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ART-HINTS. 
 
ART-HINTS. 
 
 ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, 
 
 AND 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
 15V 
 
 JAMES JACKSON JARVES, 
 
 A0THOR OP “ HISTOIIY OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS,” “ PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH 
 PRINCIPLES,” MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN ORIENTAL SOCIETY, ETC. ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1855 . 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1855, by 
 II a epee & Brothers, 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New York. 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 TO WHOSE COUNSELS IN MY YOUTH I OWE SO MUCH 
 OF MY LOVE FOR THE NATURAL WORLD, 
 
 AND WHOSE SYMPATHY 
 IN MANHOOD 
 
 HAS EVER BEEN MY STRONGEST STIMULUS 
 TO PROGRESS, 
 
 THIS EXPERIENCE OF ART-STUDY AND THE PLEASURES 
 OF TASTE 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 
 Florence, Italy, April, 1855. 
 

 
 . / 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In the Introductory Chapter an allusion is made to 
 an incident which prompted me to endeavor to place 
 before my countrymen, in a concise form, an embodi¬ 
 ment of the general principles of Art. There was, 
 however, another motive. I have, myself, too strongly 
 felt the need of a work which should embrace both 
 the abstract principles and rules of Art and an out¬ 
 line of its historic progress and social relations, not to 
 believe that a book comprising these facts and ideas, 
 in a popular form would be useful. Nowhere have I 
 met with a volume of this character. Writers like 
 Mr. Ruskin, A. F. Rro, Lord Lindsay, and Mrs. 
 Jameson, have given erudite and eloquent treatises on 
 particular branches of Art, or in special relation to 
 some partial object. Those who wish to study the 
 subject will do well to peruse their works. 
 
I'll! 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 My object, however, is to treat of Art as a whole , 
 embracing its general relations to man, not minutely, 
 but in a suggestive form, and more as an aid to, than 
 as forestalling inquiry. I have uttered my opinions 
 fully and frankly, from conviction of their truth and 
 importance. Although more particularly addressed 
 to Americans, on account of their greater distance 
 from, and perhaps indifference to, noble Art, yet in 
 respect to it there is so much congeniality of sentiment 
 between them and the English, that much that is 
 applicable to the one is equally so to the other nation. 
 Therefore, I have kept closely in view, however im¬ 
 perfect the expression, the desire to inculcate right 
 feeling and taste in those minds that, lacking oppor¬ 
 tunity of studying the best masters in their homes, 
 have a sincere wish to know something of their history 
 and spirit. 
 
 Art has much to hope in her future from England 
 and the United States. Their political institutions, 
 diffused education, wealth and mental activity, are so 
 many guarantees for its rapid development. On the 
 other hand, in the zeal of commercial activity, the 
 haste of production, the impatience of realization, and 
 the despotism of fashion, there is danger to Art. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 Freedom gives it birth ; but virgin soils also produce 
 choking tares. Cultivation is requisite to weed them 
 out. Art, left scope to grow, will speedily ripen into 
 the fruit of the tree of knowledge and of life. In our 
 passion for the material triumphs of Science, we should 
 not forget what we owe to Art, in elevating man from 
 the savage, refining his mind, and opening to him 
 sources of pleasure as exhaustless as Beauty itself. 
 The insect may, indeed, rival him in industry and 
 mechanical skill; but on man alone is bestowed the 
 genius which gives birth to Art. 
 
 The harmony between its truths and the principles 
 which govern the moral universe constitute a still more 
 positive claim upon our attention, if we would expand 
 ourselves into the complete spiritualized man. In this 
 relation it becomes a subject worthy of the investiga¬ 
 tion of the most profound minds, as one intimately 
 connected with our twofold welfare—the rightful en¬ 
 joyment of earth and fitness for perfect existence in 
 higher spheres. 
 
 High Art underlies the noblest instincts of our 
 nature. Its teachings cannot be received without 
 making men wiser and better. Feeling is its touch¬ 
 stone. The sensitive soul receives its truths as the 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 lungs inhale air, expanding with intuitive joy and 
 renewed strength. 
 
 Art is universal. It unites mankind in common 
 brotherhood. As a missionary of civilization, its mes¬ 
 sage is both to heart and mind. Distinctions of 
 tongue or boundary lines disappear before the power 
 of truths, which, like the rainbow, charm by the beauty 
 of variegated hues, or, combined with light, illumine 
 the universe. 
 
 Moreover, Art is the connecting link in the chain 
 of great minds. Through its language, thought ap¬ 
 peals to thought, and sympathy echoes to feeling. 
 
 A distinguished poet beautifully illustrated to me, 
 one day, the tenderness of kindred Art. He had 
 collected many specimens of the works of the early 
 religious painters of Italy, quaint and dry in execu¬ 
 tion, but, injured and time-worn as they were, full of 
 deep meaning. Upon my inquiring why his taste led 
 him to purchase pictures which the present age, in the 
 pride of its science, despised, he replied, that when 
 he saw those old, worm-eaten panels, on which believing 
 generations had pictured their faith, put to ignoble - 
 use, or in danger of utter ruin, respect for the minds 
 that produced them prompted him to take them 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 XI 
 
 to his own home, as an asylum from modern ignorance 
 and scepticism. 
 
 If we approach Art rightly, this soul-charity will 
 spread and embrace all mind within its folds, in the 
 degree of its sincerity and truth. The enjoyment 
 which Art has brought to me, I would fain share with 
 others. Before hastily rejecting conclusions, which on 
 my part are the result of conviction, I would earnestly 
 beg my readers to candidly test and patiently probe 
 the principles upon which they are founded. At the 
 same time they must consider, that, pretending to no 
 originality or the elucidation of any new truth, I have 
 simply gathered into the superficial form of “ Hints,” 
 ideas of universal application. Consequently, they will 
 find broad principles and general features, instead of 
 learned and critical details, which, however interesting 
 to the few, might have repelled the many from the 
 consideration of a topic of vital interest to humanity. 
 
 Casa Dauphine, Piazza Maria Antonia, 
 
 Florence, Italy, April, 1855 . 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introductory . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 Man’s Twofold Nature . . . . . • .15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Art in Relation to History—Its Rise .... 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Art in Relation to History—Its Fall ... .42 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Art in Relation to Matter and Spirit .... 62 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Beauty, Utility, Ugliness, Taste . 
 
 77 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VAOB 
 
 Variety of Beauty—Fancy—Imagination ... 88 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Primary Truths of Nature as applied to Art— 
 Infinity — Power — Repose — Sincerity — Variety— 
 Unity . ....... 98 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The General Truths of the Landscape—Form and Color 112 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Particular Truths of Painting and Sculpture 137 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Schools of Art—Greece, Pome, and Constantinople . 173 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The Mediaeval Schools—Religious Art . . . .19-1 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Symbolism and Naturalism ...... 210 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The Struggle ........ 220 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The Renaissance—Various Directions of Naturalism in 
 
 Italy .......... 243 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Spanish and Northern Schools — Art in England, 
 France, and America ....... 269 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 CHAPTER XVII, 
 
 PAQE 
 
 Art in Relation to Patronage . . '. . 312 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Art in Relation to Artists—Religious and Dramatic 
 Expression ......... 327 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Great Compositions of Masters ..... 352 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Landscape Masters. 379 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Ages of distinguished Artists—Prices of their Works . 394 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 One of the most impressive buildings in Venice, from 
 its graceful proportions and conspicuous position is, as 
 every traveller knows, the church of Santa Maria della 
 Salute, upon the Grand Canal. Born of the early 
 Renaissance, it has been in the main spared the accu¬ 
 mulation of barbarous detail and false taste which are 
 common to so many of the church edifices of a later 
 date, erected in the spirit of that school of architecture. 
 It is not, however, to its external appearance that I 
 would call the reader’s attention, though, perhaps, no 
 building remains more permanently fixed in the general 
 tourist’s mind among his associations of Venice. In it 
 are priceless evidences of that treatment of Art which 
 distinguishes the Venetian painters from all other 
 artists, and with due deference to their merits, be it 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 said, invests the former with a dignity as yet unri¬ 
 valled. The chief of these precious legacies are 
 Titian’s “ Death of Abel,” on the ceiling of the 
 sacristy, and Tintoretto’s “ Marriage in Cana,” each 
 exhibiting in an eminent degree the respective powers 
 of those two great masters. There are many others, 
 scarcely less worthy of attention as showing the pro¬ 
 gressive development of the religious mind of Venice 
 in painting at the culminating point of her high career 
 in Art. But it is not to describe these paintings that 
 I refer to this church. I wish to relate a simple in¬ 
 cident which therein met my observation, and led 
 me into a train of thought resulting in the present 
 volume. 
 
 During the summer of 1854 I was in Venice re¬ 
 freshing my mind amid its artistic treasures. Being 
 one day in the church of Santa Maria della Salute, or 
 rather in the sacristy, I noticed enter a young Ameri¬ 
 can, whose appearance denoted a cultivated mind. 
 Ilis observant eye ranged at once over the pictures, 
 selecting instinctively those of most merit, and sparing 
 neither time nor painful observation to make himself 
 master of their spirit and treatment. Churches every¬ 
 where are proverbially unfavorable for the proper 
 exhibition of paintings. In this instance the best are 
 placed at a most awkward height, considering the 
 narrowness of the room, for the rangfe of the eye, 
 while Titian’s occupy the ceiling some forty feet above 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 3 
 
 the head, and can be seen only by lying flat on one’s 
 back on the stone floor, and gazing upward. In this 
 position, forgetful of all else, did the young American 
 place himself, for the more full gratification, or, I 
 should say, appreciation, of the masters whose works 
 he had come to study. His deportment and criti¬ 
 cism showed a determination to test the respective 
 merits of the artists, regardless of personal discomfort, 
 and to the full extent of his knowledge and circum¬ 
 stances. 
 
 While he was thus engaged there came in a large 
 party of Americans, composed of the usual travelling 
 elements; masters and misses, grown-up children, 
 parents still in the vigor of life, and young men fresh 
 from college, all under the charge of a valet de place, 
 whom they were evidently urging to “do up the 
 sights” in the most expeditious manner possible. They 
 passed through the sacristy without once noticing the 
 paintings on the ceiling, turned away in disgust from 
 Tintoretto, hurried into the church, paused a moment 
 before some flashy modern trick of art, and in five 
 minutes had made the tour of a building which con¬ 
 tains enough, if properly studied, to have occupied 
 them for as many months. And this is the way the 
 majority of tourists contemn their own souls! Wilfully 
 blinding themselves to lessons of high import, whether 
 if nature or art, they turn heedless alike from the free 
 gift of either, and find delight only in the contents of 
 
4 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 shop-windows, the trappings of equipage, insignia of rank, 
 and the falsities of miscalled society. Which of these 
 two classes of visitors will stand justified before their 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES ? 
 
 Pearls to swine may seem a disrespectful simile, 
 but the sad truth that the multitudes who yearly pour 
 from America to do the European tour, wantonly dis¬ 
 regard the teachings of noble minds, tbe outpourings 
 of soul, lavished in art-language, to the end that they 
 may see and feel new capacities within them, capaci¬ 
 ties, that, like the fruit of the tree of life, would make 
 them live for ever; such a truth, I repeat, justifies 
 the application. 
 
 To what end is travel ? 
 
 The contrast between the social and political prin¬ 
 ciples of America and Europe being so broad, my 
 remarks are intended chiefly to cover those grand 
 distinctions with the relative duties arising from each. 
 Still, the general ideas will be applicable to every 
 individual, of whatever nation, viewing him simply as 
 a member of a social and political community. To 
 what end then is travel ? The reply to this involves 
 the recognition of the elementary differences in all that 
 relates to civilization between Europe and America. 
 
 It is incumbent then, for me, firstly, to broadly 
 specify these differences and their causes. 
 
 The chief difference with which we have now to do 
 lies in the position of Art on either continent. In 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 
 
 £> 
 
 Europe it is a recognized necessity—in America it 
 remains a struggling impulse. 
 
 Man is twofold in his nature—material and spiritual. 
 The material conforms itself to the outer view of 
 things. It takes cognizance of creative matter in its 
 external form and internal construction, weighs, exa¬ 
 mines, analyses, invents, combines; in short, probes 
 the physical world to its core to learn its laws and 
 apply them to its service. We call the knowledge 
 which we thus obtain of nature, Science. It deals 
 with things, facts, substances, and their relations to each 
 other, as they exist to our external senses. The 
 object of Science is the exploration and subjugation of 
 material nature to our use and comfort. In it lies 
 the power and dominion given by God to Adam in 
 Paradise over all created things, with the injunction to 
 replenish, that is, to civilize the earth. This subju¬ 
 gation of matter to Use is then man’s first necessity. 
 But as soon as the wants of the body are satisfied, 
 there arise others more subtle, intangible, but equally 
 craving. These spring from the second or inner 
 principle of our nature, which, to distinguish from what 
 we can touch, see, and feel, through external sense, 
 we term the Spirit. This principle is susceptible of 
 two grand divisions, viz., Morality, comprising religion 
 in all its relations, and Ideality, in its connection with 
 Beauty. 
 
 The two are intimately associated, as will be shown 
 
6 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 in future chapters, being bound together by great and 
 immutable principles fixed by God in the universe. 
 It is, however, with the latter which we have directly 
 to deal in these “ Hints,” and only incidentally with the 
 former. 
 
 No want has been planted in the human race with¬ 
 out corresponding sources of gratification. For the 
 body the earth provides material for food, raiment, 
 habitation, all that ease can desire, nay more, every 
 luxury which man, in his mental wantonness, seeks out 
 or invents to his own corruption and enfeeblement. 
 For the Soul, in its connection with Beauty, Nature is 
 equally lavish. She supplies form, color, and all 
 that can stimulate Thought or excite the Imagination. 
 The province of the Spirit is not merely the aspect but 
 the essence of things. It deals not in anatomy or 
 in analysis ; it neither calculates nor combines ; it seeks 
 not to count the pulsations of the heart, but it does 
 seek to know why it was created, to interpret the lan¬ 
 guage of the universe, and through the Beauty so 
 profusely distributed by its Author over his works, to 
 know Him. 
 
 Science then represents matter. Its dominion goes 
 not beyond substance. That which manifests to us 
 phenomena, whether of Nature or the Soul, which, in 
 delighting the senses speaks to the heart, we call Art. 
 Its high office is to portray the Spirit. Both Science 
 and Art are essential to the complete existence of man. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 7 
 
 This principle holds true as well in national as in 
 individual existence. Either extreme of culture, how¬ 
 ever, has its evil. The tendency of the two great 
 branches of the human family, which have ever divided 
 the dominion of the earth between them, has not been 
 to an equilibrium in scientific and aesthetic culture. 
 Alternating, as in their martial conquests, from one 
 extreme to the other, they have too frequently lost 
 their vigor in sensuality or quenched their imagina¬ 
 tion in cold abstraction and barren scientific truths. 
 The tendency of the imagination, unchecked by reason, 
 is undoubtedly to weakness and ruin. Excessive fer¬ 
 tility generates excessive decay. On the other hand, 
 reason unsoftened by imagination, although it may 
 lead to power, deprives life of pleasure. It is all 
 work and no play. Like the stern mountain top, with 
 its glittering glacier, we admire its mocking hues and 
 cold sublimity at a distance. Near to, it chills and 
 repels. But the tropical shade, with all its equivocal 
 mixture of serpents and flowers, poison and pleasure, 
 we hie to for repose. This is the universal tendency 
 of man when he has once tasted the delights of Beauty. 
 A fatal gift unmixed with reason and unbridled by 
 morality, but equally balanced with the two, a boon 
 worthy of the bestowal of Divinity upon Humanity. 
 
 The tendency of the older civilization, derived from 
 the Greco-Roman races, has ever been to the former 
 bias. Imagination, or the “ play impulse,” as the 
 
8 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Germans comprehensively define the idea, often usurps 
 the sovereignty of reason, and leads captive morality. 
 Art born in freedom was true to its mission so long as 
 man worshipped in sincerity and truth. Made, how¬ 
 ever, the handmaid of Sense, it revenged its degrada¬ 
 tion by enslaving its enslavers and by becoming the 
 instrument of tyranny to steel the spirit into the doc¬ 
 trine of passive obedience. The social and political 
 institutions were neglected for the excitements of sen¬ 
 suality and amusement. Education, freedom of mind, 
 and individual enterprise—the substantial bases of a 
 nation’s prosperity—were lost sight of, or cunningly 
 diverted by tyrants into corrupt channels, so that with 
 all those races history shows the same final result. 
 First, a development of energy and virtue; second, 
 refinement and power; then speedy enervation and 
 consequent decay, until ignorance, superstition, and 
 poverty have come at last to be the established order 
 of things over the fairest portions of the globe. 
 
 Whether this be the inevitable result of aesthetic 
 culture, as history would seem to suggest, remains for 
 us to discuss in another place. 
 
 On the other hand, the Teutonic races, owing more, 
 perhaps, to influences of climate than to constitutional 
 differences in man, have turned their attention mainly 
 to Science. Material power abides with them. They 
 rule and civilize the world in all that Science can do 
 as paramount to Art. The electric telegraph, the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING 9 
 
 • 
 
 railroad, the steam-boat, the armed leviathans of the 
 ocean, everything that the mind can create out of 
 matter, for purposes of wealth, comfort, safety, and 
 power, from iron rods that disarm the lightning of its 
 terrors to needle-points so sharp that the eye can 
 scarcely trace them ; in fine, all the wide scope of 
 Manufacture is theirs. In the Germanic European 
 races this luxury and strength are leavened with a 
 large admixture of the play impulse—more formerly 
 than now, so that as nations they have not as yet 
 experienced the vicissitudes of their more southern 
 brethren. The religious element of their spiritual im¬ 
 pulse has entered largely into their political organiza¬ 
 tion, combining with and strengthening their scientific 
 tendency, so that the races of this origin, more particu¬ 
 larly the English branches, present to history the firmest 
 and most enlightened governments which the world 
 has as yet seen. Still the tendency of these nations is 
 towards materialism. This arises from an exaggera¬ 
 tion of the value of scientific truths and their merely 
 mechanical results; also from the gradual absorption 
 of the spirit of religion into forms and creeds—words 
 without life—whose chief effect is a paralysis of the soul. 
 
 Puritanism, as exhibited in the days of the Com¬ 
 monwealth of England, is a striking example of the 
 ascendency of the merely religious element to the 
 annihilation of ideality, with its offspring taste and 
 
 refinement. Strong only in an alliance with a stern 
 
 B* 
 
10 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 civil polity, it fell as soon as the human mind had 
 scope for its aesthetic impulses. Puritanism is Pro¬ 
 testant asceticism, and can no more become the rule 
 of mankind than can the monkish practices and celi¬ 
 bacy of Romanism. Nature avenges every violation 
 of her healthful instincts. She abhors one-sided hu¬ 
 manities. The only safe guide is temperance in the 
 employment and consequent enjoyment of all our 
 faculties. England paid for the bigotry of Puritanism 
 in the license of the Restoration. God is no more 
 honored by foul fear and unwholesome restraints, 
 than by foul license and unwholesome liberty. “ Per¬ 
 fect love casteth out all fearconsequently its true 
 spirit is freedom. Wherever this exists there is hope 
 for progress. 
 
 Science alone is not sufficient for a nation’s pros¬ 
 perity. Religion, dwarfed into a panoply of forms, 
 creeds, and restraints, is equally insufficient by itself. 
 The two properly combined and understood form a 
 strong phalanx, but to make that phalanx impenetrable 
 to the shafts of atheism, bigotry, and revolutionary 
 license, the mental trinity should be complete. Beauty, 
 the sentiment which God has bestowed on man for 
 his enjoyment, mark, not use or worship, must be 
 superadded. It is his free gift to loving spirits, blessing 
 alike all, and requiring no labor to obtain, beyond 
 its quiet reception and partial divorce from the things 
 of sense. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. II 
 
 This broad principle of Divine government I hope 
 fully to establish as I proceed in the gradual develop¬ 
 ment of the ideas, which I wish to present to the con¬ 
 sideration of my fellow-beings, not as anything new, 
 but as important to be kept constantly in view, for the 
 full appreciation of the pleasures of even an earthly 
 existence. I particularly wish to call the attention of 
 Americans to the one thing needful to exalt our be- 
 beloved republic to a pitch of grandeur and prosperity, 
 with consequent intelligence and refinement, which no 
 nation has as yet ever reached. 
 
 America-—I mean the United States—is but just gird¬ 
 ing her loins for the race set before her. While men 
 have to contend with stern nature, winning civilization 
 step by step from the wilderness, they have no leisure 
 for aught but the necessary. The useful is Ihe next, 
 step. Then come the requirements of ease and luxury, 
 and their attendant train of degenerating influences. 
 In the United States we have arrived at that period of 
 our national career ; or rather, while on our frontiers, 
 the strife of man with nature is in constant progress, 
 on our sea-board we have enslaved her to the adminis¬ 
 tration of our sensual comforts to a degree that no 
 other nation has ever rivalled on so gigantic a scale. 
 History tells us there is danger in this. Upholstery, 
 dainty furniture, mechanics racked to construct in 
 quantities those things that tend to glitter or mislead, 
 machinery multiplied for the fabrication of all objects, 
 
12 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 not only of use but of ornament, art degraded to manu¬ 
 facture, all bespeak a people with their eyes yet 
 unopened to a sense of their full capacity for greatness 
 and refinement. There is no halting-place in a nation’s 
 career. She advances or recedes. If she mistake the 
 road, others advance on the right track and secure the 
 prize. There is more hope for America in her future 
 than for any other nation. In proportion to her hope 
 is also her danger, for the principle which bids her 
 soar is equally active to bring her down. This prin¬ 
 ciple is freedom of mind. Elsewhere the governments 
 make their subjects; in America, alone, individuals 
 make their governments; as is the individual so is the 
 government. The importance then of rightly direct¬ 
 ing not only the principles but the taste—in its full 
 significance, to be hereafter defined—is self-evident. 
 The love and fear of God is indeed the keystone to the 
 political arch. In proportion as religion demonstrates 
 these principles in their acceptance to man, in that 
 proportion are they wise for this life and safe for 
 another. But. strip religion of its element of beauty, 
 crush the taste and refinement of a nation in the ana¬ 
 conda grasp of bigotry, and you shut out heaven from 
 earth, and turn earth itself into a wilderness of un¬ 
 profitable duties. Heroic virtues and stern self-denial 
 are for times of trial, when the soul’s energies must be 
 concentrated by the struggles of existence into mighty 
 efforts. But with the passing of the storm comes the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 13 
 
 sunshine. Hearts are to soften and expand under its 
 genial warmth. Love is to elevate and taste to refine 
 them. The energies which have raised America to 
 the position of an enigma for all nations must still 
 find employment. License, the fruit of misdirected 
 passion, and effeminacy, the canker of luxury, are 
 equally stumbling-blocks in her progress. She has 
 strength and wealth, freedom and mental activity. The 
 right direction to be given to each is the problem to 
 settle. Art looks to America with open arms. How 
 is it to he carried there? Not by misses who run over 
 Europe and bring back a cabin-load of new bonnets, 
 with dresses and trinkets to match ; neither by women 
 whose aim is display and ruling principle vanity ; nor by 
 young gentlemen whose attainments are limited to the 
 run of “ cafes ” and gambling saloons. We have too 
 many of them, and too many of such families as that 
 of Santa Maria della Salute, whose sole reminiscences 
 of European travel are the number and not the quality 
 of sights. We need Art-students, men of sincerity 
 and labor, who will not hesitate to go on their backs 
 and knees, if need be in the dust, to read the soul- 
 language of the mightiest minds in Europe. 
 
 Europe is a storehouse of Art, but its value and 
 lessons are lost in a great measure upon the nations that 
 gave it birth. Still those silent voices speak. Out of 
 old churches, mouldering tombs, time-honored galleries, 
 there go forth eternal principles of truth, if rightly 
 
14 
 
 APT-HINTS. 
 
 studied able to guide the taste and warm the heart of 
 young America, and urge her on in the race of renown. 
 I do not advocate blind copying of mind or the recep¬ 
 tion of laws, whether of taste or morality, without fully 
 proving their spirit; but I do advocate, and would 
 press home to the heart of every American who goes 
 abi'oad, the necessity, if he would do his duty to his own 
 country, of reading and interpreting to his country¬ 
 men, so far as in him lies, these sacred writings on the 
 wall. Talent is lent by God. We are to return it with 
 usury. I write not for those light minds who find 
 pleasure only in frivolity, and who travel simply for 
 excitement; their case is hopeless. I write for my 
 young friend of the Venetian church. With earnest 
 souls like his lies the artistic hope of America. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 man’s twofold nature. 
 
