and -cold. But the leaf, full of fears and affections, shrinks and seeks, as -it obeys. Not thrust, but awed into its retiring; not dragged, but won -to its advance; not bent aside, as by a bridle, into new courses of -growth: but persuaded and converted through tender continuance of -voluntary change. - -§ 18. The mineral and it differing thus widely in separate being, they -differ no less in modes of companionship. The mineral crystals group -themselves neither in succession, nor in sympathy; but great and small -recklessly strive for place, and deface or distort each other as they -gather into opponent asperities. The confused crowd fills the rock -cavity, hanging together in a glittering, yet sordid heap, in which -nearly every crystal, owing to their vain contention, is imperfect, or -impure. Here and there one, at the cost and in defiance of the rest, -rises into unwarped shape or unstained clearness. But the order of the -leaves is one of soft and subdued concession. Patiently each awaits its -appointed time, accepts its prepared place, yields its required -observance. Under every oppression of external accident, the group yet -follows a law laid down in its own heart; and all the members of it, -whether in sickness or health, in strength or languor, combine to carry -out this first and last heart law; receiving, and seeming to desire for -themselves and for each other, only life which they may communicate, and -loveliness which they may reflect. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] I believe the undermost of the two divisions of the leaf - represents vegetable tissue _returning_ from the extremity. See - Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (1848), vol. i. p. 253. - - [2] For farther notes on this subject, see my _Elements of Drawing_, - p. 286. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -LEAF ASPECTS. - - -§ 1. Before following farther our inquiry into tree structure, it will -rest us, and perhaps forward our work a little, to make some use of what -we know already. - -It results generally from what we have seen that any group of four or -five leaves presenting itself in its natural position to the eye, -consists of a series of forms connected by exquisite and complex -symmetries, and that these forms will be not only varied in themselves, -but every one of them seen under a different condition of -foreshortening. - -The facility of drawing the group may be judged of by a comparison. -Suppose five or six boats, very beautifully built, and sharp in the -prow, to start all from one point, and the first bearing up into the -wind, the other three or four to fall off from it in succession an equal -number of points,[1] taking each, in consequence, a different slope of -deck from the stem of the sail. Suppose, also, that the bows of these -boats were transparent, so that you could see the under sides of their -decks as well as the upper;--and that it were required of you to draw -all their five decks, the under or upper side, as their curve showed it, -in true foreshortened perspective, indicating the exact distance each -boat had reached at a given moment from the central point they started -from. - -If you can do that, you can draw a rose-leaf. Not otherwise. - -§ 2. When, some few years ago, the pre-Raphaelites began to lead our -wandering artists back into the eternal paths of all great Art, and -showed that whatever men drew at all, ought to be drawn accurately and -knowingly; not blunderingly nor by guess (leaves of trees among other -things): as ignorant pride on the one hand refused their teaching, -ignorant hope caught at it on the other. "What!" said many a feeble -young student to himself. "Painting is not a matter of science then, nor -of supreme skill, nor of inventive brain. I have only to go and paint -the leaves of the trees as they grow, and I shall produce beautiful -landscapes directly." - -Alas! my innocent young friend. "Paint the leaves as they grow!" If you -can paint _one_ leaf, you can paint the world. These pre-Raphaelite -laws, which you think so light, lay stern on the strength of Apelles and -Zeuxis; put Titian to thoughtful trouble; are unrelaxed yet, and -unrelaxable for ever. Paint a leaf indeed! Above-named Titian has done -it: Correggio, moreover, and Giorgione: and Leonardo, very nearly, -trying hard. Holbein, three or four times, in precious pieces, highest -wrought. Raphael, it may be, in one or two crowns of Muse or Sibyl. If -any one else, in later times, we have to consider. - -§ 3. At least until recently, the perception of organic leaf form was -absolutely, in all painters whatsoever, proportionate to their power of -drawing the human figure. All the great Italian designers drew leaves -thoroughly well, though none quite so fondly as Correggio. Rubens drew -them coarsely and vigorously, just as he drew limbs. Among the inferior -Dutch painters, the leaf-painting degenerates in proportion to the -diminishing power in figure. Cuyp, Wouvermans, and Paul Potter, paint -better foliage than either Hobbima or Ruysdael. - -§ 4. In like manner the power of treating vegetation in sculpture is -absolutely commensurate with nobleness of figure design. The quantity, -richness, or deceptive finish may be greater in third-rate work; but in -true understanding and force of arrangement the leaf and the human -figure show always parallel skill. The leaf-mouldings of Lorenzo -Ghiberti are unrivalled, as his bas-reliefs are, and the severe foliage -of the Cathedral of Chartres is as grand as its queen-statues. - -§ 5. The greatest draughtsmen draw leaves, like everything else, of -their full-life size in the nearest part of the picture. They cannot be -rightly drawn on any other terms. It is impossible to reduce a group so -treated without losing much of its character; and more painfully -impossible to represent by engraving any good workman's handling. I -intended to have inserted in this place an engraving of the cluster of -oak-leaves above Correggio's Antiope in the Louvre, but it is too -lovely; and if I am able to engrave it at all, it must be separately, -and of its own size. So I draw, roughly, instead, a group of oak-leaves -on a young shoot, a little curled with autumn frost: Plate 53. I could -not draw them accurately enough if I drew them in spring. They would -droop and lose their relations. Thus roughly drawn, and losing some of -their grace, by withering, they, nevertheless, have enough left to show -how noble leaf-form is; and to prove, it seems to me, that Dutch -draughtsmen do not wholly express it. For instance, Fig. 3, Plate 54, is -a facsimile of a bit of the nearest oak foliage out of Hobbima's Scene -with the Water-mill, No. 131, in the Dulwich Gallery. Compared with the -real forms of oak-leaf, in Plate 53, it may, I hope, at least enable my -readers to understand, if they choose, why, never having ceased to rate -the Dutch painters for their meanness or minuteness, I yet accepted the -leaf-painting of the pre-Raphaelites with reverence and hope. - -[Illustration: 53. The Dryad's Crown.] - -[Illustration: 54. Dutch Leafage.] - -§ 6. No word has been more harmfully misused than that ugly one of -"niggling." I should be glad if it were entirely banished from service -and record. The only essential question about drawing is whether it be -right or wrong; that it be small or large, swift or slow, is a matter of -convenience only. But so far as the word may be legitimately used at -all, it belongs especially to such execution as this of -Hobbima's--execution which substitutes, on whatever scale, a mechanical -trick or habit of hand for true drawing of known or intended forms. So -long as the work is thoughtfully directed, there is no niggling. In a -small Greek coin the muscles of the human body are as grandly treated as -in a colossal statue; and a fine vignette of Turner's will show separate -touches often more extended in intention, and stronger in result, than -those of his largest oil pictures. In the vignette of the picture of -Ginevra, at page 90 of Roger's Italy, the forefinger touching the lip is -entirely and rightly drawn, bent at the two joints, within the length of -the thirtieth of an inch, and the whole hand within the space of one of -those "niggling" touches of Hobbima. But if this work were magnified, it -would be seen to be a strong and simple expression of a hand by thick -black lines. - -§ 7. Niggling, therefore, essentially means disorganized and mechanical -work, applied on a scale which may deceive a vulgar or ignorant person -into the idea of its being true:--a definition applicable to the whole -of the leaf-painting of the Dutch landscapists in distant effect, and -for the most part to that of their near subjects also. Cuyp and -Wouvermans, as before stated, and others, in proportion to their power -over the figure, drew leaves better in the foreground, yet never -altogether well; for though Cuyp often draws a single leaf carefully -(weedy ground-vegetation especially, with great truth), he never felt -the connection of leaves, but scattered them on the boughs at random. -Fig. 1 in Plate 54 is nearly a _facsimile_ of part of the branch on the -left side in our National Gallery picture. Its entire want of grace and -organization ought to be felt at a glance, after the work we have gone -through. The average conditions of leafage-painting among the Dutch are -better represented by Fig. 2, Plate 54, which is a piece of the foliage -from the Cuyp in the Dulwich Gallery, No. 163. It is merely wrought with -a mechanical play of brush in a well-trained hand, gradating the color -irregularly and agreeably, but with no more feeling or knowledge of -leafage than a paperstainer shows in graining a pattern. A bit of the -stalk is seen on the left; it might just as well have been on the other -side, for any connection the leaves have with it. As the leafage retires -into distance, the Dutch painters merely diminish their _scale_ of -touch. The touch itself remains the same, but its effect is falser; for -though the separate stains or blots in Fig. 2, do not rightly represent -the forms of leaves, they may not inaccurately represent the number of -leaves on that spray. But in distance, when, instead of one spray, we -have thousands in sight, no human industry, nor possible diminution of -touch can represent their mist of foliage, and the Dutch work becomes -doubly base, by reason of false form, and lost infinity. - -§ 8. Hence what I said in our first inquiry about foliage, "A single -dusty roll of Turner's brush is more truly expressive of the infinitude -of foliage than the niggling of Hobbima could have rendered his canvas, -if he had worked on it till doomsday." And this brings me to the main -difficulty I have had in preparing this section. That infinitude of -Turner's execution attaches not only to his distant work, but in due -degree to the nearest pieces of his trees. As I have shown in the -chapter on mystery, he perfected the system of art, as applicable to -landscape, by the introduction of this infiniteness. In other qualities -he is often only equal, in some inferior, to great preceding painters; -but in this mystery he stands alone. He could not paint a cluster of -leaves better than Titian; but he could a bough, much more a distant -mass of foliage. No man ever before painted a distant tree rightly, or a -full-leaved branch rightly. All Titian's distant branches are ponderous -flakes, as if covered with seaweed, while Veronese's and Raphael's are -conventional, being exquisitely ornamental arrangements of small perfect -leaves. See the background of the Parnassus in Volpato's plate. It is -very lovely, however. - -[Illustration: 55. By the Way-side.] - -§ 9. But this peculiar execution of Turner's is entirely uncopiable; -least of all to be copied in engraving. It is at once so dexterous and -so keenly cunning, swiftest play of hand being applied with concentrated -attention on every movement, that no care in facsimile will render it. -The delay in the conclusion of this work has been partly caused by the -failure of repeated attempts to express this execution. I see my way now -to some partial result; but must get the writing done, and give -undivided care to it before I attempt to produce costly plates. -Meanwhile, the little cluster of foliage opposite, from the thicket -which runs up the bank on the right-hand side of the drawing of -Richmond, looking up the river, in the Yorkshire series, will give the -reader some idea of the mingled definiteness and mystery of Turner's -work, as opposed to the mechanism of the Dutch on the one side, and the -conventional severity of the Italians on the other. It should be -compared with the published engraving in the Yorkshire series; for just -as much increase, both in quantity and refinement, would be necessary in -every portion of the picture, before any true conception could be given -of the richness of Turner's designs. A fragment of distant foliage I may -give farther on; but, in order to judge rightly of either example, we -must know one or two points in the structure of branches, requiring yet -some irksome patience of inquiry, which I am compelled to ask the reader -to grant me through another two chapters. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I don't know that this is rightly expressed; but the meaning will - be understood. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE BRANCH. - - -§ 1. We have hitherto spoken of each shoot as either straight or only -warped by its spiral tendency; but no shoot of any length, except those -of the sapling, ever can be straight; for, as the family of leaves which -it bears are forced unanimously to take some given direction in search -of food or light, the stalk necessarily obeys the same impulse, and -bends itself so as to sustain them in their adopted position, with the -greatest ease to itself and comfort for them. - -In doing this, it has two main influences to comply or contend with: the -first, the direct action of the leaves in drawing it this way or that, -as they themselves seek particular situations; the second, the pressure -of their absolute weight after they have taken their places, depressing -each bough in a given degree; the leverage increasing as the leaf -extends. To these principal forces may frequently be added that of some -prevalent wind, which, on a majority of days in the year, bends the -bough, leaves and all, for hours together, out of its normal position. -Owing to these three forces, the shoot is nearly sure to be curved in at -least two directions;[1] that is to say, not merely as the rim of a -wine-glass is curved (so that, looking at it horizontally, the circle -becomes a straight line), but as the edge of a lip or an eyebrow is -curved, partly upward, partly forwards, so that in no possible -perspective can it be seen as a straight line. Similarly, no perspective -will usually bring a shoot of a free-growing tree to appear a straight -line. - -§ 2. It is evident that the more leaves the stalk has to sustain, the -more strength it requires. It might appear, therefore, not unadvisable, -that every leaf should, as it grew, pay a small tax to the stalk for its -sustenance; so that there might be no fear of any number of leaves being -too oppressive to their bearer. Which, accordingly, is just what the -leaves do. Each, from the moment of his complete majority, pays a stated -tax to the stalk; that is to say, collects for it a certain quantity of -wood, or materials for wood, and sends this wood, or what ultimately -will become wood, _down_ the stalk to add to its thickness. - -§ 3. "Down the stalk?" yes, and down a great way farther. For, as the -leaves, if they did not thus contribute to their own support, would soon -be too heavy for the spray, so if the spray, with its family of leaves, -contributed nothing to the thickness of the branch, the leaf-families -would soon break down their sustaining branches. And, similarly, if the -branches gave nothing to the stem, the stem would soon fall under its -boughs. Therefore, by a power of which I believe no sufficient account -exists,[2] as each leaf adds to the thickness of the shoot, so each -shoot to the branch, so each branch to the stem, and that with so -perfect an order and regularity of duty, that from every leaf in all the -countless crowd at the tree's summit, one slender fibre, or at least -fibre's thickness of wood, descends through shoot, through spray, -through branch, and through stem; and having thus added, in its due -proportion, to form the strength of the tree, labors yet farther and -more painfully to provide for its security; and thrusting forward into -the root, loses nothing of its mighty energy, until, mining through the -darkness, it has taken hold in cleft of rock or depth of earth, as -extended as the sweep of its green crest in the free air. - -§ 4. Such, at least, is the mechanical aspect of the tree. The work of -its construction, considered as a branch tower, partly propped by -buttresses, partly lashed by cables, is thus shared in by every leaf. -But considering it as a living body to be nourished, it is probably an -inaccurate analogy to speak of the leaves being taxed for the -enlargement of the trunk. Strictly speaking, the trunk enlarges by -sustaining them. For each leaf, however far removed from the ground, -stands in need of nourishment derived from the ground, as well as of -that which it finds in the air; and it simply sends its root down along -the stem of the tree, until it reaches the ground and obtains the -necessary mineral elements. The trunk has been therefore called by some -botanists a "bundle of roots," but I think inaccurately. It is rather a -messenger to the roots.[3] A root, properly so called, is a fibre, -spongy or absorbent at the extremity, which secretes certain elements -from the earth. The stem is by this definition no more a cluster of -roots than a cluster of leaves, but a channel of intercourse between the -roots and the leaves. It can gather no nourishment. It only carries -nourishment, being, in fact, a group of canals for the conveyance of -marketable commodities, with an electric telegraph attached to each, -transmitting messages from leaf to root, and root to leaf, up and down -the tree. But whatever view we take of the operative causes, the -external and visible fact is simply that every leaf does send down from -its stalk a slender thread of woody matter along the sides of the shoot -it grows upon; and that the increase of thickness in stem, proportioned -to the advance of the leaves, corresponds with an increase of thickness -in roots, proportioned to the advance of their outer fibres. How far -interchange of elements takes place between root and leaf, it is not our -work here to examine; the general and broad idea is this, that the whole -tree is fed partly by the earth, partly by the air;--strengthened and -sustained by the one, agitated and educated by the other;--all of it -which is best, in substance, life, and beauty, being drawn more from the -dew of heaven than the fatness of the earth. The results of this -nourishment of the bough by the leaf in external aspect, are the object -of our immediate inquiry. - -§ 5. Hitherto we have considered the shoot as an ascending body, -throwing off buds at intervals. This it is indeed; but the part of it -which ascends is not seen externally. Look back to Plate 51. You will -observe that each shoot is furrowed, and that the ridges between the -furrows rise in slightly spiral lines, terminating in the armlets under -the buds which bore last year's leaves. These ridges, which rib the -shoot so distinctly, are not on the ascending part of it. They are the -contributions of each successive leaf thrown out as it ascended. Every -leaf sent down a slender cord, covering and clinging to the shoot -beneath, and increasing its thickness. Each, according to his size and -strength, wove his little strand of cable, as a spider his thread; and -cast it down the side of the springing tower by a marvellous -magic--irresistible! The fall of a granite pyramid from an Alp may -perhaps be stayed; the descending force of that silver thread shall not -be stayed. It will split the rocks themselves at its roots, if need be, -rather than fail in its work. - -So many leaves, so many silver cords. Count--for by just the thickness -of one cord, beneath each leaf, let fall in fivefold order round and -round, the shoot increases in thickness to its root:--a spire built -downwards from the heaven. - -[Illustration: FIG. 36.] - -And now we see why the leaves dislike being above each other. Each seeks -a vacant place, where he may freely let fall the cord. The turning aside -of the cable to avoid the buds beneath, is one of the main causes of -spiral curvature, as the shoot increases. It required all the care I -could give to the drawing, and all Mr. Armytage's skill in engraving -Plate 51, to express, though drawing them nearly of their full size, the -principal courses of curvature in even this least graceful of trees. - -§ 6. According to the structure thus ascertained, the body of the shoot -may at any point be considered as formed by a central rod, represented -by the shaded inner circle, _a_, Fig. 36, surrounded by as many rods of -descending external wood as there are leaves above the point where the -section is made. The first five leaves above send down the first dark -rods; and the next above send down those between, which, being from -younger leaves, are less liable to interstices; then the third group -sending down the side, it will be seen at a glance how a spiral action -is produced. It would lead us into too subtile detail, if I traced the -forces of this spiral superimposition. I must be content to let the -reader peruse this part of the subject for himself, if it amuses him, -and lead to larger questions. - -§ 7. Broadly and practically, we may consider the whole cluster of woody -material in Fig. 36 as one circle of fibrous substance formed round a -small central rod. The real appearance in most trees is approximately as -in _b_, Fig. 36, the radiating structure becoming more distinct in -proportion to the largeness and compactness of the wood.[4] - -[Illustration: FIG. 37.] - -Now the next question is, how this descending external coating of wood -will behave itself when it comes to the forking of the shoots. To -simplify the examination of this, let us suppose the original or growing -shoot (whose section is the shaded inner circle in Fig. 36) to have been -in the form of a letter Y, and no thicker than a stout iron wire, as in -Fig. 37. Down the arms of this letter Y, we have two fibrous streams -running in the direction of the arrows. If the depth or thickness of -these streams be such as at _b_ and _c_, what will their thickness be -when they unite at _e_? Evidently, the quantity of wood surrounding the -vertical wire at _e_ must be twice as great as that surrounding the -wires _b_ and _c_. - -§ 8. The reader will, perhaps, be good enough to take it on my word (if -he does not know enough of geometry to ascertain), that the large -circle, in Fig. 38, contains twice as much area as either of the two -smaller circles. Putting these circles in position, so as to guide us, -and supposing the trunk to be bounded by straight lines, we have for the -outline of the fork that in Fig. 38. How, then, do the two minor circles -change into one large one? The section of the stem at _a_ is a circle; -and at _b_, is a circle; and at _c_, a circle. But what is it at _e_? -Evidently, if the two circles merely united gradually, without change of -form through a series of figures, such as those at the top of Fig. 39, -the quantity of wood, instead of remaining the same, would diminish from -the contents of two circles to the contents of one. So for every loss -which the circles sustain at this junction, an equal quantity of wood -must be thrust out somehow to the side. Thus, to enable the circles to -run into each other, as far as shown at _b_, in Fig. 39, there must be a -loss between them of as much wood as the shaded space. Therefore, half -of that space must be added, or rather pushed out on each side, and the -section of the uniting branch becomes approximately as in _c_, Fig. 39; -the wood squeezed out encompassing the stem more as the circles close, -until the whole is reconciled into one larger single circle. - -[Illustration: FIG. 38.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 39.] - -§ 9. I fear the reader would have no patience with me, if I asked him to -examine, in longitudinal section, the lines of the descending currents -of wood as they eddy into the increased single river. Of course, it is -just what would take place if two strong streams, filling each a -cylindrical pipe, ran together into one larger cylinder, with a central -rod passing up every tube. But, as this central rod increases, and, at -the same time, the supply of the stream from above, every added leaf -contributing its little current, the eddies of wood about the fork -become intensely curious and interesting; of which thus much the reader -may observe in a moment by gathering a branch of any tree (laburnum -shows it better, I think, than most), that the two meeting currents, -first wrinkling a little, then rise in a low wave in the hollow of the -fork, and flow over at the side, making their way to diffuse themselves -round the stem, as in Fig. 40. Seen laterally, the bough bulges out -below the fork, rather curiously and awkwardly, especially if more than -two boughs meet at the same place, growing in one plane, so as to show -the sudden increase on the profile. If the reader is interested in the -subject, he will find strangely complicated and wonderful arrangements -of stream when smaller boughs meet larger (one example is given in Plate -3, Vol. III., where the current of a smaller bough, entering upwards, -pushes its way into the stronger rivers of the stem). But I cannot, of -course, enter into such detail here. - -[Illustration: FIG. 40.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 41.] - -§ 10. The little ringed accumulation, repelled from the wood of the -larger trunk at the base of small boughs, may be seen at a glance in any -tree, and needs no illustration; but I give one from Salvator, Fig. 41 -(from his own etching, _Democritus omnium Derisor_), which is -interesting, because it shows the swelling at the bases of insertion, -which yet, Salvator's eye not being quick enough to detect the law of -descent in the fibres, he, with his usual love of ugliness, fastens on -this swollen character, and exaggerates it into an appearance of -disease. The same bloated aspect may be seen in the example already -given from another etching, Vol. III., Plate 4, Fig. 8. - -[Illustration: FIG. 42.] - -§ 11. I do not give any more examples from Claude. We have had enough -already in Plate 4, Vol. III., which the reader should examine -carefully. If he will then look forward to Fig. 61 here, he will see how -Turner inserts branches, and with what certain and strange instinct of -fidelity he marks the wrinkled enlargement and sinuous eddies of the -wood rivers where they meet. - -And remember always that Turner's greatness and rightness in all these -points successively depend on no scientific knowledge. He was entirely -ignorant of all the laws we have been developing. He had merely -accustomed himself to see impartially, intensely, and fearlessly. - -[Illustration: FIG. 43.] - -§ 12. It may, perhaps, be interesting to compare, with the rude -fallacies of Claude and Salvator, a little piece of earliest art, -wrought by men who could see and feel. The scroll, Fig. 42, is a portion -of that which surrounds the arch in San Zeno of Verona, above the -pillar engraved in the _Stones of Venice_, Plate 17, Vol. I. It is, -therefore, twelfth, or earliest thirteenth century work. Yet the foliage -is already full of spring and life; and in the part of the stem, which I -have given of its real size in Fig. 43, the reader will perhaps be -surprised to see at the junctions the laws of vegetation, which escaped -the sight of all the degenerate landscape-painters of Italy, expressed -by one of her simple architectural workmen six hundred years ago. - -We now know enough, I think, of the internal conditions which regulate -tree-structure to enable us to investigate finally, the great laws of -branch and stem aspect. But they are very beautiful; and we will give -them a separate chapter. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] See the note on Fig. 11, at page 17, which shows these two - directions in a shoot of lime. - - [2] I find that the office and nature of cambium, the causes of the - action of the sap, and the real mode of the formation of buds, are - all still under the investigation of botanists. I do not lose time in - stating the doubts or probabilities which exist on these subjects. - For us, the mechanical fact of the increase of thickness by every - leaf's action is all that needs attention. The reader who wishes for - information as accurate as the present state of science admits, may - consult Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_, and an interesting little - book by Dr. Alexander Harvey on _Trees and their Nature_ (Nisbet & - Co., 1856), to which I owe much help. - - [3] In the true sense a "mediator," ([Greek: mesitęs]). - - [4] The gradual development of this radiating structure, which is - organic and essential, composed of what are called by botanists - medullary rays, is still a great mystery and wonder to me. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE STEM. - - -§ 1. We must be content, in this most complex subject, to advance very -slowly: and our easiest, if not our only way, will be to examine, first, -the conditions under which boughs would form, supposing them all to -divide in one plane, as your hand divides when you lay it flat on the -table, with the fingers as wide apart as you can. And then we will -deduce the laws of ramification which follow on the real structure of -branches, which truly divide, not in one plane, but as your fingers -separate if you hold a large round ball with them. - -The reader has, I hope, a clear idea by this time of the main principle -of tree-growth; namely, that the increase is by addition, or -superimposition, not extension. A branch does not stretch itself out as -a leech stretches its body. But it receives additions at its extremity, -and proportional additions to its thickness. For although the actual -living shoot, or growing point, of any year, lengthens itself gradually -until it reaches its terminal bud, after that bud is formed, its length -is fixed. It is thenceforth one joint of the tree, like the joint of a -pillar, on which other joints of marble may be laid to elongate the -pillar, but which will not itself stretch. A tree is thus truly edified, -or built, like a house. - -§ 2. I am not sure with what absolute stringency this law is observed, -or what slight lengthening of substance may be traceable by close -measurement among inferior branches. For practical purposes, we may -assume that the law is final, and that if we represent the state of a -plant, or extremity of branch, in any given year under the simplest -possible type, Fig. 44, _a_, of two shoots, with terminal buds, -springing from one stem, its growth next year may be expressed by the -type, Fig. 44, _b_, in which, the original stems not changing or -increasing, the terminal buds have built up each another story of -plant, or repetition of the original form; and, in order to support this -new edifice, have sent down roots all the way to the ground, so as to -enclose and thicken the inferior stem. - -[Illustration: FIG. 44.] - -But if this is so, how does the original stem, which never lengthens, -ever become the tall trunk of a tree? The arrangement just stated -provides very satisfactorily for making it stout, but not for making it -tall. If the ramification proceeds in this way, the tree must assuredly -become a round compact ball of short sticks, attached to the ground by a -very stout, almost invisible, stem, like a puff-ball. - -For if we take the form above, on a small scale, merely to see what -comes of it, and carry its branching three steps farther, we get the -successive conditions in Fig. 45, of which the last comes already round -to the ground. - -[Illustration: FIG. 45.] - -"But those forms really look something like trees!" Yes, if they were on -a large scale. But each of the little shoots is only six or seven inches -long; the whole cluster would but be three or four feet over, and -touches the ground already at its extremity. It would enlarge if it went -on growing, but never rise from the ground. - -§ 3. This is an interesting question: one, also, which, I fear, we must -solve, so far as yet it can be solved, with little help. Perhaps nothing -is more curious in the history of human mind than the way in which the -science of botany has become oppressed by nomenclature. Here is perhaps -the first question which an intelligent child would think of asking -about a tree: "Mamma, how does it make its trunk?" and you may open one -botanical work after another, and good ones too, and by sensible -men,--you shall not find this child's question fairly put, much less -fairly answered. You will be told gravely that a stem has received many -names, such as _culmus_, _stipes_, and _truncus_; that twigs were once -called _flagella_, but are now called _ramuli_; and that Mr. Link calls -a straight stem, with branches on its sides, a _caulis excurrens_; and a -stem, which at a certain distance above the earth breaks out into -irregular ramifications, a _caulis deliquescens_. All thanks and honor -be to Mr. Link! But at this moment, when we want to know _why_ one stem -breaks “at a certain distance," and the other not at all, we find -no great help in those splendid excurrencies and deliquescencies. -“At a certain distance?" Yes: but why not before? or why then? How -was it that, for many and many a year, the young shoots agreed to -construct a vertical tower, or, at least, the nucleus of one, and then, -one merry day, changed their minds, and built about their metropolis in -all directions, nobody knows where, far into the air in free delight? -How is it that yonder larch-stem grows straight and true, while all its -branches, constructed by the same process as the mother trunk, and under -the mother trunk's careful inspection and direction, nevertheless have -lost all their manners, and go forking and flashing about, more like -cracklings of spitefullest lightning than decent branches of trees that -dip green leaves in dew? - -§ 4. We have probably, many of us, missed the point of such questions as -these, because we too readily associated the structure of trees with -that of flowers. The flowering part of a plant shoots out or up, in some -given direction, until, at a stated period, it opens or branches into -perfect form by a law just as fixed, and just as inexplicable, as that -which numbers the joints of an animal's skeleton, and puts the head on -its right joint. In many forms of flowers--foxglove, aloe, hemlock, or -blossom of maize--the structure of the flowering part so far assimilates -itself to that of a tree, that we not unnaturally think of a tree only -as a large flower, or large remnant of flower, run to seed. And we -suppose the time and place of its branching to be just as organically -determined as the height of the stalk of straw, or hemlock pipe, and the -fashion of its branching just as fixed as the shape of petals in a pansy -or cowslip. - -§ 5. But that is not so; not so in anywise. So far as you can watch a -tree, it is produced throughout by repetitions of the same process, -which repetitions, however, are arbitrarily directed so as to produce -one effect at one time, and another at another time. A young sapling has -his branches as much as the tall tree. He does not shoot up in a long -thin rod, and begin to branch when he is ten or fifteen feet high, as -the hemlock or foxglove does when each has reached its ten or fifteen -inches. The young sapling conducts himself with all the dignity of a -tree from the first;--only he so manages his branches as to form a -support for his future life, in a strong straight trunk, that will hold -him well off the ground. Prudent little sapling!--but how does he manage -this? how keep the young branches from rambling about, till the proper -time, or on what plea dismiss them from his service if they will not -help his provident purpose? So again, there is no difference in mode of -construction between the trunk of a pine and its branch. But external -circumstances so far interfere with the results of this repeated -construction, that a stone pine rises for a hundred feet like a pillar, -and then suddenly bursts into a cloud. It is the knowledge of the mode -in which such change may take place which forms the true natural history -of trees:--or, more accurately, their moral history. An animal is born -with so many limbs, and a head of such a shape. That is, strictly -speaking, not its history, but one fact of its history: a fact of which -no other account can be given than that it was so appointed. But a tree -is born without a head. It has got to make its own head. It is born like -a little family from which a great nation is to spring; and at a certain -time, under peculiar external circumstances, this nation, every -individual of which remains the same in nature and temper, yet gives -itself a new political constitution, and sends out branch colonies, -which enforce forms of law and life entirely different from those of the -parent state. That is the history of the state. It is also the history -of a tree. - -§ 6. Of these hidden histories, I know and can tell you as little as I -did of the making of rocks. It will be enough for me if I can put the -difficulty fairly before you, show you clearly such facts as are -necessary to the understanding of great Art, and so leave you to pursue, -at your pleasure, the graceful mystery of this imperfect leafage life. - -I took in the outset the type of a _triple_ but as the most general -that could be given of all trees, because it represents a prevalently -upright main tendency, with a capacity of branching on both sides. I -would have shown the power of branching on _all_ sides if I could; but -we must be content at first with the simplest condition. From what we -have seen since of bud structure, we may now make our type more complete -by giving each bud a root proportioned to its size. And our elementary -type of tree plant will be as in Fig. 46. - -[Illustration: FIG. 46.] - -§ 7. Now these three buds, though differently placed, have all one mind. -No bud has an oblique mind. Every one would like, if he could, to grow -upright, and it is because the midmost one has entirely his own way in -this matter, that he is largest. He is an elder brother;--his birthright -is to grow straight towards the sky. A younger child may perhaps -supplant him, if he does not care for his privilege. In the meantime all -are of one family, and love each other,--so that the two lateral buds do -not stoop aside because they like it, but to let their more favored -brother grow in peace. All the three buds and roots have at heart the -same desire;--which is, the one to grow as straight as he can towards -bright heaven, the other as deep as he can into dark earth. Up to light, -and down to shade;--into air and into rock:--that is their mind and -purpose for ever. So far as they can, in kindness to each other, and by -sufferance of external circumstances, work out that destiny, they will. -But their beauty will not result from their working it out,--only from -their maintained purpose and resolve to do so, if it may be. They will -fail--certainly two, perhaps all three of them: fail -egregiously;--ridiculously;--it may be agonizingly. Instead of growing -up, they may be wholly sacrificed to happier buds above, and have to -grow _down_, sideways, roundabout ways, all sorts of ways. Instead of -getting down quietly into the convent of the earth, they may have to -cling and crawl about hardest and hottest angles of it, full in sight of -man and beast, and roughly trodden under foot by them;--stumbling-blocks -to many. - -Yet out of such sacrifice, gracefully made--such misfortune, gloriously -sustained--all their true beauty is to arise. Yes, and from more than -sacrifice--more than misfortune: from _death_. Yes, and more than -death:--from the worst kind of death: not natural, coming to each in -its due time; but premature, oppressed, unnatural, misguided--or so it -would seem--to the poor dying sprays. Yet, without such death, no strong -trunk were ever possible; no grace of glorious limb or glittering leaf; -no companionship with the rest of nature or with man. - -[Illustration: FIG. 47.] - -§ 8. Let us see how this must be. We return to our poor little threefold -type, Fig. 46, above. Next year he will become as in Fig. 47. The two -lateral buds keeping as much as may be out of their brother's way, and -yet growing upwards with a will, strike diagonal lines, and in moderate -comfort accomplish their year's life and terminal buds. But what is to -be done next? Forming the triple terminal head on this diagonal line, we -find that one of our next year's buds, _c_, will have to grow down -again, which is very hard; and another, _b_, will run right against the -lateral branch of the upper bud, A, which must not be allowed under any -circumstances. - -What are we to do? - -[Illustration: FIG. 48.] - -§ 9. The best we can. Give up our straightness, and some of our length, -and consent to grow short, and crooked. But _b_ shall be ordered to -stoop forward and keep his head out of the great bough's way, as in Fig. -48, and grow as he best may, with the consumptive pain in his chest. To -give him a little more room, the elder brother, _a_, shall stoop a -little forward also, recovering himself when he has got out of _b_'s -way; and bud _c_ shall be encouraged to bend himself bravely round and -up, after his first start in that disagreeable downward direction. Poor -_b_, withdrawn from air and light between _a_ and A, and having to live -stooping besides, cannot make much of himself, and is stunted and -feeble. _c_, having free play for his energies, bends up with a will, -and becomes handsomer, to our minds, than if he had been straight; and -_a_ is none the worse for his concession to unhappy _b_ in early life. - -[Illustration: FIG. 49.] - -So far well for this year. But how for next? _b_ is already too near the -spray above him, even for his own strength and comfort; much less, with -his weak constitution, will he be able to throw up any strong new -shoots. And if he did, they would only run into those of the bough -above. (If the reader will proceed in the construction of the whole -figure he will see that this is so.) Under these discouragements and -deficiencies, _b_ is probably frostbitten, and drops off. The bough -proceeds, mutilated, and itself somewhat discouraged. But it repeats its -sincere and good-natured compliances, and at the close of the year, new -wood from all the leaves having concealed the stump, and effaced the -memory of poor lost _b_, and perhaps a consolatory bud lower down having -thrown out a tiny spray to make the most of the vacant space near the -main stem, we shall find the bough in some such shape as Fig. 49. - -§ 10. Wherein we already see the germ of our irregularly bending branch, -which might ultimately be much the prettier for the loss of _b_. Alas! -the Fates have forbidden even this. While the low bough is making all -these exertions, the boughs of A, above him, higher in air, have made -the same under happier auspices. Every year their thicker leaves more -and more forbid the light; and, after rain, shed their own drops -unwittingly on the unfortunate lower bough, and prevent the air or sun -from drying his bark or checking the chill in his medullary rays. Slowly -a hopeless languor gains upon him. He buds here or there, faintly, in -the spring; but the flow of strong wood from above oppresses him even -about his root, where it joins the trunk. The very sap does not turn -aside to him, but rushes up to the stronger, laughing leaves far above. -Life is no more worth having; and abandoning all effort, the poor bough -drops, and finds consummation of destiny in helping an old woman's -fire. - -When he is gone, the one next above is left with greater freedom, and -will shoot now from points of its sprays which were before likely to -perish. Hence another condition of irregularity in form. But that bough -also will fall in its turn, though after longer persistence. Gradually -thus the central trunk is built, and the branches by whose help it was -formed cast off, leaving here and there scars, which are all effaced by -years, or lost sight of among the roughnesses and furrows of the aged -surface. The work is continually advancing, and thus the head of foliage -on any tree is not an expansion at a given height, like a flower-bell, -but the collective group of boughs, or workmen, who have got up so far, -and will get up higher next year, still losing one or two of their -number underneath. - -§ 11. So far well. But this only accounts for the formation of a -vertical trunk. How is it that at a certain height this vertical trunk -ceases to be built; and irregular branches spread in all directions? - -First: In a great number of trees, the vertical trunk never ceases to be -built. It is confused, at the top of the tree, among other radiating -branches, being at first, of course, just as slender as they, and only -prevailing over them in time. It shows at the top the same degree of -irregularity and undulation as a sapling; and is transformed gradually -into straightness lower down (see Fig. 50). The reader has only to take -an hour's ramble, to see for himself how many trees are thus -constructed, if circumstances are favorable to their growth. Again, the -mystery of blossoming has great influence in increasing the tendency to -dispersion among the upper boughs: but this part of vegetative structure -I cannot enter into; it is too subtle, and has, besides, no absolute -bearing on our subject; the principal conditions which produce the -varied play of branches being purely mechanical. The point at which they -show a determined tendency to spread is generally to be conceived as a -place of _rest_ for the tree, where it has reached the height from the -ground at which ground-mist, imperfect circulation of air, &c., have -ceased to operate injuriously on it, and where it has free room, and -air, and light for its growth. - -[Illustration: FIG. 50.] - -§ 12. I find there is quite an infinite interest in watching the -different ways in which trees part their sprays at this resting-place, -and the sometimes abrupt, sometimes gentle and undiscoverable, severing -of the upright stem into the wandering and wilful branches; but a -volume, instead of a chapter or two, and quite a little gallery of -plates, would be needed to illustrate the various grace of this -division, associated as it is with an exquisitely subtle effacing of -undulation in the thicker stems, by the flowing down of the wood from -above; the curves which are too violent in the branches being filled up, -so that what was at _a_, Fig. 50, becomes as at _b_, and when the main -stem is old, passes at last into straightness by almost imperceptible -curves, a continually gradated emphasis of curvature being carried to -the branch extremities. - -[Illustration: FIG. 51.] - -§ 13. Hitherto we have confined ourselves entirely to examination of -stems in one plane. We must glance--though only to ascertain how -impossible it is to do more than glance--at the conditions of form which -result from the throwing out of branches, not in one plane, but on all -sides. "As your fingers divide when they hold a ball," I said: or, -better, a large cup, without a handle. Consider how such ramification -will appear in one of the bud groups, that of our old friend the oak. We -saw it opened usually into five shoots. Imagine, then (Fig. 51), a -five-sided cup or funnel with a stout rod running through the centre of -it. In the figure it is seen from above, so as partly to show the -inside, and a little obliquely, that the central rod may not hide any of -the angles. Then let us suppose that, where the angles of this cup were, -we have, instead, five rods, as in Fig. 52, A, like the ribs of a -pentagonal umbrella turned inside out by the wind. I dot the pentagon -which connects their extremities, to keep their positions clear. Then -these five rods, with the central one, will represent the five shoots, -and the leader, from a vigorous young oak-spray. Put the leaves on each; -the five-foiled star at its extremity, and the others, now not quite -formally, but still on the whole as in Fig. 3 above, and we have the -result, Fig. 52, B--rather a pretty one. - -[Illustration: FIG. 52.] - -§ 14. By considering the various aspects which the five rods would take -in Fig. 52, as the entire group was seen from below or above, and at -different angles and distances, the reader may find out for himself what -changes of aspect are possible in even so regular a structure as this. -But the branchings soon take more complex symmetry. We know that next -year each of these five subordinate rods is to enter into life on its -own account, and to repeat the branching of the first. Thus, we shall -have five pentagonal cups surrounding a large central pentagonal cup. -This figure, if the reader likes a pretty perspective problem, he may -construct for his own pleasure:--which having done, or conceived, he is -then to apply the great principles of subjection and resilience, not to -three branches only, as in Fig. 49, but to the five of each cup;--by -which the cups get flattened out and bent up, as you may have seen -vessels of Venetian glass, so that every cup actually takes something -the shape of a thick aloe or artichoke leaf; and they surround the -central one, not as a bunch of grapes surrounds a grape at the end of -it, but as the petals grow round the centre of a rose. So that any one -of these lateral branches--though, seen from above, it would present a -symmetrical figure, as if it were not flattened (A, Fig. 53)--seen -sideways, or in profile, will show itself to be at least as much -flattened as at B. - -[Illustration: FIG. 53.] - -§ 15. You may thus regard the whole tree as composed of a series of such -thick, flat, branch-leaves; only incomparably more varied and enriched -in framework as they spread; and arranged more or less in spirals round -the trunk. Gather a cone of a Scotch fir; begin at the bottom of it, and -pull off the seeds, so as to show one of the spiral rows of them -continuously, from the bottom to the top, leaving enough seeds above -them to support the row. Then the gradual lengthening of the seeds from -the root, their spiral arrangement, and their limitation within a -curved, convex form, furnish the best _severe_ type you can have of the -branch system of all stemmed trees; and each seed of the cone -represents, not badly, the sort of flattened solid leaf-shape which all -complete branches have. Also, if you will try to draw the spiral of the -fir-cone, you will understand something about tree-perspective, which -may be generally useful. Finally, if you note the way in which the seeds -of the cone slip each farther and farther over each other, so as to -change sides in the middle of the cone, and obtain a reversed action of -spiral lines in the upper half, you may imagine what a piece of work it -would be for both of us, if we were to try to follow the complexities of -branch order in trees of irregular growth, such as the rhododendron. I -tried to do it, at least, for the pine, in section, but saw I was -getting into a perfect maelström of spirals, from which no efforts would -have freed me, in any imaginable time, and the only safe way was to keep -wholly out of the stream. - -[Illustration: FIG. 54.] - -§ 16. The alternate system, leading especially to the formation of -forked trees, is more manageable; and if the reader is master of -perspective, he may proceed some distance in the examination of that for -himself. But I do not care to frighten the general reader by many -diagrams: the book is always sure to open at them when he takes it up. I -will venture on one which has perhaps something a little amusing about -it, and is really of importance. - -[Illustration: FIG. 55.] - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin J. Emslie - -56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works.] - -§ 17. Let X, Fig. 54, represent a shoot of any opposite-leaved tree. The -mode in which it will grow into a tree depends, mainly, on its -disposition to lose the leader or a lateral shoot. If it keeps the -leader, but drops the lateral, it takes the form A, and next year by a -repetition of the process, B. But if it keeps the laterals, and drops -the leader, it becomes first, C and next year, D. The form A is almost -universal in spiral or alternate trees; and it is especially to be noted -as bringing about this result, that in any given forking, one bough -always goes on in its own direct course, and the other leaves it softly; -they do not separate as if one was repelled from the other. Thus in Fig. -55, a perfect and nearly symmetrical piece of ramification, by Turner -(lowest bough but one in the tree on the left in the "Château of La -belle Gabrielle"), the leading bough, going on in its own curve, throws -off, first, a bough to the right, then one to the left, then two small -ones to the right, and proceeds itself, hidden by leaves, to form the -farthest upper point of the branch. - -The lower secondary bough--the first thrown off--proceeds in its own -curve, branching first to the left, then to the right. - -The upper bough proceeds in the same way, throwing off first to left, -then to right. And this is the commonest and most graceful structure. -But if the tree loses the leader, as at C, Fig. 54 (and many opposite -trees have a trick of doing so), a very curious result is arrived at, -which I will give in a geometrical form. - -§ 18. The number of branches which die, so as to leave the main stem -bare, is always greatest low down, or near the interior of the tree. It -follows that the lengths of stem which do not fork diminish gradually to -the extremities, in a fixed proportion. This is a general law. Assume, -for example's sake, the stem to separate always into two branches, at an -equal angle, and that each branch is three quarters of the length of the -preceding one. Diminish their thickness in proportion, and carry out the -figure any extent you like. In Plate 56, opposite, Fig. 1, you have it -at its ninth branch; in which I wish you to notice, first, the delicate -curve formed by every complete line of the branches (compare Vol. IV. -Fig. 91); and, secondly, the very curious result of the top of the tree -being a broad flat line, which passes at an angle into lateral shorter -lines, and so down to the extremities. It is this property which renders -the contours of tops of trees so intensely difficult to draw rightly, -without making their curves too smooth and insipid. - -Observe, also, that the great weight of the foliage being thrown on the -outside of each main fork, the tendency of forked trees is very often to -droop and diminish the bough on one side, and erect the other into a -principal mass.[1] - -§ 19. But the form in a perfect tree is dependent on the revolution of -this sectional profile, so as to produce a mushroom-shaped or -cauliflower-shaped mass, of which I leave the reader to enjoy the -perspective drawing by himself, adding, after he has completed it, the -effect of the law of resilience to the extremities. Only, he must note -this: that in real trees, as the branches rise from the ground, the open -spaces underneath are partly filled by subsequent branchings, so that a -real tree has not so much the shape of a mushroom, as of an apple, or, -if elongated, a pear. - -§ 20. And now you may just begin to understand a little of Turner's -meaning in those odd pear-shaped trees of his, in the "Mercury and -Argus," and other such compositions: which, however, before we can do -completely, we must gather our evidence together, and see what general -results will come of it respecting the hearts and fancies of trees, no -less than their forms. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] This is Harding's favorite form of tree. You will find it much - insisted on in his works on foliage. I intended to have given a - figure to show the results of the pressure of the weight of all the - leafage on a great lateral bough, in modifying its curves, the - strength of timber being greatest where the leverage of the mass - tells most. But I find nobody ever reads things which it takes any - trouble to understand, so that it is of no use to write them. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE LEAF MONUMENTS. - - -§ 1. And now, having ascertained in its main points the system on which -the leaf-workers build, let us see, finally, what results in aspect, and -appeal to human mind, their building must present. In some sort it -resembles that of the coral animal, differing, however, in two points. -First, the animal which forms branched coral, builds, I believe, in calm -water, and has few accidents of current, light, or heat to contend with. -He builds in monotonous ramification, untormented, therefore -unbeautiful. Secondly, each coral animal builds for himself, adding his -cell to what has been before constructed, as a bee adds another cell to -the comb. He obtains no essential connection with the root and -foundation of the whole structure. That foundation is thickened -clumsily, by a fused and encumbering aggregation, as a stalactite -increases;--not by threads proceeding from the extremities to the root. - -§ 2. The leaf, as we have seen, builds in both respects under opposite -conditions. It leads a life of endurance, effort, and various success, -issuing in various beauty; and it connects itself with the whole -previous edifice by one sustaining thread, continuing its appointed -piece of work all the way from top to root. Whence result three great -conditions in branch aspect, for which I cannot find good names, but -must use the imperfect ones of "Spring," "Caprice," "Fellowship." - -§ 3. I. SPRING: or the appearance of elastic and progressive power, as -opposed to that look of a bent piece of cord.--This follows partly on -the poise of the bough, partly on its action in seeking or shunning. -Every branch-line expresses both these. It takes a curve accurately -showing the relations between the strength of the sprays in that -position (growing downward, upward, or laterally), and the weight of -leaves they carry; and again, it takes a curve expressive of the will -or aim of those sprays, during all their life, and handed down from sire -to son, in steady inheritance of resolution to reach forward in a given -direction, or bend away from some given evil influence. - -And all these proportionate strengths and measured efforts of the bough -produce its loveliness, and ought to be felt, in looking at it, not by -any mathematical evidence, but by the same fine instinct which enables -us to perceive, when a girl dances rightly, that she moves easily, and -with delight to herself; that her limbs are strong enough, and her body -tender enough, to move precisely as she wills them to move. You cannot -say of any bend of arm or foot what precise relations of their curves to -the whole figure manifest, in their changeful melodies, that ease of -motion; yet you feel that they do so, and you feel it by a true -instinct. And if you reason on the matter farther, you may know, though -you cannot see, that an absolute mathematical necessity proportions -every bend of the body to the rate and direction of its motion; and that -the momentary fancy and fire of the will measure themselves, even in -their gaily-fancied freedom, by stern laws of nervous life, and material -attraction, which regulate eternally every pulse of the strength of man, -and every sweep of the stars of heaven. - -§ 4. Observe, also, the balance of the bough of a tree is quite as -subtle as that of a figure in motion. It is a balance between the -elasticity of the bough and the weight of leaves, affected in curvature, -literally, by the growth of _every_ leaf; and besides this, when it -moves, it is partly supported by the resistance of the air, greater or -less, according to the shape of leaf;--so that branches float on the -wind more than they yield to it; and in their tossing do not so much -bend under a force, as rise on a wave, which penetrates in liquid -threads through all their sprays. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: 57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 56. _To face page 65._] - -§ 5. I am not sure how far, by any illustration, I can exemplify these -subtle conditions of form. All my plans have been shortened, and I have -learned to content myself with yet more contracted issues of them after -the shortening, because I know that nearly all in such matters must be -said or shown, unavailably. No saying will teach the truth. Nothing but -doing. If the reader will draw boughs of trees long and faithfully, -giving previous pains to gain the power (how rare!) of drawing -_anything_ faithfully, he will come to see what Turner's work is, -or any other right work, but not by reading, nor thinking, nor idly -looking. However, in some degree, even our ordinary instinctive -perception of grace and balance may serve us, if we choose to pay any -accurate attention to the matter. - -§ 6. Look back to Fig. 55. That bough of Turner's is exactly and -exquisitely poised, leaves and all, for its present horizontal position. -Turn the book so as to put the spray upright, with the leaves at the -top. You ought to see they would then be wrong;--that they must, in that -position, have adjusted themselves more directly above the main stem, -and more firmly, the curves of the lighter sprays being a deflection -caused by their weight in the horizontal position. Again, Fig. 56 -represents, enlarged to four times the size of the original, the two -Scotch firs in Turner's etching of Inverary.[1] These are both in -perfect poise, representing a double action: the warping of the trees -away from the sea-wind, and the continual growing out of the boughs on -the right-hand side, to recover the balance. - -Turn the page so as to be horizontal, and you ought to feel that, -considered now as branches, both would be out of balance. If you turn -the heads of the trees to your right, they are wrong, because gravity -would have bent them more downwards; if to your left, wrong, because the -law of resilience would have raised them more at the extremities. - -§ 7. Now take two branches of Salvator's, Figs. 57 and 58.[2] You ought -to feel that these have neither poise nor spring: their leaves are -incoherent, ragged, hanging together in decay. - -[Illustration: FIG. 57.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 58.] - -Immediately after these, turn to Plate 57, opposite. The branch at the -top is facsimiled from that in the hand of Adam, in Durer's Adam and -Eve.[3] It is full of the most exquisite vitality and spring in every -line. Look at it for five minutes carefully. Then turn back to -Salvator's, Fig. 57. Are you as well satisfied with it? You ought to -feel that it is not strong enough at the origin to sustain the leaves; -and that if it were, those leaves themselves are in broken or forced -relations with each other. Such relations might, indeed, exist in a -partially withered tree, and one of these branches is intended to be -partially withered, but the other is not; and if it were, Salvator's -choice of the withered tree is precisely the sign of his preferring -ugliness to beauty, decrepitude and disorganization to life and youth. -The leaves on the spray, by Durer, hold themselves as the girl holds -herself in dancing; those on Salvator's as an old man, partially -palsied, totters along with broken motion, and loose deflection of limb. - -§ 8. Next, let us take a spray by Paul Veronese[4]--the lower figure in -Plate 57. It is just as if we had gathered one out of the garden. Though -every line and leaf in the quadruple group is necessary to join with -other parts of the composition of the noble picture, every line and leaf -is also as free and true as if it were growing. None are confused, yet -none are loose; all are individual, yet none separate, in tender poise -of pliant strength and fair order of accomplished grace, each, by due -force of the indulgent bough, set and sustained. - -§ 9. Observe, however, that in all these instances from earlier masters, -the expression of the universal botanical law of poise is independent of -accuracy in rendering of species. As before noticed, the neglect of -specific distinction long restrained the advance of landscape, and even -hindered Turner himself in many respects. The sprays of Veronese are a -conventional type of laurel; Albert Durer's an imaginary branch of -paradisaical vegetation; Salvator's, a rude reminiscence of sweet -chestnut; Turner's only is a faithful rendering of the Scotch fir. - -[Illustration: 58. Branch Curvature.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 59.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 60.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 61 _To face page 69._] - -§ 10. To show how the principle of balance is carried out by Nature -herself, here is a little terminal upright spray of willow, the most -graceful of English trees (Fig. 59). I have drawn it carefully; and if -the reader will study its curves, or, better, trace and pencil them with -a perfectly fine point, he will feel, I think, without difficulty, their -finished relation to the leaves they sustain. Then if we turn suddenly -to a piece of Dutch branch-drawing (Fig. 60), facsimiled from No. 160, -Dulwich Gallery (Berghem), he will understand, I believe, also the -qualities of that, without comment of mine. It is of course not so dark -in the original, being drawn with the chance dashes of a brush loaded -with brown, but the contours are absolutely as in the woodcut. This -Dutch design is a very characteristic example of two faults in -tree-drawing; namely, the loss not only of grace and spring, but of -woodiness. A branch is not elastic as steel is, neither as a carter's -whip is. It is a combination, wholly peculiar, of elasticity with -half-dead and sapless stubbornness, and of continuous curve with pauses -of knottiness, every bough having its blunted, affronted, fatigued, -or repentant moments of existence, and mingling crabbed rugosities -and fretful changes of mind with the main tendencies of its growth. The -piece of pollard willow opposite (Fig. 61), facsimiled from Turner's -etching of "Young Anglers," in the Liber Studiorum, has all these -characters in perfectness, and may serve for sufficient study of them. -It is impossible to explain in what the expression of the woody strength -consists, unless it be felt. One very obvious condition is the excessive -fineness of curvature, approximating continually to a straight line. In -order to get a piece of branch curvature given as accurately as I could -by an unprejudiced person, I set one of my pupils at the Working Men's -College (a joiner by trade) to draw, last spring, a lilac branch of its -real size, as it grew, before it budded. It was about six feet long, and -before he could get it quite right, the buds came out and interrupted -him; but the fragment he got drawn is engraved in flat profile, in Plate -58. It has suffered much by reduction, one or two of its finest curves -having become lost in the mere thickness of the lines. Nevertheless, if -the reader will compare it carefully with the Dutch work, it will teach -him something about trees. - -§ 11. II. CAPRICE.--The next character we had to note of the -leaf-builders was their capriciousness, noted, partly, in Vol. III. -chap. ix. § 14. It is a character connected with the ruggedness and -ill-temperedness just spoken of, and an essential source of branch -beauty: being in reality the written story of all the branch's life,--of -the theories it formed, the accidents it suffered, the fits of -enthusiasm to which it yielded in certain delicious warm springs; the -disgusts at weeks of east wind, the mortifications of itself for its -friends' sakes; or the sudden and successful inventions of new ways of -getting out to the sun. The reader will understand this character in a -moment, by merely comparing Fig. 62, which is a branch of Salvator's,[5] -with Fig. 63, which I have traced from the engraving, in the Yorkshire -series, of Turner's "Aske Hall." You cannot but feel at once, not only -the wrongness of Salvator's, but its dulness. It is not now a question -either of poise, or grace, or gravity; only of wit. That bough has got -no sense; it has not been struck by a single new idea from the beginning -of it to the end; dares not even cross itself with one of its own -sprays. You will be amazed, in taking up any of these old engravings, to -see how seldom the boughs _do_ cross each other. Whereas, in nature, not -only is the intersection of extremities a mathematical necessity (see -Plate 56), but out of this intersection and crossing of curve by curve, -and the opposition of line it involves, the best part of their -composition arises. Look at the way the boughs are interwoven in that -piece of lilac stem (Plate 58). - -[Illustration: FIG. 62.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 63.] - -[Illustration: 59. The Dryad's Waywardness.] - -§ 12. Again: As it seldom struck the old painters that boughs must cross -each other, so it never seems to have occurred to them that they must be -sometimes foreshortened. I chose this bit from "Aske Hall," that you -might see at once, both how Turner foreshortens the main stem, and how, -in doing so, he shows the turning aside, and outwards, of the one next -to it, to the left, to get more air.[6] Indeed, this foreshortening lies -at the core of the business; for unless it be well understood, no -branch-form can ever be rightly drawn. I placed the oak spray in Plate -51 so as to be seen as nearly straight on its flank as possible. It is -the most uninteresting position in which a bough can be drawn; but it -shows the first simple action of the law of resilience. I will now turn -the bough with its extremity towards us, and foreshorten it (Plate 59), -which being done, you perceive another tendency in the whole branch, not -seen at all in the first Plate, to throw its sprays to its own right (or -to your left), which it does to avoid the branch next it, while the -_forward_ action is in a sweeping curve round to your right, or to the -branch's left: a curve which it takes to recover position after its -first concession. The lines of the nearer and smaller shoots are very -nearly--thus foreshortened--those of a boat's bow. Here is a piece of -Dutch foreshortening for you to compare with it, Fig. 64.[7] - -[Illustration: FIG. 64.] - -§ 13. In this final perfection of bough-drawing, Turner stands _wholly -alone_. Even Titian does not foreshorten his boughs rightly. Of course -he could, if he had cared to do so; for if you can foreshorten a limb or -a hand, much more a tree branch. But either he had never looked at a -tree carefully enough to feel that it was necessary, or, which is more -likely, he disliked to introduce in a background elements of vigorous -projection. Be the reason what it may, if you take Lefčvre's plates of -the Peter Martyr and St. Jerome--the only ones I know which give any -idea of Titian's tree-drawing, you will observe at once that the boughs -lie in flakes, artificially set to the right and left, and are not -intricate or varied, even where the foliage indicates some -foreshortening;--completing thus the evidence for my statement long ago -given, that no man but Turner had ever drawn the stem of a tree. - -[Illustration: FIG. 65.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 66.] - -§ 14. It may be well also to note, for the advantage of the general -student of design, that, in foliage and bough drawing, all the final -grace and general utility of the study depend on its being well -foreshortened; and that, till the power of doing so quite accurately is -obtained, no landscape-drawing is of the least value; nor can the -character of any tree be known at all until not only its branches, but -its minutest extremities, have been drawn in the severest -foreshortening, with little accompanying plans of the arrangements of -the leaves or buds, or thorns, on the stem. Thus Fig. 65 is the -extremity of a single shoot of spruce foreshortened, showing the -resilience of its swords from beneath, and Fig. 66 is a little -ground-plan, showing the position of the three lowest triple groups of -thorn on a shoot of gooseberry.[8] The fir shoot is carelessly drawn; -but it is not worth while to do it better, unless I engraved it on -steel, so as to show the fine relations of shade. - -§ 15. III. FELLOWSHIP.--The compactness of mass presented by this little -sheaf of pine-swords may lead us to the consideration of the last -character I have to note of boughs; namely, the mode of their -association in masses. It follows, of course, from all the laws of -growth we have ascertained, that the terminal outline of any tree or -branch must be a simple one, containing within it, at a given height or -level, the series of leaves of the year; only we have not yet noticed -the kind of form which results, in each branch, from the part it has to -take in forming the mass of the tree. The systems of branching are -indeed infinite, and could not be exemplified by any number of types; -but here are two common types, in section, which will enough explain -what I mean. - -[Illustration: FIG. 67.] - -§ 16. If a tree branches with a concave tendency, it is apt to carry its -boughs to the outer curve of limitation, as at A, Fig. 67, and if with a -convex tendency, as at B. In either case the vertical section, or -profile, of a bough will give a triangular mass, terminated by curves, -and elongated at one extremity. These triangular masses you may see at a -glance, prevailing in the branch system of any tree in winter. They may, -of course, be mathematically reduced to the four types _a_, _b_, _c_, -and _d_, Fig. 67, but are capable of endless variety of expression in -action, and in the adjustment of their weights to the bearing stem. - -§ 17. To conclude, then, we find that the beauty of these buildings of -the leaves consists, from the first step of it to the last, in its -showing their perfect fellowship; and a single aim uniting them under -circumstances of various distress, trial, and pleasure. Without the -fellowship, no beauty; without the steady purpose, no beauty; without -trouble, and death, no beauty; without individual pleasure, freedom, and -caprice, so far as may be consistent with the universal good, no beauty. - -[Illustration: FIG. 68.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 69.] - -§ 18. Tree-loveliness might be thus lost or killed in many ways. -Discordance would kill it--of one leaf with another; disobedience would -kill it--of any leaf to the ruling law; indulgence would kill it, and -the doing away with pain; or slavish symmetry would kill it, and the -doing away with delight. And this is so, down to the smallest atom and -beginning of life: so soon as there is life at all, there are these four -conditions of it;--harmony, obedience, distress, and delightsome -inequality. Here is the magnified section of an oak-bud, not the size of -a wheat grain (Fig. 68). Already its nascent leaves are seen arranged -under the perfect law of resilience, preparing for stoutest work on the -right side. Here is a dogwood bud just opening into life (Fig. 69). Its -ruling law is to be four square, but see how the uppermost leaf takes -the lead, and the lower bends up, already a little distressed by the -effort. Here is a birch-bud, farther advanced, Fig. 70. Who shall say -how many humors the little thing has in its mind already; or how many -adventures it has passed through? And so to the end. Help, submission, -sorrow, dissimilarity, are the sources of all good;--war, disobedience, -luxury, equality, the sources of all evil. - -[Illustration: FIG. 70.] - -§ 19. There is yet another and a deeply laid lesson to be received from -the leaf-builders, which I hope the reader has already perceived. Every -leaf, we have seen, connects its work with the entire and accumulated -result of the work of its predecessors. Their previous construction -served it during its life, raised it towards the light, gave it more -free sway and motion in the wind, and removed it from the noxiousness of -earth exhalation. Dying, it leaves its own small but well-labored -thread, adding, though imperceptibly, yet essentially, to the strength, -from root to crest, of the trunk on which it had lived, and fitting that -trunk for better service to succeeding races of leaves. - -We men, sometimes, in what we presume to be humility, compare ourselves -with leaves; but we have as yet no right to do so. The leaves may well -scorn the comparison. We who live for ourselves, and neither know how -to use nor keep the work of past time, may humbly learn,--as from the -ant, foresight,--from the leaf, reverence. The power of every great -people, as of every living tree, depends on its not effacing, but -confirming and concluding, the labors of its ancestors. Looking back to -the history of nations, we may date the beginning of their decline from -the moment when they ceased to be reverent in heart, and accumulative in -hand and brain; from the moment when the redundant fruit of age hid in -them the hollowness of heart, whence the simplicities of custom and -sinews of tradition had withered away. Had men but guarded the righteous -laws, and protected the precious works of their fathers, with half the -industry they have given to change and to ravage, they would not now -have been seeking vainly, in millennial visions and mechanic servitudes, -the accomplishment of the promise made to them so long ago: "As the days -of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the -work of their hands; they shall not labor in vain, nor bring forth for -trouble; for they are the seed of the blessed of the Lord, and their -offspring with them." - -§ 20. This lesson we have to take from the leaf's life. One more we may -receive from its death. If ever in autumn a pensiveness falls upon us as -the leaves drift by in their fading, may we not wisely look up in hope -to their mighty monuments? Behold how fair, how far prolonged, in arch -and aisle, the avenues of the valleys; the fringes of the hills! So -stately,--so eternal; the joy of man, the comfort of all living -creatures, the glory of the earth,--they are but the monuments of those -poor leaves that flit faintly past us to die. Let them not pass, without -our understanding their last counsel and example: that we also, careless -of monument by the grave, may build it in the world--monument by which -men may be taught to remember, not where we died, but where we lived. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] They are enlarged, partly in order to show the care and - minuteness of Turner's drawing on the smallest scale, partly to save - the reader the trouble of using a magnifying glass, partly because - this woodcut will print safely; while if I had facsimiled the fine - Turner etching, the block might have been spoiled after a hundred - impressions. - - [2] Magnified to twice the size of the original, but otherwise - facsimiled from his own etching of Oedipus, and the School of Plato. - - [3] The parrot perched on it is removed, which may be done without - altering the curve, as the bird is set where its weight would not - have bent the wood. - - [4] The largest laurel spray in the background of the "Susanna," - Louvre--reduced to about a fifth of the original. The drawing was - made for me by M. Hippolyte Dubois, and I am glad it is not one of my - own, lest I should be charged with exaggerating Veronese's accuracy. - - This group of leaves is, in the original, of the life-size; the - circle which interferes with the spray on the right being the outline - of the head and of one of the elders; and, as painted for distant - effect, there is no care in completing the stems:--they are struck - with a few broken touches of the brush, which cannot be imitated in - the engraving, and much of their spirit is lost in consequence. - - [5] The longest in "Apollo and the Sibyl," engraved by Boydell. - (Reduced one-half.) - - [6] The foreshortening of the bough to the right is a piece of great - audacity; it comes towards us two or three feet sharply, after - forking, so as to look half as thick again as at the fork;--then - bends back again, and outwards. - - [7] Hobbima. Dulwich Gallery, No. 131. Turn the book with its inner - edge up. - - [8] Their change from groups of three to groups of two, and then to - single thorns at the end of the spray, will be found very beautiful - in a real shoot. The figure on the left in Plate 52 is a branch of - blackthorn with its spines (which are a peculiar condition of branch, - and can bud like branches, while thorns have no root nor power of - development). Such a branch gives good practice without too much - difficulty. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE LEAF SHADOWS. - - -[Illustration: FIG. 71.] - -§ 1. It may be judged, by the time which it has taken to arrive at any -clear idea of the structure of shield-builders, what a task would open -to us if we endeavored to trace the more wonderful forms of the wild -builders with the sword. Not that they are more complex; but they are -more definite, and cannot be so easily generalized. The conditions which -produce the spire of the cypress, and flaked breadth of the cedar, the -rounded head of the stone pine, and perfect pyramid of the black spruce, -are far more distinct, and would require more accurate and curious -diagrams to illustrate them, than the graceful, but in some degree -monotonous branching of leaf-builders. In broad principle they are, -however, alike. The leaves construct the sprays in the same accumulative -way: the only essential difference being that in the sword-builders the -leaves are all set close, and at equal intervals. Instead of admitting -extended and variable spaces between them, the whole spray is one tower -of leaf-roots, set in a perfect spiral. Thus, Fig. 71, at A, represents -a fragment of spray of Scotch fir of its real size. B is the same piece -magnified, the diamond-like spaces being the points on which the leaves -grew. The dotted lines show the regularity of the spiral. As the minor -stems join in boughs, the scars left by the leaves are gradually -effaced, and a thick but broken and scaly bark forms instead. - -§ 2. A sword-builder may therefore be generally considered as a -shield-builder put under the severest military restraint. The graceful -and thin leaf is concentrated into a strong, narrow, pointed rod; and -the insertion of these rods on them is in a close and perfectly timed -order. In some ambiguous trees connected with the tribe (as the arbor -vitć) there is no proper stem to the outer leaves, but all the -extremities form a kind of coralline leaf, flat and fern-like, but -articulated like a crustacean animal, which gradually concentrates and -embrowns itself into the stem. The thicker branches of these trees are -exquisitely fantastic; and the mode in which the flat system of leaf -first produces an irregular branch, and then adapts itself to the -symmetrical cone of the whole tree, is one of the most interesting -processes of form which I know in vegetation. - -§ 3. Neither this, however, nor any other of the pine formations, have -we space here to examine in detail; while without detail, all discussion -of them is in vain. I shall only permit myself to note a few points -respecting my favorite tree, the black spruce, not with any view to art -criticism (though we might get at some curious results by a comparison -of popular pine-drawing in Germany, America, and other dark-wooded -countries, with the true natural forms), but because I think the -expression of this tree has not been rightly understood by travellers in -Switzerland, and that, with a little watching of it, they might easily -obtain a juster feeling. - -§ 4. Of the many marked adaptations of nature to the mind of man, it -seems one of the most singular, that trees intended especially for the -adornment of the wildest mountains should be in broad outline the most -formal of trees. The vine, which is to be the companion of man, is -waywardly docile in its growth, falling into festoons beside his -cornfields, or roofing his garden-walks, or casting its shadow all -summer upon his door. Associated always with the trimness of -cultivation, it introduces all possible elements of sweet wildness. The -pine, placed nearly always among scenes disordered and desolate, brings -into them all possible elements of order and precision. Lowland trees -may lean to this side and that, though it is but a meadow breeze that -bends them, or a bank of cowslips from which their trunks lean aslope. -But let storm and avalanche do their worst, and let the pine find only a -ledge of vertical precipice to cling to, it will nevertheless grow -straight. Thrust a rod from its last shoot down the stem;--it shall -point to the centre of the earth as long as the tree lives. - -§ 5. Also it may be well for lowland branches to reach hither and -thither for what they need, and to take all kinds of irregular shape and -extension. But the pine is trained to need nothing, and to endure -everything. It is resolvedly whole, self-contained, desiring nothing but -rightness, content with restricted completion. Tall or short, it will be -straight. Small or large, it will be round. It may be permitted also to -these soft lowland trees that they should make themselves gay with show -of blossom, and glad with pretty charities of fruitfulness. We builders -with the sword have harder work to do for man, and must do it in -close-set troops. To stay the sliding of the mountain snows, which would -bury him; to hold in divided drops, at our sword-points, the rain, which -would sweep away him and his treasure-fields; to nurse in shade among -our brown fallen leaves the tricklings that feed the brooks in drought; -to give massive shield against the winter wind, which shrieks through -the bare branches of the plain:--such service must we do him steadfastly -while we live. Our bodies, also, are at his service: softer than the -bodies of other trees, though our toil is harder than theirs. Let him -take them as pleases him, for his houses and ships. So also it may be -well for these timid lowland trees to tremble with all their leaves, or -turn their paleness to the sky, if but a rush of rain passes by them; or -to let fall their leaves at last, sick and sere. But we pines must live -carelessly amidst the wrath of clouds. We only wave our branches to and -fro when the storm pleads with us, as men toss their arms in a dream. - -And finally, these weak lowland trees may struggle fondly for the last -remnants of life, and send up feeble saplings again from their roots -when they are cut down. But we builders with the sword perish boldly; -our dying shall be perfect and solemn, as our warring: we give up our -lives without reluctance, and for ever.[1] - -§ 6. I wish the reader to fix his attention for a moment on these two -great characters of the pine, its straightness and rounded perfectness; -both wonderful, and in their issue lovely, though they have hitherto -prevented the tree from being drawn. I say, first, its straightness. -Because we constantly see it in the wildest scenery, we are apt to -remember only as characteristic examples of it those which have been -disturbed by violent accident or disease. Of course such instances are -frequent. The soil of the pine is subject to continual change; perhaps -the rock in which it is rooted splits in frost and falls forward, -throwing the young stems aslope, or the whole mass of earth around it is -undermined by rain, or a huge boulder falls on its stem from above, and -forces it for twenty years to grow with weight of a couple of tons -leaning on its side. Hence, especially at edges of loose cliffs, about -waterfalls, or at glacier banks, and in other places liable to -disturbance, the pine may be seen distorted and oblique; and in Turner's -"Source of the Arveron," he has, with his usual unerring perception of -the main point in any matter, fastened on this means of relating the -glacier's history. The glacier cannot explain its own motion; and -ordinary observers saw in it only its rigidity; but Turner saw that the -wonderful thing was its non-rigidity. Other ice is fixed, only this ice -stirs. All the banks are staggering beneath its waves, crumbling and -withered as by the blast of a perpetual storm. He made the rocks of his -foreground loose--rolling and tottering down together; the pines, -smitten aside by them, their tops dead, bared by the ice wind. - -§ 7. Nevertheless, this is not the truest or universal expression of the -pine's character. I said long ago, even of Turner: "Into the spirit of -the pine he cannot enter." He understood the glacier at once; he had -seen the force of sea on shore too often to miss the action of those -crystal-crested waves. But the pine was strange to him, adverse to his -delight in broad and flowing line; he refused its magnificent erectness. -Magnificent!--nay, sometimes, almost terrible. Other trees, tufting crag -or hill, yield to the form and sway of the ground, clothe it with soft -compliance, are partly its subjects, partly its flatterers, partly its -comforters. But the pine rises in serene resistance, self-contained; nor -can I ever without awe stay long under a great Alpine cliff, far from -all house or work of men, looking up to its companies of pine, as they -stand on the inaccessible juts and perilous ledges of the enormous wall, -in quiet multitudes, each like the shadow of the one beside it--upright, -fixed, spectral, as troops of ghosts standing on the walls of Hades, not -knowing each other--dumb for ever. You cannot reach them, cannot cry to -them;--those trees never heard human voice; they are far above all sound -but of the winds. No foot ever stirred fallen leaf of theirs. All -comfortless they stand, between the two eternities of the Vacancy and -the Rock: yet with such iron will, that the rock itself looks bent and -shattered beside them--fragile, weak, inconsistent, compared to their -dark energy of delicate life, and monotony of enchanted -pride:--unnumbered, unconquerable. - -§ 8. Then note, farther, their perfectness. The impression on most -people's minds must have been received more from pictures than reality, -so far as I can judge;--so ragged they think the pine; whereas its chief -character in health is green and full roundness. It stands compact, like -one of its own cones, slightly curved on its sides, finished and quaint -as a carved tree in some Elizabethan garden; and instead of being wild -in expression, forms the softest of all forest scenery; for other trees -show their trunks and twisting boughs: but the pine, growing either in -luxuriant mass or in happy isolation, allows no branch to be seen. -Summit behind summit rise its pyramidal ranges, or down to the very -grass sweep the circlets of its boughs; so that there is nothing but -green cone and green carpet. Nor is it only softer, but in one sense -more cheerful than other foliage; for it casts only a pyramidal shadow. -Lowland forest arches overhead, and chequers the ground with darkness; -but the pine, growing in scattered groups, leaves the glades between -emerald-bright. Its gloom is all its own; narrowing into the sky, it -lets the sunshine strike down to the dew. And if ever a superstitious -feeling comes over me among the pine-glades, it is never tainted with -the old German forest fear; but is only a more solemn tone of the fairy -enchantment that haunts our English meadows; so that I have always -called the prettiest pine glade in Chamouni, "Fairies' Hollow." It is in -the glen beneath the steep ascent above Pont Pelissier, and may be -reached by a little winding path which goes down from the top of the -hill; being, indeed, not truly a glen, but a broad ledge of moss and -turf, leaning in a formidable precipice (which, however, the gentle -branches hide) over the Arve. An almost isolated rock promontory, -many-colored, rises at the end of it. On the other sides it is bordered -by cliffs, from which a little cascade falls, literally down among the -pines, for it is so light, shaking itself into mere showers of seed -pearl in the sun, that the pines don't know it from mist, and grow -through it without minding. Underneath, there is only the mossy silence, -and above, for ever, the snow of the nameless Aiguille. - -§ 9. And then the third character which I want you to notice in the pine -is its exquisite fineness. Other trees rise against the sky in dots and -knots, but this in fringes.[2] You never see the edges of it, so subtle -are they; and for this reason, it alone of trees, so far as I know, is -capable of the fiery change which we saw before had been noticed by -Shakespeare. When the sun rises behind a ridge crested with pine, -provided the ridge be at a distance of about two miles, and seen clear, -all the trees, for about three or four degrees on each side of the sun, -become trees of light, seen in clear flame against the darker sky, and -dazzling as the sun itself. I thought at first this was owing to the -actual lustre of the leaves; but I believe now it is caused by the -cloud-dew upon them,--every minutest leaf carrying its diamond. It seems -as if these trees, living always among the clouds, had caught part of -their glory from them; and themselves the darkest of vegetation, could -yet add splendor to the sun itself. - -§ 10. Yet I have been more struck by their character of finished -delicacy at a distance from the central Alps, among the pastoral hills -of the Emmenthal, or lowland districts of Berne, where they are set in -groups between the cottages, whose shingle roofs (they also of pine) of -deep gray blue, and lightly carved fronts, golden and orange in the -autumn sunshine,[3] gleam on the banks and lawns of hill-side,--endless -lawns, mounded, and studded, and bossed all over with deeper green -hay-heaps, orderly set, like jewellery (the mountain hay, when the -pastures are full of springs, being strangely dark and fresh in verdure -for a whole day after it is cut). And amidst this delicate delight of -cottage and field, the young pines stand delicatest of all, scented as -with frankincense, their slender stems straight as arrows, and crystal -white, looking as if they would break with a touch, like needles; and -their arabesques of dark leaf pierced through and through by the pale -radiance of clear sky, opal blue, where they follow each other along the -soft hill-ridges, up and down. - -§ 11. I have watched them in such scenes with the deeper interest, -because of all trees they have hitherto had most influence on human -character. The effect of other vegetation, however great, has been -divided by mingled species; elm and oak in England, poplar in France, -birch in Scotland, olive in Italy and Spain, share their power with -inferior trees, and with all the changing charm of successive -agriculture. But the tremendous unity of the pine absorbs and moulds the -life of a race. The pine shadows rest upon a nation. The Northern -peoples, century after century, lived under one or other of the two -great powers of the Pine and the Sea, both infinite. They dwelt amidst -the forests, as they wandered on the waves, and saw no end, nor any -other horizon;--still the dark green trees, or the dark green waters, -jagged the dawn with their fringe, or their foam. And whatever elements -of imagination, or of warrior strength, or of domestic justice, were -brought down by the Norwegian and the Goth against the dissoluteness or -degradation of the South of Europe, were taught them under the green -roofs and wild penetralia of the pine. - -§ 12. I do not attempt, delightful as the task would be, to trace this -influence (mixed with superstition) in Scandinavia, or North Germany; -but let us at least note it in the instance which we speak of so -frequently, yet so seldom take to heart. There has been much dispute -respecting the character of the Swiss, arising out of the difficulty -which other nations had to understand their simplicity. They were -assumed to be either romantically virtuous, or basely mercenary, when in -fact they were neither heroic nor base, but were true-hearted men, -stubborn with more than any recorded stubbornness; not much regarding -their lives, yet not casting them causelessly away; forming no high -ideal of improvement, but never relaxing their grasp of a good they had -once gained; devoid of all romantic sentiment, yet loving with a -practical and patient love that neither wearied nor forsook; little -given to enthusiasm in religion, but maintaining their faith in a purity -which no worldliness deadened and no hypocrisy soiled; neither -chivalrously generous nor pathetically humane, yet never pursuing their -defeated enemies, nor suffering their poor to perish: proud, yet not -allowing their pride to prick them into unwary or unworthy quarrel; -avaricious, yet contentedly rendering to their neighbor his due; dull, -but clear-sighted to all the principles of justice; and patient, without -ever allowing delay to be prolonged by sloth, or forbearance by fear. - -§ 13. This temper of Swiss mind, while it animated the whole -confederacy, was rooted chiefly in one small district which formed the -heart of their country, yet lay not among its highest mountains. Beneath -the glaciers of Zermatt and Evolena, and on the scorching slopes of the -Valais, the peasants remained in an aimless torpor, unheard of but as -the obedient vassals of the great Bishopric of Sion. But where the lower -ledges of calcareous rock were broken by the inlets of the Lake Lucerne, -and bracing winds penetrating from the north forbade the growth of the -vine, compelling the peasantry to adopt an entirely pastoral life, was -reared another race of men. Their narrow domain should be marked by a -small green spot on every map of Europe. It is about forty miles from -east to west; as many from north to south: yet on that shred of rugged -ground, while every kingdom of the world around it rose or fell in fatal -change, and every multitudinous race mingled or wasted itself in various -dispersion and decline, the simple shepherd dynasty remained changeless. -There is no record of their origin. They are neither Goths, Burgundians, -Romans, nor Germans. They have been for ever Helvetii, and for ever -free. Voluntarily placing themselves under the protection of the House -of Hapsburg, they acknowledged its supremacy, but resisted its -oppression; and rose against the unjust governors it appointed over -them, not to gain, but to redeem, their liberties. Victorious in the -struggle by the Lake of Egeri, they stood the foremost standard-bearers -among the nations of Europe in the cause of loyalty and life--loyalty in -its highest sense, to the laws of God's helpful justice, and of man's -faithful and brotherly fortitude. - -§ 14. You will find among them, as I said, no subtle wit nor high -enthusiasm, only an undeceivable common sense, and an obstinate -rectitude. They cannot be persuaded into their duties, but they feel -them; they use no phrases of friendship, but do not fail you at your -need. Questions of creed, which other nations sought to solve by logic -or reverie, these shepherds brought to practical tests: sustained with -tranquillity the excommunication of abbots who wanted to feed their -cattle on other people's fields, and, halbert in hand, struck down the -Swiss Reformation, because the Evangelicals of Zurich refused to send -them their due supplies of salt. Not readily yielding to the demands of -superstition, they were patient under those of economy; they would -purchase the remission of taxes, but not of sins; and while the sale of -indulgences was arrested in the church of Ensiedlen as boldly as at the -gates of Wittenberg, the inhabitants of the valley of Frütigen[4] ate no -meat for seven years, in order peacefully to free themselves and their -descendants from the seigniorial claims of the Baron of Thurm. - -§ 15. What praise may be justly due to this modest and rational virtue, -we have perhaps no sufficient grounds for defining. It must long remain -questionable how far the vices of superior civilization may be atoned -for by its achievements, and the errors of more transcendental devotion -forgiven to its rapture. But, take it for what we may, the character of -this peasantry is, at least, serviceable to others and sufficient for -their own peace; and in its consistency and simplicity, it stands alone -in the history of the human heart. How far it was developed by -circumstances of natural phenomena may also be disputed; nor should I -enter into such dispute with any strongly held conviction. The Swiss -have certainly no feelings respecting their mountains in anywise -correspondent to ours. It was rather as fortresses of defence, than as -spectacles of splendor, that the cliffs of the Rothstock bare rule over -the destinies of those who dwelt at their feet; and the training for -which the mountain children had to thank the slopes of the Muotta-Thal, -was in soundness of breath, and steadiness of limb, far more than in -elevation of idea. But the point which I desire the reader to note is, -that the character of the scene which, if any, appears to have been -impressive to the inhabitant, is not that which we ourselves feel when -we enter the district. It was not from their lakes, nor their cliffs, -nor their glaciers--though these were all peculiarly their possession, -that the three venerable cantons or states received their name. They -were not called the States of the Rock, nor the States of the Lake, but -the States of the _Forest_. And the one of the three which contains the -most touching record of the spiritual power of Swiss religion, in the -name of the convent of the "Hill of Angels," has, for its own, none but -the sweet childish name of "Under the Woods." - -§ 16. And indeed you may pass under them if, leaving the most sacred -spot in Swiss history, the Meadow of the Three Fountains, you bid the -boatman row southward a little way by the shore of the Bay of Uri. -Steepest there on its western side, the walls of its rocks ascend to -heaven. Far, in the blue of evening, like a great cathedral pavement, -lies the lake in its darkness; and you may hear the whisper of -innumerable falling waters return from the hollows of the cliff, like -the voices of a multitude praying under their breath. From time to time -the beat of a wave, slow lifted, where the rocks lean over the black -depth, dies heavily as the last note of a requiem. Opposite, green with -steep grass, and set with chalet villages, the Fron-Alp rises in one -solemn glow of pastoral light and peace; and above, against the clouds -of twilight, ghostly on the gray precipice, stand, myriad by myriad, the -shadowy armies of the Unterwalden pine.[5] - -I have seen that it is possible for the stranger to pass through this -great chapel, with its font of waters, and mountain pillars, and vaults -of cloud, without being touched by one noble thought, or stirred by any -sacred passion; but for those who received from its waves the baptism of -their youth, and learned beneath its rocks the fidelity of their -manhood, and watched amidst its clouds the likeness of the dream of -life, with the eyes of age--for these I will not believe that the -mountain shrine was built, or the calm of its forest-shadows guarded by -their God, in vain. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] "Croesus, therefore, having heard these things, sent word to the - people of Lampsacus that they should let Miltiades go; and, if not, - he would cut them down like a pine-tree."--_Herod._ vi. 37. - - [2] Keats (as is his way) puts nearly all that may be said of the - pine into one verse, though they are only figurative pines of which - he is speaking. I have come to that pass of admiration for him now, - that I dare not read him, so discontented he makes me with my own - work: but others must not leave unread, in considering the influence - of trees upon the human soul, that marvellous ode to Psyche. Here is - the piece about pines:-- - - "Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane - In some untrodden region of my mind, - Where branchéd thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, - Instead of pines, shall murmur in the wind: - Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees - _Fledge the wild-ridged mountains_, steep by steep; - And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, - The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; - And in the midst of this wide quietness - A rosy sanctuary will I dress - With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain, - With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, - With all the Gardener Fancy e'er could feign, - Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same. - And there shall be for thee all soft delight - That shadowy thought can win; - A bright torch, and a casement ope, at night, - To let the warm Love in." - - [3] There has been much cottage-building about the hills lately, with - very pretty carving, the skill in which has been encouraged by - travellers; and the fresh-cut larch is splendid in color under rosy - sunlight. - - [4] This valley is on the pass of the Gemmi in Canton Berne, but the - people are the same in temper as those of the Waldstetten. - - [5] The cliff immediately bordering the lake is in Canton Uri: the - green hills of Unterwalden rise above. This is the grandest piece of - the shore of Lake Lucerne; the rocks near Tell's Chapel are neither - so lofty nor so precipitous. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -LEAVES MOTIONLESS. - - -§ 1. It will be remembered that our final inquiry was to be into the -sources of beauty in the tented plants, or flowers of the field; which -the reader may perhaps suppose one of no great difficulty, the beauty of -flowers being somewhat generally admitted and comprehended. - -Admitted? yes. Comprehended? no; and, which is worse, in all its highest -characters, for many a day yet, incomprehensible: though with a little -steady application, I suppose we might soon know more than we do now -about the colors of flowers,--being tangible enough, and staying longer -than those of clouds. We have discovered something definite about colors -of opal and of peacock's plume; perhaps, also, in due time we may give -some account of that true gold (the only gold of intrinsic value) which -gilds buttercups; and understand how the spots are laid, in painting a -pansy. - -Art is of interest, when we may win any of its secrets; but to such -knowledge the road lies not up brick streets. And howsoever that -flower-painting may be done, one thing is certain, it is not by -machinery. - -§ 2. Perhaps, it may be thought, if we understood flowers better, we -might love them less. - -We do not love them much, as it is. Few people care about flowers. Many, -indeed, are fond of finding a new shape of blossom, caring for it as a -child cares about a kaleidoscope. Many, also, like a fair service of -flowers in the greenhouse, as a fair service of plate on the table. Many -are scientifically interested in them, though even these in the -nomenclature rather than the flowers. And a few enjoy their gardens; but -I have never heard of a piece of land, which would let well on a -building lease, remaining unlet because it was a flowery piece. I have -never heard of parks being kept for wild hyacinths, though often of -their being kept for wild beasts. And the blossoming time of the year -being principally spring, I perceive it to be the mind of most people, -during that period, to stay in towns. - -§ 3. A year or two ago, a keen-sighted and eccentrically-minded friend -of mine, having taken it into his head to violate this national custom, -and go to the Tyrol in spring, was passing through a valley near -Landech, with several similarly headstrong companions. A strange -mountain appeared in the distance, belted about its breast with a zone -of blue, like our English Queen. Was it a blue cloud? A blue horizontal -bar of the air that Titian breathed in youth, seen now far away, which -mortal might never breathe again? Was it a mirage--a meteor? Would it -stay to be approached? (ten miles of winding road yet between them and -the foot of its mountain.) Such questioning had they concerning it. My -keen-sighted friend alone maintained it to be substantial: whatever it -might be, it was not air, and would not vanish. The ten miles of road -were overpassed, the carriage left, the mountain climbed. It stayed -patiently, expanding still into richer breadth and heavenlier glow--a -belt of gentians. Such things may verily be seen among the Alps in -spring, and in spring only. Which being so, I observe most people prefer -going in autumn. - -§ 4. Nevertheless, without any special affection for them, most of us, -at least, languidly consent to the beauty of flowers, and occasionally -gather them, and prefer them from among other forms of vegetation. This, -strange to say, is precisely what great painters do _not_. - -Every other kind of object they paint, in its due place and office, with -respect;--but, except compulsorily and imperfectly, never flowers. A -curious fact, this! Here are men whose lives are spent in the study of -color, and the one thing they will not paint is a flower! Anything but -that. A furred mantle, a jewelled zone, a silken gown, a brazen corslet, -nay, an old leathern chair, or a wall-paper if you will, with utmost -care and delight;--but a flower by no manner of means, if avoidable. -When the thing has perforce to be done, the great painters of course do -it rightly. Titian, in his early work, sometimes carries a blossom or -two out with affection, as the columbines in our Bacchus and Ariadne. -So also Holbein. But in his later and mightier work, Titian will only -paint a fan or a wristband intensely, never a flower. In his portrait of -Lavinia, at Berlin, the roses are just touched finely enough to fill -their place, with no affection whatever, and with the most subdued red -possible; while in the later portrait of her, at Dresden, there are no -roses at all, but a belt of chased golden balls, on every stud of which -Titian has concentrated his strength, and I verily believe forgot the -face a little, so much has his mind been set on them. - -§ 5. In Paul Veronese's Europa, at Dresden, the entire foreground is -covered with flowers, but they are executed with sharp and crude touches -like those of a decorative painter. In Correggio's paintings, at -Dresden, and in the Antiope of the Louvre, there are lovely pieces of -foliage, but no flowers. A large garland of oranges and lemons, with -their leaves, above the St. George, at Dresden, is connected -traditionally with the garlanded backgrounds of Ghirlandajo and -Mantegna, but the studious absence of flowers renders it almost -disagreeably ponderous. I do not remember any painted by Velasquez, or -by Tintoret, except compulsory Annunciation lilies. The flowers of -Rubens are gross and rude; those of Vandyck vague, slight, and subdued -in color, so as not to contend with the flesh. In his portraits of King -Charles's children, at Turin, an enchanting picture, there is a -rose-thicket, in which the roses seem to be enchanted the wrong way, for -their leaves are all gray, and the flowers dull brick-red. Yet it is -right. - -§ 6. One reason for this is that all great men like their inferior forms -to follow and obey contours of large surfaces, or group themselves in -connected masses. Patterns do the first, leaves the last; but flowers -stand separately. - -Another reason is that the beauty of flower-petals and texture can only -be seen by looking at it close; but flat patterns can be seen far off, -as well as gleaming of metal-work. All the great men calculate their -work for effect at some distance, and with that object, know it to be -lost time to complete the drawing of flowers. Farther, the forms of -flowers being determined, require a painful attention, and restrain the -fancy; whereas, in painting fur, jewels, or bronze, the color and touch -may be varied almost at pleasure, and without effort. - -Again, much of what is best in flowers is inimitable in painting; and a -thoroughly good workman feels the feebleness of his means when he -matches them fairly with Nature, and gives up the attempt -frankly--painting the rose dull red, rather than trying to rival its -flush in sunshine. - -And, lastly, in nearly all good landscape-painting, the breadth of -foreground included implies such a distance of the spectator from the -nearest object as must entirely prevent his seeing flower detail. - -§ 7. There is, however, a deeper reason than all these; namely, that -flowers have no sublimity. We shall have to examine the nature of -sublimity in our following and last section, among other ideas of -relation. Here I only note the fact briefly, that impressions of awe and -sorrow being at the root of the sensation of sublimity, and the beauty -of separate flowers not being of the kind which connects itself with -such sensation, there is a wide distinction, in general, between -flower-loving minds and minds of the highest order. Flowers seem -intended for the solace of ordinary humanity: children love them; quiet, -tender, contented ordinary people love them as they grow; luxurious and -disorderly people rejoice in them gathered: They are the cottager's -treasure; and in the crowded town, mark, as with a little broken -fragment of rainbow, the windows of the workers in whose heart rests the -covenant of peace. Passionate or religious minds contemplate them with -fond, feverish intensity; the affection is seen severely calm in the -works of many old religious painters, and mixed with more open and true -country sentiment in those of our own pre-Raphaelites. To the child and -the girl, the peasant and the manufacturing operative, to the grisette -and the nun, the lover and monk, they are precious always. But to the -men of supreme power and thoughtfulness, precious only at times; -symbolically and pathetically often to the poets, but rarely for their -own sake. They fall forgotten from the great workmen's and soldiers' -hands. Such men will take, in thankfulness, crowns of leaves, or crowns -of thorns--not crowns of flowers. - -§ 8. Some beautiful things have been done lately, and more beautiful are -likely to be done, by our younger painters, in representing blossoms of -the orchard and the field in mass and extent. I have had something to do -with the encouragement of this impulse; and truly, if pictures are to -be essentially imitative rather than inventive, it is better to spend -care in painting hyacinths than dead leaves, and roses rather than -stubble. Such work, however, as I stated in my first essay on this -subject, in the year 1851,[1] can only connect itself with the great -schools by becoming inventive instead of copyist; and for the most part, -I believe these young painters would do well to remember that the best -beauty of flowers being wholly inimitable, and their sweetest service -unrenderable by art, the picture involves some approach to an -unsatisfying mockery, in the cold imagery of what Nature has given to be -breathed with the profuse winds of spring, and touched by the happy -footsteps of youth. - -§ 9. Among the greater masters, as I have said, there is little -laborious or affectionate flower-painting. The utmost that Turner ever -allows in his foregrounds is a water-lily or two, a cluster of heath or -foxglove, a thistle sometimes, a violet or daisy, or a bindweed-bell; -just enough to lead the eye into the understanding of the rich mystery -of his more distant leafage. Rich mystery, indeed, respecting which -these following facts about the foliage of tented plants must be noted -carefully. - -§ 10. Two characters seem especially aimed at by Nature in the -earth-plants: first, that they should be characteristic and interesting; -secondly, that they should not be very visibly injured by crushing. - -I say, first, characteristic. The leaves of large trees take -approximately simple forms, slightly monotonous. They are intended to be -seen in mass. But the leaves of the herbage at our feet take all kinds -of strange shapes, as if to invite us to examine them. Star-shaped, -heart-shaped, spear-shaped, arrow-shaped, fretted, fringed, cleft, -furrowed, serrated, sinuated; in whorls, in tufts, in spires, in wreaths -endlessly expressive, deceptive, fantastic, never the same from -footstalk to blossom; they seem perpetually to tempt our watchfulness, -and take delight in outstripping our wonder. - -§ 11. Secondly, observe, their forms are such as will not be visibly -injured by crushing. Their complexity is already disordered: jags and -rents are their laws of being; rent by the footstep they betray no -harm. Here, for instance (Fig. 72), is the mere outline of a -buttercup-leaf in full free growth; which, perhaps, may be taken as a -good common type of earth foliage. Fig. 73 is a less advanced one, -placed so as to show its symmetrical bounding form. But both, how -various;--how delicately rent into beauty! As in the aiguilles of the -great Alps, so in this lowest field-herb, where rending is the law of -being, it is the law of loveliness. - -[Illustration: FIG. 72.] - -§ 12. One class, however, of these torn leaves, peculiar to the tented -plants, has, it seems to me, a strange expressional function. I mean the -group of leaves rent into _alternate_ gaps, typically represented by the -thistle. The alternation of the rent, if not absolutely, is -effectively, peculiar to the earth-plants. Leaves of the builders are -rent symmetrically, so as to form radiating groups, as in the -horse-chestnut, or they are irregularly sinuous, as in the oak; but the -earth-plants continually present forms such as those in the opposite -Plate: a kind of web-footed leaf, so to speak; a continuous tissue, -enlarged alternately on each side of the stalk. Leaves of this form have -necessarily a kind of limping gait, as if they grew not all at once, but -first a little bit on one side, and then a little bit on the other, and -wherever they occur in quantity, give the expression to foreground -vegetation which we feel and call "ragged." - -[Illustration: FIG. 73.] - -[Illustration: 60. The Rending of Leaves.] - -§ 13. It is strange that the mere alternation of the rent should give -this effect; the more so, because alternate leaves, completely separate -from each other, produce one of the most graceful types of building -plants. Yet the fact is indeed so, that the alternate rent in the -earth-leaf is the principal cause of its ragged effect. However deeply -it may be rent symmetrically, as in the alchemilla, or buttercup, just -instanced, and however finely divided, as in the parsleys, the result is -always a delicate richness, unless the jags are alternate, and the -leaf-tissue continuous at the stem; and the moment these conditions -appear, so does the raggedness. - -§ 14. It is yet more worthy of note that the proper duty of these -leaves, which catch the eye so clearly and powerfully, would appear to -be to draw the attention of man to spots where his work is needed, for -they nearly all habitually grow on ruins or neglected ground: not noble -ruins, or on _wild_ ground, but on heaps of rubbish, or pieces of land -which have been indolently cultivated or much disturbed. The leaf on the -right of the three in the Plate, which is the most characteristic of the -class, is that of the Sisymbrium Irio, which grows, by choice, always on -ruins left by fire. The plant, which, as far as I have observed, grows -first on earth that has been moved, is the colts-foot: its broad -covering leaf is much jagged, but only irregular, not alternate in the -rent; but the weeds that mark habitual neglect, such as the thistle, -give clear alternation. - -§ 15. The aspects of complexity and carelessness of injury are farther -increased in the herb of the field, because it is "herb yielding seed;" -that is to say, a seed different in character from that which trees form -in their fruit. - -I am somewhat alarmed in reading over the above sentence, lest a -botanist, or other scientific person, should open the book at it. For of -course the essential character of either fruit or seed being only that -in the smallest compass the vital principle of the plant is rendered -portable, and for some time, preservable, we ought to call every such -vegetable dormitory a "fruit" or a "seed" indifferently. But with -respect to man there is a notable difference between them. - -A seed is what we "sow." - -A fruit, what we "enjoy." - -Fruit is seed prepared especially for the sight and taste of man and -animals; and in this sense we have true fruit and traitorous fruit -(poisonous); but it is perhaps the best available distinction,[2] that -seed being the part necessary for the renewed birth of the plant, a -fruit is such seed enclosed or sustained by some extraneous substance, -which is soft and juicy, and beautifully colored, pleasing and useful to -animals and men. - -§ 16. I find it convenient in this volume, and wish I had thought of the -expedient before, whenever I get into a difficulty, to leave the reader -to work it out. He will perhaps, therefore, be so good as to define -fruit for himself. Having defined it, he will find that the sentence -about which I was alarmed above is, in the main, true, and that tented -plants principally are herb yielding seed, while building plants give -fruit. The berried shrubs of rock and wood, however dwarfed in stature, -are true builders. The strawberry-plant is the only important -exception--a tender Bedouin. - -§ 17. Of course the principal reason for this is the plain, practical -one, that fruit should not be trampled on, and had better perhaps be put -a little out of easy reach than too near the hand, so that it may not be -gathered wantonly or without some little trouble, and may be waited for -until it is properly ripe: while the plants meant to be trampled on have -small and multitudinous seed, hard and wooden, which may be shaken and -scattered about without harm. - -Also, fine fruit is often only to be brought forth with patience; not by -young and hurried trees--but in due time, after much suffering; and the -best fruit is often to be an adornment of old age, so as to supply the -want of other grace. While the plants which will not work, but only -bloom and wander, do not (except the grasses) bring forth fruit of high -service, but only the seed that prolongs their race, the grasses alone -having great honor put on them for their humility, as we saw in our -first account of them. - -[Illustration: FIG. 74.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 75.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 76.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 77.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 78. _To face page 97._] - -§ 18. This being so, we find another element of very complex effect -added to the others which exist in tented plants, namely, that of -minute, granular, feathery, or downy seed-vessels, mingling quaint brown -punctuation, and dusty tremors of dancing grain, with the bloom of the -nearer fields; and casting a gossamered grayness and softness of plumy -mist along their surfaces far away; mysterious evermore, not only with -dew in the morning or mirage at noon, but with the shaking threads of -fine arborescence, each a little belfry of grain-bells, all a-chime. - -§ 19. I feel sorely tempted to draw one of these same spires of the fine -grasses, with its sweet changing proportions of pendent grain, but it -would be a useless piece of finesse, as such form of course never enters -into general foreground effect.[3] I have, however, engraved, at the top -of the group of woodcuts opposite (Fig. 74), a single leaf cluster of -Durer's foreground in the St. Hubert, which is interesting in several -ways; as an example of modern work, no less than old; for it is a -facsimile twice removed; being first drawn from the plate with the pen, -by Mr. Allen, and then facsimiled on wood by Miss Byfield; and if the -reader can compare it with the original, he will find it still come -tolerably close in most parts (though the nearest large leaf has got -spoiled), and of course some of the finest and most precious qualities -of Durer's work are lost. Still, it gives a fair idea of his perfectness -of conception, every leaf being thoroughly set in perspective, and drawn -with unerring decision. On each side of it (Figs. 75, 76) are two pieces -from a fairly good modern etching, which I oppose to the Durer in order -to show the difference between true work and that which pretends to give -detail, but is without feeling or knowledge. There are a great many -leaves in the piece on the left, but they are all set the same way; the -draughtsman has not conceived their real positions, but draws one after -another as he would deliver a tale of bricks. The grasses on the right -look delicate, but are a mere series of inorganic lines. Look how -Durer's grass-blades cross each other. If you take a pen and copy a -little piece of each example, you will soon feel the difference. -Underneath, in the centre (Fig. 77), is a piece of grass out of -Landseer's etching of the "Ladies' Pets," more massive and effective -than the two lateral fragments, but still loose and uncomposed. Then -underneath is a piece of firm and good work again, which will stand with -Durer's; it is the outline only of a group of leaves out of Turner's -foreground in the Richmond from the Moors, of which I give a reduced -etching, Plate 61, for the sake of the foreground principally, and in -Plate 62, the group of leaves in question, in their light and shade, -with the bridge beyond. What I have chiefly to say of them belongs to -our section on composition; but this mere fragment of a Turner -foreground may perhaps lead the reader to take note in his great -pictures of the almost inconceivable labor with which he has sought to -express the redundance and delicacy of ground leafage. - -§ 20. By comparing the etching in Plate 61 with the published engraving, -it will be seen how much yet remains to be done before any approximately -just representation of Turner foreground can be put within the reach of -the public. This Plate has been reduced by Mr. Armytage from a -pen-drawing of mine, as large as the original of Turner's (18 inches by -11 inches). It will look a little better under a magnifying glass; but -only a most costly engraving, of the real size, could give any idea of -the richness of mossy and ferny leafage included in the real design. And -if this be so on one of the ordinary England drawings of a barren -Yorkshire moor, it may be imagined what the task would be of engraving -truly such a foreground as that of the "Bay of Baić" or "Daphne and -Leucippus," in which Turner's aim has been luxuriance. - -[Illustration: 61. Richmond from the Moors.] - -[Illustration: 62. By the Brookside.] - -§ 21. His mind recurred, in all these classical foregrounds, to strong -impressions made upon him during his studies at Rome, by the masses of -vegetation which enrich its heaps of ruin with their embroidery and -bloom. I have always partly regretted these Roman studies, thinking that -they led him into too great fondness of pandering luxuriance in -vegetation, associated with decay; and prevented his giving -affection enough to the more solemn and more sacred infinity with which, -among the mightier ruins of the Alpine Rome, glow the pure and -motionless splendors of the gentian and the rose. - -§ 22. Leaves motionless. The strong pines wave above them, and the weak -grasses tremble beside them; but the blue stars rest upon the earth with -a peace as of heaven; and far along the ridges of iron rock, moveless as -they, the rubied crests of Alpine rose flush in the low rays of morning. -Nor these yet the stillest leaves. Others there are subdued to a deeper -quietness, the mute slaves of the earth, to whom we owe, perhaps, -thanks, and tenderness, the most profound of all we have to render for -the leaf ministries. - -§ 23. It is strange to think of the gradually diminished power and -withdrawn freedom among the orders of leaves--from the sweep of the -chestnut and gadding of the vine, down to the close shrinking trefoil, -and contented daisy, pressed on earth; and, at last, to the leaves that -are not merely close to earth, but themselves a part of it; fastened -down to it by their sides, here and there only a wrinkled edge rising -from the granite crystals. We have found beauty in the tree yielding -fruit, and in the herb yielding seed. How of the herb yielding _no_ -seed,[4] the fruitless, flowerless lichen of the rock? - -§ 24. Lichen, and mosses (though these last in their luxuriance are deep -and rich as herbage, yet both for the most part humblest of the green -things that live),--how of these? Meek creatures! the first mercy of the -earth, veiling with hushed softness its dintless rocks; creatures full -of pity, covering with strange and tender honor the scarred disgrace of -ruin,--laying quiet finger on the trembling stones, to teach them rest. -No words, that I know of, will say what these mosses are. None are -delicate enough, none perfect enough, none rich enough. How is one to -tell of the rounded bosses of furred and beaming green,--the starred -divisions of rubied bloom, fine-filmed, as if the Rock Spirits could -spin porphyry as we do glass,--the traceries of intricate silver, and -fringes of amber, lustrous, arborescent, burnished through every fibre -into fitful brightness and glossy traverses of silken change, yet all -subdued and pensive, and framed for simplest, sweetest offices of grace. -They will not be gathered, like the flowers, for chaplet or love-token; -but of these the wild bird will make its nest, and the wearied child his -pillow. - -And, as the earth's first mercy, so they are its last gift to us. When -all other service is vain, from plant and tree, the soft mosses and gray -lichen take up their watch by the head-stone. The woods, the blossoms, -the gift-bearing grasses, have done their parts for a time, but these do -service for ever. Trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's -chamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave. - -§ 25. Yet as in one sense the humblest, in another they are the most -honored of the earth-children. Unfading, as motionless, the worm frets -them not, and the autumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither -blanch in heat nor pine in frost. To them, slow-fingered, -constant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal, -tapestries of the hills; to them, slow-pencilled, iris-dyed, the tender -framing of their endless imagery. Sharing the stillness of the -unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance; and while the winds -of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted -snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its -cowslip-gold,--far above, among the mountains, the silver lichen-spots -rest, star-like, on the stone; and the gathering orange stain upon the -edge of yonder western peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand years. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] _Pre-Raphaelitism._ The essay contains some important notes on - Turner's work, which, therefore, I do not repeat in this volume. - - [2] I say the "best available distinction." It is, of course, no real - distinction. A peapod is a kind of central type of seed and - seed-vessel, and it is difficult so to define fruit as to keep clear - of it. Pea-shells are boiled and eaten in some countries rather than - pease. It does not sound like a scientific distinction to say that - fruit is a "shell which is good without being boiled." Nay, even if - we humiliate ourselves into this practical reference to the kitchen, - we are still far from success. For the pulp of a strawberry is not a - "shell," the seeds being on the outside of it. The available part of - a pomegranate or orange, though a seed envelope, is itself shut - within a less useful rind. While in an almond the shell becomes less - profitable still, and all goodness retires into the seed itself, as - in a grain of corn. - - [3] For the same reason, I enter into no considerations respecting - the geometrical forms of flowers, though they are deeply interesting, - and perhaps some day I may give a few studies of them separately. The - reader should note, however, that beauty of form in flowers is - chiefly dependent on a more accurately finished or more studiously - varied development of the tre-foil, quatre-foil, and cinq-foil - structures which we have seen irregularly approached by leaf-buds. - The most beautiful six-foiled flowers (like the rhododendron-shoot) - are composed of two triangular groups, one superimposed on the other, - as in the narcissus; and the most interesting types both of six-foils - and cinq-foils are unequally leaved, symmetrical on opposite sides, - as the iris and violet. - - [4] The reader must remember always that my work is concerning the - _aspects_ of things only. Of course, a lichen has seeds, just as - other plants have, but not effectually or visibly for man. - - - - -PART VII. - -OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE CLOUD-BALANCINGS. - - -§ 1. We have seen that when the earth had to be prepared for the -habitation of man, a veil, as it were, of intermediate being was spread -between him and its darkness, in which were joined, in a subdued -measure, the stability and insensibility of the earth, and the passion -and perishing of mankind. - -But the heavens, also, had to be prepared for his habitation. - -Between their burning light,--their deep vacuity, and man, as between -the earth's gloom of iron substance, and man, a veil had to be spread of -intermediate being;--which should appease the unendurable glory to the -level of human feebleness, and sign the changeless motion of the heavens -with a semblance of human vicissitude. - -Between earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came -the cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the -flying vapor. - -§ 2. Has the reader any distinct idea of what clouds are? We had some -talk about them long ago, and perhaps thought their nature, though at -that time not clear to us, would be easily enough understandable when we -put ourselves seriously to make it out. Shall we begin with one or two -easiest questions? - -That mist which lies in the morning so softly in the valley, level and -white, through which the tops of the trees rise as if through an -inundation--why is _it_ so heavy? and why does it lie so low, being yet -so thin and frail that it will melt away utterly into splendor of -morning, when the sun has shone on it but a few moments more? Those -colossal pyramids, huge and firm, with outlines as of rocks, and -strength to bear the beating of the high sun full on their fiery -flanks--why are _they_ so light,--their bases high over our heads, high -over the heads of Alps? why will these melt away, not as the sun rises, -but as he descends, and leave the stars of twilight clear, while the -valley vapor gains again upon the earth like a shroud? - -Or that ghost of a cloud, which steals by yonder clump of pines; nay, -which does _not_ steal by them, but haunts them, wreathing yet round -them, and yet--and yet, slowly: now falling in a fair waved line like a -woman's veil; now fading, now gone: we look away for an instant, and -look back, and it is again there. What has it to do with that clump of -pines, that it broods by them and weaves itself among their branches, to -and fro? Has it hidden a cloudy treasure among the moss at their roots, -which it watches thus? Or has some strong enchanter charmed it into fond -returning, or bound it fast within those bars of bough? And yonder filmy -crescent, bent like an archer's bow above the snowy summit, the highest -of all the hill,--that white arch which never forms but over the supreme -crest,--how is it stayed there, repelled apparently from the -snow--nowhere touching it, the clear sky seen between it and the -mountain edge, yet never leaving it--poised as a white bird hovers over -its nest? - -Or those war-clouds that gather on the horizon, dragon-crested, tongued -with fire;--how is their barbed strength bridled? what bits are these -they are champing with their vaporous lips; flinging off flakes of black -foam? Leagued leviathans of the Sea of Heaven, out of their nostrils -goeth smoke, and their eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. The -sword of him that layeth at them cannot hold the spear, the dart, nor -the habergeon. Where ride the captains of their armies? Where are set -the measures of their march? Fierce murmurers, answering each other from -morning until evening--what rebuke is this which has awed them into -peace? what hand has reined them back by the way by which they came? - -§ 3. I know not if the reader will think at first that questions like -these are easily answered. So far from it, I rather believe that some -of the mysteries of the clouds never will be understood by us at all. -"Knowest thou the balancings of the clouds?" Is the answer ever to be -one of pride? "The wondrous works of Him which is perfect in knowledge?" -Is _our_ knowledge ever to be so? - -It is one of the most discouraging consequences of the varied character -of this work of mine, that I am wholly unable to take note of the -advance of modern science. What has conclusively been discovered or -observed about clouds, I know not; but by the chance inquiry possible to -me I find no book which fairly states the difficulties of accounting for -even the ordinary aspects of the sky. I shall, therefore, be able in -this section to do little more than suggest inquiries to the reader, -putting the subject in a clear form for him. All men accustomed to -investigation will confirm me in saying that it is a great step when we -are personally quite certain what we do _not_ know. - -§ 4. First, then, I believe we do not know what makes clouds float. -Clouds are water, in some fine form or another; but water is heavier -than air, and the finest form you can give a heavy thing will not make -it float in a light thing. _On_ it, yes; as a boat: but _in_ it, no. -Clouds are not boats, nor boat-shaped, and they float in the air, not on -the top of it. "Nay, but though unlike boats, may they not be like -feathers? If out of quill substance there may be constructed eider-down, -and out of vegetable tissue, thistle-down, both buoyant enough for a -time, surely of water-tissue may be constructed also water-down, which -will be buoyant enough for all cloudy purposes." Not so. Throw out your -eider plumage in a calm day, and it will all come settling to the -ground: slowly indeed, to aspect; but practically so fast that all our -finest clouds would be here in a heap about our ears in an hour or two, -if they were only made of water-feathers. "But may they not be -quill-feathers, and have air inside them? May not all their particles be -minute little balloons?" - -A balloon only floats when the air inside it is either specifically, or -by heating, lighter than the air it floats in. If the cloud-feathers had -warm air inside their quills, a cloud would be warmer than the air about -it, which it is not (I believe). And if the cloud-feathers had hydrogen -inside their quills, a cloud would be unwholesome for breathing, which -it is not--at least so it seems to me. - -"But may they not have nothing inside their quills?" Then they would -rise, as bubbles do through water, just as certainly as, if they were -solid feathers, they would fall. All our clouds would go up to the top -of the air, and swim in eddies of cloud-foam. - -"But is not that just what they do?" No. They float at different -heights, and with definite forms, in the body of the air itself. If they -rose like foam, the sky on a cloudy day would look like a very large -flat glass of champagne seen from below, with a stream of bubbles (or -clouds) going up as fast as they could to a flat foam-ceiling. - -"But may they not be just so nicely mixed out of something and nothing, -as to float where they are wanted?" - -Yes: that is just what they not only may, but must be: only this way of -mixing something and nothing is the very thing I want to explain or have -explained, and cannot do it, nor get it done. - -§ 5. Except thus far. It is conceivable that minute hollow spherical -globules might be formed of water, in which the enclosed vacuity just -balanced the weight of the enclosing water, and that the arched sphere -formed by the watery film was strong enough to prevent the pressure of -the atmosphere from breaking it in. Such a globule would float like a -balloon at the height in the atmosphere where the equipoise between the -vacuum it enclosed, and its own excess of weight above that of the air, -was exact. It would, probably, approach its companion globules by -reciprocal attraction, and form aggregations which might be visible. - -This is, I believe, the view usually taken by meteorologists. I state it -as a possibility, to be taken into account in examining the question--a -possibility confirmed by the scriptural words which I have taken for the -title of this chapter. - -§ 6. Nevertheless, I state it as a possibility only, not seeing how any -known operation of physical law could explain the formation of such -molecules. This, however, is not the only difficulty. Whatever shape the -water is thrown into, it seems at first improbable that it should lose -its property of wetness. Minute division of rain, as in "Scotch mist," -makes it capable of floating farther,[1] or floating up and down a -little, just as dust will float, though pebbles will not; or gold-leaf, -though a sovereign will not; but minutely divided rain wets as much as -any other kind, whereas a cloud, partially always, sometimes entirely, -loses its power of moistening. Some low clouds look, when you are in -them, as if they were made of specks of dust, like short hairs; and -these clouds are entirely dry. And also many clouds will wet some -substances, but not others. So that we must grant farther, if we are to -be happy in our theory, that the spherical molecules are held together -by an attraction which prevents their adhering to any foreign body, or -perhaps ceases only under some peculiar electric conditions. - -§ 7. The question remains, even supposing their production accounted -for,--What intermediate states of water may exist between these -spherical hollow molecules and pure vapor? - -Has the reader ever considered the relations of commonest forms of -volatile substance? The invisible particles which cause the scent of a -rose-leaf, how minute, how multitudinous, passing richly away into the -air continually! The visible cloud of frankincense--why visible? Is it -in consequence of the greater quantity, or larger size of the particles, -and how does the heat act in throwing them off in this quantity, or of -this size? - -Ask the same questions respecting water. It dries, that is, becomes -volatile, invisibly, at (any?) temperature. Snow dries, as water does. -Under increase of heat, it volatilizes faster, so as to become dimly -visible in large mass, as a heat-haze. It reaches boiling point, then -becomes entirely visible. But compress it, so that no air shall get -between the watery particles--it is invisible again. At the first -issuing from the steam-pipe the steam is transparent; but opaque, or -visible, as it diffuses itself. The water is indeed closer, because -cooler, in that diffusion; but more air is between its particles. Then -this very question of visibility is an endless one, wavering between -form of substance and action of light. The clearest (or least visible) -stream becomes brightly opaque by more minute division in its foam, and -the clearest dew in hoar-frost. Dust, unperceived in shade, becomes -constantly visible in sunbeam; and watery vapor in the atmosphere, which -is itself opaque, when there is promise of fine weather, becomes -exquisitely transparent; and (questionably) blue, when it is going to -rain. - -§ 8. Questionably blue: for besides knowing very little about water, we -know what, except by courtesy, must, I think, be called Nothing--about -air. Is it the watery vapor, or the air itself, which is blue? Are -neither blue, but only white, producing blue when seen over dark spaces? -If either blue, or white, why, when crimson is their commanded dress, -are the most distant clouds crimsonest? Clouds close to us may be blue, -but far off, golden,--a strange result, if the air is blue. And again, -if blue, why are rays that come through large spaces of it red; and that -Alp, or anything else that catches far-away light, why colored red at -dawn and sunset? No one knows, I believe. It is true that many -substances, as opal, are blue, or green, by reflected light, yellow by -transmitted; but air, if blue at all, is blue always by transmitted -light. I hear of a wonderful solution of nettles, or other unlovely -herb, which is green when shallow,--red when deep. Perhaps some day, as -the motion of the heavenly bodies by help of an apple, their light by -help of a nettle, may be explained to mankind. - -§ 9. But farther: these questions of volatility, and visibility, and -hue, are all complicated with those of shape. How is a cloud outlined? -Granted whatever you choose to ask, concerning its material, or its -aspect, its loftiness and luminousness,--how of its limitation? What -hews it into a heap, or spins it into a web? Cold is usually shapeless, -I suppose, extending over large spaces equally, or with gradual -diminution. You cannot have, in the open air, angles, and wedges, and -coils, and cliffs of cold. Yet the vapor stops suddenly, sharp and steep -as a rock, or thrusts itself across the gates of heaven in likeness of a -brazen bar; or braids itself in and out, and across and across, like a -tissue of tapestry; or falls into ripples, like sand; or into waving -shreds and tongues, as fire. On what anvils and wheels is the vapor -pointed, twisted, hammered, whirled, as the potter's clay? By what hands -is the incense of the sea built up into domes of marble? - -And, lastly, all these questions respecting substance, and aspect, and -shape, and line, and division, are involved with others as inscrutable, -concerning action. The curves in which clouds move are unknown;--nay, -the very method of their motion, or apparent motion, how far it is by -change of place, how far by appearance in one place and vanishing from -another. And these questions about movement lead partly far away into -high mathematics, where I cannot follow them, and partly into theories -concerning electricity and infinite space, where I suppose at present no -one can follow them. - -What, then, is the use of asking the questions? - -For my own part, I enjoy the mystery, and perhaps the reader may. I -think he ought. He should not be less grateful for summer rain, or see -less beauty in the clouds of morning, because they come to prove him -with hard questions; to which, perhaps, if we look close at the heavenly -scroll,[2] we may find also a syllable or two of answer illuminated here -and there. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The buoyancy of solid bodies of a given specific gravity, in a - given fluid, depends, first on their size, then on their forms. - - First, on their size; that is to say, on the proportion of the - magnitude of the object (irrespective of the distribution of its - particles) to the magnitude of the particles of the air. - - Thus, a grain of sand is buoyant in wind, but a large stone is not; - and pebbles and sand are buoyant in water in proportion to their - smallness, fine dust taking long to sink, while a large stone sinks - at once. Thus, we see that water may be arranged in drops of any - magnitude, from the largest rain-drop, about the size of a large pea, - to an atom so small as not to be separately visible, the smallest - rain passing gradually into mist. Of these drops of different sizes - (supposing the strength of the wind the same), the largest fall - fastest, the smaller drops are more buoyant, and the small misty rain - floats about like a cloud, as often up as down, so that an umbrella - is useless in it; though in a heavy thunder-storm, if there is no - wind, one may stand gathered up under an umbrella without a drop - touching the feet. - - Secondly, buoyancy depends on the amount of surface which a given - weight of the substance exposes to the resistance of the substance it - floats in. Thus, gold-leaf is in a high degree buoyant, while the - same quantity of gold in a compact grain would fall like a shot; and - a feather is buoyant, though the same quantity of animal matter in a - compact form would be as heavy as a little stone. A slate blows far - from a house-top, while a brick falls vertically, or nearly so. - - [2] There is a beautiful passage in _Sartor Resartus_ concerning this - old Hebrew scroll, in its deeper meanings, and the child's watching - it, though long illegible for him, yet "with an eye to the gilding." - It signifies in a word or two nearly all that is to be said about - clouds. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE CLOUD-FLOCKS. - - -§ 1. From the tenor of the foregoing chapter, the reader will, I hope, -be prepared to find me, though dogmatic (it is said) upon some -occasions, anything rather than dogmatic respecting clouds. I will -assume nothing concerning them, beyond the simple fact, that as a -floating sediment forms in a saturated liquid, vapor forms in the body -of the air; and all that I want the reader to be clear about in the -outset is that this vapor floats in and with the wind (as, if you throw -any thick coloring matter into a river, it floats with the stream), and -that it is not blown before a denser volume of the wind, as a fleece of -wool would be. - -§ 2. At whatever height they form, clouds may be broadly considered as -of two species only, massive and striated. I cannot find a better word -than massive, though it is not a good one, for I mean it only to signify -a fleecy arrangement in which no _lines_ are visible. The fleece may be -so bright as to look like flying thistle-down, or so diffused as to show -no visible outline at all. Still if it is all of one common texture, -like a handful of wool, or a wreath of smoke, I call it massive. - -On the other hand, if divided by parallel lines, so as to look more or -less like spun-glass, I call it striated. In Plate 69, Fig. 4, the top -of the Aiguille Dru (Chamouni) is seen emergent above low striated -clouds, with heaped massive cloud beyond. I do not know in the least -what causes this striation, except that it depends on the nature of the -cloud, not on the wind. The strongest wind will not throw a cloud, -massive by nature, into the linear form. It will toss it about, and tear -it to pieces, but not spin it into threads. On the other hand, often -without any wind at all, the cloud will spin itself into threads fine as -gossamer. These threads are often said to be a prognostic of storm; but -they are not produced by storm. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin J.C. Armytage - -63. The Cloud-Flocks.] - -§ 3. In the first volume, we considered all clouds as belonging to three -regions, that of the cirrous, the central cloud, and the rain-cloud. It -is of course an arrangement more of convenience than of true -description, for cirrous clouds sometimes form low as well as high; and -rain sometimes falls high as well as low. I will, nevertheless, retain -this old arrangement, which is practically as serviceable as any. - -Allowing, also, for various exceptions and modifications, these three -bodies of cloud may be generally distinguished in our minds thus. The -clouds of upper region are for the most part quiet, or seem to be so, -owing to their distance. They are formed now of striated, now of massive -substance; but always finely divided into large ragged flakes or -ponderous heaps. These heaps (cumuli) and flakes, or drifts, present -different phenomena, but must be joined in our minds under the head of -central cloud. The lower clouds, bearing rain abundantly, are composed -partly of striated, partly of massive substance; but may generally be -comprehended under the term rain-cloud. - -Our business in this chapter, then, is with the upper clouds, which, -owing to their quietness and multitude, we may perhaps conveniently -think of as the "cloud-flocks." And we have to discover if any laws of -beauty attach to them, such as we have seen in mountains or -tree-branches. - -§ 4. On one of the few mornings of this winter, when the sky was clear, -and one of the far fewer, on which its clearness was visible from the -neighborhood of London,--which now entirely loses at least two out of -three sunrises, owing to the environing smoke,--the dawn broke beneath a -broad field of level purple cloud, under which floated ranks of divided -cirri, composed of finely striated vapor. - -It was not a sky containing any extraordinary number of these minor -clouds; but each was more than usually distinct in separation from its -neighbor, and as they showed in nearly pure pale scarlet on the dark -purple ground, they were easily to be counted. - -§ 5. There were five or six ranks, from the zenith to the horizon; that -is to say, three distinct ones, and then two or three more running -together, and losing themselves in distance, in the manner roughly shown -in Fig. 79. The nearest rank was composed of more than 150 rows of -cloud, set obliquely, as in the figure. I counted 150 which was near -the mark, and then stopped, lest the light should fail, to count the -separate clouds in some of the rows. The average number was 60 in each -row, rather more than less. - -[Illustration: FIG. 79.] - -There were therefore 150×60, that is, 9,000, separate clouds in this one -rank, or about 50,000 in the field of sight. Flocks of Admetus under -Apollo's keeping. Who else could shepherd such? He by day, dog Sirius by -night; or huntress Diana herself--her bright arrows driving away the -clouds of prey that would ravage her fair flocks. We must leave fancies, -however; these wonderful clouds need close looking at. I will try to -draw one or two of them before they fade. - -§ 6. On doing which we find, after all, they are not much more like -sheep than Canis Major is like a dog. They resemble more some of our old -friends, the pine branches, covered with snow. The three forming the -uppermost figure, in the Plate opposite, are as like three of the fifty -thousand as I could get them, complex enough in structure, even this -single group. Busy workers they must be, that twine the braiding of them -all to the horizon, and down beyond it. - -And who are these workers? You have two questions here, both difficult. -What separates these thousands of clouds each from the other, and each -about equally from the other? How can they be drawn asunder, yet not -allowed to part? Looped lace as it were, richest point--invisible -threads fastening embroidered cloud to cloud--the "plighted clouds" of -Milton,--creatures of the element-- - - "That in the colors of the rainbow live - And play in the plighted clouds." - -Compare Geraldine dressing:-- - - "Puts on her silken vestments white, - And tricks her hair in lovely plight." - -And Britomart's-- - - "Her well-plighted frock - She low let fall, that flowed from her lanck side - Down to her foot, with careless modesty." - -And, secondly, what bends each of them into these flame-like curves, -tender and various, as motions of a bird, hither and thither? Perhaps -you may hardly see the curves well in the softly finished forms; here -they are plainer in rude outline, Fig. 80.[1] - -[Illustration: FIG. 80.] - -§ 7. What is it that throws them into these lines? - -Eddies of wind? - -Nay, an eddy of wind will not stay quiet for three minutes, as that -cloud did to be drawn; as all the others did, each in his place. You -see there is perfect harmony among the curves. They all flow into each -other as the currents of a stream do. If you throw dust that will float -on the surface of a slow river, it will arrange itself in lines somewhat -like these. To a certain extent, indeed, it is true that there are -gentle currents of change in the atmosphere, which move slowly enough to -permit in the clouds that follow them some appearance of stability. But -how to obtain change so complex in an infinite number of consecutive -spaces;--fifty thousand separate groups of current in half of a morning -sky, with quiet invisible vapor between, or none--and yet all obedient -to one ruling law, gone forth through their companies;--each marshalled -to their white standards, in great unity of warlike march, unarrested, -unconfused? "One shall not thrust another, they shall walk every one in -his own path." - -[Illustration: FIG. 81.] - -§ 8. These questions occur, at first sight, respecting every group of -cirrus cloud. Whatever the form may be, whether branched, as in this -instance, or merely rippled, or thrown into shield-like segments, as in -Fig. 81--a frequent arrangement--there is still the same difficulty in -accounting satisfactorily for the individual forces which regulate the -similar shape of each mass, while all are moved by a general force that -has apparently no influence on the divided structure. Thus the mass of -clouds disposed as in Fig. 81, will probably move, mutually, in the -direction of the arrow; that is to say, sideways, as far as their -separate curvature is concerned. I suppose it probable that as the -science of electricity is more perfectly systematized, the explanation -of many circumstances of cloud-form will be rendered by it. At present I -see no use in troubling the reader or myself with conjectures which a -year's progress in science might either effectively contradict or -supersede. All that I want is, that we should have our questions ready -to put clearly to the electricians when the electricians are ready to -answer us. - -§ 9. It is possible that some of the loveliest conditions of these -parallel clouds may be owing to a structure which I forgot to explain, -when it occurred in rocks, in the course of the last volume. - -[Illustration: FIG. 82.] - -When they are finely stratified, and their surfaces abraded by broad, -shallow furrows, the edges of the beds, of course, are thrown into -undulations, and at some distance, where the furrows disappear, the -surface looks as if the rock had flowed over it in successive waves. -Such a condition is seen on the left at the top in Fig. 17, in Vol. IV. -Supposing a series of beds of vapor cut across by a straight sloping -current of air, and so placed as to catch the light on their edges, we -should have a series of curved lights, looking like independent clouds. - -§ 10. I believe conditions of form like those in Fig. 82 (turn the book -with its outer edge down) may not unfrequently be thus, owing to -stratification, when they occur in the nearer sky. This line of cloud is -far off at the horizon, drifting towards the left (the points of course -forward), and is, I suppose, a series of nearly circular eddies seen in -perspective. - -Which question of perspective we must examine a little before going a -step farther. In order to simplify it, let us assume that the under -surfaces of clouds are flat, and lie in a horizontal extended field. -This is in great measure the fact, and notable perspective phenomena -depend on the approximation of clouds to such a condition. - -[Illustration: 64. Cloud Perspective. (Rectilinear.)] - -[Illustration: 65. Cloud Perspective. (Curvilinear.)] - -§ 11. Referring the reader to my Elements of Perspective for statements -of law which would be in this place tiresome, I can only ask him to take -my word for it that the three figures in Plate 64 represent limiting -lines of sky perspective, as they would appear over a large space of the -sky. Supposing that the breadth included was one-fourth of the horizon, -the shaded portions in the central figure represent square fields -of cloud,[2] and those in the uppermost figure narrow triangles, with -their shortest side next us, but sloping a little away from us. - -In each figure, the shaded portions show the perspective limits of -cloud-masses, which, in reality, are arranged in perfectly straight -lines, are all similar, and are equidistant from each other. Their exact -relative positions are marked by the lines connecting them, and may be -determined by the reader if he knows perspective. If he does not, he may -be surprised at first to be told that the stubborn and blunt little -triangle, _b_, Fig. 1, Plate 64, represents a cloud precisely similar, -and similarly situated, to that represented by the thin triangle, _a_; -and, in like manner, the stout diamond, _a_, Fig. 2, represents -precisely the same form and size of cloud as the thin strip at _b_. He -may perhaps think it still more curious that the retiring perspective -which causes stoutness in the triangle, causes leanness in the -diamond.[3] - -§ 12. Still greater confusion in aspect is induced by the apparent -change caused by perspective in the direction of the wind. If Fig. 3 be -supposed to include a quarter of the horizon, the spaces, into which its -straight lines divide it, represent squares of sky. The curved lines, -which cross these spaces from corner to corner, are precisely parallel -throughout; and, therefore, two clouds moving, one on the curved line -from _a_ to _b_, and the other on the other side, from _c_ to _d_, -would, in reality, be moving with the same wind, in parallel lines. In -Plate 66, which is a sketch of an actual sunset behind Beauvais -cathedral (the point of the roof of the apse, a little to the left of -the centre, shows it to be a summer sunset), the white cirri in the high -light are all moving eastward, away from the sun, in perfectly parallel -lines, curving a little round to the south. Underneath, are two straight -ranks of rainy cirri, crossing each other; one directed south-east; the -other, north-west. The meeting perspective of these, in extreme -distance, determines the shape of the angular light which opens above -the cathedral. Underneath all, fragments of true rain-cloud are floating -between us and the sun, governed by curves of their own. They are, -nevertheless, connected with the straight cirri, by the dark -semi-cumulus in the middle of the shade above the cathedral. - -[Illustration: FIG. 83.] - -§ 13. Sky perspective, however, remains perfectly simple, so long as it -can be reduced to any rectilinear arrangement; but when nearly the whole -system is curved, which nine times out of ten is the case, it becomes -embarrassing. The central figure in Plate 65 represents the simplest -possible combination of perspective of straight lines with that of -curves, a group of concentric circles of small clouds being supposed to -cast shadows from the sun near the horizon. Such shadows are often cast -in misty air; the aspect of rays about the sun being, in fact, only -caused by spaces between them. They are carried out formally and far in -the Plate, to show how curiously they may modify the arrangement of -light in a sky. The woodcut, Fig. 83, gives roughly the arrangement of -the clouds in Turner's Pools of Solomon, in which he has employed a -concentric system of circles of this kind, and thus lighted. In the -perspective figure the clouds are represented as small square masses, -for the sake of greater simplicity, and are so beaded or strung as it -were on the curves in which they move, as to keep their distances -precisely equal, and their sides parallel. This is the usual condition -of cloud: for though arranged in curved ranks, each cloud has its face -to the front, or, at all events, acts in some parallel line--generally -another curve--with those next to it: being rarely, except in the form -of fine radiating strić, arranged on the curves as at _a_, Fig. 84; but -as at _b_, or _c_. It would make the diagram too complex if I gave one -of intersecting curves; but the lowest figure in Plate 65 represents, in -perspective, two groups of ellipses arranged in equidistant straight and -parallel lines, and following each other on two circular curves. Their -exact relative position is shown in Fig. 2, Plate 56. While the -uppermost figure in Plate 65 represents, in parallel perspective, a -series of ellipses arranged in radiation on a circle, their exact -relative size and position are shown in Fig. 3, Plate 56, and the lines -of such a sky as would be produced by them, roughly, in Fig. 90, facing -page 128.[4] - -[Illustration: FIG. 84.] - -§ 14. And in these figures, which, if we look up the subject rightly, -would be but the first and simplest of the series necessary to -illustrate the action of the upper cirri, the reader may see, at once, -how necessarily painters, untrained in observance of proportion, and -ignorant of perspective, must lose in every touch the expression of -buoyancy and space in sky. The absolute forms of each cloud are, indeed, -not alike, as the ellipses in the engraving; but assuredly, when moving -in groups of this kind, there are among them the same proportioned -inequalities of relative distance, the same gradated changes from -ponderous to elongated form, the same exquisite suggestions of -including curve; and a common painter, dotting his clouds down at -random, or in more or less equal masses, can no more paint a sky, than -he could, by random dashes for its ruined arches, paint the Coliseum. - -§ 15. Whatever approximation to the character of upper clouds may have -been reached by some of our modern students, it will be found, on -careful analysis, that Turner stands more absolutely alone in this gift -of cloud-drawing, than in any other of his great powers. Observe, I say, -cloud-_drawing_; other great men colored clouds beautifully; none but he -ever drew them truly: this power coming from his constant habit of -drawing skies, like everything else, with the pencil point. It is quite -impossible to engrave any of his large finished skies on a small scale; -but the woodcut, Fig. 85, will give some idea of the forms of cloud -involved in one of his small drawings. It is only half of the sky in -question, that of Rouen from St. Catherine's Hill, in the Rivers of -France. Its clouds are arranged on two systems of intersecting circles, -crossed beneath by long bars very slightly bent. The form of every -separate cloud is completely studied; the manner of drawing them will be -understood better by help of the Plate opposite, which is a piece of the -sky above the "Campo Santo,"[5] at Venice, exhibited in 1842. It is -exquisite in rounding of the separate fragments and buoyancy of the -rising central group, as well as in its expression of the wayward -influence of curved lines of breeze on a generally rectilinear system of -cloud. - -[Illustration: FIG. 85. _To face page 118._] - -[Illustration: 67. Clouds.] - -§ 16. To follow the subject farther would, however, lead us into -doctrine of circular storms, and all kinds of pleasant, but infinite, -difficulty, from which temptation I keep clear, believing that enough is -now stated to enable the reader to understand what he is to look for in -Turner's skies; and what kind of power, thought, and science are -involved continually in the little white or purple dashes of -cloud-spray, which, in such pictures as the San Benedetto, looking to -Fusina, the Napoleon, or the Temeraire, guide the eye to the horizon -more by their true perspective than by their aërial tone, and are -buoyant, not so much by expression of lightness as of motion.[6] - -§ 17. I say the "white or purple" cloud-spray. One word yet may be -permitted me respecting the mystery of that color. What should we have -thought--if we had lived in a country where there were no clouds, but -only low mist or fog--of any stranger who had told us that, in his -country, these mists rose into the air, and became purple, crimson, -scarlet, and gold? I am aware of no sufficient explanation of these hues -of the upper clouds, nor of their strange mingling of opacity with a -power of absorbing light. All clouds are so opaque that, however -delicate they may be, you never see one through another. Six feet depth -of them, at a little distance, will wholly veil the darkest mountain -edge; so that, whether for light or shade, they tell upon the sky as -body color on canvas; they have always a perfect surface and -bloom;--delicate as a rose-leaf, when required of them, but never poor -or meagre in hue, like old-fashioned water-colors. And, if needed, in -mass, they will bear themselves for solid force of hue against any rock. -Facing p. 339, I have engraved a memorandum made of a clear sunset after -rain, from the top of Milan cathedral. The greater part of the outline -is granite--Monte Rosa--the rest cloud; but it and the granite were dark -alike. Frequently, in effects of this kind, the cloud is darker of the -two.[7] And this opacity is, nevertheless, obtained without destroying -the gift they have of letting broken light through them, so that, -between us and the sun, they may become golden fleeces, and float as -fields of light. - -Now their distant colors depend on these two properties together; -partly on the opacity, which enables them to reflect light strongly; -partly on a spongelike power of gathering light into their bodies. - -§ 18. Long ago it was noted by Aristotle, and again by Leonardo, that -vaporous bodies looked russet, or even red, when warm light was seen -through them, and blue when deep shade was seen through them. Both -colors may, generally, be seen on any wreath of cottage smoke. - -Whereon, easy conclusion has sometimes been founded by modern reasoners. -All red in sky is caused by light seen through vapor, and all blue by -shade seen through vapor. - -Easy, indeed, but not sure, even in cloud-color only. It is true that -the smoke of a town may be of a rich brick red against golden twilight; -and of a very lovely, though not bright, blue against shade. But I never -saw crimson or scarlet smoke, nor ultramarine smoke. - -Even granting that watery vapor in its purity may give the colors more -clearly, the red colors are by no means always relieved against light. -The finest scarlets are constantly seen in broken flakes on a deep -purple ground of heavier cloud beyond, and some of the loveliest -rose-colors on clouds in the east, opposite the sunset, or in the west -in the morning. Nor are blues always attainable by throwing vapor over -shade. Especially, you cannot get them by putting it over blue itself. A -thin vapor on dark blue sky is of a warm gray, not blue. A -thunder-cloud, deep enough to conceal everything behind it, is often -dark lead-color, or sulphurous blue; but the thin vapors crossing it, -milky-white. The vividest hues are connected also with another attribute -of clouds, their lustre--metallic in effect, watery in reality. They not -only reflect color as dust or wool would, but, when far off, as water -would; sometimes even giving a distinct image of the sun underneath the -orb itself;--in all cases becoming dazzling in lustre, when at a low -angle, capable of strong reflection. Practically, this low angle is only -obtained when the cloud seems near the sun, and hence we get into the -careless habit of looking at the golden reflected light as if it were -actually caused by nearness to the fiery ball. - -[Illustration: 66. Light in the West, Beauvais.] - -§ 19. Without, however, troubling ourselves at all about laws, or causes -of color, the visible consequences of their operation are notably -these--that when near us, clouds present only subdued and uncertain -colors; but when far from us, and struck by the sun on their under -surfaces--so that the greater part of the light they receive is -reflected--they may become golden, purple, scarlet, and intense fiery -white, mingled in all kinds of gradations, such as I tried to describe -in the chapter on the upper clouds in the first volume, in hope of being -able to return to them "when we knew what was beautiful." - -The question before us now is, therefore, What value ought this -attribute of clouds to possess in the human mind? Ought we to admire -their colors, or despise them? Is it well to watch them as Turner does, -and strive to paint them through all deficiency and darkness of -inadequate material? Or, is it wiser and nobler--like Claude, Salvator, -Ruysdael, Wouvermans--never to look for them--never to portray? We must -yet have patience a little before deciding this, because we have to -ascertain some facts respecting the typical meaning of color itself; -which, reserving for another place, let us proceed here to learn the -forms of the inferior clouds. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Before going farther, I must say a word or two respecting method - of drawing clouds. - - Absolutely well no cloud _can_ be drawn with the point; nothing but - the most delicate management of the brush will express its variety of - edge and texture. By laborious and tender engraving, a close - approximation may be obtained either to nature or to good painting; - and the engravings of sky by our modern line engravers are often - admirable;--in many respects as good as can be, and to my mind the - best part of their work. There still exist some early proofs of - Miller's plate of the Grand Canal, Venice, in which the sky is the - likest thing to Turner's work I have ever seen in large engravings. - The plate was spoiled after a few impressions were taken off by - desire of the publisher. The sky was so exactly like Turner's that he - thought it would not please the public, and had all the fine - cloud-drawing rubbed away to make it soft. - - The Plate opposite page 118, by Mr. Armytage, is also, I think, a - superb specimen of engraving, though in result not so good as the one - just spoken of, because this was done from my copy of Turner's sky, - not from the picture itself. - - But engraving of this finished kind cannot, by reason of its - costliness, be given for every illustration of cloud form. Nor, if it - could, can skies be sketched with the completion which would bear it. - It is sometimes possible to draw one cloud out of fifty thousand with - something like fidelity before it fades. But if we want the - arrangement of the fifty thousand, they can only be indicated with - the rudest lines, and finished from memory. It was, as we shall see - presently, only by his gigantic powers of memory that Turner was - enabled to draw skies as he did. - - Now, I look upon my own memory of clouds, or of anything else, as of - no value whatever. All the drawings on which I have ever rested an - assertion have been made without stirring from the spot; and in - sketching clouds from nature, it is very seldom desirable to use the - brush. For broad effects and notes of color (though these, hastily - made, are always inaccurate, and letters indicating the color do - nearly as well) the brush may be sometimes useful, but, in most - cases, a dark pencil, which will lay shade with its side and draw - lines with its point, is the best instrument. Turner almost always - outlined merely with the point, being able to remember the relations - of shade without the slightest chance of error. The point, at all - events, is needful, however much stump work may be added to it. - - Now, in translating sketches made with the pencil point into - engraving, we must either engrave delicately and expensively, or be - content to substitute for the soft varied pencil lines the finer and - uncloudlike touches of the pen. It is best to do this boldly, if at - all, and without the least aim at fineness of effect, to lay down a - vigorous black line as the limit of the cloud form or action. The - more subtle a painter's finished work, the more fearless he is in - using the vigorous black line when he is making memoranda, of - treating his subject conventionally. At the top of page 224, Vol. - IV., the reader may see the kind of outline which Titian uses for - clouds in his pen work. Usually he is even bolder and coarser. And in - the rude woodcuts I am going to employ here, I believe the reader - will find ultimately that, with whatever ill success used by me, the - means of expression are the fullest and most convenient that can be - adopted, short of finished engraving, while there are some conditions - of cloud-action which I satisfy myself better in expressing by these - coarse lines than in any other way. - - [2] If the figures are supposed to include less than one-fourth of - the horizon, the shaded figures represent diamond-shaped clouds; but - the reader cannot understand this without studying perspective laws - accurately. - - [3] In reality, the retiring ranks of cloud, if long enough, would, - of course, go on converging to the horizon. I do not continue them, - because the figures would become too compressed. - - [4] I use ellipses in order to make these figures easily - intelligible; the curves actually _are_ variable curves, of the - nature of the cycloid, or other curves of continuous motion; probably - produced by a current moving in some such direction as that indicated - by the dotted line in Fig. 3, Plate 56. - - [5] Now in the possession of E. Bicknell, Esq., who kindly lent me - the picture, that I might make this drawing from it carefully. - - [6] I cannot yet engrave these; but the little study of a single rank - of cirrus, the lowest in Plate 63, may serve to show the value of - perspective in expressing buoyancy. It is not, however, though - beautifully engraved by Mr. Armytage, as delicate as it should be, in - the finer threads which indicate increasing distance at the - extremity. Compare the rising of the lines of curve at the edges of - this mass, with the similar action on a larger scale, of Turner's - cloud, opposite. - - [7] In the autobiography of John Newton there is an interesting - account of the deception of a whole ship's company by cloud, taking - the aspect and outline of mountainous land. They ate the last - provision in the ship, so sure were they of its being land, and were - nearly starved to death in consequence. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE CLOUD-CHARIOTS. - - -§ 1. Between the flocks of small countless clouds which occupy the -highest heavens, and the gray undivided film of the true rain-cloud, -form the fixed masses or torn fleeces, sometimes collected and calm, -sometimes fiercely drifting, which are, nevertheless, known under one -general name of cumulus, or heaped cloud. - -The true cumulus, the most majestic of all clouds, and almost the only -one which attracts the notice of ordinary observers, is for the most -part windless; the movement of its masses being solemn, continuous, -inexplicable, a steady advance or retiring, as if they were animated by -an inner will, or compelled by an unseen power. They appear to be -peculiarly connected with heat, forming perfectly only in the afternoon, -and melting away in the evening. Their noblest conditions are strongly -electric, and connect themselves with storm-cloud and true -thunder-cloud. When there is thunder in the air, they will form in cold -weather, or early in the day. - -§ 2. I have never succeeded in drawing a cumulus. Its divisions of -surface are grotesque and endless, as those of a mountain;--perfectly -defined, brilliant beyond all power of color, and transitory as a dream. -Even Turner never attempted to paint them, any more than he did the -snows of the high Alps. - -Nor can I explain them any more than I can draw them. The ordinary -account given of their structure is, I believe, that the moisture raised -from the earth by the sun's heat becomes visible by condensation at a -certain height in the colder air, that the level of the condensing point -is that of the cloud's base, and that above it, the heaps are pushed up -higher and higher as more vapor accumulates, till, towards evening, the -supply beneath ceases; and at sunset, the fall of dew enables the -surrounding atmosphere to absorb and melt them away. Very plausible. -But it seems to me herein unexplained how the vapor is held together in -those heaps. If the clear air about and above it has no aqueous vapor in -it, or at least a much less quantity, why does not the clear air keep -pulling the cloud to pieces, eating it away, as steam is consumed in -open air? Or, if any cause prevents such rapid devouring of it, why does -not the aqueous vapor diffuse itself softly in the air like smoke, so -that one would not know where the cloud ended? What should make it bind -itself in those solid mounds, and stay so:--positive, fantastic, -defiant, determined? - -§ 3. If ever I am able to understand the process of the cumulus -formation,[1] it will become to me one of the most interesting of all -subjects of study to trace the connection of the threatening and -terrible outlines of thunder-cloud with the increased action of the -electric power. I am for the present utterly unable to speak respecting -this matter, and must pass it by, in all humility, to say what little I -have ascertained respecting the more broken and rapidly moving forms of -the central clouds, which connect themselves with mountains, and may, -therefore, among mountains, be seen close and truly. - -§ 4. Yet even of these, I can only reason with great doubt and continual -pause. This last volume ought certainly to be better than the first of -the series, for two reasons. I have learned, during the sixteen years, -to say little where I said much, and to see difficulties where I saw -none. And I am in a great state of marvel in looking back to my first -account of clouds, not only at myself, but even at my dear master, M. de -Saussure. To think that both of us should have looked at drifting -mountain clouds, for years together, and been content with the theory -which you will find set forth in § 4, of the chapter on the central -cloud region (Vol. I.), respecting the action of the snowy summits and -watery vapor passing them. It is quite true that this action takes -place, and that the said fourth paragraph is right, as far as it -reaches. But both Saussure and I ought to have known--we both did know, -but did not think of it--that the covering or cap-cloud forms on hot -summits as well as cold ones;--that the red and bare rocks of Mont -Pilate, hotter, certainly, after a day's sunshine than the cold -storm-wind which sweeps to them from the Alps, nevertheless have been -renowned for their helmet of cloud, ever since the Romans watched the -cloven summit, gray against the south, from the ramparts of Vindonissa, -giving it the name from which the good Catholics of Lucerne have warped -out their favorite piece of terrific sacred biography.[2] And both my -master and I should also have reflected, that if our theory about its -formation had been generally true, the helmet cloud ought to form on -every cold summit, at the approach of rain, in approximating proportions -to the bulk of the glaciers; which is so far from being the case that -not only (A) the cap-cloud may often be seen on lower summits of grass -or rock, while the higher ones are splendidly clear (which may be -accounted for by supposing the wind containing the moisture not to have -risen so high), but (B) the cap-cloud always shows a preference for -hills of a conical form, such as the Mole or Niesen, which can have very -little power in chilling the air, even supposing they were cold -themselves, while it will entirely refuse to form round huge masses of -mountain, which, supposing them of chilly temperament, must have -discomforted the atmosphere in their neighborhood for leagues. And -finally (C) reversing the principle under letter A, the cap-cloud -constantly forms on the summit of Mont Blanc, while it will obstinately -refuse to appear on the Dome du Goűte or Aiguille Sans-nom, where the -snow-fields are of greater extent, and the air must be moister, because -lower. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin. J. C. Armytage. - -69. Aiguilles and their Friends.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 86.] - -§ 5. The fact is, that the explanation given in that fourth paragraph -can, in reality, account only for what may properly be termed "lee-side -cloud," slightly noticed in the continuation of the same chapter, but -deserving most attentive illustration, as one of the most beautiful -phenomena of the Alps. When a moist wind blows in clear weather over a -cold summit, it has not time to get chilled as it approaches the -rock, and therefore the air remains clear, and the sky bright on the -windward side; but under the lee of the peak, there is partly a back -eddy, and partly still air; and in that lull and eddy the wind gets time -to be chilled by the rock, and the cloud appears as a boiling mass of -white vapor, rising continually with the return current to the upper -edge of the mountain, where it is caught by the straight wind, and -partly torn, partly melted away in broken fragments. In Fig. 86 the dark -mass represents the mountain peak, the arrow the main direction of the -wind, the curved lines show the directions of such current and its -concentration, and the dotted lines enclose the space in which cloud -forms densely, floating away beyond and above in irregular tongues and -flakes. The second figure from the top in Plate 69 represents the actual -aspect of it when in full development, with a strong south wind, in a -clear day, on the Aiguille Dru, the sky being perfectly blue and lovely -around. - -So far all is satisfactory. But the true helmet cloud will not allow -itself to be thus explained away. The uppermost figure in Plate 69 -represents the loveliest form of it, seen in that perfect arch, so far -as I know, only over the highest piece of earth in Europe. - -§ 6. Respecting which there are two mysteries:--First, why it should -form only at a certain distance above the snow, showing blue sky between -it and the summit. Secondly, why, so forming, it should always show as -an arch, not as a concave cup. This last question puzzles me especially. -For, if it be a true arch, and not a cup, it ought to show itself in -certain positions of the spectator, or directions of the wind, like the -ring of Saturn, as a mere line, or as a spot of cloud pausing over the -hill-top. But I never saw it so. While, as above noticed, the lowest -form of the helmet cloud is not white as of silver, but like Dolon's -helmet of wolf-skin,--it is a gray, flaky veil, lapping itself over the -shoulders of a more or less conical peak; and of this, also, I have no -word to utter but the old one, "Electricity," and I might as well say -nothing. - -§ 7. Neither the helmet cloud, nor the lee-side cloud, however, though -most interesting and beautiful, are of much importance in picturesque -effect. They are too isolated and strange. But the great mountain cloud, -which seems to be a blending of the two with independent forms of vapor -(that is to say, a greater development, in consequence of the mountain's -action, of clouds which would in some way or other have formed -anywhere), requires prolonged attention, as the principal element of the -sky in noblest landscape. - -§ 8. For which purpose, first, it may be well to clear a few clouds out -of the way. I believe the true cumulus is never seen in a great mountain -region, at least never associated with hills. It is always broken up and -modified by them. Boiling and rounded masses of vapor occur continually, -as behind the Aiguille Dru (lowest figure in Plate 69); but the quiet, -thoroughly defined, infinitely divided and modelled pyramid never -develops itself. It would be very grand if one ever saw a great mountain -peak breaking through the domed shoulders of a true cumulus; but this I -have never seen. - -§ 9. Again, the true high cirri never cross a mountain in Europe. How -often have I hoped to see an Alp rising through and above their -level-laid and rippled fields! but those white harvest-fields are -heaven's own. And, finally, even the low, level, cirrus (used so largely -in Martin's pictures) rarely crosses a mountain. If it does, it usually -becomes slightly waved or broken, so as to destroy its character. -Sometimes, however, at great distances, a very level bar of cloud will -strike across a peak; but nearer, too much of the under surface of the -field is seen, so that a well-defined bar across a peak, seen at a high -angle, is of the greatest rarity. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin. J. C. Armytage. - -70. The Graić.] - -[Illustration: 71. "Venga Medusa."] - -[Illustration: FIG. 87. _To face page 127._] - -§ 10. The ordinary mountain cloud, therefore, if well defined, divides -itself into two kinds: a broken condition of cumulus, grand in -proportion as it is solid and quiet,--and a strange modification of -drift-cloud, midway, as I said, between the helmet and the lee-side -forms. The broken, quiet cumulus impressed Turner exceedingly when he -first saw it on hills. He uses it, slightly exaggerating its -definiteness, in all his early studies among the mountains of the -Chartreuse, and very beautifully in the vignette of St. Maurice in -Rogers's Italy. There is nothing, however, to be specially observed of -it, as it only differs from the cumulus of the plains, by being smaller -and more broken. - -§ 11. Not so the mountain drift-cloud, which is as peculiar as it is -majestic. The Plates 70 and 71 show, as well as I can express, two -successive phases of it on a mountain crest; (in this instance the great -limestone ridge above St. Michel, in Savoy.) But what colossal -proportions this noble cloud assumes may be best gathered from the rude -sketch, Fig. 87, in which I have simply put firm black ink over the -actual pencil lines made at the moment, giving the form of a single -wreath of the drift-cloud, stretching about five miles in a direct line -from the summit of one of the Alps of the Val d'Aosta, as seen from the -plain of Turin. It has a grand volcanic look, but I believe its aspect -of rising from the peak to be almost, if not altogether, deceptive; and -that the apparently gigantic column is a nearly horizontal stream of -lee-side cloud, tapered into the distance by perspective, and thus -rising at its apparently lowest but in reality most distant point, from -the mountain summit whose shade calls it into being out of the clear -winds. - -Whether this be so or not, the apparent origin of the cloud on the peak, -and radiation from it, distinguish it from the drift-cloud of level -country, which arranges itself at the horizon in broken masses, such as -Fig. 89, showing no point of origin; and I do not know how far they are -vertical cliffs or horizontally extended fields. They are apt to be very -precipitous in aspect, breaking into fragments with an apparently -concentric motion, as in the figure; but of this motion also--whether -vertical or horizontal--I can say nothing positive. - -§ 12. The absolute scale of such clouds may be seen, or at least -demonstrated, more clearly in Fig. 88, which is a rough note of an -effect of sky behind the tower of Berne Cathedral. It was made from the -mound beside the railroad bridge. The Cathedral tower is half-a-mile -distant. The great Eiger of Grindelwald is seen just on the right of it. -This mountain is distant from the tower thirty-four miles as the crow -flies, and ten thousand feet above it in height. The drift-cloud behind -it, therefore, being in full light, and showing no overhanging -surfaces, must rise at least twenty thousand feet into the air. - -§ 13. The extreme whiteness of the volume of vapor in this case (not, I -fear, very intelligible in the woodcut[3]) may be partly owing to recent -rain, which, by its evaporation, gives a peculiar density and brightness -to some forms of clearing cloud. In order to understand this, we must -consider another set of facts. When weather is thoroughly wet among -hills, we ought no more to accuse the mountains of forming the clouds, -than we do the plains in similar circumstances. The unbroken mist buries -the mountains to their bases; but that is not their fault. It may be -just as wet and just as cloudy elsewhere. (This is not true of Scottish -mountain, by the way.) But when the wet weather is breaking, and the -clouds pass, perhaps, in great measure, away from the plains leaving -large spaces of blue sky, the mountains begin to shape clouds for -themselves. The fallen moisture evaporates from the plain invisibly; but -not so from the hill-side. There, what quantity of rain has not gone -down in the torrents, ascends again to heaven instantly in white clouds. -The storm passes as if it had tormented the crags, and the strong -mountains smoke like tired horses. - -§ 14. Here is another question for us of some interest. Why does the -much greater quantity of moisture lying on the horizontal fields send up -no visible vapor, and the less quantity left on the rocks glorify itself -into a magnificent wreath of soaring snow? - -First, for the very reason, that it is less in quantity, and more -distributed; as a wet cloth smokes when you put it near the fire, but a -basin of water not. - -[Illustration: FIG. 88.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 89.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 90. _To face page 128._] - -The previous heat of the crags, noticed in the first volume, p. 249, is -only a part of the cause. It operates only locally, and on remains of -sudden showers. But after any number of days and nights of rain, and in -all places exposed to returning sunshine and breezes, the _distribution_ -of the moisture tells. So soon as the rain has ceased, all water that -can run off is of course gone from the steep hill-sides; there remains -only the thin adherent film of moisture to be dried; but that film is -spread over a complex texture--all manner of crannies, and bosses, and -projections, and filaments of moss and lichen, exposing a vast extent of -drying surface to the air. And the evaporation is rapid in proportion. - -§ 15. Its rapidity, however, observe, does not account for its -visibility, and this is one of the questions I cannot clearly solve, -unless I were sure of the nature of the vesicular vapor. When our breath -becomes visible on a frosty day, it is easily enough understood that the -moisture which was invisible, carried by the warm air from the lungs, -becomes visible when condensed or precipitated by the surrounding chill; -but one does not see why air passing over a moist surface quite as cold -as itself should take up one particle of water more than it can -conveniently--that is to say, invisibly--carry. Whenever you _see_ -vapor, you may not inaccurately consider the air as having got more than -it can properly hold, and dropping some. Now it is easily understood how -it should take up much in the lungs, and let some of it fall when it is -pinched by the frost outside; but why should it overload itself there on -the hills, when it is at perfect liberty to fly away as soon as it -likes, and come back for more? I do not see my way well in this. I do -not see it clearly, even through the wet cloth. I shall leave all the -embarrassment of the matter, however, to my reader, contenting myself, -as usual, with the actual fact, that the hill-side air does behave in -this covetous and unreasonable manner; and that, in consequence, when -the weather is breaking (and sometimes, provokingly, when it is not), -phantom clouds form and rise in sudden crowds of wild and spectral -imagery along all the far succession of the hill-slopes and ravines. - -[Illustration: FIG. 91.] - -§ 16. There is this distinction, however, between the clouds that form -during the rain and after it. In the worst weather, the rain-cloud keeps -rather high, and is unbroken; but when there is a disposition in the -rain to relax, every now and then a sudden company of white clouds will -form quite low down (in Chamouni or Grindelwald, and such high -districts, even down to the bottom of the valley), which will remain, -perhaps, for ten minutes, filling all the air, then disappear as -suddenly as they came, leaving the gray upper cloud and steady rain to -their work. These "clouds of relaxation," if we may so call them, are -usually flaky and horizontal, sometimes tending to the silky cirrus, yet -showing no fine forms of drift; but when the rain has passed, and the -air is getting warm, forms the true clearing cloud, in wreaths that -ascend continually with a slow circling motion, melting as they rise. -The woodcut, Fig. 91, is a rude note of it floating more quietly from -the hill of the Superga, the church (nearly as large as St. Paul's) -appearing above, and thus showing the scale of the wreath. - -[Illustration: FIG. 92.] - -§ 17. This cloud of evaporation, however, does not always rise. It -sometimes rests in absolute stillness, low laid in the hollows of the -hills, their peaks emergent from it. Fig. 92 shows this condition of it, -seen from a distance, among the Cenis hills. I do not know what gives it -this disposition to rest in the ravines, nor whether there is a greater -chill in the hollows, or a real action of gravity on the particles of -cloud. In general, the position seems to depend on the temperature. -Thus, in Chamouni, the crests of La Côte and Taconay continually appear -in stormy weather as in Plate 36, Vol. IV., in which I intended to -represent rising drift-cloud, made dense between the crests by the chill -from the glaciers. But in the condition shown in Fig. 92, on a -comparatively open sweep of hill-side, the thermometer would certainly -indicate a higher temperature in the sheltered valley than on the -exposed peaks; yet the cloud still subsides into the valleys like folds -of a garment; and, more than this, sometimes conditions of morning -cloud, dependent, I believe, chiefly on dew evaporation, form first on -the _tops_ of the soft hills of wooded Switzerland, and droop down in -rent fringes, and separate tongues, clinging close to all the -hill-sides, and giving them exactly the appearance of being covered with -white fringed cloth, falling over them in torn or divided folds. It -always looks like a true action of gravity. How far it is, in reality, -the indication of the power of the rising sun causing evaporation, first -on the hill-top, and then in separate streams, by its divided light on -the ravines, I cannot tell. The subject is, as the reader perceives, -always inextricably complicated by these three necessities--that to get -a cloud in any given spot, you must have moisture to form the material -of it, heat to develop it, and cold[4] to show it; and the adverse -causes inducing the moisture, the evaporation, and the visibility are -continually interchanged in presence and in power. And thus, also, the -phenomena which properly belong to a certain elevation are confused, -among hills at least, with those which in plains would have been lower -or higher. - -I have been led unavoidably in this chapter to speak of some conditions -of the rain-cloud; nor can we finally understand the forms even of the -cumulus, without considering those into which it descends or diffuses -itself. Which, however, being, I think, a little more interesting than -our work hitherto, we will leave this chapter to its dulness, and begin -another. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] One of the great difficulties in doing this is to distinguish the - portions of cloud outline which really slope upwards from those which - only appear to do so, being in reality horizontal, and thrown into - apparent inclination by perspective. - - [2] _Pileatus_, capped (strictly speaking, with the cap of - liberty;--stormy cloud enough sometimes on men's brows as well as on - mountains), corrupted into Pilatus, and Pilate. - - [3] I could not properly illustrate the subject of clouds without - numbers of these rude drawings, which would probably offend the - general reader by their coarseness, while the cost of engraving them - in facsimile is considerable, and would much add to the price of the - book. If I find people at all interested in the subject, I may, - perhaps, some day systematize and publish my studies of cloud - separately. I am sorry not to have given in this volume a careful - study of a rich cirrus sky, but no wood-engraving that I can employ - on this scale will express the finer threads and waves. - - [4] We might say light, as well as cold; for it wholly depends on the - degree of light in the sky how far delicate cloud is seen. - - The second figure from the top in Plate 69 shows an effect of morning - light on the range of the Aiguille Bouchard (Chamouni). Every crag - casts its shadow up into apparently clear sky. The shadow is, in such - cases, a bluish gray, the color of clear sky; and the defining light - is caused by the sunbeams showing mist which otherwise would have - been unperceived. The shadows are not irregular enough in - outline--the sketch was made for their color and sharpness, not their - shape,--and I cannot now put them right, so I leave them as they were - drawn at the moment. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE ANGEL OF THE SEA. - - -§ 1. Perhaps the best and truest piece of work done in the first volume -of this book, was the account given in it of the rain-cloud; to which I -have here little, descriptively, to add. But the question before us now -is, not who has drawn the rain-cloud best, but if it were worth drawing -at all. Our English artists naturally painted it often and rightly; but -are their pictures the better for it? We have seen how mountains are -beautiful; how trees are beautiful; how sun-lighted clouds are -beautiful; but can rain be beautiful? - -I spoke roughly of the Italian painters in that chapter, because they -could only draw distinct clouds, or violent storms, "massive -concretions," while our northern painters could represent every phase of -mist and fall of shower. - -But is this indeed so delightful? Is English wet weather, indeed, one of -the things which we should desire to see Art give perpetuity to? - -Yes, assuredly. I have given some reasons for this answer in the fifth -chapter of last volume; one or two, yet unnoticed, belong to the present -division of our subject. - -§ 2. The climates or lands into which our globe is divided may, with -respect to their fitness for Art, be perhaps conveniently ranged under -five heads:-- - -1. Forest-lands, sustaining the great mass of the magnificent vegetation -of the tropics, for the most part characterized by moist and unhealthy -heat, and watered by enormous rivers, or periodical rains. This country -cannot, I believe, develop the mind or art of man. He may reach great -subtlety of intellect, as the Indian, but not become learned, nor -produce any noble art, only a savage or grotesque form of it. Even -supposing the evil influences of climate could be vanquished, the -scenery is on too large a scale. It would be difficult to conceive of -groves less fit for academic purposes than those mentioned by Humboldt, -into which no one can enter except under a stout wooden shield, to avoid -the chance of being killed by the fall of a nut. - -2. Sand-lands, including the desert and dry-rock plains of the earth, -inhabited generally by a nomade population, capable of high mental -cultivation and of solemn monumental or religious art, but not of art in -which pleasurableness forms a large element, their life being -essentially one of hardship. - -3. Grape and wheat lands, namely, rocks and hills, such as are good for -the vine, associated with arable ground forming the noblest and best -ground given to man. In these districts only art of the highest kind -seems possible, the religious art of the sand-lands being here joined -with that of pleasure or sense. - -4. Meadow-lands, including the great pastoral and agricultural districts -of the North, capable only of an inferior art: apt to lose its -spirituality and become wholly material. - -5. Moss-lands, including the rude forest-mountain and ground of the -North, inhabited by a healthy race, capable of high mental cultivation -and moral energy, but wholly incapable of art, except savage, like that -of the forest-lands, or as in Scandinavia. - -We might carry out these divisions into others, but these are I think -essential, and easily remembered in a tabular form; saying "wood" -instead of "forest," and "field" for "meadow," we can get such a form -shortly worded:-- - - Wood-lands Shrewd intellect No art. - Sand-lands High intellect Religious art. - Vine-lands Highest intellect Perfect art. - Field-lands High intellect Material art. - Moss-lands Shrewd intellect No art. - -§ 3. In this table the moss-lands appear symmetrically opposed to the -wood-lands, which in a sort they are; the too diminutive vegetation -under bleakest heaven, opposed to the too colossal under sultriest -heaven, while the perfect ministry of the elements, represented by bread -and wine, produces the perfect soul of man. - -But this is not altogether so. The moss-lands have one great advantage -over the forest-lands, namely, sight of the sky. - -And not only sight of it, but continual and beneficent help from it. -What they have to separate them from barren rock, namely, their moss and -streams, being dependent on its direct help, not on great rivers coming -from distant mountain chains, nor on vast tracts of ocean-mist coming up -at evening, but on the continual play and change of sun and cloud. - -§ 4. Note this word "change." The moss-lands have an infinite advantage, -not only in sight, but in liberty; they are the freest ground in all the -world. You can only traverse the great woods by crawling like a lizard, -or climbing like a monkey--the great sands with slow steps and veiled -head. But bare-headed, and open-eyed, and free-limbed, commanding all -the horizon's space of changeful light, and all the horizon's compass of -tossing ground, you traverse the moss-land. In discipline it is severe -as the desert, but it is a discipline compelling to action; and the -moss-lands seem, therefore, the rough schools of the world, in which its -strongest human frames are knit and tried, and so bent down, like the -northern winds, to brace and brighten the languor into which the repose -of more favored districts may degenerate. - -§ 5. It would be strange, indeed, if there were no beauty in the -phenomena by which this great renovating and purifying work is done. And -it is done almost entirely by the great Angel of the Sea--rain;--the -Angel, observe, the messenger sent to a special place on a special -errand. Not the diffused perpetual presence of the burden of mist, but -the going and returning of intermittent cloud. All turns upon that -intermittence. Soft moss on stone and rock;--cave-fern of tangled glen; -wayside well--perennial, patient, silent, clear; stealing through its -square font of rough-hewn stone; ever thus deep--no more--which the -winter wreck sullies not, the summer thirst wastes not, incapable of -stain as of decline--where the fallen leaf floats undecayed, and the -insect darts undefiling. Cressed brook and ever-eddying river, lifted -even in flood scarcely over its stepping-stones,--but through all sweet -summer keeping tremulous music with harp-strings of dark water among the -silver fingering of the pebbles. Far away in the south the strong river -Gods have all hasted, and gone down to the sea. Wasted and burning, -white furnaces of blasting sand, their broad beds lie ghastly and bare; -but here the soft wings of the Sea Angel droop still with dew, and the -shadows of their plumes falter on the hills: strange laughings, and -glitterings of silver streamlets, born suddenly, and twined about the -mossy heights in trickling tinsel, answering to them as they wave.[1] - -§ 6. Nor are those wings colorless. We habitually think of the -rain-cloud only as dark and gray; not knowing that we owe to it perhaps -the fairest, though not the most dazzling of the hues of heaven. Often -in our English mornings, the rain-clouds in the dawn form soft level -fields, which melt imperceptibly into the blue; or when of less extent, -gather into apparent bars, crossing the sheets of broader cloud above; -and all these bathed throughout in an unspeakable light of pure -rose-color, and purple, and amber, and blue; not shining, but -misty-soft; the barred masses, when seen nearer, composed of clusters or -tresses of cloud, like floss silk; looking as if each knot were a little -swathe or sheaf of lighted rain. No clouds form such skies, none are so -tender, various, inimitable. Turner himself never caught them. -Correggio, putting out his whole strength, could have painted them, no -other man.[2] - -§ 7. For these are the robes of love of the Angel of the Sea. To these -that name is chiefly given, the "spreadings of the clouds," from their -extent, their gentleness, their fulness of rain. Note how they are -spoken of in Job xxxvi. v. 29-31. "By them judgeth he the people; he -giveth meat in abundance. With clouds he covereth the light.[3] He hath -hidden the light in his hands, and commanded that it should return. He -speaks of it to his friend; that it is his possession, and that he may -ascend thereto." - -That, then, is the Sea Angel's message to God's friends; _that_, the -meaning of those strange golden lights and purple flushes before the -morning rain. The rain is sent to judge, and feed us; but the light is -the possession of the friends of God, and they may ascend -thereto,--where the tabernacle veil will cross and part its rays no -more. - -§ 8. But the Angel of the Sea has also another message,--in the "great -rain of his strength," rain of trial, sweeping away ill-set foundations. -Then his robe is not spread softly over the whole heaven, as a veil, but -sweeps back from his shoulders, ponderous, oblique, terrible--leaving -his sword-arm free. - -The approach of trial-storm, hurricane-storm, is indeed in its vastness -as the clouds of the softer rain. But it is not slow nor horizontal, but -swift and steep: swift with passion of ravenous winds; steep as slope of -some dark, hollowed hill. The fronting clouds come leaning forward, one -thrusting the other aside, or on; impatient, ponderous, impendent, like -globes of rock tossed of Titans--Ossa on Olympus--but hurled forward -all, in one wave of cloud-lava--cloud whose throat is as a sepulchre. -Fierce behind them rages the oblique wrath of the rain, white as ashes, -dense as showers of driven steel; the pillars of it full of ghastly -life; Rain-Furies, shrieking as they fly;--scourging, as with whips of -scorpions;--the earth ringing and trembling under them, heaven wailing -wildly, the trees stooped blindly down, covering their faces, quivering -in every leaf with horror, ruin of their branches flying by them like -black stubble. - -§ 9. I wrote Furies. I ought to have written Gorgons. Perhaps the reader -does not know that the Gorgons are not dead, are ever undying. We shall -have to take our chance of being turned into stones by looking them in -the face, presently. Meantime, I gather what part of the great Greek -story of the Sea Angels, has meaning for us here. - -Nereus, the God of the Sea, who dwells in it always (Neptune being the -God who rules it from Olympus), has children by the Earth; namely, -Thaumas, the father of Iris; that is, the "wonderful" or miracle-working -angel of the sea; Phorcys, the malignant angel of it (you will find him -degraded through many forms, at last, in the story of Sindbad, into the -Old Man of the Sea); Ceto, the deep places of the sea, meaning its bays -among rocks, therefore called by Hesiod "Fair-cheeked" Ceto; and -Eurybia, the tidal force or sway of the sea, of whom more hereafter. - -§ 10. Phorcys and Ceto, the malignant angel of the sea, and the spirit -of its deep rocky places, have children, namely, first, Graić, the soft -rain-clouds. The Greeks had a greater dislike of storm than we have, and -therefore whatever violence is in the action of rain, they represented -by harsher types than we should--types given in one group by -Aristophanes (speaking in mockery of the poets): "This was the reason, -then, that they made so much talk about the fierce rushing of the moist -clouds, coiled in glittering; and the locks of the hundred-headed -Typhon; and the blowing storms; and the bent-clawed birds drifted on -the breeze, fresh, and aërial." Note the expression "bent-clawed birds." -It illustrates two characters of these clouds; partly their coiling -form; but more directly the way they tear down the earth from the -hill-sides; especially those twisted storm-clouds which in violent -action become the waterspout. These always strike at a narrow point, -often opening the earth on a hill-side into a trench as a great pickaxe -would (whence the Graić are said to have only one beak between them). -Nevertheless, the rain-cloud was, on the whole, looked upon by the -Greeks as beneficent, so that it is boasted of in the Oedipus Coloneus -for its perpetual feeding of the springs of Cephisus,[4] and elsewhere -often; and the opening song of the rain-clouds in Aristophanes is -entirely beautiful:-- - -"O eternal Clouds! let us raise into open sight our dewy existence, from -the deep-sounding Sea, our Father, up to the crests of the wooded hills, -whence we look down over the sacred land, nourishing its fruits, and -over the rippling of the divine rivers, and over the low murmuring bays -of the deep." I cannot satisfy myself about the meaning of the names of -the Graić--Pephredo and Enuo--but the epithets which Hesiod gives them -are interesting: "Pephredo, the well-robed; Enuo, the crocus-robed;" -probably, it seems to me, from their beautiful colors in morning. - -§ 11. Next to the Graić, Phorcys and Ceto begat the Gorgons, which are -the true storm-clouds. The Graić have only one beak or tooth, but all -the Gorgons have tusks like boars; brazen hands (brass being the word -used for the metal of which the Greeks made their spears), and golden -wings. - -Their names are "Steino" (straitened), of storms compressed into narrow -compass; "Euryale" (having wide threshing-floor), of storms spread over -great space; "Medusa" (the dominant), the most terrible. She is -essentially the highest storm-cloud; therefore the hail-cloud or cloud -of cold, her countenance turning all who behold it to stone. ("He -casteth forth his ice like morsels. Who can stand before his cold?") The -serpents about her head are the fringes of the hail, the idea of -coldness being connected by the Greeks with the bite of the serpent, as -with the hemlock. - -§ 12. On Minerva's shield, her head signifies, I believe, the cloudy -coldness of knowledge, and its venomous character ("Knowledge puffeth -up." Compare Bacon in Advancement of Learning). But the idea of serpents -rose essentially from the change of form in the cloud as it broke; the -cumulus cloud not breaking into full storm till it is cloven by the -cirrus; which is twice hinted at in the story of Perseus; only we must -go back a little to gather it together. - -Perseus was the son of Jupiter by Danaë, who being shut in a brazen -tower, Jupiter came to her in a shower of gold: the brazen tower being, -I think, only another expression for the cumulus or Medusa cloud; and -the golden rain for the rays of the sun striking it; but we have not -only this rain of Danaë's to remember in connection with the Gorgon, but -that also of the sieves of the Danaďdes, said to represent the provision -of Argos with water by their father Danaüs, who dug wells about the -Acropolis; nor only wells, but opened, I doubt not, channels of -irrigation for the fields, because the Danaďdes are said to have brought -the mysteries of Ceres from Egypt. And though I cannot trace the root of -the names Danaüs and Danaë, there is assuredly some farther link of -connection in the deaths of the lovers of the Danaďdes, whom they slew, -as Perseus Medusa. And again note, that when the father of Danaë, -Acrisius, is detained in Seriphos by storms, a disk thrown by Perseus is -carried _by the wind against his head_, and kills him; and lastly, when -Perseus cuts off the head of Medusa, from her blood springs Chrysaor, -"wielder of the golden sword," the Angel of the Lightning, and Pegasus, -the Angel of the "Wild Fountains," that is to say, the fastest flying or -lower rain-cloud; winged, but racing as upon the earth. - -§ 13. I say, "wild" fountains; because the kind of fountain from which -Pegasus is named is especially the "fountain of the great deep" of -Genesis; sudden and furious, (cataracts of heaven, not windows, in the -Septuagint);--the mountain torrent caused by thunderous storm, or as our -"fountain"--a Geyser-like leaping forth of water. Therefore, it is the -deep and full source of streams, and so used typically of the source of -evils, or of passions; whereas the word "spring" with the Greeks is like -our "well-head"--a gentle issuing forth of water continually. But, -because both the lightning-fire and the gushing forth, as of a fountain, -are the signs of the poet's true power, together with perpetuity, it is -Pegasus who strikes the earth with his foot, on Helicon,[5] and causes -Hippocrene to spring forth--"the horse's well-head." It is perpetual; -but has, nevertheless, the Pegasean storm-power. - -§ 14. Wherein we may find, I think, sufficient cause for putting honor -upon the rain-cloud. Few of us, perhaps, have thought, in watching its -career across our own mossy hills, or listening to the murmur of the -springs amidst the mountain quietness, that the chief masters of the -human imagination owed, and confessed that they owed, the force of their -noblest thoughts, not to the flowers of the valley, nor the majesty of -the hill, but to the flying cloud. - -Yet they never saw it fly, as we may in our own England. So far, at -least, as I know the clouds of the south, they are often more terrible -than ours, but the English Pegasus is swifter. On the Yorkshire and -Derbyshire hills, when the rain-cloud is low and much broken, and the -steady west-wind fills all space with its strength,[6] the sun-gleams -fly like golden vultures: they are flashes rather than shinings; the -dark spaces and the dazzling race and skim along the acclivities, and -dart and dip from crag to dell, swallow-like;--no Graić these,--gray -and withered: Grey Hounds rather, following the Cerinthian stag with the -golden antlers. - -§ 15. There is one character about these lower rain-clouds, partly -affecting all their connection with the upper sky, which I have never -been able to account for; that which, as before noticed, Aristophanes -fastened on at once for their distinctive character--their obliquity. -They always fly in an oblique position, as in the Plate opposite, which -is a careful facsimile of the first advancing mass of the rain-cloud in -Turner's Slave Ship. When the head of the cloud is foremost, as in this -instance, and rain falling beneath, it is easy to imagine that its -drops, increasing in size as they fall, may exercise some retarding -action on the wind. But the head of the cloud is not always first, the -base of it is sometimes advanced.