 The confession of the twofold nature of man, the ma¬ 
 terial or real, and the spiritual or ideal, is a barren 
 truth of itself, unless it is equally felt. Without 
 feeling, we have no true life. Earnestness in all that 
 we do is the test of our sincerity and consequent ap¬ 
 preciation of its importance. Mankind need not be 
 urged to supply their physical wants. The instincts of 
 matter impel them incessantly to the gratification of 
 their appetites, because sense in the form of physical 
 humanity, is imperious. Its wants must be attended 
 to, in order that the soul remain a contented tenant of 
 her earthly habitation ; contented from her freedom to 
 act and feel through the medium of a healthful body. 
 This health is the result only of wholesome restraints 
 upon instinctive appetites and the due subjection of 
 the body to reason. 
 
 Sense is, however, a subtle foe of the soul. So 
 palpable are its claims, so seductive its indulgence, 
 
16 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 that men are frequently led to ignore the existence of 
 the latter, by exclusive cultivation of those sciences 
 whose ends are ease, luxury, and show. Passions 
 and sentiments, the true objects of which are preserva¬ 
 tive, become the aims of existence. Satiety instead 
 of warning, operates only as a stimulus to invention. 
 New sensual emotions are diligently sought out as 
 prizes in the race of life. Thus science is degraded 
 into a system of ways and means to best perpetuate 
 and vary the pleasures of sense. Life is valued solely 
 for what it offers for the enjoyment of the material 
 nature of man. The spirit shrinks from this perversion 
 of the true purposes of its fleshly habitation, and either 
 dies away to an occasionally “ still small voice,” or, 
 leaving man altogether, he becomes a believer solely 
 in what he hears, sees, and feels with his external 
 sense. There is no inner life left in him. A practical 
 atheist, he denies what he cannot weigh, measure, or 
 analyse. The sense of beauty he cannot indeed wholly 
 extinguish, but it is confined to external form and 
 color, and degraded to the low situation of a pander. 
 All nature is resolved into sense. If God there be, he 
 is a distant and uncertain being, all-powerful doubtless, 
 and surely all capricious. Study will not find him out. 
 Why vex our minds with what we cannot comprehend ! 
 Sufficient for us that we eat and sleep! We can 
 understand nature because we see her. Beyond this 
 it is all dark ; cease to trouble us with theories that 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 1 7 
 
 cannot be demonstrated in matter. Such is the lan¬ 
 guage common to a large proportion of the educated 
 classes in Europe. They have shrunk from avowing 
 themselves atheists heretofore from fear of loss of 
 position, or some of the earthly joys for which they 
 sacrifice their souls. Their numbers now embolden 
 them to openly avow their sentiments. I do not hesi¬ 
 tate to assert that the general tone of European refined 
 society is open or concealed atheism, while the mass 
 of the population are steeped in superstition scarcely 
 less fatal to their true dignity as beings capable of 
 becoming even as the angels in heaven. The abettor 
 of this moral ruin is the church as now constituted. 
 Between Protestantism and Romanism there is indeed 
 the wide gulf of individual freedom of thought. Con¬ 
 sequently the hope of man and his ultimate progress to 
 the completion of his personality lies exclusively with 
 the former. But the preachers of both have become 
 blind leaders of the blind. The former limit their 
 vision to irreconcilable dogmas and creeds, and the 
 latter to ceremonies from which the essence has long 
 since fled. Both are more anxious to preserve their 
 own than God’s kingdom. Both trammel thought, 
 though in different ways. Both not only fail in satis¬ 
 fying the entire man, but shock his reason and cramp 
 his soul. Protestantism is not exclusively under the 
 control of priestcraft. Romanism is. Which is better 
 for man as a whole their respective territorial boundaries 
 
18 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 show. The difference between the two is the actual 
 distinction between England and Spain, Italy and the 
 United States. Still it is obvious to every close observer 
 that the tendency of both Romanism and Protestantism 
 among the cultivated classes is now towards scepticism. 
 
 This arises from a want of proper balance in mental 
 cultivation. The individual or nation that devotes 
 itself almost exclusively to science, in its mere relations 
 to external things, rapidly becomes sensuous in its 
 judgments and feelings. The church that concentrates 
 religion into dogmas or ceremonies fosters either doubt 
 or ignorance. Science is good only in relation to its 
 proper uses. Religion is manna for the soul only so 
 far as it directs and expands its powers in relation to 
 man and God. Now one means of cultivating the 
 ideal or theoretic faculty is in the study and investiga¬ 
 tion of Nature. By Nature, I mean the entire thought 
 of God as shown in his moral and material universe. 
 This is the healthful employment and consequent de¬ 
 velopment of the spiritual man. Science is the aid and 
 not the end of his labours. He is to free himself from 
 the trammels of sense, and to raise himself above the 
 mere material world, looking down upon and into it, 
 until as his eyes are opened he is able to pierce its 
 mysteries and read its solemn teachings. I do not 
 wish to be understood as depreciating science or despis¬ 
 ing sense. Both are necessary elements in the compo¬ 
 sition of humanity. But the relative consequence of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 19 
 
 the material and spiritual man, is as unmeasurable as 
 the difference between thought and matter. Another 
 powerful argument for the cultivation of the ideal 
 faculty exists in the fact-—I speak of course to believers 
 —that both nature and revelation assert that through all 
 eternity we maintain or follow the direction given by 
 our earthly identity ; that is, we remain always our¬ 
 selves. Progress or retrogression there must be, but 
 the principle “as the tree .falls so it lies,” is in the 
 main a solemn truth ; one that should stimulate to the 
 exertion of all our faculties for the knowledge and 
 comprehension of Him who bestowed them. 
 
 The sense of beauty embraces within its scope the 
 whole image of God in his creation. Its employment 
 exalts and expands all the faculties, develops love and 
 gratitude, divests religion of asceticism and sense of 
 satiety. Every other occupation or professional pur¬ 
 suit confines the mind within positive limits. Labor 
 deadens the spirit; mere business narrows its compre¬ 
 hension ; while science confines it to certain channels. 
 The study of beauty in its spiritual and aesthetic cha¬ 
 racter, alone fully develops the soul, and leads it to a 
 recognition of its unlimited powers. Every healthful 
 impulse is satisfied in this. The application of a few 
 broad principles of observation is the “ open sesame ” 
 to the innate powers of the soul. Feeling is developed 
 by the perusal of nature. She is free alike to the 
 learned and to the unlearned. Beauty is so profusely 
 
20 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 distributed that none need lack who seek in sincerity. 
 There is nothing too lofty for us to approach, or too 
 insignificant for us to examine. We cannot see the 
 face of God and live, but we can look upon his crea¬ 
 tion and learn. Beauty is to the mind what prayer is 
 to the soul—its sustenance and exaltation. 
 
 For the complete development of man, therefore, 
 feeling must combine with reason, each modifying and 
 impressing the other. Excess of the one sensualizes; 
 excess of the other hardens. The proper union of the 
 two, play and labor, constitute the unity of humanity. 
 It is, therefore, to this happy combination, that indi¬ 
 vidual and national efforts should be directed. 
 
 The form under which beauty or the ideal is repre¬ 
 sented to man we call Art. By association we have 
 become accustomed to look upon the image as the 
 reality itself; therefore, for all purposes of definition, 
 we must continue to consider Art as the idea fashioned 
 by man, while, rightly speaking, it is simply the form 
 by which it is rendered cognizant to our senses. 
 
 If, then, the culture of the ideal be so necessary to 
 the welfare of man, why is it that experience has so 
 often shown the incompatibility of a high degree of 
 artistic cultivation with political freedom and national 
 virtue ? A superficial perusal of history would seem 
 to warrant the conclusion that the fine arts are the 
 precursors of a nation’s decay. Greece, Rome, and 
 mediaeval Italy have each, in succession, witnessed the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 21 
 
 same moral phenomena. Indeed, many profound 
 thinkers are disposed to think that refinement and 
 virtue, courtesy and sincerity, taste and vigor, cannot 
 exist together in a nation. This view is partial and 
 false. We do see their mutual existence in individuals, 
 rare, it is true, but there are sufficient examples to 
 prove that what is possible in them is possible also in a 
 nation. 
 
 Greece, Rome, and Italy, fell not from their devo¬ 
 tion to Art, but from their perversion of it. In the 
 first it took the direction of sensuous beauty. Their 
 artistic mind was directed towards its external expres¬ 
 sion, or the exhibition of the lower passions and sen¬ 
 timents. No race was ever more keenly sensible to 
 physical beauty and to all the emotions natural to man; 
 but of divinity, the true study of the soul, they were 
 ignorant. They fell from worshipping the idol of sense. 
 
 Rome, unable to appreciate the aesthetic culture of 
 the Greeks, borrowed her forms, and possessed her 
 beauty, without her refinement. She worshipped men¬ 
 tal and brutal force. Her idols were purely physical 
 —strength, energy, and power—which, with the popu¬ 
 lace, degenerated into lust and brutality. Her whole 
 religious and political system being false to the noblest 
 instincts of humanity, it fell, dragging Art with it, 
 until it was lost, even in name. The sole refinement 
 possessed by the Romans they owed to Art, and when 
 that perished, they perished also. 
 
22 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 We now come to the mediaeval cities of Italy. Here 
 Art took the highest position it has as yet reached. 
 This was owing to two causes. Firstly, freedom ; de¬ 
 magogical turbulence or oligarchical violence, term it 
 what you will, the fact that the mind was active and 
 free in those days, asserting its dignity in crimes as 
 well as virtues, it must be admitted, but still, that it 
 was alive with energy cannot be denied. The conse¬ 
 quence was, that having a constitutional tendency 
 towards Art, it speedily developed itself in suggestive 
 works of every nature. 
 
 Religion was the second cause, and the one which 
 gave it direction. Art then took its true position, that 
 of teacher. Sincerity supplied the lack of skill, and 
 gave a power that mere skill can never attain. Amid 
 popular tumults, civil wars, famines, plagues, costly 
 mercantile enterprises, and all those causes which with 
 other races would be deemed sufficient to suspend all 
 Art, arose the noblest edifices, private and public, the 
 world has ever seen; cathedrals, churches, campaniles, 
 towers, palaces, statuary, paintings, sincere in their 
 design, costly beyond parallel in their construction, 
 each significant of its purposes and stamped with 
 thought, arose like magic all over Italy. These were 
 not the works of kingdoms, but of republics ; the people 
 contributed their money and gloried in their sacrifices, 
 so that they could honor God or their country by the 
 free offering of their minds and wealth. Go where 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 23 
 
 you will in Italy, you see this stamp of medievalism 
 in her soil. Her true greatness sprung from her love 
 of Art sanctified by her religion. 
 
 At present, I can only allude to the fact; later I 
 shall prove the statement. She fell, and lamentable 
 is the fall, for her fall has cast suspicion upon what 
 was really the true cause of her glory—her Art; but 
 she did not fall until, in the sixteenth century, popes 
 and princes took it to their bosoms, and patronized it, 
 not for Art, but for their own self-glorification and 
 the enslavement of their subjects. The Medici in 
 Rome and Florence, as heads of the Church, or as 
 heads of the State, debased and sensualized Art; with 
 them it became a vile instrument of unholy designs. 
 Religion and freedom both alike deserted it, for they 
 are at home solely with truth, virtue, and sincerity. 
 It was Art no longer ; a bastard, born of tyranny and 
 sensuality, usurped its place. From the time that 
 Raphael became a courtier, and Buonarotti a servant 
 of princes, religious Art fled in despair from the un¬ 
 natural connection. Since then we have had many 
 schools and much patronage, but of Art in its sincere 
 spiritual expression, absolutely nothing. 
 
 Inasmuch as Art obtained its highest elevation in 
 Italy, so it there fell to its lowest ebb: in no country 
 has its decay been so complete. The substitution of 
 sensualism and slavery for freedom and religion, by 
 depriving it of all vitality, has made its utter degra- 
 
24 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 dation the more apparent. Other nations there are 
 with whom Art is comparatively a stranger ; but never 
 having assumed among them an equal position, we do 
 not feel so deeply the extent of its abasement. In 
 Italy it is otherwise ; noble it was in its elevation, con¬ 
 temptible it became in its downfall. 
 
 I think that no unbiassed student of history can 
 come to other conclusions than the following, as to the 
 effect of Art on the destinies of those nations whose fall 
 is justly considered to have been heralded by increased 
 luxury and depravity of manners. 
 
 Art with the Greek was a sentiment; it expressed 
 all he knew or cared for of nature. Physical beauty 
 and artistically-rendered human emotion were his aims- 
 There was no divinity in his Art; on the contrary, he 
 made men of his gods; it was purely of the earth— 
 refilled clay, however—and its effect was to refine and 
 idealize his manners. Art contributed to his civiliza¬ 
 tion ; it made him the subtle-minded, sensuous man of 
 antiquity ; it carried him to as elevated a position as 
 his nature, unenlightened by revelation, was capable of 
 arriving at; it discovered and applied broad artistic 
 truths, but its knowledge was confined. Of landscape 
 art, of that pure love for the natural world of which 
 we begin to find examples in modern times, we have 
 no evidence that he knew or felt anything. His ima¬ 
 gination, it is true, teemed with intellectual apparitions; 
 but though they amused his mind, they were not of a 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 25 
 
 nature to elevate bis soul. Art, therefore, with the 
 Greek, though idealised to the full extent of human 
 intellect, was never the complete expression of its 
 divine power; hence it was inadequate to preserve 
 him from his own sensuous proclivities. It sustained 
 and refined him in just that degree in which he ad¬ 
 mitted its truths, but it must not be made responsible 
 for vicious political institutions and selfish passions. 
 
 Rome received Art solely as a mistress ; it amused 
 her idle hours, excited her passions, and gratified her 
 vanity. She made it in everything the instrument of 
 sense. Art graced her downfall, hut did not cause it. 
 
 While Art was the teacher in Italy, she was strong 
 and vigorous; her political health, that is to say, the 
 vigor and enterprise of her civic communities, kept 
 pace with their religious sincerity. It was the instru¬ 
 ment to elevate and stimulate the people. When it 
 became the slave of their rulers, it immolated itself on 
 the altar of its own degradation. 
 
 Art, therefore, was an incomplete expression in each 
 of those nations. In Greece its superior manifestation 
 was taste, in its loftiest intellectual interpretation. In 
 Rome, it may be characterized as fashion; but in 
 mediaeval Italy it took the nobler form of feeling. 
 
 Until we have had the experience of the perfect de¬ 
 velopment of Art upon the mind of a nation, it is as 
 presumptuous to deny its capacity to permanently 
 elevate and refine, as it would be in the miner to eom- 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 pare the flickering lamplight with which he pursues 
 his labor to the meridian sun. 
 
 The light that we have had attests its twofold power 
 as an element of civilization. As surely as sense de¬ 
 grades it to the position of slave, so surely does it 
 revenge itself by bringing man to the lowest level of 
 his material nature: on the other hand, in the degree 
 that man listens to Art as the interpreter of the nobler 
 instincts of his nature, just in that degree does it 
 unfold its capacity to refine and elevate him. Civiliza¬ 
 tion, by disclosing new wants, creates new bonds. The 
 play-want, comprising every development of the fancy 
 and imagination, looking to ornament distinct from use 
 as one of its realizations, and the thought-language as 
 distinguishing idea from form, are implanted by nature 
 in the heart of the human race. We trace it equally 
 in the feather coronets and carved paddles of the sa¬ 
 vage ; in the rude and energetic verse of barbarous 
 nations, in the songs of Sappho and chisellings of a 
 Phidias. By turns it is solemn, as with the imposing 
 architecture of Egypt and Nineveh ; beautiful, as seen 
 in the exquisite proportions of Greek Art; grand, as 
 among the amphitheatres, aqueducts, and arched temples 
 of old Rome; grotesque and fanciful in its Gothic 
 manifestations ; thoughtful, too, and suggestive. Art 
 has assumed in each age a special individuality, whether 
 in music, poetry, form, or color; in none have its 
 capacities been exhausted or wholly comprehended. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 2? 
 
 The people are yet to exist who will allow the full 
 exercise of its sovereignty. No nation has ever been 
 in so favorable a position as the United States of 
 America, for the complete development of those ideal 
 faculties of which Art is language. In extent em¬ 
 bracing, as it were, a continent, with the varieties of 
 climate most favorable to intellectual activity ; with a 
 nature fresh and exhaustless within their boundaries ; 
 accumulations of wealth that can cause material matter 
 to live and grow at its bidding; mind well fixed in 
 religious and political truths; enterprise without limit; 
 freedom of thought and rivalry of intellect that seizes 
 upon and develops ideas, working them out to their 
 practical results—in fine, scope for the entire nature of 
 man; all this mingled with an infusion of the best 
 blood of older civilizations, combining their two great 
 northern and southern elements, constitute a power for 
 progress to which past history can fix no limits. It 
 remains but for America to demonstrate that the culti¬ 
 vation of Art is compatible with freedom, and that, 
 with the spread of taste and refinement, she loses 
 neither vigor nor sincerity. 
 
28 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ART IN RELATION TO HISTORY—ITS RISE. 
 
 Before proceeding to the consideration of Art in its 
 relations to taste and the imagination, in fine to its 
 entire connexion with the spiritual man, it will be 
 expedient to review briefly its several positions histori¬ 
 cally, during its most conspicuous manifestations. 
 This inquiry is important, as it elucidates the different 
 forms it assumed under the force of external circum¬ 
 stances. In fact, it is the investigation of Art simply 
 in its broad human relations, independent of its own 
 immutable truths. By this I do not comprehend its 
 division into schools, which is a different subject of 
 investigation, but the national directions it has taken, 
 owing to political institutions. From this inquiry may 
 be gathered the lesson most needed by nations whose 
 Art career is yet to commence, viz., what political 
 conditions are most favourable to its perfect develop¬ 
 ment, and what dangers are most to be dreaded from 
 its perversion. In the preceding chapter these points 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 29 
 
 were merely glanced at, but in this I trust to put 
 those inferences which I therein presented on an unas¬ 
 sailable basis. 
 
 With savage or semi-civilized life, and its untutored 
 impulses, I shall not meddle. The former condition 
 naturally tends to violence, and the latter to stagna¬ 
 tion. To ascertain this fact, one has but to look to 
 the Arab on the one hand, and the Chinaman on the 
 other. The American Indian manifests no surprise at 
 new and beautiful artificial forms, because he does not 
 know enough to do so. His mind has no starting 
 point of comparison. A Mussulman is but half a man ; 
 he condemns high art as idolatry while worshipping 
 gross matter. Art in its European development is an 
 enigma to such races. Wherever it is least under¬ 
 stood it is most despised. This misunderstanding 
 proceeds from two causes. First, ignorance, like 
 that of the American farmer, who could see in a statue 
 out of doors only a marble scarecrow, for all purposes 
 of which an old hat and ragged coat on a stake would 
 have been far better and cheaper. Secondly, from 
 misapprehension, as in the Puritan and the Quaker, 
 who view it as the arch-enemy of their souls. When 
 such men come to know its truth and beauty, they will 
 welcome it as the ally of Providence to lead their 
 minds to pure sources of pleasure. There is hope 
 for them both, for their sin is rooted in sincerity. 
 
 One object, therefore, of this chapter will be to 
 
30 
 
 AKT-IIINTS. 
 
 point out the different sources from which those na¬ 
 tions which have acquired fame in Art derived their 
 inspiration. It will then be easy to detect the false, 
 and do justice to the true element. Imagination, 
 through Art, mirrors the national or individual soul. 
 The character of the Artist, or his Age, can be read 
 in his works. 
 
 There is a uniformity of character in the Archi¬ 
 tecture of the earliest civilized races with which we have 
 acquaintance, as, for instance, the Egyptian and Nine- 
 vite, which warrants their being classed together. 
 Their painting is comprised in their architecture. It is 
 simple and truth-telling, relating events as children 
 tell tales, in the fewest and plainest words; without 
 variety or truth of outline ; one story being the type 
 of all. Colors are all positive and strongly laid on. 
 In architecture we have the same simplicity of forms 
 combined with majesty and oddity of design. It can 
 hardly be called grotesque, yet it is magnificently 
 ideal, suggestive of power and durability throughout. 
 No one who examines it can fail to perceive that it is 
 the working out of the ideas of the few by the hands 
 of the many. The people were mere'machines, whose 
 sole tasks were to repeat these Ideas according to given 
 pattern and rule, into which their own minds no more 
 entered than into the fashioning of bricks. Conse¬ 
 quently, Art in these countries was the mechanical 
 carrying out by slaves of the imaginations of their 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 31 
 
 lords. There was no real life or natural variety 
 m it. It embodied those essential elements of sub¬ 
 limity and power which are the attributes of all lofty 
 understandings born in absolute rule. In those cha¬ 
 racteristics it has never been surpassed ; but it perished 
 with the despotism that gave it birth. 
 
 In Greece we find the opposite of all this. It was 
 the embodiment of physical beauty in its most perfect 
 forms and happy moods. The people gave vent to 
 their imagination and worked out the results with their 
 own hands. As far as their religion led them they 
 went. In all that they attempted they were sincere. 
 They watched for those moments when the action 
 which they wished to represent was the most complete, 
 and in harmony with the entire nature. But my pre¬ 
 sent object is not to criticise their works, or investigate 
 their rules of Art, but simply to point out its motives 
 and the results. Their intellectual freedom led them 
 to the highest pitch of intellectual greatness in Art, 
 which the world has as yet witnessed. Succeeding 
 ages have found out higher motives and more noble 
 aims, but so far as the Greeks studied they perfected 
 Art, and it elevated them correspondingly. This ele¬ 
 vation was, however, solely of the intellectual faculties. 
 It did not touch the heart. Consequently, lacking the 
 proper balance of healthful feeling, it drew them by 
 its inability to go beyond the appreciation of external 
 and mental beauty into the dangerous path of sen- 
 
52 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 sualism. Their academies were schools for the most 
 complete development of the physical and intellectual 
 man. In the bloodless strifes and mental displays of 
 their Olympic games, they found the originals of their 
 Yenuses, Minervas, Apollos, and all those wondrous 
 forms of human beauty with which they have de¬ 
 lighted the world. But there is no saving grace in 
 them. They fully perform their mission to the intel¬ 
 lect and merely human emotion, but the teaching 
 to the soul is no portion of their inspiration. The 
 nation which merely‘revives these forms, will revive 
 their dangers with them. 
 
 Rome imported most of her Art from Greece. 
 Transplanted to an ungenial mental soil it w T as but 
 half appreciated, and the evil in its nature developed 
 itself with twofold force. Art in Rome is not to he 
 seen in its statues and ideas borrowed from Greece, 
 hut in that noble architecture so peculiarly its own. 
 Those who would realise the aspirations of the mistress 
 of the Old World, will find it in the stupendous 
 remains of her baths, theatres, her Coliseum, palaces, 
 aqueducts and villas, all stamping her civilization as 
 exclusively of sense. Her Art was one of gigantic 
 display and enervating luxury; a mingling of pride 
 and vanity, giving vent to the fouler passions in gla¬ 
 diatorial shows, and abundant means of gratuitous 
 enjoyment of sensual pleasures. A worse moral 
 training for its subject no despotic government ever 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 33 
 
 established than that of imperial Rome. The animal 
 was the solely recognised being. To keep him quiet 
 he was gratuitously fed; to amuse him and develop 
 his baser passions, he was led to baths lined with pre¬ 
 cious marbles and decorated with sensuous art; thence 
 he had but to take his seat in the amphitheatre, and 
 glutting his eyes with the dying agonies of fellow- 
 beings, or the terrible struggles of ferocious beasts, 
 complete his daily round of enjoyment and instruction. 
 Such was the Roman, and of such a character his Art, 
 the basest in its motives the world has ever exhibited, 
 and the most ruinous in its downfall. 
 
 There were, it is true, individuals by whom Art was 
 directed to nobler efforts. But this was merely the 
 unappreciated taste of a cultivated few, without power 
 to overcome the grosser national elements. Even in 
 the minor decorations of their palaces, we perceive no 
 higher effort than a mere play of fancy resulting in 
 grotesques, often running into the obscene, and which 
 in their best execution display rather intellectual 
 wantonness than wholesome feeling. 
 
 Christian Art, w’hich arose on the ruin of pagan 
 civilization, w ? as more a rude expression or type of 
 faith than the production of cultivation. Its general 
 character, when not wholly typical, was an appeal to 
 the coarser sympathies of human nature. It sought 
 to arouse feeling by vividly representing fleshy agonies ; 
 
 blood, wounds, torture, in all their literal ghastliness, 
 
 C* 
 
34 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 were its chief elements. Beauty, whether of form or 
 sentiment, they eschewed, not only from artistic 
 inability, but from religious principle. Their “ Man 
 of sorrow” was an ugly, beggarly specimen of hu¬ 
 manity, disrobed not only of all divinity, but of all 
 earthly grace, in order to impress the sense of bis 
 humiliation the more deeply upon the people. Virgins 
 and saints were alike coarse and monstrous. Minds 
 like St. Gregory’s of Nyssa, and St. John Chrysostom’s, 
 sought to give a more elevated turn to Art, by vindi¬ 
 cating the personal beauty of Christ, but with how 
 little success the Byzantine school for nearly a thou¬ 
 sand years demonstrates. It is the more singular, 
 that the descendants of those Greeks who literally 
 adored the beautiful in the days of paganism, should 
 in their conversion to Christianity make it a matter of 
 conscience to worship only the ugly and repulsive. 
 The prominent characteristic of Art, as exhibited in 
 sculpture and painting during this interval, is extreme 
 rudeness and want of artistic knowledge. It is the 
 labor of coarse hands and coarse minds incapable of 
 appreciating or rendering the spirit of the faith they 
 had adopted. Their conceptions were limited to 
 external manifestations. Yet there is a solemn 
 grandeur in some of their mosaics, not to speak of the 
 rude dignity of their religious architecture, which 
 impresses even modern beholders with awe and respect 
 But the exceptions are indeed rare in which their 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 35 
 
 figures, when not disgusting from overwrought phy 
 sical suffering or misery, are not so disproportioned ii 
 outline, so coarse in color, and so void in expression, 
 as to put all Art to the blush. Art, therefore, during 
 this long epoch was rude and unattractive ; the work 
 of feebleness and ignorance ; its sole life being in the 
 attempt, through its coarsest execution, to familiarize 
 the popular mind with religious truths as little 
 understood in spirit as they were unintelligible in 
 expression. 
 
 All that is noble in modern Art took its origin 
 in the thirteenth century. Mind awoke from its 
 paralysis, and step by step rapidly advanced in 
 the development of its theoretic faculties. Know¬ 
 ledge kept pace with idea. Religion and patriotism 
 stamped their image on progress. Art, as I have 
 before remarked, assumed the position of teacher; 
 the people clapped their hands with joy as the new 
 light broke in upon them. The mental movement 
 throughout Europe was universal and sincere. It was 
 a popular movement, and taking root in the hearts of 
 the people, grew and flourished as Art as a whole had 
 never done before, and has never since. It covered 
 Europe with religious edifices, of a character at once 
 the reverence and despair of all aftertime. To huild 
 as the medievalists built, we must feel as they felt. 
 Every stone was laid in sincerity. Such treasures of 
 mind, coin, and time as they possessed, they lavished 
 
36 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 for the glory of God, believing that inasmuch as they 
 honoured Him they honoured themselves. There is no 
 thought more apparent on these hoary stone records of 
 a believing generation, than the sincerity of the spirit 
 which led to their erection. Pride of architecture and 
 vanity of display came in with the Renaissant sen¬ 
 sualism, but medisevalism stands in history the solitary 
 exponent of the principle of labor for its true end— 
 the development of the spirit. Hence its greatness. 
 I do not mean to imply that it perfected Art. Prac¬ 
 tical knowledge was often wanting. But I do mean 
 to say that they went to Art as little children willing 
 to be taught, that she did teach and elevate them, and 
 the people grew and flourished in spiritual truth until 
 the reign of tyrants commenced, and sensualism blasted 
 the fruit before it fully ripened. True it is that 
 political wisdom was imperfectly understood, and civi¬ 
 lization in its most useful character of order was as 
 yet undeveloped. Still commerce flourished, free 
 cities multiplied, science spread, and all would have 
 been well for the social fabric, had the people under¬ 
 stood the strength of union. Tyranny made them its 
 servants through domestic discord. 
 
 Aside from the social question, Art in their hands 
 was unquestionably lofty. Artists were ennobled in 
 the public heart. They were both its leaders and its 
 servants; and it should be remarked that they exer¬ 
 cised their genius upon subjects almost exclusively 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 37 
 
 Christian, or patriotic, as they understood patriotism. 
 Buffalmacco, one of the pupils of Giotto, writes : “ We 
 painters occupy ourselves in depicting saints and holy 
 personages upon walls and altars, to the end that 
 man, to the great spite of devils, should be led to virtue 
 and piety.” 
 
 Domestic ornament was wholly of a religious cha¬ 
 racter. The excess of this feeling undoubtedly con¬ 
 tributed to the spread of superstition, and was cun¬ 
 ningly diverted by the Roman Church to selfish ends. 
 Men sinned in those days as now, but they confessed 
 their sins. They believed and trembled. The hell 
 of Dante had its reality in the faith of the people. 
 The deeper we investigate this period of human 
 history, the more reason do we find to stamp it as an 
 heroic age. Devotion was its animating spirit. It 
 abounds in great sacrifices, chivalric courtesy, noble 
 efforts, high aspirations, grand enterprises, and gigantic 
 crimes. It is the age not only of Giotto, Dante, 
 Savonarola, Luther, Columbus, and Michael Angelo, 
 but of Caesar Borgia and Henry VIII. ; the Inquisition 
 and Reformation were planted side by side; Loyola 
 and Melancthon, an Isabella mated to a Ferdinand. 
 
 To acquaint my readers with the lofty spirit which 
 prompted the execution of great public works of this 
 age, I quote from the records of the Florentine re¬ 
 public the order to Arnolfo di Lapo to make a design 
 for their new cathedral:— 
 
38 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 “ Whereas the chief aim of a people of great origin 
 being to act in a way that, from its outward works, 
 every one should recognise both its wise and magnani¬ 
 mous manner of proceeding, we order Arnolfo, chief 
 architect of our city, to make a model or design for 
 the complete rebuilding of Santa Reparata with the 
 greatest possible magnificence that the human mind is 
 capable of conceiving, since it has been decreed in 
 council, both public and private, by the most able men 
 of this city, that nothing should be undertaken for the 
 community which did not correspond entirely to the 
 ideas of its most enlightened citizens united together 
 to decide on such subjects.” 
 
 Contrast this with the contemptible pride and foul 
 fear of Louis XIV.—fear of living in view of the 
 sepulchre of his race,—which led to the erection of the 
 Palace of Versailles, and we have the direct measure 
 of the difference between the nobility of a religious 
 people, whose imaginations are exalted by Art, and 
 the meanness of a ruler who makes Art the mere in¬ 
 strument of his self-glory. 
 
 The relative magnanimity of the two is nowhere 
 more strongly shown than in the disregard of expense 
 actuating each. The king forced a powerful and 
 wealthy nation to the brink of ruin to gratify his self¬ 
 ishness ; the republic of Florence contributed their 
 money to erect religious edifices with a proud alacrity, 
 which would astonish modern economists. In 1334 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 39 
 
 they commenced building the present campanile, pass¬ 
 ing a decree (I quote from Lord Lindsay’s “ Christian 
 Art”) that it should be built “ so as to exceed in 
 magnificence, height, and excellence of workmanship 
 whatever in that kind had been achieved by the Greeks 
 and Romans in the time of their utmost power and 
 greatness. The first stone was laid, accordingly, with 
 great pomp on the 18th July following, and the work 
 prosecuted with vigor, and with such costliness and 
 utter disregard of expense, that a citizen of Yerona, 
 looking on, exclaimed that the republic was taxing her 
 strength too far ; that the united resources of two great 
 monarchs would be insufficient to • complete it — a 
 criticism which the signoria resented by confining him 
 for two months in prison, and afterwards conducting 
 him through the public treasury, to teach him that the 
 Florentines could build their whole city of marble, and 
 not one poor steeple only, were they so inclined.” 1 
 
 This “ one poor steeple ” is the most beautiful speci¬ 
 men of tower architecture the world has to show, 
 costing at the rate of about three hundred dollars per 
 superficial foot, making an entire expenditure of five 
 millions old currency, which, by taking the present 
 value of wheat, and comparing it with the price of the 
 fourteenth century, would augment its cost fivefold. 
 
 In this age Art asserted its prerogative over rank. 
 Charles V., emperor of half a world, waited upon 
 
 1 Page 248, vol. ii. 
 
40 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Titian, while Francis I. of France condescended to 
 plead for its productions. Even the haughty Charles 
 of Anjou visited Cimabue at his humble house; and 
 the people rushed with such joy to see his famous 
 picture of the Madonna and Infant Jesus, which to 
 them gave token of new promise in Art, that the 
 quarter in which he resided at Florence has ever since 
 been called the “Borgo Allegro,” Joyous Quarter. 
 The population took the picture in procession to the 
 church of Santa Maria Novella, in which it now is, 
 with music and exclamations of enthusiasm. 
 
 Such was the feeling of this era ; too keen and ex¬ 
 citable to be under the guidance of reason, and too 
 partial, with too slight scientific development of the 
 knowledge of materials and mechanical skill, to attain 
 its perfect standard. Its most valuable point is to be 
 found in its motive. Yet if we consider the Strasburg 
 Cathedral, the Duomos of Florence, Siena and Pisa? 
 and the religious architecture of Europe generally, 
 and even much of its domestic, the bronzes of Ghiberti, 
 the purity of Angelico, the solemn color of Titian, 
 the power of Michael Angelo, the sincerity of an 
 Albert Durer, and the ineffable grace of Raphael— 
 for the latter four were born of this era—we can come 
 to no other conclusion than that though Art still 
 lacked much of its entire expression, yet as a whole 
 it had attained its loftiest position. 
 
 To trace its subsequent decline under the ignoble 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 41 
 
 influences of sensualism is a painful task. I shall, in 
 the succeeding chapter, examine into those political 
 causes which most rapidly hastened its downfall, and 
 follow it in its degradation, as seen in its most con¬ 
 temptible shapes in France, until in the orgies of 
 universal license and revolutionary anarchy it assumed 
 the features of a demon. 
 
42 
 
 ART-HINTS, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ART IN ITS RELATION TO HISTORY—ITS FALL. 
 
 We have now arrived at a period when Art assumed 
 a wholly new aspect. This epoch dates from the final 
 triumph of the Medici family at Florence over the 
 liberties of their country, and their accession to the 
 papal see in the early part of the sixteenth century. 
 Entire Italy, and consequently the civilized world, felt 
 their influence. Venice marched with almost equal 
 rapidity in the path of decline, and from similar causes. 
 True, there are names, as there are partial exceptions 
 in the action of all broad principles, which may be 
 spared the general condemnation. But these excep¬ 
 tions are, as in the seeming contradiction of natural 
 laws, the action or modifications of principles equally 
 broad; while their operation, being confined to indi¬ 
 vidual minds, was powerless to check the degradation, 
 although they asserted the nobility of Art. As I am 
 now treating Art in its broad historical relations with 
 humanity, I confine myself to the general effect, leav- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 43 
 
 ing my readers to make such distinctions as their 
 knowledge shall suggest from those names whose 
 artistic fame is settled upon an established basis. But 
 it will be difficult for them to find a single mind during 
 this era, which, even if its spirit remained uncontami¬ 
 nated, was able to maintain its entire independence. 
 Michael Angelo fell after much sullen resistance; 
 Raphael was seduced from his primitive sincerity; 
 Leonardo da Vinci wasted his genius on barren scien¬ 
 tific and mechanical experiments; Titian alone may 
 be said to have maintained his artistic identity, neither 
 led astray by rank, nor diverted by the growing falsi¬ 
 ties of a corrupt age, from the truth that burned within 
 him. 
 
 The great distinction, be it carefully borne in mind, 
 between this age and the preceding, was the centrali¬ 
 zation of power into the hands of princes. Democratic 
 communities were absorbed into kingdoms; free cities 
 became provincial towns; in fine, the people from 
 citizens became subjects. Whatever of civil and poli¬ 
 tical liberty had existed in Italy, Spain, and France, 
 especially in those countries in which Art had arisen 
 and thrived in the bosom of the people, was now wholly 
 extinguished. The cause of this loss of liberty was, as 
 I have before remarked, domestic discord. Art cannot 
 be chargeable with turbulence and anarchy. On the 
 contrary, its natural tendency is towards refinement 
 and harmony. The people, in the culture of their 
 
44 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 imagination, had neglected the study of’ sound prin¬ 
 ciples of civil polity. Feeling was the great charac¬ 
 teristic of those times; it gave them sincerity in all 
 they attempted: consequently, whether in war, com¬ 
 merce, art, or religion, to whatever end the people 
 bent their energies, they wrought with soul-aroused 
 vigor. The difficulty of the equal cultivation of 
 powers, or, in other words, the complete and harmo¬ 
 nious development of the individual, is evident to any 
 one who has studied his own nature. It is still more 
 apparent in the history of nations. Mankind are prone 
 to extremes. The well-balanced race is yet to be 
 developed. We have seen that, after the fall of the 
 Roman empire, the grossest ignorance spread over the 
 world. When mind in Italy awoke from its apathy, 
 its first impulse was feeling. It gloried in its newly- 
 discovered powers; it abandoned itself to their guidance 
 as it were to a luxury, and sought its highest good in 
 action rather than reflection. Its chief impetus arose 
 from devotion. Devotion, we know, is allied to love ; 
 and from love to sensualism there is but one downward 
 step. Bigotry on the one hand and tyranny on the 
 other found their strongest ally in the abasement of 
 the mind. Among the southern races the quickest 
 route to this was through their material passions. 
 The Roman Church effectually extinguished free¬ 
 dom of thought, closing every avenue against the 
 development of reason except such as it could con- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 45 
 
 trol, and allowed science to exist only as its ser¬ 
 vant. 
 
 Among northern nations the aroused mental ener¬ 
 gies, owing to causes arising from climate and the 
 habits of industry which a rude nature engenders, 
 took a different direction. Reason was more powerful 
 than imagination. It sought its action rather in 
 matter or science than in Art. Imagination was 
 indeed vigorous, but manifested itself in ruder forms. 
 Beauty partook of a sterner character. If the passions 
 were violent, reason also was active, and the balance 
 was better preserved ; consequently, though exposed to 
 similar tyrannical attempts, the northern races, from 
 their greater constitutional vigor and development of 
 reason, have, amid trials and many reverses, made 
 steady advances towards mental freedom. It will he 
 found that the true progress of a nation towards per¬ 
 manent greatness is in proportion to its equal cultiva¬ 
 tion of reason or the ideal faculties under the guidance 
 of sound religious freedom. None are as yet more 
 than partially developed. Indeed it is only within half 
 a century that the elementary principles of nature 
 
 A 
 
 begin to be understood. Knowledge is valuable solely 
 in its application. All that has yet been discovered in 
 science is but an incentive to further exertions. We 
 begin to see its proper uses. So with Art. All that 
 has yet been done is but suggestive of what remains to 
 be done. The northern world is now in its most 
 
46 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 favorable condition for the development of Art, for 
 which science and freedom are rapidly preparing the 
 way. With the Anglo-Saxon and German races it is 
 a necessity, to counteract their leaning towards mate¬ 
 rialism. It is to be observed that the extremes of 
 action of the imagination and reasoning faculties have 
 a common tendency to sensualism. The hope of the 
 southern races lies in the cultivation of their reasoning 
 faculties and the control of their imagination. 
 
 My topic being Art, I am by it led more to investi¬ 
 gate the history of the southern than the northern 
 races. With one, it was Life; with the other, Play. 
 The tyrants that arose in the sixteenth century, per¬ 
 ceiving how powerful was the influence of imagination 
 over the public mind, undertook to control Art to 
 sinister designs. Their own existence depended upon 
 the destruction of individual will and mental vigor. 
 There is no surer poison for this purpose than sensual 
 pleasure. With the new rulers this became a settled 
 policy, disguised under the specious pretence of en¬ 
 couragement of Art. Divorced from the people, Art 
 lost its freedom and became a slave. It needed 
 another divorce to make it wholly a pliable instru¬ 
 ment. This was found in the Renaissance, as this era 
 is falsely called. Art was made to deny Christianity 
 and confess Paganism. All its new forms were bor¬ 
 rowed or corrupted from classical examples. Without 
 the purity and sincerity which the knowledge and faith 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 47 
 
 of the Greeks and Romans gave to their art, complete 
 in itself as an exposition of Paganism, this modern 
 bastard arose, under the patronage of popes and 
 princes, to do their bidding in the enslavement of the 
 senses. To deny that it possessed some beauty, and, 
 for certain building purposes, considerable utility, 
 would be to do it injustice. Its beauty will, however, 
 be almost invariably found to be allied with incon¬ 
 gruity, while it is only the genius of the greatest 
 minds that can redeem it from positive ugliness. Cold 
 in color, as architecture it is soulless in design. 
 Overwhelmed with detail, it exhibits the odd mixture 
 of Pagan and Christian symbols, ornament without 
 meaning, and parts without use. As generally seen, 
 the Greeks would spurn it, the Romans despise it, and 
 Christians should reject it. That there is sufficient 
 scope in its materials and so-called laws to turn it to 
 practical purposes in building for modern civilization 
 is true. It has led to many social reforms. It has 
 given wider streets, better ventilation, and more whole¬ 
 some apartments ; it is adapted to administer to our 
 comfort; and all the good that can come out of it in 
 its best condition is in those ends, while its loftiest 
 intellectual development is confined to pleasing pro¬ 
 portions and highly-finished sculpture. It is the per¬ 
 fection and play of mere external materialism. In 
 saying this we have said all. 
 
 The use that popes and princes made of Renaissant 
 
48 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Art is evident in the present state of Italy, Spain, and 
 France. They diverted it into its most sensuous 
 forms. Compare the spirit of the Duonios of mediaeval 
 Italy and the Gothic cathedrals of France with the 
 basilica of St. Peter’s at Pome, and test the difference 
 on not merely the religious but the unbelieving mind. 
 If magnificence, huge proportions, giant detail, and 
 display of wealth that astonishes, and refinement of 
 execution that dazzles, be the characteristics of a 
 temple of the Most High, then is St. Peter’s a Christian 
 church. I know not how I can better define the wide 
 spiritual gulf between these two types of buildings than 
 by quoting the remark of an educated Italian upon 
 entering St. Peter’s for the first time: “ What a glo¬ 
 rious ‘cafe’ this would make!” He was, as almost 
 all of his rank and position are, an atheist, or perhaps I 
 should say that, in rejecting the falsities of Romanism, 
 he was without any external guide; but he never 
 spoke lightly of a Gothic church. There is an essence 
 of spiritual life in its deep shadows, delicate traceries, 
 heaven-turned pinnacles, and solemn combination of 
 sculpture and color, that gives repose to the heart. 
 The Renaissance cast this all out as ignorance. Has 
 knowledge in her case given a soul to science ? 
 
 When priestcraft and power ravished Art from the 
 people, they led her into still lower depths of degrada¬ 
 tion. In one respect we can look with charity upon 
 their motives. So far as they were sincere in their 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 49 
 
 aim after mechanical excellence and the perfection of 
 material, their progress was correct. The proper 
 rendering of the spiritual idea in form and color 
 requires consummate skill and the nicest selection 
 of matter. But they mistook their road, and made 
 those points which are of secondary importance the 
 object of Art. Consequently its spirit departed as it 
 became wholly sensualized. Not content with this, 
 instead of drawing from out the depths of their own 
 spiritual natures new and glorious forms of thought to 
 vary or replace the sincere but homely repetition of 
 sacred subjects with which the religious artists had 
 inundated Italy, producing perhaps, to some extent, 
 satiety, at all events a desire for a more perfect if not 
 more elevated Art, they went back to paganism for 
 their inspiration. The idols of Greece and Rome, the 
 illustrations of their mythology, Pans and Satyrs, 
 Venuses and Mercurys, Jupiters and Junos, the loves 
 of Ledas, the amours of Mars, and the debaucheries 
 of Bacchus, were revived after fifteen hundred years of 
 Christianity, by the influence of the apostolic heads of 
 the Christian church. These subjects were all proper 
 to paganism, and intelligible. They had in some sense 
 a spiritual relation to their faith. Knowing nothing 
 better, it was praiseworthy in them to give their 
 imagination play in its highest form. But all this 
 Art is the product of paganism, and unworthy of 
 revival by a Christian nation believing in progress. 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 As illustrations of the past they are, indeed, valuable. 
 They open to us the heart and mind of our race two 
 thousand years ago. Two thousand years hence what 
 conclusions as to our faith would the then inhabitants 
 of the globe come to if they judged us by the Renais- 
 sant decorations of our palaces and churches ! Has 
 refined Greek Art and rude Christian Art, classical- 
 ism and medievalism, exhausted the theoretical faculty 
 of man ? There is no principle more destructive to 
 artistic progress than this fatal example of Renaissance 
 in leading artists to lose their individuality in vain 
 efforts at repetitions of the past. If the Greek and 
 Roman minds had been the saving truth of nations, 
 they would have lived to this day. They had died 
 because God willed it. Men who seek to revive pagan 
 thoughts will reap consuming ashes. Let modernism 
 think out its own thoughts. In that way we best 
 honor God and cherish the immortality of our souls. 
 
 What has been the effect of this revival of heathen¬ 
 ism in Art? With the exception of a few individual 
 minds who were honest to the truths they possessed, 
 its progress was one of rapid decadence until the end 
 of the last century, when its falsehood and imbecility 
 became complete. It is unnecessary to mention names; 
 search Italy through after the death of Titian and the 
 few contemporaries who worked in his spirit, look at 
 her churches, her palaces, her paintings, statuary, all 
 that constituted Art, and you will discover no other 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 51 
 
 result than false principles pursued to equally false 
 ends. The lust of power, bigotry, and priesthood, 
 vanity of artists, the selfishness and sensualism of all 
 classes, contributed to this result, so that, as a general 
 rule, the traveller need not give his time to the 
 examination of any Art of this period, unless to con¬ 
 vince himself of this fact. 
 
 Not satisfied with heathen plagiarism, Renaissance 
 invented forms of its own. What was the character 
 of its originality ? There is a spirit of the grotesque 
 in all nations ; it is the play of the imagination. We 
 see it solemn, as among the older races of antiquity ; 
 full of grace and fancy among the Greeks; wanton 
 among the Romans; rude but vigorous among the 
 Lombards; and beautiful in its ugliness, something 
 that the mind can repose upon, or, at the worst, a pun 
 in form or color, among the medievalists. It was 
 reserved for the Renaissant artist alone to make it 
 bestial. Look at the foul stone-heads, the sculptural 
 abortions on the bridges of Venice, and of this archi¬ 
 tecture elsewhere, and tell me if words are not feeble 
 to express their utter baseness. 
 
 The spirit of an age is legible upon its tombs. In 
 Egypt we read the desire for the preservation of the 
 material—a species of vain endeavor to defeat the 
 purposes of nature as if hopeless of eternity. In 
 Greece and Rome, doubt without fear; a half- 
 expressed impulsive belief of a resurrection joined 
 
52 
 
 AliT-HINTS. 
 
 with a philosophical resignation to whatever might 
 arrive. With Christian nations, faith in its meekest 
 types, simplicity and humility. In the earlier ages the 
 dead repose on tombs and sarcophagi, as if awaiting 
 the blast of the trumpet that shall call them forth 
 from out of their graves. All is simple and severe. 
 Later the artist places them in their tombs, but they 
 either kneel in hopeful prayer or look upward in con¬ 
 fident. expectation. They believe not in their rank or 
 their own worth, but humbly, and with trust, await the 
 second coming of their Sayiour. But what have we in 
 the Renaissance tombs? They are monuments to the 
 pride of man; buildings—architecture, if you will— 
 from which the dead look down scornfully or regret¬ 
 fully upon the earth on which they gathered their 
 harvest of shortlived power. We have no symbolical 
 virtues here; but real, colossal, stone virtues, as cold 
 and impassible as the fleshly hearts they so lyingly repre¬ 
 sent. Emblems of state and rank are piled in theatrical 
 confusion over these monuments. All that is fleeting 
 or false on earth is painfully garnered into the sepul¬ 
 chre. Its moral is one wholly of flesh. You may as 
 well seek sweetness in the apple of Sodom as the tokens 
 of a spiritual faith in the builders of Renaissance 
 tombs. Where feeling is attempted it is lost amid the 
 trickery of low Art. 
 
 If further evidence of the base character of the 
 spirit of Art be sought in this era, it can be found in 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 53 
 
 the ceiling decorations of the corridors of the Ufizzi 
 Gallery at Florence. Amid the profusion of petty, 
 complicated, and incongruous grotesques, we find 
 nothing on which the eye rests with pleasure, but much 
 from which it turns in disgust. Some of the most 
 prominent designs are wholly of an obscene character, 
 borrowed in idea from the lowest specimens of this 
 class of paintings to be found in Pompeii and Hercu¬ 
 laneum. To show the full extent of the abasement of 
 oil painting in all that constitutes excellence in art, I 
 have but to refer to the most celebrated specimen of 
 one of the masters of this time. In calling my reader’s 
 attention to the large picture of “ Christ’s descent into 
 Limbo,” by Bronzino, in the Florentine gallery, I can 
 do nothing more in confirming his abhorrence of the 
 falsities into which sensualism had led Art under the 
 rule of the Medici. Not even the most solemn subject 
 conceivable was now capable of elevating the imagina¬ 
 tion. Sculpture, being confined to form, was on a 
 somewhat securer pedestal; but its decline is painfully 
 apparent in the Neptune of Ammananto, and the Cacus 
 of Bandinelli, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio; but 
 still more in the fact that the favoritism of rulers 
 should have rejected the spirited and noble model 
 prepared by Benvenuto Cellini to make place for the 
 tasteless monster of the first-named artist, which now 
 does duty as a fountain. It will be found that Art 
 during this trying period maintained excellence only in 
 
54 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 the degree that it preserved its independence. The 
 patronage of princes was to it the breath of the 
 Simoom. 
 