[7] The only certainty is, that it will -not shape itself horizontally, its thin drawn lines and main contours -will always be oblique, though its motion is horizontal; and, which is -still more curious, their sloping lines are hardly ever modified in -their descent by any distinct retiring tendency or perspective -convergence. A troop of leaning clouds will follow one another, each -stooping forward at the same apparent slope, round a fourth of the -horizon. - -§ 16. Another circumstance which the reader should note in this cloud of -Turner's, is the witch-like look of drifted or erected locks of hair at -its left side. We have just read the words of the old Greek poet: "Locks -of the hundred-headed Typhon;" and must remember that Turner's account -of this picture, in the Academy catalogue, was "Slaver throwing -overboard the Dead and Dying. _Typhoon_ coming on." The resemblance to -wildly drifted hair is stronger in the picture than in the engraving; -the gray and purple tints of torn cloud being relieved against golden -sky beyond. - -[Illustration: 72. The Locks of Typhon.] - -§ 17. It was not, however, as we saw, merely to locks of hair, but to -serpents, that the Greeks likened the dissolving of the Medusa cloud in -blood. Of that sanguine rain, or of its meaning, I cannot yet speak. -It is connected with other and higher types, which must be traced in -another place.[8] - -But the likeness to serpents we may illustrate here. The two Plates -already given, 70 and 71 (at page 127), represent successive conditions -of the Medusa cloud on one of the Cenis hills (the great limestone -precipice above St. Michel, between Lanslebourg and St. Jean di -Maurienne).[9] In the first, the cloud is approaching, with the lee-side -cloud forming beyond it; in the second, it has approached, increased, -and broken, the Medusa serpents writhing about the central peak, the -rounded tops of the broken cumulus showing above. In this instance, they -take nearly the forms of flame; but when the storm is more violent, they -are torn into fragments, and magnificent revolving wheels of vapor are -formed, broken, and tossed into the air, as the grass is tossed in the -hay-field from the toothed wheels of the mowing-machine; perhaps, in -common with all other inventions of the kind, likely to bring more evil -upon men than ever the Medusa cloud did, and turn them more effectually -into stone.[10] - -§ 18. I have named in the first volume the principal works of Turner -representing these clouds; and until I am able to draw them better, it -is useless to say more of them; but in connection with the subject we -have been examining, I should be glad if the reader could turn to the -engravings of the England drawings of Salisbury and Stonehenge. What -opportunities Turner had of acquainting himself with classical -literature, and how he used them, we shall see presently. In the -meantime, let me simply assure the reader that, in various byways, he -had gained a knowledge of most of the great Greek traditions, and that -he felt them more than he knew them; his mind being affected, up to a -certain point, precisely as an ancient painter's would have been, by -external phenomena of nature. To him, as to the Greek, the storm-clouds -seemed messengers of fate. He feared them, while he reverenced; nor does -he ever introduce them without some hidden purpose, bearing upon the -expression of the scene he is painting. - -§ 19. On that plain of Salisbury, he had been struck first by its -widely-spacious pastoral life; and secondly, by its monuments of the two -great religions of England--Druidical and Christian. - -He was not a man to miss the possible connection of these impressions. -He treats the shepherd life as a type of the ecclesiastical; and -composes his two drawings so as to illustrate both. - -In the drawing of Salisbury, the plain is swept by rapid but not -distressful rain. The cathedral occupies the centre of the picture, -towering high over the city, of which the houses (made on purpose -smaller than they really are) are scattered about it like a flock of -sheep. The cathedral is surrounded by a great light. The storm gives way -at first in a subdued gleam over a distant parish church, then bursts -down again, breaks away into full light about the cathedral, and passes -over the city, in various sun and shade. In the foreground stands a -shepherd leaning on his staff, watching his flock--bare-headed; he has -given his cloak to a group of children, who have covered themselves up -with it, and are shrinking from the rain; his dog crouches under a bank; -his sheep, for the most part, are resting quietly, some coming up the -slope of the bank towards him.[11] - -§ 20. The rain-clouds in this picture are wrought with a care which I -have never seen equalled in any other sky of the same kind. It is the -rain of blessing--abundant, but full of brightness; golden gleams are -flying across the wet grass, and fall softly on the lines of willows in -the valley--willows by the watercourses; the little brooks flash out -here and there between them and the fields. Turn now to the Stonehenge. -That, also, stands in great light; but it is the Gorgon light--the sword -of Chrysaor is bared against it. The cloud of judgment hangs above. The -rock pillars seem to reel before its slope, pale beneath the lightning. -And nearer, in the darkness, the shepherd lies dead, his flock -scattered. - -I alluded, in speaking before of this Stonehenge, to Turner's use of the -same symbol in the drawing of Pćstum for Rogers's Italy; but a more -striking instance of its employment occurs in a Study of Pćstum, which -he engraved himself before undertaking the Liber Studiorum and another -in his drawing of the Temple of Minerva, on Cape Colonna: and observe -farther that he rarely introduces lightning, if the ruined building has -not been devoted to religion. The wrath of man may destroy the fortress, -but only the wrath of heaven can destroy the temple. - -§ 21. Of these secret meanings of Turner's, we shall see enough in the -course of the inquiry we have to undertake, lastly, respecting ideas of -relation; but one more instance of his opposed use of the lightning -symbol, and of the rain of blessing, I name here, to confirm what has -been noted above. For, in this last instance, he was questioned -respecting his meaning, and explained it. I refer to the drawings of -Sinai and Lebanon, made for Finden's Bible. The sketches from which -Turner prepared that series were, I believe, careful and accurate; but -the treatment of the subjects was left wholly to him. He took the Sinai -and Lebanon to show the opposite influences of the Law and the Gospel. -The Rock of Moses is shown in the burning of the desert, among fallen -stones, forked lightning cleaving the blue mist which veils the summit -of Sinai. Armed Arabs pause at the foot of the rock. No human habitation -is seen, nor any herb or tree, nor any brook, and the lightning strikes -without rain.[12] Over the Mount Lebanon an intensely soft gray-blue sky -is melting into dewy rain. Every ravine is filled, every promontory -crowned, by tenderest foliage, golden in slanting sunshine.[13] The -white convent nestles into the hollow of the rock; and a little brook -runs under the shadow of the nearer trees, beside which two monks sit -reading. - -§ 22. It was a beautiful thought, yet an erring one, as all thoughts are -which oppose the Law to the Gospel. When people read, "the law came by -Moses, but grace and truth by Christ," do they suppose that the law was -ungracious and untrue? The law was given for a foundation; the grace (or -mercy) and truth for fulfilment;--the whole forming one glorious Trinity -of judgment, mercy, and truth. And if people would but read the text of -their Bibles with heartier purpose of understanding it, instead of -superstitiously, they would see that throughout the parts which they are -intended to make most personally their own (the Psalms) it is always the -Law which is spoken of with chief joy. The Psalms respecting mercy are -often sorrowful, as in thought of what it cost; but those respecting the -law are always full of delight. David cannot contain himself for joy in -thinking of it,--he is never weary of its praise:--"How love I thy law! -it is my meditation all the day. Thy testimonies are my delight and my -counsellors; sweeter, also, than honey and the honeycomb." - -§ 23. And I desire, especially, that the reader should note this, in now -closing the work through which we have passed together in the -investigation of the beauty of the visible world. For perhaps he -expected more pleasure and freedom in that work; he thought that it -would lead him at once into fields of fond imagination, and may have -been surprised to find that the following of beauty brought him always -under a sterner dominion of mysterious law; the brightness was -continually based upon obedience, and all majesty only another form of -submission. But this is indeed so. I have been perpetually hindered in -this inquiry into the sources of beauty by fear of wearying the reader -with their severities. It was always accuracy I had to ask of him, not -sympathy; patience, not zeal; apprehension, not sensation. The thing to -be shown him was not a pleasure to be snatched, but a law to be learned. - -§ 24. It is in this character, however, that the beauty of the natural -world completes its message. We saw long ago, how its various _powers_ -of appeal to the mind of men might be traced to some typical expression -of Divine attributes. We have seen since how its _modes_ of appeal -present constant types of human obedience to the Divine law, and -constant proofs that this law, instead of being contrary to mercy, is -the foundation of all delight, and the guide of all fair and fortunate -existence. - -§ 25. Which understanding, let us receive our last message from the -Angel of the Sea. - -Take up the 19th Psalm and look at it verse by verse. Perhaps to my -younger readers, one word may be permitted respecting their -Bible-reading in general.[14] The Bible is, indeed, a deep book, when -depth is required, that is to say, for deep people. But it is not -intended, particularly, for profound persons; on the contrary, much more -for shallow and simple persons. And therefore the first, and generally -the main and leading idea of the Bible, is on its surface, written in -plainest possible Greek, Hebrew, or English, needing no penetration, nor -amplification, needing nothing but what we all might give--attention. - -But this, which is in every one's power, and is the only thing that God -wants, is just the last thing any one will give Him. We are delighted to -ramble away into day-dreams, to repeat pet verses from other places, -suggested by chance words; to snap at an expression which suits our own -particular views, or to dig up a meaning from under a verse, which we -should be amiably grieved to think any human being had been so happy as -to find before. But the plain, intended, immediate, fruitful meaning, -which every one ought to find always, and especially that which depends -on our seeing the relation of the verse to those near it, and getting -the force of the whole passage, in due relation--this sort of -significance we do not look for;--it being, truly, not to be discovered, -unless we really attend to what is said, instead of to our own feelings. - -§ 26. It is unfortunate also, but very certain, that in order to attend -to what is said, we must go through the irksomeness of knowing the -meaning of the words. And the first thing that children should be taught -about their Bibles is, to distinguish clearly between words that they -understand and words that they do not; and to put aside the words they -do not understand, and verses connected with them, to be asked about, or -for a future time; and never to think they are reading the Bible when -they are merely repeating phrases of an unknown tongue. - -§ 27. Let us try, by way of example, this 19th Psalm, and see what plain -meaning is uppermost in it. - -"The heavens declare the glory of God." - -What are the heavens? - -The word occurring in the Lord's Prayer, and the thing expressed being -what a child may, with some advantage, be led to look at, it might be -supposed among a schoolmaster's first duties to explain this word -clearly. - -Now there can be no question that in the minds of the sacred writers, it -stood naturally for the entire system of cloud, and of space beyond it, -conceived by them as a vault set with stars. But there can, also, be no -question, as we saw in previous inquiry, that the firmament, which is -said to have been "called" heaven, at the creation, expresses, in all -definite use of the word, the system of clouds, as spreading the power -of the water over the earth; hence the constant expressions dew of -heaven, rain of heaven, &c., where heaven is used in the singular; while -"the heavens," when used plurally, and especially when in distinction, -as here, from the word "firmament," remained expressive of the starry -space beyond. - -§ 28. A child might therefore be told (surely, with advantage), that our -beautiful word Heaven may possibly have been formed from a Hebrew word, -meaning "the high place;" that the great warrior Roman nation, camping -much out at night, generally overtired and not in moods for thinking, -are believed, by many people, to have seen in the stars only the -likeness of the glittering studs of their armor, and to have called the -sky "The bossed, or studded;" but that others think those Roman soldiers -on their might-watches had rather been impressed by the great emptiness -and void of night, and by the far coming of sounds through its darkness, -and had called the heaven "The Hollow place." Finally, I should tell -the children, showing them first the setting of a star, how the great -Greeks had found out the truest power of the heavens, and had called -them "The Rolling." But whatever different nations had called them, at -least I would make it clear to the child's mind that in this 19th Psalm, -their whole power being intended, the two words are used which express -it: the Heavens, for the great vault or void, with all its planets, and -stars, and ceaseless march of orbs innumerable; and the Firmament, for -the ordinance of the clouds. - -These heavens, then, "declare the _glory_ of God;" that is, the light of -God, the eternal glory, stable and changeless. As their orbs fail -not--but pursue their course for ever, to give light upon the earth--so -God's glory surrounds man for ever--changeless, in its fulness -insupportable--infinite. - -"And the firmament showeth his _handywork_." - -§ 29. The clouds, prepared by the hand of God for the help of man, -varied in their ministration--veiling the inner splendor--show, not His -eternal glory, but His daily handiwork. So He dealt with Moses. I will -cover thee "with my hand" as I pass by. Compare Job xxxvi. 24: "Remember -that thou magnify his work, which men behold. Every man may see it." Not -so the glory--that only in part; the courses of these stars are to be -seen imperfectly, and but by a few. But this firmament, "every man may -see it, man may behold it afar off." "Behold, God is great, and we know -him not. For he maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain -according to the vapor thereof." - -§ 30. "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth -knowledge. They have no speech nor language, yet without these their -voice is heard. Their rule is gone out throughout the earth, and their -words to the end of the world." - -Note that. Their rule throughout the earth, whether inhabited or -not--their law of right is thereon; but their words, spoken to human -souls, to the end of the inhabited world. - -"In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun," &c. Literally, a -tabernacle, or curtained tent, with its veil and its hangings; also of -the colors of His desert tabernacle--blue, and purple, and scarlet. - -Thus far the psalm describes the manner of this great heaven's message. - -Thenceforward, it comes to the matter of it. - -§ 31. Observe, you have the two divisions of the declaration. The -heavens (compare Psalm viii.) declare the eternal glory of God before -men, and the firmament the daily mercy of God towards men. And the -eternal glory is in this--that the law of the Lord is perfect, and His -testimony sure, and His statutes right. - -And the daily mercy in this--that the commandment of the Lord is pure, -and His fear is clean, and His judgments true and righteous. - -There are three oppositions:-- - -Between law and commandment. - -Between testimony and fear. - -Between statute and judgment. - -§ 32. I. Between law and commandment. - -The law is fixed and everlasting; uttered once, abiding for ever, as the -sun, it may not be moved. It is "perfect, converting the soul:" the -whole question about the soul being, whether it has been turned from -darkness to light, acknowledged this law or not,--whether it is godly or -ungodly? But the commandment is given momentarily to each man, according -to the need. It does not convert: it guides. It does not concern the -entire purpose of the soul; but it enlightens the eyes, respecting a -special act. The law is, "Do this always;" the commandment, "Do _thou_ -this _now_:" often mysterious enough, and through the cloud; chilling, -and with strange rain of tears; yet always pure (the law converting, but -the commandment cleansing): a rod not for guiding merely, but for -strengthening, and tasting honey with. "Look how mine eyes have been -enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey." - -§ 33. II. Between testimony and fear. - -The testimony is everlasting: the true promise of salvation. Bright as -the sun beyond all the earth-cloud, it makes wise the simple; all wisdom -being assured in perceiving it and trusting it; all wisdom brought to -nothing which does not perceive it. - -But the fear of God is taught through special encouragement and special -withdrawal of it, according to each man's need--by the -earth-cloud--smile and frown alternately: it also, as the commandment, -is clean, purging and casting out all other fear, it only remaining for -ever. - -§ 34. III. Between statute and judgment. - -The statutes are the appointments of the Eternal justice; fixed and -bright, and constant as the stars; equal and balanced as their courses. -They "are right, rejoicing the heart." But the judgments are special -judgments of given acts of men. "True," that is to say, fulfilling the -warning or promise given to each man; "righteous altogether," that is, -done or executed in truth and righteousness. The statute is right, in -appointment. The judgment righteous altogether, in appointment and -fulfilment;--yet not always rejoicing the heart. - -Then, respecting all these, comes the expression of passionate desire, -and of joy; that also divided with respect to each. The glory of God, -eternal in the Heavens, is future, "to be _desired_ more than gold, than -much fine gold"--treasure in the heavens that faileth not. But the -present guidance and teaching of God are on earth; they are now -possessed, sweeter than all earthly food--"sweeter than honey and the -honeycomb. Moreover by them" (the law and the testimony) "is thy servant -warned"--warned of the ways of death and life. - -"And in keeping them" (the commandments and the judgments) "there is -great reward:" pain now, and bitterness of tears, but reward -unspeakable. - -§ 35. Thus far the psalm has been descriptive and interpreting. It ends -in prayer. - -"Who can understand his errors?" (wanderings from the perfect law.) -"Cleanse thou me from secret faults; from all that I have done against -thy will, and far from thy way, in the darkness. Keep back thy servant -from presumptuous sins" (sins against the commandment) "against thy will -when it is seen and direct, pleading with heart and conscience. So shall -I be undefiled, and innocent from the great transgression--the -transgression that crucifies afresh. - -"Let the words of my mouth (for I have set them to declare thy law), and -the meditation of my heart (for I have set it to keep thy commandments), -be acceptable in thy sight, whose glory is my strength, and whose work, -my redemption; my Strength, and my Redeemer." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Compare the beautiful stanza beginning the epilogue of the - "Golden Legend." - - [2] I do not mean that Correggio is greater than Turner, but that - only _his_ way of work, the touch which he has used for the golden - hair of Antiope for instance, could have painted these clouds. In - open lowland country I have never been able to come to any - satisfactory conclusion about their height, so strangely do they - blend with each other. Here, for instance, is the arrangement of an - actual group of them. The space at A was deep, purest ultramarine - blue, traversed by streaks of absolutely pure and perfect rose-color. - The blue passed downwards imperceptibly into gray at G, and then into - amber, and at the white edge below into gold. On this amber ground - the streaks P were dark purple, and, finally, the spaces at B B, - again, clearest and most precious blue, paler than that at A. The - _two_ levels of these clouds are always very notable. After a - continuance of fine weather among the Alps, the determined approach - of rain is usually announced by a soft, unbroken film of level cloud, - white and thin at the approaching edge, gray at the horizon, covering - the whole sky from side to side, and advancing steadily from the - south-west. Under its gray veil, as it approaches, are formed - detached bars, darker or lighter than the field above, according to - the position of the sun. These bars are usually of a very sharply - elongated oval shape, something like fish. I habitually call them - "fish clouds," and look upon them with much discomfort, if any - excursions of interest have been planned within the next three days. - Their oval shape is a perspective deception dependent on their - flatness; they are probably thin, extended fields, irregularly - circular. - - [Illustration: FIG. 98.] - - [3] I do not copy the interpolated words which follow, "and - commandeth it _not to shine_." The closing verse of the chapter, as - we have it, is unintelligible; not so in the Vulgate, the reading of - which I give. - - [4] I assume the [Greek: aupnoi kręnai nomades] to mean clouds, not - springs; but this does not matter, the whole passage being one of - rejoicing in moisture and dew of heaven. - - [5] I believe, however, that when Pegasus strikes forth this - fountain, he is to be regarded, not as springing from Medusa's blood, - but as born of Medusa by Neptune; the true horse was given by Neptune - striking the earth with his trident; the divine horse is born to - Neptune and the storm-cloud. - - [6] I have been often at great heights on the Alps in rough weather, - and have seen strong gusts of storm in the plains of the south. But, - to get full expression of the very heart and meaning of wind, there - is no place like a Yorkshire moor. I think Scottish breezes are - thinner, very bleak and piercing, but not substantial. If you lean on - them they will let you fall, but one may rest against a Yorkshire - breeze as one would on a quickset hedge. I shall not soon - forget,--having had the good fortune to meet a vigorous one on an - April morning, between Hawes and Settle, just on the flat under - Wharnside,--the vague sense of wonder with which I watched - Ingleborough stand without rocking. - - [7] When there is a violent current of wind near the ground, the rain - columns slope _forward_ at the foot. See the Entrance to Fowey - Harbor, of the England Series. - - [8] See Part IX. chap. 2, "The Hesperid Ćglé." - - [9] The reader must remember that sketches made as these are, on the - instant, cannot be far carried, and would lose all their use if they - were finished at home. These were both made in pencil, and merely - washed with gray on returning to the inn, enough to secure the main - forms. - - [10] I do not say this carelessly, nor because machines throw the - laboring man "out of work." The laboring man will always have more - work than he wants. I speak thus, because the use of such machinery - involves the destruction of all pleasures in rural labor; and I doubt - not, in that destruction, the essential deterioration of the national - mind. - - [11] You may see the arrangement of subject in the published - engraving, but nothing more; it is among the worst engravings in the - England Series. - - [12] Hosea xiii. 5, 15. - - [13] Hosea xiv. 4, 5, 6. Compare Psalm lxxii. 6-16. - - [14] I believe few sermons are more false or dangerous than those in - which the teacher professes to impress his audience by showing "how - much there is in a verse." If he examined his own heart closely - before beginning, he would often find that his real desire was to - show how much he, the expounder, could make out of the verse. But - entirely honest and earnest men often fall into the same error. They - have been taught that they should always look deep, and that - Scripture is full of hidden meanings; and they easily yield to the - flattering conviction that every chance idea which comes into their - heads in looking at a word, is put there by Divine agency. Hence they - wander away into what they believe to be an inspired meditation, but - which is, in reality, a meaningless jumble of ideas; perhaps very - proper ideas, but with which the text in question has nothing - whatever to do. - - - - -PART VIII. - -OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--FIRST, OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE LAW OF HELP. - - -§ 1. We have now reached the last and the most important part of our -subject. We have seen, in the first division of this book, how far art -may be, and has been, consistent with physical or material facts. In its -second division, we examined how far it may be and has been obedient to -the laws of physical beauty. In this last division we have to consider -its relations of art to God and man. Its work in the help of human -beings, and service of their Creator. - -We have to inquire into the various Powers, Conditions, and Aims of mind -involved in the conception or creation of pictures; in the choice of -subject, and the mode and order of its history;--the choice of forms, -and the modes of their arrangement. - -And these phases of mind being concerned, partly with choice and -arrangement of incidents, partly with choice and arrangement of forms -and colors, the whole subject will fall into two main divisions, namely, -expressional or spiritual invention; and material or formal invention. - -They are of course connected;--all good formal invention being -expressional also; but as a matter of convenience it is best to say what -may be ascertained of the nature of formal invention, before attempting -to illustrate the faculty in its higher field. - -§ 2. First, then, of INVENTION FORMAL, otherwise and most commonly -called technical composition; that is to say, the arrangement of lines, -forms, or colors, so as to produce the best possible effect.[1] - -I have often been accused of slighting this quality in pictures; the -fact being that I have avoided it only because I considered it too great -and wonderful for me to deal with. The longer I thought, the more -wonderful it always seemed; and it is, to myself personally, the -quality, above all others, which gives me delight in pictures. Many -others I admire, or respect; but this one I rejoice in. Expression, -sentiment, truth to nature, are essential; but all these are not enough. -I never care to look at a picture again, if it be ill composed; and if -well composed I can hardly leave off looking at it. - -"Well composed." Does that mean according to rule? - -No. Precisely the contrary. Composed as only the man who did it could -have done it; composed as no other picture is, or was, or ever can be -again. Every great work stands alone. - -§ 3. Yet there are certain elementary laws of arrangement traceable a -little way; a few of these only I shall note, not caring to pursue the -subject far in this work, so intricate it becomes even in its first -elements: nor could it be treated with any approach to completeness, -unless I were to give many and elaborate outlines of large pictures. I -have a vague hope of entering on such a task, some future day. Meantime -I shall only indicate the place which technical composition should hold -in our scheme. - -And, first, let us understand what composition is, and how far it is -required. - -§ 4. Composition may be best defined as the help of everything in the -picture by everything else. - -I wish the reader to dwell a little on this word "Help." It is a grave -one. - -In substance which we call "inanimate," as of clouds, or stones, their -atoms may cohere to each other, or consist with each other, but they do -not help each other. The removal of one part does not injure the rest. - -But in a plant, the taking away of any one part does injure the rest. -Hurt or remove any portion of the sap, bark, or pith, the rest is -injured. If any part enters into a state in which it no more assists the -rest, and has thus become "helpless," we call it also "dead." - -The power which causes the several portions of the plant to help each -other, we call life. Much more is this so in an animal. We may take away -the branch of a tree without much harm to it; but not the animal's limb. -Thus, intensity of life is also intensity of helpfulness--completeness -of depending of each part on all the rest. The ceasing of this help is -what we call corruption; and in proportion to the perfectness of the -help, is the dreadfulness of the loss. The more intense the life has -been, the more terrible is its corruption. - -The decomposition of a crystal is not necessarily impure at all. The -fermentation of a wholesome liquid begins to admit the idea slightly; -the decay of leaves yet more; of flowers, more; of animals, with greater -painfulness and terribleness in exact proportion to their original -vitality; and the foulest of all corruption is that of the body of man; -and, in his body, that which is occasioned by disease, more than that of -natural death. - -§ 5. I said just now, that though atoms of inanimate substance could not -help each other, they could "consist" with each other. "Consistence" is -their virtue. Thus the parts of a crystal are consistent, but of dust, -inconsistent. Orderly adherence, the best help its atoms can give, -constitutes the nobleness of such substance. - -When matter is either consistent, or living, we call it pure, or clean; -when inconsistent, or corrupting (unhelpful), we call it impure, or -unclean. The greatest uncleanliness being that which is essentially most -opposite to life. - -Life and consistency, then, both expressing one character (namely, -helpfulness, of a higher or lower order), the Maker of all creatures and -things, "by whom all creatures live, and all things consist," is -essentially and for ever the Helpful One, or in softer Saxon, the "Holy" -One. - -The word has no other ultimate meaning: Helpful, harmless, undefiled: -"living" or "Lord of life." - -The idea is clear and mighty in the cherubim's cry: "Helpful, helpful, -helpful, Lord God of Hosts;" _i.e._ of all the hosts, armies, and -creatures of the earth.[2] - -§ 6. A pure or holy state of anything, therefore, is that in which all -its parts are helpful or consistent. They may or may not be homogeneous. -The highest or organic purities are composed of many elements in an -entirely helpful state. The highest and first law of the universe--and -the other name of life, is, therefore, "help." The other name of death -is "separation." Government and co-operation are in all things and -eternally the laws of life. Anarchy and competition, eternally, and in -all things, the laws of death. - -§ 7. Perhaps the best, though the most familiar example we could take of -the nature and power of consistence, will be that of the possible -changes in the dust we tread on. - -Exclusive of animal decay, we can hardly arrive at a more absolute type -of impurity than the mud or slime of a damp over-trodden path, in the -outskirts of a manufacturing town. I do not say mud of the road, because -that is mixed with animal refuse; but take merely an ounce or two of the -blackest slime of a beaten footpath on a rainy day, near a large -manufacturing town. - -§ 8. That slime we shall find in most cases composed of clay (or -brickdust, which is burnt clay) mixed with soot, a little sand, and -water. All these elements are at helpless war with each other, and -destroy reciprocally each other's nature and power, competing and -fighting for place at every tread of your foot;--sand squeezing out -clay, and clay squeezing out water, and soot meddling everywhere and -defiling the whole. Let us suppose that this ounce of mud is left in -perfect rest, and that its elements gather together, like to like, so -that their atoms may get into the closest relations possible. - -§ 9. Let the clay begin. Ridding itself of all foreign substance, it -gradually becomes a white earth, already very beautiful; and fit, with -help of congealing fire, to be made into finest porcelain, and painted -on, and be kept in kings' palaces. But such artificial consistence is -not its best. Leave it still quiet to follow its own instinct of unity, -and it becomes not only white, but clear; not only clear, but hard; not -only clear and hard, but so set that it can deal with light in a -wonderful way, and gather out of it the loveliest blue rays only, -refusing the rest. We call it then a sapphire. - -Such being the consummation of the clay, we give similar permission of -quiet to the sand. It also becomes, first, a white earth, then proceeds -to grow clear and hard, and at last arranges itself in mysterious, -infinitely fine, parallel lines, which have the power of reflecting not -merely the blue rays, but the blue, green, purple, and red rays in the -greatest beauty in which they can be seen through any hard material -whatsoever. We call it then an opal. - -In next order the soot sets to work; it cannot make itself white at -first, but instead of being discouraged, tries harder and harder, and -comes out clear at last, and the hardest thing in the world; and for the -blackness that it had, obtains in exchange the power of reflecting all -the rays of the sun at once in the vividest blaze that any solid thing -can shoot. We call it then a diamond. - -Last of all the water purifies or unites itself, contented enough if it -only reach the form of a dew-drop; but if we insist on its proceeding to -a more perfect consistence, it crystallizes into the shape of a star. - -And for the ounce of slime which we had by political economy of -competition, we have by political economy of co-operation, a sapphire, -an opal, and a diamond, set in the midst of a star of snow. - -§ 10. Now invention in art signifies an arrangement, in which everything -in the work is thus consistent with all things else, and helpful to all -else. - -It is the greatest and rarest of all the qualities of art. The power by -which it is effected is absolutely inexplicable and incommunicable; but -exercised with entire facility by those who possess it, in many cases -even unconsciously.[3] - -In work which is not composed, there may be many beautiful things, but -they do not help each other. They at the best only stand beside, and -more usually compete with and destroy, each other. They may be connected -artificially in many ways, but the test of there being no invention is, -that if one of them be taken away, the others are no worse than before. -But in true composition, if one be taken away, all the rest are helpless -and valueless. Generally, in falsely composed work, if anything be taken -away, the rest will look better; because the attention is less -distracted. Hence the pleasure of inferior artists in sketching, and -their inability to finish; all that they add destroys. - -§ 11. Also in true composition, everything not only helps everything -else a _little_, but helps with its utmost power. Every atom is in full -energy; and _all_ that energy is kind. Not a line, nor spark of color, -but is doing its very best, and that best is aid. The extent to which -this law is carried in truly right and noble work is wholly -inconceivable to the ordinary observer, and no true account of it would -be believed. - -§ 12. True composition being entirely easy to the man who can compose, -he is seldom proud of it, though he clearly recognizes it. Also, true -composition is inexplicable. No one can explain how the notes of a -Mozart melody, or the folds of a piece of Titian's drapery, produce -their essential effect on each other. If you do not feel it, no one can -by reasoning make you feel it. And, the highest composition is so -subtle, that it is apt to become unpopular, and sometimes seem insipid. - -§ 13. The reader may be surprised at my giving so high a place to -invention. But if he ever come to know true invention from false, he -will find that it is not only the highest quality of art, but is simply -the most wonderful act or power of humanity. It is pre-eminently the -deed of human creation; [Greek: poięsis], otherwise, poetry. - -If the reader will look back to my definition of poetry, he will find it -is "the suggestion, by the imagination, of noble grounds for the noble -emotions" (Vol. III. p. 10), amplified below (§ 14) into "assembling by -help of the imagination;" that is to say, imagination associative, -described at length in Vol. II., in the chapter just referred to. The -mystery of the power is sufficiently set forth in that place. Of its -dignity I have a word or two to say here. - -§ 14. Men in their several professed employments, looked at broadly, may -be properly arranged under five classes:-- - -1. Persons who see. These in modern language are sometimes called -sight-seers, that being an occupation coming more and more into vogue -every day. Anciently they used to be called, simply, seers. - -2. Persons who talk. These, in modern language, are usually called -talkers, or speakers, as in the House of Commons, and elsewhere. They -used to be called prophets. - -3. Persons who make. These, in modern language, are usually called -manufacturers. Anciently they were called poets. - -4. Persons who think. There seems to be no very distinct modern title -for this kind of person, anciently called philosophers; nevertheless we -have a few of them among us. - -5. Persons who do: in modern language, called practical persons; -anciently, believers. - -Of the first two classes I have only this to note,--that we ought -neither to say that a person sees, if he sees falsely, nor speaks, if he -speaks falsely. For seeing falsely is worse than blindness, and speaking -falsely, than silence. A man who is too dim-sighted to discern the road -from the ditch, may feel which is which;--but if the ditch appears -manifestly to him to be the road, and the road to be the ditch, what -shall become of him? False seeing is unseeing,--on the negative side of -blindness; and false speaking, unspeaking,--on the negative side of -silence. - -To the persons who think, also, the same test applies very shrewdly. -Theirs is a dangerous profession; and from the time of the Aristophanes -thought-shop to the great German establishment, or thought-manufactory, -whose productions have, unhappily, taken in part the place of the older -and more serviceable commodities of Nuremberg toys and Berlin wool, it -has been often harmful enough to mankind. It should not be so, for a -false thought is more distinctly and visibly no thought than a false -saying is no saying. But it is touching the two great productive classes -of the doers and makers, that we have one or two important points to -note here. - -§ 15. Has the reader ever considered, carefully, what is the meaning of -"doing" a thing? - -Suppose a rock falls from a hill-side, crushes a group of cottages, and -kills a number of people. The stone has produced a great effect in the -world. If any one asks, respecting the broken roofs, "What did it?" you -say the stone did it. Yet you don't talk of the deed of the stone. If -you inquire farther, and find that a goat had been feeding beside the -rock, and had loosened it by gnawing the roots of the grasses beneath, -you find the goat to be the active cause of the calamity, and you say -the goat did it. Yet you don't call the goat the doer, nor talk of its -evil deed. But if you find any one went up to the rock, in the night, -and with deliberate purpose loosened it, that it might fall on the -cottages, you say in quite a different sense, "It is his deed: he is the -doer of it." - -§ 16. It appears, then, that deliberate purpose and resolve are needed -to constitute a deed or doing, in the true sense of the word; and that -when, accidentally or mechanically, events take place without such -purpose, we have indeed effects or results, and agents or causes, but -neither deeds nor doers. - -Now it so happens, as we all well know, that by far the largest part of -things happening in practical life _are_ brought about with no -deliberate purpose. There are always a number of people who have the -nature of stones; they fall on other persons and crush them. Some again -have the nature of weeds, and twist about other people's feet and -entangle them. More have the nature of logs, and lie in the way, so that -every one falls over them. And most of all have the nature of thorns, -and set themselves by waysides, so that every passer-by must be torn, -and all good seed choked; or perhaps make wonderful crackling under -various pots, even to the extent of practically boiling water and -working pistons. All these people produce immense and sorrowful effect -in the world. Yet none of them are doers: it is their nature to crush, -impede, and prick: but deed is not in them.[4] - -§ 17. And farther, observe, that even when some effect is finally -intended, you cannot call it the person's deed, unless it is _what_ he -intended. - -If an ignorant person, purposing evil, accidentally does good, (as if a -thief's disturbing a family should lead them to discover in time that -their house was on fire); or _vice versâ_, if an ignorant person -intending good, accidentally does evil (as if a child should give -hemlock to his companions for celery), in neither case do you call them -the doers of what may result. So that in order to be a true deed, it is -necessary that the effect of it should be foreseen. Which, ultimately, -it cannot be, but by a person who knows, and in his deed obeys, the laws -of the universe, and of its Maker. And this knowledge is in its highest -form, respecting the will of the Ruling Spirit, called Trust. For it is -not the knowledge that a thing is, but that, according to the promise -and nature of the Ruling Spirit, a thing will be. Also obedience in its -highest form is not obedience to a constant and compulsory law, but a -persuaded or voluntary yielded obedience to an issued command; and so -far as it was a _persuaded_ submission to command, it was anciently -called, in a passive sense, "persuasion," or [Greek: pistis], and in so -far as it alone assuredly did, and it alone _could_ do, what it meant to -do, and was therefore the root and essence of all human deed, it was -called by the Latins the "doing," or _fides_, which has passed into the -French _foi_ and the English _faith_. And therefore because in His -doing always certain, and in His speaking always true, His name who -leads the armies of Heaven is "Faithful and True,"[5] and all deeds -which are done in alliance with those armies, be they small or great, -are essentially deeds of faith, which therefore, and in this one stern, -eternal, sense, subdues all kingdoms, and turns to flight the armies of -the aliens, and is at once the source and the substance of all human -deed, rightly so called. - -§ 18. Thus far then of practical persons, once called believers, as set -forth in the last word of the noblest group of words ever, so far as I -know, uttered by simple man concerning his practice, being the final -testimony of the leaders of a great practical nation, whose deed -thenceforward became an example of deed to mankind: - - [Greek: Ô xein', angellein Lakedaimoniois, hoti tęde Keimetha, tois - keinôn rhęmasi peithomenoi.] - -"O stranger! (we pray thee), tell the Lacedćmonians that we are lying -here, having _obeyed_ their words." - -§ 19. What, let us ask next, is the ruling character of the person who -produces--the creator or maker, anciently called the poet? - -We have seen what a deed is. What then is a "creation"? Nay, it may be -replied, to "create" cannot be said of man's labor. - -On the contrary, it not only can be said, but is and must be said -continually. You certainly do not talk of creating a watch, or creating -a shoe; nevertheless you _do_ talk of creating a feeling. Why is this? - -Look back to the greatest of all creation, that of the world. Suppose -the trees had been ever so well or so ingeniously put together, stem and -leaf, yet if they had not been able to grow, would they have been well -created? Or suppose the fish had been cut and stitched finely out of -skin and whalebone; yet, cast upon the waters, had not been able to -swim? Or suppose Adam and Eve had been made in the softest clay, ever so -neatly, and set at the foot of the tree of knowledge, fastened up to -it, quite unable to fall, or do anything else, would they have been well -created, or in any true sense created at all? - -§ 20. It will, perhaps, appear to you, after a little farther thought, -that to create anything in reality is to put life into it. - -A poet, or creator, is therefore a person who puts things together, not -as a watchmaker steel, or a shoemaker leather, but who puts life into -them. - -His work is essentially this: it is the gathering and arranging of -material by imagination, so as to have in it at last the harmony or -helpfulness of life, and the passion or emotion of life. Mere fitting -and adjustment of material is nothing; that is watchmaking. But helpful -and passionate harmony, essentially choral harmony, so called from the -Greek word "rejoicing,"[6] is the harmony of Apollo and the Muses; the -word Muse and Mother being derived from the same root, meaning -"passionate seeking," or love, of which the issue is passionate finding, -or sacred INVENTION. For which reason I could not bear to use any baser -word than this of invention. And if the reader will think over all these -things, and follow them out, as I think he may easily with this much of -clue given him, he will not any more think it wrong in me to place -invention so high among the powers of man.[7] - -Or any more think it strange that the last act of the life of -Socrates[8] should have been to purify himself from the sin of having -negligently listened to the voice within him, which, through all his -past life, had bid him "labor, and make harmony." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word composition has been so much abused, and is in itself so - inexpressive, that when I wrote the first part of this work I - intended always to use, in this final section of it, the word - "invention," and to reserve the term "composition" for that false - composition which can be taught on principles; as I have already so - employed the term in the chapter on "Imagination Associative," in the - second volume. But, in arranging this section, I find it is not - conveniently possible to avoid the ordinary modes of parlance; I - therefore only head the section as I intended (and as is, indeed, - best), using in the text the ordinarily accepted term; only, the - reader must be careful to note that what I spoke of shortly as - "composition" in the chapters on "Imagination," I here always call, - distinctly, "false composition;" using here, as I find most - convenient, the words "invention" or "composition" indifferently for - the true faculty. - - [2] "The cries of them which have reaped have entered into the ears - of the Lord of Sabaoth (of all the creatures of the earth)." You will - find a wonderful clearness come into many texts by reading, - habitually, "helpful" and "helpfulness" for "holy" and "holiness," or - else "living," as in Rom. xi. 16. The sense "dedicated" (the Latin - _sanctus_), being, of course, inapplicable to the Supreme Being, is - an entirely secondary and accidental one. - - [3] By diligent study of good compositions it is possible to put work - together so that the parts shall help each other, a little, or at all - events do no harm; and when some tact and taste are associated with - this diligence, semblances of real invention are often produced, - which, being the results of great labor, the artist is always proud - of; and which, being capable of learned explanation and imitation, - the spectator naturally takes interest in. The common precepts about - composition all produce and teach this false kind, which, as true - composition is the noblest, being the corruption of it, is the - ignoblest condition of art. - - [4] We may, perhaps, expediently recollect as much of our botany as - to teach us that there may be sharp and rough persons, like spines, - who yet have good in them, and are essentially branches, and can bud. - But the true thorny person is no spine, only an excrescence; rootless - evermore,--leafless evermore. No crown made of such can ever meet - glory of Angel's hand. (In Memoriam, lxviii.) - - [5] "True," means, etymologically, not "consistent with fact," but - "which may be trusted." "This is a true saying, and worthy of all - acceptation," &c., meaning a trusty saying,--a saying to be rested - on, leant upon. - - [6] [Greek: Chorous te ônomakenai para tęs charas emphyton onoma]. - (Dé leg. II. 1.) - - [7] This being, indeed, among the visiblest signs of the Divine or - immortal life. We have got a base habit of opposing the word "mortal" - or "deathful" merely to "_im_-mortal;" whereas it is essentially - contrary to "divine" (to [Greek: theios], not to [Greek: athanatos], - Phaedo, 66), that which is deathful being anarchic or disobedient, - and that which is divine ruling and obedient; this being the true - distinction between flesh and spirit. - - [8] [Greek: Pollakis moi phoitôn to auto enypnion en tô parelthonti - biô, allot' en allę opsei phainomenon, ta auta de legon, Ô Sôkra tes, - ephę, mousikęn poiei kai ergazou]. (Phaedo, 11.) - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE TASK OF THE LEAST. - - -§ 1. The reader has probably been surprised at my assertions made often -before now, and reiterated here, that the _minutest_ portion of a great -composition is helpful to the whole. It certainly does not seem easily -conceivable that this should be so. I will go farther, and say that it -is inconceivable. But it is the fact. - -We shall discern it to be so by taking one or two compositions to -pieces, and examining the fragments. In doing which, we must remember -that a great composition always has a leading emotional purpose, -technically called its motive, to which all its lines and forms have -some relation. Undulating lines, for instance, are expressive of action; -and would be false in effect if the motive of the picture was one of -repose. Horizontal and angular lines are expressive of rest and -strength; and would destroy a design whose purpose was to express -disquiet and feebleness. It is therefore necessary to ascertain the -motive before descending to the detail. - -§ 2. One of the simplest subjects, in the series of the Rivers of -France, is "Rietz, near Saumur." The published Plate gives a better -rendering than usual of its tone of light; and my rough etching, Plate -73, sufficiently shows the arrangement of its lines. What is their -motive? - -To get at it completely, we must know something of the Loire. - -The district through which it here flows is, for the most part, a low -place, yet not altogether at the level of the stream, but cut into steep -banks of chalk or gravel, thirty or forty feet high, running for miles -at about an equal height above the water. - -[Illustration: 73. Loire-side.] - -These banks are excavated by the peasantry, partly for houses, partly -for cellars, so economizing vineyard space above; and thus a kind of -continuous village runs along the river-side, composed half of caves, -half of rude buildings, backed by the cliff, propped against it, -therefore always leaning away from the river; mingled with overlappings -of vineyard trellis from above, and little towers or summer-houses for -outlook, when the grapes are ripe, or for gossip over the garden wall. - -§ 3. It is an autumnal evening, then, by this Loire side. The day has -been hot, and the air is heavy and misty still; the sunlight warm, but -dim; the brown vine-leaves motionless: all else quiet. Not a sail in -sight on the river,[1] its strong, noiseless current lengthening the -stream of low sunlight. - -The motive of the picture, therefore, is the expression of rude but -perfect peace, slightly mingled with an indolent languor and -despondency; the peace between intervals of enforced labor; happy, but -listless, and having little care or hope about the future; cutting its -home out of this gravel bank, and letting the vine and the river twine -and undermine as they will; careless to mend or build, so long as the -walls hold together, and the black fruit swells in the sunshine. - -§ 4. To get this repose, together with rude stability, we have therefore -horizontal lines and bold angles. The grand horizontal space and sweep -of Turner's distant river show perhaps better in the etching than in the -Plate; but depend wholly for value on the piece of near wall. It is the -vertical line of its dark side which drives the eye up into the -distance, right against the horizontal, and so makes it felt, while the -flatness of the stone prepares the eye to understand the flatness of the -river. Farther: hide with your finger the little ring on that stone, and -you will find the river has stopped flowing. That ring is to repeat the -curved lines of the river bank, which express its line of current, and -to bring the feeling of them down near us. On the other side of the road -the horizontal lines are taken up again by the dark pieces of wood, -without which we should still lose half our space. - -Next: The repose is to be not only perfect, but indolent: the repose of -out-wearied people: not caring much what becomes of them. - -You see the road is covered with litter. Even the crockery is left -outside the cottage to dry in the sun, after being washed up. The steps -of the cottage door have been too high for comfort originally, only it -was less trouble to cut three large stones than four or five small. They -are now all aslope and broken, not repaired for years. Their weighty -forms increase the sense of languor throughout the scene, and of -stability also, because we feel how difficult it would be to stir them. -The crockery has its work to do also;--the arched door on the left being -necessary to show the great thickness of walls and the strength they -require to prevent falling in of the cliff above;--as the horizontal -lines must be diffused on the right, so this arch must be diffused on -the left; and the large round plate on one side of the steps, with the -two small ones on the other, are to carry down the element of circular -curvature. Hide them, and see the result. - -As they carry the arched group of forms down, the arched window-shutter -diffuses it upwards, where all the lines of the distant buildings -suggest one and the same idea of disorderly and careless strength, -mingling masonry with rock. - -§ 5. So far of the horizontal and curved lines. How of the radiating -ones? What has the black vine trellis got to do? - -Lay a pencil or ruler parallel with its lines. You will find that they -point to the massive building in the distance. To which, as nearly as is -possible without at once showing the artifice, every other radiating -line points also; almost ludicrously when it is once pointed out; even -the curved line of the top of the terrace runs into it, and the last -sweep of the river evidently leads to its base. And so nearly is it in -the exact centre of the picture, that one diagonal from corner to corner -passes through it, and the other only misses the base by the twentieth -of an inch. - -If you are accustomed to France, you will know in a moment by its -outline that this massive building is an old church. - -Without it, the repose would not have been essentially the laborer's -rest--rest as of the Sabbath. Among all the groups of lines that point -to it, two are principal: the first, those of the vine trellis: the -second, those of the handles of the saw left in the beam:--the blessing -of human life and its labor. - -Whenever Turner wishes to express profound repose, he puts in the -foreground some instrument of labor cast aside. See, in Roger's Poems, -the last vignette, "Datur hora quieti," with the plough in the furrow; -and in the first vignette of the same book, the scythe on the shoulder -of the peasant going home. (There is nothing about the scythe in the -passage of the poem which this vignette illustrates.) - -§ 6. Observe, farther, the outline of the church itself. As our -habitations are, so is our church, evidently a heap of old, but massive, -walls, patched, and repaired, and roofed in, and over and over, until -its original shape is hardly recognizable. I know the kind of church -well--can tell even here, two miles off, that I shall find some Norman -arches in the apse, and a flamboyant porch, rich and dark, with every -statue broken out of it; and a rude wooden belfry above all; and a -quantity of miserable shops built in among the buttresses; and that I -may walk in and out as much as I please, but that how often soever, I -shall always find some one praying at the Holy Sepulchre, in the darkest -aisle, and my going in and out will not disturb them. For they _are_ -praying, which in many a handsomer and highlier-furbished edifice might, -perhaps, not be so assuredly the case. - -§ 7. Lastly: What kind of people have we on this winding road? Three -indolent ones, leaning on the wall to look over into the gliding water; -and a matron with her market panniers, by her figure, not a fast rider. -The road, besides, is bad, and seems unsafe for trotting, and she has -passed without disturbing the cat, who sits comfortably on the block of -wood in the middle of it. - -§ 8. Next to this piece of quietness, let us glance at a composition in -which the motive is one of tumult: that of the Fall of Schaffhausen. It -is engraved in the Keepsake. I have etched in Plate 74, at the top, the -chief lines of its composition,[2] in which the first great purpose is -to give swing enough to the water. The line of fall is straight and -monotonous in reality. Turner wants to get the great concave sweep and -rush of the river well felt, in spite of the unbroken form. The column -of spray, rocks, mills, and bank, all radiate like a plume, sweeping -round together in grand curves to the left, where the group of figures, -hurried about the ferry boat, rises like a dash of spray; they also -radiating: so as to form one perfectly connected cluster, with the two -gens-d'armes and the millstones; the millstones at the bottom being the -root of it; the two soldiers laid right and left to sustain the branch -of figures beyond, balanced just as a tree bough would be. - -§ 9. One of the gens-d'armes is flirting with a young lady in a round -cap and full sleeves, under pretence of wanting her to show him what she -has in her bandbox. The motive of which flirtation is, so far as Turner -is concerned in it, primarily the bandbox: this and the millstones -below, give him a series of concave lines, which, concentrated by the -recumbent soldiers, intensify the hollow sweep of the fall, precisely as -the ring on the stone does the Loire eddies. These curves are carried -out on the right by the small plate of eggs, laid to be washed at the -spring; and, all these concave lines being a little too quiet and -recumbent, the staggering casks are set on the left, and the -ill-balanced milk-pail on the right, to give a general feeling of things -being rolled over and over. The things which are to give this sense of -rolling are dark, in order to hint at the way in which the cataract -rolls boulders of rock; while the forms which are to give the sense of -its sweeping force are white. The little spring, splashing out of its -pine-trough, is to give contrast with the power of the fall,--while it -carries out the general sense of splashing water. - -[Illustration: 74. The Mill-stream.] - -[Illustration: Painted by J. N. W. Turner. Drawn by J. Ruskin. Engraved -by R. P. Cuff. - -75. The Castle of Lauffen.] - -§ 10. This spring exists on the spot, and so does everything else in the -picture; but the combinations are wholly arbitrary; it being Turner's -fixed principle to collect out of any scene whatever was characteristic, -and put it together just as he liked. The changes made in this instance -are highly curious. The mills have no resemblance whatever to the real -group as seen from this spot; for there is a vulgar and formal -dwelling-house in front of them. But if you climb the rock behind them, -you find they form on that side a towering cluster, which Turner has put -with little modification into the drawing. What he has done to the -mills, he has done with still greater audacity to the central rock. Seen -from this spot, it shows, in reality, its greatest breadth, and is heavy -and uninteresting; but on the Lauffen side, exposes its consumed base, -worn away by the rush of water, which Turner resolving to show, serenely -draws the rock as it appears from the other side of the Rhine, and -brings that view of it over to this side. I have etched the bit with the -rock a little larger below; and if the reader knows the spot, he will -see that this piece of the drawing, reversed in the etching, is almost a -bonâ fide unreversed study of the fall from the Lauffen side.[3] - -Finally, the castle of Lauffen itself, being, when seen from this spot, -too much foreshortened to show its extent, Turner walks a quarter of a -mile lower down the river, draws the castle accurately there, brings it -back with him, and puts it in all its extent, where he chooses to have -it, beyond the rocks. - -I tried to copy and engrave this piece of the drawing of its real size, -merely to show the forms of the trees, drifted back by the breeze from -the fall, and wet with its spray; but in the endeavor to facsimile the -touches, great part of their grace and ease has been lost; still, Plate -75 may, if compared with the same piece in the Keepsake engraving, at -least show that the original drawing has not yet been rendered with -completeness. - -§ 11. These two examples may sufficiently serve to show the mode in -which minor details, both in form and spirit, are used by Turner to aid -his main motives; of course I cannot, in the space of this volume, go on -examining subjects at this length, even if I had time to etch them; but -every design of Turner's would be equally instructive, examined in a -similar manner. Thus far, however, we have only seen the help of the -parts to the whole: we must give yet a little attention to the mode of -combining the smallest details. - -I am always led away, in spite of myself, from my proper subject here, -invention formal, or the merely pleasant placing of lines and masses, -into the emotional results of such arrangement. - -The chief reason of this is that the emotional power can be explained; -but the perfection of formative arrangement, as I said, cannot be -explained, any more than that of melody in music. An instance or two of -it, however, may be given. - -§ 12. Much fine formative arrangement depends on a more or less -elliptical or pear-shaped balance of the group, obtained by arranging -the principal members of it on two opposite curves, and either -centralizing it by some powerful feature at the base, centre, or summit; -or else clasping it together by some conspicuous point or knot. A very -small object will often do this satisfactorily. - -If you can get the complete series of Lefčbre's engravings from Titian -and Veronese, they will be quite enough to teach you, in their dumb way, -everything that is teachable of composition; at all events, try to get -the Madonna, with St. Peter and St. George under the two great pillars; -the Madonna and Child, with mitred bishop on her left, and St. Andrew on -her right; and Veronese's Triumph of Venice. The first of these Plates -unites two formative symmetries; that of the two pillars, clasped by the -square altar-cloth below and cloud above, catches the eye first; but the -main group is the fivefold one rising to the left, crowned by the -Madonna. St. Francis and St. Peter form its two wings, and the kneeling -portrait figures, its base. It is clasped at the bottom by the key of -St. Peter, which points straight at the Madonna's head, and is laid on -the steps solely for this purpose; the curved lines, which enclose the -group, meet also in her face; and the straight line of light, on the -cloak of the nearest senator, points at her also. If you have Turner's -Liber Studiorum, turn to the Lauffenburg, and compare the figure group -there: a fivefold chain, one standing figure, central; two recumbent, -for wings; two half-recumbent, for bases; and a cluster of weeds to -clasp. Then turn to Lefčbre's Europa (there are two in the series--I -mean the one with the two tree trunks over her head). It is a wonderful -ninefold group. Europa central; two stooping figures, each surmounted by -a standing one, for wings; a cupid on one side, and dog on the other, -for bases; a cupid and trunk of tree, on each side, to terminate above; -and a garland for clasp. - -[Illustration: FIG. 94.] - -§ 13. Fig. 94, page 171, will serve to show the mode in which similar -arrangements are carried into the smallest detail. It is magnified four -times from a cluster of leaves in the foreground of the "Isis" (Liber -Studiorum). Figs. 95 and 96, page 172, show the arrangement of the two -groups composing it; the lower is purely symmetrical, with trefoiled -centre and broad masses for wings; the uppermost is a sweeping -continuous curve, symmetrical, but foreshortened. Both are clasped by -arrow-shaped leaves. The two whole groups themselves are, in turn, -members of another larger group, composing the entire foreground, and -consisting of broad dock-leaves, with minor clusters on the right and -left, of which these form the chief portion on the right side. - -[Illustration: FIG. 95.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 96.] - -§ 14. Unless every leaf, and every visible point or object, however -small, forms a part of some harmony of this kind (these symmetrical -conditions being only the most simple and obvious), it has no business -in the picture. It is the necessary connection of all the forms and -colors, down to the last touch, which constitutes great or inventive -work, separated from all common work by an impassable gulf. - -By diligently copying the etchings of the Liber Studiorum, the reader -may, however, easily attain the perception of the existence of these -relations, and be prepared to understand Turner's more elaborate -composition. It would take many figures to disentangle and explain the -arrangements merely of the leaf cluster, Fig. 78, facing page 97; but -that there _is_ a system, and that every leaf has a fixed value and -place in it, can hardly but be felt at a glance. - -It is curious that, in spite of all the constant talkings of -"composition" which goes on among art students, true composition is just -the last thing which appears to be perceived. One would have thought -that in this group, at least, the value of the central black leaf would -have been seen, of which the principal function is to point towards, and -continue, the line of bank above. See Plate 62. But a glance at the -published Plate in the England series will show that no idea of the -composition had occurred to the engraver's mind. He thought any leaves -would do, and supplied them from his own repertory of hack vegetation. - -§ 15. I would willingly enlarge farther on this subject--it is a -favorite one with me; but the figures required for any exhaustive -treatment of it would form a separate volume. All that I can do is to -indicate, as these examples do sufficiently, the vast field open to the -student's analysis if he cares to pursue the subject; and to mark for -the general reader these two strong conclusions:--that nothing in great -work is ever either fortuitous or contentious. - -It is not fortuitous; that is to say, not left to fortune. The "must do -it by a kind of felicity" of Bacon is true; it is true also that an -accident is often suggestive to an inventor. Turner himself said, "I -never lose an accident." But it is this not _losing_ it, this taking -things out of the hands of Fortune, and putting them into those of force -and foresight, which attest the master. Chance may sometimes help, and -sometimes provoke, a success; but must never rule, and rarely allure. - -And, lastly, nothing must be contentious. Art has many uses and many -pleasantnesses; but of all its services, none are higher than its -setting forth, by a visible and enduring image, the nature of all true -authority and freedom; Authority which defines and directs the action of -benevolent law; and Freedom which consists in deep and soft consent of -individual[4] helpfulness. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The sails in the engraving were put in to catch the public eye. - There are none in the drawing. - - [2] These etchings of compositions are all reversed, for they are - merely sketches on the steel, and I cannot sketch easily except - straight from the drawing, and without reversing. The looking-glass - plagues me with cross lights. As examples of composition, it does not - the least matter which way they are turned; and the reader may see - this Schaffhausen subject from the right side of the Rhine, by - holding the book before a glass. The rude indications of the figures - in the Loire subject are nearly facsimiles of Turner's. - - [3] With the exception of the jagged ledge rising out of the foam - below which comes from the north side, and is admirable in its - expression of the position of the limestone-beds, which, rising from - below the drift gravel of Constance, are the real cause of the fall - of Schaffhausen. - - [4] "Individual," that is to say, distinct and separate in character, - though joined in purpose. I might have enlarged on this head, but - that all I should care to say has been already said admirably by Mr. - J. S. Mill in his essay on _Liberty_. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE RULE OF THE GREATEST. - - -§ 1. In the entire range of art principles, none perhaps present a -difficulty so great to the student, or require from the teacher -expression so cautious, and yet so strong, as those which concern the -nature and influence of magnitude. - -In one sense, and that deep, there is no such thing as magnitude. The -least thing is as the greatest, and one day as a thousand years, in the -eyes of the Maker of great and small things. In another sense, and that -close to us and necessary, there exist both magnitude and value. Though -not a sparrow falls to the ground unnoted, there are yet creatures who -are of more value than many; and the same Spirit which weighs the dust -of the earth in a balance, counts the isles as a little thing. - -§ 2. The just temper of human mind in this matter may, nevertheless, be -told shortly. Greatness can only be rightly estimated when minuteness is -justly reverenced. Greatness is the aggregation of minuteness; nor can -its sublimity be felt truthfully by any mind unaccustomed to the -affectionate watching of what is least. - -But if this affection for the least be unaccompanied by the powers of -comparison and reflection; if it be intemperate in its thirst, restless -in curiosity, and incapable of the patient and self-commandant pause -which is wise to arrange, and submissive to refuse, it will close the -paths of noble art to the student as effectually, and hopelessly, as -even the blindness of pride, or impatience of ambition. - -§ 3. I say the paths of noble art, not of useful art. All accurate -investigation will have its reward; the morbid curiosity will at least -slake the thirst of others, if not its own; and the diffused and petty -affections will distribute, in serviceable measure, their minute -delights and narrow discoveries. The opposite error, the desire of -greatness as such, or rather of what appears great to indolence and -vanity;--the instinct which I have described in the "Seven Lamps," -noting it, among the Renaissance builders, to be an especial and -unfailing sign of baseness of mind, is as fruitless as it is vile; no -way profitable--every way harmful: the widest and most corrupting -expression of vulgarity. The microscopic drawing of an insect may be -precious; but nothing except disgrace and misguidance will ever be -gathered from such work as that of Haydon or Barry. - -§ 4. The work I have mostly had to do, since this essay was begun, has -been that of contention against such debased issues of swollen insolence -and windy conceit; but I have noticed lately, that some lightly-budding -philosophers have depreciated true greatness; confusing the relations of -scale, as they bear upon human instinct and morality; reasoning as if a -mountain were no nobler than a grain of sand, or as if many souls were -not of mightier interest than one. To whom it must be shortly answered -that the Lord of power and life knew which were His noblest works, when -He bade His servant watch the play of the Leviathan, rather than dissect -the spawn of the minnow; and that when it comes to practical question -whether a single soul is to be jeoparded for many, and this Leonidas, or -Curtius, or Winkelried shall abolish--so far as abolishable--his own -spirit, that he may save more numerous spirits, such question is to be -solved by the simple human instinct respecting number and magnitude, not -by reasonings on infinity:-- - - "Le navigateur, qui, la nuit, voit l'océan étinceler de lumičre, - danser en guirlandes de feu, s'égaye d'abord de ce spectacle. Il fait - dix lieues; la guirlande s'allonge indéfiniment, elle s'agite, se - tord, se noue, aux mouvements de la lame; c'est un serpent monstrueux - qui va toujours s'allongeant, jusqu'ŕ trente lieues, quarante lieues. - Et tout cela n'est qu'une danse d'animalcules imperceptibles. En quel - nombre? A cette question l'imagination s'effraye; elle sent lŕ une - nature de puissance immense, de richesse epouvantable.... Que sont ces - petits des petits? Rien moins que les constructeurs du globe oů nous - sommes. De leurs corps, de leurs débris, ils ont préparé le sol qui - est sous nos pas.... Et ce sont les plus petits qui ont fait les plus - grandes choses. L'imperceptible rhizopode s'est bâti un monument bien - autre que les pyramides, pas moins que l'Italie centrale, une notable - partie de la chaîne des Apennins. Mais c'était trop peu encore; les - masses énormes du Chili, les prodigieuses Cordillčres, qui regardent - le monde ŕ leurs pieds, sont le monument funéraire oů cet ętre - insaisissable, et pour ainsi dire, invisible, a enseveli les débris de - son espčce dďsparue."--(Michelet: _L'Insecte_.) - -§ 5. In these passages, and those connected with them in the chapter -from which they are taken, itself so vast in scope, and therefore so -sublime, we may perhaps find the true relations of minuteness, -multitude, and magnitude. We shall not feel that there is no such thing -as littleness, or no such thing as magnitude. Nor shall we be disposed -to confuse a Volvox with the Cordilleras; but we may learn that they -both are bound together by links of eternal life and toil; we shall see -the vastest thing noble, chiefly for what it includes; and the meanest -for what it accomplishes. Thence we might gather--and the conclusion -will be found in experience true--that the sense of largeness would be -most grateful to minds capable of comprehending, balancing, and -comparing; but capable also of great patience and expectation; while the -sense of minute wonderfulness would be attractive to minds acted upon by -sharp, small, penetrative sympathies, and apt to be impatient, -irregular, and partial. This fact is curiously shown in the relations -between the temper of the great composers and the modern pathetic -school. I was surprised at the first rise of that school, now some years -ago, by observing how they restrained themselves to subjects which in -other hands would have been wholly uninteresting (compare Vol. IV., p. -19); and in their succeeding efforts, I saw with increasing wonder, that -they were almost destitute of the power of feeling vastness, or enjoying -the forms which expressed it. A mountain or great building only appeared -to them as a piece of color of a certain shape. The powers it -represented, or included, were invisible to them. In general they -avoided subjects expressing space or mass, and fastened on confined, -broken, and sharp forms; liking furze, fern, reeds, straw, stubble, dead -leaves, and such like, better than strong stones, broad-flowing leaves, -or rounded hills: in all such greater things, when forced to paint them, -they missed the main and mighty lines; and this no less in what they -loved than in what they disliked; for though fond of foliage, their -trees always had a tendency to congeal into little acicular -thorn-hedges, and never tossed free. Which modes of choice proceed -naturally from a petulant sympathy with local and immediately visible -interests or sorrows, not regarding their large consequences, nor -capable of understanding more massive view or more deeply deliberate -mercifulness;--but peevish and horror-struck, and often incapable of -self-control, though not of self-sacrifice. There are more people who -can forget themselves than govern themselves. - -This narrowly pungent and bitter virtue has, however, its beautiful -uses, and is of special value in the present day, when surface-work, -shallow generalization, and cold arithmetical estimates of things, are -among the chief dangers and causes of misery which men have to deal -with. - -§ 6. On the other hand, and in clear distinction from all such workers, -it is to be remembered that the great composers, not less deep in -feeling, are in the fixed habit of regarding as much the relations and -positions, as the separate nature, of things; that they reap and thrash -in the sheaf, never pluck ears to rub in the hand; fish with net, not -line, and sweep their prey together within great cords of errorless -curve;--that nothing ever bears to them a separate or isolated aspect, -but leads or links a chain of aspects--that to them it is not merely the -surface, nor the substance, of anything that is of import; but its -circumference and continence: that they are pre-eminently patient and -reserved; observant, not curious;--comprehensive, not conjectural; calm -exceedingly; unerring, constant, terrible in steadfastness of intent; -unconquerable: incomprehensible: always suggesting, implying, including, -more than can be told. - -§ 7. And this may be seen down to their treatment of the smallest -things. - -For there is nothing so small but we may, as we choose, see it in the -whole, or in part, and in subdued connection with other things, or in -individual and petty prominence. The greatest treatment is always that -which gives conception the widest range, and most harmonious -guidance;--it being permitted us to employ a certain quantity of time, -and certain number of touches of pencil--he who with these embraces the -largest sphere of thought, and suggests within that sphere the most -perfect order of thought, has wrought the most wisely, and therefore -most nobly. - -§ 8. I do not, however, purpose here to examine or illustrate the -nature of great treatment--to do so effectually would need many examples -from the figure composers; and it will be better (if I have time to work -out the subject carefully) that I should do so in a form which may be -easily accessible to young students. Here I will only state in -conclusion what it is chiefly important for all students to be convinced -of, that all the technical qualities by which greatness of treatment is -known, such as reserve in color, tranquillity and largeness of line, and -refusal of unnecessary objects of interest, are, when they are real, the -exponents of an habitually noble temper of mind, never the observances -of a precept supposed to be useful. The refusal or reserve of a mighty -painter cannot be imitated; it is only by reaching the same intellectual -strength that you will be able to give an equal dignity to your -self-denial. No one can tell you beforehand what to accept, or what to -ignore; only remember always, in painting as in eloquence, the greater -your strength, the quieter will be your manner, and the fewer your -words; and in painting, as in all the arts and acts of life, the secret -of high success will be found, not in a fretful, and various excellence, -but in a quiet singleness of justly chosen aim. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE LAW OF PERFECTNESS. - - -§1. Among the several characteristics of great treatment which in the -last chapter were alluded to without being enlarged upon, one will be -found several times named;--reserve. - -It is necessary for our present purpose that we should understand this -quality more distinctly. I mean by it the power which a great painter -exercises over himself in fixing certain limits, either of force, of -color, or of quantity of work;--limits which he will not transgress in -any part of his picture, even though here and there a painful sense of -incompletion may exist, under the fixed conditions, and might tempt an -inferior workman to infringe them. The nature of this reserve we must -understand in order that we may also determine the nature of true -completion or perfectness, which is the end of composition. - -§ 2. For perfectness, properly so called, means harmony. The word -signifies, literally, the doing our work _thoroughly_. It does not mean -carrying it up to any constant and established degree of finish, but -carrying the whole of it up to a degree determined upon. In a chalk or -pencil sketch by a great master, it will often be found that the deepest -shades are feeble tints of pale gray; the outlines nearly invisible, and -the forms brought out by a ghostly delicacy of touch, which, on looking -close to the paper, will be indistinguishable from its general texture. -A single line of ink, occurring anywhere in such a drawing, would of -course destroy it; placed in the darkness of a mouth or nostril, it -would turn the expression into a caricature; on a cheek or brow it would -be simply a blot. Yet let the blot remain, and let the master work up to -it with lines of similar force; and the drawing which was before -perfect, in terms of pencil, will become, under his hand, perfect in -terms of ink; and what was before a scratch on the cheek will become a -necessary and beautiful part of its gradation. - -All great work is thus reduced under certain conditions, and its right -to be called complete depends on its fulfilment of them, not on the -nature of the conditions chosen. Habitually, indeed, we call a colored -work which is satisfactory to us, finished, and a chalk drawing -unfinished; but in the mind of the master, all his work is, according to -the sense in which you use the word, equally perfect or imperfect. -Perfect, if you regard its purpose and limitation; imperfect, if you -compare it with the natural standard. In what appears to you consummate, -the master has assigned to himself terms of shortcoming, and marked with -a sad severity the point up to which he will permit himself to contend -with nature. Were it not for his acceptance of such restraint, he could -neither quit his work, nor endure it. He could not quit it, for he would -always perceive more that might be done; he could not endure it, because -all doing ended only in more elaborate deficiency. - -§ 3. But we are apt to forget, in modern days, that the reserve of a man -who is not putting forth half his strength is different in manner and -dignity from the effort of one who can do no more. Charmed, and justly -charmed, by the harmonious sketches of great painters, and by the -grandeur of their acquiescence in the point of pause, we have put -ourselves to produce sketches as an end instead of a means, and thought -to imitate the painter's scornful restraint of his own power, by a -scornful rejection of the things beyond ours. For many reasons, -therefore, it becomes desirable to understand precisely and finally what -a good painter means by completion. - -§ 4. The sketches of true painters may be classed under the following -heads:-- - -I. _Experimental._--In which they are assisting an imperfect conception -of a subject by trying the look of it on paper in different ways. - -By the greatest men this kind of sketch is hardly ever made; they -conceive their subjects distinctly at once, and their sketch is not to -try them, but to fasten them down. Raphael's form the only important -exception--and the numerous examples of experimental work by him are -evidence of his composition being technical rather than imaginative. I -have never seen a drawing of the kind by any great Venetian. Among the -nineteen thousand sketches by Turner--which I arranged in the National -Gallery--there was, to the best of my recollection, _not one_. In -several instances the work, after being carried forward a certain -length, had been abandoned and begun again with another view; sometimes -also two or more modes of treatment had been set side by side with a -view to choice. But there were always two distinct imaginations -contending for realization--not experimental modifications of one. - -§ 5. II. _Determinant._--The fastening down of an idea in the simplest -terms, in order that it may not be disturbed or confused by after work. -Nearly all the great composers do this, methodically, before beginning a -painting. Such sketches are usually in a high degree resolute and -compressive; the best of them outlined or marked calmly with the pen, -and deliberately washed with color, indicating the places of the -principal lights. - -Fine drawings of this class never show any hurry or confusion. They are -the expression of concluded operations of mind, are drawn slowly, and -are not so much sketches, as maps. - -§ 6. III. _Commemorative._--Containing records of facts which the master -required. These in their most elaborate form are "studies," or drawings, -from Nature, of parts needed in the composition, often highly finished -in the part which is to be introduced. In this form, however, they never -occur by the greatest imaginative masters. For by a truly great inventor -everything is invented; no atom of the work is unmodified by his mind; -and no study from nature, however beautiful, could be introduced by him -into his design without change; it would not fit with the rest. Finished -studies for introduction are therefore chiefly by Leonardo and Raphael, -both technical designers rather than imaginative ones. - -Commemorative sketches, by great masters, are generally hasty, merely to -put them in mind of motives of invention, or they are shorthand -memoranda of things with which they do not care to trouble their memory; -or, finally, accurate notes of things which they must _not_ modify by -invention, as local detail, costume, and such like. You may find -perfectly accurate drawings of coats of arms, portions of dresses, -pieces of architecture, and so on, by all the great men; but you will -not find elaborate studies of bits of their pictures. - -[Illustration: FIG. 97.] - -§ 7. When the sketch is made merely as a memorandum, it is impossible to -say how little, or what kind of drawing, may be sufficient for the -purpose. It is of course likely to be hasty from its very nature, and -unless the exact purpose be understood, it may be as unintelligible as a -piece of shorthand writing. For instance, in the corner of a sheet of -sketches made at sea, among those of Turner, at the National Gallery, -occurs this one, Fig. 97. I suppose most persons would not see much use -in it. It nevertheless was probably one of the most important sketches -made in Turner's life, fixing for ever in his mind certain facts -respecting the sunrise from a clear sea-horizon. Having myself watched -such sunrise, occasionally, I perceive this sketch to mean as follows:-- - -(Half circle at the top.) When the sun was only half out of the sea, the -horizon was sharply traced across its disk, and red streaks of vapor -crossed the lower part of it. - -(Horseshoe underneath.) When the sun had risen so far as to show -three-quarters of its diameter, its light became so great as to conceal -the sea-horizon, consuming it away in descending rays. - -(Smaller horseshoe below.) When on the point of detaching itself from -the horizon, the sun still consumed away the line of the sea, and looked -as if pulled down by it. - -(Broken oval.) Having risen about a fourth of its diameter above the -horizon, the sea-line reappeared; but the risen orb was flattened by -refraction into an oval. - -(Broken circle.) Having risen a little farther above the sea-line, the -sun, at last, got itself round, and all right, with sparkling reflection -on the waves just below the sea-line. - -This memorandum is for its purpose entirely perfect and efficient, -though the sun is not drawn carefully round, but with a dash of the -pencil; but there is no affected or desired slightness. Could it have -been drawn round as instantaneously, it would have been. The purpose is -throughout determined; there is no scrawling, as in vulgar sketching.[1] - -§ 8. Again, Fig. 98 is a facsimile of one of Turner's "memoranda," of a -complete subject,[2] Lausanne, from the road to Fribourg. - -[Illustration: FIG. 98. _To face page 184._] - -This example is entirely characteristic of his usual drawings from -nature, which unite two characters, being _both_ commemorative and -determinant:--Commemorative, in so far as they note certain facts about -the place: determinant, in that they record an impression received from -the place there and then, together with the principal arrangement of the -composition in which it was afterwards to be recorded. In this mode of -sketching, Turner differs from all other men whose work I have studied. -He never draws accurately on the spot, with the intention of modifying -or composing afterwards from the materials; but instantly modifies as he -draws, placing his memoranda where they are to be ultimately used, and -taking exactly what he wants, not a fragment or line more. - -§ 9. This sketch has been made in the afternoon. He had been impressed -as he walked up the hill, by the vanishing of the lake in the golden -horizon, without end of waters, and by the opposition of the pinnacled -castle and cathedral to its level breadth. That must be drawn! and from -this spot, where all the buildings are set well together. But it -lucklessly happens that, though the buildings come just where he wants -them in situation, they don't in height. For the castle (the square mass -on the right) is in reality higher than the cathedral, and would block -out the end of the lake. Down it goes instantly a hundred feet, that we -may see the lake over it; without the smallest regard for the military -position of Lausanne. - -§ 10. Next: The last low spire on the left is in truth concealed behind -the nearer bank, the town running far down the hill (and climbing -another hill) in that direction. But the group oi spires, without it, -would not be rich enough to give a proper impression of Lausanne, as a -spiry place. Turner quietly sends to fetch the church from round the -corner, places it where he likes, and indicates its distance only by -aërial perspective (much greater in the pencil drawing than in the -woodcut). - -§ 11. But again: Not only the spire of the lower church, but the peak of -the Rochers d'Enfer (that highest in the distance) would in reality be -out of sight; it is much farther round to the left. This would never do -either; for without it, we should have no idea that Lausanne was -opposite the mountains, nor should we have a nice sloping line to lead -us into the distance. - -With the same unblushing tranquillity of mind in which he had ordered up -the church, Turner sends also to fetch the Rochers d'Enfer; and puts -_them_ also where he chooses, to crown the slope of distant hill, which, -as every traveller knows, in its decline to the west, is one of the most -notable features of the view from Lausanne. - -§ 12. These modifications, easily traceable in the large features of the -design, are carried out with equal audacity and precision in every part -of it. Every one of those confused lines on the right indicates -something that is really there, only everything is shifted and sorted -into the exact places that Turner chose. The group of dark objects near -us at the foot of the bank is a cluster of mills, which, when the -picture was completed, were to be the blackest things in it, and to -throw back the castle, and the golden horizon; while the rounded touches -at the bottom, under the castle, indicate a row of trees, which follow a -brook coming out of the ravine behind us; and were going to be made very -round indeed in the picture (to oppose the spiky and angular masses of -castle) and very consecutive, in order to form another conducting line -into the distance. - -§ 13. These motives, or motives like them, might perhaps be guessed on -looking at the sketch. But no one without going to the spot would -understand the meaning of the vertical lines in the left-hand lowest -corner. - -They are a "memorandum" of the artificial verticalness of a low -sandstone cliff, which has been cut down there to give space for a bit -of garden belonging to a public-house beneath, from which garden a path -leads along the ravine to the Lausanne rifle ground. The value of these -vertical lines in repeating those of the cathedral is very great; it -would be greater still in the completed picture, increasing the sense of -looking down from a height, and giving grasp of, and power over, the -whole scene. - -§ 14. Throughout the sketch, as in all that Turner made, the observing -and combining intellect acts in the same manner. Not a line is lost, nor -a moment of time; and though the pencil flies, and the whole thing is -literally done as fast as a piece of shorthand writing, it is to the -full as purposeful and compressed, so that while there are indeed dashes -of the pencil which are unintentional, they are only unintentional as -the form of a letter is, in fast writing, not from want of intention, -but from the accident of haste. - -§ 15. I know not if the reader can understand,--I myself cannot, though -I see it to be demonstrable,--the simultaneous occurrence of idea which -produces such a drawing as this: the grasp of the whole, from the laying -of the first line, which induces continual modifications of all that is -done, out of respect to parts not done yet. No line is ever changed or -effaced: no experiment made; but every touch is placed with reference to -all that are to succeed, as to all that have gone before; every addition -takes its part, as the stones in an arch of a bridge; the last touch -locks the arch. Remove that keystone, or remove any other of the stones -of the vault, and the whole will fall. - -§ 16. I repeat--the power of mind which accomplishes this, is yet wholly -inexplicable to me, as it was when first I defined it in the chapter on -imagination associative, in the second volume. But the grandeur of the -power impresses me daily more and more; and, in quitting the subject of -invention, let me assert finally, in clearest and strongest terms, that -no painting is of any true imaginative perfectness at all, unless it has -been thus conceived. - -One sign of its being thus conceived may be always found in the -straightforwardness of its work. There are continual disputes among -artists as to the best way of doing things, which may nearly all be -resolved into confessions of indetermination. If you know precisely what -you want, you will not feel much hesitation in setting about it; and a -picture may be painted almost any way, so only that it can be a straight -way. Give a true painter a ground of black, white, scarlet, or green, -and out of it he will bring what you choose. From the black, brightness; -from the white, sadness; from the scarlet, coolness; from the green, -glow: he will make anything out of anything, but in each case his method -will be pure, direct, perfect, the shortest and simplest possible. You -will find him, moreover, indifferent as to succession of process. Ask -him to begin at the bottom of the picture instead of the top,--to finish -two square inches of it without touching the rest, or to lay a separate -ground for every part before finishing any;--it is all the same to him! -What he will do if left to himself, depends on mechanical convenience, -and on the time at his disposal. If he has a large brush in his hand, -and plenty of one color ground, he may lay as much as is wanted of that -color, at once, in every part of the picture where it is to occur; and -if any is left, perhaps walk to another canvas, and lay the rest of it -where it will be wanted on that. If, on the contrary, he has a small -brush in his hand, and is interested in a particular spot of the -picture, he will, perhaps, not stir from it till that bit is finished. -But the absolutely best, or centrally, and entirely _right_ way of -painting is as follows:-- - -§ 17. A light ground, white, red, yellow, or gray, not brown, or black. -On that an entirely accurate, and firm black outline of the whole -picture, in its principal masses. The outline to be exquisitely correct -as far as it reaches, but not to include small details; the use of it -being to limit the masses of first color. The ground-colors then to be -laid firmly, each on its own proper part of the picture, as inlaid work -in a mosaic table, meeting each other truly at the edges: as much of -each being laid as will get itself into the state which the artist -requires it to be in for his second painting, by the time he comes to -it. On this first color, the second colors and subordinate masses laid -in due order, now, of course, necessarily without previous outline, and -all small detail reserved to the last, the bracelet being not touched, -nor indicated in the last, till the arm is finished.[3] - -§ 18. This is, as far as it can be expressed in few words, the right, or -Venetian way of painting; but it is incapable of absolute definition, -for it depends on the scale, the material, and the nature of the object -represented, _how much_ a great painter will do with his first color; or -how many after processes he will use. Very often the first color, richly -blended and worked into, is also the last; sometimes it wants a glaze -only to modify it; sometimes an entirely different color above it. -Turner's storm-blues, for instance, were produced by a black ground, -with opaque blue, mixed with white, struck over it.[4] The amount of -detail given in the first color will also depend on convenience. For -instance, if a jewel _fastens_ a fold of dress, a Venetian will lay -probably a piece of the jewel color in its place at the time he draws -the fold; but if the jewel _falls upon_ the dress, he will paint the -folds only in the ground color, and the jewel afterwards. For in the -first case his hand must pause, at any rate, where the fold is fastened; -so that he may as well mark the color of the gem: but he would have to -check his hand in the sweep with which he drew the drapery, if he -painted a jewel that fell upon it with the first color. So far, however, -as he can possibly use the under color, he will, in whatever he has to -superimpose. There is a pretty little instance of such economical work -in the painting of the pearls on the breast of the elder princess, in -our best Paul Veronese (Family of Darius). The lowest is about the size -of a small hazel-nut, and falls on her rose-red dress. Any other but a -Venetian would have put a complete piece of white paint over the dress, -for the whole pearl, and painted into that the colors of the stone. But -Veronese knows beforehand that all the dark side of the pearl will -reflect the red of the dress. He will not put white over the red, only -to put red over the white again. He leaves the actual dress for the dark -side of the pearl, and with two small separate touches, one white, -another brown, places its high light and shadow. This he does with -perfect care and calm; but in two decisive seconds. There is no dash, -nor display, nor hurry, nor error. The exactly right thing is done in -the exactly right place, and not one atom of color, nor moment of time -spent vainly. Look close at the two touches,--you wonder what they mean. -Retire six feet from the picture--the pearl is there! - -§ 19. The degree in which the ground colors are extended over his -picture, as he works, is to a great painter absolutely indifferent. It -is all the same to him whether he grounds a head, and finishes it at -once to the shoulders, leaving all round it white; or whether he grounds -the whole picture. His harmony, paint as he will, never can be complete -till the last touch is given; so long as it remains incomplete, he does -not care how little of it is suggested, or how many notes are missing. -All is wrong till all is right; and he must be able to bear the -all-wrongness till his work is done, or he cannot paint at all. His mode -of treatment will, therefore, depend on the nature of his subject; as is -beautifully shown in the water-color sketches by Turner in the National -Gallery. His general system was to complete inch by inch; leaving the -paper quite white all round, especially if the work was to be delicate. -The most exquisite drawings left unfinished in the collection--those at -Rome and Naples--are thus outlined accurately on pure white paper, begun -in the middle of the sheet, and worked out to the side, finishing as he -proceeds. If, however, any united effect of light or color is to embrace -a large part of the subject, he will lay it in with a broad wash over -the whole paper at once; then paint into it using it as a ground, and -modifying it in the pure Venetian manner. His oil pictures were laid -roughly with ground colors, and painted into with such rapid skill, that -the artists who used to see him finishing at the Academy sometimes -suspected him of having the picture finished underneath the colors he -showed, and removing, instead of adding, as they watched. - -§ 20. But, whatever the means used may be, the certainty and directness -of them imply absolute grasp of the whole subject, and without this -grasp there is no good painting. This, finally, let me declare, without -qualification--that partial conception is no conception. The whole -picture must be imagined, or none of it is. And this grasp of the whole -implies very strange and sublime qualities of mind. It is not possible, -unless the feelings are completely under control; the least excitement -or passion will disturb the measured equity of power; a painter needs to -be as cool as a general; and as little moved or subdued by his sense of -pleasure, as a soldier by the sense of pain. Nothing good can be done -without intense feeling; but it must be feeling so crushed, that the -work is set about with mechanical steadiness, absolutely untroubled, as -a surgeon,--not without pity, but conquering it and putting it -aside--begins an operation. Until the feelings can give strength enough -to the will to enable it to conquer them, they are not strong enough. If -you cannot leave your picture at any moment;--cannot turn from it and go -on with another, while the color is drying;--cannot work at any part of -it you choose with equal contentment--you have not firm enough grasp of -it. - -§ 21. It follows also, that no vain or selfish person can possibly -paint, in the noble sense of the word. Vanity and selfishness are -troublous, eager, anxious, petulant:--painting can only be done in calm -of mind. Resolution is not enough to secure this; it must be secured by -disposition as well. You may resolve to think of your picture only; but, -if you have been fretted before beginning, no manly or clear grasp of it -will be possible for you. No forced calm is calm enough. Only honest -calm,--natural calm. You might as well try by external pressure to -smoothe a lake till it could reflect the sky, as by violence of effort -to secure the peace through which only you can reach imagination. That -peace must come in its own time; as the waters settle themselves into -clearness as well as quietness; you can no more filter your mind into -purity than you can compress it into calmness; you must keep it pure, if -you would have it pure; and throw no stones into it, if you would have -it quiet. Great courage and self-command may, to a certain extent, give -power of painting without the true calmness underneath; but never of -doing first-rate work. There is sufficient evidence of this, in even -what we know of great men, though of the greatest, we nearly always know -the least (and that necessarily; they being very silent, and not much -given to setting themselves forth to questioners; apt to be -contemptuously reserved, no less than unselfishly). But in such writings -and sayings as we possess of theirs, we may trace a quite curious -gentleness and serene courtesy. Rubens' letters are almost ludicrous in -their unhurried politeness. Reynolds, swiftest of painters, was gentlest -of companions; so also Velasquez, Titian, and Veronese. - -§ 22. It is gratuitous to add that no shallow or petty person can paint. -Mere cleverness or special gift never made an artist. It is only -perfectness of mind, unity, depth, decision, the highest qualities, in -fine, of the intellect, which will form the imagination. - -§ 23. And, lastly, no false person can paint. A person false at heart -may, when it suits his purposes, seize a stray truth here or there; but -the relations of truth,--its perfectness,--that which makes it wholesome -truth, he can never perceive. As wholeness and wholesomeness go -together, so also sight with sincerity; it is only the constant desire -of, and submissiveness to truth, which can measure its strange angles -and mark its infinite aspects; and fit them and knit them into the -strength of sacred invention. - -Sacred, I call it deliberately; for it is thus, in the most accurate -senses, humble as well as helpful; meek in its receiving, as magnificent -in its disposing; the name it bears being rightly given to invention -formal, not because it forms, but because it finds. For you cannot find -a lie; you must make it for yourself. False things may be imagined, and -false things composed; but only truth can be invented. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word in the uppermost note, to the right of the sun, is - "red;" the others, "yellow," "purple," "cold" light gray. He always - noted the colors of the skies in this way. - - [2] It is not so good a facsimile as those I have given from Durer, - for the original sketch is in light pencil; and the thickening and - delicate emphasis of the lines, on which nearly all the beauty of the - drawing depended, cannot be expressed in the woodcut, though marked - by a double line as well as I could. But the figure will answer its - purpose well enough in showing Turner's mode of sketching. - - [3] Thus, in the Holy Family of Titian, lately purchased for the - National Gallery, the piece of St. Catherine's dress over her - shoulders is painted on the under dress, after that was dry. All its - value would have been lost, had the slightest tint or trace of it - been given previously. This picture, I think, and certainly many of - Tintoret's, are painted on dark grounds; but this is to save time, - and with some loss to the future brightness of the color. - - [4] In cleaning the "Hero and Leander," now in the National - collection, these upper glazes were taken off, and only the black - ground left. I remember the picture when its distance was of the most - exquisite blue. I have no doubt the "Fire at Sea" has had its - distance destroyed in the same manner. - - - - -PART IX. - -OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE DARK MIRROR. - - -§ 1. In the course of our inquiry into the moral of landscape (Vol. -III., chap. 17), we promised, at the close of our work, to seek for some -better, or at least clearer, conclusions than were then possible to us. -We confined ourselves in that chapter to the vindication of the probable -utility of the _love_ of natural scenery. We made no assertion of the -usefulness of _painting_ such scenery. It might be well to delight in -the real country, or admire the real flowers and true mountains. But it -did not follow that it was advisable to paint them. - -Far from it. Many reasons might be given why we should not paint them. -All the purposes of good which we saw that the beauty of nature could -accomplish, may be better fulfilled by the meanest of her realities than -by the brightest of imitations. For prolonged entertainment, no picture -can be compared with the wealth of interest which may be found in the -herbage of the poorest field, or blossoms of the narrowest copse. As -suggestive of supernatural power, the passing away of a fitful -rain-cloud, or opening of dawn, are in their change and mystery more -pregnant than any pictures. A child would, I suppose, receive a -religious lesson from a flower more willingly than from a print of one, -and might be taught to understand the nineteenth Psalm, on a starry -night, better than by diagrams of the constellations. - -Whence it might seem a waste of time to draw landscape at all. - -I believe it is;--to draw landscape mere and solitary, however beautiful -(unless it be for the sake of geographical or other science, or of -historical record). But there _is_ a kind of landscape which it is not -inexpedient to draw. What kind, we may probably discover by considering -that which mankind has hitherto contented itself with painting. - -§ 2. We may arrange nearly all existing landscape under the following -heads:-- - -I. HEROIC.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by men not -perhaps perfectly civilized, but noble, and usually subjected to severe -trials, and by spiritual powers of the highest order. It is frequently -without architecture; never without figure-action, or emotion. Its -principal master is Titian. - -II. CLASSICAL.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by perfectly -civilized men, and by spiritual powers of an inferior order. - -It generally assumes this condition of things to have existed among the -Greek and Roman nations. It contains usually architecture of an elevated -character, and always incidents of figure-action and emotion. Its -principal master is Nicolo Poussin. - -III. PASTORAL.--Representing peasant life and its daily work, or such -scenery as may naturally be suggestive of it, consisting usually of -simple landscape, in part subjected to agriculture, with figures, -cattle, and domestic buildings. No supernatural being is ever visibly -present. It does not in ordinary cases admit architecture of an elevated -character, nor exciting incident. Its principal master is Cuyp. - -IV. CONTEMPLATIVE.--Directed principally to the observance of the powers -of Nature, and record of the historical associations connected with -landscape, illustrated by, or contrasted with, existing states of human -life. No supernatural being is visibly present. It admits every variety -of subject, and requires, in general, figure incident, but not of an -exciting character. It was not developed completely until recent times. -Its principal master is Turner.[1] - -§ 3. These are the four true orders of landscape, not of course -distinctly separated from each other in all cases, but very distinctly -in typical examples. Two spurious forms require separate note. - -(A.) PICTURESQUE.--This is indeed rather the degradation (or sometimes -the undeveloped state) of the Contemplative, than a distinct class; but -it may be considered generally as including pictures meant to display -the skill of the artist, and his powers of composition; or to give -agreeable forms and colors, irrespective of sentiment. It will include -much modern art, with the street views and church interiors of the -Dutch, and the works of Canaletto, Guardi, Tempesta, and the like. - -(B.) HYBRID.--Landscape in which the painter endeavors to unite the -irreconcileable sentiment of two or more of the above-named classes. Its -principal masters are Berghem and Wouvermans. - -§ 4. Passing for the present by these inferior schools, we find that all -true landscape, whether simple or exalted, depends primarily for its -interest on connection with humanity, or with spiritual powers. Banish -your heroes and nymphs from the classical landscape--its laurel shades -will move you no more. Show that the dark clefts of the most romantic -mountain are uninhabited and untraversed; it will cease to be romantic. -Fields without shepherds and without fairies will have no gaiety in -their green, nor will the noblest masses of ground or colors of cloud -arrest or raise your thoughts, if the earth has no life to sustain, and -the heaven none to refresh. - -§ 5. It might perhaps be thought that, since from scenes in which the -figure was principal, and landscape symbolical and subordinate (as in -the art of Egypt), the process of ages had led us to scenes in which -landscape was principal and the figure subordinate,--a continuance in -the same current of feeling might bring forth at last an art from which -humanity and its interests should wholly vanish, leaving us to the -passionless admiration of herbage and stone. But this will not, and -cannot be. For observe the parallel instance in the gradually -increasing importance of dress. From the simplicity of Greek design, -concentrating, I suppose, its skill chiefly on the naked form, the -course of time developed conditions of Venetian imagination which found -nearly as much interest, and expressed nearly as much dignity, in folds -of dress and fancies of decoration as in the faces of the figures -themselves; so that if from Veronese's Marriage in Cana we remove the -architecture and the gay dresses, we shall not in the faces and hands -remaining, find a satisfactory abstract of the picture. But try it the -other way. Take out the faces; leave the draperies, and how then? Put -the fine dresses and jewelled girdles into the best group you can; paint -them with all Veronese's skill: will they satisfy you? - -§ 6. Not so. As long as they are in their due service and -subjection--while their folds are formed by the motion of men, and their -lustre adorns the nobleness of men--so long the lustre and the folds are -lovely. But cast them from the human limbs;--golden circlet and silken -tissue are withered; the dead leaves of autumn are more precious than -they. - -This is just as true, but in a far deeper sense, of the weaving of the -natural robe of man's soul. Fragrant tissue of flowers, golden circlets -of clouds, are only fair when they meet the fondness of human thoughts, -and glorify human visions of heaven. - -§ 7. It is the leaning on this truth which, more than any other, has -been the distinctive character of all my own past work. And in closing a -series of Art-studies, prolonged during so many years, it may be perhaps -permitted me to point out this specialty--the rather that it has been, -of all their characters, the one most denied. I constantly see that the -same thing takes place in the estimation formed by the modern public of -the work of almost any true person, living or dead. It is not needful to -state here the causes of such error: but the fact is indeed so, that -precisely the distinctive root and leading force of any true man's work -and way are the things denied concerning him. - -And in these books of mine, their distinctive character, as essays on -art, is their bringing everything to a root in human passion or human -hope. Arising first not in any desire to explain the principles of art, -but in the endeavor to defend an individual painter from injustice, -they have been colored throughout,--nay, continually altered in shape, -and even warped and broken, by digressions respecting social questions, -which had for me an interest tenfold greater than the work I had been -forced into undertaking. Every principle of painting which I have stated -is traced to some vital or spiritual fact; and in my works on -architecture the preference accorded finally to one school over another, -is founded on a comparison of their influences on the life of the -workman--a question by all other writers on the subject of architecture -wholly forgotten or despised. - -§ 8. The essential connection of the power of landscape with human -emotion is not less certain, because in many impressive pictures the -link is slight or local. That the connection should exist at a single -point is all that we need. The comparison with the dress of the body may -be carried out into the extremest parallelism. It may often happen that -no part of the figure wearing the dress is discernible, nevertheless, -the perceivable fact that the drapery is worn by a figure makes all the -difference. In one of the most sublime figures in the world this is -actually so: one of the fainting Marys in Tintoret's Crucifixion has -cast her mantle over her head, and her face is lost in its shade, and -her whole figure veiled in folds of gray. But what the difference is -between that gray woof, that gathers round her as she falls, and the -same folds cast in a heap upon the ground, that difference, and more, -exists between the power of Nature through which humanity is seen, and -her power in the desert. Desert--whether of leaf or sand--true -desertness is not in the want of leaves, but of life. Where humanity is -not, and was not, the best natural beauty is more than vain. It is even -terrible; not as the dress cast aside from the body; but as an -embroidered shroud hiding a skeleton. - -§ 9. And on each side of a right feeling in this matter there lie, as -usual, two opposite errors. - -The first, that of caring for man only; and for the rest of the -universe, little, or not at all, which, in a measure, was the error of -the Greeks and Florentines; the other, that of caring for the universe -only;--for man, not at all,--which, in a measure, is the error of modern -science, and of the Art connecting itself with such science. - -The degree of power which any man may ultimately possess in -landscape-painting will depend finally on his perception of this -influence. If he has to paint the desert, its awfulness--if the garden, -its gladsomeness--will arise simply and only from his sensibility to the -story of life. Without this he is nothing but a scientific mechanist; -this, though it cannot make him yet a painter, raises him to the sphere -in which he may become one. Nay, the mere shadow and semblance of this -have given dangerous power to works in all other respects unnoticeable; -and the least degree of its true presence has given value to work in all -other respects vain. - -The true presence, observe, of sympathy with the spirit of man. Where -this is not, sympathy with any higher spirit is impossible. - -For the directest manifestation of Deity to man is in His own image, -that is, in man. - -§ 10. "In his own image. After his likeness." _Ad imaginem et -similitudinem Suam._ I do not know what people in general understand by -those words. I suppose they ought to be understood. The truth they -contain seems to lie at the foundation of our knowledge both of God and -man; yet do we not usually pass the sentence by, in dull reverence, -attaching no definite sense to it at all? For all practical purpose, -might it not as well be out of the text? - -I have no time, nor much desire, to examine the vague expressions of -belief with which the verse has been encumbered. Let us try to find its -only possible plain significance. - -§ 11. It cannot be supposed that the bodily shape of man resembles, or -resembled, any bodily shape in Deity. The likeness must therefore be, or -have been, in the soul. Had it wholly passed away, and the Divine soul -been altered into a soul brutal or diabolic, I suppose we should have -been told of the change. But we are told nothing of the kind. The verse -still stands as if for our use and trust. It was only death which was to -be our punishment. Not _change_. So far as we live, the image is still -there; defiled, if you will; broken, if you will; all but effaced, if -you will, by death and the shadow of it. But not changed. We are not -made now in any other image than God's. There are, indeed, the two -states of this image--the earthly and heavenly, but both Adamite, both -human, both the same likeness; only one defiled, and one pure. So that -the soul of man is still a mirror, wherein may be seen, darkly, the -image of the mind of God. - -These may seem daring words. I am sorry that they do; but I am helpless -to soften them. Discover any other meaning of the text if you are -able;--but be sure that it _is_ a meaning--a meaning in your head and -heart;--not a subtle gloss, nor a shifting of one verbal expression into -another, both idealess. I repeat, that, to me, the verse has, and can -have, no other signification than this--that the soul of man is a mirror -of the mind of God. A mirror dark, distorted, broken, use what blameful -words you please of its state; yet in the main, a true mirror, out of -which alone, and by which alone, we can know anything of God at all. - -"How?" the reader, perhaps, answers indignantly. "I know the nature of -God by revelation, not by looking into myself." - -Revelation to what? To a nature incapable of receiving truth? That -cannot be; for only to a nature capable of truth, desirous of it, -distinguishing it, feeding upon it, revelation is possible. To a being -undesirous of it, and hating it, revelation is impossible. There can be -none to a brute, or fiend. In so far, therefore, as you love truth, and -live therein, in so far revelation can exist for you;--and in so far, -your mind is the image of God's. - -§ 12. But consider farther, not only _to_ what, but _by_ what, is the -revelation. By sight? or word? If by sight, then to eyes which see -justly. Otherwise, no sight would be revelation. So far, then, as your -sight is just, it is the image of God's sight. - -If by words,--how do you know their meanings? Here is a short piece of -precious word revelation, for instance. "God is love." - -Love! yes. But what is _that_? The revelation does not tell you that, I -think. Look into the mirror, and you will see. Out of your own heart you -may know what love is. In no other possible way,--by no other help or -sign. All the words and sounds ever uttered, all the revelations of -cloud, or flame, or crystal, are utterly powerless. They cannot tell -you, in the smallest point, what love means. Only the broken mirror -can. - -§ 13. Here is more revelation. "God is just!" Just! What is that? The -revelation cannot help you to discover. You say it is dealing equitably -or equally. But how do you discern the equality? Not by inequality of -mind; not by a mind incapable of weighing, judging, or distributing. If -the lengths seem unequal in the broken mirror, for you they are unequal; -but if they seem equal, then the mirror is true. So far as you recognize -equality, and your conscience tells you what is just, so far your mind -is the image of God's: and so far as you do _not_ discern this nature of -justice or equality, the words "God is just" bring no revelation to you. - -§ 14. "But His thoughts are not as our thoughts." No: the sea is not as -the standing pool by the wayside. Yet when the breeze crisps the pool, -you may see the image of the breakers, and a likeness of the foam. Nay, -in some sort, the same foam. If the sea is for ever invisible to you, -something you may learn of it from the pool. Nothing, assuredly, any -otherwise. - -"But this poor miserable Me! Is _this_, then, all the book I have got to -read about God in?" Yes, truly so. No other book, nor fragment of book, -than that, will you ever find;--no velvet-bound missal, nor -frankincensed manuscript;--nothing hieroglyphic nor cuneiform; papyrus -and pyramid are alike silent on this matter;--nothing in the clouds -above, nor in the earth beneath. That flesh-bound volume is the only -revelation that is, that was, or that can be. In that is the image of -God painted; in that is the law of God written; in that is the promise -of God revealed. Know thyself; for through thyself only thou canst know -God. - -§ 15. Through the glass, darkly. But, except through the glass, in -nowise. - -A tremulous crystal, waved as water, poured out upon the ground;--you -may defile it, despise it, pollute it at your pleasure, and at your -peril; for on the peace of those weak waves must all the heaven you -shall ever gain be first seen; and through such purity as you can win -for those dark waves, must all the light of the risen Sun of -righteousness be bent down, by faint refraction. Cleanse them, and calm -them, as you love your life. - -Therefore it is that all the power of nature depends on subjection to -the human soul. Man is the sun of the world; more than the real sun. The -fire of his wonderful heart is the only light and heat worth gauge or -measure. Where he is, are the tropics; where he is not, the ice-world. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I have been embarrassed in assigning the names to these orders of - art, the term "Contemplative" belonging in justice nearly as much to - the romantic and pastoral conception as to the modern landscape. I - intended, originally, to call the four schools--Romantic, Classic, - Georgic, and Theoretic--which would have been more accurate; and more - consistent with the nomenclature of the second volume; but would not - have been pleasant in sound, nor to the general reader, very clear in - sense. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE LANCE OF PALLAS. - - -§ 1. It might be thought that the tenor of the preceding chapter was in -some sort adverse to my repeated statement that all great art is the -expression of man's delight in God's work, not in _his own._ But -observe, he is not himself his own work: he is himself precisely the -most wonderful piece of God's workmanship extant. In this best piece not -only he is bound to take delight, but cannot, in a right state of -thought, take delight in anything else, otherwise than through himself. -Through himself, however, as the sun of creation, not as _the_ creation. -In himself, as the light of the world.[1] Not as being the world. Let -him stand in his due relation to other creatures, and to inanimate -things--know them all and love them, as made for him, and he for -them;--and he becomes himself the greatest and holiest of them. But let -him cast off this relation, despise and forget the less creation around -him, and instead of being the light of the world, he is as a sun in -space--a fiery ball, spotted with storm. - -§ 2. All the diseases of mind leading to fatalest ruin consist primarily -in this isolation. They are the concentration of man upon himself, -whether his heavenly interests or his worldly interests, matters not; it -is the being _his own_ interests which makes the regard of them so -mortal. Every form of asceticism on one side, of sensualism on the -other, is an isolation of his soul or of his body; the fixing his -thoughts upon them alone: while every healthy state of nations and of -individual minds consists in the unselfish presence of the human spirit -everywhere, energizing over all things; speaking and living through all -things. - -§ 3. Man being thus the crowning and ruling work of God, it will follow -that all his best art must have something to tell about himself, as the -soul of things, and ruler of creatures. It must also make this reference -to himself under a true conception of his own nature. Therefore all art -which involves no reference to man is inferior or nugatory. And all art -which involves misconception of man, or base thought of him, is in that -degree false, and base. - -Now the basest thought possible concerning him is, that he has no -spiritual nature; and the foolishest misunderstanding of him possible -is, that he has or should have, no animal nature. For his nature is -nobly animal, nobly spiritual--coherently and irrevocably so; neither -part of it may, but at its peril, expel, despise, or defy the other. All -great art confesses and worships both. - -§ 4. The art which, since the writings of Rio and Lord Lindsay, is -specially known as "Christian," erred by pride in its denial of the -animal nature of man;--and, in connection with all monkish and fanatical -forms of religion, by looking always to another world instead of this. -It wasted its strength in visions, and was therefore swept away, -notwithstanding all its good and glory, by the strong truth of the -naturalist art of the sixteenth century. But that naturalist art erred -on the other side; denied at last the spiritual nature of man, and -perished in corruption. - -A contemplative reaction is taking place in modern times, out of which -it may be hoped a new spiritual art may be developed. The first school -of landscape, named, in the foregoing chapter, the Heroic, is that of -the noble naturalists. The second (Classical), and third (Pastoral), -belong to the time of sensual decline. The fourth (Contemplative) is -that of modern revival. - -§ 5. But why, the reader will ask, is no place given in this scheme to -the "Christian" or spiritual art which preceded the naturalists? Because -all landscape belonging to that art is subordinate, and in one essential -principle false. It is subordinate, because intended only to exalt the -conception of saintly or Divine presence:--rather therefore to be -considered as a landscape decoration or type, than an effort to paint -nature. If I included it in my list of schools, I should have to go -still farther back, and include with it the conventional and -illustrative landscape of the Greeks and Egyptians. - -§ 6. But also it cannot constitute a real school, because its first -assumption is false, namely, that the natural world can be represented -without the element of death. - -The real schools of landscape are primarily distinguished from the -preceding unreal ones by their introduction of this element. They are -not at first in any sort the worthier for it. But they are more true, -and capable, therefore, in the issue, of becoming worthier. - -It will be a hard piece of work for us to think this rightly out, but it -must be done. - -§ 7. Perhaps an accurate analysis of the schools of art of all time -might show us that when the immortality of the soul was practically and -completely believed, the elements of decay, danger, and grief in visible -things were always disregarded. However this may be, it is assuredly so -in the early Christian schools. The ideas of danger or decay seem not -merely repugnant, but inconceivable to them; the expression of -immortality and perpetuity is alone possible. I do not mean that they -take no note of the absolute fact of corruption. This fact the early -painters often compel themselves to look fuller in the front than any -other men: as in the way they usually paint the Deluge (the raven -feeding on the bodies), and in all the various triumphs and processions -of the Power of Death, which formed one great chapter of religious -teaching and painting, from Orcagna's time to the close of the Purist -epoch. But I mean that this external fact of corruption is separated in -their minds from the main conditions of their work; and its horror -enters no more into their general treatment of landscape than the fear -of murder or martyrdom, both of which they had nevertheless continually -to represent. None of these things appeared to them as affecting the -general dealings of the Deity with His world. Death, pain, and decay -were simply momentary accidents in the course of immortality, which -never ought to exercise any depressing influence over the hearts of men, -or in the life of Nature. God, in intense life, peace, and helping -power, was always and everywhere. Human bodies, at one time or another, -had indeed to be made dust of, and raised from it; and this becoming -dust was hurtful and humiliating, but not in the least melancholy, nor, -in any very high degree, important; except to thoughtless persons, who -needed sometimes to be reminded of it, and whom, not at all fearing the -things much himself, the painter accordingly did remind of it, somewhat -sharply. - -§ 8. A similar condition of mind seems to have been attained, not -unfrequently, in modern times, by persons whom either narrowness of -circumstance or education, or vigorous moral efforts have guarded from -the troubling of the world, so as to give them firm and childlike trust -in the power and presence of God, together with peace of conscience, and -a belief in the passing of all evil into some form of good. It is -impossible that a person thus disciplined should feel, in any of its -more acute phases, the sorrow for any of the phenomena of nature, or -terror in any material danger which would occur to another. The absence -of personal fear, the consciousness of security as great in the midst of -pestilence and storm, as amidst beds of flowers on a summer morning, and -the certainty that whatever appeared evil, or was assuredly painful, -must eventually issue in a far greater and enduring good--this general -feeling and conviction, I say, would gradually lull, and at last put to -entire rest, the physical sensations of grief and fear; so that the man -would look upon danger without dread,--accept pain without lamentation. - -§ 9. It may perhaps be thought that this is a very high and right state -of mind. - -Unfortunately, it appears that the attainment of it is never possible -without inducing some form of intellectual weakness. - -No painter belonging to the purest religious schools ever mastered his -art. Perugino nearly did so; but it was because he was more -rational--more a man of the world--than the rest. No literature exists -of a high class produced by minds in the pure religious temper. On the -contrary, a great deal of literature exists, produced by persons in that -temper, which is markedly, and very far, below average literary work. - -§ 10. The reason of this I believe to be, that the right faith of man is -not intended to give him repose, but to enable him to do his work. It is -not intended that he should look away from the place he lives in now, -and cheer himself with thoughts of the place he is to live in next, but -that he should look stoutly into this world, in faith that if he does -his work thoroughly here, some good to others or himself, with which, -however, he is not at present concerned, will come of it hereafter. And -this kind of brave, but not very hopeful or cheerful faith, I perceive -to be always rewarded by clear practical success and splendid -intellectual power; while the faith which dwells on the future fades -away into rosy mist, and emptiness of musical air. That result indeed -follows naturally enough on its habit of assuming that things must be -right, or must come right, when, probably, the fact is, that so far as -we are concerned, they are entirely wrong; and going wrong: and also on -its weak and false way of looking on what these religious persons call -"the bright side of things," that is to say, on one side of them only, -when God has given them two sides, and intended us to see both. - -§ 11. I was reading but the other day, in a book by a zealous, useful, -and able Scotch clergyman, one of these rhapsodies, in which he -described a scene in the Highlands to show (he said) the goodness of -God. In this Highland scene there was nothing but sunshine, and fresh -breezes, and bleating lambs, and clean tartans, and all manner of -pleasantness. Now a Highland scene is, beyond dispute, pleasant enough -in its own way; but, looked close at, has its shadows. Here, for -instance, is the very fact of one, as pretty as I can remember--having -seen many. It is a little valley of soft turf, enclosed in its narrow -oval by jutting rocks and broad flakes of nodding fern. From one side of -it to the other winds, serpentine, a clear brown stream, drooping into -quicker ripple as it reaches the end of the oval field, and then, first -islanding a purple and white rock with an amber pool, it dashes away -into a narrow fall of foam under a thicket of mountain ash and alder. -The autumn sun, low but clear, shines on the scarlet ash-berries and on -the golden birch-leaves, which, fallen here and there, when the breeze -has not caught them, rest quiet in the crannies of the purple rock. -Beside the rock, in the hollow under the thicket, the carcass of a ewe, -drowned in the last flood, lies nearly bare to the bone, its white ribs -protruding through the skin, raven-torn; and the rags of its wool still -flickering from the branches that first stayed it as the stream swept it -down. A little lower, the current plunges, roaring, into a circular -chasm like a well, surrounded on three sides by a chimney-like -hollowness of polished rock, down which the foam slips in detached -snow-flakes. Round the edges of the pool beneath, the water circles -slowly, like black oil; a little butterfly lies on its back, its wings -glued to one of the eddies, its limbs feebly quivering; a fish rises and -it is gone. Lower down the stream, I can just see, over a knoll, the -green and damp turf roofs of four or five hovels, built at the edge of a -morass, which is trodden by the cattle into a black Slough of Despond at -their doors, and traversed by a few ill-set stepping-stones, with here -and there a flat slab on the tops, where they have sunk out of sight; -and at the turn of the brook I see a man fishing, with a boy and a -dog--a picturesque and pretty group enough certainly, if they had not -been there all day starving. I know them, and I know the dog's ribs -also, which are nearly as bare as the dead ewe's; and the child's wasted -shoulders, cutting his old tartan jacket through, so sharp are they. We -will go down and talk with the man. - -§ 12. Or, that I may not piece pure truth with fancy, for I have none of -his words set down, let us hear a word or two from another such, a -Scotchman also, and as true hearted, and in just as fair a scene. I -write out the passage, in which I have kept his few sentences, word for -word, as it stands in my private diary:--"22nd April (1851). Yesterday I -had a long walk up the Via Gellia, at Matlock, coming down upon it from -the hills above, all sown with anemones and violets, and murmuring with -sweet springs. Above all the mills in the valley, the brook, in its -first purity, forms a small shallow pool, with a sandy bottom covered -with cresses, and other water plants. A man was wading in it for cresses -as I passed up the valley, and bade me good-day. I did not go much -farther; he was there when I returned. I passed him again, about one -hundred yards, when it struck me I might as well learn all I could about -watercresses: so I turned back. I asked the man, among other questions, -what he called the common weed, something like watercress, but with a -serrated leaf, which grows at the edge of nearly all such pools. 'We -calls that brooklime, hereabouts,' said a voice behind me. I turned, and -saw three men, miners or manufacturers--two evidently Derbyshire men, -and respectable-looking in their way; the third, thin, poor, old, and -harder-featured, and utterly in rags. 'Brooklime?' I said. 'What do you -call it lime for?' The man said he did not know, it was called that. -'You'll find that in the British 'Erba,' said the weak, calm voice of -the old man. I turned to him in much surprise; but he went on saying -something drily (I hardly understood what) to the cress-gatherer; who -contradicting him, the old man said he 'didn't know fresh water,' he -'knew enough of sa't.' 'Have you been a sailor?' I asked. 'I was a -sailor for eleven years and ten months of my life,' he said, in the same -strangely quiet manner. 'And what are you now?' 'I lived for ten years -after my wife's death by picking up rags and bones; I hadn't much -occasion afore.' 'And now how do you live?' 'Why, I lives hard and -honest, and haven't got to live long,' or something to that effect. He -then went on, in a kind of maundering way, about his wife. 'She had -rheumatism and fever very bad; and her second rib grow'd over her -hench-bone. A' was a clever woman, but a' grow'd to be a very little -one' (this with an expression of deep melancholy). 'Eighteen years after -her first lad she was in the family-way again, and they had doctors up -from Lunnon about it. They wanted to rip her open and take the child out -of her side. But I never would give my consent.' (Then, after a pause:) -'She died twenty-six hours and ten minutes after it. I never cared much -what come of me since; but I know that I shall soon reach her; that's a -knowledge I would na gie for the king's crown.' 'You are a Scotchman, -are not you?' I asked. 'I'm from the Isle of Skye, sir; I'm a McGregor.' -I said something about his religious faith. 'Ye'll know I was bred in -the Church of Scotland, sir,' he said, 'and I love it as I love my own -soul; but I think thae Wesleyan Methodists ha' got salvation among them, -too.'" - -Truly, this Highland and English hill-scenery is fair enough; but has -its shadows; and deeper coloring, here and there, than that of heath and -rose. - -§ 13. Now, as far as I have watched the main powers of human mind, they -have risen first from the resolution to see fearlessly, pitifully, and -to its very worst, what these deep colors mean, wheresoever they fall; -not by any means to pass on the other side looking pleasantly up to the -sky, but to stoop to the horror, and let the sky, for the present, take -care of its own clouds. However this may be in moral matters, with which -I have nothing here to do, in my own field of inquiry the fact is so; -and all great and beautiful work has come of first gazing without -shrinking into the darkness. If, having done so, the human spirit can, -by its courage and faith, conquer the evil, it rises into conceptions of -victorious and consummated beauty. It is then the spirit of the highest -Greek and Venetian Art. If unable to conquer the evil, but remaining in -strong, though melancholy war with it, not rising into supreme beauty, -it is the spirit of the best northern art, typically represented by that -of Holbein and Durer. If, itself conquered by the evil, infected by the -dragon breath of it, and at last brought into captivity, so as to take -delight in evil for ever, it becomes the spirit of the dark, but still -powerful sensualistic art, represented typically by that of Salvator. We -must trace this fact briefly through Greek, Venetian, and Dureresque -art; we shall then see how the art of decline came of avoiding the evil, -and seeking pleasure only; and thus obtain, at last, some power of -judging whether the tendency of our own contemplative art be right or -ignoble. - -§ 14. The ruling purpose of Greek poetry is the assertion of victory, by -heroism, over fate, sin, and death. The terror of these great enemies is -dwelt upon chiefly by the tragedians. The victory over them by Homer. - -The adversary chiefly contemplated by the tragedians is Fate, or -predestinate misfortune. And that under three principal forms. - -A. Blindness, or ignorance; not in itself guilty, but inducing acts -which otherwise would have been guilty; and leading, no less than guilt, -to destruction.[2] - -B. Visitation upon one person of the sin of another. - -C. Repression, by brutal or tyrannous strength, of a benevolent will. - -§ 15. In all these cases sorrow is much more definitely connected with -sin by the Greek tragedians than by Shakspere. The "fate" of Shakspere -is, indeed, a form of blindness, but it issues in little more than haste -or indiscretion. It is, in the literal sense, "fatal," but hardly -criminal. - -The "I am fortune's fool" of Romeo, expresses Shakspere's primary idea -of tragic circumstance. Often his victims are entirely innocent, swept -away by mere current of strong encompassing calamity (Ophelia, Cordelia, -Arthur, Queen Katharine). This is rarely so with the Greeks. The victim -may indeed be innocent, as Antigone, but is in some way resolutely -entangled with crime, and destroyed by it, as if it struck by pollution, -no less than participation. - -The victory over sin and death is therefore also with the Greek -tragedians more complete than with Shakspere. As the enemy has more -direct moral personality,--as it is sinfulness more than mischance, it -is met by a higher moral resolve, a greater preparation of heart, a more -solemn patience and purposed self-sacrifice. At the close of a Shakspere -tragedy nothing remains but dead march and clothes of burial. At the -close of a Greek tragedy there are far-off sounds of a divine triumph, -and a glory as of resurrection.[3] - -§ 16. The Homeric temper is wholly different. Far more tender, more -practical, more cheerful; bent chiefly on present things and giving -victory now, and here, rather than in hope, and hereafter. The enemies -of mankind, in Homer's conception, are more distinctly conquerable; they -are ungoverned passions, especially anger, and unreasonable impulse -generally ([Greek: atę]). Hence the anger of Achilles, misdirected by -pride, but rightly directed by friendship, is the subject of the -_Iliad_. The anger of Ulysses ([Greek: Odysseus] "the angry"), -misdirected at first into idle and irregular hostilities, directed at -last to execution of sternest justice, is the subject of the _Odyssey_. - -Though this is the central idea of the two poems, it is connected with -general display of the evil of all unbridled passions, pride, -sensuality, indolence, or curiosity. The pride of Atrides, the passion -of Paris, the sluggishness of Elpenor, the curiosity of Ulysses himself -about the Cyclops, the impatience of his sailors in untying the winds, -and all other faults or follies, down to that--(evidently no small one -in Homer's mind)--of domestic disorderliness, are throughout shown in -contrast with conditions of patient affection and household peace. - -Also, the wild powers and mysteries of Nature are in the Homeric mind -among the enemies of man; so that all the labors of Ulysses are an -expression of the contest of manhood, not only with its own passions or -with the folly of others, but with the merciless and mysterious powers -of the natural world. - -§ 17. This is perhaps the chief signification of the seven years' stay -with Calypso, "the concealer." Not, as vulgarly thought, the concealer -of Ulysses, but the great concealer--the hidden power of natural things. -She is the daughter of Atlas and the Sea (Atlas, the sustainer of -heaven, and the Sea, the disturber of the Earth). She dwells in the -island of Ogygia ("the ancient or venerable"). (Whenever Athens, or any -other Greek city, is spoken of with any peculiar reverence, it is called -"Ogygian.") Escaping from this goddess of secrets, and from other -spirits, some of destructive natural force (Scylla), others signifying -the enchantment of mere natural beauty (Circe, daughter of the Sun and -Sea), he arrives at last at the Phćacian land, whose king is "strength -with intellect," and whose queen, "virtue." These restore him to his -country. - -§ 18. Now observe that in their dealing with all these subjects the -Greeks never shrink from horror; down to its uttermost depth, to its -most appalling physical detail, they strive to sound the secrets of -sorrow. For them there is no passing by on the other side, no turning -away the eyes to vanity from pain. Literally, they have not "lifted up -their souls unto vanity." Whether there be consolation for them or not, -neither apathy nor blindness shall be their saviours; if, for them, thus -knowing the facts of the grief of earth, any hope, relief, or triumph -may hereafter seem possible,--well; but if not, still hopeless, -reliefless, eternal, the sorrow shall be met face to face. This Hector, -so righteous, so merciful, so brave, has, nevertheless, to look upon his -dearest brother in miserablest death. His own soul passes away in -hopeless sobs through the throat-wound of the Grecian spear. That is one -aspect of things in this world, a fair world truly, but having, among -its other aspects, this one, highly ambiguous. - -§ 19. Meeting it boldly as they may, gazing right into the skeleton face -of it, the ambiguity remains; nay, in some sort gains upon them. We -trusted in the gods;--we thought that wisdom and courage would save us. -Our wisdom and courage themselves deceive us to our death. Athena had -the aspect of Deiphobus--terror of the enemy. She has not terrified him, -but left us, in our mortal need. - -And, beyond that mortality, what hope have we? Nothing is clear to us on -that horizon, nor comforting. Funeral honors; perhaps also rest; perhaps -a shadowy life--artless, joyless, loveless. No devices in that darkness -of the grave, nor daring, nor delight. Neither marrying nor giving in -marriage, nor casting of spears, nor rolling of chariots, nor voice of -fame. Lapped in pale Elysian mist, chilling the forgetful heart and -feeble frame, shall we waste on forever? Can the dust of earth claim -more of immortality than this? Or shall we have even so much as rest? -May we, indeed, lie down again in the dust, or have our sins not hidden -from us even the things that belong to that peace? May not chance and -the whirl of passion govern us there; when there shall be no thought, -nor work, nor wisdom, nor breathing of the soul?[4] - -Be it so. With no better reward, no brighter hope, we will be men while -we may: men, just, and strong, and fearless, and up to our power, -perfect. Athena herself, our wisdom and our strength, may betray -us;--Phoebus, our sun, smite us with plague, or hide his face from us -helpless;--Jove and all the powers of fate oppress us, or give us up to -destruction. While we live, we will hold fast our integrity; no weak -tears shall blind us, no untimely tremors abate our strength of arm nor -swiftness of limb. The gods have given us at least this glorious body -and this righteous conscience; these will we keep bright and pure to the -end. So may we fall to misery, but not to baseness; so may we sink to -sleep, but not to shame. - -§ 20. And herein was conquest. So defied, the betraying and accusing -shadows shrank back; the mysterious horror subdued itself to majestic -sorrow. Death was swallowed up in victory. Their blood, which seemed to -be poured out upon the ground, rose into hyacinthine flowers. All the -beauty of earth opened to them; they had ploughed into its darkness, and -they reaped its gold; the gods, in whom they had trusted through all -semblance of oppression, came down to love them and be their helpmates. -All nature round them became divine,--one harmony of power and peace. -The sun hurt them not by day, nor the moon by night; the earth opened no -more her jaws into the pit; the sea whitened no more against them the -teeth of his devouring waves. Sun, and moon, and earth, and sea,--all -melted into grace and love; the fatal arrows rang not now at the -shoulders of Apollo the healer; lord of life and of the three great -spirits of life--Care, Memory, and Melody. Great Artemis guarded their -flocks by night; Selene kissed in love the eyes of those who slept. And -from all came the help of heaven to body and soul; a strange spirit -lifting the lovely limbs; strange light glowing on the golden hair; and -strangest comfort filling the trustful heart, so that they could put off -their armor, and lie down to sleep,--their work well done, whether at -the gates of their temples[5] or of their mountains;[6] accepting the -death they once thought terrible, as the gift of Him who knew and -granted what was best. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Matt. v. 14. - - [2] The speech of Achilles to Priam expresses this idea of fatality - and submission clearly, there being two vessels--one full of sorrow, - the other of great and noble gifts (a sense of disgrace mixing with - that of sorrow, and of honor with that of joy), from which Jupiter - pours forth the destinies of men; the idea partly corresponding to - the scriptural--" In the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the - wine is red; it is full mixed, and He poureth out of the same." But - the title of the gods, nevertheless, both with Homer and Hesiod, is - given not from the cup of sorrow, but of good; "givers of good" - ([Greek: dotęres heaon]).--_Hes. Theog._ 664: _Odyss._ viii. 325. - - [3] The Alcestis is perhaps the central example of the _idea_ of all - Greek drama. - - [4] - - [Greek: tô kai tethneiôti noon pore Persephoneia, - oiô pepnusthai; toi de skiai aissousin]. - - Od. x. 495. - - [5] [Greek: ouketi anestesan, all' en telei toutô eschonto.] Herod, - i. 31. - - [6] [Greek: ho de apopempomenos, autos men ouk apelipeto ton de paida - sustrateuomenon, eonta oi mounogenea, apepempse.] Herod, vii. 221. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE WINGS OF THE LION. - - -§ 1. Such being the heroic spirit of Greek religion and art, we may now -with ease trace the relations between it and that which animated the -Italian, and chiefly the Venetian, schools. - -Observe, all the nobleness, as well as the faults, of the Greek art were -dependent on its making the most of this present life. It might do so in -the Anacreontic temper--[Greek: Ti Pleiadessi, kamoi]; "What have I to -do with the Pleiads?" or in the defiant or the trustful endurance of -fate;--but its dominion was in this world. - -Florentine art was essentially Christian, ascetic, expectant of a better -world, and antagonistic, therefore, to the Greek temper. So that the -Greek element, once forced upon it, destroyed it. There was absolute -incompatibility between them. Florentine art, also, could not produce -landscape. It despised the rock, the tree, the vital air itself, -aspiring to breathe empyreal air. - -Venetian art began with the same aim and under the same restrictions. -Both are healthy in the youth of art. Heavenly aim and severe law for -boyhood; earthly work and fair freedom for manhood. - -§ 2. The Venetians began, I repeat, with asceticism; always, however, -delighting in more massive and deep color than other religious painters. -They are especially fond of saints who have been cardinals, because of -their red hats, and they sunburn all their hermits into splendid russet -brown. - -They differed from the Pisans in having no Maremma between them and the -sea; from the Romans, in continually quarrelling with the Pope; and from -the Florentines in having no gardens. - -They had another kind of garden, deep-furrowed, with blossom in white -wreaths--fruitless. Perpetual May therein, and singing of wild, nestless -birds. And they had no Maremma to separate them from this garden of -theirs. The destiny of Pisa was changed, in all probability, by the ten -miles of marsh-land and poisonous air between it and the beach. The -Genoese energy was feverish; too much heat reflected from their torrid -Apennine. But the Venetian had his free horizon, his salt breeze, and -sandy Lido-shore; sloped far and flat,--ridged sometimes under the -Tramontane winds with half a mile's breadth of rollers;--sea and sand -shrivelled up together in one yellow careering field of fall and roar. - -§ 3. They were, also, we said, always quarrelling with the Pope. Their -religious liberty came, like their bodily health, from that -wave-training; for it is one notable effect of a life passed on -shipboard to destroy weak beliefs in appointed forms of religion. A -sailor may be grossly superstitious, but his superstitions will be -connected with amulets and omens, not cast in systems. He must accustom -himself, if he prays at all, to pray anywhere and anyhow. Candlesticks -and incense not being portable into the maintop, he perceives those -decorations to be, on the whole, inessential to a maintop mass. Sails -must be set and cables bent, be it never so strict a saint's day, and it -is found that no harm comes of it. Absolution on a lee-shore must be had -of the breakers, it appears, if at all, and they give it plenary and -brief, without listening to confession. - -Whereupon our religious opinions become vague, but our religious -confidences strong; and the end of it all is that we perceive the Pope -to be on the other side of the Apennines, and able, indeed, to sell -indulgences, but not winds, for any money. Whereas, God and the sea are -with us, and we must even trust them both, and take what they shall -send. - -§ 4. Then, farther. This ocean-work is wholly adverse to any morbid -conditions of sentiment. Reverie, above all things, is forbidden by -Scylla and Charybdis. By the dogs and the depths, no dreaming! The first -thing required of us is presence of mind. Neither love, nor poetry, nor -piety, must ever so take up our thoughts as to make us slow or unready. -In sweet Val d'Arno it is permissible enough to dream among the -orange-blossoms, and forget the day in twilight of ilex. But along the -avenues of the Adrian waves there can be no careless walking. -Vigilance, might and day, required of us, besides learning of many -practical lessons in severe and humble dexterities. It is enough for the -Florentine to know how to use his sword and to ride. We Venetians, also, -must be able to use our swords, and on ground which is none of the -steadiest; but, besides, we must be able to do nearly everything that -hands can turn to--rudders, and yards, and cables, all needing workmanly -handling and workmanly knowledge, from captain as well as from men. To -drive a nail, lash a spear, reef a sail--rude work this for noble hands; -but to be done sometimes, and done well, on pain of death. All which not -only takes mean pride out of us, and puts nobler pride of power in its -stead; but it tends partly to soothe, partly to chasten, partly to -employ and direct, the hot Italian temper, and make us every way -greater, calmer, and happier. - -§ 5. Moreover, it tends to induce in us great respect for the whole -human body; for its limbs, as much as for its tongue or its wit. Policy -and eloquence are well; and, indeed, we Venetians can be politic enough, -and can speak melodiously when we choose; but to put the helm up at the -right moment is the beginning of all cunning--and for that we need arm -and eye;--not tongue. And with this respect for the body as such, comes -also the sailor's preference of massive beauty in bodily form. The -landsmen, among their roses and orange-blossoms, and chequered shadows -of twisted vine, may well please themselves with pale faces, and finely -drawn eyebrows, and fantastic braiding of hair. But from the sweeping -glory of the sea we learn to love another kind of beauty; -broad-breasted; level-browed, like the horizon;--thighed and shouldered -like the billows;--footed like their stealing foam;--bathed in cloud of -golden hair, like their sunsets. - -§ 6. Such were the physical influences constantly in operation on the -Venetians; their painters, however, were partly prepared for their work -by others in their infancy. Associations connected with early life among -mountains softened and deepened the teaching of the sea; and the -wildness of form of the Tyrolese Alps gave greater strength and -grotesqueness to their imaginations than the Greek painters could have -found among the cliffs of the Ćgean. Thus far, however, the influences -on both are nearly similar. The Greek sea was indeed less bleak, and -the Greek hills less grand; but the difference was in degree rather than -in the nature of their power. The moral influences at work on the two -races were far more sharply opposed. - -§ 7. Evil, as we saw, had been fronted by the Greek, and thrust out of -his path. Once conquered, if he thought of it more, it was -involuntarily, as we remember a painful dream, yet with a secret dread -that the dream might return and continue for ever. But the teaching of -the church in the middle ages had made the contemplation of evil one of -the duties of men. As sin, it was to be duly thought upon, that it might -be confessed. As suffering, endured joyfully, in hope of future reward. -Hence conditions of bodily distemper which an Athenian would have looked -upon with the severest contempt and aversion, were in the Christian -church regarded always with pity, and often with respect; while the -partial practice of celibacy by the clergy, and by those over whom they -had influence,--together with the whole system of conventual penance and -pathetic ritual (with the vicious reactionary tendencies necessarily -following), introduced calamitous conditions both of body and soul, -which added largely to the pagan's simple list of elements of evil, and -introduced the most complicated states of mental suffering and -decrepitude. - -§ 8. Therefore the Christian painters differed from the Greek in two -main points. They had been taught a faith which put an end to restless -questioning and discouragement. All was at last to be well--and their -best genius might be peacefully given to imagining the glories of heaven -and the happiness of its redeemed. But on the other hand, though -suffering was to cease in heaven, it was to be not only endured, but -honored upon earth. And from the Crucifixion, down to a beggar's -lameness, all the tortures and maladies of men were to be made, at least -in part, the subjects of art. The Venetian was, therefore, in his inner -mind, less serious than the Greek: in his superficial temper, sadder. In -his heart there was none of the deep horror which vexed the soul of -Ćschylus or Homer. His Pallas-shield was the shield of Faith, not the -shield of the Gorgon. All was at last to issue happily; in sweetest -harpings and seven-fold circles of light. But for the present he had to -dwell with the maimed and the blind, and to revere Lazarus more than -Achilles. - -§ 9. This reference to a future world has a morbid influence on all -their conclusions. For the earth and all its natural elements are -despised. They are to pass away like a scroll. Man, the immortal, is -alone revered; his work and presence are all that can be noble or -desirable. Men, and fair architecture, temples and courts such as may be -in a celestial city, or the clouds and angels of Paradise; these are -what we must paint when we want beautiful things. But the sea, the -mountains, the forests, are all adverse to us,--a desolation. The ground -that was cursed for our sake;--the sea that executed judgment on all our -race, and rages against us still, though bridled;--storm-demons churning -it into foam in nightly glare on Lido, and hissing from it against our -palaces. Nature is but a terror, or a temptation. She is for hermits, -martyrs, murderers,--for St. Jerome, and St. Mary of Egypt, and the -Magdalen in the desert, and monk Peter, falling before the sword. - -§ 10. But the worst point we have to note respecting the spirit of -Venetian landscape is its pride. - -It was observed in the course of the third volume how the medićval -temper had rejected agricultural pursuits, and whatever pleasures could -come of them. - -At Venice this negation had reached its extreme. Though the Florentines -and Romans had no delight in farming, they had in gardening. The -Venetian possessed, and cared for, neither fields nor pastures. Being -delivered, to his loss, from all the wholesome labors of tillage, he was -also shut out from the sweet wonders and charities of the earth, and -from the pleasant natural history of the year. Birds and beasts, and -times and seasons, all unknown to him. No swallow chattered at his -window,[1] nor, nested under his golden roofs, claimed the sacredness of -his mercy;[2] no Pythagorean fowl taught him the blessings of the -poor,[3] nor did the grave spirit of poverty rise at his side to set -forth the delicate grace and honor of lowly life.[4] No humble thoughts -of grasshopper sire had he, like the Athenian; no gratitude for gifts of -olive; no childish care for figs, any more than thistles. The rich -Venetian feast had no need of the figtree spoon.[5] Dramas about birds, -and wasps, and frogs, would have passed unheeded by his proud fancy; -carol or murmur of them had fallen unrecognized on ears accustomed only -to grave syllables of war-tried men, and wash of songless wave. - -§ 11. No simple joy was possible to him. Only stateliness and power; -high intercourse with kingly and beautiful humanity, proud thoughts, or -splendid pleasures; throned sensualities, and ennobled appetites. But of -innocent, childish, helpful, holy pleasures, he had none. As in the -classical landscape, nearly all rural labor is banished from the -Titianesque: there is one bold etching of a landscape, with grand -ploughing in the foreground, but this is only a caprice; the customary -Venetian background is without sign of laborious rural life. We find -indeed often a shepherd with his flock, sometimes a woman spinning, but -no division of fields, no growing crops nor nestling villages. In the -numerous drawings and woodcuts variously connected with or -representative of Venetian work, a watermill is a frequent object, a -river constant, generally the sea. But the prevailing idea in all the -great pictures I have seen, is that of mountainous land with wild but -graceful forest, and rolling or horizontal clouds. The mountains are -dark blue; the clouds glowing or soft gray, always massive; the light, -deep, clear, melancholy; the foliage, neither intricate nor graceful, -but compact and sweeping (with undulated trunks), dividing much into -horizontal flakes, like the clouds; the ground rocky and broken somewhat -monotonously, but richly green with wild herbage; here and there a -flower, by preference white or blue, rarely yellow, still more rarely -red. - -§ 12. It was stated that this heroic landscape of theirs was peopled by -spiritual beings of the highest order. And in this rested the dominion -of the Venetians over all later schools. They were the _last believing_ -school of Italy. Although, as I said above, always quarrelling with the -Pope, there is all the more evidence of an earnest faith in their -religion. People who trusted the Madonna less, flattered the Pope more. -But down to Tintoret's time, the Roman Catholic religion was still real -and sincere at Venice; and though faith in it was compatible with much -which to us appears criminal or absurd, the religion itself was -entirely sincere. - -§ 13. Perhaps when you see one of Titian's splendidly passionate -subjects, or find Veronese making the marriage in Cana one blaze of -worldly pomp, you imagine that Titian must have been a sensualist, and -Veronese an unbeliever. - -Put the idea from you at once, and be assured of this for ever;--it will -guide you through many a labyrinth of life, as well as of -painting,--that of an evil tree, men never gather good fruit--good of -any sort or kind;--even good sensualism. - -Let us look to this calmly. We have seen what physical advantage the -Venetian had, in his sea and sky; also what moral disadvantage he had, -in scorn of the poor; now finally, let us see with what power he was -invested, which men since his time have never recovered more. - -§ 14. "Neither of a bramble bush, gather they grapes." - -The great saying has twofold help for us. Be assured, first, that if it -were bramble from which you gathered them, these are not grapes in your -hand, though they look like grapes. Or if these are indeed grapes, it -was no bramble you gathered them from, though it looked like one. - -It is difficult for persons, accustomed to receive, without questioning, -the modern English idea of religion, to understand the temper of the -Venetian Catholics. I do not enter into examination of our own feelings; -but I have to note this one significant point of difference between us. - -§ 15. An English gentleman, desiring his portrait, gives probably to the -painter a choice of several actions, in any of which he is willing to be -represented. As for instance, riding his best horse, shooting with his -favorite pointer, manifesting himself in his robes of state on some -great public occasion, meditating in his study, playing with his -children, or visiting his tenants; in any of these or other such -circumstances, he will give the artist free leave to paint him. But in -one important action he would shrink even from the suggestion of being -drawn. He will assuredly not let himself be painted praying. - -Strangely, this is the action, which of all others, a Venetian desires -to be painted in. If they want a noble and complete portrait, they -nearly always choose to be painted on their knees. - -§ 16. "Hypocrisy," you say; and "that they might be seen of men." If we -examine ourselves, or any one else, who will give trustworthy answer on -this point, so as to ascertain, to the best of our judgment, what the -feeling is, which would make a modern English person dislike to be -painted praying, we shall not find it, I believe, to be excess of -sincerity. Whatever we find it to be, the opposite Venetian feeling is -certainly not hypocrisy. It is often conventionalism, implying as little -devotion in the person represented, as regular attendance at church does -with us. But that it is not hypocrisy, you may ascertain by one simple -consideration (supposing you not to have enough knowledge of the -expression of sincere persons to judge by the portraits themselves). The -Venetians, when they desired to deceive, were much too subtle to attempt -it clumsily. If they assumed the mask of religion, the mask must have -been of some use. The persons whom it deceived must, therefore, have -been religious, and, being so, have believed in the Venetians' -sincerity. If therefore, among other contemporary nations with whom they -had intercourse, we can find any, more religious than they, who were -duped, or even influenced, by their external religiousness, we might -have some ground for suspecting that religiousness to be assumed. But if -we can find no one likely to have been deceived, we must believe the -Venetian to have been, in reality, what there was no advantage in -seeming. - -§ 17. I leave the matter to your examination, forewarning you, -confidently, that you will discover by severest evidence, that the -Venetian religion was true. Not only true, but one of the main motives -of their lives. In the field of investigation to which we are here -limited, I will collect some of the evidence of this. - -For one profane picture by great Venetians, you will find ten of sacred -subjects; and those, also, including their grandest, most labored, and -most beloved works. Tintoret's power culminates in two great religious -pictures: the Crucifixion, and the Paradise. Titian's in the Assumption, -the Peter Martyr, and Presentation of the Virgin. Veronese's in the -Marriage in Cana. John Bellini and Basaiti never, so far as I remember, -painted any other than sacred subjects. By the Palmas, Vincenzo, Catena, -and Bonifazio, I remember no profane subject of importance. - -§ 18. There is, moreover, one distinction of the very highest import -between the treatment of sacred subjects by Venetian painters and by all -others. - -Throughout the rest of Italy, piety had become abstract, and opposed -theoretically to worldly life; hence the Florentine and Umbrian painters -generally separated their saints from living men. They delighted in -imagining scenes of spiritual perfectness;--Paradises, and companies of -the redeemed at the judgment;--glorified meetings of martyrs;--madonnas -surrounded by circles of angels. If, which was rare, definite -portraitures of living men were introduced, these real characters formed -a kind of chorus or attendant company, taking no part in the action. At -Venice all this was reversed, and so boldly as at first to shock, with -its seeming irreverence, a spectator accustomed to the formalities and -abstractions of the so-called sacred schools. The madonnas are no more -seated apart on their thrones, the saints no more breathe celestial air. -They are on our own plain ground--nay, here in our houses with us. All -kind of worldly business going on in their presence, fearlessly; our own -friends and respected acquaintances, with all their mortal faults, and -in their mortal flesh, looking at them face to face unalarmed: nay, our -dearest children playing with their pet dogs at Christ's very feet. - -I once myself thought this irreverent. How foolishly! As if children -whom He loved _could_ play anywhere else. - -§ 19. The picture most illustrative of this feeling is perhaps that at -Dresden, of Veronese's family, painted by himself. - -He wishes to represent them as happy and honored. The best happiness and -highest honor he can imagine for them is that they should be presented -to the Madonna, to whom, therefore, they are being brought by the three -virtues--Faith, Hope, and Charity. - -The Virgin stands in a recess behind two marble shafts, such as may be -seen in any house belonging to an old family in Venice. She places the -boy Christ on the edge of a balustrade before her. At her side are St. -John the Baptist, and St. Jerome. This group occupies the left side of -the picture. The pillars, seen sideways, divide it from the group formed -by the Virtues, with the wife and children of Veronese. He himself -stands a little behind, his hands clasped in prayer. - -§ 20. His wife kneels full in front, a strong Venetian woman, well -advanced in years. She has brought up her children in fear of God, and -is not afraid to meet the Virgin's eyes. She gazes steadfastly on them; -her proud head and gentle, self-possessed face are relieved in one broad -mass of shadow against a space of light, formed by the white robes of -Faith, who stands beside her,--guardian, and companion. Perhaps a -somewhat disappointing Faith at the first sight, for her face is not in -any way exalted or refined. Veronese knew that Faith had to companion -simple and slow-hearted people perhaps oftener than able or refined -people--does not therefore insist on her being severely intellectual, or -looking as if she were always in the best company. So she is only -distinguished by her pure white (not bright white) dress, her delicate -hand, her golden hair drifted in light ripples across her breast, from -which the white robes fall nearly in the shape of a shield--the shield -of Faith. A little behind her stands Hope; she also, at first, not to -most people a recognizable Hope. We usually paint Hope as young, and -joyous. Veronese knows better. That young hope is vain hope--passing -away in rain of tears; but the Hope of Veronese is aged, assured, -remaining when all else had been taken away. "For tribulation worketh -patience, and patience experience, and experience hope;" and _that_ hope -maketh not ashamed. - -She has a black veil on her head. - -Then again, in the front, is Charity, red-robed; stout in the arms,--a -servant of all work, she; but small-headed, not being specially given to -thinking; soft-eyed, her hair braided brightly, her lips rich red, -sweet-blossoming. She has got some work to do even now, for a nephew of -Veronese's is doubtful about coming forward, and looks very humbly and -penitently towards the Virgin--his life perhaps not having been quite so -exemplary as might at present be wished. Faith reaches her small white -hand lightly back to him, lays the tips of her fingers on his; but -Charity takes firm hold of him by the wrist from behind, and will push -him on presently, if he still hangs back. - -§ 21. In front of the mother kneel her two eldest children, a girl of -about sixteen, and a boy a year or two younger. They are both wrapt in -adoration--the boy's being the deepest. Nearer us, at their left side, -is a younger boy, about nine years old--a black-eyed fellow, full of -life--and evidently his father's darling (for Veronese has put him full -in light in the front; and given him a beautiful white silken jacket, -barred with black, that nobody may ever miss seeing him to the end of -time). He is a little shy about being presented to the Madonna, and for -the present has got behind the pillar, blushing, but opening his black -eyes wide; he is just summoning courage to peep round, and see if she -looks kind. A still younger child, about six years old, is really -frightened, and has run back to his mother, catching hold of her dress -at the waist. She throws her right arm round him and over him, with -exquisite instinctive action, not moving her eyes from the Madonna's -face. Last of all, the youngest child, perhaps about three years old, is -neither frightened nor interested, but finds the ceremony tedious, and -is trying to coax the dog to play with him; but the dog, which is one of -the little curly, short-nosed, fringy-pawed things, which all Venetian -ladies petted, will not now be coaxed. For the dog is the last link in -the chain of lowering feeling, and takes his doggish views of the -matter. He cannot understand, first, how the Madonna got into the house; -nor, secondly, why she is allowed to stay, disturbing the family, and -taking all their attention from his dogship. And he is walking away, -much offended. - -§ 22. The dog is thus constantly introduced by the Venetians in order to -give the fullest contrast to the highest tones of human thought and -feeling. I shall examine this point presently farther, in speaking of -pastoral landscape and animal painting; but at present we will merely -compare the use of the same mode of expression in Veronese's -Presentation of the Queen of Sheba. - -§ 23. This picture is at Turin, and is of quite inestimable value. It is -hung high; and the really principal figure--the Solomon, being in the -shade, can hardly be seen, but is painted with Veronese's utmost -tenderness, in the bloom of perfect youth, his hair golden, short, -crisply curled. He is seated high on his lion throne; two elders on each -side beneath him, the whole group forming a tower of solemn shade. I -have alluded, elsewhere, to the principle on which all the best -composers act, of supporting these lofty groups by some vigorous mass of -foundation. This column of noble shade is curiously sustained. A -falconer leans forward from the left-hand side, bearing on his wrist a -snow-white falcon, its wings spread, and brilliantly relieved against -the purple robe of one of the elders. It touches with its wings one of -the golden lions of the throne, on which the light also flashes -strongly; thus forming, together with it, the lion and eagle symbol, -which is the type of Christ throughout medićval work. In order to show -the meaning of this symbol, and that Solomon is typically invested with -the Christian royalty, one of the elders, by a bold anachronism, holds a -jewel in his hand of the shape of a cross, with which he (by accident of -gesture) points to Solomon; his other hand is laid on an open book. - -§ 24. The group opposite, of which the queen forms the centre, is also -painted with Veronese's highest skill; but contains no point of interest -bearing on our present subject, except its connection by a chain of -descending emotion. The Queen is wholly oppressed and subdued; kneeling, -and nearly fainting, she looks up to Solomon with tears in her eyes; he, -startled by fear for her, stoops forward from the throne, opening his -right hand, as if to support her, so as almost to drop the sceptre. At -her side her first maid of honor is kneeling also, but does not care -about Solomon; and is gathering up her dress that it may not be crushed; -and looking back to encourage a negro girl, who, carrying two toy-birds, -made of enamel and jewels, for presenting to the King, is frightened at -seeing her Queen fainting, and does not know what she ought to do; while -lastly, the Queen's dog, another of the little fringy-paws, is wholly -unabashed by Solomon's presence, or anybody else's; and stands with his -fore legs well apart, right in front of his mistress, thinking everybody -has lost their wits; and barking violently at one of the attendants, who -has set down a golden vase disrespectfully near him. - -§ 25. Throughout these designs I want the reader to notice the purpose -of representing things as they were likely to have occurred, down to -trivial, or even ludicrous detail--the nobleness of all that was -intended to be noble being so great that nothing could detract from it. -A farther instance, however, and a prettier one, of this familiar -realization, occurs in a Holy Family, by Veronese, at Brussels. The -Madonna has laid the infant Christ on a projecting base of pillar, and -stands behind, looking down on him. St. Catherine, having knelt down in -front, the child turns round to receive her--so suddenly, and so far, -that any other child must have fallen over the edge of the stone. St. -Catherine, terrified, thinking he is really going to fall, stretches out -her arms to catch him. But the Madonna looking down, only smiles, "He -will not fall." - -§ 26. A more touching instance of this realization occurs, however, in -the treatment of the saint Veronica (in the Ascent to Calvary), at -Dresden. Most painters merely represent her as one of the gentle, -weeping, attendant women; and show her giving the handkerchief as though -these women had been allowed to approach Christ without any difficulty. -But in Veronese's conception, she has to break through the executioners -to him. She is not weeping; and the expression of pity, though intense, -is overborne by that of resolution. She is determined to reach Christ; -has set her teeth close, and thrusts aside one of the executioners, who -strikes fiercely at her with a heavy doubled cord. - -§ 27. These instances are enough to explain the general character of the -mind of Veronese, capable of tragic power to the utmost, if he chooses -to exert it in that direction, but, by habitual preference, exquisitely -graceful and playful; religious without severity, and winningly noble; -delighting in slight, sweet, every-day incident, but hiding deep -meanings underneath it; rarely painting a gloomy subject, and never a -base one. - -§ 28. I have, in other places, entered enough into the examination of -the great religious mind of Tintoret; supposing then that he was -distinguished from Titian chiefly by this character. But in this I was -mistaken; the religion of Titian is like that of Shakspere--occult -behind his magnificent equity. It is not possible, however, within the -limits of this work, to give any just account of the mind of Titian: nor -shall I attempt it; but will only explain some of those more strange and -apparently inconsistent attributes of it, which might otherwise prevent -the reader from getting clue to its real tone. The first of these is its -occasional coarseness in choice of type of feature. - -§ 29. In the second volume I had to speak of Titian's Magdalen, in the -Pitti Palace, as treated basely, and that in strong terms, "the -disgusting Magdalen of the Pitti." - -Truly she is so as compared with the received types of the Magdalen. A -stout, redfaced woman, dull, and coarse of feature, with much of the -animal in even her expression of repentance--her eyes strained, and -inflamed with weeping. I ought, however, to have remembered another -picture of the Magdalen by Titian (Mr. Rogers's, now in the National -Gallery), in which she is just as refined, as in the Pitti Palace she is -gross; and had I done so, I should have seen Titian's meaning. It had -been the fashion before his time to make the Magdalen always young and -beautiful; her, if no one else, even the rudest painters flattered; her -repentance was not thought perfect unless she had lustrous hair and -lovely lips. Titian first dared to doubt the romantic fable, and reject -the narrowness of sentimental faith. He saw that it was possible for -plain women to love no less than beautiful ones; and for stout persons -to repent as well as those more delicately made. It seemed to him that -the Magdalen would have received her pardon not the less quickly because -her wit was none of the readiest; and would not have been regarded with -less compassion by her Master because her eyes were swollen, or her -dress disordered. It is just because he has set himself sternly to -enforce this lesson that the picture is so painful: the only instance, -so far as I remember, of Titian's painting a woman markedly and entirely -belonging to the lowest class. - -§ 30. It may perhaps appear more difficult to account for the -alternation of Titian's great religious pictures with others devoted -wholly to the expression of sensual qualities, or to exulting and bright -representation of heathen deities. - -The Venetian mind, we have said, and Titian's especially, as the central -type of it, was wholly realist, universal, and manly. - -In this breadth and realism, the painter saw that sensual passion in man -was, not only a fact, but a Divine fact; the human creature, though the -highest of the animals, was, nevertheless, a perfect animal, and his -happiness, health, and nobleness depended on the due power of every -animal passion, as well as the cultivation of every spiritual tendency. - -He thought that every feeling of the mind and heart, as well as every -form of the body, deserved painting. Also to a painter's true and highly -trained instinct, the human body is the loveliest of all objects. I do -not stay to trace the reasons why, at Venice, the female body could be -found in more perfect beauty than the male; but so it was, and it -becomes the principal subject therefore, both with Giorgione and Titian. -They painted it fearlessly, with all right and natural qualities; never, -however, representing it as exercising any overpowering attractive -influence on man; but only on the Faun or Satyr. - -Yet they did this so majestically that I am perfectly certain no -untouched Venetian picture ever yet excited one base thought (otherwise -than in base persons anything may do so); while in the greatest studies -of the female body by the Venetians, all other characters are overborne -by majesty, and the form becomes as pure as that of a Greek statue. - -§ 31. There is no need, I should think, to point out how this -contemplation of the entire personal nature was reconcilable with the -severest conceptions of religious duty and faith. - -But the fond introduction of heathen gods may appear less explicable. - -On examination, however, it will be found, that these deities are never -painted with any heart-reverence or affection. They are introduced for -the most part symbolically (Bacchus and Venus oftenest, as incarnations -of the spirit of revelry and beauty), of course always conceived with -deep imaginative truth, much resembling the mode of Keats's conception; -but never so as to withdraw any of the deep devotion referred to the -objects of Christian faith. - -In all its roots of power, and modes of work;--in its belief, its -breadth, and its judgment, I find the Venetian mind perfect. - -How, then, did its art so swiftly pass away? How become, what it became -unquestionably, one of the chief causes of the corruption of the mind of -Italy, and of her subsequent decline in moral and political power? - -§ 32. By reason of one great, one fatal fault;--recklessness in aim. -Wholly noble in its sources, it was wholly unworthy in its purposes. - -Separate and strong, like Samson, chosen from its youth, and with the -spirit of God visibly resting on it,--like him, it warred in careless -strength, and wantoned in untimely pleasure. No Venetian painter ever -worked with any aim beyond that of delighting the eye, or expressing -fancies agreeable to himself or flattering to his nation. They could not -be either unless they were religious. But he did not desire the -religion. He desired the delight. - -The Assumption is a noble picture, because Titian believed in the -Madonna. But he did not paint it to make any one else believe in her. He -painted it because he enjoyed rich masses of red and blue, and faces -flushed with sunlight. - -Tintoret's Paradise is a noble picture, because he believed in Paradise. -But he did not paint it to make any one think of heaven; but to form a -beautiful termination for the hall of the greater council. - -Other men used their effete faiths and mean faculties with a high moral -purpose. The Venetian gave the most earnest faith, and the lordliest -faculty, to gild the shadows of an ante-chamber, or heighten the -splendors of a holiday. - -§ 33. Strange, and lamentable as this carelessness may appear, I find it -to be almost the law with the great workers. Weak and vain men have -acute consciences, and labor under a profound sense of responsibility. -The strong men, sternly disdainful of themselves, do what they can, too -often merely as it pleases them at the moment, reckless what comes of -it. - -I know not how far in humility, or how far in bitter and hopeless -levity, the great Venetians gave their art to be blasted by the -sea-winds or wasted by the worm. I know not whether in sorrowful -obedience, or in wanton compliance, they fostered the folly, and -enriched the luxury of their age. This only I know, that in proportion -to the greatness of their power was the shame of its desecration and the -suddenness of its fall. The enchanter's spell, woven by centuries of -toil, was broken in the weakness of a moment; and swiftly, and utterly, -as a rainbow vanishes, the radiance and the strength faded from the -wings of the Lion. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Anacreon, Ode 12th. - - [2] Herod, i. 59. - - [3] Lucian (Micyllus). - - [4] Aristophanes, Plutus. - - [5] Hippias Major, 208. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -DURER AND SALVATOR. - -"EMIGRAVIT." - - -§ 1. BY referring to the first analysis of our subject, it will be seen -we have next to examine the art which cannot conquer the evil, but -remains at war with, or in captivity to it. - -Up to the time of the Reformation it was possible for men even of the -highest powers of intellect to obtain a tranquillity of faith, in the -highest degree favorable to the pursuit of any particular art. Possible, -at least, we see it to have been; there is no need--nor, so far as I -see, any ground, for argument about it. I am myself unable to understand -how it was so; but the fact is unquestionable. It is not that I wonder -at men's trust in the Pope's infallibility, or in his virtue; nor at -their surrendering their private judgment; nor at their being easily -cheated by imitations of miracles; nor at their thinking indulgences -could be purchased with money. But I wonder at this one thing only; the -acceptance of the doctrine of eternal punishment as dependent on -accident of birth, or momentary excitement of devotional feeling. I -marvel at the acceptance of the system (as stated in its fulness by -Dante) which condemned guiltless persons to the loss of heaven because -they had lived before Christ, and which made the obtaining of Paradise -turn frequently on a passing thought or a momentary invocation. How this -came to pass, it is no part of our work here to determine. That in this -faith, it was possible to attain entire peace of mind; to live calmly, -and die hopefully, is indisputable. - -§ 2. But this possibility ceased at the Reformation. Thenceforward human -life became a school of debate, troubled and fearful. Fifteen hundred -years of spiritual teaching were called into fearful question, whether -indeed it had been teaching by angels or devils? Whatever it had been, -there was no longer any way of trusting it peacefully. - -A dark time for all men. We cannot now conceive it. The great horror of -it lay in this:--that, as in the trial-hour of the Greek, the heavens -themselves seemed to have deceived those who had trusted in them. - -"We had prayed with tears; we had loved with our hearts. There was no -choice of way open to us. No guidance from God or man, other than this, -and behold, it was a lie. 'When He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, He -shall guide you into all truth.' And He has guided us into _no_ truth. -There can be no such Spirit. There is no Advocate, no Comforter. Has -there been no Resurrection?" - -§ 3. Then came the Resurrection of Death. Never since man first saw him, -face to face, had his terror been so great. "Swallowed up in victory:" -alas! no; but king over all the earth. All faith, hope, and fond belief -were betrayed. Nothing of futurity was now sure but the grave. - -For the Pan-Athenaic Triumph and the Feast of Jubilee, there came up, -through fields of spring, the dance of Death. - -The brood of weak men fled from the face of him. A new Bacchus and his -crew this, with worm for snake and gall for wine. They recoiled to such -pleasure as yet remained possible to them--feeble infidelities, and -luxurious sciences, and so went their way. - -§ 4. At least, of the men with whom we are concerned--the artists--this -was almost the universal fate. They gave themselves to the following of -pleasure only; and as a religious school, after a few pale rays of -fading sanctity from Guido, and brown gleams of gipsy Madonnahood from -Murillo, came utterly to an end. - -Three men only stood firm, facing the new Dionysiac revel, to see what -would come of it. - -Two in the north, Holbein and Durer, and, later, one in the south, -Salvator. - -But the ground on which they stood differed strangely; Durer and -Holbein, amidst the formal delights, the tender religions, and practical -science, of domestic life and honest commerce. Salvator, amidst the -pride of lascivious wealth, and the outlawed distress of impious -poverty. - -§ 5. It would be impossible to imagine any two phases of scenery or -society more contrary in character, more opposite in teaching, than -those surrounding Nuremberg and Naples, in the sixteenth and seventeenth -centuries. What they were then, both districts still to all general -intents remain. The cities have in each case lost their splendor and -power, but not their character. The surrounding scenery remains wholly -unchanged. It is still in our power, from the actual aspect of the -places, to conceive their effect on the youth of the two painters. - -[Illustration: 76. The Moat of Nuremberg.] - -§ 6. Nuremberg is gathered at the base of a sandstone rock, rising in -the midst of a dry but fertile plain. The rock forms a prolonged and -curved ridge, of which the concave side, at the highest point, is -precipitous; the other slopes gradually to the plain. Fortified with -wall and tower along its whole crest, and crowned with a stately castle, -it defends the city--not with its precipitous side--but with its slope. -The precipice is turned to the town. It wears no aspect of hostility -towards the surrounding fields; the roads lead down into them by gentle -descents from the gates. To the south and east the walls are on the -level of the plain; within them, the city itself stands on two swells of -hill, divided by a winding river. Its architecture has, however, been -much overrated. The effect of the streets, so delightful to the eye of -the passing traveller, depends chiefly on one appendage of the roof, -namely, its warehouse windows. Every house, almost without exception, -has at least one boldly opening dormer window, the roof of which -sustains a pulley for raising goods; and the underpart of this strong -overhanging roof is always carved with a rich pattern, not of refined -design, but effective.[1] Among these comparatively modern structures -are mingled, however, not unfrequently, others, turreted at the angles, -which are true Gothic of the fifteenth, some of the fourteenth, century; -and the principal churches remain nearly as in Durer's time. Their -Gothic is none of it good, nor even rich (though the façades have their -ornament so distributed as to give them a sufficiently elaborate -effect at a distance); their size is diminutive; their interiors mean, -rude, and ill-proportioned, wholly dependent for their interest on -ingenious stone cutting in corners, and finely-twisted ironwork; of -these the mason's exercises are in the worst possible taste, possessing -not even the merit of delicate execution; but the designs in metal are -usually meritorious, and Fischer's shrine of St. Sebald is good, and may -rank with Italian work.[2] - -§ 7. Though, however, not comparable for an instant to any great Italian -or French city, Nuremberg possesses one character peculiar to itself, -that of a self-restrained, contented, quaint domesticity. It would be -vain to expect any first-rate painting, sculpture, or poetry, from the -well-regulated community of merchants of small ware. But it is evident -they were affectionate and trustworthy--that they had playful fancy, and -honorable pride. There is no exalted grandeur in their city, nor any -deep beauty; but an imaginative homeliness, mingled with some elements -of melancholy and power, and a few even of grace. - -This homeliness, among many other causes, arises out of one in chief. -The richness of the houses depends, as I just said, on the dormer -windows: but their deeper character on the pitch and space of roofs. I -had to notice long ago how much our English cottage depended for -expression on its steep roof. The German house does so in far greater -degree. Plate 76 is engraved[3] from a slight pen-and-ink sketch of mine -on the ramparts of Nuremberg, showing a piece of its moat and wall, and -a little corner of the city beneath the castle; of which the tower on -the extreme right rises just in front of Durer's house. The character -of this scene approaches more nearly that which Durer would see in his -daily walks, than most of the modernized inner streets. In Durer's own -engraving, "The Cannon," the distance (of which the most important -passage is facsimiled in my Elements of Drawing, p. 111) is an actual -portrait of part of the landscape seen from those castle ramparts, -looking towards Franconian Switzerland. - -§ 8. If the reader will be at the pains to turn to it, he will see at a -glance the elements of the Nuremberg country, as they still exist. -Wooden cottages, thickly grouped, enormously high in the roofs; the -sharp church spire, small and slightly grotesque, surmounting them; -beyond, a richly cultivated, healthy plain bounded by woody hills. By a -strange coincidence the very plant which constitutes the staple produce -of those fields, is in almost ludicrous harmony with the grotesqueness -and neatness of the architecture around; and one may almost fancy that -the builders of the little knotted spires and turrets of the town, and -workers of its dark iron flowers, are in spiritual presence, watching -and guiding the produce of the field,--when one finds the footpaths -bordered everywhere, by the bossy spires and lustrous jetty flowers of -the black hollyhock. - -§ 9. Lastly, when Durer penetrated among those hills of Franconia he -would find himself in a pastoral country, much resembling the Gruyčre -districts of Switzerland, but less thickly inhabited, and giving in its -steep, though not lofty, rocks,--its scattered pines,--and its -fortresses and chapels, the motives of all the wilder landscape -introduced by the painter in such pieces as his St. Jerome, or St. -Hubert. His continual and forced introduction of sea in almost every -scene, much as it seems to me to be regretted, is possibly owing to his -happy recollections of the sea-city where he received the rarest of all -rewards granted to a good workman; and, for once in his life, was -understood. - -§ 10. Among this pastoral simplicity and formal sweetness of domestic -peace, Durer had to work out his question concerning the grave. It -haunted him long; he learned to engrave death's heads well before he had -done with it; looked deeper than any other man into those strange rings, -their jewels lost; and gave answer at last conclusively in his great -Knight and Death--of which more presently. But while the Nuremberg -landscape is still fresh in our minds, we had better turn south quickly -and compare the elements of education which formed, and of creation -which companioned, Salvator. - -§ 11. Born with a wild and coarse nature (how coarse I will show you -soon), but nevertheless an honest one, he set himself in youth hotly to -the war, and cast himself carelessly on the current of life. No -rectitude of ledger-lines stood in his way; no tender precision of -household customs; no calm successions of rural labor. But past his -half-starved lips rolled profusion of pitiless wealth; before him glared -and swept the troops of shameless pleasure. Above him muttered Vesuvius; -beneath his feet shook the Solfatara. - -In heart disdainful, in temper adventurous; conscious of power, -impatient of labor, and yet more of the pride of the patrons of his -youth, he fled to the Calabrian hills, seeking, not knowledge, but -freedom. If he was to be surrounded by cruelty and deceit, let them at -least be those of brave men or savage beasts, not of the timorous and -the contemptible. Better the wrath of the robber, than enmity of the -priest; and the cunning of the wolf than of the hypocrite. - -§ 12. We are accustomed to hear the south of Italy spoken of as a -beautiful country. Its mountain forms are graceful above others, its -sea-bays exquisite in outline and hue; but it is only beautiful in -superficial aspect. In closer detail it is wild and melancholy. Its -forests are sombre-leafed, labyrinth-stemmed; the carubbe, the olive, -laurel, and ilex, are alike in that strange feverish twisting of their -branches, as if in spasms of half human pain:--Avernus forests; one -fears to break their boughs, lest they should cry to us from their -rents; the rocks they shade are of ashes, or thrice-molten lava; iron -sponge, whose every pore has been filled with fire. Silent villages, -earthquake-shaken, without commerce, without industry, without -knowledge, without hope, gleam in white ruin from hill-side to -hill-side; far-winding wrecks of immemorial walls surround the dust of -cities long forsaken: the mountain streams moan through the cold arches -of their foundations, green with weed, and rage over the heaps of their -fallen towers. Far above, in thunder-blue serration, stand the eternal -edges of the angry Apennine, dark with rolling impendence of volcanic -cloud. - -§ 13. Yet even among such scenes as these, Salvator might have been -calmed and exalted, had he been, indeed, capable of exaltation. But he -was not of high temper enough to perceive beauty. He had not the sacred -sense--the sense of color; all the loveliest hues of the Calabrian air -were invisible to him; the sorrowful desolation of the Calabrian -villages unfelt. He saw only what was gross and terrible,--the jagged -peak, the splintered tree, the flowerless bank of grass, and wandering -weed, prickly and pale. His temper confirmed itself in evil, and became -more and more fierce and morose; though not, I believe, cruel, -ungenerous, or lascivious. I should not suspect Salvator of wantonly -inflicting pain. His constantly painting it does not prove he delighted -in it; he felt the horror of it, and in that horror, fascination. Also, -he desired fame, and saw that here was an untried field rich enough in -morbid excitement to catch the humor of his indolent patrons. But the -gloom gained upon him, and grasped him. He could jest, indeed, as men -jest in prison-yards (he became afterwards a renowned mime in Florence); -his satires are full of good mocking, but his own doom to sadness is -never repealed. - -§ 14. Of all men whose work I have ever studied, he gives me most -distinctly the idea of a lost spirit. Michelet calls him "Ce damné -Salvator," perhaps in a sense merely harsh and violent; the epithet to -me seems true in a more literal, more merciful sense,--"That condemned -Salvator." I see in him, notwithstanding all his baseness, the last -traces of spiritual life in the art of Europe. He was the last man to -whom the thought of a spiritual existence presented itself as a -conceivable reality. All succeeding men, however powerful--Rembrandt, -Rubens, Vandyke, Reynolds--would have mocked at the idea of a spirit. -They were men of the world; they are never in earnest, and they are -never appalled. But Salvator was capable of pensiveness, of faith, and -of fear. The misery of the earth is a marvel to him; he cannot leave off -gazing at it. The religion of the earth is a horror to him. He gnashes -his teeth at it, rages at it, mocks and gibes at it. He would have -acknowledged religion, had he seen any that was true. Anything rather -than that baseness which he did see. "If there is no other religion -than this of pope and cardinals, let us to the robber's ambush and the -dragon's den." He was capable of fear also. The gray spectre, -horse-headed, striding across the sky--(in the Pitti Palace)--its bat -wings spread, green bars of the twilight seen between its bones; it was -no play to him--the painting of it. Helpless Salvator! A little early -sympathy, a word of true guidance, perhaps, had saved him. What says he -of himself? "Despiser of wealth and of death." Two grand scorns; but, -oh, condemned Salvator! the question is not for man what he can scorn, -but what he can love. - -§ 15. I do not care to trace the various hold which Hades takes on this -fallen soul. It is no part of my work here to analyze his art, nor even -that of Durer; all that we need to note is the opposite answer they gave -to the question about death. - -To Salvator it came in narrow terms. Desolation, without hope, -throughout the fields of nature he had to explore; hypocrisy and -sensuality, triumphant and shameless, in the cities from which he -derived his support. His life, so far as any nobility remained in it, -could only pass in horror, disdain, or despair. It is difficult to say -which of the three prevails most in his common work; but his answer to -the great question was of despair only. He represents "Umana Fragilita" -by the type of a skeleton with plumy wings, leaning over a woman and -child; the earth covered with ruin round them--a thistle, casting its -seed, the only fruit of it. "Thorns, also, and thistles shall it bring -forth to thee." The same tone of thought marks all Salvator's more -earnest work. - -§ 16. On the contrary, in the sight of Durer, things were for the most -part as they ought to be. Men did their work in his city and in the -fields round it. The clergy were sincere. Great social questions -unagitated; great social evils either non-existent, or seemingly a part -of the nature of things, and inevitable. His answer was that of patient -hope; and twofold, consisting of one design in praise of Fortitude, and -another in praise of Labor. The Fortitude, commonly known as the "Knight -and Death," represents a knight riding through a dark valley overhung by -leafless trees, and with a great castle on a hill beyond. Beside him, -but a little in advance, rides Death on a pale horse. Death is -gray-haired and crowned;--serpents wreathed about his crown; (the sting -of death involved in the kingly power). He holds up the hour-glass, and -looks earnestly into the knight's face. Behind him follows Sin; but Sin -powerless; he has been conquered and passed by, but follows yet, -watching if any way of assault remains. On his forehead are two horns--I -think, of sea-shell--to indicate his insatiableness and instability. He -has also the twisted horns of the ram, for stubbornness, the ears of an -ass, the snout of a swine, the hoofs of a goat. Torn wings hang useless -from his shoulders, and he carries a spear with two hooks, for catching -as well as wounding. The knight does not heed him, nor even Death, -though he is conscious of the presence of the last. - -He rides quietly, his bridle firm in his hand, and his lips set close in -a slight sorrowful smile, for he hears what Death is saying; and hears -it as the word of a messenger who brings pleasant tidings, thinking to -bring evil ones. A little branch of delicate heath is twisted round his -helmet. His horse trots proudly and straight; its head high, and with a -cluster of oak on the brow where on the fiend's brow is the sea-shell -horn. But the horse of Death stoops its head; and its rein catches the -little bell which hangs from the knight's horse-bridle, making it toll, -as a passing bell.[4] - -§ 17. Durer's second answer is the plate of "Melencholia," which is the -history of the sorrowful toil of the earth, as the "Knight and Death" is -of its sorrowful patience under temptation. - -Salvator's answer, remember, is in both respects that of despair. Death -as he reads, lord of temptation, is victor over the spirit of man; and -lord of ruin, is victor over the work of man. Durer declares the sad, -but unsullied conquest over Death the tempter; and the sad, but -enduring conquest over Death the destroyer. - -§ 18. Though the general intent of the Melencholia is clear, and to be -felt at a glance, I am in some doubt respecting its special symbolism. I -do not know how far Durer intended to show that labor, in many of its -most earnest forms, is closely connected with the morbid sadness, or -"dark anger," of the northern nations. Truly some of the best work ever -done for man, has been in that dark anger;[5] but I have not yet been -able to determine for myself how far this is necessary, or how far great -work may also be done with cheerfulness. If I knew what the truth was, I -should be able to interpret Durer better; meantime the design seems to -me his answer to the complaint, "Yet is his strength labor and sorrow." - -"Yes," he replies, "but labor and sorrow are his strength." - -§ 19. The labor indicated is in the daily work of men. Not the inspired -or gifted labor of the few (it is labor connected with the sciences, not -with the arts), shown in its four chief functions: thoughtful, faithful, -calculating and executing. - -Thoughtful, first; all true power coming of that resolved, resistless -calm of melancholy thought. This is the first and last message of the -whole design. Faithful, the right arm of the spirit resting on the book. -Calculating (chiefly in the sense of self-command), the compasses in her -right hand. Executive--roughest instruments of labor at her feet: a -crucible, and geometrical solids, indicating her work in the sciences. -Over her head the hour-glass and the bell, for their continual words, -"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do." Beside her, childish labor -(lesson-learning?) sitting on an old millstone, with a tablet on its -knees. I do not know what instrument it has in its hand. At her knees, a -wolf-hound asleep. In the distance, a comet (the disorder and -threatening of the universe) setting, the rainbow dominant over it. Her -strong body is close girded for work; at her waist hang the keys of -wealth; but the coin is cast aside contemptuously under her feet. She -has eagles' wings, and is crowned with fair leafage of spring. - -Yes, Albert of Nuremberg, it was a noble answer, yet an imperfect one. -This is indeed the labor which is crowned with laurel and has the wings -of the eagle. It was reserved for another country to prove, for another -hand to portray, the labor which is crowned with fire, and has the wings -of the bat. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] To obtain room for the goods, the roofs slope steeply, and their - other dormer windows are richly carved--but all are of wood; and, for - the most part, I think, some hundred years later than Durer's time. A - large number of the oriel and bow windows on the façades are wooden - also, and of recent date. - - [2] His piece in the cathedral of Magdeburg is strangely inferior, - wanting both the grace of composition and bold handling of the St. - Sebald's. The bronze fountains at Nuremberg (three, of fame, in as - many squares) are highly wrought, and have considerable merit; the - ordinary ironwork of the houses, with less pretension, is, perhaps, - more truly artistic. In Plate 52, the right-hand figure is a - characteristic example of the bell-handle at the door of a private - house, composed of a wreath of flowers and leafage twisted in a - spiral round an upright rod, the spiral terminating below in a - delicate tendril; the whole of wrought iron. It is longer than - represented, some of the leaf-links of the chain being omitted in the - dotted spaces, as well as the handle, which, though often itself of - leafage, is always convenient for the hand. - - [3] By Mr. Le Keux, very admirably. - - [4] This was first pointed out to me by a friend--Mr. Robin Allen. It - is a beautiful thought; yet, possibly, an after-thought, I have some - suspicion that there is an alteration in the plate at that place, and - that the rope to which the bell hangs was originally the line of the - chest of the nearer horse, as the grass-blades about the lifted hind - leg conceal the lines which could not, in Durer's way of work, be - effaced, indicating its first intended position. What a proof of his - general decision of handling is involved in this "repentir"! - - [5] "Yet withal, you see that the Monarch is a great, valiant, - cautious, melancholy, commanding man"--Friends in Council, last - volume, p. 269; Milverton giving an account of Titian's picture of - Charles the Fifth. (Compare Ellesmere's description of Milverton - himself, p. 140.) Read carefully also what is said further on - respecting Titian's freedom, and fearless with holding of flattery; - comparing it with the note on Giorgione and Titian. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CLAUDE AND POUSSIN. - - -§ 1. It was stated in the last chapter that Salvator was the last -painter of Italy on whom any fading trace of the old faithful spirit -rested. Carrying some of its passion far into the seventeenth century, -he deserved to be remembered together with the painters whom the -questioning of the Reformation had exercised, eighty years before. Not -so his contemporaries. The whole body of painters around him, but -chiefly those of landscape, had cast aside all regard for the faith of -their fathers, or for any other; and founded a school of art properly -called "classical,"[1] of which the following are the chief -characteristics. - -§ 2. The belief in a supreme benevolent Being having ceased, and the -sense of spiritual destitution fastening on the mind, together with the -hopeless perception of ruin and decay in the existing world, the -imagination sought to quit itself from the oppression of these ideas by -realizing a perfect worldly felicity, in which the inevitable ruin -should at least be lovely, and the necessarily short life entirely happy -and refined. Labor must be banished, since it was to be unrewarded. -Humiliation and degradation of body must be prevented since there could -be no compensation for them by preparation of the soul for another -world. Let us eat and drink (refinedly), for to-morrow we die, and -attain the highest possible dignity as men in this world, since we shall -have none as spirits in the next. - -§ 3. Observe, this is neither the Greek nor the Roman spirit. Neither -Claude, nor Poussin, nor any other painter or writer, properly termed -"classical," ever could enter into the Greek or Roman heart, which was -as full, in many cases fuller, of the hope of immortality than our own. - -On the absence of belief in a good supreme Being, follows, necessarily, -the habit of looking to ourselves for supreme judgment in all matters, -and for supreme government. Hence, first, the irreverent habit of -judgment instead of admiration. It is generally expressed under the -justly degrading term "good taste." - -§ 4. Hence, in the second place, the habit of restraint or -self-government (instead of impulsive and limitless obedience), based -upon pride, and involving, for the most part, scorn of the helpless and -weak, and respect only for the orders of men who have been trained to -this habit of self-government. Whence the title classical, from the -Latin _classicus_. - -§ 5. The school is, therefore, generally to be characterized as that of -taste and restraint. As the school of taste, everything is, in its -estimation, beneath it, so as to be tasted or tested; not above it, to -be thankfully received. Nothing was to be fed upon as bread; but only -palated as a dainty. This spirit has destroyed art since the close of -the sixteenth century, and nearly destroyed French literature, our -English literature being at the same time severely depressed, and our -education (except in bodily strength) rendered nearly nugatory by it, so -far as it affects common-place minds. It is not possible that the -classical spirit should ever take possession of a mind of the highest -order. Pope is, as far as I know, the greatest man who ever fell -strongly under its influence; and though it spoiled half his work, he -broke through it continually into true enthusiasm and tender thought.