 Without, however, going further into detail, it is 
 easy for the inquirer to trace the contemporaneous 
 decline of Art and morals in the productions and 
 annals of the sixteenth and succeeding centuries. 
 Occasional lights shone through the general gloom, 
 but the whole character of Art had become material. 
 It was the enslavement of the noblest faculties of man 
 to the administration of his selfishness and luxury. I 
 cannot too strongly impress upon my readers that this 
 was owing to the combined tyranny of priestcraft and 
 princes. The contamination spread to France. It 
 was a portion of the marriage dower of the queens of 
 the Medician race not provided for in written treaties, 
 but it left its mischievous effects long after their trea¬ 
 sures had been squandered. 
 
 Francis I. loved Art as royalty ever loves it, as the 
 instrument to promote the glory of his reign. He 
 courted its embrace in a princely manner, and, as far 
 as a despotic sovereign can be, was sincere in wel¬ 
 coming it into his kingdom. He could not personally 
 create taste or diffuse knowledge, but he could make 
 Art the fashion. Like his contemporary, Charles Y. of 
 Spain, he protected artists, and liberally paid for their 
 works, leaving them freedom of choice in their labors. 
 The result was that France came into the possession of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 55 
 
 some noble works, isolated specimens of Art, without 
 any general spread of correct taste. The civil and 
 religious wars that succeeded the reign of Francis I. 
 diverted the national mind towards sterner objects, and 
 it was not until the accession of Louis XIV. that the 
 nation, consolidated and peaceful under one sovereign, 
 had an opportunity to give rein to its aesthetic desires. 
 
 Unfortunately for Art, freedom was not only wholly 
 at an end, but as complete a despot as ever cursed the 
 human race was on the throne. Some men, like Nero, 
 are tyrants from instinctive impulses. Some debauch 
 kingdoms, like Charles II. of England, from weaknesses 
 and follies. Others are stern or cruel from circum¬ 
 stances or necessity, like Peter the Great and Crom¬ 
 well ; but it was reserved for Louis XIV. to he a 
 despot from principle. With him vices or foibles were 
 foisted into the rank of virtues. To be a great king 
 he degraded himself into a great sham. If he subdued 
 his passions in public it was a tribute, not to the dignity 
 of human nature, but to the magnanimity of the sove¬ 
 reign. His entire reign, whether as libertine or bigot, 
 was a libel upon humanity ; false in its conception and 
 false in its execution. It would he easy to trace the 
 after miseries of France to the corruptions incident 
 upon such a systematic perversion of human truth and 
 dignity, but fortunately we have only to do with its 
 influence upon Art. 
 
 To such a ruler the Renaissance was a miracle. It 
 
66 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 administered equally to his pride of state and sensual 
 longings, surrounding him with luxury, and feeding his 
 vanity through a thousand deceptive channels. Under 
 the full effect of its seductive influences it is no matter 
 of surprise that he forgot his humanity in his sove¬ 
 reignty. lie lived a lie. Consequently what was 
 false and mean was congenial food. The heathenism 
 and sensualism of the Renaissance rioted without con¬ 
 trol during his reign. Do you doubt this assertion ? 
 Go into the Renaissance courts of the Louvre, and the 
 sculpture galleries of the past century; count the 
 heathen statues and classical subjects there displayed ; 
 number those that have their origin in Christian faith; 
 where you will find one of the latter, you will find 
 twenty of the former. But this is not all. Examine 
 their treatment and penetrate their spirit. When 
 Christianity is attempted it ends in grimace. When 
 heathenism is copied it runs into sensualism. It be¬ 
 comes a parody upon the worst spirit of Greek and 
 Roman Art. It could not be otherwise. The artists 
 believed not in these things ; they worked from fashion, 
 and not from inspiration. Their Art is essentially 
 false, because the social fabric was all false. Its 
 ruling feeling was licentiousness. Look upon the 
 statues of royal princesses. To which is the eye 
 mostly directed ? To a face void of elevated expression, 
 a bosom heaving with passion, or a half-draped leg 
 pleading its voluptuousness ! The spirit of the subject 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 57 
 
 and artist is alike sensual. Turn to the classical 
 department. What are its characteristics ? Harmony, 
 repose, the quiet beauty of Greek Art, in which lay its 
 real strength ? On the contrary, we find violent mus¬ 
 cular action, theatrical positions, form without soul, 
 and a mechanical finish which painfully calls for admi¬ 
 ration. There is more of colossal grandeur in the 
 diminutive bronze models of Michael Angelo of the 
 statues of Night and Day, Morning and Twilight, 
 from which the originals were made for the Chapel of 
 the Medici at Florence, than in the whole range of 
 kindred French art; there is more of vigor and grace 
 to be seen in Benvenuto Cellini’s bronze Diana, cast 
 for Francis I., to adorn one of the palace gates at 
 Fontainbleau, than in all the other modern classical 
 subjects of the gallery ; and in Buonarotti’s unfinished 
 block of the Prisoner, rough hewn as it is, one sees 
 more evidence of power and soul than in the produc¬ 
 tions of all the French sculptors combined. 
 
 Shall we be more fortunate in painting? Let us 
 ascend into the picture galleries. Here we find in Le 
 Soeur, Philippe de Campagne, and Nicholas Poussin, 
 no lack of religious topics. I ask every candid mind if 
 they obtain from the first any emotion beyond a the¬ 
 atrical display of glaring colors, so crude and inhar¬ 
 monious as utterly to destroy any religious sentiment 
 the pictures might otherwise claim, and in the others 
 
 feebleness of design and mere artistic display. The 
 
 D* 
 
58 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 artist is seen, but not his subject. If we are no 
 more fortunate in these distinguished names, what are 
 we to expect from others who made no claims to any¬ 
 thing beyond sensualism. Examine them all as you 
 would study the nature of the serpent, but beware of 
 their poison. Their merits of mechanical execution, 
 as far as such may exist, do not come within my 
 present scope of criticism. I am now dealing exclu¬ 
 sively with their spirit. We have the slaughters of 
 the great king; the affected pastoralism and refined 
 amours of the succeeding reign; the chase and death 
 of animals; in fine, everything that is of the earth, 
 earthy, and of passion, gross, until we arrive at the 
 revolutionary period, when the nation in its madness, 
 unable to distinguish between the shame of their 
 rulers and priests, and the eternal truths of Chris¬ 
 tianity, rejected the latter, and turned back for guid¬ 
 ance to paganism without its intellectual refinement 
 and poetical mythology. Here we see the heroism of 
 classical ages vamped up into stage effects for the 
 promotion of modern virtue. The age had no higher 
 standard than through Art to lead men to copy the 
 apocryphal actions of human beings who had lain in 
 their graves for thousands of years. It had no faith in 
 itself. While this was the highest aim of Art it was 
 debased to its lowermost degradation by the multipli¬ 
 cation of obscenities in social life of the most pernicious 
 character. It had now fallen to the condition of a 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 59 
 
 pander and debauchee. Its virtues being all mock, 
 its vice real, it became the demon of anarchy. Vilely 
 had art been abused, fearfully had it avenged itself. 
 The violence of the revolution begot tastes still more 
 congenial with its excesses. French love for violent 
 action, bizarre design, low humor, scenes of blood¬ 
 shed, physical distortion, and, indeed, for all which 
 may he termed unwholesome in art, is traceable to 
 this period and its antecedents ; a mingling of aristo¬ 
 cratic debauchery, democratic brutality, and priestly 
 hypocrisy, expiating their common error at the 
 guillotine. 
 
 The boasted refinements and courtesy of the French 
 nobility, having their origin, not in broad principles of 
 humanity, but in a heartless selfishness which sought by 
 manner to atone for want of sincerity, gilded their 
 sensualism, but failed to redeem it. Miserably it 
 perished, for it was founded on sand. Here let me 
 repeat that the atrocities of the French revolution are 
 no more attributable to true refinement than the sen¬ 
 sualism of the Medician reigns to true Art. AVe might 
 as well charge decay to enterprise and poverty to com¬ 
 merce because nations once great have fallen. They 
 fell not from pursuing true but from dallying with 
 false principles. There is a Nemesis in human affairs 
 which avenges one extreme by another. Falsehood is 
 a labyrinth of error, truth a straight, safe road. If 
 men abuse Art, she stings them; if they sincerely 
 
GO 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 address her, she rewards them. Wherever great 
 natural reverses have succeeded high cultivation, it 
 may be certain that it proceeded not from cultivation, 
 hut its abandonment. 
 
 It is unnecessary to pursue Art in its historic rela¬ 
 tions farther. In other nations its etfects are purely 
 secondary, or but slightly developed. It remains hut 
 to recall the Art-motive of the several ages we have 
 reviewed and trace its moral. 
 
 In Egypt it was solemn and grand, the type of 
 absolute power, and used for its perpetuation. In 
 Greece it sprung from the people, and was directed by 
 the intellect, having its root rather in human phi¬ 
 losophy than in divine spirituality. Rome used it 
 politically and to sensual ends. Christianity com¬ 
 menced purely, but diverted it to blind zeal; while 
 modernism, overpowered by its worship of matter, sunk 
 it into sensualism. Its present condition is no higher 
 than ordinary naturalism. The object of its expres¬ 
 sion the outer life. The tendency of the Art of to-day 
 is the surface. It sees things in detail and exalts 
 material accuracy above spiritual truth. My object is 
 to direct the mind to its noblest efforts, and to show 
 that the failures of past experience arising from im¬ 
 perfect or misdirected culture are no argument against 
 its divine power when sought in sincerity and truth. 
 The world is now in the most favorable condition for 
 the reception of Art Wedded to no theories, advanced 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 61 
 
 in science, the conquest of physical nature rapidly 
 spreading, to welcome Beauty in its most purifying 
 shapes, it has but to divest itself of its grosser material 
 element. If we would advance in refinement and the 
 appreciation of the measureless powers of our higher 
 faculties, it is a necessity. Nowhere is this necessity 
 more paramount for the progress of humanity than in 
 America, because it is in the principles of civil and 
 political freedom that the hope of the human race now 
 exists. If these fail, although Providence may permit 
 the growth of new combinations of human effort and 
 wisdom to solve the problem of a rational advance 
 towards the fulfilment of the perfect destiny of man¬ 
 kind, yet freedom would recover its present con¬ 
 dition only through great sorrow and trial. It is, 
 then, for America to vindicate the truths which have 
 thus far been the enigma of human progress. 
 
62 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ART IN ITS RELATION TO MATTER AND SPIRIT. 
 
 I come now to consider Art internally, or in its relation 
 to Matter and Spirit. We have seen that which we 
 term Art is not the theoretic idea itself, but simply 
 the medium by which the idea is made cognizant to 
 our external senses. Therefore Art performs the 
 same office for the mind that speech does for the ear. 
 It is a variety of language, sometimes requiring sound, 
 as in music, for its alphabet; form, as in sculpture; 
 and form and color combined, as in painting. The 
 proper appreciation of its thought is in the ratio of 
 mental cultivation. Its external manifestations are 
 recognizable alike by savage and civilized man, but 
 for the full interpretation of its lofty mysteries the 
 entire fealty of intellect and spirit is required. A child 
 that runs may indeed read its speech, for it is both 
 simple and profound, as liberal as it is exhaustless. 
 The more diligently it is sought the more it rewards, 
 so that while the deepest study cannot fathom its 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 63 
 
 capacities, it despises not the feeblest intellect, but 
 freely spreads a feast for all. 
 
 What, then, is Art, which so affects the destinies of 
 nations and the happiness of the individual ? Without 
 comprehending its entire field of action we cannot 
 properly estimate its importance. 
 
 Art may be said to be almost as limitless in variety 
 as Nature herself, for her province is to render all that 
 nature provides for our instruction and gratification ; to 
 repeat, as it were, her actions, to reflect her likeness, 
 to catch the fleeting sentiment, to perpetuate the noble 
 thought, and express the lofty passion; in short, Art 
 is the employment provided by God for the complete 
 expansion of human faculties. It is the sole labor 
 exempted from the primeval curse, for all other labor 
 having direct reference to material want carries with 
 it the feebleness and deadening influence of things of 
 sense ; while Art, directed to the interpretation of the 
 character of God, as exhibited in his universe, borrows 
 of Divinity a portion of its spirit to refresh the heart of 
 sorrowing man. 
 
 Superficial knowledge will not unveil its store of 
 enjoyment or mere tasting disclose its refined flavors. 
 It must be approached reverently, studied intently, 
 and pursued earnestly. For such disciples it has no 
 satiety, but leads them onward and upward, nearer 
 and nearer to the source of Beauty. 
 
 Beauty is twofold : the external, by which God 
 
64 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 delights our senses, and the internal, by which He 
 elevates our souls. 
 
 Art is perfect when it combines both in their highest 
 forms. That which cannot be comprehended under 
 either moral or natural Beauty is out of the province 
 of Art in its nobler meaning. It has no business with 
 the crimes, diseases, and defects of nature; the depar¬ 
 tures from and consequences of violations of natural 
 laws: nothing that pains the sympathies, debases the 
 passions, or corrupts the intellect. All this is foreign 
 to Beauty, and consequently to true Art; but it is its 
 duty to draw lessons of moral import from out the 
 history of man, whether stained by sin or ennobled by 
 virtue; to show us both “ the still small voice ” and 
 the thunders of Sinai; the sublimity and harmony of 
 Creation, and the beauty of the moral law by which 
 our world is governed, with its attendant rewards and 
 punishments ; all this is its legitimate inspiration, for 
 it tends to exalt us, inasmuch as it brings us nigher 
 Him. 
 
 I therefore include in the term Beauty not only the 
 grace of form and color common in more or less 
 degree to almost every created object, but all things, 
 however repulsive at first glance to the natural eye, 
 from their apparent ugliness, which properly fulfil the 
 objects of their creation. The serpent, hippopotamus, 
 the zoophyte, and even those frightful monsters of the 
 ocean which at rare intervals come to the surface, as if 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 65 
 
 to demonstrate to man the incompleteness of his know¬ 
 ledge of the variety and capacity of Nature, all form 
 a link in its scale of universal harmony; each has a 
 law to fulfil, and it is rather from its perfect adaptation 
 to its purpose of existence, than to its outward shape 
 and hue, that we establish its claim to Beauty. Yet 
 even in the ugliest specimens of the animated creation 
 there are lines, or spots of color, or individual fea¬ 
 tures, that may legitimately claim admiration. 
 
 The highest development of physical beauty is per¬ 
 haps as rare as its opposite extreme, ugliness. Nature 
 is pitched upon neither key. Examples of each are 
 given to assert its power and extort our wonder. 
 Nothing in the joyful exercise of its vital functions, 
 however much the unaccustomed eye may at first 
 shrink from its contemplation, should repel us from its 
 study; for we shall find the deeper we penetrate the 
 secrets of Nature that she works upon broad principles, 
 the object of which is to develop universal good. 
 Truth, which comprises not only every fact of the 
 healthful operations of nature, as well as every virtue, 
 is the complete fulfilment of Beauty. Falsehood, 
 which equally includes every moral sin and every 
 infraction of physical law', is the destruction of Beauty. 
 Hence Art—its mission being to teach as well as to 
 please—should seek Beauty as its exclusive inspi¬ 
 ration, and avoid Falsehood as it would a pesti¬ 
 lence. In proportion as it deviates from this rule 
 
GO 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 it becomes unwholesome. It is no longer Art, but 
 Artifice. 
 
 I shall therefore consider every artistic work, how¬ 
 ever fine in execution, which violates the above law, as 
 Artifice, and to be classed among vices and diseases, 
 which, though incident to humanity, we are bid to 
 make war upon with our whole mind and strength. 
 The sooner they are destroyed the better. The only 
 sure mode of extermination is so to guide the Taste 
 that it will intuitively receive the True and reject the 
 False. 
 
 True Art has two legitimate divisions, high Art and 
 common Art. The former includes all work which 
 renders the spirit; which appeals for its interpretation 
 to the soul. The latter comprises merely the faithful 
 representation of natural objects. Genius guides the 
 first; for the second, industry and' clever imitation are 
 sufficient. 
 
 The rules of Art are absolute. They are moral 
 laws implanted by God in the heart of Nature, and 
 are independent of human frailty or invention. 
 Absolute they must be, because they are fixed in 
 harmony; in fact, they are the harmony of creation. 
 It is for man to discover and apply them. He may 
 depart from, but he cannot change them. He may 
 outlaw their truths, cramp or distort their genius, and 
 pervert their objects, but their Divine power is beyond 
 fraud or violence. They are superior to circumstance 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING 67 
 
 and human mutations, for they are Truth itself. 
 Art is, indeed, often perverted, because man, from 
 the excessive cultivation of his sensual nature, seeks 
 the low and feeble. But whenever its professors try 
 to accommodate it to fashion, to follow and not lead 
 the spirit of the age, to sacrifice its truths to the 
 desires of a flesh-loving world, the selfish purposes of 
 priestcraft or vainglory of rulers, and thus immerse 
 Beauty in the slough of vulgar deceit, then it must be 
 known for what it really is— Artifice. 
 
 Beauty, then, comprising as it does the noblest 
 truths, is that symbol of the Divine mind which most 
 tends to the elevation and enjoyment of man. It is 
 the spiritual food given for his soul-sustenance here, 
 drawing him gently onward through the bonds of love 
 to the study of the infinite, and thus inspire him with 
 desire to arrive at its perfect fulfilment in the regions 
 of celestial bliss. 
 
 The associations of Beauty are only those of virtue 
 and life; while its converse, Falsehood, finds com¬ 
 panionship solely with sin and death. Its mission is 
 to soften the heart of man. By it the savage is 
 prompted to his first step towards refinement. 
 Among civilized races, it requires but to be exhibited 
 by Art, in the full strength of its moral loveliness, to 
 purify the intellect from the dross of worldly aspira¬ 
 tion, and to stimulate its faculties to the full ex¬ 
 pansion of their powers. Without the perfect union of 
 
08 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Art with moral as well as physical Beauty, there is 
 danger of its becoming the mere instrument of mental 
 dissipation among the cultivated classes, and of sensual 
 excitement among the vulgar; so that we must not 
 consider Art as genuine in character, or as true to its 
 mission, except in proportion as it embodies all the 
 truth it is capable of expressing. 
 
 Beauty being then the gift of Divinity, there is no 
 better test of the degree in which we are made in the 
 image of God than our ability to perceive, and feel 
 sympathy with Nature in all her manifestations of this 
 principle of life and joy. The cultivation of those 
 powers which best expand the heart to its reception 
 becomes the chief end of education. Other studies 
 lead mainly to practical results, more or less affecting 
 the physical well-being. This is exclusively directed 
 towards maturing the soul, and preparing it for its 
 eternal felicity. 
 
 Schiller has indeed said,—though I believe later in 
 life he found cause to modify his assertion, at all 
 events his own life is its refutal,—that, strictly speaking, 
 the appreciation of Beauty has no direct influence upon 
 the moral conduct; in fact, “ that Beauty actually 
 affords no simple result, either for the intellect or the 
 will ; it carries out no single design, either intellectual 
 or moral ; it discovers no single truth to help us to per¬ 
 form a single duty ; and is, in a word, equally incapable 
 of establishing the character or enlightening the head.” 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. G9 
 
 Most strictly educated religious people hold even a 
 harsher doctrine of its influence, viewing it absolutely 
 as an ally of sensuality, dangerous to admit into the con¬ 
 fidence of the soul and fatal to all true progress in piety. 
 
 Those who believe with Schiller, and feel with the 
 mere Pietists, will, if they once admit the definition of 
 Beauty in its broad moral signification as above given, 
 see the falsity of their doctrine, and perceive the extent 
 of their loss in their failure to welcome with open hearts 
 that boundless store of pure enjoyment which God has 
 provided for man, for the complete development of his 
 earthly being and the more perfect preparation of his 
 soul for immortality. The one holds exclusively to 
 the idea that virtue is to be practised simply because 
 it is a law of our spiritual being, without reference to 
 other motive than obedience. The other denying 
 themselves ail rational enjoyment of Beauty here, 
 as partaking of the sensual, look with eager eyes to¬ 
 wards a heaven which promises them full compensation 
 for their voluntary abstinence on earth. 
 
 It is true that we should act from an inward convic¬ 
 tion of the law of virtue without regard to reward ; 
 indeed, in defiance of all resistance of sense or selfish 
 fear. It is equally true that we should avoid all occu¬ 
 pations or allurements which divert us from the great 
 object of man’s earthly existence, his fit entrance into 
 an eternal sphere. But the pervading spirit of God’s 
 creation is harmony. He nowhere requires us to act 
 
70 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 from barren motive, or to avoid that Beauty for the 
 enjoyment of which He bestows both the impulse and 
 the means of gratification. The sole requisition of 
 life is not abstinence, but to keep the heart undefiled. 
 If the contemplation of God’s natural creation, or its 
 ideal image in art, renders the heart of any one impure 
 and less capable of religious duty, then he is right in 
 avoiding what to him is a snare; but I believe it will 
 be found that the capacity for the love of the Author 
 of all things is increased just in that degree that we 
 enter into the spirit of His work. He has established 
 everlasting laws of right and wrong for our physical 
 and moral guidance, but with each of them, to its 
 remotest bearing, there is connected a system of rewards 
 and punishments, equally as immutable and intended 
 to arouse within us emotion; to bestow motives for 
 exertion or self-denial—in short, to make us human 
 creatures, capable of love, fear, hope, and joy. Other¬ 
 wise we are either mere machines, or we wantonly 
 despise His gifts. 
 
 Although the mere contemplation of external Beauty 
 cannot have any direct influence upon the moral conduct, 
 except so far as it softens the feelings, and prepares them 
 by its harmonizing influences for the reception of its 
 spiritual truth,—and indeed, with the material man, it 
 frequently operates merely as an incentive to sensual or 
 covetous desire,—yet there is an indirect influence which 
 has an important bearing upon our religious welfare. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 71 
 
 This arises from the inner or typical sense, that is, the 
 soul of all created matter not endowed with reason. 
 There is not a plant that blossoms, a gem that sparkles, 
 or a sea-shel'l that glistens on the shore, that has not a 
 meaning beyond its external loveliness, consecrated in 
 the heart of man through all time. Earth from its 
 deepest valleys and loftiest mountain-tops, over its 
 wide plains and down to the lowermost depths of its 
 ocean-beds, through its broad masses of light and 
 shadow, its atmospherical curtain with its silent beauty 
 or its notes of thunder, the loud wind and the gentle 
 zephyr, by the music of its birds and the varied hum 
 of its insect creation, by its summer mantle of vegeta¬ 
 tion and its winter robe of snow, by all that God has 
 created, speaks intelligibly to man and bids him join 
 in their glad anthem. Can he listen unmoved to these 
 voices, and, alone of God’s creation, manifest not the 
 joy of existence in giving free rein to all his heavenly-in¬ 
 spired impulses ? Must God always stoop to argue with 
 man, face to face, because scepticism shuts his eyes to 
 visible tokens of Divine wisdom ? Is his reason the 
 sole medium through which truth can enter his mind ? 
 For one, I do not believe in this hardness of the human 
 heart. It may sin from misdirection or from ignorance, 
 but once open its eyes to the moral beauty of the tiniest 
 plant that grows, let it walk the earth as Christ walked, 
 in the open air, and it will read lessons in stones and 
 gather knowledge from herbs. 
 
72 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Every pure and sincere heart loves Nature. There 
 is not a line of external beauty or mass of natural 
 color, which has not in it evidence of a power so 
 beyond all human ability, as to involuntarily lead the 
 simplest intellect to inquire after the Great Cause. The 
 most thoroughly religious mind I ever knew, was the 
 most alive to the beauty of Nature, even in its humblest 
 manifestations. It was, to her, spiritual meat and 
 drink. Art, so far as she knew it, was welcomed as it 
 came in the pure image of Nature. I have noticed the 
 same tokens of feeling for Beauty in other religious 
 minds; therefore, both from the force of a general 
 law, and the concurrent testimony of individuals whose 
 sentiments have been allowed their healthful action, I 
 am persuaded, that not only there is nothing in the 
 study of Beauty which the pious mind need fear, but 
 much from which it can derive strength. He who 
 can best interpret Nature and make its thought intel¬ 
 ligible to the God-loving soul is the greatest artist. 
 True, Beauty does not, like the telescope, penetrate 
 the heavens to count the stars, or, like the microscope, 
 number the animalculse in a drop of water; it cannot 
 search out with the anatomist’s knife how we are 
 made, or expend its force in the geologist’s hammer in 
 prying into the structure of the earth. It does not 
 even understand chemistry, neither can it make bread 
 nor churn butter; there is no raiment for our bodies 
 nor shelter for weary heads in its essence; not one 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 73 
 
 single element by 'which the physical man is made 
 stronger in person or more luxurious in his habits, ex¬ 
 cept so far as its pursuit leads him to fresh air and 
 exercise. It is not a watchman to prevent burglaries, 
 nor a judge to punish crime. Like science it can 
 never become the slave of man, for it is not a thing of 
 his creation. Born of freedom, nurtured in truth, 
 emanating from the will of God himself, it is the one 
 blessing needful to reconcile man with earth and keep 
 heaven in his view. Strip this globe of her glorious 
 robe of colors, we need not disturb her forms, and 
 what a barren world would be presented to our view ! 
 Where would be the repose for the eye, the lighting 
 up of Nature’s smile, her majesty and her beauty ? Is 
 there “no intellectual or moral design,” no aid “to 
 duty” in this widespread and freely-bestowed mag¬ 
 nificence ? Has it all been created as a blank to the 
 moral constitution ; a mere thing to be coldly acknow¬ 
 ledged by the intellect, and not gathered into the 
 inmost chambers of the heart ? No! Beauty does 
 help us to perform our duties, and carries out a most 
 beneficent design for our moral and intellectual being. 
 I know of no grosser treason to its Author than the 
 denial of truths so widely spread over creation. The 
 unjust alike with the just partake without price of its 
 bounties, but it is only to those whose spiritual eyes 
 are opened that its full glories are revealed. 
 