[2] -Again, as the school of reserve, it refuses to allow itself in any -violent or "spasmodic" passion; the schools of literature which have -been in modern times called "spasmodic," being reactionary against it. -The word, though an ugly one, is quite accurate, the most spasmodic -books in the world being Solomon's Song, Job, and Isaiah. - -§ 6. The classical landscape, properly so called, is therefore the -representative of perfectly trained and civilized human life, associated -with perfect natural scenery and with decorative spiritual powers. - -I will expand this definition a little. - -1. Perfectly civilized human life; that is, life freed from the -necessity of humiliating labor, from passions inducing bodily disease, -and from abusing misfortune. The personages of the classical landscape, -therefore, must be virtuous and amiable; if employed in labor, endowed -with strength such as may make it not oppressive. (Considered as a -practicable ideal, the classical life necessarily implies slavery, and -the command, therefore, of a higher order of men over a lower, occupied -in servile work.) Pastoral occupation is allowable as a contrast with -city life. War, if undertaken by classical persons, must be a contest -for honor, more than for life, not at all for wealth,[3] and free from -all fearful or debasing passion. Classical persons must be trained in -all the polite arts, and, because their health is to be perfect, chiefly -in the open air. Hence, the architecture around them must be of the most -finished kind, the rough country and ground being subdued by frequent -and happy humanity. - -§ 7. 2. Such personages and buildings must be associated with natural -scenery, uninjured by storms or inclemency of climate (such injury -implying interruption of the open air life); and it must be scenery -conducing to pleasure, not to material service; all cornfields, -orchards, olive-yards, and such like, being under the management of -slaves,[4] and the superior beings having nothing to do with them; but -passing their lives under avenues of scented and otherwise delightful -trees--under picturesque rocks, and by clear fountains. - -§ 8. 3. The spiritual powers in classical scenery must be decorative; -ornamental gods, not governing gods; otherwise they could not be -subjected to the principles of taste, but would demand reverence. In -order, therefore, as far as possible, without taking away their -supernatural power, to destroy their dignity, they are made more -criminal and capricious than men, and, for the most part, those only are -introduced who are the lords of lascivious pleasures. For the appearance -of any great god would at once destroy the whole theory of the classical -life; therefore, Pan, Bacchus, and the Satyrs, with Venus and the -Nymphs, are the principal spiritual powers of the classical landscape. -Apollo with the Muses appear as the patrons of the liberal arts. Minerva -rarely presents herself (except to be insulted by judgment of Paris); -Juno seldom, except for some purpose of tyranny; Jupiter seldom, but for -purpose of amour. - -§ 9. Such being the general ideal of the classical landscape, it can -hardly be necessary to show the reader how such charm as it possesses -must in general be strong only over weak or second-rate orders of mind. -It has, however, been often experimentally or playfully aimed at by -great men; but I shall only take note of its two leading masters. - -§ 10. I. Claude. As I shall have no farther occasion to refer to this -painter, I will resume, shortly, what has been said of him throughout -the work. He had a fine feeling for beauty of form and considerable -tenderness of perception. Vol. I., p. 76; vol. III., p. 318. His aërial -effects are unequalled. Vol. III., p. 318. Their character appears to me -to arise rather from a delicacy of bodily constitution in Claude, than -from any mental sensibility; such as they are, they give a kind of -feminine charm to his work, which partly accounts for its wide -influence. To whatever the character may be traced, it reads him -incapable of enjoying or painting anything energetic or terrible. Hence -the weakness of his conceptions of rough sea. Vol. I., p. 77. - -II. He had sincerity of purpose. Vol. III., p. 318. But in common with -other landscape painters of his day, neither earnestness, humility, nor -love, such as would ever cause him to forget himself. Vol. I., p. 77. - -That is to say, so far as he felt the truth, he tried to be true; but he -never felt it enough to sacrifice supposed propriety, or habitual method -to it. Very few of his sketches, and none of his pictures, show evidence -of interest in other natural phenomena than the quiet afternoon sunshine -which would fall methodically into a composition. One would suppose he -had never seen scarlet in a morning cloud, nor a storm burst on the -Apennines. But he enjoys a quiet misty afternoon in a ruminant sort of -way (Vol. III., p. 322), yet truly; and strives for the likeness of it, -therein differing from Salvator, who never attempts to be truthful, but -only to be impressive. - -§ 11. III. His seas are the most beautiful in old art. Vol. I., p. 345. -For he studied tame waves, as he did tame skies, with great sincerity, -and some affection; and modelled them with more care not only than any -other landscape painter of his day, but even than any of the greater -men; for they, seeing the perfect painting of sea to be impossible, gave -up the attempt, and treated it conventionally. But Claude took so much -pains about this, feeling it was one of his _fortes_, that I suppose no -one can model a small wave better than he. - -IV. He first set the pictorial sun in the pictorial heaven. Vol. III., -p. 318. We will give him the credit of this, with no drawbacks. - -V. He had hardly any knowledge of physical science (Vol. I., p. 76), and -shows a peculiar incapacity of understanding the main point of a matter. -Vol. III., p. 321. Connected with which incapacity is his want of -harmony in expression. Vol. II., p. 151. (Compare, for illustration of -this, the account of the picture of the Mill in the preface to Vol. I.) - -§ 12. Such were the principal qualities of the leading painter of -classical landscape, his effeminate softness carrying him to dislike all -evidences of toil, or distress, or terror, and to delight in the calm -formalities which mark the school. - -Although he often introduces romantic incidents and medićval as well as -Greek or Roman personages, his landscape is always in the true sense -classic--everything being "elegantly" (selectingly or tastefully), not -passionately, treated. The absence of indications of rural labor, of -hedges, ditches, haystacks, ploughed fields, and the like; the frequent -occurrence of ruins of temples, or masses of unruined palaces; and the -graceful wildness of growth in his trees, are the principal sources of -the "elevated" character which so many persons feel in his scenery. - -There is no other sentiment traceable in his work than this weak dislike -to entertain the conception of toil or suffering. Ideas of relation, in -the true sense, he has none; nor ever makes an effort to conceive an -event in its probable circumstances, but fills his foregrounds with -decorative figures, using commonest conventionalism to indicate the -subject he intends. We may take two examples, merely to show the general -character of such designs of his. - -§ 13. 1. St. George and the Dragon. - -The scene is a beautiful opening in woods by a river side, a pleasant -fountain springs on the right, and the usual rich vegetation covers the -foreground. The dragon is about the size of ten bramble leaves, and is -being killed by the remains of a lance, barely the thickness of a -walking-stick, in his throat, curling his tail in a highly offensive and -threatening manner. St. George, notwithstanding, on a prancing horse, -brandishes his sword, at about thirty yards' distance from the offensive -animal. - -A semicircular shelf of rocks encircles the foreground, by which the -theatre of action is divided into pit and boxes. Some women and children -having descended unadvisedly into the pit, are helping each other out of -it again, with marked precipitation. A prudent person of rank has taken -a front seat in the boxes,--crosses his legs, leans his head on his -hand, and contemplates the proceedings with the air of a connoisseur. -Two attendants stand in graceful attitudes behind him, and two more walk -away under the trees, conversing on general subjects. - -§ 14. 2. Worship of the Golden Calf. - -The scene is nearly the same as that of the St. George; but, in order -better to express the desert of Sinai, the river is much larger, and the -trees and vegetation softer. Two people, uninterested in the idolatrous -ceremonies, are rowing in a pleasure boat on the river. The calf is -about sixteen inches long (perhaps, we ought to give Claude credit for -remembering that it was made of ear-rings, though he might as well have -inquired how large Egyptian ear-rings were). Aaron has put it on a -handsome pillar, under which five people are dancing, and twenty-eight, -with several children, worshipping. Refreshments for the dancers are -provided in four large vases under a tree on the left, presided over by -a dignified person holding a dog in a leash. Under the distant group of -trees appears Moses, conducted by some younger personage (Nadab or -Abihu). This younger personage holds up his hands, and Moses, in the -way usually expected of him, breaks the tables of the law, which are as -large as an ordinary octavo volume. - -§ 15. I need not proceed farther, for any reader of sense or ordinary -powers of thought can thus examine the subjects of Claude, one by one, -for himself. We may quit him with these few final statements concerning -him. - -The admiration of his works was legitimate, so far as it regarded their -sunlight effects and their graceful details. It was base, in so far as -it involved irreverence both for the deeper powers of nature, and -carelessness as to conception of subject. Large admiration of Claude is -wholly impossible in any period of national vigor in art. He may by such -tenderness as he possesses, and by the very fact of his banishing -painfulness, exercise considerable influence over certain classes of -minds; but this influence is almost exclusively hurtful to them. - -§ 16. Nevertheless, on account of such small sterling qualities as they -possess, and of their general pleasantness, as well as their importance -in the history of art, genuine Claudes must always possess a -considerable value, either as drawing-room ornaments or museum relics. -They may be ranked with fine pieces of China manufacture, and other -agreeable curiosities, of which the price depends on the rarity rather -than the merit, yet always on a merit of a certain low kind. - -§ 17. The other characteristic master of classical landscape is Nicolo -Poussin. - -I named Claude first, because the forms of scenery he has represented -are richer and more general than Poussin's; but Poussin has a far -greater power, and his landscapes, though more limited in material, are -incomparably nobler than Claude's. It would take considerable time to -enter into accurate analysis of Poussin's strong but degraded mind; and -bring us no reward, because whatever he has done has been done better by -Titian. His peculiarities are, without exception, weaknesses, induced in -a highly intellectual and inventive mind by being fed on medals, books, -and bassi-relievi instead of nature, and by the want of any deep -sensibility. His best works are his Bacchanalian revels, always brightly -wanton and wild, full of frisk and fire; but they are coarser than -Titian's, and infinitely less beautiful. In all minglings of the human -and brutal character he leans on the bestial, yet with a sternly Greek -severity of treatment. This restraint, peculiarly classical, is much too -manifest in him; for, owing to his habit of never letting himself be -free, he does nothing as well as it ought to be done, rarely even as -well as he can himself do it; and his best beauty is poor, incomplete, -and characterless, though refined. The Nymph pressing the honey in the -"Nursing of Jupiter," and the Muse leaning against the tree, in the -"Inspiration of Poet" (both in the Dulwich Gallery), appear to me -examples of about his highest reach in this sphere. - -§ 18. His want of sensibility permits him to paint frightful subjects, -without feeling any true horror: his pictures of the Plague, the Death -of Polydectes, &c., are thus ghastly in incident, sometimes disgusting, -but never impressive. The prominence of the bleeding head in the Triumph -of David marks the same temper. His battle pieces are cold and feeble; -his religious subjects wholly nugatory, they do not excite him enough to -develop even his ordinary powers of invention. Neither does he put much -power into his landscape when it becomes principal; the best pieces of -it occur in fragments behind his figures. Beautiful vegetation, more or -less ornamental in character, occurs in nearly all his mythological -subjects, but his pure landscape is notable only for its dignified -reserve; the great squareness and horizontality of its masses, with -lowness of tone, giving it a deeply meditative character. His Deluge -might be much depreciated, under this head of ideas of relation, but it -is so uncharacteristic of him that I pass it by. Whatever power this -lowness of tone, light in the distance, &c., give to his landscape, or -to Gaspar's (compare Vol. II., Chapter on Infinity, § 12), is in both -conventional and artificial. - -I have nothing, therefore, to add farther, here, to what was said of him -in Vol. I. (p. 89); and, as no other older masters of the classical -landscape are worth any special note, we will pass on at once to a -school of humbler but more vital power. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word "classical" is carelessly used in the preceding volumes, - to signify the characters of the Greek or Roman nations. - Henceforward, it is used in a limited and accurate sense, as defined - in the text. - - [2] Cold-hearted, I have called him. He was so in writing the - Pastorals, of which I then spoke; but in after-life his errors were - those of his time, his wisdom was his own; it would be well if we - also made it ours. - - [3] Because the pursuit of wealth is inconsistent at once with the - peace and dignity of perfect life. - - [4] It is curious, as marking the peculiarity of the classical spirit - in its resolute degradation of the lower orders, that a - sailing-vessel is hardly admissible in a classical landscape, because - its management implies too much elevation of the inferior life. But a - galley, with oars, is admissible, because the rowers may be conceived - as absolute slaves. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -RUBENS AND CUYP. - - -§ 1. The examination of the causes which led to the final departure of -the religious spirit from the hearts of painters, would involve -discussion of the whole scope of the Reformation on the minds of persons -unconcerned directly in its progress. This is of course impossible. - -One or two broad facts only can be stated, which the reader may verify, -if he pleases, by his own labor. I do not give them rashly. - -§ 2. The strength of the Reformation lay entirely in its being a -movement towards purity of practice. - -The Catholic priesthood was hostile to it in proportion to the degree in -which they had been false to their own principles of moral action, and -had become corrupt or worldly in heart. - -The Reformers indeed cast out many absurdities, and demonstrated many -fallacies, in the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church. But they -themselves introduced errors, which rent the ranks, and finally arrested -the march of the Reformation, and which paralyze the Protestant Church -to this day. Errors of which the fatality was increased by the -controversial bent which lost accuracy of meaning in force of -declamation, and turned expressions, which ought to be used only in -retired depth of thought, into phrases of custom, or watchwords of -attack. Owing to which habits of hot, ingenious, and unguarded -controversy, the Reformed churches themselves soon forgot the meaning of -the word which, of all words, was oftenest in their mouths. They forgot -that [Greek: pistis] is a derivative of [Greek: peithomai], not of -[Greek: pisteuô], and that "fides," closely connected with "fio" on one -side, and with "confido" on the other, is but distantly related to -"credo."[1] - -§ 3. By whatever means, however, the reader may himself be disposed to -admit, the Reformation _was_ arrested; and got itself shut up into -chancels of cathedrals in England (even those, generally too large for -it), and into conventicles everywhere else. Then rising between the -infancy of Reformation, and the palsy of Catholicism;--between a new -shell of half-built religion on one side, daubed with untempered mortar, -and a falling ruin of outworn religion on the other, lizard-crannied, -and ivy-grown;--rose, on its independent foundation, the faithless and -materialized mind of modern Europe--ending in the rationalism of -Germany, the polite formalism of England, the careless blasphemy of -France, and the helpless sensualities of Italy; in the midst of which, -steadily advancing science, and the charities of more and more widely -extended peace, are preparing the way for a Christian church, which -shall depend neither on ignorance for its continuance, nor on -controversy for its progress; but shall reign at once in light, and -love. - -§ 4. The whole body of painters (such of them as were left) necessarily -fell into the rationalistic chasm. The Evangelicals despised the arts, -while the Roman Catholics were effete or insincere, and could not retain -influence over men of strong reasoning power. - -The painters could only associate frankly with men of the world, and -themselves became men of the world. Men, I mean, having no belief in -spiritual existences; no interests or affections beyond the grave. - -§ 5. Not but that they still painted scriptural subjects. Altar-pieces -were wanted occasionally, and pious patrons sometimes commissioned a -cabinet Madonna. But there is just this difference between the men of -this modern period, and the Florentines or Venetians--that whereas the -latter never exert themselves fully except on a sacred subject, the -Flemish and Dutch masters are always languid unless they are profane. -Leonardo is only to be seen in the Cena; Titian only in the Assumption; -but Rubens only in the Battle of the Amazons, and Vandyck only at court. - -§ 6. Altar-pieces, when wanted, of course either of them will supply as -readily as anything else. Virgins in blue,[2] or St. Johns in red,[3] as -many as you please. Martyrdoms also, by all means: Rubens especially -delights in these. St. Peter, head downwards,[4] is interesting -anatomically; writhings of impenitent thieves, and bishops having their -tongues pulled out, display our powers to advantage, also.[5] -Theological instruction, if required: "Christ armed with thunder, to -destroy the world, spares it at the intercession of St. Francis."[6] -Last Judgments even, quite Michael-Angelesque, rich in twistings of -limbs, with spiteful biting, and scratching; and fine aërial effects in -smoke of the pit.[7] - -§ 7. In all this, however, there is not a vestige of religious feeling -or reverence. We have even some visible difficulty in meeting our -patron's pious wishes. Daniel in the lion's den is indeed an available -subject, but duller than a lion hunt; and Mary of Nazareth must be -painted, if an order come for her; but (says polite Sir Peter), Mary of -Medicis, or Catherine, her bodice being fuller, and better embroidered, -would, if we might offer a suggestion, probably give greater -satisfaction. - -§ 8. No phenomenon in human mind is more extraordinary than the junction -of this cold and worldly temper with great rectitude of principle, and -tranquil kindness of heart. Rubens was an honorable and entirely -well-intentioned man, earnestly industrious, simple and temperate in -habits of life, high-bred, learned, and discreet. His affection for his -mother was great; his generosity to contemporary artists unfailing. He -is a healthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased--Animal--without any -clearly perceptible traces of a soul, except when he paints his -children. Few descriptions of pictures could be more ludicrous in their -pure animalism than those which he gives of his own. "It is a subject," -he writes to Sir D. Carleton, "neither sacred nor profane, although -taken from Holy Writ, namely, Sarah in the act of scolding Hagar, who, -pregnant, is leaving the house in a feminine and graceful manner, -assisted by the patriarch Abram." (What a graceful apology, by the way, -instantly follows, for not having finished the picture himself.) "I have -engaged, as is my custom, a very skilful man in his pursuit to finish -the landscapes solely to augment the enjoyment of Y. E.!"[8] - -Again, in priced catalogue,-- - -"50 florins each.--The Twelve Apostles, with a Christ. Done by my -scholars, from originals by my own hand, each having to be retouched by -my hand throughout. - -"600 florins.--A picture of Achilles clothed as a woman; done by the -best of my scholars, and the whole retouched by my hand; a most -brilliant picture, and full of many beautiful young girls." - -§ 9. Observe, however, Rubens is always entirely honorable in his -statements of what is done by himself and what not. He is religious, -too, after his manner; hears mass every morning, and perpetually uses -the phrase "by the grace of God," or some other such, in writing of any -business he takes in hand; but the tone of his religion may be -determined by one fact. - -We saw how Veronese painted himself and his family, as worshipping the -Madonna. - -Rubens has also painted himself and his family in an equally elaborate -piece. But they are not _worshipping_ the Madonna. They are _performing_ -the Madonna, and her saintly entourage. His favorite wife "En Madone;" -his youngest boy "as Christ;" his father-in-law (or father, it matters -not which) "as Simeon;" another elderly relation, with a beard, "as St. -Jerome;" and he himself "as St. George." - -§ 10. Rembrandt has also painted (it is, on the whole, his greatest -picture, so far as I have seen) himself and his wife in a state of ideal -happiness. He sits at supper with his wife on his knee, flourishing a -glass of champagne, with a roast peacock on the table. - -The Rubens is in the Church of St. James at Antwerp; the Rembrandt at -Dresden--marvellous pictures, both. No more precious works by either -painter exist. Their hearts, such as they have, are entirely in them; -and the two pictures, not inaptly, represent the Faith and Hope of the -17th century. We have to stoop somewhat lower, in order to comprehend -the pastoral and rustic scenery of Cuyp and Teniers, which must yet be -held as forming one group with the historical art of Rubens, being -connected with it by Rubens' pastoral landscape. To these, I say, we -must stoop lower; for they are destitute, not of spiritual character -only, but of spiritual thought. - -Rubens often gives instructive and magnificent allegory; Rembrandt, -pathetic or powerful fancies, founded on real scripture reading, and on -his interest in the picturesque character of the Jew. And Vandyck, a -graceful dramatic rendering of received scriptural legends. - -But in the pastoral landscape we lose, not only all faith in religion, -but all remembrance of it. Absolutely now at last we find ourselves -without sight of God in all the world. - -§ 11. So far as I can hear or read, this is an entirely new and -wonderful state of things achieved by the Hollanders. The human being -never got wholly quit of the terror of spiritual being before. Persian, -Egyptian, Assyrian, Hindoo, Chinese, all kept some dim, appalling record -of what they called "gods." Farthest savages had--and still have--their -Great Spirit, or, in extremity, their feather idols, large-eyed; but -here in Holland we have at last got utterly done with it all. Our only -idol glitters dimly, in tangible shape of a pint pot, and all the -incense offered thereto, comes out of a small censer or bowl at the end -of a pipe. Of deities or virtues, angels, principalities, or powers, in -the name of our ditches, no more. Let us have cattle, and market -vegetables. - -This is the first and essential character of the Holland landscape art. -Its second is a worthier one; respect for rural life. - -§ 12. I should attach greater importance to this rural feeling, if there -were any true humanity in it, or any feeling for beauty. But there is -neither. No incidents of this lower life are painted for the sake of the -incidents, but only for the effects of light. You will find that the -best Dutch painters do not care about the people, but about the lustres -on them. Paul Potter, their best herd and cattle painter, does not care -even for sheep, but only for wool; regards not cows, but cowhide. He -attains great dexterity in drawing tufts and locks, lingers in the -little parallel ravines and furrows of fleece that open across sheep's -backs as they turn; is unsurpassed in twisting a horn or pointing a -nose; but he cannot paint eyes, nor perceive any condition of an -animal's mind, except its desire of grazing. Cuyp can, indeed, paint -sunlight, the best that Holland's sun can show; he is a man of large -natural gift, and sees broadly, nay, even seriously; finds out--a -wonderful thing for men to find out in those days--that there are -reflections in water, and that boats require often to be painted upside -down. A brewer by trade, he feels the quiet of a summer afternoon, and -his work will make you marvellously drowsy. It is good for nothing else -that I know of: strong; but unhelpful and unthoughtful. Nothing happens -in his pictures, except some indifferent person's asking the way of -somebody else, who, by their cast of countenance, seems not likely to -know it. For farther entertainment perhaps a red cow and a white one; or -puppies at play, not playfully; the man's heart not going even with the -puppies. Essentially he sees nothing but the shine on the flaps of their -ears. - -§ 13. Observe always, the fault lies not in the thing's being little, or -the incident being slight. Titian could have put issues of life and -death into the face of a man asking the way; nay, into the back of him, -if he had so chosen. He has put a whole scheme of dogmatic theology into -a row of bishops' backs at the Louvre. And for dogs, Velasquez has made -some of them nearly as grand as his surly kings. - -Into the causes of which grandeur we must look a little, with respect -not only to these puppies, and gray horses, and cattle of Cuyp, but to -the hunting pieces of Rubens and Snyders. For closely connected with the -Dutch rejection of motives of spiritual interest, is the increasing -importance attached by them to animals, seen either in the chase or in -agriculture; and to judge justly of the value of this animal painting it -will be necessary for us to glance at that of earlier times. - -§ 14. And first of the animals which have had more influence over the -human soul, in its modern life, than ever Apis or the crocodile had -over Egyptian--the dog and horse. I stated, in speaking of Venetian -religion, that the Venetians always introduced the dog as a contrast to -the high aspects of humanity. They do this, not because they consider -him the basest of animals, but the highest--the connecting link between -men and animals; in whom the lower forms of really human feeling may be -best exemplified, such as conceit, gluttony, indolence, petulance. But -they saw the noble qualities of the dog, too;--all his patience, love, -and faithfulness; therefore Veronese, hard as he is often on lap-dogs, -has painted one great heroic poem on the dog. - -§ 15. Two mighty brindled mastiffs, and beyond them, darkness. You -scarcely see them at first, against the gloomy green. No other sky for -them--poor things. They are gray themselves, spotted with black all -over; their multitudinous doggish vices may not be washed out of -them,--are in grain of nature. Strong thewed and sinewed, however,--no -blame on them as far as bodily strength may reach; their heads -coal-black, with drooping ears and fierce eyes, bloodshot a little. -Wildest of beasts perhaps they would have been, by nature. But between -them stands the spirit of their human Love, dove-winged and beautiful, -the resistless Greek boy, golden-quivered; his glowing breast and limbs -the only light upon the sky,--purple and pure. He has cast his chain -about the dogs' necks, and holds it in his strong right hand, leaning -proudly a little back from them. They will never break loose. - -§ 16. This is Veronese's highest, or spiritual view of the dog's nature. -He can only give this when looking at the creature alone. When he sees -it in company with men, he subdues it, like an inferior light in -presence of the sky; and generally then gives it a merely brutal nature, -not insisting even on its affection. It is thus used in the Marriage in -Cana to symbolize gluttony. That great picture I have not yet had time -to examine in all its bearings of thought; but the chief purpose of it -is, I believe, to express the pomp and pleasure of the world, pursued -without thought of the presence of Christ; therefore the Fool with the -bells is put in the centre, immediately underneath the Christ; and in -front are the couple of dogs in leash, one gnawing a bone. A cat lying -on her back scratches at one of the vases which hold the wine of the -miracle. - -§ 17. In the picture of Susannah, her little pet dog is merely doing his -duty, barking at the Elders. But in that of the Magdalen (at Turin) a -noble piece of bye-meaning is brought out by a dog's help. On one side -is the principal figure, the Mary washing Christ's feet; on the other, a -dog has just come out from beneath the table (the dog under the table -eating of the crumbs), and in doing so, has touched the robe of one of -the Pharisees, thus making it unclean. The Pharisee gathers up his robe -in a passion, and shows the hem of it to a bystander, pointing to the -dog at the same time. - -§ 18. In the Supper at Emmaus, the dog's affection is, however, fully -dwelt upon. Veronese's own two little daughters are playing, on the -hither side of the table, with a great wolf-hound, larger than either of -them. One with her head down, nearly touching his nose, is talking to -him,--asking him questions it seems, nearly pushing him over at the same -time:--the other, raising her eyes, half archly, half dreamily,--some -far-away thought coming over her,--leans against him on the other side, -propping him with her little hand, laid slightly on his neck. He, all -passive, and glad at heart, yielding himself to the pushing or -sustaining hand, looks earnestly into the face of the child close to -his; would answer her with the gravity of a senator, if so it might -be:--can only look at her, and love her. - -§ 19. To Velasquez and Titian dogs seem less interesting than to -Veronese; they paint them simply as noble brown beasts, but without any -special character; perhaps Velasquez's dogs are sterner and more -threatening than the Venetian's, as are also his kings and admirals. -This fierceness in the animal increases, as the spiritual power of the -artist declines; and, with the fierceness, another character. One great -and infallible sign of the absence of spiritual power is the presence of -the slightest taint of obscenity. Dante marked this strongly in all his -representations of demons, and as we pass from the Venetians and -Florentines to the Dutch, the passing away of the soul-power is -indicated by every animal becoming savage or foul. The dog is used by -Teniers, and many other Hollanders, merely to obtain unclean jest; while -by the more powerful men, Rubens, Snyders, Rembrandt, it is painted only -in savage chase, or butchered agony. I know no pictures more shameful to -humanity than the boar and lion hunts of Rubens and Snyders, signs of -disgrace all the deeper, because the powers desecrated are so great. The -painter of the village ale-house sign may, not dishonorably, paint the -fox-hunt for the village squire; but the occupation of magnificent -art-power in giving semblance of perpetuity to those bodily pangs which -Nature has mercifully ordained to be transient, and in forcing us, by -the fascination of its stormy skill, to dwell on that from which eyes of -merciful men should instinctively turn away, and eyes of high-minded men -scornfully, is dishonorable, alike in the power which it degrades, and -the joy to which it betrays. - -§ 20. In our modern treatment of the dog, of which the prevailing -tendency is marked by Landseer, the interest taken in him is -disproportionate to that taken in man, and leads to a somewhat trivial -mingling of sentiment, or warping by caricature; giving up the true -nature of the animal for the sake of a pretty thought or pleasant jest. -Neither Titian nor Velasquez ever jest; and though Veronese jests -gracefully and tenderly, he never for an instant oversteps the absolute -facts of nature. But the English painter looks for sentiment or jest -primarily, and reaches both by a feebly romantic taint of fallacy, -except in one or two simple and touching pictures, such as the -Shepherd's Chief Mourner. - -I was pleased by a little unpretending modern German picture at -Dusseldorf, by E. Bosch, representing a boy carving a model of his -sheep-dog in wood; the dog sitting on its haunches in front of him, -watches the progress of the sculpture with a grave interest and -curiosity, not in the least caricatured, but highly humorous. Another -small picture, by the same artist, of a forester's boy being taught to -shoot by his father,--the dog critically and eagerly watching the -raising of the gun,--shows equally true sympathy. - -§ 21. I wish I were able to trace any of the leading circumstances in -the ancient treatment of the horse, but I have no sufficient data. Its -function in the art of the Greeks is connected with all their beautiful -fable philosophy; but I have not a tithe of the knowledge necessary to -pursue the subject in this direction. It branches into questions -relating to sacred animals, and Egyptian and Eastern mythology. I -believe the Greek interest in _pure_ animal character corresponded -closely to our own, except that it is less sentimental, and either -distinctly true or distinctly fabulous; not hesitating between truth and -falsehood. Achilles' horses, like Anacreon's dove, and Aristophanes' -frogs and birds, speak clearly out, if at all. They do not become feebly -human, by fallacies and exaggerations, but frankly and wholly. - -Zeuxis' picture of the Centaur indicates, however, a more distinctly -sentimental conception; and I suppose the Greek artists always to have -fully appreciated the horse's fineness of temper and nervous -constitution.[9] They seem, by the way, hardly to have done justice to -the dog. My pleasure in the entire Odyssey is diminished because Ulysses -gives not a word of kindness or of regret to Argus. - -§ 22. I am still less able to speak of Roman treatment of the horse. It -is very strange that in the chivalric ages, he is despised; their -greatest painters drawing him with ludicrous neglect. The Venetians, as -was natural, painted him little and ill; but he becomes important in the -equestrian statues of the fifteenth and sixteenth century, chiefly, I -suppose, under the influence of Leonardo. - -I am not qualified to judge of the merit of these equestrian statues; -but, in painting, I find that no real interest is taken in the horse -until Vandyck's time, he and Rubens doing more for it than all previous -painters put together. Rubens was a good rider, and rode nearly every -day, as, I doubt not, Vandyck also. Some notice of an interesting -equestrian picture of Vandyck's will be found in the next chapter. The -horse has never, I think, been painted worthily again, since he -died.[10] Of the influence of its unworthy painting, and unworthy use, I -do not at present care to speak, noticing only that it brought about in -England the last degradations of feeling and of art. The Dutch, indeed, -banished all deity from the earth; but I think only in England has -death-bed consolation been sought in a fox's tail.[11] - -I wish, however, the reader distinctly to understand that the -expressions of reprobation of field-sports which he will find scattered -through these volumes,--and which, in concluding them, I wish I had time -to collect and farther enforce--refer only to the chase and the turf; -that is to say, to hunting, shooting, and horse-racing, but not to -athletic exercises. I have just as deep a respect for boxing, wrestling, -cricketing, and rowing, as contempt of all the various modes of wasting -wealth, time, land, and energy of soul, which have been invented by the -pride and selfishness of men, in order to enable them to be healthy in -uselessness, and get quit of the burdens of their own lives, without -condescending to make them serviceable to others. - -§ 23. Lastly, of cattle. - -The period when the interest of men began to be transferred from the -ploughman to his oxen is very distinctly marked by Bassano. In him the -descent is even greater, being, accurately, from the Madonna to the -Manger--one of perhaps his best pictures (now, I believe, somewhere in -the north of England), representing an adoration of shepherds with -nothing to adore, they and their herds forming the subject, and the -Christ being "supposed" at the side. From that time cattle-pieces become -frequent, and gradually form a staple art commodity. Cuyp's are the -best; nevertheless, neither by him nor any one else have I ever seen an -entirely well-painted cow. All the men who have skill enough to paint -cattle nobly, disdain them. The real influence of these Dutch -cattle-pieces, in subsequent art, is difficult to trace, and is not -worth tracing. They contain a certain healthy appreciation of simple -pleasure which I cannot look upon wholly without respect. On the other -hand, their cheap tricks of composition degraded the entire technical -system of landscape; and their clownish and blunt vulgarities too long -blinded us, and continue, so far as in them lies, to blind us yet, to -all the true refinement and passion of rural life. There have always -been truth and depth of pastoral feeling in the works of great poets and -novelists; but never, I think, in painting, until lately. The designs of -J. C. Hook are, perhaps, the only works of the kind in existence which -deserve to be mentioned in connection with the pastorals of Wordsworth -and Tennyson. - -We must not, however, yet pass to the modern school, having still to -examine the last phase of Dutch design, in which the vulgarities which -might be forgiven to the truth of Cuyp, and forgotten in the power of -Rubens, became unpardonable and dominant in the works of men who were at -once affected and feeble. But before doing this, we must pause to settle -a preliminary question, which is an important and difficult one, and -will need a separate chapter; namely, What is vulgarity itself? - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] None of our present forms of opinion are more curious than those - which have developed themselves from this verbal carelessness. It - never seems to strike any of our religious teachers, that if a child - has a father living, it either _knows_ it has a father, or does not: - it does not "believe" it has a father. We should be surprised to see - an intelligent child standing at its garden gate, crying out to the - passers-by: "I believe in my father, because he built this house;" as - logical people proclaim that they believe in God, because He must - have made the world. - - [2] Dusseldorf. - - [3] Antwerp. - - [4] Cologne. - - [5] Brussels. - - [6] Brussels. - - [7] Munich. - - [8] Original Papers relating to Rubens; edited by W. Sainsbury. - London, 1859: page 39. Y. E. is the person who commissioned the - picture. - - [9] "A single harsh word will raise a nervous horse's pulse ten beats - a minute."--Mr. Rarey. - - [10] John Lewis has made grand sketches of the horse, but has never, - so far as I know, completed any of them. Respecting his wonderful - engravings of wild animals, see my pamphlet on Pre-Raphaelitism. - - [11] See "The Fox-hunter's Death-bed," a popular sporting print. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -OF VULGARITY. - - -§ 1. Two great errors, coloring, or rather discoloring, severally, the -minds of the higher and lower classes, have sown wide dissension, and -wider misfortune, through the society of modern days. These errors are -in our modes of interpreting the word "gentleman." - -Its primal, literal, and perpetual meaning is "a man of pure race;" well -bred, in the sense that a horse or dog is well bred. - -The so-called higher classes, being generally of purer race than the -lower, have retained the true idea, and the convictions associated with -it; but are afraid to speak it out, and equivocate about it in public; -this equivocation mainly proceeding from their desire to connect another -meaning with it, and a false one;--that of "a man living in idleness on -other people's labor;"--with which idea, the term has nothing whatever -to do. - -The lower classes, denying vigorously, and with reason, the notion that -a gentleman means an idler, and rightly feeling that the more any one -works, the more of a gentleman he becomes, and is likely to -become,--have nevertheless got little of the good they otherwise might, -from the truth, because, with it, they wanted to hold a -falsehood,--namely, that race was of no consequence. It being precisely -of as much consequence in man as it is in any other animal. - -§ 2. The nation cannot truly prosper till both these errors are finally -got quit of. Gentlemen have to learn that it is no part of their duty or -privilege to live on other people's toil. They have to learn that there -is no degradation in the hardest manual, or the humblest servile, labor, -when it is honest. But that there _is_ degradation, and that deep, in -extravagance, in bribery, in indolence, in pride, in taking places they -are not fit for, or in coining places for which there is no need. It -does not disgrace a gentleman to become an errand boy, or a day -laborer; but it disgraces him much to become a knave, or a thief. And -knavery is not the less knavery because it involves large interests, nor -theft the less theft because it is countenanced by usage, or accompanied -by failure in undertaken duty. It is an incomparably less guilty form of -robbery to cut a purse out of a man's pocket, than to take it out of his -hand on the understanding that you are to steer his ship up channel, -when you do not know the soundings. - -§ 3. On the other hand, the lower orders, and all orders, have to learn -that every vicious habit and chronic disease communicates itself by -descent; and that by purity of birth the entire system of the human body -and soul may be gradually elevated, or by recklessness of birth, -degraded; until there shall be as much difference between the well-bred -and ill-bred human creature (whatever pains be taken with their -education) as between a wolf-hound and the vilest mongrel cur. And the -knowledge of this great fact ought to regulate the education of our -youth, and the entire conduct of the nation.[1] - -§ 4. Gentlemanliness, however, in ordinary parlance, must be taken to -signify those qualities which are usually the evidence of high breeding, -and which, so far as they can be acquired, it should be every man's -effort to acquire; or, if he has them by nature, to preserve and exalt. -Vulgarity, on the other hand, will signify qualities usually -characteristic of ill-breeding, which, according to his power, it -becomes every person's duty to subdue. We have briefly to note what -these are. - -§ 5. A gentleman's first characteristic is that fineness of structure in -the body, which renders it capable of the most delicate sensation; and -of structure in the mind which renders it capable of the most delicate -sympathies--one may say, simply, "fineness of nature." This is, of -course, compatible with heroic bodily strength and mental firmness; in -fact, heroic strength is not conceivable without such delicacy. -Elephantine strength may drive its way through a forest and feel no -touch of the boughs; but the white skin of Homer's Atrides would have -felt a bent rose-leaf, yet subdue its feeling in glow of battle, and -behave itself like iron. I do not mean to call an elephant a vulgar -animal; but if you think about him carefully, you will find that his -non-vulgarity consists in such gentleness as is possible to elephantine -nature; not in his insensitive hide, nor in his clumsy foot; but in the -way he will lift his foot if a child lies in his way; and in his -sensitive trunk, and still more sensitive mind, and capability of pique -on points of honor. - -§ 6. And, though rightness of moral conduct is ultimately the great -purifier of race, the sign of nobleness is not in this rightness of -moral conduct, but in sensitiveness. When the make of the creature is -fine, its temptations are strong, as well as its perceptions; it is -liable to all kinds of impressions from without in their most violent -form; liable therefore to be abused and hurt by all kinds of rough -things which would do a coarser creature little harm, and thus to fall -into frightful wrong if its fate will have it so. Thus David, coming of -gentlest as well as royalest race, of Ruth as well as of Judah, is -sensitiveness through all flesh and spirit; not that his compassion will -restrain him from murder when his terror urges him to it; nay, he is -driven to the murder all the more by his sensitiveness to the shame -which otherwise threatens him. But when his own story is told him under -a disguise, though only a lamb is now concerned, his passion about it -leaves him no time for thought. "The man shall die"--note the -reason--"because he had no pity." He is so eager and indignant that it -never occurs to him as strange that Nathan hides the name. This is true -gentleman. A vulgar man would assuredly have been cautious, and asked -"who it was?" - -§ 7. Hence it will follow that one of the probable signs of -high-breeding in men generally, will be their kindness and mercifulness; -these always indicating more or less fineness of make in the mind; and -miserliness and cruelty the contrary; hence that of Isaiah: "The vile -person shall no more be called liberal, nor the churl said to be -bountiful." But a thousand things may prevent this kindness from -displaying or continuing itself; the mind of the man may be warped so as -to bear mainly on his own interests, and then all his sensibilities will -take the form of pride, or fastidiousness, or revengefulness; and other -wicked, but not ungentlemanly tempers; or, farther, they may run into -utter sensuality and covetousness, if he is bent on pleasure, -accompanied with quite infinite cruelty when the pride is wounded, or -the passions thwarted;--until your gentleman becomes Ezzelin, and your -lady, the deadly Lucrece; yet still gentleman and lady, quite incapable -of making anything else of themselves, being so born. - -§ 8. A truer sign of breeding than mere kindness is therefore sympathy; -a vulgar man may often be kind in a hard way, on principle, and because -he thinks he ought to be; whereas, a highly-bred man, even when cruel, -will be cruel in a softer way, understanding and feeling what he -inflicts, and pitying his victim. Only we must carefully remember that -the quantity of sympathy a gentleman feels can never be judged of by its -outward expression, for another of his chief characteristics is apparent -reserve. I say "apparent" reserve; for the sympathy is real, but the -reserve not: a perfect gentleman is never reserved, but sweetly and -entirely open, so far as it is good for others, or possible, that he -should be. In a great many respects it is impossible that he should be -open except to men of his own kind. To them, he can open himself, by a -word, or syllable, or a glance; but to men not of his kind he cannot -open himself, though he tried it through an eternity of clear -grammatical speech. By the very acuteness of his sympathy he knows how -much of himself he can give to anybody; and he gives that much -frankly;--would always be glad to give more if he could, but is obliged, -nevertheless, in his general intercourse with the world, to be a -somewhat silent person; silence is to most people, he finds, less -reserved than speech. Whatever he said, a vulgar man would misinterpret: -no words that he could use would bear the same sense to the vulgar man -that they do to him; if he used any, the vulgar man would go away -saying, "He had said so and so, and meant so and so" (something -assuredly he never meant); but he keeps silence, and the vulgar man goes -away saying, "He didn't know what to make of him." Which is precisely -the fact, and the only fact which he is anywise able to announce to the -vulgar man concerning himself. - -§ 9. There is yet another quite as efficient cause of the apparent -reserve of a gentleman. His sensibility being constant and intelligent, -it will be seldom that a feeling touches him, however acutely, but it -has touched him in the same way often before, and in some sort is -touching him always. It is not that he feels little, but that he feels -habitually; a vulgar man having some heart at the bottom of him, if you -can by talk or by sight fairly force the pathos of anything down to his -heart, will be excited about it and demonstrative; the sensation of pity -being strange to him, and wonderful. But your gentleman has walked in -pity all day long; the tears have never been out of his eyes: you -thought the eyes were bright only; but they were wet. You tell him a -sorrowful story, and his countenance does not change; the eyes can but -be wet still; he does not speak neither, there being, in fact, nothing -to be said, only something to be done; some vulgar person, beside you -both, goes away saying, "How hard he is!" Next day he hears that the -hard person has put good end to the sorrow he said nothing about;--and -then he changes his wonder, and exclaims, "How reserved he is!" - -§ 10. Self-command is often thought a characteristic of high-breeding: -and to a certain extent it is so, at least it is one of the means of -forming and strengthening character; but it is rather a way of imitating -a gentleman than a characteristic of him; a true gentleman has no need -of self-command; he simply feels rightly on all occasions: and desiring -to express only so much of his feeling as it is right to express, does -not need to command himself. Hence perfect ease is indeed characteristic -of him; but perfect ease is inconsistent with self-restraint. -Nevertheless gentlemen, so far as they fail of their own ideal, need to -command themselves, and do so; while, on the contrary, to feel unwisely, -and to be unable to restrain the expression of the unwise feeling, is -vulgarity; and yet even then, the vulgarity, at its root, is not in the -mistimed expression, but in the unseemly feeling; and when we find fault -with a vulgar person for "exposing himself," it is not his openness, but -clumsiness; and yet more the want of sensibility to his own failure, -which we blame; so that still the vulgarity resolves itself into want of -sensibility. Also, it is to be noted that great powers of self-restraint -may be attained by very vulgar persons, when it suits their purposes. - -§ 11. Closely, but strangely, connected with this openness is that form -of truthfulness which is opposed to cunning, yet not opposed to falsity -absolute. And herein is a distinction of great importance. - -Cunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over-reaching, -accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. It is associated -with small and dull conceit, and with an absolute want of sympathy or -affection. Its essential connection with vulgarity may be at once -exemplified by the expression of the butcher's dog in Landseer's "Low -Life." Cruikshank's "Noah Claypole," in the illustrations to Oliver -Twist, in the interview with the Jew, is, however, still more -characteristic. It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity absolute and -utter with which I am acquainted.[2] - -The truthfulness which is opposed to cunning ought, perhaps, rather to -be called the desire of truthfulness; it consists more in unwillingness -to deceive than in not deceiving,--an unwillingness implying sympathy -with and respect for the person deceived; and a fond observance of truth -up to the possible point, as in a good soldier's mode of retaining his -honor through a _ruse-de-guerre_. A cunning person seeks for -opportunities to deceive; a gentleman shuns them. A cunning person -triumphs in deceiving; a gentleman is humiliated by his success, or at -least by so much of the success as is dependent merely on the falsehood, -and not on his intellectual superiority. - -§ 12. The absolute disdain of all lying belongs rather to Christian -chivalry than to mere high breeding; as connected merely with this -latter, and with general refinement and courage, the exact relations of -truthfulness may be best studied in the well-trained Greek mind. The -Greeks believed that mercy and truth were co-relative virtues--cruelty -and falsehood co-relative vices. But they did not call necessary -severity, cruelty; nor necessary deception, falsehood. It was needful -sometimes to slay men, and sometimes to deceive them. When this had to -be done, it should be done well and thoroughly; so that to direct a -spear well to its mark, or a lie well to its end, was equally the -accomplishment of a perfect gentleman. Hence, in the pretty -diamond-cut-diamond scene between Pallas and Ulysses, when she receives -him on the coast of Ithaca, the goddess laughs delightedly at her hero's -good lying, and gives him her hand upon it; showing herself then in her -woman's form, as just a little more than his match. "Subtle would he be, -and stealthy, who should go beyond thee in deceit, even were he a god, -thou many-witted! What! here in thine own land, too, wilt thou not cease -from cheating? Knowest thou not me, Pallas Athena, maid of Jove, who am -with thee in all thy labors, and gave thee favor with the Phćacians, and -keep thee, and have come now to weave cunning with thee?" But how -completely this kind of cunning was looked upon as a part of a man's -power, and not as a diminution of faithfulness, is perhaps best shown by -the single line of praise in which the high qualities of his servant are -summed up by Chremulus in the Plutus--"Of all my house servants, I hold -you to be the faithfullest, and the greatest cheat (or thief)." - -§ 13. Thus, the primal difference between honorable and base lying in -the Greek mind lay in honorable purpose. A man who used his strength -wantonly to hurt others was a monster; so, also, a man who used his -cunning wantonly to hurt others. Strength and cunning were to be used -only in self-defence, or to save the weak, and then were alike -admirable. This was their first idea. Then the second, and perhaps the -more essential, difference between noble and ignoble lying in the Greek -mind, was that the honorable lie--or, if we may use the strange, yet -just, expression, the true lie--knew and confessed itself for such--was -ready to take the full responsibility of what it did. As the sword -answered for its blow, so the lie for its snare. But what the Greeks -hated with all their heart was the false lie; the lie that did not know -itself, feared to confess itself, which slunk to its aim under a cloak -of truth, and sought to do liars' work, and yet not take liars' pay, -excusing itself to the conscience by quibble and quirk. Hence the great -expression of Jesuit principle by Euripides, "The tongue has sworn, but -not the heart," was a subject of execration throughout Greece, and the -satirists exhausted their arrows on it--no audience was ever tired -hearing ([Greek: to Euripideion ekeino]) "that Euripidean thing" brought -to shame. - -§ 14. And this is especially to be insisted on in the early education of -young people. It should be pointed out to them with continual -earnestness that the essence of lying is in deception, not in words; a -lie may be told by silence, by equivocation, by the accent on a -syllable, by a glance of the eye attaching a peculiar significance to a -sentence; and all these kinds of lies are worse and baser by many -degrees than a lie plainly worded; so that no form of blinded conscience -is so far sunk as that which comforts itself for having deceived, -because the deception was by gesture or silence, instead of utterance; -and, finally, according to Tennyson's deep and trenchant line, "A lie -which is half a truth is ever the worst of lies." - -§ 15. Although, however, ungenerous cunning is usually so distinct an -outward manifestation of vulgarity, that I name it separately from -insensibility, it is in truth only an effect of insensibility, producing -want of affection to others, and blindness to the beauty of truth. The -degree in which political subtlety in men such as Richelieu, Machiavel, -or Metternich, will efface the gentleman, depends on the selfishness of -political purpose to which the cunning is directed, and on the base -delight taken in its use. The command, "Be ye wise as serpents, harmless -as doves," is the ultimate expression of this principle, misunderstood -usually because the word "wise" is referred to the intellectual power -instead of the subtlety of the serpent. The serpent has very little -intellectual power, but according to that which it has, it is yet, as of -old, the subtlest of the beasts of the field. - -§ 16. Another great sign of vulgarity is also, when traced to its root, -another phase of insensibility, namely, the undue regard to appearances -and manners, as in the households of vulgar persons, of all stations, -and the assumption of behavior, language, or dress unsuited to them, by -persons in inferior stations of life. I say "undue" regard to -appearances, because in the undueness consists, of course, the -vulgarity. It is due and wise in some sort to care for appearances, in -another sort undue and unwise. Wherein lies the difference? - -At first one is apt to answer quickly: the vulgarity is simply in -pretending to be what you are not. But that answer will not stand. A -queen may dress like a waiting maid,--perhaps succeed, if she chooses, -in passing for one; but she will not, therefore, be vulgar; nay, a -waiting maid may dress like a queen, and pretend to be one, and yet need -not be vulgar, unless there is inherent vulgarity in her. In Scribe's -very absurd but very amusing _Reine d'un jour_, a milliner's girl -sustains the part of a queen for a day. She several times amazes and -disgusts her courtiers by her straightforwardness; and once or twice -very nearly betrays herself to her maids of honor by an unqueenly -knowledge of sewing; but she is not in the least vulgar, for she is -sensitive, simple, and generous, and a queen could be no more. - -§ 17. Is the vulgarity, then, only in trying to play a part you cannot -play, so as to be continually detected? No; a bad amateur actor may be -continually detected in his part, but yet continually detected to be a -gentleman: a vulgar regard to appearances has nothing in it necessarily -of hypocrisy. You shall know a man not to be a gentleman by the perfect -and neat pronunciation of his words: but he does not pretend to -pronounce accurately; he _does_ pronounce accurately, the vulgarity is -in the real (not assumed) scrupulousness. - -§ 18. It will be found on farther thought, that a vulgar regard for -appearances is, primarily, a selfish one, resulting, not out of a wish, -to give pleasure (as a wife's wish to make herself beautiful for her -husband), but out of an endeavor to mortify others, or attract for -pride's sake;--the common "keeping up appearances" of society, being a -mere selfish struggle of the vain with the vain. But the deepest stain -of the vulgarity depends on this being done, not selfishly only, but -stupidly, without understanding the impression which is really produced, -nor the relations of importance between oneself and others, so as to -suppose that their attention is fixed upon us, when we are in reality -ciphers in their eyes--all which comes of insensibility. Hence pride -simple is not vulgar (the looking down on others because of their true -inferiority to us), nor vanity simple (the desire of praise), but -conceit simple (the attribution to ourselves of qualities we have not), -is always so. In cases of over-studied pronunciation, &c., there is -insensibility, first, in the person's thinking more of himself than of -what he is saying; and, secondly, in his not having musical fineness of -ear enough to feel that his talking is uneasy and strained. - -§ 19. Finally, vulgarity is indicated by coarseness of language or -manners, only so far as this coarseness has been contracted under -circumstances not necessarily producing it. The illiterateness of a -Spanish or Calabrian peasant is not vulgar, because they had never an -opportunity of acquiring letters; but the illiterateness of an English -school-boy is. So again, provincial dialect is not vulgar; but cockney -dialect, the corruption, by blunted sense, of a finer language -continually heard, is so in a deep degree; and again, of this corrupted -dialect, that is the worst which consists, not in the direct or -expressive alteration of the form of a word, but in an unmusical -destruction of it by dead utterance and bad or swollen formation of lip. -There is no vulgarity in-- - - "Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, - Blythe was she, but and ben, - And weel she liked a Hawick gill, - And leugh to see a tappit hen;" - -but much in Mrs. Gamp's inarticulate "bottle on the chumley-piece, and -let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged." - -§ 20. So also of personal defects, those only are vulgar which imply -insensibility or dissipation. - -There is no vulgarity in the emaciation of Don Quixote, the deformity of -the Black Dwarf, or the corpulence of Falstaff; but much in the same -personal characters, as they are seen in Uriah Heep, Quilp, and -Chadband. - -§ 21. One of the most curious minor questions in this matter is -respecting the vulgarity of excessive neatness, complicating itself with -inquiries into the distinction between base neatness, and the -perfectness of good execution in the fine arts. It will be found on -final thought that precision and exquisiteness of arrangement are always -noble; but become vulgar only when they arise from an equality -(insensibility) of temperament, which is incapable of fine passion, and -is set ignobly, and with a dullard mechanism, on accuracy in vile -things. In the finest Greek coins, the letters of the inscriptions are -purposely coarse and rude, while the relievi are wrought with -inestimable care. But in an English coin, the letters are the best done, -and the whole is unredeemably vulgar. In a picture of Titian's, an -inserted inscription will be complete in the lettering, as all the rest -is; because it costs Titian very little more trouble to draw rightly -than wrongly, and in him, therefore, impatience with the letters would -be vulgar, as in the Greek sculptor of the coin, patience would have -been. For the engraving of a letter accurately[3] is difficult work, -and his time must have been unworthily thrown away. - -§ 22. All the different impressions connected with negligence or -foulness depend, in like manner, on the degree of insensibility implied. -Disorder in a drawing-room is vulgar, in an antiquary's study, not; the -black battle-stain on a soldier's face is not vulgar, but the dirty face -of a housemaid is. - -And lastly, courage, so far as it is a sign of race, is peculiarly the -mark of a gentleman or a lady: but it becomes vulgar if rude or -insensitive, while timidity is not vulgar, if it be a characteristic of -race or fineness of make. A fawn is not vulgar in being timid, nor a -crocodile "gentle" because courageous. - -§ 23. Without following the inquiry into farther detail,[4] we may -conclude that vulgarity consists in a deadness of the heart and body, -resulting from prolonged, and especially from inherited conditions of -"degeneracy," or literally "un-racing;"--gentlemanliness, being another -word for an intense humanity. And vulgarity shows itself primarily in -dulness of heart, not in rage or cruelty, but in inability to feel or -conceive noble character or emotion. This is its essential, pure, and -most fatal form. Dulness of bodily sense and general stupidity, with -such forms of crime as peculiarly issue from stupidity, are its material -manifestation. - -§ 24. Two years ago, when I was first beginning to work out the subject, -and chatting with one of my keenest-minded friends (Mr. Brett, the -painter of the Val d'Aosta in the Exhibition of 1859), I casually asked -him, "What is vulgarity?" merely to see what he would say, not supposing -it possible to get a sudden answer. He thought for about a minute, then -answered quietly, "It is merely one of the forms of Death." I did not -see the meaning of the reply at the time; but on testing it, found that -it met every phase of the difficulties connected with the inquiry, and -summed the true conclusion. Yet, in order to be complete, it ought to be -made a distinctive as well as conclusive definition; showing _what_ -form of death vulgarity is; for death itself is not vulgar, but only -death mingled with life. I cannot, however, construct a short-worded -definition which will include all the minor conditions of bodily -degeneracy; but the term "deathful selfishness" will embrace all the -most fatal and essential forms of mental vulgarity. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] We ought always in pure English to use the term "good breeding" - literally; and to say "good nurture" for what we usually mean by good - breeding. Given the race and make of the animal, you may turn it to - good or bad account; you may spoil your good dog or colt, and make - him as vicious as you choose, or break his back at once by ill-usage; - and you may, on the other hand, make something serviceable and - respectable out of your poor cur or colt if you educate them - carefully; but ill bred they will both of them be to their lives' - end; and the best you will ever be able to say of them is, that they - are useful, and decently behaved ill-bred creatures. An error, which - is associated with the truth, and which makes it always look weak and - disputable, is the confusion of race with name; and the supposition - that the blood of a family must still be good, if its genealogy be - unbroken and its name not lost, though sire and son have been - indulging age after age in habits involving perpetual degeneracy of - race. Of course it is equally an error to suppose that, because a - man's name is common, his blood must be base; since his family may - have been ennobling it by pureness of moral habit for many - generations, and yet may not have got any title, or other sign of - nobleness attached to their names. Nevertheless, the probability is - always in favor of the race which has had acknowledged supremacy, and - in which every motive leads to the endeavor to preserve their true - nobility. - - [2] Among the reckless losses of the right service of intellectual - power with which this century must be charged, very few are, to my - mind, more to be regretted than that which is involved in its having - turned to no higher purpose than the illustration of the career of - Jack Sheppard, and of the Irish Rebellion, the great, grave (I use - the words deliberately and with large meaning), and singular genius - of Cruikshank. - - [3] There is this farther reason also: "Letters are always ugly - things"--(Seven Lamps, chap. iv. s. 9). Titian often wanted a certain - quantity of ugliness to oppose his beauty with, as a certain quantity - of black to oppose his color. He could regulate the size and quantity - of inscription as he liked; and, therefore, made it as neat--that is, - as effectively ugly--as possible. But the Greek sculptor could not - regulate either size or quantity of inscription. Legible it must be, - to common eyes, and contain an assigned group of words. He had more - ugliness than he wanted, or could endure. There was nothing for it - but to make the letters themselves rugged and picturesque; to give - them--that is, a certain quantity of organic variety. - - I do not wonder at people sometimes thinking I contradict myself when - they come suddenly on any of the scattered passages, in which I am - forced to insist on the opposite practical applications of subtle - principles of this kind. It may amuse the reader, and be finally - serviceable to him in showing him how necessary it is to the right - handling of any subject, that these contrary statements should be - made, if I assemble here the principal ones I remember having brought - forward, bearing on this difficult point of precision in execution. - - It would be well if you would first glance over the chapter on Finish - in the third volume; and if, coming to the fourth paragraph, about - gentlemen's carriages, you have time to turn to Sydney Smith's - Memoirs and read his account of the construction of the "Immortal," - it will furnish you with an interesting illustration. - - The general conclusion reached in that chapter being that finish, for - the sake of added truth, or utility, or beauty, is noble; but finish, - for the sake of workmanship, neatness, or polish, ignoble,--turn to - the fourth chapter of the Seven Lamps, where you will find the - Campanile of Giotto given as the model and mirror of perfect - architecture, just on account of its exquisite completion. Also, in - the next chapter, I expressly limit the delightfulness of rough and - imperfect work to developing and unformed schools (pp. 142-3, 1st - edition); then turn to the 170th page of the Stones of Venice, Vol. - III., and you will find this directly contrary statement:-- - - "No good work whatever can be perfect, and the demand for perfection - is always a sign of the misunderstanding of the end of art." ... "The - first cause of the fall of the arts in Europe was a relentless - requirement of perfection" (p. 172). By reading the intermediate - text, you will be put in possession of many good reasons for this - opinion; and, comparing it with that just cited about the Campanile - of Giotto, will be brought, I hope, into a wholesome state of not - knowing what to think. - - Then turn to p. 167, where the great law of finish is again - maintained as strongly as ever: "Perfect finish (finish, that is to - say, up to the point possible) is always desirable from the greatest - masters, and is always given by them."--§ 19. - - And, lastly, if you look to § 19 of the chapter on the Early - Renaissance, you will find the profoundest respect paid to - completion; and, at the close of that chapter, § 38, the principle is - resumed very strongly. "As _ideals of executive perfection_, these - palaces are most notable among the architecture of Europe, and the - Rio façade of the Ducal palace, as an example of finished masonry in - a vast building, is one of the finest things, not only in Venice, but - in the world." - - Now all these passages are perfectly true; and, as in much more - serious matters, the essential thing for the reader is to receive - their truth, however little he may be able to see their consistency. - If truths of apparent contrary character are candidly and rightly - received, they will fit themselves together in the mind without any - trouble. But no truth maliciously received will nourish you, or fit - with others. The clue of connection may in this case, however, be - given in a word. Absolute finish is always right; finish, - inconsistent with prudence and passion, wrong. The imperative demand - for finish is ruinous, because it refuses better things than finish. - The stopping short of the finish, which is honorably possible to - human energy, is destructive on the other side, and not in less - degree. Err, of the two, on the side of completion. - - [4] In general illustration of the subject, the following extract - from my private diary possesses some interest. It refers to two - portraits which happened to be placed opposite to each other in the - arrangement of a gallery; one, modern, of a (foreign) general on - horseback at a review; the other, by Vandyck, also an equestrian - portrait, of an ancestor of his family, whom I shall here simply call - the "knight:" - - "I have seldom seen so noble a Vandyck, chiefly because it is painted - with less flightiness and flimsiness than usual, with a grand - quietness and reserve--almost like Titian. The other is, on the - contrary, as vulgar and base a picture as I have ever seen, and it - becomes a matter of extreme interest to trace the cause of the - difference. - - "In the first place, everything the general and his horse wear is - evidently just made. It has not only been cleaned that morning, but - has been sent home from the tailor's in a hurry last night. Horse - bridle, saddle housings, blue coat, stars and lace thereupon, cocked - hat, and sword hilt--all look as if they had just been taken from a - shopboard in Pall Mall; the irresistible sense of the coat having - been brushed to perfection is the first sentiment which the picture - summons. The horse has also been rubbed down all the morning, and - shines from head to tail. - - "The knight rides in a suit of rusty armor. It has evidently been - polished also carefully, and gleams brightly here and there; but all - the polishing in the world will never take the battle-dints and - battle-darkness out of it. His horse is gray, not lustrous, but a - dark, lurid gray. Its mane is deep and soft: part of it shaken in - front over its forehead--the rest, in enormous masses of waving gold, - six feet long, falls streaming on its neck, and rises in currents of - softest light, rippled by the wind, over the rider's armor. The - saddle cloth is of a dim red, fading into leathern brown, gleaming - with sparkles of obscure gold. When, after looking a little while at - the soft mane of the Vandyck horse, we turn back to the general's, we - are shocked by the evident coarseness of its hair, which hangs, - indeed, in long locks over the bridle, but is stiff, crude, sharp - pointed, coarsely colored (a kind of buff); no fine drawing of - nostril or neck can give any look of nobleness to the animal which - carries such hair; it looks like a hobby-horse with tow glued to it, - which riotous children have half pulled out or scratched out. The - next point of difference is the isolation of Vandyck's figure, - compared with the modern painter's endeavor to ennoble his by - subduing others. The knight seems to be just going out of his castle - gates; his horse rears as he passes their pillars; there is nothing - behind but the sky. But the general is reviewing a regiment; the - ensign lowers its colors to him; he takes off his hat in return. All - which reviewing and bowing is in its very nature ignoble, wholly - unfit to be painted: a gentleman might as well be painted leaving his - card on somebody. And, in the next place, the modern painter has - thought to enhance his officer by putting the regiment some distance - back, and in the shade, so that the men look only about five feet - high, being besides very ill painted to keep them in better - subordination. One does not know whether most to despise the - feebleness of the painter who must have recourse to such an artifice, - or his vulgarity in being satisfied with it. I ought, by the way, - before leaving the point of dress, to have noted that the vulgarity - of the painter is considerably assisted by the vulgarity of the - costume itself. Not only is it base in being new, but base in that it - cannot last to be old. If one wanted a lesson on the ugliness of - modern costume, it could not be more sharply received than by turning - from one to the other horseman. The knight wears steel plate armor, - chased here and there with gold; the delicate, rich, pointed lace - collar falling on the embossed breastplate; his dark hair flowing - over his shoulders; a crimson silk scarf fastened round his waist, - and floating behind him; buff boots, deep folded at the instep, set - in silver stirrup. The general wears his hair cropped short; blue - coat, padded and buttoned; blue trowsers and red stripe; black shiny - boots; common saddler's stirrups; cocked hat in hand, suggestive of - absurd completion, when assumed. - - "Another thing noticeable as giving nobleness to the Vandyck is its - feminineness: the rich, light silken scarf, the flowing hair, the - delicate, sharp, though sunburnt features, and the lace collar, do - not in the least diminish the manliness, but _add_ feminineness. One - sees that the knight is indeed a soldier, but not a soldier only; - that he is accomplished in all ways, and tender in all thoughts: - while the general is represented as nothing but a soldier--and it is - very doubtful if he is even that--one is sure, at a glance, that if - he can do anything but put his hat off and on, and give words of - command, the anything must, at all events, have something to do with - the barracks; that there is no grace, nor music, nor softness, nor - learnedness, in the man's soul; that he is made up of forms and - accoutrements. - - "Lastly, the modern picture is as bad painting as it is wretched - conceiving, and one is struck, in looking from it to Vandyck's, - peculiarly by the fact that good work is always _enjoyed_ work. There - is not a touch of Vandyck's pencil but he seems to have revelled - in--not grossly, but delicately--tasting the color in every touch as - an epicure would wine. While the other goes on daub, daub, daub, like - a bricklayer spreading mortar--nay, with far less lightness of hand - or lightness of spirit than a good bricklayer's--covering his canvas - heavily and conceitedly at once, caring only but to catch the public - eye with his coarse, presumptuous, ponderous, illiterate work." - - Thus far my diary. In case it should be discovered by any one where - these pictures are, it should be noted that the vulgarity of the - modern one is wholly the painter's fault. It implies none in the - general (except bad taste in pictures). The same painter would have - made an equally vulgar portrait of Bayard. And as for taste in - pictures, the general's was not singular. I used to spend much time - before the Vandyck; and among all the tourist visitors to the - gallery, who were numerous, I never saw one look at it twice, but all - paused in respectful admiration before the padded surtout. The reader - will find, farther, many interesting and most valuable notes on the - subject of nobleness and vulgarity in Emerson's Essays, and every - phase of nobleness illustrated in Sir Kenelm Digby's "Broad Stone of - Honor." The best help I have ever had--so far as help depended on the - sympathy or praise of others in work which, year after year, it was - necessary to pursue through the abuse of the brutal and the base--was - given me, when this author, from whom I had first learned to love - nobleness, introduced frequent reference to my own writings in his - "Children's Bower." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -WOUVERMANS AND ANGELICO. - - -§ 1. Having determined the general nature of vulgarity, we are now able -to close our view of the character of the Dutch school. - -It is a strangely mingled one, which I have the more difficulty in -investigating, because I have no power of sympathy with it. However -inferior in capacity, I can enter measuredly into the feelings of -Correggio or of Titian; what they like, I like; what they disdain, I -disdain. Going lower down, I can still follow Salvator's passion, or -Albano's prettiness; and lower still, I can measure modern German -heroics, or French sensualities. I see what the people mean,--know where -they are, and what they are. But no effort of fancy will enable me to -lay hold of the temper of Teniers or Wouvermans, any more than I can -enter into the feelings of one of the lower animals. I cannot see why -they painted,--what they are aiming at,--what they liked or disliked. -All their life and work is the same sort of mystery to me as the mind of -my dog when he rolls on carrion. He is a well enough conducted dog in -other respects, and many of these Dutchmen were doubtless very -well-conducted persons: certainly they learned their business well; both -Teniers and Wouvermans touch with a workmanly hand, such as we cannot -see rivalled now; and they seem never to have painted indolently, but -gave the purchaser his thorough money's worth of mechanism, while the -burgesses who bargained for their cattle and card parties were probably -more respectable men than the princes who gave orders to Titian for -nymphs, and to Raphael for nativities. But whatever patient merit or -commercial value may be in Dutch labor, this at least is clear, that it -is wholly insensitive. - -The very mastery these men have of their business proceeds from their -never really seeing the whole of anything, but only that part of it -which they know how to do. Out of all nature they felt their function -was to extract the grayness and shininess. Give them a golden sunset, a -rosy dawn, a green waterfall, a scarlet autumn on the hills, and they -merely look curiously into it to see if there is anything gray and -glittering which can be painted on their common principles. - -§ 2. If this, however, were their only fault, it would not prove -absolute insensibility, any more than it could be declared of the makers -of Florentine tables, that they were blind or vulgar because they took -out of nature only what could be represented in agate. A Dutch picture -is, in fact, merely a Florentine table more finely touched: it has its -regular ground of slate, and its mother-of-pearl and tinsel put in with -equal precision; and perhaps the fairest view one can take of a Dutch -painter is, that he is a respectable tradesman furnishing well-made -articles in oil paint: but when we begin to examine the designs of these -articles, we may see immediately that it is his inbred vulgarity, and -not the chance of fortune, which has made him a tradesman, and kept him -one;--which essential character of Dutch work, as distinguished from all -other, may be best seen in that hybrid landscape, introduced by -Wouvermans and Berghem. Of this landscape Wouvermans' is the most -characteristic. It will be remembered that I called it "hybrid," because -it strove to unite the attractiveness of every other school. We will -examine the motives of one of the most elaborate Wouvermans -existing--the landscape with a hunting party, No. 208 in the Pinacothek -of Munich. - -§ 3. A large lake in the distance narrows into a river in the -foreground; but the river has no current, nor has the lake either -reflections or waves. It is a piece of gray slate-table, painted with -horizontal touches, and only explained to be water by boats upon it. -Some of the figures in these are fishing (the corks of a net are drawn -in bad perspective); others are bathing, one man pulling his shirt over -his ears, others are swimming. On the farther side of the river are some -curious buildings, half villa, half ruin; or rather ruin dressed. There -are gardens at the top of them, with beautiful and graceful trellised -architecture and wandering tendrils of vine. A gentleman is coming down -from a door in the ruins to get into his pleasure-boat. His servant -catches his dog. - -§ 4. On the nearer side of the river, a bank of broken ground rises from -the water's edge up to a group of very graceful and carefully studied -trees, with a French-antique statue on a pedestal in the midst of them, -at the foot of which are three musicians, and a well-dressed couple -dancing; their coach is in waiting behind. In the foreground are -hunters. A richly and highly-dressed woman, with falcon on fist, the -principal figure in the picture, is wrought with Wouvermans' best skill. -A stouter lady rides into the water after a stag and hind, who gallop -across the middle of the river without sinking. Two horsemen attend the -two Amazons, of whom one pursues the game cautiously, but the other is -thrown headforemost into the river, with a splash which shows it to be -deep at the edge, though the hart and hind find bottom in the middle. -Running footmen, with other dogs, are coming up, and children are -sailing a toy-boat in the immediate foreground. The tone of the whole is -dark and gray, throwing out the figures in spots of light, on -Wouvermans' usual system. The sky is cloudy, and very cold. - -§ 5. You observe that in this picture the painter has assembled all the -elements which he supposes pleasurable. We have music, dancing, hunting, -boating, fishing, bathing, and child-play, all at once. Water, wide and -narrow; architecture, rustic and classical; trees also of the finest; -clouds, not ill-shaped. Nothing wanting to our Paradise: not even -practical jest; for to keep us always laughing, somebody shall be for -ever falling with a splash into the Kishon. Things proceed, -nevertheless, with an oppressive quietude. The dancers are uninterested -in the hunters, the hunters in the dancers; the hirer of the -pleasure-boat perceives neither hart nor hind; the children are -unconcerned at the hunter's fall; the bathers regard not the draught of -fishes; the fishers fish among the bathers, without apparently -anticipating any diminution in their haul. - -§ 6. Let the reader ask himself, would it have been possible for the -painter in any clearer way to show an absolute, clay-cold, ice-cold -incapacity of understanding what a pleasure meant? Had he had as much -heart as a minnow, he would have given some interest to the fishing; -with the soul of a grasshopper, some spring to the dancing; had he half -the will of a dog, he would have made some one turn to look at the hunt, -or given a little fire to the dash down to the water's edge. If he had -been capable of pensiveness, he would not have put the pleasure-boat -under the ruin;--capable of cheerfulness, he would not have put the ruin -above the pleasure-boat. Paralyzed in heart and brain, he delivers his -inventoried articles of pleasure one by one to his ravenous customers; -palateless; gluttonous. "We cannot taste it. Hunting is not enough; let -us have dancing. That's dull; now give us a jest, or what is life! The -river is too narrow, let us have a lake; and, for mercy's sake, a -pleasure-boat, or how can we spend another minute of this languid day! -But what pleasure can be in a boat? let us swim; we see people always -drest, let us see them naked." - -§ 7. Such is the unredeemed, carnal appetite for mere sensual pleasure. -I am aware of no other painter who consults it so exclusively, without -one gleam of higher hope, thought, beauty, or passion. - -As the pleasure of Wouvermans, so also is his war. That, however, is not -hybrid, it is of one character only. - -The best example I know is the great battle-piece with the bridge, in -the gallery of Turin. It is said that when this picture, which had been -taken to Paris, was sent back, the French offered twelve thousand pounds -(300,000 francs) for permission to keep it. The report, true or not, -shows the estimation in which the picture is held at Turin. - -§ 8. There are some twenty figures in the męlée whose faces can be seen -(about sixty in the picture altogether), and of these twenty, there is -not one whose face indicates courage or power; or anything but animal -rage and cowardice; the latter prevailing always. Every one is fighting -for his life, with the expression of a burglar defending himself at -extremity against a party of policemen. There is the same terror, fury, -and pain which a low thief would show on receiving a pistol-shot through -his arm. Most of them appear to be fighting only to get away; the -standard-bearer _is_ retreating, but whether with the enemies' flag or -his own I do not see; he slinks away with it, with reverted eye, as if -he were stealing a pocket-handkerchief. The swordsmen cut at each other -with clenched teeth and terrified eyes; they are too busy to curse each -other; but one sees that the feelings they have could be expressed no -otherwise than by low oaths. Far away, to the smallest figures in the -smoke, and to one drowning under the distant arch of the bridge, all are -wrought with a consummate skill in vulgar touch; there is no good -painting, properly so called, anywhere, but of clever, dotty, sparkling, -telling execution, as much as the canvas will hold, and much delicate -gray and blue color in the smoke and sky. - -§ 9. Now, in order fully to feel the difference between this view of -war, and a gentleman's, go, if possible, into our National Gallery, and -look at the young Malatesta riding into the battle of Sant' Egidio (as -he is painted by Paul Ucello). His uncle Carlo, the leader of the army, -a grave man of about sixty, has just given orders for the knights to -close: two have pushed forward with lowered lances, and the męlée has -begun only a few yards in front; but the young knight, riding at his -uncle's side, has not yet put his helmet on, nor intends doing so, yet. -Erect he sits, and quiet, waiting for his captain's orders to charge; -calm as if he were at a hawking party, only more grave; his golden hair -wreathed about his proud white brow, as about a statue's. - -§ 10. "Yes," the thoughtful reader replies; "this may be pictorially -very beautiful; but those Dutchmen were good fighters, and generally won -the day; whereas, this very battle of Sant' Egidio, so calmly and -bravely begun, was lost." - -Indeed, it is very singular that unmitigated expressions of cowardice in -battle should be given by the painters of so brave a nation as the -Dutch. Not but that it is possible enough for a coward to be stubborn, -and a brave man weak; the one may win his battle by a blind persistence, -and the other lose it by a thoughtful vacillation. Nevertheless, the -want of all expression of resoluteness in Dutch battle-pieces remains, -for the present, a mystery to me. In those of Wouvermans, it is only a -natural development of his perfect vulgarity in all respects. - -§ 11. I do not think it necessary to trace farther the evidences of -insensitive conception in the Dutch school. I have associated the name -of Teniers with that of Wouvermans in the beginning of this chapter, -because Teniers is essentially the painter of the pleasures of the -ale-house and card-table, as Wouvermans of those of the chase; and the -two are leading masters of the peculiar Dutch trick of white touch on -gray or brown ground; but Teniers is higher in reach, and more honest in -manner. Berghem is the real associate of Wouvermans in the hybrid school -of landscape. But all three are alike insensitive; that is to say, -unspiritual or deathful, and that to the uttermost, in every -thought,--producing, therefore, the lowest phase of possible art of a -skilful kind. There are deeper elements in De Hooghe and Gerard Terburg; -sometimes expressed with superb quiet painting by the former; but the -whole school is inherently mortal to all its admirers; having by its -influence in England destroyed our perception of all purposes of -painting, and throughout the north of the Continent effaced the sense of -color among artists of every rank. - -We have, last, to consider what recovery has taken place from the -paralysis to which the influence of this Dutch art had reduced us in -England seventy years ago. But, in closing my review of older art, I -will endeavor to illustrate, by four simple examples, the main -directions of its spiritual power, and the cause of its decline. - -§ 12. The frontispiece of this volume is engraved from an old sketch of -mine, a pencil outline of the little Madonna by Angelico, in the -Annunciation preserved in the sacristy of Santa Maria Novella. This -Madonna has not, so far as I know, been engraved before, and it is one -of the most characteristic of the Purist school. I believe through all -my late work I have sufficiently guarded my readers from over-estimating -this school; but it is well to turn back to it now, from the wholly -carnal work of Wouvermans, in order to feel its purity: so that, if we -err, it may be on this side. The opposition is the most accurate which I -can set before the student, for the technical disposition of Wouvermans, -in his search after delicate form and minute grace, much resembles that -of Angelico. But the thoughts of Wouvermans are wholly of this world. -For him there is no heroism, awe, or mercy, hope, or faith. Eating and -drinking, and slaying; rage and lust; the pleasures and distresses of -the debased body--from these, his thoughts, if so we may call them, -never for an instant rise or range. - -§ 13. The soul of Angelico is in all ways the precise reverse of this; -habitually as incognizant of any earthly pleasure as Wouvermans of any -heavenly one. Both are exclusive with absolute exclusiveness;--neither -desiring nor conceiving anything beyond their respective spheres. -Wouvermans lives under gray clouds, his lights come out as spots. -Angelico lives in an unclouded light: his shadows themselves are color; -his lights are not the spots, but his darks. Wouvermans lives in -perpetual tumult--tramp of horse--clash of cup--ring of pistol-shot. -Angelico in perpetual peace. Not seclusion from the world. No shutting -out of the world is needful for him. There is nothing to shut out. Envy, -lust, contention, discourtesy, are to him as though they were not; and -the cloister walk of Fiesole no penitential solitude, barred from the -stir and joy of life, but a possessed land of tender blessing, guarded -from the entrance of all but holiest sorrow. The little cell was as one -of the houses of heaven prepared for him by his master. "What need had -it to be elsewhere? Was not the Val d'Arno, with its olive woods in -white blossom, paradise enough for a poor monk? or could Christ be -indeed in heaven more than here? Was he not always with him? Could he -breathe or see, but that Christ breathed beside him and looked into his -eyes? Under every cypress avenue the angels walked; he had seen their -white robes, whiter than the dawn, at his bedside, as he awoke in early -summer. They had sung with him, one on each side, when his voice failed -for joy at sweet vesper and matin time; his eyes were blinded by their -wings in the sunset, when it sank behind the hills of Luni." - -There may be weakness in this, but there is no baseness; and while I -rejoice in all recovery from monasticism which leads to practical and -healthy action in the world, I must, in closing this work, severely -guard my pupils from the thought that sacred rest may be honorably -exchanged for selfish and mindless activity. - -§ 14. In order to mark the temper of Angelico, by a contrast of another -kind, I give, in Fig. 99, a facsimile of one of the heads in Salvator's -etching of the Academy of Plato. It is accurately characteristic of -Salvator, showing, by quite a central type, his indignant, desolate, and -degraded power. I could have taken unspeakably baser examples from -others of his etchings, but they would have polluted my book, and been -in some sort unjust, representing only the worst part of his work. This -head, which is as elevated a type as he ever reaches, is assuredly -debased enough; and a sufficient image of the mind of the painter of -Catiline and the Witch of Endor. - -[Illustration: FIG. 99.] - -§ 15. Then, in Fig. 100, you have also a central type of the mind of -Durer. Complete, yet quaint; severely rational and practical, yet -capable of the highest imaginative religious feeling, and as gentle as a -child's, it seemed to be well represented by this figure of the old -bishop, with all the infirmities, and all the victory, of his life, -written on his calm, kind, and worldly face. He has been no dreamer, nor -persecutor, but a helpful and undeceivable man; and by careful -comparison of this conception with the common kinds of episcopal ideal -in modern religious art, you will gradually feel how the force of Durer -is joined with an unapproachable refinement, so that he can give the -most practical view of whatever he treats, without the slightest taint -or shadow of vulgarity. Lastly, the fresco of Giorgione, Plate 79, which -is as fair a type as I am able to give in any single figure, of the -central Venetian art, will complete for us a series, sufficiently -symbolical, of the several ranks of art, from lowest to highest.[1] In -Wouvermans (of whose work I suppose no example is needed, it being so -generally known), we have the entirely carnal mind,--wholly versed in -the material world, and incapable of conceiving any goodness or -greatness whatsoever. - -[Illustration: FIG. 100. _To face page 284._] - -In Angelico, you have the entirely spiritual mind, wholly versed in the -heavenly world, and incapable of conceiving any wickedness or vileness -whatsoever. - -In Salvator, you have an awakened conscience, and some spiritual power, -contending with evil, but conquered by it, and brought into captivity to -it. - -In Durer, you have a far purer conscience and higher spiritual power, -yet, with some defect still in intellect, contending with evil, and -nobly prevailing over it; yet retaining the marks of the contest, and -never so entirely victorious as to conquer sadness. - -In Giorgione, you have the same high spiritual power and practical -sense; but now, with entirely perfect intellect, contending with evil; -conquering it utterly, casting it away for ever, and rising beyond it -into magnificence of rest. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] As I was correcting these pages, there was put into my hand a - little work by a very dear friend--"Travels and Study in Italy," by - Charles Eliot Norton;--I have not yet been able to do more than - glance at it; but my impression is, that by carefully reading it, - together with the essay by the same writer on the Vita Nuova of - Dante, a more just estimate may be formed of the religious art of - Italy than by the study of any other books yet existing. At least, I - have seen none in which the tone of thought was at once so tender and - so just. - - I had hoped, before concluding this book, to have given it higher - value by extracts from the works which have chiefly helped or guided - me, especially from the writings of Helps, Lowell, and the Rev. A. J. - Scott. But if I were to begin making such extracts, I find that I - should not know, either in justice or affection, how to end. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE TWO BOYHOODS. - - -§ 1. Born half-way between the mountains and the sea--that young George -of Castelfranco--of the Brave Castle:--Stout George they called him, -George of Georges, so goodly a boy he was--Giorgione. - -Have you ever thought what a world his eyes opened on--fair, searching -eyes of youth? What a world of mighty life, from those mountain roots to -the shore;--of loveliest life, when he went down, yet so young, to the -marble city--and became himself as a fiery heart to it? - -A city of marble, did I say? nay, rather a golden city, paved with -emerald. For truly, every pinnacle and turret glanced or glowed, -overlaid with gold, or bossed with jasper. Beneath, the unsullied sea -drew in deep breathing, to and fro, its eddies of green wave. -Deep-hearted, majestic, terrible as the sea,--the men of Venice moved in -sway of power and war; pure as her pillars of alabaster, stood her -mothers and maidens; from foot to brow, all noble, walked her knights; -the low bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armor shot angrily under their -blood-red mantle-folds. Fearless, faithful, patient, impenetrable, -implacable,--every word a fate--sate her senate. In hope and honor, -lulled by flowing of wave around their isles of sacred sand, each with -his name written and the cross graved at his side, lay her dead. A -wonderful piece of world. Rather, itself a world. It lay along the face -of the waters, no larger, as its captains saw it from their masts at -evening, than a bar of sunset that could not pass away; but, for its -power, it must have seemed to them as if they were sailing in the -expanse of heaven, and this a great planet, whose orient edge widened -through ether. A world from which all ignoble care and petty thoughts -were banished, with all the common and poor elements of life. No -foulness, nor tumult, in those tremulous streets, that filled, or fell, -beneath the moon; but rippled music of majestic change, or thrilling -silence. No weak walls could rise above them; no low-roofed cottage, nor -straw-built shed. Only the strength as of rock, and the finished setting -of stones most precious. And around them, far as the eye could reach, -still the soft moving of stainless waters, proudly pure; as not the -flower, so neither the thorn nor the thistle, could grow in the glancing -fields. Ethereal strength of Alps, dream-like, vanishing in high -procession beyond the Torcellan shore; blue islands of Paduan hills, -poised in the golden west. Above, tree winds and fiery clouds ranging at -their will;--brightness out of the north, and balm from the south, and -the stars of the evening and morning clear in the limitless light of -arched heaven and circling sea. - -Such was Giorgione's school--such Titian's home. - -§ 2. Near the south-west corner of Covent Garden, a square brick pit or -well is formed by a close-set block of houses, to the back windows of -which it admits a few rays of light. Access to the bottom of it is -obtained out of Maiden Lane, through a low archway and an iron gate; and -if you stand long enough under the archway to accustom your eyes to the -darkness, you may see on the left hand a narrow door, which formerly -gave quiet access to a respectable barber's shop, of which the front -window, looking into Maiden Lane, is still extant, filled in this year -(1860), with a row of bottles, connected, in some defunct manner, with a -brewer's business. A more fashionable neighborhood, it is said, eighty -years ago than now--never certainly a cheerful one--wherein a boy being -born on St. George's day, 1775, began soon after to take interest in the -world of Covent Garden, and put to service such spectacles of life as it -afforded. - -§ 3. No knights to be seen there, nor, I imagine, many beautiful ladies; -their costume at least disadvantageous, depending much on incumbency of -hat and feather, and short waists; the majesty of men founded similarly -on shoebuckles and wigs;--impressive enough when Reynolds will do his -best for it; but not suggestive of much ideal delight to a boy. - -"Bello ovile dov' io dormii agnello:" of things beautiful, besides men -and women, dusty sunbeams up or down the street on summer mornings; -deep furrowed cabbage leaves at the greengrocer's; magnificence of -oranges in wheelbarrows round the corner; and Thames' shore within three -minutes' race. - -§ 4. None of these things very glorious; the best, however, that -England, it seems, was then able to provide for a boy of gift: who, such -as they are, loves them--never, indeed, forgets them. The short waists -modify to the last his visions of Greek ideal. His foregrounds had -always a succulent cluster or two of greengrocery at the corners. -Enchanted oranges gleam in Covent Gardens of the Hesperides; and great -ships go to pieces in order to scatter chests of them on the waves. That -mist of early sunbeams in the London dawn crosses, many and many a time, -the clearness of Italian air; and by Thames' shore, with its stranded -barges and glidings of red sail, dearer to us than Lucerne lake or -Venetian lagoon,--by Thames' shore we will die. - -§ 5. With such circumstance round him in youth, let us note what -necessary effects followed upon the boy. I assume him to have had -Giorgione's sensibility (and more than Giorgione's, if that be possible) -to color and form. I tell you farther, and this fact you may receive -trustfully, that his sensibility to human affection and distress was no -less keen than even his sense for natural beauty--heart-sight deep as -eye-sight. - -Consequently, he attaches himself with the faithfullest child-love to -everything that bears an image of the place he was born in. No matter -how ugly it is,--has it anything about it like Maiden Lane, or like -Thames' shore? If so, it shall be painted for their sake. Hence, to the -very close of life, Turner could endure ugliness which no one else, of -the same sensibility, would have borne with for an instant. Dead brick -walls, blank square windows, old clothes, market-womanly types of -humanity--anything fishy and muddy, like Billingsgate or Hungerford -Market, had great attraction for him; black barges, patched sails, and -every possible condition of fog. - -§ 6. You will find these tolerations and affections guiding or -sustaining him to the last hour of his life; the notablest of all such -endurances being that of dirt. No Venetian ever draws anything foul; but -Turner devoted picture after picture to the illustration of effects of -dinginess, smoke, soot, dust, and dusty texture; old sides of boats, -weedy roadside vegetation, dung-hills, straw-yards, and all the -soilings and stains of every common labor. - -And more than this, he not only could endure, but enjoyed and looked for -_litter_, like Covent Garden wreck after the market. His pictures are -often full of it, from side to side; their foregrounds differ from all -others in the natural way that things have of lying about in them. Even -his richest vegetation, in ideal work, is confused; and he delights in -shingle, débris, and heaps of fallen stones. The last words he ever -spoke to me about a picture were in gentle exaltation about his St. -Gothard: "that _litter_ of stones which I endeavored to represent." - -§ 7. The second great result of this Covent Garden training was, -understanding of and regard for the poor, whom the Venetians, we saw, -despised; whom, contrarily, Turner loved, and more than -loved--understood. He got no romantic sight of them, but an infallible -one, as he prowled about the end of his lane, watching night effects in -the wintry streets; nor sight of the poor alone, but of the poor in -direct relations with the rich. He knew, in good and evil, what both -classes thought of, and how they dwelt with, each other. - -Reynolds and Gainsborough, bred in country villages, learned there the -country boy's reverential theory of "the squire," and kept it. They -painted the squire and the squire's lady as centres of the movements of -the universe, to the end of their lives. But Turner perceived the -younger squire in other aspects about his lane, occurring prominently in -its night scenery, as a dark figure, or one of two, against the -moonlight. He saw also the working of city commerce, from endless -warehouse, towering over Thames, to the back shop in the lane, with its -stale herrings--highly interesting these last; one of his fathers best -friends, whom he often afterwards visited affectionately at Bristol, -being a fish-monger and glueboiler; which gives us a friendly turn of -mind towards herring-fishing, whaling, Calais poissardes, and many other -of our choicest subjects in after life; all this being connected with -that mysterious forest below London Bridge on one side;--and, on the -other, with these masses of human power and national wealth which weigh -upon us, at Covent Garden here, with strange compression, and crush us -into narrow Hand Court. - -§ 8. "That mysterious forest below London Bridge"--better for the boy -than wood of pine, or grove of myrtle. How he must have tormented the -watermen, beseeching them to let him crouch anywhere in the bows, quiet -as a log, so only that he might get floated down there among the ships, -and round and round the ships, and with the ships, and by the ships, and -under the ships, staring and clambering;--these the only quite beautiful -things he can see in all the world, except the sky; but these, when the -sun is on their sails, filling or falling, endlessly disordered by sway -of tide and stress of anchorage, beautiful unspeakably; which ships also -are inhabited by glorious creatures--redfaced sailors, with pipes, -appearing over the gunwales, true knights, over their castle -parapets--the most angelic beings in the whole compass of London world. -And Trafalgar happening long before we can draw ships, we, nevertheless, -coax all current stories out of the wounded sailors, do our best at -present to show Nelson's funeral streaming up the Thames; and vow that -Trafalgar shall have its tribute of memory some day. Which, accordingly, -is accomplished--once, with all our might, for its death; twice, with -all our might, for its victory; thrice, in pensive farewell to the old -Temeraire, and, with it, to that order of things. - -§ 9. Now this fond companying with sailors must have divided his time, -it appears to me, pretty equally between Covent Garden and Wapping -(allowing for incidental excursions to Chelsea on one side, and -Greenwich on the other), which time he would spend pleasantly, but not -magnificently, being limited in pocket-money, and leading a kind of -"Poor-Jack" life on the river. - -In some respects, no life could be better for a lad. But it was not -calculated to make his ear fine to the niceties of language, nor form -his moralities on an entirely regular standard. Picking up his first -scraps of vigorous English chiefly at Deptford and in the markets, and -his first ideas of female tenderness and beauty among nymphs of the -barge and the barrow,--another boy might, perhaps, have become what -people usually term "vulgar." But the original make and frame of -Turner's mind being not vulgar, but as nearly as possible a combination -of the minds of Keats and Dante, joining capricious waywardness, and -intense openness to every fine pleasure of sense, and hot defiance of -formal precedent, with a quite infinite tenderness, generosity, and -desire of justice and truth--this kind of mind did not become vulgar, -but very tolerant of vulgarity, even fond of it in some forms; and, on -the outside, visibly infected by it, deeply enough; the curious result, -in its combination of elements, being to most people wholly -incomprehensible. It was as if a cable had been woven of blood-crimson -silk, and then tarred on the outside. People handled it, and the tar -came off on their hands; red gleams were seen through the black, -underneath, at the places where it had been strained. Was it -ochre?--said the world--or red lead? - -§ 10. Schooled thus in manners, literature, and general moral principles -at Chelsea and Wapping, we have finally to inquire concerning the most -important point of all. We have seen the principal differences between -this boy and Giorgione, as respects sight of the beautiful, -understanding of poverty, of commerce, and of order of battle; then -follows another cause of difference in our training--not slight,--the -aspect of religion, namely, in the neighborhood of Covent Garden. I say -the aspect; for that was all the lad could judge by. Disposed, for the -most part, to learn chiefly by his eyes, in this special matter he finds -there is really no other way of learning. His father taught him "to lay -one penny upon another." Of mother's teaching, we hear of none; of -parish pastoral teaching, the reader may guess how much. - -§ 11. I chose Giorgione rather than Veronese to help me in carrying out -this parallel; because I do not find in Giorgione's work any of the -early Venetian monarchist element. He seems to me to have belonged more -to an abstract contemplative school. I may be wrong in this; it is no -matter;--suppose it were so, and that he came down to Venice somewhat -recusant, or insentient, concerning the usual priestly doctrines of his -day,--how would the Venetian religion, from an outer intellectual -standing-point, have _looked_ to him? - -§ 12. He would have seen it to be a religion indisputably powerful in -human affairs; often very harmfully so; sometimes devouring widows' -houses, and consuming the strongest and fairest from among the young; -freezing into merciless bigotry the policy of the old: also, on the -other hand, animating national courage, and raising souls, otherwise -sordid, into heroism: on the whole, always a real and great power; -served with daily sacrifice of gold, time, and thought; putting forth -its claims, if hypocritically, at least in bold hypocrisy, not waiving -any atom of them in doubt or fear; and, assuredly, in large measure, -sincere, believing in itself, and believed: a goodly system, moreover, -in aspect; gorgeous, harmonious, mysterious;--a thing which had either -to be obeyed or combated, but could not be scorned. A religion towering -over all the city--many buttressed--luminous in marble stateliness, as -the dome of our Lady of Safety shines over the sea; many-voiced also, -giving, over all the eastern seas, to the sentinel his watchword, to the -soldier his war-cry; and, on the lips of all who died for Venice, -shaping the whisper of death. - -§ 13. I suppose the boy Turner to have regarded the religion of his city -also from an external intellectual standing-point. - -What did he see in Maiden Lane? - -Let not the reader be offended with me; I am willing to let him -describe, at his own pleasure, what Turner saw there; but to me, it -seems to have been this. A religion maintained occasionally, even the -whole length of the lane, at point of constable's staff; but, at other -times, placed under the custody of the beadle, within certain black and -unstately iron railings of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Among the -wheelbarrows and over the vegetables, no perceptible dominance of -religion; in the narrow, disquieted streets, none; in the tongues, -deeds, daily ways of Maiden Lane, little. Some honesty, indeed, and -English industry, and kindness of heart, and general idea of justice; -but faith, of any national kind, shut up from one Sunday to the next, -not artistically beautiful even in those Sabbatical exhibitions; its -paraphernalia being chiefly of high pews, heavy elocution, and cold -grimness of behavior. - -What chiaroscuro belongs to it--(dependent mostly on candlelight),--we -will, however, draw considerately; no goodliness of escutcheon, nor -other respectability being omitted, and the best of their results -confessed, a meek old woman and a child being let into a pew, for whom -the reading by candlelight will be beneficial.[1] - -§ 14. For the rest, this religion seems to him -discreditable--discredited--not believing in itself, putting forth its -authority in a cowardly way, watching how far it might be tolerated, -continually shrinking, disclaiming, fencing, finessing; divided against -itself, not by stormy rents, but by thin fissures, and splittings of -plaster from the walls. Not to be either obeyed, or combated, by an -ignorant, yet clear-sighted youth; only to be scorned. And scorned not -one whit the less, though also the dome dedicated to _it_ looms high -over distant winding of the Thames; as St. Mark's campanile rose, for -goodly landmark, over mirage of lagoon. For St. Mark ruled over life; -the Saint of London over death; St. Mark over St. Mark's Place, but St. -Paul over St. Paul's Churchyard. - -§ 15. Under these influences pass away the first reflective hours of -life, with such conclusion as they can reach. In consequence of a fit of -illness, he was taken--I cannot ascertain in what year--to live with an -aunt, at Brentford; and here, I believe, received some schooling, which -he seems to have snatched vigorously; getting knowledge, at least by -translation, of the more picturesque classical authors, which he turned -presently to use, as we shall see. Hence also, walks about Putney and -Twickenham in the summer time acquainted him with the look of English -meadow-ground in its restricted states of paddock and park; and with -some round-headed appearances of trees, and stately entrances to houses -of mark: the avenue at Bushy, and the iron gates and carved pillars of -Hampton, impressing him apparently with great awe and admiration; so -that in after life his little country house is,--of all places in the -world,--at Twickenham! Of swans and reedy shores he now learns the soft -motion and the green mystery, in a way not to be forgotten. - -§ 16. And at last fortune wills that the lad's true life shall begin; -and one summer's evening, after various wonderful stage-coach -experiences on the north road, which gave him a love of stage-coaches -ever after, he finds himself sitting alone among the Yorkshire hills.[2] -For the first time, the silence of Nature round him, her freedom sealed -to him, her glory opened to him. Peace at last; no roll of cart-wheel, -nor mutter of sullen voices in the back shop; but curlew-cry in space of -heaven, and welling of bell-toned streamlet by its shadowy rock. Freedom -at last. Dead-wall, dark railing, fenced field, gated garden, all passed -away like the dream of a prisoner; and behold, far as foot or eye can -race or range, the moor, and cloud. Loveliness at last. It is here then, -among these deserted vales! Not among men. Those pale, poverty-struck, -or cruel faces;--that multitudinous, marred humanity--are not the only -things that God has made. Here is something He has made which no one has -marred. Pride of purple rocks, and river pools of blue, and tender -wilderness of glittering trees, and misty lights of evening on -immeasurable hills. - -§ 17. Beauty, and freedom, and peace; and yet another teacher, graver -than these. Sound preaching at last here, in Kirkstall crypt, concerning -fate and life. Here, where the dark pool reflects the chancel pillars, -and the cattle lie in unhindered rest, the soft sunshine on their -dappled bodies, instead of priests' vestments; their white furry hair -ruffled a little, fitfully, by the evening wind, deep-scented from the -meadow thyme. - -§ 18. Consider deeply the import to him of this, his first sight of -ruin, and compare it with the effect of the architecture that was around -Giorgione. There were indeed aged buildings, at Venice, in his time, but -none in decay. All ruin was removed, and its place filled as quickly as -in our London; but filled always by architecture loftier and more -wonderful than that whose place it took, the boy himself happy to work -upon the walls of it; so that the idea of the passing away of the -strength of men and beauty of their works never could occur to him -sternly. Brighter and brighter the cities of Italy had been rising and -broadening on hill and plain, for three hundred years. He saw only -strength and immortality, could not but paint both; conceived the form -of man as deathless, calm with power, and fiery with life. - -§ 19. Turner saw the exact reverse of this. In the present work of men, -meanness, aimlessness, unsightliness: thin-walled, lath-divided, -narrow-garreted houses of clay; booths of a darksome Vanity Fair, busily -base. - -But on Whitby Hill, and by Bolton Brook, remained traces of other -handiwork. Men who could build had been there; and who also had wrought, -not merely for their own days. But to what purpose? Strong faith, and -steady hands, and patient souls--can this, then, be all you have left! -this the sum of your doing on the earth!--a nest whence the night-owl -may whimper to the brook, and a ribbed skeleton of consumed arches, -looming above the bleak banks of mist, from its cliff to the sea? - -As the strength of men to Giorgione, to Turner their weakness and -vileness, were alone visible. They themselves, unworthy or ephemeral; -their work, despicable, or decayed. In the Venetian's eyes, all beauty -depended on man's presence and pride; in Turner's, on the solitude he -had left, and the humiliation he had suffered. - -§ 20. And thus the fate and issue of all his work were determined at -once. He must be a painter of the strength of nature, there was no -beauty elsewhere than in that; he must paint also the labor and sorrow -and passing away of men; this was the great human truth visible to him. - -Their labor, their sorrow, and their death. Mark the three. Labor; by -sea and land, in field and city, at forge and furnace, helm and plough. -No pastoral indolence nor classic pride shall stand between him and the -troubling of the world; still less between him and the toil of his -country,--blind, tormented, unwearied, marvellous England. - -§ 21. Also their Sorrow; Ruin of all their glorious work, passing away -of their thoughts and their honor, mirage of pleasure, FALLACY OF HOPE; -gathering of weed on temple step; gaining of wave on deserted strand; -weeping of the mother for the children, desolate by her breathless -first-born in the streets of the city,[3] desolate by her last sons -slain, among the beasts of the field.[4] - -§ 22. And their Death. That old Greek question again;--yet unanswered. -The unconquerable spectre still flitting among the forest trees at -twilight; rising ribbed out of the sea-sand;--white, a strange -Aphrodite,--out of the sea-foam; stretching its gray, cloven wings among -the clouds; turning the light of their sunsets into blood. This has to -be looked upon, and in a more terrible shape than ever Salvator or Durer -saw it. The wreck of one guilty country does not infer the ruin of all -countries, and need not cause general terror respecting the laws of the -universe. Neither did the orderly and narrow succession of domestic joy -and sorrow in a small German community bring the question in its -breadth, or in any unresolvable shape, before the mind of Durer. But the -English death--the European death of the nineteenth century--was of -another range and power; more terrible a thousand-fold in its merely -physical grasp and grief; more terrible, incalculably, in its mystery -and shame. What were the robber's casual pang, or the rage of the flying -skirmish, compared to the work of the axe, and the sword, and the -famine, which was done during this man's youth on all the hills and -plains of the Christian earth, from Moscow to Gibraltar. He was eighteen -years old when Napoleon came down on Arcola. Look on the map of Europe, -and count the blood-stains on it, between Arcola and Waterloo. - -§ 23. Not alone those blood-stains on the Alpine snow, and the blue of -the Lombard plain. The English death was before his eyes also. No -decent, calculable, consoled dying; no passing to rest like that of the -aged burghers of Nuremberg town. No gentle processions to churchyards -among the fields, the bronze crests bossed deep on the memorial tablets, -and the skylark singing above them from among the corn. But the life -trampled out in the slime of the street, crushed to dust amidst the -roaring of the wheel, tossed countlessly away into howling winter wind -along five hundred leagues of rock-fanged shore. Or, worst of all, -rotted down to forgotten graves through years of ignorant patience, and -vain seeking for help from man, for hope in God--infirm, imperfect -yearning, as of motherless infants starving at the dawn; oppressed -royalties of captive thought, vague ague-fits of bleak, amazed despair. - -§ 24. A goodly landscape this, for the lad to paint, and under a goodly -light. Wide enough the light was, and clear; no more Salvator's lurid -chasm on jagged horizon, nor Durer's spotted rest of sunny gleam on -hedgerow and field; but light over all the world. Full shone now its -awful globe, one pallid charnel-house,--a ball strewn bright with human -ashes, glaring in poised sway beneath the sun, all blinding-white with -death from pole to pole,--death, not of myriads of poor bodies only, but -of will, and mercy, and conscience; death, not once inflicted on the -flesh, but daily, fastening on the spirit; death, not silent or patient, -waiting his appointed hour, but voiceful, venomous; death with the -taunting word, and burning grasp, and infixed sting. - -"Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe." The word is spoken in -our ears continually to other reapers than the angels--to the busy -skeletons that never tire for stooping. When the measure of iniquity is -full, and it seems that another day might bring repentance and -redemption,--"Put ye in the sickle." When the young life has been wasted -all away, and the eyes are just opening upon the tracks of ruin, and -faint resolution rising in the heart for nobler things,--"Put ye in the -sickle." When the roughest blows of fortune have been borne long and -bravely, and the hand is just stretched to grasp its goal,--"Put ye in -the sickle." And when there are but a few in the midst of a nation, to -save it, or to teach, or to cherish; and all its life is bound up in -those few golden ears,--"Put ye in the sickle, pale reapers, and pour -hemlock for your feast of harvest home." - -This was the sight which opened on the young eyes, this the watchword -sounding within the heart of Turner in his youth. - -So taught, and prepared for his life's labor, sate the boy at last alone -among his fair English hills; and began to paint, with cautious toil, -the rocks, and fields, and trickling brooks, and soft, white clouds of -heaven. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Liber Studiorum. "Interior of a church." It is worthy of remark - that Giorgione and Titian are always delighted to have an opportunity - of drawing priests. The English Church may, perhaps, accept it as - matter of congratulation that this is the only instance in which - Turner drew a clergyman. - - [2] I do not mean that this is his first acquaintance with the - country, but the first impressive and touching one, after his mind - was formed. The earliest sketches I found in the National Collection - are at Clifton and Bristol; the next, at Oxford. - - [3] "The Tenth Plague of Egypt." - - [4] "Rizpah, the Daughter of Aiah." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE NEREID'S GUARD. - - -§ 1. The work of Turner, in its first period, is said in my account of -his drawings at the National Gallery to be distinguished by "boldness of -handling, generally gloomy tendency of mind, subdued color, and -perpetual reference to precedent in composition." I must refer the -reader to those two catalogues[1] for a more special account of his -early modes of technical study. Here we are concerned only with the -expression of that gloomy tendency of mind, whose causes we are now -better able to understand. - -§ 2. It was prevented from overpowering him by his labor. This, -continual, and as tranquil in its course as a ploughman's in the field, -by demanding an admirable humility and patience, averted the tragic -passion of youth. Full of stern sorrow and fixed purpose, the boy set -himself to his labor silently and meekly, like a workman's child on its -first day at the cotton-mill. Without haste, but without -relaxation,--accepting all modes and means of progress, however painful -or humiliating, he took the burden on his shoulder and began his march. -There was nothing so little, but that he noticed it; nothing so great -but he began preparations to cope with it. For some time his work is, -apparently, feelingless, so patient and mechanical are the first essays. -It gains gradually in power and grasp; there is no perceptible _aim_ at -freedom, or at fineness, but the force insensibly becomes swifter, and -the touch finer. The color is always dark or subdued. - -[Illustration: 78. Quivi Trovammo.] - -§ 3. Of the first forty subjects which he exhibited at the Royal -Academy, thirty-one are architectural, and of these twenty-one are of -elaborate Gothic architecture (Peterborough cathedral, Lincoln -cathedral, Malmesbury abbey, Tintern abbey, &c.). I look upon the -discipline given to his hand by these formal drawings as of the highest -importance. His mind was also gradually led by them into a calmer -pensiveness.[2] Education amidst country possessing architectural -remains of some noble kind, I believe to be wholly essential to the -progress of a landscape artist. The first verses he ever attached to a -picture were in 1798. They are from Paradise Lost, and refer to a -picture of Morning, on the Coniston Fells:-- - - "Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise - From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray, - Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold, - In honor to the world's great Author rise." - -By glancing over the verses, which in following years[3] he quotes from -Milton, Thompson, and Mallet, it may be seen at once how his mind was -set, so far as natural scenes were concerned, on rendering atmospheric -effect;--and so far as emotion was to be expressed, how consistently it -was melancholy. - -He paints, first of heroic or meditative subjects, the Fifth Plague of -Egypt; next, the Tenth Plague of Egypt. His first tribute to the memory -of Nelson is the "Battle of the Nile," 1799. I presume an unimportant -picture, as his power was not then availably developed. His first -classical subject is Narcissus and Echo, in 1805:-- - - "So melts the youth and languishes away, - His beauty withers, and his limbs decay." - -The year following he summons his whole strength, and paints what we -might suppose would be a happier subject, the Garden of the Hesperides. -This being the most important picture of the first period, I will -analyze it completely. - -§ 4. The fable of the Hesperides had, it seems to me, in the Greek mind -two distinct meanings; the first referring to natural phenomena, and the -second to moral. The natural meaning of it I believe to have been -this:-- - -The Garden of the Hesperides was supposed to exist in the westernmost -part of the Cyrenaica; it was generally the expression for the beauty -and luxuriant vegetation of the coast of Africa in that district. The -centre of the Cyrenaica "is occupied by a moderately elevated -table-land, whose edge runs parallel to the coast, to which it sinks -down in a succession of terraces, clothed with verdure, intersected by -mountain streams running through ravines filled with the richest -vegetation; well watered by frequent rains, exposed to the cool sea -breeze from the north, and sheltered by the mass of the mountain from -the sands and hot winds of the Sahara."[4] - -The Greek colony of Cyrene itself was founded ten miles from the -sea-shore, "in a spot backed by the mountains on the south, and thus -sheltered from the fiery blasts of the desert; while at the height of -about 1800 feet an inexhaustible spring bursts forth amidst luxuriant -vegetation, and pours its waters down to the Mediterranean through a -most beautiful ravine." - -The nymphs of the west, or Hesperides, are therefore, I believe, as -natural types, the representatives of the soft western winds and -sunshine, which were in this district most favorable to vegetation. In -this sense they are called daughters of Atlas and Hesperis, the western -winds being cooled by the snow of Atlas. The dragon, on the contrary, is -the representative of the Sahara wind, or Simoom, which blew over the -garden from among the hills on the south, and forbade all advance of -cultivation beyond their ridge. Whether this was the physical meaning of -the tradition in the Greek mind or not, there can be no doubt of its -being Turner's first interpretation of it. A glance at the picture may -determine this: a clear fountain being made the principal object in the -foreground,--a bright and strong torrent in the distance,--while the -dragon, wrapped in flame and whirlwind, watches from the top of the -cliff. - -§ 5. But, both in the Greek mind and Turner's, this natural meaning of -the legend was a completely subordinate one. The moral significance of -it lay far deeper. In the second, but principal sense, the Hesperides -were not daughters of Atlas, nor connected with the winds of the west, -but with its splendor. They are properly the nymphs of the sunset, and -are the daughters of night, having many brothers and sisters, of whom I -shall take Hesiod's account. - -§ 6. "And the Night begat Doom, and short-withering Fate, and Death. - -"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams, and Censure, and Sorrow. - -"And the Hesperides, who keep the golden fruit beyond the mighty Sea. - -"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of merciless punishment. - -"And Jealousy, and Deceit, and Wanton Love; and Old Age, that fades -away; and Strife, whose will endures." - -§ 7. We have not, I think, hitherto quite understood the Greek feeling -about those nymphs and their golden apples, coming as a light in the -midst of cloud; between Censure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies. We must -look to the precise meaning of Hesiod's words, in order to get the force -of the passage. - -"The Night begat Doom;" that is to say, the doom of unforeseen -accident--doom essentially of darkness. - -"And short-withering Fate." Ill translated. I cannot do it better. It -means especially the sudden fate which brings untimely end to all -purpose, and cuts off youth and its promise; called, therefore (the -epithet hardly ever leaving it), "black Fate." - -"And Death." This is the universal, inevitable death, opposed to the -interfering, untimely death. These three are named as the elder -children. Hesiod pauses, and repeats the word "begat" before going on to -number the others. - -"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams." - -"And _Censure_." "Momus," the Spirit of Blame--the spirit which desires -to blame rather than to praise; false, base, unhelpful, unholy -judgment;--ignorant and blind, child of the Night. - -"And Sorrow." Accurately, sorrow of mourning; the sorrow of the night, -when no man can work; of the night that falls when what was the light of -the eyes is taken from us; lamenting, sightless sorrow, without -hope,--child of Night. - -"And the Hesperides." We will come back to these. - -"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of Merciless Punishment." These are -the great Fates which have rule over conduct; the first fate spoken of -(short-withering) is that which has rule over occurrence. These great -Fates are Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Their three powers are--Clotho's -over the clue, the thread, or connecting energy,--that is, the conduct -of life; Lachesis' over the lot--that is to say, the chance which warps, -entangles, or bends the course of life. Atropos, inflexible, cuts the -thread for ever. - -"And Jealousy," especially the jealousy of Fortune, in balancing all -good by evil. The Greeks had a peculiar dread of this form of fate. - -"And Deceit, and sensual Love. And Old Age that fades, and Strife that -endures;" that is to say, old age, which, growing not in wisdom, is -marked only by its failing power--by the gradual gaining of darkness on -the faculties, and helplessness on the frame, such age is the forerunner -of true death--the child of Night. "And Strife," the last and the -mightiest, the nearest to man of the Night-children--blind leader of the -blind. - -§ 8. Understanding thus whose sisters they are, let us consider of the -Hesperides themselves--spoken of commonly as the "Singing Nymphs." They -are four. - -Their names are Ćglé,--Brightness; Erytheia,--Blushing; Hestia,--the -(spirit of the) Hearth; Arethusa,--the Ministering. - -O English reader! hast thou ever heard of these fair and true daughters -of Sunset, beyond the mighty sea? - -And was it not well to trust to such keepers the guarding of the golden -fruit which the earth gave to Juno at her marriage? Not fruit only: -fruit on the tree, given by the earth, the great mother, to Juno (female -power), at her marriage with Jupiter, or _ruling_ manly power -(distinguished from the tried and _agonizing_ strength of Hercules). I -call Juno, briefly, female power. She is, especially, the goddess -presiding over marriage, regarding the woman as the mistress of a -household. Vesta (the goddess of the hearth[5]), with Ceres, and Venus, -are variously dominant over marriage, as the fulfilment of love; but -Juno is pre-eminently the housewives' goddess. She, therefore, -represents, in her character, whatever good or evil may result from -female ambition, or desire of power: and, as to a housewife, the earth -presents its golden fruit to her, which she gives to two kinds of -guardians. The wealth of the earth, as the source of household peace and -plenty, is watched by the singing nymphs--the Hesperides. But, as the -source of household sorrow and desolation, it is watched by the Dragon. - -We must, therefore, see who the Dragon was, and what kind of dragon. - -§ 9. The reader will, perhaps, remember that we traced, in an earlier -chapter, the birth of the Gorgons, through Phorcys and Ceto, from -Nereus. The youngest child of Phorcys and Ceto is the Dragon of the -Hesperides; but this latest descent is not, as in Northern traditions, a -sign of fortunateness: on the contrary, the children of Nereus receive -gradually more and more terror and power, as they are later born, till -this last of the Nereids unites horror and power at their utmost. -Observe the gradual change. Nereus himself is said to have been -perfectly _true_ and _gentle_. - -This is Hesiod's account of him:-- - -"And Pontus begat Nereus, simple and true, the oldest of children; but -they call him the aged man, in that he is errorless and kind; neither -forgets he what is right; but knows all just and gentle counsel." - -§ 10. Now the children of Nereus, like the Hesperides themselves, bear a -twofold typical character; one physical, the other moral. In his -physical symbolism, Nereus himself is the calm and gentle sea, from -which rise, in gradual increase of terror, the clouds and storms. In his -moral character, Nereus is the type of the deep, pure, rightly-tempered -human mind, from which, in gradual degeneracy, spring the troubling -passions. - -Keeping this double meaning in view, observe the whole line of descent -to the Hesperides' Dragon. Nereus, by the earth, begets (1) Thaumas (the -wonderful), physically, the father of the Rainbow; morally, the type of -the enchantments and dangers of imagination. His grandchildren, besides -the Rainbow, are the Harpies. 2. Phorcys (Orcus?), physically, the -treachery or devouring spirit of the sea; morally, covetousness or -malignity of heart. 3. Ceto, physically, the deep places of the sea; -morally, secretness of heart, called "fair-cheeked," because tranquil in -outward aspect. 4. Eurybia (wide strength), physically, the flowing, -especially the tidal power of the sea (she, by one of the sons of -Heaven, becomes the mother of three great Titans, one of whom, Astrćus, -and the Dawn, are the parents of the four Winds); morally, the healthy -passion of the heart. Thus far the children of Nereus. - -§ 11. Next, Phorcys and Ceto, in their physical characters (the grasping -or devouring of the sea, reaching out over the land and its depth), -beget the Clouds and Storms--namely, first, the Graić, or soft -rain-clouds; then the Gorgons, or storm-clouds; and youngest and last, -the Hesperides' Dragon--Volcanic or earth-storm, associated, in -conception, with the Simoom and fiery African winds. - -But, in its moral significance, the descent is this. Covetousness, or -malignity (Phorcys), and Secretness (Ceto), beget, first, the darkening -passions, whose hair is always gray; then the stormy and merciless -passions, brazen-winged (the Gorgons), of whom the dominant, Medusa, is -ice-cold, turning all who look on her to stone. And, lastly, the -consuming (poisonous and volcanic) passions--the "flame-backed dragon," -uniting the powers of poison, and instant destruction. Now, the reader -may have heard, perhaps, in other books of Genesis than Hesiod's, of a -dragon being busy about a tree which bore apples, and of crushing the -head of that dragon; but seeing how, in the Greek mind, this serpent was -descended from the sea, he may, perhaps, be surprised to remember -another verse, bearing also on the matter:--"Thou brakest the heads of -the dragons in the waters;" and yet more surprised, going on with the -Septuagint version, to find where he is being led: "Thou brakest the -head of the dragon, and gavest him to be meat to the Ethiopian people. -Thou didst tear asunder the strong fountains and the storm-torrents; -thou didst dry up the rivers of Etham, [Greek: pęgas kai cheimarrhous], -the Pegasus fountains--Etham on the edge of the wilderness." - -§ 12. Returning then to Hesiod, we find he tells us of the Dragon -himself:--"He, in the secret places of the desert land, kept the -all-golden apples in his great knots" (coils of rope, or extremities of -anything). With which compare Euripides' report of him:--"And Hercules -came to the Hesperian dome, to the singing maidens, plucking the apple -fruit from the golden petals; slaying the flame-backed dragon, who -twined round and round, kept guard in unapproachable spires" (spirals or -whirls, as of a whirlwind-vortex). - -Farther, we hear from other scattered syllables of tradition, that this -dragon was sleepless, and that he was able to take various tones of -human voice. - -And we find a later tradition than Hesiod's calling him a child of -Typhon and Echidna. Now Typhon is volcanic storm, generally the evil -spirit of tumult. - -Echidna (the adder) is a descendant of Medusa. She is a daughter of -Chrysaor (the lightning), by Calliröe (the fair flowing), a daughter of -Ocean;--that is to say, she joins the intense fatality of the lightning -with perfect gentleness. In form she is half-maiden, half-serpent; -therefore she is the spirit of all the fatalest evil, veiled in -gentleness: or, in one word, treachery;--having dominion over many -gentle things;--and chiefly over a kiss, given, indeed, in another -garden than that of the Hesperides, yet in relation to keeping of -treasure also. - -§ 13. Having got this farther clue, let us look who it is whom Dante -makes the typical Spirit of Treachery. The eighth or lowest pit of hell -is given to its keeping; at the edge of which pit, Virgil casts a _rope_ -down for a signal; instantly there rises, as from the sea, "as one -returns who hath been down to loose some anchor," "the fell monster with -the deadly sting, who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls, and -firm embattled spears; and with his filth taints all the world." - -Think for an instant of another place:--"Sharp stones are under him, he -laugheth at the shaking of a spear." We must yet keep to Dante, -however. Echidna, remember, is half-maiden, half-serpent;--hear what -Dante's Fraud is like:-- - - "Forthwith that image vile of Fraud appear'd, - His head and upper part exposed on land, - But laid not on the shore his bestial train. - His face the semblance of a just man's wore, - So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; - The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws - Reach'd to the armpits; and the back and breast, - And either side, were painted o'er with nodes - And orbits. Colors variegated more - Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state - With interchangeable embroidery wove, - Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom. - As oft-times a light skiff moor'd to the shore, - Stands part in water, part upon the land; - Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, - The beaver settles, watching for his prey; - So on the rim, that fenced the sand with rock, - Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void - Glancing, his tail upturn'd, its venomous fork - With sting like scorpion's arm'd." - -§ 14. You observe throughout this description the leaning on the -character of the _Sea_ Dragon; a little farther on, his way of flying is -told us:-- - - "As a small vessel backing out from land, - Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd, - And, when he felt himself at large, turn'd round - There, where the breast had been, his fork'd tail. - Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd, - Gathering the air up with retractile claws." - -And lastly, his name is told us: Geryon. Whereupon, looking back at -Hesiod, we find that Geryon is Echidna's brother. Man-serpent, -therefore, in Dante, as Echidna is woman-serpent. - -We find next that Geryon lived in the island of Erytheia, (blushing), -only another kind of blushing than that of the Hesperid Erytheia. But it -is on, also, a western island, and Geryon kept red oxen on it (said to -be near the red setting sun); and Hercules kills him, as he does the -Hesperian dragon: but in order to be able to reach him, a golden boat is -given to Hercules by the Sun, to cross the sea in. - -§ 15. We will return to this part of the legend presently, having enough -of it now collected to get at the complete idea of the Hesperian dragon, -who is, in fine, the "Pluto il gran nemico" of Dante; the demon of all -evil passions connected with covetousness; that is to say, essentially -of fraud, rage, and gloom. Regarded as the demon of Fraud, he is said to -be descended from the viper Echidna, full of deadly cunning, in whirl on -whirl; as the demon of consuming Rage, from Phorcys; as the demon of -Gloom, from Ceto;--in his watching and melancholy, he is sleepless -(compare the Micyllus dialogue of Lucian); breathing whirlwind and fire, -he is the destroyer, descended from Typhon as well as Phorcys; having, -moreover, with all these, the irresistible strength of his ancestral -sea. - -§ 16. Now, look at him, as Turner has drawn him (p. 298). I cannot -reduce the creature to this scale without losing half his power; his -length, especially, seems to diminish more than it should in proportion -to his bulk. In the picture he is far in the distance, cresting the -mountain; and may be, perhaps, three-quarters of a mile long. The actual -length on the canvas is a foot and eight inches; so that it may be -judged how much he loses by the reduction, not to speak of my imperfect -etching,[6] and of the loss which, however well he might have been -engraved, he would still have sustained, in the impossibility of -expressing the lurid color of his armor, alternate bronze and blue. - -§ 17. Still, the main points of him are discernible enough; and among -all the wonderful things that Turner did in his day, I think this nearly -the most wonderful. How far he had really found out for himself the -collateral bearings of the Hesperid tradition I know not; but that he -had got the main clue of it, and knew who the Dragon was, there can be -no doubt; the strange thing is, that his conception of it throughout, -down to the minutest detail, fits every one of the circumstances of the -Greek traditions. There is, first, the Dragon's descent from Medusa and -Typhon, indicated in the serpent-clouds floating from his head (compare -my sketch of the Medusa-cloud, Plate 71); then note the grovelling and -ponderous body, ending in a serpent, of which we do not see the end. He -drags the weight of it forward by his claws, not being able to lift -himself from the ground ("Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell"); -then the grip of the claws themselves as if they would clutch (rather -than tear) the rock itself into pieces; but chiefly, the designing of -the body. Remember, one of the essential characters of the creature, as -descended from Medusa, is its coldness and petrifying power; this, in -the demon of covetousness, must exist to the utmost; breathing fire, he -is yet himself of ice. Now, if I were merely to draw this dragon as -white, instead of dark, and take his claws away, his body would become a -representation of a greater glacier, so nearly perfect, that I know no -published engraving of glacier breaking over a rocky brow so like the -truth as this dragon's shoulders would be, if they were thrown out in -light; there being only this difference, that they have the form, but -not the fragility of the ice; they are at once ice and iron. "His bones -are like solid pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron; by his -neesings a light doth shine." - -§ 18. The strange unity of vertebrated action, and of a true bony -contour, infinitely varied in every vertebra, with this glacial -outline;--together with the adoption of the head of the Ganges -crocodile, the fish-eater, to show his sea descent (and this in the year -1806, when hardly a single fossil saurian skeleton existed within -Turner's reach), renders the whole conception one of the most curious -exertions of the imaginative intellect with which I am acquainted in the -arts. - -§ 19. Thus far, then, of the dragon; next, we have to examine the -conception of the Goddess of Discord. We must return for a moment to the -tradition about Geryon. I cannot yet decipher the meaning of his oxen, -said to be fed together with those of Hades; nor of the journey of -Hercules, in which, after slaying Geryon, he returns through Europe like -a border forager, driving these herds, and led into farther battle in -protection or recovery of them. But it seems to me the main drift of the -legend cannot be mistaken; viz., that Geryon is the evil spirit of -wealth, as arising from commerce; hence, placed as a guardian of isles -in the most distant sea, and reached in a golden boat; while the -Hesperian dragon is the evil spirit of wealth, as possessed in -households; and associated, therefore, with the true household -guardians, or singing nymphs. Hercules (manly labor), slaying both -Geryon and Ladon, presents oxen and apples to Juno, who is their proper -mistress; but the Goddess of Discord, contriving that one portion of -this household wealth shall be ill bestowed by Paris, he, according to -Coleridge's interpretation, choosing pleasure instead of wisdom or -power;--there issue from this evil choice the catastrophe of the Trojan -war, and the wanderings of Ulysses, which are essentially, both in the -Iliad and Odyssey, the troubling of household peace; terminating with -the restoration of this peace by repentance and patience; Helen and -Penelope seen at last sitting upon their household thrones, in the -Hesperian light of age. - -§ 20. We have, therefore, to regard Discord, in the Hesperides garden, -eminently as the disturber of households, assuming a different aspect -from Homer's wild and fierce discord of war. They are, nevertheless, one -and the same power; for she changes her aspect at will. I cannot get at -the root of her name, Eris. It seems to me as if it ought to have one in -common with Erinnys (Fury); but it means always contention, emulation, -or competition, either in mind or in words;--the final work of Eris is -essentially "division," and she is herself always double-minded; shouts -two ways at once (in Iliad, xi. 6), and wears a mantle rent in half -(Ćneid, viii. 702). Homer makes her loud-voiced, and insatiably -covetous. This last attribute is, with him, the source of her usual -title. She is little when she first is seen, then rises till her head -touches heaven. By Virgil she is called mad; and her hair is of -serpents, bound with bloody garlands. - -§ 21. This is the conception first adopted by Turner, but combined with -another which he found in Spenser; only note that there is some -confusion in the minds of English poets between Eris (Discord) and Até -(Error), who is a daughter of Discord, according to Hesiod. She is -properly--mischievous error, tender-footed; for she does not walk on the -earth, but on heads of men (Iliad, xix. 92); _i.e._ not on the solid -ground, but on human vain thoughts; therefore, her hair is glittering -(Iliad, xix. 126). I think she is mainly the confusion of mind coming of -pride, as Eris comes of covetousness; therefore, Homer makes her a -daughter of Jove. Spenser, under the name of Até, describes Eris. I have -referred to his account of her in my notice of the Discord on the Ducal -palace of Venice (remember the inscription there, _Discordia sum, -discordans_). But the stanzas from which Turner derived his conception -of her are these-- - - "Als, as she double spake, so heard she double, - With matchlesse eares deformed and distort, - Fild with false rumors and seditious trouble, - Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort, - That still are led with every light report: - And as her eares, so eke her feet were odde, - And much unlike; th' one long, the other short, - And both misplast; that, when th' one forward yode, - The other backe retired and contrárie trode. - - "Likewise unequall were her handës twaine; - That one did reach, the other pusht away; - That one did make the other mard againe, - And sought to bring all things unto decay; - Whereby great riches, gathered manie a day, - She in short space did often bring to nought, - An their possessours often did dismay: - For all her studie was, and all her thought - How she might overthrow the thing that Concord wrought. - - "So much her malice did her might surpas, - That even th' Almightie selfe she did maligne, - Because to man so mercifull He was, - And unto all His creatures so benigne, - Sith she herself was of his grace indigne: - For all this worlds faire workmanship she tride - Unto his last confusion to bring, - And that great golden chaine quite to divide, - With which it blessed Concord hath together tide." - -All these circumstances of decrepitude and distortion Turner has -followed, through hand and limb, with patient care: he has added one -final touch of his own. The nymph who brings the apples to the goddess, -offers her one in each hand; and Eris, of the divided mind, cannot -choose. - -§ 22. One farther circumstance must be noted, in order to complete our -understanding of the picture,--the gloom extending, not to the dragon -only, but also to the fountain and the tree of golden fruit. The reason -of this gloom may be found in two other passages of the authors from -which Turner had taken his conception of Eris--Virgil and Spenser. For -though the Hesperides in their own character, as the nymphs of domestic -joy, are entirely bright (and the garden always bright around them), yet -seen or remembered in sorrow, or in the presence of discord, they deepen -distress. Their entirely happy character is given by Euripides:--"The -fruit-planted shore of the Hesperides,--songstresses,--where the ruler -of the purple lake allows not any more to the sailor his way, assigning -the boundary of Heaven, which Atlas holds; where the ambrosial fountains -flow, and the fruitful and divine land increases the happiness of the -gods." - -But to the thoughts of Dido, in her despair, they recur under another -aspect; she remembers their priestess as a great enchantress; who _feeds -the dragon_ and preserves the boughs of the tree; sprinkling moist honey -and drowsy poppy; who also has power over ghosts; "and the earth shakes -and the forests stoop from the hills at her bidding." - -§ 23. This passage Turner must have known well, from his continual -interest in Carthage: but his diminution of the splendor of the old -Greek garden was certainly caused chiefly by Spenser's describing the -Hesperides fruit as growing first in the garden of Mammon:-- - - "There mournfull cypresse grew in greatest store; - And trees of bitter gall; and heben sad; - Dead sleeping poppy; and black hellebore; - Cold coloquintida; and tetra mad - Mortal samnitis; and cicuta bad, - With which th' uniust Atheniens made to dy - Wise Socrates, who, thereof quaffing glad, - Pourd out his life and last philosophy. - - * * * * * - - "The gardin of Prosčrpina this hight: - And in the midst thereof a silver seat, - With a thick arber goodly over dight, - In which she often usd from open heat - Herselfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat: - Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, - With braunches broad dispredd and body great, - Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see, - And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee. - - "Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright, - That goodly was their glory to behold; - On earth like never grew, ne living wight - Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold; - For those, which Hercules with conquest bold - Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began. - - * * * * * - - "Here eke that famous golden apple grew, - The which emongst the gods false Até threw." - -There are two collateral evidences in the picture of Turner's mind -having been partly influenced by this passage. The excessive darkness of -the stream,--though one of the Cyrene fountains--to remind us of -Cocytus; and the breaking of the bough of the tree by the weight of its -apples--not healthily, but as a diseased tree would break. - -§ 24. Such then is our English painter's first great religious picture; -and exponent of our English faith. A sad-colored work, not executed in -Angelico's white and gold; nor in Perugino's crimson and azure; but in a -sulphurous hue, as relating to a paradise of smoke. That power, it -appears, on the hill-top, is our British Madonna; whom, reverently, the -English devotional painter must paint, thus enthroned, with nimbus about -the gracious head. Our Madonna,--or our Jupiter on Olympus,--or, perhaps -more accurately still, our unknown god, sea-born, with the cliffs, not -of Cyrene, but of England, for his altar; and no chance of any Mars' -Hill proclamation concerning him, "whom therefore ye ignorantly -worship." - -§ 25. This is no irony. The fact is verily so. The greatest man of our -England, in the first half of the nineteenth century, in the strength -and hope of his youth, perceives this to be the thing he has to tell us -of utmost moment, connected with the spiritual world. In each city and -country of past time, the master-minds had to declare the chief worship -which lay at the nation's heart; to define it; adorn it; show the range -and authority of it. Thus in Athens, we have the triumph of Pallas; and -in Venice the assumption of the Virgin; here, in England, is our great -spiritual fact for ever interpreted to us--the Assumption of the Dragon. -No St. George any more to be heard of; no more dragon-slaying possible: -this child, born on St. George's Day, can only make manifest the Dragon, -not slay him, sea-serpent as he is; whom the English Andromeda, not -fearing, takes for her lord. The fairy English Queen once thought to -command the waves, but it is the sea-dragon now who commands her -valleys; of old the Angel of the Sea ministered to them, but now the -Serpent of the Sea; where once flowed their clear springs now spreads -the black Cocytus pool; and the fair blooming of the Hesperid meadows -fades into ashes beneath the Nereid's Guard. - -Yes, Albert of Nuremberg; the time has at last come. Another nation has -arisen in the strength of its Black anger; and another hand has -portrayed the spirit of its toil. Crowned with fire, and with the wings -of the bat. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] Notes on the Turner Collection at Marlborough House. 1857. - Catalogue of the Sketches of J. M. V. Turner exhibited at Marlborough - House. 1858. - - [2] The regret I expressed in the third volume at Turner's not having - been educated under the influence of Gothic art was, therefore, - mistaken; I had not then had access to his earlier studies. He _was_ - educated under the influence of Gothic architecture; but, in more - advanced life, his mind was warped and weakened by classical - architecture. Why he left the one for the other, or how far good - influences were mingled with evil in the result of the change, I have - not yet been able to determine. - - [3] They may be referred to with ease in Boone's Catalogue of - Turner's Pictures, 1857. - - [4] Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography. Art. - "Cyrenaica." - - [5] Her name is also that of the Hesperid nymph; but I give the - Hesperid her Greek form of name, to distinguish her from the goddess. - The Hesperid Arethusa has the same subordinate relation to Ceres; and - Erytheia, to Venus. Ćglé signifies especially the spirit of - brightness or cheerfulness including even the subordinate idea of - household neatness or cleanliness. - - [6] It is merely a sketch on the steel, like the illustrations before - given of composition; but it marks the points needing note. Perhaps - some day I may be able to engrave it of the full size. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE HESPERID ĆGLÉ. - - -§ 1. Five years after the Hesperides were painted, another great -mythological subject appeared by Turner's hand. Another dragon--this -time not triumphant, but in death-pang; the Python, slain by Apollo. - -Not in a garden, this slaying, but in a hollow, among wildest rocks, -beside a stagnant pool. Yet, instead of the sombre coloring of the -Hesperid hills, strange gleams of blue and gold flit around the mountain -peaks, and color the clouds above them. - -The picture is at once the type, and the first expression of a great -change which was passing in Turner's mind. A change, which was not -clearly manifested in all its results until much later in his life; but -in the coloring of this picture are the first signs of it; and in the -subject of this picture, its symbol. - -§ 2. Had Turner died early, the reputation he would have left, though -great and enduring, would have been strangely different from that which -ultimately must now attach to his name. He would have been remembered as -one of the severest of painters; his iron touch and positive form would -have been continually opposed to the delicacy of Claude and richness of -Titian; he would have been spoken of, popularly, as a man who had no eye -for color. Perhaps here and there a watchful critic might have shown -this popular idea to be false; but no conception could have been formed -by any one of the man's real disposition or capacity. - -It was only after the year 1820 that these were determinable, and his -peculiar work discerned. - -§ 3. He had begun by faithful declaration of the sorrow there was in the -world. It is now permitted him to see also its beauty. He becomes, -separately and without rival, the painter of the loveliness and light of -the creation. - -[Illustration: 79. The Hesperid Ćglé.] - -Of its loveliness: that which may be beloved in it, the tenderest, -kindest, most feminine of its aspects. Of its light: light not merely -diffused, but interpreted; light seen pre-eminently in color. - -Claude and Cuyp had painted the sun_shine_, Turner alone the sun -_color_. - -Observe this accurately. Those easily understood effects of afternoon -light, gracious and sweet so far as they reach, are produced by the -softly warm or yellow rays of the sun falling through mist. They are low -in tone, even in nature, and disguise the colors of objects. They are -imitable even by persons who have little or no gift of color, if the -tones of the picture are kept low and in true harmony, and the reflected -lights warm. But they never could be painted by great colorists. The -fact of blue and crimson being effaced by yellow and gray, puts such -effect at once out of the notice or thought of a colorist, unless he has -some special interest in the motive of it. You might as well ask a -musician to compose with only three notes, as Titian to paint without -crimson and blue. Accordingly the colorists in general, feeling that no -other than this yellow sunshine was imitable, refused it, and painted in -twilight, when the color was full. Therefore, from the imperfect -colorists,--from Cuyp, Claude, Both, Wilson, we get deceptive effect of -sunshine; never from the Venetians, from Rubens, Reynolds or Velasquez. -From these we get only conventional substitutions for it, Rubens being -especially daring[1] in frankness of symbol. - -§ 4. Turner, however, as a landscape painter, had to represent sunshine -of one kind or another. He went steadily through the subdued golden -chord, and painted Cuyp's favorite effect, "sun rising through vapor," -for many a weary year. But this was not enough for him. He must paint -the sun in his strength, the sun rising _not_ through vapor. If you -glance at that Apollo slaying the Python, you will see there is rose -color and blue on the clouds, as well as gold; and if then you turn to -the Apollo in the Ulysses and Polyphemus--his horses are rising beyond -the horizon,--you see he is not "rising through vapor," but above it; -gaining somewhat of a victory over vapor, it appears. - -The old Dutch brewer, with his yellow mist, was a great man and a good -guide, but he was not Apollo. He and his dray-horses led the way through -the flats, cheerily, for a little time; we have other horses now flaming -out "beyond the mighty sea." - -A victory over vapor of many kinds; Python-slaying in general. Look how -the Python's jaws smoke as he falls back between the rocks:--a vaporous -serpent! We will see who he was, presently. - -The public remonstrated loudly in the cause of Python: "He had been so -yellow, quiet, and pleasant a creature; what meant these azure-shafted -arrows, this sudden glare into darkness, this Iris message; -Thaumantian;--miracle-working; scattering our slumber down in Cocytus?" -It meant much, but that was not what they should have first asked about -it. They should have asked simply, was it a true message? Were these -Thaumantian things so, in the real universe? - -It might have been known easily they were. One fair dawn or sunset, -obediently beheld, would have set them right; and shown that Turner was -indeed the only true speaker concerning such things that ever yet had -appeared in the world. They would neither look nor hear;--only shouted -continuously, "Perish Apollo. Bring us back Python." - -§ 5. We must understand the real meaning of this cry, for herein rests -not merely the question of the great right or wrong in Turner's life, -but the question of the right or wrong of all painting. Nay, on this -issue hangs the nobleness of painting as an art altogether, for it is -distinctively the art of coloring, not of shaping or relating. Sculptors -and poets can do these, the painter's own work is color. - -Thus, then, for the last time, rises the question, what is the true -dignity of color? We left that doubt a little while ago among the -clouds, wondering what they had been made so scarlet for. Now Turner -brings the doubt back to us, unescapable any more. No man, hitherto, had -painted the clouds scarlet. Hesperid Ćglé, and Erytheia, throned there -in the west, fade into the twilights of four thousand years, -unconfessed. Here is at last one who confesses them, but is it well? Men -say these Hesperids are sensual goddesses,--traitresses,--that the -Graić are the only true ones. Nature made the western and the eastern -clouds splendid in fallacy. Crimson is impure and vile; let us paint in -black if we would be virtuous. - -§ 6. Note, with respect to this matter, that the peculiar innovation of -Turner was the perfection of the color chord by means of _scarlet_. -Other painters had rendered the golden tones, and the blue tones, of -sky; Titian especially the last, in perfectness. But none had dared to -paint, none seem to have seen, the scarlet and purple. - -Nor was it only in seeing this color in vividness when it occurred in -full light, that Turner differed from preceding painters. His most -distinctive innovation as a colorist was his discovery of the scarlet -_shadow_. "True, there is a sunshine whose light is golden, and its -shadow gray; but there is another sunshine, and that the purest, whose -light is white, and its shadow scarlet." This was the essentially -offensive, inconceivable thing, which he could not be believed in. There -was some ground for the incredulity, because no color is vivid enough to -express the pitch of light of pure white sunshine, so that the color -given without the true intensity of light _looks_ false. Nevertheless, -Turner could not but report of the color truly. "I must indeed be lower -in the key, but that is no reason why I should be false in the note. -Here is sunshine which glows even when subdued; it has not cool shade, -but fiery shade."[2] This is the glory of sunshine. - -§ 7. Now, this scarlet color,--or pure red, intensified by expression of -light,--is, of all the three primitive colors, that which is most -distinctive. Yellow is of the nature of simple light; blue, connected -with simple shade; but red is an entirely abstract color. It is red to -which the color-blind are blind, as if to show us that it was not -necessary merely for the service or comfort of man, but that there was a -special gift or teaching in this color. Observe, farther, that it is -this color which the sunbeams take in passing through the _earth's -atmosphere_. The rose of dawn and sunset is the hue of the rays passing -close over the earth. It is also concentrated in the blood of man. - -[Illustration: 80. Rocks at Rest.] - -§ 8. Unforeseen requirements have compelled me to disperse through -various works, undertaken between the first and last portions of this -essay, the examination of many points respecting color, which I had -intended to reserve for this place. I can now only refer the reader to -these several passages,[3] and sum their import: which is briefly, -that color generally, but chiefly the scarlet, used with the hyssop, in -the Levitical law, is the great sanctifying element of visible beauty -inseparably connected with purity and life. - -[Illustration: 81. Rocks in Unrest.] - -I must not enter here into the solemn and far-reaching fields of thought -which it would be necessary to traverse, in order to detect the mystical -connection between life and love, set forth in that Hebrew system of -sacrificial religion to which we may trace most of the received ideas -respecting sanctity, consecration, and purification. This only I must -hint to the reader--for his own following out--that if he earnestly -examines the original sources from which our heedless popular language -respecting the washing away of sins has been borrowed, he will find that -the fountain in which sins are indeed to be washed away, is that of -love, not of agony. - -§ 9. But, without approaching the presence of this deeper meaning of the -sign, the reader may rest satisfied with the connection given him -directly in written words, between the cloud and its bow. The cloud, or -firmament, as we have seen, signifies the ministration of the heavens to -man. That ministration may be in judgment or mercy--in the lightning, or -the dew. But the bow, or color, of the cloud, signifies always mercy, -the sparing of life; such ministry of the heaven, as shall feed and -prolong life. And as the sunlight, undivided, is the type of the wisdom -and righteousness of God, so divided, and softened into color by means -of the fundamental ministry, fitted to every need of man, as to every -delight, and becoming one chief source of human beauty, by being made -part of the flesh of man;--thus divided, the sunlight is the type of the -wisdom of God, becoming sanctification and redemption. Various in -work--various in beauty--various in power. - -Color is, therefore, in brief terms, the type of love. Hence it is -especially connected with the blossoming of the earth; and again, with -its fruits; also, with the spring and fall of the leaf, and with the -morning and evening of the day, in order to show the waiting of love -about the birth and death of man. - -§ 10. And now, I think, we may understand, even far away in the Greek -mind, the meaning of that contest of Apollo with the Python. It was a -far greater contest than that of Hercules with Ladon. Fraud and avarice -might be overcome by frankness and force; but this Python was a darker -enemy, and could not be subdued but by a greater god. Nor was the -conquest slightly esteemed by the victor deity. He took his great name -from it thenceforth--his prophetic and sacred name--the Pythian. - -It could, therefore, be no merely devouring dragon--no mere wild beast -with scales and claws. It must possess some more terrible character to -make conquest over it so glorious. Consider the meaning of its name, -"THE CORRUPTER." That Hesperid dragon was a treasure-guardian. This is -the treasure-destroyer,--where moth and rust doth corrupt--the worm of -eternal decay. - -Apollo's contest with him is the strife of purity with pollution; of -life, with forgetfulness; of love, with the grave. - -§ 11. I believe this great battle stood, in the Greek mind, for the type -of the struggle of youth and manhood with deadly sin--venomous, -infectious, irrecoverable sin. In virtue of his victory over this -corruption, Apollo becomes thenceforward the guide; the witness; the -purifying and helpful God. The other gods help waywardly, whom they -choose. But Apollo helps always: he is by name, not only Pythian, the -conqueror of death; but Pćan--the healer of the people. - -Well did Turner know the meaning of that battle: he has told its tale -with fearful distinctness. The Mammon dragon was armed with adamant; but -this dragon of decay is a mere colossal worm: wounded, he bursts asunder -in the midst,[4] and melts to pieces, rather than dies, vomiting -smoke--a smaller serpent-worm rising out of his blood. - -§ 12. Alas, for Turner! This smaller serpent-worm, it seemed, he could -not conceive to be slain. In the midst of all the power and beauty of -nature, he still saw this death-worm writhing among the weeds. A little -thing now, yet enough; you may see it in the foreground of the Bay of -Baić, which has also in it the story of Apollo and the Sibyl; Apollo -giving love; but not youth, nor immortality: you may see it again in the -foreground of the Lake Avernus--the Hades lake--which Turner surrounds -with delicatest beauty, the Fates dancing in circle; but in front, is -the serpent beneath the thistle and the wild thorn. The same Sibyl, -Deiphobe, holding the golden bough. I cannot get at the meaning of this -legend of the bough; but it was, assuredly, still connected, in -Turner's mind, with that help from Apollo. He indicated the strength of -his feeling at the time when he painted the Python contest, by the -drawing exhibited the same year, of the Prayer of Chryses. There the -priest is on the beach alone, the sun setting. He prays to it as it -descends;--flakes of its sheeted light are borne to him by the -melancholy waves, and cast away with sighs upon the sand. - -How this sadness came to be persistent over Turner, and to conquer him, -we shall see in a little while. It is enough for us to know at present -that our most wise and Christian England, with all her appurtenances of -school-porch and church-spire, had so disposed her teaching as to leave -this somewhat notable child of hers without even cruel Pandora's gift. - -He was without hope. - -True daughter of Night, Hesperid Ćglé was to him; coming between -Censure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies. - -§ 13. What, for us, his work yet may be, I know not. But let not the -real nature of it be misunderstood any more. - -He is distinctively, as he rises into his own peculiar strength, -separating himself from all men who had painted forms of the physical -world before,--the painter of the loveliness of nature, with the worm at -its root: Rose and cankerworm,--both with his utmost strength; the one -_never_ separate from the other. - -In which his work was the true image of his own mind. - -I would fain have looked last at the rose; but that is not the way -Atropos will have it, and there is no pleading with her. - -So, therefore, first of the rose. - -§ 14. That is to say, of this vision of the loveliness and kindness of -Nature, as distinguished from all visions of her ever received by other -men. By the Greek, she had been distrusted. She was to him Calypso, the -Concealer, Circe, the Sorceress. By the Venetian, she had been dreaded. -Her wildernesses were desolate; her shadows stern. By the Fleming, she -had been despised; what mattered the heavenly colors to him? But at -last, the time comes for her loveliness and kindness to be declared to -men. Had they helped Turner, listened to him, believed in him, he had -done it wholly for them. But they cried out for Python, and Python -came;--came literally as well as spiritually;--all the perfectest beauty -and conquest which Turner wrought is already withered. The cankerworm -stood at his right hand, and of all his richest, most precious work, -there remains only the shadow. Yet that shadow is more than other men's -sunlight; it is the scarlet shade, shade of the Rose. Wrecked, and -faded, and defiled, his work still, in what remains of it, or may -remain, is the loveliest ever yet done by man, in imagery of the -physical world. Whatsoever is there of fairest, you will find recorded -by Turner, and by him alone. - -§ 15. I say _you_ will find, not knowing to how few I speak; for in -order to find what is fairest, you must delight in what is fair; and I -know not how few or how many there may be who take such delight. Once I -could speak joyfully about beautiful things, thinking to be -understood;--now I cannot any more; for it seems to me that no one -regards them. Wherever I look or travel in England or abroad, I see that -men, wherever they can reach, destroy all beauty. They seem to have no -other desire or hope but to have large houses and to be able to move -fast. Every perfect and lovely spot which they can touch, they -defile.[5] - -§ 16. Nevertheless, though not joyfully, or with any hope of being at -present heard, I would have tried to enter here into some examination of -the right and worthy effect of beauty in Art upon human mind, if I had -been myself able to come to demonstrable conclusions. But the question -is so complicated with that of the enervating influence of all luxury, -that I cannot get it put into any tractable compass. Nay, I have many -inquiries to make, many difficult passages of history to examine, before -I can determine the just limits of the hope in which I may permit myself -to continue to labor in any cause of Art. - -Nor is the subject connected with the purpose of this book. I have -written it to show that Turner is the greatest landscape painter who -ever lived; and this it has sufficiently accomplished. What the final -use may be to men, of landscape painting, or of any painting, or of -natural beauty, I do not yet know. Thus far, however, I _do_ know. - -§ 17. Three principal forms of asceticism have existed in this weak -world. Religious asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge -for the sake (as supposed) of religion; seen chiefly in the middle ages. -Military asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge for the -sake of power; seen chiefly in the early days of Sparta and Rome. And -monetary asceticism, consisting in the refusal of pleasure and knowledge -for the sake of money; seen in the present days of London and -Manchester. - -"We do not come here to look at the mountains," said the Carthusian to -me at the Grande Chartreuse. "We do not come here to look at the -mountains," the Austrian generals would say, encamping by the shores of -Garda. "We do not come here to look at the mountains," so the thriving -manufacturers tell me, between Rochdale and Halifax. - -§ 18. All these asceticisms have their bright, and their dark sides. I -myself like the military asceticism best, because it is not so -necessarily a refusal of general knowledge as the two others, but leads -to acute and marvellous use of mind, and perfect use of body. -Nevertheless, none of the three are a healthy or central state of man. -There is much to be respected in each, but they are not what we should -wish large numbers of men to become. A monk of La Trappe, a French -soldier of the Imperial Guard, and a thriving mill-owner, supposing each -a type, and no more than a type, of his class, are all interesting -specimens of humanity, but narrow ones,--so narrow that even all the -three together would not make a perfect man. Nor does it appear in any -way desirable that either of the three classes should extend itself so -as to include a majority of the persons in the world, and turn large -cities into mere groups of monastery, barracks, or factory. I do not say -that it may not be desirable that one city, or one country, sacrificed -for the good of the rest, should become a mass of barracks or factories. -Perhaps, it may be well that this England should become the furnace of -the world; so that the smoke of the island, rising out of the sea, -should be seen from a hundred leagues away, as if it were a field of -fierce volcanoes; and every kind of sordid, foul, or venomous work which -in other countries men dreaded or disdained, it should become England's -duty to do,--becoming thus the off-scourer of the earth, and taking the -hyena instead of the lion upon her shield. I do not, for a moment, deny -this; but, looking broadly, not at the destiny of England, nor of any -country in particular, but of the world, this is certain--that men -exclusively occupied either in spiritual reverie, mechanical -destruction, or mechanical productiveness, fall below the proper -standard of their race, and enter into a lower form of being; and that -the true perfection of the race, and, therefore, its power and -happiness, are only to be attained by a life which is neither -speculative nor productive; but essentially contemplative and -protective, which (A) does not lose itself in the monk's vision or hope, -but delights in seeing present and real things as they truly are; which -(B) does not mortify itself for the sake of obtaining powers of -destruction, but seeks the more easily attainable powers of affection, -observance, and protection; which (C), finally, does not mortify itself -with a view to productive accumulation, but delights itself in peace, -with its appointed portion. So that the things to be desired for man in -a healthy state, are that he should not see dreams, but realities; that -he should not destroy life, but save it; and that he should be not rich, -but content. - -§ 19. Towards which last state of contentment, I do not see that the -world is at present approximating. There are, indeed, two forms of -discontent: one laborious, the other indolent and complaining. We -respect the man of laborious desire, but let us not suppose that his -restlessness is peace, or his ambition meekness. It is because of the -special connection of meekness with contentment that it is promised that -the meek shall "inherit the earth." Neither covetous men, nor the Grave, -can inherit anything;[6] they can but consume. Only contentment can -possess. - -§ 20. The most helpful and sacred work, therefore, which can at present -be done for humanity, is to teach people (chiefly by example, as all -best teaching must be done) not how "to better themselves," but how to -"satisfy themselves." It is the curse of every evil nation and evil -creature to eat, and _not_ be satisfied. The words of blessing are, that -they shall eat and be satisfied. And as there is only one kind of water -which quenches all thirst, so there is only one kind of bread which -satisfies all hunger, the bread of justice or righteousness; which -hungering after, men shall always be filled, that being the bread of -Heaven; but hungering after the bread, or wages, of unrighteousness, -shall not be filled, that being the bread of Sodom. - -§ 21. And, in order to teach men how to be satisfied, it is necessary -fully to understand the art and joy of humble life,--this, at present, -of all arts or sciences being the one most needing study. Humble -life--that is to say, proposing to itself no future exaltation, but only -a sweet continuance; not excluding the idea of foresight, but wholly of -fore-sorrow, and taking no troublous thought for coming days: so, also, -not excluding the idea of providence, or provision,[7] but wholly of -accumulation;--the life of domestic affection and domestic peace, full -of sensitiveness to all elements of costless and kind -pleasure;--therefore, chiefly to the loveliness of the natural world. - -§ 22. What length and severity of labor may be ultimately found -necessary for the procuring of the due comforts of life, I do not know; -neither what degree of refinement it is possible to unite with the -so-called servile occupations of life: but this I know, that right -economy of labor will, as it is understood, assign to each man as much -as will be healthy for him, and no more; and that no refinements are -desirable which cannot be connected with toil. - -I say, first, that due economy of labor will assign to each man the -share which is right. Let no technical labor be wasted on things useless -or unpleasurable;[8] and let all physical exertion, so far as possible, -be utilized, and it will be found no man need ever work more than is -good for him. I believe an immense gain in the bodily health and -happiness of the upper classes would follow on their steadily -endeavoring, however clumsily, to make the physical exertion they now -necessarily take in amusements, definitely serviceable. It would be far -better, for instance, that a gentleman should mow his own fields, than -ride over other people's. - -§ 23. Again, respecting degrees of possible refinement, I cannot yet -speak positively, because no effort has yet been made to teach refined -habits to persons of simple life. - -The idea of such refinement has been made to appear absurd, partly by -the foolish ambition of vulgar persons in low life, but more by the -worse than foolish assumption, acted on so often by modern advocates of -improvement, that "education" means teaching Latin, or algebra, or -music, or drawing, instead of developing or "drawing out" the human -soul. - -It may not be the least necessary that a peasant should know algebra, or -Greek, or drawing. But it may, perhaps, be both possible and expedient -that he should be able to arrange his thoughts clearly, to speak his own -language intelligibly, to discern between right and wrong, to govern his -passions, and to receive such pleasures of ear or sight as his life may -render accessible to him. I would not have him taught the science of -music; but most assuredly I would have him taught to sing. I would not -teach him the science of drawing; but certainly I would teach him to -see; without learning a single term of botany, he should know accurately -the habits and uses of every leaf and flower in his fields; and -unencumbered by any theories of moral or political philosophy, he should -help his neighbor, and disdain a bribe. - -§ 24. Many most valuable conclusions respecting the degree of nobleness -and refinement which may be attained in servile or in rural life may be -arrived at by a careful study of the noble writings of Blitzius -(Jeremias Gotthelf), which contain a record of Swiss character not less -valuable in its fine truth than that which Scott has left of the -Scottish. I know no ideal characters of women, whatever their station, -more majestic than that of Freneli (in Ulric le Valet de Ferme, and -Ulric le Fermier); or of Elise, in the Tour de Jacob; nor any more -exquisitely tender and refined than that of Aenneli in the Fromagerie -and Aenneli in the Miroir des Paysans.[9] - -§ 25. How far this simple and useful pride, this delicate innocence, -might be adorned, or how far destroyed, by higher intellectual education -in letters or the arts, cannot be known without other experience than -the charity of men has hitherto enabled us to acquire. - -All effort in social improvement is paralyzed, because no one has been -bold or clear-sighted enough to put and press home this radical -question: "What is indeed the noblest tone and reach of life for men; -and how can the possibility of it be extended to the greatest numbers?" -It is answered, broadly and rashly, that wealth is good; that knowledge -is good; that art is good; that luxury is good. Whereas none of them are -good in the abstract, but good only if rightly received. Nor have any -steps whatever been yet securely taken,--nor, otherwise than in the -resultless rhapsody of moralists,--to ascertain what luxuries and what -learning it is either kind to bestow, or wise to desire. This, however, -at least we know, shown clearly by the history of all time, that the -arts and sciences, ministering to the pride of nations, have invariably -hastened their ruin; and this, also, without venturing to say that I -know, I nevertheless firmly believe, that the same arts and sciences -will tend as distinctly to exalt the strength and quicken the soul of -every nation which employs them to increase the comfort of lowly life, -and grace with happy intelligence the unambitious courses of honorable -toil. - -Thus far, then, of the Rose. - -§ 26. Last, of the Worm. - -I said that Turner painted the labor of men, their sorrow, and their -death. This he did nearly in the same tones of mind which prompted -Byron's poem of Childe Harold, and the loveliest result of his art, in -the central period of it, was an effort to express on a single canvas -the meaning of that poem. It may be now seen, by strange coincidence, -associated with two others--Caligula's Bridge and the Apollo and Sibyl; -the one illustrative of the vanity of human labor, the other of the -vanity of human life.[10] He painted these, as I said, in the same tone -of mind which formed the Childe Harold poem, but with different -capacity: Turner's sense of beauty was perfect; deeper, therefore, far -than Byron's; only that of Keats and Tennyson being comparable with it. -And Turner's love of truth was as stern and patient as Dante's; so that -when over these great capacities come the shadows of despair, the wreck -is infinitely sterner and more sorrowful. With no sweet home for his -childhood,--friendless in youth,--loveless in manhood,--and hopeless in -death, Turner was what Dante might have been, without the "bello ovile," -without Casella, without Beatrice, and without Him who gave them all, -and took them all away. - -§ 27. I will trace this state of his mind farther, in a little while. -Meantime, I want you to note only the result upon his work;--how, -through all the remainder of his life, wherever he looked, he saw ruin. - -Ruin, and twilight. What was the distinctive effect of light which he -introduced, such as no man had painted before? Brightness, indeed, he -gave, as we have seen, because it was true and right; but in this he -only perfected what others had attempted. His own favorite light is not -Ćglé, but Hesperid Ćglé. Fading of the last rays of sunset. Faint -breathing of the sorrow of night. - -§ 28. And fading of sunset, note also, on ruin. I cannot but wonder that -this difference between Turner's work and previous art-conception has -not been more observed. None of the great early painters draw ruins, -except compulsorily. The shattered buildings introduced by them are -shattered artificially, like models. There is no real sense of decay; -whereas Turner only momentarily dwells on anything else than ruin. Take -up the Liber Studiorum, and observe how this feeling of decay and -humiliation gives solemnity to all its simplest subjects; even to his -view of daily labor. I have marked its tendency in examining the design -of the Mill and Lock, but observe its continuance through the book. -There is no exultation in thriving city, or mart, or in happy rural -toil, or harvest gathering. Only the grinding at the mill, and patient -striving with hard conditions of life. Observe the two disordered and -poor farm-yards, cart, and ploughshare, and harrow rotting away; note -the pastoral by the brook side, with its neglected stream, and haggard -trees, and bridge with the broken rail, and decrepit -children--fever-struck--one sitting stupidly by the stagnant stream; the -other in rags, and with an old man's hat on, and lame, leaning on a -stick. Then the "Hedging and ditching," with its bleak sky and blighted -trees--hacked, and bitten, and starved by the clay soil into something -between trees and firewood; its meanly-faced, sickly laborers--pollard -laborers, like the willow trunk they hew; and the slatternly -peasant-woman, with worn cloak and battered bonnet--an English Dryad. -Then the Water-mill, beyond the fallen steps overgrown with the thistle: -itself a ruin, mud-built at first, now propped on both sides;--the -planks torn from its cattle-shed; a feeble beam, splintered at the end, -set against the dwelling-house from the ruined pier of the watercourse; -the old millstone--useless for many a day--half buried in slime, at the -bottom of the wall; the listless children, listless dog, and the poor -gleaner bringing her single sheaf to be ground. Then the "Peat bog," -with its cold, dark rain, and dangerous labor. And last and chief, the -mill in the valley of the Chartreuse. Another than Turner would have -painted the convent; but he had no sympathy with the hope, no mercy for -the indolence of the monk. He painted the mill in the valley. Precipice -overhanging it, and wildness of dark forest round; blind rage and -strength of mountain torrent rolled beneath it,--calm sunset above, but -fading from the glen, leaving it to its roar of passionate waters and -sighing of pine-branches in the night. - -§ 29. Such is his view of human labor. Of human pride, see what records. -Morpeth tower, roofless and black; gate of old Winchelsea wall, the -flock of sheep driven _round_ it, not through it; and Rievaulx choir, -and Kirkstall crypt; and Dunstanborough, wan above the sea; and -Chepstow, with arrowy light through traceried windows; and Lindisfarne, -with failing height of wasted shaft and wall; and last and sweetest, -Raglan, in utter solitude, amidst the wild wood of its own pleasance; -the towers rounded with ivy, and the forest roots choked with -undergrowth, and the brook languid amidst lilies and sedges. Legends of -gray knights and enchanted ladies keeping the woodman's children away at -the sunset. - -These are his types of human pride. Of human love: Procris, dying by the -arrow; Hesperie, by the viper's fang; and Rizpah, more than dead, beside -her children. - -§ 30. Such are the lessons of the Liber Studiorum. Silent always with a -bitter silence, disdaining to tell his meaning, when he saw there was no -ear to receive it, Turner only indicated this purpose by slight words of -contemptuous anger, when he heard of any one's trying to obtain this or -the other separate subject as more beautiful than the rest. "What is the -use of them," he said, "but together?"[11] The meaning of the entire -book was symbolized in the frontispiece, which he engraved with his own -hand: Tyre at sunset, with the Rape of Europa, indicating the symbolism -of the decay of Europe by that of Tyre, its beauty passing away into -terror and judgment (Europa being the mother of Minos and -Rhadamanthus).[12] - -[Illustration: J. M. W. Turner J. H. Le Keux - -82. The Nets in the Rapids.] - -[Illustration: 83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden.] - -§ 31. I need not trace the dark clue farther, the reader may follow it -unbroken through all his work and life, this thread of Atropos.[13] I -will only point, in conclusion, to the intensity with which his -imagination dwelt always on the three great cities of Carthage, -Rome, and Venice--Carthage in connection especially with the thoughts -and study which led to the painting of the Hesperides' Garden, showing -the death which attends the vain pursuit of wealth; Rome, showing the -death which attends the vain pursuit of power; Venice, the death which -attends the vain pursuit of beauty. - -How strangely significative, thus understood, those last Venetian dreams -of his become, themselves so beautiful and so frail; wrecks of all that -they were once--twilights of twilight! - -§ 32. Vain beauty; yet not all in vain. Unlike in birth, how like in -their labor, and their power over the future, these masters of England -and Venice--Turner and Giorgione. But ten years ago, I saw the last -traces of the greatest works of Giorgione yet glowing, like a scarlet -cloud, on the Fondaco de Tedeschi.[14] And though that scarlet cloud -(sanguigna e fiammeggiante, per cui le pitture cominciarono con dolce -violenza a rapire il cuore delle genti) may, indeed, melt away into -paleness of night, and Venice herself waste from her islands as a wreath -of wind-driven foam fades from their weedy beach;--that which she won of -faithful light and truth shall never pass away. Deiphobe of the -sea,--the Sun God measures her immortality to her by its sand. Flushed, -above the Avernus of the Adrian lake, her spirit is still seen holding -the golden bough; from the lips of the Sea Sibyl men shall learn for -ages yet to come what is most noble and most fair; and, far away, as the -whisper in the coils of the shell, withdrawn through the deep hearts of -nations, shall sound for ever the enchanted voice of Venice. - -[Illustration: 84. Peace.] - -[Illustration: 68. Monte Rosa. Sunset.] - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] There is a very wonderful, and almost deceptive, imitation of - sunlight by Rubens at Berlin. It falls through broken clouds upon - angels, the flesh being chequered with sunlight and shade. - - [2] Not, accurately speaking, shadow, but dark side. All shadow - proper is negative in color, but, generally, reflected light is - warmer than direct light; and when the direct light is warm, pure, - and of the highest intensity, its reflection is scarlet. Turner - habitually, in his later sketches, used vermilion for his pen outline - in effects of sun. - - [3] The following collected system of the various statements made - respecting color in different parts of my works may be useful to the - student:-- - - 1st. Abstract color is of far less importance than abstract form - (vol. i. chap. v.); that is to say, if it could rest in our choice - whether we would carve like Phidias (supposing Phidias had never used - color), or arrange the colors of a shawl like Indians, there is no - question as to which power we ought to choose. The difference of rank - is vast; there is no way of estimating or measuring it. - - So, again, if it rest in our choice whether we will be great in - invention of form, to be expressed only by light and shade, as Durer, - or great in invention and application of color, caring only for - ungainly form, as Bassano, there is still no question. Try to be - Durer, of the two. So again, if we have to give an account or - description of anything--if it be an object of high interest--its - form will be always what we should first tell. Neither leopard spots - nor partridge's signify primarily in describing either beast or bird. - But teeth and feathers do. - - 2. Secondly. Though color is of less importance than form, if you - introduce it at all, it must be right. - - People often speak of the Roman school as if it were greater than the - Venetian, because its color is "subordinate." - - Its color is not subordinate. It is BAD. - - If you paint colored objects, you must either paint them rightly or - wrongly. There is no other choice. You may introduce as little color - as you choose--a mere tint of rose in a chalk drawing, for instance; - or pale hues generally--as Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. All - such work implies feebleness or imperfection, but not necessarily - error. But if you paint with full color, as Raphael and Leonardo, you - must either be true or false. If true, you will paint like a - Venetian. If false, your form, supremely beautiful, may draw the - attention of the spectator from the false color, or induce him to - pardon it--and, if ill-taught, even to like it; but your picture is - none the greater for that. Had Leonardo and Raphael colored like - Giorgione, their work would have been greater, not less, than it is - now. - - 3. To color perfectly is the rarest and most precious (technical) - power an artist can possess. There have been only seven supreme - colorists among the true painters whose works exist (namely, - Giorgione, Titian, Veronese, Tintoret, Correggio, Reynolds, and - Turner); but the names of great designers, including sculptors, - architects, and metal-workers, are multitudinous. Also, if you can - color perfectly, you are sure to be able to do everything else if you - like. There never yet was colorist who could not draw; but faculty of - perceiving form may exist alone. I believe, however, it will be found - ultimately that the _perfect_ gifts of color and form always go - together. Titian's form is nobler than Durer's, and more subtle; nor - have I any doubt but that Phidias could have painted as nobly as he - carved. But when the powers are not supreme, the wisest men usually - neglect the color-gift, and develope that of form. - - I have not thought it worth while at present to enter into any - examination of the construction of Turner's color system, because the - public is at present so unconscious of the meaning and nature of - color that they would not know what I was talking of. The more than - ludicrous folly of the system of modern water-color painting, in - which it is assumed that every hue in the drawing may be beneficially - washed into every other, must prevent, as long as it influences the - popular mind, even incipient inquiry respecting color-art. But for - help of any solitary and painstaking student, it may be noted that - Turner's color is founded more on Correggio and Bassano than on the - central Venetians; it involves a more tender and constant reference - to light and shade than that of Veronese; and a more sparkling and - gem-like lustre than that of Titian. I dislike using a technical word - which has been disgraced by affectation, but there is no other word - to signify what I mean in saying that Turner's color has, to the - full, Correggio's "morbidezza," including also, in due place, - conditions of mosaic effect, like that of the colors in an Indian - design, unaccomplished by any previous master in painting; and a - fantasy of inventive arrangement corresponding to that of Beethoven - in music. In its concurrence with and expression of texture or - construction of surfaces (as their bloom, lustre, or intricacy) it - stands unrivalled--no still-life painting by any other master can - stand for an instant beside Turner's, when his work is of life-size, - as in his numerous studies of birds and their plumage. This - "morbidezza" of color is associated, precisely as it was in - Correggio, with an exquisite sensibility to fineness and intricacy of - curvature: curvature, as already noticed in the second volume, being - to lines what gradation is to colors. This subject, also, is too - difficult and too little regarded by the public, to be entered upon - here, but it must be observed that this quality of Turner's design, - the one which of all is best expressible by engraving, has of all - been least expressed, owing to the constant reduction or change of - proportion in the plates. Publishers, of course, require generally - their plates to be of one size (the plates in this book form an - appalling exception to received practice in this respect); Turner - always made his drawings longer or shorter by half an inch, or more, - according to the subject; the engravers contracted or expanded them - to fit the books, with utter destruction of the nature of every curve - in the design. Mere reduction necessarily involves such loss to some - extent; but the degree in which it probably involves it has been - curiously exemplified by the 61st Plate in this volume, reduced from - a pen-drawing of mine, 18 inches long. Fig. 101 is a facsimile of the - hook and piece of drapery, in the foreground, in my drawing, which is - very nearly true to the Turner curves: compare them with the curves - either in Plate 61, or in the published engraving in the England - series. The Plate opposite (80) is a portion of the foreground of the - drawing of the Llanberis (England Series), also of its real size; and - interesting as showing the grace of Turner's curvature even when he - was drawing fastest. It is a hasty drawing throughout, and after - finishing the rocks and water, being apparently a little tired, he - has struck out the broken fence of the watering-place for the cattle - with a few impetuous dashes of the hand. Yet the curvature and - grouping of line are still perfectly tender. How far the passage - loses by reduction, may be seen by a glance at the published - engraving. - - [Illustration: FIG. 101.] - - 4. Color, as stated in the text, is the purifying or sanctifying - element of material beauty. - - If so, how less important than form? Because, on form depends - existence; on color, only purity. Under the Levitical law, neither - scarlet nor hyssop could purify the deformed. So, under all natural - law, there must be rightly shaped members first; then sanctifying - color and fire in them. - - Nevertheless, there are several great difficulties and oppositions of - aspect in this matter, which I must try to reconcile now clearly and - finally. As color is the type of Love, it resembles it in all its - modes of operation; and in practical work of human hands, it sustains - changes of worthiness precisely like those of human sexual love. That - love, when true, faithful, well-fixed, is eminently the sanctifying - element of human life: without it, the soul cannot reach its fullest - height of holiness. But if shallow, faithless, misdirected, it is - also one of the strongest corrupting and degrading elements of life. - - Between these base and lofty states of Love are the loveless states; - some cold and horrible; others chaste, childish, or ascetic, bearing - to careless thinkers the semblance of purity higher than that of - Love. - - So it is with the type of Love--color. Followed rashly, coarsely, - untruly, for the mere pleasure of it, with no reverence, it becomes a - temptation, and leads to corruption. Followed faithfully, with - intense but reverent passion, it is the holiest of all aspects of - material things. - - Between these two modes of pursuing it, come two modes of refusing - it--one, dark and sensual; the other, statuesque and grave, having - great aspect of nobleness. - - Thus we have, first, the coarse love of color, as a vulgar person's - choice of gaudy hues in dress. - - Then, again, we have the base disdain of color, of which I have - spoken at length elsewhere. Thus we have the lofty disdain of color, - as in Durer's and Raphael's drawing: finally, the severest and - passionate following of it, in Giorgione and Titian. - - 5. Color is, more than all elements of art, the reward of veracity of - purpose. This point respecting it I have not noticed before, and it - is highly curious. We have just seen that in giving an account of - anything for its own sake, the most important points are those of - form. Nevertheless, the form of the object is its own attribute; - special, not shared with other things. An error in giving an account - of it does not necessarily involve wider error. - - But its color is partly its own, partly shared with other things - round it. The hue and power of all broad sunlight is involved in the - color it has cast upon this single thing; to falsify that color, is - to misrepresent and break the harmony of the day: also, by what color - it bears, this single object is altering hues all round it; - reflecting its own into them, displaying them by opposition, - softening them by repetition; one falsehood in color in one place, - implies a thousand in the neighborhood. Hence, there are peculiar - penalties attached to falsehood in color, and peculiar rewards - granted to veracity in it. Form may be attained in perfectness by - painters who, in their course of study, are continually altering or - idealizing it; but only the sternest fidelity will reach coloring. - Idealize or alter in that, and you are lost. Whether you alter by - abasing, or exaggerating,--by glare or by decline, one fate is for - you--ruin. Violate truth wilfully in the slightest particular, or, at - least, get into the habit of violating it, and all kinds of failure - and error will surround and haunt you to your fall. - - Therefore, also, as long as you are working with form only, you may - amuse yourself with fancies; but color is sacred--in that you must - keep to facts. Hence the apparent anomaly that the only schools of - color are the schools of Realism. The men who care for form only, may - drift about in dreams of Spiritualism; but a colorist must keep to - substance. The greater his power in color enchantment, the more stern - and constant will be his common sense. Fuseli may wander wildly among - gray spectra, but Reynolds and Gainsborough must stay in broad - daylight, with pure humanity. Velasquez, the greatest colorist, is - the most accurate portrait painter of Spain; Holbein, the most - accurate portrait painter, is the only colorist of Germany; and even - Tintoret had to sacrifice some of the highest qualities of his color - before he could give way to the flights of wayward though mighty - imagination, in which his mind rises or declines from the royal calm - of Titian. - - [4] Compare the deaths of Jehoram, Herod, and Judas. - - [5] Thus, the railroad bridge over the Fall of Schaffhausen, and that - round the Clarens shore of the lake of Geneva, have destroyed the - power of two pieces of scenery of which nothing can ever supply the - place, in appeal to the higher ranks of European mind. - - [6] "There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four - things say not, it is enough: the grave; and the barren womb; the - earth that is not filled with water; and the fire, that saith not, It - is enough!" - - [7] A bad word, being only "foresight" again in Latin; but we have no - other good English word for the sense into which it has been warped. - - [8] I cannot repeat too often (for it seems almost impossible to - arouse the public mind in the least to a sense of the fact) that the - root of all benevolent and helpful action towards the lower classes - consists in the wise direction of purchase; that is to say, in - spending money, as far as possible, only for products of healthful - and natural labor. All work with fire is more or less harmful and - degrading; so also mine, or machine labor. They at present develope - more intelligence than rural labor, but this is only because no - education, properly so called, being given to the lower classes, - those occupations are best for them which compel them to attain some - accurate knowledge, discipline them in presence of mind, and bring - them within spheres in which they may raise themselves to positions - of command. Properly taught, a ploughman ought to be more - intelligent, as well as more healthy, than a miner. - - Every nation which desires to ennoble itself should endeavor to - maintain as large a number of persons as possible by rural and - maritime labor (including fishing). I cannot in this place enter into - consideration of the relative advantages of different channels of - industry. Any one who sincerely desires to act upon such knowledge - will find no difficulty in obtaining it. - - I have also several series of experiments and inquiries to undertake - before I shall be able to speak with security on certain points - connected with education; but I have no doubt that every child in a - civilized country should be taught the first principles of natural - history, physiology, and medicine; also to sing perfectly, so far as - it has capacity, and to draw any definite form accurately to any - scale. - - These things it should be taught by requiring its attendance at - school not more than three hours a day, and less if possible (the - best part of children's education being in helping their parents and - families). The other elements of its instruction ought to have - respect to the trade by which it is to live. - - Modern systems of improvement are too apt to confuse the recreation - of the workman with his education. He should be educated for his work - before he is allowed to undertake it; and refreshed and relieved - while he practises it. - - Every effort should be made to induce the adoption of a national - costume. Cleanliness and neatness in dress ought always to be - rewarded by some gratification of personal pride; and it is the - peculiar virtue of a national costume that it fosters and gratifies - the wish to look well, without inducing the desire to look better - than one's neighbors--or the hope, peculiarly English, of being - mistaken for a person in a higher position of life. A costume may - indeed become coquettish, but rarely indecent or vulgar; and though a - French bonne or Swiss farm-girl may dress so as sufficiently to - mortify her equals, neither of them ever desires or expects to be - mistaken for her mistress. - - [9] This last book should be read carefully by all persons interested - in social questions. It is sufficiently dull as a tale, but is - characterized throughout by a restrained tragic power of the highest - order; and it would be worth reading, were it only for the story of - Aenneli, and for the last half page of its close. - - [10] "The Cumćan Sibyl, Deiphobe, was, in her youth, beloved by - Apollo; who, promising to grant her whatever she would ask, she took - up a handful of earth, and asked that she might live as many years as - there were grains of dust in her hand. She obtained her petition. - Apollo would have granted her perpetual youth in return for her love, - but she denied him, and wasted into the long ages--known, at last, - only by her voice."