 Unfortunately for the development of the faculties 
 
 E 
 
74 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of man, which are more directly adapted to the ac¬ 
 knowledgment and appreciation of Beauty in its divine 
 sense, our education is too partial in its principles. 
 We esteem it a wise thing that our children shall 
 demonstrate the problems of Euclid, tell us the dis¬ 
 tance from one planet to another, the number of petals 
 to a flower, the sides to a crystal, or the anatomy of 
 the animal kingdom. These things, with a smatter¬ 
 ing of what man has performed in various ages, a 
 barren nomenclature of his crimes or virtues, and the 
 ability to repeat mere facts in several tongues, consti¬ 
 tute the chief elements of modern education. It is 
 important to know all that history or science teaches, 
 but this is not a complete education. The theoretic 
 or imaginative faculties being either despised or over¬ 
 looked, wanton in their virgin powers, and from want 
 of the very discipline to which the reasoning faculties 
 have been subjected, are often enabled to lead them 
 captive from mere excess of vigor. The cultivation of 
 the reasoning to the neglect of the ideal powers is a 
 fatal mistake. A simple confession of moral truths, 
 the repetition of catechisms, or the subscription to 
 creeds, will not counterbalance this error. Every 
 day’s experience shows to us instances where minds of 
 the highest order, well stored in knowledge of facts, 
 and faithfully drilled in religious truths, are yet led 
 captive by their imaginations, and eventually ruined or 
 rendered miserable for life, simply from overlooking 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 75 
 
 the importance of giving a right direction to desires 
 implanted in man as the special sources of his nobler 
 gratifications. I see no means of keeping the faculties 
 well balanced, and thus preserving a healthful indi¬ 
 viduality, but by elevating the education and discipline 
 of the theoretic faculties to the same standard of 
 importance as the moral and scientific. The laws of 
 Beauty are so easily comprehended, its broad principles 
 so perpetually manifested, and the delight from their 
 appreciation so varied and infinite, that no branch of 
 education offers more of interest or greater promise of 
 success in giving a right direction to the heart, modi¬ 
 fying the material influence of mere scientific teaching, 
 or infusing joy into the formalism of ordinary religious 
 truths. Nature, of which humanity is the most im¬ 
 portant part, must be treated as a grand whole if 
 we would fully develop its capacities. An excess on 
 one side is so much loss on another. As with na¬ 
 tions so with individuals, the failures thus far are 
 owing to the one-sided directions given to, and un¬ 
 equal cultivation of, mental faculties. Restore the 
 balance, and we shall make the first great step towards 
 perfect humanity. 
 
 Thus we perceive that education, in individuals as 
 well as nations, must be restored to perfect liberty, in 
 order that the bonds of thought or custom may be 
 loosed and the mind allowed the full exercise of all its 
 powers. Any condition, whether of prejudice, habit, 
 
76 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 rule, or education, which comes short of freedom, is 
 a bar to progress. Hence the first effort of the mind 
 should be to divest itself of every impediment, moral, 
 political, or sensual, which hinders the development of 
 its entire nature. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING, 77 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEAUTY, UTILITY, UGLINESS, AND TASTE. 
 
 Although the feeling for Beauty is common to hu¬ 
 manity, yet its rightful application or direction depends 
 in a great degree upon cultivation. Hence arises the 
 necessity of its becoming a branch of education, of 
 which I treated in the preceding chapter. The native 
 feeling for Beauty varies not only in races but indi¬ 
 viduals, and depends for its force or refinement upon 
 the measure of the ideal faculties. The civilized 
 nations possess it in a greater degree than the barba¬ 
 rous, but some savages possess it in a fuller sense than 
 certain whites. Among all, however, cultivation is the 
 rule of difference. Its development is in exact ratio 
 to the preponderance of the spiritual faculties over the 
 sensual, because none of the higher manifestations of 
 Beauty are perceptible to eyes clouded by passion or 
 dimmed by vice. To a certain degree it makes man 
 independent of the merely external forces of nature, 
 for it bestows upon him the power of deriving happi- 
 
78 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ness, more from those sources which are free to all, 
 though understood hut by few, than from the exclusive 
 possession of things which administer to his fleshly 
 appetites. In this manner he rises above animal wants 
 or selfish promptings, and nourishes within himself an 
 indefeasible principle of life that savors of the “ peace 
 which passeth understanding.” 
 
 The study of Beauty produces a twofold benefit:— 
 firstly, in the animal consciousness of the joy of ex¬ 
 istence arising from the healthful operation and in¬ 
 crease of the physical powers in their experience of 
 Nature’s invigorative effects in fresh air and landscape ; 
 and secondly, in the simultaneous expansion of the 
 powers of the soul; the mental exhilaration arising 
 from the perception and study of spiritual truths which 
 are foreshadowed in the natural world. Unlike all 
 other pursuits, there is no exhaustion either of variety 
 or from sense of fulness, for the mind grows with what 
 it feeds upon, and step by step approaches the infinite. 
 
 In no point is the goodness of God more manifest 
 than in the variety with which he has furnished Beauty, 
 so that no man, however humble his taste, or exalted 
 his imagination, need go athirst from Nature’s fount. 
 Nature is the true democrat. She recognises no dis¬ 
 tinctions beside the natural powers of men. Beauty 
 is the only element of Paradise reserved to us from 
 the fall. Every moral exertion requires a correspond¬ 
 ing self-denial; every triumph of knowledge, labor in 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 79 
 
 proportion; but Beauty is open-handed, exhaustless in 
 store, and without limit in its enchantments. Some 
 natures find all their strength in the moral law. They 
 are curbed rather than attracted, for their virtue is 
 more of fear than of love. Such exceptions as these 
 do not weaken the force of the general law, but prove 
 its beneficence. 
 
 I have used the term Beauty so as to include all 
 those external qualities and internal functions, which, 
 by their harmony and happy fulfilment of the higher 
 truths of existence, delight the eye and exalt the soul. 
 This differs from its definition by many acute minds, 
 some of whom would confine it to form alone, and 
 others to simply what the material senses take cogni¬ 
 zance of as agreeable. Burke considers it as mere 
 life, while Schiller states it to be tbe common object of 
 life and shape, the natural food of the play-impulse. 
 These definitions seem to me confused and partial, 
 when we consider its origin and purpose. I shall, 
 therefore, adhere to the broad acceptation expressed 
 in the above conditions, which comprise every possible 
 form under which it can affect man. In this I am 
 justified by the thought of mankind. We call the 
 world beautiful, therefore Beauty applies to it as a 
 whole, not only from its own glorious hues and noble 
 forms, but as typical of the power and goodness that 
 willed it being. The exceptions to this universal 
 Beauty are those arising from falsehood as developed 
 
80 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 in vice or disease, in the effect of both of which tlm 
 natural world participates with man. 
 
 Truth I define to be the paramount law of Beauty. 
 Without truth of form, color, design, moral purpose, 
 vital functions, and harmony, without some one or all 
 of these, there can be no Beauty. Apply this test, and 
 we have the result in the above definition. Falsehood 
 being the opposite of Truth, the first-born of sin and 
 the primal cause of human misery, is the parent of all 
 the discord, pain, and sorrow in the moral universe. 
 We believe it equally to have marred the physical 
 world. Its chief type is truly styled the father of lies, 
 and its form represented as Ugliness. Herein we find 
 the two broad distinctions which divide the empire of 
 the earth between them. Their principles are as 
 opposite as light from dark. 
 
 These two divisions do not absolutely include all 
 things or qualities, though perhaps none can be found 
 which are not in more or less degree affected by one 
 or both of them, in parts or as wholes. Beauty of 
 form may be united with ugliness of temper, and 
 lovely color with a deadly poison. Truth and false¬ 
 hood, with their attendant good and evil, health or 
 disease, are so actively blended in the living, and 
 passively in inanimate nature, from sympathy with 
 man in his fall or from his direct influence, that it is 
 difficult to draw an unerring line in regard to objects, 
 though not as to qualities. Upon trial I believe that 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 81 
 
 everything, either as complete or in members, exter¬ 
 nally or internally, will be found to be affected by the 
 direct or latent operations of the principles of Beauty 
 or Ugliness in the sense in which I have defined them. 
 Still they are so inactive in many objects, as, for 
 instance, a house without ornament built solely for use, 
 though it is difficult to avoid positive Ugliness in any¬ 
 thing man executes not directly influenced by the 
 spirit of Beauty—a horse which may be neither beau¬ 
 tiful nor ugly, but well-conditioned and serviceable, 
 and of inanimate objects such as a hat, a brick, or a 
 piece of india-rubber, and those things which may be 
 considered as negative in respect to the above qualifi¬ 
 cations—that it may be well to consider all things whose 
 direct object is simply Use as coming under the head 
 of an intermediate class, which, from the preponderance 
 of its spirit, we will term Utility. This class is, 
 however, the connecting link between the other two, 
 answering for a neutral ground, where each may meet, 
 as it were, in peace ; and although absolutely affecting 
 everything that they touch, yet leaving the chief law 
 of the intermediate or transition division, Use, as dis¬ 
 tinguished from Ornament or Homeliness, independent 
 in its action. How many things do we see that are 
 positively ugly as a whole, whose principal aim is use, 
 yet in parts or qualities partake of beauty! Nature is 
 so lavish of it that there is no object but has a portion 
 of its spirit; a relic of former or a symbol of future 
 
 E* 
 
82 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 perfection. So largely does it enter into the desire of 
 man, that he always strives in some form or other in 
 external matter to manifest it, as. though it were an 
 involuntary law of his being. He is equally soli¬ 
 citous to avoid physical ugliness by an impulse no less 
 genuine ; so that we may consider the ideal faculty 
 bears the same relation to material nature that con¬ 
 science does to the spiritual world. Both are innate, 
 hut both require cultivation to appreciate truth in its 
 noblest combinations of spirit and matter. 
 
 Beauty comprises Sublimity, though this term being 
 rightly joined only to things or motives, and actions or 
 faculties imbued with the Divine essence or will, may 
 be considered apart, or as the highest manifestations 
 of those qualities which constitute Beauty. Its chief 
 attribute is Power, as characterised by extent or 
 dimensions; and Will, as manifesting high resolve and 
 stern purpose. Power is displayed in the fearful 
 phenomena of Nature as well as in her forms. It is 
 from the ocean, in calm or rage, the tempest with its 
 thunder notes and lightning glances, the upheaved, 
 heaven-supporting, snow-capped mountain, with its icy 
 coronet, and the broad expanses of eye-mocking plains, 
 that we receive our most common ideas of sublimity. 
 Its noblest developments are to be found in the aroused 
 energies of the human mind, consecrated to lofty pur¬ 
 poses, and in the presence of God when He comes, 
 not in the fire or the whirlwind, but in the “ still small 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 83 
 
 voice,” while all Nature lies hushed at the advent of 
 its Maker. 
 
 Sublimity is at once the noblest and most difficult 
 aim of Art. The emotion has never yet been rendered 
 unless in an inferior degree. Indeed, we doubt if 
 there be any object in the entire range of Art that can 
 be termed truly sublime, because sublimity allows of 
 no inferiority of detail. All parts must be equal, and 
 each pitched to its highest possible expression. There¬ 
 fore, sublimity may be considered for the present 
 as out of the power of Art, except in a merely sug¬ 
 gestive sense. 
 
 Grace, however, is completely within its power. 
 The artist who fails therein has no calling for Art. 
 Sublimity is a rare exhibition of Nature’s effects, but 
 Grace is everywhere. There is not a line of Nature 
 or created object but in some form or other develops 
 this quality. Therefore is the artist inexcusable who 
 lacks its spirit. 
 
 The knowledge or feeling by which we arrive at a 
 more or less correct discernment of Beauty, we call 
 Taste. In its best form it is the result of the cultiva¬ 
 tion of the imagination under the guidance of reason. 
 In its common acceptation it rs intuitive in its nature, 
 because it operates unconsciously and from natural 
 preferences, without reference to reason or experience. 
 I confine the term to those objects, motives, or actions, 
 in which Beauty, or pleasure as connected with desire, 
 
84 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 are presumed to be the chief elements. The use to 
 which Beauty is artistically applied is the province of 
 Taste. It tells us not only what to like., but how to 
 employ our likings. If it be formed before the intel¬ 
 lect is disciplined it is liable to error, because it has 
 no firmer foundation than impulse. This is its usual 
 manifestation. Hence the frequent mistakings of form 
 for reality, and the sacrifice of truth for appearance, 
 giving birth to the hydra, Sham. 
 
 The law of Taste is harmony. It creates refine¬ 
 ment, and places society at repose with itself. The 
 individual or nation deficient in taste may be sincere, 
 vigorous, and powerful; but neither can be in complete 
 harmony with themselves and the surrounding world 
 until they have submitted to its softening influences. 
 Consistent with virtue it adds grace to religion. To 
 man it is what Beauty is to Nature—its smile. 
 
 But Taste, in its primary manifestations, being the 
 result of feeling, is, as with the savage, violent, capri¬ 
 cious, bizarre. He seeks what pleases him by brute 
 force or cunning. A stranger to the self-subduing 
 influences of refinement, he knows no law stronger 
 than his selfishness. By degrees, as he becomes the 
 civilized man, we see him submitting to Taste, and 
 acknowledging its humanizing powers. Among, how r - 
 ever, the most polished nations, we find the common 
 mind partakes in its judgments of much of savage 
 eccentricity. Without knowledge as to the correct 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 85 
 
 principles on which Taste is founded, it selects the 
 striking; delights in startling contrasts; mistakes 
 show for substance ; calls for highly-wrought physical 
 emotion and strong workings of passion ; in short, it 
 finds its chief sustenance in the vehement, grotesque, 
 low, or changeful. At one moment fashion rules; at 
 another prejudice ; in none good taste. But as the 
 individual escapes from out of this turmoil of the 
 senses, he perceives the nature of the Beauty that con¬ 
 stitutes Taste, as its exponent. His love of excitement, 
 unwholesome variety, and strong emotions, abates, so 
 that at last he finds his highest pleasure in the reali¬ 
 zations of those general harmonies of form, color, 
 motive, or action, by which God has written his spirit 
 on the face of the universe. He discovers that parts 
 are valuable only as they help to make up the perfect 
 whole. These truths react upon his own character, 
 until we discover in him an epitome of those laws of 
 harmony by which the world is kept stedfast, and the 
 strength of unity spread over its surface. Then, and 
 then only, can we say of an individual that he possesses 
 good taste. At peace with himself and the laws of 
 Nature, he readily puts himself in harmony with the 
 spiritual world. In this manner we approach the 
 perfect man. 
 
 The proof of good taste lies in the general harmony 
 of character and ability to detect beauty under every 
 guise. There is no stronger evidence of incorrect 
 
86 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 taste than an approach to the savage in his love for 
 the false, desire for change and fluctuation of opinion. 
 The laws of Taste, although subtle, are immutable, 
 and founded upon those analogies of the natural laws 
 to which I have already referred. We shall find that 
 all who study their operation arrive at similar conclu¬ 
 sions. From this fact philosophy establishes fixed 
 rules, as naturalists educe the laws of matter, by com¬ 
 mon investigations. There is, therefore, no truth in 
 the popular idea that a variety of tastes is evidence of 
 freedom. On the contrary, it is a proof of uncultiva¬ 
 tion. From out of freedom we elucidate truth, and 
 truth leads us to the universal laws by which mind and 
 matter are governed. When we perceive our desires 
 to be capricious and uncertain, without law for the 
 impulses within, we may rest assured that we are not 
 on the road to good taste. That manifests itself always 
 in harmony and unity. 
 
 There is no more certain test of good taste than 
 the involuntary selection of subjects by the eye on 
 viewing for the first time ornament in objects of Art. 
 Nature works on so large or true a scale that few 
 judge her amiss. That which is majestic, noble, pic¬ 
 turesque, or simply beautiful as a whole, classes itself 
 at once in all minds, and the fact of a common deci¬ 
 sion on these points demonstrates the genuineness of 
 the laws of Taste. The common mind differs from the 
 cultivated in its knowledge and appreciation of Nature’s 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 87 
 
 beauty in detail. The former sees only partially, the 
 latter grasps the whole and distinguishes the parts; 
 nothing, however humble, which goes to make up the 
 chord of beauty, escapes its notice. Where the 
 appreciation of the one ends, the pleasure of the other 
 is but begun, so that his delight is as true and infinite 
 as Nature herself. The natural eye, therefore, sees 
 all things as in a glass, darkly—the cultivated penetrates 
 the film of Nature, and looks into her heart. 
 
 In Art, the uncultivated taste is more liable to go 
 wrong, both from the defective material with which 
 Art is rendered, and the impossibility of competing 
 with Nature on her scale. The harmonious is passed 
 by for the violent; action is preferred to repose; and 
 glaring contrasts of color to natural gradations. As 
 a general rule, the mere show of Art, which is false 
 because soulless, has the intuitive preference. Even 
 this poverty gives place to the greater satisfaction 
 found in upholstery and those objects in which use is 
 made secondary to luxury, while only enough of Art is 
 borrowed to display the counterfeit. To elevate the 
 mind above this unwholesome preference is an object 
 worthy of the attention of all true friends of human 
 progress. It can be done only by patient study and 
 close examination, rejecting not hastily, and accepting 
 only when the spirit is proved ; diligently seeking for 
 treasure which, like the pearl, may often be found down 
 deep in mud; and eagerly pursuing the ideal, through 
 all its variety, to its ultimate source of perfection. 
 
88 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIE 
 
 VARIETY OF BEAUTY—FANCY—IMAGINATION. 
 
 Beauty is in no way more wonderfully manifested, 
 than in the variety which supplies to every bias that 
 element which best agrees with its spirit. One man 
 seeks his ideal in the sublime, another in the wild ; 
 the quiet delights some, while others select that which 
 glows with life ; each finds in Nature scope for his 
 love, and principles to regulate his choice. The fact 
 that the eye often sees without mental recognition is 
 a powerful argument for the training to which I have 
 alluded, by which mind shall be ever progressing in its 
 perceptions of beauty. Without this, much necessarily 
 escapes its observation: things are seen only in 
 general; form as form, color as color, large masses, 
 and so on, without regard to their harmonious combi¬ 
 nations, or the endless detail of composition and 
 arrangement in Beauty’s scale, by which unity is 
 effected ; for it is only by the enlargement of mind that 
 complete impressions are received. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 89 
 
 In no one respect is man more obtuse than in his 
 indifference to the infinite variety and beauty displayed 
 in the common effects of Nature, within the reach of all 
 to witness. I believe no human being exists, in a 
 healthful condition, who can look emotionless on the 
 ocean. This results from its innate sublimity. The 
 landscape, especially in its repose, is less felt. Men 
 listen in dread to its thunders, and shrink from its 
 lightnings; the majesty of the avalanche, indeed, 
 causes their souls to wither within them, while the 
 rising of waters in their wrath brings to them terror. 
 The sun and rain are mere instruments by which grain 
 is grown and ripened, and harvest gathered; clouds 
 are but accumulations of vapor destined, in due 
 season, to replenish their wells; while the winds grind 
 their corn, propel cargoes to distant markets, and do 
 the duty of atmospherical scavengers. But of all 
 spiritual inappreciation, there is none more wide-spread 
 than towards the sky. Ruskin, in his ‘ Modern Painters,’ 
 thus feelingly alludes to this mental obliquity :— 
 
 “ It is a strange tiling how little, in general, people 
 know about the sky. It is the part of creation in 
 which Nature has done more for the sake of pleasing 
 man—more for the sole and evident purpose of talking 
 to him and teaching him, than in any other of her 
 works; and it is just the part in which we least attend 
 to her. There are not many of her other works in 
 which some more material or essential purpose than 
 
ART-HINTS. 
 
 00 
 
 the mere pleasing of men, is not answered by every 
 part of their organisation; but every essential purpose 
 of the sky might, so far as we know, be answered, if, 
 once in three days, or thereabouts, a great ugly black 
 rain-cloud were brought up over the blue, and every¬ 
 thing well-watered, and so all left blue agaiu till next 
 time, with perhaps a film of morning or evening mist 
 for dew. And instead of this, there is not a moment 
 of any day of our lives when Nature is not producing 
 scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after 
 glory, and working still upon such exquisite and con¬ 
 stant principles of the most perfect beauty, that it is 
 quite certain that it is all done for us, and intended 
 for our perpetual pleasure. And every man wherever 
 placed, however far from other sources of interest or of 
 beauty, has this doing for him constantly. The noblest 
 scenes of the earth can be seen and known but by few ; 
 it is not intended that man should live always in the 
 midst of them; he injures them by his presence, he 
 ceases to feel them, if he be always with them ; but 
 the sky is for all; bright as it is, it is not ‘ too bright 
 nor good for human nature’s daily food.’ Sometimes 
 gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful; never 
 the same for two moments together; almost human in 
 its passions—spiritual in its tenderness—almost divine 
 in its infinity—its appeal to what is immortal in us is 
 as distinct as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing 
 to what is mortal, is essential. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 91 
 
 “ And yet we never attend to it; we never make it 
 a subject of thought, but as it has to do with our 
 animal sensation; we look upon all by which it speaks 
 to us more clearly than to brutes—upon all which 
 bears witness to the intention of the Supreme, that we 
 are to receive more from the covering vault than the 
 light and the dew which we share with the weed and 
 the worm—only as a succession of meaningless and 
 monotonous accidents, too common and too painful to 
 be worthy of a moment of watchfulness or a glance of 
 admiration.” 
 
 It lies within the power of Art, in a great degree, to 
 do away with this indifference, and draw man by the 
 ties of Beauty to a closer walk with Nature. But to 
 effect this, it must do something more than give the 
 outer form ; it must repeat the spirit, for its mission is 
 not so much to gratify the eye, as to elevate and purify 
 the mind. The distinction between these two prin¬ 
 ciples and the character of the landscape, will be sub¬ 
 jects of after consideration ; at present my object is 
 simply to call attention to the sources of Beauty, and 
 the means by which we are led to comprehend its laws. 
 
 The general term used to designate the faculty of 
 mind particularly devoted to the reception and appre¬ 
 ciation of Beauty, is Ideality. It is a restless, insatiable 
 quality, always fed yet never satisfied, prompting man 
 continually to strive after the perfect, and affording 
 him delight in proportion as that consummation is 
 
92 
 
 ARTfHINTS. 
 
 approached. Two ministering spirits are constantly 
 in attendance, to seize upon, create, or detect whatever 
 is natural to its appetite. These are Imagination and 
 Fancy. 
 
 Their manifestations vary so much according as they 
 are modified by other faculties, that we should, per¬ 
 haps, to do justice to their full powers, give in detail 
 the features they assume ; but for my general purpose, 
 an understanding of their generic mode of operation 
 will be sufficient. 
 
 Imagination is the interior, or soul, and Fancy the 
 surface, or external manifestation of Ideality. The 
 two are seldom found in full strength in the same indi¬ 
 vidual, and each influences character in a perceptibly 
 different degree, though by many confounded under 
 one meaning. 
 
 Fancy is the play of Ideality. It sports upon the 
 surface of things, darting like the bee from flower to 
 flower, loading itself with sweets as it flies. From it 
 we gather pleasant detail, bright images, quaint ideas, 
 clear and joyous expressions of life, and those variable 
 qualities which we term fancies, that, accoi'ding to 
 the light in which they are reflected, give to existence 
 a sunny or a sorrowful aspect. By its wayward flights 
 we are often seduced from sober truth and compelled 
 to retrace our steps by the deep worn path of stern 
 reality. It deceives us the oftener because it dallies 
 so much with mere outward shape or quality, alter- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 93 
 
 nately flinging roses or thorns in our way, as best suits 
 its capricious mood. It defies bondage; closes its 
 petals, like the sensitive plant, to the touch; is at once 
 timid and daring, and perishes under restraint; so 
 that, while no element of the mind is better qualified 
 to develop gaiety, yet none is more productive of 
 transient pain. 
 
 Fancy perpetually suggests, but never completes. 
 Without heart it gives no heat, but lights up what it 
 touches with opal-like flashes of color, or lingers 
 coldly upon far-off things, giving them a mocking glow 
 of warmth, as play the departing beams of day with 
 rainbow hues upon the snowy peaks of the Andes, long 
 after the sun has sunk below the mighty ocean-horizon 
 of the Pacific. 
 
 The connexion between Fancy and Imagination is 
 very intimate. They run into each other so often that 
 the ordinary mind frequently either mistakes the one 
 for the other, or considers them as but a common 
 operation of the intellect. Their distinctions are, 
 however, very palpable, and particularly important to 
 be kept in view in testing the relative merits of works 
 of Art. Both enter largely into all noble work, and, to 
 a very great degree, are the touchstones by which we 
 can prove the quality of the mind from which they 
 spring. They are the reflection of its highest powers ; 
 the one sparkling with intellect, the other burning 
 with thought. 
 
94 
 
 ART-HINTS, 
 
 The legitimate exercise of Fancy is in amusement or 
 ornament. As these objects are but of secondary 
 importance in Art, it will be at once perceived that 
 that faculty of the mind which develops the inner 
 life is the most important element of Art. 
 
 This we find in Imagination. It is the soul of 
 Ideality, the essence by which it penetrates the very 
 heart of things and qualities, looking through external 
 matter, and bringing up from out of the mysterious 
 depths of Nature, the secret springs of existence. 
 Reason is limited in its power, circumscribed in its 
 action; but Imagination soars to heaven and descends 
 to hell ; expands itself into eternity, or contracts itself 
 into a moment; at one time finds food in a grain of 
 sand, at another craves for infinity. Nothing is above 
 its daring or beneath its notice. Casting aside as 
 the aliment of meaner faculties all outward images, it 
 seeks to render the Idea ; that which gives soul to 
 substance, and laying hold of the spiritual essence 
 brings it up before our vision,—unseen by material 
 eyes, yet so distinct and palpable as to overshadow all 
 outward show, placing us in full possession of the 
 thought itself. 
 
 In action it varies: obscure, it fascinates by mystery ; 
 lofty, it charms by daring; associative, it wins by 
 feeling; thoughtful, it seduces reason; serious, it 
 captivates the heart: to the entire nature of man it 
 appeals, elevating and bewildering, asserting and de- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 95 
 
 uying, demanding and giving, at once raising him to 
 bliss and depressing him to anguish ; in all things the 
 phantom-genius of his existence. 
 
 Imagination creates. Its office in Art is to endow 
 matter with spirit. In a function so lofty it asserts its 
 kin to Divinity, as the noblest of its intellectual gifts. 
 Every artistic conception depends for its highest 
 elevation of character upon imagination ; consequently 
 where it does not exist there can be nothing nobler 
 than either fancy or mere imitation. By it we test 
 the true power of the artist or poet. Without this 
 faculty they may reason, but they cannot make us feel; 
 they may amuse, but they cannot pierce our souls. 
 Subtle and profound, eager and impatient, sympathising 
 with all deep emotion and intense passion; at once 
 pliant and ungovernable, owing no allegiance except to 
 self, its manifestations are as varied as its powers. Un¬ 
 like Fancy, which lights up only with flickering glare, 
 Imagination tenderly penetrates the inmost recesses of 
 the heart, warming its very fibres, and imparting new 
 health to its life-blood ; or it seizes upon the passions 
 and whirls them about in its grasp with a demoniacal 
 vigor, until reason falls bewildered from her throne. 
 It imparts activity to virtue, horror to crime. It 
 suggests only to interpret or act; but its acts and 
 thoughts can only be comprehended in their full, deep 
 meaning by corresponding power. Hence we find that 
 deeply-imaginative artists are an enigma to common 
 
96 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 minds. They see in the impatience of detail or ex¬ 
 ternals, so often perceptible in the works of genius, 
 evidences only of ignorance and poverty, and not the 
 haste of a great mind to render its thoughts. Even 
 where form and color have been combined in their 
 highest degree of artistic merit, such minds stop at the 
 outward appearance and repeat only the alphabet of 
 the idea. The artist is unappreciated in that in which 
 he feels himself really great; for the imagination 
 works, either from the heart, outwardly, finding its 
 power in itself, or beginning at the surface, does not stop 
 until it has, conscience-like, unmasked every feature of 
 the soul. Therefore, rightly to enjoy high Art, it is 
 necessary to understand the multifarious operations of 
 the imaginative faculty in both the artist and ourselves, 
 for unless we know ourselves, we may be sure that we 
 cannot comprehend another. 
 
 Fancy is to Art what the perfume is to the flower. 
 Imagination is as the sun, from which it derives light 
 and heat. Both Fancy and Imagination may be said to 
 be awake when reason sleeps, as in dreams. This is 
 their vulgar and useless form. In a higher degree 
 they assume the character of visions, frequently impart¬ 
 ing falsities, and sometimes truths, beyond the ability 
 of mere reason either to discover or accept. Whence 
 come these tidings, these intuitive glimpses of other 
 spheres, which the mind cannot prove, nor yet dis¬ 
 claim ? They fasten themselves, as it were, into the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 97 
 
 very marrow of our being ; and while all other sensa¬ 
 tions are transitory in their effects, these incomprehen¬ 
 sible, intangible whisperings, like angel voices or the 
 sneers of devils, begetting faith or doubt, attach them¬ 
 selves to us with the tenacity of dogmas. Whence are 
 they, if they be not the reflex of a spirit-world—that 
 unseen link of communication left amid material matter 
 to establish within us the doctrine of immortality ? 
 
 Ail great thoughts partake of this spirit-power. 
 Poets, like those of the chosen people of old, and of all 
 time, in whom this living well gushes freely forth, 
 become seers, and tell us tidings that no mortal eyes 
 can read. But this is foreign to our subject-matter, 
 except so far as a great artist can manifest his pro¬ 
 phetic thought in his work—a power, which may be 
 said still remains to be developed in the usual chan¬ 
 nels of Art. 
 
 F 
 
98 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INFINITY, POWER, REPOSE, SINCERITY, VARIETY, AND 
 UNITY—THE TRUTHS OF NATURE AS APPLIED TO ART. 
 
 Having in the preceding chapters considered Art, 
 externally, as in its historical relations, and internally, 
 as connected with Beauty, also the faculties by which 
 we are led to perceive and comprehend both in their 
 mutual bearings, I have now to dwell more particu¬ 
 larly upon those features of Nature which are the 
 proper subject-matter of Art, and also those general 
 principles by which she appeals most powerfully to our 
 love, and admiration. 
 
 Without, an intimate knowledge of Nature we are 
 incompetent to judge of Art, because Art, correctly 
 speaking, is but the mirror of Nature. Whenever it 
 steps beyond what we see and know of the natural 
 world, it seeks the superhuman, and, therefore, strictly 
 speaking, the impossible. Still there are conceptions 
 with which the artist may clothe his work that savor 
 so directly of spiritual life, finding their being in his 
 imagination, as to elevate our feeling above the ordi- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 99 
 
 nary range of creation, and bring us nigher to the 
 throne of God. Yet even in these cases it will be 
 found that all forms are borrowed of earth, and made 
 typical or supernaturally beautiful, only through the 
 ennobling power of imagination, seeking its ideal form 
 in realms of perpetual bliss. So, when imagination 
 descends to draw up from the depths of everlasting 
 misery, shapes and passions steeped in crime, con¬ 
 science-wrecked souls that have become .the sport of 
 devils, helpless and hopeless for eternity, amid tor¬ 
 turing fires that annihilate but to recreate, and con¬ 
 suming flames that eat up all spirit matter, but keep 
 alive the sensual, it still borrows the forms of the 
 natural creation. It typifies fiendish joy, and depicts 
 demon forms with their food of human woe, and retri¬ 
 bution of human sin, in shapes that savor of earth, 
 while borrowing their foul garments, prolific horror, 
 and hideous natures from their homes of filth, false¬ 
 hood, and ugliness. Such is the unfathomable power 
 of that faculty which stops not upon the confines of 
 nature, but ever strives to fathom the invisible and 
 explore the future. 
 
 Subjects of this nature should be attempted only by 
 the highest order of minds, and by these but rarely. 
 In all others they become pitifully contemptible, and 
 bring disrepute upon the solemn mysteries of religious 
 faith. 
 
 The natural landscape, however, appeals to all, and 
 
100 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 constantly strives to make itself understood. The 
 first field of Art lies, therefore, amid the material 
 beauties of the earth. To it all must go for inspira¬ 
 tion ; but a chosen few should venture beyond its 
 province. Yet of all things the landscape has been 
 the least studied; consequently, while of human form 
 and human inventions there are tolerably good artistic 
 representations from many hands, of the thickly-strown 
 beauties of. Nature, we have thus far, with but few 
 exceptions, positively nothing. This results from lack 
 of that close communion, which alone begets conge¬ 
 niality of feeling. 
 
 The first lessons of all men, whether artists or not, 
 should be in the open air, in close relations with the 
 thought of God, as illustrated in his physical world. 
 To this altar, as to the feet of Gamaliel, should children 
 be led to receive their earliest impressions, not of the 
 anatomy of animals, the structure of plants, or the 
 chemical properties of minerals, or of the practical 
 uses of anything, for all that is the province of book 
 knowledge, but to teach them the ways of Providence 
 from the broad pages of Nature. It is far better for 
 their souls to know why the bird flies than how; to 
 detect loveliness in the daisy than to number its petals ; 
 to feel the wide-spread magnificence of mountains, the 
 bounteousness of the plains, the sublimity of the ocean, 
 and the beauty of the sky, than to probe the rock strata 
 for ores, number the grains of wheat for gain, dry the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 101 
 
 ocean for its salt, or watch the clouds for rain. The 
 knowledge that discloses to us the wondrous working 
 of Nature as a whole, witli reference to its authorship, 
 is far more ennobling than that which pries into its 
 mysteries, solely for use ; fathoming detail to admi¬ 
 nister to sense; although even this is ennobling in the 
 degree that it is made serviceable to the spirit of hu¬ 
 manity. 
 
 The aim of the landscapist should be, firstly, to 
 understand its spirit, and, secondly, to know its details. 
 No accuracy in the rendering of the latter will redeem 
 obtuseness towards the former. He may be able to 
 present a series of detached parts, but the harmonious 
 whole will be wanting. This we find to be the general 
 character of landscape painting of ancient and modern 
 tunes. 
 
 What are the general elements of landscape? or 
 perhaps it would be more significant to inquire, of 
 what a landscape is made up ? Like an individual, it 
 has two characters: the one partaking of moral, the 
 other of physical qualities. 
 
 The former includes infinity, power, variety, sin¬ 
 cerity, and repose. The latter, form and color, as 
 rendered in the three general divisions of sky, earth, 
 and water, with their numberless details. The two 
 are combined by a principle we call unity. It is the 
 keystone of Nature, and expresses the harmony of the 
 Divine mind, as rendered in creation. Without unity 
 
102 
 
 ART- HINTS. 
 
 there would be chaos in the natural world. If we 
 would escape discord in Art, we must study this prin¬ 
 ciple as the primary element of success. Yet there is 
 none oftener overlooked, owing to the error of artists 
 in commencing in detail, and hitting upon general 
 principles, as if by accident, instead of making them¬ 
 selves familiar with principles first and rendering detail 
 subservient to them, as is the law of nature. Undoubt¬ 
 edly it will appear a work of supererogation for me to 
 refer to principles so simple and so easily understood. 
 But it is because they are so simply and so easily 
 understood, that they are so frequently forgotten in the 
 apparently more difficult management of detail. No 
 success in this will redeem their violation. I wish to 
 
 impress upon the public the primary artistic truth that 
 
 * 
 
 all work which is not founded in unity, that is, the fit 
 connection of all parts to a perfect whole, is false, and 
 should be cast aside, as tares from wheat. We can 
 only attain a nice consciousness of unity by a faithful 
 study of Nature. Hence the importance of under¬ 
 standing how the landscape is made up, if we would 
 judge correctly of Art. 
 
 The impressions of landscape are twofold : firstly, 
 as a perfect whole, or unity; ■ secondly, as to its parts 
 or separate beauties. 
 
 The principle which most powerfully affects the 
 mind is infinity. I say principle, because I must 
 reserve the better term, quality, to designate another 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 103 
 
 necessity of art. Infinity impresses the mind from its 
 mystery. We cannot compass it, knowing that, how¬ 
 ever far the eye reaches there are space and objects 
 beyond. Suppose that the landscape was actually 
 bounded by the horizon, would we not feel that it 
 mocked us by its pettiness ? But how it exalts and 
 stimulates thought as the eye ranges over plain and 
 hill until it rests on distant mountain tops, sharp and 
 flat against the horizon, while far beyond we look into 
 atmospherical space that suggests a thousand repe¬ 
 titions of nature’s variety from what comes within 
 the actual vision. That which we do -not see affects 
 the mind with a more subtle pleasure than what" we 
 do, because imagination clothes the scene from her 
 own rich store of mystery. There is a higher source 
 of joy in the revelation it imparts of power. We feel 
 the sublimity of the ocean more in its heaving im¬ 
 mensity as it drops from our view beneath the horizon, 
 than in the dash and roar of the breakers at our feet. 
 But in no shape is infinity more powerfully impressed 
 upon the mind than by the atmosphere with its sunset 
 drapery of clouds. Through them the eye pierces, as 
 through the windows of heaven, blazing with gold and 
 radiant with celestial rays shooting towards the zenith 
 their gradually-fading hues of purple, orange, red, 
 and intermingling grey, in changeful flashes of glory, 
 like the far-off fluttering of a seraph’s wings. As the 
 vision shrinks from a radiance too powerful for its 
 
104 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 mortal strength, night spreads her welcome mantle 
 over the scene, leading the eye onward, to repose, in 
 the cold blue of the vault above, through which star 
 after star shoots its silvery light, each a revelation of 
 another world, born as it were into existence to pro¬ 
 claim to humanity the infinity of their common Author. 
 In such watching the mind feels the full force of sub¬ 
 limity in its longings to comprehend mysteries placed 
 so infinitely above its power. 
 
 Another moral feature of nature which takes deep 
 hold of the heart is its perfect repose, when seen from 
 lofty heights, and indeed which pervades all landscape 
 not‘directly under the jarring influence of man, or the 
 strife of elements. Even these exceptions are but 
 partial, depending upon their nearness for effects con¬ 
 trary to those principles of art which do not permit 
 violent action. 
 
 In its highest flight Art can only suggest motion. 
 Those artists who try to represent it are guilty of an 
 artistic solecism. They can, however, render it, as 
 commencing or finished, the threatening gesture, but 
 not the descending blow; the intended, but not the 
 actual movement; the effects, but not the action itself; 
 a fallen stone, with the consequent injury, but not a 
 falling stone. Such representations violate good taste, 
 because they break natural laws by making immovable 
 —as must result in Art—a thing in motion. Conse¬ 
 quently we perceive a painted or sculptured falsehood. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 105 
 
 This affects good taste as painfully as a lie does the 
 moral man. But, as I have observed, we may 
 legitimately suggest motion, as in running water by 
 its ripples, a wind by the direction given to all 
 flexible objects on which it operates, and in animated 
 nature by the natural position which hints at the 
 coming or completed action. It would never do in 
 representing a man walking to leave one foot sus¬ 
 pended in the air; yet we continually see artists of 
 repute, as the world judges, guilty of infractions of the 
 laws of art as gross as the above example. 
 
 Any one may satisfy himself of the deep repose of 
 nature by walking out into the landscape and looking 
 at it as a whole. It is not the stillness of death, for 
 every object is significant of life and enjoyment. In 
 this repose there is more feeling of the deep, unsearch¬ 
 able Will of its Maker than in any other feature. 
 “ Let there be light, • and there was light.” Such 
 is the spirit; a breath of Omnipotence, and we have 
 before us the earth in all its beauty and glory. 
 
 I never felt more powerfully this unutterable silence 
 of nature than once, upon a tropical mountain at an 
 elevation of nearly fourteen thousand feet above the 
 sea. It was Mauna Kea, of the Hawaiian Islands. 
 Slowly and for upwards of a day had I been ascending 
 its northern slope, passing gradually from the limits of 
 torrid vegetation to the more stinted growth of the 
 temperate region ; until, getting beyond all its pro- 
 
10G 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ductions, I emerged into wastes of volcanic rock and 
 cinders that led to beds of perennial snow. At this ele¬ 
 vation we experienced a rain-storm : the clouds gathered 
 at first about us black and muttering, but descending 
 the mountain-side, rested at about six thousand feet 
 above its base, and spread over the plain, shutting out 
 from view every object that recalled man or his 
 labors. The earth was eclipsed, except the solitary 
 point on which we stood. This arose like an island 
 from the sea ; a solitary beacon of earth in the ocean 
 of infinity. The rain poured below, for we could at 
 times feel that, as a torn cloud let through a glimpse 
 of the valley beneath. But for most of the time, while 
 the earth side of the cloudy mass was black and 
 immersed in gloom, the upper side, on which our eyes 
 rested, turned heavenward, reflected a scene of glory 
 such as I shall never forget. However fast the clouds 
 may have been moving, their forms remained the 
 same ; gorgeous masses of vapor, that seemed like 
 firmaments themselves, on which the sunlight sparkled 
 with ever-shifting hues, disclosing untold treasures of 
 Nature’s art. It is seldom that there is an opportunity 
 to look down upon clouds of great expanse. 
 
 The storm died away, and we continued to ascend. 
 Before sunset the summit was reached. A more 
 glorious realization of the wondrous beauty of Nature 
 in her solitary places it never fell to my lot before or 
 since to witness. Above us, for a few hundred feet 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 107 
 
 arose peaks which once crested active volcanoes, but 
 now stood dark and gloomy in the departing day, 
 except where the fast-coming twilight reflected upon 
 spots of snow, which glistened on their blackened 
 surfaces, like owl’s eyes from out of the bosom of night. 
 Around us was entire desolation. Nature’s fires had 
 burnt the very heart out of the r^cks themselves, 
 leaving nothing but mournful cinders, and large 
 masses of basaltic stone, thrown in careless heaps 
 about, as if here, too, the Titans had assaulted heaven. 
 Far away stretched an ocean horizon, as calm, as it 
 passed from view in scarcely perceptible curve, as 
 though God had just spoken “ Peace, be still!” 
 
 On its surface lay floating other islands in a con¬ 
 tinuous chain towards the west, peak disappearing 
 behind peak, misty and purple in the dim distance, 
 until they, too, sank into the horizon with the faintest 
 glimpse of recognition, as if beckoning the spectator to 
 launch out with them on that silent sea, and follow the 
 departing sun. The entire side of the mountain on 
 which we were was in deep shadow. An immense 
 plain, ploughed up into threatening ravines by lava- 
 currents, but green with forests and dotted with dead 
 volcanoes, like sepulchral monuments in a graveyard, 
 lay between me and Mauna Kea. This mountain, a 
 firmament by itself, which arose opposite some forty 
 miles off, was so clear in the sinking sun that pene¬ 
 trated its cavernous sides and lighted up its dome-like 
 
108 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 crater with its circumference of twenty-seven miles, 
 that it seemed as if I could count its chasms and 
 witness its internal throes. The intervening valley, 
 for the slope of Mauna Kea was so gentle as to make 
 it difficult to decide whether plain or valley lay be¬ 
 tween me and that mountain, was shrouded in gloom, 
 giving out only darker spots of color from its uni¬ 
 versal blackness, like the reflections in a well, 
 exaggerating its depth, and making its secrets impe¬ 
 netrable. The southern side of Mauna Kea fell so 
 abruptly that no base could be seen. It was, as it 
 were a. precipice more than two miles high. Farther 
 to the right, Hulalai, a volcano which could swallow 
 Vesuvius at a gulp, slept, forgetful of its former fires, 
 a monument of desolation in a region it had so ravaged 
 in the days of its wrath, that even now no green thing 
 could touch its sides and live. Day departed, gilding 
 even this scene with loveliness, and winning rich color 
 from out of the region of death itself, until night set 
 her seal of greater mystery upon all things, and turned 
 the thoughts upwards to its solemn beauty. There 
 were two others with me, but they slept. The repose 
 of Nature was complete ; not a sound broke upon that 
 still air; the silence hushed one’s breath; and yet 
 amid it all there arose a harmony that, unnoticed by 
 the ear, struck upon the heart, and bade us rejoice, 
 “ for it was good to be here.” 
 
 By sincerity I mean that feeling of Nature by which 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 109 
 
 we know that she has a purpose in all that she does, 
 and has constructed nothing in vain. Unlike the 
 artificial landscape, we perceive that she works in 
 earnest; everything is complete in itself only as a part 
 of the whole; her proportions are true and her laws 
 just. She does exactly what she intends, and nothing 
 more. She never puts us off with show for substance. 
 It is only by understanding her meaning that the 
 artist himself can be sincere. 
 
 Variety applies to both the moral and physical 
 aspect of Nature. In the former she repeats her lessons 
 in numberless ways, never wearying of well-doing; in 
 the latter she never repeats herself. There is variety 
 enough of physical beauty to exhaust all the genera¬ 
 tions of life to know. Every line has its mission of 
 pleasure to some eye, and so of every color; their 
 combinations are infinite. Without referring to the 
 countless tribes of animal life, the unseen inhabitants 
 of every drop of water, and the very dust beneath our 
 feet, the tenants even of our own bodies, without num¬ 
 bering the species of the vegetable creation with all 
 their diversities of shape and hue, let us simply turn 
 our eyes to the landscape, and look at it steadily as a 
 whole, until its general parts become visible. Those 
 distant hills that seem lost in purple haze or flattened 
 into plain surfaces, open their sides and discover cur¬ 
 vature upon curvature, form after form, trees, valleys, 
 and streams, mysteriously concealing yet revealing 
 
110 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 themselves when sought; bright spots here, a flash of 
 color there, and shapes melting into other shapes, 
 or dying away into the distant air. Sameness 
 does not exist. There is no barren paint as on libelled 
 canvas, but variety which mocks the eye while it 
 attracts the mind. No violent contrasts perplex the 
 vision, yet variety is so manifest that you feel rather 
 than trace it; gradations of form and color are so 
 subtle that all is lost in harmony, yet it is all there; 
 rock and chasm, brook and cascade, the gentle slope 
 and abrupt precipice, hut and hamlet, grove and dell, 
 man’s art and Nature’s profusion; all this is to be 
 half rendered, half-suggested, if the artist would work 
 as his great teacher works. 
 
 The province of unity is to bring together, each in 
 its proper degree and place, all the moral and natural 
 features of the art-landscape, so that the mind shall be 
 satisfied that it is a complete harmonious whole, and 
 not a collection of parts or motives put together at 
 random, or without inquiry into their relative fitness. 
 Such pictures jar upon sensitive tastes, and are an 
 offence to Art. The artist must, however, have a 
 natural feeling for Nature’s harmony, for though culti¬ 
 vation will increase his sensibility, it will not create it. 
 In judging, then, of Art, the first inquiry should be, 
 does it express the spirit of what it pretends to repre¬ 
 sent ? If a landscape be lacking in the essential prin¬ 
 ciples of infinity, power, repose, sincerity, and variety, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. Ill 
 
 properly combined, so as to give what is meant by 
 unity, bestow upon it no second glance. They are the 
 first qualifications of spiritual truth in this branch of 
 Art, and in a certain degree of all Art; unless we are 
 guided by these primary principles, we shipwreck taste 
 in the outset. Their absence may not prevent one 
 from being a correct judge of drawing, or detract from 
 his ability to decide upon the right folds and color of 
 drapery. He may at first glance set us right as to 
 the exact hues of flesh, and all the niceties of gloss and 
 subtleties of finish of detached parts; but unless he 
 has a heart to feel the nobler truths of Art, his know¬ 
 ledge is no better than that of a parrot, mere words 
 without meaning; while his pleasure, like that vain 
 bird’s, lies solely in imitation. 
 
112 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SECONDARY TRUTHS OF THE LANDSCAPE—FORM AND 
 COLOR. 
 
 We now come to consider the secondary truths of the 
 landscape as applied to Art, or those which appeal 
 more directly to our external senses through form and 
 color, especially as exhibited under the general 
 aspects of sky, earth, and water. These truths are 
 secondary solely in reference to the moral character of 
 the landscape as referred to in Chapter VIII. With¬ 
 out a thorough knowledge of these component parts of 
 the landscape, it will be a vain effort to attempt to 
 portray its spirit; indeed, all the failure with which 
 the world is filled in the higher character of Art, is 
 accompanied by equal inability to render the broad 
 effects of Nature’s masses, so that, excepting only a few 
 great names, we are, as yet, without even the rudi¬ 
 ments of landscape-art. This ignorance arises from the 
 neglect of the study of Nature as a whole for her ex¬ 
 pression in detail. Too much attention cannot indeed 
 be paid to the latter after the difficulties of the former' 
 
ARCHITECT!!RE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 113 
 
 are overcome ; but until the artist has learned to render 
 the former effectively, he should not attempt landscape, 
 for no superficial dexterity in form will compensate for 
 the absence of substance. 
 