--(See my notes on the Turner Gallery.) - - [11] Turner appears never to have desired, from any one, care in - favor of his separate works. The only thing he would say sometimes - was, "Keep them together." He seemed not to mind how much they were - injured, if only the record of the thought were left in them, and - they were kept in the series which would give the key to their - meaning. I never saw him, at my father's house, look for an instant - at any of his own drawings: I have watched him sitting at dinner - nearly opposite one of his chief pictures--his eyes never turned to - it. - - But the want of appreciation, nevertheless, touched him sorely; - chiefly the not understanding his meaning. He tried hard one day for - a quarter of an hour to make me guess what he was doing in the - picture of Napoleon, before it had been exhibited, giving me hint - after hint in a rough way; but I could not guess, and he would not - tell me. - - [12] I limit myself in this book to mere indication of the tones of - his mind, illustration of them at any length being as yet impossible. - It will be found on examining the series of drawings made by Turner - during the late years of his life, in possession of the nation, that - they are nearly all made for the sake of some record of human power, - partly victorious, partly conquered. There is hardly a single example - of landscape painted for its own abstract beauty. Power and - desolation, or soft pensiveness, are the elements sought chiefly in - landscape; hence the later sketches are nearly all among mountain - scenery, and chiefly of fortresses, villages or bridges and roads - among the wildest Alps. The pass of the St. Gothard, especially, from - his earliest days, had kept possession of his mind, not as a piece of - mountain scenery, but as a marvellous road; and the great drawing - which I have tried to illustrate with some care in this book, the - last he made of the Alps with unfailing energy, was wholly made to - show the surviving of this tormented path through avalanche and - storm, from the day when he first drew its two bridges, in the Liber - Studiorum. Plate 81, which is the piece of the torrent bed on the - left, of the real size, where the stones of it appear just on the - point of being swept away, and the ground we stand upon with them, - completes the series of illustrations of this subject, for the - present, sufficiently; and, if compared with Plate 80, will be - serviceable, also, in showing how various in its grasp and its - delight was this strange human mind, capable of all patience and all - energy, and perfect in its sympathy, whether with wrath or quietness. - Though lingering always with chief affection about the St. Gothard - pass, he seems to have gleaned the whole of Switzerland for every - record he could find of grand human effort of any kind; I do not - believe there is one baronial tower, one shattered arch of Alpine - bridge, one gleaming tower of decayed village or deserted monastery, - which he has not drawn; in many cases, round and round, again and - again, on every side. Now that I have done this work, I purpose, if - life and strength are spared to me, to trace him through these last - journeys, and take such record of his best-beloved places as may - fully interpret the designs he left. I have given in the three - following plates an example of the kind of work which needs doing, - and which, as stated in the preface, I have partly already begun. - Plate 82 represents roughly two of Turner's memoranda of a bridge - over the Rhine. They are quite imperfectly represented, because I do - not choose to take any trouble about them on this scale. If I can - engrave them at all, it must be of their own size; but they are - enough to give an idea of the way he used to walk round a place, - taking sketch after sketch of its aspects, from every point or - half-point of the compass. There are three other sketches of this - bridge, far more detailed than these, in the National Gallery. - - A scratched word on the back of one of them, "Rheinfels," which I - knew could not apply to the Rheinfels near Bingen, gave me the clue - to the place;--an old Swiss town, seventeen miles above Basle, - celebrated in Swiss history as the main fortress defending the - frontier toward the Black Forest. I went there the moment I had got - Turner's sketches arranged in 1858, and drew it with the pen (or - point of brush, more difficult to manage, but a better instrument) on - every side on which Turner had drawn it, giving every detail with - servile accuracy, so as to show the exact modifications he made as he - composed his subjects. Mr. Le Keux has beautifully copied two of - these studies, Plates 83 and 84; the first of these is the bridge - drawn from the spot whence Turner made his upper memorandum; - afterwards, he went down close to the fishing house, and took the - second; in which he unhesitatingly divides the Rhine by a strong - pyramidal rock, in order to get a group of firm lines pointing to his - main subject, the tower (compare § 12, p. 170, above); and throws a - foaming mass of water away to the left, in order to give a better - idea of the river's force; the modifications of form in the tower - itself are all skilful and majestic in the highest degree. The - throwing the whole of it higher than the bridge, taking off the peak - from its gable on the left, and adding the little roof-window in the - centre, make it a perfectly noble mass, instead of a broken and - common one. I have added the other subject, Plate 84,--though I could - not give the Turner drawing which it illustrates,--merely to show the - kind of scene which modern ambition and folly are destroying - throughout Switzerland. In Plate 83, a small dark tower is seen in - the distance, just on the left of the tower of the bridge. Getting - round nearly to the foot of it, on the outside of the town, and then - turning back so as to put the town walls on your right, you may, I - hope, still see the subject of the third plate; the old bridge over - the moat, and older wall and towers; the stork's nest on the top of - the nearest one; the moat itself, now nearly filled with softest - grass and flowers; a little mountain brook rippling down through the - midst of them, and the first wooded promontory of the Jura beyond. - Had Rheinfelden been a place of the least mark, instead of a nearly - ruinous village, it is just this spot of ground which, costing little - or nothing, would have been made its railroad station, and its - refreshment-room would have been built out of the stones of the - towers. - - [13] I have not followed out, as I ought to have done, had the task - been less painful, my assertion that Turner had to paint not only the - labor and the sorrow of men, but their death. There is no form of - violent death which he has not painted. Pre-eminent in many things, - he is pre-eminent also, bitterly, in this. Durer and Holbein drew the - skeleton in its questioning; but Turner, like Salvator, as under some - strange fascination or captivity, drew it at its work. Flood, and - fire, and wreck, and battle, and pestilence; and solitary death, more - fearful still. The noblest of all the plates of the Liber Studiorum, - except the Via Mala, is one engraved with his own hand, of a single - sailor, yet living, dashed in the night against a granite coast,--his - body and outstretched hands just seen in the trough of a mountain - wave, between it and the overhanging wall of rock, hollow, polished, - and pale with dreadful cloud and grasping foam. - - And remember, also, that the very sign in heaven itself which, truly - understood, is the type of love, was to Turner the type of death. The - scarlet of the clouds was his symbol of destruction. In his mind it - was the color of blood. So he used it in the Fall of Carthage. Note - his own written words-- - - "While o'er the western wave the _ensanguined_ sun, - In gathering huge a stormy signal spread, - And set portentous." - - So he used it in the Slaver, in the Ulysses, in the Napoleon, in the - Goldau; again and again in slighter hints and momentary dreams, of - which one of the saddest and most tender is a little sketch of dawn, - made in his last years. It is a small space of level sea shore; - beyond it a fair, soft light in the east; the last storm-clouds - melting away, oblique into the morning air; some little vessel--a - collier, probably--has gone down in the night, all hands lost; a - single dog has come ashore. Utterly exhausted, its limbs failing - under it, and, sinking into the sand, it stands howling and - shivering. The dawn-clouds have the first scarlet upon them, a feeble - tinge only, reflected with the same feeble blood-stain on the sand. - - The morning light is used with a loftier significance in a drawing - made as a companion to the Goldau, engraved in the fourth volume. The - Lake of Zug, which ripples beneath the sunset in the Goldau, is - lulled in the level azure of early cloud; and the spire of Aart, - which is there a dark point at the edge of the golden lake, is, in - the opening light, seen pale against purple mountains. The sketches - for these two subjects were, I doubt not, made from the actual - effects of a stormy evening, and the next following daybreak; but - both with earnest meaning. The crimson sunset lights the valley of - rock tombs, cast upon it by the fallen Rossberg; but the sunrise - gilds with its level rays the two peaks which protect the village - that gives name to Switzerland; and the orb itself breaks first - through the darkness on the very point of the pass to the high lake - of Egeri, where the liberties of the cantons were won by the - battle-charge of Morgarten. - - [14] I have engraved, at the beginning of this chapter, one of the - fragments of these frescos, preserved, all imperfectly indeed, yet - with some feeling of their nobleness, by Zanetti, whose words - respecting them I have quoted in the text. The one I saw was the - first figure given in his book; the one engraved in my Plate, the - third, had wholly perished; but even this record of it by Zanetti is - precious. What imperfections of form exist in it, too visibly, are - certainly less Giorgione's than the translator's; nevertheless, for - these very faults, as well as for its beauty, I have chosen it, as - the best type I could give of the strength of Venetian art; which was - derived, be it remembered always, from the acceptance of natural - truth, by men who loved beauty too well to think she was to be won by - falsehood. - - The words of Zanetti himself respecting Giorgione's figure of - Diligence are of great value, as they mark this first article of - Venetian faith: "Giorgione per tale, o per altra che vi fosse, - contrassegnolla con quella spezie di mannaja che tiene in mano; per - altro tanto ci cercava le sole bellezze della natura, che poco - pensando al costume, ritrasse qui una di quelle donne Friulane, che - vengono per servire in Venezia; non alterandone nemmeno l'abito, č - facendola alquanto attempata, quale forse ci la vedea; senza voler - sapere che per rappresentare le Virtů, si suole da pittori belle č - fresche giovani immaginare." - - Compare with this what I have said of Titian's Magdalen. I ought in - that place to have dwelt also upon the firm endurance of all - terribleness which is marked in Titian's "Notomie" and in Veronese's - "Marsyas." In order to understand the Venetian mind entirely, the - student should place a plate from that series of the Notomie always - beside the best engraving he can obtain of Titian's "Flora." - - My impression is that the ground of the flesh in these Giorgione - frescos had been pure vermilion; little else was left in the figure I - saw. Therefore, not knowing what power the painter intended to - personify by the figure at the commencement of this chapter, I have - called her, from her glowing color, Hesperid Ćglé. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -PEACE. - - -§ 1. Looking back over what I have written, I find that I have only now -the power of ending this work; it being time that it should end, but not -of "concluding" it; for it has led me into fields of infinite inquiry, -where it is only possible to break off with such imperfect result as -may, at any given moment, have been attained. - -Full of far deeper reverence for Turner's art than I felt when this task -of his defence was undertaken (which may, perhaps, be evidenced by my -having associated no other names with his--but of the dead,--in my -speaking of him throughout this volume),[1] I am more in doubt -respecting the real use to mankind of that, or any other transcendent -art; incomprehensible as it must always be to the mass of men. Full of -far deeper love for what I remember of Turner himself, as I become -better capable of understanding it, I find myself more and more helpless -to explain his errors and his sins. - -§ 2. His errors, I might say, simply. Perhaps, some day, people will -again begin to remember the force of the old Greek word for sin; and to -learn that all sin is in essence--"Missing the mark;" losing sight or -consciousness of heaven; and that this loss may be various in its guilt: -it cannot be judged by us. It is this of which the words are spoken so -sternly, "Judge not;" which words people always quote, I observe, when -they are called upon to "do judgment and justice." For it is truly a -pleasant thing to condemn men for their wanderings; but it is a bitter -thing to acknowledge a truth, or to take any bold share in working out -an equity. So that the habitual modern practical application of the -precept, "Judge not," is to avoid the trouble of pronouncing verdict, by -taking, of any matter, the pleasantest malicious view which first comes -to hand; and to obtain licence for our own convenient iniquities, by -being indulgent to those of others. - -These two methods of obedience being just the two which are most -directly opposite to the law of mercy and truth. - -§ 3. "Bind them about thy neck." I said, but now, that of an evil tree -men never gathered good fruit. And the lesson we have finally to learn -from Turner's life is broadly this, that all the power of it came of its -mercy and sincerity; all the failure of it, from its want of faith. It -has been asked of me, by several of his friends, that I should endeavor -to do some justice to his character, mistaken wholly by the world. If my -life is spared, I will. But that character is still, in many respects, -inexplicable to me; the materials within my reach are imperfect; and my -experience in the world not yet large enough to enable me to use them -justly. His life is to be written by a biographer, who will, I believe, -spare no pains in collecting the few scattered records which exist of a -career so uneventful and secluded. I will not anticipate the conclusions -of this writer; but if they appear to me just, will endeavor afterwards, -so far as may be in my power, to confirm and illustrate them; and, if -unjust, to show in what degree. - -§ 4. Which, lest death or illness should forbid me, this only I declare -now of what I know respecting Turner's character. Much of his mind and -heart I do not know;--perhaps, never shall know. But this much I do; and -if there is anything in the previous course of this work to warrant -trust in me of any kind, let me be trusted when I tell you, that Turner -had a heart as intensely kind, and as nobly true, as ever God gave to -one of his creatures. I offer, as yet, no evidence in this matter. When -I _do_ give it, it shall be sifted and clear. Only this one fact I now -record joyfully and solemnly, that, having known Turner for ten years, -and that during the period of his life when the brightest qualities of -his mind were, in many respects, diminished, and when he was suffering -most from the evil-speaking of the world, I never heard him say one -depreciating word of living man, or man's work; I never saw him look an -unkind or blameful look; I never knew him let pass, without some -sorrowful remonstrance, or endeavor at mitigation, a blameful word -spoken by another. - -Of no man but Turner, whom I have ever known, could I say this. And of -this kindness and truth[2] came, I repeat, all his highest power. And -all his failure and error, deep and strange, came of his faithlessness. - -Faithlessness, or despair, the despair which has been shown already -(Vol. III., chap. xvi.) to be characteristic of this present century, -and most sorrowfully manifested in its greatest men; but existing in an -infinitely more fatal form in the lower and general mind, reacting upon -those who ought to be its teachers. - -§ 5. The form which the infidelity of England, especially, has taken, -is one hitherto unheard of in human history. No nation ever before -declared boldly, by print and word of mouth, that its religion was good -for show, but "would not work." Over and over again it has happened that -nations have denied their gods, but they denied them bravely. The Greeks -in their decline jested at their religion, and frittered it away in -flatteries and fine arts; the French refused theirs fiercely, tore down -their altars and brake their carven images. The question about God with -both these nations was still, even in their decline, fairly put, though -falsely answered. "Either there is or is not a Supreme Ruler; we -consider of it, declare there is not, and proceed accordingly." But we -English have put the matter in an entirely new light: "There _is_ a -Supreme Ruler, no question of it, only He cannot rule. His orders won't -work. He will be quite satisfied with euphonious and respectful -repetition of them. Execution would be too dangerous under existing -circumstances, which He certainly never contemplated." - -I had no conception of the absolute darkness which has covered the -national mind in this respect, until I began to come into collision with -persons engaged in the study of economical and political questions. The -entire naďveté and undisturbed imbecility with which I found them -declare that the laws of the Devil were the only practicable ones, and -that the laws of God were merely a form of poetical language, passed all -that I had ever before heard or read of mortal infidelity. I knew the -fool had often said in his heart, there was _no_ God; but to hear him -say clearly out with his lips, "There is a foolish God," was something -which my art studies had not prepared me for. The French had indeed, for -a considerable time, hinted much of the meaning in the delicate and -compassionate blasphemy of their phrase "_le bon Dieu_," but had never -ventured to put it into more precise terms. - -6. Now this form of unbelief in God is connected with, and necessarily -productive of, a precisely equal unbelief in man. - -Co-relative with the assertion, "There is a foolish God," is the -assertion, "There is a brutish man." "As no laws but those of the Devil -are practicable in the world, so no impulses but those of the brute" -(says the modern political economist) "are appealable to in the world." -Faith, generosity, honesty, zeal, and self-sacrifice are poetical -phrases. None of these things can, in reality, be counted upon; there is -no truth in man which can be used as a moving or productive power. All -motive force in him is essentially brutish, covetous, or contentious. -His power is only power of prey: otherwise than the spider, he cannot -design; otherwise than the tiger, he cannot feed. This is the modern -interpretation of that embarrassing article of the Creed, "the communion -of saints." - -7. It has always seemed very strange to me, not indeed that this creed -should have been adopted, it being the entirely necessary consequence of -the previous fundamental article;--but that no one should ever seem to -have any misgivings about it;--that, practically, no one had _seen_ how -strong work _was_ done by man; how either for hire, or for hatred, it -never had been done; and that no amount of pay had ever made a good -soldier, a good teacher, a good artist, or a good workman. You pay your -soldiers and sailors so many pence a day, at which rated sum one will do -good fighting for you; another, bad fighting. Pay as you will, the -entire goodness of the fighting depends, always, on its being done for -nothing; or rather, less than nothing, in the expectation of no pay but -death. Examine the work of your spiritual teachers, and you will find -the statistical law respecting them is, "The less pay, the better work." -Examine also your writers and artists: for ten pounds you shall have a -Paradise Lost, and for a plate of figs, a Durer drawing; but for a -million of money sterling, neither. Examine your men of science: paid by -starvation, Kepler will discover the laws of the orbs of heaven for -you;--and, driven out to die in the street, Swammerdam shall discover -the laws of life for you--such hard terms do they make with you, these -brutish men, who can only be had for hire. - -§ 8. Neither is good work ever done for hatred, any more than hire--but -for love only. For love of their country, or their leader, or their -duty, men fight steadily; but for massacre and plunder, feebly. Your -signal, "England expects every man to do his duty," they will answer; -your signal of black flag and death's head, they will not answer. And -verily they will answer it no more in commerce than in battle. The cross -bones will not make a good shop-sign, you will find ultimately, any more -than a good battle-standard. Not the cross bones, but the cross. - -§ 9. Now the practical result of this infidelity in man, is the utter -ignorance of all the ways of getting his right work out of him. From a -given quantity of human power and intellect, to produce the least -possible result, is a problem solved, nearly with mathematical -precision, by the present methods of the nation's economical procedure. -The power and intellect are enormous. With the best soldiers, at present -existing, we survive in battle, and but survive, because, by help of -Providence, a man whom we have kept all his life in command of a company -forces his way at the age of seventy so far up as to obtain permission -to save us, and die, unthanked. With the shrewdest thinkers in the -world, we have not yet succeeded in arriving at any national conviction -respecting the uses of life. And with the best artistical material in -the world, we spend millions of money in raising a building for our -Houses of Talk, of the delightfulness and utility of which (perhaps -roughly classing the Talk and its tabernacle together), posterity will, -I believe, form no very grateful estimate;--while for sheer want of -bread, we brought the question to the balance of a hair, whether the -most earnest of our young painters should give up his art altogether, -and go to Australia,--or fight his way through all neglect and obloquy -to the painting of the Christ in the Temple. - -§ 10. The marketing was indeed done in this case, as in all others, on -the usual terms. For the millions of money, we got a mouldering toy: for -the starvation, five years'work of the prime of a noble life. Yet -neither that picture, great as it is, nor any other of Hunt's, are the -best he could have done. They are the least he could have done. By no -expedient could we have repressed him more than he has been repressed; -by no abnegation received from him less than we have received. - -My dear friend and teacher, Lowell, right as he is in almost everything, -is for once wrong in these lines, though with a noble wrongness:-- - - "Disappointment's dry and bitter root, - Envy's harsh berries, and the choking pool - Of the world's scorn, are the right mother-milk - To the tough hearts that pioneer their kind." - -They are not so; love and trust are the only mother-milk of any man's -soul. So far as he is hated and mistrusted, his powers are destroyed. Do -not think that with impunity you can follow the eyeless fool, and shout -with the shouting charlatan; and that the men you thrust aside with gibe -and blow, are thus sneered and crushed into the best service they can do -you. I have told you they _will_ not serve you for pay. They _cannot_ -serve you for scorn. Even from Balaam, money-lover though he be, no -useful prophecy is to be had for silver or gold. From Elisha, savior of -life though he be, no saving of life--even of children's, who "knew no -better,"--is to be got by the cry, Go up, thou bald-head. No man can -serve you either for purse or curse; neither kind of pay will answer. No -pay is, indeed, receivable by any true man; but power is receivable by -him, in the love and faith you give him. So far only as you give him -these can he serve you; that is the meaning of the question which his -Master asks always, "Believest thou that I am able?" And from every one -of His servants--to the end of time--if you give them the Capernaum -measure of faith, you shall have from them Capernaum measure of works, -and no more. - -Do not think that I am irreverently comparing great and small things. -The system of the world is entirely one; small things and great are -alike part of one mighty whole. As the flower is gnawed by frost, so -every human heart is gnawed by faithlessness. And as surely,--as -irrevocably,--as the fruit-bud falls before the east wind, so fails the -power of the kindest human heart, if you meet it with poison. - -§ 11. Now the condition of mind in which Turner did all his great work -was simply this: "What I do must be done rightly; but I know also that -no man now living in Europe cares to understand it; and the better I do -it, the less he will see the meaning of it." There never was yet, so far -as I can hear or read, isolation of a great spirit so utterly desolate. -Columbus had succeeded in making other hearts share his hope, before he -was put to hardest trial; and knew that, by help of Heaven, he could -finally show that he was right. Kepler and Galileo could demonstrate -their conclusions up to a certain point; so far as they felt they were -right, they were sure that after death their work would be acknowledged. -But Turner could demonstrate nothing of what he had done--saw no -security that after death he would be understood more than he had been -in life. Only another Turner could apprehend Turner. Such praise as he -received was poor and superficial; he regarded it far less than censure. -My own admiration of him was wild in enthusiasm, but it gave him no ray -of pleasure; he could not make me at that time understand his main -meanings; he loved me, but cared nothing for what I said, and was always -trying to hinder me from writing, because it gave pain to his fellow -artists. To the praise of other persons he gave not even the -acknowledgment of this sad affection; it passed by him as murmur of the -wind; and most justly, for not one of his own special powers was ever -perceived by the world. I have said in another place that all great -modern artists will own their obligation to him as a guide. They will; -but they are in error in this gratitude, as I was, when I quoted it as -a sign of their respect. Close analysis of the portions of modern art -founded on Turner has since shown me that in every case his imitators -misunderstood him:--that they caught merely at superficial brilliancies, -and never saw the real character of his mind or his work. - -And at this day, while I write, the catalogue allowed to be sold at the -gates of the National Gallery for the instruction of the common people, -describes Calcott and Claude as the greater artists. - -§ 12. To censure, on the other hand, Turner was acutely sensitive, owing -to his own natural kindness; he felt it, for himself, or for others, not -as criticism, but as cruelty. He knew that however little his higher -powers could be seen, he had at least done as much as ought to have -saved him from wanton insult; and the attacks upon him in his later -years were to him not merely contemptible in their ignorance, but -amazing in their ingratitude. "A man may be weak in his age," he said to -me once, at the time when he felt he was dying; "but you should not tell -him so." - -§ 13. What Turner might have done for us, had he received help and love, -instead of disdain, I can hardly trust myself to imagine. Increasing -calmly in power and loveliness, his work would have formed one mighty -series of poems, each great as that which I have interpreted,--the -Hesperides; but becoming brighter and kinder as he advanced to happy -age. Soft as Correggio's, solemn as Titian's, the enchanted color would -have glowed, imperishable and pure; and the subtle thoughts risen into -loftiest teaching, helpful for centuries to come. - -What we have asked from him, instead of this, and what received, we -know. But few of us yet know how true an image those darkening wrecks of -radiance give of the shadow which gained sway over his once pure and -noble soul. - -§ 14. Not unresisted, nor touching the heart's core, nor any of the old -kindness and truth: yet festering work of the worm--inexplicable and -terrible, such as England, by her goodly gardening, leaves to infect her -earth-flowers. - -So far as in it lay, this century has caused every one of its great men, -whose hearts were kindest, and whose spirits most perceptive of the work -of God, to die without hope:--Scott, Keats, Byron, Shelley, Turner. -Great England, of the Iron-heart now, not of the Lion-heart; for these -souls of her children an account may perhaps be one day required of her. - -§ 15. She has not yet read often enough that old story of the -Samaritan's mercy. He whom he saved was going down from Jerusalem to -Jericho--to the accursed city (so the old Church used to understand it). -He should not have left Jerusalem; it was his own fault that he went out -into the desert, and fell among the thieves, and was left for dead. -Every one of these English children, in their day, took the desert -bypath as he did, and fell among fiends--took to making bread out of -stones at their bidding, and then died, torn and famished; careful -England, in her pure, priestly dress, passing by on the other side. So -far as we are concerned, that is the account _we_ have to give of -them.[3] - -§ 16. So far as _they_ are concerned, I do not fear for them;--there -being one Priest who never passes by. The longer I live, the more -clearly I see how all souls are in His hand--the mean and the great. -Fallen on the earth in their baseness, or fading as the mist of morning -in their goodness; still in the hand of the potter as the clay, and in -the temple of their master as the cloud. It was not the mere bodily -death that He conquered--that death had no sting. It was this spiritual -death which He conquered, so that at last it should be swallowed -up--mark the word--not in life; but in victory. As the dead body shall -be raised to life, so also the defeated soul to victory, if only it has -been fighting on its Master's side, has made no covenant with death; nor -itself bowed its forehead for his seal. Blind from the prison-house, -maimed from the battle, or mad from the tombs, their souls shall surely -yet sit, astonished, at His feet who giveth peace. - -§ 17. Who _giveth_ peace? Many a peace we have made and named for -ourselves, but the falsest is in that marvellous thought that we, of all -generations of the earth, only know the right; and that to us, at -last,--and us alone,--all the scheme of God, about the salvation of men, -has been shown. "This is the light in which _we_ are walking, Those vain -Greeks are gone down to their Persephone for ever--Egypt and Assyria, -Elam and her multitude,--uncircumcised, their graves are round about -them--Pathros and careless Ethiopia--filled with the slain. Rome, with -her thirsty sword, and poison wine, how did she walk in her darkness! We -only have no idolatries--ours are the seeing eyes; in our pure hands at -last, the seven-sealed book is laid; to our true tongues entrusted the -preaching of a perfect gospel. Who shall come after us? Is it not peace? -The poor Jew, Zimri, who slew his master, there is no peace for him: -but, for us? tiara on head, may we not look out of the windows of -heaven?" - -§ 18. Another kind of peace I look for than this, though I hear it said -of me that I am hopeless. - -I am not hopeless, though my hope may be as Veronese's, the dark-veiled. - -Veiled, not because sorrowful, but because blind. I do not know what my -England desires, or how long she will choose to do as she is doing -now;--with her right hand casting away the souls of men, and with her -left the gifts of God. - -In the prayers which she dictates to her children, she tells them to -fight against the world, the flesh, and the devil. Some day, perhaps, it -may also occur to her as desirable to tell those children what she means -by this. What is the world which they are to "fight with," and how does -it differ from the world which they are to "get on in"? The explanation -seems to me the more needful, because I do not, in the book we profess -to live by, find anything very distinct about fighting with the world. I -find something about fighting with the rulers of its darkness, and -something also about overcoming it; but it does not follow that this -conquest is to be by hostility, since evil may be overcome with good. -But I find it written very distinctly that God loved the world, and that -Christ is the light of it. - -§ 19. What the much-used words, therefore, mean, I cannot tell. But -this, I believe, they _should_ mean. That there is, indeed, one world -which is full of care, and desire, and hatred: a world of war, of which -Christ is not the light, which indeed is without light, and has never -heard the great "Let there be." Which is, therefore, in truth, as yet no -world; but chaos, on the face of which, moving, the Spirit of God yet -causes men to hope that a world will come. The better one, they call it: -perhaps they might, more wisely, call it the real one. Also, I hear them -speak continually of going to it, rather than of its coming to them; -which, again, is strange, for in that prayer which they had straight -from the lips of the Light of the world, and which He apparently thought -sufficient prayer for them, there is not anything about going to another -world; only something of another government coming into this; or rather, -not another, but the only government,--that government which will -constitute it a world indeed. New heavens and new earth. Earth, no more -without form and void, but sown with fruit of righteousness. Firmament, -no more of passing cloud, but of cloud risen out of the crystal -sea--cloud in which, as He was once received up, so He shall again come -with power, and every eye shall see Him, and all kindreds of the earth -shall wail because of Him. - -Kindreds of the earth, or tribes of it![4]--the "earth-begotten," the -Chaos children--children of this present world, with its desolate seas -and its Medusa clouds: the Dragon children, merciless: they who dealt as -clouds without water: serpent clouds, by whose sight men were turned -into stone;--the time must surely come for their wailing. - -20. "Thy kingdom come," we are bid to ask then! But how shall it come? -With power and great glory, it is written; and yet not with observation, -it is also written. Strange kingdom! Yet its strangeness is renewed to -us with every dawn. - -When the time comes for us to wake out of the world's sleep, why should -it be otherwise than out of the dreams of the night? Singing of birds, -first, broken and low, as, not to dying eyes, but eyes that wake to -life, "the casement slowly grows a glimmering square;" and then the -gray, and then the rose of dawn; and last the light, whose going forth -is to the ends of heaven. - -This kingdom it is not in our power to bring; but it is, to receive. -Nay, it has come already, in part; but not received, because men love -chaos best; and the Night, with her daughters. That is still the only -question for us, as in the old Elias days, "If ye will receive it." With -pains it may be shut out still from many a dark place of cruelty; by -sloth it may be still unseen for many a glorious hour. But the pain of -shutting it out must grow greater and greater:--harder, every day, that -struggle of man with man in the abyss, and shorter wages for the fiend's -work. But it is still at our choice; the simoom-dragon may still be -served if we will, in the fiery desert, or else God walking in the -garden, at cool of day. Coolness now, not of Hesperus over Atlas, -stooped endurer of toil; but of Heosphorus over Sion, the joy of the -earth.[5] The choice is no vague or doubtful one. High on the desert -mountain, full descried, sits throned the tempter, with his old -promise--the kingdoms of this world, and the glory of them. He still -calls you to your labor, as Christ to your rest;--labor and sorrow, base -desire, and cruel hope. So far as you desire to possess, rather than to -give; so far as you look for power to command, instead of to bless; so -far as your own prosperity seems to you to issue out of contest or -rivalry, of any kind, with other men, or other nations; so long as the -hope before you is for supremacy instead of love; and your desire is to -be greatest, instead of least;--first, instead of last;--so long you are -serving the Lord of all that is last, and least;--the last enemy that -shall be destroyed--Death; and you shall have death's crown, with the -worm coiled in it; and death's wages with the worm feeding on them; -kindred of the earth shall you yourself become; saying to the grave, -"Thou art my father;" and to the worm, "Thou art my mother, and my -sister." - -I leave you to judge, and to choose, between this labor, and the -bequeathed peace; this wages, and the gift of the Morning Star; this -obedience, and the doing of the will which shall enable you to claim -another kindred than of the earth, and to hear another voice than that -of the grave, saying, "My brother, and sister, and mother." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] It is proper, however, for the reader to know, that the title - which I myself originally intended for this book was "_Turner and the - Ancients_;" nor did I purpose to refer in it to any other modern - painters than Turner. The title was changed; and the notes on other - living painters inserted in the first volume, in deference to the - advice of friends, probably wise; for unless the change had been - made, the book might never have been read at all. But, as far as I am - concerned, I regretted the change then, and regret it still. - - [2] It may perhaps be necessary to explain one or two singular points - of Turner's character, not in defence of this statement, but to show - its meaning. In speaking of his truth, I use the word in a double - sense;--truth to himself, and to others. - - Truth to himself; that is to say, the resolution to do his duty by - his art, and carry all work out as well as it could be done. Other - painters, for the most part, modify their work by some reference to - public taste, or measure out a certain quantity of it for a certain - price, or alter facts to show their power. Turner never did any of - these things. The thing the public asked of him he would do, but - whatever it was, only as _he_ thought it ought to be done. People did - not buy his large pictures; he, with avowed discontent, painted small - ones; but instead of taking advantage of the smaller size to give, - proportionally, less labor, he instantly changed his execution so as - to be able to put nearly as much work into his small drawings as into - his large ones, though he gave them for half the price. But his aim - was always to make the drawing as good as he could, or as the subject - deserved, irrespective of price. If he disliked his theme, he painted - it slightly, utterly disdainful of the purchaser's complaint. "The - purchaser must take his chance." If he liked his theme, he would give - three hundred guineas' worth of work for a hundred, and ask no - thanks. It is true, exceptionally, that he altered the engravings - from his designs, so as to meet the popular taste, but this was - because he knew the public could not be got otherwise to look at his - art at all. His own drawings the entire body of the nation repudiated - and despised: "the engravers could make something of them," they - said. Turner scornfully took them at their word. If that is what you - like, take it. I will not alter my own noble work one jot for you, - but these things you shall have to your minds;--try to use them, and - get beyond them. Sometimes, when an engraver came with a plate to be - touched, he would take a piece of white chalk in his right hand and - of black in his left: "Which will you have it done with?" The - engraver chose black or white, as he thought his plate weak or heavy. - Turner threw the other piece of chalk away, and would reconstruct the - plate, with the added lights or darks, in ten minutes. Nevertheless, - even this concession to false principles, so far as it had influence, - was injurious to him: he had better not have scorned the engravings, - but either done nothing with them, or done his best. His best, in a - certain way, he did, never sparing pains, if he thought the plate - worth it: some of his touched proofs are elaborate drawings. - - Of his earnestness in his main work, enough, I should think, has been - already related in this book; but the following anecdote, which I - repeat here from my notes on the Turner Gallery, that there may be - less chance of its being lost, gives, in a few words, and those his - own, the spirit of his labor, as it possessed him throughout his - life. The anecdote was communicated to me in a letter by Mr. - Kingsley, late of Sidney College, Cambridge; whose words I give:--"I - had taken my mother and a cousin to see Turner's pictures; and, as my - mother knows nothing about art, I was taking her down the gallery to - look at the large Richmond Park, but as we were passing the - Sea-storm, she stopped before it, and I could hardly get her to look - at any other picture: and she told me a great deal more about it than - I had any notion of, though I had seen many sea-storms. She had been - in such a scene on the coast of Holland during the war. When, some - time afterwards, I thanked Turner for his permission for her to see - the pictures, I told him that he would not guess which had caught my - mother's fancy, and then named the picture; and he then said, 'I did - not paint it to be understood, but I wished to show what such a scene - was like: I got the sailors to lash me to the mast to observe it; I - was lashed for four hours, and I did not expect to escape, but I felt - bound to record it if I did. But no one had any business to like the - picture.' 'But,' said I, 'my mother once went through just such a - scene, and it brought it all back to her.' 'Is your mother a - painter?' 'No.' 'Then she ought to have been thinking of something - else.' These were nearly his words; I observed at the time, he used - 'record' and 'painting,' as the title 'author' had struck me before." - - He was true to others. No accusation had ever been brought forward - against Turner by his most envious enemies, of his breaking a - promise, or failing in an undertaken trust. His sense of justice was - strangely acute; it was like his sense of balance in color, and shone - continually in little crotchets of arrangement of price, or other - advantages, among the buyers of his pictures. For instance, one of my - friends had long desired to possess a picture which Turner would not - sell. It had been painted with a companion; which was sold, but this - reserved. After a considerable number of years had passed, Turner - consented to part with it. The price of canvases of its size having, - in the meantime, doubled, question arose as to what was then to be - its price. "Well," said Turner, "Mr. ---- had the companion for so - much. You must be on the same footing." This was in no desire to do - my friend a favor; but in mere instinct of equity. Had the price of - his pictures fallen, instead of risen in the meantime, Turner would - have said, "Mr. ---- paid so much, and so must you." - - But the best proof to which I can refer in this character of his mind - is in the wonderful series of diagrams executed by him for his - lectures on perspective at the Royal Academy. I had heard it said - that these lectures were inefficient. Barely intelligible in - expression they might be; but the zealous care with which Turner - endeavored to do his duty, is proved by a series of large drawings, - exquisitely tinted, and often completely colored, all by his own - hand, of the most difficult perspective subjects; illustrating not - only directions of line, but effects of light, with a care and - completion which would put the work of any ordinary teacher to utter - shame. In teaching generally, he would neither waste his time nor - spare it; he would look over a student's drawing, at the - academy,--point to a defective part, make a scratch on the paper at - the side, saying nothing; if the student saw what was wanted, and did - it, Turner was delighted, and would go on with him, giving hint after - hint; but if the student could not follow, Turner left him. Such - experience as I have had in teaching, leads me more and more to - perceive that he was right. Explanations are wasted time. A man who - can see, understands a touch; a man who cannot, misunderstands an - oration. - - One of the points in Turner which increased the general falseness of - impression respecting him was a curious dislike he had to _appear_ - kind. Drawing, with one of his best friends, at the bridge of St. - Martin's, the friend got into great difficulty over a colored sketch. - Turner looked over him a little while, then said, in a grumbling - way--"I haven't got any paper I like; let me try yours." Receiving a - block book, he disappeared for an hour and a half. Returning, he - threw the book down, with a growl, saying--"I can't make anything of - your paper." There were three sketches on it, in three distinct - states of progress, showing the process of coloring from beginning to - end, and clearing up every difficulty which his friend had got into. - When he gave advice, also, it was apt to come in the form of a keen - question, or a quotation of some one else's opinion, rarely a - statement of his own. To the same person producing a sketch, which - had no special character: "What are you in _search_ of?" Note this - expression. Turner knew that passionate seeking only leads to - passionate finding. Sometimes, however, the advice would come with a - startling distinctness. A church spire having been left out in a - sketch of a town--"Why did you not put that in?" "I hadn't time." - "Then you should take a subject more suited to your capacity." - - Many people would have gone away considering this an insult, whereas - it was only a sudden flash from Turner's earnest requirement of - wholeness or perfectness of conception. "Whatever you do, large or - small, do it wholly; take a slight subject if you will, but don't - leave things out." But the principal reason for Turner's having got - the reputation of always refusing advice was, that artists came to - him in a state of mind in which he knew they could not receive it. - Virtually, the entire conviction of the artists of his time - respecting him was, that he had got a secret, which he could tell, if - he liked, that would make them all Turners. They came to him with - this general formula of request clearly in their hearts, if not - definitely on their lips: "You know, Mr. Turner, we are all of us - quite as clever as you are, and could do all that very well, and we - should really like to do a little of it occasionally, only we haven't - quite your trick; there's something in it, of course, which you only - found out by accident, and it is very ill-natured and unkind of you - not to tell us how the thing is done; what do you rub your colors - over with, and where ought we to put in the black patches?" This was - the practical meaning of the artistical questioning of his day, to - which Turner very resolvedly made no answer. On the contrary, he took - great care that any tricks of execution he actually did use should - not be known. - - His _practical_ answer to their questioning being as follows:--"You - are indeed, many of you, as clever as I am; but this, which you think - a secret, is only the result of sincerity and toil. If you have not - sense enough to see this without asking me, you have not sense enough - to believe me, if I tell you. True, I know some odd methods of - coloring. I have found them out for myself, and they suit me. They - would not suit you. They would do you no real good; and it would do - me much harm to have you mimicking my ways of work, without knowledge - of their meaning. If you want methods fit for you, find them out for - yourselves. If you cannot discover them, neither could you use them." - - [3] It is strange that the last words Turner ever attached to a - picture should have been these:-- - - "The priest held the poisoned cup." - - Compare the words of 1798 with those of 1850. - - [4] Compare Matt. xxiv. 30. - - [5] Ps. xlviii. 2.--This joy it is to receive and to give, because - its officers (governors of its acts) are to be Peace, and its - exactors (governors of its dealings), Righteousness.--Is. lx. 17. - - -THE END. - - - - -LOCAL INDEX - -TO - -MODERN PAINTERS. - - - Aiguille Blaitičre, iv. 186, 188, 399; - Bouchard, iv. 39, 186, 200, 209-211; - de Chamouni, iv. 163, 183; - des Charmoz, iv. 177, 190, 191,192, 206; - du Gouté, iv. 206; - duMoine, iv. 189 (note); - du Plan, iv. 187; - Pourri (Chamouni), iv. 196, 214; - de Varens (Chamouni), iv. 161. - - Aletsch glacier, ravine of, iv. 258. - - Alps, angle buttress of the chain of Jungfrau and Gemmi, iv. 286. - - Amiens, poplar groves of, iii. 181, iv. 348; - banks of the Somme at, iv. 10 (note). - - Annecy, lake of, cliffs round, iv. 247. - - Apennine, the Lombard, iii. plate 14. - - Ardon (Valais), gorge of, iv. 152. - - - Beauvais, destruction of old houses at, ii. 6 (note). - - Berne, scenery of lowland districts of, v. 83, iv. 132. - - Bietschhorn, peak of, iv. 178. - - Bolton Abbey (Yorkshire), iv. 249. - - Breven (Chamouni), precipices of, iv. 229. - - - Calais, tower of, iv. 26. - - Carrara mountains, peaks of, iv. 357; - quarries of, iv. 299. - - Chamounix, beauty of pine-glades, v. 82. See Valley. - - Chartres, cathedral, sculpture on, v. 35. - - Cluse, valley of, iv. 144. - - Col d'Anterne, iv. 124. - - Col de Ferret, iv. 124. - - Cormayeur, valley of, iv. 176. - - Cumberland, hills of, iv. 91. - - Cyrene, scenery of, v. 300. - - - Dart, banks of, iv. 297. - - Dent de Morcles (Valais), peaks of, iv. 160. - - Dent du Midi de Bex, structure of, iv. 241. - - Derbyshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100. - - Derwent, banks of, iv. 297. - - - Eiger (Grindelwald), position of, iv. 166. - - Engelberg, Hill of Angels, v. 86. - - - Faďdo, pass of (St. Gothard), iv. 21. - - Finster-Aarhorn (Bernese Alps), peak of, iv. 164, 178. - - Florence, destruction of old streets and frescoes in, ii. 7 (note). - - France, scenery and valleys of, i. 129, 250; iv. 297, 344. - - Fribourg, district surrounding, iv. 132; - towers of, iv. 32. - - - Geneva, restorations in, ii. 6 (note). - - Goldau, valley of, iv. 312. - - Grande Jorasse (Col de Ferret), position of, iv. 166. - - Grindelwald valley, iv. 164. - - - Highland valley, described, v. 206. - - - Il Resegone (Comasque chain of Alps), structure, iv. 153. - - - Jedburgh, rocks near, iv. 131. - - Jura, crags of, iv. 152, 157. - - - Lago Maggiore, effect of, destroyed by quarries, iv. 120. - - Langholme, rocks near, iv. 131. - - Lauterbrunnen Cliffs, structure of, iv. 149. - - Loire, description of its course, v. 164. - - Lucca, San Michele, mosaics on, i. 105; - tomb in Cathedral of, ii. 70. - - Lucerne, wooden bridges at, iv. 325, 375; - lake, shores of, the mountain-temple, v. 85, 87. - - - Matlock, via Gellia, v. 207. - - Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), structure of, iv. 160, 181, 237, 260; - from Zermatt, iv. 232, 238; - from Riffelhorn, iv. 235. - - Milan, sculpture in cathedral, ii. 206. - - Montanvert, view from, iv. 178. - - Montagne de la Côte, crests of, iv. 206, 208, 212, 282; v. 121. - - Montagne de Taconay, iv. 206, 208, 213, 282; v. 131. - - Montagne de Tacondy (Chamouni), ridges of, i. 298. - - Montagne de Vergi, iv. 247. - - Mont Blanc, arrangement of beds in chain of, iv. 174 (note), 394. - - Monte Rosa, iv. 165. - - Mont Pilate, v. 124; iv. 227. - - Monte Viso, peak of, iv. 178. - - - Niagara, channel of, iv. 95. - - Normandy, hills of, iv. 353. - - Nuremberg, description of, v. 232-235. - - - Oxford, Queen's College, front of, i. 104. - - - Pélerins Cascade (Valley of Chamouni), iv. 282. - - Pisa, destruction of works of art in, ii. 6 (note); - mountain scenery round, iv. 357. - - Petit Salčve, iv. 161. - - - Rhone, valley of, iv. 95. - - Rheinfelden (Switzerland), description of, v. 335 (note). - - Riffelhorn, precipices of, iv. 234. - - Rochers des Fys (Col d'Anterne), cliff of, iv. 241. - - Rome, pursuit of art in, i. 4; - Temple of Antoninus and Faustus, griffin on, iii. 100. - - Rouen, destruction of medićval architecture in, ii. 6 (note). - - - Saddleback (Cumberland), i. 298. - - Sallenche, plain of the Arve at, i. 273; - walk near, iii. 136. - - Savoy, valleys of, iv. 125. - - Salisbury Crags (Edinburgh), structure of, iv. 149. - - Schauffhausen, fall of, i. 349; v. 325. - - Schreckhorn (Bernese Alps), iv. 164. - - Scotland, hills of, iv. 91, 125. - - Sion (Valais), description of (mountain gloom), iv. 338-341. - - Switzerland, character of, how destroyed by foreigners, iv. 374; - railways, v. 325. - - - Taconay, Tacondy. See Montagne. - - Tees, banks of, iv. 297. - - Thames, description of, v. 288. - - Tours, destruction of medićval buildings in, ii. 6 (note). - - Trient, valley of (mountain gloom), iv. 259, 318. - - Twickenham, meadows of, v. 293. - - - Underwalden, pine hills of, v. 87. - - - Valais, canton, iv. 165; - fairies' hollow in, v. 82. - - Valley of Chamouni, iv. 177, 375; - formation of, iv. 165; - how spoiled by quarries, iv. 121; - of Cluse, iv. 144; - of Cormayer, iv. 176; - of Grindewald, iv. 166; - of Frütigen (Canton of Berne), v. 86. - - Venice, in the eighteenth century, i. 110; - modern restorations in, ii. 8 (note); - Quay of the Rialto, market scene on, i. 343; - St. Mark's, mosaics on, i. 343; - described, v. 286. See Topical Index. - - Verona, griffin on cathedral of, iii. 100; - San Zeno, sculpture on arch in, v. 46. - - Villeneuve, mountains of, iv. 246, 287. - - Vosges, crags of, iv. 152. - - - Wales, hills of, iv. 125. - - Weisshorn, peak of, 178. - - Wetterhorn (Grindelwald), iv. 166, 178. - - Wharfe (Yorkshire), shores of, iv. 250, 297. - - - Yorkshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100, 246; v. 293. - - - Zermatt, valley of, chapel in, iv. 325. - - Zmutt Glacier, iv. 236. - - - - -INDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES - -REFERRED TO IN "MODERN PAINTERS." - - - Angelico da Fiesole, angel choirs of, ii. 224; - attained the highest beauty, ii. 136; - cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178; - decoration of, ii. 219; - distances of, iv. 355; - finish of, ii. 82, iii. 122; - his hatred of fog, iv. 55; - influence of hills upon, iv. 355; - introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120, iii. 33; - his purity of life, iii. 72; - spiritual beauty of, iii. 33; - treatment of Passion subjects by, ii. 129; - unison of expressional with pictorial power in, iii. 29; - contrast between, and Wouvermans, v. 283; - contrast between, and Salvator, v. 283; - Pictures referred to-- - Annunciation, ii. 174; - Crucifixion, i. 82, ii. 220; - Infant Christ, ii. 222; - Last Judgment, i. 85; - Last Judgment and Paradise, ii. 224, iii. 57; - Spirits in Prison at the Feet of Christ, fresco in St. Mark's, ii. - 56 (note); - St. Dominic of Fiesole, ii. 56; - Vita di Christo, ii. 219. - - Art-Union, Christian Vanquishing Apollyon (ideal stones), iv. 307. - - - Bandinelli, Cacus, ii. 184; - Hercules, ii. 184. - - Bartolomeo, introduction of portraiture by, ii. 120. - - Bartolomeo, Fra. Pictures referred to-- - Last Judgment, ii. 182; - St. Stephen, ii. 224. - - Basaiti, Marco, open skies of, i. 84. Picture--St. Stephen, ii. 224. - - Bellini, Gentile, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103, 107; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120. - - Bellini, Giovanni, finish of, ii. 83; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 129; - landscape of, i. 85, iv. 38; - luminous skies of, ii. 44; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in, iii. 29; - use of mountain distances, iv. 355; - refinement and gradation, i. 85. - Pictures referred to-- - Madonna at Milan, i. 85; - San Francesco della Vigna at Venice, i. 85; - St. Christopher, ii. 120; - St. Jerome, ii. 216; - St. Jerome in the Church of San. Chrysostome, i. 85. - - Berghem, landscape, Dulwich Gallery, i. 37, iii. 126, v. 282. - - Blacklock, drawing of the inferior hills, i. 307. - - Blake, Illustrations of the Book of Job, iii. 98. - - Bonifazio, Camp of Israel, iii. 318; - what subjects treated by, v. 221. - - Both, failures of, i. 197, v. 315. - - Bronzino, base grotesque, iii. 98. - Pictures referred to-- - Christ Visiting the Spirits in Prison, ii. 56. - - Buonarotti, Michael Angelo, anatomy interfering with the divinity of - figures, ii. 221; - conception of human form, ii. 124, 126; - completion of detail, iii. 122; - finish of, ii. 83; - influence of mountains upon, iv. 358; - use of symbol, ii. 215; - repose in, ii. 69 (note); - impetuous execution of, ii. 187 (note); - expression of inspiration by, ii. 214. - Pictures referred to-- - Bacchus, ii. 186 (note); - Daniel, i. 62; - Jonah, ii. 204; - Last Judgment, ii. 181, 183; - Night and Day, ii. 203, iii. 96; - Pietŕ of Florence, ii. 185; - Pietŕ of Genoa, ii. 83; - Plague of the Fiery Serpents, ii. 69 (note); - St. Matthew, ii. 185; - Twilight i. 33; - Vaults of Sistine Chapel, i. 30-33. - - - Callcott, Trent, i. 189. - - Canaletto, false treatment of water, i. 341; - mannerism of, i. 111; - painting in the Palazzo Manfrini, i. 200; - Venice, as seen by, i. 111; - works of, v. 195. - - Canova, unimaginative work of, ii. 184; - Perseus, i. 62. - - Caracci, The, landscape of, iii. 317, iv. 75; - use of base models of portraiture by, ii. 120. - - Caravaggio, vulgarity of, iii. 257; - perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 137; - a worshipper of the depraved, iii. 33. - - Carpaccio, Vittor, delineation of architecture by, i. 107; - luminous skies of, ii 44; - painting of St. Mark's Church, i. 108. - - Castagno, Andrea del, rocks of, iii. 239. - - Cattermole, G., foliage of, i. 406; - Fall of the Clyde, i. 116; - Glendearg, i. 116. - - Claude, summary of his qualities, v. 244; - painting of sunlight by, iii. 318, v. 315; - feeling of the beauty of form, i. 76, iii. 318, v. 244; - narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 77; - aërial effects of, iii. 318, v. 244; - sincerity of purpose of, iii. 317, v. 244; - never forgot himself, i. 77, v. 244; - true painting of afternoon sunshine, iii. 321, v. 245, 315; - effeminate softness of, v. 244; - landscape of, iii. 318, i. xxxviii. preface, v. 244; - seas of, i. 77, 345, v. 244, 245; - skies of, i. 208, 227; - tenderness of perception in, iii. 318; - transition from Ghirlandajo to, iv. 1; - absence of imagination in, ii. 158; - waterfalls of, i. 300; - treatment of rocks by, iv. 253, 308, iii. 322; - tree drawing of, iii. 118, 333; - absurdities of conception, iii. 321; - deficiency in foreground, i. 179, 399; - distances of, i. 278; - perspective of, i. 409. - Pictures referred to-- - Morning, in National Gallery (Cephalus and Procris), i. 317; - Enchanted Castle, i. 208; - Campagna at Rome, i. xl. preface; - Il Mulino, i. xxxix. preface, v. 245, ii. 149; - Landscape, No. 241, Dulwich Gallery, i. 208; - Landscape, No. 244, Dulwich Gallery, i. 284; - Landscape in Uffizii Gallery, i. 339; - Seaport, St. Ursula, No. 30, National Gallery, i. 208; - Queen of Sheba, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 409; - Italian Seaport, No. 5, National Gallery, i. 230; - Seaport, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 22; - Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca, i. 176, 194, 208, 278, 388; - Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 320; - Narcissus, i. 388; - Pisa, iv. 1; - St. George and the Dragon, v. 246; - Worship of the Golden Calf, v. 246; - Sinon before Priam, i. 169, 279; - Liber Veritatis, No. 5, iv. 308; - Liber V., No. 86, iv. 220; - L. V., No. 91, iv. 253, 254; - L. V., No. 140, iii. 117; - L. V., No. 145, iii. 321; - L. V., No. 180, iii. 321. - - Conegilano, Cima da, entire realization of foreground painting, iii. 128; - painting in church of the Madonna dell' Orto, i. 82. - - Constable, landscape of, iii. 126; - simplicity and earnestness of, i. 94; - aspen drawing of, iv. 78; - Helmingham Park, Suffolk, iii. 119; - Lock on the Stour, iii. 118; - foliage of, i. 406, iii. 119; - landscape of, iv. 38. - - Correggio, choice of background, iii. 316; - painting of flesh by, iii. 97; - leaf drawing of, v. 35; - power of, to paint rain-clouds, v. 136 (note); - love of physical beauty, iii. 33; - morbid gradation, ii. 47; - morbid sentimentalism, ii. 174; - mystery of, iv. 62; - sensuality of, ii. 125, 136; - sidelong grace of, iii. 28; - tenderness of, iii. 42. - Pictures referred to-- - Antiope, iii. 63, v. 36, 90, 136; - Charioted Diana, ii. 126; - Madonna of the Incoronazione, ii. 125; - St. Catherine of the Giorno, ii. 126. - - Cox, David, drawings of, i. xliii. preface, i. 96; - foliage of, i. 406; - rain-clouds of, i. 248; - skies of, in water-color, i. 257; - sunset on distant hills, i. 96. - - Creswick, tree-painting of, i. 397. - Pictures referred to-- - Nut-brown Maid, i. 397; - Weald of Kent, i. 407. - - Cruikshank, G., iv., 387; Noah Claypole ("Oliver Twist"), v. 266. - - Cuyp, principal master of pastoral landscape, v. 194; - tone of, i. 150; - no sense of beauty, i. 76; - sky of, i. 215, 225, 209; - cattle painting of, v. 259; - sunlight of, v. 254, 315; - water of, i. 346; - foliage of, v. 35, 37; - and Rubens, v, 249, 260. - Pictures referred to-- - Hilly Landscape, in Dulwich Gallery, No. 169, i. 150, 209; - Landscape, in National Gallery, No. 53, i. 150, v. 37; - Waterloo etchings, i. 92; - Landscape, Dulwich Gallery, No, 83, i. 340, No. 163, v. 37. - - - Dannaeker, Ariadne, iii. 65. - - Dighton, W. E., Hayfield in a Shower, ii. 229; - Haymeadow Corner, ii. 229. - - Dolci, Carlo, finish for finish's sake, iii. 113; - softness and smoothness, iii. 113; - St. Peter, ii. 204. - - Domenichino, angels of, ii. 222; - landscape of, iii. 317; - Madonna del Rosario, and Martyrdom of St. Agnes, both utterly - hateful, i. 88, ii. 222. - - Drummond, Banditti on the Watch, ii. 230. - - Durer, Albert, and Salvator, v. 230, 240; - deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 332; - education of, v. 231-232; - mind of, how shown, v. 284; - decision of, iv. 79, ii. 227; - tree-drawing, v. 67; - finish of, iii. 42, 122; - gloomily minute, i. 90; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - drawing of crests, iv. 201; - love of sea, v. 234. - Pictures referred to-- - Dragon of the Apocalypse, iv. 217; - Fall of Lucifer, iv. 201; - The Cannon, v. 234; - Knight and Death, iii. 93, v. 235, 237; - Melancholia, iv. 48, iii. 96, v. 235, 238; - Root of Apple-tree in Adam and Eve, iii. 116, v. 65; - St. Hubert, v. 97, 234; - St. Jerome, v. 234. - - - Etty, richness and play of color of, ii. 203; - Morning Prayer, ii. 229; - Still Life, ii. 229; - St. John, ii. 229. - - Eyck, Van, deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 333. - - - Fielding, Copley, faithful rendering of nature, i. 97; - feeling in the drawing of inferior mountains, i. 307; - foliage of, i. 406; - water of, i. 348; - moorland foreground, i. 188; - use of crude color, i. 98; - love of mist, iv. 75; - rain-clouds of, i. 248; - sea of, i. 351; - truth of, i. 248. Picture referred to--Bolton Abbey, i. 100. - - Flaxman, Alpine stones, iv. 308; - Pool of Envy (in his Dante), iv. 308. - - Francia, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103; - finish of, iii. 122; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 43; - Madonnas of, ii. 224; - Nativity, iii. 48. - - - Gaddi, Taddeo, treatment of the open sky, ii. 43. - - Gainsborough, color of, i. 93; - execution of i. xxii. preface; - aërial distances of, i. 93; - imperfect treatment of details, i. 82. - - Ghiberti, Lorenzo, leaf-moulding and bas-reliefs of, v. 35. - - Ghirlandajo, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - reality of conception, iii. 59; - rocks of, iii. 239, 314; - symmetrical arrangement of pictures, ii. 74; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - quaintness of landscape, iii. 322; - garlanded backgrounds of, v. 90. - Pictures referred to-- - Adoration of the Magi, iii. 312; - Baptism of Christ, iii. 313; - Pisa, iv. 1. - - Giorgione, boyhood of, v. 287-297; - perfect intellect of, v. 285; - landscape of, i. 86; - luminous sky of, ii, 44; - modesty of, ii. 123, 124; - one of the few who has painted leaves, v. 35; - frescoes of, v. 284, 337; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202; - two figures, or the Fondaco de'Tedeschi, i. 110; - one of the seven supreme colorists, v. 318 (note). - - Giotto, cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178; - decoration of, ii. 220; - influence of hills upon, iv. 357; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - landscape of, ii. 217; - power in detail, iii. 57; - reality of conception, iii. 57; - symmetrical arrangement in pictures, ii. 73; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail, iii. 29; - use of mountain distances, iv. 354. - Pictures referred to-- - Baptism of Christ, ii. 176; - Charity, iii. 97; - Crucifixion and Arena frescoes, ii. 129; - Sacrifice for the Friedes, i. 88. - - Gozzoli Benozzo, landscape of, ii. 217; - love of simple domestic incident, iii. 28; - reality of conception, iii. 57; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44. - - Guercino, Hagar, ii. 129. - - Guido, sensuality, ii. 125, 136; - use of base models for portraiture, ii. 120. - Picture-- - Susannah and the Elders, ii. 126. - - - Harding, J. D., aspen drawing of, iv. 78; - execution of, i. 179, 403, iv. 78; - chiaroscuro of, i. 179, 405; - distance of, i. 189; - foliage, i. 387, 401; - trees of, v. 61 (note), i. 387; - rocks of, i. 313; - water of, i. 350. - Pictures referred to-- - Chamouni, i. 287; - Sunrise on the Swiss Alps, i. 102. - - Hemling, finish of, iii. 122. - - Hobbima, niggling of, v. 36, 37; - distances of, i. 202; - failures of, i. 202, 398; - landscape in Dulwich Gallery, v. 36. - - Holbein, best northern art represented by, v. 209-231; - the most accurate portrait painter, v. 322; - Dance of Death, iii. 93; - glorious severity of, ii. 123; - cared not for flowers, v. 90. - - Hooghe, De, quiet painting of, v. 282. - - Hunt, Holman, finish of, i. 416 (note). - Pictures referred to-- - Awakened Conscience, iii. 90; - Claudio and Isabella, iii. 27; - Light of the World, iii. 29, 40, 57, 76, 340, iv. 61 (note); - Christ in the Temple, v. 347. - - Hunt, William, anecdote of, iii. 86; - Farmer's Girl, iii. 82; - foliage of, i. 407; - great ideality in treatment of still-life, ii. 203. - - - Landseer, E., more a natural historian than a painter, ii. 203 (note); - animal painting of, v. 257; - Dog of, ii. 202; - Old Cover Hack, deficiency of color, ii. 226; - Random Shot, ii. 226; - Shepherd's Chief Mourner, i. 9, 30; - Ladies' Pets, imperfect grass drawing, v. 98; - Low Life, v. 266. - - Laurati, treatment of the open sky, ii. 44. - - Lawrence, Sir Thomas, Satan of, ii. 209. - - Lewis, John, climax of water-color drawing, i. 85; - success in seizing Spanish character, i, 124. - - Linnell, cumuli of, i. 244 (note). - Picture referred to-- - Eve of the Deluge, ii. 225. - - Lippi, Filippino, heads of, ii. 220; - Tribute Money, iii. 314. - - - Mantegna, Andrea, painting of stones by, iv. 302; - decoration of, ii. 220. - - Masaccio, painting of vital truth from vital present, iii. 90; - introduction of portraiture into pictures, ii. 120; - mountain scenery of, i. 95, iv. 299; - Deliverance of Peter, ii. 222; - Tribute Money, i. 85, 95, iii. 314. - - Memmi, Simone, abstract of the Duomo at Florence, at Santa Maria - Novella, i. 103; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120. - - Millais, Huguenot, iii. 90. - - Mino da Fiesole, truth and tenderness of, ii. 184; - two statues by, ii. 201. - - Mulready, Pictures by-- - the Butt, perfect color, ii. 227; - Burchell and Sophia, ii. 227; - Choosing of the Wedding Gown, ii. 227; - Gravel Pit, ii. 228. - - Murillo, painting of, ii. 83. - - - Nesfield, treatment of water by, i. 349. - - - Orcagna, influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - intense solemnity and energy of, iii. 28; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail of, iii. 28; - Inferno, ii. 128; - Last Judgment, ii. 181, iii. 57; - Madonna, ii. 201; - Triumph of Death, iii. 57, 95. - - - Perugino, decoration of, ii. 220; - finish of, ii. 83; - formalities of, iii. 122, 315; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - landscape of, ii. 218; - mountain distances of, iv. 355; - right use of gold by, i. 109; - rationalism of, how affecting his works, v. 205; - sea of, i. 346; - expression of, inspiration by, ii. 223. - Pictures referred to-- - Annunciation, ii. 44; - Assumption of the Virgin, ii. 44; - Michael the Archangel, ii. 223; - Nativity, iii. 48; - Portrait of Himself, ii. 136; - Queen-Virgin, iii. 52; - St. Maddelena at Florence, i. 346. - - Pickersgill, Contest of Beauty, ii. 229. - - Pinturicchio, finish of, ii. 83; - Madonnas of, ii. 224. - - Pisellino, Filippo, rocks of, iii. 239. - - Potter, Paul, Landscape, in Grosvenor Gallery, ii. 226; - Landscape, No. 176, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340; - foliage of, compared with Hobbima's and Ruysdael's, v. 35; - best Dutch painter of cattle, v. 254. - - Poussin, Gaspar, foliage of, i. 386-395; - distance of, i. 202; - narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 179; - mannerism of, i. 90, ii. 45, iv. 38; - perception of moral truth, i. 76; - skies of, i. 227, 231; - want of imagination, ii. 158; - false sublimity, iv. 245. - Pictures referred to-- - Chimborazo, i. 208; - Destruction of Niobe's Children, in Dulwich Gallery, i. 294; - Dido and Ćneas, i. 257, 391, ii. 159; - La Riccia, i. 386, 155, ii. 159; - Mont Blanc, i. 208; - Sacrifice of Isaac, i. 195, 208, 230, ii. 159. - - Poussin, Nicolas, and Claude, v. 241-248; - principal master of classical landscape, v. 194, 247; - peculiarities of, v. 247; - compared with Claude and Titian, v. 247; - characteristics of works by, v. 247; - want of sensibility in, v. 247; - landscape of, v. 247; trees of, i. 401; - landscape of, composed on right principles, i. 90, iii. 323, ii. 159. - Pictures referred to-- - The Plague, v. 248; - Death of Polydectes, v. 248; - Triumph of David, v. 248; - The Deluge, v. 248; - Apollo, ii. 207; - Deluge (Louvre), i. 345, iv. 244; - Landscape, No. 260, Dulwich Gallery, i. 144; - Landscape, No. 212, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231; - Phocion, i. 144, 159, 178, 258; - Triumph of Flora, iii. 323. - - Procaccini, Camillo. - Picture referred to-- - Martyrdom (Milan), ii. 129. - - Prout, Samuel, master of noble picturesque, iv. 13; - influence on modern art by works of, i. 103; - excellent composition and color of, i. 112, 114; - expression of the crumbling character of stone, i. 96, 112, 114. - Pictures referred to-- - Brussels, i. 113; - Cologne, i. 113; - Flemish Hotel de Ville, i. 115; - Gothic Well at Ratisbon, i. 114; - Italy and Switzerland, i. 113; - Louvain, i. 113; - Nuremberg, i. 113; - Sion, i. 113; - Sketches in Flanders and Germany, i. 113; - Spire of Calais, iv. 13; - Tours, i. 113. - - Punch, instance of modern grotesque from, iv. 388. - - Pyne, J. B. drawing of, i. 314. - - - Raffaelle, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47; - completion of detail by, i. 82, iii. 122; - finish of, ii. 83; - instances of leaf drawing by, v. 35; - conventionalism of branches by, v. 38; - his hatred of fog, iii. 126, iv. 56; - influence of hills upon, iv. 357; - influenced by Masaccio, iii. 315; - introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120; - composition of, v. 182; - lofty disdain of color in drawings of, v. 320 (note); - landscape of, ii. 217; - mountain distance of, iv. 355; - subtle gradation of sky, ii. 47, 48; - symbolism of, iii. 96. - Pictures referred to-- - Baldacchino, ii. 44; - Charge to Peter, iii. 53, 315; - Draught of Fishes, i. preface, xxx., ii. 204; - Holy Family--Tribune of the Uffizii, iii. 313; - Madonna della Sediola, ii. 44, iii. 51; - Madonna dell' Impannata, ii. 44; - Madonna del Cardellino, ii. 44; - Madonna di San Sisto, iii. 56; - Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179; - Michael the Archangel, ii. 223; - Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 115; - Nativity, iii. 341; - St. Catherine, i. preface, xxxi., i. 34, 139, ii. 98, 224; - St. Cecilia, ii. 136, 218, iii. 15, 54; - St. John of the Tribune, ii. 44; - School of Athens, iii. 26; - Transfiguration, iii. 54 (note). - - Rembrandt, landscape of, i. 192; - chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 42-47; - etchings of, i. 405 (note); - vulgarity of, iii. 257. - Pictures referred to-- - Presentation of Christ in the Temple, ii. 42; - Spotted Shell, ii. 203; - Painting of himself and his wife, v. 252. - - Rethel, A. - Pictures referred to-- - Death the Avenger, iii. 98; - Death the Friend, iii. 98. - - Retsch. - Pictures referred to-- - Illustrations to Schiller's Fight of the Dragon, ii. 171. - - Reynolds, Sir Joshua, swiftest of painters, v. 191; - influence of early life of, on painting of, v. 289; - lectures quoted, i. 7, 44, iii. 4; - tenderness of, iv. 67 (note). - Picture referred to-- - Charity, iii. 97. - - Roberts, David, architectural drawing of, i. 118; - drawings of the Holy Land, i. 118; - hieroglyphics of the Egyptian temples, i. 119; - Roslin Chapel, i. 120. - - Robson G., mountain scenery of, i. 95, iii. 325. - - Rosa, Salvator, and Albert Durer, v. 230-240; - landscape of, i. 390; - characteristics of, v. 237, 285; - how influenced by Calabrian scenery, v. 236; - of what capable, v. 236; - death, how regarded by, v. 237; - contrast between, and Angelico, v. 285; - leaf branches of, compared with Durer's, v. 67, 68; - example of tree bough of, v. 45; - education of, v. 235, 236; - fallacies of contrast with early artists, v. 46; - narrowness of, contrasted with freedom and vastness of nature, i. 77; - perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 128, 137, v. 46-67; - skies of, i. 227, 230; - vicious execution of, i. 39, ii. 83; - vigorous imagination of, ii. 159; - vulgarity of, iii. 33, iii. 317, 257. - Pictures referred to-- - Apollo and Sibyl, v. 79; - Umana Fragilita, v. 237; - Baptism of Christ, ii. 176 (note); - Battles by, ii. 127; - Diogenes, ii. 159; - finding of Oedipus, iii. 115, v. 65; - Landscape, No. 220, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231, 240, 294, 312; - Landscape, No. 159, Dulwich Gallery, i. 254; - Sea-piece (Pitti Palace), i. 345; - Peace burning the arms of War, i. 390; - St. Jerome, ii. 159; - Temptation of St. Anthony, ii. 45, (note); - Mercury and the Woodman (National Gallery), i, 157. - - Rubens and Cuyp, v. 249-260; - color of, i. 169; - landscape of, i. 91, 220, iii. 182, 318; - leaf drawing of, v. 35; - flowers of, v. 90; - realistic temper of, iii. 97; - symbolism of, iii. 96; - treatment of light, ii. 41, i. 165; - want of feeling for grace and mystery, iv. 14; - characteristics of, v. 251; - religion of, v. 252; - delight in martyrdoms, v. 251; - painting of dogs and horses by, v. 257, 258; - descriptions of his own pictures by, v. 252; - imitation of sunlight by, v. 315 (note); - hunts by, v. 258. - Pictures referred to-- - Adoration of the Magi, i. 37; - Battle of the Amazons, v. 251; - Landscape, No. 175, Dulwich Gallery, iv. 15; - His Family, v. 252; - Waggoner, iii. 114; - Landscapes in Pitti Palace, i. 91; - Sunset behind a Tournament, iii. 318. - - Ruysdael. - Pictures referred to-- - Running and Falling Water, i. 325, 344; - Sea-piece, i. 344. - - - Schöngauer, Martin, joy in ugliness, iv. 329; - missal drawing of, iv. 329. - - Snyders, painting of dogs by, v. 257. - - Spagnoletto, vicious execution of, ii. 83. - - Stanfield, Clarkson, architectural drawing of, i. 121; - boats of, i. 122; - chiaroscuro of, i. 281; - clouds of, i. 224, 243; - a realistic painter, i. 121, iv. 57 (note); - knowledge and power of, i. 353. - Pictures referred to-- - Amalfi, ii. 228; - Borromean Islands, with St. Gothard in the distance, i. 282; - Botallack Mine (coast scenery), i. 313; - Brittany, near Dol, iv. 7; - Castle of Ischia, i. 122; - Doge's Palace at Venice, i. 122; - East Cliff, Hastings, i. 313; - Magra, ii. 228; - Rocks of Suli, i. 307; - Wreck on the Coast of Holland, i. 121. - - - Taylor, Frederick, drawings of, power of swift execution, i. 35, 257. - - Teniers, scenery of, v. 253; - painter of low subjects, v. 256. - Pictures referred to--Landscape, No. 139, - Dulwich Gallery, i. 315. - - Tintoret, coloring of, iii. 42; - delicacy of, iii. 38; - painting of vital truth from the vital present, iii. 90; - use of concentrically-grouped leaves by, ii. 73; - imagination, ii. 158, 159, 173, 180; - inadequacy of landscapes by, i. 78; - influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - intensity of imagination of, ii. 173, iv. 66; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - luminous sky of, ii. 44; - modesty of, ii. 123; - neglectful of flower-beauty, v. 90; - mystery about the pencilling of, ii. 64; - no sympathy with the humor of the world, iv. 13; - painter of space, i. 87; - realistic temper of, iii. 97; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 201; - slightness and earnest haste of, ii. 82 (note), 187 (note); - symbolism of, iii. 96. - Pictures referred to-- - Agony in the Garden, ii. 159; - Adoration of the Magi, iii. 78, 122, iv. 66; - Annunciation, ii. 174; - Baptism, ii. 176; - Cain and Abel, i. 399(note); - Crucifixion, ii. 178, 183, iii. 72, v. 197, 221; - Doge Loredano before the Madonna, ii. 204; - Entombment, ii. 174, iii. 316; - Fall of Adam, i. 80 (note); - Flight into Egypt, ii. 159, 202; - Golden Calf, ii. 207; - Last Judgment, ii. 181; - picture in Church of Madonna dell' Orto, i. 109; - Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179, 183; - Murder of Abel, i. 391; - Paradise, i. 338, iv. 66, v. 221, 229; - Plague of Fiery Serpents, ii. 183; - St. Francis, ii. 207; - Temptation, ii. 159, 189. - - Titian, tone of, i. 148; - tree drawing of, i. 392; - want of foreshortening, v. 71; - bough drawing of, i. 392; - good leaf drawing, v. 35; - distant branches of, v. 38; - drawing of crests by, iv. 218; - color in the shadows of, iv. 47; - mind of, v. 226, 227; - imagination of, ii. 159; - master of heroic landscape, v. 194; - landscape of, i. 78, iii. 316; - influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - home of, v. 287, 288; - modesty of, ii. 123; - mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 62; - partial want of sense of beauty, ii. 136; - prefers jewels and fans to flowers, v. 90; - right conception of the human form, ii. 123, v. 228; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202; - color of, v. 317, 318; - stones of, iv. 304, 305; - trees of, i. 392, ii. 73. - Pictures referred to-- - Assumption, iv. 202 (note), v. 221, 229, 251, 312; - Bacchus and Ariadne, i. 83, 148, iii. 122, v. 89; - Death of Abel, i. 80 (note); - Entombment, iii. 122; - Europa (Dulwich Gallery), i. 148; Faith, i. 109; - Holy Family, v. 133 (note); - Madonna and Child, v. 170; - Madonna with St. Peter and St. George, v. 170; - Flagellation, ii. 44; - Magdalen (Pitti Palace), ii. 125, v. 226, 338 (note); - Marriage of St. Catherine, i. 91; - Portrait of Lavinia, v. 90, preface, viii.; - Older Lavinia, preface, viii.; - St. Francis receiving the Stigmata, i. 214 (note); - St. Jerome, i. 86, ii. 159; - St. John, ii. 120; - San Pietro Martire, ii. 159, 207; - Supper at Emmaus, iii. 19, 122; - Venus, iii. 63; - Notomie, v. 338. - - Turner, William, of Oxford, mountain drawings, i. 305. - - Turner, Joseph Mallord William, character of, v. 340, 342, 348; - affection of, for humble scenery, iv. 248, 249; - architectural drawing of, i. 109, 199; - his notion of "Eris" or "Discord," v. 308, 309; - admiration of, for Vandevelde, i. 328; - boyhood of, v. 288, 297; - chiaroscuro of, i. 134, 143, 148, 281, 366, iv. 40-55; - only painter of sun-color, v. 315; - painter of "the Rose and the Cankerworm," v. 324; - his subjection of color to chiaroscuro, i. 171; - color of, i. 134, 151, 157, 160, 166, 169, 171, ii. 202, iii. 236 - (note), iv. 40, v. 319 (note); - composition of, iv. 27, 303; - curvature of, i. 125, iii. 118, iv. 192, 293; - tree drawing of, i. 394, v. 38, 65, 69, 72; - drawing of banks by, iv. 293, 297; - discovery of scarlet shadow by, v. 316, 317, 319; - drawing of cliffs by, iv. 246; - drawing of crests by, iv. 220, 222, 225; - drawing of figures by, i. 189; - drawing of reflections by, i. 151, 359, 361, 379; - drawing of leaves by, v. 38, 99; - drawing of water by, i. 355, 382; - exceeding refinement of truth in, i. 411; - education of, iii. 309, v. 299 (note); - execution of, v. 38; - ruin of his pictures by decay of pigments, i. 136 (note); - gradation of, i. 259; - superiority of intellect in, i. 29; - expression of weight in water by, i. 367, 376; - expression of infinite redundance by, iv. 291; - aspects, iii. 279, 307; - first great landscape painter, iii. 279, v. 325; - form sacrificed to color, ii. 201; - head of Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61; - master of contemplative landscape, v. 194; - work of, in first period, v. 297; - infinity of, i. 239, 282, iv. 287; - influence of Yorkshire scenery upon, i. 125, iv. 246, 296, 300, 309; - his love of stones and rocks, iii. 314, iv. 24; - love of rounded hills, iv. 246; - master of the science of aspects, 305; - mystery of, i. 198,257, 413, iv. 34, 61, v. 33; - painting of French and Swiss landscape by, i. 129; - spirit of pines not entered into by, v. 80, 81; - flowers not often painted by, v. 92; - painting of distant expanses of water by, i. 365; - rendering of Italian character by, i. 130; - skies of, i. 138, 201, 236, 237; - storm-clouds, how regarded by, v. 142; - study of clouds, by, i. 221, 236, 242, 250, 261, v. 118; - study of old masters by, iii. 322; - sketches of, v. 183, 184, 333, 334, (note), v. preface, v. vi.; - system of tone of, i. 143, 152, 363; - treatment of foregrounds by, i. 319, v. 98; - treatment of picturesque by, iv. 7-15; - treatment of snow mountains by, iv. 240; - memoranda of, v. 185, 187, 335 (note); - topography of, iv. 16-33; - unity of, i. 320; - views of Italy by, i. 132; - memory of, iv. 27, 30; - ideal conception of, i. 388; - endurance of ugliness by, v. 283, 289; - inventive imagination of, dependent on mental vision and truth of - impression, iv. 21-24, 308; - lessons to be learnt from Liber Studiorum, v. 332, 333; - life of, v. 341; - death of, v. 349. - Pictures referred to-- - Ćsacus and Hesparie, i. 394; - Acro-Corinth, i. 221; - Alnwick, i. 127, 269; - Ancient Italy, i. 131; - Apollo and Sibyl, v. 331; - Arona with St. Gothard, i. 262; - Assos, i. 201 (note); - Avenue of Brienne, i. 178; - Babylon, i. 236; - Bamborough, i. 375; - Bay of Baić, i. 132, 324, iii. 311, v. 98, 323; - Bedford, i. 127; - Ben Lomond, i. 258; - Bethlehem, i. 242; - Bingen, i. 268; - Blenheim, i. 268; - Bolton Abbey, i. 394, iii. 118, iv. 249; - Bonneville in Savoy, i. 133; - Boy of Egremont, i. 372; - Buckfastleigh, i. 267, iv. 14; - Building of Carthage, i. 29, 136, 147, 162, 171, iii. 311; - Burning of Parliament House, i. 269; - Cćrlaverock, i. 202 (note), 264; - Calais, i. 269; - Calder Bridge, i. 183; - Caldron Snout Fall, i. 268; - Caliglula's Bridge, i. 131, v. 331; - Canale della Guidecco, i. 362; - Carew Castle, i. 268; - Carthages, the two, i. 131, v. 337; - Castle Upnor, i. 267, 359; - Chain Bridge over the Tees, i. 368, 394; - Château de la Belle Gabrielle, i. 394, v. 61; - Château of Prince Albert, i. 357; - Cicero's Villa, i. 131, 136, 146, 147; - Cliff from Bolton Abbey, iii. 321; - Constance, i. 367; - Corinth, i. 267; - Coventry, i. 254, 268; - Cowes, i. 268, 363, 365; - Crossing the Brook, i. 131, 170, 394; - Daphne and Leucippus, i. 200, 201 (note), 293, 300, iv. 291, v. 98; - Dartmouth (river scenery), i. 212; - Dartmouth Cove (Southern Coast), i. 394; - Dazio Grande, i. 372; - Departure of Regulus, i. 131; - Devenport, with the Dockyards, i. 159 (note), 366; - Dragon of the Hesperides, iii. 97, v. 306, 311; - Drawing of the spot where Harold fell, ii. 200; - Drawings of the rivers of France, i. 129; - Drawings of Swiss Scenery, i. 129; - Drawing of the Chain of the Alps of the Superga above Turin, iii. - 125; - Drawing of Mount Pilate, iv. 227, 298; - Dudley, i. 173 (note), 269; - Durham, i. 267, 394; - Dunbar, i. 376; - Dunstaffnage, i. 231, 285; - Ely, i. 410; - Eton College, i. 127; - Faďdo, Pass of, iv. 21, 222; - Fall of Carthage, i. 146, 171; - Fall of Schaffhausen, v. 167, 325 (note); - Flight into Egypt, i. 242; - Fire at Sea, v. 189 (note); - Folkestone, i. 242, 268; - Fort Augustus, i. 305; - Fountain of Fallacy, i. 131; - Fowey Harbor, i. 267, 376, v. 142 (note); - Florence, i. 132; - Glencoe, i. 285; - Goldau (a recent drawing) i. 264 (note); - Goldau, i. 367, iv. 312, v. 337 (note); - Golden Bough, iv. 291; - Gosport, i. 257; - Great Yarmouth, i. 383 (note); - Hannibal passing the Alps, i. 130; - Hampton Court, i. 178; - Hero and Leander, i. 131, 177, 242, 375, 409, v. 188 (note); - Holy Isle, iii. 310; - Illustration to the Antiquary, i. 264; - Inverary, v. 65; - Isola Bella, iii. 125; - Ivy Bridge, i. 133, iii. 121; - Jason, ii. 171; - Juliet and her Nurse, i. 135, 137 (note), 269; - Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 372, iv. 309; - Kenilworth, i. 268; - Killie-Crankie, i. 371; - Kilgarren, i. 127; - Kirby Lonsdale Churchyard, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 315; - Lancaster Sands, i. 340; - Land's End, i. 251 (note), 253, 352, 376, 377; - Laugharne, i. 376; - Llanberis, i. 93, 268, v. 320 (note) (English series); - Llanthony Abbey, i. 127, 173 (note), 251, 321, 371; - Long Ship's Lighthouse, i. 253; - Lowestoft, i. 267, 352, 383 (note); - Lucerne, iv. 227; - "Male Bolge"(of the Splugen and St. Gothard), iv. 315; - Malvern, i. 268; - Marly, i. 80, 399; - Mercury and Argus, i. 145, 167, 172 (note), 198, 221, 318, 324, - 372, v. 62; - Modern Italy, i. 132, 172 (note), iv. 291; - Morecambe Bay, i. 258; - Mount Lebanon, i. 293; - Murano, view of, i. 138; - Napoleon, i. 151, 162, 163, 170, 221, 268, 310, v. 118, 330 (note); - Napoleon at St. Helena, iv. 314; - Narcissus and Echo, v. 299; - Nemi, i. 268; - Nottingham, i. 268, 359, iv. 29; - Oakhampton, i. 127, 258, 267, 400; - Oberwesel, i. 268, 305; - Orford, Suffolk, i. 267; - Ostend, i. 380; - Palestrina, i. 132; - Pas de Calais, i. 339, 380; - Penmaen Mawr, i. 323; - Picture of the Deluge, i. 346; - Pools of Solomon, i. 237, 268, v. 116; - Port Ruysdael, i. 380; - Pyramid of Caius Cestius, i. 269; - Python, v. 315, 316; - Rape of Proserpine, i. 131; - Rheinfels, v. 335 (note); - Rhymer's Glen, i. 371; - Richmond (Middlesex), i. 268; - Richmond (Yorkshire), i. 261, iv. 14, v. 93; - Rome from the Forum, i. 136, v. 359; - Salisbury, v. 144; - Saltash, i. 268, 359; - San Benedetto, looking toward Fusina, i. 362, 138, v. 118; - Scarborough, iii. 121; - Shores of Wharfe, iv. 248; - Shylock, i. 221, 268; - Sketches in National Gallery, v. 182, 183; - Sketches in Switzerland, i. 138; - Slave Ship, i. 135, 137 (note), 146, 151, 170, 261, 268, ii. 209, - iv. 314, v. 142, 336; - Snowstorm, i. 130, 170, 352, v. 342 (note); - St. Gothard, iv. 27, 292, 300; - St. Herbert's Isle, i. 269; - St. Michael's Mount, i. 261, 263; - Stonehenge, i. 260, 268, v. 143 (English series); - Study (Block of Gniess at Chamouni), iii. 125; - Study (Pćstum) v. 145; - Sun of Venice going to Sea, i. 138, 361; - Swiss Fribourg, iii. 125; - Tantallon Castle, i. 377; - Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309; - Tees (Lower Fall of), i. 322, 371; - Temptation on the Mountain (Illustration to Milton), ii. 210; - Temple of Jupiter, i. 131, iii. 310; - Temple of Minerva, v. 145; - Tenth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 295 (note), 299; - The Old Téméraire, i. 135, iv. 314, v. 118, 290; - Tivoli, i. 132; - Towers of Héve, i. 269; - Trafalgar, v. 290; - Trematon Castle, i. 268; - Ulleswater, i. 322, 258, iv. 300; - Ulysses and Polypheme, iv. 314, v. 336 (note); - various vignettes, i. 267; - Venices, i. 109, 268, v. 337, 338; - Walhalla, i. 136 (note); - Wall Tower of a Swiss Town, iv. 71; - Warwick, i. 268, 394; - Waterloo, i. 261, 269; - Whitby, iii. 310; - Wilderness of Engedi, i. 201 (note), 269; - Winchelsea (English series), i. 172 (note), 268; - Windsor, from Eton, i. 127; - Wycliffe, near Rokeby, iv. 309. - Finden's Bible Series:-- - Babylon, i. 236; - Bethlehem, i. 242; - Mount Lebanon, i. 293, v. 145; - Sinai, v. 145; - Pyramids of Egypt, i. 242; - Pool of Solomon, i. 237, v. 116; - Fifth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 299. - Illustrations to Campbell:-- - Hohenlinden, i. 267; - Second Vignette, i. 258; - The Andes, i. 277; - Vignette to the Beech-tree's Petition, i. 177; - Vignette to Last Man, i. 264. - Illustrations to Rogers' "Italy:"-- - Amalfi, i. 239; - Aosta, i. 277; - Battle of Marengo, i. 273, 285; - Farewell, i. 285; - Lake of Albano, i. 268; - Lake of Como, i. 238; - Lake of Geneva, i. 238, 267; - Lake of Lucerne, i. 263, 367; - Perugia, i. 174; - Piacenza, i. 268, 296; - Pćstum, i. 260, 268; - Second Vignette, i. 264, 372; - The Great St. Bernard, i. 263; - Vignette to St. Maurice, i. 263, 263 (note), v. 127. - Illustrations to Rogers' "Poems:" - Bridge of Sighs, i. 269; - Datur Hora Quieti, i. 145, 268, v. 167; - Garden opposite title-page, i. 177; - Jacqueline, i. 277, ii. 210; - Loch Lomond, i. 365; - Rialto, i. 242, 269; - Sunset behind Willows, i. 147; - Sunrise, i. 212; - Sunrise on the Sea, i. 222, 263; - the Alps at Daybreak, i. 223, 264, 267, 276; - Vignette to Human Life, i. 267; - Vignette to Slowly along the Evening Sky, i. 217; - Vignette to the Second Part of Jacqueline, ii. 210; - Villa of Galileo, i. 132; - Voyage of Columbus, i. 242, 267, ii. 201. - Illustrations to Scott:-- - Armstrong's Tower, i. 178; - Chiefswood Cottage, i. 394; - Derwentwater, i. 365; - Dryburgh, i. 366; - Dunstaffnage, i. 261, 285; - Glencoe, i. 285, 293; - Loch Archray, i. 285; - Loch Coriskin, i. 252, 292, iv. 220; - Loch Katrine, i. 298, 365; - Melrose, i. 336; - Skiddaw, i. 267, 305. - Liber Studiorum:-- - Ćsacus and Hesperie, i. 130, 400 (note), ii. 162; - Ben Arthur, i. 126, iv. 308, 309; - Blair Athol, i. 394; - Cephalus and Procris, i. 394, 400 (note), ii. 160, 207, iii. 317, - v. 334; - Chartreuse, i. 127, 394, iii. 317; - Chepstow, v. 333; - Domestic subjects of L. S., i. 127; - Dunstan borough, v. 333; - Foliage of L. S., i. 128; - Garden of Hesperides, iii. 310, v. 310; - Gate of Winchelsea Wall, v. 330; - Raglan, v. 333; - Rape of Europa, v. 334; - Via Mala, v. 336 (note), iv. 259; - Isis, v. 171, 172; - Hedging and Ditching, i. 127, 394, v. 333; - Jason, i. 130, ii. 171, 199, iii. 317; - Juvenile Tricks, i. 394; - Lauffenbourg, i. 128, iii. 327, v. 170; - Little Devil's Bridge, i. 127, iv. 27; - Lianberis, i. 258; - Mer de Glace, i. 126, 287, iv. 191; - Mill near Grande Chartreuse, iv. 259, v. 333; - Morpeth Tower, v. 333; - Mont St. Gothard, i. 127, 311 (note); - Peat Bog, iii. 317, v. 333; - Rivaulx choir, v. 333; - Rizpah, i. 130, iii. 317, iv. 14, v. 295, 334; - Solway Moss, iii. 317; - Source of Avernon, iv. 308, v. 80; - Study of the Lock, iv. 7, v. 332; - Young Anglers, v. 333; - Water Mill, v. 333. - Rivers of France, i. 129; - Amboise, i. 184, 269; - Amboise (the Château), i. 184; - Beaugency, i. 184; - Blois, i. 183; - Blois (Château de), i. 183, 202, 269; - Caudebec, i. 269, 302, 366; - Château Gaillard, i. 183; - Clairmont, i. 269, 303; - Confluence of the Seine and Marne, i. 364; - Drawings of, i. 130; - Havre, i. 224; - Honfleur, i. 304; - Jumičges, i. 250, 364; - La Chaise de Gargantua, i. 364; - Loire, i. 363; - Mantes, i. 269; - Mauves, i. 303; - Montjan, i. 269; - Orleans, i. 183; - Quilleboeuf, i. 377, 170; - Reitz, near Saumur, v. 164, 165; - Rouen, i. 410, v. 118; - Rouen, from St. Catherine's Hill, i. 240, 366; - St. Denis, i. 264, 269; - St. Julien, i. 184, 269; - The Lantern of St. Cloud, i. 268; - Troyes, i. 269; - Tours, i. 184, 269; - Vernon, i. 364. - Yorkshire Series:-- - Aske Hall, i. 394, v. 70; - Brignall Church, i. 394; - Hardraw Fall, iv. 309; - Ingleborough, iv. 249; - Greta, iv. 14, 248; - Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 322, 372, iv. 309; - Kirkby Lonsdale, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 313; - Richmond, i. 261, iv. 14, v. 38; - Richmond Castle, iii. 230; - Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309; - Zurich, i. 367. - - - Uccello, Paul, Battle of Sant' Egidio, National Gallery, v. 5, 281. - - Uwin's Vineyard Scene in the South of France, ii. 229. - - - Vandevelde, reflection of, i. 359; - waves of, iii. 324; - Vessels Becalmed, No. 113, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340. - - Vandyke, flowers of, v. 90; - delicacy of, v. 275 (note). - Pictures-- - Portrait of King Charles' Children, v. 90; - the Knight, v. 273 (note). - - Veronese, Paul, chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 41, 47; - color in the shadows of, iv. 47; - delicacy of, iii. 38; - influence of hills upon, iv. 350; - love of physical beauty, iii. 33; - mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 61; - no sympathy with the tragedy and horror of the world, iv. 14; - sincerity of manner, iii. 41; - symbolism of, iii. 96; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - tree drawing of, v. 67; - foreground of, v. 90; - religion of, (love casting out fear), v. 222; - animal painting, compared with Landseer's, ii. 202; - Pictures-- - Entombment, ii. 44; - Magdalen washing the feet of Christ, iii. 19, 30; - Marriage in Cana, iii. 122, iv. 66, v. 196, 220, 221; - two fresco figures at Venice, i. 110; - Supper at Emmaus, iii. 30, 60; - Queen of Sheba, v. preface, vii. 224; - Family of Veronese, v. 222, 224; - Holy Family v. 225; - Veronica, v. 226; - Europa, v. 90, 170; - Triumph of Venice, v. 170; - Family of Darius, National Gallery, v. 189. - - Vinci, Leonardo da, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47 (and note); - completion of detail by, iii. 122; - drapery of, iv. 48; - finish of, ii. 84, iii. 261; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - influence of hills upon, iv. 356; - landscape of, i. 88; - love of beauty, iii. 41; - rocks of, iii. 239; - system of contrast of masses, iv. 42. - Pictures-- - Angel, ii. 176; - Cenacolo, ii. 215; - Holy Family (Louvre), i. 88; - Last Supper, iii. 26, 341; - St. Anne, iv. 302, iii. 122. - - - Wallis, snow scenes of, i. 286 (note). - - Wouvermans, leaves of, v. 33; - landscape of, v. 195; - vulgarity of, v. 278, 281; - contrast between, and Angelico, v. 283. - Pictures referred to-- - Landscape, with hunting party, v. 278; - Battle piece, with bridge, v. 280. - - - Zeuxis, picture of Centaur, v. 258. - - - - -TOPICAL INDEX. - - - Abstraction necessary, when realization is impossible, ii. 206. - - Ćsthetic faculty, defined, ii. 12, 16. - - Age, the present, mechanical impulse of, iii. 301, 302; - spirit of, iii. 302, 303; - our greatest men nearly all unbelievers, iii. 253, 264; - levity of, ii. 170. - See Modern. - - Aiguilles, structure of, iv. 174; - contours of, iv. 178, 190; - curved cleavage of, iv. 186, 192, 193, 210-214; - angular forms of, iv. 179, 191; - how influencing the earth, iv. 193; - Dez Charmoz, sharp horn of, iv. 177; - Blaitičre, curves of, iv. 185-188; - of Chamouni, sculpture of, 160, 182. - See Local Index. - - Alps, Tyrolese, v. 216; - aërialness of, at great distances, i. 277; - gentians on, v. 89; - roses on, v. 99; - pines on, iv. 290, v. 86; - ancient glaciers of, iv. 169; - color of, iii. 233; - influence of, on Swiss character, iv. 356, v. 83; - general structure of, iv. 164; - higher, impossible to paint snow mountains, iv. 240; - precipices of, iv. 260, 261; - suggestive of Paradise, iv. 346; - sunrise in, i. 264. - See Mountains. - - Anatomy, development of, admissible only in subordination to laws of - beauty, ii. 221; - not to be substituted for apparent aspect, iv. 187. - - Animals, proportion in, ii. 58 (note), 64; - moral functions of, ii. 94, 95, 97; - lower ideal form of, ii. 104; - noble qualities of, v. 203. - - Animal Painting, of the Dutch school, v. 254, 258; - of the Venetian, 255, 258; - of the moderns, v. 257, 273. - - Architecture, influence of bad, on artists, iii. 311; - value of signs of age in, i. 104, 106; - importance of chiaroscuro in rendering of, i. 106, 107; - early painting of, how deficient, i. 103; - how regarded by the author, v. 197; - Renaissance chiefly expressive of pride, iii. 63; - lower than sculpture or painting, the idea of utility being dominant, - ii. 10 (note); - and trees, coincidences between, v. 19; - of Nuremberg, v. 232; - Venetian, v. 295. - - Art, definition of greatness in, i. 8, 11, iii. 3-10, 39; - imitative, noble or ignoble according to its purpose, iii. 20, 202; - practical, ii. 8; - theoretic, ii. 8; - profane, iii. 61; - ideality of, ii. 110; - in what sense useful, ii. 3, 4; - perfection of, in what consisting, i. 357; - first aim of, the representation of facts, i. 45, 46; - highest aim of, the expression of thought, i. 45, 46; - truth, a just criterion of, i. 48; - doubt as to the use of, iii. 19; - laws of, how regarded by imaginative and unimaginative painters, ii. - 155; - neglect of works of, ii. 6, 8 (note); - nobleness of, in what consisting, iii. 21, 22; - noble, right minuteness of, v. 175; - meaning of "style," different selection of particular truths to be - indicated, i. 95; - bad, evil effects of the habitual use of, iv. 334; - love of, the only effective patronage, ii. 3; - sacred, general influence of, iii. 55; - misuse of, in religious services, iii. 59, 60; - religious, of Italy, abstract, iii. 48, 58, v. 219; - religious, of Venice, Naturalistic, iii. 78, v. 214, 226; - Christian, divisible into two great masses, symbolic and imitative, - iii. 203; - Christian, opposed to pagan, ii. 222, 223; - "Christian," denied, the flesh, v. 203; - high, consists in the truthful presentation of the maximum of beauty, - iii. 34; - high, modern ideal of, iii. 65; - highest, purely imaginative, iii. 39; - highest, dependent on sympathy, iv. 9; - highest, chiaroscuro necessary in, i. 79; - modern, fatal influence of the sensuality of, iii. 65; - allegorical, iii. 95; - essays on, by the author, distinctive character of, v. preface, x. v. - 196; - influence of climate on, v. 133; - influence of scenery on, v. 214, 232, 235, 287; - Venetian, v. 188, 214, 226; - classical defined, v. 242; - Angelican, iii. 50-57, v. 282; - Greek, v. 209; - Dutch, v. 277. - See Painting, Painters. - - Art, Great, definition of, i. 8-11, iii. 3, 10, 41; - characteristics of, i. 305, iii. 26-41, 88, v. 158, 175, 178, 202; - not to be taught, iii. 43, 141; - the expression of the spirits of great men, iii. 43, v. 179; - represents something seen and believed, iii. 80; - sets forth the true nature and authority of freedom, v. 203; - relation of, to man, v. 203. - See Style. - - Artists, danger of spirit of choice to, ii. 26; - right aim of, i. 425, 426, iii. 19; - their duty in youth, to begin as patient realists, i. 423; - choice of subject by, ii. 188, iii. 27, 28, iii. 35, iv. 290, iv. 18 - (note); - should paint what they love, ii. 217; - mainly divided into two classes, i. 74, 315; - necessity of singleness of aim in, i. 423, 424, v. 179. - See Painters. - - Artists, Great, characteristics of, i. 8, 123, 327, ii. 42, iii. 26-41; - forgetfulness of self in, i. 84; - proof of real imagination in, i. 306; - calmness of, v. 191; - delight in symbolism, iii. 93; - qualities of, v. 191; - keenness of sight in, iv. 188; - sympathy of, with nature, ii. 90, iii. 177, iv. 13, 70, ii. 92; - with humanity, iv. 9, 11, 13, iii. 63, ii. 169, v. 198, 203; - live wholly in their own age, iii. 90. - - Artists, Religious, ii. 174, 176, 180, 216, iii. 48-60, iv. 355; - imaginative and unimaginative, distinction between, ii. 154, 156; - history of the Bible has yet to be painted, iii. 58. - - Asceticism, ii. 114, three forms of, v. 325. - - Association, of two kinds, accidental and rational, ii. 33, 34; - unconscious influence of, ii. 34; - power of, iii. 17, ii. 45, v. 216; - charm of, by whom felt, iii. 292, 309; - influence of, on enjoyment of landscape, iii. 289. - - - Bacon, master of the science of essence, iii. 307; - compared with Pascal, iv. 361. - - Banks, formation of, iv. 262; - curvature of, iv. 262, 278, 282; - luxuriant vegetation of, iv. 125. - - Beauty, definition of the term (pleasure-giving) i. 26, 27; - sensations of, instinctive, i. 27, ii. 21, 46, 135; - vital, ii. 88, 100, 110; - typical, ii. 28, 38, 85, 115, 135; - error of confounding truth with, iii. 31 (note); - of truths of species, i. 60; - of curvature, ii. 46, iv. 192, 197, 200, 262, 263, 264; - love of, in great artists, iii. 33, v. 209; - moderation essential to, ii. 84; - ideas of, essentially moral, ii. 12, 18; - repose, an unfailing test of, ii. 68, 108; - truth the basis of, i. 47, ii. 136; - how far demonstrable by reason, ii. 27; - ideas of, exalt and purify the human mind, i. 26, 27; - not dependent on the association of ideas, ii. 33, 34; - the substitution of, for truth, erroneous, iii. 61, 254; - sense of, how degraded and how exalted, ii. 17, 18, v. 209; - of the sea, v. 215; - influence of moral expression on, ii. 96, 97; - lovers of, how classed, iii. 33; - consequences of the reckless pursuit of, iii. 23; - modern destruction of, v. 325; - Renaissance, principles of, to what tending, iii. 254; - false opinions respecting, ii. 28, 29, 30, 136; - arising out of sacrifice, v. 53; - sense of, often wanting in good men, ii. 135, 138; - false use of the word, ii. 28; - not necessary to our being, ii. 16; - unselfish sympathy necessary to sensations of, ii. 17, 93; - degrees of love for, in various authors, iii. 285, 288; - and sublimity, connection between, i. 42; - custom not destructive to, ii. 32; - natural, Scott's love of, iii. 271, 272; - natural, lessons to be learnt from investigation of, v. 147; - natural, when terrible, v. 197; - of animal form, depends on moral expression, ii. 97, 98; - Alison's false theory of association, ii. 28, 33; - sense of, how exalted by affection, ii. 18; - abstract of form, how dependent on curvature, iv. 262, 263; - ideal, definition of, i. 28; - physical, iii. 67; - physical, Venetian love of, v. 295; - vulgar pursuit of, iii. 67. - - Beauty, human, ancient, and medićval admiration of, iii. 197, 198; - Venetian painting of, v. 227; - consummation not found on earth, ii. 134; - Greek love of, iii. 177, 189, 197; - culture of, in the middle ages, iii. 197. - - Beauty of nature, character of minds destitute of the love of, iii. 296. - - Benevolence, wise purchase the truest, v. 328 (note). - - Browning, quotation on Renaissance spirit, iv. 369. - - Buds, typical of youth, iii. 206; - difference in growth of, v. 8; - formation and position of, v. 11, 14, 17, 27; - of horse-chestnut, v. 19; - accommodating spirit of, v. 53; - true beauty of, from what arising, v. 53; - sections and drawings of, v. 13, 73, 74. - - Business, proper, of man in the world, iii. 44, 336. - - Byron, use of details by, iii. 8; - character of works of, iii. 235, 263, 266, 270, 296, i. 3 (note); - love of nature, iii. 285, 288, 295, 297; - use of color by, iii. 235; - death, without hope, v. 350. - - - Carlyle, iii. 253; - on clouds, v. 107. - - Cattle, painting of, v. 259, 260. - - Change, influence of, on our senses, ii. 54; - love of, an imperfection of our nature, ii. 54, 55. - - Charity, the perfection of the theoretic faculty, ii. 90; - exercise of, its influence on human features, ii. 115. - - Chasteness, meaning of the term, ii. 81. - - Chiaroscuro, truth of, i. 173-184; - contrasts of systems of, iv. 41; - great principles of, i. 173, 180; - necessity of, in high art, i. 181; - necessity of, in expressing form, i. 69, 70; - nature's contrasted with man's, i. 141; - natural value of, i. 182; - rank of deceptive effects in, i. 73; - fatal effects of, on art, iii. 140 (note); - treatment of, by Venetian colorists, iv. 45, 46. - - Chiaroscurists, advantages of, over colorists, iv. 48. - - Choice, spirit of, dangerous, ii. 26, iv. 18 (note); - of love, in rightly tempered men, ii. 137; - importance of sincerity of, iii. 27, 35; - effect of, on painters, iii. 28; - of subject, when sincere, a criterion of the rank of painters, iii. 27; - difference of, between great and inferior artists, iii. 35; - of subject, painters should paint what they love, ii. 219; - error of Pre-Raphaelites, iv. 19. - - City and country life, influence of, v. 4, 5. - - Classical landscape, iii. 168, 190; - its features described, v. 242; - spirit, its resolute degradation of the lower orders, v. 243 (note). - - Clay, consummation of, v. 157. - - Cliffs, formation of, iv. 146, 149, 158, 241; - precipitousness of, iv. 230, 257; - Alpine, stability of, iv. 261; - Alpine, sublimity of, iv. 245, 261, v. 81; - common mistake respecting structure of, iv. 297. - See Mountains. - - Clouds, questions respecting, v. 101-107, 110-113; - truth of, i. 216, 266; - light and shade in, iv. 36; - scriptural account of their creation, iv. 82-88; - modern love of, iii. 244, 248; - classical love of, iii. 245; - connected with, not distinct from the sky, i. 207; - balancings, v. 101-107; - high, at sunset, i. 161; - massive and striated, v. 108; - method of drawing, v. 111 (note); - perspective of, v. 114-121; - effects of moisture, heat, and cold, on formation of, v. 131; - "cap-cloud," v. 124; - "lee-side cloud," v. 124, 125; - mountain drift, v. 127, 128; - variety of, at different elevations, i. 216; - brighter than whitest paper, iv. 36; - never absent from a landscape, iv. 69; - supremacy of, in mountain scenery, iv. 349; - level, early painters' love of, iii. 244; - love of, by Greek poets, iii. 244; - as represented by Aristophanes, iii. 249, v. 139; - Dante's dislike of, iii. 244; - wave-band, sign of, in thirteenth century art, iii. 209; - Cirrus, or Upper Region, extent of, i. 217, v. 109; - color of, i. 224, v. 119, 120, 149; - purity of color of, i. 219; - sharpness of edge of, i. 218; - symmetrical arrangement of, i. 217; - multitude of, i. 218, v. 109, 110; - Stratus, or Central Region, extent of, i. 226; - connection of with mountains, v. 123; - majesty of, v. 122; - arrangement of, i. 228; - curved outlines of, i. 64, 229; - perfection and variety of, i. 229, v. 111, 112; - Rain, regions of, definite forms in, i. 245, v. 122-138; - difference in colors of, i. 244, v. 136; - pure blue sky, only seen through the, i. 256; - heights of, v. 137 (note); - functions of, v. 135, 137; - condition of, on Yorkshire hills, v. 141; - influence of, on high imagination, v. 141. - - Color, truth of, i. 67-71, 155, 173; - purity of, means purity of colored substance, ii. 75, 79; - purity of in early Italian masters, ii. 220; - the purifier of material beauty, v. 320 (note); - associated with purity, life, and light, iv. 53, 123, v. 320; - contrasts of, iv. 40; - gradation of, ii. 47, 48; - dulness of, a sign of dissolution, iv. 124; - effect of distance on, iv. 64, 65; - effect of gradation in, iv. 71; - noble, found in things innocent and precious, iv. 48; - pale, are deepest and fullest in shade, iv. 42; - sanctity of, iv. 52, v. 320 (note), 149, 319; - true dignity of, v. 318, 320 (note), effect of falsifying, v. 321 - (note); - Venetian love of, v. 212; - rewards of veracity in, v. 321 (note); - of sunshine, contrasted with sun color, v. 317, 318; - perfect, the rarest art power, v. 320 (note); - pleasure derived from, on what depending, i. 10; - chord of perfect, iii. 99, v. 317, 318, iii. 275, iv. 52; - anything described by words as visible, may be rendered by, iii. 97; - variety of, in nature, i. 70, 168; - no brown in nature, iii. 235; - without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202; - without form, ii. 202; - faithful study of, gives power over form, iv. 54, v. 320 (note); - perception of form not dependent on, ii. 77, v. 320 (note); - effect of atmosphere on distant, i. 97, iv. 188; - less important than light, shade, and form, i. 68, 172, v. 321 (note); - sombreness of modern, iii. 251, 257; - sentimental falsification of, iii. 31; - arrangement of, by the false idealist and naturalist, iii. 77; - done best by instinct (Hindoos and Chinese), iii. 87; - use of full, in shadow, very lovely, iv. 46, v. 317; - ground, use of, by great painters, v. 188, 190; - nobleness of painting dependent on, v. 316; - a type of love, v. 319, 320 (note); - use of, shadowless in representing the supernatural, ii. 219; - right splendor of in flesh painting, ii. 124; - delicate, of the idealists, ii. 221; - local, how far expressible in black and white, i. 404; - natural, compared with artificial, i. 157; - destroyed by general purple tone, i. 169; - manifestation of, in sunsets, i. 161, 210; - quality of, owes part of its brightness to light, i. 140, 148; - natural, impossibility of imitating (too intense), i. 157, 164; - imitative, how much truth necessary to, i. 22; - effect of association upon, i. 69; - delight of great men in, iii. 257; - cause of practical failures, three centuries' want of practice, iii. - 257; - medićval love of, iii. 231; - Greek sense of, iii. 219; - brightness of, when wet, iv. 244; - difference of, in mountain and lowland scenery, iv. 346, 347; - great power in, sign of art intellect, iv. 55; - why apparently unnatural when true, iv. 40, v. 317; - of near objects, may be represented exactly, iv. 39; - of the earth, iv. 38; - in stones, iv. 129, 305; - in crystalline rocks and marbles, iv. 104, 106, 107, 129, 135; - of mosses, iv. 130, v. 99; - solemn moderation in, ii. 84, 85; - of mountains, i. 157, 158, 168, iv. 351; - on buildings, improved by age, i. 105; - of the open sky, i. 206; - of clouds, v. 120, 121, 136, 149; - reflected, on water, i. 330, 332; - of form, i. 349; - of old masters, i. 159; - of the Apennines, contrasted with the Alps, iii. 233; - of water, i. 349; - the painter's own proper work, v. 316. - - Colorists, contrasts of, iv. 40; - advantages of, over chiaroscurists, iv. 47-51; - great, use of green by, i. 159 (note); - seven supreme, v. 318 (note); - great, painting of sun color, v. 317, 318. - - Completion, in art, when professed, should be rigorously exacted, ii. 82; - of portraiture, iii. 90; - on what depending, v. 181; - meaning of, by a good painter, v. 181, 191; - right, v. 272 (note); - abused, v. 273. - - Composers, great, habit of regarding relations of things, v. 178, 179; - determinate sketches of, v. 182. - - Composition, definition of, v. 155; - use of simple conception in, ii. 148; - harmony of, with true rules, ii. 150, iii. 86; - transgression of laws allowable in, iv. 274; - true not produced by rules, v. 154; - necessity of every part in, v. 158; - true, the noblest condition of art, v. 158; - law of help in, v. 158, 163; - great, has always a leading purpose, v. 163; - law of perfectness, v. 180. - - Conception, simple, nature of, ii. 147; - concentrates on one idea the pleasure of many, ii. 193; - how connected with verbal knowledge, ii. 148; - of more than creature, impossible to creature, ii. 133, 134, 212, 215; - of superhuman form, ii. 215; - use of, in composition, ii. 148; - ambiguity of things beautiful changes by its indistinctness, ii. 92; - partial, is none, v. 190. - - Conscience, power of association upon, ii. 35. - - Consistence, is life, v. 156; - example of its power, jewels out of mud, v. 156. - - Crests, mountain, formation of, i. 295, iv. 197, 198; - forms of, i. 295, iv. 195-209; - beauty of, depends on radiant curvature, iv. 201, 204; - sometimes like flakes of fire, i. 278. - - Crimean War, iii. 326-332. - - Criticism, importance of truth in, i. 48; - qualifications necessary to good, i. 418, iii. 23; - technical knowledge necessary to, i. 4; - how it may be made useful, iii. 22; - judicious, i. 11, 420; - modern, general incapability and inconsistency of, i. 419; - general, iii. 16; - when to be contemned, i. 338; - true, iii. 22. - - Curvature, a law of nature, ii. 46, iv. 192; - two sorts of, finite and infinite, iv. 263; - infinity of, in nature, ii. 46, iv. 272; - curves arranged to set off each other, iv. 272; - beauty of, ii. 46, iv. 263, 264, 287; - beauty of moderation in, ii. 84; - value of apparent proportion in, ii. 59, 60; - laws of, in trees, i. 400; - in running streams and torrents, i. 370; - approximation of, to right lines, adds beauty, iv. 263 264, 268; - in mountains, produced by rough fracture, iv. 193; - beauty of catenary, iv. 279; - radiating, the most beautiful, iv. 203 (note); - measurement of, iv. 269 (note); - of beds of slaty crystallines, wavy, iv. 150; - of mountains, iv. 282, 285, 287; - of aiguilles, iv. 184, 191; - in stems, v. 21, 56; - in branches, v. 39, 63; - loss of, in engraving, v. 320 (note). - - Custom, power of, ii. 24, 34, 55; - twofold operation, deadens sensation, confirms affection, ii. 24, 34, - 35; - Wordsworth on, iii. 293. - - - Dante, one of the creative order of poets, iii. 156; - and Shakspere, difference between, iv. 372 (note); - compared with Scott, iii. 266; - demons of, v. 256; - statement of doctrine by (damnation of heathen), v. 230. - - Dante's self-command, iii. 160; - clear perception, iii. 156; - keen perception of color, iii. 218, 220, 222, 223, 234; - definiteness of his Inferno, compared with indefiniteness of - Milton's, iii. 209; - ideal landscape, iii. 213; - poem, formality of landscape in, iii. 209, 211; - description of flame, ii. 163; - description of a wood, iii. 214; - makes mountains abodes of misery, iii. 231, - and is insensible to their broad forms, iii. 240; - conception of rocks, iii. 232, 238; - declaration of medićval faith, iii. 217; - delight in white clearness of sky, iii. 242; - idea of the highest art, reproduction of the aspects of things past - and present, iii. 18; - idea of happiness, iii. 217; - representation of love, iii. 197; - hatred of rocks, iii. 238, 275; - repugnance to mountains, iii. 240; - symbolic use of color in hewn rock, iv. 109 (note); - carefulness in defining color, iii. 222; - Vision of Leah and Rachel, iii. 216; - use of the rush, as emblem of humility, iii. 227; - love of the definite, iii. 209, 212, 223; - love of light, iii. 243, 244; - Spirit of Treachery, v. 305; - Geryon, Spirit of Fraud, v. 305; - universality, Straw street and highest heavens, iv. 84. - - David, King, true gentleman, v. 263. - - Dead, the, can receive our honor, not our gratitude, i. 6. - - Death, fear of, v. 231, 236; - conquest over, v. 237; - vulgarity, a form of, v. 275; - English and European, v. 296; - following the vain pursuit of wealth, power, and beauty (Venice), v. - 337; - mingled with beauty, iv. 327; - of Moses and Aaron, iv. 378-383; - contrasted with life, ii. 79. - - Débris, curvature of, iv. 279, 284, 285; - lines of projection produced by, iv. 279; - various angles of, iv. 309; - effect of gentle streams on, iv. 281; - torrents, how destructive to, iv. 281. - - Deception of the senses, not the end of art, i. 22, 74, 76. - - Decision, love of, leads to vicious speed, i. 39. - - Decoration, architectural effects of light on, i. 106; - use of, in representing the supernatural, ii. 219. - - Deity, revelation of, iv. 84; - presence of, manifested in the clouds, iv. 84, 85; - modes of manifestation of, in the Bible, iv. 81; - his mountain building, iv. 37; - warning of, in the mountains, iv. 341; - art representations of, meant only as symbolic, iii. 203; - purity, expressive of the presence and energy of, ii. 78, 79; - finish of the works of, ii. 82, 87; - communication of truth to men, ii. 137; - Greek idea of, iii. 170, 177; - modern idea of, as separated from the life of nature, iii. 176; - presence of, in nature, i. 57, iii. 305, 306, v. 85, 137; - manifestation of the, in nature, i. 324, iii. 196; - love of nature develops a sense of the presence and power of, iii. - 300, 301; - directest manifestation of the, v. 198. - - Deflection, law of, in trees, v. 25, 26. - - Delavigne, Casimir, "La toilette de Constance," iii. 162. - - Details, use of variable and invariable, not the criterion of poetry, - iii. 7-10; - Byron's use of, iii. 8; - careful drawing of, by great men, iii. 122; - use of light in understanding architectural, i. 106; - swift execution secures perfection of, i. 202; - false and vicious treatment of, by old masters, i. 74. - - Devil, the, held by some to be the world's lawgiver, v. 345. - - "Discord," in Homer, Spenser, and Turner, v. 309-311. - - Distance, effect of, on our perception of objects, i. 186, 191, 192; - must sometimes be sacrificed to foreground, i. 187; - effect of, on pictorial color, iv. 64; - expression of infinity in, ii. 41; - extreme, characterized by sharp outlines, i. 283; - effect of, on mountains, i. 277, 280; - early masters put details into, i. 187. - - Dog, as painted by various masters, v. 224, 255. - - Dragon, of Scripture, v. 305; - of the Greeks, v. 300, 305; - of Dante, v. 306; - of Turner, v. 300, 307-312, 314, 316, 323. - - Drawing, noble, mystery and characteristic of, iv. 56, 59, 63, 214; - real power of, never confined to one subject, i. 416; - of mountain forms, i. 286, 305, iv. 188-191, 242; - of clouds, v. 111 (note), 118; - necessary to education, v. 330 (note); - figure, of Turner, i. 189; - questions concerning, v. 36; - landscape of old and modern painters, iii. 249; - of artists and architects, difference between, i. 118; - distinctness of, iii. 36; - of Swiss pines, iv. 290; - modern, of snowy mountains, unintelligible, i. 286; - as taught in Encyclopćdia Britannica, iv. 295; - inviolable canon of, "draw only what you see," iv. 16; - should be taught every child, iii. 299. - - - Earth, general structure of, i. 271; - laws of organization of, important in art, i. 270; - past and present condition of, iv. 140, 141; - colors of, iv. 38; - the whole not habitable, iv. 95, 96; - noblest scenes of, seen by few, i. 204; - man's appointed work on, v. 1; - preparation of, for man, v. 3; - sculpturing of the dry land, iv. 89. - - Economy of labor, v. 328. - - Education, value of, iii. 42; - its good and bad effect on enjoyment of beauty, iii. 64; - of Turner, iii. 319, v. 287-297; - of Scott, iii. 308; - of Giorgione, v. 286, 287, 291; - of Durer, v. 230, 231; - of Salvator, v. 235, 236; - generally unfavorable to love of nature, iii. 298; - modern, corrupts taste, iii. 65; - logical, a great want of the time, iv. 384; - love of picturesque, a means of, iv. 12; - what to be taught in, v. 328 (note); - what it can do, iii. 42; - can improve race, v. 262; - of persons of simple life, v. 328 (note). - - Emotions, noble and ignoble, iii. 10; - true, generally imaginative, ii. 190. - - Enamel, various uses of the word, iii. 221-223. - - Energy, necessary to repose, ii. 66; - purity a type of, ii. 76; - how expressed by purity of matter, ii. 79; - expression of, in plants, a source of pleasure, ii. 92. - - English art culminated in the 13th century, iv. 350. - - Engraving, influence of, i. 101; - system of landscape, i. 260, v. 38, 98, 328. - - Evil, the indisputable fact, iv. 342; - captivity to, v. 217, 285; - contest with, v. 285; - conquered, v. 285; - recognition and conquest of, essential to highest art, v. 205-209, 217; - war with, v. 231. - - Exaggeration, laws and limits of, ii. 208-210; - necessary on a diminished scale, ii. 208. - - Excellence, meaning of the term, i. 14, 15 (note); - in language, what necessary to, i. 9; - the highest, cannot exist without obscurity, iv. 61; - passing public opinion no criterion of, i. 1, 2; - technical, superseding expression, iii. 29. - - Execution, meaning of the term, i. 36; - three vices of, ii. 188 (note); - qualities of, i. 36, 37, 39 (note); - dependent upon knowledge of truth, i. 36; - essential to drawing of water, i. 350; - swift, details best given by, i. 202; - legitimate sources of pleasures in, i. 36, 38; - mystery of, necessary in rendering space of nature, i. 203; - rude, when the source of noble pleasure, ii. 82 (note); - determinate, v. 37, 38. - - Expression, three distinct schools of--Great, Pseudo, and - Grotesque-Expressional, iv. 385; - subtle, how reached, iv. 55; - influence of moral in animal form, ii. 97, 98; - perfect, never got without color, iv. 54 (note); - unison of expressional, with technical power, where found, iii. 29; - superseded by technical excellence, iii. 29; - of inspiration, ii. 214; - of superhuman character, how attained, ii. 213. - - Eye, focus of, truth of space dependent on, i. 186-190; - what seen by the cultivated, iv. 71; - what seen by the uncultivated, iv. 71; - when necessary to change focus of, i. 186, 355; - keenness of an artist's, how tested, iv. 188. - - - Faculty Theoretic, definition of, ii. 12, 18. - - Faculty Ćsthetic, definition of, ii. 12, 18. - - Faith, derivation of the word, v. 161; - developed by love of nature, iii. 299; - want of, iii. 252-254; - our ideas of Greek, iii. 169; - of the Scotch farmer, iii. 189; - source and substance of all human deed, v. 161; - want of, in classical art, v. 242; - right, looks to present work, v. 205; - brave and hopeful, accompanies intellectual power, v. 205; - tranquillity of, before the Reformation, v. 230; - want of, in Dutch artists, v. 251; - of Venetians, v. 218; - how shown in early Christian art, iii. 49-51, v. 205; - in God, in nature, nearly extinct, iii. 251. - - Fallacy, Pathetic defined, iii. 155; - not admitted by greatest poets, iii. 156; - Pope's, iii. 158; - emotional temperament liable to, iii. 158; - instances illustrating the, iii. 160, 167; - characteristic of modern painting, iii. 168. - - Fancy, functions of, ii. 150; - never serious, ii. 169; - distinction between imagination and, ii. 166-170; - restlessness of, ii. 170; - morbid or nervous, ii. 200. - - Fear, destructive of ideal character, ii. 126; - distinguished from awe, ii. 126; - expressions of, only sought by impious painters, ii. 128; - holy, distinct from human terror, ii. 127. - - Ferocity, always joined with fear, ii. 127; - destructive of ideal character, ii. 126. - - Field Sports, v. 259. - - Fields. - See Grass. - - Finish, two kinds of--fallacious and faithful, iii. 109; - difference between English and continental, iii. 109, 111; - human often destroys nature's, iii. 112; - nature's, of rock, iii. 112; - of outline, iii. 114; - vain, useless conveying additional facts, iii. 116, 123, v. 271, 272 - (note); - in landscape foregrounds, i. 200; - mysteriousness of, i. 193; - esteemed essential by great masters, ii. 83, v. 271, 272 (note); - infinite in God's work, ii. 82; - how right and how wrong, i. 82-84, iii. 114; - of tree stems, iii. 115 (plate). - - Firmament, definition of, iv. 83, v. 148. - - Flowers, medićval love of, iii. 193; - mountain variety of, iv. 347; - typical of the passing and the excellence of human life, iii. 227; - sympathy with, ii. 91, v. 88; - no sublimity in, v. 91; - alpine, v. 93; - neglected by the great painters, v. 89; - two chief peculiarities, v. 92, 93; - beauty of, on what depending, v. 97 (note). - - Foam, two conditions of, i. 373; - difficulty of representing, i, 373; - appearance of, at Schaffhausen, i. 349; - sea, how different from the "yeast" of a tempest, i. 380 (note). - - Foliage, an element of mountain glory, iv. 348; - unity, variety, and regularity of, 394, 398; - as painted on the Continent, i. 401; - and by Pre-Raphaelites, i. 397; - study of, by old masters, i. 384. - - Forbes, Professor, description of mountains, quoted, iv. 182, 235. - - Foreground, finer truths of, the peculiar business of a master, i. 315; - lesson to be received from all, i. 323; - mountain attractiveness of, i. 99; - of ancient masters, i. 308, 313; - increased loveliness of, when wet, iv. 245; - Turner's, i. 323, 324; - must sometimes be sacrificed to distance, i. 187. - - Form, chiaroscuro necessary to the perception of, i. 69, 70; - more important than color, i. 68-71, ii. 77, iv. 54, v. 318 (note); - multiplicity of, in mountains, i. 280; - animal, typical representation of, ii. 203, 204; - without color, ii. 201; - without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202; - natural curvature of, ii. 60, 61; - animal beauty of, depends on moral expression, ii. 98; - what necessary to the sense of beauty in organic, ii. 94, 95; - ideal, ii. 104, iii. 78; - animal and vegetable, ii. 105; - ideal, destroyed by pride, sensuality, etc., ii. 122, 123; - rendering of, by photography, iv. 63; - mountain, iv. 135, 139, 159-262; - natural, variety of, inconceivable, iv. 189; - of aiguilles, how produced, iv. 189; - beauty of, dependent upon curvature, ii. 46. - - French art culminated in 13th century, iv. 358. - - Fuseli, quotations from, i. 16, ii. 153, 171. - - - Genius, unrecognized at the time, i. 6; - not the result of education, iii. 42; - power of, to teach, i. 414. - - Gentility, an English idea, iv. 4. - - Gentleman, the characteristics of a, sensibility, sympathy, courage, v. - 263-272. - - German religious art, "piety" of, iii. 253. - - Glacier, description, iv. 137; action of, iv. 161; - gradual softener of mountain form, iv. 169; - non-rigidity of, v. 86. - - Gloom, of Savoyard peasant, iv. 320; - appearance of, in southern slope of Alps, iv. 326. - See Mountain. - - Gneiss, nature of, iv. 206, 209; - color of, iv. 136; - Matterhorn composed of, iv. 160. - - God. - See Deity. - - Gotthelf, works of, iv. 135, v. 330. - - Gracefulness, of poplar grove, iii. 181; - of willow, v. 67; - of Venetian art, 229. - - Gradation, suggestive of infinity, ii. 47; - constant in nature, ii. 47; - necessary to give facts of form and distance, i. 149; - progress of the eye shown in sensibility to effects (Turner's Swiss - towers), iv. 71; - of light, Turnerian mystery, iv. 73; - in a rose, iv. 46. - - Granite, qualities of, iv. 109, 110; - color of, iv. 136. - - Grass, uses of, iii. 227; - type of humility and cheerfulness, and of the passing away of human - life, iii. 227, 228, v. 96; - Greek mode of regarding as opposed to medićval, iii. 223, 224; - enamelled, Dante's "green enamel" description of, iii. 222, 226; - damp, Greek love of, iii. 222; - careful drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 317; - mystery in, i. 315, iii. 221; - man's love of, iii. 224; - first element of lovely landscape, iii. 224. - - Gratitude, from what arising, ii. 15; - a duty to the living can't be paid to the dead, i. 6. - - Greatness, tests of, i. 323, iii. 260, 261, v. 175. - See Art, Artists. - - Greek, conception of Godhead, iii. 170, 175; - art, spirit of, v. 209, 213; - poetry, purpose of, the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209, 210; - religion, the manful struggle with evil, v. 211-213; - ideas of truthfulness, v. 267, 268; - mythology, v. 300, 307, 308, 322; - distrust of nature, v. 324; - culture of human beauty, iii. 179, 180, 198, 204; - landscape, composed of a fountain, meadow, and grove, iii. 181; - belief in the presence of Deity in nature, iii. 169-177; - absence of feeling for the picturesque, iii. 187; - belief in particular gods ruling the elements, iii. 171-177; - and Medićval feeling, difference between, iii. 218; - ideal of God, ii. 223; - faith, compared with that of an old Scotch farmer, iii. 188; - feeling about waves, iii. 169; - indifference to color, iii. 219, 220; - life, healthy, iii. 175; - formalism of ornament, iii. 208; - not visionary, iii. 188; - delight in trees, meadows, gardens, caves, poplars, flat country, and - damp grass, iii. 182-186, 221; - preference of utility to beauty, iii. 181, 185; - love of order, iii. 181, 189; - coins, v. 36; - description of clouds, v. 137-144; - design, v. 196. - - Grief, a noble emotion, ii. 129, iii. 10. - - Grotesque, third form of the Ideal, iii. 92-107; - three kinds of, iii. 92; - noble, iii. 93, 102; - true and false (medićval and classical) griffins, iii. 101-107; - Spenser's description of Envy, iii. 94; - how fitted for illumination, iii. 101; - modern, iv. 385-403. - - Grotesque Expressional, iv. 385; - modern example of, "Gen. Fčvrier turned traitor," iv. 388. - - - Habit, errors induced by; embarrasses the judgment, ii. 24; - modifying effects of, ii. 32; - power of, how typified, iv. 215. - See Custom. - - Heavens, fitfulness and infinity of, i. 135; - means in Scripture, clouds, iv. 86; - relation of, to our globe, iv. 88, v. 148; - presence of God in, iv. 88; - Hebrew, Greek, and Latin names for, v. 147-150; - meaning of, in 19th Psalm, v. 148. - - Help, habit of, the best part of education, v. 328 (note). - - Helpfulness, law of, v. 155-158; - of inventive power, v. 192. - See Consistence. - - Homer, a type of the Greek mind, iii. 188; - poetical truth of, iii. 162; - idea of the Sea-power, iii. 169; - intense realism, iii. 185; - conception of rocks, iii. 232, 239-241; - pleasure in woody-scenery, iii. 184, 212; - love of aspens, iii. 182, 185; - love of symmetry, iii. 180; - pleasure in utility, iii. 181, 184, 185; - ideal of landscape, iii. 179-182; - feelings traceable in his allusion to flowers, iii. 226; - Michael Angelo compared to, by Reynolds, iii. 13; - poetry of, v. 209; - Iliad and Odyssey of, v. 210, 211, 309; - his "Discord," v. 308; - the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209; - heroic spirit of, v. 211, 212; - pride of, v. 217; - faith of, v. 217. - - Hooker, his definition of a law, ii. 84; - referred to, ii. 9, 14, 24; - quotation from, on Divine Unity, ii. 50; - quotation on exactness of nature, ii. 82. - - Horse, Greek and Roman treatment of, v. 257; - Vandyke, first painter of, v. 258. - - Humility, means a right estimate of one's own powers, iii. 260; - how symbolized by Dante, iii. 227; - a test of greatness, iii. 260; - inculcated by science, iii. 256; - necessity of, to enjoyment of nature, iii. 269, iv. 69; - grass, a type of, iii. 226, 228, v. 96; - of inventive power, v. 192; - distinguishing mark between the Christian and Pagan spirit, iii. 226. - - - Ideal, definition of the word, i. 28; - its two senses referring to imagination or to perfection of type, ii. - 102, 103; - how to be attained, i. 44; - form in lower animals, ii. 104; - form in plants, ii. 105; - of form to be preserved in art by exhibition of individuality, ii. - 109, 210; - the bodily, effect of intellect and moral feelings on, ii. 113-115; - form, of what variety susceptible, ii. 221; - of human form, destroyed by expression of corrupt passions, ii. 122, - 129; - of humanity, how to be restored, ii. 112, 118, 121; - form to be obtained only by portraiture, ii. 119, iii. 78; - form, necessity of love to the perception of, ii. 121, 130; - pictures, interpreters of nature, iii. 141; - general, of classical landscape, v. 244; - modern pursuit of the, iii. 44, 65, 69; - Angelican, iii. 49, 57, v. 283, i. 82; - false Raphaelesque, iii. 53-57. - - Ideal, the true, faithful pursuit of, in the business of life, iii. 44; - relation of modern sculpturesque to the, iii. 63; - operation of, iii. 77; - three kinds of--Purist, Naturalist, and Grotesque (see below), iii. 71. - - Ideal, true grotesque, iii. 92-107; - limited expression of, iii. 99, 100. - - Ideal, true naturalist, character of, iii. 77-91; - high, necessity of reality in, iii. 80, 81, 91; - its operation on historical art, iii. 89-91; - in landscape produces the heroic, v. 206. - - Ideal, true purist, iii. 71-76. - - Ideal, false, various forms of, iii. 69, iv. 308, 310 (plates); - results of pursuit of the, iii. 61, 63; - religious, iii. 44, 60; - well-executed, dulls perception of truth, iii. 48-52; - profane, iii. 61-69; - of the modern drama, iv. 321. - - Ideal, superhuman, ii. 212, 224; - expression of, by utmost degree of human beauty, ii. 214. - - Ideality, not confined to one age or condition, ii. 109-117; - expressible in art, by abstraction of form, color, or texture, ii. - 201. - - Illumination, distinguished from painting by absence of shadow, iii. - 99; - pigments used in, iii. 223; - decline of the art of, to what traceable, iv. 359; - of MSS. in thirteenth century, illustrating treatment of natural - form, iii. 207, 208, iv. 76; - of MSS. in fifteenth century, illustrating treatment of landscape - art, iii. 201; - of MSS. in sixteenth century, illustrating idea of rocks, iii. 239; - of missals, illustrating later ideas of rocks and precipices, iv. - 253; - of missal in British Museum, illustrating German love of horror, iv. - 328; - of MSS. in fifteenth century, German coarseness contrasted with grace - and tenderness of thirteenth century, iv. 335; - representation of sun in, iii. 318. - - Imagination, threefold operation of, ii. 146; - why so called, iii. 132; - defined, ii. 151; - functions of, ii. 10, 143, 188, iii. 45, iv. 31; - how strengthened by feeding on truth and external nature, i. 427, ii. - 191; - tests of presence of, ii. 155, 169, 207; - implies self-forgetfulness, i. 306; - importance of in art, iii. 38; - Dugald Stewart's definition of, ii. 143, 145; - conscious of no rules, ii. 155; - makes use of accurate knowledge, ii. 109, iii. 40; - noble only when truthful, ii. 161, iii. 123, iv. 30; - entirety of its grasp, ii. 156, 179, v. 187, 190; - its delight in the character of repose, ii. 66; - verity of, ii. 161, 188, 211, iii. 30, 107, 133; - power of, ii. 158, 206, iii. 10, 11, 131, 287, iv. 19, 30; - calmness essential to, v. 191; - always the seeing and asserting faculty, iii. 211; - charm of expectant, iv. 131; - pleasure derived from, how enhanced, iii. 281; - highest form of, ii. 146; - always right when left to itself, iii. 106; - how excited by mountain scenery, iv. 23, 222, v. 216, 235; - influence of clouds on, v. 141; - searching apprehension of, ii. 164, 165, 169, 183, 188, 195, iii. 107; - distinguished from fancy, ii. 166-170, 194, 201; - signs of, in language, ii. 165; - how shown in sculpture, ii. 184-187; - work of, distinguished from composition, ii. 154-158; - what necessary to formation of, v. 189-191. - - Imagination, penetrative, ii. 163-191; - associative, ii. 147-162; - contemplative, ii. 192-211. - - Imitation, power of deceiving the senses, i. 17; - why reprehensible, i. 18, 19, 21, 34, 73, 416, iv. 136; - no picture good which deceives by, i. 25; - when right, in architectural ornament, ii. 205; - of flowers, v. 92; - was least valued in the thirteenth century, iii. 18, 199, 209; - general pleasure in deceptive effects of, iii. 16; - when made an end of art, i. 74, 143; - began, as a feature of art, about 1300, iii. 203; - of what impossible, i. 77, 157, 164, 371, 372, ii. 203, iii. 20, 129, - v. 91; - definition of ideas of, i. 13, 20. - - Infinity, typical of redeemed life, iv. 80; - expressed in nature by curvature and gradation, ii. 45-48; - of gradation, i. 210, 224, ii. 47; - of variety in nature's coloring, i. 168, 172, 325, iv. 127; - of nature's fulness, i. 195, v. 99; - of clouds, i. 218, 235, v. 110, 113; - of detail in mountains, i. 290, 297; - of curvature, i. 315, ii. 60, iv. 262-269, v. 39; - expressed by distance, ii. 41; - not implied by vastness, ii. 49; - the cause of mystery, iv. 58; - of mountain vegetation, iv. 288; - absence of, in Dutch work, v. 37; - general delight in, ii. 42-44. - - Inspiration, the expression of the mind of a God-made great man, iii. - 141; - expression of, on human form, ii. 214; - as manifested in impious men, ii. 137, 138; - revelations made by, how communicable, ii. 133; - condition of prophetic, iii. 159. - - Intellect, how affected by novelty, ii. 54; - how connected with pleasure derived from art, i. 10, 28; - its operation upon the features, ii. 113-115; - connection of beauty with, i. 27; - how influenced by state of heart, ii. 17, 114; - affected by climatic influences, v. 134; - how rendered weak, v. 205, 247; - abuse of, v. 266 (note); - culture of, in mechanical arts, v. 328 (note); - comparison between Angelico's, Salvator's, Durer's, and Giorgione's, - v. 284, 285; - beauty of animal form increased by expression of, ii. 98; - decay of, shown by love of the horrible, iv. 328; - popular appreciation of, i. 418; - influence of mountain scenery on, iv. 274, 351-363; - condition of, in English and French nations, from thirteenth to - sixteenth century, iv. 358; - great humility of, iii. 260; - seriousness of, iii. 258; - sensibility of, iii. 159, 286; - power of, in controlling emotions, iii. 160; - sees the whole truth, v. 205; - greater, not found in minds of purest religious temper, v. 204. - - Intemperance, nature and application of the word, ii. 13, 14. - - Invention, characteristic of great art, i. 305, iii. 38, 88; - greatest of art-qualities, v. 158; - instinctive character of, ii. 155, iii. 84, 87, v. 154, 158; - evil of misapplied, i. 117; - liberty of, with regard to proportion, ii. 61; - operation of (Turnerian Topography), iv. 18, 23, 24; - "never loses an accident," v. 173; - not the duty of young artists, i. 422; - verity of, v. 191; - absence of, how tested, v. 157; - grandeur of, v. 187; - material, v. 153-163; - spiritual, v. 193-217; - sacred, a passionate finding, v. 192; - of form, superior to invention of color, v. 320 (note). - - - Joy, a noble emotion, ii. 16, iii. 10; - necessity of, to ideas of beauty, ii. 17, 29; - of youth, how typified in bud-structure and flowers, iii. 206, 227; - of humble life, v. 328. - - Judgment, culture and regulation of, i. 49-56, ii. 22-25; - distinguished from taste, i. 25, ii. 34; - right moral, necessary to sense of beauty, ii. 96, 99; - right technical knowledge necessary to formation of, ii. 4; - equity of, illustrated by Shakspere, iv. 332; - substitution of, for admiration, the result of unbelief, v. 244. - - - Keats, subdued by the feeling under which he writes, iii. 160; - description of waves by, iii. 168; - description of pine, v. 82; - coloring of, iii. 257; - no real sympathy with, but a dreamy love of nature, iii. 270, 285; - death of, v. 349; - his sense of beauty, v. 332. - - Knowledge, connection of, with sight, i. 54; - connection of, with thought, i. 47; - pleasure in, iv. 69; - communication of, railways and telegraphs, iii. 302; - what worth teaching, iii. 298, v. 330; - influence of, on art, i. 45, 47, 238; - necessary to right judgment of art, i. 121, 411, 418; - feeling necessary to fulness of, v. 107; - highest form of, is Trust, v. 161; - coldness of, v. 140; - how to be employed, v. 330; - refusal of, a form of asceticism, v. 326. - - - Labor, healthful and harmful, v. 329, 331. - - Lands, classed by their produce and corresponding kinds of art, v. - 133-135. - - Landscape, Greek, iii. 178-187, v. 211-213; - effect of on Greek mind, iv. 351; - of fifteenth century, iii. 201; - medićval, iii. 201, 209, 219, iv. 77-79; - choice of, influenced by national feeling, i. 125; - novelty of, iii. 143-151; - love of, iii. 280, 294; - Scott's view of, iii. 257; - of Switzerland, iv. 132, 290 (see Mountains, Alps, &c.); - of Southern Italy, v. 235; - Swiss moral influences of, contrasted with those of Italy, iv. - 135-136; - colors of, iv. 40, 345; - lowland and mountain, iv. 363; - gradation in, i. 182; - natural, how modified by choice of inventive artists, iv. 24, 26 - (note); - dependent for interest on relation to man, v. 193, 196; - how to manufacture one, iv. 291. - - Landscape Painters, aims of great, i. 44, iv. 23; - choice of truths by, i. 74-76; - in seventeenth century, their vicious and false style, i. 5, 185, - 328, 387; - German and Flemish, i. 90; - characteristics of Dutch, v. 253, 259; - vulgarity of Dutch, v. 277; - English, i. 83, 92-95. - - Landscape Painting, modern, i. 424; - four true and two spurious forms of, v. 194, 195; - true, dependent for its interest on sympathy with humanity (the - "dark mirror"), v. 195-201, iii. 248, 250, 259, 325, iv. 56; - early Italian school of, i. 81-85, 165, ii. 217; - emancipation of, from formalism, iii. 312; - Venetian school of, expired 1594, iii. 317, v. 214, 219; - supernatural, ii. 219-222; - Purist ideal of, iii. 70-76; - delight in quaint, iii. 313; - preservation of symmetry in, by greatest men, ii. 74; - northern school of, iii. 323; - doubt as to the usefulness of, iii. 144, v. 193; - symbolic, iii. 203; - topographical, iv. 16; - Dutch school of, i. 92; - modern love of darkness and dark color, the "service of clouds," iii. - 248-251. - - Landscape Painting, Classical, v. 242-248; - absence of faith in, v. 242; - taste and restraint of, v. 242; - ideal of, v. 244. - - Landscape Painting, Dutch, v. 277-281. - - Landscape Painting, Heroic, v. 194-198. - - Landscape Painting, Pastoral, v. 253-260. - - Language of early Italian Pictures, i. 10; - of Dutch pictures, i. 10; - distinction between ornamental and expressive, i. 10; - painting a, i. 8; - accuracy of, liable to misinterpretation, iii. 5. - - Law, David's delight in the, v. 146; - helpfulness or consistence the highest, v. 156. - - Laws of leaf-grouping, v. 25, 26, 32; - of ramification, v. 49-62; - of vegetation, how expressed in early Italian sculpture, v. 46. - - Leaf, Leaves, how treated by medićval ornamental artists, iii. 204; - of American plane, iii. 205; - of Alisma plantago, iii. 205; - of horse-chestnut, iii. 205; - growth of, iv. 193, v. 31; - laws of Deflection, Radiation, and Succession, v. 25, 26; - ribs of, law of subordination in, iii. 206, v. 24; - lessons from, v. 32, 74, 75; - of the pine, v. 78; - of earth-plants, shapes of, v. 92-95; - life of, v. 31, 32, 40, 41, 63; - structure of, 21-25; - variety and symmetry of, i. 394, ii. 72, 92; - drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 316; - drawing of, by Dutch and by Durer, v. 37, 90; - curvature in, iv. 271-273; - mystery in, i. 191, 396; - strength and hope received from, ii. 140. - - Leaflets, v. 33. - - Liberty, self-restrained, ii. 84; - love of, in modern landscapes, iii. 250; - Scott's love of, iii. 271; - religious, of Venetians, v. 215; - individual helplessness (J. S. Mill), v. 174. - - Lichens. - See Moss. - - Life, intensity of, proportionate to intensity of helpfulness, v. 155; - connection of color with, iv. 53, 123, v. 322; - man's, see Man, Medićval. - - Light, power, gradation, and preciousness of, iv. 34, 37, 53, 69, 71-73; - medićval love of, iii. 200; - value of, on what dependent, ii. 48; - how affected by color, i. 68, 70; - influence of, in architecture, i. 106; - table of gradation of different painters, iv. 42; - law of evanescence (Turner), iv. 70; - expression of, by color, i. 98, 171; - with reference to tone, i. 147, 149; - a characteristic of the thirteenth century, iv. 49; - love of, ii. 75, 76, iii. 244; - a type of God, ii. 78; - purity of, i. 147, ii. 75; - how related to shadows, i. 140, 173; - hues of, i. 149, 157, 161; - high, how obtained, i. 173, 182, ii. 48; - high, use of gold in, i. 106; - white of idealists to be distinguished from golden of Titian's - school, ii. 221; - Dutch, love of, v. 254, 278; - effects of, as given by Turner, iv, 71. - - Limestone, of what composed, i. 309; - color of, iii. 231-233; - tables, iv. 127-129. - - Lines of fall, iv. 276; - of projection, iv. 279; - of escape, iv. 279; - of rest, iv. 309; - nature of governing, iv. 187; - in faces, ii. 114; - undulating, expressive of action, horizontal, of rest and strength, - v. 164; - horizontal and angular, v. 164; - grandeur of, consists in simplicity with variation, iv. 247; - curved, iv. 263; - apparent proportion in, ii. 61; - all doubtful, rejected in armorial bearings, iii. 200. - - Literature, greatest not produced by religious temper, v. 205; - classical, the school of taste or restraint, v. 242; - spasmodic, v. 242; - world of, divided into thinkers and seers, iii. 262; - modern temper of, iii. 252, 261-263; - reputation of, on what dependent (error transitory) i. 1, 2. - - Locke, quoted (hard to see well), i. 51, 67. - - Love, a noble emotion, iii. 10; - color a type of, v. 320 (note); - source of unity, ii. 50; - as connected with vital beauty, ii. 89; - perception quickened by, i. 52; - want of, in some of the old landscape painters, i. 77; - finish proceeding from, i. 84; - nothing drawn rightly with out, iv. 33; - of brightness in English cottages, iv. 320; - of horror, iv. 328; - characteristic of all great men, ii. 90; - higher than reason, ii. 114; - ideal form, only to be reached by, ii. 121; - loveliest things wrought through, ii. 131, v. 348; - good work only done for, v. 346-348; - and trust the nourishment of man's soul, v. 348. - - Lowell, quotation from, v. 347. - - Lowlander, proud of his lowlands (farmer in "Alton Locke"), iii. 182. - - - Magnitude, relation of, to minuteness, v. 175-177; - love of mere size, v. 176; - influence of, on different minds, v. 177. - - Man, his use and function, ii. 4; - his business in the world, iii. 44, v. 1; - three orders of, iii. 286; - characteristics of a great, iii. 260; - perfection of threefold, v. 326; - vital beauty in, ii. 111-131; - present and former character of, iii. 149-151; - intelligibility necessary to a great, iv. 74; - adaptation of plants to needs of, v. 2, 3; - influence of scenery on, v. 133-135; - lessons learnt by, from natural beauty, v. 146; - result of unbelief in, v. 345; - how to get noblest work out of, v. 346-348; - love and trust necessary to development of, v. 347; - divided into five classes, v. 159-162; - how to perceive a noble spirit in, iv. 18; - when intemperate, ii. 13; - pursuits of, how divided, ii. 8, v. 159-162; - life of, the rose and cankerworm, v. 324, 332; - not intended to be satisfied by earthly beauty, i. 204, iv. 131; - his happiness, how constituted, iii. 303, v. 327-330; - his idea of finish, iii. 113; - society necessary to the development of, ii. 116; - noblest tone and reach of life of, v. 331. - - Marble, domestic use of, iv. 370; - fitted for sculpture, iv. 127; - colors of, iv. 140. - - Medićval, ages compared with modern, iii. 250; - not "dark," iii. 252; - mind, how opposed to Greek, iii. 193; - faith, life the expression of man's delight in God's work, iii. 217; - admiration of human beauty, iii. 197; - knights, iii. 192-195; - feeling respecting mountains, iii. 192, 196, 229, iv. 377; - want of gratitude, iii. 193; - sentimental enjoyment of nature, iii. 192; - dread of thick foliage, iii. 213; - love for color, iii. 219, 220; - dislike of rugged stone, iv. 301; - love of cities, v. 4; - love of gardens, iii. 191; - love of symmetry, iii. 199; - neglect of earth's beauty, v. 5, iii. 146; - love of definition, iii. 209; - idea of education, v. 5; - landscape, the fields, iii. 191-228; - the rocks, iii. 229-247. - - Mica, characteristics of, iv. 105; - connected with chlorite, iv. 113; - use of the word, iv. 114; - flake of, typical of strength in weakness, iv. 239. - - Michelet, "L'Insecte," quoted on magnitude, v. 176. - - Middle Ages, spirit of the, iii. 151; - deficiency in Shakspere's conception of, iv. 364-368; - baronial life in the, iii. 192, 195; - neglect of agriculture in, iii. 192; - made earth a great battlefield, v. 5. - See Medićval. - - Mill, J. S., "On Liberty," v. 174. - - Milton, characteristics of, ii. 144, iii. 285, 296; - his use of the term "expanse," iv. 83; - and Dante's descriptions, comparison between, ii. 163, iii. 209; - misuse of the term "enamelled" by, iii. 223; - instances of "imagination," ii. 144. - - Mind, independence of, ii. 191; - visibleoperation of, on the body, ii. 113. - - Minuteness, value of, v. 175-177; - influence of, on different minds, v. 177. - See Magnitude. - - Mist, of what typical, iv. 70; - Copley Fielding's love of, iv. 75. - - Mistakes, great, chiefly due to pride, iv. 50. - - Moderation, value of, ii. 84. - - Modern age, characteristics of, iii. 251, 254, 264, 276; - costume, ugliness of, iii. 255, v. 273 (note); - romance of the past, iii. 255; - criticism, iv. 389; - landscape, i. 424, ii. 159, iii. 248; - mind, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168. - - Moisture, expressed by fulness of color, iv. 245. - - Moss, colors of, iv. 130, v. 99; - beauty and endurance of, v. 100. - - Mountaineer, false theatrical idea of, iv. 321; - regarded as a term of reproach by Dante, iii. 241; - same by Shakspere, iv. 371; - his dislike of his country, iii. 182; - hardship of, iv. 335; - his life of, "gloom," iv. 320. - - Mountains (see also Banks, Crests, Débris, &c.), uses and functions of, - iv. 91; - influences of, on artistic power, iv. 356; - influence on purity of religion, doctrine, and practice, iv. 351; - monkish view of, iv. 377, iii. 196; - structure of, i. 300, iv. 157; - materials of, i. 271, iv. 90; - principal laws of, i. 270, 302; - spirit of, i. 271; - false color of (Salvator and Titian), i. 158; - multiplicity of feature, i. 299; - fulness of vegetation, iv. 291; - contours of, i. 298, iv. 141, 157, 182, 276, 309; - curvature of, i. 296, iv. 186, 192, 282, 287; - appearances of, i. 281, 283; - foreground, beauty of, i. 99, iv. 99; - two regions in, iv. 172; - superior beauty of, iv. 91, 346, 348; - false ideal of life in, iv. 319; - decomposition, iv. 103, 137, 169, 309; - sanctity of, iii. 196; - lessons from decay of, iv. 315; - regularity and parallelism of beds in, iv. 207; - exaggeration in drawing of, ii. 208, iv. 175, 190; - love of, iii. 250, 259, 288, iv. 376; - mentions of, in Scripture, iii. 196, iv. 377; - Moses on Sinai, iv. 378; - Transfiguration, iv. 381; - construction of Northern Alpine, iv. 286, iv. 324; - glory, iv. 344, 345; - lift the lowlands on their sides, iv. 92; - mystery of, unfathomable, iv. 155, 174; - material of Alpine, a type of strength in weakness, iv. 239; - Dante's conception of, iii. 229, 230, 239; - Dante's repugnance to, iii. 240; - influence of the Apennines on Dante, iii. 231; - medićval feeling respecting, iii. 191, 229; - symbolism of, in Dante, iii. 240; - not represented by the Greeks, iii. 145; - scenery not attempted by old masters, i. 278; - influence of, iv. 344, 356; - the beginning and end of natural scenery, iv. 344. - - Mountains, central, their formation and aspect, i. 275-287. - - Mountain gloom, iv. 317-343; - life in Alpine valleys, iv. 320; - love of horror, iv. 328-332; - Romanism, iv. 333; - disease, iv. 335; - instance, Sion in the Valais, iv. 339. - - Mountains, inferior, how distinguished from central, i. 290; - individual truth in drawing of, i. 304. - - Mystery, of nature, i. 37, iv. 67, 80; - never absent in nature, iv. 58; - noble and ignoble, iv. 70, 73, 74; - of execution, necessary to the highest excellence, i. 37, iv. 62; - in Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61; - sense of delight in, iv. 69; - Turnerian, essential, iv. 56-67; - wilful, iv. 68-81. - - Mythology, Renaissance paintings of, iii. 62; - Apollo and the Python, v. 322; - Calypso, the concealer, v. 211; - Ceto, deep places of the sea, v. 138, 304; - Chrysaor, angel of lightning, v. 140; - Danae's golden rain, v. 140; - Danaďdes, sieves of, v. 140; - Dragon of Hesperides, v. 302, 308, 309; - Eurybia, tidal force of the sea, v. 138, 304; - Fates, v. 301; - Garden of Hesperides, v. 300-316; - Goddess of Discord, Eris, v. 305-310; - Gorgons, storm-clouds, v. 138, 304; - Graić, soft rain-clouds, 138, 304; - Hesperides, v. 303, 310; - Nereus, god of the sea, v. 138, 303; - Minerva's shield, Gorgon's head on, v. 140; - Muses, v. 163; - Pegasus, lower rain-clouds, v. 140; - Phorcys, malignant angel of the sea, v. 138, 303; - Thaumas, beneficent angel of the sea, v. 138, 304. - - - Nature, infinity of, i. 64, 66, 164-168, 198, 219, 224, iii. 121 - (drawing of leafage), iv. 29, 267, 303, i. 77; - variety of, i. 55, 169, 291, v. 2-5; - gradation in, ii. 47, iv. 122, 287; - curvature in, ii. 46, 60, iv. 271, 272; - colors of, i. 70, 169, 352, iii. 35; - finish of, iii. 112, 121, 122; - fineness of, iv. 304; - redundancy of, iii. 122, v. 99; - balance of, v. 64; - inequality of, v. 22; - pathetic treatment of, v. 177; - always imaginative, ii. 158; - never distinct, never vacant, i. 193; - love of, intense or subordinate, classification of writers, iii. 285; - love of, an indication of sensibility, iii. 285; - love of (moral of landscape), iii. 285-307; - want of love of in old masters, i. 77, iii. 325; - lights and shadows in, i. 180, 311, iv. 34; - organic and inorganic beauty of, i. 286, ii. 96; - highest beauty rare in, i. 65, iv. 131; - sympathy with, iii. 194, 306, ii. 91, 93, iv. 16-67; - not to be painted, i. 64; - imagination dependent on, ii. 191; - how modified by inventive painters, v. 181; - as represented by old masters, i. 77, 176; - treatment of, by old landscape painters, i. 75; - feeling respecting, of medićval and Greek knight, iii. 177, 192, 193, - 197, v. 5; - drawing from (Encyclopćdia Britannica), iv. 295. - See Beauty, Deity, Greek, Medićval, Mystery, also Clouds, Mountains, - etc. - - Neatness, modern love of, iii. 109, iv. 3-6; - vulgarity of excessive, v. 271. - - Nereid's guard, the, v. 298-313. - - Niggling, ugly misused term, v. 36; - means disorganized and mechanical work, v. 37. - - - Obedience, equivalent of, "faith," and root of all human deed, v. 161; - highest form of, v. 161, 163; - law of, v. 161. - - Obscurity, law of, iv. 61; - of intelligible and unintelligible painters, iv. 74. - See Mystery. - - Ornament, abstract, as used by Angelico, ii. 220; - realized, as used by Filippino Lippi, etc., ii. 220; - language of, distinct from language of expression, i. 10; - use of animal form in, ii. 204; - architectural, i. 105, 107, ii. 205; - symbolic, ii. 204-205; - vulgar, iv. 273; - in dress, iv. 364; - curvature in, iv. 273, 274; - typical, iii. 206; - symmetrical, iii. 207; - in backgrounds, iii. 203; - floral, iii. 207-208. - - Outline exists only conventionally in nature, iii. 114. - - - Painters, classed by their objects, 1st, exhibition of truth, 2nd, - deception of senses, i. 74; - classed as colorists and chiaroscurists, iv. 47; - functions of, iii. 25; - great, characteristics of, i. 8, 124, 326, ii. 42, iii. 26-43, iv. - 38, v. 189, 190, 332; - great, treatment of pictures by, v. 189; - valgar, characteristics of, i. 327, ii. 82, 128, 137, iii. 32, 63, - 175, 257, 318; - religious, ii. 174, 175, 181, 217, iii. 48, 59, iv. 355; - complete use of space by, i. 235; - duty of, with regard to choice of subject, ii. 219, iv. 18 (note); - interpreters of nature, iii. 139; - modern philosophical, error respecting color of, iii. 30; - imaginative and unimaginative, ii. 154-157; - should be guides of the imagination, iii. 132; - sketches of, v. 180; - early Italian, i. 247, iii. 244; - Dutch, i. xxxii. preface, iii. 182; v. 35, 37, 278; - Venetian, i. 80, 346, v. 214, 229, 258; - value of personification to, iii. 96; - contrast between northern and Italian, in drawing of clouds, v. 133; - effect of the Reformation on, v. 250. - See Art, Artists. - - Painting, a language, i. 8; - opposed to speaking and writing, not to poetry, iii. 13; - classification of, iii. 12; - sacred, iii. 46; - historical, iii. 39, 90; - allegorical, delight of greatest men, iii. 95; - of stone, iv. 301; - kind of conception necessary to, v. 187; - success, how found in, v. 179; - of the body, v. 228; - differs from illumination in representing shadow, iii. 29; - mode of, subordinate to purpose, v. 187; - distinctively the art of coloring, v. 316; - perfect, indistinctness necessary to, iv. 64; - great, expressive of nobleness of mind, v. 178, 191. - See Landscape Painting, Animal Painting, Art, Artist, Truth, - Medićval, Renaissance. - - Past and present, sadly sundered, iv. 4. - - Peace, v. 339-353; - of monasticism, v. 282; - choice between the labor of death and the peace of obedience, v. 353. - - Perfectness, law of, v. 180-192. - - Perspective, aërial, iii. 248; - aërial, and tone, difference between, i. 141; - despised in thirteenth century art, iii. 18; - of clouds, v. 114, 118; - of Turner's diagrams, v. 341 (note). - - Pharisaism, artistic, iii. 60. - - Photographs give Turnerian form, and Rembrandtesque chiaroscuro, iv. - 63. - - Pictures, use of, to give a precious, non-deceptive resemblance of - Nature, iii. 126-140; - noblest, characteristic of, iii. 141; - value of estimate by their completeness, i. 11, 421; - Venetian, choice of religious subjects in, v. 221; - Dutch, description of, v. 277, advantages of unreality in, iii. 139, - 140; - as treated by uninventive artists, iii. 20; - finish of, iii. 113; - of Venice at early morn, i. 343; - of mountaineer life, iv. 320-322. - See Realization, Finish. - - Picturesque, nobleness of, dependent on sympathy, iv. 13; - Turnerian, iv. 1-15; - dependent on absence of trimness, iv. 5; - and on actual variety of form and color, iv. 6; - lower, heartless delight in decay, iv. 11; - treatment of stones, iv. 302; - Calais spire an instance of noble, iv. 7. - - Plagiarism, greatest men oftenest borrowers, iii. 339. - - Plains, structure of, i. 272; - scenery of compared with mountains, iv. 344, 345; - spirit of repose in, i. 271; - effect of distance on, i. 273. - See Lowlander. - - Plants, ideal of, ii. 105-107; - sense of beauty in, ii. 92, 99; - typical of virtues, iii. 227; - influence of constructive proportion on, ii. 63; - sympathy with, ii. 91; - uses of, v. 2, 3; - "tented" and "building," earth-plants and pillar-plants, v. 8; - law of succession in, v. 26; - seed of, v. 96; - roots of, v. 41; - life of, law of help, v. 155; - strawberry, v. 96; - Sisymbrium Irio, v. 95; - Oxalis acetosella, i. 82 (note); - Soldanella and ranunculus, ii. 89, 108; - black hollyhock, v. 234. - - Pleasure of overcoming difficulties, i. 16; - sources of, in execution, i. 36; - in landscape and architecture, iv. 345. See Pictures. - - Pleasures, higher and lower, ii. 15-18; - of sense, ii. 12; - of taste, how to be cultivated, ii. 23. - - Poetry, the suggestion by the imagination of noble ground for noble - emotion, iii. 10, v. 163; - use of details in, iii. 8; - contrasted with history, iii. 7-9; - modern, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168. - - Poets, too many second-rate, iii. 156; - described, v. 163; - two orders of (creative and reflective), iii. 156 (note), 160; - great, have acuteness of, and command of, feeling, iii. 163; - love of flowers by, v. 91; - why not good judges of painting, iii. 133. - - Poplar grove, gracefulness of, Homer's love of, iii. 91, 182, 185. - - Popularity, i. 2. - - Porphyry, characteristics of, iv. 108-112. - - Portraits, recognition, no proof of real resemblance, i. 55. - - Portraiture, use of, by painters, ii. 119, iii. 78, 89, 91, iv. 358; - necessary to ideal art, ii. 119; - modern foolishness, and insolence of, ii. 122; - modern, compared with Vandyke's, v. 273 (note); - Venetians painted praying, v. 220. - - Power, ideas of, i. 13, 14; - ideas of, how received, i. 32; - imaginative, iii. 39; - never wasted, i. 13; - sensations of, not to be sought in imperfect art, i. 33; - importance technical, its relation to expressional, iii. 29. - - Precipices, how ordinarily produced, i. 290, iv. 148; - general form of, iv. 246; - overhanging, in Inferior Alps, iv. 241; - steepness of, iv. 230; - their awfulness and beauty, iv. 241, 260; - action of years upon, iv. 147; - rarity of high, among secondary hills, i. 301. - - Pre-Raphaelites, aim of, i. 425; - unwise in choice of subject, iv. 18; - studies of, iii. 58, 71 (note); - rank of, in art, iii. 141, iv. 57; - mystery of, iv. 61, iii. 29, 127-129; - apparent variance between Turner and, iii. 129; - love of flowers, v. 91; - flower and leaf-painting of, i. 397, v. 35. - - Pride, cause of mistakes, iv. 50; - destructive of ideal character, ii. 122; - in idleness, of medićval knights, iii. 192; - in Venetian landscape, v. 218. - - Proportion, apparent and constructive, ii. 57-63; - of curvature, ii. 60, iv. 266, 267; - how differing from symmetry, ii. 73; - of architecture, ii. 59; - Burke's error, ii. 60-62. - - Prosperity, evil consequences of long-continued, ii. 4-5. - - Psalm 19th, meaning of, v. 147-149. - - Purchase, wise, the root of all benevolence, v. 328 (note). - - Puritans and Romanists, iii. 252. - - Purity, the expression of divine energy, ii. 75; - type of sinlessness, ii. 78; - how connected with ideas of life, ii. 79; - of color, ii. 79; - conquest of, over pollution, typified in Apollo's contest, v. 323; - of flesh painting, on what dependent, ii. 124; - Venetian painting of the nude, v. 227. See Sensuality. - - Python, the corrupter, v. 323. - - - Rays, no perception of, by old masters, i. 213; - how far to be represented, i. 213. - - Realization, in art, iii. 16; - gradually hardened feeling, iv. 47-51; - not the deception of the senses, iii. 16; - Dante's, iii. 18. See Pictures. - - Refinement, meaning of term, ii. 81; - of spiritual and practical minds, v. 282-284; - unconnected with toil undesirable, v. 328. - - Reflection, on distant water, i. 355 et seq.; - effect of water upon, i. 329-331; - to what extent visible from above, i. 336. - - Reformation, strength of, v. 249; - arrest of, v. 250; - effect of, on art, iii. 55, v. 251. - - Relation, ideas of, i. 13, 29, 31. - - Religion, of the Greeks, v. 208-213; - of Venetian painters, v. 220; - of London and Venice, v. 291; - English, v. 343. - - Renaissance, painting of mythology, iii. 62; - art, its sin and its Nemesis, iii. 254; - sensuality, iii. 63; - builders, v. 176; - spirit of, quotation from Browning, iv. 368. - - Repose, a test of greatness in art, ii. 65-68, 108, 222; - characteristic of the eternal mind, ii. 65; - want of, in the Laocoon, ii. 69; - in scenery, i. 272; - Turner's "Rietz" (plate), v. 164, 168; - instance of, in Michael Angelo's "Plague of Serpents," ii. 69 (note); - how consistent with ideal organic form, ii. 108. - - Reserve, of a gentleman (sensibility habitual), v. 269. - - Resilience, law of, v. 30, 71. - - Rest, lines of, in mountains, iv. 276, 310, 312. - - Revelation, v. 199. - - Reverence, for fair scenery, iii. 258; - false ideas of (Sunday religion), iii. 142; - for mountains, iii. 230; - inculcated by science, iii. 256; - Venetian, the Madonna in the house, v. 224. - - Reynolds, on the grand style of painting, iii. 23; - on the influence of beauty, iii. 23. - - Rocks, iv. 99-134; formation of, iv. 113; - division of, iv. 99, 102, 157; - curvature of, iv. 150, 154, 213, i. 295; - color of, iv. 107, 121, 136, 123, 125, 129, i. 169; - cleavages of, iv. 391; - great truths taught by, iv. 102; - aspect of, i. 295, 309, iv. 101, 108, 120, 128; - compound crystalline, iv. 101, 105; - compact crystalline, characteristics of, iv. 107, 102, 114, 159, 205; - slaty coherent, characteristics of, iv. 122, 205, 251; - compact coherent, iv. 128, 159; - junction of slaty and compact crystalline, iv. 114, 173, 202; - undulation of, iv. 116, 118, 150; - material uses of, iv. 119, 127; - effect of weather upon, iv. 104; - effect of water on, iv. 213; - power of, in supporting vegetation, iv. 125, 130; - varied vegetation and color of, i. 169; - contortion of, iv. 116, 150, 152, 157; - débris of, iv. 119; - lamination of, iv. 113, 127, i. 291; - limestone, iv. 130, 144, 209, 250, 258; - sandstone, iv. 132; - light and shade of, i. 311; - overhanging of, iv. 120, 254, 257; - medićval landscape, iii. 229-247; - early painters' drawing of, iii. 239; - Dante's dislike of, iii. 230; - Dante's description of, iii. 231, 236; - Homer's description of, iii. 232, 239; - classical ideal of, iii. 186; - Scott's love of, iii. 242, 275. See Stones. - - Romanism, modern, effect of on national temper, iv. 333, and - Puritanism, iii. 252, 253. - - - Saussure, De, description of curved cleavage by, iv. 395; - quotation from, iv. 294; - on structure of mountain ranges, iv. 172; - love of Alps, iv. 393. - - Scenery, interest of, rooted in human emotion, v. 194; - associations connected with, iii. 290, 292; - classical, Claude and Poussin, v. 244; - Highland, v. 206; - two aspects of, bright and dark, v. 206; - of Venice, effects of, v. 216; - of Nuremberg, effect of, v. 233; - of Yorkshire hills, effect of, i. 126, v. 293; - Swiss influence of, iv. 337-376, v. 84-87; - of the Loire, v. 165; - effect of mountains on, iv. 343-346. See Nature, Pictures. - - Scent, artificial, opposed to natural, ii. 15; - different in the same flower, i. 67-68. - - Science, subservient to life, ii. 8; - natural, relation to painting, iii. 305; - interest in, iii. 256; - inculcates reverence, iii. 256; - every step in, adds to its practical applicabilities, ii. 9; - use and danger of in relation to enjoyment of nature, iii. 306; - gives the essence, art the aspects, of things, iii. 306; - may mislead as to aspects, iv. 391. - - Scott, representative of the mind of the age in literature, iii. 259, - 263, 277; - quotations from, showing his habit of looking at nature, iii. 268, - 269; - Scott's love of color, iii. 273-276; - enjoyment of nature associated with his weakness, iii. 269-287; - love of liberty, iii. 271; - habit of drawing slight morals from every scene, iii. 276, 277; - love of natural history, iii. 276; - education of, compared with Turner's, iii. 308, 309; - description of Edinburgh, iii. 273; - death without hope, v. 349. - - Scripture, sanctity of color stated in, iv. 52, v. 319; - reference to mountains in, iv. 98, 119, 377; - Sermon on the Mount, iii. 305, 338; - reference to firmament, iv. 80, 86 (note), 87; - attention to meaning of words necessary to the understanding of, v. - 147-151; - Psalms, v. 145, 147. - - Sculpture, imagination, how manifested in, ii. 184, 185; - suitability of rocks for, iv. 111, 112, 119; - instances of gilding and coloring of (middle ages), ii. 201; - statues in Medici Chapel referred to, ii. 208; - at the close of 16th century devoted to luxury and indolence, iii. - 63; - of 13th century, fidelity to nature in, iii. 203-208, v. 46-48. - - Sea, painting of, i. 373-382; - has never been painted, i. 328; - Stanfield's truthful rendering of, i. 353; - Turner's heavy rolling, i. 376; - seldom painted by the Venetians, i. 346; - misrepresented by the old masters, i. 344; - after a storm, effect of, i. 380, 381; - Dutch painting of, i. 343; - shore breakers inexpressible, i. 374; - Homer's feeling about the, iii. 169; - Angel of the, v. 133-151. See Foam, Water. - - Seer, greater than thinker, iii. 134, 262. - - Sensibility, knowledge of the beautiful dependent on, i. 52; - an attribute of all noble minds, i. 52; - the essence of a gentleman, v. 263; - want of, is vulgarity, v. 273; - necessary to the perception of facts, i. 52; - to color and to form, difference between, i. 416; - want of, in undue regard to appearance, v. 269; - want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277. - - Sensitiveness, criterion of the gentleman, v. 262, 266; - absence of, sign of vulgarity, v. 273; - want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277, 278. - - Sensuality, destructive of ideal character, ii. 123; - how connected with impurity of color, ii. 124; - various degrees of, in modern art, ii. 126, iii. 66; - impressions of beauty, not connected with, ii. 12. See Purity. - - Seriousness of men of mental power, iii. 258; - want of, in the present age, ii. 169. - - Shade, gradation of, necessary, ii. 47; - want of, in early works of nations and men, i. 54; - more important than color in expressing character of bodies, i. 70; - distinctness of, in nature's rocks, i. 311; - and color, sketch of a great master conceived in, i. 405; - beautiful only when showing beautiful form, ii. 82 (note). - - Shadow, cast, importance of, i. 331-333; - strangeness of cast, iv. 77; - importance of, in bright light, i. 174-175; - variety of, in nature, i. 168; - none on clear water, i. 331; - on water, falls clear and dark, in proportion to the quantity of - surface-matter, i. 332; - as given by various masters, iv. 47; - of colorists right, of chiaroscurists untrue, iv. 49; - exaggeration of, in photography, iv. 63; - rejection of, by medićvals, iii. 200. - - Shakspere, creative order of poets, iii. 156 (note); - his entire sympathy with all creatures, iv. 362-363; - tragedy of, compared with Greek, v. 210; - universality of, iii. 90, 91; - painted human nature of the sixteenth century, iii. 90, iv. 367; - repose of, ii. 68; - his religion occult behind his equity, v. 226; - complete portraiture in, iii. 78, 91, iv. 364; - penetrative imagination of, ii. 165; - love of pine trees, iv. 371, v. 82; - no reverence for mountains, iv. 363, 370; - corrupted by the Renaissance, iv. 367; - power of, shown by his self-annihilation, i. xxv. (preface). - - Shelley, contemplative imagination a characteristic of, ii. 199; - death without hope, v. 349. - - Sight, greater than thought, iii. 282; - better than scientific knowledge, i. 54; - impressions of, dependent on mental observations, i. 50, 53; - elevated pleasure of, duty of cultivating, ii. 26; - of the whole truth, v. 206; - partial, of Dutch painters, v. 278; - not valued in the present age, ii. 4; - keenness of, how to be tested, ii. 37; - importance of, in education, iv. 401, v. 330. - - Simplicity, second quality of execution, i. 36; - of great men, iii. 87. - - Sin, Greek view of, v. 210; - Venetian view of, v. 217; - "missing the mark," v. 339; - washing away of (the fountain of love), v. 321. - - Sincerity, a characteristic of great style, iii. 35. - - Singing, should be taught to everybody, v. 329 (note), 330. - - Size. See Magnitude. - - Sketches, experimental, v. 181; - determinant, v. 182; - commemorative, v. 182. - - Sky, truth of, i. 204, 264; - three regions of, i. 217, cannot be painted i. 161, iv. 38; - pure blue, when visible, i. 256; - ideas of, often conventional, i. 206; - gradation of color in, i. 210; - treated of by the old masters as distinct from clouds, i. 208; - prominence of, in modern landscape, iii. 250; - open, of modern masters, i. 214; - lessons to be taught by, i. 204, 205; - pure and clear noble painting of, by earlier Italian and Dutch - school, very valuable, ii. 43, i. 84, 210; - appearance of, during sunset, i. 161; - effect of vapor upon, i. 211; - variety of color in, i. 225; - reflection of, in water, i. 327; - supreme brightness of, iv. 38; - transparency of, i. 207; - perspective of, v. 114; - engraving of, v. 108, 112 (note). - - Snow, form of, on Alps, i. 286, 287; - waves of, unexpressible, when forming the principal element in - mountain form, iv. 240; - wreaths of, never properly drawn, i. 286. - - Space, truth of, i. 191-203; - deficiency of, in ancient landscape, i. 256; - child-instinct respecting, ii. 39; - mystery throughout all, iv. 58. - - Spiritual beings, their introduction into the several forms of - landscape art, v. 194; - rejected by modern art, v. 236. - - Spenser, example of the grotesque from description of envy, iii. 94, - 95; - description of Eris, v. 309; - description of Hesperides fruit, v. 311. - - Spring, our time for staying in town, v. 89. - - Stones, how treated by medićval artists, iv. 302; - carefully realized in ancient art, iv. 301; - false modern ideal, iv. 308; - true drawing of, iv. 308. See Rock. - - Style, greatness of, iii. 23-43; - choice of noble subject, iii. 26; - love of beauty, iii. 31; - sincerity, iii. 35; - invention, iii. 38; - quotation from Reynolds on, iii. 13; - false use of the term, i. 95; - the "grand," received opinions touching, iii. 1-15. - - Sublimity, the effect on the mind of anything above it, i. 41; - Burke's treatise on, quoted, i. 17; - when accidental and outward, picturesque, iv. 2, 6, 7. - - Sun, first painted by Claude, iii. 320; - early conventional symbol for, iii. 320; - color of, painted by Turner only, v. 315. - - Sunbeams, nature and cause of, i. 211; - representation of, by old masters, i. 211. - - Sunsets, splendor of, unapproachable by art, i. 161; - painted faithfully by Turner only, i. 162; - why, when painted, seem unreal, i. 162. - - Superhuman, the, four modes of manifestation, always in the form of a - creature, ii. 212, 213. - - Superiority, distinction between kind and degrees of, i. 417. - - Surface, examples of greatest beauty of, ii. 77; - of water, imperfectly reflective, i. 329; - of water, impossible to paint, i. 355. - - Swiss, character, iv. 135, 338, 374; - the forest cantons ("Under the Woods"), v. 86, 87. - - Symbolism, passionate expression of, in Lombardic griffin, iii. 206; - delight of great artists in, iii. 97; - in Calais Tower, iv. 3. - - Symmetry, type of divine justice, ii. 72-74; - value of, ii. 222; - use of, in religious art, ii. 73, iv. 75; - love of, in medićval art, iii. 199; - appearance of, in mountain form, i. 297; - of curvature in trees, i. 400, v. 34; - of tree-stems, v. 58, 60; - of clouds, i. 219. - - Sympathy, characteristics of, ii. 93, 169; - condition of noble picturesque, iv. 10, 12, 14; - the foundation of true criticism, iii, 22; - cunning associated with absence of, v. 266; - necessary to detect passing expression, iii. 67; - with nature, ii. 91, 93, iii. 179, 193, iv. 14, 15; - with humanity, ii. 169, iv. 11; - absence of, is vulgarity, iii. 83, v. 264; - mark of a gentleman, v. 263, 264. - - System, establishment of, often useless, iii. 2; - of chiaroscuro, of various artists, iv. 42. - - - Taste, definition of, i. 26; - right, characteristics of, ii. 25; - a low term, indicating a base feeling for art, iii. 64, 65; - how developed, ii. 21; - injustice and changefulness of public, i. 418; - purity of, how tested, ii. 25; - classical, its essence, v. 243; - present fondness for unfinished works, i. 420, ii. 82. - - Temperate, right use of the word, ii. 13. - - Tennyson, rich coloring of, iii. 257; - subdued by the feelings under which he writes, iii. 160; - instances of the pathetic fallacy in, iii. 167, 267; - sense of beauty in, v. 332; - his faith doubtful, iii. 253. - - Theoretic Faculty, first perfection of, is Charity, ii. 90; - second perfection of, is justice of moral judgment, ii. 96; - three operations of, ii. 101; - how connected with vital beauty, ii. 91; - how related to the imagination, ii. 157; - should not be called ćsthetic, ii. 12; - as concerned with moral functions of animals, ii. 97, 98. - - Theoria, meaning of, ii. 12, 18; - derivation of, ii. 23; - the service of Heaven, ii. 140; - what sought by Christian, ii. 18. - - Thought, definition of, i. 29; - value of, in pictures, i. 10; - representation of the second end of art, i. 45-47; - how connected with knowledge, i. 47; - art, in expression of individual, i. 44; - choice of incident, expressive of, i. 29; - appreciation of, in art, not universal, i. 46. - - Thoughts, highest, depend least on language, i. 9; - various, suggested in different minds by same object, iii. 283, 284. - - Tone, meaning of, right relation of shadows to principal light, i. 140; - truth of, i. 140-154; - a secondary truth, i. 72; - attention paid to, by old masters, i. 75, 141; - gradation more important than, i. 149; - cause of want of, in pictures, i. 141. - - Topography, Turnerian, iv. 16-33; - pure, preciousness of, iv. 10, 17; - slight exaggeration sometimes allowed in, iv. 32; - sketch of Lausanne, v. 185. - - Torrents, beneficent power of, iv. 285; - power of, in forcing their way, iv. 258, 259, 318; - sculpture of earth by, iv. 262; - mountains furrowed by descent of, i. 297, iv. 312; - curved lines of, i. 370, iv. 312. - - Transparency, incompatible with highest beauty, ii. 77; - appearance of, in mountain chains, i. 281; - wanting in ancient landscape, not in modern, i. 215, 234; - of the sky, i. 207; - of bodies, why admired, ii. 77; - ravelling, best kind of, iii. 293. - - Tree, aspen, iv. 77, 78; willow, v. 68; - black spruce, v. 78. - - Tree boughs, falsely drawn by Claude and Poussin, i. 389, 391, v. 65; - rightly drawn by Veronese and Durer, v. 66, 67; - complexity of, i. 389; - angles of, i. 392; - not easily distinguished, i. 70; - diminution and multiplication of, i. 388-389; - appearance of tapering in, how caused, i. 385; - loveliness of, how produced, v. 64; - subtlety of balance in, v. 64; - growth of, v. 61; - nourishment of, by leaves, v. 41; - three conditions of branch-aspect--spring, caprice, and fellowship, - v. 63-71. - - Trees, outlines of, iii. 114; - ramifications of, i. 386, v. 58, 60, 62; - the most important truth respecting (symmetrical terminal curve), i. - 400; - laws common to forest, i. 385; - poplar, an element in lovely landscape, i. 129, iii. 186; - superiority of, on mountain sides, iv. 348, v. 78-79; - multiplicity of, in Swiss scenery, iv. 289, 290; - change of color in leafage of, iv. 261; - classical delight in, iv. 76, iii. 184; - examples of good and bad finish in (plates), iii. 116, 117; - examples of Turner's drawing of, i. 394; - classed as "builders with the shield" and "with the sword," v. 8; - laws of growth of, v. 17, 49, 72; - mechanical aspect of, v. 40; - classed by leaf-structure--trefoil, quatrefoil, and cinqfoil, v. 19; - trunks of, v. 40, 56; - questions concerning, v. 51; - how strengthened, v. 41; - history of, v. 52; - love of, v. 4; - Dutch drawing of, bad, v. 68, 71; - as drawn by Titian and Turner, i. 392, 394; - as rendered by Italian school, i. 384. - - Trees, pine, v. 8-30, 79, 92; - Shakspere's feeling respecting, iv. 371, v. 83; - error of painters in representing, iv. 346 (note); - perfection of, v. 80-83; - influence on Swiss and northern nations, v. 84. - - Truth, in art, i. 21, 46, 47, 74, iii. 35; - Greek idea of, v. 267; - blindness to beauty of, in vulgar minds, v. 268; - half, the worst falsehood, v. 268; - standard of all excellence, i. 417; - not easily discerned, i. 50, 51, 53; - first quality of execution, i. 37; - many-sided, the author's seeming contradiction of himself, v. 271 - (note); - essential to real imagination, ii. 161, 188; - essential to invention, v. 191; - highest difficulty of illustrating the, i. 410; - laws of, in painting, iii. vii. (preface); - ideas of, i. 23, 24; - infinity essential to, i. 239; - sometimes spoken through evil men, ii. 137; - imaginative preciousness of, iv. 30; - individual, in mountain drawing, i. 305; - wisely conveyed by grotesque idealism, iii. 96; - no vulgarity in, iii. 82; - dominion of, universal, iii. 167; - error of confounding beauty with, ii. 30, iii. 32 (note); - pictures should present the greatest possible amount of, iii. 139; - sacrifice of, to decision and velocity, i. 39; - difference between imitation and, i. 21, 22; - absolute, generally attained by "colorists," never by - "chiaroscurists," iv. 42, 48; - instance of imaginative (the Two Griffins), iii. 100. - - Truths, two classes of, of deception and of inner resemblance, iii. - 126; - most precious, how attained, iv. 38; - importance of characteristic, i. 59, 62; - of specific form most important, i. 72; - relative importance of, i. 58; - nature's always varying, i. 55; - value of rare, i. 64; - particular, more important than general, i. 58; - historical, the most valuable, i. 71; - the finer, importance of rendering, i. 316; - accurate, not necessary to imitation, i. 21, 22; - geological, use of considering, i. 303; - simplest, generally last believed, iii. 300; - certain sacred, how conveyed, iii. 289, 300; - choice of, by artists, the essence of "style," iii. 33, iv. 46; - as given by old masters, i. 75; - selected by modern artists, i. 76. - - Types--light, ii. 75; - purity, ii. 75-79, v. 156; - impurity, v. 156; - clouds, v. 110, 114; - sky, ii. 40-42; - mountain decay, iv. 315; - crags and ravines, iv. 215; - rocks, ii. 79, iv. 102, 117; - mountains, iv. 343; - sunlight, v. 332; - color, v. 331 (note), 332; - mica flake, iv. 239; - rainbow, v. 332; - stones, weeds, logs, thorns, and spines, v. 161; - Dante's vision of Rachel and Leah, iii. 216; - mythological, v. 140, 300, 301; - beauty, ii. 30, 86, v. 145; - symmetry, Divine justice, ii. 72, 74; - moderation, ii. 81-85; - infinity, ii. 41, iv. 79; - grass, humility and cheerfulness, iii. 226, 228; - rush, humility, iii. 228; - buds, iii. 206, v. 20, 53, 74; - laws of leaf growth, v. 31, 32, 33, 53, 74; - leaf death, v. 74, 95; - trees, v. 52, 78, 80; - crystallization, v. 33. - - - Ugliness, sometimes permitted in nature, i. 64; - is a positive thing, iii. 24; - delight in, Martin Schöngauer, iv. 329, 333; - of modern costume, v. 273 (note), iii. 254, 255; - of modern architecture, iii. 253, v. 347. - - Unbelief, characteristic of all our most powerful men, iii. 253; - modern English, "God is, but cannot rule," v. 347. - - Unity, type of Divine comprehensiveness, ii. 50, 52, 56, 152, 153; - in nature, i. 398; - apparent proportion, a cause of, ii. 57, 64; - instinct of, a faculty of the associative imagination, ii. 151. - - Utility, definition of, ii. 4; - of art, ii. 3; - of details in poetry, iii. 8; - of pictures, iii. 125, 142; - of mountains, iv. 91. - - - Valleys, Alpine beauty of, iv. 311, 316; - gloom in, iv. 326; - English, iv. 297; - French, i. 129, iv. 297. - - Variety, necessity of, arises out of that of unity, ii. 53-55; - love of, ii. 55; - when most conspicuous, i. 213; - in nature, i. 55, 65, 169, 198, 219, 224, 291. - - Vapor, v. 109, 120, 127, 129. - - Vegetables, ideal form in, ii. 107. - - Vegetation, truth of, i. 384, 408; - process of form in, v. 78; - in forest-lands, v. 133; - appointed service of, v. 2; - in sculpture, v. 35. - - Velocity in execution, i. 37, ii. 187 (note); - sacrifice of truth to, i. 38. - - Venetian art ("The Wings of the Lion"), v. 209, 214; - conquest of evil, v. 214, seq., 217, 229; - scenery, v. 214, 217; - idea of beauty, v. 294; - faith, v. 219; - religious liberty, v. 214; - mind, perfection of, v. 227; - contempt of poverty, v. 289; - unworthy purposes of, v. 227; - reverence, the Madonna in the house, v. 223-228. - - Virtue, effect of, on features, ii. 117; - set forth by plants, iii. 228; - of the Swiss, v. 84, 85. - - Vulgarity of mind, v. 261-276; - consists in insensibility, v. 274-275; - examples of, v. 269, 270; - seen in love of mere physical beauty, iii. 67; - in concealment of truth and affectation, iii. 82, 83; - inconceivable by the greatest minds, iii. 82; - of Renaissance builders, v. 176; - "deathful selfishness," v. 277; - among Dutch painters, v. 277-285; - how produced by vicious habits, v. 262. See Gentlemen. - - - War, a consequence of injustice, iii. 328; - lessons to be gathered from the Crimean, iii. 329; - at the present day of what productive, iii. 326; - modern fear of, iii. 256. - - Water, influence of, on soil, i. 273; - faithful representation of, impossible, i. 325-326; - effect produced by mountains on, iv. 93; - functions of, i. 325; - laws of reflection in, i. 329, 336; - clear, takes no shadow, i. 331; - most wonderful of inorganic substances, i. 325; - difference in the action of continuous and interrupted, i. 369; - in shade most reflective, i. 330; - painting of, optical laws necessary to, i. 336; - smooth, difficulty of giving service to, i. 355, 356; - distant, effect of ripple on, i. 335; - swift execution necessary to drawing of, i. 350; - reflections in, i. 326; - motion in, elongates reflections, i. 335-336; - execrable painting of, by elder landscape masters, i. 328; - as painted by the modern, i. 348-354; - as painted by Turner, i. 355-383; - as represented by medićval art, iii. 209; - truth of, i. 325-383. See Sea, Torrents, Foam. - - Waves, as described by Homer and Keats, iii. 168; - exaggeration of size in, ii. 209; - grander than any torrent, iv. 347; - breakers in, i. 377; - curves of, i. 375. - - Wordsworth, his insight into nature (illustration of Turner), i. 177; - love of plants, ii. 91; - good foreground described by, i. 83-84; - skies of, i, 207; - description of a cloud by, ii 67; - on effect of custom, iii 293; - fancy and imagination of, ii. 196-200; - description of the rays of the sun, i. 220. - - Work, the noblest done only for love, v. 346. - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Modern Painters, Volume V (of 5), by John Ruskin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS, VOLUME V (OF 5) *** - -***** This file should be named 44329-8.txt or 44329-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/3/2/44329/ - -Produced by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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, Volume V (of 5) - -Author: John Ruskin - -Release Date: December 1, 2013 [EBook #44329] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS, VOLUME V (OF 5) *** - - - - -Produced by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - Library Edition - - THE COMPLETE WORKS - - OF - - JOHN RUSKIN - - - - - MODERN PAINTERS - - VOLUME IV--OF MOUNTAIN BEAUTY - - / OF LEAF BEAUTY - VOLUME V < OF CLOUD BEAUTY - \ OF IDEAS OF RELATION - - - - - NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION - NEW YORK CHICAGO - - - - - MODERN PAINTERS. - - VOLUME V., - - COMPLETING THE WORK AND CONTAINING - - - PARTS - - VI. OF LEAF BEAUTY.--VII. OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - VIII. OF IDEAS OF RELATION. - - 1. OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - IX. OF IDEAS OF RELATION. - - 2. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The disproportion, between the length of time occupied in the -preparation of this volume, and the slightness of apparent result, is so -vexatious to me, and must seem so strange to the reader, that he will -perhaps bear with my stating some of the matters which have employed or -interrupted me between 1855 and 1860. I needed rest after finishing the -fourth volume, and did little in the following summer. The winter of -1856 was spent in writing the "Elements of Drawing," for which I thought -there was immediate need; and in examining with more attention than they -deserved some of the modern theories of political economy, to which -there was necessarily reference in my addresses at Manchester. The -Manchester Exhibition then gave me some work, chiefly in its magnificent -Reynolds' constellation; and thence I went on into Scotland, to look at -Dumblane and Jedburgh, and some other favorite sites of Turner's; which -I had not all seen, when I received notice from Mr. Wornum that he had -obtained for me permission, from the Trustees of the National Gallery, -to arrange, as I thought best, the Turner drawings belonging to the -nation; on which I returned to London immediately. - -In seven tin boxes in the lower room of the National Gallery I found -upwards of nineteen thousand pieces of paper, drawn upon by Turner in -one way or another. Many on both sides; some with four, five, or six -subjects on each side (the pencil point digging spiritedly through from -the foregrounds of the front into the tender pieces of sky on the back); -some in chalk, which the touch of the finger would sweep away;[1] others -in ink, rotted into holes; others (some splendid colored drawings among -them) long eaten away by damp and mildew, and falling into dust at the -edges, in capes and bays of fragile decay; others worm-eaten, some -mouse-eaten, many torn half-way through; numbers doubled (quadrupled, I -should say) up into four, being Turner's favorite mode of packing for -travelling; nearly all rudely flattened out from the bundles in which -Turner had finally rolled them up and squeezed them into his drawers in -Queen Anne Street. Dust of thirty years' accumulation, black, dense, and -sooty, lay in the rents of the crushed and crumpled edges of these -flattened bundles, looking like a jagged black frame, and producing -altogether unexpected effects in brilliant portions of skies, whence an -accidental or experimental finger mark of the first bundle-unfolder had -swept it away. - -About half, or rather more, of the entire number consisted of pencil -sketches, in flat oblong pocket-books, dropping to pieces at the back, -tearing laterally whenever opened, and every drawing rubbing itself into -the one opposite. These first I paged with my own hand; then unbound; -and laid every leaf separately in a clean sheet of perfectly smooth -writing paper, so that it might receive no farther injury. Then, -enclosing the contents and boards of each book (usually ninety-two -leaves, more or less drawn on both sides, with two sketches on the -boards at the beginning and end) in a separate sealed packet, I returned -it to its tin box. The loose sketches needed more trouble. The dust had -first to be got off them (from the chalk ones it could only be blown -off); then they had to be variously flattened; the torn ones to be laid -down, the loveliest guarded, so as to prevent all future friction; and -four hundred of the most characteristic framed and glazed, and cabinets -constructed for them which would admit of their free use by the public. -With two assistants, I was at work all the autumn and winter of 1857, -every day, all day long, and often far into the night. - -The manual labor would not have hurt me; but the excitement involved in -seeing unfolded the whole career of Turner's mind during his life, -joined with much sorrow at the state in which nearly all his most -precious work had been left, and with great anxiety, and heavy sense of -responsibility besides, were very trying; and I have never in my life -felt so much exhausted as when I locked the last box, and gave the keys -to Mr. Wornum, in May, 1858. Among the later colored sketches, there was -one magnificent series, which appeared to be of some towns along the -course of the Rhine on the north of Switzerland. Knowing that these -towns were peculiarly liable to be injured by modern railroad works, I -thought I might rest myself by hunting down these Turner subjects, and -sketching what I could of them, in order to illustrate his compositions. - -As I expected, the subjects in question were all on, or near, that east -and west reach of the Rhine between Constance and Basle. Most of them -are of Rheinfelden, Seckingen, Lauffenbourg, Schaffhausen, and the Swiss -Baden. - -Having made what notes were possible to me of these subjects in the -summer (one or two are used in this volume), I was crossing Lombardy in -order to examine some points of the shepherd character in the Vaudois -valleys, thinking to get my book finished next spring; when I -unexpectedly found some good Paul Veroneses at Turin. There were several -questions respecting the real motives of Venetian work that still -troubled me not a little, and which I had intended to work out in the -Louvre; but seeing that Turin was a good place wherein to keep out of -people's way, I settled there instead, and began with Veronese's Queen -of Sheba;--when, with much consternation, but more delight, I found that -I had never got to the roots of the moral power of the Venetians, and -that they needed still another and a very stern course of study. There -was nothing for it but to give up the book for that year. The winter was -spent mainly in trying to get at the mind of Titian; not a light -winter's task; of which the issue, being in many ways very unexpected to -me (the reader will find it partly told towards the close of this -volume), necessitated my going in the spring to Berlin, to see Titian's -portrait of Lavinia there, and to Dresden to see the Tribute Money, the -elder Lavinia, and girl in white, with the flag fan. Another portrait, -at Dresden, of a lady in a dress of rose and gold, by me unheard of -before, and one of an admiral, at Munich, had like to have kept me in -Germany all summer. - -Getting home at last, and having put myself to arrange materials of -which it was not easy, after so much interruption, to recover the -command;--which also were now not reducible to a single volume--two -questions occurred in the outset, one in the section on vegetation, -respecting the origin of wood; the other in the section on sea, -respecting curves of waves; to neither of which, from botanist or -mathematicians, any sufficient answer seemed obtainable. - -In other respects also the section on the sea was wholly unsatisfactory -to me: I knew little of ships, nothing of blue open water. Turner's -pathetic interest in the sea, and his inexhaustible knowledge of -shipping, deserved more complete and accurate illustration than was at -all possible to me; and the mathematical difficulty lay at the beginning -of all demonstration of facts. I determined to do this piece of work -well, or not at all, and threw the proposed section out of this volume. -If I ever am able to do what I want with it (and this is barely -probable), it will be a separate book; which, on other accounts, I do -not regret, since many persons might be interested in studies of the -shipping of the old Nelson times, and of the sea-waves and sailor -character of all times, who would not care to encumber themselves with -five volumes of a work on Art. - -The vegetation question had, however, at all cost, to be made out as -best might be; and again lost me much time. Many of the results of this -inquiry, also, can only be given, if ever, in a detached form. - -During these various discouragements, the preparation of the Plates -could not go on prosperously. Drawing is difficult enough, undertaken in -quietness: it is impossible to bring it to any point of fine rightness -with half-applied energy. - -Many experiments were made in hope of expressing Turner's peculiar -execution and touch by facsimile. They cost time, and strength, and, for -the present, have failed; many elaborate drawings, made during the -winter of 1858, having been at last thrown aside. Some good may -afterwards come of these; but certainly not by reduction to the size of -the page of this book, for which, even of smaller subjects, I have not -prepared the most interesting, for I do not wish the possession of any -effective and valuable engravings from Turner to be contingent on the -purchasing a book of mine.[2] - -Feebly and faultfully, therefore, yet as well as I can do it under these -discouragements, the book is at last done; respecting the general course -of which, it will be kind and well if the reader will note these few -points that follow. - -The first volume was the expansion of a reply to a magazine article; and -was not begun because I then thought myself qualified to write a -systematic treatise on Art; but because I at least knew, and knew it to -be demonstrable, that Turner was right and true, and that his critics -were wrong, false, and base. At that time I had seen much of nature, and -had been several times in Italy, wintering once in Rome; but had chiefly -delighted in northern art, beginning, when a mere boy, with Rubens and -Rembrandt. It was long before I got quit of a boy's veneration for -Rubens' physical art-power; and the reader will, perhaps, on this ground -forgive the strong expressions of admiration for Rubens, which, to my -great regret, occur in the first volume. - -Finding myself, however, engaged seriously in the essay, I went, before -writing the second volume, to study in Italy; where the strong reaction -from the influence of Rubens threw me at first too far under that of -Angelico and Raphael, and, which was the worst harm that came of that -Rubens influence, blinded me long to the deepest qualities of Venetian -art; which, the reader may see by expressions occurring not only in the -second, but even in the third and fourth volumes, I thought, however -powerful, yet partly luxurious and sensual, until I was led into the -final inquiries above related. - -These oscillations of temper, and progressions of discovery, extending -over a period of seventeen years, ought not to diminish the reader's -confidence in the book. Let him be assured of this, that unless -important changes are occurring in his opinions continually, all his -life long, not one of those opinions can be on any questionable subject -true. All true opinions are living, and show their life by being capable -of nourishment; therefore of change. But their change is that of a -tree--not of a cloud. - -In the main aim and principle of the book, there is no variation, from -its first syllable to its last. It declares the perfectness and eternal -beauty of the work of God; and tests all work of man by concurrence -with, or subjection to that. And it differs from most books, and has a -chance of being in some respects better for the difference, in that it -has not been written either for fame, or for money, or for -conscience-sake, but of necessity. - -It has not been written for praise. Had I wished to gain present -reputation, by a little flattery adroitly used in some places, a sharp -word or two withheld in others, and the substitution of verbiage -generally for investigation, I could have made the circulation of these -volumes tenfold what it has been in modern society. Had I wished for -future fame, I should have written one volume, not five. Also, it has -not been written for money. In this wealth-producing country, seventeen -years' labor could hardly have been invested with less chance of -equivalent return. - -Also, it has not been written for conscience-sake. I had no definite -hope in writing it; still less any sense of its being required of me as -a duty. It seems to me, and seemed always, probable, that I might have -done much more good in some other way. But it has been written of -necessity. I saw an injustice done, and tried to remedy it. I heard -falsehood taught, and was compelled to deny it. Nothing else was -possible to me. I knew not how little or how much might come of the -business, or whether I was fit for it; but here was the lie full set in -front of me, and there was no way round it, but only over it. So that, -as the work changed like a tree, it was also rooted like a tree--not -where it would, but where need was; on which, if any fruit grow such as -you can like, you are welcome to gather it without thanks; and so far as -it is poor or bitter, it will be your justice to refuse it without -reviling. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The best book of studies for his great shipwrecks contained about - a quarter of a pound of chalk debris, black and white, broken off the - crayons with which Turner had drawn furiously on both sides of the - leaves; every leaf, with peculiar foresight and consideration of - difficulties to be met by future mounters, containing half of one - subject on the front of it, and half of another on the back. - - [2] To Mr. Armytage, Mr. Cuff, and Mr. Cousen, I have to express my - sincere thanks for the patience, and my sincere admiration of the - skill, with which they have helped me. Their patience, especially, - has been put to severe trial by the rewardless toil required to - produce facsimiles of drawings in which the slightness of subject - could never attract any due notice to the excellence of workmanship. - - Aid, just as disinterested, and deserving of as earnest - acknowledgment, has been given me by Miss Byfield, in her faultless - facsimiles of my careless sketches; by Miss O. Hill, who prepared the - copies which I required from portions of the pictures of the old - masters; and by Mr. Robin Allen, in accurate line studies from - nature, of which, though only one is engraved in this volume, many - others have been most serviceable, both to it and to me. - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS. - - - PART VI. - - ON LEAF BEAUTY. - - PAGE - PREFACE v - - CHAPTER I.--The Earth-Veil 1 - " II.--The Leaf Orders 6 - " III.--The Bud 10 - " IV.--The Leaf 21 - " V.--Leaf Aspects 34 - " VI.--The Branch 39 - " VII.--The Stem 49 - " VIII.--The Leaf Monuments 63 - " IX.--The Leaf Shadows 77 - " X.--Leaves Motionless 88 - - - PART VII. - - OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - CHAPTER I.--The Cloud Balancings 101 - " II.--The Cloud-Flocks 108 - " III.--The Cloud-Chariots 122 - " IV.--The Angel of the Sea 133 - - - PART VIII. - - OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--I. OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - CHAPTER I.--The Law of Help 153 - " II.--The Task of the Least 164 - " III.--The Rule of the Greatest 175 - " IV.--The Law of Perfectness 180 - - - PART IX. - - OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - CHAPTER I.--The Dark Mirror 193 - " II.--The Lance of Pallas 202 - " III.--The Wings of the Lion 214 - " IV.--Durer and Salvator 230 - " V.--Claude and Poussin 241 - " VI.--Rubens and Cuyp 249 - " VII.--Of Vulgarity 261 - " VIII.--Wouvermans and Angelico 277 - " IX.--The Two Boyhoods 286 - " X.--The Nereid's Guard 298 - " XI.--The Hesperid AEgle 314 - " XII.--Peace 339 - - - LOCAL INDEX. - - INDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES. - - TOPICAL INDEX. - - - - -LIST OF PLATES TO VOL. V. - - - Drawn by Engraved by - - Frontispiece, Ancilla Domini _Fra Angelico_ WM. HALL - - Plate Facing page - - 51. The Dryad's Toil _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 12 - 52. Spirals of Thorn _R. Allen_ R. P. CUFF 26 - 53. The Dryad's Crown _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 36 - 54. Dutch Leafage _Cuyp and Hobbima_ J. COUSEN 37 - 55. By the Way-side _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 38 - 56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 61 - 57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese _Durer and Veronese_ R. P. CUFF 65 - 58. Branch Curvature _R. Allen_ R. P. CUFF 69 - 59. The Dryad's Waywardness _J. Ruskin_ R. P. CUFF 71 - 60. The Rending of Leaves _J. Ruskin_ J. COUSEN 94 - 61. Richmond, from the Moors _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 98 - 62. By the Brookside _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 98 - 63. The Cloud Flocks _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 109 - 64. Cloud Perspective (Rectilinear) _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 115 - 65. " " (Curvilinear) _J. Ruskin_ J. EMSLIE 116 - 66. Light in the West, Beauvais _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 121 - 67. Clouds _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 118 - 68. Monte Rosa _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 339 - 69. Aiguilles and their Friends _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 125 - 70. The Graiae _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 127 - 71. "Venga Medusa" _J. Ruskin_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 127 - 72. The Locks of Typhon _J. M. W. Turner_ J. C. ARMYTAGE 142 - 73. Loire Side _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 165 - 74. The Mill Stream _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 168 - 75. The Castle of Lauffen _J. M. W. Turner_ R. P. CUFF 169 - 76. The Moat of Nuremberg _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 233 - 78. Quivi Trovammo _J. M. W. Turner_ J. RUSKIN 298 - 79. Hesperid AEgle _Giorgione_ WM. HALL 314 - 80. Rocks at Rest / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \ J. C. ARMYTAGE 319 - \ _W. Turner_ / - 81. Rocks in Unrest / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \ J. C. ARMYTAGE 320 - \ _W. Turner_ / - 82. The Nets in the Rapids _J. M. W. Turner_ J. H. LE KEUX 336 - 83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 337 - 84. Peace _J. Ruskin_ J. H. LE KEUX 338 - - -SEPARATE ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. - - Figure 56, to face page 65 - " 61, " 69 - " 75 to 78, " 97 - " 85, " 118 - " 87, " 127 - " 88 to 90, " 128 - " 98, " 184 - " 100, " 284 - - -[Illustration: Ancilla Domini.] - - - - -MODERN PAINTERS. - -PART VI. - -OF LEAF BEAUTY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE EARTH-VEIL. - - -Sec. 1. "To dress it and to keep it." - -That, then, was to be our work. Alas! what work have we set ourselves -upon instead! How have we ravaged the garden instead of kept it--feeding -our war-horses with its flowers, and splintering its trees into -spear-shafts! - -"And at the East a flaming sword." - -Is its flame quenchless? and are those gates that keep the way indeed -passable no more? or is it not rather that we no more desire to enter? -For what can we conceive of that first Eden which we might not yet win -back, if we chose? It was a place full of flowers, we say. Well: the -flowers are always striving to grow wherever we suffer them; and the -fairer, the closer. There may indeed have been a Fall of Flowers, as a -Fall of Man; but assuredly creatures such as we are can now fancy -nothing lovelier than roses and lilies, which would grow for us side by -side, leaf overlapping leaf, till the Earth was white and red with them, -if we cared to have it so. And Paradise was full of pleasant shades and -fruitful avenues. Well: what hinders us from covering as much of the -world as we like with pleasant shade and pure blossom, and goodly fruit? -Who forbids its valleys to be covered over with corn, till they laugh -and sing? Who prevents its dark forests, ghostly and uninhabitable, -from being changed into infinite orchards, wreathing the hills with -frail-floretted snow, far away to the half-lighted horizon of April, and -flushing the face of all the autumnal earth with glow of clustered food? -But Paradise was a place of peace, we say, and all the animals were -gentle servants to us. Well: the world would yet be a place of peace if -we were all peacemakers, and gentle service should we have of its -creatures if we gave them gentle mastery. But so long as we make sport -of slaying bird and beast, so long as we choose to contend rather with -our fellows than with our faults, and make battlefield of our meadows -instead of pasture--so long, truly, the Flaming Sword will still turn -every way, and the gates of Eden remain barred close enough, till we -have sheathed the sharper flame of our own passions, and broken down the -closer gates of our own hearts. - -Sec. 2. I have been led to see and feel this more and more, as I considered -the service which the flowers and trees, which man was at first -appointed to keep, were intended to render to him in return for his -care; and the services they still render to him, as far as he allows -their influence, or fulfils his own task towards them. For what infinite -wonderfulness there is in this vegetation, considered, as indeed it is, -as the means by which the earth becomes the companion of man--his friend -and his teacher! In the conditions which we have traced in its rocks, -there could only be seen preparation for his existence;--the characters -which enable him to live on it safely, and to work with it easily--in -all these it has been inanimate and passive; but vegetation is to it as -an imperfect soul, given to meet the soul of man. The earth in its -depths must remain dead and cold, incapable except of slow crystalline -change; but at its surface, which human beings look upon and deal with, -it ministers to them through a veil of strange intermediate being; which -breathes, but has no voice; moves, but cannot leave its appointed place; -passes through life without consciousness, to death without bitterness; -wears the beauty of youth, without its passion; and declines to the -weakness of age, without its regret. - -Sec. 3. And in this mystery of intermediate being, entirely subordinate to -us, with which we can deal as we choose, having just the greater power -as we have the less responsibility for our treatment of the unsuffering -creature, most of the pleasures which we need from the external world -are gathered, and most of the lessons we need are written, all kinds of -precious grace and teaching being united in this link between the Earth -and Man: wonderful in universal adaptation to his need, desire, and -discipline; God's daily preparation of the earth for him, with beautiful -means of life. First a carpet to make it soft for him; then, a colored -fantasy of embroidery thereon; then, tall spreading of foliage to shade -him from sunheat, and shade also the fallen rain, that it may not dry -quickly back into the clouds, but stay to nourish the springs among the -moss. Stout wood to bear this leafage: easily to be cut, yet tough and -light, to make houses for him, or instruments (lance-shaft, or -plough-handle, according to his temper); useless it had been, if harder; -useless, if less fibrous; useless, if less elastic. Winter comes, and -the shade of leafage falls away, to let the sun warm the earth; the -strong boughs remain, breaking the strength of winter winds. The seeds -which are to prolong the race, innumerable according to the need, are -made beautiful and palatable, varied into infinitude of appeal to the -fancy of man, or provision for his service: cold juice, or glowing -spice, or balm, or incense, softening oil, preserving resin, medicine of -styptic, febrifuge, or lulling charm: and all these presented in forms -of endless change. Fragility or force, softness and strength, in all -degrees and aspects; unerring uprightness, as of temple pillars, or -undivided wandering of feeble tendrils on the ground; mighty resistances -of rigid arm and limb to the storms of ages, or wavings to and fro with -faintest pulse of summer streamlet. Roots cleaving the strength of rock, -or binding the transience of the sand; crests basking in sunshine of the -desert, or hiding by dripping spring and lightless cave; foliage far -tossing in entangled fields beneath every wave of ocean--clothing with -variegated, everlasting films, the peaks of the trackless mountains, or -ministering at cottage doors to every gentlest passion and simplest joy -of humanity. - -Sec. 4. Being thus prepared for us in all ways, and made beautiful, and -good for food, and for building, and for instruments of our hands, this -race of plants, deserving boundless affection and admiration from us, -become, in proportion to their obtaining it, a nearly perfect test of -our being in right temper of mind and way of life; so that no one can be -far wrong in either who loves the trees enough, and every one is -assuredly wrong in both, who does not love them, if his life has -brought them in his way. It is clearly possible to do without them, for -the great companionship of the sea and sky are all that sailors need; -and many a noble heart has been taught the best it had to learn between -dark stone walls. Still if human life be cast among trees at all, the -love borne to them is a sure test of its purity. And it is a sorrowful -proof of the mistaken ways of the world that the "country," in the -simple sense of a place of fields and trees, has hitherto been the -source of reproach to its inhabitants, and that the words "countryman," -"rustic," "clown," "paysan," "villager," still signify a rude and -untaught person, as opposed to the words "townsman," and "citizen." We -accept this usage of words, or the evil which it signifies, somewhat too -quietly; as if it were quite necessary and natural that country-people -should be rude, and towns-people gentle. Whereas I believe that the -result of each mode of life may, in some stages of the world's progress, -be the exact reverse; and that another use of words may be forced upon -us by a new aspect of facts, so that we may find ourselves saying: "Such -and such a person is very gentle and kind--he is quite rustic; and such -and such another person is very rude and ill-taught--he is quite -urbane." - -Sec. 5. At all events, cities have hitherto gained the better part of their -good report through our evil ways of going on in the world -generally;--chiefly and eminently through our bad habit of fighting with -each other. No field, in the middle ages, being safe from devastation, -and every country lane yielding easier passage to the marauders, -peacefully-minded men necessarily congregated in cities, and walled -themselves in, making as few cross-country roads as possible: while the -men who sowed and reaped the harvests of Europe were only the servants -or slaves of the barons. The disdain of all agricultural pursuits by the -nobility, and of all plain facts by the monks, kept educated Europe in a -state of mind over which natural phenomena could have no power; body and -intellect being lost in the practice of war without purpose, and the -meditation of words without meaning. Men learned the dexterity with -sword and syllogism, which they mistook for education, within cloister -and tilt-yard; and looked on all the broad space of the world of God -mainly as a place for exercise of horses, or for growth of food. - -Sec. 6. There is a beautiful type of this neglect of the perfectness of the -Earth's beauty, by reason of the passions of men, in that picture of -Paul Uccello's of the battle of Sant' Egidio,[1] in which the armies -meet on a country road beside a hedge of wild roses; the tender red -flowers tossing above the helmets, and glowing between the lowered -lances. For in like manner the whole of Nature only shone hitherto for -man between the tossing of helmet-crests; and sometimes I cannot but -think of the trees of the earth as capable of a kind of sorrow, in that -imperfect life of theirs, as they opened their innocent leaves in the -warm spring-time, in vain for men; and all along the dells of England -her beeches cast their dappled shade only where the outlaw drew his bow, -and the king rode his careless chase; and by the sweet French rivers -their long ranks of poplar waved in the twilight, only to show the -flames of burning cities, on the horizon, through the tracery of their -stems: amidst the fair defiles of the Apennines, the twisted -olive-trunks hid the ambushes of treachery; and on their valley meadows, -day by day, the lilies which were white at the dawn were washed with -crimson at sunset. - -Sec. 7. And indeed I had once purposed, in this work, to show what kind of -evidence existed respecting the possible influence of country life on -men; it seeming to me, then, likely that here and there a reader would -perceive this to be a grave question, more than most which we contend -about, political or social, and might care to follow it out with me -earnestly. - -The day will assuredly come when men will see that it is a grave -question; at which period, also, I doubt not, there will arise persons -able to investigate it. For the present, the movements of the world seem -little likely to be influenced by botanical law; or by any other -considerations respecting trees, than the probable price of timber. I -shall limit myself, therefore, to my own simple woodman's work, and try -to hew this book into its final shape, with the limited and humble aim -that I had in beginning it, namely, to prove how far the idle and -peaceable persons, who have hitherto cared about leaves and clouds, have -rightly seen, or faithfully reported of them. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1]: In our own National Gallery. It is quaint and imperfect, but of - great interest. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE LEAF ORDERS. - - -Sec. 1. As in our sketch of the structure of mountains it seemed advisable -to adopt a classification of their forms, which, though inconsistent -with absolute scientific precision, was convenient for order of -successive inquiry, and gave useful largeness of view; so, and with yet -stronger reason, in glancing at the first laws of vegetable life, it -will be best to follow an arrangement easily remembered and broadly -true, however incapable of being carried out into entirely consistent -detail. I say, "with yet stronger reason," because more questions are at -issue among botanists than among geologists; a greater number of -classifications have been suggested for plants than for rocks; nor is it -unlikely that those now accepted may be hereafter modified. I take an -arrangement, therefore, involving no theory; serviceable enough for all -working purposes, and sure to remain thus serviceable, in its rough -generality, whatever views may hereafter be developed among botanists. - -Sec. 2. A child's division of plants is into "trees and flowers." If, -however, we were to take him in spring, after he had gathered his lapful -of daisies, from the lawn into the orchard, and ask him how he would -call those wreaths of richer floret, whose frail petals tossed their -foam of promise between him and the sky, he would at once see the need -of some intermediate name, and call them, perhaps, "tree-flowers." If, -then, we took him to a birch-wood, and showed him that catkins were -flowers, as well as cherry-blossoms, he might, with a little help, reach -so far as to divide all flowers into two classes; one, those that grew -on ground; and another, those that grew on trees. The botanist might -smile at such a division; but an artist would not. To him, as the child, -there is something specific and distinctive in those rough trunks that -carry the higher flowers. To him, it makes the main difference between -one plant and another, whether it is to tell as a light upon the ground, -or as a shade upon the sky. And if, after this, we asked for a little -help from the botanist, and he were to lead us, leaving the blossoms, to -look more carefully at leaves and buds, we should find ourselves able in -some sort to justify, even to him, our childish classification. For our -present purposes, justifiable or not, it is the most suggestive and -convenient. Plants are, indeed, broadly referable to two great classes. -The first we may, perhaps, not inexpediently call TENTED PLANTS. They -live in encampments, on the ground, as lilies; or on surfaces of rock, -or stems of other plants, as lichens and mosses. They live--some for a -year, some for many years, some for myriads of years; but, perishing, -they pass as the tented Arab passes; they leave _no memorials of -themselves_, except the seed, or bulb, or root which is to perpetuate -the race. - -Sec. 3. The other great class of plants we may perhaps best call BUILDING -PLANTS. These will not live on the ground, but eagerly raise edifices -above it. Each works hard with solemn forethought all its life. -Perishing, it leaves its work in the form which will be most useful to -its successors--its own monument, and their inheritance. These -architectural edifices we call "Trees." - -It may be thought that this nomenclature already involves a theory. But -I care about neither the nomenclature, nor about anything questionable -in my description of the classes. The reader is welcome to give them -what names he likes, and to render what account of them he thinks -fittest. But to us, as artists, or lovers of art, this is the first and -most vital question concerning a plant: "Has it a fixed form or a -changing one? Shall I find it always as I do to-day--this Parnassia -palustris--with one leaf and one flower? or may it some day have -incalculable pomp of leaves and unmeasured treasure of flowers? Will it -rise only to the height of a man--as an ear of corn--and perish like a -man; or will it spread its boughs to the sea and branches to the river, -and enlarge its circle of shade in heaven for a thousand years?" - -Sec. 4. This, I repeat, is the _first_ question I ask the plant. And as it -answers, I range it on one side or the other, among those that rest or -those that toil: tent-dwellers, who toil not, neither do they spin; or -tree-builders, whose days are as the days of the people. I find again, -on farther questioning these plants who rest, that one group of them -does indeed rest always, contentedly, on the ground, but that those of -another group, more ambitious, emulate the builders; and though they -cannot build rightly, raise for themselves pillars out of the remains of -past generations, on which they themselves, living the life of St. -Simeon Stylites, are called, by courtesy, Trees; being, in fact, many of -them (palms, for instance) quite as stately as real trees.[1] - -These two classes we might call earth-plants, and pillar-plants. - -Sec. 5. Again, in questioning the true builders as to their modes of work, -I find that they also are divisible into two great classes. Without in -the least wishing the reader to accept the fanciful nomenclature, I -think he may yet most conveniently remember these as "Builders with the -shield," and "Builders with the sword." - -Builders with the shield have expanded leaves, more or less resembling -shields, partly in shape, but still more in office; for under their -lifted shadow the young bud of the next year is kept from harm. These -are the gentlest of the builders, and live in pleasant places, providing -food and shelter for man. Builders with the sword, on the contrary, have -sharp leaves in the shape of swords, and the young buds, instead of -being as numerous as the leaves, crouching each under a leaf-shadow, are -few in number, and grow fearlessly, each in the midst of a sheaf of -swords. These builders live in savage places, are sternly dark in color, -and though they give much help to man by their merely physical strength, -they (with few exceptions) give him no food, and imperfect shelter. -Their mode of building is ruder than that of the shield-builders, and -they in many ways resemble the pillar-plants of the opposite order. We -call them generally "Pines." - -Sec. 6. Our work, in this section, will lie only among the shield-builders, -sword-builders, and plants of rest. The Pillar-plants belong, for the -most part, to other climates. I could not analyze them rightly; and the -labor given to them would be comparatively useless for our present -purposes. The chief mystery of vegetation, so far as respects external -form, is among the fair shield-builders. These, at least, we must -examine fondly and earnestly. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I am not sure that this is a fair account of palms. I have never - had opportunity of studying stems of Endogens, and I cannot - understand the description given of them in books, nor do I know how - far some of their branched conditions approximate to real - tree-structure. If this work, whatever errors it may involve, - provokes the curiosity of the reader so as to lead him to seek for - more and better knowledge, it will do all the service I hope from it. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE BUD. - - -Sec. 1. If you gather in summer time an outer spray of any shield-leaved -tree, you will find it consists of a slender rod, throwing out leaves, -perhaps on every side, perhaps on two sides only, with usually a cluster -of closer leaves at the end. In order to understand its structure, we -must reduce it to a simple general type. Nay, even to a very inaccurate -type. For a tree-branch is essentially a complex thing, and no "simple" -type can, therefore, be a right one. - -This type I am going to give you is full of fallacies and inaccuracies; -but out of these fallacies we will bring the truth, by casting them -aside one by one. - -[Illustration: FIG. 1.] - -Sec. 2. Let the tree spray be represented under one of these two types, A -or B, Fig. 1, the cluster at the end being in each case supposed to -consist of three leaves only (a most impertinent supposition, for it -must at least have four, only the fourth would be in a puzzling -perspective in A, and hidden behind the central leaf in B). So, receive -this false type patiently. When leaves are set on the stalk one after -another, as in A, they are called "alternate;" when placed as in B, -"opposite." It is necessary you should remember this not very difficult -piece of nomenclature. - -If you examine the branch you have gathered, you will see that for some -little way below the full-leaf cluster at the end, the stalk is smooth, -and the leaves are set regularly on it. But at six, eight, or ten inches -down, there comes an awkward knot; something seems to have gone wrong, -perhaps another spray branches off there; at all events, the stem gets -suddenly thicker, and you may break it there (probably) easier than -anywhere else. - -That is the junction of two stories of the building. The smooth piece -has all been done this summer. At the knot the foundation was left -during the winter. - -The year's work is called a "shoot." I shall be glad if you will break -it off to look at; as my A and B types are supposed to go no farther -down than the knot. - -The alternate form A is more frequent than B, and some botanists think -includes B. We will, therefore, begin with it. - -Sec. 3. If you look close at the figure, you will see small projecting -points at the roots of the leaves. These represent buds, which you may -find, most probably, in the shoot you have in your hand. Whether you -find them or not, they are there--visible, or latent, does not matter. -Every leaf has assuredly an infant bud to take care of, laid tenderly, -as in a cradle, just where the leaf-stalk forms a safe niche between it -and the main stem. The child-bud is thus fondly guarded all summer; but -its protecting leaf dies in the autumn; and then the boy-bud is put out -to rough winter-schooling, by which he is prepared for personal entrance -into public life in the spring. - -[Illustration: FIG. 2.] - -Let us suppose autumn to have come, and the leaves to have fallen. Then -our A of Fig. I, the buds only being left, one for each leaf, will -appear as A B, in Fig. 2. We will call the buds grouped at B, terminal -buds, and those at _a_, _b_, and _c_, lateral buds. - -This budded rod is the true year's work of the building plant, at that -part of its edifice. You may consider the little spray, if you like, as -one pinnacle of the tree-cathedral, which has taken a year to fashion; -innumerable other pinnacles having been built at the same time on other -branches. - -Sec. 4. Now, every one of these buds, _a_, _b_, and _c_, as well as every -terminal bud, has the power and disposition to raise himself in the -spring, into just such another pinnacle as A B is. - -This development is the process we have mainly to study in this chapter; -but, in the outset, let us see clearly what it is to end in. - -[Illustration: FIG. 3.] - -Each bud, I said, has the power and disposition to make a pinnacle of -himself, but he has not always the opportunity. What may hinder him we -shall see presently. Meantime, the reader will, perhaps, kindly allow me -to assume that the buds _a_, _b_, and _c_, come to nothing, and only the -three terminal ones build forward. Each of these producing the image of -the first pinnacle, we have the type for our next summer bough of Fig. -3; in which observe the original shoot A B, has become thicker; its -lateral buds having proved abortive, are now only seen as little knobs -on its sides. Its terminal buds have each risen into a new pinnacle. The -central or strongest one B C, has become the very image of what his -parent shoot A B, was last year. The two lateral ones are weaker and -shorter, one probably longer than the other. The joint at B is the knot -or foundation for each shoot above spoken of. - -[Illustration: FIG. 4.] - -Knowing now what we are about, we will go into closer detail. - -[Illustration: 51. The Dryad's Toil.] - -Sec. 5. Let us return to the type in Fig. 2, of the fully accomplished -summer's work: the rod with its bare buds. Plate 51, opposite, -represents, of about half its real size, an outer spray of oak in -winter. It is not growing strongly, and is as simple as possible in -ramification. You may easily see, in each branch, the continuous piece -of shoot produced last year. The wrinkles which make these shoots look -like old branches are caused by drying, as the stalk of a bunch of -raisins is furrowed (the oak-shoot fresh gathered is round as a -grape-stalk). I draw them thus, because the furrows are important clues -to structure. Fig. 4 is the top of one of these oak sprays magnified for -reference. The little brackets, _x_, _y_, &c., which project beneath -each bud and sustain it, are the remains of the leaf-stalks. Those -stalks were jointed at that place, and the leaves fell without leaving a -scar, only a crescent-shaped, somewhat blank-looking flat space, which -you may study at your ease on a horse-chestnut stem, where these spaces -are very large. - -Sec. 6. Now if you cut your oak spray neatly through, just above a bud, as -at A, Fig. 4, and look at it with a not very powerful magnifier, you -will find it present the pretty section, Fig. 5. - -[Illustration: FIG. 5.] - -That is the proper or normal section of an oak spray. Never quite -regular. Sure to have one of the projections a little larger than the -rest, and to have its bark (the black line) not quite regularly put -round it, but exquisitely finished, down to a little white star in the -very centre, which I have not drawn, because it would look in the -woodcut black, not white; and be too conspicuous. - -[Illustration: FIG. 6.] - -The oak spray, however, will not keep this form unchanged for an -instant. Cut it through a little way above your first section, and you -will find the largest projection is increasing till, just where it -opens[1] at last into the leaf-stalk, its section is Fig. 6. If, -therefore, you choose to consider every interval between bud and bud as -one story of your tower or pinnacle, you find that there is literally -not a hair's-breadth of the work in which the _plan_ of the tower does -not change. You may see in Plate 51 that every shoot is suffused by a -subtle (in nature an _infinitely_ subtle) change of contour between bud -and bud. - -[Illustration: FIG. 7.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 8.] - -Sec. 7. But farther, observe in what succession those buds are put round -the bearing stem. Let the section of the stem be represented by the -small central circle in Fig. 8; and suppose it surrounded by a _nearly_ -regular pentagon (in the figure it is quite regular for clearness' -sake). Let the first of any ascending series of buds be represented by -the curved projection filling the nearest angle of the pentagon at 1. -Then the next bud, above, will fill the angle at 2; the next above, at -3, the next at 4, the next at 5. The sixth will come nearly over the -first. That is to say, each projecting portion of the section, Fig. 5, -expands into its bud, not successively, but by leaps, always to the -_next but one;_ the buds being thus placed in a nearly regular spiral -order. - -Sec. 8. I say nearly regular--for there are subtleties of variation in plan -which it would be merely tiresome to enter into. All that we need care -about is the general law, of which the oak spray furnishes a striking -example,--that the buds of the first great group of alternate builders -rise in a spiral order round the stem (I believe, for the most part, the -spiral proceeds from right to left). And this spiral succession very -frequently approximates to the pentagonal order, which it takes with -great accuracy in an oak; for, merely assuming that each ascending bud -places itself as far as it can easily out of the way of the one beneath, -and yet not quite on the opposite side of the stem, we find the interval -between the two must generally approximate to that left between 1 and 2, -or 2 and 3, in Fig. 8.[2] - -[Illustration: FIG. 9.] - -Sec. 9. Should the interval be consistently a little _less_ than that which -brings out the pentagonal structure, the plant seems to get at first -into much difficulty. For, in such case, there is a probability of the -buds falling into a triangle, as at A, Fig. 9; and then the fourth must -come over the first, which would be inadmissible (we shall soon see -why). Nevertheless, the plant seems to like the triangular result for -its outline, and sets itself to get out of the difficulty with much -ingenuity, by methods of succession, which I will examine farther in the -next chapter: it being enough for us to know at present that the -puzzled, but persevering, vegetable _does_ get out of its difficulty and -issues triumphantly, and with a peculiar expression of leafy exultation, -in a hexagonal star, composed of two distinct triangles, normally as at -B, Fig. 9. Why the buds do not like to be one above the other, we shall -see in next chapter. Meantime I must shortly warn the reader of what we -shall then discover, that, though we have spoken of the projections of -our pentagonal tower as if they were first built to sustain each its -leaf, they are themselves chiefly built by the leaf they seem to -sustain. Without troubling ourselves about this yet, let us fix in our -minds broadly the effective aspect of the matter, which is all we want, -by a simple practical illustration. - -Sec. 10. Take a piece of stick half-an-inch thick, and a yard or two long, -and tie large knots, at any _equal_ distances you choose, on a piece of -pack-thread. Then wind the pack-thread round the stick, with any number -of equidistant turns you choose, from one end to the other, and the -knots will take the position of buds in the general type of alternate -vegetation. By varying the number of knots and the turns of the thread, -you may get the system of any tree, with the exception of one character -only--viz., that since the shoot grows faster at one time than another, -the buds run closer together when the growth is slow. You cannot imitate -this structure by closing the coils of your string, for that would alter -the positions of your knots irregularly. The intervals between the buds -are, by this gradual acceleration or retardation of growth, usually -varied in lovely proportions. Fig. 10 shows the elevations of the buds -on five different sprays of oak; A and B being of the real size (short -shoots); C, D, and E, on a reduced scale. I have not traced the cause -of the apparent tendency of the buds to follow in pairs, in these longer -shoots. - -[Illustration: FIG. 10.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 11.] - -Sec. 11. Lastly: If the spiral be constructed so as to bring the buds -nearly on opposite sides of the stem, though alternate in succession, -the stem, most probably, will shoot a little away from each bud after -throwing it off, and thus establish the oscillatory form _b_, Fig. 11, -which, when the buds are placed, as in this case, at diminishing -intervals, is very beautiful.[3] - -Sec. 12. I fear this has been a tiresome chapter; but it is necessary to -master the elementary structure, if we are to understand anything of -trees; and the reader will therefore, perhaps, take patience enough to -look at one or two examples of the spray structure of the second great -class of builders, in which the leaves are opposite. Nearly all -opposite-leaved trees grow, normally, like vegetable weathercocks run to -seed, with north and south, and east and west pointers thrown off -alternately one over another, as in Fig. 12. - -[Illustration: FIG. 12.] - -This, I say, is the normal condition. Under certain circumstances, north -and south pointers set themselves north-east and south-west; this -concession being acknowledged and imitated by the east and west pointers -at the next opportunity; but, for the present, let us keep to our simple -form. - -The first business of the budding stem, is to get every pair of buds set -accurately at right angles to the one below. Here are some examples of -the way it contrives this. A, Fig. 13, is the section of the stem of a -spray of box, magnified eight or nine times, just where it throws off -two of its leaves, suppose on north and south sides. The crescents below -and above are sections through the leaf-stalks thrown off on each side. -Just above this joint, the section of the stem is B, which is the normal -section of a box-stem, as Fig. 5 is of an oak's. This, as it ascends, -becomes C, elongating itself now east and west; and the section next to -C, would be again A turned that way; or, taking the succession -completely through two joints, and of the real size, it would be thus: -Fig. 14. - -[Illustration: FIG. 13.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 14.] - -The stem of the spotted aucuba is normally hexagonal, as that of the box -is normally square. It is very dexterous and delicate in its mode of -transformation to the two sides. Through the joint it is A, Fig. 15. -Above joint, B, normal, passing on into C, and D for the next joint. - -[Illustration: FIG. 15.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 16.] - -While in the horse-chestnut, a larger tree, and, as we shall see -hereafter, therefore less regular in conduct, the section, normally -hexagonal, is much rounded and softened into irregularities; A, Fig. 16, -becoming, as it buds, B and C. The dark diamond beside C is a section -through a bud, in which, however small, the quatrefoil disposition is -always seen complete: the four little infant leaves with a queen leaf in -the middle, all laid in their fan-shaped feebleness, safe in a white -cloud of miniature woollen blanket. - -Sec. 13. The elementary structure of all important trees may, I think, thus -be resolved into three principal forms: three-leaved, Fig. 9; -four-leaved, Figs. 13 to 16; and five-leaved, Fig. 8. Or, in well-known -terms, trefoil, quatrefoil, cinqfoil. And these are essential classes, -more complicated forms being usually, it seems to me, resolvable into -these, but these not into each other. The simplest arrangement (Fig. -11), in which the buds are nearly opposite in position, though alternate -in elevation, cannot, I believe, constitute a separate class, being only -an accidental condition of the spiral. If it did, it might be called -difoil; but the important classes are three:-- - - Trefoil, Fig. 9: Type, Rhododendron. - Quatrefoil, Fig. 13: Type, Horse-chestnut. - Cinqfoil, Fig. 5: Type, Oak. - -Sec. 14. The coincidences between beautiful architecture and the -construction of trees must more and more have become marked in the -reader's mind as we advanced; and if he will now look at what I have -said in other places of the use and meaning of the trefoil, quatrefoil, -and cinqfoil, in Gothic architecture, he will see why I could hardly -help thinking and speaking of all trees as builders. But there is yet -one more subtlety in their way of building which we have not noticed. If -the reader will look carefully at the separate shoots in Plate 51, he -will see that the furrows of the stems fall in almost every case into -continuous spiral curves, carrying the whole system of buds with them. -This superinduced spiral action, of which we shall perhaps presently -discover the cause, often takes place vigorously, producing completely -twisted stems of great thickness. It is nearly always existent slightly, -giving farther grace and change to the whole wonderful structure. And -thus we have, as the final result of one year's vegetative labor on any -single spray, a twisted tower, not similar at any height of its -building: or (for, as we shall see presently, it loses in diameter at -each bud) a twisted spire, correspondent somewhat in principle to the -twisted spire of Dijon, or twisted fountain of Ulm, or twisted shafts of -Verona. Bossed as it ascends with living sculpture, chiselled, not by -diminution but through increase, it rises by one consistent impulse from -its base to its minaret, ready, in spring-time, to throw round it at the -crest at once the radiance of fresh youth and the promise of restoration -after that youth has passed away. A marvellous creation: nay might we -not almost say, a marvellous creature full of prescience in its infancy, -foreboding even, in the earliest gladness of its opening to sunshine, -the hour of fainting strength and falling leaf, and guarding under the -shade of its faithful shields the bud that is to bear its hope through -winter's shieldless sleep? - -Men often look to bring about great results by violent and unprepared -effort. But it is only in fair and forecast order, "as the earth -bringeth forth her bud," that righteousness and praise may spring forth -before the nations. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The added portion, surrounding two of the sides of the pentagon, - is the preparation for the stalk of the leaf, which, on detaching - itself from the stem, presents variable sections, of which those - numbered 1 to 4, Fig. 7, are examples. I cannot determine the proper - normal form. The bulb-shaped spot in the heart of the uppermost of - the five projections in Fig. 6 is the root of the bud. - - [2] For more accurate information the reader may consult Professor - Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (Longman, 1848), vol. i. p. 245, - _et seqq._ - - [3] Fig. 11 is a shoot of the line, drawn on two sides, to show its - continuous curve in one direction, and alternated curves in another. - The buds, which may be seen to be at equal heights in the two - figures, are exquisitely proportioned in their distances. There is no - end to the refinement of system, if we choose to pursue it. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE LEAF. - - -Sec. 1. Having now some clear idea of the position of the bud, we have next -to examine the forms and structure of its shield--the leaf which guards -it. You will form the best general idea of the flattened leaf of -shield-builders by thinking of it as you would of a mast and sail. More -consistently with our classification, we might perhaps say, by thinking -always of the arm sustaining the shield; but we should be in danger of -carrying fancy too far, and the likeness of mast and sail is closer, for -the mast tapers as the leaf-rib does, while the hand holding the -uppermost strap of the buckler clenches itself. Whichever figure we use, -it will cure us of the bad habit of imagining a leaf composed of a short -stalk with a broad expansion at the end of it. Whereas we should always -think of the stalk as running right up the leaf to its point, and -carrying the expanded, or foliate part, as the mast of a lugger does its -sail. To some extent, indeed, it has yards also, ribs branching from the -innermost one; only the yards of the leaf will not run up and down, -which is one essential function of a sailyard. - -Sec. 2. The analogy will, however, serve one step more. As the sail must be -on one side of the mast, so the expansion of a leaf is on one side of -its central rib, or of its system of ribs. It is laid over them as if it -were stretched over a frame, so that on the upper surface it is -comparatively smooth; on the lower, barred. The understanding of the -broad relations of these parts is the principal work we have to do in -this chapter. - -Sec. 3. First, then, you may roughly assume that the section of any -leaf-mast will be a crescent, as at _a_, Fig. 17 (compare Fig. 7 above). -The flat side is the uppermost, the round side underneath, and the flat -or upper side caries the leaf. You can at once see the convenience of -this structure for fitting to a central stem. Suppose the central stem -has a little hole in the centre, _b_, Fig. 17, and that you cut it down -through the middle (as terrible knights used to cut their enemies in the -dark ages, so that half the head fell on one side, and half on the -other): Pull the two halves separate, _c_, and they will nearly -represent the shape and position of opposite leaf-ribs. In reality the -leaf-stalks have to fit themselves to the central stem, _a_, and as we -shall see presently, to lap round it: but we must not go too fast. - -[Illustration: FIG. 17.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 18.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 19.] - -Sec. 4. Now, _a_, Fig. 17, being the general type of a leaf-stalk, Fig. 18 -is the general type of the way it expands into and carries its leaf;[1] -this figure being the enlargement of a typical section right across any -leaf, the dotted lines show the under surface foreshortened. You see I -have made one side broader than the other. I mean that. It is typically -so. Nature cannot endure two sides of a leaf to be alike. By encouraging -one side more than the other, either by giving it more air or light, or -perhaps in a chief degree by the mere fact of the moisture necessarily -accumulating on the lower edge when it rains, and the other always -drying first, she contrives it so, that if the essential form or idea of -the leaf be _a_, Fig. 19, the actual form will always be _c_, or an -approximate to it; one half being pushed in advance of the other, as at -_b_, and all reconciled by soft curvature, _c_. The effort of the leaf -to keep itself symmetrical rights it, however, often at the point, so -that the insertion of the stalk only makes the inequality manifest. But -it follows that the sides of a straight section across the leaf are -unequal all the way up, as in my drawing, except at one point. - -[Illustration: FIG. 20.] - -Sec. 5. I have represented the two wings of the leaf as slightly convex on -the upper surface. This is also on the whole a typical character. I use -the expression "wings of the leaf," because supposing we exaggerate the -main rib a little, the section will generally resemble a bad painter's -type of a bird (_a_, Fig. 20). Sometimes the outer edges curl up, _b_, -but an entirely concave form, _c_, is rare. When _b_ is strongly -developed, closing well in, the leaf gets a good deal the look of a boat -with a keel. - -[Illustration: FIG. 21.] - -Sec. 6. If now you take this oblique form of sail, and cut it into any -number of required pieces down to its mast, as in Fig. 21, A, and then -suppose each of the pieces to contract into studding-sails at the side, -you will have whatever type of divided leaf you choose to shape it for. -In Fig. 21, A, B, I have taken the rose as the simplest type. The leaf -is given in separate contour at C; but that of the mountain ash, A, -Fig. 22, suggests the original oval form which encloses all the -subdivisions much more beautifully. Each of the studding-sails in this -ash-leaf looks much at first as if he were himself a mainsail. But you -may know him always to be a subordinate, by observing that the -inequality of the two sides which is brought about by accidental -influences in the mainsail, is an organic law in the studding-sail. The -real leaf tries to set itself evenly on its mast; and the inequality is -only a graceful concession to circumstances. But the subordinate or -studding-sail is always _by law_ larger at one side than the other; and -if he is himself again divided into smaller sails, he will have larger -sails on the lowest side, or one more sail on the lowest side, than he -has on the other. He always wears, therefore, a servant's, or, at least, -subordinate's dress. You may know him anywhere as not the master. Even -in the ash leaflet, of which I have outlined one separately, B, Fig. 22, -this is clearly seen; but it is much more distinct in more finely -divided leaves.[2] - -[Illustration: FIG. 22] - -Sec. 7. Observe, then, that leaves are broadly divisible into mainsails and -studding-sails; but that the word _leaf_ is properly to be used only of -the mainsail; leaflet is the best word for minor divisions; and whether -these minor members are only separated by deep cuts, or become complete -stalked leaflets, still they are always to be thought of merely as parts -of a true leaf. - -It follows from the mode of their construction that leaflets must always -lie more or less _flat_, or edge to edge, in a continuous plane. This -position distinguishes them from true leaves as much as their oblique -form, and distinguishes them with the same delicate likeness of system; -for as the true leaf takes, accidentally and partially, the oblique -outline which is legally required in the subordinate, so the true leaf -takes accidentally and partially the flat disposition which is legally -required in the subordinate. And this point of position we must now -study. Henceforward, throughout this chapter, the reader will please -note that I speak only of true _leaves_, not of _leaflets_. - -[Illustration: FIG. 23.] - -Sec. 8. LAW I. THE LAW OF DEFLECTION.--The first law, then, respecting -position in true leaves, is that they fall gradually back from the -uppermost one, or uppermost group. They are never set as at _a_, Fig. -23, but always as at _b_. The reader may see at once that they have more -room and comfort by means of the latter arrangement. The law is carried -out with more or less distinctness according to the habit of the plant; -but is always acknowledged. - -[Illustration: FIG. 24.] - -In strong-leaved shrubs or trees it is shown with great distinctness and -beauty: the phillyrea shoot, for instance, Fig. 24, is almost in as true -symmetry as a Greek honeysuckle ornament. In the hawthorn shoot, -central in Plate 52, opposite, the law is seen very slightly, yet it -rules all the play and fantasy of the varied leaves, gradually -depressing their lines as they are set lower. In crowded foliage of -large trees the disposition of each separate leaf is not so manifest. -For there is a strange coincidence in this between trees and communities -of men. When the community is small, people fall more easily into their -places, and take, each in his place, a firmer standing than can be -obtained by the individuals of a great nation. The members of a vast -community are separately weaker, as an aspen or elm leaf is thin, -tremulous, and directionless, compared with the spear-like setting and -firm substance of a rhododendron or laurel leaf. The laurel and -rhododendron are like the Athenian or Florentine republics; the aspen -like England--strong-trunked enough when put to proof, and very good for -making cartwheels of, but shaking pale with epidemic panic at every -breeze. Nevertheless, the aspen has the better of the great nation, in -that if you take it bough by bough, you shall find the gentle law of -respect and room for each other truly observed by the leaves in such -broken way as they can manage it; but in the nation you find every one -scrambling for his neighbor's place. - -This, then, is our first law, which we may generally call the Law of -Deflection; or, if the position of the leaves with respect to the root -be regarded, of Radiation. The second is more curious, and we must go -back over our ground a little to get at it. - -[Illustration: 52. Spirals of Thorn.] - -Sec. 9. LAW II. THE LAW OF SUCCESSION.--From what we saw of the position of -buds, it follows that in every tree the leaves at the end of the spray, -taking the direction given them by the uppermost cycle or spiral of the -buds, will fall naturally into a starry group, expressive of the order -of their growth. In an oak we shall have a cluster of five leaves, in a -horse-chestnut of four, in a rhododendron of six, and so on. But -observe, if we draw the oak-leaves all equal, as at _a_, Fig. 25, or the -chestnut's (_b_), or the rhododendron's (_c_), you instantly will feel, -or ought to feel, that something is wrong; that those are not foliage -forms--not even normally or typically so--but dead forms, like crystals -of snow. Considering this, and looking back to last chapter, you will -see that the buds which throw out these leaves do not grow side by side, -but one above another. In the oak and rhododendron, all five and all -six buds are at different heights; in the chestnut, one couple is above -the other couple. - -[Illustration: FIG. 25.] - -Sec. 10. Now so surely as one bud is above another, it must be stronger or -weaker than that other. The shoot may either be increasing in strength -as it advances, or declining; in either case, the buds must vary in -power, and the leaves in size. At the top of the shoot, the last or -uppermost leaves are mostly the smallest; of course always so in spring -as they develope. - -[Illustration: FIG. 26.] - -Let us then apply these conditions to our formal figure above, and -suppose each leaf to be weaker in its order of succession. The oak -becomes as _a_, Fig. 26, the chestnut shoot as _b_, the rhododendron, -_c_. These, I should think, it can hardly be necessary to tell the -reader, are true normal forms;--respecting which one or two points must -be noticed in detail. - -Sec. 11. The magnitude of the leaves in the oak star diminishes, of course, -in alternate order. The largest leaf is the lowest, 1 in Figure 8, p. -14. While the largest leaf forms the bottom, next it, opposite each -other, come the third and fourth, in order and magnitude, and the fifth -and second form the top. An oak star is, therefore, always an oblique -star; but in the chestnut and other quatrefoil trees, though the -uppermost couple of leaves must always be smaller than the lowermost -couple, there appears no geometrical reason why the opposite leaves of -each couple should vary in size. Nevertheless, they always do, so that -the quatrefoil becomes oblique as well as the cinqfoil, as you see it is -in Fig. 26. - -[Illustration: FIG. 27.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 28.] - -The normal of four-foils is therefore as in Fig. 27, A (maple): with -magnitudes, in order numbered; but it often happens that an opposite -pair agree to become largest and smallest; thus giving the pretty -symmetry, Fig. 27, B (spotted aucuba). Of course the quatrefoil in -reality is always less formal, one pair of leaves more or less hiding or -preceding the other. Fig. 28 is the outline of a young one in the maple. - -[Illustration: FIG. 29.] - -Sec. 12. The third form is more complex, and we must take the pains to -follow out what we left unobserved in last chapter respecting the way a -triplicate plant gets out of its difficulties. - -Draw a circle as in Fig. 29, and two lines, AB, BC, touching it, equal -to each other, and each divided accurately in half where they touch the -circle, so that AP shall be equal to PB, BQ, and QC. And let the lines -AB and BC be so placed that a dotted line AC, joining their extremities, -would not be much longer than either of them. - -[Illustration: FIG. 30.] - -Continue to draw lines of the same length all round the circle. Lay five -of them, AB, BC, CD, DE, EF. Then join the points AD, EB, and CF, and -you have Fig. 30, which is a hexagon, with the following curious -properties. It has one side largest, CD, two sides less, but equal to -each other, AE and BF; and three sides less still, and equal to each -other, AD, CF, and BE. - -[Illustration: FIG. 31.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 32.] - -Now put leaves into this hexagon, Fig. 31, and you will see how -charmingly the rhododendron has got out of its difficulties. The next -cycle will put a leaf in at the gap at the top, and begin a new hexagon. -Observe, however, this geometrical figure is only to the rhododendron -what the _a_ in Fig. 25 is to the oak, the icy or dead form. To get the -living normal form we must introduce our law of succession. That is to -say, the five lines A B, B C, &c., must continually diminish, as they -proceed, and therefore continually approach the centre; roughly, as in -Fig. 32. - -[Illustration: FIG. 33.] - -Sec. 13. I dread entering into the finer properties of this construction, -but the reader cannot now fail to feel their beautiful result either in -the cluster in Fig. 26, or here in Fig. 33, which is a richer and more -oblique one. The three leaves of the uppermost triad are perfectly seen, -closing over the bud; and the general form is clear, though the lower -triads are confused to the eye by unequal development, as in these -complex arrangements is almost always the case. The more difficulties -are to be encountered the more licence is given to the plant in dealing -with them, and we shall hardly ever find a rhododendron shoot fulfilling -its splendid spiral as an oak does its simple one. - -Here, for instance, is the actual order of ascending leaves in four -rhododendron shoots which I gather at random. - -[Illustration: FIG. 34.] - -Of these, A is the only quite well-conducted one; B takes one short -step, C, one step backwards, and D, two steps back and one, too short, -forward. - -[Illustration: FIG. 35.] - -Sec. 14. LAW III. THE LAW OF RESILIENCE.--If you have been gathering any -branches from the trees I have named among quatrefoils (the box is the -best for exemplification), you have perhaps been embarrassed by finding -that the leaves, instead of growing on four sides of the stem, did -practically grow oppositely on two. But if you look closely at the -places of their insertion, you will find they indeed spring on all four -sides; and that in order to take the flattened opposite position, each -leaf twists round on its stalk, as in Fig. 35, which represents a -box-leaf magnified and foreshortened. The leaves do this in order to -avoid growing downwards, where the position of the bough and bud would, -if the leaves regularly kept their places, involve downward growth. The -leaves always rise up on each side from beneath, and form a flattened -group, more or less distinctly in proportion to the horizontality of the -bough, and the contiguity of foliage below and above. I shall not -trouble myself to illustrate this law, as you have only to gather a few -tree-sprays to see its effect. But you must note the resulting -characters on _every_ leaf; namely, that not one leaf in a thousand -grows without a fixed turn in its stalk; warping and varying the whole -of the curve on the two edges, throughout its length, and thus producing -the loveliest conditions of its form. We shall presently trace the law -of resilience farther on a larger scale: meanwhile, in summing the -results of our inquiry thus far, let us remember that every one of these -laws is observed with varying accuracy and gentle equity, according not -only to the strength and fellowship of foliage on the spray itself, but -according to the place and circumstances of its growth. - -Sec. 15. For the leaves, as we shall see immediately, are the feeders of -the plant. Their own orderly habits of succession must not interfere -with their main business of finding food. Where the sun and air are, the -leaf must go, whether it be out of order or not. So, therefore, in any -group, the first consideration with the young leaves is much like that -of young bees, how to keep out of each other's way, that every one may -at once leave its neighbors as much free-air pasture as possible, and -obtain a relative freedom for itself. This would be a quite simple -matter, and produce other simply balanced forms, if each branch, with -open air all round it, had nothing to think of but reconcilement of -interests among its own leaves. But every branch has others to meet or -to cross, sharing with them, in various advantage, what shade, or sun, -or rain is to be had. Hence every single leaf-cluster presents the -general aspect of a little family, entirely at unity among themselves, -but obliged to get their living by various shifts, concessions, and -infringements of the family rules, in order not to invade the privileges -of other people in their neighborhood. - -Sec. 16. And in the arrangement of these concessions there is an exquisite -sensibility among the leaves. They do not grow each to his own liking, -till they run against one another, and then turn back sulkily; but by a -watchful instinct, far apart, they anticipate their companions' courses, -as ships at sea, and in every new unfolding of their edged tissue, guide -themselves by the sense of each other's remote presence, and by a -watchful penetration of leafy purpose in the far future. So that every -shadow which one casts on the next, and every glint of sun which each -reflects to the next, and every touch which in toss of storm each -receives from the next, aid or arrest the development of their advancing -form, and direct, as will be safest and best, the curve of every fold -and the current of every vein. - -Sec. 17. And this peculiar character exists in all the structures thus -developed, that they are always visibly the result of a volition on the -part of the leaf, meeting an external force or fate, to which it is -never passively subjected. Upon it, as on a mineral in the course of -formation, the great merciless influences of the universe, and the -oppressive powers of minor things immediately near it, act continually. -Heat and cold, gravity and the other attractions, windy pressure, or -local and unhealthy restraint, must, in certain inevitable degrees, -affect the whole of its life. But it is _life_ which they affect;--a -life of progress and will,--not a merely passive accumulation of -substance. This may be seen by a single glance. The mineral,--suppose an -agate in the course of formation--shows in every line nothing but a dead -submission to surrounding force. Flowing, or congealing, its substance -is here repelled, there attracted, unresistingly to its place, and its -languid sinuosities follow the clefts of the rock that contains them, in -servile deflexion and compulsory cohesion, impotently calculable, and -cold. But the leaf, full of fears and affections, shrinks and seeks, as -it obeys. Not thrust, but awed into its retiring; not dragged, but won -to its advance; not bent aside, as by a bridle, into new courses of -growth: but persuaded and converted through tender continuance of -voluntary change. - -Sec. 18. The mineral and it differing thus widely in separate being, they -differ no less in modes of companionship. The mineral crystals group -themselves neither in succession, nor in sympathy; but great and small -recklessly strive for place, and deface or distort each other as they -gather into opponent asperities. The confused crowd fills the rock -cavity, hanging together in a glittering, yet sordid heap, in which -nearly every crystal, owing to their vain contention, is imperfect, or -impure. Here and there one, at the cost and in defiance of the rest, -rises into unwarped shape or unstained clearness. But the order of the -leaves is one of soft and subdued concession. Patiently each awaits its -appointed time, accepts its prepared place, yields its required -observance. Under every oppression of external accident, the group yet -follows a law laid down in its own heart; and all the members of it, -whether in sickness or health, in strength or languor, combine to carry -out this first and last heart law; receiving, and seeming to desire for -themselves and for each other, only life which they may communicate, and -loveliness which they may reflect. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] I believe the undermost of the two divisions of the leaf - represents vegetable tissue _returning_ from the extremity. See - Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (1848), vol. i. p. 253. - - [2] For farther notes on this subject, see my _Elements of Drawing_, - p. 286. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -LEAF ASPECTS. - - -Sec. 1. Before following farther our inquiry into tree structure, it will -rest us, and perhaps forward our work a little, to make some use of what -we know already. - -It results generally from what we have seen that any group of four or -five leaves presenting itself in its natural position to the eye, -consists of a series of forms connected by exquisite and complex -symmetries, and that these forms will be not only varied in themselves, -but every one of them seen under a different condition of -foreshortening. - -The facility of drawing the group may be judged of by a comparison. -Suppose five or six boats, very beautifully built, and sharp in the -prow, to start all from one point, and the first bearing up into the -wind, the other three or four to fall off from it in succession an equal -number of points,[1] taking each, in consequence, a different slope of -deck from the stem of the sail. Suppose, also, that the bows of these -boats were transparent, so that you could see the under sides of their -decks as well as the upper;--and that it were required of you to draw -all their five decks, the under or upper side, as their curve showed it, -in true foreshortened perspective, indicating the exact distance each -boat had reached at a given moment from the central point they started -from. - -If you can do that, you can draw a rose-leaf. Not otherwise. - -Sec. 2. When, some few years ago, the pre-Raphaelites began to lead our -wandering artists back into the eternal paths of all great Art, and -showed that whatever men drew at all, ought to be drawn accurately and -knowingly; not blunderingly nor by guess (leaves of trees among other -things): as ignorant pride on the one hand refused their teaching, -ignorant hope caught at it on the other. "What!" said many a feeble -young student to himself. "Painting is not a matter of science then, nor -of supreme skill, nor of inventive brain. I have only to go and paint -the leaves of the trees as they grow, and I shall produce beautiful -landscapes directly." - -Alas! my innocent young friend. "Paint the leaves as they grow!" If you -can paint _one_ leaf, you can paint the world. These pre-Raphaelite -laws, which you think so light, lay stern on the strength of Apelles and -Zeuxis; put Titian to thoughtful trouble; are unrelaxed yet, and -unrelaxable for ever. Paint a leaf indeed! Above-named Titian has done -it: Correggio, moreover, and Giorgione: and Leonardo, very nearly, -trying hard. Holbein, three or four times, in precious pieces, highest -wrought. Raphael, it may be, in one or two crowns of Muse or Sibyl. If -any one else, in later times, we have to consider. - -Sec. 3. At least until recently, the perception of organic leaf form was -absolutely, in all painters whatsoever, proportionate to their power of -drawing the human figure. All the great Italian designers drew leaves -thoroughly well, though none quite so fondly as Correggio. Rubens drew -them coarsely and vigorously, just as he drew limbs. Among the inferior -Dutch painters, the leaf-painting degenerates in proportion to the -diminishing power in figure. Cuyp, Wouvermans, and Paul Potter, paint -better foliage than either Hobbima or Ruysdael. - -Sec. 4. In like manner the power of treating vegetation in sculpture is -absolutely commensurate with nobleness of figure design. The quantity, -richness, or deceptive finish may be greater in third-rate work; but in -true understanding and force of arrangement the leaf and the human -figure show always parallel skill. The leaf-mouldings of Lorenzo -Ghiberti are unrivalled, as his bas-reliefs are, and the severe foliage -of the Cathedral of Chartres is as grand as its queen-statues. - -Sec. 5. The greatest draughtsmen draw leaves, like everything else, of -their full-life size in the nearest part of the picture. They cannot be -rightly drawn on any other terms. It is impossible to reduce a group so -treated without losing much of its character; and more painfully -impossible to represent by engraving any good workman's handling. I -intended to have inserted in this place an engraving of the cluster of -oak-leaves above Correggio's Antiope in the Louvre, but it is too -lovely; and if I am able to engrave it at all, it must be separately, -and of its own size. So I draw, roughly, instead, a group of oak-leaves -on a young shoot, a little curled with autumn frost: Plate 53. I could -not draw them accurately enough if I drew them in spring. They would -droop and lose their relations. Thus roughly drawn, and losing some of -their grace, by withering, they, nevertheless, have enough left to show -how noble leaf-form is; and to prove, it seems to me, that Dutch -draughtsmen do not wholly express it. For instance, Fig. 3, Plate 54, is -a facsimile of a bit of the nearest oak foliage out of Hobbima's Scene -with the Water-mill, No. 131, in the Dulwich Gallery. Compared with the -real forms of oak-leaf, in Plate 53, it may, I hope, at least enable my -readers to understand, if they choose, why, never having ceased to rate -the Dutch painters for their meanness or minuteness, I yet accepted the -leaf-painting of the pre-Raphaelites with reverence and hope. - -[Illustration: 53. The Dryad's Crown.] - -[Illustration: 54. Dutch Leafage.] - -Sec. 6. No word has been more harmfully misused than that ugly one of -"niggling." I should be glad if it were entirely banished from service -and record. The only essential question about drawing is whether it be -right or wrong; that it be small or large, swift or slow, is a matter of -convenience only. But so far as the word may be legitimately used at -all, it belongs especially to such execution as this of -Hobbima's--execution which substitutes, on whatever scale, a mechanical -trick or habit of hand for true drawing of known or intended forms. So -long as the work is thoughtfully directed, there is no niggling. In a -small Greek coin the muscles of the human body are as grandly treated as -in a colossal statue; and a fine vignette of Turner's will show separate -touches often more extended in intention, and stronger in result, than -those of his largest oil pictures. In the vignette of the picture of -Ginevra, at page 90 of Roger's Italy, the forefinger touching the lip is -entirely and rightly drawn, bent at the two joints, within the length of -the thirtieth of an inch, and the whole hand within the space of one of -those "niggling" touches of Hobbima. But if this work were magnified, it -would be seen to be a strong and simple expression of a hand by thick -black lines. - -Sec. 7. Niggling, therefore, essentially means disorganized and mechanical -work, applied on a scale which may deceive a vulgar or ignorant person -into the idea of its being true:--a definition applicable to the whole -of the leaf-painting of the Dutch landscapists in distant effect, and -for the most part to that of their near subjects also. Cuyp and -Wouvermans, as before stated, and others, in proportion to their power -over the figure, drew leaves better in the foreground, yet never -altogether well; for though Cuyp often draws a single leaf carefully -(weedy ground-vegetation especially, with great truth), he never felt -the connection of leaves, but scattered them on the boughs at random. -Fig. 1 in Plate 54 is nearly a _facsimile_ of part of the branch on the -left side in our National Gallery picture. Its entire want of grace and -organization ought to be felt at a glance, after the work we have gone -through. The average conditions of leafage-painting among the Dutch are -better represented by Fig. 2, Plate 54, which is a piece of the foliage -from the Cuyp in the Dulwich Gallery, No. 163. It is merely wrought with -a mechanical play of brush in a well-trained hand, gradating the color -irregularly and agreeably, but with no more feeling or knowledge of -leafage than a paperstainer shows in graining a pattern. A bit of the -stalk is seen on the left; it might just as well have been on the other -side, for any connection the leaves have with it. As the leafage retires -into distance, the Dutch painters merely diminish their _scale_ of -touch. The touch itself remains the same, but its effect is falser; for -though the separate stains or blots in Fig. 2, do not rightly represent -the forms of leaves, they may not inaccurately represent the number of -leaves on that spray. But in distance, when, instead of one spray, we -have thousands in sight, no human industry, nor possible diminution of -touch can represent their mist of foliage, and the Dutch work becomes -doubly base, by reason of false form, and lost infinity. - -Sec. 8. Hence what I said in our first inquiry about foliage, "A single -dusty roll of Turner's brush is more truly expressive of the infinitude -of foliage than the niggling of Hobbima could have rendered his canvas, -if he had worked on it till doomsday." And this brings me to the main -difficulty I have had in preparing this section. That infinitude of -Turner's execution attaches not only to his distant work, but in due -degree to the nearest pieces of his trees. As I have shown in the -chapter on mystery, he perfected the system of art, as applicable to -landscape, by the introduction of this infiniteness. In other qualities -he is often only equal, in some inferior, to great preceding painters; -but in this mystery he stands alone. He could not paint a cluster of -leaves better than Titian; but he could a bough, much more a distant -mass of foliage. No man ever before painted a distant tree rightly, or a -full-leaved branch rightly. All Titian's distant branches are ponderous -flakes, as if covered with seaweed, while Veronese's and Raphael's are -conventional, being exquisitely ornamental arrangements of small perfect -leaves. See the background of the Parnassus in Volpato's plate. It is -very lovely, however. - -[Illustration: 55. By the Way-side.] - -Sec. 9. But this peculiar execution of Turner's is entirely uncopiable; -least of all to be copied in engraving. It is at once so dexterous and -so keenly cunning, swiftest play of hand being applied with concentrated -attention on every movement, that no care in facsimile will render it. -The delay in the conclusion of this work has been partly caused by the -failure of repeated attempts to express this execution. I see my way now -to some partial result; but must get the writing done, and give -undivided care to it before I attempt to produce costly plates. -Meanwhile, the little cluster of foliage opposite, from the thicket -which runs up the bank on the right-hand side of the drawing of -Richmond, looking up the river, in the Yorkshire series, will give the -reader some idea of the mingled definiteness and mystery of Turner's -work, as opposed to the mechanism of the Dutch on the one side, and the -conventional severity of the Italians on the other. It should be -compared with the published engraving in the Yorkshire series; for just -as much increase, both in quantity and refinement, would be necessary in -every portion of the picture, before any true conception could be given -of the richness of Turner's designs. A fragment of distant foliage I may -give farther on; but, in order to judge rightly of either example, we -must know one or two points in the structure of branches, requiring yet -some irksome patience of inquiry, which I am compelled to ask the reader -to grant me through another two chapters. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I don't know that this is rightly expressed; but the meaning will - be understood. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE BRANCH. - - -Sec. 1. We have hitherto spoken of each shoot as either straight or only -warped by its spiral tendency; but no shoot of any length, except those -of the sapling, ever can be straight; for, as the family of leaves which -it bears are forced unanimously to take some given direction in search -of food or light, the stalk necessarily obeys the same impulse, and -bends itself so as to sustain them in their adopted position, with the -greatest ease to itself and comfort for them. - -In doing this, it has two main influences to comply or contend with: the -first, the direct action of the leaves in drawing it this way or that, -as they themselves seek particular situations; the second, the pressure -of their absolute weight after they have taken their places, depressing -each bough in a given degree; the leverage increasing as the leaf -extends. To these principal forces may frequently be added that of some -prevalent wind, which, on a majority of days in the year, bends the -bough, leaves and all, for hours together, out of its normal position. -Owing to these three forces, the shoot is nearly sure to be curved in at -least two directions;[1] that is to say, not merely as the rim of a -wine-glass is curved (so that, looking at it horizontally, the circle -becomes a straight line), but as the edge of a lip or an eyebrow is -curved, partly upward, partly forwards, so that in no possible -perspective can it be seen as a straight line. Similarly, no perspective -will usually bring a shoot of a free-growing tree to appear a straight -line. - -Sec. 2. It is evident that the more leaves the stalk has to sustain, the -more strength it requires. It might appear, therefore, not unadvisable, -that every leaf should, as it grew, pay a small tax to the stalk for its -sustenance; so that there might be no fear of any number of leaves being -too oppressive to their bearer. Which, accordingly, is just what the -leaves do. Each, from the moment of his complete majority, pays a stated -tax to the stalk; that is to say, collects for it a certain quantity of -wood, or materials for wood, and sends this wood, or what ultimately -will become wood, _down_ the stalk to add to its thickness. - -Sec. 3. "Down the stalk?" yes, and down a great way farther. For, as the -leaves, if they did not thus contribute to their own support, would soon -be too heavy for the spray, so if the spray, with its family of leaves, -contributed nothing to the thickness of the branch, the leaf-families -would soon break down their sustaining branches. And, similarly, if the -branches gave nothing to the stem, the stem would soon fall under its -boughs. Therefore, by a power of which I believe no sufficient account -exists,[2] as each leaf adds to the thickness of the shoot, so each -shoot to the branch, so each branch to the stem, and that with so -perfect an order and regularity of duty, that from every leaf in all the -countless crowd at the tree's summit, one slender fibre, or at least -fibre's thickness of wood, descends through shoot, through spray, -through branch, and through stem; and having thus added, in its due -proportion, to form the strength of the tree, labors yet farther and -more painfully to provide for its security; and thrusting forward into -the root, loses nothing of its mighty energy, until, mining through the -darkness, it has taken hold in cleft of rock or depth of earth, as -extended as the sweep of its green crest in the free air. - -Sec. 4. Such, at least, is the mechanical aspect of the tree. The work of -its construction, considered as a branch tower, partly propped by -buttresses, partly lashed by cables, is thus shared in by every leaf. -But considering it as a living body to be nourished, it is probably an -inaccurate analogy to speak of the leaves being taxed for the -enlargement of the trunk. Strictly speaking, the trunk enlarges by -sustaining them. For each leaf, however far removed from the ground, -stands in need of nourishment derived from the ground, as well as of -that which it finds in the air; and it simply sends its root down along -the stem of the tree, until it reaches the ground and obtains the -necessary mineral elements. The trunk has been therefore called by some -botanists a "bundle of roots," but I think inaccurately. It is rather a -messenger to the roots.[3] A root, properly so called, is a fibre, -spongy or absorbent at the extremity, which secretes certain elements -from the earth. The stem is by this definition no more a cluster of -roots than a cluster of leaves, but a channel of intercourse between the -roots and the leaves. It can gather no nourishment. It only carries -nourishment, being, in fact, a group of canals for the conveyance of -marketable commodities, with an electric telegraph attached to each, -transmitting messages from leaf to root, and root to leaf, up and down -the tree. But whatever view we take of the operative causes, the -external and visible fact is simply that every leaf does send down from -its stalk a slender thread of woody matter along the sides of the shoot -it grows upon; and that the increase of thickness in stem, proportioned -to the advance of the leaves, corresponds with an increase of thickness -in roots, proportioned to the advance of their outer fibres. How far -interchange of elements takes place between root and leaf, it is not our -work here to examine; the general and broad idea is this, that the whole -tree is fed partly by the earth, partly by the air;--strengthened and -sustained by the one, agitated and educated by the other;--all of it -which is best, in substance, life, and beauty, being drawn more from the -dew of heaven than the fatness of the earth. The results of this -nourishment of the bough by the leaf in external aspect, are the object -of our immediate inquiry. - -Sec. 5. Hitherto we have considered the shoot as an ascending body, -throwing off buds at intervals. This it is indeed; but the part of it -which ascends is not seen externally. Look back to Plate 51. You will -observe that each shoot is furrowed, and that the ridges between the -furrows rise in slightly spiral lines, terminating in the armlets under -the buds which bore last year's leaves. These ridges, which rib the -shoot so distinctly, are not on the ascending part of it. They are the -contributions of each successive leaf thrown out as it ascended. Every -leaf sent down a slender cord, covering and clinging to the shoot -beneath, and increasing its thickness. Each, according to his size and -strength, wove his little strand of cable, as a spider his thread; and -cast it down the side of the springing tower by a marvellous -magic--irresistible! The fall of a granite pyramid from an Alp may -perhaps be stayed; the descending force of that silver thread shall not -be stayed. It will split the rocks themselves at its roots, if need be, -rather than fail in its work. - -So many leaves, so many silver cords. Count--for by just the thickness -of one cord, beneath each leaf, let fall in fivefold order round and -round, the shoot increases in thickness to its root:--a spire built -downwards from the heaven. - -[Illustration: FIG. 36.] - -And now we see why the leaves dislike being above each other. Each seeks -a vacant place, where he may freely let fall the cord. The turning aside -of the cable to avoid the buds beneath, is one of the main causes of -spiral curvature, as the shoot increases. It required all the care I -could give to the drawing, and all Mr. Armytage's skill in engraving -Plate 51, to express, though drawing them nearly of their full size, the -principal courses of curvature in even this least graceful of trees. - -Sec. 6. According to the structure thus ascertained, the body of the shoot -may at any point be considered as formed by a central rod, represented -by the shaded inner circle, _a_, Fig. 36, surrounded by as many rods of -descending external wood as there are leaves above the point where the -section is made. The first five leaves above send down the first dark -rods; and the next above send down those between, which, being from -younger leaves, are less liable to interstices; then the third group -sending down the side, it will be seen at a glance how a spiral action -is produced. It would lead us into too subtile detail, if I traced the -forces of this spiral superimposition. I must be content to let the -reader peruse this part of the subject for himself, if it amuses him, -and lead to larger questions. - -Sec. 7. Broadly and practically, we may consider the whole cluster of woody -material in Fig. 36 as one circle of fibrous substance formed round a -small central rod. The real appearance in most trees is approximately as -in _b_, Fig. 36, the radiating structure becoming more distinct in -proportion to the largeness and compactness of the wood.[4] - -[Illustration: FIG. 37.] - -Now the next question is, how this descending external coating of wood -will behave itself when it comes to the forking of the shoots. To -simplify the examination of this, let us suppose the original or growing -shoot (whose section is the shaded inner circle in Fig. 36) to have been -in the form of a letter Y, and no thicker than a stout iron wire, as in -Fig. 37. Down the arms of this letter Y, we have two fibrous streams -running in the direction of the arrows. If the depth or thickness of -these streams be such as at _b_ and _c_, what will their thickness be -when they unite at _e_? Evidently, the quantity of wood surrounding the -vertical wire at _e_ must be twice as great as that surrounding the -wires _b_ and _c_. - -Sec. 8. The reader will, perhaps, be good enough to take it on my word (if -he does not know enough of geometry to ascertain), that the large -circle, in Fig. 38, contains twice as much area as either of the two -smaller circles. Putting these circles in position, so as to guide us, -and supposing the trunk to be bounded by straight lines, we have for the -outline of the fork that in Fig. 38. How, then, do the two minor circles -change into one large one? The section of the stem at _a_ is a circle; -and at _b_, is a circle; and at _c_, a circle. But what is it at _e_? -Evidently, if the two circles merely united gradually, without change of -form through a series of figures, such as those at the top of Fig. 39, -the quantity of wood, instead of remaining the same, would diminish from -the contents of two circles to the contents of one. So for every loss -which the circles sustain at this junction, an equal quantity of wood -must be thrust out somehow to the side. Thus, to enable the circles to -run into each other, as far as shown at _b_, in Fig. 39, there must be a -loss between them of as much wood as the shaded space. Therefore, half -of that space must be added, or rather pushed out on each side, and the -section of the uniting branch becomes approximately as in _c_, Fig. 39; -the wood squeezed out encompassing the stem more as the circles close, -until the whole is reconciled into one larger single circle. - -[Illustration: FIG. 38.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 39.] - -Sec. 9. I fear the reader would have no patience with me, if I asked him to -examine, in longitudinal section, the lines of the descending currents -of wood as they eddy into the increased single river. Of course, it is -just what would take place if two strong streams, filling each a -cylindrical pipe, ran together into one larger cylinder, with a central -rod passing up every tube. But, as this central rod increases, and, at -the same time, the supply of the stream from above, every added leaf -contributing its little current, the eddies of wood about the fork -become intensely curious and interesting; of which thus much the reader -may observe in a moment by gathering a branch of any tree (laburnum -shows it better, I think, than most), that the two meeting currents, -first wrinkling a little, then rise in a low wave in the hollow of the -fork, and flow over at the side, making their way to diffuse themselves -round the stem, as in Fig. 40. Seen laterally, the bough bulges out -below the fork, rather curiously and awkwardly, especially if more than -two boughs meet at the same place, growing in one plane, so as to show -the sudden increase on the profile. If the reader is interested in the -subject, he will find strangely complicated and wonderful arrangements -of stream when smaller boughs meet larger (one example is given in Plate -3, Vol. III., where the current of a smaller bough, entering upwards, -pushes its way into the stronger rivers of the stem). But I cannot, of -course, enter into such detail here. - -[Illustration: FIG. 40.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 41.] - -Sec. 10. The little ringed accumulation, repelled from the wood of the -larger trunk at the base of small boughs, may be seen at a glance in any -tree, and needs no illustration; but I give one from Salvator, Fig. 41 -(from his own etching, _Democritus omnium Derisor_), which is -interesting, because it shows the swelling at the bases of insertion, -which yet, Salvator's eye not being quick enough to detect the law of -descent in the fibres, he, with his usual love of ugliness, fastens on -this swollen character, and exaggerates it into an appearance of -disease. The same bloated aspect may be seen in the example already -given from another etching, Vol. III., Plate 4, Fig. 8. - -[Illustration: FIG. 42.] - -Sec. 11. I do not give any more examples from Claude. We have had enough -already in Plate 4, Vol. III., which the reader should examine -carefully. If he will then look forward to Fig. 61 here, he will see how -Turner inserts branches, and with what certain and strange instinct of -fidelity he marks the wrinkled enlargement and sinuous eddies of the -wood rivers where they meet. - -And remember always that Turner's greatness and rightness in all these -points successively depend on no scientific knowledge. He was entirely -ignorant of all the laws we have been developing. He had merely -accustomed himself to see impartially, intensely, and fearlessly. - -[Illustration: FIG. 43.] - -Sec. 12. It may, perhaps, be interesting to compare, with the rude -fallacies of Claude and Salvator, a little piece of earliest art, -wrought by men who could see and feel. The scroll, Fig. 42, is a portion -of that which surrounds the arch in San Zeno of Verona, above the -pillar engraved in the _Stones of Venice_, Plate 17, Vol. I. It is, -therefore, twelfth, or earliest thirteenth century work. Yet the foliage -is already full of spring and life; and in the part of the stem, which I -have given of its real size in Fig. 43, the reader will perhaps be -surprised to see at the junctions the laws of vegetation, which escaped -the sight of all the degenerate landscape-painters of Italy, expressed -by one of her simple architectural workmen six hundred years ago. - -We now know enough, I think, of the internal conditions which regulate -tree-structure to enable us to investigate finally, the great laws of -branch and stem aspect. But they are very beautiful; and we will give -them a separate chapter. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] See the note on Fig. 11, at page 17, which shows these two - directions in a shoot of lime. - - [2] I find that the office and nature of cambium, the causes of the - action of the sap, and the real mode of the formation of buds, are - all still under the investigation of botanists. I do not lose time in - stating the doubts or probabilities which exist on these subjects. - For us, the mechanical fact of the increase of thickness by every - leaf's action is all that needs attention. The reader who wishes for - information as accurate as the present state of science admits, may - consult Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_, and an interesting little - book by Dr. Alexander Harvey on _Trees and their Nature_ (Nisbet & - Co., 1856), to which I owe much help. - - [3] In the true sense a "mediator," ([Greek: mesites]). - - [4] The gradual development of this radiating structure, which is - organic and essential, composed of what are called by botanists - medullary rays, is still a great mystery and wonder to me. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE STEM. - - -Sec. 1. We must be content, in this most complex subject, to advance very -slowly: and our easiest, if not our only way, will be to examine, first, -the conditions under which boughs would form, supposing them all to -divide in one plane, as your hand divides when you lay it flat on the -table, with the fingers as wide apart as you can. And then we will -deduce the laws of ramification which follow on the real structure of -branches, which truly divide, not in one plane, but as your fingers -separate if you hold a large round ball with them. - -The reader has, I hope, a clear idea by this time of the main principle -of tree-growth; namely, that the increase is by addition, or -superimposition, not extension. A branch does not stretch itself out as -a leech stretches its body. But it receives additions at its extremity, -and proportional additions to its thickness. For although the actual -living shoot, or growing point, of any year, lengthens itself gradually -until it reaches its terminal bud, after that bud is formed, its length -is fixed. It is thenceforth one joint of the tree, like the joint of a -pillar, on which other joints of marble may be laid to elongate the -pillar, but which will not itself stretch. A tree is thus truly edified, -or built, like a house. - -Sec. 2. I am not sure with what absolute stringency this law is observed, -or what slight lengthening of substance may be traceable by close -measurement among inferior branches. For practical purposes, we may -assume that the law is final, and that if we represent the state of a -plant, or extremity of branch, in any given year under the simplest -possible type, Fig. 44, _a_, of two shoots, with terminal buds, -springing from one stem, its growth next year may be expressed by the -type, Fig. 44, _b_, in which, the original stems not changing or -increasing, the terminal buds have built up each another story of -plant, or repetition of the original form; and, in order to support this -new edifice, have sent down roots all the way to the ground, so as to -enclose and thicken the inferior stem. - -[Illustration: FIG. 44.] - -But if this is so, how does the original stem, which never lengthens, -ever become the tall trunk of a tree? The arrangement just stated -provides very satisfactorily for making it stout, but not for making it -tall. If the ramification proceeds in this way, the tree must assuredly -become a round compact ball of short sticks, attached to the ground by a -very stout, almost invisible, stem, like a puff-ball. - -For if we take the form above, on a small scale, merely to see what -comes of it, and carry its branching three steps farther, we get the -successive conditions in Fig. 45, of which the last comes already round -to the ground. - -[Illustration: FIG. 45.] - -"But those forms really look something like trees!" Yes, if they were on -a large scale. But each of the little shoots is only six or seven inches -long; the whole cluster would but be three or four feet over, and -touches the ground already at its extremity. It would enlarge if it went -on growing, but never rise from the ground. - -Sec. 3. This is an interesting question: one, also, which, I fear, we must -solve, so far as yet it can be solved, with little help. Perhaps nothing -is more curious in the history of human mind than the way in which the -science of botany has become oppressed by nomenclature. Here is perhaps -the first question which an intelligent child would think of asking -about a tree: "Mamma, how does it make its trunk?" and you may open one -botanical work after another, and good ones too, and by sensible -men,--you shall not find this child's question fairly put, much less -fairly answered. You will be told gravely that a stem has received many -names, such as _culmus_, _stipes_, and _truncus_; that twigs were once -called _flagella_, but are now called _ramuli_; and that Mr. Link calls -a straight stem, with branches on its sides, a _caulis excurrens_; and a -stem, which at a certain distance above the earth breaks out into -irregular ramifications, a _caulis deliquescens_. All thanks and honor -be to Mr. Link! But at this moment, when we want to know _why_ one stem -breaks “at a certain distance," and the other not at all, we find -no great help in those splendid excurrencies and deliquescencies. -“At a certain distance?" Yes: but why not before? or why then? How -was it that, for many and many a year, the young shoots agreed to -construct a vertical tower, or, at least, the nucleus of one, and then, -one merry day, changed their minds, and built about their metropolis in -all directions, nobody knows where, far into the air in free delight? -How is it that yonder larch-stem grows straight and true, while all its -branches, constructed by the same process as the mother trunk, and under -the mother trunk's careful inspection and direction, nevertheless have -lost all their manners, and go forking and flashing about, more like -cracklings of spitefullest lightning than decent branches of trees that -dip green leaves in dew? - -Sec. 4. We have probably, many of us, missed the point of such questions as -these, because we too readily associated the structure of trees with -that of flowers. The flowering part of a plant shoots out or up, in some -given direction, until, at a stated period, it opens or branches into -perfect form by a law just as fixed, and just as inexplicable, as that -which numbers the joints of an animal's skeleton, and puts the head on -its right joint. In many forms of flowers--foxglove, aloe, hemlock, or -blossom of maize--the structure of the flowering part so far assimilates -itself to that of a tree, that we not unnaturally think of a tree only -as a large flower, or large remnant of flower, run to seed. And we -suppose the time and place of its branching to be just as organically -determined as the height of the stalk of straw, or hemlock pipe, and the -fashion of its branching just as fixed as the shape of petals in a pansy -or cowslip. - -Sec. 5. But that is not so; not so in anywise. So far as you can watch a -tree, it is produced throughout by repetitions of the same process, -which repetitions, however, are arbitrarily directed so as to produce -one effect at one time, and another at another time. A young sapling has -his branches as much as the tall tree. He does not shoot up in a long -thin rod, and begin to branch when he is ten or fifteen feet high, as -the hemlock or foxglove does when each has reached its ten or fifteen -inches. The young sapling conducts himself with all the dignity of a -tree from the first;--only he so manages his branches as to form a -support for his future life, in a strong straight trunk, that will hold -him well off the ground. Prudent little sapling!--but how does he manage -this? how keep the young branches from rambling about, till the proper -time, or on what plea dismiss them from his service if they will not -help his provident purpose? So again, there is no difference in mode of -construction between the trunk of a pine and its branch. But external -circumstances so far interfere with the results of this repeated -construction, that a stone pine rises for a hundred feet like a pillar, -and then suddenly bursts into a cloud. It is the knowledge of the mode -in which such change may take place which forms the true natural history -of trees:--or, more accurately, their moral history. An animal is born -with so many limbs, and a head of such a shape. That is, strictly -speaking, not its history, but one fact of its history: a fact of which -no other account can be given than that it was so appointed. But a tree -is born without a head. It has got to make its own head. It is born like -a little family from which a great nation is to spring; and at a certain -time, under peculiar external circumstances, this nation, every -individual of which remains the same in nature and temper, yet gives -itself a new political constitution, and sends out branch colonies, -which enforce forms of law and life entirely different from those of the -parent state. That is the history of the state. It is also the history -of a tree. - -Sec. 6. Of these hidden histories, I know and can tell you as little as I -did of the making of rocks. It will be enough for me if I can put the -difficulty fairly before you, show you clearly such facts as are -necessary to the understanding of great Art, and so leave you to pursue, -at your pleasure, the graceful mystery of this imperfect leafage life. - -I took in the outset the type of a _triple_ but as the most general -that could be given of all trees, because it represents a prevalently -upright main tendency, with a capacity of branching on both sides. I -would have shown the power of branching on _all_ sides if I could; but -we must be content at first with the simplest condition. From what we -have seen since of bud structure, we may now make our type more complete -by giving each bud a root proportioned to its size. And our elementary -type of tree plant will be as in Fig. 46. - -[Illustration: FIG. 46.] - -Sec. 7. Now these three buds, though differently placed, have all one mind. -No bud has an oblique mind. Every one would like, if he could, to grow -upright, and it is because the midmost one has entirely his own way in -this matter, that he is largest. He is an elder brother;--his birthright -is to grow straight towards the sky. A younger child may perhaps -supplant him, if he does not care for his privilege. In the meantime all -are of one family, and love each other,--so that the two lateral buds do -not stoop aside because they like it, but to let their more favored -brother grow in peace. All the three buds and roots have at heart the -same desire;--which is, the one to grow as straight as he can towards -bright heaven, the other as deep as he can into dark earth. Up to light, -and down to shade;--into air and into rock:--that is their mind and -purpose for ever. So far as they can, in kindness to each other, and by -sufferance of external circumstances, work out that destiny, they will. -But their beauty will not result from their working it out,--only from -their maintained purpose and resolve to do so, if it may be. They will -fail--certainly two, perhaps all three of them: fail -egregiously;--ridiculously;--it may be agonizingly. Instead of growing -up, they may be wholly sacrificed to happier buds above, and have to -grow _down_, sideways, roundabout ways, all sorts of ways. Instead of -getting down quietly into the convent of the earth, they may have to -cling and crawl about hardest and hottest angles of it, full in sight of -man and beast, and roughly trodden under foot by them;--stumbling-blocks -to many. - -Yet out of such sacrifice, gracefully made--such misfortune, gloriously -sustained--all their true beauty is to arise. Yes, and from more than -sacrifice--more than misfortune: from _death_. Yes, and more than -death:--from the worst kind of death: not natural, coming to each in -its due time; but premature, oppressed, unnatural, misguided--or so it -would seem--to the poor dying sprays. Yet, without such death, no strong -trunk were ever possible; no grace of glorious limb or glittering leaf; -no companionship with the rest of nature or with man. - -[Illustration: FIG. 47.] - -Sec. 8. Let us see how this must be. We return to our poor little threefold -type, Fig. 46, above. Next year he will become as in Fig. 47. The two -lateral buds keeping as much as may be out of their brother's way, and -yet growing upwards with a will, strike diagonal lines, and in moderate -comfort accomplish their year's life and terminal buds. But what is to -be done next? Forming the triple terminal head on this diagonal line, we -find that one of our next year's buds, _c_, will have to grow down -again, which is very hard; and another, _b_, will run right against the -lateral branch of the upper bud, A, which must not be allowed under any -circumstances. - -What are we to do? - -[Illustration: FIG. 48.] - -Sec. 9. The best we can. Give up our straightness, and some of our length, -and consent to grow short, and crooked. But _b_ shall be ordered to -stoop forward and keep his head out of the great bough's way, as in Fig. -48, and grow as he best may, with the consumptive pain in his chest. To -give him a little more room, the elder brother, _a_, shall stoop a -little forward also, recovering himself when he has got out of _b_'s -way; and bud _c_ shall be encouraged to bend himself bravely round and -up, after his first start in that disagreeable downward direction. Poor -_b_, withdrawn from air and light between _a_ and A, and having to live -stooping besides, cannot make much of himself, and is stunted and -feeble. _c_, having free play for his energies, bends up with a will, -and becomes handsomer, to our minds, than if he had been straight; and -_a_ is none the worse for his concession to unhappy _b_ in early life. - -[Illustration: FIG. 49.] - -So far well for this year. But how for next? _b_ is already too near the -spray above him, even for his own strength and comfort; much less, with -his weak constitution, will he be able to throw up any strong new -shoots. And if he did, they would only run into those of the bough -above. (If the reader will proceed in the construction of the whole -figure he will see that this is so.) Under these discouragements and -deficiencies, _b_ is probably frostbitten, and drops off. The bough -proceeds, mutilated, and itself somewhat discouraged. But it repeats its -sincere and good-natured compliances, and at the close of the year, new -wood from all the leaves having concealed the stump, and effaced the -memory of poor lost _b_, and perhaps a consolatory bud lower down having -thrown out a tiny spray to make the most of the vacant space near the -main stem, we shall find the bough in some such shape as Fig. 49. - -Sec. 10. Wherein we already see the germ of our irregularly bending branch, -which might ultimately be much the prettier for the loss of _b_. Alas! -the Fates have forbidden even this. While the low bough is making all -these exertions, the boughs of A, above him, higher in air, have made -the same under happier auspices. Every year their thicker leaves more -and more forbid the light; and, after rain, shed their own drops -unwittingly on the unfortunate lower bough, and prevent the air or sun -from drying his bark or checking the chill in his medullary rays. Slowly -a hopeless languor gains upon him. He buds here or there, faintly, in -the spring; but the flow of strong wood from above oppresses him even -about his root, where it joins the trunk. The very sap does not turn -aside to him, but rushes up to the stronger, laughing leaves far above. -Life is no more worth having; and abandoning all effort, the poor bough -drops, and finds consummation of destiny in helping an old woman's -fire. - -When he is gone, the one next above is left with greater freedom, and -will shoot now from points of its sprays which were before likely to -perish. Hence another condition of irregularity in form. But that bough -also will fall in its turn, though after longer persistence. Gradually -thus the central trunk is built, and the branches by whose help it was -formed cast off, leaving here and there scars, which are all effaced by -years, or lost sight of among the roughnesses and furrows of the aged -surface. The work is continually advancing, and thus the head of foliage -on any tree is not an expansion at a given height, like a flower-bell, -but the collective group of boughs, or workmen, who have got up so far, -and will get up higher next year, still losing one or two of their -number underneath. - -Sec. 11. So far well. But this only accounts for the formation of a -vertical trunk. How is it that at a certain height this vertical trunk -ceases to be built; and irregular branches spread in all directions? - -First: In a great number of trees, the vertical trunk never ceases to be -built. It is confused, at the top of the tree, among other radiating -branches, being at first, of course, just as slender as they, and only -prevailing over them in time. It shows at the top the same degree of -irregularity and undulation as a sapling; and is transformed gradually -into straightness lower down (see Fig. 50). The reader has only to take -an hour's ramble, to see for himself how many trees are thus -constructed, if circumstances are favorable to their growth. Again, the -mystery of blossoming has great influence in increasing the tendency to -dispersion among the upper boughs: but this part of vegetative structure -I cannot enter into; it is too subtle, and has, besides, no absolute -bearing on our subject; the principal conditions which produce the -varied play of branches being purely mechanical. The point at which they -show a determined tendency to spread is generally to be conceived as a -place of _rest_ for the tree, where it has reached the height from the -ground at which ground-mist, imperfect circulation of air, &c., have -ceased to operate injuriously on it, and where it has free room, and -air, and light for its growth. - -[Illustration: FIG. 50.] - -Sec. 12. I find there is quite an infinite interest in watching the -different ways in which trees part their sprays at this resting-place, -and the sometimes abrupt, sometimes gentle and undiscoverable, severing -of the upright stem into the wandering and wilful branches; but a -volume, instead of a chapter or two, and quite a little gallery of -plates, would be needed to illustrate the various grace of this -division, associated as it is with an exquisitely subtle effacing of -undulation in the thicker stems, by the flowing down of the wood from -above; the curves which are too violent in the branches being filled up, -so that what was at _a_, Fig. 50, becomes as at _b_, and when the main -stem is old, passes at last into straightness by almost imperceptible -curves, a continually gradated emphasis of curvature being carried to -the branch extremities. - -[Illustration: FIG. 51.] - -Sec. 13. Hitherto we have confined ourselves entirely to examination of -stems in one plane. We must glance--though only to ascertain how -impossible it is to do more than glance--at the conditions of form which -result from the throwing out of branches, not in one plane, but on all -sides. "As your fingers divide when they hold a ball," I said: or, -better, a large cup, without a handle. Consider how such ramification -will appear in one of the bud groups, that of our old friend the oak. We -saw it opened usually into five shoots. Imagine, then (Fig. 51), a -five-sided cup or funnel with a stout rod running through the centre of -it. In the figure it is seen from above, so as partly to show the -inside, and a little obliquely, that the central rod may not hide any of -the angles. Then let us suppose that, where the angles of this cup were, -we have, instead, five rods, as in Fig. 52, A, like the ribs of a -pentagonal umbrella turned inside out by the wind. I dot the pentagon -which connects their extremities, to keep their positions clear. Then -these five rods, with the central one, will represent the five shoots, -and the leader, from a vigorous young oak-spray. Put the leaves on each; -the five-foiled star at its extremity, and the others, now not quite -formally, but still on the whole as in Fig. 3 above, and we have the -result, Fig. 52, B--rather a pretty one. - -[Illustration: FIG. 52.] - -Sec. 14. By considering the various aspects which the five rods would take -in Fig. 52, as the entire group was seen from below or above, and at -different angles and distances, the reader may find out for himself what -changes of aspect are possible in even so regular a structure as this. -But the branchings soon take more complex symmetry. We know that next -year each of these five subordinate rods is to enter into life on its -own account, and to repeat the branching of the first. Thus, we shall -have five pentagonal cups surrounding a large central pentagonal cup. -This figure, if the reader likes a pretty perspective problem, he may -construct for his own pleasure:--which having done, or conceived, he is -then to apply the great principles of subjection and resilience, not to -three branches only, as in Fig. 49, but to the five of each cup;--by -which the cups get flattened out and bent up, as you may have seen -vessels of Venetian glass, so that every cup actually takes something -the shape of a thick aloe or artichoke leaf; and they surround the -central one, not as a bunch of grapes surrounds a grape at the end of -it, but as the petals grow round the centre of a rose. So that any one -of these lateral branches--though, seen from above, it would present a -symmetrical figure, as if it were not flattened (A, Fig. 53)--seen -sideways, or in profile, will show itself to be at least as much -flattened as at B. - -[Illustration: FIG. 53.] - -Sec. 15. You may thus regard the whole tree as composed of a series of such -thick, flat, branch-leaves; only incomparably more varied and enriched -in framework as they spread; and arranged more or less in spirals round -the trunk. Gather a cone of a Scotch fir; begin at the bottom of it, and -pull off the seeds, so as to show one of the spiral rows of them -continuously, from the bottom to the top, leaving enough seeds above -them to support the row. Then the gradual lengthening of the seeds from -the root, their spiral arrangement, and their limitation within a -curved, convex form, furnish the best _severe_ type you can have of the -branch system of all stemmed trees; and each seed of the cone -represents, not badly, the sort of flattened solid leaf-shape which all -complete branches have. Also, if you will try to draw the spiral of the -fir-cone, you will understand something about tree-perspective, which -may be generally useful. Finally, if you note the way in which the seeds -of the cone slip each farther and farther over each other, so as to -change sides in the middle of the cone, and obtain a reversed action of -spiral lines in the upper half, you may imagine what a piece of work it -would be for both of us, if we were to try to follow the complexities of -branch order in trees of irregular growth, such as the rhododendron. I -tried to do it, at least, for the pine, in section, but saw I was -getting into a perfect maelstroem of spirals, from which no efforts would -have freed me, in any imaginable time, and the only safe way was to keep -wholly out of the stream. - -[Illustration: FIG. 54.] - -Sec. 16. The alternate system, leading especially to the formation of -forked trees, is more manageable; and if the reader is master of -perspective, he may proceed some distance in the examination of that for -himself. But I do not care to frighten the general reader by many -diagrams: the book is always sure to open at them when he takes it up. I -will venture on one which has perhaps something a little amusing about -it, and is really of importance. - -[Illustration: FIG. 55.] - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin J. Emslie - -56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works.] - -Sec. 17. Let X, Fig. 54, represent a shoot of any opposite-leaved tree. The -mode in which it will grow into a tree depends, mainly, on its -disposition to lose the leader or a lateral shoot. If it keeps the -leader, but drops the lateral, it takes the form A, and next year by a -repetition of the process, B. But if it keeps the laterals, and drops -the leader, it becomes first, C and next year, D. The form A is almost -universal in spiral or alternate trees; and it is especially to be noted -as bringing about this result, that in any given forking, one bough -always goes on in its own direct course, and the other leaves it softly; -they do not separate as if one was repelled from the other. Thus in Fig. -55, a perfect and nearly symmetrical piece of ramification, by Turner -(lowest bough but one in the tree on the left in the "Chateau of La -belle Gabrielle"), the leading bough, going on in its own curve, throws -off, first, a bough to the right, then one to the left, then two small -ones to the right, and proceeds itself, hidden by leaves, to form the -farthest upper point of the branch. - -The lower secondary bough--the first thrown off--proceeds in its own -curve, branching first to the left, then to the right. - -The upper bough proceeds in the same way, throwing off first to left, -then to right. And this is the commonest and most graceful structure. -But if the tree loses the leader, as at C, Fig. 54 (and many opposite -trees have a trick of doing so), a very curious result is arrived at, -which I will give in a geometrical form. - -Sec. 18. The number of branches which die, so as to leave the main stem -bare, is always greatest low down, or near the interior of the tree. It -follows that the lengths of stem which do not fork diminish gradually to -the extremities, in a fixed proportion. This is a general law. Assume, -for example's sake, the stem to separate always into two branches, at an -equal angle, and that each branch is three quarters of the length of the -preceding one. Diminish their thickness in proportion, and carry out the -figure any extent you like. In Plate 56, opposite, Fig. 1, you have it -at its ninth branch; in which I wish you to notice, first, the delicate -curve formed by every complete line of the branches (compare Vol. IV. -Fig. 91); and, secondly, the very curious result of the top of the tree -being a broad flat line, which passes at an angle into lateral shorter -lines, and so down to the extremities. It is this property which renders -the contours of tops of trees so intensely difficult to draw rightly, -without making their curves too smooth and insipid. - -Observe, also, that the great weight of the foliage being thrown on the -outside of each main fork, the tendency of forked trees is very often to -droop and diminish the bough on one side, and erect the other into a -principal mass.[1] - -Sec. 19. But the form in a perfect tree is dependent on the revolution of -this sectional profile, so as to produce a mushroom-shaped or -cauliflower-shaped mass, of which I leave the reader to enjoy the -perspective drawing by himself, adding, after he has completed it, the -effect of the law of resilience to the extremities. Only, he must note -this: that in real trees, as the branches rise from the ground, the open -spaces underneath are partly filled by subsequent branchings, so that a -real tree has not so much the shape of a mushroom, as of an apple, or, -if elongated, a pear. - -Sec. 20. And now you may just begin to understand a little of Turner's -meaning in those odd pear-shaped trees of his, in the "Mercury and -Argus," and other such compositions: which, however, before we can do -completely, we must gather our evidence together, and see what general -results will come of it respecting the hearts and fancies of trees, no -less than their forms. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] This is Harding's favorite form of tree. You will find it much - insisted on in his works on foliage. I intended to have given a - figure to show the results of the pressure of the weight of all the - leafage on a great lateral bough, in modifying its curves, the - strength of timber being greatest where the leverage of the mass - tells most. But I find nobody ever reads things which it takes any - trouble to understand, so that it is of no use to write them. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE LEAF MONUMENTS. - - -Sec. 1. And now, having ascertained in its main points the system on which -the leaf-workers build, let us see, finally, what results in aspect, and -appeal to human mind, their building must present. In some sort it -resembles that of the coral animal, differing, however, in two points. -First, the animal which forms branched coral, builds, I believe, in calm -water, and has few accidents of current, light, or heat to contend with. -He builds in monotonous ramification, untormented, therefore -unbeautiful. Secondly, each coral animal builds for himself, adding his -cell to what has been before constructed, as a bee adds another cell to -the comb. He obtains no essential connection with the root and -foundation of the whole structure. That foundation is thickened -clumsily, by a fused and encumbering aggregation, as a stalactite -increases;--not by threads proceeding from the extremities to the root. - -Sec. 2. The leaf, as we have seen, builds in both respects under opposite -conditions. It leads a life of endurance, effort, and various success, -issuing in various beauty; and it connects itself with the whole -previous edifice by one sustaining thread, continuing its appointed -piece of work all the way from top to root. Whence result three great -conditions in branch aspect, for which I cannot find good names, but -must use the imperfect ones of "Spring," "Caprice," "Fellowship." - -Sec. 3. I. SPRING: or the appearance of elastic and progressive power, as -opposed to that look of a bent piece of cord.--This follows partly on -the poise of the bough, partly on its action in seeking or shunning. -Every branch-line expresses both these. It takes a curve accurately -showing the relations between the strength of the sprays in that -position (growing downward, upward, or laterally), and the weight of -leaves they carry; and again, it takes a curve expressive of the will -or aim of those sprays, during all their life, and handed down from sire -to son, in steady inheritance of resolution to reach forward in a given -direction, or bend away from some given evil influence. - -And all these proportionate strengths and measured efforts of the bough -produce its loveliness, and ought to be felt, in looking at it, not by -any mathematical evidence, but by the same fine instinct which enables -us to perceive, when a girl dances rightly, that she moves easily, and -with delight to herself; that her limbs are strong enough, and her body -tender enough, to move precisely as she wills them to move. You cannot -say of any bend of arm or foot what precise relations of their curves to -the whole figure manifest, in their changeful melodies, that ease of -motion; yet you feel that they do so, and you feel it by a true -instinct. And if you reason on the matter farther, you may know, though -you cannot see, that an absolute mathematical necessity proportions -every bend of the body to the rate and direction of its motion; and that -the momentary fancy and fire of the will measure themselves, even in -their gaily-fancied freedom, by stern laws of nervous life, and material -attraction, which regulate eternally every pulse of the strength of man, -and every sweep of the stars of heaven. - -Sec. 4. Observe, also, the balance of the bough of a tree is quite as -subtle as that of a figure in motion. It is a balance between the -elasticity of the bough and the weight of leaves, affected in curvature, -literally, by the growth of _every_ leaf; and besides this, when it -moves, it is partly supported by the resistance of the air, greater or -less, according to the shape of leaf;--so that branches float on the -wind more than they yield to it; and in their tossing do not so much -bend under a force, as rise on a wave, which penetrates in liquid -threads through all their sprays. - -[Illustration] - -[Illustration: 57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 56. _To face page 65._] - -Sec. 5. I am not sure how far, by any illustration, I can exemplify these -subtle conditions of form. All my plans have been shortened, and I have -learned to content myself with yet more contracted issues of them after -the shortening, because I know that nearly all in such matters must be -said or shown, unavailably. No saying will teach the truth. Nothing but -doing. If the reader will draw boughs of trees long and faithfully, -giving previous pains to gain the power (how rare!) of drawing -_anything_ faithfully, he will come to see what Turner's work is, -or any other right work, but not by reading, nor thinking, nor idly -looking. However, in some degree, even our ordinary instinctive -perception of grace and balance may serve us, if we choose to pay any -accurate attention to the matter. - -Sec. 6. Look back to Fig. 55. That bough of Turner's is exactly and -exquisitely poised, leaves and all, for its present horizontal position. -Turn the book so as to put the spray upright, with the leaves at the -top. You ought to see they would then be wrong;--that they must, in that -position, have adjusted themselves more directly above the main stem, -and more firmly, the curves of the lighter sprays being a deflection -caused by their weight in the horizontal position. Again, Fig. 56 -represents, enlarged to four times the size of the original, the two -Scotch firs in Turner's etching of Inverary.[1] These are both in -perfect poise, representing a double action: the warping of the trees -away from the sea-wind, and the continual growing out of the boughs on -the right-hand side, to recover the balance. - -Turn the page so as to be horizontal, and you ought to feel that, -considered now as branches, both would be out of balance. If you turn -the heads of the trees to your right, they are wrong, because gravity -would have bent them more downwards; if to your left, wrong, because the -law of resilience would have raised them more at the extremities. - -Sec. 7. Now take two branches of Salvator's, Figs. 57 and 58.[2] You ought -to feel that these have neither poise nor spring: their leaves are -incoherent, ragged, hanging together in decay. - -[Illustration: FIG. 57.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 58.] - -Immediately after these, turn to Plate 57, opposite. The branch at the -top is facsimiled from that in the hand of Adam, in Durer's Adam and -Eve.[3] It is full of the most exquisite vitality and spring in every -line. Look at it for five minutes carefully. Then turn back to -Salvator's, Fig. 57. Are you as well satisfied with it? You ought to -feel that it is not strong enough at the origin to sustain the leaves; -and that if it were, those leaves themselves are in broken or forced -relations with each other. Such relations might, indeed, exist in a -partially withered tree, and one of these branches is intended to be -partially withered, but the other is not; and if it were, Salvator's -choice of the withered tree is precisely the sign of his preferring -ugliness to beauty, decrepitude and disorganization to life and youth. -The leaves on the spray, by Durer, hold themselves as the girl holds -herself in dancing; those on Salvator's as an old man, partially -palsied, totters along with broken motion, and loose deflection of limb. - -Sec. 8. Next, let us take a spray by Paul Veronese[4]--the lower figure in -Plate 57. It is just as if we had gathered one out of the garden. Though -every line and leaf in the quadruple group is necessary to join with -other parts of the composition of the noble picture, every line and leaf -is also as free and true as if it were growing. None are confused, yet -none are loose; all are individual, yet none separate, in tender poise -of pliant strength and fair order of accomplished grace, each, by due -force of the indulgent bough, set and sustained. - -Sec. 9. Observe, however, that in all these instances from earlier masters, -the expression of the universal botanical law of poise is independent of -accuracy in rendering of species. As before noticed, the neglect of -specific distinction long restrained the advance of landscape, and even -hindered Turner himself in many respects. The sprays of Veronese are a -conventional type of laurel; Albert Durer's an imaginary branch of -paradisaical vegetation; Salvator's, a rude reminiscence of sweet -chestnut; Turner's only is a faithful rendering of the Scotch fir. - -[Illustration: 58. Branch Curvature.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 59.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 60.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 61 _To face page 69._] - -Sec. 10. To show how the principle of balance is carried out by Nature -herself, here is a little terminal upright spray of willow, the most -graceful of English trees (Fig. 59). I have drawn it carefully; and if -the reader will study its curves, or, better, trace and pencil them with -a perfectly fine point, he will feel, I think, without difficulty, their -finished relation to the leaves they sustain. Then if we turn suddenly -to a piece of Dutch branch-drawing (Fig. 60), facsimiled from No. 160, -Dulwich Gallery (Berghem), he will understand, I believe, also the -qualities of that, without comment of mine. It is of course not so dark -in the original, being drawn with the chance dashes of a brush loaded -with brown, but the contours are absolutely as in the woodcut. This -Dutch design is a very characteristic example of two faults in -tree-drawing; namely, the loss not only of grace and spring, but of -woodiness. A branch is not elastic as steel is, neither as a carter's -whip is. It is a combination, wholly peculiar, of elasticity with -half-dead and sapless stubbornness, and of continuous curve with pauses -of knottiness, every bough having its blunted, affronted, fatigued, -or repentant moments of existence, and mingling crabbed rugosities -and fretful changes of mind with the main tendencies of its growth. The -piece of pollard willow opposite (Fig. 61), facsimiled from Turner's -etching of "Young Anglers," in the Liber Studiorum, has all these -characters in perfectness, and may serve for sufficient study of them. -It is impossible to explain in what the expression of the woody strength -consists, unless it be felt. One very obvious condition is the excessive -fineness of curvature, approximating continually to a straight line. In -order to get a piece of branch curvature given as accurately as I could -by an unprejudiced person, I set one of my pupils at the Working Men's -College (a joiner by trade) to draw, last spring, a lilac branch of its -real size, as it grew, before it budded. It was about six feet long, and -before he could get it quite right, the buds came out and interrupted -him; but the fragment he got drawn is engraved in flat profile, in Plate -58. It has suffered much by reduction, one or two of its finest curves -having become lost in the mere thickness of the lines. Nevertheless, if -the reader will compare it carefully with the Dutch work, it will teach -him something about trees. - -Sec. 11. II. CAPRICE.--The next character we had to note of the -leaf-builders was their capriciousness, noted, partly, in Vol. III. -chap. ix. Sec. 14. It is a character connected with the ruggedness and -ill-temperedness just spoken of, and an essential source of branch -beauty: being in reality the written story of all the branch's life,--of -the theories it formed, the accidents it suffered, the fits of -enthusiasm to which it yielded in certain delicious warm springs; the -disgusts at weeks of east wind, the mortifications of itself for its -friends' sakes; or the sudden and successful inventions of new ways of -getting out to the sun. The reader will understand this character in a -moment, by merely comparing Fig. 62, which is a branch of Salvator's,[5] -with Fig. 63, which I have traced from the engraving, in the Yorkshire -series, of Turner's "Aske Hall." You cannot but feel at once, not only -the wrongness of Salvator's, but its dulness. It is not now a question -either of poise, or grace, or gravity; only of wit. That bough has got -no sense; it has not been struck by a single new idea from the beginning -of it to the end; dares not even cross itself with one of its own -sprays. You will be amazed, in taking up any of these old engravings, to -see how seldom the boughs _do_ cross each other. Whereas, in nature, not -only is the intersection of extremities a mathematical necessity (see -Plate 56), but out of this intersection and crossing of curve by curve, -and the opposition of line it involves, the best part of their -composition arises. Look at the way the boughs are interwoven in that -piece of lilac stem (Plate 58). - -[Illustration: FIG. 62.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 63.] - -[Illustration: 59. The Dryad's Waywardness.] - -Sec. 12. Again: As it seldom struck the old painters that boughs must cross -each other, so it never seems to have occurred to them that they must be -sometimes foreshortened. I chose this bit from "Aske Hall," that you -might see at once, both how Turner foreshortens the main stem, and how, -in doing so, he shows the turning aside, and outwards, of the one next -to it, to the left, to get more air.[6] Indeed, this foreshortening lies -at the core of the business; for unless it be well understood, no -branch-form can ever be rightly drawn. I placed the oak spray in Plate -51 so as to be seen as nearly straight on its flank as possible. It is -the most uninteresting position in which a bough can be drawn; but it -shows the first simple action of the law of resilience. I will now turn -the bough with its extremity towards us, and foreshorten it (Plate 59), -which being done, you perceive another tendency in the whole branch, not -seen at all in the first Plate, to throw its sprays to its own right (or -to your left), which it does to avoid the branch next it, while the -_forward_ action is in a sweeping curve round to your right, or to the -branch's left: a curve which it takes to recover position after its -first concession. The lines of the nearer and smaller shoots are very -nearly--thus foreshortened--those of a boat's bow. Here is a piece of -Dutch foreshortening for you to compare with it, Fig. 64.[7] - -[Illustration: FIG. 64.] - -Sec. 13. In this final perfection of bough-drawing, Turner stands _wholly -alone_. Even Titian does not foreshorten his boughs rightly. Of course -he could, if he had cared to do so; for if you can foreshorten a limb or -a hand, much more a tree branch. But either he had never looked at a -tree carefully enough to feel that it was necessary, or, which is more -likely, he disliked to introduce in a background elements of vigorous -projection. Be the reason what it may, if you take Lefevre's plates of -the Peter Martyr and St. Jerome--the only ones I know which give any -idea of Titian's tree-drawing, you will observe at once that the boughs -lie in flakes, artificially set to the right and left, and are not -intricate or varied, even where the foliage indicates some -foreshortening;--completing thus the evidence for my statement long ago -given, that no man but Turner had ever drawn the stem of a tree. - -[Illustration: FIG. 65.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 66.] - -Sec. 14. It may be well also to note, for the advantage of the general -student of design, that, in foliage and bough drawing, all the final -grace and general utility of the study depend on its being well -foreshortened; and that, till the power of doing so quite accurately is -obtained, no landscape-drawing is of the least value; nor can the -character of any tree be known at all until not only its branches, but -its minutest extremities, have been drawn in the severest -foreshortening, with little accompanying plans of the arrangements of -the leaves or buds, or thorns, on the stem. Thus Fig. 65 is the -extremity of a single shoot of spruce foreshortened, showing the -resilience of its swords from beneath, and Fig. 66 is a little -ground-plan, showing the position of the three lowest triple groups of -thorn on a shoot of gooseberry.[8] The fir shoot is carelessly drawn; -but it is not worth while to do it better, unless I engraved it on -steel, so as to show the fine relations of shade. - -Sec. 15. III. FELLOWSHIP.--The compactness of mass presented by this little -sheaf of pine-swords may lead us to the consideration of the last -character I have to note of boughs; namely, the mode of their -association in masses. It follows, of course, from all the laws of -growth we have ascertained, that the terminal outline of any tree or -branch must be a simple one, containing within it, at a given height or -level, the series of leaves of the year; only we have not yet noticed -the kind of form which results, in each branch, from the part it has to -take in forming the mass of the tree. The systems of branching are -indeed infinite, and could not be exemplified by any number of types; -but here are two common types, in section, which will enough explain -what I mean. - -[Illustration: FIG. 67.] - -Sec. 16. If a tree branches with a concave tendency, it is apt to carry its -boughs to the outer curve of limitation, as at A, Fig. 67, and if with a -convex tendency, as at B. In either case the vertical section, or -profile, of a bough will give a triangular mass, terminated by curves, -and elongated at one extremity. These triangular masses you may see at a -glance, prevailing in the branch system of any tree in winter. They may, -of course, be mathematically reduced to the four types _a_, _b_, _c_, -and _d_, Fig. 67, but are capable of endless variety of expression in -action, and in the adjustment of their weights to the bearing stem. - -Sec. 17. To conclude, then, we find that the beauty of these buildings of -the leaves consists, from the first step of it to the last, in its -showing their perfect fellowship; and a single aim uniting them under -circumstances of various distress, trial, and pleasure. Without the -fellowship, no beauty; without the steady purpose, no beauty; without -trouble, and death, no beauty; without individual pleasure, freedom, and -caprice, so far as may be consistent with the universal good, no beauty. - -[Illustration: FIG. 68.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 69.] - -Sec. 18. Tree-loveliness might be thus lost or killed in many ways. -Discordance would kill it--of one leaf with another; disobedience would -kill it--of any leaf to the ruling law; indulgence would kill it, and -the doing away with pain; or slavish symmetry would kill it, and the -doing away with delight. And this is so, down to the smallest atom and -beginning of life: so soon as there is life at all, there are these four -conditions of it;--harmony, obedience, distress, and delightsome -inequality. Here is the magnified section of an oak-bud, not the size of -a wheat grain (Fig. 68). Already its nascent leaves are seen arranged -under the perfect law of resilience, preparing for stoutest work on the -right side. Here is a dogwood bud just opening into life (Fig. 69). Its -ruling law is to be four square, but see how the uppermost leaf takes -the lead, and the lower bends up, already a little distressed by the -effort. Here is a birch-bud, farther advanced, Fig. 70. Who shall say -how many humors the little thing has in its mind already; or how many -adventures it has passed through? And so to the end. Help, submission, -sorrow, dissimilarity, are the sources of all good;--war, disobedience, -luxury, equality, the sources of all evil. - -[Illustration: FIG. 70.] - -Sec. 19. There is yet another and a deeply laid lesson to be received from -the leaf-builders, which I hope the reader has already perceived. Every -leaf, we have seen, connects its work with the entire and accumulated -result of the work of its predecessors. Their previous construction -served it during its life, raised it towards the light, gave it more -free sway and motion in the wind, and removed it from the noxiousness of -earth exhalation. Dying, it leaves its own small but well-labored -thread, adding, though imperceptibly, yet essentially, to the strength, -from root to crest, of the trunk on which it had lived, and fitting that -trunk for better service to succeeding races of leaves. - -We men, sometimes, in what we presume to be humility, compare ourselves -with leaves; but we have as yet no right to do so. The leaves may well -scorn the comparison. We who live for ourselves, and neither know how -to use nor keep the work of past time, may humbly learn,--as from the -ant, foresight,--from the leaf, reverence. The power of every great -people, as of every living tree, depends on its not effacing, but -confirming and concluding, the labors of its ancestors. Looking back to -the history of nations, we may date the beginning of their decline from -the moment when they ceased to be reverent in heart, and accumulative in -hand and brain; from the moment when the redundant fruit of age hid in -them the hollowness of heart, whence the simplicities of custom and -sinews of tradition had withered away. Had men but guarded the righteous -laws, and protected the precious works of their fathers, with half the -industry they have given to change and to ravage, they would not now -have been seeking vainly, in millennial visions and mechanic servitudes, -the accomplishment of the promise made to them so long ago: "As the days -of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the -work of their hands; they shall not labor in vain, nor bring forth for -trouble; for they are the seed of the blessed of the Lord, and their -offspring with them." - -Sec. 20. This lesson we have to take from the leaf's life. One more we may -receive from its death. If ever in autumn a pensiveness falls upon us as -the leaves drift by in their fading, may we not wisely look up in hope -to their mighty monuments? Behold how fair, how far prolonged, in arch -and aisle, the avenues of the valleys; the fringes of the hills! So -stately,--so eternal; the joy of man, the comfort of all living -creatures, the glory of the earth,--they are but the monuments of those -poor leaves that flit faintly past us to die. Let them not pass, without -our understanding their last counsel and example: that we also, careless -of monument by the grave, may build it in the world--monument by which -men may be taught to remember, not where we died, but where we lived. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] They are enlarged, partly in order to show the care and - minuteness of Turner's drawing on the smallest scale, partly to save - the reader the trouble of using a magnifying glass, partly because - this woodcut will print safely; while if I had facsimiled the fine - Turner etching, the block might have been spoiled after a hundred - impressions. - - [2] Magnified to twice the size of the original, but otherwise - facsimiled from his own etching of Oedipus, and the School of Plato. - - [3] The parrot perched on it is removed, which may be done without - altering the curve, as the bird is set where its weight would not - have bent the wood. - - [4] The largest laurel spray in the background of the "Susanna," - Louvre--reduced to about a fifth of the original. The drawing was - made for me by M. Hippolyte Dubois, and I am glad it is not one of my - own, lest I should be charged with exaggerating Veronese's accuracy. - - This group of leaves is, in the original, of the life-size; the - circle which interferes with the spray on the right being the outline - of the head and of one of the elders; and, as painted for distant - effect, there is no care in completing the stems:--they are struck - with a few broken touches of the brush, which cannot be imitated in - the engraving, and much of their spirit is lost in consequence. - - [5] The longest in "Apollo and the Sibyl," engraved by Boydell. - (Reduced one-half.) - - [6] The foreshortening of the bough to the right is a piece of great - audacity; it comes towards us two or three feet sharply, after - forking, so as to look half as thick again as at the fork;--then - bends back again, and outwards. - - [7] Hobbima. Dulwich Gallery, No. 131. Turn the book with its inner - edge up. - - [8] Their change from groups of three to groups of two, and then to - single thorns at the end of the spray, will be found very beautiful - in a real shoot. The figure on the left in Plate 52 is a branch of - blackthorn with its spines (which are a peculiar condition of branch, - and can bud like branches, while thorns have no root nor power of - development). Such a branch gives good practice without too much - difficulty. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE LEAF SHADOWS. - - -[Illustration: FIG. 71.] - -Sec. 1. It may be judged, by the time which it has taken to arrive at any -clear idea of the structure of shield-builders, what a task would open -to us if we endeavored to trace the more wonderful forms of the wild -builders with the sword. Not that they are more complex; but they are -more definite, and cannot be so easily generalized. The conditions which -produce the spire of the cypress, and flaked breadth of the cedar, the -rounded head of the stone pine, and perfect pyramid of the black spruce, -are far more distinct, and would require more accurate and curious -diagrams to illustrate them, than the graceful, but in some degree -monotonous branching of leaf-builders. In broad principle they are, -however, alike. The leaves construct the sprays in the same accumulative -way: the only essential difference being that in the sword-builders the -leaves are all set close, and at equal intervals. Instead of admitting -extended and variable spaces between them, the whole spray is one tower -of leaf-roots, set in a perfect spiral. Thus, Fig. 71, at A, represents -a fragment of spray of Scotch fir of its real size. B is the same piece -magnified, the diamond-like spaces being the points on which the leaves -grew. The dotted lines show the regularity of the spiral. As the minor -stems join in boughs, the scars left by the leaves are gradually -effaced, and a thick but broken and scaly bark forms instead. - -Sec. 2. A sword-builder may therefore be generally considered as a -shield-builder put under the severest military restraint. The graceful -and thin leaf is concentrated into a strong, narrow, pointed rod; and -the insertion of these rods on them is in a close and perfectly timed -order. In some ambiguous trees connected with the tribe (as the arbor -vitae) there is no proper stem to the outer leaves, but all the -extremities form a kind of coralline leaf, flat and fern-like, but -articulated like a crustacean animal, which gradually concentrates and -embrowns itself into the stem. The thicker branches of these trees are -exquisitely fantastic; and the mode in which the flat system of leaf -first produces an irregular branch, and then adapts itself to the -symmetrical cone of the whole tree, is one of the most interesting -processes of form which I know in vegetation. - -Sec. 3. Neither this, however, nor any other of the pine formations, have -we space here to examine in detail; while without detail, all discussion -of them is in vain. I shall only permit myself to note a few points -respecting my favorite tree, the black spruce, not with any view to art -criticism (though we might get at some curious results by a comparison -of popular pine-drawing in Germany, America, and other dark-wooded -countries, with the true natural forms), but because I think the -expression of this tree has not been rightly understood by travellers in -Switzerland, and that, with a little watching of it, they might easily -obtain a juster feeling. - -Sec. 4. Of the many marked adaptations of nature to the mind of man, it -seems one of the most singular, that trees intended especially for the -adornment of the wildest mountains should be in broad outline the most -formal of trees. The vine, which is to be the companion of man, is -waywardly docile in its growth, falling into festoons beside his -cornfields, or roofing his garden-walks, or casting its shadow all -summer upon his door. Associated always with the trimness of -cultivation, it introduces all possible elements of sweet wildness. The -pine, placed nearly always among scenes disordered and desolate, brings -into them all possible elements of order and precision. Lowland trees -may lean to this side and that, though it is but a meadow breeze that -bends them, or a bank of cowslips from which their trunks lean aslope. -But let storm and avalanche do their worst, and let the pine find only a -ledge of vertical precipice to cling to, it will nevertheless grow -straight. Thrust a rod from its last shoot down the stem;--it shall -point to the centre of the earth as long as the tree lives. - -Sec. 5. Also it may be well for lowland branches to reach hither and -thither for what they need, and to take all kinds of irregular shape and -extension. But the pine is trained to need nothing, and to endure -everything. It is resolvedly whole, self-contained, desiring nothing but -rightness, content with restricted completion. Tall or short, it will be -straight. Small or large, it will be round. It may be permitted also to -these soft lowland trees that they should make themselves gay with show -of blossom, and glad with pretty charities of fruitfulness. We builders -with the sword have harder work to do for man, and must do it in -close-set troops. To stay the sliding of the mountain snows, which would -bury him; to hold in divided drops, at our sword-points, the rain, which -would sweep away him and his treasure-fields; to nurse in shade among -our brown fallen leaves the tricklings that feed the brooks in drought; -to give massive shield against the winter wind, which shrieks through -the bare branches of the plain:--such service must we do him steadfastly -while we live. Our bodies, also, are at his service: softer than the -bodies of other trees, though our toil is harder than theirs. Let him -take them as pleases him, for his houses and ships. So also it may be -well for these timid lowland trees to tremble with all their leaves, or -turn their paleness to the sky, if but a rush of rain passes by them; or -to let fall their leaves at last, sick and sere. But we pines must live -carelessly amidst the wrath of clouds. We only wave our branches to and -fro when the storm pleads with us, as men toss their arms in a dream. - -And finally, these weak lowland trees may struggle fondly for the last -remnants of life, and send up feeble saplings again from their roots -when they are cut down. But we builders with the sword perish boldly; -our dying shall be perfect and solemn, as our warring: we give up our -lives without reluctance, and for ever.[1] - -Sec. 6. I wish the reader to fix his attention for a moment on these two -great characters of the pine, its straightness and rounded perfectness; -both wonderful, and in their issue lovely, though they have hitherto -prevented the tree from being drawn. I say, first, its straightness. -Because we constantly see it in the wildest scenery, we are apt to -remember only as characteristic examples of it those which have been -disturbed by violent accident or disease. Of course such instances are -frequent. The soil of the pine is subject to continual change; perhaps -the rock in which it is rooted splits in frost and falls forward, -throwing the young stems aslope, or the whole mass of earth around it is -undermined by rain, or a huge boulder falls on its stem from above, and -forces it for twenty years to grow with weight of a couple of tons -leaning on its side. Hence, especially at edges of loose cliffs, about -waterfalls, or at glacier banks, and in other places liable to -disturbance, the pine may be seen distorted and oblique; and in Turner's -"Source of the Arveron," he has, with his usual unerring perception of -the main point in any matter, fastened on this means of relating the -glacier's history. The glacier cannot explain its own motion; and -ordinary observers saw in it only its rigidity; but Turner saw that the -wonderful thing was its non-rigidity. Other ice is fixed, only this ice -stirs. All the banks are staggering beneath its waves, crumbling and -withered as by the blast of a perpetual storm. He made the rocks of his -foreground loose--rolling and tottering down together; the pines, -smitten aside by them, their tops dead, bared by the ice wind. - -Sec. 7. Nevertheless, this is not the truest or universal expression of the -pine's character. I said long ago, even of Turner: "Into the spirit of -the pine he cannot enter." He understood the glacier at once; he had -seen the force of sea on shore too often to miss the action of those -crystal-crested waves. But the pine was strange to him, adverse to his -delight in broad and flowing line; he refused its magnificent erectness. -Magnificent!--nay, sometimes, almost terrible. Other trees, tufting crag -or hill, yield to the form and sway of the ground, clothe it with soft -compliance, are partly its subjects, partly its flatterers, partly its -comforters. But the pine rises in serene resistance, self-contained; nor -can I ever without awe stay long under a great Alpine cliff, far from -all house or work of men, looking up to its companies of pine, as they -stand on the inaccessible juts and perilous ledges of the enormous wall, -in quiet multitudes, each like the shadow of the one beside it--upright, -fixed, spectral, as troops of ghosts standing on the walls of Hades, not -knowing each other--dumb for ever. You cannot reach them, cannot cry to -them;--those trees never heard human voice; they are far above all sound -but of the winds. No foot ever stirred fallen leaf of theirs. All -comfortless they stand, between the two eternities of the Vacancy and -the Rock: yet with such iron will, that the rock itself looks bent and -shattered beside them--fragile, weak, inconsistent, compared to their -dark energy of delicate life, and monotony of enchanted -pride:--unnumbered, unconquerable. - -Sec. 8. Then note, farther, their perfectness. The impression on most -people's minds must have been received more from pictures than reality, -so far as I can judge;--so ragged they think the pine; whereas its chief -character in health is green and full roundness. It stands compact, like -one of its own cones, slightly curved on its sides, finished and quaint -as a carved tree in some Elizabethan garden; and instead of being wild -in expression, forms the softest of all forest scenery; for other trees -show their trunks and twisting boughs: but the pine, growing either in -luxuriant mass or in happy isolation, allows no branch to be seen. -Summit behind summit rise its pyramidal ranges, or down to the very -grass sweep the circlets of its boughs; so that there is nothing but -green cone and green carpet. Nor is it only softer, but in one sense -more cheerful than other foliage; for it casts only a pyramidal shadow. -Lowland forest arches overhead, and chequers the ground with darkness; -but the pine, growing in scattered groups, leaves the glades between -emerald-bright. Its gloom is all its own; narrowing into the sky, it -lets the sunshine strike down to the dew. And if ever a superstitious -feeling comes over me among the pine-glades, it is never tainted with -the old German forest fear; but is only a more solemn tone of the fairy -enchantment that haunts our English meadows; so that I have always -called the prettiest pine glade in Chamouni, "Fairies' Hollow." It is in -the glen beneath the steep ascent above Pont Pelissier, and may be -reached by a little winding path which goes down from the top of the -hill; being, indeed, not truly a glen, but a broad ledge of moss and -turf, leaning in a formidable precipice (which, however, the gentle -branches hide) over the Arve. An almost isolated rock promontory, -many-colored, rises at the end of it. On the other sides it is bordered -by cliffs, from which a little cascade falls, literally down among the -pines, for it is so light, shaking itself into mere showers of seed -pearl in the sun, that the pines don't know it from mist, and grow -through it without minding. Underneath, there is only the mossy silence, -and above, for ever, the snow of the nameless Aiguille. - -Sec. 9. And then the third character which I want you to notice in the pine -is its exquisite fineness. Other trees rise against the sky in dots and -knots, but this in fringes.[2] You never see the edges of it, so subtle -are they; and for this reason, it alone of trees, so far as I know, is -capable of the fiery change which we saw before had been noticed by -Shakespeare. When the sun rises behind a ridge crested with pine, -provided the ridge be at a distance of about two miles, and seen clear, -all the trees, for about three or four degrees on each side of the sun, -become trees of light, seen in clear flame against the darker sky, and -dazzling as the sun itself. I thought at first this was owing to the -actual lustre of the leaves; but I believe now it is caused by the -cloud-dew upon them,--every minutest leaf carrying its diamond. It seems -as if these trees, living always among the clouds, had caught part of -their glory from them; and themselves the darkest of vegetation, could -yet add splendor to the sun itself. - -Sec. 10. Yet I have been more struck by their character of finished -delicacy at a distance from the central Alps, among the pastoral hills -of the Emmenthal, or lowland districts of Berne, where they are set in -groups between the cottages, whose shingle roofs (they also of pine) of -deep gray blue, and lightly carved fronts, golden and orange in the -autumn sunshine,[3] gleam on the banks and lawns of hill-side,--endless -lawns, mounded, and studded, and bossed all over with deeper green -hay-heaps, orderly set, like jewellery (the mountain hay, when the -pastures are full of springs, being strangely dark and fresh in verdure -for a whole day after it is cut). And amidst this delicate delight of -cottage and field, the young pines stand delicatest of all, scented as -with frankincense, their slender stems straight as arrows, and crystal -white, looking as if they would break with a touch, like needles; and -their arabesques of dark leaf pierced through and through by the pale -radiance of clear sky, opal blue, where they follow each other along the -soft hill-ridges, up and down. - -Sec. 11. I have watched them in such scenes with the deeper interest, -because of all trees they have hitherto had most influence on human -character. The effect of other vegetation, however great, has been -divided by mingled species; elm and oak in England, poplar in France, -birch in Scotland, olive in Italy and Spain, share their power with -inferior trees, and with all the changing charm of successive -agriculture. But the tremendous unity of the pine absorbs and moulds the -life of a race. The pine shadows rest upon a nation. The Northern -peoples, century after century, lived under one or other of the two -great powers of the Pine and the Sea, both infinite. They dwelt amidst -the forests, as they wandered on the waves, and saw no end, nor any -other horizon;--still the dark green trees, or the dark green waters, -jagged the dawn with their fringe, or their foam. And whatever elements -of imagination, or of warrior strength, or of domestic justice, were -brought down by the Norwegian and the Goth against the dissoluteness or -degradation of the South of Europe, were taught them under the green -roofs and wild penetralia of the pine. - -Sec. 12. I do not attempt, delightful as the task would be, to trace this -influence (mixed with superstition) in Scandinavia, or North Germany; -but let us at least note it in the instance which we speak of so -frequently, yet so seldom take to heart. There has been much dispute -respecting the character of the Swiss, arising out of the difficulty -which other nations had to understand their simplicity. They were -assumed to be either romantically virtuous, or basely mercenary, when in -fact they were neither heroic nor base, but were true-hearted men, -stubborn with more than any recorded stubbornness; not much regarding -their lives, yet not casting them causelessly away; forming no high -ideal of improvement, but never relaxing their grasp of a good they had -once gained; devoid of all romantic sentiment, yet loving with a -practical and patient love that neither wearied nor forsook; little -given to enthusiasm in religion, but maintaining their faith in a purity -which no worldliness deadened and no hypocrisy soiled; neither -chivalrously generous nor pathetically humane, yet never pursuing their -defeated enemies, nor suffering their poor to perish: proud, yet not -allowing their pride to prick them into unwary or unworthy quarrel; -avaricious, yet contentedly rendering to their neighbor his due; dull, -but clear-sighted to all the principles of justice; and patient, without -ever allowing delay to be prolonged by sloth, or forbearance by fear. - -Sec. 13. This temper of Swiss mind, while it animated the whole -confederacy, was rooted chiefly in one small district which formed the -heart of their country, yet lay not among its highest mountains. Beneath -the glaciers of Zermatt and Evolena, and on the scorching slopes of the -Valais, the peasants remained in an aimless torpor, unheard of but as -the obedient vassals of the great Bishopric of Sion. But where the lower -ledges of calcareous rock were broken by the inlets of the Lake Lucerne, -and bracing winds penetrating from the north forbade the growth of the -vine, compelling the peasantry to adopt an entirely pastoral life, was -reared another race of men. Their narrow domain should be marked by a -small green spot on every map of Europe. It is about forty miles from -east to west; as many from north to south: yet on that shred of rugged -ground, while every kingdom of the world around it rose or fell in fatal -change, and every multitudinous race mingled or wasted itself in various -dispersion and decline, the simple shepherd dynasty remained changeless. -There is no record of their origin. They are neither Goths, Burgundians, -Romans, nor Germans. They have been for ever Helvetii, and for ever -free. Voluntarily placing themselves under the protection of the House -of Hapsburg, they acknowledged its supremacy, but resisted its -oppression; and rose against the unjust governors it appointed over -them, not to gain, but to redeem, their liberties. Victorious in the -struggle by the Lake of Egeri, they stood the foremost standard-bearers -among the nations of Europe in the cause of loyalty and life--loyalty in -its highest sense, to the laws of God's helpful justice, and of man's -faithful and brotherly fortitude. - -Sec. 14. You will find among them, as I said, no subtle wit nor high -enthusiasm, only an undeceivable common sense, and an obstinate -rectitude. They cannot be persuaded into their duties, but they feel -them; they use no phrases of friendship, but do not fail you at your -need. Questions of creed, which other nations sought to solve by logic -or reverie, these shepherds brought to practical tests: sustained with -tranquillity the excommunication of abbots who wanted to feed their -cattle on other people's fields, and, halbert in hand, struck down the -Swiss Reformation, because the Evangelicals of Zurich refused to send -them their due supplies of salt. Not readily yielding to the demands of -superstition, they were patient under those of economy; they would -purchase the remission of taxes, but not of sins; and while the sale of -indulgences was arrested in the church of Ensiedlen as boldly as at the -gates of Wittenberg, the inhabitants of the valley of Fruetigen[4] ate no -meat for seven years, in order peacefully to free themselves and their -descendants from the seigniorial claims of the Baron of Thurm. - -Sec. 15. What praise may be justly due to this modest and rational virtue, -we have perhaps no sufficient grounds for defining. It must long remain -questionable how far the vices of superior civilization may be atoned -for by its achievements, and the errors of more transcendental devotion -forgiven to its rapture. But, take it for what we may, the character of -this peasantry is, at least, serviceable to others and sufficient for -their own peace; and in its consistency and simplicity, it stands alone -in the history of the human heart. How far it was developed by -circumstances of natural phenomena may also be disputed; nor should I -enter into such dispute with any strongly held conviction. The Swiss -have certainly no feelings respecting their mountains in anywise -correspondent to ours. It was rather as fortresses of defence, than as -spectacles of splendor, that the cliffs of the Rothstock bare rule over -the destinies of those who dwelt at their feet; and the training for -which the mountain children had to thank the slopes of the Muotta-Thal, -was in soundness of breath, and steadiness of limb, far more than in -elevation of idea. But the point which I desire the reader to note is, -that the character of the scene which, if any, appears to have been -impressive to the inhabitant, is not that which we ourselves feel when -we enter the district. It was not from their lakes, nor their cliffs, -nor their glaciers--though these were all peculiarly their possession, -that the three venerable cantons or states received their name. They -were not called the States of the Rock, nor the States of the Lake, but -the States of the _Forest_. And the one of the three which contains the -most touching record of the spiritual power of Swiss religion, in the -name of the convent of the "Hill of Angels," has, for its own, none but -the sweet childish name of "Under the Woods." - -Sec. 16. And indeed you may pass under them if, leaving the most sacred -spot in Swiss history, the Meadow of the Three Fountains, you bid the -boatman row southward a little way by the shore of the Bay of Uri. -Steepest there on its western side, the walls of its rocks ascend to -heaven. Far, in the blue of evening, like a great cathedral pavement, -lies the lake in its darkness; and you may hear the whisper of -innumerable falling waters return from the hollows of the cliff, like -the voices of a multitude praying under their breath. From time to time -the beat of a wave, slow lifted, where the rocks lean over the black -depth, dies heavily as the last note of a requiem. Opposite, green with -steep grass, and set with chalet villages, the Fron-Alp rises in one -solemn glow of pastoral light and peace; and above, against the clouds -of twilight, ghostly on the gray precipice, stand, myriad by myriad, the -shadowy armies of the Unterwalden pine.[5] - -I have seen that it is possible for the stranger to pass through this -great chapel, with its font of waters, and mountain pillars, and vaults -of cloud, without being touched by one noble thought, or stirred by any -sacred passion; but for those who received from its waves the baptism of -their youth, and learned beneath its rocks the fidelity of their -manhood, and watched amidst its clouds the likeness of the dream of -life, with the eyes of age--for these I will not believe that the -mountain shrine was built, or the calm of its forest-shadows guarded by -their God, in vain. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] "Croesus, therefore, having heard these things, sent word to the - people of Lampsacus that they should let Miltiades go; and, if not, - he would cut them down like a pine-tree."--_Herod._ vi. 37. - - [2] Keats (as is his way) puts nearly all that may be said of the - pine into one verse, though they are only figurative pines of which - he is speaking. I have come to that pass of admiration for him now, - that I dare not read him, so discontented he makes me with my own - work: but others must not leave unread, in considering the influence - of trees upon the human soul, that marvellous ode to Psyche. Here is - the piece about pines:-- - - "Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane - In some untrodden region of my mind, - Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, - Instead of pines, shall murmur in the wind: - Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees - _Fledge the wild-ridged mountains_, steep by steep; - And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, - The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; - And in the midst of this wide quietness - A rosy sanctuary will I dress - With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain, - With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, - With all the Gardener Fancy e'er could feign, - Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same. - And there shall be for thee all soft delight - That shadowy thought can win; - A bright torch, and a casement ope, at night, - To let the warm Love in." - - [3] There has been much cottage-building about the hills lately, with - very pretty carving, the skill in which has been encouraged by - travellers; and the fresh-cut larch is splendid in color under rosy - sunlight. - - [4] This valley is on the pass of the Gemmi in Canton Berne, but the - people are the same in temper as those of the Waldstetten. - - [5] The cliff immediately bordering the lake is in Canton Uri: the - green hills of Unterwalden rise above. This is the grandest piece of - the shore of Lake Lucerne; the rocks near Tell's Chapel are neither - so lofty nor so precipitous. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -LEAVES MOTIONLESS. - - -Sec. 1. It will be remembered that our final inquiry was to be into the -sources of beauty in the tented plants, or flowers of the field; which -the reader may perhaps suppose one of no great difficulty, the beauty of -flowers being somewhat generally admitted and comprehended. - -Admitted? yes. Comprehended? no; and, which is worse, in all its highest -characters, for many a day yet, incomprehensible: though with a little -steady application, I suppose we might soon know more than we do now -about the colors of flowers,--being tangible enough, and staying longer -than those of clouds. We have discovered something definite about colors -of opal and of peacock's plume; perhaps, also, in due time we may give -some account of that true gold (the only gold of intrinsic value) which -gilds buttercups; and understand how the spots are laid, in painting a -pansy. - -Art is of interest, when we may win any of its secrets; but to such -knowledge the road lies not up brick streets. And howsoever that -flower-painting may be done, one thing is certain, it is not by -machinery. - -Sec. 2. Perhaps, it may be thought, if we understood flowers better, we -might love them less. - -We do not love them much, as it is. Few people care about flowers. Many, -indeed, are fond of finding a new shape of blossom, caring for it as a -child cares about a kaleidoscope. Many, also, like a fair service of -flowers in the greenhouse, as a fair service of plate on the table. Many -are scientifically interested in them, though even these in the -nomenclature rather than the flowers. And a few enjoy their gardens; but -I have never heard of a piece of land, which would let well on a -building lease, remaining unlet because it was a flowery piece. I have -never heard of parks being kept for wild hyacinths, though often of -their being kept for wild beasts. And the blossoming time of the year -being principally spring, I perceive it to be the mind of most people, -during that period, to stay in towns. - -Sec. 3. A year or two ago, a keen-sighted and eccentrically-minded friend -of mine, having taken it into his head to violate this national custom, -and go to the Tyrol in spring, was passing through a valley near -Landech, with several similarly headstrong companions. A strange -mountain appeared in the distance, belted about its breast with a zone -of blue, like our English Queen. Was it a blue cloud? A blue horizontal -bar of the air that Titian breathed in youth, seen now far away, which -mortal might never breathe again? Was it a mirage--a meteor? Would it -stay to be approached? (ten miles of winding road yet between them and -the foot of its mountain.) Such questioning had they concerning it. My -keen-sighted friend alone maintained it to be substantial: whatever it -might be, it was not air, and would not vanish. The ten miles of road -were overpassed, the carriage left, the mountain climbed. It stayed -patiently, expanding still into richer breadth and heavenlier glow--a -belt of gentians. Such things may verily be seen among the Alps in -spring, and in spring only. Which being so, I observe most people prefer -going in autumn. - -Sec. 4. Nevertheless, without any special affection for them, most of us, -at least, languidly consent to the beauty of flowers, and occasionally -gather them, and prefer them from among other forms of vegetation. This, -strange to say, is precisely what great painters do _not_. - -Every other kind of object they paint, in its due place and office, with -respect;--but, except compulsorily and imperfectly, never flowers. A -curious fact, this! Here are men whose lives are spent in the study of -color, and the one thing they will not paint is a flower! Anything but -that. A furred mantle, a jewelled zone, a silken gown, a brazen corslet, -nay, an old leathern chair, or a wall-paper if you will, with utmost -care and delight;--but a flower by no manner of means, if avoidable. -When the thing has perforce to be done, the great painters of course do -it rightly. Titian, in his early work, sometimes carries a blossom or -two out with affection, as the columbines in our Bacchus and Ariadne. -So also Holbein. But in his later and mightier work, Titian will only -paint a fan or a wristband intensely, never a flower. In his portrait of -Lavinia, at Berlin, the roses are just touched finely enough to fill -their place, with no affection whatever, and with the most subdued red -possible; while in the later portrait of her, at Dresden, there are no -roses at all, but a belt of chased golden balls, on every stud of which -Titian has concentrated his strength, and I verily believe forgot the -face a little, so much has his mind been set on them. - -Sec. 5. In Paul Veronese's Europa, at Dresden, the entire foreground is -covered with flowers, but they are executed with sharp and crude touches -like those of a decorative painter. In Correggio's paintings, at -Dresden, and in the Antiope of the Louvre, there are lovely pieces of -foliage, but no flowers. A large garland of oranges and lemons, with -their leaves, above the St. George, at Dresden, is connected -traditionally with the garlanded backgrounds of Ghirlandajo and -Mantegna, but the studious absence of flowers renders it almost -disagreeably ponderous. I do not remember any painted by Velasquez, or -by Tintoret, except compulsory Annunciation lilies. The flowers of -Rubens are gross and rude; those of Vandyck vague, slight, and subdued -in color, so as not to contend with the flesh. In his portraits of King -Charles's children, at Turin, an enchanting picture, there is a -rose-thicket, in which the roses seem to be enchanted the wrong way, for -their leaves are all gray, and the flowers dull brick-red. Yet it is -right. - -Sec. 6. One reason for this is that all great men like their inferior forms -to follow and obey contours of large surfaces, or group themselves in -connected masses. Patterns do the first, leaves the last; but flowers -stand separately. - -Another reason is that the beauty of flower-petals and texture can only -be seen by looking at it close; but flat patterns can be seen far off, -as well as gleaming of metal-work. All the great men calculate their -work for effect at some distance, and with that object, know it to be -lost time to complete the drawing of flowers. Farther, the forms of -flowers being determined, require a painful attention, and restrain the -fancy; whereas, in painting fur, jewels, or bronze, the color and touch -may be varied almost at pleasure, and without effort. - -Again, much of what is best in flowers is inimitable in painting; and a -thoroughly good workman feels the feebleness of his means when he -matches them fairly with Nature, and gives up the attempt -frankly--painting the rose dull red, rather than trying to rival its -flush in sunshine. - -And, lastly, in nearly all good landscape-painting, the breadth of -foreground included implies such a distance of the spectator from the -nearest object as must entirely prevent his seeing flower detail. - -Sec. 7. There is, however, a deeper reason than all these; namely, that -flowers have no sublimity. We shall have to examine the nature of -sublimity in our following and last section, among other ideas of -relation. Here I only note the fact briefly, that impressions of awe and -sorrow being at the root of the sensation of sublimity, and the beauty -of separate flowers not being of the kind which connects itself with -such sensation, there is a wide distinction, in general, between -flower-loving minds and minds of the highest order. Flowers seem -intended for the solace of ordinary humanity: children love them; quiet, -tender, contented ordinary people love them as they grow; luxurious and -disorderly people rejoice in them gathered: They are the cottager's -treasure; and in the crowded town, mark, as with a little broken -fragment of rainbow, the windows of the workers in whose heart rests the -covenant of peace. Passionate or religious minds contemplate them with -fond, feverish intensity; the affection is seen severely calm in the -works of many old religious painters, and mixed with more open and true -country sentiment in those of our own pre-Raphaelites. To the child and -the girl, the peasant and the manufacturing operative, to the grisette -and the nun, the lover and monk, they are precious always. But to the -men of supreme power and thoughtfulness, precious only at times; -symbolically and pathetically often to the poets, but rarely for their -own sake. They fall forgotten from the great workmen's and soldiers' -hands. Such men will take, in thankfulness, crowns of leaves, or crowns -of thorns--not crowns of flowers. - -Sec. 8. Some beautiful things have been done lately, and more beautiful are -likely to be done, by our younger painters, in representing blossoms of -the orchard and the field in mass and extent. I have had something to do -with the encouragement of this impulse; and truly, if pictures are to -be essentially imitative rather than inventive, it is better to spend -care in painting hyacinths than dead leaves, and roses rather than -stubble. Such work, however, as I stated in my first essay on this -subject, in the year 1851,[1] can only connect itself with the great -schools by becoming inventive instead of copyist; and for the most part, -I believe these young painters would do well to remember that the best -beauty of flowers being wholly inimitable, and their sweetest service -unrenderable by art, the picture involves some approach to an -unsatisfying mockery, in the cold imagery of what Nature has given to be -breathed with the profuse winds of spring, and touched by the happy -footsteps of youth. - -Sec. 9. Among the greater masters, as I have said, there is little -laborious or affectionate flower-painting. The utmost that Turner ever -allows in his foregrounds is a water-lily or two, a cluster of heath or -foxglove, a thistle sometimes, a violet or daisy, or a bindweed-bell; -just enough to lead the eye into the understanding of the rich mystery -of his more distant leafage. Rich mystery, indeed, respecting which -these following facts about the foliage of tented plants must be noted -carefully. - -Sec. 10. Two characters seem especially aimed at by Nature in the -earth-plants: first, that they should be characteristic and interesting; -secondly, that they should not be very visibly injured by crushing. - -I say, first, characteristic. The leaves of large trees take -approximately simple forms, slightly monotonous. They are intended to be -seen in mass. But the leaves of the herbage at our feet take all kinds -of strange shapes, as if to invite us to examine them. Star-shaped, -heart-shaped, spear-shaped, arrow-shaped, fretted, fringed, cleft, -furrowed, serrated, sinuated; in whorls, in tufts, in spires, in wreaths -endlessly expressive, deceptive, fantastic, never the same from -footstalk to blossom; they seem perpetually to tempt our watchfulness, -and take delight in outstripping our wonder. - -Sec. 11. Secondly, observe, their forms are such as will not be visibly -injured by crushing. Their complexity is already disordered: jags and -rents are their laws of being; rent by the footstep they betray no -harm. Here, for instance (Fig. 72), is the mere outline of a -buttercup-leaf in full free growth; which, perhaps, may be taken as a -good common type of earth foliage. Fig. 73 is a less advanced one, -placed so as to show its symmetrical bounding form. But both, how -various;--how delicately rent into beauty! As in the aiguilles of the -great Alps, so in this lowest field-herb, where rending is the law of -being, it is the law of loveliness. - -[Illustration: FIG. 72.] - -Sec. 12. One class, however, of these torn leaves, peculiar to the tented -plants, has, it seems to me, a strange expressional function. I mean the -group of leaves rent into _alternate_ gaps, typically represented by the -thistle. The alternation of the rent, if not absolutely, is -effectively, peculiar to the earth-plants. Leaves of the builders are -rent symmetrically, so as to form radiating groups, as in the -horse-chestnut, or they are irregularly sinuous, as in the oak; but the -earth-plants continually present forms such as those in the opposite -Plate: a kind of web-footed leaf, so to speak; a continuous tissue, -enlarged alternately on each side of the stalk. Leaves of this form have -necessarily a kind of limping gait, as if they grew not all at once, but -first a little bit on one side, and then a little bit on the other, and -wherever they occur in quantity, give the expression to foreground -vegetation which we feel and call "ragged." - -[Illustration: FIG. 73.] - -[Illustration: 60. The Rending of Leaves.] - -Sec. 13. It is strange that the mere alternation of the rent should give -this effect; the more so, because alternate leaves, completely separate -from each other, produce one of the most graceful types of building -plants. Yet the fact is indeed so, that the alternate rent in the -earth-leaf is the principal cause of its ragged effect. However deeply -it may be rent symmetrically, as in the alchemilla, or buttercup, just -instanced, and however finely divided, as in the parsleys, the result is -always a delicate richness, unless the jags are alternate, and the -leaf-tissue continuous at the stem; and the moment these conditions -appear, so does the raggedness. - -Sec. 14. It is yet more worthy of note that the proper duty of these -leaves, which catch the eye so clearly and powerfully, would appear to -be to draw the attention of man to spots where his work is needed, for -they nearly all habitually grow on ruins or neglected ground: not noble -ruins, or on _wild_ ground, but on heaps of rubbish, or pieces of land -which have been indolently cultivated or much disturbed. The leaf on the -right of the three in the Plate, which is the most characteristic of the -class, is that of the Sisymbrium Irio, which grows, by choice, always on -ruins left by fire. The plant, which, as far as I have observed, grows -first on earth that has been moved, is the colts-foot: its broad -covering leaf is much jagged, but only irregular, not alternate in the -rent; but the weeds that mark habitual neglect, such as the thistle, -give clear alternation. - -Sec. 15. The aspects of complexity and carelessness of injury are farther -increased in the herb of the field, because it is "herb yielding seed;" -that is to say, a seed different in character from that which trees form -in their fruit. - -I am somewhat alarmed in reading over the above sentence, lest a -botanist, or other scientific person, should open the book at it. For of -course the essential character of either fruit or seed being only that -in the smallest compass the vital principle of the plant is rendered -portable, and for some time, preservable, we ought to call every such -vegetable dormitory a "fruit" or a "seed" indifferently. But with -respect to man there is a notable difference between them. - -A seed is what we "sow." - -A fruit, what we "enjoy." - -Fruit is seed prepared especially for the sight and taste of man and -animals; and in this sense we have true fruit and traitorous fruit -(poisonous); but it is perhaps the best available distinction,[2] that -seed being the part necessary for the renewed birth of the plant, a -fruit is such seed enclosed or sustained by some extraneous substance, -which is soft and juicy, and beautifully colored, pleasing and useful to -animals and men. - -Sec. 16. I find it convenient in this volume, and wish I had thought of the -expedient before, whenever I get into a difficulty, to leave the reader -to work it out. He will perhaps, therefore, be so good as to define -fruit for himself. Having defined it, he will find that the sentence -about which I was alarmed above is, in the main, true, and that tented -plants principally are herb yielding seed, while building plants give -fruit. The berried shrubs of rock and wood, however dwarfed in stature, -are true builders. The strawberry-plant is the only important -exception--a tender Bedouin. - -Sec. 17. Of course the principal reason for this is the plain, practical -one, that fruit should not be trampled on, and had better perhaps be put -a little out of easy reach than too near the hand, so that it may not be -gathered wantonly or without some little trouble, and may be waited for -until it is properly ripe: while the plants meant to be trampled on have -small and multitudinous seed, hard and wooden, which may be shaken and -scattered about without harm. - -Also, fine fruit is often only to be brought forth with patience; not by -young and hurried trees--but in due time, after much suffering; and the -best fruit is often to be an adornment of old age, so as to supply the -want of other grace. While the plants which will not work, but only -bloom and wander, do not (except the grasses) bring forth fruit of high -service, but only the seed that prolongs their race, the grasses alone -having great honor put on them for their humility, as we saw in our -first account of them. - -[Illustration: FIG. 74.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 75.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 76.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 77.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 78. _To face page 97._] - -Sec. 18. This being so, we find another element of very complex effect -added to the others which exist in tented plants, namely, that of -minute, granular, feathery, or downy seed-vessels, mingling quaint brown -punctuation, and dusty tremors of dancing grain, with the bloom of the -nearer fields; and casting a gossamered grayness and softness of plumy -mist along their surfaces far away; mysterious evermore, not only with -dew in the morning or mirage at noon, but with the shaking threads of -fine arborescence, each a little belfry of grain-bells, all a-chime. - -Sec. 19. I feel sorely tempted to draw one of these same spires of the fine -grasses, with its sweet changing proportions of pendent grain, but it -would be a useless piece of finesse, as such form of course never enters -into general foreground effect.[3] I have, however, engraved, at the top -of the group of woodcuts opposite (Fig. 74), a single leaf cluster of -Durer's foreground in the St. Hubert, which is interesting in several -ways; as an example of modern work, no less than old; for it is a -facsimile twice removed; being first drawn from the plate with the pen, -by Mr. Allen, and then facsimiled on wood by Miss Byfield; and if the -reader can compare it with the original, he will find it still come -tolerably close in most parts (though the nearest large leaf has got -spoiled), and of course some of the finest and most precious qualities -of Durer's work are lost. Still, it gives a fair idea of his perfectness -of conception, every leaf being thoroughly set in perspective, and drawn -with unerring decision. On each side of it (Figs. 75, 76) are two pieces -from a fairly good modern etching, which I oppose to the Durer in order -to show the difference between true work and that which pretends to give -detail, but is without feeling or knowledge. There are a great many -leaves in the piece on the left, but they are all set the same way; the -draughtsman has not conceived their real positions, but draws one after -another as he would deliver a tale of bricks. The grasses on the right -look delicate, but are a mere series of inorganic lines. Look how -Durer's grass-blades cross each other. If you take a pen and copy a -little piece of each example, you will soon feel the difference. -Underneath, in the centre (Fig. 77), is a piece of grass out of -Landseer's etching of the "Ladies' Pets," more massive and effective -than the two lateral fragments, but still loose and uncomposed. Then -underneath is a piece of firm and good work again, which will stand with -Durer's; it is the outline only of a group of leaves out of Turner's -foreground in the Richmond from the Moors, of which I give a reduced -etching, Plate 61, for the sake of the foreground principally, and in -Plate 62, the group of leaves in question, in their light and shade, -with the bridge beyond. What I have chiefly to say of them belongs to -our section on composition; but this mere fragment of a Turner -foreground may perhaps lead the reader to take note in his great -pictures of the almost inconceivable labor with which he has sought to -express the redundance and delicacy of ground leafage. - -Sec. 20. By comparing the etching in Plate 61 with the published engraving, -it will be seen how much yet remains to be done before any approximately -just representation of Turner foreground can be put within the reach of -the public. This Plate has been reduced by Mr. Armytage from a -pen-drawing of mine, as large as the original of Turner's (18 inches by -11 inches). It will look a little better under a magnifying glass; but -only a most costly engraving, of the real size, could give any idea of -the richness of mossy and ferny leafage included in the real design. And -if this be so on one of the ordinary England drawings of a barren -Yorkshire moor, it may be imagined what the task would be of engraving -truly such a foreground as that of the "Bay of Baiae" or "Daphne and -Leucippus," in which Turner's aim has been luxuriance. - -[Illustration: 61. Richmond from the Moors.] - -[Illustration: 62. By the Brookside.] - -Sec. 21. His mind recurred, in all these classical foregrounds, to strong -impressions made upon him during his studies at Rome, by the masses of -vegetation which enrich its heaps of ruin with their embroidery and -bloom. I have always partly regretted these Roman studies, thinking that -they led him into too great fondness of pandering luxuriance in -vegetation, associated with decay; and prevented his giving -affection enough to the more solemn and more sacred infinity with which, -among the mightier ruins of the Alpine Rome, glow the pure and -motionless splendors of the gentian and the rose. - -Sec. 22. Leaves motionless. The strong pines wave above them, and the weak -grasses tremble beside them; but the blue stars rest upon the earth with -a peace as of heaven; and far along the ridges of iron rock, moveless as -they, the rubied crests of Alpine rose flush in the low rays of morning. -Nor these yet the stillest leaves. Others there are subdued to a deeper -quietness, the mute slaves of the earth, to whom we owe, perhaps, -thanks, and tenderness, the most profound of all we have to render for -the leaf ministries. - -Sec. 23. It is strange to think of the gradually diminished power and -withdrawn freedom among the orders of leaves--from the sweep of the -chestnut and gadding of the vine, down to the close shrinking trefoil, -and contented daisy, pressed on earth; and, at last, to the leaves that -are not merely close to earth, but themselves a part of it; fastened -down to it by their sides, here and there only a wrinkled edge rising -from the granite crystals. We have found beauty in the tree yielding -fruit, and in the herb yielding seed. How of the herb yielding _no_ -seed,[4] the fruitless, flowerless lichen of the rock? - -Sec. 24. Lichen, and mosses (though these last in their luxuriance are deep -and rich as herbage, yet both for the most part humblest of the green -things that live),--how of these? Meek creatures! the first mercy of the -earth, veiling with hushed softness its dintless rocks; creatures full -of pity, covering with strange and tender honor the scarred disgrace of -ruin,--laying quiet finger on the trembling stones, to teach them rest. -No words, that I know of, will say what these mosses are. None are -delicate enough, none perfect enough, none rich enough. How is one to -tell of the rounded bosses of furred and beaming green,--the starred -divisions of rubied bloom, fine-filmed, as if the Rock Spirits could -spin porphyry as we do glass,--the traceries of intricate silver, and -fringes of amber, lustrous, arborescent, burnished through every fibre -into fitful brightness and glossy traverses of silken change, yet all -subdued and pensive, and framed for simplest, sweetest offices of grace. -They will not be gathered, like the flowers, for chaplet or love-token; -but of these the wild bird will make its nest, and the wearied child his -pillow. - -And, as the earth's first mercy, so they are its last gift to us. When -all other service is vain, from plant and tree, the soft mosses and gray -lichen take up their watch by the head-stone. The woods, the blossoms, -the gift-bearing grasses, have done their parts for a time, but these do -service for ever. Trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's -chamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave. - -Sec. 25. Yet as in one sense the humblest, in another they are the most -honored of the earth-children. Unfading, as motionless, the worm frets -them not, and the autumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither -blanch in heat nor pine in frost. To them, slow-fingered, -constant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal, -tapestries of the hills; to them, slow-pencilled, iris-dyed, the tender -framing of their endless imagery. Sharing the stillness of the -unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance; and while the winds -of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted -snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its -cowslip-gold,--far above, among the mountains, the silver lichen-spots -rest, star-like, on the stone; and the gathering orange stain upon the -edge of yonder western peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand years. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] _Pre-Raphaelitism._ The essay contains some important notes on - Turner's work, which, therefore, I do not repeat in this volume. - - [2] I say the "best available distinction." It is, of course, no real - distinction. A peapod is a kind of central type of seed and - seed-vessel, and it is difficult so to define fruit as to keep clear - of it. Pea-shells are boiled and eaten in some countries rather than - pease. It does not sound like a scientific distinction to say that - fruit is a "shell which is good without being boiled." Nay, even if - we humiliate ourselves into this practical reference to the kitchen, - we are still far from success. For the pulp of a strawberry is not a - "shell," the seeds being on the outside of it. The available part of - a pomegranate or orange, though a seed envelope, is itself shut - within a less useful rind. While in an almond the shell becomes less - profitable still, and all goodness retires into the seed itself, as - in a grain of corn. - - [3] For the same reason, I enter into no considerations respecting - the geometrical forms of flowers, though they are deeply interesting, - and perhaps some day I may give a few studies of them separately. The - reader should note, however, that beauty of form in flowers is - chiefly dependent on a more accurately finished or more studiously - varied development of the tre-foil, quatre-foil, and cinq-foil - structures which we have seen irregularly approached by leaf-buds. - The most beautiful six-foiled flowers (like the rhododendron-shoot) - are composed of two triangular groups, one superimposed on the other, - as in the narcissus; and the most interesting types both of six-foils - and cinq-foils are unequally leaved, symmetrical on opposite sides, - as the iris and violet. - - [4] The reader must remember always that my work is concerning the - _aspects_ of things only. Of course, a lichen has seeds, just as - other plants have, but not effectually or visibly for man. - - - - -PART VII. - -OF CLOUD BEAUTY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE CLOUD-BALANCINGS. - - -Sec. 1. We have seen that when the earth had to be prepared for the -habitation of man, a veil, as it were, of intermediate being was spread -between him and its darkness, in which were joined, in a subdued -measure, the stability and insensibility of the earth, and the passion -and perishing of mankind. - -But the heavens, also, had to be prepared for his habitation. - -Between their burning light,--their deep vacuity, and man, as between -the earth's gloom of iron substance, and man, a veil had to be spread of -intermediate being;--which should appease the unendurable glory to the -level of human feebleness, and sign the changeless motion of the heavens -with a semblance of human vicissitude. - -Between earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came -the cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the -flying vapor. - -Sec. 2. Has the reader any distinct idea of what clouds are? We had some -talk about them long ago, and perhaps thought their nature, though at -that time not clear to us, would be easily enough understandable when we -put ourselves seriously to make it out. Shall we begin with one or two -easiest questions? - -That mist which lies in the morning so softly in the valley, level and -white, through which the tops of the trees rise as if through an -inundation--why is _it_ so heavy? and why does it lie so low, being yet -so thin and frail that it will melt away utterly into splendor of -morning, when the sun has shone on it but a few moments more? Those -colossal pyramids, huge and firm, with outlines as of rocks, and -strength to bear the beating of the high sun full on their fiery -flanks--why are _they_ so light,--their bases high over our heads, high -over the heads of Alps? why will these melt away, not as the sun rises, -but as he descends, and leave the stars of twilight clear, while the -valley vapor gains again upon the earth like a shroud? - -Or that ghost of a cloud, which steals by yonder clump of pines; nay, -which does _not_ steal by them, but haunts them, wreathing yet round -them, and yet--and yet, slowly: now falling in a fair waved line like a -woman's veil; now fading, now gone: we look away for an instant, and -look back, and it is again there. What has it to do with that clump of -pines, that it broods by them and weaves itself among their branches, to -and fro? Has it hidden a cloudy treasure among the moss at their roots, -which it watches thus? Or has some strong enchanter charmed it into fond -returning, or bound it fast within those bars of bough? And yonder filmy -crescent, bent like an archer's bow above the snowy summit, the highest -of all the hill,--that white arch which never forms but over the supreme -crest,--how is it stayed there, repelled apparently from the -snow--nowhere touching it, the clear sky seen between it and the -mountain edge, yet never leaving it--poised as a white bird hovers over -its nest? - -Or those war-clouds that gather on the horizon, dragon-crested, tongued -with fire;--how is their barbed strength bridled? what bits are these -they are champing with their vaporous lips; flinging off flakes of black -foam? Leagued leviathans of the Sea of Heaven, out of their nostrils -goeth smoke, and their eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. The -sword of him that layeth at them cannot hold the spear, the dart, nor -the habergeon. Where ride the captains of their armies? Where are set -the measures of their march? Fierce murmurers, answering each other from -morning until evening--what rebuke is this which has awed them into -peace? what hand has reined them back by the way by which they came? - -Sec. 3. I know not if the reader will think at first that questions like -these are easily answered. So far from it, I rather believe that some -of the mysteries of the clouds never will be understood by us at all. -"Knowest thou the balancings of the clouds?" Is the answer ever to be -one of pride? "The wondrous works of Him which is perfect in knowledge?" -Is _our_ knowledge ever to be so? - -It is one of the most discouraging consequences of the varied character -of this work of mine, that I am wholly unable to take note of the -advance of modern science. What has conclusively been discovered or -observed about clouds, I know not; but by the chance inquiry possible to -me I find no book which fairly states the difficulties of accounting for -even the ordinary aspects of the sky. I shall, therefore, be able in -this section to do little more than suggest inquiries to the reader, -putting the subject in a clear form for him. All men accustomed to -investigation will confirm me in saying that it is a great step when we -are personally quite certain what we do _not_ know. - -Sec. 4. First, then, I believe we do not know what makes clouds float. -Clouds are water, in some fine form or another; but water is heavier -than air, and the finest form you can give a heavy thing will not make -it float in a light thing. _On_ it, yes; as a boat: but _in_ it, no. -Clouds are not boats, nor boat-shaped, and they float in the air, not on -the top of it. "Nay, but though unlike boats, may they not be like -feathers? If out of quill substance there may be constructed eider-down, -and out of vegetable tissue, thistle-down, both buoyant enough for a -time, surely of water-tissue may be constructed also water-down, which -will be buoyant enough for all cloudy purposes." Not so. Throw out your -eider plumage in a calm day, and it will all come settling to the -ground: slowly indeed, to aspect; but practically so fast that all our -finest clouds would be here in a heap about our ears in an hour or two, -if they were only made of water-feathers. "But may they not be -quill-feathers, and have air inside them? May not all their particles be -minute little balloons?" - -A balloon only floats when the air inside it is either specifically, or -by heating, lighter than the air it floats in. If the cloud-feathers had -warm air inside their quills, a cloud would be warmer than the air about -it, which it is not (I believe). And if the cloud-feathers had hydrogen -inside their quills, a cloud would be unwholesome for breathing, which -it is not--at least so it seems to me. - -"But may they not have nothing inside their quills?" Then they would -rise, as bubbles do through water, just as certainly as, if they were -solid feathers, they would fall. All our clouds would go up to the top -of the air, and swim in eddies of cloud-foam. - -"But is not that just what they do?" No. They float at different -heights, and with definite forms, in the body of the air itself. If they -rose like foam, the sky on a cloudy day would look like a very large -flat glass of champagne seen from below, with a stream of bubbles (or -clouds) going up as fast as they could to a flat foam-ceiling. - -"But may they not be just so nicely mixed out of something and nothing, -as to float where they are wanted?" - -Yes: that is just what they not only may, but must be: only this way of -mixing something and nothing is the very thing I want to explain or have -explained, and cannot do it, nor get it done. - -Sec. 5. Except thus far. It is conceivable that minute hollow spherical -globules might be formed of water, in which the enclosed vacuity just -balanced the weight of the enclosing water, and that the arched sphere -formed by the watery film was strong enough to prevent the pressure of -the atmosphere from breaking it in. Such a globule would float like a -balloon at the height in the atmosphere where the equipoise between the -vacuum it enclosed, and its own excess of weight above that of the air, -was exact. It would, probably, approach its companion globules by -reciprocal attraction, and form aggregations which might be visible. - -This is, I believe, the view usually taken by meteorologists. I state it -as a possibility, to be taken into account in examining the question--a -possibility confirmed by the scriptural words which I have taken for the -title of this chapter. - -Sec. 6. Nevertheless, I state it as a possibility only, not seeing how any -known operation of physical law could explain the formation of such -molecules. This, however, is not the only difficulty. Whatever shape the -water is thrown into, it seems at first improbable that it should lose -its property of wetness. Minute division of rain, as in "Scotch mist," -makes it capable of floating farther,[1] or floating up and down a -little, just as dust will float, though pebbles will not; or gold-leaf, -though a sovereign will not; but minutely divided rain wets as much as -any other kind, whereas a cloud, partially always, sometimes entirely, -loses its power of moistening. Some low clouds look, when you are in -them, as if they were made of specks of dust, like short hairs; and -these clouds are entirely dry. And also many clouds will wet some -substances, but not others. So that we must grant farther, if we are to -be happy in our theory, that the spherical molecules are held together -by an attraction which prevents their adhering to any foreign body, or -perhaps ceases only under some peculiar electric conditions. - -Sec. 7. The question remains, even supposing their production accounted -for,--What intermediate states of water may exist between these -spherical hollow molecules and pure vapor? - -Has the reader ever considered the relations of commonest forms of -volatile substance? The invisible particles which cause the scent of a -rose-leaf, how minute, how multitudinous, passing richly away into the -air continually! The visible cloud of frankincense--why visible? Is it -in consequence of the greater quantity, or larger size of the particles, -and how does the heat act in throwing them off in this quantity, or of -this size? - -Ask the same questions respecting water. It dries, that is, becomes -volatile, invisibly, at (any?) temperature. Snow dries, as water does. -Under increase of heat, it volatilizes faster, so as to become dimly -visible in large mass, as a heat-haze. It reaches boiling point, then -becomes entirely visible. But compress it, so that no air shall get -between the watery particles--it is invisible again. At the first -issuing from the steam-pipe the steam is transparent; but opaque, or -visible, as it diffuses itself. The water is indeed closer, because -cooler, in that diffusion; but more air is between its particles. Then -this very question of visibility is an endless one, wavering between -form of substance and action of light. The clearest (or least visible) -stream becomes brightly opaque by more minute division in its foam, and -the clearest dew in hoar-frost. Dust, unperceived in shade, becomes -constantly visible in sunbeam; and watery vapor in the atmosphere, which -is itself opaque, when there is promise of fine weather, becomes -exquisitely transparent; and (questionably) blue, when it is going to -rain. - -Sec. 8. Questionably blue: for besides knowing very little about water, we -know what, except by courtesy, must, I think, be called Nothing--about -air. Is it the watery vapor, or the air itself, which is blue? Are -neither blue, but only white, producing blue when seen over dark spaces? -If either blue, or white, why, when crimson is their commanded dress, -are the most distant clouds crimsonest? Clouds close to us may be blue, -but far off, golden,--a strange result, if the air is blue. And again, -if blue, why are rays that come through large spaces of it red; and that -Alp, or anything else that catches far-away light, why colored red at -dawn and sunset? No one knows, I believe. It is true that many -substances, as opal, are blue, or green, by reflected light, yellow by -transmitted; but air, if blue at all, is blue always by transmitted -light. I hear of a wonderful solution of nettles, or other unlovely -herb, which is green when shallow,--red when deep. Perhaps some day, as -the motion of the heavenly bodies by help of an apple, their light by -help of a nettle, may be explained to mankind. - -Sec. 9. But farther: these questions of volatility, and visibility, and -hue, are all complicated with those of shape. How is a cloud outlined? -Granted whatever you choose to ask, concerning its material, or its -aspect, its loftiness and luminousness,--how of its limitation? What -hews it into a heap, or spins it into a web? Cold is usually shapeless, -I suppose, extending over large spaces equally, or with gradual -diminution. You cannot have, in the open air, angles, and wedges, and -coils, and cliffs of cold. Yet the vapor stops suddenly, sharp and steep -as a rock, or thrusts itself across the gates of heaven in likeness of a -brazen bar; or braids itself in and out, and across and across, like a -tissue of tapestry; or falls into ripples, like sand; or into waving -shreds and tongues, as fire. On what anvils and wheels is the vapor -pointed, twisted, hammered, whirled, as the potter's clay? By what hands -is the incense of the sea built up into domes of marble? - -And, lastly, all these questions respecting substance, and aspect, and -shape, and line, and division, are involved with others as inscrutable, -concerning action. The curves in which clouds move are unknown;--nay, -the very method of their motion, or apparent motion, how far it is by -change of place, how far by appearance in one place and vanishing from -another. And these questions about movement lead partly far away into -high mathematics, where I cannot follow them, and partly into theories -concerning electricity and infinite space, where I suppose at present no -one can follow them. - -What, then, is the use of asking the questions? - -For my own part, I enjoy the mystery, and perhaps the reader may. I -think he ought. He should not be less grateful for summer rain, or see -less beauty in the clouds of morning, because they come to prove him -with hard questions; to which, perhaps, if we look close at the heavenly -scroll,[2] we may find also a syllable or two of answer illuminated here -and there. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The buoyancy of solid bodies of a given specific gravity, in a - given fluid, depends, first on their size, then on their forms. - - First, on their size; that is to say, on the proportion of the - magnitude of the object (irrespective of the distribution of its - particles) to the magnitude of the particles of the air. - - Thus, a grain of sand is buoyant in wind, but a large stone is not; - and pebbles and sand are buoyant in water in proportion to their - smallness, fine dust taking long to sink, while a large stone sinks - at once. Thus, we see that water may be arranged in drops of any - magnitude, from the largest rain-drop, about the size of a large pea, - to an atom so small as not to be separately visible, the smallest - rain passing gradually into mist. Of these drops of different sizes - (supposing the strength of the wind the same), the largest fall - fastest, the smaller drops are more buoyant, and the small misty rain - floats about like a cloud, as often up as down, so that an umbrella - is useless in it; though in a heavy thunder-storm, if there is no - wind, one may stand gathered up under an umbrella without a drop - touching the feet. - - Secondly, buoyancy depends on the amount of surface which a given - weight of the substance exposes to the resistance of the substance it - floats in. Thus, gold-leaf is in a high degree buoyant, while the - same quantity of gold in a compact grain would fall like a shot; and - a feather is buoyant, though the same quantity of animal matter in a - compact form would be as heavy as a little stone. A slate blows far - from a house-top, while a brick falls vertically, or nearly so. - - [2] There is a beautiful passage in _Sartor Resartus_ concerning this - old Hebrew scroll, in its deeper meanings, and the child's watching - it, though long illegible for him, yet "with an eye to the gilding." - It signifies in a word or two nearly all that is to be said about - clouds. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE CLOUD-FLOCKS. - - -Sec. 1. From the tenor of the foregoing chapter, the reader will, I hope, -be prepared to find me, though dogmatic (it is said) upon some -occasions, anything rather than dogmatic respecting clouds. I will -assume nothing concerning them, beyond the simple fact, that as a -floating sediment forms in a saturated liquid, vapor forms in the body -of the air; and all that I want the reader to be clear about in the -outset is that this vapor floats in and with the wind (as, if you throw -any thick coloring matter into a river, it floats with the stream), and -that it is not blown before a denser volume of the wind, as a fleece of -wool would be. - -Sec. 2. At whatever height they form, clouds may be broadly considered as -of two species only, massive and striated. I cannot find a better word -than massive, though it is not a good one, for I mean it only to signify -a fleecy arrangement in which no _lines_ are visible. The fleece may be -so bright as to look like flying thistle-down, or so diffused as to show -no visible outline at all. Still if it is all of one common texture, -like a handful of wool, or a wreath of smoke, I call it massive. - -On the other hand, if divided by parallel lines, so as to look more or -less like spun-glass, I call it striated. In Plate 69, Fig. 4, the top -of the Aiguille Dru (Chamouni) is seen emergent above low striated -clouds, with heaped massive cloud beyond. I do not know in the least -what causes this striation, except that it depends on the nature of the -cloud, not on the wind. The strongest wind will not throw a cloud, -massive by nature, into the linear form. It will toss it about, and tear -it to pieces, but not spin it into threads. On the other hand, often -without any wind at all, the cloud will spin itself into threads fine as -gossamer. These threads are often said to be a prognostic of storm; but -they are not produced by storm. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin J.C. Armytage - -63. The Cloud-Flocks.] - -Sec. 3. In the first volume, we considered all clouds as belonging to three -regions, that of the cirrous, the central cloud, and the rain-cloud. It -is of course an arrangement more of convenience than of true -description, for cirrous clouds sometimes form low as well as high; and -rain sometimes falls high as well as low. I will, nevertheless, retain -this old arrangement, which is practically as serviceable as any. - -Allowing, also, for various exceptions and modifications, these three -bodies of cloud may be generally distinguished in our minds thus. The -clouds of upper region are for the most part quiet, or seem to be so, -owing to their distance. They are formed now of striated, now of massive -substance; but always finely divided into large ragged flakes or -ponderous heaps. These heaps (cumuli) and flakes, or drifts, present -different phenomena, but must be joined in our minds under the head of -central cloud. The lower clouds, bearing rain abundantly, are composed -partly of striated, partly of massive substance; but may generally be -comprehended under the term rain-cloud. - -Our business in this chapter, then, is with the upper clouds, which, -owing to their quietness and multitude, we may perhaps conveniently -think of as the "cloud-flocks." And we have to discover if any laws of -beauty attach to them, such as we have seen in mountains or -tree-branches. - -Sec. 4. On one of the few mornings of this winter, when the sky was clear, -and one of the far fewer, on which its clearness was visible from the -neighborhood of London,--which now entirely loses at least two out of -three sunrises, owing to the environing smoke,--the dawn broke beneath a -broad field of level purple cloud, under which floated ranks of divided -cirri, composed of finely striated vapor. - -It was not a sky containing any extraordinary number of these minor -clouds; but each was more than usually distinct in separation from its -neighbor, and as they showed in nearly pure pale scarlet on the dark -purple ground, they were easily to be counted. - -Sec. 5. There were five or six ranks, from the zenith to the horizon; that -is to say, three distinct ones, and then two or three more running -together, and losing themselves in distance, in the manner roughly shown -in Fig. 79. The nearest rank was composed of more than 150 rows of -cloud, set obliquely, as in the figure. I counted 150 which was near -the mark, and then stopped, lest the light should fail, to count the -separate clouds in some of the rows. The average number was 60 in each -row, rather more than less. - -[Illustration: FIG. 79.] - -There were therefore 150x60, that is, 9,000, separate clouds in this one -rank, or about 50,000 in the field of sight. Flocks of Admetus under -Apollo's keeping. Who else could shepherd such? He by day, dog Sirius by -night; or huntress Diana herself--her bright arrows driving away the -clouds of prey that would ravage her fair flocks. We must leave fancies, -however; these wonderful clouds need close looking at. I will try to -draw one or two of them before they fade. - -Sec. 6. On doing which we find, after all, they are not much more like -sheep than Canis Major is like a dog. They resemble more some of our old -friends, the pine branches, covered with snow. The three forming the -uppermost figure, in the Plate opposite, are as like three of the fifty -thousand as I could get them, complex enough in structure, even this -single group. Busy workers they must be, that twine the braiding of them -all to the horizon, and down beyond it. - -And who are these workers? You have two questions here, both difficult. -What separates these thousands of clouds each from the other, and each -about equally from the other? How can they be drawn asunder, yet not -allowed to part? Looped lace as it were, richest point--invisible -threads fastening embroidered cloud to cloud--the "plighted clouds" of -Milton,--creatures of the element-- - - "That in the colors of the rainbow live - And play in the plighted clouds." - -Compare Geraldine dressing:-- - - "Puts on her silken vestments white, - And tricks her hair in lovely plight." - -And Britomart's-- - - "Her well-plighted frock - She low let fall, that flowed from her lanck side - Down to her foot, with careless modesty." - -And, secondly, what bends each of them into these flame-like curves, -tender and various, as motions of a bird, hither and thither? Perhaps -you may hardly see the curves well in the softly finished forms; here -they are plainer in rude outline, Fig. 80.[1] - -[Illustration: FIG. 80.] - -Sec. 7. What is it that throws them into these lines? - -Eddies of wind? - -Nay, an eddy of wind will not stay quiet for three minutes, as that -cloud did to be drawn; as all the others did, each in his place. You -see there is perfect harmony among the curves. They all flow into each -other as the currents of a stream do. If you throw dust that will float -on the surface of a slow river, it will arrange itself in lines somewhat -like these. To a certain extent, indeed, it is true that there are -gentle currents of change in the atmosphere, which move slowly enough to -permit in the clouds that follow them some appearance of stability. But -how to obtain change so complex in an infinite number of consecutive -spaces;--fifty thousand separate groups of current in half of a morning -sky, with quiet invisible vapor between, or none--and yet all obedient -to one ruling law, gone forth through their companies;--each marshalled -to their white standards, in great unity of warlike march, unarrested, -unconfused? "One shall not thrust another, they shall walk every one in -his own path." - -[Illustration: FIG. 81.] - -Sec. 8. These questions occur, at first sight, respecting every group of -cirrus cloud. Whatever the form may be, whether branched, as in this -instance, or merely rippled, or thrown into shield-like segments, as in -Fig. 81--a frequent arrangement--there is still the same difficulty in -accounting satisfactorily for the individual forces which regulate the -similar shape of each mass, while all are moved by a general force that -has apparently no influence on the divided structure. Thus the mass of -clouds disposed as in Fig. 81, will probably move, mutually, in the -direction of the arrow; that is to say, sideways, as far as their -separate curvature is concerned. I suppose it probable that as the -science of electricity is more perfectly systematized, the explanation -of many circumstances of cloud-form will be rendered by it. At present I -see no use in troubling the reader or myself with conjectures which a -year's progress in science might either effectively contradict or -supersede. All that I want is, that we should have our questions ready -to put clearly to the electricians when the electricians are ready to -answer us. - -Sec. 9. It is possible that some of the loveliest conditions of these -parallel clouds may be owing to a structure which I forgot to explain, -when it occurred in rocks, in the course of the last volume. - -[Illustration: FIG. 82.] - -When they are finely stratified, and their surfaces abraded by broad, -shallow furrows, the edges of the beds, of course, are thrown into -undulations, and at some distance, where the furrows disappear, the -surface looks as if the rock had flowed over it in successive waves. -Such a condition is seen on the left at the top in Fig. 17, in Vol. IV. -Supposing a series of beds of vapor cut across by a straight sloping -current of air, and so placed as to catch the light on their edges, we -should have a series of curved lights, looking like independent clouds. - -Sec. 10. I believe conditions of form like those in Fig. 82 (turn the book -with its outer edge down) may not unfrequently be thus, owing to -stratification, when they occur in the nearer sky. This line of cloud is -far off at the horizon, drifting towards the left (the points of course -forward), and is, I suppose, a series of nearly circular eddies seen in -perspective. - -Which question of perspective we must examine a little before going a -step farther. In order to simplify it, let us assume that the under -surfaces of clouds are flat, and lie in a horizontal extended field. -This is in great measure the fact, and notable perspective phenomena -depend on the approximation of clouds to such a condition. - -[Illustration: 64. Cloud Perspective. (Rectilinear.)] - -[Illustration: 65. Cloud Perspective. (Curvilinear.)] - -Sec. 11. Referring the reader to my Elements of Perspective for statements -of law which would be in this place tiresome, I can only ask him to take -my word for it that the three figures in Plate 64 represent limiting -lines of sky perspective, as they would appear over a large space of the -sky. Supposing that the breadth included was one-fourth of the horizon, -the shaded portions in the central figure represent square fields -of cloud,[2] and those in the uppermost figure narrow triangles, with -their shortest side next us, but sloping a little away from us. - -In each figure, the shaded portions show the perspective limits of -cloud-masses, which, in reality, are arranged in perfectly straight -lines, are all similar, and are equidistant from each other. Their exact -relative positions are marked by the lines connecting them, and may be -determined by the reader if he knows perspective. If he does not, he may -be surprised at first to be told that the stubborn and blunt little -triangle, _b_, Fig. 1, Plate 64, represents a cloud precisely similar, -and similarly situated, to that represented by the thin triangle, _a_; -and, in like manner, the stout diamond, _a_, Fig. 2, represents -precisely the same form and size of cloud as the thin strip at _b_. He -may perhaps think it still more curious that the retiring perspective -which causes stoutness in the triangle, causes leanness in the -diamond.[3] - -Sec. 12. Still greater confusion in aspect is induced by the apparent -change caused by perspective in the direction of the wind. If Fig. 3 be -supposed to include a quarter of the horizon, the spaces, into which its -straight lines divide it, represent squares of sky. The curved lines, -which cross these spaces from corner to corner, are precisely parallel -throughout; and, therefore, two clouds moving, one on the curved line -from _a_ to _b_, and the other on the other side, from _c_ to _d_, -would, in reality, be moving with the same wind, in parallel lines. In -Plate 66, which is a sketch of an actual sunset behind Beauvais -cathedral (the point of the roof of the apse, a little to the left of -the centre, shows it to be a summer sunset), the white cirri in the high -light are all moving eastward, away from the sun, in perfectly parallel -lines, curving a little round to the south. Underneath, are two straight -ranks of rainy cirri, crossing each other; one directed south-east; the -other, north-west. The meeting perspective of these, in extreme -distance, determines the shape of the angular light which opens above -the cathedral. Underneath all, fragments of true rain-cloud are floating -between us and the sun, governed by curves of their own. They are, -nevertheless, connected with the straight cirri, by the dark -semi-cumulus in the middle of the shade above the cathedral. - -[Illustration: FIG. 83.] - -Sec. 13. Sky perspective, however, remains perfectly simple, so long as it -can be reduced to any rectilinear arrangement; but when nearly the whole -system is curved, which nine times out of ten is the case, it becomes -embarrassing. The central figure in Plate 65 represents the simplest -possible combination of perspective of straight lines with that of -curves, a group of concentric circles of small clouds being supposed to -cast shadows from the sun near the horizon. Such shadows are often cast -in misty air; the aspect of rays about the sun being, in fact, only -caused by spaces between them. They are carried out formally and far in -the Plate, to show how curiously they may modify the arrangement of -light in a sky. The woodcut, Fig. 83, gives roughly the arrangement of -the clouds in Turner's Pools of Solomon, in which he has employed a -concentric system of circles of this kind, and thus lighted. In the -perspective figure the clouds are represented as small square masses, -for the sake of greater simplicity, and are so beaded or strung as it -were on the curves in which they move, as to keep their distances -precisely equal, and their sides parallel. This is the usual condition -of cloud: for though arranged in curved ranks, each cloud has its face -to the front, or, at all events, acts in some parallel line--generally -another curve--with those next to it: being rarely, except in the form -of fine radiating striae, arranged on the curves as at _a_, Fig. 84; but -as at _b_, or _c_. It would make the diagram too complex if I gave one -of intersecting curves; but the lowest figure in Plate 65 represents, in -perspective, two groups of ellipses arranged in equidistant straight and -parallel lines, and following each other on two circular curves. Their -exact relative position is shown in Fig. 2, Plate 56. While the -uppermost figure in Plate 65 represents, in parallel perspective, a -series of ellipses arranged in radiation on a circle, their exact -relative size and position are shown in Fig. 3, Plate 56, and the lines -of such a sky as would be produced by them, roughly, in Fig. 90, facing -page 128.[4] - -[Illustration: FIG. 84.] - -Sec. 14. And in these figures, which, if we look up the subject rightly, -would be but the first and simplest of the series necessary to -illustrate the action of the upper cirri, the reader may see, at once, -how necessarily painters, untrained in observance of proportion, and -ignorant of perspective, must lose in every touch the expression of -buoyancy and space in sky. The absolute forms of each cloud are, indeed, -not alike, as the ellipses in the engraving; but assuredly, when moving -in groups of this kind, there are among them the same proportioned -inequalities of relative distance, the same gradated changes from -ponderous to elongated form, the same exquisite suggestions of -including curve; and a common painter, dotting his clouds down at -random, or in more or less equal masses, can no more paint a sky, than -he could, by random dashes for its ruined arches, paint the Coliseum. - -Sec. 15. Whatever approximation to the character of upper clouds may have -been reached by some of our modern students, it will be found, on -careful analysis, that Turner stands more absolutely alone in this gift -of cloud-drawing, than in any other of his great powers. Observe, I say, -cloud-_drawing_; other great men colored clouds beautifully; none but he -ever drew them truly: this power coming from his constant habit of -drawing skies, like everything else, with the pencil point. It is quite -impossible to engrave any of his large finished skies on a small scale; -but the woodcut, Fig. 85, will give some idea of the forms of cloud -involved in one of his small drawings. It is only half of the sky in -question, that of Rouen from St. Catherine's Hill, in the Rivers of -France. Its clouds are arranged on two systems of intersecting circles, -crossed beneath by long bars very slightly bent. The form of every -separate cloud is completely studied; the manner of drawing them will be -understood better by help of the Plate opposite, which is a piece of the -sky above the "Campo Santo,"[5] at Venice, exhibited in 1842. It is -exquisite in rounding of the separate fragments and buoyancy of the -rising central group, as well as in its expression of the wayward -influence of curved lines of breeze on a generally rectilinear system of -cloud. - -[Illustration: FIG. 85. _To face page 118._] - -[Illustration: 67. Clouds.] - -Sec. 16. To follow the subject farther would, however, lead us into -doctrine of circular storms, and all kinds of pleasant, but infinite, -difficulty, from which temptation I keep clear, believing that enough is -now stated to enable the reader to understand what he is to look for in -Turner's skies; and what kind of power, thought, and science are -involved continually in the little white or purple dashes of -cloud-spray, which, in such pictures as the San Benedetto, looking to -Fusina, the Napoleon, or the Temeraire, guide the eye to the horizon -more by their true perspective than by their aerial tone, and are -buoyant, not so much by expression of lightness as of motion.[6] - -Sec. 17. I say the "white or purple" cloud-spray. One word yet may be -permitted me respecting the mystery of that color. What should we have -thought--if we had lived in a country where there were no clouds, but -only low mist or fog--of any stranger who had told us that, in his -country, these mists rose into the air, and became purple, crimson, -scarlet, and gold? I am aware of no sufficient explanation of these hues -of the upper clouds, nor of their strange mingling of opacity with a -power of absorbing light. All clouds are so opaque that, however -delicate they may be, you never see one through another. Six feet depth -of them, at a little distance, will wholly veil the darkest mountain -edge; so that, whether for light or shade, they tell upon the sky as -body color on canvas; they have always a perfect surface and -bloom;--delicate as a rose-leaf, when required of them, but never poor -or meagre in hue, like old-fashioned water-colors. And, if needed, in -mass, they will bear themselves for solid force of hue against any rock. -Facing p. 339, I have engraved a memorandum made of a clear sunset after -rain, from the top of Milan cathedral. The greater part of the outline -is granite--Monte Rosa--the rest cloud; but it and the granite were dark -alike. Frequently, in effects of this kind, the cloud is darker of the -two.[7] And this opacity is, nevertheless, obtained without destroying -the gift they have of letting broken light through them, so that, -between us and the sun, they may become golden fleeces, and float as -fields of light. - -Now their distant colors depend on these two properties together; -partly on the opacity, which enables them to reflect light strongly; -partly on a spongelike power of gathering light into their bodies. - -Sec. 18. Long ago it was noted by Aristotle, and again by Leonardo, that -vaporous bodies looked russet, or even red, when warm light was seen -through them, and blue when deep shade was seen through them. Both -colors may, generally, be seen on any wreath of cottage smoke. - -Whereon, easy conclusion has sometimes been founded by modern reasoners. -All red in sky is caused by light seen through vapor, and all blue by -shade seen through vapor. - -Easy, indeed, but not sure, even in cloud-color only. It is true that -the smoke of a town may be of a rich brick red against golden twilight; -and of a very lovely, though not bright, blue against shade. But I never -saw crimson or scarlet smoke, nor ultramarine smoke. - -Even granting that watery vapor in its purity may give the colors more -clearly, the red colors are by no means always relieved against light. -The finest scarlets are constantly seen in broken flakes on a deep -purple ground of heavier cloud beyond, and some of the loveliest -rose-colors on clouds in the east, opposite the sunset, or in the west -in the morning. Nor are blues always attainable by throwing vapor over -shade. Especially, you cannot get them by putting it over blue itself. A -thin vapor on dark blue sky is of a warm gray, not blue. A -thunder-cloud, deep enough to conceal everything behind it, is often -dark lead-color, or sulphurous blue; but the thin vapors crossing it, -milky-white. The vividest hues are connected also with another attribute -of clouds, their lustre--metallic in effect, watery in reality. They not -only reflect color as dust or wool would, but, when far off, as water -would; sometimes even giving a distinct image of the sun underneath the -orb itself;--in all cases becoming dazzling in lustre, when at a low -angle, capable of strong reflection. Practically, this low angle is only -obtained when the cloud seems near the sun, and hence we get into the -careless habit of looking at the golden reflected light as if it were -actually caused by nearness to the fiery ball. - -[Illustration: 66. Light in the West, Beauvais.] - -Sec. 19. Without, however, troubling ourselves at all about laws, or causes -of color, the visible consequences of their operation are notably -these--that when near us, clouds present only subdued and uncertain -colors; but when far from us, and struck by the sun on their under -surfaces--so that the greater part of the light they receive is -reflected--they may become golden, purple, scarlet, and intense fiery -white, mingled in all kinds of gradations, such as I tried to describe -in the chapter on the upper clouds in the first volume, in hope of being -able to return to them "when we knew what was beautiful." - -The question before us now is, therefore, What value ought this -attribute of clouds to possess in the human mind? Ought we to admire -their colors, or despise them? Is it well to watch them as Turner does, -and strive to paint them through all deficiency and darkness of -inadequate material? Or, is it wiser and nobler--like Claude, Salvator, -Ruysdael, Wouvermans--never to look for them--never to portray? We must -yet have patience a little before deciding this, because we have to -ascertain some facts respecting the typical meaning of color itself; -which, reserving for another place, let us proceed here to learn the -forms of the inferior clouds. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Before going farther, I must say a word or two respecting method - of drawing clouds. - - Absolutely well no cloud _can_ be drawn with the point; nothing but - the most delicate management of the brush will express its variety of - edge and texture. By laborious and tender engraving, a close - approximation may be obtained either to nature or to good painting; - and the engravings of sky by our modern line engravers are often - admirable;--in many respects as good as can be, and to my mind the - best part of their work. There still exist some early proofs of - Miller's plate of the Grand Canal, Venice, in which the sky is the - likest thing to Turner's work I have ever seen in large engravings. - The plate was spoiled after a few impressions were taken off by - desire of the publisher. The sky was so exactly like Turner's that he - thought it would not please the public, and had all the fine - cloud-drawing rubbed away to make it soft. - - The Plate opposite page 118, by Mr. Armytage, is also, I think, a - superb specimen of engraving, though in result not so good as the one - just spoken of, because this was done from my copy of Turner's sky, - not from the picture itself. - - But engraving of this finished kind cannot, by reason of its - costliness, be given for every illustration of cloud form. Nor, if it - could, can skies be sketched with the completion which would bear it. - It is sometimes possible to draw one cloud out of fifty thousand with - something like fidelity before it fades. But if we want the - arrangement of the fifty thousand, they can only be indicated with - the rudest lines, and finished from memory. It was, as we shall see - presently, only by his gigantic powers of memory that Turner was - enabled to draw skies as he did. - - Now, I look upon my own memory of clouds, or of anything else, as of - no value whatever. All the drawings on which I have ever rested an - assertion have been made without stirring from the spot; and in - sketching clouds from nature, it is very seldom desirable to use the - brush. For broad effects and notes of color (though these, hastily - made, are always inaccurate, and letters indicating the color do - nearly as well) the brush may be sometimes useful, but, in most - cases, a dark pencil, which will lay shade with its side and draw - lines with its point, is the best instrument. Turner almost always - outlined merely with the point, being able to remember the relations - of shade without the slightest chance of error. The point, at all - events, is needful, however much stump work may be added to it. - - Now, in translating sketches made with the pencil point into - engraving, we must either engrave delicately and expensively, or be - content to substitute for the soft varied pencil lines the finer and - uncloudlike touches of the pen. It is best to do this boldly, if at - all, and without the least aim at fineness of effect, to lay down a - vigorous black line as the limit of the cloud form or action. The - more subtle a painter's finished work, the more fearless he is in - using the vigorous black line when he is making memoranda, of - treating his subject conventionally. At the top of page 224, Vol. - IV., the reader may see the kind of outline which Titian uses for - clouds in his pen work. Usually he is even bolder and coarser. And in - the rude woodcuts I am going to employ here, I believe the reader - will find ultimately that, with whatever ill success used by me, the - means of expression are the fullest and most convenient that can be - adopted, short of finished engraving, while there are some conditions - of cloud-action which I satisfy myself better in expressing by these - coarse lines than in any other way. - - [2] If the figures are supposed to include less than one-fourth of - the horizon, the shaded figures represent diamond-shaped clouds; but - the reader cannot understand this without studying perspective laws - accurately. - - [3] In reality, the retiring ranks of cloud, if long enough, would, - of course, go on converging to the horizon. I do not continue them, - because the figures would become too compressed. - - [4] I use ellipses in order to make these figures easily - intelligible; the curves actually _are_ variable curves, of the - nature of the cycloid, or other curves of continuous motion; probably - produced by a current moving in some such direction as that indicated - by the dotted line in Fig. 3, Plate 56. - - [5] Now in the possession of E. Bicknell, Esq., who kindly lent me - the picture, that I might make this drawing from it carefully. - - [6] I cannot yet engrave these; but the little study of a single rank - of cirrus, the lowest in Plate 63, may serve to show the value of - perspective in expressing buoyancy. It is not, however, though - beautifully engraved by Mr. Armytage, as delicate as it should be, in - the finer threads which indicate increasing distance at the - extremity. Compare the rising of the lines of curve at the edges of - this mass, with the similar action on a larger scale, of Turner's - cloud, opposite. - - [7] In the autobiography of John Newton there is an interesting - account of the deception of a whole ship's company by cloud, taking - the aspect and outline of mountainous land. They ate the last - provision in the ship, so sure were they of its being land, and were - nearly starved to death in consequence. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE CLOUD-CHARIOTS. - - -Sec. 1. Between the flocks of small countless clouds which occupy the -highest heavens, and the gray undivided film of the true rain-cloud, -form the fixed masses or torn fleeces, sometimes collected and calm, -sometimes fiercely drifting, which are, nevertheless, known under one -general name of cumulus, or heaped cloud. - -The true cumulus, the most majestic of all clouds, and almost the only -one which attracts the notice of ordinary observers, is for the most -part windless; the movement of its masses being solemn, continuous, -inexplicable, a steady advance or retiring, as if they were animated by -an inner will, or compelled by an unseen power. They appear to be -peculiarly connected with heat, forming perfectly only in the afternoon, -and melting away in the evening. Their noblest conditions are strongly -electric, and connect themselves with storm-cloud and true -thunder-cloud. When there is thunder in the air, they will form in cold -weather, or early in the day. - -Sec. 2. I have never succeeded in drawing a cumulus. Its divisions of -surface are grotesque and endless, as those of a mountain;--perfectly -defined, brilliant beyond all power of color, and transitory as a dream. -Even Turner never attempted to paint them, any more than he did the -snows of the high Alps. - -Nor can I explain them any more than I can draw them. The ordinary -account given of their structure is, I believe, that the moisture raised -from the earth by the sun's heat becomes visible by condensation at a -certain height in the colder air, that the level of the condensing point -is that of the cloud's base, and that above it, the heaps are pushed up -higher and higher as more vapor accumulates, till, towards evening, the -supply beneath ceases; and at sunset, the fall of dew enables the -surrounding atmosphere to absorb and melt them away. Very plausible. -But it seems to me herein unexplained how the vapor is held together in -those heaps. If the clear air about and above it has no aqueous vapor in -it, or at least a much less quantity, why does not the clear air keep -pulling the cloud to pieces, eating it away, as steam is consumed in -open air? Or, if any cause prevents such rapid devouring of it, why does -not the aqueous vapor diffuse itself softly in the air like smoke, so -that one would not know where the cloud ended? What should make it bind -itself in those solid mounds, and stay so:--positive, fantastic, -defiant, determined? - -Sec. 3. If ever I am able to understand the process of the cumulus -formation,[1] it will become to me one of the most interesting of all -subjects of study to trace the connection of the threatening and -terrible outlines of thunder-cloud with the increased action of the -electric power. I am for the present utterly unable to speak respecting -this matter, and must pass it by, in all humility, to say what little I -have ascertained respecting the more broken and rapidly moving forms of -the central clouds, which connect themselves with mountains, and may, -therefore, among mountains, be seen close and truly. - -Sec. 4. Yet even of these, I can only reason with great doubt and continual -pause. This last volume ought certainly to be better than the first of -the series, for two reasons. I have learned, during the sixteen years, -to say little where I said much, and to see difficulties where I saw -none. And I am in a great state of marvel in looking back to my first -account of clouds, not only at myself, but even at my dear master, M. de -Saussure. To think that both of us should have looked at drifting -mountain clouds, for years together, and been content with the theory -which you will find set forth in Sec. 4, of the chapter on the central -cloud region (Vol. I.), respecting the action of the snowy summits and -watery vapor passing them. It is quite true that this action takes -place, and that the said fourth paragraph is right, as far as it -reaches. But both Saussure and I ought to have known--we both did know, -but did not think of it--that the covering or cap-cloud forms on hot -summits as well as cold ones;--that the red and bare rocks of Mont -Pilate, hotter, certainly, after a day's sunshine than the cold -storm-wind which sweeps to them from the Alps, nevertheless have been -renowned for their helmet of cloud, ever since the Romans watched the -cloven summit, gray against the south, from the ramparts of Vindonissa, -giving it the name from which the good Catholics of Lucerne have warped -out their favorite piece of terrific sacred biography.[2] And both my -master and I should also have reflected, that if our theory about its -formation had been generally true, the helmet cloud ought to form on -every cold summit, at the approach of rain, in approximating proportions -to the bulk of the glaciers; which is so far from being the case that -not only (A) the cap-cloud may often be seen on lower summits of grass -or rock, while the higher ones are splendidly clear (which may be -accounted for by supposing the wind containing the moisture not to have -risen so high), but (B) the cap-cloud always shows a preference for -hills of a conical form, such as the Mole or Niesen, which can have very -little power in chilling the air, even supposing they were cold -themselves, while it will entirely refuse to form round huge masses of -mountain, which, supposing them of chilly temperament, must have -discomforted the atmosphere in their neighborhood for leagues. And -finally (C) reversing the principle under letter A, the cap-cloud -constantly forms on the summit of Mont Blanc, while it will obstinately -refuse to appear on the Dome du Goute or Aiguille Sans-nom, where the -snow-fields are of greater extent, and the air must be moister, because -lower. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin. J. C. Armytage. - -69. Aiguilles and their Friends.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 86.] - -Sec. 5. The fact is, that the explanation given in that fourth paragraph -can, in reality, account only for what may properly be termed "lee-side -cloud," slightly noticed in the continuation of the same chapter, but -deserving most attentive illustration, as one of the most beautiful -phenomena of the Alps. When a moist wind blows in clear weather over a -cold summit, it has not time to get chilled as it approaches the -rock, and therefore the air remains clear, and the sky bright on the -windward side; but under the lee of the peak, there is partly a back -eddy, and partly still air; and in that lull and eddy the wind gets time -to be chilled by the rock, and the cloud appears as a boiling mass of -white vapor, rising continually with the return current to the upper -edge of the mountain, where it is caught by the straight wind, and -partly torn, partly melted away in broken fragments. In Fig. 86 the dark -mass represents the mountain peak, the arrow the main direction of the -wind, the curved lines show the directions of such current and its -concentration, and the dotted lines enclose the space in which cloud -forms densely, floating away beyond and above in irregular tongues and -flakes. The second figure from the top in Plate 69 represents the actual -aspect of it when in full development, with a strong south wind, in a -clear day, on the Aiguille Dru, the sky being perfectly blue and lovely -around. - -So far all is satisfactory. But the true helmet cloud will not allow -itself to be thus explained away. The uppermost figure in Plate 69 -represents the loveliest form of it, seen in that perfect arch, so far -as I know, only over the highest piece of earth in Europe. - -Sec. 6. Respecting which there are two mysteries:--First, why it should -form only at a certain distance above the snow, showing blue sky between -it and the summit. Secondly, why, so forming, it should always show as -an arch, not as a concave cup. This last question puzzles me especially. -For, if it be a true arch, and not a cup, it ought to show itself in -certain positions of the spectator, or directions of the wind, like the -ring of Saturn, as a mere line, or as a spot of cloud pausing over the -hill-top. But I never saw it so. While, as above noticed, the lowest -form of the helmet cloud is not white as of silver, but like Dolon's -helmet of wolf-skin,--it is a gray, flaky veil, lapping itself over the -shoulders of a more or less conical peak; and of this, also, I have no -word to utter but the old one, "Electricity," and I might as well say -nothing. - -Sec. 7. Neither the helmet cloud, nor the lee-side cloud, however, though -most interesting and beautiful, are of much importance in picturesque -effect. They are too isolated and strange. But the great mountain cloud, -which seems to be a blending of the two with independent forms of vapor -(that is to say, a greater development, in consequence of the mountain's -action, of clouds which would in some way or other have formed -anywhere), requires prolonged attention, as the principal element of the -sky in noblest landscape. - -Sec. 8. For which purpose, first, it may be well to clear a few clouds out -of the way. I believe the true cumulus is never seen in a great mountain -region, at least never associated with hills. It is always broken up and -modified by them. Boiling and rounded masses of vapor occur continually, -as behind the Aiguille Dru (lowest figure in Plate 69); but the quiet, -thoroughly defined, infinitely divided and modelled pyramid never -develops itself. It would be very grand if one ever saw a great mountain -peak breaking through the domed shoulders of a true cumulus; but this I -have never seen. - -Sec. 9. Again, the true high cirri never cross a mountain in Europe. How -often have I hoped to see an Alp rising through and above their -level-laid and rippled fields! but those white harvest-fields are -heaven's own. And, finally, even the low, level, cirrus (used so largely -in Martin's pictures) rarely crosses a mountain. If it does, it usually -becomes slightly waved or broken, so as to destroy its character. -Sometimes, however, at great distances, a very level bar of cloud will -strike across a peak; but nearer, too much of the under surface of the -field is seen, so that a well-defined bar across a peak, seen at a high -angle, is of the greatest rarity. - -[Illustration: J. Ruskin. J. C. Armytage. - -70. The Graiae.] - -[Illustration: 71. "Venga Medusa."] - -[Illustration: FIG. 87. _To face page 127._] - -Sec. 10. The ordinary mountain cloud, therefore, if well defined, divides -itself into two kinds: a broken condition of cumulus, grand in -proportion as it is solid and quiet,--and a strange modification of -drift-cloud, midway, as I said, between the helmet and the lee-side -forms. The broken, quiet cumulus impressed Turner exceedingly when he -first saw it on hills. He uses it, slightly exaggerating its -definiteness, in all his early studies among the mountains of the -Chartreuse, and very beautifully in the vignette of St. Maurice in -Rogers's Italy. There is nothing, however, to be specially observed of -it, as it only differs from the cumulus of the plains, by being smaller -and more broken. - -Sec. 11. Not so the mountain drift-cloud, which is as peculiar as it is -majestic. The Plates 70 and 71 show, as well as I can express, two -successive phases of it on a mountain crest; (in this instance the great -limestone ridge above St. Michel, in Savoy.) But what colossal -proportions this noble cloud assumes may be best gathered from the rude -sketch, Fig. 87, in which I have simply put firm black ink over the -actual pencil lines made at the moment, giving the form of a single -wreath of the drift-cloud, stretching about five miles in a direct line -from the summit of one of the Alps of the Val d'Aosta, as seen from the -plain of Turin. It has a grand volcanic look, but I believe its aspect -of rising from the peak to be almost, if not altogether, deceptive; and -that the apparently gigantic column is a nearly horizontal stream of -lee-side cloud, tapered into the distance by perspective, and thus -rising at its apparently lowest but in reality most distant point, from -the mountain summit whose shade calls it into being out of the clear -winds. - -Whether this be so or not, the apparent origin of the cloud on the peak, -and radiation from it, distinguish it from the drift-cloud of level -country, which arranges itself at the horizon in broken masses, such as -Fig. 89, showing no point of origin; and I do not know how far they are -vertical cliffs or horizontally extended fields. They are apt to be very -precipitous in aspect, breaking into fragments with an apparently -concentric motion, as in the figure; but of this motion also--whether -vertical or horizontal--I can say nothing positive. - -Sec. 12. The absolute scale of such clouds may be seen, or at least -demonstrated, more clearly in Fig. 88, which is a rough note of an -effect of sky behind the tower of Berne Cathedral. It was made from the -mound beside the railroad bridge. The Cathedral tower is half-a-mile -distant. The great Eiger of Grindelwald is seen just on the right of it. -This mountain is distant from the tower thirty-four miles as the crow -flies, and ten thousand feet above it in height. The drift-cloud behind -it, therefore, being in full light, and showing no overhanging -surfaces, must rise at least twenty thousand feet into the air. - -Sec. 13. The extreme whiteness of the volume of vapor in this case (not, I -fear, very intelligible in the woodcut[3]) may be partly owing to recent -rain, which, by its evaporation, gives a peculiar density and brightness -to some forms of clearing cloud. In order to understand this, we must -consider another set of facts. When weather is thoroughly wet among -hills, we ought no more to accuse the mountains of forming the clouds, -than we do the plains in similar circumstances. The unbroken mist buries -the mountains to their bases; but that is not their fault. It may be -just as wet and just as cloudy elsewhere. (This is not true of Scottish -mountain, by the way.) But when the wet weather is breaking, and the -clouds pass, perhaps, in great measure, away from the plains leaving -large spaces of blue sky, the mountains begin to shape clouds for -themselves. The fallen moisture evaporates from the plain invisibly; but -not so from the hill-side. There, what quantity of rain has not gone -down in the torrents, ascends again to heaven instantly in white clouds. -The storm passes as if it had tormented the crags, and the strong -mountains smoke like tired horses. - -Sec. 14. Here is another question for us of some interest. Why does the -much greater quantity of moisture lying on the horizontal fields send up -no visible vapor, and the less quantity left on the rocks glorify itself -into a magnificent wreath of soaring snow? - -First, for the very reason, that it is less in quantity, and more -distributed; as a wet cloth smokes when you put it near the fire, but a -basin of water not. - -[Illustration: FIG. 88.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 89.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 90. _To face page 128._] - -The previous heat of the crags, noticed in the first volume, p. 249, is -only a part of the cause. It operates only locally, and on remains of -sudden showers. But after any number of days and nights of rain, and in -all places exposed to returning sunshine and breezes, the _distribution_ -of the moisture tells. So soon as the rain has ceased, all water that -can run off is of course gone from the steep hill-sides; there remains -only the thin adherent film of moisture to be dried; but that film is -spread over a complex texture--all manner of crannies, and bosses, and -projections, and filaments of moss and lichen, exposing a vast extent of -drying surface to the air. And the evaporation is rapid in proportion. - -Sec. 15. Its rapidity, however, observe, does not account for its -visibility, and this is one of the questions I cannot clearly solve, -unless I were sure of the nature of the vesicular vapor. When our breath -becomes visible on a frosty day, it is easily enough understood that the -moisture which was invisible, carried by the warm air from the lungs, -becomes visible when condensed or precipitated by the surrounding chill; -but one does not see why air passing over a moist surface quite as cold -as itself should take up one particle of water more than it can -conveniently--that is to say, invisibly--carry. Whenever you _see_ -vapor, you may not inaccurately consider the air as having got more than -it can properly hold, and dropping some. Now it is easily understood how -it should take up much in the lungs, and let some of it fall when it is -pinched by the frost outside; but why should it overload itself there on -the hills, when it is at perfect liberty to fly away as soon as it -likes, and come back for more? I do not see my way well in this. I do -not see it clearly, even through the wet cloth. I shall leave all the -embarrassment of the matter, however, to my reader, contenting myself, -as usual, with the actual fact, that the hill-side air does behave in -this covetous and unreasonable manner; and that, in consequence, when -the weather is breaking (and sometimes, provokingly, when it is not), -phantom clouds form and rise in sudden crowds of wild and spectral -imagery along all the far succession of the hill-slopes and ravines. - -[Illustration: FIG. 91.] - -Sec. 16. There is this distinction, however, between the clouds that form -during the rain and after it. In the worst weather, the rain-cloud keeps -rather high, and is unbroken; but when there is a disposition in the -rain to relax, every now and then a sudden company of white clouds will -form quite low down (in Chamouni or Grindelwald, and such high -districts, even down to the bottom of the valley), which will remain, -perhaps, for ten minutes, filling all the air, then disappear as -suddenly as they came, leaving the gray upper cloud and steady rain to -their work. These "clouds of relaxation," if we may so call them, are -usually flaky and horizontal, sometimes tending to the silky cirrus, yet -showing no fine forms of drift; but when the rain has passed, and the -air is getting warm, forms the true clearing cloud, in wreaths that -ascend continually with a slow circling motion, melting as they rise. -The woodcut, Fig. 91, is a rude note of it floating more quietly from -the hill of the Superga, the church (nearly as large as St. Paul's) -appearing above, and thus showing the scale of the wreath. - -[Illustration: FIG. 92.] - -Sec. 17. This cloud of evaporation, however, does not always rise. It -sometimes rests in absolute stillness, low laid in the hollows of the -hills, their peaks emergent from it. Fig. 92 shows this condition of it, -seen from a distance, among the Cenis hills. I do not know what gives it -this disposition to rest in the ravines, nor whether there is a greater -chill in the hollows, or a real action of gravity on the particles of -cloud. In general, the position seems to depend on the temperature. -Thus, in Chamouni, the crests of La Cote and Taconay continually appear -in stormy weather as in Plate 36, Vol. IV., in which I intended to -represent rising drift-cloud, made dense between the crests by the chill -from the glaciers. But in the condition shown in Fig. 92, on a -comparatively open sweep of hill-side, the thermometer would certainly -indicate a higher temperature in the sheltered valley than on the -exposed peaks; yet the cloud still subsides into the valleys like folds -of a garment; and, more than this, sometimes conditions of morning -cloud, dependent, I believe, chiefly on dew evaporation, form first on -the _tops_ of the soft hills of wooded Switzerland, and droop down in -rent fringes, and separate tongues, clinging close to all the -hill-sides, and giving them exactly the appearance of being covered with -white fringed cloth, falling over them in torn or divided folds. It -always looks like a true action of gravity. How far it is, in reality, -the indication of the power of the rising sun causing evaporation, first -on the hill-top, and then in separate streams, by its divided light on -the ravines, I cannot tell. The subject is, as the reader perceives, -always inextricably complicated by these three necessities--that to get -a cloud in any given spot, you must have moisture to form the material -of it, heat to develop it, and cold[4] to show it; and the adverse -causes inducing the moisture, the evaporation, and the visibility are -continually interchanged in presence and in power. And thus, also, the -phenomena which properly belong to a certain elevation are confused, -among hills at least, with those which in plains would have been lower -or higher. - -I have been led unavoidably in this chapter to speak of some conditions -of the rain-cloud; nor can we finally understand the forms even of the -cumulus, without considering those into which it descends or diffuses -itself. Which, however, being, I think, a little more interesting than -our work hitherto, we will leave this chapter to its dulness, and begin -another. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] One of the great difficulties in doing this is to distinguish the - portions of cloud outline which really slope upwards from those which - only appear to do so, being in reality horizontal, and thrown into - apparent inclination by perspective. - - [2] _Pileatus_, capped (strictly speaking, with the cap of - liberty;--stormy cloud enough sometimes on men's brows as well as on - mountains), corrupted into Pilatus, and Pilate. - - [3] I could not properly illustrate the subject of clouds without - numbers of these rude drawings, which would probably offend the - general reader by their coarseness, while the cost of engraving them - in facsimile is considerable, and would much add to the price of the - book. If I find people at all interested in the subject, I may, - perhaps, some day systematize and publish my studies of cloud - separately. I am sorry not to have given in this volume a careful - study of a rich cirrus sky, but no wood-engraving that I can employ - on this scale will express the finer threads and waves. - - [4] We might say light, as well as cold; for it wholly depends on the - degree of light in the sky how far delicate cloud is seen. - - The second figure from the top in Plate 69 shows an effect of morning - light on the range of the Aiguille Bouchard (Chamouni). Every crag - casts its shadow up into apparently clear sky. The shadow is, in such - cases, a bluish gray, the color of clear sky; and the defining light - is caused by the sunbeams showing mist which otherwise would have - been unperceived. The shadows are not irregular enough in - outline--the sketch was made for their color and sharpness, not their - shape,--and I cannot now put them right, so I leave them as they were - drawn at the moment. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE ANGEL OF THE SEA. - - -Sec. 1. Perhaps the best and truest piece of work done in the first volume -of this book, was the account given in it of the rain-cloud; to which I -have here little, descriptively, to add. But the question before us now -is, not who has drawn the rain-cloud best, but if it were worth drawing -at all. Our English artists naturally painted it often and rightly; but -are their pictures the better for it? We have seen how mountains are -beautiful; how trees are beautiful; how sun-lighted clouds are -beautiful; but can rain be beautiful? - -I spoke roughly of the Italian painters in that chapter, because they -could only draw distinct clouds, or violent storms, "massive -concretions," while our northern painters could represent every phase of -mist and fall of shower. - -But is this indeed so delightful? Is English wet weather, indeed, one of -the things which we should desire to see Art give perpetuity to? - -Yes, assuredly. I have given some reasons for this answer in the fifth -chapter of last volume; one or two, yet unnoticed, belong to the present -division of our subject. - -Sec. 2. The climates or lands into which our globe is divided may, with -respect to their fitness for Art, be perhaps conveniently ranged under -five heads:-- - -1. Forest-lands, sustaining the great mass of the magnificent vegetation -of the tropics, for the most part characterized by moist and unhealthy -heat, and watered by enormous rivers, or periodical rains. This country -cannot, I believe, develop the mind or art of man. He may reach great -subtlety of intellect, as the Indian, but not become learned, nor -produce any noble art, only a savage or grotesque form of it. Even -supposing the evil influences of climate could be vanquished, the -scenery is on too large a scale. It would be difficult to conceive of -groves less fit for academic purposes than those mentioned by Humboldt, -into which no one can enter except under a stout wooden shield, to avoid -the chance of being killed by the fall of a nut. - -2. Sand-lands, including the desert and dry-rock plains of the earth, -inhabited generally by a nomade population, capable of high mental -cultivation and of solemn monumental or religious art, but not of art in -which pleasurableness forms a large element, their life being -essentially one of hardship. - -3. Grape and wheat lands, namely, rocks and hills, such as are good for -the vine, associated with arable ground forming the noblest and best -ground given to man. In these districts only art of the highest kind -seems possible, the religious art of the sand-lands being here joined -with that of pleasure or sense. - -4. Meadow-lands, including the great pastoral and agricultural districts -of the North, capable only of an inferior art: apt to lose its -spirituality and become wholly material. - -5. Moss-lands, including the rude forest-mountain and ground of the -North, inhabited by a healthy race, capable of high mental cultivation -and moral energy, but wholly incapable of art, except savage, like that -of the forest-lands, or as in Scandinavia. - -We might carry out these divisions into others, but these are I think -essential, and easily remembered in a tabular form; saying "wood" -instead of "forest," and "field" for "meadow," we can get such a form -shortly worded:-- - - Wood-lands Shrewd intellect No art. - Sand-lands High intellect Religious art. - Vine-lands Highest intellect Perfect art. - Field-lands High intellect Material art. - Moss-lands Shrewd intellect No art. - -Sec. 3. In this table the moss-lands appear symmetrically opposed to the -wood-lands, which in a sort they are; the too diminutive vegetation -under bleakest heaven, opposed to the too colossal under sultriest -heaven, while the perfect ministry of the elements, represented by bread -and wine, produces the perfect soul of man. - -But this is not altogether so. The moss-lands have one great advantage -over the forest-lands, namely, sight of the sky. - -And not only sight of it, but continual and beneficent help from it. -What they have to separate them from barren rock, namely, their moss and -streams, being dependent on its direct help, not on great rivers coming -from distant mountain chains, nor on vast tracts of ocean-mist coming up -at evening, but on the continual play and change of sun and cloud. - -Sec. 4. Note this word "change." The moss-lands have an infinite advantage, -not only in sight, but in liberty; they are the freest ground in all the -world. You can only traverse the great woods by crawling like a lizard, -or climbing like a monkey--the great sands with slow steps and veiled -head. But bare-headed, and open-eyed, and free-limbed, commanding all -the horizon's space of changeful light, and all the horizon's compass of -tossing ground, you traverse the moss-land. In discipline it is severe -as the desert, but it is a discipline compelling to action; and the -moss-lands seem, therefore, the rough schools of the world, in which its -strongest human frames are knit and tried, and so bent down, like the -northern winds, to brace and brighten the languor into which the repose -of more favored districts may degenerate. - -Sec. 5. It would be strange, indeed, if there were no beauty in the -phenomena by which this great renovating and purifying work is done. And -it is done almost entirely by the great Angel of the Sea--rain;--the -Angel, observe, the messenger sent to a special place on a special -errand. Not the diffused perpetual presence of the burden of mist, but -the going and returning of intermittent cloud. All turns upon that -intermittence. Soft moss on stone and rock;--cave-fern of tangled glen; -wayside well--perennial, patient, silent, clear; stealing through its -square font of rough-hewn stone; ever thus deep--no more--which the -winter wreck sullies not, the summer thirst wastes not, incapable of -stain as of decline--where the fallen leaf floats undecayed, and the -insect darts undefiling. Cressed brook and ever-eddying river, lifted -even in flood scarcely over its stepping-stones,--but through all sweet -summer keeping tremulous music with harp-strings of dark water among the -silver fingering of the pebbles. Far away in the south the strong river -Gods have all hasted, and gone down to the sea. Wasted and burning, -white furnaces of blasting sand, their broad beds lie ghastly and bare; -but here the soft wings of the Sea Angel droop still with dew, and the -shadows of their plumes falter on the hills: strange laughings, and -glitterings of silver streamlets, born suddenly, and twined about the -mossy heights in trickling tinsel, answering to them as they wave.[1] - -Sec. 6. Nor are those wings colorless. We habitually think of the -rain-cloud only as dark and gray; not knowing that we owe to it perhaps -the fairest, though not the most dazzling of the hues of heaven. Often -in our English mornings, the rain-clouds in the dawn form soft level -fields, which melt imperceptibly into the blue; or when of less extent, -gather into apparent bars, crossing the sheets of broader cloud above; -and all these bathed throughout in an unspeakable light of pure -rose-color, and purple, and amber, and blue; not shining, but -misty-soft; the barred masses, when seen nearer, composed of clusters or -tresses of cloud, like floss silk; looking as if each knot were a little -swathe or sheaf of lighted rain. No clouds form such skies, none are so -tender, various, inimitable. Turner himself never caught them. -Correggio, putting out his whole strength, could have painted them, no -other man.[2] - -Sec. 7. For these are the robes of love of the Angel of the Sea. To these -that name is chiefly given, the "spreadings of the clouds," from their -extent, their gentleness, their fulness of rain. Note how they are -spoken of in Job xxxvi. v. 29-31. "By them judgeth he the people; he -giveth meat in abundance. With clouds he covereth the light.[3] He hath -hidden the light in his hands, and commanded that it should return. He -speaks of it to his friend; that it is his possession, and that he may -ascend thereto." - -That, then, is the Sea Angel's message to God's friends; _that_, the -meaning of those strange golden lights and purple flushes before the -morning rain. The rain is sent to judge, and feed us; but the light is -the possession of the friends of God, and they may ascend -thereto,--where the tabernacle veil will cross and part its rays no -more. - -Sec. 8. But the Angel of the Sea has also another message,--in the "great -rain of his strength," rain of trial, sweeping away ill-set foundations. -Then his robe is not spread softly over the whole heaven, as a veil, but -sweeps back from his shoulders, ponderous, oblique, terrible--leaving -his sword-arm free. - -The approach of trial-storm, hurricane-storm, is indeed in its vastness -as the clouds of the softer rain. But it is not slow nor horizontal, but -swift and steep: swift with passion of ravenous winds; steep as slope of -some dark, hollowed hill. The fronting clouds come leaning forward, one -thrusting the other aside, or on; impatient, ponderous, impendent, like -globes of rock tossed of Titans--Ossa on Olympus--but hurled forward -all, in one wave of cloud-lava--cloud whose throat is as a sepulchre. -Fierce behind them rages the oblique wrath of the rain, white as ashes, -dense as showers of driven steel; the pillars of it full of ghastly -life; Rain-Furies, shrieking as they fly;--scourging, as with whips of -scorpions;--the earth ringing and trembling under them, heaven wailing -wildly, the trees stooped blindly down, covering their faces, quivering -in every leaf with horror, ruin of their branches flying by them like -black stubble. - -Sec. 9. I wrote Furies. I ought to have written Gorgons. Perhaps the reader -does not know that the Gorgons are not dead, are ever undying. We shall -have to take our chance of being turned into stones by looking them in -the face, presently. Meantime, I gather what part of the great Greek -story of the Sea Angels, has meaning for us here. - -Nereus, the God of the Sea, who dwells in it always (Neptune being the -God who rules it from Olympus), has children by the Earth; namely, -Thaumas, the father of Iris; that is, the "wonderful" or miracle-working -angel of the sea; Phorcys, the malignant angel of it (you will find him -degraded through many forms, at last, in the story of Sindbad, into the -Old Man of the Sea); Ceto, the deep places of the sea, meaning its bays -among rocks, therefore called by Hesiod "Fair-cheeked" Ceto; and -Eurybia, the tidal force or sway of the sea, of whom more hereafter. - -Sec. 10. Phorcys and Ceto, the malignant angel of the sea, and the spirit -of its deep rocky places, have children, namely, first, Graiae, the soft -rain-clouds. The Greeks had a greater dislike of storm than we have, and -therefore whatever violence is in the action of rain, they represented -by harsher types than we should--types given in one group by -Aristophanes (speaking in mockery of the poets): "This was the reason, -then, that they made so much talk about the fierce rushing of the moist -clouds, coiled in glittering; and the locks of the hundred-headed -Typhon; and the blowing storms; and the bent-clawed birds drifted on -the breeze, fresh, and aerial." Note the expression "bent-clawed birds." -It illustrates two characters of these clouds; partly their coiling -form; but more directly the way they tear down the earth from the -hill-sides; especially those twisted storm-clouds which in violent -action become the waterspout. These always strike at a narrow point, -often opening the earth on a hill-side into a trench as a great pickaxe -would (whence the Graiae are said to have only one beak between them). -Nevertheless, the rain-cloud was, on the whole, looked upon by the -Greeks as beneficent, so that it is boasted of in the Oedipus Coloneus -for its perpetual feeding of the springs of Cephisus,[4] and elsewhere -often; and the opening song of the rain-clouds in Aristophanes is -entirely beautiful:-- - -"O eternal Clouds! let us raise into open sight our dewy existence, from -the deep-sounding Sea, our Father, up to the crests of the wooded hills, -whence we look down over the sacred land, nourishing its fruits, and -over the rippling of the divine rivers, and over the low murmuring bays -of the deep." I cannot satisfy myself about the meaning of the names of -the Graiae--Pephredo and Enuo--but the epithets which Hesiod gives them -are interesting: "Pephredo, the well-robed; Enuo, the crocus-robed;" -probably, it seems to me, from their beautiful colors in morning. - -Sec. 11. Next to the Graiae, Phorcys and Ceto begat the Gorgons, which are -the true storm-clouds. The Graiae have only one beak or tooth, but all -the Gorgons have tusks like boars; brazen hands (brass being the word -used for the metal of which the Greeks made their spears), and golden -wings. - -Their names are "Steino" (straitened), of storms compressed into narrow -compass; "Euryale" (having wide threshing-floor), of storms spread over -great space; "Medusa" (the dominant), the most terrible. She is -essentially the highest storm-cloud; therefore the hail-cloud or cloud -of cold, her countenance turning all who behold it to stone. ("He -casteth forth his ice like morsels. Who can stand before his cold?") The -serpents about her head are the fringes of the hail, the idea of -coldness being connected by the Greeks with the bite of the serpent, as -with the hemlock. - -Sec. 12. On Minerva's shield, her head signifies, I believe, the cloudy -coldness of knowledge, and its venomous character ("Knowledge puffeth -up." Compare Bacon in Advancement of Learning). But the idea of serpents -rose essentially from the change of form in the cloud as it broke; the -cumulus cloud not breaking into full storm till it is cloven by the -cirrus; which is twice hinted at in the story of Perseus; only we must -go back a little to gather it together. - -Perseus was the son of Jupiter by Danae, who being shut in a brazen -tower, Jupiter came to her in a shower of gold: the brazen tower being, -I think, only another expression for the cumulus or Medusa cloud; and -the golden rain for the rays of the sun striking it; but we have not -only this rain of Danae's to remember in connection with the Gorgon, but -that also of the sieves of the Danaides, said to represent the provision -of Argos with water by their father Danaues, who dug wells about the -Acropolis; nor only wells, but opened, I doubt not, channels of -irrigation for the fields, because the Danaides are said to have brought -the mysteries of Ceres from Egypt. And though I cannot trace the root of -the names Danaues and Danae, there is assuredly some farther link of -connection in the deaths of the lovers of the Danaides, whom they slew, -as Perseus Medusa. And again note, that when the father of Danae, -Acrisius, is detained in Seriphos by storms, a disk thrown by Perseus is -carried _by the wind against his head_, and kills him; and lastly, when -Perseus cuts off the head of Medusa, from her blood springs Chrysaor, -"wielder of the golden sword," the Angel of the Lightning, and Pegasus, -the Angel of the "Wild Fountains," that is to say, the fastest flying or -lower rain-cloud; winged, but racing as upon the earth. - -Sec. 13. I say, "wild" fountains; because the kind of fountain from which -Pegasus is named is especially the "fountain of the great deep" of -Genesis; sudden and furious, (cataracts of heaven, not windows, in the -Septuagint);--the mountain torrent caused by thunderous storm, or as our -"fountain"--a Geyser-like leaping forth of water. Therefore, it is the -deep and full source of streams, and so used typically of the source of -evils, or of passions; whereas the word "spring" with the Greeks is like -our "well-head"--a gentle issuing forth of water continually. But, -because both the lightning-fire and the gushing forth, as of a fountain, -are the signs of the poet's true power, together with perpetuity, it is -Pegasus who strikes the earth with his foot, on Helicon,[5] and causes -Hippocrene to spring forth--"the horse's well-head." It is perpetual; -but has, nevertheless, the Pegasean storm-power. - -Sec. 14. Wherein we may find, I think, sufficient cause for putting honor -upon the rain-cloud. Few of us, perhaps, have thought, in watching its -career across our own mossy hills, or listening to the murmur of the -springs amidst the mountain quietness, that the chief masters of the -human imagination owed, and confessed that they owed, the force of their -noblest thoughts, not to the flowers of the valley, nor the majesty of -the hill, but to the flying cloud. - -Yet they never saw it fly, as we may in our own England. So far, at -least, as I know the clouds of the south, they are often more terrible -than ours, but the English Pegasus is swifter. On the Yorkshire and -Derbyshire hills, when the rain-cloud is low and much broken, and the -steady west-wind fills all space with its strength,[6] the sun-gleams -fly like golden vultures: they are flashes rather than shinings; the -dark spaces and the dazzling race and skim along the acclivities, and -dart and dip from crag to dell, swallow-like;--no Graiae these,--gray -and withered: Grey Hounds rather, following the Cerinthian stag with the -golden antlers. - -Sec. 15. There is one character about these lower rain-clouds, partly -affecting all their connection with the upper sky, which I have never -been able to account for; that which, as before noticed, Aristophanes -fastened on at once for their distinctive character--their obliquity. -They always fly in an oblique position, as in the Plate opposite, which -is a careful facsimile of the first advancing mass of the rain-cloud in -Turner's Slave Ship. When the head of the cloud is foremost, as in this -instance, and rain falling beneath, it is easy to imagine that its -drops, increasing in size as they fall, may exercise some retarding -action on the wind. But the head of the cloud is not always first, the -base of it is sometimes advanced.[7] The only certainty is, that it will -not shape itself horizontally, its thin drawn lines and main contours -will always be oblique, though its motion is horizontal; and, which is -still more curious, their sloping lines are hardly ever modified in -their descent by any distinct retiring tendency or perspective -convergence. A troop of leaning clouds will follow one another, each -stooping forward at the same apparent slope, round a fourth of the -horizon. - -Sec. 16. Another circumstance which the reader should note in this cloud of -Turner's, is the witch-like look of drifted or erected locks of hair at -its left side. We have just read the words of the old Greek poet: "Locks -of the hundred-headed Typhon;" and must remember that Turner's account -of this picture, in the Academy catalogue, was "Slaver throwing -overboard the Dead and Dying. _Typhoon_ coming on." The resemblance to -wildly drifted hair is stronger in the picture than in the engraving; -the gray and purple tints of torn cloud being relieved against golden -sky beyond. - -[Illustration: 72. The Locks of Typhon.] - -Sec. 17. It was not, however, as we saw, merely to locks of hair, but to -serpents, that the Greeks likened the dissolving of the Medusa cloud in -blood. Of that sanguine rain, or of its meaning, I cannot yet speak. -It is connected with other and higher types, which must be traced in -another place.[8] - -But the likeness to serpents we may illustrate here. The two Plates -already given, 70 and 71 (at page 127), represent successive conditions -of the Medusa cloud on one of the Cenis hills (the great limestone -precipice above St. Michel, between Lanslebourg and St. Jean di -Maurienne).[9] In the first, the cloud is approaching, with the lee-side -cloud forming beyond it; in the second, it has approached, increased, -and broken, the Medusa serpents writhing about the central peak, the -rounded tops of the broken cumulus showing above. In this instance, they -take nearly the forms of flame; but when the storm is more violent, they -are torn into fragments, and magnificent revolving wheels of vapor are -formed, broken, and tossed into the air, as the grass is tossed in the -hay-field from the toothed wheels of the mowing-machine; perhaps, in -common with all other inventions of the kind, likely to bring more evil -upon men than ever the Medusa cloud did, and turn them more effectually -into stone.[10] - -Sec. 18. I have named in the first volume the principal works of Turner -representing these clouds; and until I am able to draw them better, it -is useless to say more of them; but in connection with the subject we -have been examining, I should be glad if the reader could turn to the -engravings of the England drawings of Salisbury and Stonehenge. What -opportunities Turner had of acquainting himself with classical -literature, and how he used them, we shall see presently. In the -meantime, let me simply assure the reader that, in various byways, he -had gained a knowledge of most of the great Greek traditions, and that -he felt them more than he knew them; his mind being affected, up to a -certain point, precisely as an ancient painter's would have been, by -external phenomena of nature. To him, as to the Greek, the storm-clouds -seemed messengers of fate. He feared them, while he reverenced; nor does -he ever introduce them without some hidden purpose, bearing upon the -expression of the scene he is painting. - -Sec. 19. On that plain of Salisbury, he had been struck first by its -widely-spacious pastoral life; and secondly, by its monuments of the two -great religions of England--Druidical and Christian. - -He was not a man to miss the possible connection of these impressions. -He treats the shepherd life as a type of the ecclesiastical; and -composes his two drawings so as to illustrate both. - -In the drawing of Salisbury, the plain is swept by rapid but not -distressful rain. The cathedral occupies the centre of the picture, -towering high over the city, of which the houses (made on purpose -smaller than they really are) are scattered about it like a flock of -sheep. The cathedral is surrounded by a great light. The storm gives way -at first in a subdued gleam over a distant parish church, then bursts -down again, breaks away into full light about the cathedral, and passes -over the city, in various sun and shade. In the foreground stands a -shepherd leaning on his staff, watching his flock--bare-headed; he has -given his cloak to a group of children, who have covered themselves up -with it, and are shrinking from the rain; his dog crouches under a bank; -his sheep, for the most part, are resting quietly, some coming up the -slope of the bank towards him.[11] - -Sec. 20. The rain-clouds in this picture are wrought with a care which I -have never seen equalled in any other sky of the same kind. It is the -rain of blessing--abundant, but full of brightness; golden gleams are -flying across the wet grass, and fall softly on the lines of willows in -the valley--willows by the watercourses; the little brooks flash out -here and there between them and the fields. Turn now to the Stonehenge. -That, also, stands in great light; but it is the Gorgon light--the sword -of Chrysaor is bared against it. The cloud of judgment hangs above. The -rock pillars seem to reel before its slope, pale beneath the lightning. -And nearer, in the darkness, the shepherd lies dead, his flock -scattered. - -I alluded, in speaking before of this Stonehenge, to Turner's use of the -same symbol in the drawing of Paestum for Rogers's Italy; but a more -striking instance of its employment occurs in a Study of Paestum, which -he engraved himself before undertaking the Liber Studiorum and another -in his drawing of the Temple of Minerva, on Cape Colonna: and observe -farther that he rarely introduces lightning, if the ruined building has -not been devoted to religion. The wrath of man may destroy the fortress, -but only the wrath of heaven can destroy the temple. - -Sec. 21. Of these secret meanings of Turner's, we shall see enough in the -course of the inquiry we have to undertake, lastly, respecting ideas of -relation; but one more instance of his opposed use of the lightning -symbol, and of the rain of blessing, I name here, to confirm what has -been noted above. For, in this last instance, he was questioned -respecting his meaning, and explained it. I refer to the drawings of -Sinai and Lebanon, made for Finden's Bible. The sketches from which -Turner prepared that series were, I believe, careful and accurate; but -the treatment of the subjects was left wholly to him. He took the Sinai -and Lebanon to show the opposite influences of the Law and the Gospel. -The Rock of Moses is shown in the burning of the desert, among fallen -stones, forked lightning cleaving the blue mist which veils the summit -of Sinai. Armed Arabs pause at the foot of the rock. No human habitation -is seen, nor any herb or tree, nor any brook, and the lightning strikes -without rain.[12] Over the Mount Lebanon an intensely soft gray-blue sky -is melting into dewy rain. Every ravine is filled, every promontory -crowned, by tenderest foliage, golden in slanting sunshine.[13] The -white convent nestles into the hollow of the rock; and a little brook -runs under the shadow of the nearer trees, beside which two monks sit -reading. - -Sec. 22. It was a beautiful thought, yet an erring one, as all thoughts are -which oppose the Law to the Gospel. When people read, "the law came by -Moses, but grace and truth by Christ," do they suppose that the law was -ungracious and untrue? The law was given for a foundation; the grace (or -mercy) and truth for fulfilment;--the whole forming one glorious Trinity -of judgment, mercy, and truth. And if people would but read the text of -their Bibles with heartier purpose of understanding it, instead of -superstitiously, they would see that throughout the parts which they are -intended to make most personally their own (the Psalms) it is always the -Law which is spoken of with chief joy. The Psalms respecting mercy are -often sorrowful, as in thought of what it cost; but those respecting the -law are always full of delight. David cannot contain himself for joy in -thinking of it,--he is never weary of its praise:--"How love I thy law! -it is my meditation all the day. Thy testimonies are my delight and my -counsellors; sweeter, also, than honey and the honeycomb." - -Sec. 23. And I desire, especially, that the reader should note this, in now -closing the work through which we have passed together in the -investigation of the beauty of the visible world. For perhaps he -expected more pleasure and freedom in that work; he thought that it -would lead him at once into fields of fond imagination, and may have -been surprised to find that the following of beauty brought him always -under a sterner dominion of mysterious law; the brightness was -continually based upon obedience, and all majesty only another form of -submission. But this is indeed so. I have been perpetually hindered in -this inquiry into the sources of beauty by fear of wearying the reader -with their severities. It was always accuracy I had to ask of him, not -sympathy; patience, not zeal; apprehension, not sensation. The thing to -be shown him was not a pleasure to be snatched, but a law to be learned. - -Sec. 24. It is in this character, however, that the beauty of the natural -world completes its message. We saw long ago, how its various _powers_ -of appeal to the mind of men might be traced to some typical expression -of Divine attributes. We have seen since how its _modes_ of appeal -present constant types of human obedience to the Divine law, and -constant proofs that this law, instead of being contrary to mercy, is -the foundation of all delight, and the guide of all fair and fortunate -existence. - -Sec. 25. Which understanding, let us receive our last message from the -Angel of the Sea. - -Take up the 19th Psalm and look at it verse by verse. Perhaps to my -younger readers, one word may be permitted respecting their -Bible-reading in general.[14] The Bible is, indeed, a deep book, when -depth is required, that is to say, for deep people. But it is not -intended, particularly, for profound persons; on the contrary, much more -for shallow and simple persons. And therefore the first, and generally -the main and leading idea of the Bible, is on its surface, written in -plainest possible Greek, Hebrew, or English, needing no penetration, nor -amplification, needing nothing but what we all might give--attention. - -But this, which is in every one's power, and is the only thing that God -wants, is just the last thing any one will give Him. We are delighted to -ramble away into day-dreams, to repeat pet verses from other places, -suggested by chance words; to snap at an expression which suits our own -particular views, or to dig up a meaning from under a verse, which we -should be amiably grieved to think any human being had been so happy as -to find before. But the plain, intended, immediate, fruitful meaning, -which every one ought to find always, and especially that which depends -on our seeing the relation of the verse to those near it, and getting -the force of the whole passage, in due relation--this sort of -significance we do not look for;--it being, truly, not to be discovered, -unless we really attend to what is said, instead of to our own feelings. - -Sec. 26. It is unfortunate also, but very certain, that in order to attend -to what is said, we must go through the irksomeness of knowing the -meaning of the words. And the first thing that children should be taught -about their Bibles is, to distinguish clearly between words that they -understand and words that they do not; and to put aside the words they -do not understand, and verses connected with them, to be asked about, or -for a future time; and never to think they are reading the Bible when -they are merely repeating phrases of an unknown tongue. - -Sec. 27. Let us try, by way of example, this 19th Psalm, and see what plain -meaning is uppermost in it. - -"The heavens declare the glory of God." - -What are the heavens? - -The word occurring in the Lord's Prayer, and the thing expressed being -what a child may, with some advantage, be led to look at, it might be -supposed among a schoolmaster's first duties to explain this word -clearly. - -Now there can be no question that in the minds of the sacred writers, it -stood naturally for the entire system of cloud, and of space beyond it, -conceived by them as a vault set with stars. But there can, also, be no -question, as we saw in previous inquiry, that the firmament, which is -said to have been "called" heaven, at the creation, expresses, in all -definite use of the word, the system of clouds, as spreading the power -of the water over the earth; hence the constant expressions dew of -heaven, rain of heaven, &c., where heaven is used in the singular; while -"the heavens," when used plurally, and especially when in distinction, -as here, from the word "firmament," remained expressive of the starry -space beyond. - -Sec. 28. A child might therefore be told (surely, with advantage), that our -beautiful word Heaven may possibly have been formed from a Hebrew word, -meaning "the high place;" that the great warrior Roman nation, camping -much out at night, generally overtired and not in moods for thinking, -are believed, by many people, to have seen in the stars only the -likeness of the glittering studs of their armor, and to have called the -sky "The bossed, or studded;" but that others think those Roman soldiers -on their might-watches had rather been impressed by the great emptiness -and void of night, and by the far coming of sounds through its darkness, -and had called the heaven "The Hollow place." Finally, I should tell -the children, showing them first the setting of a star, how the great -Greeks had found out the truest power of the heavens, and had called -them "The Rolling." But whatever different nations had called them, at -least I would make it clear to the child's mind that in this 19th Psalm, -their whole power being intended, the two words are used which express -it: the Heavens, for the great vault or void, with all its planets, and -stars, and ceaseless march of orbs innumerable; and the Firmament, for -the ordinance of the clouds. - -These heavens, then, "declare the _glory_ of God;" that is, the light of -God, the eternal glory, stable and changeless. As their orbs fail -not--but pursue their course for ever, to give light upon the earth--so -God's glory surrounds man for ever--changeless, in its fulness -insupportable--infinite. - -"And the firmament showeth his _handywork_." - -Sec. 29. The clouds, prepared by the hand of God for the help of man, -varied in their ministration--veiling the inner splendor--show, not His -eternal glory, but His daily handiwork. So He dealt with Moses. I will -cover thee "with my hand" as I pass by. Compare Job xxxvi. 24: "Remember -that thou magnify his work, which men behold. Every man may see it." Not -so the glory--that only in part; the courses of these stars are to be -seen imperfectly, and but by a few. But this firmament, "every man may -see it, man may behold it afar off." "Behold, God is great, and we know -him not. For he maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain -according to the vapor thereof." - -Sec. 30. "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth -knowledge. They have no speech nor language, yet without these their -voice is heard. Their rule is gone out throughout the earth, and their -words to the end of the world." - -Note that. Their rule throughout the earth, whether inhabited or -not--their law of right is thereon; but their words, spoken to human -souls, to the end of the inhabited world. - -"In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun," &c. Literally, a -tabernacle, or curtained tent, with its veil and its hangings; also of -the colors of His desert tabernacle--blue, and purple, and scarlet. - -Thus far the psalm describes the manner of this great heaven's message. - -Thenceforward, it comes to the matter of it. - -Sec. 31. Observe, you have the two divisions of the declaration. The -heavens (compare Psalm viii.) declare the eternal glory of God before -men, and the firmament the daily mercy of God towards men. And the -eternal glory is in this--that the law of the Lord is perfect, and His -testimony sure, and His statutes right. - -And the daily mercy in this--that the commandment of the Lord is pure, -and His fear is clean, and His judgments true and righteous. - -There are three oppositions:-- - -Between law and commandment. - -Between testimony and fear. - -Between statute and judgment. - -Sec. 32. I. Between law and commandment. - -The law is fixed and everlasting; uttered once, abiding for ever, as the -sun, it may not be moved. It is "perfect, converting the soul:" the -whole question about the soul being, whether it has been turned from -darkness to light, acknowledged this law or not,--whether it is godly or -ungodly? But the commandment is given momentarily to each man, according -to the need. It does not convert: it guides. It does not concern the -entire purpose of the soul; but it enlightens the eyes, respecting a -special act. The law is, "Do this always;" the commandment, "Do _thou_ -this _now_:" often mysterious enough, and through the cloud; chilling, -and with strange rain of tears; yet always pure (the law converting, but -the commandment cleansing): a rod not for guiding merely, but for -strengthening, and tasting honey with. "Look how mine eyes have been -enlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey." - -Sec. 33. II. Between testimony and fear. - -The testimony is everlasting: the true promise of salvation. Bright as -the sun beyond all the earth-cloud, it makes wise the simple; all wisdom -being assured in perceiving it and trusting it; all wisdom brought to -nothing which does not perceive it. - -But the fear of God is taught through special encouragement and special -withdrawal of it, according to each man's need--by the -earth-cloud--smile and frown alternately: it also, as the commandment, -is clean, purging and casting out all other fear, it only remaining for -ever. - -Sec. 34. III. Between statute and judgment. - -The statutes are the appointments of the Eternal justice; fixed and -bright, and constant as the stars; equal and balanced as their courses. -They "are right, rejoicing the heart." But the judgments are special -judgments of given acts of men. "True," that is to say, fulfilling the -warning or promise given to each man; "righteous altogether," that is, -done or executed in truth and righteousness. The statute is right, in -appointment. The judgment righteous altogether, in appointment and -fulfilment;--yet not always rejoicing the heart. - -Then, respecting all these, comes the expression of passionate desire, -and of joy; that also divided with respect to each. The glory of God, -eternal in the Heavens, is future, "to be _desired_ more than gold, than -much fine gold"--treasure in the heavens that faileth not. But the -present guidance and teaching of God are on earth; they are now -possessed, sweeter than all earthly food--"sweeter than honey and the -honeycomb. Moreover by them" (the law and the testimony) "is thy servant -warned"--warned of the ways of death and life. - -"And in keeping them" (the commandments and the judgments) "there is -great reward:" pain now, and bitterness of tears, but reward -unspeakable. - -Sec. 35. Thus far the psalm has been descriptive and interpreting. It ends -in prayer. - -"Who can understand his errors?" (wanderings from the perfect law.) -"Cleanse thou me from secret faults; from all that I have done against -thy will, and far from thy way, in the darkness. Keep back thy servant -from presumptuous sins" (sins against the commandment) "against thy will -when it is seen and direct, pleading with heart and conscience. So shall -I be undefiled, and innocent from the great transgression--the -transgression that crucifies afresh. - -"Let the words of my mouth (for I have set them to declare thy law), and -the meditation of my heart (for I have set it to keep thy commandments), -be acceptable in thy sight, whose glory is my strength, and whose work, -my redemption; my Strength, and my Redeemer." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Compare the beautiful stanza beginning the epilogue of the - "Golden Legend." - - [2] I do not mean that Correggio is greater than Turner, but that - only _his_ way of work, the touch which he has used for the golden - hair of Antiope for instance, could have painted these clouds. In - open lowland country I have never been able to come to any - satisfactory conclusion about their height, so strangely do they - blend with each other. Here, for instance, is the arrangement of an - actual group of them. The space at A was deep, purest ultramarine - blue, traversed by streaks of absolutely pure and perfect rose-color. - The blue passed downwards imperceptibly into gray at G, and then into - amber, and at the white edge below into gold. On this amber ground - the streaks P were dark purple, and, finally, the spaces at B B, - again, clearest and most precious blue, paler than that at A. The - _two_ levels of these clouds are always very notable. After a - continuance of fine weather among the Alps, the determined approach - of rain is usually announced by a soft, unbroken film of level cloud, - white and thin at the approaching edge, gray at the horizon, covering - the whole sky from side to side, and advancing steadily from the - south-west. Under its gray veil, as it approaches, are formed - detached bars, darker or lighter than the field above, according to - the position of the sun. These bars are usually of a very sharply - elongated oval shape, something like fish. I habitually call them - "fish clouds," and look upon them with much discomfort, if any - excursions of interest have been planned within the next three days. - Their oval shape is a perspective deception dependent on their - flatness; they are probably thin, extended fields, irregularly - circular. - - [Illustration: FIG. 98.] - - [3] I do not copy the interpolated words which follow, "and - commandeth it _not to shine_." The closing verse of the chapter, as - we have it, is unintelligible; not so in the Vulgate, the reading of - which I give. - - [4] I assume the [Greek: aupnoi krenai nomades] to mean clouds, not - springs; but this does not matter, the whole passage being one of - rejoicing in moisture and dew of heaven. - - [5] I believe, however, that when Pegasus strikes forth this - fountain, he is to be regarded, not as springing from Medusa's blood, - but as born of Medusa by Neptune; the true horse was given by Neptune - striking the earth with his trident; the divine horse is born to - Neptune and the storm-cloud. - - [6] I have been often at great heights on the Alps in rough weather, - and have seen strong gusts of storm in the plains of the south. But, - to get full expression of the very heart and meaning of wind, there - is no place like a Yorkshire moor. I think Scottish breezes are - thinner, very bleak and piercing, but not substantial. If you lean on - them they will let you fall, but one may rest against a Yorkshire - breeze as one would on a quickset hedge. I shall not soon - forget,--having had the good fortune to meet a vigorous one on an - April morning, between Hawes and Settle, just on the flat under - Wharnside,--the vague sense of wonder with which I watched - Ingleborough stand without rocking. - - [7] When there is a violent current of wind near the ground, the rain - columns slope _forward_ at the foot. See the Entrance to Fowey - Harbor, of the England Series. - - [8] See Part IX. chap. 2, "The Hesperid AEgle." - - [9] The reader must remember that sketches made as these are, on the - instant, cannot be far carried, and would lose all their use if they - were finished at home. These were both made in pencil, and merely - washed with gray on returning to the inn, enough to secure the main - forms. - - [10] I do not say this carelessly, nor because machines throw the - laboring man "out of work." The laboring man will always have more - work than he wants. I speak thus, because the use of such machinery - involves the destruction of all pleasures in rural labor; and I doubt - not, in that destruction, the essential deterioration of the national - mind. - - [11] You may see the arrangement of subject in the published - engraving, but nothing more; it is among the worst engravings in the - England Series. - - [12] Hosea xiii. 5, 15. - - [13] Hosea xiv. 4, 5, 6. Compare Psalm lxxii. 6-16. - - [14] I believe few sermons are more false or dangerous than those in - which the teacher professes to impress his audience by showing "how - much there is in a verse." If he examined his own heart closely - before beginning, he would often find that his real desire was to - show how much he, the expounder, could make out of the verse. But - entirely honest and earnest men often fall into the same error. They - have been taught that they should always look deep, and that - Scripture is full of hidden meanings; and they easily yield to the - flattering conviction that every chance idea which comes into their - heads in looking at a word, is put there by Divine agency. Hence they - wander away into what they believe to be an inspired meditation, but - which is, in reality, a meaningless jumble of ideas; perhaps very - proper ideas, but with which the text in question has nothing - whatever to do. - - - - -PART VIII. - -OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--FIRST, OF INVENTION FORMAL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE LAW OF HELP. - - -Sec. 1. We have now reached the last and the most important part of our -subject. We have seen, in the first division of this book, how far art -may be, and has been, consistent with physical or material facts. In its -second division, we examined how far it may be and has been obedient to -the laws of physical beauty. In this last division we have to consider -its relations of art to God and man. Its work in the help of human -beings, and service of their Creator. - -We have to inquire into the various Powers, Conditions, and Aims of mind -involved in the conception or creation of pictures; in the choice of -subject, and the mode and order of its history;--the choice of forms, -and the modes of their arrangement. - -And these phases of mind being concerned, partly with choice and -arrangement of incidents, partly with choice and arrangement of forms -and colors, the whole subject will fall into two main divisions, namely, -expressional or spiritual invention; and material or formal invention. - -They are of course connected;--all good formal invention being -expressional also; but as a matter of convenience it is best to say what -may be ascertained of the nature of formal invention, before attempting -to illustrate the faculty in its higher field. - -Sec. 2. First, then, of INVENTION FORMAL, otherwise and most commonly -called technical composition; that is to say, the arrangement of lines, -forms, or colors, so as to produce the best possible effect.[1] - -I have often been accused of slighting this quality in pictures; the -fact being that I have avoided it only because I considered it too great -and wonderful for me to deal with. The longer I thought, the more -wonderful it always seemed; and it is, to myself personally, the -quality, above all others, which gives me delight in pictures. Many -others I admire, or respect; but this one I rejoice in. Expression, -sentiment, truth to nature, are essential; but all these are not enough. -I never care to look at a picture again, if it be ill composed; and if -well composed I can hardly leave off looking at it. - -"Well composed." Does that mean according to rule? - -No. Precisely the contrary. Composed as only the man who did it could -have done it; composed as no other picture is, or was, or ever can be -again. Every great work stands alone. - -Sec. 3. Yet there are certain elementary laws of arrangement traceable a -little way; a few of these only I shall note, not caring to pursue the -subject far in this work, so intricate it becomes even in its first -elements: nor could it be treated with any approach to completeness, -unless I were to give many and elaborate outlines of large pictures. I -have a vague hope of entering on such a task, some future day. Meantime -I shall only indicate the place which technical composition should hold -in our scheme. - -And, first, let us understand what composition is, and how far it is -required. - -Sec. 4. Composition may be best defined as the help of everything in the -picture by everything else. - -I wish the reader to dwell a little on this word "Help." It is a grave -one. - -In substance which we call "inanimate," as of clouds, or stones, their -atoms may cohere to each other, or consist with each other, but they do -not help each other. The removal of one part does not injure the rest. - -But in a plant, the taking away of any one part does injure the rest. -Hurt or remove any portion of the sap, bark, or pith, the rest is -injured. If any part enters into a state in which it no more assists the -rest, and has thus become "helpless," we call it also "dead." - -The power which causes the several portions of the plant to help each -other, we call life. Much more is this so in an animal. We may take away -the branch of a tree without much harm to it; but not the animal's limb. -Thus, intensity of life is also intensity of helpfulness--completeness -of depending of each part on all the rest. The ceasing of this help is -what we call corruption; and in proportion to the perfectness of the -help, is the dreadfulness of the loss. The more intense the life has -been, the more terrible is its corruption. - -The decomposition of a crystal is not necessarily impure at all. The -fermentation of a wholesome liquid begins to admit the idea slightly; -the decay of leaves yet more; of flowers, more; of animals, with greater -painfulness and terribleness in exact proportion to their original -vitality; and the foulest of all corruption is that of the body of man; -and, in his body, that which is occasioned by disease, more than that of -natural death. - -Sec. 5. I said just now, that though atoms of inanimate substance could not -help each other, they could "consist" with each other. "Consistence" is -their virtue. Thus the parts of a crystal are consistent, but of dust, -inconsistent. Orderly adherence, the best help its atoms can give, -constitutes the nobleness of such substance. - -When matter is either consistent, or living, we call it pure, or clean; -when inconsistent, or corrupting (unhelpful), we call it impure, or -unclean. The greatest uncleanliness being that which is essentially most -opposite to life. - -Life and consistency, then, both expressing one character (namely, -helpfulness, of a higher or lower order), the Maker of all creatures and -things, "by whom all creatures live, and all things consist," is -essentially and for ever the Helpful One, or in softer Saxon, the "Holy" -One. - -The word has no other ultimate meaning: Helpful, harmless, undefiled: -"living" or "Lord of life." - -The idea is clear and mighty in the cherubim's cry: "Helpful, helpful, -helpful, Lord God of Hosts;" _i.e._ of all the hosts, armies, and -creatures of the earth.[2] - -Sec. 6. A pure or holy state of anything, therefore, is that in which all -its parts are helpful or consistent. They may or may not be homogeneous. -The highest or organic purities are composed of many elements in an -entirely helpful state. The highest and first law of the universe--and -the other name of life, is, therefore, "help." The other name of death -is "separation." Government and co-operation are in all things and -eternally the laws of life. Anarchy and competition, eternally, and in -all things, the laws of death. - -Sec. 7. Perhaps the best, though the most familiar example we could take of -the nature and power of consistence, will be that of the possible -changes in the dust we tread on. - -Exclusive of animal decay, we can hardly arrive at a more absolute type -of impurity than the mud or slime of a damp over-trodden path, in the -outskirts of a manufacturing town. I do not say mud of the road, because -that is mixed with animal refuse; but take merely an ounce or two of the -blackest slime of a beaten footpath on a rainy day, near a large -manufacturing town. - -Sec. 8. That slime we shall find in most cases composed of clay (or -brickdust, which is burnt clay) mixed with soot, a little sand, and -water. All these elements are at helpless war with each other, and -destroy reciprocally each other's nature and power, competing and -fighting for place at every tread of your foot;--sand squeezing out -clay, and clay squeezing out water, and soot meddling everywhere and -defiling the whole. Let us suppose that this ounce of mud is left in -perfect rest, and that its elements gather together, like to like, so -that their atoms may get into the closest relations possible. - -Sec. 9. Let the clay begin. Ridding itself of all foreign substance, it -gradually becomes a white earth, already very beautiful; and fit, with -help of congealing fire, to be made into finest porcelain, and painted -on, and be kept in kings' palaces. But such artificial consistence is -not its best. Leave it still quiet to follow its own instinct of unity, -and it becomes not only white, but clear; not only clear, but hard; not -only clear and hard, but so set that it can deal with light in a -wonderful way, and gather out of it the loveliest blue rays only, -refusing the rest. We call it then a sapphire. - -Such being the consummation of the clay, we give similar permission of -quiet to the sand. It also becomes, first, a white earth, then proceeds -to grow clear and hard, and at last arranges itself in mysterious, -infinitely fine, parallel lines, which have the power of reflecting not -merely the blue rays, but the blue, green, purple, and red rays in the -greatest beauty in which they can be seen through any hard material -whatsoever. We call it then an opal. - -In next order the soot sets to work; it cannot make itself white at -first, but instead of being discouraged, tries harder and harder, and -comes out clear at last, and the hardest thing in the world; and for the -blackness that it had, obtains in exchange the power of reflecting all -the rays of the sun at once in the vividest blaze that any solid thing -can shoot. We call it then a diamond. - -Last of all the water purifies or unites itself, contented enough if it -only reach the form of a dew-drop; but if we insist on its proceeding to -a more perfect consistence, it crystallizes into the shape of a star. - -And for the ounce of slime which we had by political economy of -competition, we have by political economy of co-operation, a sapphire, -an opal, and a diamond, set in the midst of a star of snow. - -Sec. 10. Now invention in art signifies an arrangement, in which everything -in the work is thus consistent with all things else, and helpful to all -else. - -It is the greatest and rarest of all the qualities of art. The power by -which it is effected is absolutely inexplicable and incommunicable; but -exercised with entire facility by those who possess it, in many cases -even unconsciously.[3] - -In work which is not composed, there may be many beautiful things, but -they do not help each other. They at the best only stand beside, and -more usually compete with and destroy, each other. They may be connected -artificially in many ways, but the test of there being no invention is, -that if one of them be taken away, the others are no worse than before. -But in true composition, if one be taken away, all the rest are helpless -and valueless. Generally, in falsely composed work, if anything be taken -away, the rest will look better; because the attention is less -distracted. Hence the pleasure of inferior artists in sketching, and -their inability to finish; all that they add destroys. - -Sec. 11. Also in true composition, everything not only helps everything -else a _little_, but helps with its utmost power. Every atom is in full -energy; and _all_ that energy is kind. Not a line, nor spark of color, -but is doing its very best, and that best is aid. The extent to which -this law is carried in truly right and noble work is wholly -inconceivable to the ordinary observer, and no true account of it would -be believed. - -Sec. 12. True composition being entirely easy to the man who can compose, -he is seldom proud of it, though he clearly recognizes it. Also, true -composition is inexplicable. No one can explain how the notes of a -Mozart melody, or the folds of a piece of Titian's drapery, produce -their essential effect on each other. If you do not feel it, no one can -by reasoning make you feel it. And, the highest composition is so -subtle, that it is apt to become unpopular, and sometimes seem insipid. - -Sec. 13. The reader may be surprised at my giving so high a place to -invention. But if he ever come to know true invention from false, he -will find that it is not only the highest quality of art, but is simply -the most wonderful act or power of humanity. It is pre-eminently the -deed of human creation; [Greek: poiesis], otherwise, poetry. - -If the reader will look back to my definition of poetry, he will find it -is "the suggestion, by the imagination, of noble grounds for the noble -emotions" (Vol. III. p. 10), amplified below (Sec. 14) into "assembling by -help of the imagination;" that is to say, imagination associative, -described at length in Vol. II., in the chapter just referred to. The -mystery of the power is sufficiently set forth in that place. Of its -dignity I have a word or two to say here. - -Sec. 14. Men in their several professed employments, looked at broadly, may -be properly arranged under five classes:-- - -1. Persons who see. These in modern language are sometimes called -sight-seers, that being an occupation coming more and more into vogue -every day. Anciently they used to be called, simply, seers. - -2. Persons who talk. These, in modern language, are usually called -talkers, or speakers, as in the House of Commons, and elsewhere. They -used to be called prophets. - -3. Persons who make. These, in modern language, are usually called -manufacturers. Anciently they were called poets. - -4. Persons who think. There seems to be no very distinct modern title -for this kind of person, anciently called philosophers; nevertheless we -have a few of them among us. - -5. Persons who do: in modern language, called practical persons; -anciently, believers. - -Of the first two classes I have only this to note,--that we ought -neither to say that a person sees, if he sees falsely, nor speaks, if he -speaks falsely. For seeing falsely is worse than blindness, and speaking -falsely, than silence. A man who is too dim-sighted to discern the road -from the ditch, may feel which is which;--but if the ditch appears -manifestly to him to be the road, and the road to be the ditch, what -shall become of him? False seeing is unseeing,--on the negative side of -blindness; and false speaking, unspeaking,--on the negative side of -silence. - -To the persons who think, also, the same test applies very shrewdly. -Theirs is a dangerous profession; and from the time of the Aristophanes -thought-shop to the great German establishment, or thought-manufactory, -whose productions have, unhappily, taken in part the place of the older -and more serviceable commodities of Nuremberg toys and Berlin wool, it -has been often harmful enough to mankind. It should not be so, for a -false thought is more distinctly and visibly no thought than a false -saying is no saying. But it is touching the two great productive classes -of the doers and makers, that we have one or two important points to -note here. - -Sec. 15. Has the reader ever considered, carefully, what is the meaning of -"doing" a thing? - -Suppose a rock falls from a hill-side, crushes a group of cottages, and -kills a number of people. The stone has produced a great effect in the -world. If any one asks, respecting the broken roofs, "What did it?" you -say the stone did it. Yet you don't talk of the deed of the stone. If -you inquire farther, and find that a goat had been feeding beside the -rock, and had loosened it by gnawing the roots of the grasses beneath, -you find the goat to be the active cause of the calamity, and you say -the goat did it. Yet you don't call the goat the doer, nor talk of its -evil deed. But if you find any one went up to the rock, in the night, -and with deliberate purpose loosened it, that it might fall on the -cottages, you say in quite a different sense, "It is his deed: he is the -doer of it." - -Sec. 16. It appears, then, that deliberate purpose and resolve are needed -to constitute a deed or doing, in the true sense of the word; and that -when, accidentally or mechanically, events take place without such -purpose, we have indeed effects or results, and agents or causes, but -neither deeds nor doers. - -Now it so happens, as we all well know, that by far the largest part of -things happening in practical life _are_ brought about with no -deliberate purpose. There are always a number of people who have the -nature of stones; they fall on other persons and crush them. Some again -have the nature of weeds, and twist about other people's feet and -entangle them. More have the nature of logs, and lie in the way, so that -every one falls over them. And most of all have the nature of thorns, -and set themselves by waysides, so that every passer-by must be torn, -and all good seed choked; or perhaps make wonderful crackling under -various pots, even to the extent of practically boiling water and -working pistons. All these people produce immense and sorrowful effect -in the world. Yet none of them are doers: it is their nature to crush, -impede, and prick: but deed is not in them.[4] - -Sec. 17. And farther, observe, that even when some effect is finally -intended, you cannot call it the person's deed, unless it is _what_ he -intended. - -If an ignorant person, purposing evil, accidentally does good, (as if a -thief's disturbing a family should lead them to discover in time that -their house was on fire); or _vice versa_, if an ignorant person -intending good, accidentally does evil (as if a child should give -hemlock to his companions for celery), in neither case do you call them -the doers of what may result. So that in order to be a true deed, it is -necessary that the effect of it should be foreseen. Which, ultimately, -it cannot be, but by a person who knows, and in his deed obeys, the laws -of the universe, and of its Maker. And this knowledge is in its highest -form, respecting the will of the Ruling Spirit, called Trust. For it is -not the knowledge that a thing is, but that, according to the promise -and nature of the Ruling Spirit, a thing will be. Also obedience in its -highest form is not obedience to a constant and compulsory law, but a -persuaded or voluntary yielded obedience to an issued command; and so -far as it was a _persuaded_ submission to command, it was anciently -called, in a passive sense, "persuasion," or [Greek: pistis], and in so -far as it alone assuredly did, and it alone _could_ do, what it meant to -do, and was therefore the root and essence of all human deed, it was -called by the Latins the "doing," or _fides_, which has passed into the -French _foi_ and the English _faith_. And therefore because in His -doing always certain, and in His speaking always true, His name who -leads the armies of Heaven is "Faithful and True,"[5] and all deeds -which are done in alliance with those armies, be they small or great, -are essentially deeds of faith, which therefore, and in this one stern, -eternal, sense, subdues all kingdoms, and turns to flight the armies of -the aliens, and is at once the source and the substance of all human -deed, rightly so called. - -Sec. 18. Thus far then of practical persons, once called believers, as set -forth in the last word of the noblest group of words ever, so far as I -know, uttered by simple man concerning his practice, being the final -testimony of the leaders of a great practical nation, whose deed -thenceforward became an example of deed to mankind: - - [Greek: O xein', angellein Lakedaimoniois, hoti tede Keimetha, tois - keinon rhemasi peithomenoi.] - -"O stranger! (we pray thee), tell the Lacedaemonians that we are lying -here, having _obeyed_ their words." - -Sec. 19. What, let us ask next, is the ruling character of the person who -produces--the creator or maker, anciently called the poet? - -We have seen what a deed is. What then is a "creation"? Nay, it may be -replied, to "create" cannot be said of man's labor. - -On the contrary, it not only can be said, but is and must be said -continually. You certainly do not talk of creating a watch, or creating -a shoe; nevertheless you _do_ talk of creating a feeling. Why is this? - -Look back to the greatest of all creation, that of the world. Suppose -the trees had been ever so well or so ingeniously put together, stem and -leaf, yet if they had not been able to grow, would they have been well -created? Or suppose the fish had been cut and stitched finely out of -skin and whalebone; yet, cast upon the waters, had not been able to -swim? Or suppose Adam and Eve had been made in the softest clay, ever so -neatly, and set at the foot of the tree of knowledge, fastened up to -it, quite unable to fall, or do anything else, would they have been well -created, or in any true sense created at all? - -Sec. 20. It will, perhaps, appear to you, after a little farther thought, -that to create anything in reality is to put life into it. - -A poet, or creator, is therefore a person who puts things together, not -as a watchmaker steel, or a shoemaker leather, but who puts life into -them. - -His work is essentially this: it is the gathering and arranging of -material by imagination, so as to have in it at last the harmony or -helpfulness of life, and the passion or emotion of life. Mere fitting -and adjustment of material is nothing; that is watchmaking. But helpful -and passionate harmony, essentially choral harmony, so called from the -Greek word "rejoicing,"[6] is the harmony of Apollo and the Muses; the -word Muse and Mother being derived from the same root, meaning -"passionate seeking," or love, of which the issue is passionate finding, -or sacred INVENTION. For which reason I could not bear to use any baser -word than this of invention. And if the reader will think over all these -things, and follow them out, as I think he may easily with this much of -clue given him, he will not any more think it wrong in me to place -invention so high among the powers of man.[7] - -Or any more think it strange that the last act of the life of -Socrates[8] should have been to purify himself from the sin of having -negligently listened to the voice within him, which, through all his -past life, had bid him "labor, and make harmony." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word composition has been so much abused, and is in itself so - inexpressive, that when I wrote the first part of this work I - intended always to use, in this final section of it, the word - "invention," and to reserve the term "composition" for that false - composition which can be taught on principles; as I have already so - employed the term in the chapter on "Imagination Associative," in the - second volume. But, in arranging this section, I find it is not - conveniently possible to avoid the ordinary modes of parlance; I - therefore only head the section as I intended (and as is, indeed, - best), using in the text the ordinarily accepted term; only, the - reader must be careful to note that what I spoke of shortly as - "composition" in the chapters on "Imagination," I here always call, - distinctly, "false composition;" using here, as I find most - convenient, the words "invention" or "composition" indifferently for - the true faculty. - - [2] "The cries of them which have reaped have entered into the ears - of the Lord of Sabaoth (of all the creatures of the earth)." You will - find a wonderful clearness come into many texts by reading, - habitually, "helpful" and "helpfulness" for "holy" and "holiness," or - else "living," as in Rom. xi. 16. The sense "dedicated" (the Latin - _sanctus_), being, of course, inapplicable to the Supreme Being, is - an entirely secondary and accidental one. - - [3] By diligent study of good compositions it is possible to put work - together so that the parts shall help each other, a little, or at all - events do no harm; and when some tact and taste are associated with - this diligence, semblances of real invention are often produced, - which, being the results of great labor, the artist is always proud - of; and which, being capable of learned explanation and imitation, - the spectator naturally takes interest in. The common precepts about - composition all produce and teach this false kind, which, as true - composition is the noblest, being the corruption of it, is the - ignoblest condition of art. - - [4] We may, perhaps, expediently recollect as much of our botany as - to teach us that there may be sharp and rough persons, like spines, - who yet have good in them, and are essentially branches, and can bud. - But the true thorny person is no spine, only an excrescence; rootless - evermore,--leafless evermore. No crown made of such can ever meet - glory of Angel's hand. (In Memoriam, lxviii.) - - [5] "True," means, etymologically, not "consistent with fact," but - "which may be trusted." "This is a true saying, and worthy of all - acceptation," &c., meaning a trusty saying,--a saying to be rested - on, leant upon. - - [6] [Greek: Chorous te onomakenai para tes charas emphyton onoma]. - (De leg. II. 1.) - - [7] This being, indeed, among the visiblest signs of the Divine or - immortal life. We have got a base habit of opposing the word "mortal" - or "deathful" merely to "_im_-mortal;" whereas it is essentially - contrary to "divine" (to [Greek: theios], not to [Greek: athanatos], - Phaedo, 66), that which is deathful being anarchic or disobedient, - and that which is divine ruling and obedient; this being the true - distinction between flesh and spirit. - - [8] [Greek: Pollakis moi phoiton to auto enypnion en to parelthonti - bio, allot' en alle opsei phainomenon, ta auta de legon, O Sokra tes, - ephe, mousiken poiei kai ergazou]. (Phaedo, 11.) - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE TASK OF THE LEAST. - - -Sec. 1. The reader has probably been surprised at my assertions made often -before now, and reiterated here, that the _minutest_ portion of a great -composition is helpful to the whole. It certainly does not seem easily -conceivable that this should be so. I will go farther, and say that it -is inconceivable. But it is the fact. - -We shall discern it to be so by taking one or two compositions to -pieces, and examining the fragments. In doing which, we must remember -that a great composition always has a leading emotional purpose, -technically called its motive, to which all its lines and forms have -some relation. Undulating lines, for instance, are expressive of action; -and would be false in effect if the motive of the picture was one of -repose. Horizontal and angular lines are expressive of rest and -strength; and would destroy a design whose purpose was to express -disquiet and feebleness. It is therefore necessary to ascertain the -motive before descending to the detail. - -Sec. 2. One of the simplest subjects, in the series of the Rivers of -France, is "Rietz, near Saumur." The published Plate gives a better -rendering than usual of its tone of light; and my rough etching, Plate -73, sufficiently shows the arrangement of its lines. What is their -motive? - -To get at it completely, we must know something of the Loire. - -The district through which it here flows is, for the most part, a low -place, yet not altogether at the level of the stream, but cut into steep -banks of chalk or gravel, thirty or forty feet high, running for miles -at about an equal height above the water. - -[Illustration: 73. Loire-side.] - -These banks are excavated by the peasantry, partly for houses, partly -for cellars, so economizing vineyard space above; and thus a kind of -continuous village runs along the river-side, composed half of caves, -half of rude buildings, backed by the cliff, propped against it, -therefore always leaning away from the river; mingled with overlappings -of vineyard trellis from above, and little towers or summer-houses for -outlook, when the grapes are ripe, or for gossip over the garden wall. - -Sec. 3. It is an autumnal evening, then, by this Loire side. The day has -been hot, and the air is heavy and misty still; the sunlight warm, but -dim; the brown vine-leaves motionless: all else quiet. Not a sail in -sight on the river,[1] its strong, noiseless current lengthening the -stream of low sunlight. - -The motive of the picture, therefore, is the expression of rude but -perfect peace, slightly mingled with an indolent languor and -despondency; the peace between intervals of enforced labor; happy, but -listless, and having little care or hope about the future; cutting its -home out of this gravel bank, and letting the vine and the river twine -and undermine as they will; careless to mend or build, so long as the -walls hold together, and the black fruit swells in the sunshine. - -Sec. 4. To get this repose, together with rude stability, we have therefore -horizontal lines and bold angles. The grand horizontal space and sweep -of Turner's distant river show perhaps better in the etching than in the -Plate; but depend wholly for value on the piece of near wall. It is the -vertical line of its dark side which drives the eye up into the -distance, right against the horizontal, and so makes it felt, while the -flatness of the stone prepares the eye to understand the flatness of the -river. Farther: hide with your finger the little ring on that stone, and -you will find the river has stopped flowing. That ring is to repeat the -curved lines of the river bank, which express its line of current, and -to bring the feeling of them down near us. On the other side of the road -the horizontal lines are taken up again by the dark pieces of wood, -without which we should still lose half our space. - -Next: The repose is to be not only perfect, but indolent: the repose of -out-wearied people: not caring much what becomes of them. - -You see the road is covered with litter. Even the crockery is left -outside the cottage to dry in the sun, after being washed up. The steps -of the cottage door have been too high for comfort originally, only it -was less trouble to cut three large stones than four or five small. They -are now all aslope and broken, not repaired for years. Their weighty -forms increase the sense of languor throughout the scene, and of -stability also, because we feel how difficult it would be to stir them. -The crockery has its work to do also;--the arched door on the left being -necessary to show the great thickness of walls and the strength they -require to prevent falling in of the cliff above;--as the horizontal -lines must be diffused on the right, so this arch must be diffused on -the left; and the large round plate on one side of the steps, with the -two small ones on the other, are to carry down the element of circular -curvature. Hide them, and see the result. - -As they carry the arched group of forms down, the arched window-shutter -diffuses it upwards, where all the lines of the distant buildings -suggest one and the same idea of disorderly and careless strength, -mingling masonry with rock. - -Sec. 5. So far of the horizontal and curved lines. How of the radiating -ones? What has the black vine trellis got to do? - -Lay a pencil or ruler parallel with its lines. You will find that they -point to the massive building in the distance. To which, as nearly as is -possible without at once showing the artifice, every other radiating -line points also; almost ludicrously when it is once pointed out; even -the curved line of the top of the terrace runs into it, and the last -sweep of the river evidently leads to its base. And so nearly is it in -the exact centre of the picture, that one diagonal from corner to corner -passes through it, and the other only misses the base by the twentieth -of an inch. - -If you are accustomed to France, you will know in a moment by its -outline that this massive building is an old church. - -Without it, the repose would not have been essentially the laborer's -rest--rest as of the Sabbath. Among all the groups of lines that point -to it, two are principal: the first, those of the vine trellis: the -second, those of the handles of the saw left in the beam:--the blessing -of human life and its labor. - -Whenever Turner wishes to express profound repose, he puts in the -foreground some instrument of labor cast aside. See, in Roger's Poems, -the last vignette, "Datur hora quieti," with the plough in the furrow; -and in the first vignette of the same book, the scythe on the shoulder -of the peasant going home. (There is nothing about the scythe in the -passage of the poem which this vignette illustrates.) - -Sec. 6. Observe, farther, the outline of the church itself. As our -habitations are, so is our church, evidently a heap of old, but massive, -walls, patched, and repaired, and roofed in, and over and over, until -its original shape is hardly recognizable. I know the kind of church -well--can tell even here, two miles off, that I shall find some Norman -arches in the apse, and a flamboyant porch, rich and dark, with every -statue broken out of it; and a rude wooden belfry above all; and a -quantity of miserable shops built in among the buttresses; and that I -may walk in and out as much as I please, but that how often soever, I -shall always find some one praying at the Holy Sepulchre, in the darkest -aisle, and my going in and out will not disturb them. For they _are_ -praying, which in many a handsomer and highlier-furbished edifice might, -perhaps, not be so assuredly the case. - -Sec. 7. Lastly: What kind of people have we on this winding road? Three -indolent ones, leaning on the wall to look over into the gliding water; -and a matron with her market panniers, by her figure, not a fast rider. -The road, besides, is bad, and seems unsafe for trotting, and she has -passed without disturbing the cat, who sits comfortably on the block of -wood in the middle of it. - -Sec. 8. Next to this piece of quietness, let us glance at a composition in -which the motive is one of tumult: that of the Fall of Schaffhausen. It -is engraved in the Keepsake. I have etched in Plate 74, at the top, the -chief lines of its composition,[2] in which the first great purpose is -to give swing enough to the water. The line of fall is straight and -monotonous in reality. Turner wants to get the great concave sweep and -rush of the river well felt, in spite of the unbroken form. The column -of spray, rocks, mills, and bank, all radiate like a plume, sweeping -round together in grand curves to the left, where the group of figures, -hurried about the ferry boat, rises like a dash of spray; they also -radiating: so as to form one perfectly connected cluster, with the two -gens-d'armes and the millstones; the millstones at the bottom being the -root of it; the two soldiers laid right and left to sustain the branch -of figures beyond, balanced just as a tree bough would be. - -Sec. 9. One of the gens-d'armes is flirting with a young lady in a round -cap and full sleeves, under pretence of wanting her to show him what she -has in her bandbox. The motive of which flirtation is, so far as Turner -is concerned in it, primarily the bandbox: this and the millstones -below, give him a series of concave lines, which, concentrated by the -recumbent soldiers, intensify the hollow sweep of the fall, precisely as -the ring on the stone does the Loire eddies. These curves are carried -out on the right by the small plate of eggs, laid to be washed at the -spring; and, all these concave lines being a little too quiet and -recumbent, the staggering casks are set on the left, and the -ill-balanced milk-pail on the right, to give a general feeling of things -being rolled over and over. The things which are to give this sense of -rolling are dark, in order to hint at the way in which the cataract -rolls boulders of rock; while the forms which are to give the sense of -its sweeping force are white. The little spring, splashing out of its -pine-trough, is to give contrast with the power of the fall,--while it -carries out the general sense of splashing water. - -[Illustration: 74. The Mill-stream.] - -[Illustration: Painted by J. N. W. Turner. Drawn by J. Ruskin. Engraved -by R. P. Cuff. - -75. The Castle of Lauffen.] - -Sec. 10. This spring exists on the spot, and so does everything else in the -picture; but the combinations are wholly arbitrary; it being Turner's -fixed principle to collect out of any scene whatever was characteristic, -and put it together just as he liked. The changes made in this instance -are highly curious. The mills have no resemblance whatever to the real -group as seen from this spot; for there is a vulgar and formal -dwelling-house in front of them. But if you climb the rock behind them, -you find they form on that side a towering cluster, which Turner has put -with little modification into the drawing. What he has done to the -mills, he has done with still greater audacity to the central rock. Seen -from this spot, it shows, in reality, its greatest breadth, and is heavy -and uninteresting; but on the Lauffen side, exposes its consumed base, -worn away by the rush of water, which Turner resolving to show, serenely -draws the rock as it appears from the other side of the Rhine, and -brings that view of it over to this side. I have etched the bit with the -rock a little larger below; and if the reader knows the spot, he will -see that this piece of the drawing, reversed in the etching, is almost a -bona fide unreversed study of the fall from the Lauffen side.[3] - -Finally, the castle of Lauffen itself, being, when seen from this spot, -too much foreshortened to show its extent, Turner walks a quarter of a -mile lower down the river, draws the castle accurately there, brings it -back with him, and puts it in all its extent, where he chooses to have -it, beyond the rocks. - -I tried to copy and engrave this piece of the drawing of its real size, -merely to show the forms of the trees, drifted back by the breeze from -the fall, and wet with its spray; but in the endeavor to facsimile the -touches, great part of their grace and ease has been lost; still, Plate -75 may, if compared with the same piece in the Keepsake engraving, at -least show that the original drawing has not yet been rendered with -completeness. - -Sec. 11. These two examples may sufficiently serve to show the mode in -which minor details, both in form and spirit, are used by Turner to aid -his main motives; of course I cannot, in the space of this volume, go on -examining subjects at this length, even if I had time to etch them; but -every design of Turner's would be equally instructive, examined in a -similar manner. Thus far, however, we have only seen the help of the -parts to the whole: we must give yet a little attention to the mode of -combining the smallest details. - -I am always led away, in spite of myself, from my proper subject here, -invention formal, or the merely pleasant placing of lines and masses, -into the emotional results of such arrangement. - -The chief reason of this is that the emotional power can be explained; -but the perfection of formative arrangement, as I said, cannot be -explained, any more than that of melody in music. An instance or two of -it, however, may be given. - -Sec. 12. Much fine formative arrangement depends on a more or less -elliptical or pear-shaped balance of the group, obtained by arranging -the principal members of it on two opposite curves, and either -centralizing it by some powerful feature at the base, centre, or summit; -or else clasping it together by some conspicuous point or knot. A very -small object will often do this satisfactorily. - -If you can get the complete series of Lefebre's engravings from Titian -and Veronese, they will be quite enough to teach you, in their dumb way, -everything that is teachable of composition; at all events, try to get -the Madonna, with St. Peter and St. George under the two great pillars; -the Madonna and Child, with mitred bishop on her left, and St. Andrew on -her right; and Veronese's Triumph of Venice. The first of these Plates -unites two formative symmetries; that of the two pillars, clasped by the -square altar-cloth below and cloud above, catches the eye first; but the -main group is the fivefold one rising to the left, crowned by the -Madonna. St. Francis and St. Peter form its two wings, and the kneeling -portrait figures, its base. It is clasped at the bottom by the key of -St. Peter, which points straight at the Madonna's head, and is laid on -the steps solely for this purpose; the curved lines, which enclose the -group, meet also in her face; and the straight line of light, on the -cloak of the nearest senator, points at her also. If you have Turner's -Liber Studiorum, turn to the Lauffenburg, and compare the figure group -there: a fivefold chain, one standing figure, central; two recumbent, -for wings; two half-recumbent, for bases; and a cluster of weeds to -clasp. Then turn to Lefebre's Europa (there are two in the series--I -mean the one with the two tree trunks over her head). It is a wonderful -ninefold group. Europa central; two stooping figures, each surmounted by -a standing one, for wings; a cupid on one side, and dog on the other, -for bases; a cupid and trunk of tree, on each side, to terminate above; -and a garland for clasp. - -[Illustration: FIG. 94.] - -Sec. 13. Fig. 94, page 171, will serve to show the mode in which similar -arrangements are carried into the smallest detail. It is magnified four -times from a cluster of leaves in the foreground of the "Isis" (Liber -Studiorum). Figs. 95 and 96, page 172, show the arrangement of the two -groups composing it; the lower is purely symmetrical, with trefoiled -centre and broad masses for wings; the uppermost is a sweeping -continuous curve, symmetrical, but foreshortened. Both are clasped by -arrow-shaped leaves. The two whole groups themselves are, in turn, -members of another larger group, composing the entire foreground, and -consisting of broad dock-leaves, with minor clusters on the right and -left, of which these form the chief portion on the right side. - -[Illustration: FIG. 95.] - -[Illustration: FIG. 96.] - -Sec. 14. Unless every leaf, and every visible point or object, however -small, forms a part of some harmony of this kind (these symmetrical -conditions being only the most simple and obvious), it has no business -in the picture. It is the necessary connection of all the forms and -colors, down to the last touch, which constitutes great or inventive -work, separated from all common work by an impassable gulf. - -By diligently copying the etchings of the Liber Studiorum, the reader -may, however, easily attain the perception of the existence of these -relations, and be prepared to understand Turner's more elaborate -composition. It would take many figures to disentangle and explain the -arrangements merely of the leaf cluster, Fig. 78, facing page 97; but -that there _is_ a system, and that every leaf has a fixed value and -place in it, can hardly but be felt at a glance. - -It is curious that, in spite of all the constant talkings of -"composition" which goes on among art students, true composition is just -the last thing which appears to be perceived. One would have thought -that in this group, at least, the value of the central black leaf would -have been seen, of which the principal function is to point towards, and -continue, the line of bank above. See Plate 62. But a glance at the -published Plate in the England series will show that no idea of the -composition had occurred to the engraver's mind. He thought any leaves -would do, and supplied them from his own repertory of hack vegetation. - -Sec. 15. I would willingly enlarge farther on this subject--it is a -favorite one with me; but the figures required for any exhaustive -treatment of it would form a separate volume. All that I can do is to -indicate, as these examples do sufficiently, the vast field open to the -student's analysis if he cares to pursue the subject; and to mark for -the general reader these two strong conclusions:--that nothing in great -work is ever either fortuitous or contentious. - -It is not fortuitous; that is to say, not left to fortune. The "must do -it by a kind of felicity" of Bacon is true; it is true also that an -accident is often suggestive to an inventor. Turner himself said, "I -never lose an accident." But it is this not _losing_ it, this taking -things out of the hands of Fortune, and putting them into those of force -and foresight, which attest the master. Chance may sometimes help, and -sometimes provoke, a success; but must never rule, and rarely allure. - -And, lastly, nothing must be contentious. Art has many uses and many -pleasantnesses; but of all its services, none are higher than its -setting forth, by a visible and enduring image, the nature of all true -authority and freedom; Authority which defines and directs the action of -benevolent law; and Freedom which consists in deep and soft consent of -individual[4] helpfulness. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The sails in the engraving were put in to catch the public eye. - There are none in the drawing. - - [2] These etchings of compositions are all reversed, for they are - merely sketches on the steel, and I cannot sketch easily except - straight from the drawing, and without reversing. The looking-glass - plagues me with cross lights. As examples of composition, it does not - the least matter which way they are turned; and the reader may see - this Schaffhausen subject from the right side of the Rhine, by - holding the book before a glass. The rude indications of the figures - in the Loire subject are nearly facsimiles of Turner's. - - [3] With the exception of the jagged ledge rising out of the foam - below which comes from the north side, and is admirable in its - expression of the position of the limestone-beds, which, rising from - below the drift gravel of Constance, are the real cause of the fall - of Schaffhausen. - - [4] "Individual," that is to say, distinct and separate in character, - though joined in purpose. I might have enlarged on this head, but - that all I should care to say has been already said admirably by Mr. - J. S. Mill in his essay on _Liberty_. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE RULE OF THE GREATEST. - - -Sec. 1. In the entire range of art principles, none perhaps present a -difficulty so great to the student, or require from the teacher -expression so cautious, and yet so strong, as those which concern the -nature and influence of magnitude. - -In one sense, and that deep, there is no such thing as magnitude. The -least thing is as the greatest, and one day as a thousand years, in the -eyes of the Maker of great and small things. In another sense, and that -close to us and necessary, there exist both magnitude and value. Though -not a sparrow falls to the ground unnoted, there are yet creatures who -are of more value than many; and the same Spirit which weighs the dust -of the earth in a balance, counts the isles as a little thing. - -Sec. 2. The just temper of human mind in this matter may, nevertheless, be -told shortly. Greatness can only be rightly estimated when minuteness is -justly reverenced. Greatness is the aggregation of minuteness; nor can -its sublimity be felt truthfully by any mind unaccustomed to the -affectionate watching of what is least. - -But if this affection for the least be unaccompanied by the powers of -comparison and reflection; if it be intemperate in its thirst, restless -in curiosity, and incapable of the patient and self-commandant pause -which is wise to arrange, and submissive to refuse, it will close the -paths of noble art to the student as effectually, and hopelessly, as -even the blindness of pride, or impatience of ambition. - -Sec. 3. I say the paths of noble art, not of useful art. All accurate -investigation will have its reward; the morbid curiosity will at least -slake the thirst of others, if not its own; and the diffused and petty -affections will distribute, in serviceable measure, their minute -delights and narrow discoveries. The opposite error, the desire of -greatness as such, or rather of what appears great to indolence and -vanity;--the instinct which I have described in the "Seven Lamps," -noting it, among the Renaissance builders, to be an especial and -unfailing sign of baseness of mind, is as fruitless as it is vile; no -way profitable--every way harmful: the widest and most corrupting -expression of vulgarity. The microscopic drawing of an insect may be -precious; but nothing except disgrace and misguidance will ever be -gathered from such work as that of Haydon or Barry. - -Sec. 4. The work I have mostly had to do, since this essay was begun, has -been that of contention against such debased issues of swollen insolence -and windy conceit; but I have noticed lately, that some lightly-budding -philosophers have depreciated true greatness; confusing the relations of -scale, as they bear upon human instinct and morality; reasoning as if a -mountain were no nobler than a grain of sand, or as if many souls were -not of mightier interest than one. To whom it must be shortly answered -that the Lord of power and life knew which were His noblest works, when -He bade His servant watch the play of the Leviathan, rather than dissect -the spawn of the minnow; and that when it comes to practical question -whether a single soul is to be jeoparded for many, and this Leonidas, or -Curtius, or Winkelried shall abolish--so far as abolishable--his own -spirit, that he may save more numerous spirits, such question is to be -solved by the simple human instinct respecting number and magnitude, not -by reasonings on infinity:-- - - "Le navigateur, qui, la nuit, voit l'ocean etinceler de lumiere, - danser en guirlandes de feu, s'egaye d'abord de ce spectacle. Il fait - dix lieues; la guirlande s'allonge indefiniment, elle s'agite, se - tord, se noue, aux mouvements de la lame; c'est un serpent monstrueux - qui va toujours s'allongeant, jusqu'a trente lieues, quarante lieues. - Et tout cela n'est qu'une danse d'animalcules imperceptibles. En quel - nombre? A cette question l'imagination s'effraye; elle sent la une - nature de puissance immense, de richesse epouvantable.... Que sont ces - petits des petits? Rien moins que les constructeurs du globe ou nous - sommes. De leurs corps, de leurs debris, ils ont prepare le sol qui - est sous nos pas.... Et ce sont les plus petits qui ont fait les plus - grandes choses. L'imperceptible rhizopode s'est bati un monument bien - autre que les pyramides, pas moins que l'Italie centrale, une notable - partie de la chaine des Apennins. Mais c'etait trop peu encore; les - masses enormes du Chili, les prodigieuses Cordilleres, qui regardent - le monde a leurs pieds, sont le monument funeraire ou cet etre - insaisissable, et pour ainsi dire, invisible, a enseveli les debris de - son espece disparue."--(Michelet: _L'Insecte_.) - -Sec. 5. In these passages, and those connected with them in the chapter -from which they are taken, itself so vast in scope, and therefore so -sublime, we may perhaps find the true relations of minuteness, -multitude, and magnitude. We shall not feel that there is no such thing -as littleness, or no such thing as magnitude. Nor shall we be disposed -to confuse a Volvox with the Cordilleras; but we may learn that they -both are bound together by links of eternal life and toil; we shall see -the vastest thing noble, chiefly for what it includes; and the meanest -for what it accomplishes. Thence we might gather--and the conclusion -will be found in experience true--that the sense of largeness would be -most grateful to minds capable of comprehending, balancing, and -comparing; but capable also of great patience and expectation; while the -sense of minute wonderfulness would be attractive to minds acted upon by -sharp, small, penetrative sympathies, and apt to be impatient, -irregular, and partial. This fact is curiously shown in the relations -between the temper of the great composers and the modern pathetic -school. I was surprised at the first rise of that school, now some years -ago, by observing how they restrained themselves to subjects which in -other hands would have been wholly uninteresting (compare Vol. IV., p. -19); and in their succeeding efforts, I saw with increasing wonder, that -they were almost destitute of the power of feeling vastness, or enjoying -the forms which expressed it. A mountain or great building only appeared -to them as a piece of color of a certain shape. The powers it -represented, or included, were invisible to them. In general they -avoided subjects expressing space or mass, and fastened on confined, -broken, and sharp forms; liking furze, fern, reeds, straw, stubble, dead -leaves, and such like, better than strong stones, broad-flowing leaves, -or rounded hills: in all such greater things, when forced to paint them, -they missed the main and mighty lines; and this no less in what they -loved than in what they disliked; for though fond of foliage, their -trees always had a tendency to congeal into little acicular -thorn-hedges, and never tossed free. Which modes of choice proceed -naturally from a petulant sympathy with local and immediately visible -interests or sorrows, not regarding their large consequences, nor -capable of understanding more massive view or more deeply deliberate -mercifulness;--but peevish and horror-struck, and often incapable of -self-control, though not of self-sacrifice. There are more people who -can forget themselves than govern themselves. - -This narrowly pungent and bitter virtue has, however, its beautiful -uses, and is of special value in the present day, when surface-work, -shallow generalization, and cold arithmetical estimates of things, are -among the chief dangers and causes of misery which men have to deal -with. - -Sec. 6. On the other hand, and in clear distinction from all such workers, -it is to be remembered that the great composers, not less deep in -feeling, are in the fixed habit of regarding as much the relations and -positions, as the separate nature, of things; that they reap and thrash -in the sheaf, never pluck ears to rub in the hand; fish with net, not -line, and sweep their prey together within great cords of errorless -curve;--that nothing ever bears to them a separate or isolated aspect, -but leads or links a chain of aspects--that to them it is not merely the -surface, nor the substance, of anything that is of import; but its -circumference and continence: that they are pre-eminently patient and -reserved; observant, not curious;--comprehensive, not conjectural; calm -exceedingly; unerring, constant, terrible in steadfastness of intent; -unconquerable: incomprehensible: always suggesting, implying, including, -more than can be told. - -Sec. 7. And this may be seen down to their treatment of the smallest -things. - -For there is nothing so small but we may, as we choose, see it in the -whole, or in part, and in subdued connection with other things, or in -individual and petty prominence. The greatest treatment is always that -which gives conception the widest range, and most harmonious -guidance;--it being permitted us to employ a certain quantity of time, -and certain number of touches of pencil--he who with these embraces the -largest sphere of thought, and suggests within that sphere the most -perfect order of thought, has wrought the most wisely, and therefore -most nobly. - -Sec. 8. I do not, however, purpose here to examine or illustrate the -nature of great treatment--to do so effectually would need many examples -from the figure composers; and it will be better (if I have time to work -out the subject carefully) that I should do so in a form which may be -easily accessible to young students. Here I will only state in -conclusion what it is chiefly important for all students to be convinced -of, that all the technical qualities by which greatness of treatment is -known, such as reserve in color, tranquillity and largeness of line, and -refusal of unnecessary objects of interest, are, when they are real, the -exponents of an habitually noble temper of mind, never the observances -of a precept supposed to be useful. The refusal or reserve of a mighty -painter cannot be imitated; it is only by reaching the same intellectual -strength that you will be able to give an equal dignity to your -self-denial. No one can tell you beforehand what to accept, or what to -ignore; only remember always, in painting as in eloquence, the greater -your strength, the quieter will be your manner, and the fewer your -words; and in painting, as in all the arts and acts of life, the secret -of high success will be found, not in a fretful, and various excellence, -but in a quiet singleness of justly chosen aim. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE LAW OF PERFECTNESS. - - -Sec.1. Among the several characteristics of great treatment which in the -last chapter were alluded to without being enlarged upon, one will be -found several times named;--reserve. - -It is necessary for our present purpose that we should understand this -quality more distinctly. I mean by it the power which a great painter -exercises over himself in fixing certain limits, either of force, of -color, or of quantity of work;--limits which he will not transgress in -any part of his picture, even though here and there a painful sense of -incompletion may exist, under the fixed conditions, and might tempt an -inferior workman to infringe them. The nature of this reserve we must -understand in order that we may also determine the nature of true -completion or perfectness, which is the end of composition. - -Sec. 2. For perfectness, properly so called, means harmony. The word -signifies, literally, the doing our work _thoroughly_. It does not mean -carrying it up to any constant and established degree of finish, but -carrying the whole of it up to a degree determined upon. In a chalk or -pencil sketch by a great master, it will often be found that the deepest -shades are feeble tints of pale gray; the outlines nearly invisible, and -the forms brought out by a ghostly delicacy of touch, which, on looking -close to the paper, will be indistinguishable from its general texture. -A single line of ink, occurring anywhere in such a drawing, would of -course destroy it; placed in the darkness of a mouth or nostril, it -would turn the expression into a caricature; on a cheek or brow it would -be simply a blot. Yet let the blot remain, and let the master work up to -it with lines of similar force; and the drawing which was before -perfect, in terms of pencil, will become, under his hand, perfect in -terms of ink; and what was before a scratch on the cheek will become a -necessary and beautiful part of its gradation. - -All great work is thus reduced under certain conditions, and its right -to be called complete depends on its fulfilment of them, not on the -nature of the conditions chosen. Habitually, indeed, we call a colored -work which is satisfactory to us, finished, and a chalk drawing -unfinished; but in the mind of the master, all his work is, according to -the sense in which you use the word, equally perfect or imperfect. -Perfect, if you regard its purpose and limitation; imperfect, if you -compare it with the natural standard. In what appears to you consummate, -the master has assigned to himself terms of shortcoming, and marked with -a sad severity the point up to which he will permit himself to contend -with nature. Were it not for his acceptance of such restraint, he could -neither quit his work, nor endure it. He could not quit it, for he would -always perceive more that might be done; he could not endure it, because -all doing ended only in more elaborate deficiency. - -Sec. 3. But we are apt to forget, in modern days, that the reserve of a man -who is not putting forth half his strength is different in manner and -dignity from the effort of one who can do no more. Charmed, and justly -charmed, by the harmonious sketches of great painters, and by the -grandeur of their acquiescence in the point of pause, we have put -ourselves to produce sketches as an end instead of a means, and thought -to imitate the painter's scornful restraint of his own power, by a -scornful rejection of the things beyond ours. For many reasons, -therefore, it becomes desirable to understand precisely and finally what -a good painter means by completion. - -Sec. 4. The sketches of true painters may be classed under the following -heads:-- - -I. _Experimental._--In which they are assisting an imperfect conception -of a subject by trying the look of it on paper in different ways. - -By the greatest men this kind of sketch is hardly ever made; they -conceive their subjects distinctly at once, and their sketch is not to -try them, but to fasten them down. Raphael's form the only important -exception--and the numerous examples of experimental work by him are -evidence of his composition being technical rather than imaginative. I -have never seen a drawing of the kind by any great Venetian. Among the -nineteen thousand sketches by Turner--which I arranged in the National -Gallery--there was, to the best of my recollection, _not one_. In -several instances the work, after being carried forward a certain -length, had been abandoned and begun again with another view; sometimes -also two or more modes of treatment had been set side by side with a -view to choice. But there were always two distinct imaginations -contending for realization--not experimental modifications of one. - -Sec. 5. II. _Determinant._--The fastening down of an idea in the simplest -terms, in order that it may not be disturbed or confused by after work. -Nearly all the great composers do this, methodically, before beginning a -painting. Such sketches are usually in a high degree resolute and -compressive; the best of them outlined or marked calmly with the pen, -and deliberately washed with color, indicating the places of the -principal lights. - -Fine drawings of this class never show any hurry or confusion. They are -the expression of concluded operations of mind, are drawn slowly, and -are not so much sketches, as maps. - -Sec. 6. III. _Commemorative._--Containing records of facts which the master -required. These in their most elaborate form are "studies," or drawings, -from Nature, of parts needed in the composition, often highly finished -in the part which is to be introduced. In this form, however, they never -occur by the greatest imaginative masters. For by a truly great inventor -everything is invented; no atom of the work is unmodified by his mind; -and no study from nature, however beautiful, could be introduced by him -into his design without change; it would not fit with the rest. Finished -studies for introduction are therefore chiefly by Leonardo and Raphael, -both technical designers rather than imaginative ones. - -Commemorative sketches, by great masters, are generally hasty, merely to -put them in mind of motives of invention, or they are shorthand -memoranda of things with which they do not care to trouble their memory; -or, finally, accurate notes of things which they must _not_ modify by -invention, as local detail, costume, and such like. You may find -perfectly accurate drawings of coats of arms, portions of dresses, -pieces of architecture, and so on, by all the great men; but you will -not find elaborate studies of bits of their pictures. - -[Illustration: FIG. 97.] - -Sec. 7. When the sketch is made merely as a memorandum, it is impossible to -say how little, or what kind of drawing, may be sufficient for the -purpose. It is of course likely to be hasty from its very nature, and -unless the exact purpose be understood, it may be as unintelligible as a -piece of shorthand writing. For instance, in the corner of a sheet of -sketches made at sea, among those of Turner, at the National Gallery, -occurs this one, Fig. 97. I suppose most persons would not see much use -in it. It nevertheless was probably one of the most important sketches -made in Turner's life, fixing for ever in his mind certain facts -respecting the sunrise from a clear sea-horizon. Having myself watched -such sunrise, occasionally, I perceive this sketch to mean as follows:-- - -(Half circle at the top.) When the sun was only half out of the sea, the -horizon was sharply traced across its disk, and red streaks of vapor -crossed the lower part of it. - -(Horseshoe underneath.) When the sun had risen so far as to show -three-quarters of its diameter, its light became so great as to conceal -the sea-horizon, consuming it away in descending rays. - -(Smaller horseshoe below.) When on the point of detaching itself from -the horizon, the sun still consumed away the line of the sea, and looked -as if pulled down by it. - -(Broken oval.) Having risen about a fourth of its diameter above the -horizon, the sea-line reappeared; but the risen orb was flattened by -refraction into an oval. - -(Broken circle.) Having risen a little farther above the sea-line, the -sun, at last, got itself round, and all right, with sparkling reflection -on the waves just below the sea-line. - -This memorandum is for its purpose entirely perfect and efficient, -though the sun is not drawn carefully round, but with a dash of the -pencil; but there is no affected or desired slightness. Could it have -been drawn round as instantaneously, it would have been. The purpose is -throughout determined; there is no scrawling, as in vulgar sketching.[1] - -Sec. 8. Again, Fig. 98 is a facsimile of one of Turner's "memoranda," of a -complete subject,[2] Lausanne, from the road to Fribourg. - -[Illustration: FIG. 98. _To face page 184._] - -This example is entirely characteristic of his usual drawings from -nature, which unite two characters, being _both_ commemorative and -determinant:--Commemorative, in so far as they note certain facts about -the place: determinant, in that they record an impression received from -the place there and then, together with the principal arrangement of the -composition in which it was afterwards to be recorded. In this mode of -sketching, Turner differs from all other men whose work I have studied. -He never draws accurately on the spot, with the intention of modifying -or composing afterwards from the materials; but instantly modifies as he -draws, placing his memoranda where they are to be ultimately used, and -taking exactly what he wants, not a fragment or line more. - -Sec. 9. This sketch has been made in the afternoon. He had been impressed -as he walked up the hill, by the vanishing of the lake in the golden -horizon, without end of waters, and by the opposition of the pinnacled -castle and cathedral to its level breadth. That must be drawn! and from -this spot, where all the buildings are set well together. But it -lucklessly happens that, though the buildings come just where he wants -them in situation, they don't in height. For the castle (the square mass -on the right) is in reality higher than the cathedral, and would block -out the end of the lake. Down it goes instantly a hundred feet, that we -may see the lake over it; without the smallest regard for the military -position of Lausanne. - -Sec. 10. Next: The last low spire on the left is in truth concealed behind -the nearer bank, the town running far down the hill (and climbing -another hill) in that direction. But the group oi spires, without it, -would not be rich enough to give a proper impression of Lausanne, as a -spiry place. Turner quietly sends to fetch the church from round the -corner, places it where he likes, and indicates its distance only by -aerial perspective (much greater in the pencil drawing than in the -woodcut). - -Sec. 11. But again: Not only the spire of the lower church, but the peak of -the Rochers d'Enfer (that highest in the distance) would in reality be -out of sight; it is much farther round to the left. This would never do -either; for without it, we should have no idea that Lausanne was -opposite the mountains, nor should we have a nice sloping line to lead -us into the distance. - -With the same unblushing tranquillity of mind in which he had ordered up -the church, Turner sends also to fetch the Rochers d'Enfer; and puts -_them_ also where he chooses, to crown the slope of distant hill, which, -as every traveller knows, in its decline to the west, is one of the most -notable features of the view from Lausanne. - -Sec. 12. These modifications, easily traceable in the large features of the -design, are carried out with equal audacity and precision in every part -of it. Every one of those confused lines on the right indicates -something that is really there, only everything is shifted and sorted -into the exact places that Turner chose. The group of dark objects near -us at the foot of the bank is a cluster of mills, which, when the -picture was completed, were to be the blackest things in it, and to -throw back the castle, and the golden horizon; while the rounded touches -at the bottom, under the castle, indicate a row of trees, which follow a -brook coming out of the ravine behind us; and were going to be made very -round indeed in the picture (to oppose the spiky and angular masses of -castle) and very consecutive, in order to form another conducting line -into the distance. - -Sec. 13. These motives, or motives like them, might perhaps be guessed on -looking at the sketch. But no one without going to the spot would -understand the meaning of the vertical lines in the left-hand lowest -corner. - -They are a "memorandum" of the artificial verticalness of a low -sandstone cliff, which has been cut down there to give space for a bit -of garden belonging to a public-house beneath, from which garden a path -leads along the ravine to the Lausanne rifle ground. The value of these -vertical lines in repeating those of the cathedral is very great; it -would be greater still in the completed picture, increasing the sense of -looking down from a height, and giving grasp of, and power over, the -whole scene. - -Sec. 14. Throughout the sketch, as in all that Turner made, the observing -and combining intellect acts in the same manner. Not a line is lost, nor -a moment of time; and though the pencil flies, and the whole thing is -literally done as fast as a piece of shorthand writing, it is to the -full as purposeful and compressed, so that while there are indeed dashes -of the pencil which are unintentional, they are only unintentional as -the form of a letter is, in fast writing, not from want of intention, -but from the accident of haste. - -Sec. 15. I know not if the reader can understand,--I myself cannot, though -I see it to be demonstrable,--the simultaneous occurrence of idea which -produces such a drawing as this: the grasp of the whole, from the laying -of the first line, which induces continual modifications of all that is -done, out of respect to parts not done yet. No line is ever changed or -effaced: no experiment made; but every touch is placed with reference to -all that are to succeed, as to all that have gone before; every addition -takes its part, as the stones in an arch of a bridge; the last touch -locks the arch. Remove that keystone, or remove any other of the stones -of the vault, and the whole will fall. - -Sec. 16. I repeat--the power of mind which accomplishes this, is yet wholly -inexplicable to me, as it was when first I defined it in the chapter on -imagination associative, in the second volume. But the grandeur of the -power impresses me daily more and more; and, in quitting the subject of -invention, let me assert finally, in clearest and strongest terms, that -no painting is of any true imaginative perfectness at all, unless it has -been thus conceived. - -One sign of its being thus conceived may be always found in the -straightforwardness of its work. There are continual disputes among -artists as to the best way of doing things, which may nearly all be -resolved into confessions of indetermination. If you know precisely what -you want, you will not feel much hesitation in setting about it; and a -picture may be painted almost any way, so only that it can be a straight -way. Give a true painter a ground of black, white, scarlet, or green, -and out of it he will bring what you choose. From the black, brightness; -from the white, sadness; from the scarlet, coolness; from the green, -glow: he will make anything out of anything, but in each case his method -will be pure, direct, perfect, the shortest and simplest possible. You -will find him, moreover, indifferent as to succession of process. Ask -him to begin at the bottom of the picture instead of the top,--to finish -two square inches of it without touching the rest, or to lay a separate -ground for every part before finishing any;--it is all the same to him! -What he will do if left to himself, depends on mechanical convenience, -and on the time at his disposal. If he has a large brush in his hand, -and plenty of one color ground, he may lay as much as is wanted of that -color, at once, in every part of the picture where it is to occur; and -if any is left, perhaps walk to another canvas, and lay the rest of it -where it will be wanted on that. If, on the contrary, he has a small -brush in his hand, and is interested in a particular spot of the -picture, he will, perhaps, not stir from it till that bit is finished. -But the absolutely best, or centrally, and entirely _right_ way of -painting is as follows:-- - -Sec. 17. A light ground, white, red, yellow, or gray, not brown, or black. -On that an entirely accurate, and firm black outline of the whole -picture, in its principal masses. The outline to be exquisitely correct -as far as it reaches, but not to include small details; the use of it -being to limit the masses of first color. The ground-colors then to be -laid firmly, each on its own proper part of the picture, as inlaid work -in a mosaic table, meeting each other truly at the edges: as much of -each being laid as will get itself into the state which the artist -requires it to be in for his second painting, by the time he comes to -it. On this first color, the second colors and subordinate masses laid -in due order, now, of course, necessarily without previous outline, and -all small detail reserved to the last, the bracelet being not touched, -nor indicated in the last, till the arm is finished.[3] - -Sec. 18. This is, as far as it can be expressed in few words, the right, or -Venetian way of painting; but it is incapable of absolute definition, -for it depends on the scale, the material, and the nature of the object -represented, _how much_ a great painter will do with his first color; or -how many after processes he will use. Very often the first color, richly -blended and worked into, is also the last; sometimes it wants a glaze -only to modify it; sometimes an entirely different color above it. -Turner's storm-blues, for instance, were produced by a black ground, -with opaque blue, mixed with white, struck over it.[4] The amount of -detail given in the first color will also depend on convenience. For -instance, if a jewel _fastens_ a fold of dress, a Venetian will lay -probably a piece of the jewel color in its place at the time he draws -the fold; but if the jewel _falls upon_ the dress, he will paint the -folds only in the ground color, and the jewel afterwards. For in the -first case his hand must pause, at any rate, where the fold is fastened; -so that he may as well mark the color of the gem: but he would have to -check his hand in the sweep with which he drew the drapery, if he -painted a jewel that fell upon it with the first color. So far, however, -as he can possibly use the under color, he will, in whatever he has to -superimpose. There is a pretty little instance of such economical work -in the painting of the pearls on the breast of the elder princess, in -our best Paul Veronese (Family of Darius). The lowest is about the size -of a small hazel-nut, and falls on her rose-red dress. Any other but a -Venetian would have put a complete piece of white paint over the dress, -for the whole pearl, and painted into that the colors of the stone. But -Veronese knows beforehand that all the dark side of the pearl will -reflect the red of the dress. He will not put white over the red, only -to put red over the white again. He leaves the actual dress for the dark -side of the pearl, and with two small separate touches, one white, -another brown, places its high light and shadow. This he does with -perfect care and calm; but in two decisive seconds. There is no dash, -nor display, nor hurry, nor error. The exactly right thing is done in -the exactly right place, and not one atom of color, nor moment of time -spent vainly. Look close at the two touches,--you wonder what they mean. -Retire six feet from the picture--the pearl is there! - -Sec. 19. The degree in which the ground colors are extended over his -picture, as he works, is to a great painter absolutely indifferent. It -is all the same to him whether he grounds a head, and finishes it at -once to the shoulders, leaving all round it white; or whether he grounds -the whole picture. His harmony, paint as he will, never can be complete -till the last touch is given; so long as it remains incomplete, he does -not care how little of it is suggested, or how many notes are missing. -All is wrong till all is right; and he must be able to bear the -all-wrongness till his work is done, or he cannot paint at all. His mode -of treatment will, therefore, depend on the nature of his subject; as is -beautifully shown in the water-color sketches by Turner in the National -Gallery. His general system was to complete inch by inch; leaving the -paper quite white all round, especially if the work was to be delicate. -The most exquisite drawings left unfinished in the collection--those at -Rome and Naples--are thus outlined accurately on pure white paper, begun -in the middle of the sheet, and worked out to the side, finishing as he -proceeds. If, however, any united effect of light or color is to embrace -a large part of the subject, he will lay it in with a broad wash over -the whole paper at once; then paint into it using it as a ground, and -modifying it in the pure Venetian manner. His oil pictures were laid -roughly with ground colors, and painted into with such rapid skill, that -the artists who used to see him finishing at the Academy sometimes -suspected him of having the picture finished underneath the colors he -showed, and removing, instead of adding, as they watched. - -Sec. 20. But, whatever the means used may be, the certainty and directness -of them imply absolute grasp of the whole subject, and without this -grasp there is no good painting. This, finally, let me declare, without -qualification--that partial conception is no conception. The whole -picture must be imagined, or none of it is. And this grasp of the whole -implies very strange and sublime qualities of mind. It is not possible, -unless the feelings are completely under control; the least excitement -or passion will disturb the measured equity of power; a painter needs to -be as cool as a general; and as little moved or subdued by his sense of -pleasure, as a soldier by the sense of pain. Nothing good can be done -without intense feeling; but it must be feeling so crushed, that the -work is set about with mechanical steadiness, absolutely untroubled, as -a surgeon,--not without pity, but conquering it and putting it -aside--begins an operation. Until the feelings can give strength enough -to the will to enable it to conquer them, they are not strong enough. If -you cannot leave your picture at any moment;--cannot turn from it and go -on with another, while the color is drying;--cannot work at any part of -it you choose with equal contentment--you have not firm enough grasp of -it. - -Sec. 21. It follows also, that no vain or selfish person can possibly -paint, in the noble sense of the word. Vanity and selfishness are -troublous, eager, anxious, petulant:--painting can only be done in calm -of mind. Resolution is not enough to secure this; it must be secured by -disposition as well. You may resolve to think of your picture only; but, -if you have been fretted before beginning, no manly or clear grasp of it -will be possible for you. No forced calm is calm enough. Only honest -calm,--natural calm. You might as well try by external pressure to -smoothe a lake till it could reflect the sky, as by violence of effort -to secure the peace through which only you can reach imagination. That -peace must come in its own time; as the waters settle themselves into -clearness as well as quietness; you can no more filter your mind into -purity than you can compress it into calmness; you must keep it pure, if -you would have it pure; and throw no stones into it, if you would have -it quiet. Great courage and self-command may, to a certain extent, give -power of painting without the true calmness underneath; but never of -doing first-rate work. There is sufficient evidence of this, in even -what we know of great men, though of the greatest, we nearly always know -the least (and that necessarily; they being very silent, and not much -given to setting themselves forth to questioners; apt to be -contemptuously reserved, no less than unselfishly). But in such writings -and sayings as we possess of theirs, we may trace a quite curious -gentleness and serene courtesy. Rubens' letters are almost ludicrous in -their unhurried politeness. Reynolds, swiftest of painters, was gentlest -of companions; so also Velasquez, Titian, and Veronese. - -Sec. 22. It is gratuitous to add that no shallow or petty person can paint. -Mere cleverness or special gift never made an artist. It is only -perfectness of mind, unity, depth, decision, the highest qualities, in -fine, of the intellect, which will form the imagination. - -Sec. 23. And, lastly, no false person can paint. A person false at heart -may, when it suits his purposes, seize a stray truth here or there; but -the relations of truth,--its perfectness,--that which makes it wholesome -truth, he can never perceive. As wholeness and wholesomeness go -together, so also sight with sincerity; it is only the constant desire -of, and submissiveness to truth, which can measure its strange angles -and mark its infinite aspects; and fit them and knit them into the -strength of sacred invention. - -Sacred, I call it deliberately; for it is thus, in the most accurate -senses, humble as well as helpful; meek in its receiving, as magnificent -in its disposing; the name it bears being rightly given to invention -formal, not because it forms, but because it finds. For you cannot find -a lie; you must make it for yourself. False things may be imagined, and -false things composed; but only truth can be invented. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word in the uppermost note, to the right of the sun, is - "red;" the others, "yellow," "purple," "cold" light gray. He always - noted the colors of the skies in this way. - - [2] It is not so good a facsimile as those I have given from Durer, - for the original sketch is in light pencil; and the thickening and - delicate emphasis of the lines, on which nearly all the beauty of the - drawing depended, cannot be expressed in the woodcut, though marked - by a double line as well as I could. But the figure will answer its - purpose well enough in showing Turner's mode of sketching. - - [3] Thus, in the Holy Family of Titian, lately purchased for the - National Gallery, the piece of St. Catherine's dress over her - shoulders is painted on the under dress, after that was dry. All its - value would have been lost, had the slightest tint or trace of it - been given previously. This picture, I think, and certainly many of - Tintoret's, are painted on dark grounds; but this is to save time, - and with some loss to the future brightness of the color. - - [4] In cleaning the "Hero and Leander," now in the National - collection, these upper glazes were taken off, and only the black - ground left. I remember the picture when its distance was of the most - exquisite blue. I have no doubt the "Fire at Sea" has had its - distance destroyed in the same manner. - - - - -PART IX. - -OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE DARK MIRROR. - - -Sec. 1. In the course of our inquiry into the moral of landscape (Vol. -III., chap. 17), we promised, at the close of our work, to seek for some -better, or at least clearer, conclusions than were then possible to us. -We confined ourselves in that chapter to the vindication of the probable -utility of the _love_ of natural scenery. We made no assertion of the -usefulness of _painting_ such scenery. It might be well to delight in -the real country, or admire the real flowers and true mountains. But it -did not follow that it was advisable to paint them. - -Far from it. Many reasons might be given why we should not paint them. -All the purposes of good which we saw that the beauty of nature could -accomplish, may be better fulfilled by the meanest of her realities than -by the brightest of imitations. For prolonged entertainment, no picture -can be compared with the wealth of interest which may be found in the -herbage of the poorest field, or blossoms of the narrowest copse. As -suggestive of supernatural power, the passing away of a fitful -rain-cloud, or opening of dawn, are in their change and mystery more -pregnant than any pictures. A child would, I suppose, receive a -religious lesson from a flower more willingly than from a print of one, -and might be taught to understand the nineteenth Psalm, on a starry -night, better than by diagrams of the constellations. - -Whence it might seem a waste of time to draw landscape at all. - -I believe it is;--to draw landscape mere and solitary, however beautiful -(unless it be for the sake of geographical or other science, or of -historical record). But there _is_ a kind of landscape which it is not -inexpedient to draw. What kind, we may probably discover by considering -that which mankind has hitherto contented itself with painting. - -Sec. 2. We may arrange nearly all existing landscape under the following -heads:-- - -I. HEROIC.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by men not -perhaps perfectly civilized, but noble, and usually subjected to severe -trials, and by spiritual powers of the highest order. It is frequently -without architecture; never without figure-action, or emotion. Its -principal master is Titian. - -II. CLASSICAL.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by perfectly -civilized men, and by spiritual powers of an inferior order. - -It generally assumes this condition of things to have existed among the -Greek and Roman nations. It contains usually architecture of an elevated -character, and always incidents of figure-action and emotion. Its -principal master is Nicolo Poussin. - -III. PASTORAL.--Representing peasant life and its daily work, or such -scenery as may naturally be suggestive of it, consisting usually of -simple landscape, in part subjected to agriculture, with figures, -cattle, and domestic buildings. No supernatural being is ever visibly -present. It does not in ordinary cases admit architecture of an elevated -character, nor exciting incident. Its principal master is Cuyp. - -IV. CONTEMPLATIVE.--Directed principally to the observance of the powers -of Nature, and record of the historical associations connected with -landscape, illustrated by, or contrasted with, existing states of human -life. No supernatural being is visibly present. It admits every variety -of subject, and requires, in general, figure incident, but not of an -exciting character. It was not developed completely until recent times. -Its principal master is Turner.[1] - -Sec. 3. These are the four true orders of landscape, not of course -distinctly separated from each other in all cases, but very distinctly -in typical examples. Two spurious forms require separate note. - -(A.) PICTURESQUE.--This is indeed rather the degradation (or sometimes -the undeveloped state) of the Contemplative, than a distinct class; but -it may be considered generally as including pictures meant to display -the skill of the artist, and his powers of composition; or to give -agreeable forms and colors, irrespective of sentiment. It will include -much modern art, with the street views and church interiors of the -Dutch, and the works of Canaletto, Guardi, Tempesta, and the like. - -(B.) HYBRID.--Landscape in which the painter endeavors to unite the -irreconcileable sentiment of two or more of the above-named classes. Its -principal masters are Berghem and Wouvermans. - -Sec. 4. Passing for the present by these inferior schools, we find that all -true landscape, whether simple or exalted, depends primarily for its -interest on connection with humanity, or with spiritual powers. Banish -your heroes and nymphs from the classical landscape--its laurel shades -will move you no more. Show that the dark clefts of the most romantic -mountain are uninhabited and untraversed; it will cease to be romantic. -Fields without shepherds and without fairies will have no gaiety in -their green, nor will the noblest masses of ground or colors of cloud -arrest or raise your thoughts, if the earth has no life to sustain, and -the heaven none to refresh. - -Sec. 5. It might perhaps be thought that, since from scenes in which the -figure was principal, and landscape symbolical and subordinate (as in -the art of Egypt), the process of ages had led us to scenes in which -landscape was principal and the figure subordinate,--a continuance in -the same current of feeling might bring forth at last an art from which -humanity and its interests should wholly vanish, leaving us to the -passionless admiration of herbage and stone. But this will not, and -cannot be. For observe the parallel instance in the gradually -increasing importance of dress. From the simplicity of Greek design, -concentrating, I suppose, its skill chiefly on the naked form, the -course of time developed conditions of Venetian imagination which found -nearly as much interest, and expressed nearly as much dignity, in folds -of dress and fancies of decoration as in the faces of the figures -themselves; so that if from Veronese's Marriage in Cana we remove the -architecture and the gay dresses, we shall not in the faces and hands -remaining, find a satisfactory abstract of the picture. But try it the -other way. Take out the faces; leave the draperies, and how then? Put -the fine dresses and jewelled girdles into the best group you can; paint -them with all Veronese's skill: will they satisfy you? - -Sec. 6. Not so. As long as they are in their due service and -subjection--while their folds are formed by the motion of men, and their -lustre adorns the nobleness of men--so long the lustre and the folds are -lovely. But cast them from the human limbs;--golden circlet and silken -tissue are withered; the dead leaves of autumn are more precious than -they. - -This is just as true, but in a far deeper sense, of the weaving of the -natural robe of man's soul. Fragrant tissue of flowers, golden circlets -of clouds, are only fair when they meet the fondness of human thoughts, -and glorify human visions of heaven. - -Sec. 7. It is the leaning on this truth which, more than any other, has -been the distinctive character of all my own past work. And in closing a -series of Art-studies, prolonged during so many years, it may be perhaps -permitted me to point out this specialty--the rather that it has been, -of all their characters, the one most denied. I constantly see that the -same thing takes place in the estimation formed by the modern public of -the work of almost any true person, living or dead. It is not needful to -state here the causes of such error: but the fact is indeed so, that -precisely the distinctive root and leading force of any true man's work -and way are the things denied concerning him. - -And in these books of mine, their distinctive character, as essays on -art, is their bringing everything to a root in human passion or human -hope. Arising first not in any desire to explain the principles of art, -but in the endeavor to defend an individual painter from injustice, -they have been colored throughout,--nay, continually altered in shape, -and even warped and broken, by digressions respecting social questions, -which had for me an interest tenfold greater than the work I had been -forced into undertaking. Every principle of painting which I have stated -is traced to some vital or spiritual fact; and in my works on -architecture the preference accorded finally to one school over another, -is founded on a comparison of their influences on the life of the -workman--a question by all other writers on the subject of architecture -wholly forgotten or despised. - -Sec. 8. The essential connection of the power of landscape with human -emotion is not less certain, because in many impressive pictures the -link is slight or local. That the connection should exist at a single -point is all that we need. The comparison with the dress of the body may -be carried out into the extremest parallelism. It may often happen that -no part of the figure wearing the dress is discernible, nevertheless, -the perceivable fact that the drapery is worn by a figure makes all the -difference. In one of the most sublime figures in the world this is -actually so: one of the fainting Marys in Tintoret's Crucifixion has -cast her mantle over her head, and her face is lost in its shade, and -her whole figure veiled in folds of gray. But what the difference is -between that gray woof, that gathers round her as she falls, and the -same folds cast in a heap upon the ground, that difference, and more, -exists between the power of Nature through which humanity is seen, and -her power in the desert. Desert--whether of leaf or sand--true -desertness is not in the want of leaves, but of life. Where humanity is -not, and was not, the best natural beauty is more than vain. It is even -terrible; not as the dress cast aside from the body; but as an -embroidered shroud hiding a skeleton. - -Sec. 9. And on each side of a right feeling in this matter there lie, as -usual, two opposite errors. - -The first, that of caring for man only; and for the rest of the -universe, little, or not at all, which, in a measure, was the error of -the Greeks and Florentines; the other, that of caring for the universe -only;--for man, not at all,--which, in a measure, is the error of modern -science, and of the Art connecting itself with such science. - -The degree of power which any man may ultimately possess in -landscape-painting will depend finally on his perception of this -influence. If he has to paint the desert, its awfulness--if the garden, -its gladsomeness--will arise simply and only from his sensibility to the -story of life. Without this he is nothing but a scientific mechanist; -this, though it cannot make him yet a painter, raises him to the sphere -in which he may become one. Nay, the mere shadow and semblance of this -have given dangerous power to works in all other respects unnoticeable; -and the least degree of its true presence has given value to work in all -other respects vain. - -The true presence, observe, of sympathy with the spirit of man. Where -this is not, sympathy with any higher spirit is impossible. - -For the directest manifestation of Deity to man is in His own image, -that is, in man. - -Sec. 10. "In his own image. After his likeness." _Ad imaginem et -similitudinem Suam._ I do not know what people in general understand by -those words. I suppose they ought to be understood. The truth they -contain seems to lie at the foundation of our knowledge both of God and -man; yet do we not usually pass the sentence by, in dull reverence, -attaching no definite sense to it at all? For all practical purpose, -might it not as well be out of the text? - -I have no time, nor much desire, to examine the vague expressions of -belief with which the verse has been encumbered. Let us try to find its -only possible plain significance. - -Sec. 11. It cannot be supposed that the bodily shape of man resembles, or -resembled, any bodily shape in Deity. The likeness must therefore be, or -have been, in the soul. Had it wholly passed away, and the Divine soul -been altered into a soul brutal or diabolic, I suppose we should have -been told of the change. But we are told nothing of the kind. The verse -still stands as if for our use and trust. It was only death which was to -be our punishment. Not _change_. So far as we live, the image is still -there; defiled, if you will; broken, if you will; all but effaced, if -you will, by death and the shadow of it. But not changed. We are not -made now in any other image than God's. There are, indeed, the two -states of this image--the earthly and heavenly, but both Adamite, both -human, both the same likeness; only one defiled, and one pure. So that -the soul of man is still a mirror, wherein may be seen, darkly, the -image of the mind of God. - -These may seem daring words. I am sorry that they do; but I am helpless -to soften them. Discover any other meaning of the text if you are -able;--but be sure that it _is_ a meaning--a meaning in your head and -heart;--not a subtle gloss, nor a shifting of one verbal expression into -another, both idealess. I repeat, that, to me, the verse has, and can -have, no other signification than this--that the soul of man is a mirror -of the mind of God. A mirror dark, distorted, broken, use what blameful -words you please of its state; yet in the main, a true mirror, out of -which alone, and by which alone, we can know anything of God at all. - -"How?" the reader, perhaps, answers indignantly. "I know the nature of -God by revelation, not by looking into myself." - -Revelation to what? To a nature incapable of receiving truth? That -cannot be; for only to a nature capable of truth, desirous of it, -distinguishing it, feeding upon it, revelation is possible. To a being -undesirous of it, and hating it, revelation is impossible. There can be -none to a brute, or fiend. In so far, therefore, as you love truth, and -live therein, in so far revelation can exist for you;--and in so far, -your mind is the image of God's. - -Sec. 12. But consider farther, not only _to_ what, but _by_ what, is the -revelation. By sight? or word? If by sight, then to eyes which see -justly. Otherwise, no sight would be revelation. So far, then, as your -sight is just, it is the image of God's sight. - -If by words,--how do you know their meanings? Here is a short piece of -precious word revelation, for instance. "God is love." - -Love! yes. But what is _that_? The revelation does not tell you that, I -think. Look into the mirror, and you will see. Out of your own heart you -may know what love is. In no other possible way,--by no other help or -sign. All the words and sounds ever uttered, all the revelations of -cloud, or flame, or crystal, are utterly powerless. They cannot tell -you, in the smallest point, what love means. Only the broken mirror -can. - -Sec. 13. Here is more revelation. "God is just!" Just! What is that? The -revelation cannot help you to discover. You say it is dealing equitably -or equally. But how do you discern the equality? Not by inequality of -mind; not by a mind incapable of weighing, judging, or distributing. If -the lengths seem unequal in the broken mirror, for you they are unequal; -but if they seem equal, then the mirror is true. So far as you recognize -equality, and your conscience tells you what is just, so far your mind -is the image of God's: and so far as you do _not_ discern this nature of -justice or equality, the words "God is just" bring no revelation to you. - -Sec. 14. "But His thoughts are not as our thoughts." No: the sea is not as -the standing pool by the wayside. Yet when the breeze crisps the pool, -you may see the image of the breakers, and a likeness of the foam. Nay, -in some sort, the same foam. If the sea is for ever invisible to you, -something you may learn of it from the pool. Nothing, assuredly, any -otherwise. - -"But this poor miserable Me! Is _this_, then, all the book I have got to -read about God in?" Yes, truly so. No other book, nor fragment of book, -than that, will you ever find;--no velvet-bound missal, nor -frankincensed manuscript;--nothing hieroglyphic nor cuneiform; papyrus -and pyramid are alike silent on this matter;--nothing in the clouds -above, nor in the earth beneath. That flesh-bound volume is the only -revelation that is, that was, or that can be. In that is the image of -God painted; in that is the law of God written; in that is the promise -of God revealed. Know thyself; for through thyself only thou canst know -God. - -Sec. 15. Through the glass, darkly. But, except through the glass, in -nowise. - -A tremulous crystal, waved as water, poured out upon the ground;--you -may defile it, despise it, pollute it at your pleasure, and at your -peril; for on the peace of those weak waves must all the heaven you -shall ever gain be first seen; and through such purity as you can win -for those dark waves, must all the light of the risen Sun of -righteousness be bent down, by faint refraction. Cleanse them, and calm -them, as you love your life. - -Therefore it is that all the power of nature depends on subjection to -the human soul. Man is the sun of the world; more than the real sun. The -fire of his wonderful heart is the only light and heat worth gauge or -measure. Where he is, are the tropics; where he is not, the ice-world. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] I have been embarrassed in assigning the names to these orders of - art, the term "Contemplative" belonging in justice nearly as much to - the romantic and pastoral conception as to the modern landscape. I - intended, originally, to call the four schools--Romantic, Classic, - Georgic, and Theoretic--which would have been more accurate; and more - consistent with the nomenclature of the second volume; but would not - have been pleasant in sound, nor to the general reader, very clear in - sense. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE LANCE OF PALLAS. - - -Sec. 1. It might be thought that the tenor of the preceding chapter was in -some sort adverse to my repeated statement that all great art is the -expression of man's delight in God's work, not in _his own._ But -observe, he is not himself his own work: he is himself precisely the -most wonderful piece of God's workmanship extant. In this best piece not -only he is bound to take delight, but cannot, in a right state of -thought, take delight in anything else, otherwise than through himself. -Through himself, however, as the sun of creation, not as _the_ creation. -In himself, as the light of the world.[1] Not as being the world. Let -him stand in his due relation to other creatures, and to inanimate -things--know them all and love them, as made for him, and he for -them;--and he becomes himself the greatest and holiest of them. But let -him cast off this relation, despise and forget the less creation around -him, and instead of being the light of the world, he is as a sun in -space--a fiery ball, spotted with storm. - -Sec. 2. All the diseases of mind leading to fatalest ruin consist primarily -in this isolation. They are the concentration of man upon himself, -whether his heavenly interests or his worldly interests, matters not; it -is the being _his own_ interests which makes the regard of them so -mortal. Every form of asceticism on one side, of sensualism on the -other, is an isolation of his soul or of his body; the fixing his -thoughts upon them alone: while every healthy state of nations and of -individual minds consists in the unselfish presence of the human spirit -everywhere, energizing over all things; speaking and living through all -things. - -Sec. 3. Man being thus the crowning and ruling work of God, it will follow -that all his best art must have something to tell about himself, as the -soul of things, and ruler of creatures. It must also make this reference -to himself under a true conception of his own nature. Therefore all art -which involves no reference to man is inferior or nugatory. And all art -which involves misconception of man, or base thought of him, is in that -degree false, and base. - -Now the basest thought possible concerning him is, that he has no -spiritual nature; and the foolishest misunderstanding of him possible -is, that he has or should have, no animal nature. For his nature is -nobly animal, nobly spiritual--coherently and irrevocably so; neither -part of it may, but at its peril, expel, despise, or defy the other. All -great art confesses and worships both. - -Sec. 4. The art which, since the writings of Rio and Lord Lindsay, is -specially known as "Christian," erred by pride in its denial of the -animal nature of man;--and, in connection with all monkish and fanatical -forms of religion, by looking always to another world instead of this. -It wasted its strength in visions, and was therefore swept away, -notwithstanding all its good and glory, by the strong truth of the -naturalist art of the sixteenth century. But that naturalist art erred -on the other side; denied at last the spiritual nature of man, and -perished in corruption. - -A contemplative reaction is taking place in modern times, out of which -it may be hoped a new spiritual art may be developed. The first school -of landscape, named, in the foregoing chapter, the Heroic, is that of -the noble naturalists. The second (Classical), and third (Pastoral), -belong to the time of sensual decline. The fourth (Contemplative) is -that of modern revival. - -Sec. 5. But why, the reader will ask, is no place given in this scheme to -the "Christian" or spiritual art which preceded the naturalists? Because -all landscape belonging to that art is subordinate, and in one essential -principle false. It is subordinate, because intended only to exalt the -conception of saintly or Divine presence:--rather therefore to be -considered as a landscape decoration or type, than an effort to paint -nature. If I included it in my list of schools, I should have to go -still farther back, and include with it the conventional and -illustrative landscape of the Greeks and Egyptians. - -Sec. 6. But also it cannot constitute a real school, because its first -assumption is false, namely, that the natural world can be represented -without the element of death. - -The real schools of landscape are primarily distinguished from the -preceding unreal ones by their introduction of this element. They are -not at first in any sort the worthier for it. But they are more true, -and capable, therefore, in the issue, of becoming worthier. - -It will be a hard piece of work for us to think this rightly out, but it -must be done. - -Sec. 7. Perhaps an accurate analysis of the schools of art of all time -might show us that when the immortality of the soul was practically and -completely believed, the elements of decay, danger, and grief in visible -things were always disregarded. However this may be, it is assuredly so -in the early Christian schools. The ideas of danger or decay seem not -merely repugnant, but inconceivable to them; the expression of -immortality and perpetuity is alone possible. I do not mean that they -take no note of the absolute fact of corruption. This fact the early -painters often compel themselves to look fuller in the front than any -other men: as in the way they usually paint the Deluge (the raven -feeding on the bodies), and in all the various triumphs and processions -of the Power of Death, which formed one great chapter of religious -teaching and painting, from Orcagna's time to the close of the Purist -epoch. But I mean that this external fact of corruption is separated in -their minds from the main conditions of their work; and its horror -enters no more into their general treatment of landscape than the fear -of murder or martyrdom, both of which they had nevertheless continually -to represent. None of these things appeared to them as affecting the -general dealings of the Deity with His world. Death, pain, and decay -were simply momentary accidents in the course of immortality, which -never ought to exercise any depressing influence over the hearts of men, -or in the life of Nature. God, in intense life, peace, and helping -power, was always and everywhere. Human bodies, at one time or another, -had indeed to be made dust of, and raised from it; and this becoming -dust was hurtful and humiliating, but not in the least melancholy, nor, -in any very high degree, important; except to thoughtless persons, who -needed sometimes to be reminded of it, and whom, not at all fearing the -things much himself, the painter accordingly did remind of it, somewhat -sharply. - -Sec. 8. A similar condition of mind seems to have been attained, not -unfrequently, in modern times, by persons whom either narrowness of -circumstance or education, or vigorous moral efforts have guarded from -the troubling of the world, so as to give them firm and childlike trust -in the power and presence of God, together with peace of conscience, and -a belief in the passing of all evil into some form of good. It is -impossible that a person thus disciplined should feel, in any of its -more acute phases, the sorrow for any of the phenomena of nature, or -terror in any material danger which would occur to another. The absence -of personal fear, the consciousness of security as great in the midst of -pestilence and storm, as amidst beds of flowers on a summer morning, and -the certainty that whatever appeared evil, or was assuredly painful, -must eventually issue in a far greater and enduring good--this general -feeling and conviction, I say, would gradually lull, and at last put to -entire rest, the physical sensations of grief and fear; so that the man -would look upon danger without dread,--accept pain without lamentation. - -Sec. 9. It may perhaps be thought that this is a very high and right state -of mind. - -Unfortunately, it appears that the attainment of it is never possible -without inducing some form of intellectual weakness. - -No painter belonging to the purest religious schools ever mastered his -art. Perugino nearly did so; but it was because he was more -rational--more a man of the world--than the rest. No literature exists -of a high class produced by minds in the pure religious temper. On the -contrary, a great deal of literature exists, produced by persons in that -temper, which is markedly, and very far, below average literary work. - -Sec. 10. The reason of this I believe to be, that the right faith of man is -not intended to give him repose, but to enable him to do his work. It is -not intended that he should look away from the place he lives in now, -and cheer himself with thoughts of the place he is to live in next, but -that he should look stoutly into this world, in faith that if he does -his work thoroughly here, some good to others or himself, with which, -however, he is not at present concerned, will come of it hereafter. And -this kind of brave, but not very hopeful or cheerful faith, I perceive -to be always rewarded by clear practical success and splendid -intellectual power; while the faith which dwells on the future fades -away into rosy mist, and emptiness of musical air. That result indeed -follows naturally enough on its habit of assuming that things must be -right, or must come right, when, probably, the fact is, that so far as -we are concerned, they are entirely wrong; and going wrong: and also on -its weak and false way of looking on what these religious persons call -"the bright side of things," that is to say, on one side of them only, -when God has given them two sides, and intended us to see both. - -Sec. 11. I was reading but the other day, in a book by a zealous, useful, -and able Scotch clergyman, one of these rhapsodies, in which he -described a scene in the Highlands to show (he said) the goodness of -God. In this Highland scene there was nothing but sunshine, and fresh -breezes, and bleating lambs, and clean tartans, and all manner of -pleasantness. Now a Highland scene is, beyond dispute, pleasant enough -in its own way; but, looked close at, has its shadows. Here, for -instance, is the very fact of one, as pretty as I can remember--having -seen many. It is a little valley of soft turf, enclosed in its narrow -oval by jutting rocks and broad flakes of nodding fern. From one side of -it to the other winds, serpentine, a clear brown stream, drooping into -quicker ripple as it reaches the end of the oval field, and then, first -islanding a purple and white rock with an amber pool, it dashes away -into a narrow fall of foam under a thicket of mountain ash and alder. -The autumn sun, low but clear, shines on the scarlet ash-berries and on -the golden birch-leaves, which, fallen here and there, when the breeze -has not caught them, rest quiet in the crannies of the purple rock. -Beside the rock, in the hollow under the thicket, the carcass of a ewe, -drowned in the last flood, lies nearly bare to the bone, its white ribs -protruding through the skin, raven-torn; and the rags of its wool still -flickering from the branches that first stayed it as the stream swept it -down. A little lower, the current plunges, roaring, into a circular -chasm like a well, surrounded on three sides by a chimney-like -hollowness of polished rock, down which the foam slips in detached -snow-flakes. Round the edges of the pool beneath, the water circles -slowly, like black oil; a little butterfly lies on its back, its wings -glued to one of the eddies, its limbs feebly quivering; a fish rises and -it is gone. Lower down the stream, I can just see, over a knoll, the -green and damp turf roofs of four or five hovels, built at the edge of a -morass, which is trodden by the cattle into a black Slough of Despond at -their doors, and traversed by a few ill-set stepping-stones, with here -and there a flat slab on the tops, where they have sunk out of sight; -and at the turn of the brook I see a man fishing, with a boy and a -dog--a picturesque and pretty group enough certainly, if they had not -been there all day starving. I know them, and I know the dog's ribs -also, which are nearly as bare as the dead ewe's; and the child's wasted -shoulders, cutting his old tartan jacket through, so sharp are they. We -will go down and talk with the man. - -Sec. 12. Or, that I may not piece pure truth with fancy, for I have none of -his words set down, let us hear a word or two from another such, a -Scotchman also, and as true hearted, and in just as fair a scene. I -write out the passage, in which I have kept his few sentences, word for -word, as it stands in my private diary:--"22nd April (1851). Yesterday I -had a long walk up the Via Gellia, at Matlock, coming down upon it from -the hills above, all sown with anemones and violets, and murmuring with -sweet springs. Above all the mills in the valley, the brook, in its -first purity, forms a small shallow pool, with a sandy bottom covered -with cresses, and other water plants. A man was wading in it for cresses -as I passed up the valley, and bade me good-day. I did not go much -farther; he was there when I returned. I passed him again, about one -hundred yards, when it struck me I might as well learn all I could about -watercresses: so I turned back. I asked the man, among other questions, -what he called the common weed, something like watercress, but with a -serrated leaf, which grows at the edge of nearly all such pools. 'We -calls that brooklime, hereabouts,' said a voice behind me. I turned, and -saw three men, miners or manufacturers--two evidently Derbyshire men, -and respectable-looking in their way; the third, thin, poor, old, and -harder-featured, and utterly in rags. 'Brooklime?' I said. 'What do you -call it lime for?' The man said he did not know, it was called that. -'You'll find that in the British 'Erba,' said the weak, calm voice of -the old man. I turned to him in much surprise; but he went on saying -something drily (I hardly understood what) to the cress-gatherer; who -contradicting him, the old man said he 'didn't know fresh water,' he -'knew enough of sa't.' 'Have you been a sailor?' I asked. 'I was a -sailor for eleven years and ten months of my life,' he said, in the same -strangely quiet manner. 'And what are you now?' 'I lived for ten years -after my wife's death by picking up rags and bones; I hadn't much -occasion afore.' 'And now how do you live?' 'Why, I lives hard and -honest, and haven't got to live long,' or something to that effect. He -then went on, in a kind of maundering way, about his wife. 'She had -rheumatism and fever very bad; and her second rib grow'd over her -hench-bone. A' was a clever woman, but a' grow'd to be a very little -one' (this with an expression of deep melancholy). 'Eighteen years after -her first lad she was in the family-way again, and they had doctors up -from Lunnon about it. They wanted to rip her open and take the child out -of her side. But I never would give my consent.' (Then, after a pause:) -'She died twenty-six hours and ten minutes after it. I never cared much -what come of me since; but I know that I shall soon reach her; that's a -knowledge I would na gie for the king's crown.' 'You are a Scotchman, -are not you?' I asked. 'I'm from the Isle of Skye, sir; I'm a McGregor.' -I said something about his religious faith. 'Ye'll know I was bred in -the Church of Scotland, sir,' he said, 'and I love it as I love my own -soul; but I think thae Wesleyan Methodists ha' got salvation among them, -too.'" - -Truly, this Highland and English hill-scenery is fair enough; but has -its shadows; and deeper coloring, here and there, than that of heath and -rose. - -Sec. 13. Now, as far as I have watched the main powers of human mind, they -have risen first from the resolution to see fearlessly, pitifully, and -to its very worst, what these deep colors mean, wheresoever they fall; -not by any means to pass on the other side looking pleasantly up to the -sky, but to stoop to the horror, and let the sky, for the present, take -care of its own clouds. However this may be in moral matters, with which -I have nothing here to do, in my own field of inquiry the fact is so; -and all great and beautiful work has come of first gazing without -shrinking into the darkness. If, having done so, the human spirit can, -by its courage and faith, conquer the evil, it rises into conceptions of -victorious and consummated beauty. It is then the spirit of the highest -Greek and Venetian Art. If unable to conquer the evil, but remaining in -strong, though melancholy war with it, not rising into supreme beauty, -it is the spirit of the best northern art, typically represented by that -of Holbein and Durer. If, itself conquered by the evil, infected by the -dragon breath of it, and at last brought into captivity, so as to take -delight in evil for ever, it becomes the spirit of the dark, but still -powerful sensualistic art, represented typically by that of Salvator. We -must trace this fact briefly through Greek, Venetian, and Dureresque -art; we shall then see how the art of decline came of avoiding the evil, -and seeking pleasure only; and thus obtain, at last, some power of -judging whether the tendency of our own contemplative art be right or -ignoble. - -Sec. 14. The ruling purpose of Greek poetry is the assertion of victory, by -heroism, over fate, sin, and death. The terror of these great enemies is -dwelt upon chiefly by the tragedians. The victory over them by Homer. - -The adversary chiefly contemplated by the tragedians is Fate, or -predestinate misfortune. And that under three principal forms. - -A. Blindness, or ignorance; not in itself guilty, but inducing acts -which otherwise would have been guilty; and leading, no less than guilt, -to destruction.[2] - -B. Visitation upon one person of the sin of another. - -C. Repression, by brutal or tyrannous strength, of a benevolent will. - -Sec. 15. In all these cases sorrow is much more definitely connected with -sin by the Greek tragedians than by Shakspere. The "fate" of Shakspere -is, indeed, a form of blindness, but it issues in little more than haste -or indiscretion. It is, in the literal sense, "fatal," but hardly -criminal. - -The "I am fortune's fool" of Romeo, expresses Shakspere's primary idea -of tragic circumstance. Often his victims are entirely innocent, swept -away by mere current of strong encompassing calamity (Ophelia, Cordelia, -Arthur, Queen Katharine). This is rarely so with the Greeks. The victim -may indeed be innocent, as Antigone, but is in some way resolutely -entangled with crime, and destroyed by it, as if it struck by pollution, -no less than participation. - -The victory over sin and death is therefore also with the Greek -tragedians more complete than with Shakspere. As the enemy has more -direct moral personality,--as it is sinfulness more than mischance, it -is met by a higher moral resolve, a greater preparation of heart, a more -solemn patience and purposed self-sacrifice. At the close of a Shakspere -tragedy nothing remains but dead march and clothes of burial. At the -close of a Greek tragedy there are far-off sounds of a divine triumph, -and a glory as of resurrection.[3] - -Sec. 16. The Homeric temper is wholly different. Far more tender, more -practical, more cheerful; bent chiefly on present things and giving -victory now, and here, rather than in hope, and hereafter. The enemies -of mankind, in Homer's conception, are more distinctly conquerable; they -are ungoverned passions, especially anger, and unreasonable impulse -generally ([Greek: ate]). Hence the anger of Achilles, misdirected by -pride, but rightly directed by friendship, is the subject of the -_Iliad_. The anger of Ulysses ([Greek: Odysseus] "the angry"), -misdirected at first into idle and irregular hostilities, directed at -last to execution of sternest justice, is the subject of the _Odyssey_. - -Though this is the central idea of the two poems, it is connected with -general display of the evil of all unbridled passions, pride, -sensuality, indolence, or curiosity. The pride of Atrides, the passion -of Paris, the sluggishness of Elpenor, the curiosity of Ulysses himself -about the Cyclops, the impatience of his sailors in untying the winds, -and all other faults or follies, down to that--(evidently no small one -in Homer's mind)--of domestic disorderliness, are throughout shown in -contrast with conditions of patient affection and household peace. - -Also, the wild powers and mysteries of Nature are in the Homeric mind -among the enemies of man; so that all the labors of Ulysses are an -expression of the contest of manhood, not only with its own passions or -with the folly of others, but with the merciless and mysterious powers -of the natural world. - -Sec. 17. This is perhaps the chief signification of the seven years' stay -with Calypso, "the concealer." Not, as vulgarly thought, the concealer -of Ulysses, but the great concealer--the hidden power of natural things. -She is the daughter of Atlas and the Sea (Atlas, the sustainer of -heaven, and the Sea, the disturber of the Earth). She dwells in the -island of Ogygia ("the ancient or venerable"). (Whenever Athens, or any -other Greek city, is spoken of with any peculiar reverence, it is called -"Ogygian.") Escaping from this goddess of secrets, and from other -spirits, some of destructive natural force (Scylla), others signifying -the enchantment of mere natural beauty (Circe, daughter of the Sun and -Sea), he arrives at last at the Phaeacian land, whose king is "strength -with intellect," and whose queen, "virtue." These restore him to his -country. - -Sec. 18. Now observe that in their dealing with all these subjects the -Greeks never shrink from horror; down to its uttermost depth, to its -most appalling physical detail, they strive to sound the secrets of -sorrow. For them there is no passing by on the other side, no turning -away the eyes to vanity from pain. Literally, they have not "lifted up -their souls unto vanity." Whether there be consolation for them or not, -neither apathy nor blindness shall be their saviours; if, for them, thus -knowing the facts of the grief of earth, any hope, relief, or triumph -may hereafter seem possible,--well; but if not, still hopeless, -reliefless, eternal, the sorrow shall be met face to face. This Hector, -so righteous, so merciful, so brave, has, nevertheless, to look upon his -dearest brother in miserablest death. His own soul passes away in -hopeless sobs through the throat-wound of the Grecian spear. That is one -aspect of things in this world, a fair world truly, but having, among -its other aspects, this one, highly ambiguous. - -Sec. 19. Meeting it boldly as they may, gazing right into the skeleton face -of it, the ambiguity remains; nay, in some sort gains upon them. We -trusted in the gods;--we thought that wisdom and courage would save us. -Our wisdom and courage themselves deceive us to our death. Athena had -the aspect of Deiphobus--terror of the enemy. She has not terrified him, -but left us, in our mortal need. - -And, beyond that mortality, what hope have we? Nothing is clear to us on -that horizon, nor comforting. Funeral honors; perhaps also rest; perhaps -a shadowy life--artless, joyless, loveless. No devices in that darkness -of the grave, nor daring, nor delight. Neither marrying nor giving in -marriage, nor casting of spears, nor rolling of chariots, nor voice of -fame. Lapped in pale Elysian mist, chilling the forgetful heart and -feeble frame, shall we waste on forever? Can the dust of earth claim -more of immortality than this? Or shall we have even so much as rest? -May we, indeed, lie down again in the dust, or have our sins not hidden -from us even the things that belong to that peace? May not chance and -the whirl of passion govern us there; when there shall be no thought, -nor work, nor wisdom, nor breathing of the soul?[4] - -Be it so. With no better reward, no brighter hope, we will be men while -we may: men, just, and strong, and fearless, and up to our power, -perfect. Athena herself, our wisdom and our strength, may betray -us;--Phoebus, our sun, smite us with plague, or hide his face from us -helpless;--Jove and all the powers of fate oppress us, or give us up to -destruction. While we live, we will hold fast our integrity; no weak -tears shall blind us, no untimely tremors abate our strength of arm nor -swiftness of limb. The gods have given us at least this glorious body -and this righteous conscience; these will we keep bright and pure to the -end. So may we fall to misery, but not to baseness; so may we sink to -sleep, but not to shame. - -Sec. 20. And herein was conquest. So defied, the betraying and accusing -shadows shrank back; the mysterious horror subdued itself to majestic -sorrow. Death was swallowed up in victory. Their blood, which seemed to -be poured out upon the ground, rose into hyacinthine flowers. All the -beauty of earth opened to them; they had ploughed into its darkness, and -they reaped its gold; the gods, in whom they had trusted through all -semblance of oppression, came down to love them and be their helpmates. -All nature round them became divine,--one harmony of power and peace. -The sun hurt them not by day, nor the moon by night; the earth opened no -more her jaws into the pit; the sea whitened no more against them the -teeth of his devouring waves. Sun, and moon, and earth, and sea,--all -melted into grace and love; the fatal arrows rang not now at the -shoulders of Apollo the healer; lord of life and of the three great -spirits of life--Care, Memory, and Melody. Great Artemis guarded their -flocks by night; Selene kissed in love the eyes of those who slept. And -from all came the help of heaven to body and soul; a strange spirit -lifting the lovely limbs; strange light glowing on the golden hair; and -strangest comfort filling the trustful heart, so that they could put off -their armor, and lie down to sleep,--their work well done, whether at -the gates of their temples[5] or of their mountains;[6] accepting the -death they once thought terrible, as the gift of Him who knew and -granted what was best. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Matt. v. 14. - - [2] The speech of Achilles to Priam expresses this idea of fatality - and submission clearly, there being two vessels--one full of sorrow, - the other of great and noble gifts (a sense of disgrace mixing with - that of sorrow, and of honor with that of joy), from which Jupiter - pours forth the destinies of men; the idea partly corresponding to - the scriptural--" In the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the - wine is red; it is full mixed, and He poureth out of the same." But - the title of the gods, nevertheless, both with Homer and Hesiod, is - given not from the cup of sorrow, but of good; "givers of good" - ([Greek: doteres heaon]).--_Hes. Theog._ 664: _Odyss._ viii. 325. - - [3] The Alcestis is perhaps the central example of the _idea_ of all - Greek drama. - - [4] - - [Greek: to kai tethneioti noon pore Persephoneia, - oio pepnusthai; toi de skiai aissousin]. - - Od. x. 495. - - [5] [Greek: ouketi anestesan, all' en telei touto eschonto.] Herod, - i. 31. - - [6] [Greek: ho de apopempomenos, autos men ouk apelipeto ton de paida - sustrateuomenon, eonta oi mounogenea, apepempse.] Herod, vii. 221. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE WINGS OF THE LION. - - -Sec. 1. Such being the heroic spirit of Greek religion and art, we may now -with ease trace the relations between it and that which animated the -Italian, and chiefly the Venetian, schools. - -Observe, all the nobleness, as well as the faults, of the Greek art were -dependent on its making the most of this present life. It might do so in -the Anacreontic temper--[Greek: Ti Pleiadessi, kamoi]; "What have I to -do with the Pleiads?" or in the defiant or the trustful endurance of -fate;--but its dominion was in this world. - -Florentine art was essentially Christian, ascetic, expectant of a better -world, and antagonistic, therefore, to the Greek temper. So that the -Greek element, once forced upon it, destroyed it. There was absolute -incompatibility between them. Florentine art, also, could not produce -landscape. It despised the rock, the tree, the vital air itself, -aspiring to breathe empyreal air. - -Venetian art began with the same aim and under the same restrictions. -Both are healthy in the youth of art. Heavenly aim and severe law for -boyhood; earthly work and fair freedom for manhood. - -Sec. 2. The Venetians began, I repeat, with asceticism; always, however, -delighting in more massive and deep color than other religious painters. -They are especially fond of saints who have been cardinals, because of -their red hats, and they sunburn all their hermits into splendid russet -brown. - -They differed from the Pisans in having no Maremma between them and the -sea; from the Romans, in continually quarrelling with the Pope; and from -the Florentines in having no gardens. - -They had another kind of garden, deep-furrowed, with blossom in white -wreaths--fruitless. Perpetual May therein, and singing of wild, nestless -birds. And they had no Maremma to separate them from this garden of -theirs. The destiny of Pisa was changed, in all probability, by the ten -miles of marsh-land and poisonous air between it and the beach. The -Genoese energy was feverish; too much heat reflected from their torrid -Apennine. But the Venetian had his free horizon, his salt breeze, and -sandy Lido-shore; sloped far and flat,--ridged sometimes under the -Tramontane winds with half a mile's breadth of rollers;--sea and sand -shrivelled up together in one yellow careering field of fall and roar. - -Sec. 3. They were, also, we said, always quarrelling with the Pope. Their -religious liberty came, like their bodily health, from that -wave-training; for it is one notable effect of a life passed on -shipboard to destroy weak beliefs in appointed forms of religion. A -sailor may be grossly superstitious, but his superstitions will be -connected with amulets and omens, not cast in systems. He must accustom -himself, if he prays at all, to pray anywhere and anyhow. Candlesticks -and incense not being portable into the maintop, he perceives those -decorations to be, on the whole, inessential to a maintop mass. Sails -must be set and cables bent, be it never so strict a saint's day, and it -is found that no harm comes of it. Absolution on a lee-shore must be had -of the breakers, it appears, if at all, and they give it plenary and -brief, without listening to confession. - -Whereupon our religious opinions become vague, but our religious -confidences strong; and the end of it all is that we perceive the Pope -to be on the other side of the Apennines, and able, indeed, to sell -indulgences, but not winds, for any money. Whereas, God and the sea are -with us, and we must even trust them both, and take what they shall -send. - -Sec. 4. Then, farther. This ocean-work is wholly adverse to any morbid -conditions of sentiment. Reverie, above all things, is forbidden by -Scylla and Charybdis. By the dogs and the depths, no dreaming! The first -thing required of us is presence of mind. Neither love, nor poetry, nor -piety, must ever so take up our thoughts as to make us slow or unready. -In sweet Val d'Arno it is permissible enough to dream among the -orange-blossoms, and forget the day in twilight of ilex. But along the -avenues of the Adrian waves there can be no careless walking. -Vigilance, might and day, required of us, besides learning of many -practical lessons in severe and humble dexterities. It is enough for the -Florentine to know how to use his sword and to ride. We Venetians, also, -must be able to use our swords, and on ground which is none of the -steadiest; but, besides, we must be able to do nearly everything that -hands can turn to--rudders, and yards, and cables, all needing workmanly -handling and workmanly knowledge, from captain as well as from men. To -drive a nail, lash a spear, reef a sail--rude work this for noble hands; -but to be done sometimes, and done well, on pain of death. All which not -only takes mean pride out of us, and puts nobler pride of power in its -stead; but it tends partly to soothe, partly to chasten, partly to -employ and direct, the hot Italian temper, and make us every way -greater, calmer, and happier. - -Sec. 5. Moreover, it tends to induce in us great respect for the whole -human body; for its limbs, as much as for its tongue or its wit. Policy -and eloquence are well; and, indeed, we Venetians can be politic enough, -and can speak melodiously when we choose; but to put the helm up at the -right moment is the beginning of all cunning--and for that we need arm -and eye;--not tongue. And with this respect for the body as such, comes -also the sailor's preference of massive beauty in bodily form. The -landsmen, among their roses and orange-blossoms, and chequered shadows -of twisted vine, may well please themselves with pale faces, and finely -drawn eyebrows, and fantastic braiding of hair. But from the sweeping -glory of the sea we learn to love another kind of beauty; -broad-breasted; level-browed, like the horizon;--thighed and shouldered -like the billows;--footed like their stealing foam;--bathed in cloud of -golden hair, like their sunsets. - -Sec. 6. Such were the physical influences constantly in operation on the -Venetians; their painters, however, were partly prepared for their work -by others in their infancy. Associations connected with early life among -mountains softened and deepened the teaching of the sea; and the -wildness of form of the Tyrolese Alps gave greater strength and -grotesqueness to their imaginations than the Greek painters could have -found among the cliffs of the AEgean. Thus far, however, the influences -on both are nearly similar. The Greek sea was indeed less bleak, and -the Greek hills less grand; but the difference was in degree rather than -in the nature of their power. The moral influences at work on the two -races were far more sharply opposed. - -Sec. 7. Evil, as we saw, had been fronted by the Greek, and thrust out of -his path. Once conquered, if he thought of it more, it was -involuntarily, as we remember a painful dream, yet with a secret dread -that the dream might return and continue for ever. But the teaching of -the church in the middle ages had made the contemplation of evil one of -the duties of men. As sin, it was to be duly thought upon, that it might -be confessed. As suffering, endured joyfully, in hope of future reward. -Hence conditions of bodily distemper which an Athenian would have looked -upon with the severest contempt and aversion, were in the Christian -church regarded always with pity, and often with respect; while the -partial practice of celibacy by the clergy, and by those over whom they -had influence,--together with the whole system of conventual penance and -pathetic ritual (with the vicious reactionary tendencies necessarily -following), introduced calamitous conditions both of body and soul, -which added largely to the pagan's simple list of elements of evil, and -introduced the most complicated states of mental suffering and -decrepitude. - -Sec. 8. Therefore the Christian painters differed from the Greek in two -main points. They had been taught a faith which put an end to restless -questioning and discouragement. All was at last to be well--and their -best genius might be peacefully given to imagining the glories of heaven -and the happiness of its redeemed. But on the other hand, though -suffering was to cease in heaven, it was to be not only endured, but -honored upon earth. And from the Crucifixion, down to a beggar's -lameness, all the tortures and maladies of men were to be made, at least -in part, the subjects of art. The Venetian was, therefore, in his inner -mind, less serious than the Greek: in his superficial temper, sadder. In -his heart there was none of the deep horror which vexed the soul of -AEschylus or Homer. His Pallas-shield was the shield of Faith, not the -shield of the Gorgon. All was at last to issue happily; in sweetest -harpings and seven-fold circles of light. But for the present he had to -dwell with the maimed and the blind, and to revere Lazarus more than -Achilles. - -Sec. 9. This reference to a future world has a morbid influence on all -their conclusions. For the earth and all its natural elements are -despised. They are to pass away like a scroll. Man, the immortal, is -alone revered; his work and presence are all that can be noble or -desirable. Men, and fair architecture, temples and courts such as may be -in a celestial city, or the clouds and angels of Paradise; these are -what we must paint when we want beautiful things. But the sea, the -mountains, the forests, are all adverse to us,--a desolation. The ground -that was cursed for our sake;--the sea that executed judgment on all our -race, and rages against us still, though bridled;--storm-demons churning -it into foam in nightly glare on Lido, and hissing from it against our -palaces. Nature is but a terror, or a temptation. She is for hermits, -martyrs, murderers,--for St. Jerome, and St. Mary of Egypt, and the -Magdalen in the desert, and monk Peter, falling before the sword. - -Sec. 10. But the worst point we have to note respecting the spirit of -Venetian landscape is its pride. - -It was observed in the course of the third volume how the mediaeval -temper had rejected agricultural pursuits, and whatever pleasures could -come of them. - -At Venice this negation had reached its extreme. Though the Florentines -and Romans had no delight in farming, they had in gardening. The -Venetian possessed, and cared for, neither fields nor pastures. Being -delivered, to his loss, from all the wholesome labors of tillage, he was -also shut out from the sweet wonders and charities of the earth, and -from the pleasant natural history of the year. Birds and beasts, and -times and seasons, all unknown to him. No swallow chattered at his -window,[1] nor, nested under his golden roofs, claimed the sacredness of -his mercy;[2] no Pythagorean fowl taught him the blessings of the -poor,[3] nor did the grave spirit of poverty rise at his side to set -forth the delicate grace and honor of lowly life.[4] No humble thoughts -of grasshopper sire had he, like the Athenian; no gratitude for gifts of -olive; no childish care for figs, any more than thistles. The rich -Venetian feast had no need of the figtree spoon.[5] Dramas about birds, -and wasps, and frogs, would have passed unheeded by his proud fancy; -carol or murmur of them had fallen unrecognized on ears accustomed only -to grave syllables of war-tried men, and wash of songless wave. - -Sec. 11. No simple joy was possible to him. Only stateliness and power; -high intercourse with kingly and beautiful humanity, proud thoughts, or -splendid pleasures; throned sensualities, and ennobled appetites. But of -innocent, childish, helpful, holy pleasures, he had none. As in the -classical landscape, nearly all rural labor is banished from the -Titianesque: there is one bold etching of a landscape, with grand -ploughing in the foreground, but this is only a caprice; the customary -Venetian background is without sign of laborious rural life. We find -indeed often a shepherd with his flock, sometimes a woman spinning, but -no division of fields, no growing crops nor nestling villages. In the -numerous drawings and woodcuts variously connected with or -representative of Venetian work, a watermill is a frequent object, a -river constant, generally the sea. But the prevailing idea in all the -great pictures I have seen, is that of mountainous land with wild but -graceful forest, and rolling or horizontal clouds. The mountains are -dark blue; the clouds glowing or soft gray, always massive; the light, -deep, clear, melancholy; the foliage, neither intricate nor graceful, -but compact and sweeping (with undulated trunks), dividing much into -horizontal flakes, like the clouds; the ground rocky and broken somewhat -monotonously, but richly green with wild herbage; here and there a -flower, by preference white or blue, rarely yellow, still more rarely -red. - -Sec. 12. It was stated that this heroic landscape of theirs was peopled by -spiritual beings of the highest order. And in this rested the dominion -of the Venetians over all later schools. They were the _last believing_ -school of Italy. Although, as I said above, always quarrelling with the -Pope, there is all the more evidence of an earnest faith in their -religion. People who trusted the Madonna less, flattered the Pope more. -But down to Tintoret's time, the Roman Catholic religion was still real -and sincere at Venice; and though faith in it was compatible with much -which to us appears criminal or absurd, the religion itself was -entirely sincere. - -Sec. 13. Perhaps when you see one of Titian's splendidly passionate -subjects, or find Veronese making the marriage in Cana one blaze of -worldly pomp, you imagine that Titian must have been a sensualist, and -Veronese an unbeliever. - -Put the idea from you at once, and be assured of this for ever;--it will -guide you through many a labyrinth of life, as well as of -painting,--that of an evil tree, men never gather good fruit--good of -any sort or kind;--even good sensualism. - -Let us look to this calmly. We have seen what physical advantage the -Venetian had, in his sea and sky; also what moral disadvantage he had, -in scorn of the poor; now finally, let us see with what power he was -invested, which men since his time have never recovered more. - -Sec. 14. "Neither of a bramble bush, gather they grapes." - -The great saying has twofold help for us. Be assured, first, that if it -were bramble from which you gathered them, these are not grapes in your -hand, though they look like grapes. Or if these are indeed grapes, it -was no bramble you gathered them from, though it looked like one. - -It is difficult for persons, accustomed to receive, without questioning, -the modern English idea of religion, to understand the temper of the -Venetian Catholics. I do not enter into examination of our own feelings; -but I have to note this one significant point of difference between us. - -Sec. 15. An English gentleman, desiring his portrait, gives probably to the -painter a choice of several actions, in any of which he is willing to be -represented. As for instance, riding his best horse, shooting with his -favorite pointer, manifesting himself in his robes of state on some -great public occasion, meditating in his study, playing with his -children, or visiting his tenants; in any of these or other such -circumstances, he will give the artist free leave to paint him. But in -one important action he would shrink even from the suggestion of being -drawn. He will assuredly not let himself be painted praying. - -Strangely, this is the action, which of all others, a Venetian desires -to be painted in. If they want a noble and complete portrait, they -nearly always choose to be painted on their knees. - -Sec. 16. "Hypocrisy," you say; and "that they might be seen of men." If we -examine ourselves, or any one else, who will give trustworthy answer on -this point, so as to ascertain, to the best of our judgment, what the -feeling is, which would make a modern English person dislike to be -painted praying, we shall not find it, I believe, to be excess of -sincerity. Whatever we find it to be, the opposite Venetian feeling is -certainly not hypocrisy. It is often conventionalism, implying as little -devotion in the person represented, as regular attendance at church does -with us. But that it is not hypocrisy, you may ascertain by one simple -consideration (supposing you not to have enough knowledge of the -expression of sincere persons to judge by the portraits themselves). The -Venetians, when they desired to deceive, were much too subtle to attempt -it clumsily. If they assumed the mask of religion, the mask must have -been of some use. The persons whom it deceived must, therefore, have -been religious, and, being so, have believed in the Venetians' -sincerity. If therefore, among other contemporary nations with whom they -had intercourse, we can find any, more religious than they, who were -duped, or even influenced, by their external religiousness, we might -have some ground for suspecting that religiousness to be assumed. But if -we can find no one likely to have been deceived, we must believe the -Venetian to have been, in reality, what there was no advantage in -seeming. - -Sec. 17. I leave the matter to your examination, forewarning you, -confidently, that you will discover by severest evidence, that the -Venetian religion was true. Not only true, but one of the main motives -of their lives. In the field of investigation to which we are here -limited, I will collect some of the evidence of this. - -For one profane picture by great Venetians, you will find ten of sacred -subjects; and those, also, including their grandest, most labored, and -most beloved works. Tintoret's power culminates in two great religious -pictures: the Crucifixion, and the Paradise. Titian's in the Assumption, -the Peter Martyr, and Presentation of the Virgin. Veronese's in the -Marriage in Cana. John Bellini and Basaiti never, so far as I remember, -painted any other than sacred subjects. By the Palmas, Vincenzo, Catena, -and Bonifazio, I remember no profane subject of importance. - -Sec. 18. There is, moreover, one distinction of the very highest import -between the treatment of sacred subjects by Venetian painters and by all -others. - -Throughout the rest of Italy, piety had become abstract, and opposed -theoretically to worldly life; hence the Florentine and Umbrian painters -generally separated their saints from living men. They delighted in -imagining scenes of spiritual perfectness;--Paradises, and companies of -the redeemed at the judgment;--glorified meetings of martyrs;--madonnas -surrounded by circles of angels. If, which was rare, definite -portraitures of living men were introduced, these real characters formed -a kind of chorus or attendant company, taking no part in the action. At -Venice all this was reversed, and so boldly as at first to shock, with -its seeming irreverence, a spectator accustomed to the formalities and -abstractions of the so-called sacred schools. The madonnas are no more -seated apart on their thrones, the saints no more breathe celestial air. -They are on our own plain ground--nay, here in our houses with us. All -kind of worldly business going on in their presence, fearlessly; our own -friends and respected acquaintances, with all their mortal faults, and -in their mortal flesh, looking at them face to face unalarmed: nay, our -dearest children playing with their pet dogs at Christ's very feet. - -I once myself thought this irreverent. How foolishly! As if children -whom He loved _could_ play anywhere else. - -Sec. 19. The picture most illustrative of this feeling is perhaps that at -Dresden, of Veronese's family, painted by himself. - -He wishes to represent them as happy and honored. The best happiness and -highest honor he can imagine for them is that they should be presented -to the Madonna, to whom, therefore, they are being brought by the three -virtues--Faith, Hope, and Charity. - -The Virgin stands in a recess behind two marble shafts, such as may be -seen in any house belonging to an old family in Venice. She places the -boy Christ on the edge of a balustrade before her. At her side are St. -John the Baptist, and St. Jerome. This group occupies the left side of -the picture. The pillars, seen sideways, divide it from the group formed -by the Virtues, with the wife and children of Veronese. He himself -stands a little behind, his hands clasped in prayer. - -Sec. 20. His wife kneels full in front, a strong Venetian woman, well -advanced in years. She has brought up her children in fear of God, and -is not afraid to meet the Virgin's eyes. She gazes steadfastly on them; -her proud head and gentle, self-possessed face are relieved in one broad -mass of shadow against a space of light, formed by the white robes of -Faith, who stands beside her,--guardian, and companion. Perhaps a -somewhat disappointing Faith at the first sight, for her face is not in -any way exalted or refined. Veronese knew that Faith had to companion -simple and slow-hearted people perhaps oftener than able or refined -people--does not therefore insist on her being severely intellectual, or -looking as if she were always in the best company. So she is only -distinguished by her pure white (not bright white) dress, her delicate -hand, her golden hair drifted in light ripples across her breast, from -which the white robes fall nearly in the shape of a shield--the shield -of Faith. A little behind her stands Hope; she also, at first, not to -most people a recognizable Hope. We usually paint Hope as young, and -joyous. Veronese knows better. That young hope is vain hope--passing -away in rain of tears; but the Hope of Veronese is aged, assured, -remaining when all else had been taken away. "For tribulation worketh -patience, and patience experience, and experience hope;" and _that_ hope -maketh not ashamed. - -She has a black veil on her head. - -Then again, in the front, is Charity, red-robed; stout in the arms,--a -servant of all work, she; but small-headed, not being specially given to -thinking; soft-eyed, her hair braided brightly, her lips rich red, -sweet-blossoming. She has got some work to do even now, for a nephew of -Veronese's is doubtful about coming forward, and looks very humbly and -penitently towards the Virgin--his life perhaps not having been quite so -exemplary as might at present be wished. Faith reaches her small white -hand lightly back to him, lays the tips of her fingers on his; but -Charity takes firm hold of him by the wrist from behind, and will push -him on presently, if he still hangs back. - -Sec. 21. In front of the mother kneel her two eldest children, a girl of -about sixteen, and a boy a year or two younger. They are both wrapt in -adoration--the boy's being the deepest. Nearer us, at their left side, -is a younger boy, about nine years old--a black-eyed fellow, full of -life--and evidently his father's darling (for Veronese has put him full -in light in the front; and given him a beautiful white silken jacket, -barred with black, that nobody may ever miss seeing him to the end of -time). He is a little shy about being presented to the Madonna, and for -the present has got behind the pillar, blushing, but opening his black -eyes wide; he is just summoning courage to peep round, and see if she -looks kind. A still younger child, about six years old, is really -frightened, and has run back to his mother, catching hold of her dress -at the waist. She throws her right arm round him and over him, with -exquisite instinctive action, not moving her eyes from the Madonna's -face. Last of all, the youngest child, perhaps about three years old, is -neither frightened nor interested, but finds the ceremony tedious, and -is trying to coax the dog to play with him; but the dog, which is one of -the little curly, short-nosed, fringy-pawed things, which all Venetian -ladies petted, will not now be coaxed. For the dog is the last link in -the chain of lowering feeling, and takes his doggish views of the -matter. He cannot understand, first, how the Madonna got into the house; -nor, secondly, why she is allowed to stay, disturbing the family, and -taking all their attention from his dogship. And he is walking away, -much offended. - -Sec. 22. The dog is thus constantly introduced by the Venetians in order to -give the fullest contrast to the highest tones of human thought and -feeling. I shall examine this point presently farther, in speaking of -pastoral landscape and animal painting; but at present we will merely -compare the use of the same mode of expression in Veronese's -Presentation of the Queen of Sheba. - -Sec. 23. This picture is at Turin, and is of quite inestimable value. It is -hung high; and the really principal figure--the Solomon, being in the -shade, can hardly be seen, but is painted with Veronese's utmost -tenderness, in the bloom of perfect youth, his hair golden, short, -crisply curled. He is seated high on his lion throne; two elders on each -side beneath him, the whole group forming a tower of solemn shade. I -have alluded, elsewhere, to the principle on which all the best -composers act, of supporting these lofty groups by some vigorous mass of -foundation. This column of noble shade is curiously sustained. A -falconer leans forward from the left-hand side, bearing on his wrist a -snow-white falcon, its wings spread, and brilliantly relieved against -the purple robe of one of the elders. It touches with its wings one of -the golden lions of the throne, on which the light also flashes -strongly; thus forming, together with it, the lion and eagle symbol, -which is the type of Christ throughout mediaeval work. In order to show -the meaning of this symbol, and that Solomon is typically invested with -the Christian royalty, one of the elders, by a bold anachronism, holds a -jewel in his hand of the shape of a cross, with which he (by accident of -gesture) points to Solomon; his other hand is laid on an open book. - -Sec. 24. The group opposite, of which the queen forms the centre, is also -painted with Veronese's highest skill; but contains no point of interest -bearing on our present subject, except its connection by a chain of -descending emotion. The Queen is wholly oppressed and subdued; kneeling, -and nearly fainting, she looks up to Solomon with tears in her eyes; he, -startled by fear for her, stoops forward from the throne, opening his -right hand, as if to support her, so as almost to drop the sceptre. At -her side her first maid of honor is kneeling also, but does not care -about Solomon; and is gathering up her dress that it may not be crushed; -and looking back to encourage a negro girl, who, carrying two toy-birds, -made of enamel and jewels, for presenting to the King, is frightened at -seeing her Queen fainting, and does not know what she ought to do; while -lastly, the Queen's dog, another of the little fringy-paws, is wholly -unabashed by Solomon's presence, or anybody else's; and stands with his -fore legs well apart, right in front of his mistress, thinking everybody -has lost their wits; and barking violently at one of the attendants, who -has set down a golden vase disrespectfully near him. - -Sec. 25. Throughout these designs I want the reader to notice the purpose -of representing things as they were likely to have occurred, down to -trivial, or even ludicrous detail--the nobleness of all that was -intended to be noble being so great that nothing could detract from it. -A farther instance, however, and a prettier one, of this familiar -realization, occurs in a Holy Family, by Veronese, at Brussels. The -Madonna has laid the infant Christ on a projecting base of pillar, and -stands behind, looking down on him. St. Catherine, having knelt down in -front, the child turns round to receive her--so suddenly, and so far, -that any other child must have fallen over the edge of the stone. St. -Catherine, terrified, thinking he is really going to fall, stretches out -her arms to catch him. But the Madonna looking down, only smiles, "He -will not fall." - -Sec. 26. A more touching instance of this realization occurs, however, in -the treatment of the saint Veronica (in the Ascent to Calvary), at -Dresden. Most painters merely represent her as one of the gentle, -weeping, attendant women; and show her giving the handkerchief as though -these women had been allowed to approach Christ without any difficulty. -But in Veronese's conception, she has to break through the executioners -to him. She is not weeping; and the expression of pity, though intense, -is overborne by that of resolution. She is determined to reach Christ; -has set her teeth close, and thrusts aside one of the executioners, who -strikes fiercely at her with a heavy doubled cord. - -Sec. 27. These instances are enough to explain the general character of the -mind of Veronese, capable of tragic power to the utmost, if he chooses -to exert it in that direction, but, by habitual preference, exquisitely -graceful and playful; religious without severity, and winningly noble; -delighting in slight, sweet, every-day incident, but hiding deep -meanings underneath it; rarely painting a gloomy subject, and never a -base one. - -Sec. 28. I have, in other places, entered enough into the examination of -the great religious mind of Tintoret; supposing then that he was -distinguished from Titian chiefly by this character. But in this I was -mistaken; the religion of Titian is like that of Shakspere--occult -behind his magnificent equity. It is not possible, however, within the -limits of this work, to give any just account of the mind of Titian: nor -shall I attempt it; but will only explain some of those more strange and -apparently inconsistent attributes of it, which might otherwise prevent -the reader from getting clue to its real tone. The first of these is its -occasional coarseness in choice of type of feature. - -Sec. 29. In the second volume I had to speak of Titian's Magdalen, in the -Pitti Palace, as treated basely, and that in strong terms, "the -disgusting Magdalen of the Pitti." - -Truly she is so as compared with the received types of the Magdalen. A -stout, redfaced woman, dull, and coarse of feature, with much of the -animal in even her expression of repentance--her eyes strained, and -inflamed with weeping. I ought, however, to have remembered another -picture of the Magdalen by Titian (Mr. Rogers's, now in the National -Gallery), in which she is just as refined, as in the Pitti Palace she is -gross; and had I done so, I should have seen Titian's meaning. It had -been the fashion before his time to make the Magdalen always young and -beautiful; her, if no one else, even the rudest painters flattered; her -repentance was not thought perfect unless she had lustrous hair and -lovely lips. Titian first dared to doubt the romantic fable, and reject -the narrowness of sentimental faith. He saw that it was possible for -plain women to love no less than beautiful ones; and for stout persons -to repent as well as those more delicately made. It seemed to him that -the Magdalen would have received her pardon not the less quickly because -her wit was none of the readiest; and would not have been regarded with -less compassion by her Master because her eyes were swollen, or her -dress disordered. It is just because he has set himself sternly to -enforce this lesson that the picture is so painful: the only instance, -so far as I remember, of Titian's painting a woman markedly and entirely -belonging to the lowest class. - -Sec. 30. It may perhaps appear more difficult to account for the -alternation of Titian's great religious pictures with others devoted -wholly to the expression of sensual qualities, or to exulting and bright -representation of heathen deities. - -The Venetian mind, we have said, and Titian's especially, as the central -type of it, was wholly realist, universal, and manly. - -In this breadth and realism, the painter saw that sensual passion in man -was, not only a fact, but a Divine fact; the human creature, though the -highest of the animals, was, nevertheless, a perfect animal, and his -happiness, health, and nobleness depended on the due power of every -animal passion, as well as the cultivation of every spiritual tendency. - -He thought that every feeling of the mind and heart, as well as every -form of the body, deserved painting. Also to a painter's true and highly -trained instinct, the human body is the loveliest of all objects. I do -not stay to trace the reasons why, at Venice, the female body could be -found in more perfect beauty than the male; but so it was, and it -becomes the principal subject therefore, both with Giorgione and Titian. -They painted it fearlessly, with all right and natural qualities; never, -however, representing it as exercising any overpowering attractive -influence on man; but only on the Faun or Satyr. - -Yet they did this so majestically that I am perfectly certain no -untouched Venetian picture ever yet excited one base thought (otherwise -than in base persons anything may do so); while in the greatest studies -of the female body by the Venetians, all other characters are overborne -by majesty, and the form becomes as pure as that of a Greek statue. - -Sec. 31. There is no need, I should think, to point out how this -contemplation of the entire personal nature was reconcilable with the -severest conceptions of religious duty and faith. - -But the fond introduction of heathen gods may appear less explicable. - -On examination, however, it will be found, that these deities are never -painted with any heart-reverence or affection. They are introduced for -the most part symbolically (Bacchus and Venus oftenest, as incarnations -of the spirit of revelry and beauty), of course always conceived with -deep imaginative truth, much resembling the mode of Keats's conception; -but never so as to withdraw any of the deep devotion referred to the -objects of Christian faith. - -In all its roots of power, and modes of work;--in its belief, its -breadth, and its judgment, I find the Venetian mind perfect. - -How, then, did its art so swiftly pass away? How become, what it became -unquestionably, one of the chief causes of the corruption of the mind of -Italy, and of her subsequent decline in moral and political power? - -Sec. 32. By reason of one great, one fatal fault;--recklessness in aim. -Wholly noble in its sources, it was wholly unworthy in its purposes. - -Separate and strong, like Samson, chosen from its youth, and with the -spirit of God visibly resting on it,--like him, it warred in careless -strength, and wantoned in untimely pleasure. No Venetian painter ever -worked with any aim beyond that of delighting the eye, or expressing -fancies agreeable to himself or flattering to his nation. They could not -be either unless they were religious. But he did not desire the -religion. He desired the delight. - -The Assumption is a noble picture, because Titian believed in the -Madonna. But he did not paint it to make any one else believe in her. He -painted it because he enjoyed rich masses of red and blue, and faces -flushed with sunlight. - -Tintoret's Paradise is a noble picture, because he believed in Paradise. -But he did not paint it to make any one think of heaven; but to form a -beautiful termination for the hall of the greater council. - -Other men used their effete faiths and mean faculties with a high moral -purpose. The Venetian gave the most earnest faith, and the lordliest -faculty, to gild the shadows of an ante-chamber, or heighten the -splendors of a holiday. - -Sec. 33. Strange, and lamentable as this carelessness may appear, I find it -to be almost the law with the great workers. Weak and vain men have -acute consciences, and labor under a profound sense of responsibility. -The strong men, sternly disdainful of themselves, do what they can, too -often merely as it pleases them at the moment, reckless what comes of -it. - -I know not how far in humility, or how far in bitter and hopeless -levity, the great Venetians gave their art to be blasted by the -sea-winds or wasted by the worm. I know not whether in sorrowful -obedience, or in wanton compliance, they fostered the folly, and -enriched the luxury of their age. This only I know, that in proportion -to the greatness of their power was the shame of its desecration and the -suddenness of its fall. The enchanter's spell, woven by centuries of -toil, was broken in the weakness of a moment; and swiftly, and utterly, -as a rainbow vanishes, the radiance and the strength faded from the -wings of the Lion. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Anacreon, Ode 12th. - - [2] Herod, i. 59. - - [3] Lucian (Micyllus). - - [4] Aristophanes, Plutus. - - [5] Hippias Major, 208. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -DURER AND SALVATOR. - -"EMIGRAVIT." - - -Sec. 1. BY referring to the first analysis of our subject, it will be seen -we have next to examine the art which cannot conquer the evil, but -remains at war with, or in captivity to it. - -Up to the time of the Reformation it was possible for men even of the -highest powers of intellect to obtain a tranquillity of faith, in the -highest degree favorable to the pursuit of any particular art. Possible, -at least, we see it to have been; there is no need--nor, so far as I -see, any ground, for argument about it. I am myself unable to understand -how it was so; but the fact is unquestionable. It is not that I wonder -at men's trust in the Pope's infallibility, or in his virtue; nor at -their surrendering their private judgment; nor at their being easily -cheated by imitations of miracles; nor at their thinking indulgences -could be purchased with money. But I wonder at this one thing only; the -acceptance of the doctrine of eternal punishment as dependent on -accident of birth, or momentary excitement of devotional feeling. I -marvel at the acceptance of the system (as stated in its fulness by -Dante) which condemned guiltless persons to the loss of heaven because -they had lived before Christ, and which made the obtaining of Paradise -turn frequently on a passing thought or a momentary invocation. How this -came to pass, it is no part of our work here to determine. That in this -faith, it was possible to attain entire peace of mind; to live calmly, -and die hopefully, is indisputable. - -Sec. 2. But this possibility ceased at the Reformation. Thenceforward human -life became a school of debate, troubled and fearful. Fifteen hundred -years of spiritual teaching were called into fearful question, whether -indeed it had been teaching by angels or devils? Whatever it had been, -there was no longer any way of trusting it peacefully. - -A dark time for all men. We cannot now conceive it. The great horror of -it lay in this:--that, as in the trial-hour of the Greek, the heavens -themselves seemed to have deceived those who had trusted in them. - -"We had prayed with tears; we had loved with our hearts. There was no -choice of way open to us. No guidance from God or man, other than this, -and behold, it was a lie. 'When He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, He -shall guide you into all truth.' And He has guided us into _no_ truth. -There can be no such Spirit. There is no Advocate, no Comforter. Has -there been no Resurrection?" - -Sec. 3. Then came the Resurrection of Death. Never since man first saw him, -face to face, had his terror been so great. "Swallowed up in victory:" -alas! no; but king over all the earth. All faith, hope, and fond belief -were betrayed. Nothing of futurity was now sure but the grave. - -For the Pan-Athenaic Triumph and the Feast of Jubilee, there came up, -through fields of spring, the dance of Death. - -The brood of weak men fled from the face of him. A new Bacchus and his -crew this, with worm for snake and gall for wine. They recoiled to such -pleasure as yet remained possible to them--feeble infidelities, and -luxurious sciences, and so went their way. - -Sec. 4. At least, of the men with whom we are concerned--the artists--this -was almost the universal fate. They gave themselves to the following of -pleasure only; and as a religious school, after a few pale rays of -fading sanctity from Guido, and brown gleams of gipsy Madonnahood from -Murillo, came utterly to an end. - -Three men only stood firm, facing the new Dionysiac revel, to see what -would come of it. - -Two in the north, Holbein and Durer, and, later, one in the south, -Salvator. - -But the ground on which they stood differed strangely; Durer and -Holbein, amidst the formal delights, the tender religions, and practical -science, of domestic life and honest commerce. Salvator, amidst the -pride of lascivious wealth, and the outlawed distress of impious -poverty. - -Sec. 5. It would be impossible to imagine any two phases of scenery or -society more contrary in character, more opposite in teaching, than -those surrounding Nuremberg and Naples, in the sixteenth and seventeenth -centuries. What they were then, both districts still to all general -intents remain. The cities have in each case lost their splendor and -power, but not their character. The surrounding scenery remains wholly -unchanged. It is still in our power, from the actual aspect of the -places, to conceive their effect on the youth of the two painters. - -[Illustration: 76. The Moat of Nuremberg.] - -Sec. 6. Nuremberg is gathered at the base of a sandstone rock, rising in -the midst of a dry but fertile plain. The rock forms a prolonged and -curved ridge, of which the concave side, at the highest point, is -precipitous; the other slopes gradually to the plain. Fortified with -wall and tower along its whole crest, and crowned with a stately castle, -it defends the city--not with its precipitous side--but with its slope. -The precipice is turned to the town. It wears no aspect of hostility -towards the surrounding fields; the roads lead down into them by gentle -descents from the gates. To the south and east the walls are on the -level of the plain; within them, the city itself stands on two swells of -hill, divided by a winding river. Its architecture has, however, been -much overrated. The effect of the streets, so delightful to the eye of -the passing traveller, depends chiefly on one appendage of the roof, -namely, its warehouse windows. Every house, almost without exception, -has at least one boldly opening dormer window, the roof of which -sustains a pulley for raising goods; and the underpart of this strong -overhanging roof is always carved with a rich pattern, not of refined -design, but effective.[1] Among these comparatively modern structures -are mingled, however, not unfrequently, others, turreted at the angles, -which are true Gothic of the fifteenth, some of the fourteenth, century; -and the principal churches remain nearly as in Durer's time. Their -Gothic is none of it good, nor even rich (though the facades have their -ornament so distributed as to give them a sufficiently elaborate -effect at a distance); their size is diminutive; their interiors mean, -rude, and ill-proportioned, wholly dependent for their interest on -ingenious stone cutting in corners, and finely-twisted ironwork; of -these the mason's exercises are in the worst possible taste, possessing -not even the merit of delicate execution; but the designs in metal are -usually meritorious, and Fischer's shrine of St. Sebald is good, and may -rank with Italian work.[2] - -Sec. 7. Though, however, not comparable for an instant to any great Italian -or French city, Nuremberg possesses one character peculiar to itself, -that of a self-restrained, contented, quaint domesticity. It would be -vain to expect any first-rate painting, sculpture, or poetry, from the -well-regulated community of merchants of small ware. But it is evident -they were affectionate and trustworthy--that they had playful fancy, and -honorable pride. There is no exalted grandeur in their city, nor any -deep beauty; but an imaginative homeliness, mingled with some elements -of melancholy and power, and a few even of grace. - -This homeliness, among many other causes, arises out of one in chief. -The richness of the houses depends, as I just said, on the dormer -windows: but their deeper character on the pitch and space of roofs. I -had to notice long ago how much our English cottage depended for -expression on its steep roof. The German house does so in far greater -degree. Plate 76 is engraved[3] from a slight pen-and-ink sketch of mine -on the ramparts of Nuremberg, showing a piece of its moat and wall, and -a little corner of the city beneath the castle; of which the tower on -the extreme right rises just in front of Durer's house. The character -of this scene approaches more nearly that which Durer would see in his -daily walks, than most of the modernized inner streets. In Durer's own -engraving, "The Cannon," the distance (of which the most important -passage is facsimiled in my Elements of Drawing, p. 111) is an actual -portrait of part of the landscape seen from those castle ramparts, -looking towards Franconian Switzerland. - -Sec. 8. If the reader will be at the pains to turn to it, he will see at a -glance the elements of the Nuremberg country, as they still exist. -Wooden cottages, thickly grouped, enormously high in the roofs; the -sharp church spire, small and slightly grotesque, surmounting them; -beyond, a richly cultivated, healthy plain bounded by woody hills. By a -strange coincidence the very plant which constitutes the staple produce -of those fields, is in almost ludicrous harmony with the grotesqueness -and neatness of the architecture around; and one may almost fancy that -the builders of the little knotted spires and turrets of the town, and -workers of its dark iron flowers, are in spiritual presence, watching -and guiding the produce of the field,--when one finds the footpaths -bordered everywhere, by the bossy spires and lustrous jetty flowers of -the black hollyhock. - -Sec. 9. Lastly, when Durer penetrated among those hills of Franconia he -would find himself in a pastoral country, much resembling the Gruyere -districts of Switzerland, but less thickly inhabited, and giving in its -steep, though not lofty, rocks,--its scattered pines,--and its -fortresses and chapels, the motives of all the wilder landscape -introduced by the painter in such pieces as his St. Jerome, or St. -Hubert. His continual and forced introduction of sea in almost every -scene, much as it seems to me to be regretted, is possibly owing to his -happy recollections of the sea-city where he received the rarest of all -rewards granted to a good workman; and, for once in his life, was -understood. - -Sec. 10. Among this pastoral simplicity and formal sweetness of domestic -peace, Durer had to work out his question concerning the grave. It -haunted him long; he learned to engrave death's heads well before he had -done with it; looked deeper than any other man into those strange rings, -their jewels lost; and gave answer at last conclusively in his great -Knight and Death--of which more presently. But while the Nuremberg -landscape is still fresh in our minds, we had better turn south quickly -and compare the elements of education which formed, and of creation -which companioned, Salvator. - -Sec. 11. Born with a wild and coarse nature (how coarse I will show you -soon), but nevertheless an honest one, he set himself in youth hotly to -the war, and cast himself carelessly on the current of life. No -rectitude of ledger-lines stood in his way; no tender precision of -household customs; no calm successions of rural labor. But past his -half-starved lips rolled profusion of pitiless wealth; before him glared -and swept the troops of shameless pleasure. Above him muttered Vesuvius; -beneath his feet shook the Solfatara. - -In heart disdainful, in temper adventurous; conscious of power, -impatient of labor, and yet more of the pride of the patrons of his -youth, he fled to the Calabrian hills, seeking, not knowledge, but -freedom. If he was to be surrounded by cruelty and deceit, let them at -least be those of brave men or savage beasts, not of the timorous and -the contemptible. Better the wrath of the robber, than enmity of the -priest; and the cunning of the wolf than of the hypocrite. - -Sec. 12. We are accustomed to hear the south of Italy spoken of as a -beautiful country. Its mountain forms are graceful above others, its -sea-bays exquisite in outline and hue; but it is only beautiful in -superficial aspect. In closer detail it is wild and melancholy. Its -forests are sombre-leafed, labyrinth-stemmed; the carubbe, the olive, -laurel, and ilex, are alike in that strange feverish twisting of their -branches, as if in spasms of half human pain:--Avernus forests; one -fears to break their boughs, lest they should cry to us from their -rents; the rocks they shade are of ashes, or thrice-molten lava; iron -sponge, whose every pore has been filled with fire. Silent villages, -earthquake-shaken, without commerce, without industry, without -knowledge, without hope, gleam in white ruin from hill-side to -hill-side; far-winding wrecks of immemorial walls surround the dust of -cities long forsaken: the mountain streams moan through the cold arches -of their foundations, green with weed, and rage over the heaps of their -fallen towers. Far above, in thunder-blue serration, stand the eternal -edges of the angry Apennine, dark with rolling impendence of volcanic -cloud. - -Sec. 13. Yet even among such scenes as these, Salvator might have been -calmed and exalted, had he been, indeed, capable of exaltation. But he -was not of high temper enough to perceive beauty. He had not the sacred -sense--the sense of color; all the loveliest hues of the Calabrian air -were invisible to him; the sorrowful desolation of the Calabrian -villages unfelt. He saw only what was gross and terrible,--the jagged -peak, the splintered tree, the flowerless bank of grass, and wandering -weed, prickly and pale. His temper confirmed itself in evil, and became -more and more fierce and morose; though not, I believe, cruel, -ungenerous, or lascivious. I should not suspect Salvator of wantonly -inflicting pain. His constantly painting it does not prove he delighted -in it; he felt the horror of it, and in that horror, fascination. Also, -he desired fame, and saw that here was an untried field rich enough in -morbid excitement to catch the humor of his indolent patrons. But the -gloom gained upon him, and grasped him. He could jest, indeed, as men -jest in prison-yards (he became afterwards a renowned mime in Florence); -his satires are full of good mocking, but his own doom to sadness is -never repealed. - -Sec. 14. Of all men whose work I have ever studied, he gives me most -distinctly the idea of a lost spirit. Michelet calls him "Ce damne -Salvator," perhaps in a sense merely harsh and violent; the epithet to -me seems true in a more literal, more merciful sense,--"That condemned -Salvator." I see in him, notwithstanding all his baseness, the last -traces of spiritual life in the art of Europe. He was the last man to -whom the thought of a spiritual existence presented itself as a -conceivable reality. All succeeding men, however powerful--Rembrandt, -Rubens, Vandyke, Reynolds--would have mocked at the idea of a spirit. -They were men of the world; they are never in earnest, and they are -never appalled. But Salvator was capable of pensiveness, of faith, and -of fear. The misery of the earth is a marvel to him; he cannot leave off -gazing at it. The religion of the earth is a horror to him. He gnashes -his teeth at it, rages at it, mocks and gibes at it. He would have -acknowledged religion, had he seen any that was true. Anything rather -than that baseness which he did see. "If there is no other religion -than this of pope and cardinals, let us to the robber's ambush and the -dragon's den." He was capable of fear also. The gray spectre, -horse-headed, striding across the sky--(in the Pitti Palace)--its bat -wings spread, green bars of the twilight seen between its bones; it was -no play to him--the painting of it. Helpless Salvator! A little early -sympathy, a word of true guidance, perhaps, had saved him. What says he -of himself? "Despiser of wealth and of death." Two grand scorns; but, -oh, condemned Salvator! the question is not for man what he can scorn, -but what he can love. - -Sec. 15. I do not care to trace the various hold which Hades takes on this -fallen soul. It is no part of my work here to analyze his art, nor even -that of Durer; all that we need to note is the opposite answer they gave -to the question about death. - -To Salvator it came in narrow terms. Desolation, without hope, -throughout the fields of nature he had to explore; hypocrisy and -sensuality, triumphant and shameless, in the cities from which he -derived his support. His life, so far as any nobility remained in it, -could only pass in horror, disdain, or despair. It is difficult to say -which of the three prevails most in his common work; but his answer to -the great question was of despair only. He represents "Umana Fragilita" -by the type of a skeleton with plumy wings, leaning over a woman and -child; the earth covered with ruin round them--a thistle, casting its -seed, the only fruit of it. "Thorns, also, and thistles shall it bring -forth to thee." The same tone of thought marks all Salvator's more -earnest work. - -Sec. 16. On the contrary, in the sight of Durer, things were for the most -part as they ought to be. Men did their work in his city and in the -fields round it. The clergy were sincere. Great social questions -unagitated; great social evils either non-existent, or seemingly a part -of the nature of things, and inevitable. His answer was that of patient -hope; and twofold, consisting of one design in praise of Fortitude, and -another in praise of Labor. The Fortitude, commonly known as the "Knight -and Death," represents a knight riding through a dark valley overhung by -leafless trees, and with a great castle on a hill beyond. Beside him, -but a little in advance, rides Death on a pale horse. Death is -gray-haired and crowned;--serpents wreathed about his crown; (the sting -of death involved in the kingly power). He holds up the hour-glass, and -looks earnestly into the knight's face. Behind him follows Sin; but Sin -powerless; he has been conquered and passed by, but follows yet, -watching if any way of assault remains. On his forehead are two horns--I -think, of sea-shell--to indicate his insatiableness and instability. He -has also the twisted horns of the ram, for stubbornness, the ears of an -ass, the snout of a swine, the hoofs of a goat. Torn wings hang useless -from his shoulders, and he carries a spear with two hooks, for catching -as well as wounding. The knight does not heed him, nor even Death, -though he is conscious of the presence of the last. - -He rides quietly, his bridle firm in his hand, and his lips set close in -a slight sorrowful smile, for he hears what Death is saying; and hears -it as the word of a messenger who brings pleasant tidings, thinking to -bring evil ones. A little branch of delicate heath is twisted round his -helmet. His horse trots proudly and straight; its head high, and with a -cluster of oak on the brow where on the fiend's brow is the sea-shell -horn. But the horse of Death stoops its head; and its rein catches the -little bell which hangs from the knight's horse-bridle, making it toll, -as a passing bell.[4] - -Sec. 17. Durer's second answer is the plate of "Melencholia," which is the -history of the sorrowful toil of the earth, as the "Knight and Death" is -of its sorrowful patience under temptation. - -Salvator's answer, remember, is in both respects that of despair. Death -as he reads, lord of temptation, is victor over the spirit of man; and -lord of ruin, is victor over the work of man. Durer declares the sad, -but unsullied conquest over Death the tempter; and the sad, but -enduring conquest over Death the destroyer. - -Sec. 18. Though the general intent of the Melencholia is clear, and to be -felt at a glance, I am in some doubt respecting its special symbolism. I -do not know how far Durer intended to show that labor, in many of its -most earnest forms, is closely connected with the morbid sadness, or -"dark anger," of the northern nations. Truly some of the best work ever -done for man, has been in that dark anger;[5] but I have not yet been -able to determine for myself how far this is necessary, or how far great -work may also be done with cheerfulness. If I knew what the truth was, I -should be able to interpret Durer better; meantime the design seems to -me his answer to the complaint, "Yet is his strength labor and sorrow." - -"Yes," he replies, "but labor and sorrow are his strength." - -Sec. 19. The labor indicated is in the daily work of men. Not the inspired -or gifted labor of the few (it is labor connected with the sciences, not -with the arts), shown in its four chief functions: thoughtful, faithful, -calculating and executing. - -Thoughtful, first; all true power coming of that resolved, resistless -calm of melancholy thought. This is the first and last message of the -whole design. Faithful, the right arm of the spirit resting on the book. -Calculating (chiefly in the sense of self-command), the compasses in her -right hand. Executive--roughest instruments of labor at her feet: a -crucible, and geometrical solids, indicating her work in the sciences. -Over her head the hour-glass and the bell, for their continual words, -"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do." Beside her, childish labor -(lesson-learning?) sitting on an old millstone, with a tablet on its -knees. I do not know what instrument it has in its hand. At her knees, a -wolf-hound asleep. In the distance, a comet (the disorder and -threatening of the universe) setting, the rainbow dominant over it. Her -strong body is close girded for work; at her waist hang the keys of -wealth; but the coin is cast aside contemptuously under her feet. She -has eagles' wings, and is crowned with fair leafage of spring. - -Yes, Albert of Nuremberg, it was a noble answer, yet an imperfect one. -This is indeed the labor which is crowned with laurel and has the wings -of the eagle. It was reserved for another country to prove, for another -hand to portray, the labor which is crowned with fire, and has the wings -of the bat. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] To obtain room for the goods, the roofs slope steeply, and their - other dormer windows are richly carved--but all are of wood; and, for - the most part, I think, some hundred years later than Durer's time. A - large number of the oriel and bow windows on the facades are wooden - also, and of recent date. - - [2] His piece in the cathedral of Magdeburg is strangely inferior, - wanting both the grace of composition and bold handling of the St. - Sebald's. The bronze fountains at Nuremberg (three, of fame, in as - many squares) are highly wrought, and have considerable merit; the - ordinary ironwork of the houses, with less pretension, is, perhaps, - more truly artistic. In Plate 52, the right-hand figure is a - characteristic example of the bell-handle at the door of a private - house, composed of a wreath of flowers and leafage twisted in a - spiral round an upright rod, the spiral terminating below in a - delicate tendril; the whole of wrought iron. It is longer than - represented, some of the leaf-links of the chain being omitted in the - dotted spaces, as well as the handle, which, though often itself of - leafage, is always convenient for the hand. - - [3] By Mr. Le Keux, very admirably. - - [4] This was first pointed out to me by a friend--Mr. Robin Allen. It - is a beautiful thought; yet, possibly, an after-thought, I have some - suspicion that there is an alteration in the plate at that place, and - that the rope to which the bell hangs was originally the line of the - chest of the nearer horse, as the grass-blades about the lifted hind - leg conceal the lines which could not, in Durer's way of work, be - effaced, indicating its first intended position. What a proof of his - general decision of handling is involved in this "repentir"! - - [5] "Yet withal, you see that the Monarch is a great, valiant, - cautious, melancholy, commanding man"--Friends in Council, last - volume, p. 269; Milverton giving an account of Titian's picture of - Charles the Fifth. (Compare Ellesmere's description of Milverton - himself, p. 140.) Read carefully also what is said further on - respecting Titian's freedom, and fearless with holding of flattery; - comparing it with the note on Giorgione and Titian. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CLAUDE AND POUSSIN. - - -Sec. 1. It was stated in the last chapter that Salvator was the last -painter of Italy on whom any fading trace of the old faithful spirit -rested. Carrying some of its passion far into the seventeenth century, -he deserved to be remembered together with the painters whom the -questioning of the Reformation had exercised, eighty years before. Not -so his contemporaries. The whole body of painters around him, but -chiefly those of landscape, had cast aside all regard for the faith of -their fathers, or for any other; and founded a school of art properly -called "classical,"[1] of which the following are the chief -characteristics. - -Sec. 2. The belief in a supreme benevolent Being having ceased, and the -sense of spiritual destitution fastening on the mind, together with the -hopeless perception of ruin and decay in the existing world, the -imagination sought to quit itself from the oppression of these ideas by -realizing a perfect worldly felicity, in which the inevitable ruin -should at least be lovely, and the necessarily short life entirely happy -and refined. Labor must be banished, since it was to be unrewarded. -Humiliation and degradation of body must be prevented since there could -be no compensation for them by preparation of the soul for another -world. Let us eat and drink (refinedly), for to-morrow we die, and -attain the highest possible dignity as men in this world, since we shall -have none as spirits in the next. - -Sec. 3. Observe, this is neither the Greek nor the Roman spirit. Neither -Claude, nor Poussin, nor any other painter or writer, properly termed -"classical," ever could enter into the Greek or Roman heart, which was -as full, in many cases fuller, of the hope of immortality than our own. - -On the absence of belief in a good supreme Being, follows, necessarily, -the habit of looking to ourselves for supreme judgment in all matters, -and for supreme government. Hence, first, the irreverent habit of -judgment instead of admiration. It is generally expressed under the -justly degrading term "good taste." - -Sec. 4. Hence, in the second place, the habit of restraint or -self-government (instead of impulsive and limitless obedience), based -upon pride, and involving, for the most part, scorn of the helpless and -weak, and respect only for the orders of men who have been trained to -this habit of self-government. Whence the title classical, from the -Latin _classicus_. - -Sec. 5. The school is, therefore, generally to be characterized as that of -taste and restraint. As the school of taste, everything is, in its -estimation, beneath it, so as to be tasted or tested; not above it, to -be thankfully received. Nothing was to be fed upon as bread; but only -palated as a dainty. This spirit has destroyed art since the close of -the sixteenth century, and nearly destroyed French literature, our -English literature being at the same time severely depressed, and our -education (except in bodily strength) rendered nearly nugatory by it, so -far as it affects common-place minds. It is not possible that the -classical spirit should ever take possession of a mind of the highest -order. Pope is, as far as I know, the greatest man who ever fell -strongly under its influence; and though it spoiled half his work, he -broke through it continually into true enthusiasm and tender thought.[2] -Again, as the school of reserve, it refuses to allow itself in any -violent or "spasmodic" passion; the schools of literature which have -been in modern times called "spasmodic," being reactionary against it. -The word, though an ugly one, is quite accurate, the most spasmodic -books in the world being Solomon's Song, Job, and Isaiah. - -Sec. 6. The classical landscape, properly so called, is therefore the -representative of perfectly trained and civilized human life, associated -with perfect natural scenery and with decorative spiritual powers. - -I will expand this definition a little. - -1. Perfectly civilized human life; that is, life freed from the -necessity of humiliating labor, from passions inducing bodily disease, -and from abusing misfortune. The personages of the classical landscape, -therefore, must be virtuous and amiable; if employed in labor, endowed -with strength such as may make it not oppressive. (Considered as a -practicable ideal, the classical life necessarily implies slavery, and -the command, therefore, of a higher order of men over a lower, occupied -in servile work.) Pastoral occupation is allowable as a contrast with -city life. War, if undertaken by classical persons, must be a contest -for honor, more than for life, not at all for wealth,[3] and free from -all fearful or debasing passion. Classical persons must be trained in -all the polite arts, and, because their health is to be perfect, chiefly -in the open air. Hence, the architecture around them must be of the most -finished kind, the rough country and ground being subdued by frequent -and happy humanity. - -Sec. 7. 2. Such personages and buildings must be associated with natural -scenery, uninjured by storms or inclemency of climate (such injury -implying interruption of the open air life); and it must be scenery -conducing to pleasure, not to material service; all cornfields, -orchards, olive-yards, and such like, being under the management of -slaves,[4] and the superior beings having nothing to do with them; but -passing their lives under avenues of scented and otherwise delightful -trees--under picturesque rocks, and by clear fountains. - -Sec. 8. 3. The spiritual powers in classical scenery must be decorative; -ornamental gods, not governing gods; otherwise they could not be -subjected to the principles of taste, but would demand reverence. In -order, therefore, as far as possible, without taking away their -supernatural power, to destroy their dignity, they are made more -criminal and capricious than men, and, for the most part, those only are -introduced who are the lords of lascivious pleasures. For the appearance -of any great god would at once destroy the whole theory of the classical -life; therefore, Pan, Bacchus, and the Satyrs, with Venus and the -Nymphs, are the principal spiritual powers of the classical landscape. -Apollo with the Muses appear as the patrons of the liberal arts. Minerva -rarely presents herself (except to be insulted by judgment of Paris); -Juno seldom, except for some purpose of tyranny; Jupiter seldom, but for -purpose of amour. - -Sec. 9. Such being the general ideal of the classical landscape, it can -hardly be necessary to show the reader how such charm as it possesses -must in general be strong only over weak or second-rate orders of mind. -It has, however, been often experimentally or playfully aimed at by -great men; but I shall only take note of its two leading masters. - -Sec. 10. I. Claude. As I shall have no farther occasion to refer to this -painter, I will resume, shortly, what has been said of him throughout -the work. He had a fine feeling for beauty of form and considerable -tenderness of perception. Vol. I., p. 76; vol. III., p. 318. His aerial -effects are unequalled. Vol. III., p. 318. Their character appears to me -to arise rather from a delicacy of bodily constitution in Claude, than -from any mental sensibility; such as they are, they give a kind of -feminine charm to his work, which partly accounts for its wide -influence. To whatever the character may be traced, it reads him -incapable of enjoying or painting anything energetic or terrible. Hence -the weakness of his conceptions of rough sea. Vol. I., p. 77. - -II. He had sincerity of purpose. Vol. III., p. 318. But in common with -other landscape painters of his day, neither earnestness, humility, nor -love, such as would ever cause him to forget himself. Vol. I., p. 77. - -That is to say, so far as he felt the truth, he tried to be true; but he -never felt it enough to sacrifice supposed propriety, or habitual method -to it. Very few of his sketches, and none of his pictures, show evidence -of interest in other natural phenomena than the quiet afternoon sunshine -which would fall methodically into a composition. One would suppose he -had never seen scarlet in a morning cloud, nor a storm burst on the -Apennines. But he enjoys a quiet misty afternoon in a ruminant sort of -way (Vol. III., p. 322), yet truly; and strives for the likeness of it, -therein differing from Salvator, who never attempts to be truthful, but -only to be impressive. - -Sec. 11. III. His seas are the most beautiful in old art. Vol. I., p. 345. -For he studied tame waves, as he did tame skies, with great sincerity, -and some affection; and modelled them with more care not only than any -other landscape painter of his day, but even than any of the greater -men; for they, seeing the perfect painting of sea to be impossible, gave -up the attempt, and treated it conventionally. But Claude took so much -pains about this, feeling it was one of his _fortes_, that I suppose no -one can model a small wave better than he. - -IV. He first set the pictorial sun in the pictorial heaven. Vol. III., -p. 318. We will give him the credit of this, with no drawbacks. - -V. He had hardly any knowledge of physical science (Vol. I., p. 76), and -shows a peculiar incapacity of understanding the main point of a matter. -Vol. III., p. 321. Connected with which incapacity is his want of -harmony in expression. Vol. II., p. 151. (Compare, for illustration of -this, the account of the picture of the Mill in the preface to Vol. I.) - -Sec. 12. Such were the principal qualities of the leading painter of -classical landscape, his effeminate softness carrying him to dislike all -evidences of toil, or distress, or terror, and to delight in the calm -formalities which mark the school. - -Although he often introduces romantic incidents and mediaeval as well as -Greek or Roman personages, his landscape is always in the true sense -classic--everything being "elegantly" (selectingly or tastefully), not -passionately, treated. The absence of indications of rural labor, of -hedges, ditches, haystacks, ploughed fields, and the like; the frequent -occurrence of ruins of temples, or masses of unruined palaces; and the -graceful wildness of growth in his trees, are the principal sources of -the "elevated" character which so many persons feel in his scenery. - -There is no other sentiment traceable in his work than this weak dislike -to entertain the conception of toil or suffering. Ideas of relation, in -the true sense, he has none; nor ever makes an effort to conceive an -event in its probable circumstances, but fills his foregrounds with -decorative figures, using commonest conventionalism to indicate the -subject he intends. We may take two examples, merely to show the general -character of such designs of his. - -Sec. 13. 1. St. George and the Dragon. - -The scene is a beautiful opening in woods by a river side, a pleasant -fountain springs on the right, and the usual rich vegetation covers the -foreground. The dragon is about the size of ten bramble leaves, and is -being killed by the remains of a lance, barely the thickness of a -walking-stick, in his throat, curling his tail in a highly offensive and -threatening manner. St. George, notwithstanding, on a prancing horse, -brandishes his sword, at about thirty yards' distance from the offensive -animal. - -A semicircular shelf of rocks encircles the foreground, by which the -theatre of action is divided into pit and boxes. Some women and children -having descended unadvisedly into the pit, are helping each other out of -it again, with marked precipitation. A prudent person of rank has taken -a front seat in the boxes,--crosses his legs, leans his head on his -hand, and contemplates the proceedings with the air of a connoisseur. -Two attendants stand in graceful attitudes behind him, and two more walk -away under the trees, conversing on general subjects. - -Sec. 14. 2. Worship of the Golden Calf. - -The scene is nearly the same as that of the St. George; but, in order -better to express the desert of Sinai, the river is much larger, and the -trees and vegetation softer. Two people, uninterested in the idolatrous -ceremonies, are rowing in a pleasure boat on the river. The calf is -about sixteen inches long (perhaps, we ought to give Claude credit for -remembering that it was made of ear-rings, though he might as well have -inquired how large Egyptian ear-rings were). Aaron has put it on a -handsome pillar, under which five people are dancing, and twenty-eight, -with several children, worshipping. Refreshments for the dancers are -provided in four large vases under a tree on the left, presided over by -a dignified person holding a dog in a leash. Under the distant group of -trees appears Moses, conducted by some younger personage (Nadab or -Abihu). This younger personage holds up his hands, and Moses, in the -way usually expected of him, breaks the tables of the law, which are as -large as an ordinary octavo volume. - -Sec. 15. I need not proceed farther, for any reader of sense or ordinary -powers of thought can thus examine the subjects of Claude, one by one, -for himself. We may quit him with these few final statements concerning -him. - -The admiration of his works was legitimate, so far as it regarded their -sunlight effects and their graceful details. It was base, in so far as -it involved irreverence both for the deeper powers of nature, and -carelessness as to conception of subject. Large admiration of Claude is -wholly impossible in any period of national vigor in art. He may by such -tenderness as he possesses, and by the very fact of his banishing -painfulness, exercise considerable influence over certain classes of -minds; but this influence is almost exclusively hurtful to them. - -Sec. 16. Nevertheless, on account of such small sterling qualities as they -possess, and of their general pleasantness, as well as their importance -in the history of art, genuine Claudes must always possess a -considerable value, either as drawing-room ornaments or museum relics. -They may be ranked with fine pieces of China manufacture, and other -agreeable curiosities, of which the price depends on the rarity rather -than the merit, yet always on a merit of a certain low kind. - -Sec. 17. The other characteristic master of classical landscape is Nicolo -Poussin. - -I named Claude first, because the forms of scenery he has represented -are richer and more general than Poussin's; but Poussin has a far -greater power, and his landscapes, though more limited in material, are -incomparably nobler than Claude's. It would take considerable time to -enter into accurate analysis of Poussin's strong but degraded mind; and -bring us no reward, because whatever he has done has been done better by -Titian. His peculiarities are, without exception, weaknesses, induced in -a highly intellectual and inventive mind by being fed on medals, books, -and bassi-relievi instead of nature, and by the want of any deep -sensibility. His best works are his Bacchanalian revels, always brightly -wanton and wild, full of frisk and fire; but they are coarser than -Titian's, and infinitely less beautiful. In all minglings of the human -and brutal character he leans on the bestial, yet with a sternly Greek -severity of treatment. This restraint, peculiarly classical, is much too -manifest in him; for, owing to his habit of never letting himself be -free, he does nothing as well as it ought to be done, rarely even as -well as he can himself do it; and his best beauty is poor, incomplete, -and characterless, though refined. The Nymph pressing the honey in the -"Nursing of Jupiter," and the Muse leaning against the tree, in the -"Inspiration of Poet" (both in the Dulwich Gallery), appear to me -examples of about his highest reach in this sphere. - -Sec. 18. His want of sensibility permits him to paint frightful subjects, -without feeling any true horror: his pictures of the Plague, the Death -of Polydectes, &c., are thus ghastly in incident, sometimes disgusting, -but never impressive. The prominence of the bleeding head in the Triumph -of David marks the same temper. His battle pieces are cold and feeble; -his religious subjects wholly nugatory, they do not excite him enough to -develop even his ordinary powers of invention. Neither does he put much -power into his landscape when it becomes principal; the best pieces of -it occur in fragments behind his figures. Beautiful vegetation, more or -less ornamental in character, occurs in nearly all his mythological -subjects, but his pure landscape is notable only for its dignified -reserve; the great squareness and horizontality of its masses, with -lowness of tone, giving it a deeply meditative character. His Deluge -might be much depreciated, under this head of ideas of relation, but it -is so uncharacteristic of him that I pass it by. Whatever power this -lowness of tone, light in the distance, &c., give to his landscape, or -to Gaspar's (compare Vol. II., Chapter on Infinity, Sec. 12), is in both -conventional and artificial. - -I have nothing, therefore, to add farther, here, to what was said of him -in Vol. I. (p. 89); and, as no other older masters of the classical -landscape are worth any special note, we will pass on at once to a -school of humbler but more vital power. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The word "classical" is carelessly used in the preceding volumes, - to signify the characters of the Greek or Roman nations. - Henceforward, it is used in a limited and accurate sense, as defined - in the text. - - [2] Cold-hearted, I have called him. He was so in writing the - Pastorals, of which I then spoke; but in after-life his errors were - those of his time, his wisdom was his own; it would be well if we - also made it ours. - - [3] Because the pursuit of wealth is inconsistent at once with the - peace and dignity of perfect life. - - [4] It is curious, as marking the peculiarity of the classical spirit - in its resolute degradation of the lower orders, that a - sailing-vessel is hardly admissible in a classical landscape, because - its management implies too much elevation of the inferior life. But a - galley, with oars, is admissible, because the rowers may be conceived - as absolute slaves. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -RUBENS AND CUYP. - - -Sec. 1. The examination of the causes which led to the final departure of -the religious spirit from the hearts of painters, would involve -discussion of the whole scope of the Reformation on the minds of persons -unconcerned directly in its progress. This is of course impossible. - -One or two broad facts only can be stated, which the reader may verify, -if he pleases, by his own labor. I do not give them rashly. - -Sec. 2. The strength of the Reformation lay entirely in its being a -movement towards purity of practice. - -The Catholic priesthood was hostile to it in proportion to the degree in -which they had been false to their own principles of moral action, and -had become corrupt or worldly in heart. - -The Reformers indeed cast out many absurdities, and demonstrated many -fallacies, in the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church. But they -themselves introduced errors, which rent the ranks, and finally arrested -the march of the Reformation, and which paralyze the Protestant Church -to this day. Errors of which the fatality was increased by the -controversial bent which lost accuracy of meaning in force of -declamation, and turned expressions, which ought to be used only in -retired depth of thought, into phrases of custom, or watchwords of -attack. Owing to which habits of hot, ingenious, and unguarded -controversy, the Reformed churches themselves soon forgot the meaning of -the word which, of all words, was oftenest in their mouths. They forgot -that [Greek: pistis] is a derivative of [Greek: peithomai], not of -[Greek: pisteuo], and that "fides," closely connected with "fio" on one -side, and with "confido" on the other, is but distantly related to -"credo."[1] - -Sec. 3. By whatever means, however, the reader may himself be disposed to -admit, the Reformation _was_ arrested; and got itself shut up into -chancels of cathedrals in England (even those, generally too large for -it), and into conventicles everywhere else. Then rising between the -infancy of Reformation, and the palsy of Catholicism;--between a new -shell of half-built religion on one side, daubed with untempered mortar, -and a falling ruin of outworn religion on the other, lizard-crannied, -and ivy-grown;--rose, on its independent foundation, the faithless and -materialized mind of modern Europe--ending in the rationalism of -Germany, the polite formalism of England, the careless blasphemy of -France, and the helpless sensualities of Italy; in the midst of which, -steadily advancing science, and the charities of more and more widely -extended peace, are preparing the way for a Christian church, which -shall depend neither on ignorance for its continuance, nor on -controversy for its progress; but shall reign at once in light, and -love. - -Sec. 4. The whole body of painters (such of them as were left) necessarily -fell into the rationalistic chasm. The Evangelicals despised the arts, -while the Roman Catholics were effete or insincere, and could not retain -influence over men of strong reasoning power. - -The painters could only associate frankly with men of the world, and -themselves became men of the world. Men, I mean, having no belief in -spiritual existences; no interests or affections beyond the grave. - -Sec. 5. Not but that they still painted scriptural subjects. Altar-pieces -were wanted occasionally, and pious patrons sometimes commissioned a -cabinet Madonna. But there is just this difference between the men of -this modern period, and the Florentines or Venetians--that whereas the -latter never exert themselves fully except on a sacred subject, the -Flemish and Dutch masters are always languid unless they are profane. -Leonardo is only to be seen in the Cena; Titian only in the Assumption; -but Rubens only in the Battle of the Amazons, and Vandyck only at court. - -Sec. 6. Altar-pieces, when wanted, of course either of them will supply as -readily as anything else. Virgins in blue,[2] or St. Johns in red,[3] as -many as you please. Martyrdoms also, by all means: Rubens especially -delights in these. St. Peter, head downwards,[4] is interesting -anatomically; writhings of impenitent thieves, and bishops having their -tongues pulled out, display our powers to advantage, also.[5] -Theological instruction, if required: "Christ armed with thunder, to -destroy the world, spares it at the intercession of St. Francis."[6] -Last Judgments even, quite Michael-Angelesque, rich in twistings of -limbs, with spiteful biting, and scratching; and fine aerial effects in -smoke of the pit.[7] - -Sec. 7. In all this, however, there is not a vestige of religious feeling -or reverence. We have even some visible difficulty in meeting our -patron's pious wishes. Daniel in the lion's den is indeed an available -subject, but duller than a lion hunt; and Mary of Nazareth must be -painted, if an order come for her; but (says polite Sir Peter), Mary of -Medicis, or Catherine, her bodice being fuller, and better embroidered, -would, if we might offer a suggestion, probably give greater -satisfaction. - -Sec. 8. No phenomenon in human mind is more extraordinary than the junction -of this cold and worldly temper with great rectitude of principle, and -tranquil kindness of heart. Rubens was an honorable and entirely -well-intentioned man, earnestly industrious, simple and temperate in -habits of life, high-bred, learned, and discreet. His affection for his -mother was great; his generosity to contemporary artists unfailing. He -is a healthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased--Animal--without any -clearly perceptible traces of a soul, except when he paints his -children. Few descriptions of pictures could be more ludicrous in their -pure animalism than those which he gives of his own. "It is a subject," -he writes to Sir D. Carleton, "neither sacred nor profane, although -taken from Holy Writ, namely, Sarah in the act of scolding Hagar, who, -pregnant, is leaving the house in a feminine and graceful manner, -assisted by the patriarch Abram." (What a graceful apology, by the way, -instantly follows, for not having finished the picture himself.) "I have -engaged, as is my custom, a very skilful man in his pursuit to finish -the landscapes solely to augment the enjoyment of Y. E.!"[8] - -Again, in priced catalogue,-- - -"50 florins each.--The Twelve Apostles, with a Christ. Done by my -scholars, from originals by my own hand, each having to be retouched by -my hand throughout. - -"600 florins.--A picture of Achilles clothed as a woman; done by the -best of my scholars, and the whole retouched by my hand; a most -brilliant picture, and full of many beautiful young girls." - -Sec. 9. Observe, however, Rubens is always entirely honorable in his -statements of what is done by himself and what not. He is religious, -too, after his manner; hears mass every morning, and perpetually uses -the phrase "by the grace of God," or some other such, in writing of any -business he takes in hand; but the tone of his religion may be -determined by one fact. - -We saw how Veronese painted himself and his family, as worshipping the -Madonna. - -Rubens has also painted himself and his family in an equally elaborate -piece. But they are not _worshipping_ the Madonna. They are _performing_ -the Madonna, and her saintly entourage. His favorite wife "En Madone;" -his youngest boy "as Christ;" his father-in-law (or father, it matters -not which) "as Simeon;" another elderly relation, with a beard, "as St. -Jerome;" and he himself "as St. George." - -Sec. 10. Rembrandt has also painted (it is, on the whole, his greatest -picture, so far as I have seen) himself and his wife in a state of ideal -happiness. He sits at supper with his wife on his knee, flourishing a -glass of champagne, with a roast peacock on the table. - -The Rubens is in the Church of St. James at Antwerp; the Rembrandt at -Dresden--marvellous pictures, both. No more precious works by either -painter exist. Their hearts, such as they have, are entirely in them; -and the two pictures, not inaptly, represent the Faith and Hope of the -17th century. We have to stoop somewhat lower, in order to comprehend -the pastoral and rustic scenery of Cuyp and Teniers, which must yet be -held as forming one group with the historical art of Rubens, being -connected with it by Rubens' pastoral landscape. To these, I say, we -must stoop lower; for they are destitute, not of spiritual character -only, but of spiritual thought. - -Rubens often gives instructive and magnificent allegory; Rembrandt, -pathetic or powerful fancies, founded on real scripture reading, and on -his interest in the picturesque character of the Jew. And Vandyck, a -graceful dramatic rendering of received scriptural legends. - -But in the pastoral landscape we lose, not only all faith in religion, -but all remembrance of it. Absolutely now at last we find ourselves -without sight of God in all the world. - -Sec. 11. So far as I can hear or read, this is an entirely new and -wonderful state of things achieved by the Hollanders. The human being -never got wholly quit of the terror of spiritual being before. Persian, -Egyptian, Assyrian, Hindoo, Chinese, all kept some dim, appalling record -of what they called "gods." Farthest savages had--and still have--their -Great Spirit, or, in extremity, their feather idols, large-eyed; but -here in Holland we have at last got utterly done with it all. Our only -idol glitters dimly, in tangible shape of a pint pot, and all the -incense offered thereto, comes out of a small censer or bowl at the end -of a pipe. Of deities or virtues, angels, principalities, or powers, in -the name of our ditches, no more. Let us have cattle, and market -vegetables. - -This is the first and essential character of the Holland landscape art. -Its second is a worthier one; respect for rural life. - -Sec. 12. I should attach greater importance to this rural feeling, if there -were any true humanity in it, or any feeling for beauty. But there is -neither. No incidents of this lower life are painted for the sake of the -incidents, but only for the effects of light. You will find that the -best Dutch painters do not care about the people, but about the lustres -on them. Paul Potter, their best herd and cattle painter, does not care -even for sheep, but only for wool; regards not cows, but cowhide. He -attains great dexterity in drawing tufts and locks, lingers in the -little parallel ravines and furrows of fleece that open across sheep's -backs as they turn; is unsurpassed in twisting a horn or pointing a -nose; but he cannot paint eyes, nor perceive any condition of an -animal's mind, except its desire of grazing. Cuyp can, indeed, paint -sunlight, the best that Holland's sun can show; he is a man of large -natural gift, and sees broadly, nay, even seriously; finds out--a -wonderful thing for men to find out in those days--that there are -reflections in water, and that boats require often to be painted upside -down. A brewer by trade, he feels the quiet of a summer afternoon, and -his work will make you marvellously drowsy. It is good for nothing else -that I know of: strong; but unhelpful and unthoughtful. Nothing happens -in his pictures, except some indifferent person's asking the way of -somebody else, who, by their cast of countenance, seems not likely to -know it. For farther entertainment perhaps a red cow and a white one; or -puppies at play, not playfully; the man's heart not going even with the -puppies. Essentially he sees nothing but the shine on the flaps of their -ears. - -Sec. 13. Observe always, the fault lies not in the thing's being little, or -the incident being slight. Titian could have put issues of life and -death into the face of a man asking the way; nay, into the back of him, -if he had so chosen. He has put a whole scheme of dogmatic theology into -a row of bishops' backs at the Louvre. And for dogs, Velasquez has made -some of them nearly as grand as his surly kings. - -Into the causes of which grandeur we must look a little, with respect -not only to these puppies, and gray horses, and cattle of Cuyp, but to -the hunting pieces of Rubens and Snyders. For closely connected with the -Dutch rejection of motives of spiritual interest, is the increasing -importance attached by them to animals, seen either in the chase or in -agriculture; and to judge justly of the value of this animal painting it -will be necessary for us to glance at that of earlier times. - -Sec. 14. And first of the animals which have had more influence over the -human soul, in its modern life, than ever Apis or the crocodile had -over Egyptian--the dog and horse. I stated, in speaking of Venetian -religion, that the Venetians always introduced the dog as a contrast to -the high aspects of humanity. They do this, not because they consider -him the basest of animals, but the highest--the connecting link between -men and animals; in whom the lower forms of really human feeling may be -best exemplified, such as conceit, gluttony, indolence, petulance. But -they saw the noble qualities of the dog, too;--all his patience, love, -and faithfulness; therefore Veronese, hard as he is often on lap-dogs, -has painted one great heroic poem on the dog. - -Sec. 15. Two mighty brindled mastiffs, and beyond them, darkness. You -scarcely see them at first, against the gloomy green. No other sky for -them--poor things. They are gray themselves, spotted with black all -over; their multitudinous doggish vices may not be washed out of -them,--are in grain of nature. Strong thewed and sinewed, however,--no -blame on them as far as bodily strength may reach; their heads -coal-black, with drooping ears and fierce eyes, bloodshot a little. -Wildest of beasts perhaps they would have been, by nature. But between -them stands the spirit of their human Love, dove-winged and beautiful, -the resistless Greek boy, golden-quivered; his glowing breast and limbs -the only light upon the sky,--purple and pure. He has cast his chain -about the dogs' necks, and holds it in his strong right hand, leaning -proudly a little back from them. They will never break loose. - -Sec. 16. This is Veronese's highest, or spiritual view of the dog's nature. -He can only give this when looking at the creature alone. When he sees -it in company with men, he subdues it, like an inferior light in -presence of the sky; and generally then gives it a merely brutal nature, -not insisting even on its affection. It is thus used in the Marriage in -Cana to symbolize gluttony. That great picture I have not yet had time -to examine in all its bearings of thought; but the chief purpose of it -is, I believe, to express the pomp and pleasure of the world, pursued -without thought of the presence of Christ; therefore the Fool with the -bells is put in the centre, immediately underneath the Christ; and in -front are the couple of dogs in leash, one gnawing a bone. A cat lying -on her back scratches at one of the vases which hold the wine of the -miracle. - -Sec. 17. In the picture of Susannah, her little pet dog is merely doing his -duty, barking at the Elders. But in that of the Magdalen (at Turin) a -noble piece of bye-meaning is brought out by a dog's help. On one side -is the principal figure, the Mary washing Christ's feet; on the other, a -dog has just come out from beneath the table (the dog under the table -eating of the crumbs), and in doing so, has touched the robe of one of -the Pharisees, thus making it unclean. The Pharisee gathers up his robe -in a passion, and shows the hem of it to a bystander, pointing to the -dog at the same time. - -Sec. 18. In the Supper at Emmaus, the dog's affection is, however, fully -dwelt upon. Veronese's own two little daughters are playing, on the -hither side of the table, with a great wolf-hound, larger than either of -them. One with her head down, nearly touching his nose, is talking to -him,--asking him questions it seems, nearly pushing him over at the same -time:--the other, raising her eyes, half archly, half dreamily,--some -far-away thought coming over her,--leans against him on the other side, -propping him with her little hand, laid slightly on his neck. He, all -passive, and glad at heart, yielding himself to the pushing or -sustaining hand, looks earnestly into the face of the child close to -his; would answer her with the gravity of a senator, if so it might -be:--can only look at her, and love her. - -Sec. 19. To Velasquez and Titian dogs seem less interesting than to -Veronese; they paint them simply as noble brown beasts, but without any -special character; perhaps Velasquez's dogs are sterner and more -threatening than the Venetian's, as are also his kings and admirals. -This fierceness in the animal increases, as the spiritual power of the -artist declines; and, with the fierceness, another character. One great -and infallible sign of the absence of spiritual power is the presence of -the slightest taint of obscenity. Dante marked this strongly in all his -representations of demons, and as we pass from the Venetians and -Florentines to the Dutch, the passing away of the soul-power is -indicated by every animal becoming savage or foul. The dog is used by -Teniers, and many other Hollanders, merely to obtain unclean jest; while -by the more powerful men, Rubens, Snyders, Rembrandt, it is painted only -in savage chase, or butchered agony. I know no pictures more shameful to -humanity than the boar and lion hunts of Rubens and Snyders, signs of -disgrace all the deeper, because the powers desecrated are so great. The -painter of the village ale-house sign may, not dishonorably, paint the -fox-hunt for the village squire; but the occupation of magnificent -art-power in giving semblance of perpetuity to those bodily pangs which -Nature has mercifully ordained to be transient, and in forcing us, by -the fascination of its stormy skill, to dwell on that from which eyes of -merciful men should instinctively turn away, and eyes of high-minded men -scornfully, is dishonorable, alike in the power which it degrades, and -the joy to which it betrays. - -Sec. 20. In our modern treatment of the dog, of which the prevailing -tendency is marked by Landseer, the interest taken in him is -disproportionate to that taken in man, and leads to a somewhat trivial -mingling of sentiment, or warping by caricature; giving up the true -nature of the animal for the sake of a pretty thought or pleasant jest. -Neither Titian nor Velasquez ever jest; and though Veronese jests -gracefully and tenderly, he never for an instant oversteps the absolute -facts of nature. But the English painter looks for sentiment or jest -primarily, and reaches both by a feebly romantic taint of fallacy, -except in one or two simple and touching pictures, such as the -Shepherd's Chief Mourner. - -I was pleased by a little unpretending modern German picture at -Dusseldorf, by E. Bosch, representing a boy carving a model of his -sheep-dog in wood; the dog sitting on its haunches in front of him, -watches the progress of the sculpture with a grave interest and -curiosity, not in the least caricatured, but highly humorous. Another -small picture, by the same artist, of a forester's boy being taught to -shoot by his father,--the dog critically and eagerly watching the -raising of the gun,--shows equally true sympathy. - -Sec. 21. I wish I were able to trace any of the leading circumstances in -the ancient treatment of the horse, but I have no sufficient data. Its -function in the art of the Greeks is connected with all their beautiful -fable philosophy; but I have not a tithe of the knowledge necessary to -pursue the subject in this direction. It branches into questions -relating to sacred animals, and Egyptian and Eastern mythology. I -believe the Greek interest in _pure_ animal character corresponded -closely to our own, except that it is less sentimental, and either -distinctly true or distinctly fabulous; not hesitating between truth and -falsehood. Achilles' horses, like Anacreon's dove, and Aristophanes' -frogs and birds, speak clearly out, if at all. They do not become feebly -human, by fallacies and exaggerations, but frankly and wholly. - -Zeuxis' picture of the Centaur indicates, however, a more distinctly -sentimental conception; and I suppose the Greek artists always to have -fully appreciated the horse's fineness of temper and nervous -constitution.[9] They seem, by the way, hardly to have done justice to -the dog. My pleasure in the entire Odyssey is diminished because Ulysses -gives not a word of kindness or of regret to Argus. - -Sec. 22. I am still less able to speak of Roman treatment of the horse. It -is very strange that in the chivalric ages, he is despised; their -greatest painters drawing him with ludicrous neglect. The Venetians, as -was natural, painted him little and ill; but he becomes important in the -equestrian statues of the fifteenth and sixteenth century, chiefly, I -suppose, under the influence of Leonardo. - -I am not qualified to judge of the merit of these equestrian statues; -but, in painting, I find that no real interest is taken in the horse -until Vandyck's time, he and Rubens doing more for it than all previous -painters put together. Rubens was a good rider, and rode nearly every -day, as, I doubt not, Vandyck also. Some notice of an interesting -equestrian picture of Vandyck's will be found in the next chapter. The -horse has never, I think, been painted worthily again, since he -died.[10] Of the influence of its unworthy painting, and unworthy use, I -do not at present care to speak, noticing only that it brought about in -England the last degradations of feeling and of art. The Dutch, indeed, -banished all deity from the earth; but I think only in England has -death-bed consolation been sought in a fox's tail.[11] - -I wish, however, the reader distinctly to understand that the -expressions of reprobation of field-sports which he will find scattered -through these volumes,--and which, in concluding them, I wish I had time -to collect and farther enforce--refer only to the chase and the turf; -that is to say, to hunting, shooting, and horse-racing, but not to -athletic exercises. I have just as deep a respect for boxing, wrestling, -cricketing, and rowing, as contempt of all the various modes of wasting -wealth, time, land, and energy of soul, which have been invented by the -pride and selfishness of men, in order to enable them to be healthy in -uselessness, and get quit of the burdens of their own lives, without -condescending to make them serviceable to others. - -Sec. 23. Lastly, of cattle. - -The period when the interest of men began to be transferred from the -ploughman to his oxen is very distinctly marked by Bassano. In him the -descent is even greater, being, accurately, from the Madonna to the -Manger--one of perhaps his best pictures (now, I believe, somewhere in -the north of England), representing an adoration of shepherds with -nothing to adore, they and their herds forming the subject, and the -Christ being "supposed" at the side. From that time cattle-pieces become -frequent, and gradually form a staple art commodity. Cuyp's are the -best; nevertheless, neither by him nor any one else have I ever seen an -entirely well-painted cow. All the men who have skill enough to paint -cattle nobly, disdain them. The real influence of these Dutch -cattle-pieces, in subsequent art, is difficult to trace, and is not -worth tracing. They contain a certain healthy appreciation of simple -pleasure which I cannot look upon wholly without respect. On the other -hand, their cheap tricks of composition degraded the entire technical -system of landscape; and their clownish and blunt vulgarities too long -blinded us, and continue, so far as in them lies, to blind us yet, to -all the true refinement and passion of rural life. There have always -been truth and depth of pastoral feeling in the works of great poets and -novelists; but never, I think, in painting, until lately. The designs of -J. C. Hook are, perhaps, the only works of the kind in existence which -deserve to be mentioned in connection with the pastorals of Wordsworth -and Tennyson. - -We must not, however, yet pass to the modern school, having still to -examine the last phase of Dutch design, in which the vulgarities which -might be forgiven to the truth of Cuyp, and forgotten in the power of -Rubens, became unpardonable and dominant in the works of men who were at -once affected and feeble. But before doing this, we must pause to settle -a preliminary question, which is an important and difficult one, and -will need a separate chapter; namely, What is vulgarity itself? - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] None of our present forms of opinion are more curious than those - which have developed themselves from this verbal carelessness. It - never seems to strike any of our religious teachers, that if a child - has a father living, it either _knows_ it has a father, or does not: - it does not "believe" it has a father. We should be surprised to see - an intelligent child standing at its garden gate, crying out to the - passers-by: "I believe in my father, because he built this house;" as - logical people proclaim that they believe in God, because He must - have made the world. - - [2] Dusseldorf. - - [3] Antwerp. - - [4] Cologne. - - [5] Brussels. - - [6] Brussels. - - [7] Munich. - - [8] Original Papers relating to Rubens; edited by W. Sainsbury. - London, 1859: page 39. Y. E. is the person who commissioned the - picture. - - [9] "A single harsh word will raise a nervous horse's pulse ten beats - a minute."--Mr. Rarey. - - [10] John Lewis has made grand sketches of the horse, but has never, - so far as I know, completed any of them. Respecting his wonderful - engravings of wild animals, see my pamphlet on Pre-Raphaelitism. - - [11] See "The Fox-hunter's Death-bed," a popular sporting print. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -OF VULGARITY. - - -Sec. 1. Two great errors, coloring, or rather discoloring, severally, the -minds of the higher and lower classes, have sown wide dissension, and -wider misfortune, through the society of modern days. These errors are -in our modes of interpreting the word "gentleman." - -Its primal, literal, and perpetual meaning is "a man of pure race;" well -bred, in the sense that a horse or dog is well bred. - -The so-called higher classes, being generally of purer race than the -lower, have retained the true idea, and the convictions associated with -it; but are afraid to speak it out, and equivocate about it in public; -this equivocation mainly proceeding from their desire to connect another -meaning with it, and a false one;--that of "a man living in idleness on -other people's labor;"--with which idea, the term has nothing whatever -to do. - -The lower classes, denying vigorously, and with reason, the notion that -a gentleman means an idler, and rightly feeling that the more any one -works, the more of a gentleman he becomes, and is likely to -become,--have nevertheless got little of the good they otherwise might, -from the truth, because, with it, they wanted to hold a -falsehood,--namely, that race was of no consequence. It being precisely -of as much consequence in man as it is in any other animal. - -Sec. 2. The nation cannot truly prosper till both these errors are finally -got quit of. Gentlemen have to learn that it is no part of their duty or -privilege to live on other people's toil. They have to learn that there -is no degradation in the hardest manual, or the humblest servile, labor, -when it is honest. But that there _is_ degradation, and that deep, in -extravagance, in bribery, in indolence, in pride, in taking places they -are not fit for, or in coining places for which there is no need. It -does not disgrace a gentleman to become an errand boy, or a day -laborer; but it disgraces him much to become a knave, or a thief. And -knavery is not the less knavery because it involves large interests, nor -theft the less theft because it is countenanced by usage, or accompanied -by failure in undertaken duty. It is an incomparably less guilty form of -robbery to cut a purse out of a man's pocket, than to take it out of his -hand on the understanding that you are to steer his ship up channel, -when you do not know the soundings. - -Sec. 3. On the other hand, the lower orders, and all orders, have to learn -that every vicious habit and chronic disease communicates itself by -descent; and that by purity of birth the entire system of the human body -and soul may be gradually elevated, or by recklessness of birth, -degraded; until there shall be as much difference between the well-bred -and ill-bred human creature (whatever pains be taken with their -education) as between a wolf-hound and the vilest mongrel cur. And the -knowledge of this great fact ought to regulate the education of our -youth, and the entire conduct of the nation.[1] - -Sec. 4. Gentlemanliness, however, in ordinary parlance, must be taken to -signify those qualities which are usually the evidence of high breeding, -and which, so far as they can be acquired, it should be every man's -effort to acquire; or, if he has them by nature, to preserve and exalt. -Vulgarity, on the other hand, will signify qualities usually -characteristic of ill-breeding, which, according to his power, it -becomes every person's duty to subdue. We have briefly to note what -these are. - -Sec. 5. A gentleman's first characteristic is that fineness of structure in -the body, which renders it capable of the most delicate sensation; and -of structure in the mind which renders it capable of the most delicate -sympathies--one may say, simply, "fineness of nature." This is, of -course, compatible with heroic bodily strength and mental firmness; in -fact, heroic strength is not conceivable without such delicacy. -Elephantine strength may drive its way through a forest and feel no -touch of the boughs; but the white skin of Homer's Atrides would have -felt a bent rose-leaf, yet subdue its feeling in glow of battle, and -behave itself like iron. I do not mean to call an elephant a vulgar -animal; but if you think about him carefully, you will find that his -non-vulgarity consists in such gentleness as is possible to elephantine -nature; not in his insensitive hide, nor in his clumsy foot; but in the -way he will lift his foot if a child lies in his way; and in his -sensitive trunk, and still more sensitive mind, and capability of pique -on points of honor. - -Sec. 6. And, though rightness of moral conduct is ultimately the great -purifier of race, the sign of nobleness is not in this rightness of -moral conduct, but in sensitiveness. When the make of the creature is -fine, its temptations are strong, as well as its perceptions; it is -liable to all kinds of impressions from without in their most violent -form; liable therefore to be abused and hurt by all kinds of rough -things which would do a coarser creature little harm, and thus to fall -into frightful wrong if its fate will have it so. Thus David, coming of -gentlest as well as royalest race, of Ruth as well as of Judah, is -sensitiveness through all flesh and spirit; not that his compassion will -restrain him from murder when his terror urges him to it; nay, he is -driven to the murder all the more by his sensitiveness to the shame -which otherwise threatens him. But when his own story is told him under -a disguise, though only a lamb is now concerned, his passion about it -leaves him no time for thought. "The man shall die"--note the -reason--"because he had no pity." He is so eager and indignant that it -never occurs to him as strange that Nathan hides the name. This is true -gentleman. A vulgar man would assuredly have been cautious, and asked -"who it was?" - -Sec. 7. Hence it will follow that one of the probable signs of -high-breeding in men generally, will be their kindness and mercifulness; -these always indicating more or less fineness of make in the mind; and -miserliness and cruelty the contrary; hence that of Isaiah: "The vile -person shall no more be called liberal, nor the churl said to be -bountiful." But a thousand things may prevent this kindness from -displaying or continuing itself; the mind of the man may be warped so as -to bear mainly on his own interests, and then all his sensibilities will -take the form of pride, or fastidiousness, or revengefulness; and other -wicked, but not ungentlemanly tempers; or, farther, they may run into -utter sensuality and covetousness, if he is bent on pleasure, -accompanied with quite infinite cruelty when the pride is wounded, or -the passions thwarted;--until your gentleman becomes Ezzelin, and your -lady, the deadly Lucrece; yet still gentleman and lady, quite incapable -of making anything else of themselves, being so born. - -Sec. 8. A truer sign of breeding than mere kindness is therefore sympathy; -a vulgar man may often be kind in a hard way, on principle, and because -he thinks he ought to be; whereas, a highly-bred man, even when cruel, -will be cruel in a softer way, understanding and feeling what he -inflicts, and pitying his victim. Only we must carefully remember that -the quantity of sympathy a gentleman feels can never be judged of by its -outward expression, for another of his chief characteristics is apparent -reserve. I say "apparent" reserve; for the sympathy is real, but the -reserve not: a perfect gentleman is never reserved, but sweetly and -entirely open, so far as it is good for others, or possible, that he -should be. In a great many respects it is impossible that he should be -open except to men of his own kind. To them, he can open himself, by a -word, or syllable, or a glance; but to men not of his kind he cannot -open himself, though he tried it through an eternity of clear -grammatical speech. By the very acuteness of his sympathy he knows how -much of himself he can give to anybody; and he gives that much -frankly;--would always be glad to give more if he could, but is obliged, -nevertheless, in his general intercourse with the world, to be a -somewhat silent person; silence is to most people, he finds, less -reserved than speech. Whatever he said, a vulgar man would misinterpret: -no words that he could use would bear the same sense to the vulgar man -that they do to him; if he used any, the vulgar man would go away -saying, "He had said so and so, and meant so and so" (something -assuredly he never meant); but he keeps silence, and the vulgar man goes -away saying, "He didn't know what to make of him." Which is precisely -the fact, and the only fact which he is anywise able to announce to the -vulgar man concerning himself. - -Sec. 9. There is yet another quite as efficient cause of the apparent -reserve of a gentleman. His sensibility being constant and intelligent, -it will be seldom that a feeling touches him, however acutely, but it -has touched him in the same way often before, and in some sort is -touching him always. It is not that he feels little, but that he feels -habitually; a vulgar man having some heart at the bottom of him, if you -can by talk or by sight fairly force the pathos of anything down to his -heart, will be excited about it and demonstrative; the sensation of pity -being strange to him, and wonderful. But your gentleman has walked in -pity all day long; the tears have never been out of his eyes: you -thought the eyes were bright only; but they were wet. You tell him a -sorrowful story, and his countenance does not change; the eyes can but -be wet still; he does not speak neither, there being, in fact, nothing -to be said, only something to be done; some vulgar person, beside you -both, goes away saying, "How hard he is!" Next day he hears that the -hard person has put good end to the sorrow he said nothing about;--and -then he changes his wonder, and exclaims, "How reserved he is!" - -Sec. 10. Self-command is often thought a characteristic of high-breeding: -and to a certain extent it is so, at least it is one of the means of -forming and strengthening character; but it is rather a way of imitating -a gentleman than a characteristic of him; a true gentleman has no need -of self-command; he simply feels rightly on all occasions: and desiring -to express only so much of his feeling as it is right to express, does -not need to command himself. Hence perfect ease is indeed characteristic -of him; but perfect ease is inconsistent with self-restraint. -Nevertheless gentlemen, so far as they fail of their own ideal, need to -command themselves, and do so; while, on the contrary, to feel unwisely, -and to be unable to restrain the expression of the unwise feeling, is -vulgarity; and yet even then, the vulgarity, at its root, is not in the -mistimed expression, but in the unseemly feeling; and when we find fault -with a vulgar person for "exposing himself," it is not his openness, but -clumsiness; and yet more the want of sensibility to his own failure, -which we blame; so that still the vulgarity resolves itself into want of -sensibility. Also, it is to be noted that great powers of self-restraint -may be attained by very vulgar persons, when it suits their purposes. - -Sec. 11. Closely, but strangely, connected with this openness is that form -of truthfulness which is opposed to cunning, yet not opposed to falsity -absolute. And herein is a distinction of great importance. - -Cunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over-reaching, -accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. It is associated -with small and dull conceit, and with an absolute want of sympathy or -affection. Its essential connection with vulgarity may be at once -exemplified by the expression of the butcher's dog in Landseer's "Low -Life." Cruikshank's "Noah Claypole," in the illustrations to Oliver -Twist, in the interview with the Jew, is, however, still more -characteristic. It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity absolute and -utter with which I am acquainted.[2] - -The truthfulness which is opposed to cunning ought, perhaps, rather to -be called the desire of truthfulness; it consists more in unwillingness -to deceive than in not deceiving,--an unwillingness implying sympathy -with and respect for the person deceived; and a fond observance of truth -up to the possible point, as in a good soldier's mode of retaining his -honor through a _ruse-de-guerre_. A cunning person seeks for -opportunities to deceive; a gentleman shuns them. A cunning person -triumphs in deceiving; a gentleman is humiliated by his success, or at -least by so much of the success as is dependent merely on the falsehood, -and not on his intellectual superiority. - -Sec. 12. The absolute disdain of all lying belongs rather to Christian -chivalry than to mere high breeding; as connected merely with this -latter, and with general refinement and courage, the exact relations of -truthfulness may be best studied in the well-trained Greek mind. The -Greeks believed that mercy and truth were co-relative virtues--cruelty -and falsehood co-relative vices. But they did not call necessary -severity, cruelty; nor necessary deception, falsehood. It was needful -sometimes to slay men, and sometimes to deceive them. When this had to -be done, it should be done well and thoroughly; so that to direct a -spear well to its mark, or a lie well to its end, was equally the -accomplishment of a perfect gentleman. Hence, in the pretty -diamond-cut-diamond scene between Pallas and Ulysses, when she receives -him on the coast of Ithaca, the goddess laughs delightedly at her hero's -good lying, and gives him her hand upon it; showing herself then in her -woman's form, as just a little more than his match. "Subtle would he be, -and stealthy, who should go beyond thee in deceit, even were he a god, -thou many-witted! What! here in thine own land, too, wilt thou not cease -from cheating? Knowest thou not me, Pallas Athena, maid of Jove, who am -with thee in all thy labors, and gave thee favor with the Phaeacians, and -keep thee, and have come now to weave cunning with thee?" But how -completely this kind of cunning was looked upon as a part of a man's -power, and not as a diminution of faithfulness, is perhaps best shown by -the single line of praise in which the high qualities of his servant are -summed up by Chremulus in the Plutus--"Of all my house servants, I hold -you to be the faithfullest, and the greatest cheat (or thief)." - -Sec. 13. Thus, the primal difference between honorable and base lying in -the Greek mind lay in honorable purpose. A man who used his strength -wantonly to hurt others was a monster; so, also, a man who used his -cunning wantonly to hurt others. Strength and cunning were to be used -only in self-defence, or to save the weak, and then were alike -admirable. This was their first idea. Then the second, and perhaps the -more essential, difference between noble and ignoble lying in the Greek -mind, was that the honorable lie--or, if we may use the strange, yet -just, expression, the true lie--knew and confessed itself for such--was -ready to take the full responsibility of what it did. As the sword -answered for its blow, so the lie for its snare. But what the Greeks -hated with all their heart was the false lie; the lie that did not know -itself, feared to confess itself, which slunk to its aim under a cloak -of truth, and sought to do liars' work, and yet not take liars' pay, -excusing itself to the conscience by quibble and quirk. Hence the great -expression of Jesuit principle by Euripides, "The tongue has sworn, but -not the heart," was a subject of execration throughout Greece, and the -satirists exhausted their arrows on it--no audience was ever tired -hearing ([Greek: to Euripideion ekeino]) "that Euripidean thing" brought -to shame. - -Sec. 14. And this is especially to be insisted on in the early education of -young people. It should be pointed out to them with continual -earnestness that the essence of lying is in deception, not in words; a -lie may be told by silence, by equivocation, by the accent on a -syllable, by a glance of the eye attaching a peculiar significance to a -sentence; and all these kinds of lies are worse and baser by many -degrees than a lie plainly worded; so that no form of blinded conscience -is so far sunk as that which comforts itself for having deceived, -because the deception was by gesture or silence, instead of utterance; -and, finally, according to Tennyson's deep and trenchant line, "A lie -which is half a truth is ever the worst of lies." - -Sec. 15. Although, however, ungenerous cunning is usually so distinct an -outward manifestation of vulgarity, that I name it separately from -insensibility, it is in truth only an effect of insensibility, producing -want of affection to others, and blindness to the beauty of truth. The -degree in which political subtlety in men such as Richelieu, Machiavel, -or Metternich, will efface the gentleman, depends on the selfishness of -political purpose to which the cunning is directed, and on the base -delight taken in its use. The command, "Be ye wise as serpents, harmless -as doves," is the ultimate expression of this principle, misunderstood -usually because the word "wise" is referred to the intellectual power -instead of the subtlety of the serpent. The serpent has very little -intellectual power, but according to that which it has, it is yet, as of -old, the subtlest of the beasts of the field. - -Sec. 16. Another great sign of vulgarity is also, when traced to its root, -another phase of insensibility, namely, the undue regard to appearances -and manners, as in the households of vulgar persons, of all stations, -and the assumption of behavior, language, or dress unsuited to them, by -persons in inferior stations of life. I say "undue" regard to -appearances, because in the undueness consists, of course, the -vulgarity. It is due and wise in some sort to care for appearances, in -another sort undue and unwise. Wherein lies the difference? - -At first one is apt to answer quickly: the vulgarity is simply in -pretending to be what you are not. But that answer will not stand. A -queen may dress like a waiting maid,--perhaps succeed, if she chooses, -in passing for one; but she will not, therefore, be vulgar; nay, a -waiting maid may dress like a queen, and pretend to be one, and yet need -not be vulgar, unless there is inherent vulgarity in her. In Scribe's -very absurd but very amusing _Reine d'un jour_, a milliner's girl -sustains the part of a queen for a day. She several times amazes and -disgusts her courtiers by her straightforwardness; and once or twice -very nearly betrays herself to her maids of honor by an unqueenly -knowledge of sewing; but she is not in the least vulgar, for she is -sensitive, simple, and generous, and a queen could be no more. - -Sec. 17. Is the vulgarity, then, only in trying to play a part you cannot -play, so as to be continually detected? No; a bad amateur actor may be -continually detected in his part, but yet continually detected to be a -gentleman: a vulgar regard to appearances has nothing in it necessarily -of hypocrisy. You shall know a man not to be a gentleman by the perfect -and neat pronunciation of his words: but he does not pretend to -pronounce accurately; he _does_ pronounce accurately, the vulgarity is -in the real (not assumed) scrupulousness. - -Sec. 18. It will be found on farther thought, that a vulgar regard for -appearances is, primarily, a selfish one, resulting, not out of a wish, -to give pleasure (as a wife's wish to make herself beautiful for her -husband), but out of an endeavor to mortify others, or attract for -pride's sake;--the common "keeping up appearances" of society, being a -mere selfish struggle of the vain with the vain. But the deepest stain -of the vulgarity depends on this being done, not selfishly only, but -stupidly, without understanding the impression which is really produced, -nor the relations of importance between oneself and others, so as to -suppose that their attention is fixed upon us, when we are in reality -ciphers in their eyes--all which comes of insensibility. Hence pride -simple is not vulgar (the looking down on others because of their true -inferiority to us), nor vanity simple (the desire of praise), but -conceit simple (the attribution to ourselves of qualities we have not), -is always so. In cases of over-studied pronunciation, &c., there is -insensibility, first, in the person's thinking more of himself than of -what he is saying; and, secondly, in his not having musical fineness of -ear enough to feel that his talking is uneasy and strained. - -Sec. 19. Finally, vulgarity is indicated by coarseness of language or -manners, only so far as this coarseness has been contracted under -circumstances not necessarily producing it. The illiterateness of a -Spanish or Calabrian peasant is not vulgar, because they had never an -opportunity of acquiring letters; but the illiterateness of an English -school-boy is. So again, provincial dialect is not vulgar; but cockney -dialect, the corruption, by blunted sense, of a finer language -continually heard, is so in a deep degree; and again, of this corrupted -dialect, that is the worst which consists, not in the direct or -expressive alteration of the form of a word, but in an unmusical -destruction of it by dead utterance and bad or swollen formation of lip. -There is no vulgarity in-- - - "Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, - Blythe was she, but and ben, - And weel she liked a Hawick gill, - And leugh to see a tappit hen;" - -but much in Mrs. Gamp's inarticulate "bottle on the chumley-piece, and -let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged." - -Sec. 20. So also of personal defects, those only are vulgar which imply -insensibility or dissipation. - -There is no vulgarity in the emaciation of Don Quixote, the deformity of -the Black Dwarf, or the corpulence of Falstaff; but much in the same -personal characters, as they are seen in Uriah Heep, Quilp, and -Chadband. - -Sec. 21. One of the most curious minor questions in this matter is -respecting the vulgarity of excessive neatness, complicating itself with -inquiries into the distinction between base neatness, and the -perfectness of good execution in the fine arts. It will be found on -final thought that precision and exquisiteness of arrangement are always -noble; but become vulgar only when they arise from an equality -(insensibility) of temperament, which is incapable of fine passion, and -is set ignobly, and with a dullard mechanism, on accuracy in vile -things. In the finest Greek coins, the letters of the inscriptions are -purposely coarse and rude, while the relievi are wrought with -inestimable care. But in an English coin, the letters are the best done, -and the whole is unredeemably vulgar. In a picture of Titian's, an -inserted inscription will be complete in the lettering, as all the rest -is; because it costs Titian very little more trouble to draw rightly -than wrongly, and in him, therefore, impatience with the letters would -be vulgar, as in the Greek sculptor of the coin, patience would have -been. For the engraving of a letter accurately[3] is difficult work, -and his time must have been unworthily thrown away. - -Sec. 22. All the different impressions connected with negligence or -foulness depend, in like manner, on the degree of insensibility implied. -Disorder in a drawing-room is vulgar, in an antiquary's study, not; the -black battle-stain on a soldier's face is not vulgar, but the dirty face -of a housemaid is. - -And lastly, courage, so far as it is a sign of race, is peculiarly the -mark of a gentleman or a lady: but it becomes vulgar if rude or -insensitive, while timidity is not vulgar, if it be a characteristic of -race or fineness of make. A fawn is not vulgar in being timid, nor a -crocodile "gentle" because courageous. - -Sec. 23. Without following the inquiry into farther detail,[4] we may -conclude that vulgarity consists in a deadness of the heart and body, -resulting from prolonged, and especially from inherited conditions of -"degeneracy," or literally "un-racing;"--gentlemanliness, being another -word for an intense humanity. And vulgarity shows itself primarily in -dulness of heart, not in rage or cruelty, but in inability to feel or -conceive noble character or emotion. This is its essential, pure, and -most fatal form. Dulness of bodily sense and general stupidity, with -such forms of crime as peculiarly issue from stupidity, are its material -manifestation. - -Sec. 24. Two years ago, when I was first beginning to work out the subject, -and chatting with one of my keenest-minded friends (Mr. Brett, the -painter of the Val d'Aosta in the Exhibition of 1859), I casually asked -him, "What is vulgarity?" merely to see what he would say, not supposing -it possible to get a sudden answer. He thought for about a minute, then -answered quietly, "It is merely one of the forms of Death." I did not -see the meaning of the reply at the time; but on testing it, found that -it met every phase of the difficulties connected with the inquiry, and -summed the true conclusion. Yet, in order to be complete, it ought to be -made a distinctive as well as conclusive definition; showing _what_ -form of death vulgarity is; for death itself is not vulgar, but only -death mingled with life. I cannot, however, construct a short-worded -definition which will include all the minor conditions of bodily -degeneracy; but the term "deathful selfishness" will embrace all the -most fatal and essential forms of mental vulgarity. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] We ought always in pure English to use the term "good breeding" - literally; and to say "good nurture" for what we usually mean by good - breeding. Given the race and make of the animal, you may turn it to - good or bad account; you may spoil your good dog or colt, and make - him as vicious as you choose, or break his back at once by ill-usage; - and you may, on the other hand, make something serviceable and - respectable out of your poor cur or colt if you educate them - carefully; but ill bred they will both of them be to their lives' - end; and the best you will ever be able to say of them is, that they - are useful, and decently behaved ill-bred creatures. An error, which - is associated with the truth, and which makes it always look weak and - disputable, is the confusion of race with name; and the supposition - that the blood of a family must still be good, if its genealogy be - unbroken and its name not lost, though sire and son have been - indulging age after age in habits involving perpetual degeneracy of - race. Of course it is equally an error to suppose that, because a - man's name is common, his blood must be base; since his family may - have been ennobling it by pureness of moral habit for many - generations, and yet may not have got any title, or other sign of - nobleness attached to their names. Nevertheless, the probability is - always in favor of the race which has had acknowledged supremacy, and - in which every motive leads to the endeavor to preserve their true - nobility. - - [2] Among the reckless losses of the right service of intellectual - power with which this century must be charged, very few are, to my - mind, more to be regretted than that which is involved in its having - turned to no higher purpose than the illustration of the career of - Jack Sheppard, and of the Irish Rebellion, the great, grave (I use - the words deliberately and with large meaning), and singular genius - of Cruikshank. - - [3] There is this farther reason also: "Letters are always ugly - things"--(Seven Lamps, chap. iv. s. 9). Titian often wanted a certain - quantity of ugliness to oppose his beauty with, as a certain quantity - of black to oppose his color. He could regulate the size and quantity - of inscription as he liked; and, therefore, made it as neat--that is, - as effectively ugly--as possible. But the Greek sculptor could not - regulate either size or quantity of inscription. Legible it must be, - to common eyes, and contain an assigned group of words. He had more - ugliness than he wanted, or could endure. There was nothing for it - but to make the letters themselves rugged and picturesque; to give - them--that is, a certain quantity of organic variety. - - I do not wonder at people sometimes thinking I contradict myself when - they come suddenly on any of the scattered passages, in which I am - forced to insist on the opposite practical applications of subtle - principles of this kind. It may amuse the reader, and be finally - serviceable to him in showing him how necessary it is to the right - handling of any subject, that these contrary statements should be - made, if I assemble here the principal ones I remember having brought - forward, bearing on this difficult point of precision in execution. - - It would be well if you would first glance over the chapter on Finish - in the third volume; and if, coming to the fourth paragraph, about - gentlemen's carriages, you have time to turn to Sydney Smith's - Memoirs and read his account of the construction of the "Immortal," - it will furnish you with an interesting illustration. - - The general conclusion reached in that chapter being that finish, for - the sake of added truth, or utility, or beauty, is noble; but finish, - for the sake of workmanship, neatness, or polish, ignoble,--turn to - the fourth chapter of the Seven Lamps, where you will find the - Campanile of Giotto given as the model and mirror of perfect - architecture, just on account of its exquisite completion. Also, in - the next chapter, I expressly limit the delightfulness of rough and - imperfect work to developing and unformed schools (pp. 142-3, 1st - edition); then turn to the 170th page of the Stones of Venice, Vol. - III., and you will find this directly contrary statement:-- - - "No good work whatever can be perfect, and the demand for perfection - is always a sign of the misunderstanding of the end of art." ... "The - first cause of the fall of the arts in Europe was a relentless - requirement of perfection" (p. 172). By reading the intermediate - text, you will be put in possession of many good reasons for this - opinion; and, comparing it with that just cited about the Campanile - of Giotto, will be brought, I hope, into a wholesome state of not - knowing what to think. - - Then turn to p. 167, where the great law of finish is again - maintained as strongly as ever: "Perfect finish (finish, that is to - say, up to the point possible) is always desirable from the greatest - masters, and is always given by them."--Sec. 19. - - And, lastly, if you look to Sec. 19 of the chapter on the Early - Renaissance, you will find the profoundest respect paid to - completion; and, at the close of that chapter, Sec. 38, the principle is - resumed very strongly. "As _ideals of executive perfection_, these - palaces are most notable among the architecture of Europe, and the - Rio facade of the Ducal palace, as an example of finished masonry in - a vast building, is one of the finest things, not only in Venice, but - in the world." - - Now all these passages are perfectly true; and, as in much more - serious matters, the essential thing for the reader is to receive - their truth, however little he may be able to see their consistency. - If truths of apparent contrary character are candidly and rightly - received, they will fit themselves together in the mind without any - trouble. But no truth maliciously received will nourish you, or fit - with others. The clue of connection may in this case, however, be - given in a word. Absolute finish is always right; finish, - inconsistent with prudence and passion, wrong. The imperative demand - for finish is ruinous, because it refuses better things than finish. - The stopping short of the finish, which is honorably possible to - human energy, is destructive on the other side, and not in less - degree. Err, of the two, on the side of completion. - - [4] In general illustration of the subject, the following extract - from my private diary possesses some interest. It refers to two - portraits which happened to be placed opposite to each other in the - arrangement of a gallery; one, modern, of a (foreign) general on - horseback at a review; the other, by Vandyck, also an equestrian - portrait, of an ancestor of his family, whom I shall here simply call - the "knight:" - - "I have seldom seen so noble a Vandyck, chiefly because it is painted - with less flightiness and flimsiness than usual, with a grand - quietness and reserve--almost like Titian. The other is, on the - contrary, as vulgar and base a picture as I have ever seen, and it - becomes a matter of extreme interest to trace the cause of the - difference. - - "In the first place, everything the general and his horse wear is - evidently just made. It has not only been cleaned that morning, but - has been sent home from the tailor's in a hurry last night. Horse - bridle, saddle housings, blue coat, stars and lace thereupon, cocked - hat, and sword hilt--all look as if they had just been taken from a - shopboard in Pall Mall; the irresistible sense of the coat having - been brushed to perfection is the first sentiment which the picture - summons. The horse has also been rubbed down all the morning, and - shines from head to tail. - - "The knight rides in a suit of rusty armor. It has evidently been - polished also carefully, and gleams brightly here and there; but all - the polishing in the world will never take the battle-dints and - battle-darkness out of it. His horse is gray, not lustrous, but a - dark, lurid gray. Its mane is deep and soft: part of it shaken in - front over its forehead--the rest, in enormous masses of waving gold, - six feet long, falls streaming on its neck, and rises in currents of - softest light, rippled by the wind, over the rider's armor. The - saddle cloth is of a dim red, fading into leathern brown, gleaming - with sparkles of obscure gold. When, after looking a little while at - the soft mane of the Vandyck horse, we turn back to the general's, we - are shocked by the evident coarseness of its hair, which hangs, - indeed, in long locks over the bridle, but is stiff, crude, sharp - pointed, coarsely colored (a kind of buff); no fine drawing of - nostril or neck can give any look of nobleness to the animal which - carries such hair; it looks like a hobby-horse with tow glued to it, - which riotous children have half pulled out or scratched out. The - next point of difference is the isolation of Vandyck's figure, - compared with the modern painter's endeavor to ennoble his by - subduing others. The knight seems to be just going out of his castle - gates; his horse rears as he passes their pillars; there is nothing - behind but the sky. But the general is reviewing a regiment; the - ensign lowers its colors to him; he takes off his hat in return. All - which reviewing and bowing is in its very nature ignoble, wholly - unfit to be painted: a gentleman might as well be painted leaving his - card on somebody. And, in the next place, the modern painter has - thought to enhance his officer by putting the regiment some distance - back, and in the shade, so that the men look only about five feet - high, being besides very ill painted to keep them in better - subordination. One does not know whether most to despise the - feebleness of the painter who must have recourse to such an artifice, - or his vulgarity in being satisfied with it. I ought, by the way, - before leaving the point of dress, to have noted that the vulgarity - of the painter is considerably assisted by the vulgarity of the - costume itself. Not only is it base in being new, but base in that it - cannot last to be old. If one wanted a lesson on the ugliness of - modern costume, it could not be more sharply received than by turning - from one to the other horseman. The knight wears steel plate armor, - chased here and there with gold; the delicate, rich, pointed lace - collar falling on the embossed breastplate; his dark hair flowing - over his shoulders; a crimson silk scarf fastened round his waist, - and floating behind him; buff boots, deep folded at the instep, set - in silver stirrup. The general wears his hair cropped short; blue - coat, padded and buttoned; blue trowsers and red stripe; black shiny - boots; common saddler's stirrups; cocked hat in hand, suggestive of - absurd completion, when assumed. - - "Another thing noticeable as giving nobleness to the Vandyck is its - feminineness: the rich, light silken scarf, the flowing hair, the - delicate, sharp, though sunburnt features, and the lace collar, do - not in the least diminish the manliness, but _add_ feminineness. One - sees that the knight is indeed a soldier, but not a soldier only; - that he is accomplished in all ways, and tender in all thoughts: - while the general is represented as nothing but a soldier--and it is - very doubtful if he is even that--one is sure, at a glance, that if - he can do anything but put his hat off and on, and give words of - command, the anything must, at all events, have something to do with - the barracks; that there is no grace, nor music, nor softness, nor - learnedness, in the man's soul; that he is made up of forms and - accoutrements. - - "Lastly, the modern picture is as bad painting as it is wretched - conceiving, and one is struck, in looking from it to Vandyck's, - peculiarly by the fact that good work is always _enjoyed_ work. There - is not a touch of Vandyck's pencil but he seems to have revelled - in--not grossly, but delicately--tasting the color in every touch as - an epicure would wine. While the other goes on daub, daub, daub, like - a bricklayer spreading mortar--nay, with far less lightness of hand - or lightness of spirit than a good bricklayer's--covering his canvas - heavily and conceitedly at once, caring only but to catch the public - eye with his coarse, presumptuous, ponderous, illiterate work." - - Thus far my diary. In case it should be discovered by any one where - these pictures are, it should be noted that the vulgarity of the - modern one is wholly the painter's fault. It implies none in the - general (except bad taste in pictures). The same painter would have - made an equally vulgar portrait of Bayard. And as for taste in - pictures, the general's was not singular. I used to spend much time - before the Vandyck; and among all the tourist visitors to the - gallery, who were numerous, I never saw one look at it twice, but all - paused in respectful admiration before the padded surtout. The reader - will find, farther, many interesting and most valuable notes on the - subject of nobleness and vulgarity in Emerson's Essays, and every - phase of nobleness illustrated in Sir Kenelm Digby's "Broad Stone of - Honor." The best help I have ever had--so far as help depended on the - sympathy or praise of others in work which, year after year, it was - necessary to pursue through the abuse of the brutal and the base--was - given me, when this author, from whom I had first learned to love - nobleness, introduced frequent reference to my own writings in his - "Children's Bower." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -WOUVERMANS AND ANGELICO. - - -Sec. 1. Having determined the general nature of vulgarity, we are now able -to close our view of the character of the Dutch school. - -It is a strangely mingled one, which I have the more difficulty in -investigating, because I have no power of sympathy with it. However -inferior in capacity, I can enter measuredly into the feelings of -Correggio or of Titian; what they like, I like; what they disdain, I -disdain. Going lower down, I can still follow Salvator's passion, or -Albano's prettiness; and lower still, I can measure modern German -heroics, or French sensualities. I see what the people mean,--know where -they are, and what they are. But no effort of fancy will enable me to -lay hold of the temper of Teniers or Wouvermans, any more than I can -enter into the feelings of one of the lower animals. I cannot see why -they painted,--what they are aiming at,--what they liked or disliked. -All their life and work is the same sort of mystery to me as the mind of -my dog when he rolls on carrion. He is a well enough conducted dog in -other respects, and many of these Dutchmen were doubtless very -well-conducted persons: certainly they learned their business well; both -Teniers and Wouvermans touch with a workmanly hand, such as we cannot -see rivalled now; and they seem never to have painted indolently, but -gave the purchaser his thorough money's worth of mechanism, while the -burgesses who bargained for their cattle and card parties were probably -more respectable men than the princes who gave orders to Titian for -nymphs, and to Raphael for nativities. But whatever patient merit or -commercial value may be in Dutch labor, this at least is clear, that it -is wholly insensitive. - -The very mastery these men have of their business proceeds from their -never really seeing the whole of anything, but only that part of it -which they know how to do. Out of all nature they felt their function -was to extract the grayness and shininess. Give them a golden sunset, a -rosy dawn, a green waterfall, a scarlet autumn on the hills, and they -merely look curiously into it to see if there is anything gray and -glittering which can be painted on their common principles. - -Sec. 2. If this, however, were their only fault, it would not prove -absolute insensibility, any more than it could be declared of the makers -of Florentine tables, that they were blind or vulgar because they took -out of nature only what could be represented in agate. A Dutch picture -is, in fact, merely a Florentine table more finely touched: it has its -regular ground of slate, and its mother-of-pearl and tinsel put in with -equal precision; and perhaps the fairest view one can take of a Dutch -painter is, that he is a respectable tradesman furnishing well-made -articles in oil paint: but when we begin to examine the designs of these -articles, we may see immediately that it is his inbred vulgarity, and -not the chance of fortune, which has made him a tradesman, and kept him -one;--which essential character of Dutch work, as distinguished from all -other, may be best seen in that hybrid landscape, introduced by -Wouvermans and Berghem. Of this landscape Wouvermans' is the most -characteristic. It will be remembered that I called it "hybrid," because -it strove to unite the attractiveness of every other school. We will -examine the motives of one of the most elaborate Wouvermans -existing--the landscape with a hunting party, No. 208 in the Pinacothek -of Munich. - -Sec. 3. A large lake in the distance narrows into a river in the -foreground; but the river has no current, nor has the lake either -reflections or waves. It is a piece of gray slate-table, painted with -horizontal touches, and only explained to be water by boats upon it. -Some of the figures in these are fishing (the corks of a net are drawn -in bad perspective); others are bathing, one man pulling his shirt over -his ears, others are swimming. On the farther side of the river are some -curious buildings, half villa, half ruin; or rather ruin dressed. There -are gardens at the top of them, with beautiful and graceful trellised -architecture and wandering tendrils of vine. A gentleman is coming down -from a door in the ruins to get into his pleasure-boat. His servant -catches his dog. - -Sec. 4. On the nearer side of the river, a bank of broken ground rises from -the water's edge up to a group of very graceful and carefully studied -trees, with a French-antique statue on a pedestal in the midst of them, -at the foot of which are three musicians, and a well-dressed couple -dancing; their coach is in waiting behind. In the foreground are -hunters. A richly and highly-dressed woman, with falcon on fist, the -principal figure in the picture, is wrought with Wouvermans' best skill. -A stouter lady rides into the water after a stag and hind, who gallop -across the middle of the river without sinking. Two horsemen attend the -two Amazons, of whom one pursues the game cautiously, but the other is -thrown headforemost into the river, with a splash which shows it to be -deep at the edge, though the hart and hind find bottom in the middle. -Running footmen, with other dogs, are coming up, and children are -sailing a toy-boat in the immediate foreground. The tone of the whole is -dark and gray, throwing out the figures in spots of light, on -Wouvermans' usual system. The sky is cloudy, and very cold. - -Sec. 5. You observe that in this picture the painter has assembled all the -elements which he supposes pleasurable. We have music, dancing, hunting, -boating, fishing, bathing, and child-play, all at once. Water, wide and -narrow; architecture, rustic and classical; trees also of the finest; -clouds, not ill-shaped. Nothing wanting to our Paradise: not even -practical jest; for to keep us always laughing, somebody shall be for -ever falling with a splash into the Kishon. Things proceed, -nevertheless, with an oppressive quietude. The dancers are uninterested -in the hunters, the hunters in the dancers; the hirer of the -pleasure-boat perceives neither hart nor hind; the children are -unconcerned at the hunter's fall; the bathers regard not the draught of -fishes; the fishers fish among the bathers, without apparently -anticipating any diminution in their haul. - -Sec. 6. Let the reader ask himself, would it have been possible for the -painter in any clearer way to show an absolute, clay-cold, ice-cold -incapacity of understanding what a pleasure meant? Had he had as much -heart as a minnow, he would have given some interest to the fishing; -with the soul of a grasshopper, some spring to the dancing; had he half -the will of a dog, he would have made some one turn to look at the hunt, -or given a little fire to the dash down to the water's edge. If he had -been capable of pensiveness, he would not have put the pleasure-boat -under the ruin;--capable of cheerfulness, he would not have put the ruin -above the pleasure-boat. Paralyzed in heart and brain, he delivers his -inventoried articles of pleasure one by one to his ravenous customers; -palateless; gluttonous. "We cannot taste it. Hunting is not enough; let -us have dancing. That's dull; now give us a jest, or what is life! The -river is too narrow, let us have a lake; and, for mercy's sake, a -pleasure-boat, or how can we spend another minute of this languid day! -But what pleasure can be in a boat? let us swim; we see people always -drest, let us see them naked." - -Sec. 7. Such is the unredeemed, carnal appetite for mere sensual pleasure. -I am aware of no other painter who consults it so exclusively, without -one gleam of higher hope, thought, beauty, or passion. - -As the pleasure of Wouvermans, so also is his war. That, however, is not -hybrid, it is of one character only. - -The best example I know is the great battle-piece with the bridge, in -the gallery of Turin. It is said that when this picture, which had been -taken to Paris, was sent back, the French offered twelve thousand pounds -(300,000 francs) for permission to keep it. The report, true or not, -shows the estimation in which the picture is held at Turin. - -Sec. 8. There are some twenty figures in the melee whose faces can be seen -(about sixty in the picture altogether), and of these twenty, there is -not one whose face indicates courage or power; or anything but animal -rage and cowardice; the latter prevailing always. Every one is fighting -for his life, with the expression of a burglar defending himself at -extremity against a party of policemen. There is the same terror, fury, -and pain which a low thief would show on receiving a pistol-shot through -his arm. Most of them appear to be fighting only to get away; the -standard-bearer _is_ retreating, but whether with the enemies' flag or -his own I do not see; he slinks away with it, with reverted eye, as if -he were stealing a pocket-handkerchief. The swordsmen cut at each other -with clenched teeth and terrified eyes; they are too busy to curse each -other; but one sees that the feelings they have could be expressed no -otherwise than by low oaths. Far away, to the smallest figures in the -smoke, and to one drowning under the distant arch of the bridge, all are -wrought with a consummate skill in vulgar touch; there is no good -painting, properly so called, anywhere, but of clever, dotty, sparkling, -telling execution, as much as the canvas will hold, and much delicate -gray and blue color in the smoke and sky. - -Sec. 9. Now, in order fully to feel the difference between this view of -war, and a gentleman's, go, if possible, into our National Gallery, and -look at the young Malatesta riding into the battle of Sant' Egidio (as -he is painted by Paul Ucello). His uncle Carlo, the leader of the army, -a grave man of about sixty, has just given orders for the knights to -close: two have pushed forward with lowered lances, and the melee has -begun only a few yards in front; but the young knight, riding at his -uncle's side, has not yet put his helmet on, nor intends doing so, yet. -Erect he sits, and quiet, waiting for his captain's orders to charge; -calm as if he were at a hawking party, only more grave; his golden hair -wreathed about his proud white brow, as about a statue's. - -Sec. 10. "Yes," the thoughtful reader replies; "this may be pictorially -very beautiful; but those Dutchmen were good fighters, and generally won -the day; whereas, this very battle of Sant' Egidio, so calmly and -bravely begun, was lost." - -Indeed, it is very singular that unmitigated expressions of cowardice in -battle should be given by the painters of so brave a nation as the -Dutch. Not but that it is possible enough for a coward to be stubborn, -and a brave man weak; the one may win his battle by a blind persistence, -and the other lose it by a thoughtful vacillation. Nevertheless, the -want of all expression of resoluteness in Dutch battle-pieces remains, -for the present, a mystery to me. In those of Wouvermans, it is only a -natural development of his perfect vulgarity in all respects. - -Sec. 11. I do not think it necessary to trace farther the evidences of -insensitive conception in the Dutch school. I have associated the name -of Teniers with that of Wouvermans in the beginning of this chapter, -because Teniers is essentially the painter of the pleasures of the -ale-house and card-table, as Wouvermans of those of the chase; and the -two are leading masters of the peculiar Dutch trick of white touch on -gray or brown ground; but Teniers is higher in reach, and more honest in -manner. Berghem is the real associate of Wouvermans in the hybrid school -of landscape. But all three are alike insensitive; that is to say, -unspiritual or deathful, and that to the uttermost, in every -thought,--producing, therefore, the lowest phase of possible art of a -skilful kind. There are deeper elements in De Hooghe and Gerard Terburg; -sometimes expressed with superb quiet painting by the former; but the -whole school is inherently mortal to all its admirers; having by its -influence in England destroyed our perception of all purposes of -painting, and throughout the north of the Continent effaced the sense of -color among artists of every rank. - -We have, last, to consider what recovery has taken place from the -paralysis to which the influence of this Dutch art had reduced us in -England seventy years ago. But, in closing my review of older art, I -will endeavor to illustrate, by four simple examples, the main -directions of its spiritual power, and the cause of its decline. - -Sec. 12. The frontispiece of this volume is engraved from an old sketch of -mine, a pencil outline of the little Madonna by Angelico, in the -Annunciation preserved in the sacristy of Santa Maria Novella. This -Madonna has not, so far as I know, been engraved before, and it is one -of the most characteristic of the Purist school. I believe through all -my late work I have sufficiently guarded my readers from over-estimating -this school; but it is well to turn back to it now, from the wholly -carnal work of Wouvermans, in order to feel its purity: so that, if we -err, it may be on this side. The opposition is the most accurate which I -can set before the student, for the technical disposition of Wouvermans, -in his search after delicate form and minute grace, much resembles that -of Angelico. But the thoughts of Wouvermans are wholly of this world. -For him there is no heroism, awe, or mercy, hope, or faith. Eating and -drinking, and slaying; rage and lust; the pleasures and distresses of -the debased body--from these, his thoughts, if so we may call them, -never for an instant rise or range. - -Sec. 13. The soul of Angelico is in all ways the precise reverse of this; -habitually as incognizant of any earthly pleasure as Wouvermans of any -heavenly one. Both are exclusive with absolute exclusiveness;--neither -desiring nor conceiving anything beyond their respective spheres. -Wouvermans lives under gray clouds, his lights come out as spots. -Angelico lives in an unclouded light: his shadows themselves are color; -his lights are not the spots, but his darks. Wouvermans lives in -perpetual tumult--tramp of horse--clash of cup--ring of pistol-shot. -Angelico in perpetual peace. Not seclusion from the world. No shutting -out of the world is needful for him. There is nothing to shut out. Envy, -lust, contention, discourtesy, are to him as though they were not; and -the cloister walk of Fiesole no penitential solitude, barred from the -stir and joy of life, but a possessed land of tender blessing, guarded -from the entrance of all but holiest sorrow. The little cell was as one -of the houses of heaven prepared for him by his master. "What need had -it to be elsewhere? Was not the Val d'Arno, with its olive woods in -white blossom, paradise enough for a poor monk? or could Christ be -indeed in heaven more than here? Was he not always with him? Could he -breathe or see, but that Christ breathed beside him and looked into his -eyes? Under every cypress avenue the angels walked; he had seen their -white robes, whiter than the dawn, at his bedside, as he awoke in early -summer. They had sung with him, one on each side, when his voice failed -for joy at sweet vesper and matin time; his eyes were blinded by their -wings in the sunset, when it sank behind the hills of Luni." - -There may be weakness in this, but there is no baseness; and while I -rejoice in all recovery from monasticism which leads to practical and -healthy action in the world, I must, in closing this work, severely -guard my pupils from the thought that sacred rest may be honorably -exchanged for selfish and mindless activity. - -Sec. 14. In order to mark the temper of Angelico, by a contrast of another -kind, I give, in Fig. 99, a facsimile of one of the heads in Salvator's -etching of the Academy of Plato. It is accurately characteristic of -Salvator, showing, by quite a central type, his indignant, desolate, and -degraded power. I could have taken unspeakably baser examples from -others of his etchings, but they would have polluted my book, and been -in some sort unjust, representing only the worst part of his work. This -head, which is as elevated a type as he ever reaches, is assuredly -debased enough; and a sufficient image of the mind of the painter of -Catiline and the Witch of Endor. - -[Illustration: FIG. 99.] - -Sec. 15. Then, in Fig. 100, you have also a central type of the mind of -Durer. Complete, yet quaint; severely rational and practical, yet -capable of the highest imaginative religious feeling, and as gentle as a -child's, it seemed to be well represented by this figure of the old -bishop, with all the infirmities, and all the victory, of his life, -written on his calm, kind, and worldly face. He has been no dreamer, nor -persecutor, but a helpful and undeceivable man; and by careful -comparison of this conception with the common kinds of episcopal ideal -in modern religious art, you will gradually feel how the force of Durer -is joined with an unapproachable refinement, so that he can give the -most practical view of whatever he treats, without the slightest taint -or shadow of vulgarity. Lastly, the fresco of Giorgione, Plate 79, which -is as fair a type as I am able to give in any single figure, of the -central Venetian art, will complete for us a series, sufficiently -symbolical, of the several ranks of art, from lowest to highest.[1] In -Wouvermans (of whose work I suppose no example is needed, it being so -generally known), we have the entirely carnal mind,--wholly versed in -the material world, and incapable of conceiving any goodness or -greatness whatsoever. - -[Illustration: FIG. 100. _To face page 284._] - -In Angelico, you have the entirely spiritual mind, wholly versed in the -heavenly world, and incapable of conceiving any wickedness or vileness -whatsoever. - -In Salvator, you have an awakened conscience, and some spiritual power, -contending with evil, but conquered by it, and brought into captivity to -it. - -In Durer, you have a far purer conscience and higher spiritual power, -yet, with some defect still in intellect, contending with evil, and -nobly prevailing over it; yet retaining the marks of the contest, and -never so entirely victorious as to conquer sadness. - -In Giorgione, you have the same high spiritual power and practical -sense; but now, with entirely perfect intellect, contending with evil; -conquering it utterly, casting it away for ever, and rising beyond it -into magnificence of rest. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] As I was correcting these pages, there was put into my hand a - little work by a very dear friend--"Travels and Study in Italy," by - Charles Eliot Norton;--I have not yet been able to do more than - glance at it; but my impression is, that by carefully reading it, - together with the essay by the same writer on the Vita Nuova of - Dante, a more just estimate may be formed of the religious art of - Italy than by the study of any other books yet existing. At least, I - have seen none in which the tone of thought was at once so tender and - so just. - - I had hoped, before concluding this book, to have given it higher - value by extracts from the works which have chiefly helped or guided - me, especially from the writings of Helps, Lowell, and the Rev. A. J. - Scott. But if I were to begin making such extracts, I find that I - should not know, either in justice or affection, how to end. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE TWO BOYHOODS. - - -Sec. 1. Born half-way between the mountains and the sea--that young George -of Castelfranco--of the Brave Castle:--Stout George they called him, -George of Georges, so goodly a boy he was--Giorgione. - -Have you ever thought what a world his eyes opened on--fair, searching -eyes of youth? What a world of mighty life, from those mountain roots to -the shore;--of loveliest life, when he went down, yet so young, to the -marble city--and became himself as a fiery heart to it? - -A city of marble, did I say? nay, rather a golden city, paved with -emerald. For truly, every pinnacle and turret glanced or glowed, -overlaid with gold, or bossed with jasper. Beneath, the unsullied sea -drew in deep breathing, to and fro, its eddies of green wave. -Deep-hearted, majestic, terrible as the sea,--the men of Venice moved in -sway of power and war; pure as her pillars of alabaster, stood her -mothers and maidens; from foot to brow, all noble, walked her knights; -the low bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armor shot angrily under their -blood-red mantle-folds. Fearless, faithful, patient, impenetrable, -implacable,--every word a fate--sate her senate. In hope and honor, -lulled by flowing of wave around their isles of sacred sand, each with -his name written and the cross graved at his side, lay her dead. A -wonderful piece of world. Rather, itself a world. It lay along the face -of the waters, no larger, as its captains saw it from their masts at -evening, than a bar of sunset that could not pass away; but, for its -power, it must have seemed to them as if they were sailing in the -expanse of heaven, and this a great planet, whose orient edge widened -through ether. A world from which all ignoble care and petty thoughts -were banished, with all the common and poor elements of life. No -foulness, nor tumult, in those tremulous streets, that filled, or fell, -beneath the moon; but rippled music of majestic change, or thrilling -silence. No weak walls could rise above them; no low-roofed cottage, nor -straw-built shed. Only the strength as of rock, and the finished setting -of stones most precious. And around them, far as the eye could reach, -still the soft moving of stainless waters, proudly pure; as not the -flower, so neither the thorn nor the thistle, could grow in the glancing -fields. Ethereal strength of Alps, dream-like, vanishing in high -procession beyond the Torcellan shore; blue islands of Paduan hills, -poised in the golden west. Above, tree winds and fiery clouds ranging at -their will;--brightness out of the north, and balm from the south, and -the stars of the evening and morning clear in the limitless light of -arched heaven and circling sea. - -Such was Giorgione's school--such Titian's home. - -Sec. 2. Near the south-west corner of Covent Garden, a square brick pit or -well is formed by a close-set block of houses, to the back windows of -which it admits a few rays of light. Access to the bottom of it is -obtained out of Maiden Lane, through a low archway and an iron gate; and -if you stand long enough under the archway to accustom your eyes to the -darkness, you may see on the left hand a narrow door, which formerly -gave quiet access to a respectable barber's shop, of which the front -window, looking into Maiden Lane, is still extant, filled in this year -(1860), with a row of bottles, connected, in some defunct manner, with a -brewer's business. A more fashionable neighborhood, it is said, eighty -years ago than now--never certainly a cheerful one--wherein a boy being -born on St. George's day, 1775, began soon after to take interest in the -world of Covent Garden, and put to service such spectacles of life as it -afforded. - -Sec. 3. No knights to be seen there, nor, I imagine, many beautiful ladies; -their costume at least disadvantageous, depending much on incumbency of -hat and feather, and short waists; the majesty of men founded similarly -on shoebuckles and wigs;--impressive enough when Reynolds will do his -best for it; but not suggestive of much ideal delight to a boy. - -"Bello ovile dov' io dormii agnello:" of things beautiful, besides men -and women, dusty sunbeams up or down the street on summer mornings; -deep furrowed cabbage leaves at the greengrocer's; magnificence of -oranges in wheelbarrows round the corner; and Thames' shore within three -minutes' race. - -Sec. 4. None of these things very glorious; the best, however, that -England, it seems, was then able to provide for a boy of gift: who, such -as they are, loves them--never, indeed, forgets them. The short waists -modify to the last his visions of Greek ideal. His foregrounds had -always a succulent cluster or two of greengrocery at the corners. -Enchanted oranges gleam in Covent Gardens of the Hesperides; and great -ships go to pieces in order to scatter chests of them on the waves. That -mist of early sunbeams in the London dawn crosses, many and many a time, -the clearness of Italian air; and by Thames' shore, with its stranded -barges and glidings of red sail, dearer to us than Lucerne lake or -Venetian lagoon,--by Thames' shore we will die. - -Sec. 5. With such circumstance round him in youth, let us note what -necessary effects followed upon the boy. I assume him to have had -Giorgione's sensibility (and more than Giorgione's, if that be possible) -to color and form. I tell you farther, and this fact you may receive -trustfully, that his sensibility to human affection and distress was no -less keen than even his sense for natural beauty--heart-sight deep as -eye-sight. - -Consequently, he attaches himself with the faithfullest child-love to -everything that bears an image of the place he was born in. No matter -how ugly it is,--has it anything about it like Maiden Lane, or like -Thames' shore? If so, it shall be painted for their sake. Hence, to the -very close of life, Turner could endure ugliness which no one else, of -the same sensibility, would have borne with for an instant. Dead brick -walls, blank square windows, old clothes, market-womanly types of -humanity--anything fishy and muddy, like Billingsgate or Hungerford -Market, had great attraction for him; black barges, patched sails, and -every possible condition of fog. - -Sec. 6. You will find these tolerations and affections guiding or -sustaining him to the last hour of his life; the notablest of all such -endurances being that of dirt. No Venetian ever draws anything foul; but -Turner devoted picture after picture to the illustration of effects of -dinginess, smoke, soot, dust, and dusty texture; old sides of boats, -weedy roadside vegetation, dung-hills, straw-yards, and all the -soilings and stains of every common labor. - -And more than this, he not only could endure, but enjoyed and looked for -_litter_, like Covent Garden wreck after the market. His pictures are -often full of it, from side to side; their foregrounds differ from all -others in the natural way that things have of lying about in them. Even -his richest vegetation, in ideal work, is confused; and he delights in -shingle, debris, and heaps of fallen stones. The last words he ever -spoke to me about a picture were in gentle exaltation about his St. -Gothard: "that _litter_ of stones which I endeavored to represent." - -Sec. 7. The second great result of this Covent Garden training was, -understanding of and regard for the poor, whom the Venetians, we saw, -despised; whom, contrarily, Turner loved, and more than -loved--understood. He got no romantic sight of them, but an infallible -one, as he prowled about the end of his lane, watching night effects in -the wintry streets; nor sight of the poor alone, but of the poor in -direct relations with the rich. He knew, in good and evil, what both -classes thought of, and how they dwelt with, each other. - -Reynolds and Gainsborough, bred in country villages, learned there the -country boy's reverential theory of "the squire," and kept it. They -painted the squire and the squire's lady as centres of the movements of -the universe, to the end of their lives. But Turner perceived the -younger squire in other aspects about his lane, occurring prominently in -its night scenery, as a dark figure, or one of two, against the -moonlight. He saw also the working of city commerce, from endless -warehouse, towering over Thames, to the back shop in the lane, with its -stale herrings--highly interesting these last; one of his fathers best -friends, whom he often afterwards visited affectionately at Bristol, -being a fish-monger and glueboiler; which gives us a friendly turn of -mind towards herring-fishing, whaling, Calais poissardes, and many other -of our choicest subjects in after life; all this being connected with -that mysterious forest below London Bridge on one side;--and, on the -other, with these masses of human power and national wealth which weigh -upon us, at Covent Garden here, with strange compression, and crush us -into narrow Hand Court. - -Sec. 8. "That mysterious forest below London Bridge"--better for the boy -than wood of pine, or grove of myrtle. How he must have tormented the -watermen, beseeching them to let him crouch anywhere in the bows, quiet -as a log, so only that he might get floated down there among the ships, -and round and round the ships, and with the ships, and by the ships, and -under the ships, staring and clambering;--these the only quite beautiful -things he can see in all the world, except the sky; but these, when the -sun is on their sails, filling or falling, endlessly disordered by sway -of tide and stress of anchorage, beautiful unspeakably; which ships also -are inhabited by glorious creatures--redfaced sailors, with pipes, -appearing over the gunwales, true knights, over their castle -parapets--the most angelic beings in the whole compass of London world. -And Trafalgar happening long before we can draw ships, we, nevertheless, -coax all current stories out of the wounded sailors, do our best at -present to show Nelson's funeral streaming up the Thames; and vow that -Trafalgar shall have its tribute of memory some day. Which, accordingly, -is accomplished--once, with all our might, for its death; twice, with -all our might, for its victory; thrice, in pensive farewell to the old -Temeraire, and, with it, to that order of things. - -Sec. 9. Now this fond companying with sailors must have divided his time, -it appears to me, pretty equally between Covent Garden and Wapping -(allowing for incidental excursions to Chelsea on one side, and -Greenwich on the other), which time he would spend pleasantly, but not -magnificently, being limited in pocket-money, and leading a kind of -"Poor-Jack" life on the river. - -In some respects, no life could be better for a lad. But it was not -calculated to make his ear fine to the niceties of language, nor form -his moralities on an entirely regular standard. Picking up his first -scraps of vigorous English chiefly at Deptford and in the markets, and -his first ideas of female tenderness and beauty among nymphs of the -barge and the barrow,--another boy might, perhaps, have become what -people usually term "vulgar." But the original make and frame of -Turner's mind being not vulgar, but as nearly as possible a combination -of the minds of Keats and Dante, joining capricious waywardness, and -intense openness to every fine pleasure of sense, and hot defiance of -formal precedent, with a quite infinite tenderness, generosity, and -desire of justice and truth--this kind of mind did not become vulgar, -but very tolerant of vulgarity, even fond of it in some forms; and, on -the outside, visibly infected by it, deeply enough; the curious result, -in its combination of elements, being to most people wholly -incomprehensible. It was as if a cable had been woven of blood-crimson -silk, and then tarred on the outside. People handled it, and the tar -came off on their hands; red gleams were seen through the black, -underneath, at the places where it had been strained. Was it -ochre?--said the world--or red lead? - -Sec. 10. Schooled thus in manners, literature, and general moral principles -at Chelsea and Wapping, we have finally to inquire concerning the most -important point of all. We have seen the principal differences between -this boy and Giorgione, as respects sight of the beautiful, -understanding of poverty, of commerce, and of order of battle; then -follows another cause of difference in our training--not slight,--the -aspect of religion, namely, in the neighborhood of Covent Garden. I say -the aspect; for that was all the lad could judge by. Disposed, for the -most part, to learn chiefly by his eyes, in this special matter he finds -there is really no other way of learning. His father taught him "to lay -one penny upon another." Of mother's teaching, we hear of none; of -parish pastoral teaching, the reader may guess how much. - -Sec. 11. I chose Giorgione rather than Veronese to help me in carrying out -this parallel; because I do not find in Giorgione's work any of the -early Venetian monarchist element. He seems to me to have belonged more -to an abstract contemplative school. I may be wrong in this; it is no -matter;--suppose it were so, and that he came down to Venice somewhat -recusant, or insentient, concerning the usual priestly doctrines of his -day,--how would the Venetian religion, from an outer intellectual -standing-point, have _looked_ to him? - -Sec. 12. He would have seen it to be a religion indisputably powerful in -human affairs; often very harmfully so; sometimes devouring widows' -houses, and consuming the strongest and fairest from among the young; -freezing into merciless bigotry the policy of the old: also, on the -other hand, animating national courage, and raising souls, otherwise -sordid, into heroism: on the whole, always a real and great power; -served with daily sacrifice of gold, time, and thought; putting forth -its claims, if hypocritically, at least in bold hypocrisy, not waiving -any atom of them in doubt or fear; and, assuredly, in large measure, -sincere, believing in itself, and believed: a goodly system, moreover, -in aspect; gorgeous, harmonious, mysterious;--a thing which had either -to be obeyed or combated, but could not be scorned. A religion towering -over all the city--many buttressed--luminous in marble stateliness, as -the dome of our Lady of Safety shines over the sea; many-voiced also, -giving, over all the eastern seas, to the sentinel his watchword, to the -soldier his war-cry; and, on the lips of all who died for Venice, -shaping the whisper of death. - -Sec. 13. I suppose the boy Turner to have regarded the religion of his city -also from an external intellectual standing-point. - -What did he see in Maiden Lane? - -Let not the reader be offended with me; I am willing to let him -describe, at his own pleasure, what Turner saw there; but to me, it -seems to have been this. A religion maintained occasionally, even the -whole length of the lane, at point of constable's staff; but, at other -times, placed under the custody of the beadle, within certain black and -unstately iron railings of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Among the -wheelbarrows and over the vegetables, no perceptible dominance of -religion; in the narrow, disquieted streets, none; in the tongues, -deeds, daily ways of Maiden Lane, little. Some honesty, indeed, and -English industry, and kindness of heart, and general idea of justice; -but faith, of any national kind, shut up from one Sunday to the next, -not artistically beautiful even in those Sabbatical exhibitions; its -paraphernalia being chiefly of high pews, heavy elocution, and cold -grimness of behavior. - -What chiaroscuro belongs to it--(dependent mostly on candlelight),--we -will, however, draw considerately; no goodliness of escutcheon, nor -other respectability being omitted, and the best of their results -confessed, a meek old woman and a child being let into a pew, for whom -the reading by candlelight will be beneficial.[1] - -Sec. 14. For the rest, this religion seems to him -discreditable--discredited--not believing in itself, putting forth its -authority in a cowardly way, watching how far it might be tolerated, -continually shrinking, disclaiming, fencing, finessing; divided against -itself, not by stormy rents, but by thin fissures, and splittings of -plaster from the walls. Not to be either obeyed, or combated, by an -ignorant, yet clear-sighted youth; only to be scorned. And scorned not -one whit the less, though also the dome dedicated to _it_ looms high -over distant winding of the Thames; as St. Mark's campanile rose, for -goodly landmark, over mirage of lagoon. For St. Mark ruled over life; -the Saint of London over death; St. Mark over St. Mark's Place, but St. -Paul over St. Paul's Churchyard. - -Sec. 15. Under these influences pass away the first reflective hours of -life, with such conclusion as they can reach. In consequence of a fit of -illness, he was taken--I cannot ascertain in what year--to live with an -aunt, at Brentford; and here, I believe, received some schooling, which -he seems to have snatched vigorously; getting knowledge, at least by -translation, of the more picturesque classical authors, which he turned -presently to use, as we shall see. Hence also, walks about Putney and -Twickenham in the summer time acquainted him with the look of English -meadow-ground in its restricted states of paddock and park; and with -some round-headed appearances of trees, and stately entrances to houses -of mark: the avenue at Bushy, and the iron gates and carved pillars of -Hampton, impressing him apparently with great awe and admiration; so -that in after life his little country house is,--of all places in the -world,--at Twickenham! Of swans and reedy shores he now learns the soft -motion and the green mystery, in a way not to be forgotten. - -Sec. 16. And at last fortune wills that the lad's true life shall begin; -and one summer's evening, after various wonderful stage-coach -experiences on the north road, which gave him a love of stage-coaches -ever after, he finds himself sitting alone among the Yorkshire hills.[2] -For the first time, the silence of Nature round him, her freedom sealed -to him, her glory opened to him. Peace at last; no roll of cart-wheel, -nor mutter of sullen voices in the back shop; but curlew-cry in space of -heaven, and welling of bell-toned streamlet by its shadowy rock. Freedom -at last. Dead-wall, dark railing, fenced field, gated garden, all passed -away like the dream of a prisoner; and behold, far as foot or eye can -race or range, the moor, and cloud. Loveliness at last. It is here then, -among these deserted vales! Not among men. Those pale, poverty-struck, -or cruel faces;--that multitudinous, marred humanity--are not the only -things that God has made. Here is something He has made which no one has -marred. Pride of purple rocks, and river pools of blue, and tender -wilderness of glittering trees, and misty lights of evening on -immeasurable hills. - -Sec. 17. Beauty, and freedom, and peace; and yet another teacher, graver -than these. Sound preaching at last here, in Kirkstall crypt, concerning -fate and life. Here, where the dark pool reflects the chancel pillars, -and the cattle lie in unhindered rest, the soft sunshine on their -dappled bodies, instead of priests' vestments; their white furry hair -ruffled a little, fitfully, by the evening wind, deep-scented from the -meadow thyme. - -Sec. 18. Consider deeply the import to him of this, his first sight of -ruin, and compare it with the effect of the architecture that was around -Giorgione. There were indeed aged buildings, at Venice, in his time, but -none in decay. All ruin was removed, and its place filled as quickly as -in our London; but filled always by architecture loftier and more -wonderful than that whose place it took, the boy himself happy to work -upon the walls of it; so that the idea of the passing away of the -strength of men and beauty of their works never could occur to him -sternly. Brighter and brighter the cities of Italy had been rising and -broadening on hill and plain, for three hundred years. He saw only -strength and immortality, could not but paint both; conceived the form -of man as deathless, calm with power, and fiery with life. - -Sec. 19. Turner saw the exact reverse of this. In the present work of men, -meanness, aimlessness, unsightliness: thin-walled, lath-divided, -narrow-garreted houses of clay; booths of a darksome Vanity Fair, busily -base. - -But on Whitby Hill, and by Bolton Brook, remained traces of other -handiwork. Men who could build had been there; and who also had wrought, -not merely for their own days. But to what purpose? Strong faith, and -steady hands, and patient souls--can this, then, be all you have left! -this the sum of your doing on the earth!--a nest whence the night-owl -may whimper to the brook, and a ribbed skeleton of consumed arches, -looming above the bleak banks of mist, from its cliff to the sea? - -As the strength of men to Giorgione, to Turner their weakness and -vileness, were alone visible. They themselves, unworthy or ephemeral; -their work, despicable, or decayed. In the Venetian's eyes, all beauty -depended on man's presence and pride; in Turner's, on the solitude he -had left, and the humiliation he had suffered. - -Sec. 20. And thus the fate and issue of all his work were determined at -once. He must be a painter of the strength of nature, there was no -beauty elsewhere than in that; he must paint also the labor and sorrow -and passing away of men; this was the great human truth visible to him. - -Their labor, their sorrow, and their death. Mark the three. Labor; by -sea and land, in field and city, at forge and furnace, helm and plough. -No pastoral indolence nor classic pride shall stand between him and the -troubling of the world; still less between him and the toil of his -country,--blind, tormented, unwearied, marvellous England. - -Sec. 21. Also their Sorrow; Ruin of all their glorious work, passing away -of their thoughts and their honor, mirage of pleasure, FALLACY OF HOPE; -gathering of weed on temple step; gaining of wave on deserted strand; -weeping of the mother for the children, desolate by her breathless -first-born in the streets of the city,[3] desolate by her last sons -slain, among the beasts of the field.[4] - -Sec. 22. And their Death. That old Greek question again;--yet unanswered. -The unconquerable spectre still flitting among the forest trees at -twilight; rising ribbed out of the sea-sand;--white, a strange -Aphrodite,--out of the sea-foam; stretching its gray, cloven wings among -the clouds; turning the light of their sunsets into blood. This has to -be looked upon, and in a more terrible shape than ever Salvator or Durer -saw it. The wreck of one guilty country does not infer the ruin of all -countries, and need not cause general terror respecting the laws of the -universe. Neither did the orderly and narrow succession of domestic joy -and sorrow in a small German community bring the question in its -breadth, or in any unresolvable shape, before the mind of Durer. But the -English death--the European death of the nineteenth century--was of -another range and power; more terrible a thousand-fold in its merely -physical grasp and grief; more terrible, incalculably, in its mystery -and shame. What were the robber's casual pang, or the rage of the flying -skirmish, compared to the work of the axe, and the sword, and the -famine, which was done during this man's youth on all the hills and -plains of the Christian earth, from Moscow to Gibraltar. He was eighteen -years old when Napoleon came down on Arcola. Look on the map of Europe, -and count the blood-stains on it, between Arcola and Waterloo. - -Sec. 23. Not alone those blood-stains on the Alpine snow, and the blue of -the Lombard plain. The English death was before his eyes also. No -decent, calculable, consoled dying; no passing to rest like that of the -aged burghers of Nuremberg town. No gentle processions to churchyards -among the fields, the bronze crests bossed deep on the memorial tablets, -and the skylark singing above them from among the corn. But the life -trampled out in the slime of the street, crushed to dust amidst the -roaring of the wheel, tossed countlessly away into howling winter wind -along five hundred leagues of rock-fanged shore. Or, worst of all, -rotted down to forgotten graves through years of ignorant patience, and -vain seeking for help from man, for hope in God--infirm, imperfect -yearning, as of motherless infants starving at the dawn; oppressed -royalties of captive thought, vague ague-fits of bleak, amazed despair. - -Sec. 24. A goodly landscape this, for the lad to paint, and under a goodly -light. Wide enough the light was, and clear; no more Salvator's lurid -chasm on jagged horizon, nor Durer's spotted rest of sunny gleam on -hedgerow and field; but light over all the world. Full shone now its -awful globe, one pallid charnel-house,--a ball strewn bright with human -ashes, glaring in poised sway beneath the sun, all blinding-white with -death from pole to pole,--death, not of myriads of poor bodies only, but -of will, and mercy, and conscience; death, not once inflicted on the -flesh, but daily, fastening on the spirit; death, not silent or patient, -waiting his appointed hour, but voiceful, venomous; death with the -taunting word, and burning grasp, and infixed sting. - -"Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe." The word is spoken in -our ears continually to other reapers than the angels--to the busy -skeletons that never tire for stooping. When the measure of iniquity is -full, and it seems that another day might bring repentance and -redemption,--"Put ye in the sickle." When the young life has been wasted -all away, and the eyes are just opening upon the tracks of ruin, and -faint resolution rising in the heart for nobler things,--"Put ye in the -sickle." When the roughest blows of fortune have been borne long and -bravely, and the hand is just stretched to grasp its goal,--"Put ye in -the sickle." And when there are but a few in the midst of a nation, to -save it, or to teach, or to cherish; and all its life is bound up in -those few golden ears,--"Put ye in the sickle, pale reapers, and pour -hemlock for your feast of harvest home." - -This was the sight which opened on the young eyes, this the watchword -sounding within the heart of Turner in his youth. - -So taught, and prepared for his life's labor, sate the boy at last alone -among his fair English hills; and began to paint, with cautious toil, -the rocks, and fields, and trickling brooks, and soft, white clouds of -heaven. - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] Liber Studiorum. "Interior of a church." It is worthy of remark - that Giorgione and Titian are always delighted to have an opportunity - of drawing priests. The English Church may, perhaps, accept it as - matter of congratulation that this is the only instance in which - Turner drew a clergyman. - - [2] I do not mean that this is his first acquaintance with the - country, but the first impressive and touching one, after his mind - was formed. The earliest sketches I found in the National Collection - are at Clifton and Bristol; the next, at Oxford. - - [3] "The Tenth Plague of Egypt." - - [4] "Rizpah, the Daughter of Aiah." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE NEREID'S GUARD. - - -Sec. 1. The work of Turner, in its first period, is said in my account of -his drawings at the National Gallery to be distinguished by "boldness of -handling, generally gloomy tendency of mind, subdued color, and -perpetual reference to precedent in composition." I must refer the -reader to those two catalogues[1] for a more special account of his -early modes of technical study. Here we are concerned only with the -expression of that gloomy tendency of mind, whose causes we are now -better able to understand. - -Sec. 2. It was prevented from overpowering him by his labor. This, -continual, and as tranquil in its course as a ploughman's in the field, -by demanding an admirable humility and patience, averted the tragic -passion of youth. Full of stern sorrow and fixed purpose, the boy set -himself to his labor silently and meekly, like a workman's child on its -first day at the cotton-mill. Without haste, but without -relaxation,--accepting all modes and means of progress, however painful -or humiliating, he took the burden on his shoulder and began his march. -There was nothing so little, but that he noticed it; nothing so great -but he began preparations to cope with it. For some time his work is, -apparently, feelingless, so patient and mechanical are the first essays. -It gains gradually in power and grasp; there is no perceptible _aim_ at -freedom, or at fineness, but the force insensibly becomes swifter, and -the touch finer. The color is always dark or subdued. - -[Illustration: 78. Quivi Trovammo.] - -Sec. 3. Of the first forty subjects which he exhibited at the Royal -Academy, thirty-one are architectural, and of these twenty-one are of -elaborate Gothic architecture (Peterborough cathedral, Lincoln -cathedral, Malmesbury abbey, Tintern abbey, &c.). I look upon the -discipline given to his hand by these formal drawings as of the highest -importance. His mind was also gradually led by them into a calmer -pensiveness.[2] Education amidst country possessing architectural -remains of some noble kind, I believe to be wholly essential to the -progress of a landscape artist. The first verses he ever attached to a -picture were in 1798. They are from Paradise Lost, and refer to a -picture of Morning, on the Coniston Fells:-- - - "Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise - From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray, - Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold, - In honor to the world's great Author rise." - -By glancing over the verses, which in following years[3] he quotes from -Milton, Thompson, and Mallet, it may be seen at once how his mind was -set, so far as natural scenes were concerned, on rendering atmospheric -effect;--and so far as emotion was to be expressed, how consistently it -was melancholy. - -He paints, first of heroic or meditative subjects, the Fifth Plague of -Egypt; next, the Tenth Plague of Egypt. His first tribute to the memory -of Nelson is the "Battle of the Nile," 1799. I presume an unimportant -picture, as his power was not then availably developed. His first -classical subject is Narcissus and Echo, in 1805:-- - - "So melts the youth and languishes away, - His beauty withers, and his limbs decay." - -The year following he summons his whole strength, and paints what we -might suppose would be a happier subject, the Garden of the Hesperides. -This being the most important picture of the first period, I will -analyze it completely. - -Sec. 4. The fable of the Hesperides had, it seems to me, in the Greek mind -two distinct meanings; the first referring to natural phenomena, and the -second to moral. The natural meaning of it I believe to have been -this:-- - -The Garden of the Hesperides was supposed to exist in the westernmost -part of the Cyrenaica; it was generally the expression for the beauty -and luxuriant vegetation of the coast of Africa in that district. The -centre of the Cyrenaica "is occupied by a moderately elevated -table-land, whose edge runs parallel to the coast, to which it sinks -down in a succession of terraces, clothed with verdure, intersected by -mountain streams running through ravines filled with the richest -vegetation; well watered by frequent rains, exposed to the cool sea -breeze from the north, and sheltered by the mass of the mountain from -the sands and hot winds of the Sahara."[4] - -The Greek colony of Cyrene itself was founded ten miles from the -sea-shore, "in a spot backed by the mountains on the south, and thus -sheltered from the fiery blasts of the desert; while at the height of -about 1800 feet an inexhaustible spring bursts forth amidst luxuriant -vegetation, and pours its waters down to the Mediterranean through a -most beautiful ravine." - -The nymphs of the west, or Hesperides, are therefore, I believe, as -natural types, the representatives of the soft western winds and -sunshine, which were in this district most favorable to vegetation. In -this sense they are called daughters of Atlas and Hesperis, the western -winds being cooled by the snow of Atlas. The dragon, on the contrary, is -the representative of the Sahara wind, or Simoom, which blew over the -garden from among the hills on the south, and forbade all advance of -cultivation beyond their ridge. Whether this was the physical meaning of -the tradition in the Greek mind or not, there can be no doubt of its -being Turner's first interpretation of it. A glance at the picture may -determine this: a clear fountain being made the principal object in the -foreground,--a bright and strong torrent in the distance,--while the -dragon, wrapped in flame and whirlwind, watches from the top of the -cliff. - -Sec. 5. But, both in the Greek mind and Turner's, this natural meaning of -the legend was a completely subordinate one. The moral significance of -it lay far deeper. In the second, but principal sense, the Hesperides -were not daughters of Atlas, nor connected with the winds of the west, -but with its splendor. They are properly the nymphs of the sunset, and -are the daughters of night, having many brothers and sisters, of whom I -shall take Hesiod's account. - -Sec. 6. "And the Night begat Doom, and short-withering Fate, and Death. - -"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams, and Censure, and Sorrow. - -"And the Hesperides, who keep the golden fruit beyond the mighty Sea. - -"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of merciless punishment. - -"And Jealousy, and Deceit, and Wanton Love; and Old Age, that fades -away; and Strife, whose will endures." - -Sec. 7. We have not, I think, hitherto quite understood the Greek feeling -about those nymphs and their golden apples, coming as a light in the -midst of cloud; between Censure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies. We must -look to the precise meaning of Hesiod's words, in order to get the force -of the passage. - -"The Night begat Doom;" that is to say, the doom of unforeseen -accident--doom essentially of darkness. - -"And short-withering Fate." Ill translated. I cannot do it better. It -means especially the sudden fate which brings untimely end to all -purpose, and cuts off youth and its promise; called, therefore (the -epithet hardly ever leaving it), "black Fate." - -"And Death." This is the universal, inevitable death, opposed to the -interfering, untimely death. These three are named as the elder -children. Hesiod pauses, and repeats the word "begat" before going on to -number the others. - -"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams." - -"And _Censure_." "Momus," the Spirit of Blame--the spirit which desires -to blame rather than to praise; false, base, unhelpful, unholy -judgment;--ignorant and blind, child of the Night. - -"And Sorrow." Accurately, sorrow of mourning; the sorrow of the night, -when no man can work; of the night that falls when what was the light of -the eyes is taken from us; lamenting, sightless sorrow, without -hope,--child of Night. - -"And the Hesperides." We will come back to these. - -"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of Merciless Punishment." These are -the great Fates which have rule over conduct; the first fate spoken of -(short-withering) is that which has rule over occurrence. These great -Fates are Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Their three powers are--Clotho's -over the clue, the thread, or connecting energy,--that is, the conduct -of life; Lachesis' over the lot--that is to say, the chance which warps, -entangles, or bends the course of life. Atropos, inflexible, cuts the -thread for ever. - -"And Jealousy," especially the jealousy of Fortune, in balancing all -good by evil. The Greeks had a peculiar dread of this form of fate. - -"And Deceit, and sensual Love. And Old Age that fades, and Strife that -endures;" that is to say, old age, which, growing not in wisdom, is -marked only by its failing power--by the gradual gaining of darkness on -the faculties, and helplessness on the frame, such age is the forerunner -of true death--the child of Night. "And Strife," the last and the -mightiest, the nearest to man of the Night-children--blind leader of the -blind. - -Sec. 8. Understanding thus whose sisters they are, let us consider of the -Hesperides themselves--spoken of commonly as the "Singing Nymphs." They -are four. - -Their names are AEgle,--Brightness; Erytheia,--Blushing; Hestia,--the -(spirit of the) Hearth; Arethusa,--the Ministering. - -O English reader! hast thou ever heard of these fair and true daughters -of Sunset, beyond the mighty sea? - -And was it not well to trust to such keepers the guarding of the golden -fruit which the earth gave to Juno at her marriage? Not fruit only: -fruit on the tree, given by the earth, the great mother, to Juno (female -power), at her marriage with Jupiter, or _ruling_ manly power -(distinguished from the tried and _agonizing_ strength of Hercules). I -call Juno, briefly, female power. She is, especially, the goddess -presiding over marriage, regarding the woman as the mistress of a -household. Vesta (the goddess of the hearth[5]), with Ceres, and Venus, -are variously dominant over marriage, as the fulfilment of love; but -Juno is pre-eminently the housewives' goddess. She, therefore, -represents, in her character, whatever good or evil may result from -female ambition, or desire of power: and, as to a housewife, the earth -presents its golden fruit to her, which she gives to two kinds of -guardians. The wealth of the earth, as the source of household peace and -plenty, is watched by the singing nymphs--the Hesperides. But, as the -source of household sorrow and desolation, it is watched by the Dragon. - -We must, therefore, see who the Dragon was, and what kind of dragon. - -Sec. 9. The reader will, perhaps, remember that we traced, in an earlier -chapter, the birth of the Gorgons, through Phorcys and Ceto, from -Nereus. The youngest child of Phorcys and Ceto is the Dragon of the -Hesperides; but this latest descent is not, as in Northern traditions, a -sign of fortunateness: on the contrary, the children of Nereus receive -gradually more and more terror and power, as they are later born, till -this last of the Nereids unites horror and power at their utmost. -Observe the gradual change. Nereus himself is said to have been -perfectly _true_ and _gentle_. - -This is Hesiod's account of him:-- - -"And Pontus begat Nereus, simple and true, the oldest of children; but -they call him the aged man, in that he is errorless and kind; neither -forgets he what is right; but knows all just and gentle counsel." - -Sec. 10. Now the children of Nereus, like the Hesperides themselves, bear a -twofold typical character; one physical, the other moral. In his -physical symbolism, Nereus himself is the calm and gentle sea, from -which rise, in gradual increase of terror, the clouds and storms. In his -moral character, Nereus is the type of the deep, pure, rightly-tempered -human mind, from which, in gradual degeneracy, spring the troubling -passions. - -Keeping this double meaning in view, observe the whole line of descent -to the Hesperides' Dragon. Nereus, by the earth, begets (1) Thaumas (the -wonderful), physically, the father of the Rainbow; morally, the type of -the enchantments and dangers of imagination. His grandchildren, besides -the Rainbow, are the Harpies. 2. Phorcys (Orcus?), physically, the -treachery or devouring spirit of the sea; morally, covetousness or -malignity of heart. 3. Ceto, physically, the deep places of the sea; -morally, secretness of heart, called "fair-cheeked," because tranquil in -outward aspect. 4. Eurybia (wide strength), physically, the flowing, -especially the tidal power of the sea (she, by one of the sons of -Heaven, becomes the mother of three great Titans, one of whom, Astraeus, -and the Dawn, are the parents of the four Winds); morally, the healthy -passion of the heart. Thus far the children of Nereus. - -Sec. 11. Next, Phorcys and Ceto, in their physical characters (the grasping -or devouring of the sea, reaching out over the land and its depth), -beget the Clouds and Storms--namely, first, the Graiae, or soft -rain-clouds; then the Gorgons, or storm-clouds; and youngest and last, -the Hesperides' Dragon--Volcanic or earth-storm, associated, in -conception, with the Simoom and fiery African winds. - -But, in its moral significance, the descent is this. Covetousness, or -malignity (Phorcys), and Secretness (Ceto), beget, first, the darkening -passions, whose hair is always gray; then the stormy and merciless -passions, brazen-winged (the Gorgons), of whom the dominant, Medusa, is -ice-cold, turning all who look on her to stone. And, lastly, the -consuming (poisonous and volcanic) passions--the "flame-backed dragon," -uniting the powers of poison, and instant destruction. Now, the reader -may have heard, perhaps, in other books of Genesis than Hesiod's, of a -dragon being busy about a tree which bore apples, and of crushing the -head of that dragon; but seeing how, in the Greek mind, this serpent was -descended from the sea, he may, perhaps, be surprised to remember -another verse, bearing also on the matter:--"Thou brakest the heads of -the dragons in the waters;" and yet more surprised, going on with the -Septuagint version, to find where he is being led: "Thou brakest the -head of the dragon, and gavest him to be meat to the Ethiopian people. -Thou didst tear asunder the strong fountains and the storm-torrents; -thou didst dry up the rivers of Etham, [Greek: pegas kai cheimarrhous], -the Pegasus fountains--Etham on the edge of the wilderness." - -Sec. 12. Returning then to Hesiod, we find he tells us of the Dragon -himself:--"He, in the secret places of the desert land, kept the -all-golden apples in his great knots" (coils of rope, or extremities of -anything). With which compare Euripides' report of him:--"And Hercules -came to the Hesperian dome, to the singing maidens, plucking the apple -fruit from the golden petals; slaying the flame-backed dragon, who -twined round and round, kept guard in unapproachable spires" (spirals or -whirls, as of a whirlwind-vortex). - -Farther, we hear from other scattered syllables of tradition, that this -dragon was sleepless, and that he was able to take various tones of -human voice. - -And we find a later tradition than Hesiod's calling him a child of -Typhon and Echidna. Now Typhon is volcanic storm, generally the evil -spirit of tumult. - -Echidna (the adder) is a descendant of Medusa. She is a daughter of -Chrysaor (the lightning), by Calliroee (the fair flowing), a daughter of -Ocean;--that is to say, she joins the intense fatality of the lightning -with perfect gentleness. In form she is half-maiden, half-serpent; -therefore she is the spirit of all the fatalest evil, veiled in -gentleness: or, in one word, treachery;--having dominion over many -gentle things;--and chiefly over a kiss, given, indeed, in another -garden than that of the Hesperides, yet in relation to keeping of -treasure also. - -Sec. 13. Having got this farther clue, let us look who it is whom Dante -makes the typical Spirit of Treachery. The eighth or lowest pit of hell -is given to its keeping; at the edge of which pit, Virgil casts a _rope_ -down for a signal; instantly there rises, as from the sea, "as one -returns who hath been down to loose some anchor," "the fell monster with -the deadly sting, who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls, and -firm embattled spears; and with his filth taints all the world." - -Think for an instant of another place:--"Sharp stones are under him, he -laugheth at the shaking of a spear." We must yet keep to Dante, -however. Echidna, remember, is half-maiden, half-serpent;--hear what -Dante's Fraud is like:-- - - "Forthwith that image vile of Fraud appear'd, - His head and upper part exposed on land, - But laid not on the shore his bestial train. - His face the semblance of a just man's wore, - So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; - The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws - Reach'd to the armpits; and the back and breast, - And either side, were painted o'er with nodes - And orbits. Colors variegated more - Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state - With interchangeable embroidery wove, - Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom. - As oft-times a light skiff moor'd to the shore, - Stands part in water, part upon the land; - Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, - The beaver settles, watching for his prey; - So on the rim, that fenced the sand with rock, - Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void - Glancing, his tail upturn'd, its venomous fork - With sting like scorpion's arm'd." - -Sec. 14. You observe throughout this description the leaning on the -character of the _Sea_ Dragon; a little farther on, his way of flying is -told us:-- - - "As a small vessel backing out from land, - Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd, - And, when he felt himself at large, turn'd round - There, where the breast had been, his fork'd tail. - Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd, - Gathering the air up with retractile claws." - -And lastly, his name is told us: Geryon. Whereupon, looking back at -Hesiod, we find that Geryon is Echidna's brother. Man-serpent, -therefore, in Dante, as Echidna is woman-serpent. - -We find next that Geryon lived in the island of Erytheia, (blushing), -only another kind of blushing than that of the Hesperid Erytheia. But it -is on, also, a western island, and Geryon kept red oxen on it (said to -be near the red setting sun); and Hercules kills him, as he does the -Hesperian dragon: but in order to be able to reach him, a golden boat is -given to Hercules by the Sun, to cross the sea in. - -Sec. 15. We will return to this part of the legend presently, having enough -of it now collected to get at the complete idea of the Hesperian dragon, -who is, in fine, the "Pluto il gran nemico" of Dante; the demon of all -evil passions connected with covetousness; that is to say, essentially -of fraud, rage, and gloom. Regarded as the demon of Fraud, he is said to -be descended from the viper Echidna, full of deadly cunning, in whirl on -whirl; as the demon of consuming Rage, from Phorcys; as the demon of -Gloom, from Ceto;--in his watching and melancholy, he is sleepless -(compare the Micyllus dialogue of Lucian); breathing whirlwind and fire, -he is the destroyer, descended from Typhon as well as Phorcys; having, -moreover, with all these, the irresistible strength of his ancestral -sea. - -Sec. 16. Now, look at him, as Turner has drawn him (p. 298). I cannot -reduce the creature to this scale without losing half his power; his -length, especially, seems to diminish more than it should in proportion -to his bulk. In the picture he is far in the distance, cresting the -mountain; and may be, perhaps, three-quarters of a mile long. The actual -length on the canvas is a foot and eight inches; so that it may be -judged how much he loses by the reduction, not to speak of my imperfect -etching,[6] and of the loss which, however well he might have been -engraved, he would still have sustained, in the impossibility of -expressing the lurid color of his armor, alternate bronze and blue. - -Sec. 17. Still, the main points of him are discernible enough; and among -all the wonderful things that Turner did in his day, I think this nearly -the most wonderful. How far he had really found out for himself the -collateral bearings of the Hesperid tradition I know not; but that he -had got the main clue of it, and knew who the Dragon was, there can be -no doubt; the strange thing is, that his conception of it throughout, -down to the minutest detail, fits every one of the circumstances of the -Greek traditions. There is, first, the Dragon's descent from Medusa and -Typhon, indicated in the serpent-clouds floating from his head (compare -my sketch of the Medusa-cloud, Plate 71); then note the grovelling and -ponderous body, ending in a serpent, of which we do not see the end. He -drags the weight of it forward by his claws, not being able to lift -himself from the ground ("Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell"); -then the grip of the claws themselves as if they would clutch (rather -than tear) the rock itself into pieces; but chiefly, the designing of -the body. Remember, one of the essential characters of the creature, as -descended from Medusa, is its coldness and petrifying power; this, in -the demon of covetousness, must exist to the utmost; breathing fire, he -is yet himself of ice. Now, if I were merely to draw this dragon as -white, instead of dark, and take his claws away, his body would become a -representation of a greater glacier, so nearly perfect, that I know no -published engraving of glacier breaking over a rocky brow so like the -truth as this dragon's shoulders would be, if they were thrown out in -light; there being only this difference, that they have the form, but -not the fragility of the ice; they are at once ice and iron. "His bones -are like solid pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron; by his -neesings a light doth shine." - -Sec. 18. The strange unity of vertebrated action, and of a true bony -contour, infinitely varied in every vertebra, with this glacial -outline;--together with the adoption of the head of the Ganges -crocodile, the fish-eater, to show his sea descent (and this in the year -1806, when hardly a single fossil saurian skeleton existed within -Turner's reach), renders the whole conception one of the most curious -exertions of the imaginative intellect with which I am acquainted in the -arts. - -Sec. 19. Thus far, then, of the dragon; next, we have to examine the -conception of the Goddess of Discord. We must return for a moment to the -tradition about Geryon. I cannot yet decipher the meaning of his oxen, -said to be fed together with those of Hades; nor of the journey of -Hercules, in which, after slaying Geryon, he returns through Europe like -a border forager, driving these herds, and led into farther battle in -protection or recovery of them. But it seems to me the main drift of the -legend cannot be mistaken; viz., that Geryon is the evil spirit of -wealth, as arising from commerce; hence, placed as a guardian of isles -in the most distant sea, and reached in a golden boat; while the -Hesperian dragon is the evil spirit of wealth, as possessed in -households; and associated, therefore, with the true household -guardians, or singing nymphs. Hercules (manly labor), slaying both -Geryon and Ladon, presents oxen and apples to Juno, who is their proper -mistress; but the Goddess of Discord, contriving that one portion of -this household wealth shall be ill bestowed by Paris, he, according to -Coleridge's interpretation, choosing pleasure instead of wisdom or -power;--there issue from this evil choice the catastrophe of the Trojan -war, and the wanderings of Ulysses, which are essentially, both in the -Iliad and Odyssey, the troubling of household peace; terminating with -the restoration of this peace by repentance and patience; Helen and -Penelope seen at last sitting upon their household thrones, in the -Hesperian light of age. - -Sec. 20. We have, therefore, to regard Discord, in the Hesperides garden, -eminently as the disturber of households, assuming a different aspect -from Homer's wild and fierce discord of war. They are, nevertheless, one -and the same power; for she changes her aspect at will. I cannot get at -the root of her name, Eris. It seems to me as if it ought to have one in -common with Erinnys (Fury); but it means always contention, emulation, -or competition, either in mind or in words;--the final work of Eris is -essentially "division," and she is herself always double-minded; shouts -two ways at once (in Iliad, xi. 6), and wears a mantle rent in half -(AEneid, viii. 702). Homer makes her loud-voiced, and insatiably -covetous. This last attribute is, with him, the source of her usual -title. She is little when she first is seen, then rises till her head -touches heaven. By Virgil she is called mad; and her hair is of -serpents, bound with bloody garlands. - -Sec. 21. This is the conception first adopted by Turner, but combined with -another which he found in Spenser; only note that there is some -confusion in the minds of English poets between Eris (Discord) and Ate -(Error), who is a daughter of Discord, according to Hesiod. She is -properly--mischievous error, tender-footed; for she does not walk on the -earth, but on heads of men (Iliad, xix. 92); _i.e._ not on the solid -ground, but on human vain thoughts; therefore, her hair is glittering -(Iliad, xix. 126). I think she is mainly the confusion of mind coming of -pride, as Eris comes of covetousness; therefore, Homer makes her a -daughter of Jove. Spenser, under the name of Ate, describes Eris. I have -referred to his account of her in my notice of the Discord on the Ducal -palace of Venice (remember the inscription there, _Discordia sum, -discordans_). But the stanzas from which Turner derived his conception -of her are these-- - - "Als, as she double spake, so heard she double, - With matchlesse eares deformed and distort, - Fild with false rumors and seditious trouble, - Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort, - That still are led with every light report: - And as her eares, so eke her feet were odde, - And much unlike; th' one long, the other short, - And both misplast; that, when th' one forward yode, - The other backe retired and contrarie trode. - - "Likewise unequall were her handes twaine; - That one did reach, the other pusht away; - That one did make the other mard againe, - And sought to bring all things unto decay; - Whereby great riches, gathered manie a day, - She in short space did often bring to nought, - An their possessours often did dismay: - For all her studie was, and all her thought - How she might overthrow the thing that Concord wrought. - - "So much her malice did her might surpas, - That even th' Almightie selfe she did maligne, - Because to man so mercifull He was, - And unto all His creatures so benigne, - Sith she herself was of his grace indigne: - For all this worlds faire workmanship she tride - Unto his last confusion to bring, - And that great golden chaine quite to divide, - With which it blessed Concord hath together tide." - -All these circumstances of decrepitude and distortion Turner has -followed, through hand and limb, with patient care: he has added one -final touch of his own. The nymph who brings the apples to the goddess, -offers her one in each hand; and Eris, of the divided mind, cannot -choose. - -Sec. 22. One farther circumstance must be noted, in order to complete our -understanding of the picture,--the gloom extending, not to the dragon -only, but also to the fountain and the tree of golden fruit. The reason -of this gloom may be found in two other passages of the authors from -which Turner had taken his conception of Eris--Virgil and Spenser. For -though the Hesperides in their own character, as the nymphs of domestic -joy, are entirely bright (and the garden always bright around them), yet -seen or remembered in sorrow, or in the presence of discord, they deepen -distress. Their entirely happy character is given by Euripides:--"The -fruit-planted shore of the Hesperides,--songstresses,--where the ruler -of the purple lake allows not any more to the sailor his way, assigning -the boundary of Heaven, which Atlas holds; where the ambrosial fountains -flow, and the fruitful and divine land increases the happiness of the -gods." - -But to the thoughts of Dido, in her despair, they recur under another -aspect; she remembers their priestess as a great enchantress; who _feeds -the dragon_ and preserves the boughs of the tree; sprinkling moist honey -and drowsy poppy; who also has power over ghosts; "and the earth shakes -and the forests stoop from the hills at her bidding." - -Sec. 23. This passage Turner must have known well, from his continual -interest in Carthage: but his diminution of the splendor of the old -Greek garden was certainly caused chiefly by Spenser's describing the -Hesperides fruit as growing first in the garden of Mammon:-- - - "There mournfull cypresse grew in greatest store; - And trees of bitter gall; and heben sad; - Dead sleeping poppy; and black hellebore; - Cold coloquintida; and tetra mad - Mortal samnitis; and cicuta bad, - With which th' uniust Atheniens made to dy - Wise Socrates, who, thereof quaffing glad, - Pourd out his life and last philosophy. - - * * * * * - - "The gardin of Proserpina this hight: - And in the midst thereof a silver seat, - With a thick arber goodly over dight, - In which she often usd from open heat - Herselfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat: - Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, - With braunches broad dispredd and body great, - Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see, - And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee. - - "Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright, - That goodly was their glory to behold; - On earth like never grew, ne living wight - Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold; - For those, which Hercules with conquest bold - Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began. - - * * * * * - - "Here eke that famous golden apple grew, - The which emongst the gods false Ate threw." - -There are two collateral evidences in the picture of Turner's mind -having been partly influenced by this passage. The excessive darkness of -the stream,--though one of the Cyrene fountains--to remind us of -Cocytus; and the breaking of the bough of the tree by the weight of its -apples--not healthily, but as a diseased tree would break. - -Sec. 24. Such then is our English painter's first great religious picture; -and exponent of our English faith. A sad-colored work, not executed in -Angelico's white and gold; nor in Perugino's crimson and azure; but in a -sulphurous hue, as relating to a paradise of smoke. That power, it -appears, on the hill-top, is our British Madonna; whom, reverently, the -English devotional painter must paint, thus enthroned, with nimbus about -the gracious head. Our Madonna,--or our Jupiter on Olympus,--or, perhaps -more accurately still, our unknown god, sea-born, with the cliffs, not -of Cyrene, but of England, for his altar; and no chance of any Mars' -Hill proclamation concerning him, "whom therefore ye ignorantly -worship." - -Sec. 25. This is no irony. The fact is verily so. The greatest man of our -England, in the first half of the nineteenth century, in the strength -and hope of his youth, perceives this to be the thing he has to tell us -of utmost moment, connected with the spiritual world. In each city and -country of past time, the master-minds had to declare the chief worship -which lay at the nation's heart; to define it; adorn it; show the range -and authority of it. Thus in Athens, we have the triumph of Pallas; and -in Venice the assumption of the Virgin; here, in England, is our great -spiritual fact for ever interpreted to us--the Assumption of the Dragon. -No St. George any more to be heard of; no more dragon-slaying possible: -this child, born on St. George's Day, can only make manifest the Dragon, -not slay him, sea-serpent as he is; whom the English Andromeda, not -fearing, takes for her lord. The fairy English Queen once thought to -command the waves, but it is the sea-dragon now who commands her -valleys; of old the Angel of the Sea ministered to them, but now the -Serpent of the Sea; where once flowed their clear springs now spreads -the black Cocytus pool; and the fair blooming of the Hesperid meadows -fades into ashes beneath the Nereid's Guard. - -Yes, Albert of Nuremberg; the time has at last come. Another nation has -arisen in the strength of its Black anger; and another hand has -portrayed the spirit of its toil. Crowned with fire, and with the wings -of the bat. - - -FOOTNOTE: - - [1] Notes on the Turner Collection at Marlborough House. 1857. - Catalogue of the Sketches of J. M. V. Turner exhibited at Marlborough - House. 1858. - - [2] The regret I expressed in the third volume at Turner's not having - been educated under the influence of Gothic art was, therefore, - mistaken; I had not then had access to his earlier studies. He _was_ - educated under the influence of Gothic architecture; but, in more - advanced life, his mind was warped and weakened by classical - architecture. Why he left the one for the other, or how far good - influences were mingled with evil in the result of the change, I have - not yet been able to determine. - - [3] They may be referred to with ease in Boone's Catalogue of - Turner's Pictures, 1857. - - [4] Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography. Art. - "Cyrenaica." - - [5] Her name is also that of the Hesperid nymph; but I give the - Hesperid her Greek form of name, to distinguish her from the goddess. - The Hesperid Arethusa has the same subordinate relation to Ceres; and - Erytheia, to Venus. AEgle signifies especially the spirit of - brightness or cheerfulness including even the subordinate idea of - household neatness or cleanliness. - - [6] It is merely a sketch on the steel, like the illustrations before - given of composition; but it marks the points needing note. Perhaps - some day I may be able to engrave it of the full size. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE HESPERID AEGLE. - - -Sec. 1. Five years after the Hesperides were painted, another great -mythological subject appeared by Turner's hand. Another dragon--this -time not triumphant, but in death-pang; the Python, slain by Apollo. - -Not in a garden, this slaying, but in a hollow, among wildest rocks, -beside a stagnant pool. Yet, instead of the sombre coloring of the -Hesperid hills, strange gleams of blue and gold flit around the mountain -peaks, and color the clouds above them. - -The picture is at once the type, and the first expression of a great -change which was passing in Turner's mind. A change, which was not -clearly manifested in all its results until much later in his life; but -in the coloring of this picture are the first signs of it; and in the -subject of this picture, its symbol. - -Sec. 2. Had Turner died early, the reputation he would have left, though -great and enduring, would have been strangely different from that which -ultimately must now attach to his name. He would have been remembered as -one of the severest of painters; his iron touch and positive form would -have been continually opposed to the delicacy of Claude and richness of -Titian; he would have been spoken of, popularly, as a man who had no eye -for color. Perhaps here and there a watchful critic might have shown -this popular idea to be false; but no conception could have been formed -by any one of the man's real disposition or capacity. - -It was only after the year 1820 that these were determinable, and his -peculiar work discerned. - -Sec. 3. He had begun by faithful declaration of the sorrow there was in the -world. It is now permitted him to see also its beauty. He becomes, -separately and without rival, the painter of the loveliness and light of -the creation. - -[Illustration: 79. The Hesperid AEgle.] - -Of its loveliness: that which may be beloved in it, the tenderest, -kindest, most feminine of its aspects. Of its light: light not merely -diffused, but interpreted; light seen pre-eminently in color. - -Claude and Cuyp had painted the sun_shine_, Turner alone the sun -_color_. - -Observe this accurately. Those easily understood effects of afternoon -light, gracious and sweet so far as they reach, are produced by the -softly warm or yellow rays of the sun falling through mist. They are low -in tone, even in nature, and disguise the colors of objects. They are -imitable even by persons who have little or no gift of color, if the -tones of the picture are kept low and in true harmony, and the reflected -lights warm. But they never could be painted by great colorists. The -fact of blue and crimson being effaced by yellow and gray, puts such -effect at once out of the notice or thought of a colorist, unless he has -some special interest in the motive of it. You might as well ask a -musician to compose with only three notes, as Titian to paint without -crimson and blue. Accordingly the colorists in general, feeling that no -other than this yellow sunshine was imitable, refused it, and painted in -twilight, when the color was full. Therefore, from the imperfect -colorists,--from Cuyp, Claude, Both, Wilson, we get deceptive effect of -sunshine; never from the Venetians, from Rubens, Reynolds or Velasquez. -From these we get only conventional substitutions for it, Rubens being -especially daring[1] in frankness of symbol. - -Sec. 4. Turner, however, as a landscape painter, had to represent sunshine -of one kind or another. He went steadily through the subdued golden -chord, and painted Cuyp's favorite effect, "sun rising through vapor," -for many a weary year. But this was not enough for him. He must paint -the sun in his strength, the sun rising _not_ through vapor. If you -glance at that Apollo slaying the Python, you will see there is rose -color and blue on the clouds, as well as gold; and if then you turn to -the Apollo in the Ulysses and Polyphemus--his horses are rising beyond -the horizon,--you see he is not "rising through vapor," but above it; -gaining somewhat of a victory over vapor, it appears. - -The old Dutch brewer, with his yellow mist, was a great man and a good -guide, but he was not Apollo. He and his dray-horses led the way through -the flats, cheerily, for a little time; we have other horses now flaming -out "beyond the mighty sea." - -A victory over vapor of many kinds; Python-slaying in general. Look how -the Python's jaws smoke as he falls back between the rocks:--a vaporous -serpent! We will see who he was, presently. - -The public remonstrated loudly in the cause of Python: "He had been so -yellow, quiet, and pleasant a creature; what meant these azure-shafted -arrows, this sudden glare into darkness, this Iris message; -Thaumantian;--miracle-working; scattering our slumber down in Cocytus?" -It meant much, but that was not what they should have first asked about -it. They should have asked simply, was it a true message? Were these -Thaumantian things so, in the real universe? - -It might have been known easily they were. One fair dawn or sunset, -obediently beheld, would have set them right; and shown that Turner was -indeed the only true speaker concerning such things that ever yet had -appeared in the world. They would neither look nor hear;--only shouted -continuously, "Perish Apollo. Bring us back Python." - -Sec. 5. We must understand the real meaning of this cry, for herein rests -not merely the question of the great right or wrong in Turner's life, -but the question of the right or wrong of all painting. Nay, on this -issue hangs the nobleness of painting as an art altogether, for it is -distinctively the art of coloring, not of shaping or relating. Sculptors -and poets can do these, the painter's own work is color. - -Thus, then, for the last time, rises the question, what is the true -dignity of color? We left that doubt a little while ago among the -clouds, wondering what they had been made so scarlet for. Now Turner -brings the doubt back to us, unescapable any more. No man, hitherto, had -painted the clouds scarlet. Hesperid AEgle, and Erytheia, throned there -in the west, fade into the twilights of four thousand years, -unconfessed. Here is at last one who confesses them, but is it well? Men -say these Hesperids are sensual goddesses,--traitresses,--that the -Graiae are the only true ones. Nature made the western and the eastern -clouds splendid in fallacy. Crimson is impure and vile; let us paint in -black if we would be virtuous. - -Sec. 6. Note, with respect to this matter, that the peculiar innovation of -Turner was the perfection of the color chord by means of _scarlet_. -Other painters had rendered the golden tones, and the blue tones, of -sky; Titian especially the last, in perfectness. But none had dared to -paint, none seem to have seen, the scarlet and purple. - -Nor was it only in seeing this color in vividness when it occurred in -full light, that Turner differed from preceding painters. His most -distinctive innovation as a colorist was his discovery of the scarlet -_shadow_. "True, there is a sunshine whose light is golden, and its -shadow gray; but there is another sunshine, and that the purest, whose -light is white, and its shadow scarlet." This was the essentially -offensive, inconceivable thing, which he could not be believed in. There -was some ground for the incredulity, because no color is vivid enough to -express the pitch of light of pure white sunshine, so that the color -given without the true intensity of light _looks_ false. Nevertheless, -Turner could not but report of the color truly. "I must indeed be lower -in the key, but that is no reason why I should be false in the note. -Here is sunshine which glows even when subdued; it has not cool shade, -but fiery shade."[2] This is the glory of sunshine. - -Sec. 7. Now, this scarlet color,--or pure red, intensified by expression of -light,--is, of all the three primitive colors, that which is most -distinctive. Yellow is of the nature of simple light; blue, connected -with simple shade; but red is an entirely abstract color. It is red to -which the color-blind are blind, as if to show us that it was not -necessary merely for the service or comfort of man, but that there was a -special gift or teaching in this color. Observe, farther, that it is -this color which the sunbeams take in passing through the _earth's -atmosphere_. The rose of dawn and sunset is the hue of the rays passing -close over the earth. It is also concentrated in the blood of man. - -[Illustration: 80. Rocks at Rest.] - -Sec. 8. Unforeseen requirements have compelled me to disperse through -various works, undertaken between the first and last portions of this -essay, the examination of many points respecting color, which I had -intended to reserve for this place. I can now only refer the reader to -these several passages,[3] and sum their import: which is briefly, -that color generally, but chiefly the scarlet, used with the hyssop, in -the Levitical law, is the great sanctifying element of visible beauty -inseparably connected with purity and life. - -[Illustration: 81. Rocks in Unrest.] - -I must not enter here into the solemn and far-reaching fields of thought -which it would be necessary to traverse, in order to detect the mystical -connection between life and love, set forth in that Hebrew system of -sacrificial religion to which we may trace most of the received ideas -respecting sanctity, consecration, and purification. This only I must -hint to the reader--for his own following out--that if he earnestly -examines the original sources from which our heedless popular language -respecting the washing away of sins has been borrowed, he will find that -the fountain in which sins are indeed to be washed away, is that of -love, not of agony. - -Sec. 9. But, without approaching the presence of this deeper meaning of the -sign, the reader may rest satisfied with the connection given him -directly in written words, between the cloud and its bow. The cloud, or -firmament, as we have seen, signifies the ministration of the heavens to -man. That ministration may be in judgment or mercy--in the lightning, or -the dew. But the bow, or color, of the cloud, signifies always mercy, -the sparing of life; such ministry of the heaven, as shall feed and -prolong life. And as the sunlight, undivided, is the type of the wisdom -and righteousness of God, so divided, and softened into color by means -of the fundamental ministry, fitted to every need of man, as to every -delight, and becoming one chief source of human beauty, by being made -part of the flesh of man;--thus divided, the sunlight is the type of the -wisdom of God, becoming sanctification and redemption. Various in -work--various in beauty--various in power. - -Color is, therefore, in brief terms, the type of love. Hence it is -especially connected with the blossoming of the earth; and again, with -its fruits; also, with the spring and fall of the leaf, and with the -morning and evening of the day, in order to show the waiting of love -about the birth and death of man. - -Sec. 10. And now, I think, we may understand, even far away in the Greek -mind, the meaning of that contest of Apollo with the Python. It was a -far greater contest than that of Hercules with Ladon. Fraud and avarice -might be overcome by frankness and force; but this Python was a darker -enemy, and could not be subdued but by a greater god. Nor was the -conquest slightly esteemed by the victor deity. He took his great name -from it thenceforth--his prophetic and sacred name--the Pythian. - -It could, therefore, be no merely devouring dragon--no mere wild beast -with scales and claws. It must possess some more terrible character to -make conquest over it so glorious. Consider the meaning of its name, -"THE CORRUPTER." That Hesperid dragon was a treasure-guardian. This is -the treasure-destroyer,--where moth and rust doth corrupt--the worm of -eternal decay. - -Apollo's contest with him is the strife of purity with pollution; of -life, with forgetfulness; of love, with the grave. - -Sec. 11. I believe this great battle stood, in the Greek mind, for the type -of the struggle of youth and manhood with deadly sin--venomous, -infectious, irrecoverable sin. In virtue of his victory over this -corruption, Apollo becomes thenceforward the guide; the witness; the -purifying and helpful God. The other gods help waywardly, whom they -choose. But Apollo helps always: he is by name, not only Pythian, the -conqueror of death; but Paean--the healer of the people. - -Well did Turner know the meaning of that battle: he has told its tale -with fearful distinctness. The Mammon dragon was armed with adamant; but -this dragon of decay is a mere colossal worm: wounded, he bursts asunder -in the midst,[4] and melts to pieces, rather than dies, vomiting -smoke--a smaller serpent-worm rising out of his blood. - -Sec. 12. Alas, for Turner! This smaller serpent-worm, it seemed, he could -not conceive to be slain. In the midst of all the power and beauty of -nature, he still saw this death-worm writhing among the weeds. A little -thing now, yet enough; you may see it in the foreground of the Bay of -Baiae, which has also in it the story of Apollo and the Sibyl; Apollo -giving love; but not youth, nor immortality: you may see it again in the -foreground of the Lake Avernus--the Hades lake--which Turner surrounds -with delicatest beauty, the Fates dancing in circle; but in front, is -the serpent beneath the thistle and the wild thorn. The same Sibyl, -Deiphobe, holding the golden bough. I cannot get at the meaning of this -legend of the bough; but it was, assuredly, still connected, in -Turner's mind, with that help from Apollo. He indicated the strength of -his feeling at the time when he painted the Python contest, by the -drawing exhibited the same year, of the Prayer of Chryses. There the -priest is on the beach alone, the sun setting. He prays to it as it -descends;--flakes of its sheeted light are borne to him by the -melancholy waves, and cast away with sighs upon the sand. - -How this sadness came to be persistent over Turner, and to conquer him, -we shall see in a little while. It is enough for us to know at present -that our most wise and Christian England, with all her appurtenances of -school-porch and church-spire, had so disposed her teaching as to leave -this somewhat notable child of hers without even cruel Pandora's gift. - -He was without hope. - -True daughter of Night, Hesperid AEgle was to him; coming between -Censure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies. - -Sec. 13. What, for us, his work yet may be, I know not. But let not the -real nature of it be misunderstood any more. - -He is distinctively, as he rises into his own peculiar strength, -separating himself from all men who had painted forms of the physical -world before,--the painter of the loveliness of nature, with the worm at -its root: Rose and cankerworm,--both with his utmost strength; the one -_never_ separate from the other. - -In which his work was the true image of his own mind. - -I would fain have looked last at the rose; but that is not the way -Atropos will have it, and there is no pleading with her. - -So, therefore, first of the rose. - -Sec. 14. That is to say, of this vision of the loveliness and kindness of -Nature, as distinguished from all visions of her ever received by other -men. By the Greek, she had been distrusted. She was to him Calypso, the -Concealer, Circe, the Sorceress. By the Venetian, she had been dreaded. -Her wildernesses were desolate; her shadows stern. By the Fleming, she -had been despised; what mattered the heavenly colors to him? But at -last, the time comes for her loveliness and kindness to be declared to -men. Had they helped Turner, listened to him, believed in him, he had -done it wholly for them. But they cried out for Python, and Python -came;--came literally as well as spiritually;--all the perfectest beauty -and conquest which Turner wrought is already withered. The cankerworm -stood at his right hand, and of all his richest, most precious work, -there remains only the shadow. Yet that shadow is more than other men's -sunlight; it is the scarlet shade, shade of the Rose. Wrecked, and -faded, and defiled, his work still, in what remains of it, or may -remain, is the loveliest ever yet done by man, in imagery of the -physical world. Whatsoever is there of fairest, you will find recorded -by Turner, and by him alone. - -Sec. 15. I say _you_ will find, not knowing to how few I speak; for in -order to find what is fairest, you must delight in what is fair; and I -know not how few or how many there may be who take such delight. Once I -could speak joyfully about beautiful things, thinking to be -understood;--now I cannot any more; for it seems to me that no one -regards them. Wherever I look or travel in England or abroad, I see that -men, wherever they can reach, destroy all beauty. They seem to have no -other desire or hope but to have large houses and to be able to move -fast. Every perfect and lovely spot which they can touch, they -defile.