 The necessity of accurate design, or outlining of 
 objects, is so thoroughly impressed upon modern Art, 
 that it calls for no other notice than the general caution 
 not to neglect the more important truths in pursuit of 
 manual dexterity. Correctness of form is indeed 
 essential as the basis of expression. It is the skeleton 
 upon which the body is built. If the skeleton be 
 wanting in parts, or limbs in proportion, the body is 
 deformed. A soul may manifest itself as nobly 
 through a malformed body as through an Apollo, but 
 not so agreeably. The contrast between the treasure 
 and the casket, no doubt impresses the relative pro¬ 
 perties of each the more forcibly upon the spectator. 
 This, I take it, is the secret of much of the effect pro¬ 
 duced by the early religious painters. We are asto¬ 
 nished to perceive so much feeling combined with such 
 disregard to form, and we respect, accordingly, the 
 artist whose first aim was the highest truth. The real 
 enjoyment of art is, however, in proportion to its entire 
 truth. Mere form alone does not embrace it; com¬ 
 bined with light and shade resulting in cliiaro-oscuro, it 
 does, however, suggest to the mind all its truth. This 
 is emphatically true of sculpture. We see it in its 
 perfection in the daguerreotype and photograph ; both 
 
114 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 are facsimiles of nature’s forms, perfect in the minutest 
 details of light and shadow, but neither gives us real 
 pleasure ; it requires the force of associative friendship 
 to reconcile one to the portrait, and the photographic 
 views are valued simply as studies. It must be ac¬ 
 knowledged that form without color is the stronger 
 intellectual truth in Art. It appeals more to mental 
 cultivation than natural feeling. The savage or un¬ 
 cultivated mind would look with comparative indiffer¬ 
 ence upon the Milesian Venus, but display a scm-let 
 cloak, and either would be enraptured. I make, 
 therefore, the distinction between form and color, the 
 difference between reason and impulse: the one spe¬ 
 cially calls for admiration, the other moves our feelings. 
 Both are requisite to perfect beauty, though either 
 may exist apart, and triumph in its own sphere ; it is, 
 therefore, folly to dispute upon their relative impor¬ 
 tance. 
 
 Destroy color and our hearts would be chilled; 
 obliterate form and the result would be impulsive 
 pleasure without knowledge. Form is permanent, 
 color varies. The one has reference to the absolute 
 or necessary, the other to the pleasurable. We may 
 as well argue our preferences for the love or wisdom 
 of God. We could not exist without both. So with 
 these two qualities; God has bestowed them for our 
 use and enjoyment. When we can decide that Om¬ 
 nipotence is more worthy of worship for one attribute 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 1J5 
 
 than another, then we may say of His gifts, this is 
 more truthful or bounteous than its fellow. 
 
 If any distinction could be drawn, I should say that 
 the correct feeling for color is far rarer than know¬ 
 ledge of form. But few artists have ever professed it 
 in its entire subtlety, while for form there is not much 
 danger of the world’s going amiss. Indeed, the artists 
 that have understood the beauty and sanctity of color 
 are so rare that but few persons have ever had an 
 opportunity of appreciating its full artistic power. This 
 is equally true of taste in individuals; while all have 
 instinctive impulses towards color, not many can claim 
 sufficient cultivation to he content to be guided in their 
 preferences exclusively by the harmonious gradations 
 with which Nature tints her works. 
 
 Color is to the eye what music is to the ear. Their 
 appreciation depends not so much upon a knowledge 
 of their science or chemical properties, as upon a feel¬ 
 ing within us that responds to their enchantments, or 
 manifests itself in spontaneous melody. If a nation, 
 like the Tuscans for example, is apt at catching and 
 repeating the most striking passages of music which it 
 hears at operas or concerts, so that the streets are con¬ 
 stantly echoing to favorite airs, taken up and repeated 
 among all classes, from the boot-black to the learned 
 amateur^ it is at once set down as possessing genius 
 for music. This is not so. The feeling which prompts 
 to this delight in the repetition of prominent and strik- 
 
116 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ing portions of operatic music, is akin to the untutored 
 impulses of the common mind in its choice of colors. 
 The love for color is innate, and closely allied to har¬ 
 mony in music. Some individuals, and even nations 
 to a certain degree, possess naturally a correct taste 
 both for music and color. When a race, as do the 
 Sicilians, and in an inferior degree the Africans, 
 composes its Own ballads and songs, improvising its 
 melodies from the heart with bird-like freedom, it 
 may be truly said to possess a genius for music. Those 
 nations that are most susceptible to the «harms of 
 music generally possess an equally inherent taste for 
 the harmony of colors, which they display in pictu¬ 
 resque costume and love for flowers. 
 
 Among northern nations the taste for music is the 
 result of cultivation. Perhaps no cities possess a more 
 correct intellectual appreciation of the science of music, 
 that is to say, more cultivated tastes, than London and 
 Boston, but the knowledge is confined to a favored 
 few. These, however, give the law to the many; so 
 that there is more hope of a diffusion of a correct taste 
 from these limited centres, than from the parrot-like 
 fondness for imitation of the Tuscans, or the noisy 
 efforts of the French. 
 
 Music to he in correct taste, requires the same unity 
 of variety as painting, not only of notes, but of its ac¬ 
 cessories. Vocal and instrumental harmony are (he 
 aims of the ouera in the expression of sentiment and 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 117 
 
 passion. All other considerations should be subdued 
 to the music. But how do we find the opera in gene¬ 
 ral ? In Paris, music is made secondary to scenic 
 effect. The eye must be captivated before the ear. 
 The French are successful in this respect before all 
 other nations, and give us stage-illusions in their most 
 perfect character; but in doing this they sacrifice to a 
 great extent their professed object. In Italy, the opera 
 has degenerated into vulgar show and exaggerated 
 action. The singers destroy all unity of form with 
 music, by violent and uncalled-for gestures and absurd 
 grimaces, in short, burlesquing harmony and making 
 sentiment ridiculous. Scenic effects have become the 
 merest claptraps, got up to please the vulgar mind, 
 and are out of all keeping with the true motives of 
 harmony. The most popular pieces are those which, 
 like the 4 Prophet,’ give an artificial sunrise, which 
 however well mechanically produced ends in absurdity 
 by being repeatedly encored, so that the real attraction 
 of this noble opera to the Italians is the hoisting 
 and rehoisting of a lantern behind transparent paper. 
 Then, too, the favorite music is that which is the 
 loudest in expression or most startling in contrasts. 
 In short, music in the popular mind, the world over, 
 stands in the same degraded position as painting. The 
 nice gradations of sound and color with an accord of 
 action and form, all material detail made subservient 
 to the spirit, each part keeping its proper position in 
 
118 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 regard to the whole, which should be a complete unity, 
 is not even attempted. Like painting, also, modern 
 music is pitched upon so high a key that its power 
 soon exhausts itself. We have mainly a series of 
 painful efforts to overcome the limits of physical 
 nature, instead of those soul-subduing melodies which 
 steal into our hearts, we know not and care not how, 
 and excite only to make us feel the enchantments of 
 harmony. The striking similarity of the principles 
 that govern music and painting has been my motive 
 for thus Connecting them by their kindred tie of unity, 
 in the hope that it may awaken taste to a more careful 
 consideration of an element which' enters so largely 
 into the pleasures of existence. 
 
 The gi’eat harmonies of nature are worked out in 
 colors, with gradations so subtle and interminglings 
 so refined that the eye cannot trace but only feel their 
 effects. The real power of color depends upon this 
 imperceptible blending of hues, which come to us like 
 the soft tones of human speech or the subdued notes of 
 music, penetrating our inmost nature with a joy in¬ 
 effable. Does anyone doubt this ? Let him watch for 
 one of those sunsets, rare indeed, but which all men 
 see at times, when the heavens glow with celestial 
 beauty, and the western horizon is resplendent with 
 colors which no language can portray. How does he 
 feel before that burst of effulgence, in the sight of 
 which gold is impure, and precious stones lustreless? 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 119 
 
 Is his rapture noisy, or does he gaze in unspeakable 
 admiration, his whole being drinking in harmony and 
 uplifted in thankfulness and wonder to Him who has 
 but to breathe and beauty overspreads the universe! 
 But he has not yet exhausted its power. If he would 
 see the strength of that glorious vision, let him invert 
 his head and look at the skies. Form is lost, and the 
 vivid, solemn, triumphant splendor of color, such as he 
 never experienced before, meets his gaze. Tell me now 
 if beauty cannot exist without definite form ? Indeed, 
 the perfect expression of color is only rendered as in a 
 sunset seen in this position, in which, under its over- 
 ’ powering harmony; form is wholly extinguished. 
 
 By sky in Art is more properly meant atmosphere. 
 Earth includes rock, vegetation, and whatever form its 
 surface assumes in masses. 
 
 Which of the three, sky, earth, or water, as a whole, 
 has been most naturally rendered by Art it would be 
 difficult to decide. None of them have as yet been 
 as earnestly and affectionately treated as their impor¬ 
 tance demands. Certain artists have given us tolerably 
 faithful images of their separate features, such as still 
 water, pleasant fields, or a serene sky ; but these ele¬ 
 mentary divisions of nature in their complete expres¬ 
 sion yet await an interpreter in painting. 
 
 The particular character of physical nature, as a 
 whole or in detail, that which distinguishes one object 
 from another as its own special property, is called in 
 
120 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Art its quality. The chief quality of w^ter is 
 liquidity; of earth, in distinction, dryness; of stone, 
 hardness; and of air, transparency. That which 
 unites qualities into one harmonious mass of color, 
 each tint, light, or shadow, subdued to its proper gra¬ 
 dation or unison in respect to the effect as a whole, is 
 called “ tone.” These two are the key-notes of 
 painters. Without a proper comprehension of both, 
 their labors are as unknown tongues . 1 
 
 In sky the first effect that we should seek is space. ■ 
 Unfortunately it is that which is least often given. 
 Tricks of chiaro-oscuro will bring objects out of a 
 canvas, but that art which takes the eye in, and bids us 
 feel the quality of an atmosphere, warm, transparent, 
 alive, infinite, the tremulous movement of the vapory 
 
 1 A valuable auxiliary to the acquisition of correct tone and the 
 general gradation of colors is to be had in a small capvas scale, on 
 ■which the different degrees of light are represented. Its form is 
 thus. | I. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | , each extreme being pure white (1) and 
 pure black (5), between them we have three degrees, viz., half 
 light (2), middle tint (3), half dark (4). It is all important 
 to a painter not to exhaust his power of light and shadow. 
 He must, at the best, work on a scale far below that of Nature, 
 for to attempt to rival her in light and shadow, would end only, as 
 we often see, in the most egregious failure. The object of this 
 scale is to keep himself upon the key on which he works, reserving 
 the extremes of light and shade, indicated by it, for his strongest 
 effects, which, if he would give value to the whole, must be 
 sparingly used. With such a guide, a feeble colorist may be 
 strengthened, while to the best, it is of great practical use. The 
 finest colorists I know, keep it in constant referenda, so that the 
 harmony of their works is never violated by abrupt or irrelevant 
 transitions. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 121 
 
 air, or the clearness of the cloudless sky, into the abyss 
 of which the sight may gaze until the eyeballs ache 
 to bursting and not find a spot on which to rest, has 
 never been more than suggested by a few artists. 
 Yet it seems to me that the sky is particularly sus¬ 
 ceptible of successful treatment, from its great depend- 
 ance upon color. Clouds having no bodily shape are 
 to be drawn in color. If its gradations are jnanaged 
 as Nature manages hers, imitating her subtle transitions 
 and aerial touchings, avoiding loading the canvas with 
 positive or opaque colors, alternating and scumbling, 
 not by scores of times but by hundreds, and more with 
 the fingers than the brush, something approaching 
 heaven’s handiwork may be given. It is not my object, 
 however, to treat of Art technically. I write merely to 
 hint its general principles, more as a guide for the 
 taste of the general reader than in the vain hope to 
 profit those whose lives have been mainly devoted to 
 the study of art-material. Each artist has his fa¬ 
 vorite methods, the result of his experience. There¬ 
 fore, what may .appear to me as worthy of experiment, 
 may after all be but the approved practice of hundreds. 
 Still in cloud effects, aerial perspective, and, in fact, 
 in earth and water generally, where breadth and depth 
 are to be given, I think that the careful study of the 
 priifciples by which Nature produces her qualities of 
 light, will lead to a new era of landscape art. 
 
 Hitherto, with a few partial exceptions to be after- 
 
 G 
 
122 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 wards mentioned, we have had for sky, flat, hard sur¬ 
 faces of opaque colour, coming forward of anything 
 else in the picture, and often firmer than the rock 
 beneath. Indeed, we feel that we should get such 
 paintings nearer right by inverting them. Then the 
 earth would have something firm to rest upon, unless 
 the artist has unfortunately attempted water, and 
 libelled that into a black and glutinous mass, like the 
 seas of Backhuysen. We can walk dryshod over 
 almost all the water ever painted, and as for skies they 
 would echo the strokes of a hammer. I appeal to the 
 galleries of Europe for the truth of this assertion. 
 Who in painting has ever taken us into the full depths 
 of the sky, and bade us soar aloft into its transparent 
 greys mingled with the soft tones of blue, borne on the 
 tender wings of light from their empyreal home ? Who 
 has ever more than suggested the cloud forms nearer 
 earth; the cirrus, stratus, and cumulus phantoms of 
 atmosphere, tinged with mingled blue, orange, purple, 
 and soft crimson or tender green, robed in golden 
 brightness and floating in transparency, through which 
 the eye wanders into heaven’s great dome, ever seek¬ 
 ing rest and finding it only in gazing deeper and yet 
 deeper into infinity ? Who, with the consciousness of 
 such beauty before him, does not turn in disgust from 
 the opaque skies of Art ? 
 
 If Art has fallen so far below rendering the sky, 
 its shortcomings in the essential qualities of water are 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 123 
 
 even more conspicuous. A view loses much of its 
 beauty without water to contrast with and reflect its 
 sky. Much of the enjoyment of the art-landscape 
 depends upon its proper introduction. It is even less 
 difficult to render than the sky. The reason why we 
 see so little real water, liquid, shining, still, or flow¬ 
 ing, something that you may float in, and at will get 
 beneath its surface and come up wet, is, I take it, be¬ 
 cause artists do not go to Nature for its study. They 
 have seen the sea at a distance, and think they know 
 it. They have seen a river, that is, they have boated 
 upon one, and think they know that. But to know all 
 the glorious features of water, its life and earnestness, 
 buoyancy and restlessness, its wayward humors, and 
 the unutterable things that lie within its depths, or on 
 its truth-catching surface, mirroring alike the beauty 
 of earth and sky, and mocking them with their own 
 charms; to feel its sublimity as the foundations of the 
 earth tremble beneath surges, whose roar overwhelms 
 the loud thunder of heaven, or in the calm, when its 
 bosom heaves with the gentleness of an infant’s breath, 
 while thought vainly seeks to compass its immensity, 
 and penetrate beyond that mysterious horizon to the 
 alluring shores of fancy’s creation; to know and feel 
 all this, we must gaze upon it as we would upon the 
 face of our heart’s love, jealous lest the shadow of an 
 emotion should escape our worshipping eyes. 
 
 He who has spent not months but years upon the 
 
124 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ocean alone can realize its power. I doubt if any 
 artist has ever attempted to render the entire majesty 
 of a storm, not such as lift the Atlantic’s waves into 
 wild confusion, when wind and water, in desperate 
 struggle, madden nature, and make sick terrified pas¬ 
 sengers, as they toss and groan within the strong ribs 
 of the steam leviathan, that safely bears them through 
 the elemental strife—these are indeed storms—but I 
 mean such as the Pacific can make us feel when in the 
 full might of her ocean wrath. In the Atlantic the 
 contrasts are less forcible. Shorter calms and more 
 frequent gales are the rule, the effects of which are, of 
 course, much the same in every latitude. But the 
 balmy breezes of the Pacific, as they drive the vessel 
 joyously over its broad surface, while the sunlit waves 
 toss and foam and sparkle in its track, lull the voyager 
 more often into a treacherous reliance upon its smiles. 
 By-and-by the wind begins to fall, the vessel lifts 
 heavily upon the water, and sinks with a sullen plunge 
 into its liquid bed, as the sails listlessly flap against 
 the masts in vain effort to woo the spent breeze. For 
 a moment they belly out with a chance puff; then all 
 air dies away again. The blocks creak harsh remon¬ 
 strance. Wave succeeds wave, each feebler than the 
 other; now gently breaking and foaming, then, before 
 they had half risen, hopelessly falling back like a dying 
 man attempting to sit up. Soon the ocean becomes 
 like glass. No lights now dance and play over its 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 125 
 
 surface; but it reflects the hot sun as does a burnished 
 mirror. For an instant the slightest perceptible ripple, 
 coming and going like the tropical bird that screams 
 ominously overhead, whence and where no one knows, 
 breaks the universal smoothness. The breeze-hope 
 that comes with it is not more fleeting as it passes by 
 without further sign. The roll and pitch of the vessel 
 subside. She is now as quiet as in a dock. Occa¬ 
 sionally a mysterious swell lifts her, and she sinks 
 again to her old level without the faintest splash. 
 As her weiget makes her roll, the water washes 
 her sides, recoiling hastily from the heated copper. 
 Another swell passes along, so fast that the eye wist¬ 
 fully follows its glassy rise as it loses itself on the 
 horizon, while the wish that the power were given to 
 go with it involuntary rises. How often have 1 
 watched such swells with envy as they slid from under 
 the vessel and passed on, for what end God only knew. 
 Fancy painted them as dying gasps of the ocean, from 
 which one turns despairingly to the oozing pitch and hot 
 decks. All escape from their burning breath becomes 
 hopeless. Motionless sharks bask with dull eyes in the 
 shade of the hull. No living thing comes near them. 
 
 Days pass thus, each hotter than its predecessor. 
 Nights bring no relief, except that the orb of fire 
 ceases to scorch awhile. The heat is, for all that, 
 none the less consuming. Every morning the sun rises 
 in the same cloudless horizon of brass, its hot, burning 
 
126 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 beams extinguishing the atmosphere’s vitality, slowly 
 —oh! how slowly!—creeping up to the zenith, still 
 cloudless, and pouring its unobstructed rays upon water 
 and vessel, until each seems to writhe and crisp 
 under its influence. The ocean yields no moisture, 
 but radiates heat with usury to its giver, while the 
 pitiless air remains lambent flame, until the sun “drops 
 beneath the western sky, encircled with lurid glare, 
 and promising a return on the morrow in the self-same 
 chariots of flame. There is no hope in this. Yes, as 
 the sun sets on some evening, when you count the 
 seconds, impatient for its final dip, black formg arise 
 on the horizon. They take the shape of islands; there 
 can be no mistake. Against the transient twilight the 
 tall palms lift their broad foliage. We can almost hear 
 the silvery surf as it rolls musically over the coral 
 strand. By morning we shall drift to where there are 
 shade and bubbling springs of fresh water. Ours long 
 since has become coated with a thick viscous film, and 
 impregnated with odors that make one giddy and 
 sick. For one night we pant less hopelessly. The 
 morning comes; not a speck breaks the horizon ; those 
 isles were cloud-land ; yet there is something to be 
 seen on the sky; it is a ship becalmed like ourselves. 
 No ! strange to tell, it sails upon the sky, hull upper¬ 
 most! We watch the strange apparition until it* 
 discloses only our phantom selves in a mirage. Com¬ 
 panionship fails, and thus we are left alone, “ a painted 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 127 
 
 ship upon a painted ocean.” Who can give this unless 
 he has experienced it! 
 
 The barometer, which has remained stationary for 
 months, now falls. The ocean becomes restless with 
 alarm. Quick swells come and go. The air assumes 
 a sickly glare. Strange currents of wind strike the 
 vessel, and pass off before she can gather headway. 
 There are omens of a mighty change above and be¬ 
 neath. At times the stillness laps the heart in terror: 
 at others, mournful notes, like the wail of pierced 
 hearts, sound through the rigging. All is bustle and 
 alarm. Hoarse voices shout, and strong hands hurry 
 aloft to strip to bare poles all that beautiful tracery of 
 light spars and lofty sails which so long had vainly 
 wooed the breeze. Dark clouds gather on the horizon, 
 not in huge masses, such as fly before the generous 
 gale, but in spots, as if concentrating their forces for 
 one common blast of destruction. Soon it comes. 
 The sea rises not into waves, but is pushed flat before 
 it, foaming and roaring in its impotent wrath. As 
 quick as thunder follows lightning, hies that wind upon 
 its brief warning. There is no lift to the vessel. The 
 gust pushes it down before it, yard-arm into the water, 
 cutting away boats and spars, and tearing sails from 
 gaskets as if it had the claws of a demon. No human 
 voice can now be heard, or human eye look to the 
 windward. Even the crash of broken masts is un¬ 
 noticed. The air is one mass of furious, blinding, 
 
128 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 choking mist. So long as the hatches are secure, and 
 the flying gear has all been blown clear of the vessel 
 there is no danger. The wind that keeps the vessel 
 down, keeps the sea down also. No wood or iron on 
 water can face it unprostrate. The crew crouch and 
 cling for their lives, and hold their breaths in fear, as 
 the hurricane shrieks frightfully in their ears. Perhaps 
 not a cloud is to be seen, and yet the gale rushes by 
 as if commissioned to fill the mighty void of a 
 universe in one short moment. There is no time when 
 the power of wind over water is so forcibly shown as in 
 a typhoon. 
 
 As the fury of the gale passes the danger increases, 
 because the sea, hitherto powerless, now rises and 
 menaces destruction. Clouds gather and shut in the 
 horizon in gloom. They whirl and toss and sweep 
 through the heavens, the very counterpart of the waves 
 beneath, whose tops they touch, mist and wind united 
 in one common battle, hurrying ruthlessly through 
 space, and enveloping in a mass of briny foam all 
 things in their path. Now we have the genuine 
 Atlantic gale. The waves at first are irregular from 
 the eccentric impulses of the winds; now rushing, 
 roaring forward in huge toppling, curling breakers, 
 crested with foam—then broken and torn into wdld 
 masses, shooting spray high into the air, and, indeed, 
 frequently being lifted bodily up, and blown away far 
 to the leeward in suffocating mist. The howling of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 129 
 
 the gale has in it less of fierce anger and more of 
 solemn melancholy—something at times that savors 
 of a human moan—often lulling for a moment, with 
 the same effect as a gleam of sunshine struggling 
 through the rent clouds, to cheer the disheartened 
 mariner with false hope, and then returning with a 
 force that makes the stoutest vessel writhe and tremble 
 in her heart of iron and oak. Upon seamanship de¬ 
 pends the safety of all in that bark. One false turn 
 in the wheel, the sea leaps on board, and, wrenching 
 decks from their fastenings, swallows up all, leaving 
 not a trace in the ocean that human skill had ever 
 there existed. Now is the time for the artist to seize 
 the spirit of the scene, when man and elements are in 
 the doubtful struggle for life on one hand, and death 
 on the other. 
 
 Perhaps the vessel is scudding, her top gear all 
 down, lifted only by a diminished foresail, and impelled 
 by the close-reefed main-topsail, while a fore-topmast 
 staysail flaps violently as it keeps her from broaching-to. 
 On she rushes, her vast frame quivering under the 
 canvas, now buried in the yeast of waters, now rising 
 keel out, as she darts forward on a huge wave, that 
 lifts her as if it would send her headlong to "the ocean 
 caverns below. But, no; her bow pushing before it, 
 with the roar of surf, or increasing mass of wave, white 
 as far as the eye can reach with foam, plunges under 
 for a second, bowsprit and all, sending a volume of 
 
 G* 
 
130 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 water back upon the quarter-deck, then rises buoyantly 
 upon the ensuing sea, and leaps again forward on its 
 dubious career, shaking the spray from her rigging, 
 and discharging torrents of water from her waists. 
 There is triumph in this scene for man, and sublimity 
 in the ocean. We follow that ship in its headlong 
 course, to vary which is certain destruction, and which 
 may equally lead to death, by throwing her upon some 
 unknown shoal, where the pursuing waves would in an 
 instant overtake their prey, with-all the aroused emo¬ 
 tions and energies that He who holds the winds and 
 waves in the hollow of His hand has bestowed for our 
 support in peril—faculties more wondrous than even 
 the action of the aroused elements. 
 