[5] - -Sec. 16. Nevertheless, though not joyfully, or with any hope of being at -present heard, I would have tried to enter here into some examination of -the right and worthy effect of beauty in Art upon human mind, if I had -been myself able to come to demonstrable conclusions. But the question -is so complicated with that of the enervating influence of all luxury, -that I cannot get it put into any tractable compass. Nay, I have many -inquiries to make, many difficult passages of history to examine, before -I can determine the just limits of the hope in which I may permit myself -to continue to labor in any cause of Art. - -Nor is the subject connected with the purpose of this book. I have -written it to show that Turner is the greatest landscape painter who -ever lived; and this it has sufficiently accomplished. What the final -use may be to men, of landscape painting, or of any painting, or of -natural beauty, I do not yet know. Thus far, however, I _do_ know. - -Sec. 17. Three principal forms of asceticism have existed in this weak -world. Religious asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge -for the sake (as supposed) of religion; seen chiefly in the middle ages. -Military asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge for the -sake of power; seen chiefly in the early days of Sparta and Rome. And -monetary asceticism, consisting in the refusal of pleasure and knowledge -for the sake of money; seen in the present days of London and -Manchester. - -"We do not come here to look at the mountains," said the Carthusian to -me at the Grande Chartreuse. "We do not come here to look at the -mountains," the Austrian generals would say, encamping by the shores of -Garda. "We do not come here to look at the mountains," so the thriving -manufacturers tell me, between Rochdale and Halifax. - -Sec. 18. All these asceticisms have their bright, and their dark sides. I -myself like the military asceticism best, because it is not so -necessarily a refusal of general knowledge as the two others, but leads -to acute and marvellous use of mind, and perfect use of body. -Nevertheless, none of the three are a healthy or central state of man. -There is much to be respected in each, but they are not what we should -wish large numbers of men to become. A monk of La Trappe, a French -soldier of the Imperial Guard, and a thriving mill-owner, supposing each -a type, and no more than a type, of his class, are all interesting -specimens of humanity, but narrow ones,--so narrow that even all the -three together would not make a perfect man. Nor does it appear in any -way desirable that either of the three classes should extend itself so -as to include a majority of the persons in the world, and turn large -cities into mere groups of monastery, barracks, or factory. I do not say -that it may not be desirable that one city, or one country, sacrificed -for the good of the rest, should become a mass of barracks or factories. -Perhaps, it may be well that this England should become the furnace of -the world; so that the smoke of the island, rising out of the sea, -should be seen from a hundred leagues away, as if it were a field of -fierce volcanoes; and every kind of sordid, foul, or venomous work which -in other countries men dreaded or disdained, it should become England's -duty to do,--becoming thus the off-scourer of the earth, and taking the -hyena instead of the lion upon her shield. I do not, for a moment, deny -this; but, looking broadly, not at the destiny of England, nor of any -country in particular, but of the world, this is certain--that men -exclusively occupied either in spiritual reverie, mechanical -destruction, or mechanical productiveness, fall below the proper -standard of their race, and enter into a lower form of being; and that -the true perfection of the race, and, therefore, its power and -happiness, are only to be attained by a life which is neither -speculative nor productive; but essentially contemplative and -protective, which (A) does not lose itself in the monk's vision or hope, -but delights in seeing present and real things as they truly are; which -(B) does not mortify itself for the sake of obtaining powers of -destruction, but seeks the more easily attainable powers of affection, -observance, and protection; which (C), finally, does not mortify itself -with a view to productive accumulation, but delights itself in peace, -with its appointed portion. So that the things to be desired for man in -a healthy state, are that he should not see dreams, but realities; that -he should not destroy life, but save it; and that he should be not rich, -but content. - -Sec. 19. Towards which last state of contentment, I do not see that the -world is at present approximating. There are, indeed, two forms of -discontent: one laborious, the other indolent and complaining. We -respect the man of laborious desire, but let us not suppose that his -restlessness is peace, or his ambition meekness. It is because of the -special connection of meekness with contentment that it is promised that -the meek shall "inherit the earth." Neither covetous men, nor the Grave, -can inherit anything;[6] they can but consume. Only contentment can -possess. - -Sec. 20. The most helpful and sacred work, therefore, which can at present -be done for humanity, is to teach people (chiefly by example, as all -best teaching must be done) not how "to better themselves," but how to -"satisfy themselves." It is the curse of every evil nation and evil -creature to eat, and _not_ be satisfied. The words of blessing are, that -they shall eat and be satisfied. And as there is only one kind of water -which quenches all thirst, so there is only one kind of bread which -satisfies all hunger, the bread of justice or righteousness; which -hungering after, men shall always be filled, that being the bread of -Heaven; but hungering after the bread, or wages, of unrighteousness, -shall not be filled, that being the bread of Sodom. - -Sec. 21. And, in order to teach men how to be satisfied, it is necessary -fully to understand the art and joy of humble life,--this, at present, -of all arts or sciences being the one most needing study. Humble -life--that is to say, proposing to itself no future exaltation, but only -a sweet continuance; not excluding the idea of foresight, but wholly of -fore-sorrow, and taking no troublous thought for coming days: so, also, -not excluding the idea of providence, or provision,[7] but wholly of -accumulation;--the life of domestic affection and domestic peace, full -of sensitiveness to all elements of costless and kind -pleasure;--therefore, chiefly to the loveliness of the natural world. - -Sec. 22. What length and severity of labor may be ultimately found -necessary for the procuring of the due comforts of life, I do not know; -neither what degree of refinement it is possible to unite with the -so-called servile occupations of life: but this I know, that right -economy of labor will, as it is understood, assign to each man as much -as will be healthy for him, and no more; and that no refinements are -desirable which cannot be connected with toil. - -I say, first, that due economy of labor will assign to each man the -share which is right. Let no technical labor be wasted on things useless -or unpleasurable;[8] and let all physical exertion, so far as possible, -be utilized, and it will be found no man need ever work more than is -good for him. I believe an immense gain in the bodily health and -happiness of the upper classes would follow on their steadily -endeavoring, however clumsily, to make the physical exertion they now -necessarily take in amusements, definitely serviceable. It would be far -better, for instance, that a gentleman should mow his own fields, than -ride over other people's. - -Sec. 23. Again, respecting degrees of possible refinement, I cannot yet -speak positively, because no effort has yet been made to teach refined -habits to persons of simple life. - -The idea of such refinement has been made to appear absurd, partly by -the foolish ambition of vulgar persons in low life, but more by the -worse than foolish assumption, acted on so often by modern advocates of -improvement, that "education" means teaching Latin, or algebra, or -music, or drawing, instead of developing or "drawing out" the human -soul. - -It may not be the least necessary that a peasant should know algebra, or -Greek, or drawing. But it may, perhaps, be both possible and expedient -that he should be able to arrange his thoughts clearly, to speak his own -language intelligibly, to discern between right and wrong, to govern his -passions, and to receive such pleasures of ear or sight as his life may -render accessible to him. I would not have him taught the science of -music; but most assuredly I would have him taught to sing. I would not -teach him the science of drawing; but certainly I would teach him to -see; without learning a single term of botany, he should know accurately -the habits and uses of every leaf and flower in his fields; and -unencumbered by any theories of moral or political philosophy, he should -help his neighbor, and disdain a bribe. - -Sec. 24. Many most valuable conclusions respecting the degree of nobleness -and refinement which may be attained in servile or in rural life may be -arrived at by a careful study of the noble writings of Blitzius -(Jeremias Gotthelf), which contain a record of Swiss character not less -valuable in its fine truth than that which Scott has left of the -Scottish. I know no ideal characters of women, whatever their station, -more majestic than that of Freneli (in Ulric le Valet de Ferme, and -Ulric le Fermier); or of Elise, in the Tour de Jacob; nor any more -exquisitely tender and refined than that of Aenneli in the Fromagerie -and Aenneli in the Miroir des Paysans.[9] - -Sec. 25. How far this simple and useful pride, this delicate innocence, -might be adorned, or how far destroyed, by higher intellectual education -in letters or the arts, cannot be known without other experience than -the charity of men has hitherto enabled us to acquire. - -All effort in social improvement is paralyzed, because no one has been -bold or clear-sighted enough to put and press home this radical -question: "What is indeed the noblest tone and reach of life for men; -and how can the possibility of it be extended to the greatest numbers?" -It is answered, broadly and rashly, that wealth is good; that knowledge -is good; that art is good; that luxury is good. Whereas none of them are -good in the abstract, but good only if rightly received. Nor have any -steps whatever been yet securely taken,--nor, otherwise than in the -resultless rhapsody of moralists,--to ascertain what luxuries and what -learning it is either kind to bestow, or wise to desire. This, however, -at least we know, shown clearly by the history of all time, that the -arts and sciences, ministering to the pride of nations, have invariably -hastened their ruin; and this, also, without venturing to say that I -know, I nevertheless firmly believe, that the same arts and sciences -will tend as distinctly to exalt the strength and quicken the soul of -every nation which employs them to increase the comfort of lowly life, -and grace with happy intelligence the unambitious courses of honorable -toil. - -Thus far, then, of the Rose. - -Sec. 26. Last, of the Worm. - -I said that Turner painted the labor of men, their sorrow, and their -death. This he did nearly in the same tones of mind which prompted -Byron's poem of Childe Harold, and the loveliest result of his art, in -the central period of it, was an effort to express on a single canvas -the meaning of that poem. It may be now seen, by strange coincidence, -associated with two others--Caligula's Bridge and the Apollo and Sibyl; -the one illustrative of the vanity of human labor, the other of the -vanity of human life.[10] He painted these, as I said, in the same tone -of mind which formed the Childe Harold poem, but with different -capacity: Turner's sense of beauty was perfect; deeper, therefore, far -than Byron's; only that of Keats and Tennyson being comparable with it. -And Turner's love of truth was as stern and patient as Dante's; so that -when over these great capacities come the shadows of despair, the wreck -is infinitely sterner and more sorrowful. With no sweet home for his -childhood,--friendless in youth,--loveless in manhood,--and hopeless in -death, Turner was what Dante might have been, without the "bello ovile," -without Casella, without Beatrice, and without Him who gave them all, -and took them all away. - -Sec. 27. I will trace this state of his mind farther, in a little while. -Meantime, I want you to note only the result upon his work;--how, -through all the remainder of his life, wherever he looked, he saw ruin. - -Ruin, and twilight. What was the distinctive effect of light which he -introduced, such as no man had painted before? Brightness, indeed, he -gave, as we have seen, because it was true and right; but in this he -only perfected what others had attempted. His own favorite light is not -AEgle, but Hesperid AEgle. Fading of the last rays of sunset. Faint -breathing of the sorrow of night. - -Sec. 28. And fading of sunset, note also, on ruin. I cannot but wonder that -this difference between Turner's work and previous art-conception has -not been more observed. None of the great early painters draw ruins, -except compulsorily. The shattered buildings introduced by them are -shattered artificially, like models. There is no real sense of decay; -whereas Turner only momentarily dwells on anything else than ruin. Take -up the Liber Studiorum, and observe how this feeling of decay and -humiliation gives solemnity to all its simplest subjects; even to his -view of daily labor. I have marked its tendency in examining the design -of the Mill and Lock, but observe its continuance through the book. -There is no exultation in thriving city, or mart, or in happy rural -toil, or harvest gathering. Only the grinding at the mill, and patient -striving with hard conditions of life. Observe the two disordered and -poor farm-yards, cart, and ploughshare, and harrow rotting away; note -the pastoral by the brook side, with its neglected stream, and haggard -trees, and bridge with the broken rail, and decrepit -children--fever-struck--one sitting stupidly by the stagnant stream; the -other in rags, and with an old man's hat on, and lame, leaning on a -stick. Then the "Hedging and ditching," with its bleak sky and blighted -trees--hacked, and bitten, and starved by the clay soil into something -between trees and firewood; its meanly-faced, sickly laborers--pollard -laborers, like the willow trunk they hew; and the slatternly -peasant-woman, with worn cloak and battered bonnet--an English Dryad. -Then the Water-mill, beyond the fallen steps overgrown with the thistle: -itself a ruin, mud-built at first, now propped on both sides;--the -planks torn from its cattle-shed; a feeble beam, splintered at the end, -set against the dwelling-house from the ruined pier of the watercourse; -the old millstone--useless for many a day--half buried in slime, at the -bottom of the wall; the listless children, listless dog, and the poor -gleaner bringing her single sheaf to be ground. Then the "Peat bog," -with its cold, dark rain, and dangerous labor. And last and chief, the -mill in the valley of the Chartreuse. Another than Turner would have -painted the convent; but he had no sympathy with the hope, no mercy for -the indolence of the monk. He painted the mill in the valley. Precipice -overhanging it, and wildness of dark forest round; blind rage and -strength of mountain torrent rolled beneath it,--calm sunset above, but -fading from the glen, leaving it to its roar of passionate waters and -sighing of pine-branches in the night. - -Sec. 29. Such is his view of human labor. Of human pride, see what records. -Morpeth tower, roofless and black; gate of old Winchelsea wall, the -flock of sheep driven _round_ it, not through it; and Rievaulx choir, -and Kirkstall crypt; and Dunstanborough, wan above the sea; and -Chepstow, with arrowy light through traceried windows; and Lindisfarne, -with failing height of wasted shaft and wall; and last and sweetest, -Raglan, in utter solitude, amidst the wild wood of its own pleasance; -the towers rounded with ivy, and the forest roots choked with -undergrowth, and the brook languid amidst lilies and sedges. Legends of -gray knights and enchanted ladies keeping the woodman's children away at -the sunset. - -These are his types of human pride. Of human love: Procris, dying by the -arrow; Hesperie, by the viper's fang; and Rizpah, more than dead, beside -her children. - -Sec. 30. Such are the lessons of the Liber Studiorum. Silent always with a -bitter silence, disdaining to tell his meaning, when he saw there was no -ear to receive it, Turner only indicated this purpose by slight words of -contemptuous anger, when he heard of any one's trying to obtain this or -the other separate subject as more beautiful than the rest. "What is the -use of them," he said, "but together?"[11] The meaning of the entire -book was symbolized in the frontispiece, which he engraved with his own -hand: Tyre at sunset, with the Rape of Europa, indicating the symbolism -of the decay of Europe by that of Tyre, its beauty passing away into -terror and judgment (Europa being the mother of Minos and -Rhadamanthus).[12] - -[Illustration: J. M. W. Turner J. H. Le Keux - -82. The Nets in the Rapids.] - -[Illustration: 83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden.] - -Sec. 31. I need not trace the dark clue farther, the reader may follow it -unbroken through all his work and life, this thread of Atropos.[13] I -will only point, in conclusion, to the intensity with which his -imagination dwelt always on the three great cities of Carthage, -Rome, and Venice--Carthage in connection especially with the thoughts -and study which led to the painting of the Hesperides' Garden, showing -the death which attends the vain pursuit of wealth; Rome, showing the -death which attends the vain pursuit of power; Venice, the death which -attends the vain pursuit of beauty. - -How strangely significative, thus understood, those last Venetian dreams -of his become, themselves so beautiful and so frail; wrecks of all that -they were once--twilights of twilight! - -Sec. 32. Vain beauty; yet not all in vain. Unlike in birth, how like in -their labor, and their power over the future, these masters of England -and Venice--Turner and Giorgione. But ten years ago, I saw the last -traces of the greatest works of Giorgione yet glowing, like a scarlet -cloud, on the Fondaco de Tedeschi.[14] And though that scarlet cloud -(sanguigna e fiammeggiante, per cui le pitture cominciarono con dolce -violenza a rapire il cuore delle genti) may, indeed, melt away into -paleness of night, and Venice herself waste from her islands as a wreath -of wind-driven foam fades from their weedy beach;--that which she won of -faithful light and truth shall never pass away. Deiphobe of the -sea,--the Sun God measures her immortality to her by its sand. Flushed, -above the Avernus of the Adrian lake, her spirit is still seen holding -the golden bough; from the lips of the Sea Sibyl men shall learn for -ages yet to come what is most noble and most fair; and, far away, as the -whisper in the coils of the shell, withdrawn through the deep hearts of -nations, shall sound for ever the enchanted voice of Venice. - -[Illustration: 84. Peace.] - -[Illustration: 68. Monte Rosa. Sunset.] - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] There is a very wonderful, and almost deceptive, imitation of - sunlight by Rubens at Berlin. It falls through broken clouds upon - angels, the flesh being chequered with sunlight and shade. - - [2] Not, accurately speaking, shadow, but dark side. All shadow - proper is negative in color, but, generally, reflected light is - warmer than direct light; and when the direct light is warm, pure, - and of the highest intensity, its reflection is scarlet. Turner - habitually, in his later sketches, used vermilion for his pen outline - in effects of sun. - - [3] The following collected system of the various statements made - respecting color in different parts of my works may be useful to the - student:-- - - 1st. Abstract color is of far less importance than abstract form - (vol. i. chap. v.); that is to say, if it could rest in our choice - whether we would carve like Phidias (supposing Phidias had never used - color), or arrange the colors of a shawl like Indians, there is no - question as to which power we ought to choose. The difference of rank - is vast; there is no way of estimating or measuring it. - - So, again, if it rest in our choice whether we will be great in - invention of form, to be expressed only by light and shade, as Durer, - or great in invention and application of color, caring only for - ungainly form, as Bassano, there is still no question. Try to be - Durer, of the two. So again, if we have to give an account or - description of anything--if it be an object of high interest--its - form will be always what we should first tell. Neither leopard spots - nor partridge's signify primarily in describing either beast or bird. - But teeth and feathers do. - - 2. Secondly. Though color is of less importance than form, if you - introduce it at all, it must be right. - - People often speak of the Roman school as if it were greater than the - Venetian, because its color is "subordinate." - - Its color is not subordinate. It is BAD. - - If you paint colored objects, you must either paint them rightly or - wrongly. There is no other choice. You may introduce as little color - as you choose--a mere tint of rose in a chalk drawing, for instance; - or pale hues generally--as Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. All - such work implies feebleness or imperfection, but not necessarily - error. But if you paint with full color, as Raphael and Leonardo, you - must either be true or false. If true, you will paint like a - Venetian. If false, your form, supremely beautiful, may draw the - attention of the spectator from the false color, or induce him to - pardon it--and, if ill-taught, even to like it; but your picture is - none the greater for that. Had Leonardo and Raphael colored like - Giorgione, their work would have been greater, not less, than it is - now. - - 3. To color perfectly is the rarest and most precious (technical) - power an artist can possess. There have been only seven supreme - colorists among the true painters whose works exist (namely, - Giorgione, Titian, Veronese, Tintoret, Correggio, Reynolds, and - Turner); but the names of great designers, including sculptors, - architects, and metal-workers, are multitudinous. Also, if you can - color perfectly, you are sure to be able to do everything else if you - like. There never yet was colorist who could not draw; but faculty of - perceiving form may exist alone. I believe, however, it will be found - ultimately that the _perfect_ gifts of color and form always go - together. Titian's form is nobler than Durer's, and more subtle; nor - have I any doubt but that Phidias could have painted as nobly as he - carved. But when the powers are not supreme, the wisest men usually - neglect the color-gift, and develope that of form. - - I have not thought it worth while at present to enter into any - examination of the construction of Turner's color system, because the - public is at present so unconscious of the meaning and nature of - color that they would not know what I was talking of. The more than - ludicrous folly of the system of modern water-color painting, in - which it is assumed that every hue in the drawing may be beneficially - washed into every other, must prevent, as long as it influences the - popular mind, even incipient inquiry respecting color-art. But for - help of any solitary and painstaking student, it may be noted that - Turner's color is founded more on Correggio and Bassano than on the - central Venetians; it involves a more tender and constant reference - to light and shade than that of Veronese; and a more sparkling and - gem-like lustre than that of Titian. I dislike using a technical word - which has been disgraced by affectation, but there is no other word - to signify what I mean in saying that Turner's color has, to the - full, Correggio's "morbidezza," including also, in due place, - conditions of mosaic effect, like that of the colors in an Indian - design, unaccomplished by any previous master in painting; and a - fantasy of inventive arrangement corresponding to that of Beethoven - in music. In its concurrence with and expression of texture or - construction of surfaces (as their bloom, lustre, or intricacy) it - stands unrivalled--no still-life painting by any other master can - stand for an instant beside Turner's, when his work is of life-size, - as in his numerous studies of birds and their plumage. This - "morbidezza" of color is associated, precisely as it was in - Correggio, with an exquisite sensibility to fineness and intricacy of - curvature: curvature, as already noticed in the second volume, being - to lines what gradation is to colors. This subject, also, is too - difficult and too little regarded by the public, to be entered upon - here, but it must be observed that this quality of Turner's design, - the one which of all is best expressible by engraving, has of all - been least expressed, owing to the constant reduction or change of - proportion in the plates. Publishers, of course, require generally - their plates to be of one size (the plates in this book form an - appalling exception to received practice in this respect); Turner - always made his drawings longer or shorter by half an inch, or more, - according to the subject; the engravers contracted or expanded them - to fit the books, with utter destruction of the nature of every curve - in the design. Mere reduction necessarily involves such loss to some - extent; but the degree in which it probably involves it has been - curiously exemplified by the 61st Plate in this volume, reduced from - a pen-drawing of mine, 18 inches long. Fig. 101 is a facsimile of the - hook and piece of drapery, in the foreground, in my drawing, which is - very nearly true to the Turner curves: compare them with the curves - either in Plate 61, or in the published engraving in the England - series. The Plate opposite (80) is a portion of the foreground of the - drawing of the Llanberis (England Series), also of its real size; and - interesting as showing the grace of Turner's curvature even when he - was drawing fastest. It is a hasty drawing throughout, and after - finishing the rocks and water, being apparently a little tired, he - has struck out the broken fence of the watering-place for the cattle - with a few impetuous dashes of the hand. Yet the curvature and - grouping of line are still perfectly tender. How far the passage - loses by reduction, may be seen by a glance at the published - engraving. - - [Illustration: FIG. 101.] - - 4. Color, as stated in the text, is the purifying or sanctifying - element of material beauty. - - If so, how less important than form? Because, on form depends - existence; on color, only purity. Under the Levitical law, neither - scarlet nor hyssop could purify the deformed. So, under all natural - law, there must be rightly shaped members first; then sanctifying - color and fire in them. - - Nevertheless, there are several great difficulties and oppositions of - aspect in this matter, which I must try to reconcile now clearly and - finally. As color is the type of Love, it resembles it in all its - modes of operation; and in practical work of human hands, it sustains - changes of worthiness precisely like those of human sexual love. That - love, when true, faithful, well-fixed, is eminently the sanctifying - element of human life: without it, the soul cannot reach its fullest - height of holiness. But if shallow, faithless, misdirected, it is - also one of the strongest corrupting and degrading elements of life. - - Between these base and lofty states of Love are the loveless states; - some cold and horrible; others chaste, childish, or ascetic, bearing - to careless thinkers the semblance of purity higher than that of - Love. - - So it is with the type of Love--color. Followed rashly, coarsely, - untruly, for the mere pleasure of it, with no reverence, it becomes a - temptation, and leads to corruption. Followed faithfully, with - intense but reverent passion, it is the holiest of all aspects of - material things. - - Between these two modes of pursuing it, come two modes of refusing - it--one, dark and sensual; the other, statuesque and grave, having - great aspect of nobleness. - - Thus we have, first, the coarse love of color, as a vulgar person's - choice of gaudy hues in dress. - - Then, again, we have the base disdain of color, of which I have - spoken at length elsewhere. Thus we have the lofty disdain of color, - as in Durer's and Raphael's drawing: finally, the severest and - passionate following of it, in Giorgione and Titian. - - 5. Color is, more than all elements of art, the reward of veracity of - purpose. This point respecting it I have not noticed before, and it - is highly curious. We have just seen that in giving an account of - anything for its own sake, the most important points are those of - form. Nevertheless, the form of the object is its own attribute; - special, not shared with other things. An error in giving an account - of it does not necessarily involve wider error. - - But its color is partly its own, partly shared with other things - round it. The hue and power of all broad sunlight is involved in the - color it has cast upon this single thing; to falsify that color, is - to misrepresent and break the harmony of the day: also, by what color - it bears, this single object is altering hues all round it; - reflecting its own into them, displaying them by opposition, - softening them by repetition; one falsehood in color in one place, - implies a thousand in the neighborhood. Hence, there are peculiar - penalties attached to falsehood in color, and peculiar rewards - granted to veracity in it. Form may be attained in perfectness by - painters who, in their course of study, are continually altering or - idealizing it; but only the sternest fidelity will reach coloring. - Idealize or alter in that, and you are lost. Whether you alter by - abasing, or exaggerating,--by glare or by decline, one fate is for - you--ruin. Violate truth wilfully in the slightest particular, or, at - least, get into the habit of violating it, and all kinds of failure - and error will surround and haunt you to your fall. - - Therefore, also, as long as you are working with form only, you may - amuse yourself with fancies; but color is sacred--in that you must - keep to facts. Hence the apparent anomaly that the only schools of - color are the schools of Realism. The men who care for form only, may - drift about in dreams of Spiritualism; but a colorist must keep to - substance. The greater his power in color enchantment, the more stern - and constant will be his common sense. Fuseli may wander wildly among - gray spectra, but Reynolds and Gainsborough must stay in broad - daylight, with pure humanity. Velasquez, the greatest colorist, is - the most accurate portrait painter of Spain; Holbein, the most - accurate portrait painter, is the only colorist of Germany; and even - Tintoret had to sacrifice some of the highest qualities of his color - before he could give way to the flights of wayward though mighty - imagination, in which his mind rises or declines from the royal calm - of Titian. - - [4] Compare the deaths of Jehoram, Herod, and Judas. - - [5] Thus, the railroad bridge over the Fall of Schaffhausen, and that - round the Clarens shore of the lake of Geneva, have destroyed the - power of two pieces of scenery of which nothing can ever supply the - place, in appeal to the higher ranks of European mind. - - [6] "There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four - things say not, it is enough: the grave; and the barren womb; the - earth that is not filled with water; and the fire, that saith not, It - is enough!" - - [7] A bad word, being only "foresight" again in Latin; but we have no - other good English word for the sense into which it has been warped. - - [8] I cannot repeat too often (for it seems almost impossible to - arouse the public mind in the least to a sense of the fact) that the - root of all benevolent and helpful action towards the lower classes - consists in the wise direction of purchase; that is to say, in - spending money, as far as possible, only for products of healthful - and natural labor. All work with fire is more or less harmful and - degrading; so also mine, or machine labor. They at present develope - more intelligence than rural labor, but this is only because no - education, properly so called, being given to the lower classes, - those occupations are best for them which compel them to attain some - accurate knowledge, discipline them in presence of mind, and bring - them within spheres in which they may raise themselves to positions - of command. Properly taught, a ploughman ought to be more - intelligent, as well as more healthy, than a miner. - - Every nation which desires to ennoble itself should endeavor to - maintain as large a number of persons as possible by rural and - maritime labor (including fishing). I cannot in this place enter into - consideration of the relative advantages of different channels of - industry. Any one who sincerely desires to act upon such knowledge - will find no difficulty in obtaining it. - - I have also several series of experiments and inquiries to undertake - before I shall be able to speak with security on certain points - connected with education; but I have no doubt that every child in a - civilized country should be taught the first principles of natural - history, physiology, and medicine; also to sing perfectly, so far as - it has capacity, and to draw any definite form accurately to any - scale. - - These things it should be taught by requiring its attendance at - school not more than three hours a day, and less if possible (the - best part of children's education being in helping their parents and - families). The other elements of its instruction ought to have - respect to the trade by which it is to live. - - Modern systems of improvement are too apt to confuse the recreation - of the workman with his education. He should be educated for his work - before he is allowed to undertake it; and refreshed and relieved - while he practises it. - - Every effort should be made to induce the adoption of a national - costume. Cleanliness and neatness in dress ought always to be - rewarded by some gratification of personal pride; and it is the - peculiar virtue of a national costume that it fosters and gratifies - the wish to look well, without inducing the desire to look better - than one's neighbors--or the hope, peculiarly English, of being - mistaken for a person in a higher position of life. A costume may - indeed become coquettish, but rarely indecent or vulgar; and though a - French bonne or Swiss farm-girl may dress so as sufficiently to - mortify her equals, neither of them ever desires or expects to be - mistaken for her mistress. - - [9] This last book should be read carefully by all persons interested - in social questions. It is sufficiently dull as a tale, but is - characterized throughout by a restrained tragic power of the highest - order; and it would be worth reading, were it only for the story of - Aenneli, and for the last half page of its close. - - [10] "The Cumaean Sibyl, Deiphobe, was, in her youth, beloved by - Apollo; who, promising to grant her whatever she would ask, she took - up a handful of earth, and asked that she might live as many years as - there were grains of dust in her hand. She obtained her petition. - Apollo would have granted her perpetual youth in return for her love, - but she denied him, and wasted into the long ages--known, at last, - only by her voice."--(See my notes on the Turner Gallery.) - - [11] Turner appears never to have desired, from any one, care in - favor of his separate works. The only thing he would say sometimes - was, "Keep them together." He seemed not to mind how much they were - injured, if only the record of the thought were left in them, and - they were kept in the series which would give the key to their - meaning. I never saw him, at my father's house, look for an instant - at any of his own drawings: I have watched him sitting at dinner - nearly opposite one of his chief pictures--his eyes never turned to - it. - - But the want of appreciation, nevertheless, touched him sorely; - chiefly the not understanding his meaning. He tried hard one day for - a quarter of an hour to make me guess what he was doing in the - picture of Napoleon, before it had been exhibited, giving me hint - after hint in a rough way; but I could not guess, and he would not - tell me. - - [12] I limit myself in this book to mere indication of the tones of - his mind, illustration of them at any length being as yet impossible. - It will be found on examining the series of drawings made by Turner - during the late years of his life, in possession of the nation, that - they are nearly all made for the sake of some record of human power, - partly victorious, partly conquered. There is hardly a single example - of landscape painted for its own abstract beauty. Power and - desolation, or soft pensiveness, are the elements sought chiefly in - landscape; hence the later sketches are nearly all among mountain - scenery, and chiefly of fortresses, villages or bridges and roads - among the wildest Alps. The pass of the St. Gothard, especially, from - his earliest days, had kept possession of his mind, not as a piece of - mountain scenery, but as a marvellous road; and the great drawing - which I have tried to illustrate with some care in this book, the - last he made of the Alps with unfailing energy, was wholly made to - show the surviving of this tormented path through avalanche and - storm, from the day when he first drew its two bridges, in the Liber - Studiorum. Plate 81, which is the piece of the torrent bed on the - left, of the real size, where the stones of it appear just on the - point of being swept away, and the ground we stand upon with them, - completes the series of illustrations of this subject, for the - present, sufficiently; and, if compared with Plate 80, will be - serviceable, also, in showing how various in its grasp and its - delight was this strange human mind, capable of all patience and all - energy, and perfect in its sympathy, whether with wrath or quietness. - Though lingering always with chief affection about the St. Gothard - pass, he seems to have gleaned the whole of Switzerland for every - record he could find of grand human effort of any kind; I do not - believe there is one baronial tower, one shattered arch of Alpine - bridge, one gleaming tower of decayed village or deserted monastery, - which he has not drawn; in many cases, round and round, again and - again, on every side. Now that I have done this work, I purpose, if - life and strength are spared to me, to trace him through these last - journeys, and take such record of his best-beloved places as may - fully interpret the designs he left. I have given in the three - following plates an example of the kind of work which needs doing, - and which, as stated in the preface, I have partly already begun. - Plate 82 represents roughly two of Turner's memoranda of a bridge - over the Rhine. They are quite imperfectly represented, because I do - not choose to take any trouble about them on this scale. If I can - engrave them at all, it must be of their own size; but they are - enough to give an idea of the way he used to walk round a place, - taking sketch after sketch of its aspects, from every point or - half-point of the compass. There are three other sketches of this - bridge, far more detailed than these, in the National Gallery. - - A scratched word on the back of one of them, "Rheinfels," which I - knew could not apply to the Rheinfels near Bingen, gave me the clue - to the place;--an old Swiss town, seventeen miles above Basle, - celebrated in Swiss history as the main fortress defending the - frontier toward the Black Forest. I went there the moment I had got - Turner's sketches arranged in 1858, and drew it with the pen (or - point of brush, more difficult to manage, but a better instrument) on - every side on which Turner had drawn it, giving every detail with - servile accuracy, so as to show the exact modifications he made as he - composed his subjects. Mr. Le Keux has beautifully copied two of - these studies, Plates 83 and 84; the first of these is the bridge - drawn from the spot whence Turner made his upper memorandum; - afterwards, he went down close to the fishing house, and took the - second; in which he unhesitatingly divides the Rhine by a strong - pyramidal rock, in order to get a group of firm lines pointing to his - main subject, the tower (compare Sec. 12, p. 170, above); and throws a - foaming mass of water away to the left, in order to give a better - idea of the river's force; the modifications of form in the tower - itself are all skilful and majestic in the highest degree. The - throwing the whole of it higher than the bridge, taking off the peak - from its gable on the left, and adding the little roof-window in the - centre, make it a perfectly noble mass, instead of a broken and - common one. I have added the other subject, Plate 84,--though I could - not give the Turner drawing which it illustrates,--merely to show the - kind of scene which modern ambition and folly are destroying - throughout Switzerland. In Plate 83, a small dark tower is seen in - the distance, just on the left of the tower of the bridge. Getting - round nearly to the foot of it, on the outside of the town, and then - turning back so as to put the town walls on your right, you may, I - hope, still see the subject of the third plate; the old bridge over - the moat, and older wall and towers; the stork's nest on the top of - the nearest one; the moat itself, now nearly filled with softest - grass and flowers; a little mountain brook rippling down through the - midst of them, and the first wooded promontory of the Jura beyond. - Had Rheinfelden been a place of the least mark, instead of a nearly - ruinous village, it is just this spot of ground which, costing little - or nothing, would have been made its railroad station, and its - refreshment-room would have been built out of the stones of the - towers. - - [13] I have not followed out, as I ought to have done, had the task - been less painful, my assertion that Turner had to paint not only the - labor and the sorrow of men, but their death. There is no form of - violent death which he has not painted. Pre-eminent in many things, - he is pre-eminent also, bitterly, in this. Durer and Holbein drew the - skeleton in its questioning; but Turner, like Salvator, as under some - strange fascination or captivity, drew it at its work. Flood, and - fire, and wreck, and battle, and pestilence; and solitary death, more - fearful still. The noblest of all the plates of the Liber Studiorum, - except the Via Mala, is one engraved with his own hand, of a single - sailor, yet living, dashed in the night against a granite coast,--his - body and outstretched hands just seen in the trough of a mountain - wave, between it and the overhanging wall of rock, hollow, polished, - and pale with dreadful cloud and grasping foam. - - And remember, also, that the very sign in heaven itself which, truly - understood, is the type of love, was to Turner the type of death. The - scarlet of the clouds was his symbol of destruction. In his mind it - was the color of blood. So he used it in the Fall of Carthage. Note - his own written words-- - - "While o'er the western wave the _ensanguined_ sun, - In gathering huge a stormy signal spread, - And set portentous." - - So he used it in the Slaver, in the Ulysses, in the Napoleon, in the - Goldau; again and again in slighter hints and momentary dreams, of - which one of the saddest and most tender is a little sketch of dawn, - made in his last years. It is a small space of level sea shore; - beyond it a fair, soft light in the east; the last storm-clouds - melting away, oblique into the morning air; some little vessel--a - collier, probably--has gone down in the night, all hands lost; a - single dog has come ashore. Utterly exhausted, its limbs failing - under it, and, sinking into the sand, it stands howling and - shivering. The dawn-clouds have the first scarlet upon them, a feeble - tinge only, reflected with the same feeble blood-stain on the sand. - - The morning light is used with a loftier significance in a drawing - made as a companion to the Goldau, engraved in the fourth volume. The - Lake of Zug, which ripples beneath the sunset in the Goldau, is - lulled in the level azure of early cloud; and the spire of Aart, - which is there a dark point at the edge of the golden lake, is, in - the opening light, seen pale against purple mountains. The sketches - for these two subjects were, I doubt not, made from the actual - effects of a stormy evening, and the next following daybreak; but - both with earnest meaning. The crimson sunset lights the valley of - rock tombs, cast upon it by the fallen Rossberg; but the sunrise - gilds with its level rays the two peaks which protect the village - that gives name to Switzerland; and the orb itself breaks first - through the darkness on the very point of the pass to the high lake - of Egeri, where the liberties of the cantons were won by the - battle-charge of Morgarten. - - [14] I have engraved, at the beginning of this chapter, one of the - fragments of these frescos, preserved, all imperfectly indeed, yet - with some feeling of their nobleness, by Zanetti, whose words - respecting them I have quoted in the text. The one I saw was the - first figure given in his book; the one engraved in my Plate, the - third, had wholly perished; but even this record of it by Zanetti is - precious. What imperfections of form exist in it, too visibly, are - certainly less Giorgione's than the translator's; nevertheless, for - these very faults, as well as for its beauty, I have chosen it, as - the best type I could give of the strength of Venetian art; which was - derived, be it remembered always, from the acceptance of natural - truth, by men who loved beauty too well to think she was to be won by - falsehood. - - The words of Zanetti himself respecting Giorgione's figure of - Diligence are of great value, as they mark this first article of - Venetian faith: "Giorgione per tale, o per altra che vi fosse, - contrassegnolla con quella spezie di mannaja che tiene in mano; per - altro tanto ci cercava le sole bellezze della natura, che poco - pensando al costume, ritrasse qui una di quelle donne Friulane, che - vengono per servire in Venezia; non alterandone nemmeno l'abito, e - facendola alquanto attempata, quale forse ci la vedea; senza voler - sapere che per rappresentare le Virtu, si suole da pittori belle e - fresche giovani immaginare." - - Compare with this what I have said of Titian's Magdalen. I ought in - that place to have dwelt also upon the firm endurance of all - terribleness which is marked in Titian's "Notomie" and in Veronese's - "Marsyas." In order to understand the Venetian mind entirely, the - student should place a plate from that series of the Notomie always - beside the best engraving he can obtain of Titian's "Flora." - - My impression is that the ground of the flesh in these Giorgione - frescos had been pure vermilion; little else was left in the figure I - saw. Therefore, not knowing what power the painter intended to - personify by the figure at the commencement of this chapter, I have - called her, from her glowing color, Hesperid AEgle. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -PEACE. - - -Sec. 1. Looking back over what I have written, I find that I have only now -the power of ending this work; it being time that it should end, but not -of "concluding" it; for it has led me into fields of infinite inquiry, -where it is only possible to break off with such imperfect result as -may, at any given moment, have been attained. - -Full of far deeper reverence for Turner's art than I felt when this task -of his defence was undertaken (which may, perhaps, be evidenced by my -having associated no other names with his--but of the dead,--in my -speaking of him throughout this volume),[1] I am more in doubt -respecting the real use to mankind of that, or any other transcendent -art; incomprehensible as it must always be to the mass of men. Full of -far deeper love for what I remember of Turner himself, as I become -better capable of understanding it, I find myself more and more helpless -to explain his errors and his sins. - -Sec. 2. His errors, I might say, simply. Perhaps, some day, people will -again begin to remember the force of the old Greek word for sin; and to -learn that all sin is in essence--"Missing the mark;" losing sight or -consciousness of heaven; and that this loss may be various in its guilt: -it cannot be judged by us. It is this of which the words are spoken so -sternly, "Judge not;" which words people always quote, I observe, when -they are called upon to "do judgment and justice." For it is truly a -pleasant thing to condemn men for their wanderings; but it is a bitter -thing to acknowledge a truth, or to take any bold share in working out -an equity. So that the habitual modern practical application of the -precept, "Judge not," is to avoid the trouble of pronouncing verdict, by -taking, of any matter, the pleasantest malicious view which first comes -to hand; and to obtain licence for our own convenient iniquities, by -being indulgent to those of others. - -These two methods of obedience being just the two which are most -directly opposite to the law of mercy and truth. - -Sec. 3. "Bind them about thy neck." I said, but now, that of an evil tree -men never gathered good fruit. And the lesson we have finally to learn -from Turner's life is broadly this, that all the power of it came of its -mercy and sincerity; all the failure of it, from its want of faith. It -has been asked of me, by several of his friends, that I should endeavor -to do some justice to his character, mistaken wholly by the world. If my -life is spared, I will. But that character is still, in many respects, -inexplicable to me; the materials within my reach are imperfect; and my -experience in the world not yet large enough to enable me to use them -justly. His life is to be written by a biographer, who will, I believe, -spare no pains in collecting the few scattered records which exist of a -career so uneventful and secluded. I will not anticipate the conclusions -of this writer; but if they appear to me just, will endeavor afterwards, -so far as may be in my power, to confirm and illustrate them; and, if -unjust, to show in what degree. - -Sec. 4. Which, lest death or illness should forbid me, this only I declare -now of what I know respecting Turner's character. Much of his mind and -heart I do not know;--perhaps, never shall know. But this much I do; and -if there is anything in the previous course of this work to warrant -trust in me of any kind, let me be trusted when I tell you, that Turner -had a heart as intensely kind, and as nobly true, as ever God gave to -one of his creatures. I offer, as yet, no evidence in this matter. When -I _do_ give it, it shall be sifted and clear. Only this one fact I now -record joyfully and solemnly, that, having known Turner for ten years, -and that during the period of his life when the brightest qualities of -his mind were, in many respects, diminished, and when he was suffering -most from the evil-speaking of the world, I never heard him say one -depreciating word of living man, or man's work; I never saw him look an -unkind or blameful look; I never knew him let pass, without some -sorrowful remonstrance, or endeavor at mitigation, a blameful word -spoken by another. - -Of no man but Turner, whom I have ever known, could I say this. And of -this kindness and truth[2] came, I repeat, all his highest power. And -all his failure and error, deep and strange, came of his faithlessness. - -Faithlessness, or despair, the despair which has been shown already -(Vol. III., chap. xvi.) to be characteristic of this present century, -and most sorrowfully manifested in its greatest men; but existing in an -infinitely more fatal form in the lower and general mind, reacting upon -those who ought to be its teachers. - -Sec. 5. The form which the infidelity of England, especially, has taken, -is one hitherto unheard of in human history. No nation ever before -declared boldly, by print and word of mouth, that its religion was good -for show, but "would not work." Over and over again it has happened that -nations have denied their gods, but they denied them bravely. The Greeks -in their decline jested at their religion, and frittered it away in -flatteries and fine arts; the French refused theirs fiercely, tore down -their altars and brake their carven images. The question about God with -both these nations was still, even in their decline, fairly put, though -falsely answered. "Either there is or is not a Supreme Ruler; we -consider of it, declare there is not, and proceed accordingly." But we -English have put the matter in an entirely new light: "There _is_ a -Supreme Ruler, no question of it, only He cannot rule. His orders won't -work. He will be quite satisfied with euphonious and respectful -repetition of them. Execution would be too dangerous under existing -circumstances, which He certainly never contemplated." - -I had no conception of the absolute darkness which has covered the -national mind in this respect, until I began to come into collision with -persons engaged in the study of economical and political questions. The -entire naivete and undisturbed imbecility with which I found them -declare that the laws of the Devil were the only practicable ones, and -that the laws of God were merely a form of poetical language, passed all -that I had ever before heard or read of mortal infidelity. I knew the -fool had often said in his heart, there was _no_ God; but to hear him -say clearly out with his lips, "There is a foolish God," was something -which my art studies had not prepared me for. The French had indeed, for -a considerable time, hinted much of the meaning in the delicate and -compassionate blasphemy of their phrase "_le bon Dieu_," but had never -ventured to put it into more precise terms. - -6. Now this form of unbelief in God is connected with, and necessarily -productive of, a precisely equal unbelief in man. - -Co-relative with the assertion, "There is a foolish God," is the -assertion, "There is a brutish man." "As no laws but those of the Devil -are practicable in the world, so no impulses but those of the brute" -(says the modern political economist) "are appealable to in the world." -Faith, generosity, honesty, zeal, and self-sacrifice are poetical -phrases. None of these things can, in reality, be counted upon; there is -no truth in man which can be used as a moving or productive power. All -motive force in him is essentially brutish, covetous, or contentious. -His power is only power of prey: otherwise than the spider, he cannot -design; otherwise than the tiger, he cannot feed. This is the modern -interpretation of that embarrassing article of the Creed, "the communion -of saints." - -7. It has always seemed very strange to me, not indeed that this creed -should have been adopted, it being the entirely necessary consequence of -the previous fundamental article;--but that no one should ever seem to -have any misgivings about it;--that, practically, no one had _seen_ how -strong work _was_ done by man; how either for hire, or for hatred, it -never had been done; and that no amount of pay had ever made a good -soldier, a good teacher, a good artist, or a good workman. You pay your -soldiers and sailors so many pence a day, at which rated sum one will do -good fighting for you; another, bad fighting. Pay as you will, the -entire goodness of the fighting depends, always, on its being done for -nothing; or rather, less than nothing, in the expectation of no pay but -death. Examine the work of your spiritual teachers, and you will find -the statistical law respecting them is, "The less pay, the better work." -Examine also your writers and artists: for ten pounds you shall have a -Paradise Lost, and for a plate of figs, a Durer drawing; but for a -million of money sterling, neither. Examine your men of science: paid by -starvation, Kepler will discover the laws of the orbs of heaven for -you;--and, driven out to die in the street, Swammerdam shall discover -the laws of life for you--such hard terms do they make with you, these -brutish men, who can only be had for hire. - -Sec. 8. Neither is good work ever done for hatred, any more than hire--but -for love only. For love of their country, or their leader, or their -duty, men fight steadily; but for massacre and plunder, feebly. Your -signal, "England expects every man to do his duty," they will answer; -your signal of black flag and death's head, they will not answer. And -verily they will answer it no more in commerce than in battle. The cross -bones will not make a good shop-sign, you will find ultimately, any more -than a good battle-standard. Not the cross bones, but the cross. - -Sec. 9. Now the practical result of this infidelity in man, is the utter -ignorance of all the ways of getting his right work out of him. From a -given quantity of human power and intellect, to produce the least -possible result, is a problem solved, nearly with mathematical -precision, by the present methods of the nation's economical procedure. -The power and intellect are enormous. With the best soldiers, at present -existing, we survive in battle, and but survive, because, by help of -Providence, a man whom we have kept all his life in command of a company -forces his way at the age of seventy so far up as to obtain permission -to save us, and die, unthanked. With the shrewdest thinkers in the -world, we have not yet succeeded in arriving at any national conviction -respecting the uses of life. And with the best artistical material in -the world, we spend millions of money in raising a building for our -Houses of Talk, of the delightfulness and utility of which (perhaps -roughly classing the Talk and its tabernacle together), posterity will, -I believe, form no very grateful estimate;--while for sheer want of -bread, we brought the question to the balance of a hair, whether the -most earnest of our young painters should give up his art altogether, -and go to Australia,--or fight his way through all neglect and obloquy -to the painting of the Christ in the Temple. - -Sec. 10. The marketing was indeed done in this case, as in all others, on -the usual terms. For the millions of money, we got a mouldering toy: for -the starvation, five years'work of the prime of a noble life. Yet -neither that picture, great as it is, nor any other of Hunt's, are the -best he could have done. They are the least he could have done. By no -expedient could we have repressed him more than he has been repressed; -by no abnegation received from him less than we have received. - -My dear friend and teacher, Lowell, right as he is in almost everything, -is for once wrong in these lines, though with a noble wrongness:-- - - "Disappointment's dry and bitter root, - Envy's harsh berries, and the choking pool - Of the world's scorn, are the right mother-milk - To the tough hearts that pioneer their kind." - -They are not so; love and trust are the only mother-milk of any man's -soul. So far as he is hated and mistrusted, his powers are destroyed. Do -not think that with impunity you can follow the eyeless fool, and shout -with the shouting charlatan; and that the men you thrust aside with gibe -and blow, are thus sneered and crushed into the best service they can do -you. I have told you they _will_ not serve you for pay. They _cannot_ -serve you for scorn. Even from Balaam, money-lover though he be, no -useful prophecy is to be had for silver or gold. From Elisha, savior of -life though he be, no saving of life--even of children's, who "knew no -better,"--is to be got by the cry, Go up, thou bald-head. No man can -serve you either for purse or curse; neither kind of pay will answer. No -pay is, indeed, receivable by any true man; but power is receivable by -him, in the love and faith you give him. So far only as you give him -these can he serve you; that is the meaning of the question which his -Master asks always, "Believest thou that I am able?" And from every one -of His servants--to the end of time--if you give them the Capernaum -measure of faith, you shall have from them Capernaum measure of works, -and no more. - -Do not think that I am irreverently comparing great and small things. -The system of the world is entirely one; small things and great are -alike part of one mighty whole. As the flower is gnawed by frost, so -every human heart is gnawed by faithlessness. And as surely,--as -irrevocably,--as the fruit-bud falls before the east wind, so fails the -power of the kindest human heart, if you meet it with poison. - -Sec. 11. Now the condition of mind in which Turner did all his great work -was simply this: "What I do must be done rightly; but I know also that -no man now living in Europe cares to understand it; and the better I do -it, the less he will see the meaning of it." There never was yet, so far -as I can hear or read, isolation of a great spirit so utterly desolate. -Columbus had succeeded in making other hearts share his hope, before he -was put to hardest trial; and knew that, by help of Heaven, he could -finally show that he was right. Kepler and Galileo could demonstrate -their conclusions up to a certain point; so far as they felt they were -right, they were sure that after death their work would be acknowledged. -But Turner could demonstrate nothing of what he had done--saw no -security that after death he would be understood more than he had been -in life. Only another Turner could apprehend Turner. Such praise as he -received was poor and superficial; he regarded it far less than censure. -My own admiration of him was wild in enthusiasm, but it gave him no ray -of pleasure; he could not make me at that time understand his main -meanings; he loved me, but cared nothing for what I said, and was always -trying to hinder me from writing, because it gave pain to his fellow -artists. To the praise of other persons he gave not even the -acknowledgment of this sad affection; it passed by him as murmur of the -wind; and most justly, for not one of his own special powers was ever -perceived by the world. I have said in another place that all great -modern artists will own their obligation to him as a guide. They will; -but they are in error in this gratitude, as I was, when I quoted it as -a sign of their respect. Close analysis of the portions of modern art -founded on Turner has since shown me that in every case his imitators -misunderstood him:--that they caught merely at superficial brilliancies, -and never saw the real character of his mind or his work. - -And at this day, while I write, the catalogue allowed to be sold at the -gates of the National Gallery for the instruction of the common people, -describes Calcott and Claude as the greater artists. - -Sec. 12. To censure, on the other hand, Turner was acutely sensitive, owing -to his own natural kindness; he felt it, for himself, or for others, not -as criticism, but as cruelty. He knew that however little his higher -powers could be seen, he had at least done as much as ought to have -saved him from wanton insult; and the attacks upon him in his later -years were to him not merely contemptible in their ignorance, but -amazing in their ingratitude. "A man may be weak in his age," he said to -me once, at the time when he felt he was dying; "but you should not tell -him so." - -Sec. 13. What Turner might have done for us, had he received help and love, -instead of disdain, I can hardly trust myself to imagine. Increasing -calmly in power and loveliness, his work would have formed one mighty -series of poems, each great as that which I have interpreted,--the -Hesperides; but becoming brighter and kinder as he advanced to happy -age. Soft as Correggio's, solemn as Titian's, the enchanted color would -have glowed, imperishable and pure; and the subtle thoughts risen into -loftiest teaching, helpful for centuries to come. - -What we have asked from him, instead of this, and what received, we -know. But few of us yet know how true an image those darkening wrecks of -radiance give of the shadow which gained sway over his once pure and -noble soul. - -Sec. 14. Not unresisted, nor touching the heart's core, nor any of the old -kindness and truth: yet festering work of the worm--inexplicable and -terrible, such as England, by her goodly gardening, leaves to infect her -earth-flowers. - -So far as in it lay, this century has caused every one of its great men, -whose hearts were kindest, and whose spirits most perceptive of the work -of God, to die without hope:--Scott, Keats, Byron, Shelley, Turner. -Great England, of the Iron-heart now, not of the Lion-heart; for these -souls of her children an account may perhaps be one day required of her. - -Sec. 15. She has not yet read often enough that old story of the -Samaritan's mercy. He whom he saved was going down from Jerusalem to -Jericho--to the accursed city (so the old Church used to understand it). -He should not have left Jerusalem; it was his own fault that he went out -into the desert, and fell among the thieves, and was left for dead. -Every one of these English children, in their day, took the desert -bypath as he did, and fell among fiends--took to making bread out of -stones at their bidding, and then died, torn and famished; careful -England, in her pure, priestly dress, passing by on the other side. So -far as we are concerned, that is the account _we_ have to give of -them.[3] - -Sec. 16. So far as _they_ are concerned, I do not fear for them;--there -being one Priest who never passes by. The longer I live, the more -clearly I see how all souls are in His hand--the mean and the great. -Fallen on the earth in their baseness, or fading as the mist of morning -in their goodness; still in the hand of the potter as the clay, and in -the temple of their master as the cloud. It was not the mere bodily -death that He conquered--that death had no sting. It was this spiritual -death which He conquered, so that at last it should be swallowed -up--mark the word--not in life; but in victory. As the dead body shall -be raised to life, so also the defeated soul to victory, if only it has -been fighting on its Master's side, has made no covenant with death; nor -itself bowed its forehead for his seal. Blind from the prison-house, -maimed from the battle, or mad from the tombs, their souls shall surely -yet sit, astonished, at His feet who giveth peace. - -Sec. 17. Who _giveth_ peace? Many a peace we have made and named for -ourselves, but the falsest is in that marvellous thought that we, of all -generations of the earth, only know the right; and that to us, at -last,--and us alone,--all the scheme of God, about the salvation of men, -has been shown. "This is the light in which _we_ are walking, Those vain -Greeks are gone down to their Persephone for ever--Egypt and Assyria, -Elam and her multitude,--uncircumcised, their graves are round about -them--Pathros and careless Ethiopia--filled with the slain. Rome, with -her thirsty sword, and poison wine, how did she walk in her darkness! We -only have no idolatries--ours are the seeing eyes; in our pure hands at -last, the seven-sealed book is laid; to our true tongues entrusted the -preaching of a perfect gospel. Who shall come after us? Is it not peace? -The poor Jew, Zimri, who slew his master, there is no peace for him: -but, for us? tiara on head, may we not look out of the windows of -heaven?" - -Sec. 18. Another kind of peace I look for than this, though I hear it said -of me that I am hopeless. - -I am not hopeless, though my hope may be as Veronese's, the dark-veiled. - -Veiled, not because sorrowful, but because blind. I do not know what my -England desires, or how long she will choose to do as she is doing -now;--with her right hand casting away the souls of men, and with her -left the gifts of God. - -In the prayers which she dictates to her children, she tells them to -fight against the world, the flesh, and the devil. Some day, perhaps, it -may also occur to her as desirable to tell those children what she means -by this. What is the world which they are to "fight with," and how does -it differ from the world which they are to "get on in"? The explanation -seems to me the more needful, because I do not, in the book we profess -to live by, find anything very distinct about fighting with the world. I -find something about fighting with the rulers of its darkness, and -something also about overcoming it; but it does not follow that this -conquest is to be by hostility, since evil may be overcome with good. -But I find it written very distinctly that God loved the world, and that -Christ is the light of it. - -Sec. 19. What the much-used words, therefore, mean, I cannot tell. But -this, I believe, they _should_ mean. That there is, indeed, one world -which is full of care, and desire, and hatred: a world of war, of which -Christ is not the light, which indeed is without light, and has never -heard the great "Let there be." Which is, therefore, in truth, as yet no -world; but chaos, on the face of which, moving, the Spirit of God yet -causes men to hope that a world will come. The better one, they call it: -perhaps they might, more wisely, call it the real one. Also, I hear them -speak continually of going to it, rather than of its coming to them; -which, again, is strange, for in that prayer which they had straight -from the lips of the Light of the world, and which He apparently thought -sufficient prayer for them, there is not anything about going to another -world; only something of another government coming into this; or rather, -not another, but the only government,--that government which will -constitute it a world indeed. New heavens and new earth. Earth, no more -without form and void, but sown with fruit of righteousness. Firmament, -no more of passing cloud, but of cloud risen out of the crystal -sea--cloud in which, as He was once received up, so He shall again come -with power, and every eye shall see Him, and all kindreds of the earth -shall wail because of Him. - -Kindreds of the earth, or tribes of it![4]--the "earth-begotten," the -Chaos children--children of this present world, with its desolate seas -and its Medusa clouds: the Dragon children, merciless: they who dealt as -clouds without water: serpent clouds, by whose sight men were turned -into stone;--the time must surely come for their wailing. - -20. "Thy kingdom come," we are bid to ask then! But how shall it come? -With power and great glory, it is written; and yet not with observation, -it is also written. Strange kingdom! Yet its strangeness is renewed to -us with every dawn. - -When the time comes for us to wake out of the world's sleep, why should -it be otherwise than out of the dreams of the night? Singing of birds, -first, broken and low, as, not to dying eyes, but eyes that wake to -life, "the casement slowly grows a glimmering square;" and then the -gray, and then the rose of dawn; and last the light, whose going forth -is to the ends of heaven. - -This kingdom it is not in our power to bring; but it is, to receive. -Nay, it has come already, in part; but not received, because men love -chaos best; and the Night, with her daughters. That is still the only -question for us, as in the old Elias days, "If ye will receive it." With -pains it may be shut out still from many a dark place of cruelty; by -sloth it may be still unseen for many a glorious hour. But the pain of -shutting it out must grow greater and greater:--harder, every day, that -struggle of man with man in the abyss, and shorter wages for the fiend's -work. But it is still at our choice; the simoom-dragon may still be -served if we will, in the fiery desert, or else God walking in the -garden, at cool of day. Coolness now, not of Hesperus over Atlas, -stooped endurer of toil; but of Heosphorus over Sion, the joy of the -earth.[5] The choice is no vague or doubtful one. High on the desert -mountain, full descried, sits throned the tempter, with his old -promise--the kingdoms of this world, and the glory of them. He still -calls you to your labor, as Christ to your rest;--labor and sorrow, base -desire, and cruel hope. So far as you desire to possess, rather than to -give; so far as you look for power to command, instead of to bless; so -far as your own prosperity seems to you to issue out of contest or -rivalry, of any kind, with other men, or other nations; so long as the -hope before you is for supremacy instead of love; and your desire is to -be greatest, instead of least;--first, instead of last;--so long you are -serving the Lord of all that is last, and least;--the last enemy that -shall be destroyed--Death; and you shall have death's crown, with the -worm coiled in it; and death's wages with the worm feeding on them; -kindred of the earth shall you yourself become; saying to the grave, -"Thou art my father;" and to the worm, "Thou art my mother, and my -sister." - -I leave you to judge, and to choose, between this labor, and the -bequeathed peace; this wages, and the gift of the Morning Star; this -obedience, and the doing of the will which shall enable you to claim -another kindred than of the earth, and to hear another voice than that -of the grave, saying, "My brother, and sister, and mother." - - -FOOTNOTES: - - [1] It is proper, however, for the reader to know, that the title - which I myself originally intended for this book was "_Turner and the - Ancients_;" nor did I purpose to refer in it to any other modern - painters than Turner. The title was changed; and the notes on other - living painters inserted in the first volume, in deference to the - advice of friends, probably wise; for unless the change had been - made, the book might never have been read at all. But, as far as I am - concerned, I regretted the change then, and regret it still. - - [2] It may perhaps be necessary to explain one or two singular points - of Turner's character, not in defence of this statement, but to show - its meaning. In speaking of his truth, I use the word in a double - sense;--truth to himself, and to others. - - Truth to himself; that is to say, the resolution to do his duty by - his art, and carry all work out as well as it could be done. Other - painters, for the most part, modify their work by some reference to - public taste, or measure out a certain quantity of it for a certain - price, or alter facts to show their power. Turner never did any of - these things. The thing the public asked of him he would do, but - whatever it was, only as _he_ thought it ought to be done. People did - not buy his large pictures; he, with avowed discontent, painted small - ones; but instead of taking advantage of the smaller size to give, - proportionally, less labor, he instantly changed his execution so as - to be able to put nearly as much work into his small drawings as into - his large ones, though he gave them for half the price. But his aim - was always to make the drawing as good as he could, or as the subject - deserved, irrespective of price. If he disliked his theme, he painted - it slightly, utterly disdainful of the purchaser's complaint. "The - purchaser must take his chance." If he liked his theme, he would give - three hundred guineas' worth of work for a hundred, and ask no - thanks. It is true, exceptionally, that he altered the engravings - from his designs, so as to meet the popular taste, but this was - because he knew the public could not be got otherwise to look at his - art at all. His own drawings the entire body of the nation repudiated - and despised: "the engravers could make something of them," they - said. Turner scornfully took them at their word. If that is what you - like, take it. I will not alter my own noble work one jot for you, - but these things you shall have to your minds;--try to use them, and - get beyond them. Sometimes, when an engraver came with a plate to be - touched, he would take a piece of white chalk in his right hand and - of black in his left: "Which will you have it done with?" The - engraver chose black or white, as he thought his plate weak or heavy. - Turner threw the other piece of chalk away, and would reconstruct the - plate, with the added lights or darks, in ten minutes. Nevertheless, - even this concession to false principles, so far as it had influence, - was injurious to him: he had better not have scorned the engravings, - but either done nothing with them, or done his best. His best, in a - certain way, he did, never sparing pains, if he thought the plate - worth it: some of his touched proofs are elaborate drawings. - - Of his earnestness in his main work, enough, I should think, has been - already related in this book; but the following anecdote, which I - repeat here from my notes on the Turner Gallery, that there may be - less chance of its being lost, gives, in a few words, and those his - own, the spirit of his labor, as it possessed him throughout his - life. The anecdote was communicated to me in a letter by Mr. - Kingsley, late of Sidney College, Cambridge; whose words I give:--"I - had taken my mother and a cousin to see Turner's pictures; and, as my - mother knows nothing about art, I was taking her down the gallery to - look at the large Richmond Park, but as we were passing the - Sea-storm, she stopped before it, and I could hardly get her to look - at any other picture: and she told me a great deal more about it than - I had any notion of, though I had seen many sea-storms. She had been - in such a scene on the coast of Holland during the war. When, some - time afterwards, I thanked Turner for his permission for her to see - the pictures, I told him that he would not guess which had caught my - mother's fancy, and then named the picture; and he then said, 'I did - not paint it to be understood, but I wished to show what such a scene - was like: I got the sailors to lash me to the mast to observe it; I - was lashed for four hours, and I did not expect to escape, but I felt - bound to record it if I did. But no one had any business to like the - picture.' 'But,' said I, 'my mother once went through just such a - scene, and it brought it all back to her.' 'Is your mother a - painter?' 'No.' 'Then she ought to have been thinking of something - else.' These were nearly his words; I observed at the time, he used - 'record' and 'painting,' as the title 'author' had struck me before." - - He was true to others. No accusation had ever been brought forward - against Turner by his most envious enemies, of his breaking a - promise, or failing in an undertaken trust. His sense of justice was - strangely acute; it was like his sense of balance in color, and shone - continually in little crotchets of arrangement of price, or other - advantages, among the buyers of his pictures. For instance, one of my - friends had long desired to possess a picture which Turner would not - sell. It had been painted with a companion; which was sold, but this - reserved. After a considerable number of years had passed, Turner - consented to part with it. The price of canvases of its size having, - in the meantime, doubled, question arose as to what was then to be - its price. "Well," said Turner, "Mr. ---- had the companion for so - much. You must be on the same footing." This was in no desire to do - my friend a favor; but in mere instinct of equity. Had the price of - his pictures fallen, instead of risen in the meantime, Turner would - have said, "Mr. ---- paid so much, and so must you." - - But the best proof to which I can refer in this character of his mind - is in the wonderful series of diagrams executed by him for his - lectures on perspective at the Royal Academy. I had heard it said - that these lectures were inefficient. Barely intelligible in - expression they might be; but the zealous care with which Turner - endeavored to do his duty, is proved by a series of large drawings, - exquisitely tinted, and often completely colored, all by his own - hand, of the most difficult perspective subjects; illustrating not - only directions of line, but effects of light, with a care and - completion which would put the work of any ordinary teacher to utter - shame. In teaching generally, he would neither waste his time nor - spare it; he would look over a student's drawing, at the - academy,--point to a defective part, make a scratch on the paper at - the side, saying nothing; if the student saw what was wanted, and did - it, Turner was delighted, and would go on with him, giving hint after - hint; but if the student could not follow, Turner left him. Such - experience as I have had in teaching, leads me more and more to - perceive that he was right. Explanations are wasted time. A man who - can see, understands a touch; a man who cannot, misunderstands an - oration. - - One of the points in Turner which increased the general falseness of - impression respecting him was a curious dislike he had to _appear_ - kind. Drawing, with one of his best friends, at the bridge of St. - Martin's, the friend got into great difficulty over a colored sketch. - Turner looked over him a little while, then said, in a grumbling - way--"I haven't got any paper I like; let me try yours." Receiving a - block book, he disappeared for an hour and a half. Returning, he - threw the book down, with a growl, saying--"I can't make anything of - your paper." There were three sketches on it, in three distinct - states of progress, showing the process of coloring from beginning to - end, and clearing up every difficulty which his friend had got into. - When he gave advice, also, it was apt to come in the form of a keen - question, or a quotation of some one else's opinion, rarely a - statement of his own. To the same person producing a sketch, which - had no special character: "What are you in _search_ of?" Note this - expression. Turner knew that passionate seeking only leads to - passionate finding. Sometimes, however, the advice would come with a - startling distinctness. A church spire having been left out in a - sketch of a town--"Why did you not put that in?" "I hadn't time." - "Then you should take a subject more suited to your capacity." - - Many people would have gone away considering this an insult, whereas - it was only a sudden flash from Turner's earnest requirement of - wholeness or perfectness of conception. "Whatever you do, large or - small, do it wholly; take a slight subject if you will, but don't - leave things out." But the principal reason for Turner's having got - the reputation of always refusing advice was, that artists came to - him in a state of mind in which he knew they could not receive it. - Virtually, the entire conviction of the artists of his time - respecting him was, that he had got a secret, which he could tell, if - he liked, that would make them all Turners. They came to him with - this general formula of request clearly in their hearts, if not - definitely on their lips: "You know, Mr. Turner, we are all of us - quite as clever as you are, and could do all that very well, and we - should really like to do a little of it occasionally, only we haven't - quite your trick; there's something in it, of course, which you only - found out by accident, and it is very ill-natured and unkind of you - not to tell us how the thing is done; what do you rub your colors - over with, and where ought we to put in the black patches?" This was - the practical meaning of the artistical questioning of his day, to - which Turner very resolvedly made no answer. On the contrary, he took - great care that any tricks of execution he actually did use should - not be known. - - His _practical_ answer to their questioning being as follows:--"You - are indeed, many of you, as clever as I am; but this, which you think - a secret, is only the result of sincerity and toil. If you have not - sense enough to see this without asking me, you have not sense enough - to believe me, if I tell you. True, I know some odd methods of - coloring. I have found them out for myself, and they suit me. They - would not suit you. They would do you no real good; and it would do - me much harm to have you mimicking my ways of work, without knowledge - of their meaning. If you want methods fit for you, find them out for - yourselves. If you cannot discover them, neither could you use them." - - [3] It is strange that the last words Turner ever attached to a - picture should have been these:-- - - "The priest held the poisoned cup." - - Compare the words of 1798 with those of 1850. - - [4] Compare Matt. xxiv. 30. - - [5] Ps. xlviii. 2.--This joy it is to receive and to give, because - its officers (governors of its acts) are to be Peace, and its - exactors (governors of its dealings), Righteousness.--Is. lx. 17. - - -THE END. - - - - -LOCAL INDEX - -TO - -MODERN PAINTERS. - - - Aiguille Blaitiere, iv. 186, 188, 399; - Bouchard, iv. 39, 186, 200, 209-211; - de Chamouni, iv. 163, 183; - des Charmoz, iv. 177, 190, 191,192, 206; - du Goute, iv. 206; - duMoine, iv. 189 (note); - du Plan, iv. 187; - Pourri (Chamouni), iv. 196, 214; - de Varens (Chamouni), iv. 161. - - Aletsch glacier, ravine of, iv. 258. - - Alps, angle buttress of the chain of Jungfrau and Gemmi, iv. 286. - - Amiens, poplar groves of, iii. 181, iv. 348; - banks of the Somme at, iv. 10 (note). - - Annecy, lake of, cliffs round, iv. 247. - - Apennine, the Lombard, iii. plate 14. - - Ardon (Valais), gorge of, iv. 152. - - - Beauvais, destruction of old houses at, ii. 6 (note). - - Berne, scenery of lowland districts of, v. 83, iv. 132. - - Bietschhorn, peak of, iv. 178. - - Bolton Abbey (Yorkshire), iv. 249. - - Breven (Chamouni), precipices of, iv. 229. - - - Calais, tower of, iv. 26. - - Carrara mountains, peaks of, iv. 357; - quarries of, iv. 299. - - Chamounix, beauty of pine-glades, v. 82. See Valley. - - Chartres, cathedral, sculpture on, v. 35. - - Cluse, valley of, iv. 144. - - Col d'Anterne, iv. 124. - - Col de Ferret, iv. 124. - - Cormayeur, valley of, iv. 176. - - Cumberland, hills of, iv. 91. - - Cyrene, scenery of, v. 300. - - - Dart, banks of, iv. 297. - - Dent de Morcles (Valais), peaks of, iv. 160. - - Dent du Midi de Bex, structure of, iv. 241. - - Derbyshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100. - - Derwent, banks of, iv. 297. - - - Eiger (Grindelwald), position of, iv. 166. - - Engelberg, Hill of Angels, v. 86. - - - Faido, pass of (St. Gothard), iv. 21. - - Finster-Aarhorn (Bernese Alps), peak of, iv. 164, 178. - - Florence, destruction of old streets and frescoes in, ii. 7 (note). - - France, scenery and valleys of, i. 129, 250; iv. 297, 344. - - Fribourg, district surrounding, iv. 132; - towers of, iv. 32. - - - Geneva, restorations in, ii. 6 (note). - - Goldau, valley of, iv. 312. - - Grande Jorasse (Col de Ferret), position of, iv. 166. - - Grindelwald valley, iv. 164. - - - Highland valley, described, v. 206. - - - Il Resegone (Comasque chain of Alps), structure, iv. 153. - - - Jedburgh, rocks near, iv. 131. - - Jura, crags of, iv. 152, 157. - - - Lago Maggiore, effect of, destroyed by quarries, iv. 120. - - Langholme, rocks near, iv. 131. - - Lauterbrunnen Cliffs, structure of, iv. 149. - - Loire, description of its course, v. 164. - - Lucca, San Michele, mosaics on, i. 105; - tomb in Cathedral of, ii. 70. - - Lucerne, wooden bridges at, iv. 325, 375; - lake, shores of, the mountain-temple, v. 85, 87. - - - Matlock, via Gellia, v. 207. - - Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), structure of, iv. 160, 181, 237, 260; - from Zermatt, iv. 232, 238; - from Riffelhorn, iv. 235. - - Milan, sculpture in cathedral, ii. 206. - - Montanvert, view from, iv. 178. - - Montagne de la Cote, crests of, iv. 206, 208, 212, 282; v. 121. - - Montagne de Taconay, iv. 206, 208, 213, 282; v. 131. - - Montagne de Tacondy (Chamouni), ridges of, i. 298. - - Montagne de Vergi, iv. 247. - - Mont Blanc, arrangement of beds in chain of, iv. 174 (note), 394. - - Monte Rosa, iv. 165. - - Mont Pilate, v. 124; iv. 227. - - Monte Viso, peak of, iv. 178. - - - Niagara, channel of, iv. 95. - - Normandy, hills of, iv. 353. - - Nuremberg, description of, v. 232-235. - - - Oxford, Queen's College, front of, i. 104. - - - Pelerins Cascade (Valley of Chamouni), iv. 282. - - Pisa, destruction of works of art in, ii. 6 (note); - mountain scenery round, iv. 357. - - Petit Saleve, iv. 161. - - - Rhone, valley of, iv. 95. - - Rheinfelden (Switzerland), description of, v. 335 (note). - - Riffelhorn, precipices of, iv. 234. - - Rochers des Fys (Col d'Anterne), cliff of, iv. 241. - - Rome, pursuit of art in, i. 4; - Temple of Antoninus and Faustus, griffin on, iii. 100. - - Rouen, destruction of mediaeval architecture in, ii. 6 (note). - - - Saddleback (Cumberland), i. 298. - - Sallenche, plain of the Arve at, i. 273; - walk near, iii. 136. - - Savoy, valleys of, iv. 125. - - Salisbury Crags (Edinburgh), structure of, iv. 149. - - Schauffhausen, fall of, i. 349; v. 325. - - Schreckhorn (Bernese Alps), iv. 164. - - Scotland, hills of, iv. 91, 125. - - Sion (Valais), description of (mountain gloom), iv. 338-341. - - Switzerland, character of, how destroyed by foreigners, iv. 374; - railways, v. 325. - - - Taconay, Tacondy. See Montagne. - - Tees, banks of, iv. 297. - - Thames, description of, v. 288. - - Tours, destruction of mediaeval buildings in, ii. 6 (note). - - Trient, valley of (mountain gloom), iv. 259, 318. - - Twickenham, meadows of, v. 293. - - - Underwalden, pine hills of, v. 87. - - - Valais, canton, iv. 165; - fairies' hollow in, v. 82. - - Valley of Chamouni, iv. 177, 375; - formation of, iv. 165; - how spoiled by quarries, iv. 121; - of Cluse, iv. 144; - of Cormayer, iv. 176; - of Grindewald, iv. 166; - of Fruetigen (Canton of Berne), v. 86. - - Venice, in the eighteenth century, i. 110; - modern restorations in, ii. 8 (note); - Quay of the Rialto, market scene on, i. 343; - St. Mark's, mosaics on, i. 343; - described, v. 286. See Topical Index. - - Verona, griffin on cathedral of, iii. 100; - San Zeno, sculpture on arch in, v. 46. - - Villeneuve, mountains of, iv. 246, 287. - - Vosges, crags of, iv. 152. - - - Wales, hills of, iv. 125. - - Weisshorn, peak of, 178. - - Wetterhorn (Grindelwald), iv. 166, 178. - - Wharfe (Yorkshire), shores of, iv. 250, 297. - - - Yorkshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100, 246; v. 293. - - - Zermatt, valley of, chapel in, iv. 325. - - Zmutt Glacier, iv. 236. - - - - -INDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES - -REFERRED TO IN "MODERN PAINTERS." - - - Angelico da Fiesole, angel choirs of, ii. 224; - attained the highest beauty, ii. 136; - cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178; - decoration of, ii. 219; - distances of, iv. 355; - finish of, ii. 82, iii. 122; - his hatred of fog, iv. 55; - influence of hills upon, iv. 355; - introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120, iii. 33; - his purity of life, iii. 72; - spiritual beauty of, iii. 33; - treatment of Passion subjects by, ii. 129; - unison of expressional with pictorial power in, iii. 29; - contrast between, and Wouvermans, v. 283; - contrast between, and Salvator, v. 283; - Pictures referred to-- - Annunciation, ii. 174; - Crucifixion, i. 82, ii. 220; - Infant Christ, ii. 222; - Last Judgment, i. 85; - Last Judgment and Paradise, ii. 224, iii. 57; - Spirits in Prison at the Feet of Christ, fresco in St. Mark's, ii. - 56 (note); - St. Dominic of Fiesole, ii. 56; - Vita di Christo, ii. 219. - - Art-Union, Christian Vanquishing Apollyon (ideal stones), iv. 307. - - - Bandinelli, Cacus, ii. 184; - Hercules, ii. 184. - - Bartolomeo, introduction of portraiture by, ii. 120. - - Bartolomeo, Fra. Pictures referred to-- - Last Judgment, ii. 182; - St. Stephen, ii. 224. - - Basaiti, Marco, open skies of, i. 84. Picture--St. Stephen, ii. 224. - - Bellini, Gentile, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103, 107; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120. - - Bellini, Giovanni, finish of, ii. 83; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 129; - landscape of, i. 85, iv. 38; - luminous skies of, ii. 44; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in, iii. 29; - use of mountain distances, iv. 355; - refinement and gradation, i. 85. - Pictures referred to-- - Madonna at Milan, i. 85; - San Francesco della Vigna at Venice, i. 85; - St. Christopher, ii. 120; - St. Jerome, ii. 216; - St. Jerome in the Church of San. Chrysostome, i. 85. - - Berghem, landscape, Dulwich Gallery, i. 37, iii. 126, v. 282. - - Blacklock, drawing of the inferior hills, i. 307. - - Blake, Illustrations of the Book of Job, iii. 98. - - Bonifazio, Camp of Israel, iii. 318; - what subjects treated by, v. 221. - - Both, failures of, i. 197, v. 315. - - Bronzino, base grotesque, iii. 98. - Pictures referred to-- - Christ Visiting the Spirits in Prison, ii. 56. - - Buonarotti, Michael Angelo, anatomy interfering with the divinity of - figures, ii. 221; - conception of human form, ii. 124, 126; - completion of detail, iii. 122; - finish of, ii. 83; - influence of mountains upon, iv. 358; - use of symbol, ii. 215; - repose in, ii. 69 (note); - impetuous execution of, ii. 187 (note); - expression of inspiration by, ii. 214. - Pictures referred to-- - Bacchus, ii. 186 (note); - Daniel, i. 62; - Jonah, ii. 204; - Last Judgment, ii. 181, 183; - Night and Day, ii. 203, iii. 96; - Pieta of Florence, ii. 185; - Pieta of Genoa, ii. 83; - Plague of the Fiery Serpents, ii. 69 (note); - St. Matthew, ii. 185; - Twilight i. 33; - Vaults of Sistine Chapel, i. 30-33. - - - Callcott, Trent, i. 189. - - Canaletto, false treatment of water, i. 341; - mannerism of, i. 111; - painting in the Palazzo Manfrini, i. 200; - Venice, as seen by, i. 111; - works of, v. 195. - - Canova, unimaginative work of, ii. 184; - Perseus, i. 62. - - Caracci, The, landscape of, iii. 317, iv. 75; - use of base models of portraiture by, ii. 120. - - Caravaggio, vulgarity of, iii. 257; - perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 137; - a worshipper of the depraved, iii. 33. - - Carpaccio, Vittor, delineation of architecture by, i. 107; - luminous skies of, ii 44; - painting of St. Mark's Church, i. 108. - - Castagno, Andrea del, rocks of, iii. 239. - - Cattermole, G., foliage of, i. 406; - Fall of the Clyde, i. 116; - Glendearg, i. 116. - - Claude, summary of his qualities, v. 244; - painting of sunlight by, iii. 318, v. 315; - feeling of the beauty of form, i. 76, iii. 318, v. 244; - narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 77; - aerial effects of, iii. 318, v. 244; - sincerity of purpose of, iii. 317, v. 244; - never forgot himself, i. 77, v. 244; - true painting of afternoon sunshine, iii. 321, v. 245, 315; - effeminate softness of, v. 244; - landscape of, iii. 318, i. xxxviii. preface, v. 244; - seas of, i. 77, 345, v. 244, 245; - skies of, i. 208, 227; - tenderness of perception in, iii. 318; - transition from Ghirlandajo to, iv. 1; - absence of imagination in, ii. 158; - waterfalls of, i. 300; - treatment of rocks by, iv. 253, 308, iii. 322; - tree drawing of, iii. 118, 333; - absurdities of conception, iii. 321; - deficiency in foreground, i. 179, 399; - distances of, i. 278; - perspective of, i. 409. - Pictures referred to-- - Morning, in National Gallery (Cephalus and Procris), i. 317; - Enchanted Castle, i. 208; - Campagna at Rome, i. xl. preface; - Il Mulino, i. xxxix. preface, v. 245, ii. 149; - Landscape, No. 241, Dulwich Gallery, i. 208; - Landscape, No. 244, Dulwich Gallery, i. 284; - Landscape in Uffizii Gallery, i. 339; - Seaport, St. Ursula, No. 30, National Gallery, i. 208; - Queen of Sheba, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 409; - Italian Seaport, No. 5, National Gallery, i. 230; - Seaport, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 22; - Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca, i. 176, 194, 208, 278, 388; - Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 320; - Narcissus, i. 388; - Pisa, iv. 1; - St. George and the Dragon, v. 246; - Worship of the Golden Calf, v. 246; - Sinon before Priam, i. 169, 279; - Liber Veritatis, No. 5, iv. 308; - Liber V., No. 86, iv. 220; - L. V., No. 91, iv. 253, 254; - L. V., No. 140, iii. 117; - L. V., No. 145, iii. 321; - L. V., No. 180, iii. 321. - - Conegilano, Cima da, entire realization of foreground painting, iii. 128; - painting in church of the Madonna dell' Orto, i. 82. - - Constable, landscape of, iii. 126; - simplicity and earnestness of, i. 94; - aspen drawing of, iv. 78; - Helmingham Park, Suffolk, iii. 119; - Lock on the Stour, iii. 118; - foliage of, i. 406, iii. 119; - landscape of, iv. 38. - - Correggio, choice of background, iii. 316; - painting of flesh by, iii. 97; - leaf drawing of, v. 35; - power of, to paint rain-clouds, v. 136 (note); - love of physical beauty, iii. 33; - morbid gradation, ii. 47; - morbid sentimentalism, ii. 174; - mystery of, iv. 62; - sensuality of, ii. 125, 136; - sidelong grace of, iii. 28; - tenderness of, iii. 42. - Pictures referred to-- - Antiope, iii. 63, v. 36, 90, 136; - Charioted Diana, ii. 126; - Madonna of the Incoronazione, ii. 125; - St. Catherine of the Giorno, ii. 126. - - Cox, David, drawings of, i. xliii. preface, i. 96; - foliage of, i. 406; - rain-clouds of, i. 248; - skies of, in water-color, i. 257; - sunset on distant hills, i. 96. - - Creswick, tree-painting of, i. 397. - Pictures referred to-- - Nut-brown Maid, i. 397; - Weald of Kent, i. 407. - - Cruikshank, G., iv., 387; Noah Claypole ("Oliver Twist"), v. 266. - - Cuyp, principal master of pastoral landscape, v. 194; - tone of, i. 150; - no sense of beauty, i. 76; - sky of, i. 215, 225, 209; - cattle painting of, v. 259; - sunlight of, v. 254, 315; - water of, i. 346; - foliage of, v. 35, 37; - and Rubens, v, 249, 260. - Pictures referred to-- - Hilly Landscape, in Dulwich Gallery, No. 169, i. 150, 209; - Landscape, in National Gallery, No. 53, i. 150, v. 37; - Waterloo etchings, i. 92; - Landscape, Dulwich Gallery, No, 83, i. 340, No. 163, v. 37. - - - Dannaeker, Ariadne, iii. 65. - - Dighton, W. E., Hayfield in a Shower, ii. 229; - Haymeadow Corner, ii. 229. - - Dolci, Carlo, finish for finish's sake, iii. 113; - softness and smoothness, iii. 113; - St. Peter, ii. 204. - - Domenichino, angels of, ii. 222; - landscape of, iii. 317; - Madonna del Rosario, and Martyrdom of St. Agnes, both utterly - hateful, i. 88, ii. 222. - - Drummond, Banditti on the Watch, ii. 230. - - Durer, Albert, and Salvator, v. 230, 240; - deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 332; - education of, v. 231-232; - mind of, how shown, v. 284; - decision of, iv. 79, ii. 227; - tree-drawing, v. 67; - finish of, iii. 42, 122; - gloomily minute, i. 90; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - drawing of crests, iv. 201; - love of sea, v. 234. - Pictures referred to-- - Dragon of the Apocalypse, iv. 217; - Fall of Lucifer, iv. 201; - The Cannon, v. 234; - Knight and Death, iii. 93, v. 235, 237; - Melancholia, iv. 48, iii. 96, v. 235, 238; - Root of Apple-tree in Adam and Eve, iii. 116, v. 65; - St. Hubert, v. 97, 234; - St. Jerome, v. 234. - - - Etty, richness and play of color of, ii. 203; - Morning Prayer, ii. 229; - Still Life, ii. 229; - St. John, ii. 229. - - Eyck, Van, deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 333. - - - Fielding, Copley, faithful rendering of nature, i. 97; - feeling in the drawing of inferior mountains, i. 307; - foliage of, i. 406; - water of, i. 348; - moorland foreground, i. 188; - use of crude color, i. 98; - love of mist, iv. 75; - rain-clouds of, i. 248; - sea of, i. 351; - truth of, i. 248. Picture referred to--Bolton Abbey, i. 100. - - Flaxman, Alpine stones, iv. 308; - Pool of Envy (in his Dante), iv. 308. - - Francia, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103; - finish of, iii. 122; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 43; - Madonnas of, ii. 224; - Nativity, iii. 48. - - - Gaddi, Taddeo, treatment of the open sky, ii. 43. - - Gainsborough, color of, i. 93; - execution of i. xxii. preface; - aerial distances of, i. 93; - imperfect treatment of details, i. 82. - - Ghiberti, Lorenzo, leaf-moulding and bas-reliefs of, v. 35. - - Ghirlandajo, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - reality of conception, iii. 59; - rocks of, iii. 239, 314; - symmetrical arrangement of pictures, ii. 74; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - quaintness of landscape, iii. 322; - garlanded backgrounds of, v. 90. - Pictures referred to-- - Adoration of the Magi, iii. 312; - Baptism of Christ, iii. 313; - Pisa, iv. 1. - - Giorgione, boyhood of, v. 287-297; - perfect intellect of, v. 285; - landscape of, i. 86; - luminous sky of, ii, 44; - modesty of, ii. 123, 124; - one of the few who has painted leaves, v. 35; - frescoes of, v. 284, 337; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202; - two figures, or the Fondaco de'Tedeschi, i. 110; - one of the seven supreme colorists, v. 318 (note). - - Giotto, cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178; - decoration of, ii. 220; - influence of hills upon, iv. 357; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - landscape of, ii. 217; - power in detail, iii. 57; - reality of conception, iii. 57; - symmetrical arrangement in pictures, ii. 73; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail, iii. 29; - use of mountain distances, iv. 354. - Pictures referred to-- - Baptism of Christ, ii. 176; - Charity, iii. 97; - Crucifixion and Arena frescoes, ii. 129; - Sacrifice for the Friedes, i. 88. - - Gozzoli Benozzo, landscape of, ii. 217; - love of simple domestic incident, iii. 28; - reality of conception, iii. 57; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44. - - Guercino, Hagar, ii. 129. - - Guido, sensuality, ii. 125, 136; - use of base models for portraiture, ii. 120. - Picture-- - Susannah and the Elders, ii. 126. - - - Harding, J. D., aspen drawing of, iv. 78; - execution of, i. 179, 403, iv. 78; - chiaroscuro of, i. 179, 405; - distance of, i. 189; - foliage, i. 387, 401; - trees of, v. 61 (note), i. 387; - rocks of, i. 313; - water of, i. 350. - Pictures referred to-- - Chamouni, i. 287; - Sunrise on the Swiss Alps, i. 102. - - Hemling, finish of, iii. 122. - - Hobbima, niggling of, v. 36, 37; - distances of, i. 202; - failures of, i. 202, 398; - landscape in Dulwich Gallery, v. 36. - - Holbein, best northern art represented by, v. 209-231; - the most accurate portrait painter, v. 322; - Dance of Death, iii. 93; - glorious severity of, ii. 123; - cared not for flowers, v. 90. - - Hooghe, De, quiet painting of, v. 282. - - Hunt, Holman, finish of, i. 416 (note). - Pictures referred to-- - Awakened Conscience, iii. 90; - Claudio and Isabella, iii. 27; - Light of the World, iii. 29, 40, 57, 76, 340, iv. 61 (note); - Christ in the Temple, v. 347. - - Hunt, William, anecdote of, iii. 86; - Farmer's Girl, iii. 82; - foliage of, i. 407; - great ideality in treatment of still-life, ii. 203. - - - Landseer, E., more a natural historian than a painter, ii. 203 (note); - animal painting of, v. 257; - Dog of, ii. 202; - Old Cover Hack, deficiency of color, ii. 226; - Random Shot, ii. 226; - Shepherd's Chief Mourner, i. 9, 30; - Ladies' Pets, imperfect grass drawing, v. 98; - Low Life, v. 266. - - Laurati, treatment of the open sky, ii. 44. - - Lawrence, Sir Thomas, Satan of, ii. 209. - - Lewis, John, climax of water-color drawing, i. 85; - success in seizing Spanish character, i, 124. - - Linnell, cumuli of, i. 244 (note). - Picture referred to-- - Eve of the Deluge, ii. 225. - - Lippi, Filippino, heads of, ii. 220; - Tribute Money, iii. 314. - - - Mantegna, Andrea, painting of stones by, iv. 302; - decoration of, ii. 220. - - Masaccio, painting of vital truth from vital present, iii. 90; - introduction of portraiture into pictures, ii. 120; - mountain scenery of, i. 95, iv. 299; - Deliverance of Peter, ii. 222; - Tribute Money, i. 85, 95, iii. 314. - - Memmi, Simone, abstract of the Duomo at Florence, at Santa Maria - Novella, i. 103; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120. - - Millais, Huguenot, iii. 90. - - Mino da Fiesole, truth and tenderness of, ii. 184; - two statues by, ii. 201. - - Mulready, Pictures by-- - the Butt, perfect color, ii. 227; - Burchell and Sophia, ii. 227; - Choosing of the Wedding Gown, ii. 227; - Gravel Pit, ii. 228. - - Murillo, painting of, ii. 83. - - - Nesfield, treatment of water by, i. 349. - - - Orcagna, influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - intense solemnity and energy of, iii. 28; - unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail of, iii. 28; - Inferno, ii. 128; - Last Judgment, ii. 181, iii. 57; - Madonna, ii. 201; - Triumph of Death, iii. 57, 95. - - - Perugino, decoration of, ii. 220; - finish of, ii. 83; - formalities of, iii. 122, 315; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - landscape of, ii. 218; - mountain distances of, iv. 355; - right use of gold by, i. 109; - rationalism of, how affecting his works, v. 205; - sea of, i. 346; - expression of, inspiration by, ii. 223. - Pictures referred to-- - Annunciation, ii. 44; - Assumption of the Virgin, ii. 44; - Michael the Archangel, ii. 223; - Nativity, iii. 48; - Portrait of Himself, ii. 136; - Queen-Virgin, iii. 52; - St. Maddelena at Florence, i. 346. - - Pickersgill, Contest of Beauty, ii. 229. - - Pinturicchio, finish of, ii. 83; - Madonnas of, ii. 224. - - Pisellino, Filippo, rocks of, iii. 239. - - Potter, Paul, Landscape, in Grosvenor Gallery, ii. 226; - Landscape, No. 176, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340; - foliage of, compared with Hobbima's and Ruysdael's, v. 35; - best Dutch painter of cattle, v. 254. - - Poussin, Gaspar, foliage of, i. 386-395; - distance of, i. 202; - narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 179; - mannerism of, i. 90, ii. 45, iv. 38; - perception of moral truth, i. 76; - skies of, i. 227, 231; - want of imagination, ii. 158; - false sublimity, iv. 245. - Pictures referred to-- - Chimborazo, i. 208; - Destruction of Niobe's Children, in Dulwich Gallery, i. 294; - Dido and AEneas, i. 257, 391, ii. 159; - La Riccia, i. 386, 155, ii. 159; - Mont Blanc, i. 208; - Sacrifice of Isaac, i. 195, 208, 230, ii. 159. - - Poussin, Nicolas, and Claude, v. 241-248; - principal master of classical landscape, v. 194, 247; - peculiarities of, v. 247; - compared with Claude and Titian, v. 247; - characteristics of works by, v. 247; - want of sensibility in, v. 247; - landscape of, v. 247; trees of, i. 401; - landscape of, composed on right principles, i. 90, iii. 323, ii. 159. - Pictures referred to-- - The Plague, v. 248; - Death of Polydectes, v. 248; - Triumph of David, v. 248; - The Deluge, v. 248; - Apollo, ii. 207; - Deluge (Louvre), i. 345, iv. 244; - Landscape, No. 260, Dulwich Gallery, i. 144; - Landscape, No. 212, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231; - Phocion, i. 144, 159, 178, 258; - Triumph of Flora, iii. 323. - - Procaccini, Camillo. - Picture referred to-- - Martyrdom (Milan), ii. 129. - - Prout, Samuel, master of noble picturesque, iv. 13; - influence on modern art by works of, i. 103; - excellent composition and color of, i. 112, 114; - expression of the crumbling character of stone, i. 96, 112, 114. - Pictures referred to-- - Brussels, i. 113; - Cologne, i. 113; - Flemish Hotel de Ville, i. 115; - Gothic Well at Ratisbon, i. 114; - Italy and Switzerland, i. 113; - Louvain, i. 113; - Nuremberg, i. 113; - Sion, i. 113; - Sketches in Flanders and Germany, i. 113; - Spire of Calais, iv. 13; - Tours, i. 113. - - Punch, instance of modern grotesque from, iv. 388. - - Pyne, J. B. drawing of, i. 314. - - - Raffaelle, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47; - completion of detail by, i. 82, iii. 122; - finish of, ii. 83; - instances of leaf drawing by, v. 35; - conventionalism of branches by, v. 38; - his hatred of fog, iii. 126, iv. 56; - influence of hills upon, iv. 357; - influenced by Masaccio, iii. 315; - introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120; - composition of, v. 182; - lofty disdain of color in drawings of, v. 320 (note); - landscape of, ii. 217; - mountain distance of, iv. 355; - subtle gradation of sky, ii. 47, 48; - symbolism of, iii. 96. - Pictures referred to-- - Baldacchino, ii. 44; - Charge to Peter, iii. 53, 315; - Draught of Fishes, i. preface, xxx., ii. 204; - Holy Family--Tribune of the Uffizii, iii. 313; - Madonna della Sediola, ii. 44, iii. 51; - Madonna dell' Impannata, ii. 44; - Madonna del Cardellino, ii. 44; - Madonna di San Sisto, iii. 56; - Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179; - Michael the Archangel, ii. 223; - Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 115; - Nativity, iii. 341; - St. Catherine, i. preface, xxxi., i. 34, 139, ii. 98, 224; - St. Cecilia, ii. 136, 218, iii. 15, 54; - St. John of the Tribune, ii. 44; - School of Athens, iii. 26; - Transfiguration, iii. 54 (note). - - Rembrandt, landscape of, i. 192; - chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 42-47; - etchings of, i. 405 (note); - vulgarity of, iii. 257. - Pictures referred to-- - Presentation of Christ in the Temple, ii. 42; - Spotted Shell, ii. 203; - Painting of himself and his wife, v. 252. - - Rethel, A. - Pictures referred to-- - Death the Avenger, iii. 98; - Death the Friend, iii. 98. - - Retsch. - Pictures referred to-- - Illustrations to Schiller's Fight of the Dragon, ii. 171. - - Reynolds, Sir Joshua, swiftest of painters, v. 191; - influence of early life of, on painting of, v. 289; - lectures quoted, i. 7, 44, iii. 4; - tenderness of, iv. 67 (note). - Picture referred to-- - Charity, iii. 97. - - Roberts, David, architectural drawing of, i. 118; - drawings of the Holy Land, i. 118; - hieroglyphics of the Egyptian temples, i. 119; - Roslin Chapel, i. 120. - - Robson G., mountain scenery of, i. 95, iii. 325. - - Rosa, Salvator, and Albert Durer, v. 230-240; - landscape of, i. 390; - characteristics of, v. 237, 285; - how influenced by Calabrian scenery, v. 236; - of what capable, v. 236; - death, how regarded by, v. 237; - contrast between, and Angelico, v. 285; - leaf branches of, compared with Durer's, v. 67, 68; - example of tree bough of, v. 45; - education of, v. 235, 236; - fallacies of contrast with early artists, v. 46; - narrowness of, contrasted with freedom and vastness of nature, i. 77; - perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 128, 137, v. 46-67; - skies of, i. 227, 230; - vicious execution of, i. 39, ii. 83; - vigorous imagination of, ii. 159; - vulgarity of, iii. 33, iii. 317, 257. - Pictures referred to-- - Apollo and Sibyl, v. 79; - Umana Fragilita, v. 237; - Baptism of Christ, ii. 176 (note); - Battles by, ii. 127; - Diogenes, ii. 159; - finding of Oedipus, iii. 115, v. 65; - Landscape, No. 220, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231, 240, 294, 312; - Landscape, No. 159, Dulwich Gallery, i. 254; - Sea-piece (Pitti Palace), i. 345; - Peace burning the arms of War, i. 390; - St. Jerome, ii. 159; - Temptation of St. Anthony, ii. 45, (note); - Mercury and the Woodman (National Gallery), i, 157. - - Rubens and Cuyp, v. 249-260; - color of, i. 169; - landscape of, i. 91, 220, iii. 182, 318; - leaf drawing of, v. 35; - flowers of, v. 90; - realistic temper of, iii. 97; - symbolism of, iii. 96; - treatment of light, ii. 41, i. 165; - want of feeling for grace and mystery, iv. 14; - characteristics of, v. 251; - religion of, v. 252; - delight in martyrdoms, v. 251; - painting of dogs and horses by, v. 257, 258; - descriptions of his own pictures by, v. 252; - imitation of sunlight by, v. 315 (note); - hunts by, v. 258. - Pictures referred to-- - Adoration of the Magi, i. 37; - Battle of the Amazons, v. 251; - Landscape, No. 175, Dulwich Gallery, iv. 15; - His Family, v. 252; - Waggoner, iii. 114; - Landscapes in Pitti Palace, i. 91; - Sunset behind a Tournament, iii. 318. - - Ruysdael. - Pictures referred to-- - Running and Falling Water, i. 325, 344; - Sea-piece, i. 344. - - - Schoengauer, Martin, joy in ugliness, iv. 329; - missal drawing of, iv. 329. - - Snyders, painting of dogs by, v. 257. - - Spagnoletto, vicious execution of, ii. 83. - - Stanfield, Clarkson, architectural drawing of, i. 121; - boats of, i. 122; - chiaroscuro of, i. 281; - clouds of, i. 224, 243; - a realistic painter, i. 121, iv. 57 (note); - knowledge and power of, i. 353. - Pictures referred to-- - Amalfi, ii. 228; - Borromean Islands, with St. Gothard in the distance, i. 282; - Botallack Mine (coast scenery), i. 313; - Brittany, near Dol, iv. 7; - Castle of Ischia, i. 122; - Doge's Palace at Venice, i. 122; - East Cliff, Hastings, i. 313; - Magra, ii. 228; - Rocks of Suli, i. 307; - Wreck on the Coast of Holland, i. 121. - - - Taylor, Frederick, drawings of, power of swift execution, i. 35, 257. - - Teniers, scenery of, v. 253; - painter of low subjects, v. 256. - Pictures referred to--Landscape, No. 139, - Dulwich Gallery, i. 315. - - Tintoret, coloring of, iii. 42; - delicacy of, iii. 38; - painting of vital truth from the vital present, iii. 90; - use of concentrically-grouped leaves by, ii. 73; - imagination, ii. 158, 159, 173, 180; - inadequacy of landscapes by, i. 78; - influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - intensity of imagination of, ii. 173, iv. 66; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - luminous sky of, ii. 44; - modesty of, ii. 123; - neglectful of flower-beauty, v. 90; - mystery about the pencilling of, ii. 64; - no sympathy with the humor of the world, iv. 13; - painter of space, i. 87; - realistic temper of, iii. 97; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 201; - slightness and earnest haste of, ii. 82 (note), 187 (note); - symbolism of, iii. 96. - Pictures referred to-- - Agony in the Garden, ii. 159; - Adoration of the Magi, iii. 78, 122, iv. 66; - Annunciation, ii. 174; - Baptism, ii. 176; - Cain and Abel, i. 399(note); - Crucifixion, ii. 178, 183, iii. 72, v. 197, 221; - Doge Loredano before the Madonna, ii. 204; - Entombment, ii. 174, iii. 316; - Fall of Adam, i. 80 (note); - Flight into Egypt, ii. 159, 202; - Golden Calf, ii. 207; - Last Judgment, ii. 181; - picture in Church of Madonna dell' Orto, i. 109; - Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179, 183; - Murder of Abel, i. 391; - Paradise, i. 338, iv. 66, v. 221, 229; - Plague of Fiery Serpents, ii. 183; - St. Francis, ii. 207; - Temptation, ii. 159, 189. - - Titian, tone of, i. 148; - tree drawing of, i. 392; - want of foreshortening, v. 71; - bough drawing of, i. 392; - good leaf drawing, v. 35; - distant branches of, v. 38; - drawing of crests by, iv. 218; - color in the shadows of, iv. 47; - mind of, v. 226, 227; - imagination of, ii. 159; - master of heroic landscape, v. 194; - landscape of, i. 78, iii. 316; - influence of hills upon, iv. 358; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - home of, v. 287, 288; - modesty of, ii. 123; - mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 62; - partial want of sense of beauty, ii. 136; - prefers jewels and fans to flowers, v. 90; - right conception of the human form, ii. 123, v. 228; - sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202; - color of, v. 317, 318; - stones of, iv. 304, 305; - trees of, i. 392, ii. 73. - Pictures referred to-- - Assumption, iv. 202 (note), v. 221, 229, 251, 312; - Bacchus and Ariadne, i. 83, 148, iii. 122, v. 89; - Death of Abel, i. 80 (note); - Entombment, iii. 122; - Europa (Dulwich Gallery), i. 148; Faith, i. 109; - Holy Family, v. 133 (note); - Madonna and Child, v. 170; - Madonna with St. Peter and St. George, v. 170; - Flagellation, ii. 44; - Magdalen (Pitti Palace), ii. 125, v. 226, 338 (note); - Marriage of St. Catherine, i. 91; - Portrait of Lavinia, v. 90, preface, viii.; - Older Lavinia, preface, viii.; - St. Francis receiving the Stigmata, i. 214 (note); - St. Jerome, i. 86, ii. 159; - St. John, ii. 120; - San Pietro Martire, ii. 159, 207; - Supper at Emmaus, iii. 19, 122; - Venus, iii. 63; - Notomie, v. 338. - - Turner, William, of Oxford, mountain drawings, i. 305. - - Turner, Joseph Mallord William, character of, v. 340, 342, 348; - affection of, for humble scenery, iv. 248, 249; - architectural drawing of, i. 109, 199; - his notion of "Eris" or "Discord," v. 308, 309; - admiration of, for Vandevelde, i. 328; - boyhood of, v. 288, 297; - chiaroscuro of, i. 134, 143, 148, 281, 366, iv. 40-55; - only painter of sun-color, v. 315; - painter of "the Rose and the Cankerworm," v. 324; - his subjection of color to chiaroscuro, i. 171; - color of, i. 134, 151, 157, 160, 166, 169, 171, ii. 202, iii. 236 - (note), iv. 40, v. 319 (note); - composition of, iv. 27, 303; - curvature of, i. 125, iii. 118, iv. 192, 293; - tree drawing of, i. 394, v. 38, 65, 69, 72; - drawing of banks by, iv. 293, 297; - discovery of scarlet shadow by, v. 316, 317, 319; - drawing of cliffs by, iv. 246; - drawing of crests by, iv. 220, 222, 225; - drawing of figures by, i. 189; - drawing of reflections by, i. 151, 359, 361, 379; - drawing of leaves by, v. 38, 99; - drawing of water by, i. 355, 382; - exceeding refinement of truth in, i. 411; - education of, iii. 309, v. 299 (note); - execution of, v. 38; - ruin of his pictures by decay of pigments, i. 136 (note); - gradation of, i. 259; - superiority of intellect in, i. 29; - expression of weight in water by, i. 367, 376; - expression of infinite redundance by, iv. 291; - aspects, iii. 279, 307; - first great landscape painter, iii. 279, v. 325; - form sacrificed to color, ii. 201; - head of Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61; - master of contemplative landscape, v. 194; - work of, in first period, v. 297; - infinity of, i. 239, 282, iv. 287; - influence of Yorkshire scenery upon, i. 125, iv. 246, 296, 300, 309; - his love of stones and rocks, iii. 314, iv. 24; - love of rounded hills, iv. 246; - master of the science of aspects, 305; - mystery of, i. 198,257, 413, iv. 34, 61, v. 33; - painting of French and Swiss landscape by, i. 129; - spirit of pines not entered into by, v. 80, 81; - flowers not often painted by, v. 92; - painting of distant expanses of water by, i. 365; - rendering of Italian character by, i. 130; - skies of, i. 138, 201, 236, 237; - storm-clouds, how regarded by, v. 142; - study of clouds, by, i. 221, 236, 242, 250, 261, v. 118; - study of old masters by, iii. 322; - sketches of, v. 183, 184, 333, 334, (note), v. preface, v. vi.; - system of tone of, i. 143, 152, 363; - treatment of foregrounds by, i. 319, v. 98; - treatment of picturesque by, iv. 7-15; - treatment of snow mountains by, iv. 240; - memoranda of, v. 185, 187, 335 (note); - topography of, iv. 16-33; - unity of, i. 320; - views of Italy by, i. 132; - memory of, iv. 27, 30; - ideal conception of, i. 388; - endurance of ugliness by, v. 283, 289; - inventive imagination of, dependent on mental vision and truth of - impression, iv. 21-24, 308; - lessons to be learnt from Liber Studiorum, v. 332, 333; - life of, v. 341; - death of, v. 349. - Pictures referred to-- - AEsacus and Hesparie, i. 394; - Acro-Corinth, i. 221; - Alnwick, i. 127, 269; - Ancient Italy, i. 131; - Apollo and Sibyl, v. 331; - Arona with St. Gothard, i. 262; - Assos, i. 201 (note); - Avenue of Brienne, i. 178; - Babylon, i. 236; - Bamborough, i. 375; - Bay of Baiae, i. 132, 324, iii. 311, v. 98, 323; - Bedford, i. 127; - Ben Lomond, i. 258; - Bethlehem, i. 242; - Bingen, i. 268; - Blenheim, i. 268; - Bolton Abbey, i. 394, iii. 118, iv. 249; - Bonneville in Savoy, i. 133; - Boy of Egremont, i. 372; - Buckfastleigh, i. 267, iv. 14; - Building of Carthage, i. 29, 136, 147, 162, 171, iii. 311; - Burning of Parliament House, i. 269; - Caerlaverock, i. 202 (note), 264; - Calais, i. 269; - Calder Bridge, i. 183; - Caldron Snout Fall, i. 268; - Caliglula's Bridge, i. 131, v. 331; - Canale della Guidecco, i. 362; - Carew Castle, i. 268; - Carthages, the two, i. 131, v. 337; - Castle Upnor, i. 267, 359; - Chain Bridge over the Tees, i. 368, 394; - Chateau de la Belle Gabrielle, i. 394, v. 61; - Chateau of Prince Albert, i. 357; - Cicero's Villa, i. 131, 136, 146, 147; - Cliff from Bolton Abbey, iii. 321; - Constance, i. 367; - Corinth, i. 267; - Coventry, i. 254, 268; - Cowes, i. 268, 363, 365; - Crossing the Brook, i. 131, 170, 394; - Daphne and Leucippus, i. 200, 201 (note), 293, 300, iv. 291, v. 98; - Dartmouth (river scenery), i. 212; - Dartmouth Cove (Southern Coast), i. 394; - Dazio Grande, i. 372; - Departure of Regulus, i. 131; - Devenport, with the Dockyards, i. 159 (note), 366; - Dragon of the Hesperides, iii. 97, v. 306, 311; - Drawing of the spot where Harold fell, ii. 200; - Drawings of the rivers of France, i. 129; - Drawings of Swiss Scenery, i. 129; - Drawing of the Chain of the Alps of the Superga above Turin, iii. - 125; - Drawing of Mount Pilate, iv. 227, 298; - Dudley, i. 173 (note), 269; - Durham, i. 267, 394; - Dunbar, i. 376; - Dunstaffnage, i. 231, 285; - Ely, i. 410; - Eton College, i. 127; - Faido, Pass of, iv. 21, 222; - Fall of Carthage, i. 146, 171; - Fall of Schaffhausen, v. 167, 325 (note); - Flight into Egypt, i. 242; - Fire at Sea, v. 189 (note); - Folkestone, i. 242, 268; - Fort Augustus, i. 305; - Fountain of Fallacy, i. 131; - Fowey Harbor, i. 267, 376, v. 142 (note); - Florence, i. 132; - Glencoe, i. 285; - Goldau (a recent drawing) i. 264 (note); - Goldau, i. 367, iv. 312, v. 337 (note); - Golden Bough, iv. 291; - Gosport, i. 257; - Great Yarmouth, i. 383 (note); - Hannibal passing the Alps, i. 130; - Hampton Court, i. 178; - Hero and Leander, i. 131, 177, 242, 375, 409, v. 188 (note); - Holy Isle, iii. 310; - Illustration to the Antiquary, i. 264; - Inverary, v. 65; - Isola Bella, iii. 125; - Ivy Bridge, i. 133, iii. 121; - Jason, ii. 171; - Juliet and her Nurse, i. 135, 137 (note), 269; - Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 372, iv. 309; - Kenilworth, i. 268; - Killie-Crankie, i. 371; - Kilgarren, i. 127; - Kirby Lonsdale Churchyard, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 315; - Lancaster Sands, i. 340; - Land's End, i. 251 (note), 253, 352, 376, 377; - Laugharne, i. 376; - Llanberis, i. 93, 268, v. 320 (note) (English series); - Llanthony Abbey, i. 127, 173 (note), 251, 321, 371; - Long Ship's Lighthouse, i. 253; - Lowestoft, i. 267, 352, 383 (note); - Lucerne, iv. 227; - "Male Bolge"(of the Splugen and St. Gothard), iv. 315; - Malvern, i. 268; - Marly, i. 80, 399; - Mercury and Argus, i. 145, 167, 172 (note), 198, 221, 318, 324, - 372, v. 62; - Modern Italy, i. 132, 172 (note), iv. 291; - Morecambe Bay, i. 258; - Mount Lebanon, i. 293; - Murano, view of, i. 138; - Napoleon, i. 151, 162, 163, 170, 221, 268, 310, v. 118, 330 (note); - Napoleon at St. Helena, iv. 314; - Narcissus and Echo, v. 299; - Nemi, i. 268; - Nottingham, i. 268, 359, iv. 29; - Oakhampton, i. 127, 258, 267, 400; - Oberwesel, i. 268, 305; - Orford, Suffolk, i. 267; - Ostend, i. 380; - Palestrina, i. 132; - Pas de Calais, i. 339, 380; - Penmaen Mawr, i. 323; - Picture of the Deluge, i. 346; - Pools of Solomon, i. 237, 268, v. 116; - Port Ruysdael, i. 380; - Pyramid of Caius Cestius, i. 269; - Python, v. 315, 316; - Rape of Proserpine, i. 131; - Rheinfels, v. 335 (note); - Rhymer's Glen, i. 371; - Richmond (Middlesex), i. 268; - Richmond (Yorkshire), i. 261, iv. 14, v. 93; - Rome from the Forum, i. 136, v. 359; - Salisbury, v. 144; - Saltash, i. 268, 359; - San Benedetto, looking toward Fusina, i. 362, 138, v. 118; - Scarborough, iii. 121; - Shores of Wharfe, iv. 248; - Shylock, i. 221, 268; - Sketches in National Gallery, v. 182, 183; - Sketches in Switzerland, i. 138; - Slave Ship, i. 135, 137 (note), 146, 151, 170, 261, 268, ii. 209, - iv. 314, v. 142, 336; - Snowstorm, i. 130, 170, 352, v. 342 (note); - St. Gothard, iv. 27, 292, 300; - St. Herbert's Isle, i. 269; - St. Michael's Mount, i. 261, 263; - Stonehenge, i. 260, 268, v. 143 (English series); - Study (Block of Gniess at Chamouni), iii. 125; - Study (Paestum) v. 145; - Sun of Venice going to Sea, i. 138, 361; - Swiss Fribourg, iii. 125; - Tantallon Castle, i. 377; - Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309; - Tees (Lower Fall of), i. 322, 371; - Temptation on the Mountain (Illustration to Milton), ii. 210; - Temple of Jupiter, i. 131, iii. 310; - Temple of Minerva, v. 145; - Tenth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 295 (note), 299; - The Old Temeraire, i. 135, iv. 314, v. 118, 290; - Tivoli, i. 132; - Towers of Heve, i. 269; - Trafalgar, v. 290; - Trematon Castle, i. 268; - Ulleswater, i. 322, 258, iv. 300; - Ulysses and Polypheme, iv. 314, v. 336 (note); - various vignettes, i. 267; - Venices, i. 109, 268, v. 337, 338; - Walhalla, i. 136 (note); - Wall Tower of a Swiss Town, iv. 71; - Warwick, i. 268, 394; - Waterloo, i. 261, 269; - Whitby, iii. 310; - Wilderness of Engedi, i. 201 (note), 269; - Winchelsea (English series), i. 172 (note), 268; - Windsor, from Eton, i. 127; - Wycliffe, near Rokeby, iv. 309. - Finden's Bible Series:-- - Babylon, i. 236; - Bethlehem, i. 242; - Mount Lebanon, i. 293, v. 145; - Sinai, v. 145; - Pyramids of Egypt, i. 242; - Pool of Solomon, i. 237, v. 116; - Fifth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 299. - Illustrations to Campbell:-- - Hohenlinden, i. 267; - Second Vignette, i. 258; - The Andes, i. 277; - Vignette to the Beech-tree's Petition, i. 177; - Vignette to Last Man, i. 264. - Illustrations to Rogers' "Italy:"-- - Amalfi, i. 239; - Aosta, i. 277; - Battle of Marengo, i. 273, 285; - Farewell, i. 285; - Lake of Albano, i. 268; - Lake of Como, i. 238; - Lake of Geneva, i. 238, 267; - Lake of Lucerne, i. 263, 367; - Perugia, i. 174; - Piacenza, i. 268, 296; - Paestum, i. 260, 268; - Second Vignette, i. 264, 372; - The Great St. Bernard, i. 263; - Vignette to St. Maurice, i. 263, 263 (note), v. 127. - Illustrations to Rogers' "Poems:" - Bridge of Sighs, i. 269; - Datur Hora Quieti, i. 145, 268, v. 167; - Garden opposite title-page, i. 177; - Jacqueline, i. 277, ii. 210; - Loch Lomond, i. 365; - Rialto, i. 242, 269; - Sunset behind Willows, i. 147; - Sunrise, i. 212; - Sunrise on the Sea, i. 222, 263; - the Alps at Daybreak, i. 223, 264, 267, 276; - Vignette to Human Life, i. 267; - Vignette to Slowly along the Evening Sky, i. 217; - Vignette to the Second Part of Jacqueline, ii. 210; - Villa of Galileo, i. 132; - Voyage of Columbus, i. 242, 267, ii. 201. - Illustrations to Scott:-- - Armstrong's Tower, i. 178; - Chiefswood Cottage, i. 394; - Derwentwater, i. 365; - Dryburgh, i. 366; - Dunstaffnage, i. 261, 285; - Glencoe, i. 285, 293; - Loch Archray, i. 285; - Loch Coriskin, i. 252, 292, iv. 220; - Loch Katrine, i. 298, 365; - Melrose, i. 336; - Skiddaw, i. 267, 305. - Liber Studiorum:-- - AEsacus and Hesperie, i. 130, 400 (note), ii. 162; - Ben Arthur, i. 126, iv. 308, 309; - Blair Athol, i. 394; - Cephalus and Procris, i. 394, 400 (note), ii. 160, 207, iii. 317, - v. 334; - Chartreuse, i. 127, 394, iii. 317; - Chepstow, v. 333; - Domestic subjects of L. S., i. 127; - Dunstan borough, v. 333; - Foliage of L. S., i. 128; - Garden of Hesperides, iii. 310, v. 310; - Gate of Winchelsea Wall, v. 330; - Raglan, v. 333; - Rape of Europa, v. 334; - Via Mala, v. 336 (note), iv. 259; - Isis, v. 171, 172; - Hedging and Ditching, i. 127, 394, v. 333; - Jason, i. 130, ii. 171, 199, iii. 317; - Juvenile Tricks, i. 394; - Lauffenbourg, i. 128, iii. 327, v. 170; - Little Devil's Bridge, i. 127, iv. 27; - Lianberis, i. 258; - Mer de Glace, i. 126, 287, iv. 191; - Mill near Grande Chartreuse, iv. 259, v. 333; - Morpeth Tower, v. 333; - Mont St. Gothard, i. 127, 311 (note); - Peat Bog, iii. 317, v. 333; - Rivaulx choir, v. 333; - Rizpah, i. 130, iii. 317, iv. 14, v. 295, 334; - Solway Moss, iii. 317; - Source of Avernon, iv. 308, v. 80; - Study of the Lock, iv. 7, v. 332; - Young Anglers, v. 333; - Water Mill, v. 333. - Rivers of France, i. 129; - Amboise, i. 184, 269; - Amboise (the Chateau), i. 184; - Beaugency, i. 184; - Blois, i. 183; - Blois (Chateau de), i. 183, 202, 269; - Caudebec, i. 269, 302, 366; - Chateau Gaillard, i. 183; - Clairmont, i. 269, 303; - Confluence of the Seine and Marne, i. 364; - Drawings of, i. 130; - Havre, i. 224; - Honfleur, i. 304; - Jumieges, i. 250, 364; - La Chaise de Gargantua, i. 364; - Loire, i. 363; - Mantes, i. 269; - Mauves, i. 303; - Montjan, i. 269; - Orleans, i. 183; - Quilleboeuf, i. 377, 170; - Reitz, near Saumur, v. 164, 165; - Rouen, i. 410, v. 118; - Rouen, from St. Catherine's Hill, i. 240, 366; - St. Denis, i. 264, 269; - St. Julien, i. 184, 269; - The Lantern of St. Cloud, i. 268; - Troyes, i. 269; - Tours, i. 184, 269; - Vernon, i. 364. - Yorkshire Series:-- - Aske Hall, i. 394, v. 70; - Brignall Church, i. 394; - Hardraw Fall, iv. 309; - Ingleborough, iv. 249; - Greta, iv. 14, 248; - Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 322, 372, iv. 309; - Kirkby Lonsdale, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 313; - Richmond, i. 261, iv. 14, v. 38; - Richmond Castle, iii. 230; - Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309; - Zurich, i. 367. - - - Uccello, Paul, Battle of Sant' Egidio, National Gallery, v. 5, 281. - - Uwin's Vineyard Scene in the South of France, ii. 229. - - - Vandevelde, reflection of, i. 359; - waves of, iii. 324; - Vessels Becalmed, No. 113, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340. - - Vandyke, flowers of, v. 90; - delicacy of, v. 275 (note). - Pictures-- - Portrait of King Charles' Children, v. 90; - the Knight, v. 273 (note). - - Veronese, Paul, chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 41, 47; - color in the shadows of, iv. 47; - delicacy of, iii. 38; - influence of hills upon, iv. 350; - love of physical beauty, iii. 33; - mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 61; - no sympathy with the tragedy and horror of the world, iv. 14; - sincerity of manner, iii. 41; - symbolism of, iii. 96; - treatment of the open sky, ii. 44; - tree drawing of, v. 67; - foreground of, v. 90; - religion of, (love casting out fear), v. 222; - animal painting, compared with Landseer's, ii. 202; - Pictures-- - Entombment, ii. 44; - Magdalen washing the feet of Christ, iii. 19, 30; - Marriage in Cana, iii. 122, iv. 66, v. 196, 220, 221; - two fresco figures at Venice, i. 110; - Supper at Emmaus, iii. 30, 60; - Queen of Sheba, v. preface, vii. 224; - Family of Veronese, v. 222, 224; - Holy Family v. 225; - Veronica, v. 226; - Europa, v. 90, 170; - Triumph of Venice, v. 170; - Family of Darius, National Gallery, v. 189. - - Vinci, Leonardo da, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47 (and note); - completion of detail by, iii. 122; - drapery of, iv. 48; - finish of, ii. 84, iii. 261; - hatred of fog, iv. 56; - introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120; - influence of hills upon, iv. 356; - landscape of, i. 88; - love of beauty, iii. 41; - rocks of, iii. 239; - system of contrast of masses, iv. 42. - Pictures-- - Angel, ii. 176; - Cenacolo, ii. 215; - Holy Family (Louvre), i. 88; - Last Supper, iii. 26, 341; - St. Anne, iv. 302, iii. 122. - - - Wallis, snow scenes of, i. 286 (note). - - Wouvermans, leaves of, v. 33; - landscape of, v. 195; - vulgarity of, v. 278, 281; - contrast between, and Angelico, v. 283. - Pictures referred to-- - Landscape, with hunting party, v. 278; - Battle piece, with bridge, v. 280. - - - Zeuxis, picture of Centaur, v. 258. - - - - -TOPICAL INDEX. - - - Abstraction necessary, when realization is impossible, ii. 206. - - AEsthetic faculty, defined, ii. 12, 16. - - Age, the present, mechanical impulse of, iii. 301, 302; - spirit of, iii. 302, 303; - our greatest men nearly all unbelievers, iii. 253, 264; - levity of, ii. 170. - See Modern. - - Aiguilles, structure of, iv. 174; - contours of, iv. 178, 190; - curved cleavage of, iv. 186, 192, 193, 210-214; - angular forms of, iv. 179, 191; - how influencing the earth, iv. 193; - Dez Charmoz, sharp horn of, iv. 177; - Blaitiere, curves of, iv. 185-188; - of Chamouni, sculpture of, 160, 182. - See Local Index. - - Alps, Tyrolese, v. 216; - aerialness of, at great distances, i. 277; - gentians on, v. 89; - roses on, v. 99; - pines on, iv. 290, v. 86; - ancient glaciers of, iv. 169; - color of, iii. 233; - influence of, on Swiss character, iv. 356, v. 83; - general structure of, iv. 164; - higher, impossible to paint snow mountains, iv. 240; - precipices of, iv. 260, 261; - suggestive of Paradise, iv. 346; - sunrise in, i. 264. - See Mountains. - - Anatomy, development of, admissible only in subordination to laws of - beauty, ii. 221; - not to be substituted for apparent aspect, iv. 187. - - Animals, proportion in, ii. 58 (note), 64; - moral functions of, ii. 94, 95, 97; - lower ideal form of, ii. 104; - noble qualities of, v. 203. - - Animal Painting, of the Dutch school, v. 254, 258; - of the Venetian, 255, 258; - of the moderns, v. 257, 273. - - Architecture, influence of bad, on artists, iii. 311; - value of signs of age in, i. 104, 106; - importance of chiaroscuro in rendering of, i. 106, 107; - early painting of, how deficient, i. 103; - how regarded by the author, v. 197; - Renaissance chiefly expressive of pride, iii. 63; - lower than sculpture or painting, the idea of utility being dominant, - ii. 10 (note); - and trees, coincidences between, v. 19; - of Nuremberg, v. 232; - Venetian, v. 295. - - Art, definition of greatness in, i. 8, 11, iii. 3-10, 39; - imitative, noble or ignoble according to its purpose, iii. 20, 202; - practical, ii. 8; - theoretic, ii. 8; - profane, iii. 61; - ideality of, ii. 110; - in what sense useful, ii. 3, 4; - perfection of, in what consisting, i. 357; - first aim of, the representation of facts, i. 45, 46; - highest aim of, the expression of thought, i. 45, 46; - truth, a just criterion of, i. 48; - doubt as to the use of, iii. 19; - laws of, how regarded by imaginative and unimaginative painters, ii. - 155; - neglect of works of, ii. 6, 8 (note); - nobleness of, in what consisting, iii. 21, 22; - noble, right minuteness of, v. 175; - meaning of "style," different selection of particular truths to be - indicated, i. 95; - bad, evil effects of the habitual use of, iv. 334; - love of, the only effective patronage, ii. 3; - sacred, general influence of, iii. 55; - misuse of, in religious services, iii. 59, 60; - religious, of Italy, abstract, iii. 48, 58, v. 219; - religious, of Venice, Naturalistic, iii. 78, v. 214, 226; - Christian, divisible into two great masses, symbolic and imitative, - iii. 203; - Christian, opposed to pagan, ii. 222, 223; - "Christian," denied, the flesh, v. 203; - high, consists in the truthful presentation of the maximum of beauty, - iii. 34; - high, modern ideal of, iii. 65; - highest, purely imaginative, iii. 39; - highest, dependent on sympathy, iv. 9; - highest, chiaroscuro necessary in, i. 79; - modern, fatal influence of the sensuality of, iii. 65; - allegorical, iii. 95; - essays on, by the author, distinctive character of, v. preface, x. v. - 196; - influence of climate on, v. 133; - influence of scenery on, v. 214, 232, 235, 287; - Venetian, v. 188, 214, 226; - classical defined, v. 242; - Angelican, iii. 50-57, v. 282; - Greek, v. 209; - Dutch, v. 277. - See Painting, Painters. - - Art, Great, definition of, i. 8-11, iii. 3, 10, 41; - characteristics of, i. 305, iii. 26-41, 88, v. 158, 175, 178, 202; - not to be taught, iii. 43, 141; - the expression of the spirits of great men, iii. 43, v. 179; - represents something seen and believed, iii. 80; - sets forth the true nature and authority of freedom, v. 203; - relation of, to man, v. 203. - See Style. - - Artists, danger of spirit of choice to, ii. 26; - right aim of, i. 425, 426, iii. 19; - their duty in youth, to begin as patient realists, i. 423; - choice of subject by, ii. 188, iii. 27, 28, iii. 35, iv. 290, iv. 18 - (note); - should paint what they love, ii. 217; - mainly divided into two classes, i. 74, 315; - necessity of singleness of aim in, i. 423, 424, v. 179. - See Painters. - - Artists, Great, characteristics of, i. 8, 123, 327, ii. 42, iii. 26-41; - forgetfulness of self in, i. 84; - proof of real imagination in, i. 306; - calmness of, v. 191; - delight in symbolism, iii. 93; - qualities of, v. 191; - keenness of sight in, iv. 188; - sympathy of, with nature, ii. 90, iii. 177, iv. 13, 70, ii. 92; - with humanity, iv. 9, 11, 13, iii. 63, ii. 169, v. 198, 203; - live wholly in their own age, iii. 90. - - Artists, Religious, ii. 174, 176, 180, 216, iii. 48-60, iv. 355; - imaginative and unimaginative, distinction between, ii. 154, 156; - history of the Bible has yet to be painted, iii. 58. - - Asceticism, ii. 114, three forms of, v. 325. - - Association, of two kinds, accidental and rational, ii. 33, 34; - unconscious influence of, ii. 34; - power of, iii. 17, ii. 45, v. 216; - charm of, by whom felt, iii. 292, 309; - influence of, on enjoyment of landscape, iii. 289. - - - Bacon, master of the science of essence, iii. 307; - compared with Pascal, iv. 361. - - Banks, formation of, iv. 262; - curvature of, iv. 262, 278, 282; - luxuriant vegetation of, iv. 125. - - Beauty, definition of the term (pleasure-giving) i. 26, 27; - sensations of, instinctive, i. 27, ii. 21, 46, 135; - vital, ii. 88, 100, 110; - typical, ii. 28, 38, 85, 115, 135; - error of confounding truth with, iii. 31 (note); - of truths of species, i. 60; - of curvature, ii. 46, iv. 192, 197, 200, 262, 263, 264; - love of, in great artists, iii. 33, v. 209; - moderation essential to, ii. 84; - ideas of, essentially moral, ii. 12, 18; - repose, an unfailing test of, ii. 68, 108; - truth the basis of, i. 47, ii. 136; - how far demonstrable by reason, ii. 27; - ideas of, exalt and purify the human mind, i. 26, 27; - not dependent on the association of ideas, ii. 33, 34; - the substitution of, for truth, erroneous, iii. 61, 254; - sense of, how degraded and how exalted, ii. 17, 18, v. 209; - of the sea, v. 215; - influence of moral expression on, ii. 96, 97; - lovers of, how classed, iii. 33; - consequences of the reckless pursuit of, iii. 23; - modern destruction of, v. 325; - Renaissance, principles of, to what tending, iii. 254; - false opinions respecting, ii. 28, 29, 30, 136; - arising out of sacrifice, v. 53; - sense of, often wanting in good men, ii. 135, 138; - false use of the word, ii. 28; - not necessary to our being, ii. 16; - unselfish sympathy necessary to sensations of, ii. 17, 93; - degrees of love for, in various authors, iii. 285, 288; - and sublimity, connection between, i. 42; - custom not destructive to, ii. 32; - natural, Scott's love of, iii. 271, 272; - natural, lessons to be learnt from investigation of, v. 147; - natural, when terrible, v. 197; - of animal form, depends on moral expression, ii. 97, 98; - Alison's false theory of association, ii. 28, 33; - sense of, how exalted by affection, ii. 18; - abstract of form, how dependent on curvature, iv. 262, 263; - ideal, definition of, i. 28; - physical, iii. 67; - physical, Venetian love of, v. 295; - vulgar pursuit of, iii. 67. - - Beauty, human, ancient, and mediaeval admiration of, iii. 197, 198; - Venetian painting of, v. 227; - consummation not found on earth, ii. 134; - Greek love of, iii. 177, 189, 197; - culture of, in the middle ages, iii. 197. - - Beauty of nature, character of minds destitute of the love of, iii. 296. - - Benevolence, wise purchase the truest, v. 328 (note). - - Browning, quotation on Renaissance spirit, iv. 369. - - Buds, typical of youth, iii. 206; - difference in growth of, v. 8; - formation and position of, v. 11, 14, 17, 27; - of horse-chestnut, v. 19; - accommodating spirit of, v. 53; - true beauty of, from what arising, v. 53; - sections and drawings of, v. 13, 73, 74. - - Business, proper, of man in the world, iii. 44, 336. - - Byron, use of details by, iii. 8; - character of works of, iii. 235, 263, 266, 270, 296, i. 3 (note); - love of nature, iii. 285, 288, 295, 297; - use of color by, iii. 235; - death, without hope, v. 350. - - - Carlyle, iii. 253; - on clouds, v. 107. - - Cattle, painting of, v. 259, 260. - - Change, influence of, on our senses, ii. 54; - love of, an imperfection of our nature, ii. 54, 55. - - Charity, the perfection of the theoretic faculty, ii. 90; - exercise of, its influence on human features, ii. 115. - - Chasteness, meaning of the term, ii. 81. - - Chiaroscuro, truth of, i. 173-184; - contrasts of systems of, iv. 41; - great principles of, i. 173, 180; - necessity of, in high art, i. 181; - necessity of, in expressing form, i. 69, 70; - nature's contrasted with man's, i. 141; - natural value of, i. 182; - rank of deceptive effects in, i. 73; - fatal effects of, on art, iii. 140 (note); - treatment of, by Venetian colorists, iv. 45, 46. - - Chiaroscurists, advantages of, over colorists, iv. 48. - - Choice, spirit of, dangerous, ii. 26, iv. 18 (note); - of love, in rightly tempered men, ii. 137; - importance of sincerity of, iii. 27, 35; - effect of, on painters, iii. 28; - of subject, when sincere, a criterion of the rank of painters, iii. 27; - difference of, between great and inferior artists, iii. 35; - of subject, painters should paint what they love, ii. 219; - error of Pre-Raphaelites, iv. 19. - - City and country life, influence of, v. 4, 5. - - Classical landscape, iii. 168, 190; - its features described, v. 242; - spirit, its resolute degradation of the lower orders, v. 243 (note). - - Clay, consummation of, v. 157. - - Cliffs, formation of, iv. 146, 149, 158, 241; - precipitousness of, iv. 230, 257; - Alpine, stability of, iv. 261; - Alpine, sublimity of, iv. 245, 261, v. 81; - common mistake respecting structure of, iv. 297. - See Mountains. - - Clouds, questions respecting, v. 101-107, 110-113; - truth of, i. 216, 266; - light and shade in, iv. 36; - scriptural account of their creation, iv. 82-88; - modern love of, iii. 244, 248; - classical love of, iii. 245; - connected with, not distinct from the sky, i. 207; - balancings, v. 101-107; - high, at sunset, i. 161; - massive and striated, v. 108; - method of drawing, v. 111 (note); - perspective of, v. 114-121; - effects of moisture, heat, and cold, on formation of, v. 131; - "cap-cloud," v. 124; - "lee-side cloud," v. 124, 125; - mountain drift, v. 127, 128; - variety of, at different elevations, i. 216; - brighter than whitest paper, iv. 36; - never absent from a landscape, iv. 69; - supremacy of, in mountain scenery, iv. 349; - level, early painters' love of, iii. 244; - love of, by Greek poets, iii. 244; - as represented by Aristophanes, iii. 249, v. 139; - Dante's dislike of, iii. 244; - wave-band, sign of, in thirteenth century art, iii. 209; - Cirrus, or Upper Region, extent of, i. 217, v. 109; - color of, i. 224, v. 119, 120, 149; - purity of color of, i. 219; - sharpness of edge of, i. 218; - symmetrical arrangement of, i. 217; - multitude of, i. 218, v. 109, 110; - Stratus, or Central Region, extent of, i. 226; - connection of with mountains, v. 123; - majesty of, v. 122; - arrangement of, i. 228; - curved outlines of, i. 64, 229; - perfection and variety of, i. 229, v. 111, 112; - Rain, regions of, definite forms in, i. 245, v. 122-138; - difference in colors of, i. 244, v. 136; - pure blue sky, only seen through the, i. 256; - heights of, v. 137 (note); - functions of, v. 135, 137; - condition of, on Yorkshire hills, v. 141; - influence of, on high imagination, v. 141. - - Color, truth of, i. 67-71, 155, 173; - purity of, means purity of colored substance, ii. 75, 79; - purity of in early Italian masters, ii. 220; - the purifier of material beauty, v. 320 (note); - associated with purity, life, and light, iv. 53, 123, v. 320; - contrasts of, iv. 40; - gradation of, ii. 47, 48; - dulness of, a sign of dissolution, iv. 124; - effect of distance on, iv. 64, 65; - effect of gradation in, iv. 71; - noble, found in things innocent and precious, iv. 48; - pale, are deepest and fullest in shade, iv. 42; - sanctity of, iv. 52, v. 320 (note), 149, 319; - true dignity of, v. 318, 320 (note), effect of falsifying, v. 321 - (note); - Venetian love of, v. 212; - rewards of veracity in, v. 321 (note); - of sunshine, contrasted with sun color, v. 317, 318; - perfect, the rarest art power, v. 320 (note); - pleasure derived from, on what depending, i. 10; - chord of perfect, iii. 99, v. 317, 318, iii. 275, iv. 52; - anything described by words as visible, may be rendered by, iii. 97; - variety of, in nature, i. 70, 168; - no brown in nature, iii. 235; - without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202; - without form, ii. 202; - faithful study of, gives power over form, iv. 54, v. 320 (note); - perception of form not dependent on, ii. 77, v. 320 (note); - effect of atmosphere on distant, i. 97, iv. 188; - less important than light, shade, and form, i. 68, 172, v. 321 (note); - sombreness of modern, iii. 251, 257; - sentimental falsification of, iii. 31; - arrangement of, by the false idealist and naturalist, iii. 77; - done best by instinct (Hindoos and Chinese), iii. 87; - use of full, in shadow, very lovely, iv. 46, v. 317; - ground, use of, by great painters, v. 188, 190; - nobleness of painting dependent on, v. 316; - a type of love, v. 319, 320 (note); - use of, shadowless in representing the supernatural, ii. 219; - right splendor of in flesh painting, ii. 124; - delicate, of the idealists, ii. 221; - local, how far expressible in black and white, i. 404; - natural, compared with artificial, i. 157; - destroyed by general purple tone, i. 169; - manifestation of, in sunsets, i. 161, 210; - quality of, owes part of its brightness to light, i. 140, 148; - natural, impossibility of imitating (too intense), i. 157, 164; - imitative, how much truth necessary to, i. 22; - effect of association upon, i. 69; - delight of great men in, iii. 257; - cause of practical failures, three centuries' want of practice, iii. - 257; - mediaeval love of, iii. 231; - Greek sense of, iii. 219; - brightness of, when wet, iv. 244; - difference of, in mountain and lowland scenery, iv. 346, 347; - great power in, sign of art intellect, iv. 55; - why apparently unnatural when true, iv. 40, v. 317; - of near objects, may be represented exactly, iv. 39; - of the earth, iv. 38; - in stones, iv. 129, 305; - in crystalline rocks and marbles, iv. 104, 106, 107, 129, 135; - of mosses, iv. 130, v. 99; - solemn moderation in, ii. 84, 85; - of mountains, i. 157, 158, 168, iv. 351; - on buildings, improved by age, i. 105; - of the open sky, i. 206; - of clouds, v. 120, 121, 136, 149; - reflected, on water, i. 330, 332; - of form, i. 349; - of old masters, i. 159; - of the Apennines, contrasted with the Alps, iii. 233; - of water, i. 349; - the painter's own proper work, v. 316. - - Colorists, contrasts of, iv. 40; - advantages of, over chiaroscurists, iv. 47-51; - great, use of green by, i. 159 (note); - seven supreme, v. 318 (note); - great, painting of sun color, v. 317, 318. - - Completion, in art, when professed, should be rigorously exacted, ii. 82; - of portraiture, iii. 90; - on what depending, v. 181; - meaning of, by a good painter, v. 181, 191; - right, v. 272 (note); - abused, v. 273. - - Composers, great, habit of regarding relations of things, v. 178, 179; - determinate sketches of, v. 182. - - Composition, definition of, v. 155; - use of simple conception in, ii. 148; - harmony of, with true rules, ii. 150, iii. 86; - transgression of laws allowable in, iv. 274; - true not produced by rules, v. 154; - necessity of every part in, v. 158; - true, the noblest condition of art, v. 158; - law of help in, v. 158, 163; - great, has always a leading purpose, v. 163; - law of perfectness, v. 180. - - Conception, simple, nature of, ii. 147; - concentrates on one idea the pleasure of many, ii. 193; - how connected with verbal knowledge, ii. 148; - of more than creature, impossible to creature, ii. 133, 134, 212, 215; - of superhuman form, ii. 215; - use of, in composition, ii. 148; - ambiguity of things beautiful changes by its indistinctness, ii. 92; - partial, is none, v. 190. - - Conscience, power of association upon, ii. 35. - - Consistence, is life, v. 156; - example of its power, jewels out of mud, v. 156. - - Crests, mountain, formation of, i. 295, iv. 197, 198; - forms of, i. 295, iv. 195-209; - beauty of, depends on radiant curvature, iv. 201, 204; - sometimes like flakes of fire, i. 278. - - Crimean War, iii. 326-332. - - Criticism, importance of truth in, i. 48; - qualifications necessary to good, i. 418, iii. 23; - technical knowledge necessary to, i. 4; - how it may be made useful, iii. 22; - judicious, i. 11, 420; - modern, general incapability and inconsistency of, i. 419; - general, iii. 16; - when to be contemned, i. 338; - true, iii. 22. - - Curvature, a law of nature, ii. 46, iv. 192; - two sorts of, finite and infinite, iv. 263; - infinity of, in nature, ii. 46, iv. 272; - curves arranged to set off each other, iv. 272; - beauty of, ii. 46, iv. 263, 264, 287; - beauty of moderation in, ii. 84; - value of apparent proportion in, ii. 59, 60; - laws of, in trees, i. 400; - in running streams and torrents, i. 370; - approximation of, to right lines, adds beauty, iv. 263 264, 268; - in mountains, produced by rough fracture, iv. 193; - beauty of catenary, iv. 279; - radiating, the most beautiful, iv. 203 (note); - measurement of, iv. 269 (note); - of beds of slaty crystallines, wavy, iv. 150; - of mountains, iv. 282, 285, 287; - of aiguilles, iv. 184, 191; - in stems, v. 21, 56; - in branches, v. 39, 63; - loss of, in engraving, v. 320 (note). - - Custom, power of, ii. 24, 34, 55; - twofold operation, deadens sensation, confirms affection, ii. 24, 34, - 35; - Wordsworth on, iii. 293. - - - Dante, one of the creative order of poets, iii. 156; - and Shakspere, difference between, iv. 372 (note); - compared with Scott, iii. 266; - demons of, v. 256; - statement of doctrine by (damnation of heathen), v. 230. - - Dante's self-command, iii. 160; - clear perception, iii. 156; - keen perception of color, iii. 218, 220, 222, 223, 234; - definiteness of his Inferno, compared with indefiniteness of - Milton's, iii. 209; - ideal landscape, iii. 213; - poem, formality of landscape in, iii. 209, 211; - description of flame, ii. 163; - description of a wood, iii. 214; - makes mountains abodes of misery, iii. 231, - and is insensible to their broad forms, iii. 240; - conception of rocks, iii. 232, 238; - declaration of mediaeval faith, iii. 217; - delight in white clearness of sky, iii. 242; - idea of the highest art, reproduction of the aspects of things past - and present, iii. 18; - idea of happiness, iii. 217; - representation of love, iii. 197; - hatred of rocks, iii. 238, 275; - repugnance to mountains, iii. 240; - symbolic use of color in hewn rock, iv. 109 (note); - carefulness in defining color, iii. 222; - Vision of Leah and Rachel, iii. 216; - use of the rush, as emblem of humility, iii. 227; - love of the definite, iii. 209, 212, 223; - love of light, iii. 243, 244; - Spirit of Treachery, v. 305; - Geryon, Spirit of Fraud, v. 305; - universality, Straw street and highest heavens, iv. 84. - - David, King, true gentleman, v. 263. - - Dead, the, can receive our honor, not our gratitude, i. 6. - - Death, fear of, v. 231, 236; - conquest over, v. 237; - vulgarity, a form of, v. 275; - English and European, v. 296; - following the vain pursuit of wealth, power, and beauty (Venice), v. - 337; - mingled with beauty, iv. 327; - of Moses and Aaron, iv. 378-383; - contrasted with life, ii. 79. - - Debris, curvature of, iv. 279, 284, 285; - lines of projection produced by, iv. 279; - various angles of, iv. 309; - effect of gentle streams on, iv. 281; - torrents, how destructive to, iv. 281. - - Deception of the senses, not the end of art, i. 22, 74, 76. - - Decision, love of, leads to vicious speed, i. 39. - - Decoration, architectural effects of light on, i. 106; - use of, in representing the supernatural, ii. 219. - - Deity, revelation of, iv. 84; - presence of, manifested in the clouds, iv. 84, 85; - modes of manifestation of, in the Bible, iv. 81; - his mountain building, iv. 37; - warning of, in the mountains, iv. 341; - art representations of, meant only as symbolic, iii. 203; - purity, expressive of the presence and energy of, ii. 78, 79; - finish of the works of, ii. 82, 87; - communication of truth to men, ii. 137; - Greek idea of, iii. 170, 177; - modern idea of, as separated from the life of nature, iii. 176; - presence of, in nature, i. 57, iii. 305, 306, v. 85, 137; - manifestation of the, in nature, i. 324, iii. 196; - love of nature develops a sense of the presence and power of, iii. - 300, 301; - directest manifestation of the, v. 198. - - Deflection, law of, in trees, v. 25, 26. - - Delavigne, Casimir, "La toilette de Constance," iii. 162. - - Details, use of variable and invariable, not the criterion of poetry, - iii. 7-10; - Byron's use of, iii. 8; - careful drawing of, by great men, iii. 122; - use of light in understanding architectural, i. 106; - swift execution secures perfection of, i. 202; - false and vicious treatment of, by old masters, i. 74. - - Devil, the, held by some to be the world's lawgiver, v. 345. - - "Discord," in Homer, Spenser, and Turner, v. 309-311. - - Distance, effect of, on our perception of objects, i. 186, 191, 192; - must sometimes be sacrificed to foreground, i. 187; - effect of, on pictorial color, iv. 64; - expression of infinity in, ii. 41; - extreme, characterized by sharp outlines, i. 283; - effect of, on mountains, i. 277, 280; - early masters put details into, i. 187. - - Dog, as painted by various masters, v. 224, 255. - - Dragon, of Scripture, v. 305; - of the Greeks, v. 300, 305; - of Dante, v. 306; - of Turner, v. 300, 307-312, 314, 316, 323. - - Drawing, noble, mystery and characteristic of, iv. 56, 59, 63, 214; - real power of, never confined to one subject, i. 416; - of mountain forms, i. 286, 305, iv. 188-191, 242; - of clouds, v. 111 (note), 118; - necessary to education, v. 330 (note); - figure, of Turner, i. 189; - questions concerning, v. 36; - landscape of old and modern painters, iii. 249; - of artists and architects, difference between, i. 118; - distinctness of, iii. 36; - of Swiss pines, iv. 290; - modern, of snowy mountains, unintelligible, i. 286; - as taught in Encyclopaedia Britannica, iv. 295; - inviolable canon of, "draw only what you see," iv. 16; - should be taught every child, iii. 299. - - - Earth, general structure of, i. 271; - laws of organization of, important in art, i. 270; - past and present condition of, iv. 140, 141; - colors of, iv. 38; - the whole not habitable, iv. 95, 96; - noblest scenes of, seen by few, i. 204; - man's appointed work on, v. 1; - preparation of, for man, v. 3; - sculpturing of the dry land, iv. 89. - - Economy of labor, v. 328. - - Education, value of, iii. 42; - its good and bad effect on enjoyment of beauty, iii. 64; - of Turner, iii. 319, v. 287-297; - of Scott, iii. 308; - of Giorgione, v. 286, 287, 291; - of Durer, v. 230, 231; - of Salvator, v. 235, 236; - generally unfavorable to love of nature, iii. 298; - modern, corrupts taste, iii. 65; - logical, a great want of the time, iv. 384; - love of picturesque, a means of, iv. 12; - what to be taught in, v. 328 (note); - what it can do, iii. 42; - can improve race, v. 262; - of persons of simple life, v. 328 (note). - - Emotions, noble and ignoble, iii. 10; - true, generally imaginative, ii. 190. - - Enamel, various uses of the word, iii. 221-223. - - Energy, necessary to repose, ii. 66; - purity a type of, ii. 76; - how expressed by purity of matter, ii. 79; - expression of, in plants, a source of pleasure, ii. 92. - - English art culminated in the 13th century, iv. 350. - - Engraving, influence of, i. 101; - system of landscape, i. 260, v. 38, 98, 328. - - Evil, the indisputable fact, iv. 342; - captivity to, v. 217, 285; - contest with, v. 285; - conquered, v. 285; - recognition and conquest of, essential to highest art, v. 205-209, 217; - war with, v. 231. - - Exaggeration, laws and limits of, ii. 208-210; - necessary on a diminished scale, ii. 208. - - Excellence, meaning of the term, i. 14, 15 (note); - in language, what necessary to, i. 9; - the highest, cannot exist without obscurity, iv. 61; - passing public opinion no criterion of, i. 1, 2; - technical, superseding expression, iii. 29. - - Execution, meaning of the term, i. 36; - three vices of, ii. 188 (note); - qualities of, i. 36, 37, 39 (note); - dependent upon knowledge of truth, i. 36; - essential to drawing of water, i. 350; - swift, details best given by, i. 202; - legitimate sources of pleasures in, i. 36, 38; - mystery of, necessary in rendering space of nature, i. 203; - rude, when the source of noble pleasure, ii. 82 (note); - determinate, v. 37, 38. - - Expression, three distinct schools of--Great, Pseudo, and - Grotesque-Expressional, iv. 385; - subtle, how reached, iv. 55; - influence of moral in animal form, ii. 97, 98; - perfect, never got without color, iv. 54 (note); - unison of expressional, with technical power, where found, iii. 29; - superseded by technical excellence, iii. 29; - of inspiration, ii. 214; - of superhuman character, how attained, ii. 213. - - Eye, focus of, truth of space dependent on, i. 186-190; - what seen by the cultivated, iv. 71; - what seen by the uncultivated, iv. 71; - when necessary to change focus of, i. 186, 355; - keenness of an artist's, how tested, iv. 188. - - - Faculty Theoretic, definition of, ii. 12, 18. - - Faculty AEsthetic, definition of, ii. 12, 18. - - Faith, derivation of the word, v. 161; - developed by love of nature, iii. 299; - want of, iii. 252-254; - our ideas of Greek, iii. 169; - of the Scotch farmer, iii. 189; - source and substance of all human deed, v. 161; - want of, in classical art, v. 242; - right, looks to present work, v. 205; - brave and hopeful, accompanies intellectual power, v. 205; - tranquillity of, before the Reformation, v. 230; - want of, in Dutch artists, v. 251; - of Venetians, v. 218; - how shown in early Christian art, iii. 49-51, v. 205; - in God, in nature, nearly extinct, iii. 251. - - Fallacy, Pathetic defined, iii. 155; - not admitted by greatest poets, iii. 156; - Pope's, iii. 158; - emotional temperament liable to, iii. 158; - instances illustrating the, iii. 160, 167; - characteristic of modern painting, iii. 168. - - Fancy, functions of, ii. 150; - never serious, ii. 169; - distinction between imagination and, ii. 166-170; - restlessness of, ii. 170; - morbid or nervous, ii. 200. - - Fear, destructive of ideal character, ii. 126; - distinguished from awe, ii. 126; - expressions of, only sought by impious painters, ii. 128; - holy, distinct from human terror, ii. 127. - - Ferocity, always joined with fear, ii. 127; - destructive of ideal character, ii. 126. - - Field Sports, v. 259. - - Fields. - See Grass. - - Finish, two kinds of--fallacious and faithful, iii. 109; - difference between English and continental, iii. 109, 111; - human often destroys nature's, iii. 112; - nature's, of rock, iii. 112; - of outline, iii. 114; - vain, useless conveying additional facts, iii. 116, 123, v. 271, 272 - (note); - in landscape foregrounds, i. 200; - mysteriousness of, i. 193; - esteemed essential by great masters, ii. 83, v. 271, 272 (note); - infinite in God's work, ii. 82; - how right and how wrong, i. 82-84, iii. 114; - of tree stems, iii. 115 (plate). - - Firmament, definition of, iv. 83, v. 148. - - Flowers, mediaeval love of, iii. 193; - mountain variety of, iv. 347; - typical of the passing and the excellence of human life, iii. 227; - sympathy with, ii. 91, v. 88; - no sublimity in, v. 91; - alpine, v. 93; - neglected by the great painters, v. 89; - two chief peculiarities, v. 92, 93; - beauty of, on what depending, v. 97 (note). - - Foam, two conditions of, i. 373; - difficulty of representing, i, 373; - appearance of, at Schaffhausen, i. 349; - sea, how different from the "yeast" of a tempest, i. 380 (note). - - Foliage, an element of mountain glory, iv. 348; - unity, variety, and regularity of, 394, 398; - as painted on the Continent, i. 401; - and by Pre-Raphaelites, i. 397; - study of, by old masters, i. 384. - - Forbes, Professor, description of mountains, quoted, iv. 182, 235. - - Foreground, finer truths of, the peculiar business of a master, i. 315; - lesson to be received from all, i. 323; - mountain attractiveness of, i. 99; - of ancient masters, i. 308, 313; - increased loveliness of, when wet, iv. 245; - Turner's, i. 323, 324; - must sometimes be sacrificed to distance, i. 187. - - Form, chiaroscuro necessary to the perception of, i. 69, 70; - more important than color, i. 68-71, ii. 77, iv. 54, v. 318 (note); - multiplicity of, in mountains, i. 280; - animal, typical representation of, ii. 203, 204; - without color, ii. 201; - without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202; - natural curvature of, ii. 60, 61; - animal beauty of, depends on moral expression, ii. 98; - what necessary to the sense of beauty in organic, ii. 94, 95; - ideal, ii. 104, iii. 78; - animal and vegetable, ii. 105; - ideal, destroyed by pride, sensuality, etc., ii. 122, 123; - rendering of, by photography, iv. 63; - mountain, iv. 135, 139, 159-262; - natural, variety of, inconceivable, iv. 189; - of aiguilles, how produced, iv. 189; - beauty of, dependent upon curvature, ii. 46. - - French art culminated in 13th century, iv. 358. - - Fuseli, quotations from, i. 16, ii. 153, 171. - - - Genius, unrecognized at the time, i. 6; - not the result of education, iii. 42; - power of, to teach, i. 414. - - Gentility, an English idea, iv. 4. - - Gentleman, the characteristics of a, sensibility, sympathy, courage, v. - 263-272. - - German religious art, "piety" of, iii. 253. - - Glacier, description, iv. 137; action of, iv. 161; - gradual softener of mountain form, iv. 169; - non-rigidity of, v. 86. - - Gloom, of Savoyard peasant, iv. 320; - appearance of, in southern slope of Alps, iv. 326. - See Mountain. - - Gneiss, nature of, iv. 206, 209; - color of, iv. 136; - Matterhorn composed of, iv. 160. - - God. - See Deity. - - Gotthelf, works of, iv. 135, v. 330. - - Gracefulness, of poplar grove, iii. 181; - of willow, v. 67; - of Venetian art, 229. - - Gradation, suggestive of infinity, ii. 47; - constant in nature, ii. 47; - necessary to give facts of form and distance, i. 149; - progress of the eye shown in sensibility to effects (Turner's Swiss - towers), iv. 71; - of light, Turnerian mystery, iv. 73; - in a rose, iv. 46. - - Granite, qualities of, iv. 109, 110; - color of, iv. 136. - - Grass, uses of, iii. 227; - type of humility and cheerfulness, and of the passing away of human - life, iii. 227, 228, v. 96; - Greek mode of regarding as opposed to mediaeval, iii. 223, 224; - enamelled, Dante's "green enamel" description of, iii. 222, 226; - damp, Greek love of, iii. 222; - careful drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 317; - mystery in, i. 315, iii. 221; - man's love of, iii. 224; - first element of lovely landscape, iii. 224. - - Gratitude, from what arising, ii. 15; - a duty to the living can't be paid to the dead, i. 6. - - Greatness, tests of, i. 323, iii. 260, 261, v. 175. - See Art, Artists. - - Greek, conception of Godhead, iii. 170, 175; - art, spirit of, v. 209, 213; - poetry, purpose of, the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209, 210; - religion, the manful struggle with evil, v. 211-213; - ideas of truthfulness, v. 267, 268; - mythology, v. 300, 307, 308, 322; - distrust of nature, v. 324; - culture of human beauty, iii. 179, 180, 198, 204; - landscape, composed of a fountain, meadow, and grove, iii. 181; - belief in the presence of Deity in nature, iii. 169-177; - absence of feeling for the picturesque, iii. 187; - belief in particular gods ruling the elements, iii. 171-177; - and Mediaeval feeling, difference between, iii. 218; - ideal of God, ii. 223; - faith, compared with that of an old Scotch farmer, iii. 188; - feeling about waves, iii. 169; - indifference to color, iii. 219, 220; - life, healthy, iii. 175; - formalism of ornament, iii. 208; - not visionary, iii. 188; - delight in trees, meadows, gardens, caves, poplars, flat country, and - damp grass, iii. 182-186, 221; - preference of utility to beauty, iii. 181, 185; - love of order, iii. 181, 189; - coins, v. 36; - description of clouds, v. 137-144; - design, v. 196. - - Grief, a noble emotion, ii. 129, iii. 10. - - Grotesque, third form of the Ideal, iii. 92-107; - three kinds of, iii. 92; - noble, iii. 93, 102; - true and false (mediaeval and classical) griffins, iii. 101-107; - Spenser's description of Envy, iii. 94; - how fitted for illumination, iii. 101; - modern, iv. 385-403. - - Grotesque Expressional, iv. 385; - modern example of, "Gen. Fevrier turned traitor," iv. 388. - - - Habit, errors induced by; embarrasses the judgment, ii. 24; - modifying effects of, ii. 32; - power of, how typified, iv. 215. - See Custom. - - Heavens, fitfulness and infinity of, i. 135; - means in Scripture, clouds, iv. 86; - relation of, to our globe, iv. 88, v. 148; - presence of God in, iv. 88; - Hebrew, Greek, and Latin names for, v. 147-150; - meaning of, in 19th Psalm, v. 148. - - Help, habit of, the best part of education, v. 328 (note). - - Helpfulness, law of, v. 155-158; - of inventive power, v. 192. - See Consistence. - - Homer, a type of the Greek mind, iii. 188; - poetical truth of, iii. 162; - idea of the Sea-power, iii. 169; - intense realism, iii. 185; - conception of rocks, iii. 232, 239-241; - pleasure in woody-scenery, iii. 184, 212; - love of aspens, iii. 182, 185; - love of symmetry, iii. 180; - pleasure in utility, iii. 181, 184, 185; - ideal of landscape, iii. 179-182; - feelings traceable in his allusion to flowers, iii. 226; - Michael Angelo compared to, by Reynolds, iii. 13; - poetry of, v. 209; - Iliad and Odyssey of, v. 210, 211, 309; - his "Discord," v. 308; - the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209; - heroic spirit of, v. 211, 212; - pride of, v. 217; - faith of, v. 217. - - Hooker, his definition of a law, ii. 84; - referred to, ii. 9, 14, 24; - quotation from, on Divine Unity, ii. 50; - quotation on exactness of nature, ii. 82. - - Horse, Greek and Roman treatment of, v. 257; - Vandyke, first painter of, v. 258. - - Humility, means a right estimate of one's own powers, iii. 260; - how symbolized by Dante, iii. 227; - a test of greatness, iii. 260; - inculcated by science, iii. 256; - necessity of, to enjoyment of nature, iii. 269, iv. 69; - grass, a type of, iii. 226, 228, v. 96; - of inventive power, v. 192; - distinguishing mark between the Christian and Pagan spirit, iii. 226. - - - Ideal, definition of the word, i. 28; - its two senses referring to imagination or to perfection of type, ii. - 102, 103; - how to be attained, i. 44; - form in lower animals, ii. 104; - form in plants, ii. 105; - of form to be preserved in art by exhibition of individuality, ii. - 109, 210; - the bodily, effect of intellect and moral feelings on, ii. 113-115; - form, of what variety susceptible, ii. 221; - of human form, destroyed by expression of corrupt passions, ii. 122, - 129; - of humanity, how to be restored, ii. 112, 118, 121; - form to be obtained only by portraiture, ii. 119, iii. 78; - form, necessity of love to the perception of, ii. 121, 130; - pictures, interpreters of nature, iii. 141; - general, of classical landscape, v. 244; - modern pursuit of the, iii. 44, 65, 69; - Angelican, iii. 49, 57, v. 283, i. 82; - false Raphaelesque, iii. 53-57. - - Ideal, the true, faithful pursuit of, in the business of life, iii. 44; - relation of modern sculpturesque to the, iii. 63; - operation of, iii. 77; - three kinds of--Purist, Naturalist, and Grotesque (see below), iii. 71. - - Ideal, true grotesque, iii. 92-107; - limited expression of, iii. 99, 100. - - Ideal, true naturalist, character of, iii. 77-91; - high, necessity of reality in, iii. 80, 81, 91; - its operation on historical art, iii. 89-91; - in landscape produces the heroic, v. 206. - - Ideal, true purist, iii. 71-76. - - Ideal, false, various forms of, iii. 69, iv. 308, 310 (plates); - results of pursuit of the, iii. 61, 63; - religious, iii. 44, 60; - well-executed, dulls perception of truth, iii. 48-52; - profane, iii. 61-69; - of the modern drama, iv. 321. - - Ideal, superhuman, ii. 212, 224; - expression of, by utmost degree of human beauty, ii. 214. - - Ideality, not confined to one age or condition, ii. 109-117; - expressible in art, by abstraction of form, color, or texture, ii. - 201. - - Illumination, distinguished from painting by absence of shadow, iii. - 99; - pigments used in, iii. 223; - decline of the art of, to what traceable, iv. 359; - of MSS. in thirteenth century, illustrating treatment of natural - form, iii. 207, 208, iv. 76; - of MSS. in fifteenth century, illustrating treatment of landscape - art, iii. 201; - of MSS. in sixteenth century, illustrating idea of rocks, iii. 239; - of missals, illustrating later ideas of rocks and precipices, iv. - 253; - of missal in British Museum, illustrating German love of horror, iv. - 328; - of MSS. in fifteenth century, German coarseness contrasted with grace - and tenderness of thirteenth century, iv. 335; - representation of sun in, iii. 318. - - Imagination, threefold operation of, ii. 146; - why so called, iii. 132; - defined, ii. 151; - functions of, ii. 10, 143, 188, iii. 45, iv. 31; - how strengthened by feeding on truth and external nature, i. 427, ii. - 191; - tests of presence of, ii. 155, 169, 207; - implies self-forgetfulness, i. 306; - importance of in art, iii. 38; - Dugald Stewart's definition of, ii. 143, 145; - conscious of no rules, ii. 155; - makes use of accurate knowledge, ii. 109, iii. 40; - noble only when truthful, ii. 161, iii. 123, iv. 30; - entirety of its grasp, ii. 156, 179, v. 187, 190; - its delight in the character of repose, ii. 66; - verity of, ii. 161, 188, 211, iii. 30, 107, 133; - power of, ii. 158, 206, iii. 10, 11, 131, 287, iv. 19, 30; - calmness essential to, v. 191; - always the seeing and asserting faculty, iii. 211; - charm of expectant, iv. 131; - pleasure derived from, how enhanced, iii. 281; - highest form of, ii. 146; - always right when left to itself, iii. 106; - how excited by mountain scenery, iv. 23, 222, v. 216, 235; - influence of clouds on, v. 141; - searching apprehension of, ii. 164, 165, 169, 183, 188, 195, iii. 107; - distinguished from fancy, ii. 166-170, 194, 201; - signs of, in language, ii. 165; - how shown in sculpture, ii. 184-187; - work of, distinguished from composition, ii. 154-158; - what necessary to formation of, v. 189-191. - - Imagination, penetrative, ii. 163-191; - associative, ii. 147-162; - contemplative, ii. 192-211. - - Imitation, power of deceiving the senses, i. 17; - why reprehensible, i. 18, 19, 21, 34, 73, 416, iv. 136; - no picture good which deceives by, i. 25; - when right, in architectural ornament, ii. 205; - of flowers, v. 92; - was least valued in the thirteenth century, iii. 18, 199, 209; - general pleasure in deceptive effects of, iii. 16; - when made an end of art, i. 74, 143; - began, as a feature of art, about 1300, iii. 203; - of what impossible, i. 77, 157, 164, 371, 372, ii. 203, iii. 20, 129, - v. 91; - definition of ideas of, i. 13, 20. - - Infinity, typical of redeemed life, iv. 80; - expressed in nature by curvature and gradation, ii. 45-48; - of gradation, i. 210, 224, ii. 47; - of variety in nature's coloring, i. 168, 172, 325, iv. 127; - of nature's fulness, i. 195, v. 99; - of clouds, i. 218, 235, v. 110, 113; - of detail in mountains, i. 290, 297; - of curvature, i. 315, ii. 60, iv. 262-269, v. 39; - expressed by distance, ii. 41; - not implied by vastness, ii. 49; - the cause of mystery, iv. 58; - of mountain vegetation, iv. 288; - absence of, in Dutch work, v. 37; - general delight in, ii. 42-44. - - Inspiration, the expression of the mind of a God-made great man, iii. - 141; - expression of, on human form, ii. 214; - as manifested in impious men, ii. 137, 138; - revelations made by, how communicable, ii. 133; - condition of prophetic, iii. 159. - - Intellect, how affected by novelty, ii. 54; - how connected with pleasure derived from art, i. 10, 28; - its operation upon the features, ii. 113-115; - connection of beauty with, i. 27; - how influenced by state of heart, ii. 17, 114; - affected by climatic influences, v. 134; - how rendered weak, v. 205, 247; - abuse of, v. 266 (note); - culture of, in mechanical arts, v. 328 (note); - comparison between Angelico's, Salvator's, Durer's, and Giorgione's, - v. 284, 285; - beauty of animal form increased by expression of, ii. 98; - decay of, shown by love of the horrible, iv. 328; - popular appreciation of, i. 418; - influence of mountain scenery on, iv. 274, 351-363; - condition of, in English and French nations, from thirteenth to - sixteenth century, iv. 358; - great humility of, iii. 260; - seriousness of, iii. 258; - sensibility of, iii. 159, 286; - power of, in controlling emotions, iii. 160; - sees the whole truth, v. 205; - greater, not found in minds of purest religious temper, v. 204. - - Intemperance, nature and application of the word, ii. 13, 14. - - Invention, characteristic of great art, i. 305, iii. 38, 88; - greatest of art-qualities, v. 158; - instinctive character of, ii. 155, iii. 84, 87, v. 154, 158; - evil of misapplied, i. 117; - liberty of, with regard to proportion, ii. 61; - operation of (Turnerian Topography), iv. 18, 23, 24; - "never loses an accident," v. 173; - not the duty of young artists, i. 422; - verity of, v. 191; - absence of, how tested, v. 157; - grandeur of, v. 187; - material, v. 153-163; - spiritual, v. 193-217; - sacred, a passionate finding, v. 192; - of form, superior to invention of color, v. 320 (note). - - - Joy, a noble emotion, ii. 16, iii. 10; - necessity of, to ideas of beauty, ii. 17, 29; - of youth, how typified in bud-structure and flowers, iii. 206, 227; - of humble life, v. 328. - - Judgment, culture and regulation of, i. 49-56, ii. 22-25; - distinguished from taste, i. 25, ii. 34; - right moral, necessary to sense of beauty, ii. 96, 99; - right technical knowledge necessary to formation of, ii. 4; - equity of, illustrated by Shakspere, iv. 332; - substitution of, for admiration, the result of unbelief, v. 244. - - - Keats, subdued by the feeling under which he writes, iii. 160; - description of waves by, iii. 168; - description of pine, v. 82; - coloring of, iii. 257; - no real sympathy with, but a dreamy love of nature, iii. 270, 285; - death of, v. 349; - his sense of beauty, v. 332. - - Knowledge, connection of, with sight, i. 54; - connection of, with thought, i. 47; - pleasure in, iv. 69; - communication of, railways and telegraphs, iii. 302; - what worth teaching, iii. 298, v. 330; - influence of, on art, i. 45, 47, 238; - necessary to right judgment of art, i. 121, 411, 418; - feeling necessary to fulness of, v. 107; - highest form of, is Trust, v. 161; - coldness of, v. 140; - how to be employed, v. 330; - refusal of, a form of asceticism, v. 326. - - - Labor, healthful and harmful, v. 329, 331. - - Lands, classed by their produce and corresponding kinds of art, v. - 133-135. - - Landscape, Greek, iii. 178-187, v. 211-213; - effect of on Greek mind, iv. 351; - of fifteenth century, iii. 201; - mediaeval, iii. 201, 209, 219, iv. 77-79; - choice of, influenced by national feeling, i. 125; - novelty of, iii. 143-151; - love of, iii. 280, 294; - Scott's view of, iii. 257; - of Switzerland, iv. 132, 290 (see Mountains, Alps, &c.); - of Southern Italy, v. 235; - Swiss moral influences of, contrasted with those of Italy, iv. - 135-136; - colors of, iv. 40, 345; - lowland and mountain, iv. 363; - gradation in, i. 182; - natural, how modified by choice of inventive artists, iv. 24, 26 - (note); - dependent for interest on relation to man, v. 193, 196; - how to manufacture one, iv. 291. - - Landscape Painters, aims of great, i. 44, iv. 23; - choice of truths by, i. 74-76; - in seventeenth century, their vicious and false style, i. 5, 185, - 328, 387; - German and Flemish, i. 90; - characteristics of Dutch, v. 253, 259; - vulgarity of Dutch, v. 277; - English, i. 83, 92-95. - - Landscape Painting, modern, i. 424; - four true and two spurious forms of, v. 194, 195; - true, dependent for its interest on sympathy with humanity (the - "dark mirror"), v. 195-201, iii. 248, 250, 259, 325, iv. 56; - early Italian school of, i. 81-85, 165, ii. 217; - emancipation of, from formalism, iii. 312; - Venetian school of, expired 1594, iii. 317, v. 214, 219; - supernatural, ii. 219-222; - Purist ideal of, iii. 70-76; - delight in quaint, iii. 313; - preservation of symmetry in, by greatest men, ii. 74; - northern school of, iii. 323; - doubt as to the usefulness of, iii. 144, v. 193; - symbolic, iii. 203; - topographical, iv. 16; - Dutch school of, i. 92; - modern love of darkness and dark color, the "service of clouds," iii. - 248-251. - - Landscape Painting, Classical, v. 242-248; - absence of faith in, v. 242; - taste and restraint of, v. 242; - ideal of, v. 244. - - Landscape Painting, Dutch, v. 277-281. - - Landscape Painting, Heroic, v. 194-198. - - Landscape Painting, Pastoral, v. 253-260. - - Language of early Italian Pictures, i. 10; - of Dutch pictures, i. 10; - distinction between ornamental and expressive, i. 10; - painting a, i. 8; - accuracy of, liable to misinterpretation, iii. 5. - - Law, David's delight in the, v. 146; - helpfulness or consistence the highest, v. 156. - - Laws of leaf-grouping, v. 25, 26, 32; - of ramification, v. 49-62; - of vegetation, how expressed in early Italian sculpture, v. 46. - - Leaf, Leaves, how treated by mediaeval ornamental artists, iii. 204; - of American plane, iii. 205; - of Alisma plantago, iii. 205; - of horse-chestnut, iii. 205; - growth of, iv. 193, v. 31; - laws of Deflection, Radiation, and Succession, v. 25, 26; - ribs of, law of subordination in, iii. 206, v. 24; - lessons from, v. 32, 74, 75; - of the pine, v. 78; - of earth-plants, shapes of, v. 92-95; - life of, v. 31, 32, 40, 41, 63; - structure of, 21-25; - variety and symmetry of, i. 394, ii. 72, 92; - drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 316; - drawing of, by Dutch and by Durer, v. 37, 90; - curvature in, iv. 271-273; - mystery in, i. 191, 396; - strength and hope received from, ii. 140. - - Leaflets, v. 33. - - Liberty, self-restrained, ii. 84; - love of, in modern landscapes, iii. 250; - Scott's love of, iii. 271; - religious, of Venetians, v. 215; - individual helplessness (J. S. Mill), v. 174. - - Lichens. - See Moss. - - Life, intensity of, proportionate to intensity of helpfulness, v. 155; - connection of color with, iv. 53, 123, v. 322; - man's, see Man, Mediaeval. - - Light, power, gradation, and preciousness of, iv. 34, 37, 53, 69, 71-73; - mediaeval love of, iii. 200; - value of, on what dependent, ii. 48; - how affected by color, i. 68, 70; - influence of, in architecture, i. 106; - table of gradation of different painters, iv. 42; - law of evanescence (Turner), iv. 70; - expression of, by color, i. 98, 171; - with reference to tone, i. 147, 149; - a characteristic of the thirteenth century, iv. 49; - love of, ii. 75, 76, iii. 244; - a type of God, ii. 78; - purity of, i. 147, ii. 75; - how related to shadows, i. 140, 173; - hues of, i. 149, 157, 161; - high, how obtained, i. 173, 182, ii. 48; - high, use of gold in, i. 106; - white of idealists to be distinguished from golden of Titian's - school, ii. 221; - Dutch, love of, v. 254, 278; - effects of, as given by Turner, iv, 71. - - Limestone, of what composed, i. 309; - color of, iii. 231-233; - tables, iv. 127-129. - - Lines of fall, iv. 276; - of projection, iv. 279; - of escape, iv. 279; - of rest, iv. 309; - nature of governing, iv. 187; - in faces, ii. 114; - undulating, expressive of action, horizontal, of rest and strength, - v. 164; - horizontal and angular, v. 164; - grandeur of, consists in simplicity with variation, iv. 247; - curved, iv. 263; - apparent proportion in, ii. 61; - all doubtful, rejected in armorial bearings, iii. 200. - - Literature, greatest not produced by religious temper, v. 205; - classical, the school of taste or restraint, v. 242; - spasmodic, v. 242; - world of, divided into thinkers and seers, iii. 262; - modern temper of, iii. 252, 261-263; - reputation of, on what dependent (error transitory) i. 1, 2. - - Locke, quoted (hard to see well), i. 51, 67. - - Love, a noble emotion, iii. 10; - color a type of, v. 320 (note); - source of unity, ii. 50; - as connected with vital beauty, ii. 89; - perception quickened by, i. 52; - want of, in some of the old landscape painters, i. 77; - finish proceeding from, i. 84; - nothing drawn rightly with out, iv. 33; - of brightness in English cottages, iv. 320; - of horror, iv. 328; - characteristic of all great men, ii. 90; - higher than reason, ii. 114; - ideal form, only to be reached by, ii. 121; - loveliest things wrought through, ii. 131, v. 348; - good work only done for, v. 346-348; - and trust the nourishment of man's soul, v. 348. - - Lowell, quotation from, v. 347. - - Lowlander, proud of his lowlands (farmer in "Alton Locke"), iii. 182. - - - Magnitude, relation of, to minuteness, v. 175-177; - love of mere size, v. 176; - influence of, on different minds, v. 177. - - Man, his use and function, ii. 4; - his business in the world, iii. 44, v. 1; - three orders of, iii. 286; - characteristics of a great, iii. 260; - perfection of threefold, v. 326; - vital beauty in, ii. 111-131; - present and former character of, iii. 149-151; - intelligibility necessary to a great, iv. 74; - adaptation of plants to needs of, v. 2, 3; - influence of scenery on, v. 133-135; - lessons learnt by, from natural beauty, v. 146; - result of unbelief in, v. 345; - how to get noblest work out of, v. 346-348; - love and trust necessary to development of, v. 347; - divided into five classes, v. 159-162; - how to perceive a noble spirit in, iv. 18; - when intemperate, ii. 13; - pursuits of, how divided, ii. 8, v. 159-162; - life of, the rose and cankerworm, v. 324, 332; - not intended to be satisfied by earthly beauty, i. 204, iv. 131; - his happiness, how constituted, iii. 303, v. 327-330; - his idea of finish, iii. 113; - society necessary to the development of, ii. 116; - noblest tone and reach of life of, v. 331. - - Marble, domestic use of, iv. 370; - fitted for sculpture, iv. 127; - colors of, iv. 140. - - Mediaeval, ages compared with modern, iii. 250; - not "dark," iii. 252; - mind, how opposed to Greek, iii. 193; - faith, life the expression of man's delight in God's work, iii. 217; - admiration of human beauty, iii. 197; - knights, iii. 192-195; - feeling respecting mountains, iii. 192, 196, 229, iv. 377; - want of gratitude, iii. 193; - sentimental enjoyment of nature, iii. 192; - dread of thick foliage, iii. 213; - love for color, iii. 219, 220; - dislike of rugged stone, iv. 301; - love of cities, v. 4; - love of gardens, iii. 191; - love of symmetry, iii. 199; - neglect of earth's beauty, v. 5, iii. 146; - love of definition, iii. 209; - idea of education, v. 5; - landscape, the fields, iii. 191-228; - the rocks, iii. 229-247. - - Mica, characteristics of, iv. 105; - connected with chlorite, iv. 113; - use of the word, iv. 114; - flake of, typical of strength in weakness, iv. 239. - - Michelet, "L'Insecte," quoted on magnitude, v. 176. - - Middle Ages, spirit of the, iii. 151; - deficiency in Shakspere's conception of, iv. 364-368; - baronial life in the, iii. 192, 195; - neglect of agriculture in, iii. 192; - made earth a great battlefield, v. 5. - See Mediaeval. - - Mill, J. S., "On Liberty," v. 174. - - Milton, characteristics of, ii. 144, iii. 285, 296; - his use of the term "expanse," iv. 83; - and Dante's descriptions, comparison between, ii. 163, iii. 209; - misuse of the term "enamelled" by, iii. 223; - instances of "imagination," ii. 144. - - Mind, independence of, ii. 191; - visibleoperation of, on the body, ii. 113. - - Minuteness, value of, v. 175-177; - influence of, on different minds, v. 177. - See Magnitude. - - Mist, of what typical, iv. 70; - Copley Fielding's love of, iv. 75. - - Mistakes, great, chiefly due to pride, iv. 50. - - Moderation, value of, ii. 84. - - Modern age, characteristics of, iii. 251, 254, 264, 276; - costume, ugliness of, iii. 255, v. 273 (note); - romance of the past, iii. 255; - criticism, iv. 389; - landscape, i. 424, ii. 159, iii. 248; - mind, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168. - - Moisture, expressed by fulness of color, iv. 245. - - Moss, colors of, iv. 130, v. 99; - beauty and endurance of, v. 100. - - Mountaineer, false theatrical idea of, iv. 321; - regarded as a term of reproach by Dante, iii. 241; - same by Shakspere, iv. 371; - his dislike of his country, iii. 182; - hardship of, iv. 335; - his life of, "gloom," iv. 320. - - Mountains (see also Banks, Crests, Debris, &c.), uses and functions of, - iv. 91; - influences of, on artistic power, iv. 356; - influence on purity of religion, doctrine, and practice, iv. 351; - monkish view of, iv. 377, iii. 196; - structure of, i. 300, iv. 157; - materials of, i. 271, iv. 90; - principal laws of, i. 270, 302; - spirit of, i. 271; - false color of (Salvator and Titian), i. 158; - multiplicity of feature, i. 299; - fulness of vegetation, iv. 291; - contours of, i. 298, iv. 141, 157, 182, 276, 309; - curvature of, i. 296, iv. 186, 192, 282, 287; - appearances of, i. 281, 283; - foreground, beauty of, i. 99, iv. 99; - two regions in, iv. 172; - superior beauty of, iv. 91, 346, 348; - false ideal of life in, iv. 319; - decomposition, iv. 103, 137, 169, 309; - sanctity of, iii. 196; - lessons from decay of, iv. 315; - regularity and parallelism of beds in, iv. 207; - exaggeration in drawing of, ii. 208, iv. 175, 190; - love of, iii. 250, 259, 288, iv. 376; - mentions of, in Scripture, iii. 196, iv. 377; - Moses on Sinai, iv. 378; - Transfiguration, iv. 381; - construction of Northern Alpine, iv. 286, iv. 324; - glory, iv. 344, 345; - lift the lowlands on their sides, iv. 92; - mystery of, unfathomable, iv. 155, 174; - material of Alpine, a type of strength in weakness, iv. 239; - Dante's conception of, iii. 229, 230, 239; - Dante's repugnance to, iii. 240; - influence of the Apennines on Dante, iii. 231; - mediaeval feeling respecting, iii. 191, 229; - symbolism of, in Dante, iii. 240; - not represented by the Greeks, iii. 145; - scenery not attempted by old masters, i. 278; - influence of, iv. 344, 356; - the beginning and end of natural scenery, iv. 344. - - Mountains, central, their formation and aspect, i. 275-287. - - Mountain gloom, iv. 317-343; - life in Alpine valleys, iv. 320; - love of horror, iv. 328-332; - Romanism, iv. 333; - disease, iv. 335; - instance, Sion in the Valais, iv. 339. - - Mountains, inferior, how distinguished from central, i. 290; - individual truth in drawing of, i. 304. - - Mystery, of nature, i. 37, iv. 67, 80; - never absent in nature, iv. 58; - noble and ignoble, iv. 70, 73, 74; - of execution, necessary to the highest excellence, i. 37, iv. 62; - in Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61; - sense of delight in, iv. 69; - Turnerian, essential, iv. 56-67; - wilful, iv. 68-81. - - Mythology, Renaissance paintings of, iii. 62; - Apollo and the Python, v. 322; - Calypso, the concealer, v. 211; - Ceto, deep places of the sea, v. 138, 304; - Chrysaor, angel of lightning, v. 140; - Danae's golden rain, v. 140; - Danaides, sieves of, v. 140; - Dragon of Hesperides, v. 302, 308, 309; - Eurybia, tidal force of the sea, v. 138, 304; - Fates, v. 301; - Garden of Hesperides, v. 300-316; - Goddess of Discord, Eris, v. 305-310; - Gorgons, storm-clouds, v. 138, 304; - Graiae, soft rain-clouds, 138, 304; - Hesperides, v. 303, 310; - Nereus, god of the sea, v. 138, 303; - Minerva's shield, Gorgon's head on, v. 140; - Muses, v. 163; - Pegasus, lower rain-clouds, v. 140; - Phorcys, malignant angel of the sea, v. 138, 303; - Thaumas, beneficent angel of the sea, v. 138, 304. - - - Nature, infinity of, i. 64, 66, 164-168, 198, 219, 224, iii. 121 - (drawing of leafage), iv. 29, 267, 303, i. 77; - variety of, i. 55, 169, 291, v. 2-5; - gradation in, ii. 47, iv. 122, 287; - curvature in, ii. 46, 60, iv. 271, 272; - colors of, i. 70, 169, 352, iii. 35; - finish of, iii. 112, 121, 122; - fineness of, iv. 304; - redundancy of, iii. 122, v. 99; - balance of, v. 64; - inequality of, v. 22; - pathetic treatment of, v. 177; - always imaginative, ii. 158; - never distinct, never vacant, i. 193; - love of, intense or subordinate, classification of writers, iii. 285; - love of, an indication of sensibility, iii. 285; - love of (moral of landscape), iii. 285-307; - want of love of in old masters, i. 77, iii. 325; - lights and shadows in, i. 180, 311, iv. 34; - organic and inorganic beauty of, i. 286, ii. 96; - highest beauty rare in, i. 65, iv. 131; - sympathy with, iii. 194, 306, ii. 91, 93, iv. 16-67; - not to be painted, i. 64; - imagination dependent on, ii. 191; - how modified by inventive painters, v. 181; - as represented by old masters, i. 77, 176; - treatment of, by old landscape painters, i. 75; - feeling respecting, of mediaeval and Greek knight, iii. 177, 192, 193, - 197, v. 5; - drawing from (Encyclopaedia Britannica), iv. 295. - See Beauty, Deity, Greek, Mediaeval, Mystery, also Clouds, Mountains, - etc. - - Neatness, modern love of, iii. 109, iv. 3-6; - vulgarity of excessive, v. 271. - - Nereid's guard, the, v. 298-313. - - Niggling, ugly misused term, v. 36; - means disorganized and mechanical work, v. 37. - - - Obedience, equivalent of, "faith," and root of all human deed, v. 161; - highest form of, v. 161, 163; - law of, v. 161. - - Obscurity, law of, iv. 61; - of intelligible and unintelligible painters, iv. 74. - See Mystery. - - Ornament, abstract, as used by Angelico, ii. 220; - realized, as used by Filippino Lippi, etc., ii. 220; - language of, distinct from language of expression, i. 10; - use of animal form in, ii. 204; - architectural, i. 105, 107, ii. 205; - symbolic, ii. 204-205; - vulgar, iv. 273; - in dress, iv. 364; - curvature in, iv. 273, 274; - typical, iii. 206; - symmetrical, iii. 207; - in backgrounds, iii. 203; - floral, iii. 207-208. - - Outline exists only conventionally in nature, iii. 114. - - - Painters, classed by their objects, 1st, exhibition of truth, 2nd, - deception of senses, i. 74; - classed as colorists and chiaroscurists, iv. 47; - functions of, iii. 25; - great, characteristics of, i. 8, 124, 326, ii. 42, iii. 26-43, iv. - 38, v. 189, 190, 332; - great, treatment of pictures by, v. 189; - valgar, characteristics of, i. 327, ii. 82, 128, 137, iii. 32, 63, - 175, 257, 318; - religious, ii. 174, 175, 181, 217, iii. 48, 59, iv. 355; - complete use of space by, i. 235; - duty of, with regard to choice of subject, ii. 219, iv. 18 (note); - interpreters of nature, iii. 139; - modern philosophical, error respecting color of, iii. 30; - imaginative and unimaginative, ii. 154-157; - should be guides of the imagination, iii. 132; - sketches of, v. 180; - early Italian, i. 247, iii. 244; - Dutch, i. xxxii. preface, iii. 182; v. 35, 37, 278; - Venetian, i. 80, 346, v. 214, 229, 258; - value of personification to, iii. 96; - contrast between northern and Italian, in drawing of clouds, v. 133; - effect of the Reformation on, v. 250. - See Art, Artists. - - Painting, a language, i. 8; - opposed to speaking and writing, not to poetry, iii. 13; - classification of, iii. 12; - sacred, iii. 46; - historical, iii. 39, 90; - allegorical, delight of greatest men, iii. 95; - of stone, iv. 301; - kind of conception necessary to, v. 187; - success, how found in, v. 179; - of the body, v. 228; - differs from illumination in representing shadow, iii. 29; - mode of, subordinate to purpose, v. 187; - distinctively the art of coloring, v. 316; - perfect, indistinctness necessary to, iv. 64; - great, expressive of nobleness of mind, v. 178, 191. - See Landscape Painting, Animal Painting, Art, Artist, Truth, - Mediaeval, Renaissance. - - Past and present, sadly sundered, iv. 4. - - Peace, v. 339-353; - of monasticism, v. 282; - choice between the labor of death and the peace of obedience, v. 353. - - Perfectness, law of, v. 180-192. - - Perspective, aerial, iii. 248; - aerial, and tone, difference between, i. 141; - despised in thirteenth century art, iii. 18; - of clouds, v. 114, 118; - of Turner's diagrams, v. 341 (note). - - Pharisaism, artistic, iii. 60. - - Photographs give Turnerian form, and Rembrandtesque chiaroscuro, iv. - 63. - - Pictures, use of, to give a precious, non-deceptive resemblance of - Nature, iii. 126-140; - noblest, characteristic of, iii. 141; - value of estimate by their completeness, i. 11, 421; - Venetian, choice of religious subjects in, v. 221; - Dutch, description of, v. 277, advantages of unreality in, iii. 139, - 140; - as treated by uninventive artists, iii. 20; - finish of, iii. 113; - of Venice at early morn, i. 343; - of mountaineer life, iv. 320-322. - See Realization, Finish. - - Picturesque, nobleness of, dependent on sympathy, iv. 13; - Turnerian, iv. 1-15; - dependent on absence of trimness, iv. 5; - and on actual variety of form and color, iv. 6; - lower, heartless delight in decay, iv. 11; - treatment of stones, iv. 302; - Calais spire an instance of noble, iv. 7. - - Plagiarism, greatest men oftenest borrowers, iii. 339. - - Plains, structure of, i. 272; - scenery of compared with mountains, iv. 344, 345; - spirit of repose in, i. 271; - effect of distance on, i. 273. - See Lowlander. - - Plants, ideal of, ii. 105-107; - sense of beauty in, ii. 92, 99; - typical of virtues, iii. 227; - influence of constructive proportion on, ii. 63; - sympathy with, ii. 91; - uses of, v. 2, 3; - "tented" and "building," earth-plants and pillar-plants, v. 8; - law of succession in, v. 26; - seed of, v. 96; - roots of, v. 41; - life of, law of help, v. 155; - strawberry, v. 96; - Sisymbrium Irio, v. 95; - Oxalis acetosella, i. 82 (note); - Soldanella and ranunculus, ii. 89, 108; - black hollyhock, v. 234. - - Pleasure of overcoming difficulties, i. 16; - sources of, in execution, i. 36; - in landscape and architecture, iv. 345. See Pictures. - - Pleasures, higher and lower, ii. 15-18; - of sense, ii. 12; - of taste, how to be cultivated, ii. 23. - - Poetry, the suggestion by the imagination of noble ground for noble - emotion, iii. 10, v. 163; - use of details in, iii. 8; - contrasted with history, iii. 7-9; - modern, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168. - - Poets, too many second-rate, iii. 156; - described, v. 163; - two orders of (creative and reflective), iii. 156 (note), 160; - great, have acuteness of, and command of, feeling, iii. 163; - love of flowers by, v. 91; - why not good judges of painting, iii. 133. - - Poplar grove, gracefulness of, Homer's love of, iii. 91, 182, 185. - - Popularity, i. 2. - - Porphyry, characteristics of, iv. 108-112. - - Portraits, recognition, no proof of real resemblance, i. 55. - - Portraiture, use of, by painters, ii. 119, iii. 78, 89, 91, iv. 358; - necessary to ideal art, ii. 119; - modern foolishness, and insolence of, ii. 122; - modern, compared with Vandyke's, v. 273 (note); - Venetians painted praying, v. 220. - - Power, ideas of, i. 13, 14; - ideas of, how received, i. 32; - imaginative, iii. 39; - never wasted, i. 13; - sensations of, not to be sought in imperfect art, i. 33; - importance technical, its relation to expressional, iii. 29. - - Precipices, how ordinarily produced, i. 290, iv. 148; - general form of, iv. 246; - overhanging, in Inferior Alps, iv. 241; - steepness of, iv. 230; - their awfulness and beauty, iv. 241, 260; - action of years upon, iv. 147; - rarity of high, among secondary hills, i. 301. - - Pre-Raphaelites, aim of, i. 425; - unwise in choice of subject, iv. 18; - studies of, iii. 58, 71 (note); - rank of, in art, iii. 141, iv. 57; - mystery of, iv. 61, iii. 29, 127-129; - apparent variance between Turner and, iii. 129; - love of flowers, v. 91; - flower and leaf-painting of, i. 397, v. 35. - - Pride, cause of mistakes, iv. 50; - destructive of ideal character, ii. 122; - in idleness, of mediaeval knights, iii. 192; - in Venetian landscape, v. 218. - - Proportion, apparent and constructive, ii. 57-63; - of curvature, ii. 60, iv. 266, 267; - how differing from symmetry, ii. 73; - of architecture, ii. 59; - Burke's error, ii. 60-62. - - Prosperity, evil consequences of long-continued, ii. 4-5. - - Psalm 19th, meaning of, v. 147-149. - - Purchase, wise, the root of all benevolence, v. 328 (note). - - Puritans and Romanists, iii. 252. - - Purity, the expression of divine energy, ii. 75; - type of sinlessness, ii. 78; - how connected with ideas of life, ii. 79; - of color, ii. 79; - conquest of, over pollution, typified in Apollo's contest, v. 323; - of flesh painting, on what dependent, ii. 124; - Venetian painting of the nude, v. 227. See Sensuality. - - Python, the corrupter, v. 323. - - - Rays, no perception of, by old masters, i. 213; - how far to be represented, i. 213. - - Realization, in art, iii. 16; - gradually hardened feeling, iv. 47-51; - not the deception of the senses, iii. 16; - Dante's, iii. 18. See Pictures. - - Refinement, meaning of term, ii. 81; - of spiritual and practical minds, v. 282-284; - unconnected with toil undesirable, v. 328. - - Reflection, on distant water, i. 355 et seq.; - effect of water upon, i. 329-331; - to what extent visible from above, i. 336. - - Reformation, strength of, v. 249; - arrest of, v. 250; - effect of, on art, iii. 55, v. 251. - - Relation, ideas of, i. 13, 29, 31. - - Religion, of the Greeks, v. 208-213; - of Venetian painters, v. 220; - of London and Venice, v. 291; - English, v. 343. - - Renaissance, painting of mythology, iii. 62; - art, its sin and its Nemesis, iii. 254; - sensuality, iii. 63; - builders, v. 176; - spirit of, quotation from Browning, iv. 368. - - Repose, a test of greatness in art, ii. 65-68, 108, 222; - characteristic of the eternal mind, ii. 65; - want of, in the Laocoon, ii. 69; - in scenery, i. 272; - Turner's "Rietz" (plate), v. 164, 168; - instance of, in Michael Angelo's "Plague of Serpents," ii. 69 (note); - how consistent with ideal organic form, ii. 108. - - Reserve, of a gentleman (sensibility habitual), v. 269. - - Resilience, law of, v. 30, 71. - - Rest, lines of, in mountains, iv. 276, 310, 312. - - Revelation, v. 199. - - Reverence, for fair scenery, iii. 258; - false ideas of (Sunday religion), iii. 142; - for mountains, iii. 230; - inculcated by science, iii. 256; - Venetian, the Madonna in the house, v. 224. - - Reynolds, on the grand style of painting, iii. 23; - on the influence of beauty, iii. 23. - - Rocks, iv. 99-134; formation of, iv. 113; - division of, iv. 99, 102, 157; - curvature of, iv. 150, 154, 213, i. 295; - color of, iv. 107, 121, 136, 123, 125, 129, i. 169; - cleavages of, iv. 391; - great truths taught by, iv. 102; - aspect of, i. 295, 309, iv. 101, 108, 120, 128; - compound crystalline, iv. 101, 105; - compact crystalline, characteristics of, iv. 107, 102, 114, 159, 205; - slaty coherent, characteristics of, iv. 122, 205, 251; - compact coherent, iv. 128, 159; - junction of slaty and compact crystalline, iv. 114, 173, 202; - undulation of, iv. 116, 118, 150; - material uses of, iv. 119, 127; - effect of weather upon, iv. 104; - effect of water on, iv. 213; - power of, in supporting vegetation, iv. 125, 130; - varied vegetation and color of, i. 169; - contortion of, iv. 116, 150, 152, 157; - debris of, iv. 119; - lamination of, iv. 113, 127, i. 291; - limestone, iv. 130, 144, 209, 250, 258; - sandstone, iv. 132; - light and shade of, i. 311; - overhanging of, iv. 120, 254, 257; - mediaeval landscape, iii. 229-247; - early painters' drawing of, iii. 239; - Dante's dislike of, iii. 230; - Dante's description of, iii. 231, 236; - Homer's description of, iii. 232, 239; - classical ideal of, iii. 186; - Scott's love of, iii. 242, 275. See Stones. - - Romanism, modern, effect of on national temper, iv. 333, and - Puritanism, iii. 252, 253. - - - Saussure, De, description of curved cleavage by, iv. 395; - quotation from, iv. 294; - on structure of mountain ranges, iv. 172; - love of Alps, iv. 393. - - Scenery, interest of, rooted in human emotion, v. 194; - associations connected with, iii. 290, 292; - classical, Claude and Poussin, v. 244; - Highland, v. 206; - two aspects of, bright and dark, v. 206; - of Venice, effects of, v. 216; - of Nuremberg, effect of, v. 233; - of Yorkshire hills, effect of, i. 126, v. 293; - Swiss influence of, iv. 337-376, v. 84-87; - of the Loire, v. 165; - effect of mountains on, iv. 343-346. See Nature, Pictures. - - Scent, artificial, opposed to natural, ii. 15; - different in the same flower, i. 67-68. - - Science, subservient to life, ii. 8; - natural, relation to painting, iii. 305; - interest in, iii. 256; - inculcates reverence, iii. 256; - every step in, adds to its practical applicabilities, ii. 9; - use and danger of in relation to enjoyment of nature, iii. 306; - gives the essence, art the aspects, of things, iii. 306; - may mislead as to aspects, iv. 391. - - Scott, representative of the mind of the age in literature, iii. 259, - 263, 277; - quotations from, showing his habit of looking at nature, iii. 268, - 269; - Scott's love of color, iii. 273-276; - enjoyment of nature associated with his weakness, iii. 269-287; - love of liberty, iii. 271; - habit of drawing slight morals from every scene, iii. 276, 277; - love of natural history, iii. 276; - education of, compared with Turner's, iii. 308, 309; - description of Edinburgh, iii. 273; - death without hope, v. 349. - - Scripture, sanctity of color stated in, iv. 52, v. 319; - reference to mountains in, iv. 98, 119, 377; - Sermon on the Mount, iii. 305, 338; - reference to firmament, iv. 80, 86 (note), 87; - attention to meaning of words necessary to the understanding of, v. - 147-151; - Psalms, v. 145, 147. - - Sculpture, imagination, how manifested in, ii. 184, 185; - suitability of rocks for, iv. 111, 112, 119; - instances of gilding and coloring of (middle ages), ii. 201; - statues in Medici Chapel referred to, ii. 208; - at the close of 16th century devoted to luxury and indolence, iii. - 63; - of 13th century, fidelity to nature in, iii. 203-208, v. 46-48. - - Sea, painting of, i. 373-382; - has never been painted, i. 328; - Stanfield's truthful rendering of, i. 353; - Turner's heavy rolling, i. 376; - seldom painted by the Venetians, i. 346; - misrepresented by the old masters, i. 344; - after a storm, effect of, i. 380, 381; - Dutch painting of, i. 343; - shore breakers inexpressible, i. 374; - Homer's feeling about the, iii. 169; - Angel of the, v. 133-151. See Foam, Water. - - Seer, greater than thinker, iii. 134, 262. - - Sensibility, knowledge of the beautiful dependent on, i. 52; - an attribute of all noble minds, i. 52; - the essence of a gentleman, v. 263; - want of, is vulgarity, v. 273; - necessary to the perception of facts, i. 52; - to color and to form, difference between, i. 416; - want of, in undue regard to appearance, v. 269; - want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277. - - Sensitiveness, criterion of the gentleman, v. 262, 266; - absence of, sign of vulgarity, v. 273; - want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277, 278. - - Sensuality, destructive of ideal character, ii. 123; - how connected with impurity of color, ii. 124; - various degrees of, in modern art, ii. 126, iii. 66; - impressions of beauty, not connected with, ii. 12. See Purity. - - Seriousness of men of mental power, iii. 258; - want of, in the present age, ii. 169. - - Shade, gradation of, necessary, ii. 47; - want of, in early works of nations and men, i. 54; - more important than color in expressing character of bodies, i. 70; - distinctness of, in nature's rocks, i. 311; - and color, sketch of a great master conceived in, i. 405; - beautiful only when showing beautiful form, ii. 82 (note). - - Shadow, cast, importance of, i. 331-333; - strangeness of cast, iv. 77; - importance of, in bright light, i. 174-175; - variety of, in nature, i. 168; - none on clear water, i. 331; - on water, falls clear and dark, in proportion to the quantity of - surface-matter, i. 332; - as given by various masters, iv. 47; - of colorists right, of chiaroscurists untrue, iv. 49; - exaggeration of, in photography, iv. 63; - rejection of, by mediaevals, iii. 200. - - Shakspere, creative order of poets, iii. 156 (note); - his entire sympathy with all creatures, iv. 362-363; - tragedy of, compared with Greek, v. 210; - universality of, iii. 90, 91; - painted human nature of the sixteenth century, iii. 90, iv. 367; - repose of, ii. 68; - his religion occult behind his equity, v. 226; - complete portraiture in, iii. 78, 91, iv. 364; - penetrative imagination of, ii. 165; - love of pine trees, iv. 371, v. 82; - no reverence for mountains, iv. 363, 370; - corrupted by the Renaissance, iv. 367; - power of, shown by his self-annihilation, i. xxv. (preface). - - Shelley, contemplative imagination a characteristic of, ii. 199; - death without hope, v. 349. - - Sight, greater than thought, iii. 282; - better than scientific knowledge, i. 54; - impressions of, dependent on mental observations, i. 50, 53; - elevated pleasure of, duty of cultivating, ii. 26; - of the whole truth, v. 206; - partial, of Dutch painters, v. 278; - not valued in the present age, ii. 4; - keenness of, how to be tested, ii. 37; - importance of, in education, iv. 401, v. 330. - - Simplicity, second quality of execution, i. 36; - of great men, iii. 87. - - Sin, Greek view of, v. 210; - Venetian view of, v. 217; - "missing the mark," v. 339; - washing away of (the fountain of love), v. 321. - - Sincerity, a characteristic of great style, iii. 35. - - Singing, should be taught to everybody, v. 329 (note), 330. - - Size. See Magnitude. - - Sketches, experimental, v. 181; - determinant, v. 182; - commemorative, v. 182. - - Sky, truth of, i. 204, 264; - three regions of, i. 217, cannot be painted i. 161, iv. 38; - pure blue, when visible, i. 256; - ideas of, often conventional, i. 206; - gradation of color in, i. 210; - treated of by the old masters as distinct from clouds, i. 208; - prominence of, in modern landscape, iii. 250; - open, of modern masters, i. 214; - lessons to be taught by, i. 204, 205; - pure and clear noble painting of, by earlier Italian and Dutch - school, very valuable, ii. 43, i. 84, 210; - appearance of, during sunset, i. 161; - effect of vapor upon, i. 211; - variety of color in, i. 225; - reflection of, in water, i. 327; - supreme brightness of, iv. 38; - transparency of, i. 207; - perspective of, v. 114; - engraving of, v. 108, 112 (note). - - Snow, form of, on Alps, i. 286, 287; - waves of, unexpressible, when forming the principal element in - mountain form, iv. 240; - wreaths of, never properly drawn, i. 286. - - Space, truth of, i. 191-203; - deficiency of, in ancient landscape, i. 256; - child-instinct respecting, ii. 39; - mystery throughout all, iv. 58. - - Spiritual beings, their introduction into the several forms of - landscape art, v. 194; - rejected by modern art, v. 236. - - Spenser, example of the grotesque from description of envy, iii. 94, - 95; - description of Eris, v. 309; - description of Hesperides fruit, v. 311. - - Spring, our time for staying in town, v. 89. - - Stones, how treated by mediaeval artists, iv. 302; - carefully realized in ancient art, iv. 301; - false modern ideal, iv. 308; - true drawing of, iv. 308. See Rock. - - Style, greatness of, iii. 23-43; - choice of noble subject, iii. 26; - love of beauty, iii. 31; - sincerity, iii. 35; - invention, iii. 38; - quotation from Reynolds on, iii. 13; - false use of the term, i. 95; - the "grand," received opinions touching, iii. 1-15. - - Sublimity, the effect on the mind of anything above it, i. 41; - Burke's treatise on, quoted, i. 17; - when accidental and outward, picturesque, iv. 2, 6, 7. - - Sun, first painted by Claude, iii. 320; - early conventional symbol for, iii. 320; - color of, painted by Turner only, v. 315. - - Sunbeams, nature and cause of, i. 211; - representation of, by old masters, i. 211. - - Sunsets, splendor of, unapproachable by art, i. 161; - painted faithfully by Turner only, i. 162; - why, when painted, seem unreal, i. 162. - - Superhuman, the, four modes of manifestation, always in the form of a - creature, ii. 212, 213. - - Superiority, distinction between kind and degrees of, i. 417. - - Surface, examples of greatest beauty of, ii. 77; - of water, imperfectly reflective, i. 329; - of water, impossible to paint, i. 355. - - Swiss, character, iv. 135, 338, 374; - the forest cantons ("Under the Woods"), v. 86, 87. - - Symbolism, passionate expression of, in Lombardic griffin, iii. 206; - delight of great artists in, iii. 97; - in Calais Tower, iv. 3. - - Symmetry, type of divine justice, ii. 72-74; - value of, ii. 222; - use of, in religious art, ii. 73, iv. 75; - love of, in mediaeval art, iii. 199; - appearance of, in mountain form, i. 297; - of curvature in trees, i. 400, v. 34; - of tree-stems, v. 58, 60; - of clouds, i. 219. - - Sympathy, characteristics of, ii. 93, 169; - condition of noble picturesque, iv. 10, 12, 14; - the foundation of true criticism, iii, 22; - cunning associated with absence of, v. 266; - necessary to detect passing expression, iii. 67; - with nature, ii. 91, 93, iii. 179, 193, iv. 14, 15; - with humanity, ii. 169, iv. 11; - absence of, is vulgarity, iii. 83, v. 264; - mark of a gentleman, v. 263, 264. - - System, establishment of, often useless, iii. 2; - of chiaroscuro, of various artists, iv. 42. - - - Taste, definition of, i. 26; - right, characteristics of, ii. 25; - a low term, indicating a base feeling for art, iii. 64, 65; - how developed, ii. 21; - injustice and changefulness of public, i. 418; - purity of, how tested, ii. 25; - classical, its essence, v. 243; - present fondness for unfinished works, i. 420, ii. 82. - - Temperate, right use of the word, ii. 13. - - Tennyson, rich coloring of, iii. 257; - subdued by the feelings under which he writes, iii. 160; - instances of the pathetic fallacy in, iii. 167, 267; - sense of beauty in, v. 332; - his faith doubtful, iii. 253. - - Theoretic Faculty, first perfection of, is Charity, ii. 90; - second perfection of, is justice of moral judgment, ii. 96; - three operations of, ii. 101; - how connected with vital beauty, ii. 91; - how related to the imagination, ii. 157; - should not be called aesthetic, ii. 12; - as concerned with moral functions of animals, ii. 97, 98. - - Theoria, meaning of, ii. 12, 18; - derivation of, ii. 23; - the service of Heaven, ii. 140; - what sought by Christian, ii. 18. - - Thought, definition of, i. 29; - value of, in pictures, i. 10; - representation of the second end of art, i. 45-47; - how connected with knowledge, i. 47; - art, in expression of individual, i. 44; - choice of incident, expressive of, i. 29; - appreciation of, in art, not universal, i. 46. - - Thoughts, highest, depend least on language, i. 9; - various, suggested in different minds by same object, iii. 283, 284. - - Tone, meaning of, right relation of shadows to principal light, i. 140; - truth of, i. 140-154; - a secondary truth, i. 72; - attention paid to, by old masters, i. 75, 141; - gradation more important than, i. 149; - cause of want of, in pictures, i. 141. - - Topography, Turnerian, iv. 16-33; - pure, preciousness of, iv. 10, 17; - slight exaggeration sometimes allowed in, iv. 32; - sketch of Lausanne, v. 185. - - Torrents, beneficent power of, iv. 285; - power of, in forcing their way, iv. 258, 259, 318; - sculpture of earth by, iv. 262; - mountains furrowed by descent of, i. 297, iv. 312; - curved lines of, i. 370, iv. 312. - - Transparency, incompatible with highest beauty, ii. 77; - appearance of, in mountain chains, i. 281; - wanting in ancient landscape, not in modern, i. 215, 234; - of the sky, i. 207; - of bodies, why admired, ii. 77; - ravelling, best kind of, iii. 293. - - Tree, aspen, iv. 77, 78; willow, v. 68; - black spruce, v. 78. - - Tree boughs, falsely drawn by Claude and Poussin, i. 389, 391, v. 65; - rightly drawn by Veronese and Durer, v. 66, 67; - complexity of, i. 389; - angles of, i. 392; - not easily distinguished, i. 70; - diminution and multiplication of, i. 388-389; - appearance of tapering in, how caused, i. 385; - loveliness of, how produced, v. 64; - subtlety of balance in, v. 64; - growth of, v. 61; - nourishment of, by leaves, v. 41; - three conditions of branch-aspect--spring, caprice, and fellowship, - v. 63-71. - - Trees, outlines of, iii. 114; - ramifications of, i. 386, v. 58, 60, 62; - the most important truth respecting (symmetrical terminal curve), i. - 400; - laws common to forest, i. 385; - poplar, an element in lovely landscape, i. 129, iii. 186; - superiority of, on mountain sides, iv. 348, v. 78-79; - multiplicity of, in Swiss scenery, iv. 289, 290; - change of color in leafage of, iv. 261; - classical delight in, iv. 76, iii. 184; - examples of good and bad finish in (plates), iii. 116, 117; - examples of Turner's drawing of, i. 394; - classed as "builders with the shield" and "with the sword," v. 8; - laws of growth of, v. 17, 49, 72; - mechanical aspect of, v. 40; - classed by leaf-structure--trefoil, quatrefoil, and cinqfoil, v. 19; - trunks of, v. 40, 56; - questions concerning, v. 51; - how strengthened, v. 41; - history of, v. 52; - love of, v. 4; - Dutch drawing of, bad, v. 68, 71; - as drawn by Titian and Turner, i. 392, 394; - as rendered by Italian school, i. 384. - - Trees, pine, v. 8-30, 79, 92; - Shakspere's feeling respecting, iv. 371, v. 83; - error of painters in representing, iv. 346 (note); - perfection of, v. 80-83; - influence on Swiss and northern nations, v. 84. - - Truth, in art, i. 21, 46, 47, 74, iii. 35; - Greek idea of, v. 267; - blindness to beauty of, in vulgar minds, v. 268; - half, the worst falsehood, v. 268; - standard of all excellence, i. 417; - not easily discerned, i. 50, 51, 53; - first quality of execution, i. 37; - many-sided, the author's seeming contradiction of himself, v. 271 - (note); - essential to real imagination, ii. 161, 188; - essential to invention, v. 191; - highest difficulty of illustrating the, i. 410; - laws of, in painting, iii. vii. (preface); - ideas of, i. 23, 24; - infinity essential to, i. 239; - sometimes spoken through evil men, ii. 137; - imaginative preciousness of, iv. 30; - individual, in mountain drawing, i. 305; - wisely conveyed by grotesque idealism, iii. 96; - no vulgarity in, iii. 82; - dominion of, universal, iii. 167; - error of confounding beauty with, ii. 30, iii. 32 (note); - pictures should present the greatest possible amount of, iii. 139; - sacrifice of, to decision and velocity, i. 39; - difference between imitation and, i. 21, 22; - absolute, generally attained by "colorists," never by - "chiaroscurists," iv. 42, 48; - instance of imaginative (the Two Griffins), iii. 100. - - Truths, two classes of, of deception and of inner resemblance, iii. - 126; - most precious, how attained, iv. 38; - importance of characteristic, i. 59, 62; - of specific form most important, i. 72; - relative importance of, i. 58; - nature's always varying, i. 55; - value of rare, i. 64; - particular, more important than general, i. 58; - historical, the most valuable, i. 71; - the finer, importance of rendering, i. 316; - accurate, not necessary to imitation, i. 21, 22; - geological, use of considering, i. 303; - simplest, generally last believed, iii. 300; - certain sacred, how conveyed, iii. 289, 300; - choice of, by artists, the essence of "style," iii. 33, iv. 46; - as given by old masters, i. 75; - selected by modern artists, i. 76. - - Types--light, ii. 75; - purity, ii. 75-79, v. 156; - impurity, v. 156; - clouds, v. 110, 114; - sky, ii. 40-42; - mountain decay, iv. 315; - crags and ravines, iv. 215; - rocks, ii. 79, iv. 102, 117; - mountains, iv. 343; - sunlight, v. 332; - color, v. 331 (note), 332; - mica flake, iv. 239; - rainbow, v. 332; - stones, weeds, logs, thorns, and spines, v. 161; - Dante's vision of Rachel and Leah, iii. 216; - mythological, v. 140, 300, 301; - beauty, ii. 30, 86, v. 145; - symmetry, Divine justice, ii. 72, 74; - moderation, ii. 81-85; - infinity, ii. 41, iv. 79; - grass, humility and cheerfulness, iii. 226, 228; - rush, humility, iii. 228; - buds, iii. 206, v. 20, 53, 74; - laws of leaf growth, v. 31, 32, 33, 53, 74; - leaf death, v. 74, 95; - trees, v. 52, 78, 80; - crystallization, v. 33. - - - Ugliness, sometimes permitted in nature, i. 64; - is a positive thing, iii. 24; - delight in, Martin Schoengauer, iv. 329, 333; - of modern costume, v. 273 (note), iii. 254, 255; - of modern architecture, iii. 253, v. 347. - - Unbelief, characteristic of all our most powerful men, iii. 253; - modern English, "God is, but cannot rule," v. 347. - - Unity, type of Divine comprehensiveness, ii. 50, 52, 56, 152, 153; - in nature, i. 398; - apparent proportion, a cause of, ii. 57, 64; - instinct of, a faculty of the associative imagination, ii. 151. - - Utility, definition of, ii. 4; - of art, ii. 3; - of details in poetry, iii. 8; - of pictures, iii. 125, 142; - of mountains, iv. 91. - - - Valleys, Alpine beauty of, iv. 311, 316; - gloom in, iv. 326; - English, iv. 297; - French, i. 129, iv. 297. - - Variety, necessity of, arises out of that of unity, ii. 53-55; - love of, ii. 55; - when most conspicuous, i. 213; - in nature, i. 55, 65, 169, 198, 219, 224, 291. - - Vapor, v. 109, 120, 127, 129. - - Vegetables, ideal form in, ii. 107. - - Vegetation, truth of, i. 384, 408; - process of form in, v. 78; - in forest-lands, v. 133; - appointed service of, v. 2; - in sculpture, v. 35. - - Velocity in execution, i. 37, ii. 187 (note); - sacrifice of truth to, i. 38. - - Venetian art ("The Wings of the Lion"), v. 209, 214; - conquest of evil, v. 214, seq., 217, 229; - scenery, v. 214, 217; - idea of beauty, v. 294; - faith, v. 219; - religious liberty, v. 214; - mind, perfection of, v. 227; - contempt of poverty, v. 289; - unworthy purposes of, v. 227; - reverence, the Madonna in the house, v. 223-228. - - Virtue, effect of, on features, ii. 117; - set forth by plants, iii. 228; - of the Swiss, v. 84, 85. - - Vulgarity of mind, v. 261-276; - consists in insensibility, v. 274-275; - examples of, v. 269, 270; - seen in love of mere physical beauty, iii. 67; - in concealment of truth and affectation, iii. 82, 83; - inconceivable by the greatest minds, iii. 82; - of Renaissance builders, v. 176; - "deathful selfishness," v. 277; - among Dutch painters, v. 277-285; - how produced by vicious habits, v. 262. See Gentlemen. - - - War, a consequence of injustice, iii. 328; - lessons to be gathered from the Crimean, iii. 329; - at the present day of what productive, iii. 326; - modern fear of, iii. 256. - - Water, influence of, on soil, i. 273; - faithful representation of, impossible, i. 325-326; - effect produced by mountains on, iv. 93; - functions of, i. 325; - laws of reflection in, i. 329, 336; - clear, takes no shadow, i. 331; - most wonderful of inorganic substances, i. 325; - difference in the action of continuous and interrupted, i. 369; - in shade most reflective, i. 330; - painting of, optical laws necessary to, i. 336; - smooth, difficulty of giving service to, i. 355, 356; - distant, effect of ripple on, i. 335; - swift execution necessary to drawing of, i. 350; - reflections in, i. 326; - motion in, elongates reflections, i. 335-336; - execrable painting of, by elder landscape masters, i. 328; - as painted by the modern, i. 348-354; - as painted by Turner, i. 355-383; - as represented by mediaeval art, iii. 209; - truth of, i. 325-383. See Sea, Torrents, Foam. - - Waves, as described by Homer and Keats, iii. 168; - exaggeration of size in, ii. 209; - grander than any torrent, iv. 347; - breakers in, i. 377; - curves of, i. 375. - - Wordsworth, his insight into nature (illustration of Turner), i. 177; - love of plants, ii. 91; - good foreground described by, i. 83-84; - skies of, i, 207; - description of a cloud by, ii 67; - on effect of custom, iii 293; - fancy and imagination of, ii. 196-200; - description of the rays of the sun, i. 220. - - Work, the noblest done only for love, v. 346. - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Modern Painters, Volume V (of 5), by John Ruskin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN PAINTERS, VOLUME V (OF 5) *** - -***** This file should be named 44329.txt or 44329.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/3/2/44329/ - -Produced by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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