 Who has giyeu us this living energy of ocean power? 
 Can an artist desire a more noble element of his land¬ 
 scape than water, with its infinite variety of form, 
 delicacy of hues, and grace of movement, whether in 
 calm or storm, as sea or stream, humble brook flowing 
 musically over its pebbly bed, or the iris-spanned cata¬ 
 ract leaping the precipice, with furious haste or exultant 
 spring ? While rivers run and lakes exist, in whose 
 crystalline depths all-loving Nature reflects itself; while 
 the rainbow’s glorious beauty pledges safety to man, 
 and the rain and snow bring him the fruits in due 
 season; while, lift heavenward, the wave symphonies 
 of the glad ocean, that type of limitless power, un¬ 
 changeable, yet never the same, tameless, yet serving 
 
ARCHITECTURE, sculpture, and painting. 131 
 
 man, erect an.d free as man should serve his Maker: 
 while water in any of its forms of fantastic unity exists, 
 the artist need not search further for subjects, nor man 
 desire greater proof of Omnipotence. 
 
 Earth, too, has its peculiar features. Mere soil is 
 of itself of minor importance. It depends for its 
 character upon the underlying rocks, which, like bone 
 to flesh, give it shape above, and to the vegetation 
 with which it is clothed. The truth of its forms is, 
 however, of absolute importance in Art, as well as its 
 particular qualities, as distinguished from sky and 
 water. Unless these differences—say dryness and 
 hardness in contrast with the liquidity of water and 
 the space and transparency of atmosphere—be felt, the 
 painter has lied to us in the outset. We must have 
 these, in their appropriate forms and colors, freely and 
 broadly rendered, whatever after-deficiencies may 
 occur. For these there is charity ; but for the former, 
 none : otherwise landscape-art becomes disreputable, 
 and we turn it out of doors. 
 
 I know of no field of landscape art so untried, 
 and which promises so much, as tropical scenery. 
 There is a bewitching beauty in it, to which none 
 other can lay claim. Take, for instance, the island of 
 Tahiti, with its abrupt mountain-peaks seven thousand 
 feet high, mantled to their highest summits with a 
 vegetation that defies the sun, and pushes its orange- 
 groves and magnolia blossoms into the very brine oi 
 
132 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 the sea. Look at its fern-clad precipices, ever-cool 
 dells, and living cascades, shooting rocket-like from out 
 their forest-homes, a mile above the ocean, faint silvery 
 threads in the distance, their spray glancing in the sun¬ 
 light like diamond-dust, and giving value to the green 
 foliage which hedges them in; while near by, the 
 torrents call aloud to each other in their wild fantastic 
 freedom, leaping into space with joyous confidence, 
 often dissipating into mist, and commencing their 
 upward flight again, before reaching the reservoirs of 
 pure water beneath. No hill or mountain forms 
 repeat each other. Every curve is one of grace, and 
 none can number their variety. Nature here is ca¬ 
 pricious in her smiles. At one moment she unveils 
 the entire island as it lifts its emerald coronet proudly 
 to the unclouded skies, a queen of beauty, Yenus-like 
 rising from the sea. Then she shrouds the whole in 
 glorious mist, as in heavenly drapery, putting aside at 
 times its folds of purple and gold, that we may catch 
 a glimpse of the mysterious loveliness and infinite 
 variety it conceals but to adorn. A dense belt of 
 green waving palms and rich tomano-trees, with 
 varied hues of tropical flowers and fruits, interspersed 
 with native huts, bound shores, indented with quiet 
 bays and coral-formed channels. Narrow belts of sand 
 sparkle around them, like brilliants on a dark skin. 
 Far out to sea commence a long line of breakers, that 
 flash back the sun’s rays with overpowering brilliancy, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 133 
 
 as they leap, and toss and thunder in their never- 
 ending race to the shore. Underneath these, and 
 shooting up occasionally, as the water shoals, with all 
 the glorious colors of the struck dolphin, lie beds of 
 aquatic vegetation, corals and madrepores of such 
 wonderful beauty as to rival the flora of the land 
 beyond. Among them swim scaly tribes whose 
 tints seem borrowed from their homes. Amid all 
 this, graceful canoes lightly shoot, their dark-skinned 
 but brightly-apparelled crews gaily contrasting with 
 their snowy-white sails. 
 
 Such a spectacle gives the perfect repose of beauty. 
 All is in keeping with the lovely whole. Less would 
 injure, and more distract the scene. Has artist ever 
 given this ? 
 
 We look up, as it were, to this landscape. Perhaps 
 there is more of force and variety to be given, more of 
 the broad elements of nature, in looking down upon 
 her works. With Turner this was a favorite mode. 
 The wide expanse of earth, with its endless diversity, 
 comes more directly before our view. There is a con¬ 
 sciousness of exultant power, in which the spectator 
 sympathises in viewing nature under our feet. Apart and 
 above it we penetrate the more thoroughly its mysteries. 
 
 No view gives the grand features of nature more 
 effectively than that which meets the eye some nine 
 thousand feet above the level of the ocean, on the pitch 
 of the mountain, which separates the broad table-land 
 
134 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of Mexico from the tropical region. The vast plain 
 makes off as far as the eye can reach in all directions, 
 like a sea. On the distant horizon rise lofty, snow-clad 
 mountains, sharp and clear against the western sky. 
 Mexico, the heating heart of this enchantment, with its 
 bright towers and gleaming lakes, the Aztec Venice, 
 approached by long causeways that look like silver 
 threads as they cross the green meadows, or as cables 
 in the water by which the city is moored to the main¬ 
 land, lies in repose beneath. All over the plain, tower 
 and hamlet repeat each other—white islands amid seas 
 of verdure. The variety of nature is seen throughout, 
 because the scale is so large. Plain, lake, hill, valley, 
 and mountain, with all their misty infinity of form and 
 changeableness of color, light and shade in broad 
 contrasting masses, the deep green of distant vege¬ 
 tation, the crystalline brightness of sunlit water, and 
 the intense blue of heaven’s cloudless vault, with its 
 mixture of cool greys as the atmosphere approaches 
 earth, are all here, while enough of man’s works show 
 to suggest the refinements of civilization. Back of 
 us, towering up from dense vegetation, and sur¬ 
 mounting wildernesses of lava rock, are the volcanoes, 
 Popocatapetl (hill that smokes), and its twin-sister 
 Iztaccihuatl (white woman), with their snowy cone¬ 
 like peaks rising to an elevation of nearly two miles 
 above where we rest. Their icy summits glitter like 
 carbuncles in the deep blue of the sky. They stand so 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 135 
 
 by themselves, with no surrounding peaks Jo rival their 
 majesty and diminish their height: so strongly are 
 they marked in zones of color according as verdure 
 diminishes, or sterility commences, perpetual snow 
 crowning the whole, with occasionally a faint wreath of 
 smoke from the fire that burns within, that there is 
 nothing in the whole range of the Alps, or, so far as I 
 have seen, in the Andes, which comes up to this 
 mountain-pair in beauty and sublimity. 
 
 America is virgin soil for the artist. He who 
 succeeds in making us realize our “ fall,” when nature 
 assumes its gayest mantle of colors, and forests rival 
 sunsets in variety of tints, as the frosts of autumn bite 
 their leaves, which, dolphin-like, become more bearP- 
 tiful in death, will stamp himself for ever upon the 
 national mind. This cannot be reached by skill alone 
 in drawing, because at this period Nature with us 
 relies less on form and more on color for her effects. 
 Wherever she assumes this mood the artist must work 
 upon her principle, giving enough of form to charac¬ 
 terize objects in masses, but depending for his power 
 solely upon vividness of color, which is not to be laid 
 on in opaque spots in violent contrast, but with those 
 nice gradations and combinations by which nature, while 
 presenting every hue that can charm, never offends the 
 eye. Another argument for raising color to an 
 equal footing with form, if not to a higher position in 
 the scale of beauty, is found in the fact that Nature 
 
136 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 relies so entirely upon it for its most attractive effects, 
 not, as in form, depending upon permanency, but 
 shifting hues with every variation of light and season, 
 now working out changes so rapidly that the eye 
 becomes drunk with loveliness, then slowly varying as 
 if it feared it might dispel its own enchantments. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PARTICULAR TRUTHS OF PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. 
 
 The general truths of the landscape having been 
 established, it is necessary to refer to the particular 
 truths which enter into the composition of the parts. 
 These may be divided, as in the former, into moral or 
 physical truths ; the first derived solely from their 
 internal functions, the latter, in Art, from their ex¬ 
 ternal qualities. The simplest object of inanimate 
 nature may be said to have character in the degree 
 that it properly fulfils the natural conditions or uses of 
 its creation. Its qualities in painting refer to the 
 accuracy with which its properties are represented. 
 Thus, a rock may he bold, or a flower bumble in 
 character, each requiring a different treatment to render 
 these traits from that which delineates their external 
 structure, which may be perfectly imitated, and yet we 
 feel that the thing after all is neither rock nor plant, 
 hut a mere hit of lifeless paint. But the former 
 cannot be freely given under ordinary accuracy of the 
 
138 
 
 AET-HINTS. 
 
 natural outline, without suggesting its existence as a 
 thing of life. Hence the aim of the artist should be 
 mainly to express character, studying quality, or ex 
 ternal finish, only in that subordinate degree which, 
 while it gives a perfect resemblance of outward form, 
 allows full expression to the spirit. 
 
 In this manner only can the complete ideal be 
 attained. The amateur should imperiously demand it, 
 rejecting any shortcoming, not uncharitably — for 
 every sincere effort should be kindly received—but as 
 an absolute law of beauty, which finds its contentment 
 only in perfection. By elevating our demands we 
 elevate the artist also. It is the duty of art to please 
 and to teach. Unless these dual functions are kept 
 perpetually and correspondingly in view, the public 
 taste remains rude or is led astray, so that, in time, 
 both artists and people, repeating only weaknesses or 
 pandering to indolence and avarice on the one hand, 
 and ignoble desires on the other, lead each other 
 captive, and the age falsifies Art. 
 
 The true artist derives his strength from himself. 
 His genius knows no mutable laws of popular fancy 
 or greedy necessity. Lighting his lamp from the pure 
 flame within him, he seeks neither borrowed glare nor 
 covets vulgar applause, nor even friendly praise, to 
 stimulate effort. He knows that he is right, and feels 
 that he is a light set to illumine the world. True, to 
 common eyes the beams may be too bright, and many 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 139 
 
 may scoff at what they cannot comprehend. But there 
 is no surer mark of genius than that calm self-reliance 
 that bides its time, content to work not for a gene¬ 
 ration but for eternity. Such men stamp themselves 
 on mankind. They are milestones, noting the progress 
 of humanity tywards its complete development, few 
 and far between ; but in Homer, Isaiah, Dante, and 
 Shakspere, we have seen examples among the poets; 
 in Mozart and Beethoven, among the musicians; and 
 among artists, Phidias, Michael Angelo, Raphael, 
 Tintoretto, Titian, and Turner. 
 
 The reason why men of such stamp affect so generally 
 their own and after ages is, because they comprehend 
 all human power. They are universal men, born for 
 all time and all degrees of cultivation, appealing to the 
 common heart of humanity, and yet able to soar aloft 
 with the most exalted intellect. Such minds are of two¬ 
 fold existence; the common, legible to every man ; 
 and the inner, which requires appreciating power to 
 interpret. They coin thought into expression, and are 
 the mints • from which lesser minds derive their cir¬ 
 culating medium. 
 
 The only sure source of power for the artist is from 
 within himself. In the degree that he wanders from 
 his own soul-truth he falls into a labyrinth of error. 
 The more he seeks to know the popular opinion, the 
 farther into the shoal does he drive; until at last he is 
 left without pilot or compass, and blown about by 
 
140 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 every fashion. I do not mean to be understood as 
 saying that an artist can derive no benefit from cri¬ 
 ticism ; on the contrary, a cultivated taste, or even a 
 fresh, untutored feeling, are often invaluable auxi¬ 
 liaries to stimulate and confirm the artist; but what I 
 do say is, that every artist who has notjdie magnet of 
 truth so fixed within himself as to turn naturally and 
 wholly to sympathizing truth, let it come from what 
 quarter it may, has mistaken his calling. Labor may 
 produce a fair copyist, or a clever imitator, but it 
 never made an artist. Indeed, the signs of labor on- 
 even a clever work are painful to the spectator, from 
 its associations with fatigue of body and wearisomeness 
 of mind. Artists may, like Gerard Duow, work five 
 days on a hand and three days on a broom; but a few 
 strokes from a master-mind will give a more living 
 hand, and a more serviceable broom, than months de¬ 
 voted to mere finish for its own sake. Great work and 
 great thoughts are readily done and easily expressed. 
 If not they have no claim upon our attention, for it is 
 the attribute of genius, implanted by Divinity, to do 
 what it has to do with facility. 
 
 The public taste should be so cultivated as to appre¬ 
 ciate the artist, and keep him always up to the 
 standard of his own powers, by being content with 
 nothing feeble or half-expressed. It should also be 
 able to keep him always in the right track by rejecting 
 every ignoble work. Another and more painful duty 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AMD PAINTING. 141 
 
 is before it; and this is, to keep Art sacred by pro¬ 
 tecting her from profane hands. I shall have more to 
 say on this subject when I treat of patronage. 
 
 Painting and sculpture are in one sense simply 
 language. They open to view the soul of the artist 
 Few men, however indifferent they may be to the eye 
 of God, are content to expose their inmost thoughts to 
 their fellow-men. Yet this is done daily by artists 
 with an obtuseness which, considering the disclosures 
 they make, is, to say the least, somewhat remarkable. 
 If the mind be impure, the stain of foulness clings to 
 all their works; if feeble, it shows itself in imbecility ; 
 if coarse, in vulgarity ; but if pure, in works which, like 
 Angelico’s, carry us bodily into heaven. Whatever 
 may be the ruling passion, it is sure to manifest itself. 
 Men are not always alike, and sometimes in the worst 
 men great thoughts and noble aspirations arise. These, 
 however, are but exceptions to the universal truth, 
 that “ out of the fulness of the heart the mouth 
 speaketh.” Some men are incapable of expressing 
 themselves in anything but common language. For 
 such, common subjects are their choice. Others are 
 capable of elevating even common subjects—reading 
 sermons from stones—and in all that they do they seek 
 to interpret the inner life. With the first, Art is like 
 a dictionary, giving merely words; with the second, it 
 is a volume in which the words become ideas. How 
 important is it, then, that the artist should keep con- 
 
142 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 stantly in view the elevation of himself by the perse¬ 
 vering culture of his soul-powers, striving constantly 
 to realize in himself that ideal perfection which he 
 would create in Art. There is no greater destroyer of 
 spiritual eyesight—Cupid is not half so blind—as 
 mere sensuality; if of the mind rather than the body, 
 so much the worse. On this account it is almost 
 a hopeless task to attempt to open the eyes of those 
 darkened by low desires or dazzled by vanity. They 
 may rest assured, however, that though they may 
 mistake themselves, true taste never mistakes them. 
 There is a leprosy on their works which Jordan itself 
 cannot wash clean. 
 
 The ordinary excuse of artists when giving only the 
 common, striking, exaggerated, or false, is, that 
 they must do so to live. The public will not buy 
 their truth, but will pay roundly for their deception. 
 This is a double sin ; against your soul and my soul. 
 Believe it not! The public are misled because you 
 mislead them. They love truth, and you give them a 
 lie, and tell them that it is a truth. They believe 
 you because you are a “ professor ” of an art about 
 which they have never much thought, and like little 
 children are willing to be led. Is there no sin in 
 this ? Perhaps the few simple principles to which I 
 have shown that all Art can be reduced may help to 
 arouse you both from so fatal a delusion. Men who, 
 like Forrest, turn the deep thought of Shakspeare into 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 143 
 
 loud words and vulgar grimace, are a pest to noble 
 Art. When I see the popular taste running into 
 extravagances in praise of such rant, and the stuff 
 that is lauded throughout America as Art, I can no 
 longer abstain from protesting in the name of all that 
 is noble and true, and with all the energy of sincere 
 conviction, against such national folly. 
 
 The artist who studies opinions and not Nature will 
 assuredly fail. She is the only safe teacher. No 
 man being complete, he must seek strength for his 
 inferior or lacking qualities from their purest sources ; 
 not second-hand, but from the great mother herself, 
 Nature. He is to create a great organic whole out of 
 the materials she supplies; selecting from her ample 
 stores those which best express his subject materially, 
 to combine them in one harmonious whole, and invest 
 the entire picture with the thought which he seeks to 
 express. The individual parts of a landscape, for 
 instance, are of but secondary importance ; they should 
 be chosen with reference to the great idea or feature 
 which is to pervade the picture. By this I mean that 
 the accurate rendering of the likeness of any material 
 landscape is of less consequence than the combination 
 of particular features selected, as it were at random, 
 from Nature, and grouped into one harmonious whole, 
 provided that the ideal landscape thus created excels 
 the natural in those general truths which the artist 
 wishes to express. An artist cannot go beyond Nature ; 
 
144 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 he cannot even rival her on her key; but as nature 
 does not always equally express herself, and is not 
 uniform in her exhibition of beauty, the artist should 
 endeavor, in preserving the main features of a land¬ 
 scape, so to introduce the noblest truths of Nature, 
 that while his picture may not be an exact transcript 
 of the chosen site, yet it shall embrace all the highest 
 truths that that site would be capable of rendering 
 under the most favorable circumstances of Nature’s 
 workmanship. Even more, the artist should have 
 studied Nature so deeply as to be able to create— 
 compose, it is commonly termed—a picture made up 
 of no local truths, yet rendering her general truths in 
 their most harmonious and forcible manner. The 
 purely ideal landscape is the severest test of this 
 branch of Art. All other depends mainly npon fidelity 
 in copying and taste in selection. To produce a new 
 and perfect whole, which the mind shall receive as 
 Nature’s excellence, without care for or question as to 
 locality, is the work only of the highest genius. There 
 is, therefore, no surer evidence of real elevation and 
 power than in the choice or composition of subjects. 
 This applies equally to all Art. For if it require great 
 talent to read material Nature aright, how much more 
 does it demand to portray in man the finer elements of 
 his mind; to catch the fleeting expression, the burning 
 emotion, the noble thought, the lofty aspiration, or 
 harder yet, the indefinable joy with which love illu- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 145 
 
 mines the soul! Only the greatest artists have pro¬ 
 duced noble portraits. 
 
 There is much choice in the selection and treatment 
 of parts and of separate subjects. Every artist has his 
 individual bias, depending upon the scope of his genius 
 Some who do well in one department, or with one 
 class of subjects, utterly fail in attempting another. 
 Each should carefully fathom his own ability and 
 inclination, adhering solely to those branches to which 
 his qualifications naturally tend. Universal artists 
 are, like all extremes of nature, of rare occurrence. 
 The most lamentable failures of otherwise great minds 
 are seen in their ambitious wanderings from their 
 natural spheres. When I come to treat of the schools 
 and works of Art, I shall have occasion to recall several 
 notable examples of this truth. 
 
 Whatever an artist is best qualified for, that let him 
 adhere to. The variety of Nature is sufficient to 
 occupy all Art through all time. There is nothing 
 unworthy of the greatest mind in her truths; but 
 great minds should reserve themselves for great truths. 
 There is always a sufficiency of little minds to give the 
 little truths. 
 
 The skill necessary to copy fruits and flowers is 
 surely of a different degree from that required for 
 numan portraiture. Yet it is as essential to the artist 
 of the former that he should study their qualities and 
 functions, as that the portrait-painter should learn to 
 
 H 
 
146 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 faithfully interpret human emotion, and give us on 
 canvas the absolute qualities of flesh and blood. 
 
 Common subjects are very commonly painted, simply 
 from the facility with which they can be indifferently 
 or even cleverly imitated. Common eyes, too, find 
 pleasure, from the same principle, in the glitter of 
 brass kettles, the stiffness of Dutch brooms, the gloss 
 of velvets, the shining folds of draperies, the intricate 
 patterns of lace, the down on fruit, and the dewdrop 
 on flowers; in short, in the whole compass of objects of 
 manufacture, or the mere sleight of hand of imitative 
 art, because these things are in real life what they 
 best understand. A man may deceive the birds by 
 the nicety of his painted fruit, but that does not prove 
 him an artist; it simply shows that the feathered crea¬ 
 tion are no judges of art. Every crow is scared by a 
 torn coat and old hat perched upon a stick, but that 
 is a confession of stupidity, and not a proof of judg¬ 
 ment . 1 Nothing is more facile than deceptive imita¬ 
 tion. The eye is the easiest gulled of all our senses. 
 Every day we have evidence of this in the chiaroo-scuro 
 
 1 Uncultivated minds naturally find their highest pleasure in the 
 trivial and common place, often to the disappointment of the true 
 artist, who, forgetful of his own elevation of taste, looks unwittingly 
 to a general appreciation, when he should be satisfied if understood 
 by the select few, capable of feeling his soul-effort. Allston, to his 
 mortification, overheard one day a rude critic remark of his ‘ Jere¬ 
 miah dictating his prophecy against Jerusalem, 5 “ Well, he was a 
 cute man that made that jar.” The picture contained an earthen 
 pot, which was all the countryman could see or appreciate. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND TAINTING. 147 
 
 decorations of buildings, and the mock stone of wooden 
 architecture. All these deceptions, however, in a more 
 or less degree, affect the mind unpleasantly, because 
 they substitute the false for the real. How much 
 of the effect of the otherwise fine interior of the Milan 
 Cathedral is lost from perceiving the painted ribs and 
 panellings of the arched ceilings that deceive only the 
 careless eye into the appearance of stone! A friend 
 who was earnest in his praise of the solemn interior of 
 this edifice, was filled with disgust as soon as I pointed 
 out to him the architectural trick overhead. No sin¬ 
 cere mind can find pleasures in shams. Above all 
 they should be avoided in the house of God. There 
 let everything be what it actually represents. 
 
 In some ornamentation deception is allowable, as in 
 the chiaro-oscuro frescoes of the Bourse at Paris. We 
 are pleased with the cleverness of the artist in imitating 
 actual bas-relief, on the same principle that we admire 
 the tricks of the juggler. So in painting. We admire 
 the dexterity, but take no pleasure in the work. 
 
 There is not only a right choice of subjects but a 
 right time for choosing them. That is, when their vital 
 functions are in their most perfect operation, avoiding 
 all disgusting displays of physical action, which, how¬ 
 ever necessary in the economy of nature, have no legiti¬ 
 mate claim upon art. This would seem to be an un¬ 
 necessary rule, but a cursory examination of the Euro¬ 
 pean galleries will show that it has often been violated 
 
148 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 by great names. Were I to give merely the catalogue 
 title of a very celebrated picture in Holland, I should 
 be guilty of an unpardonable breach of decorum accord¬ 
 ing to the American standard. If the subject be of the 
 inanimate creation, the choice should be confined to 
 the most perfectly-developed specimens, keeping in 
 view the idea to be conveyed. The beauty of the 
 forest tree differs from that of the park, in the same 
 degree that wild animals differ from those that have 
 been tamed by man to his uses. So of flowers. 
 
 There are often emotions of sublimity, awe, fear, or 
 effort to be aroused, which require deviations from the 
 literal types of physical beauty. In such cases they 
 must be made subordinate to the main sentiment. 
 Even ugliness may be admitted as a contrasting power, 
 and as connected with the supernatural or with evil pas¬ 
 sions. As a general rule Art must agree with Nature ; 
 but there are certain effects sometimes to be obtained 
 which can be done only by a partial sacrifice of the 
 truths of Nature. She, in the infinity of her power, 
 can work out her aims as it were by mere will, calling 
 up latent forces, in whose existence, from the rarity of 
 their display, we scarcely believe. The artist, how¬ 
 ever, has no such resources. Confined to a few simple 
 materials, he depends sometimes for his most powerful 
 effects from reversing as it were the order of Nature, 
 and without letting us know how, mysteriously affecting 
 us in Art in the same manner that Nature does in those 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 149 
 
 extraordinary manifestations of the infinity of her va¬ 
 riety which we designate as phenomena. The artist 
 may indeed appear wrong in part, never as a whole, 
 otherwise it would be a failure in contrast with nature 
 in the same relations. Yet upon examination it will 
 be seen that by no other process could he so perfectly 
 render the general idea or effect which he has in 
 view ; so that while emphasizing a noble truth by the 
 contrasting result of a partial falsehood, or the sacrifice 
 of a minor feature for a great thought, he is elevating 
 Art to its highest standard. It is in this view that the 
 truths of Nature and Art are said to be not the same. 
 No man ever understood the subtle working of this 
 principle more fully than Titian. 
 
 Many noble works are misjudged from ignorance of 
 the primary laws of vision. Most persons value a 
 painting in proportion as they can see clearly all that 
 is in it. Every object must be so sharply defined that 
 the mind shall have nothing left on which to employ 
 itself. Their feeling is confined to their eyes. This is 
 doubly wrong. First, it violates a truth of nature. 
 We do not see with equal distinctness near and distant 
 objects. If our eyes are fixed upon the far distance, or 
 midway to it, the landscape immediately before us, or 
 the foreground, is vague and indistinct. We feel 
 there are forms and colors, all natural in their position, 
 but unless we direct our eyes to them we cannot de¬ 
 scribe them. So if we gaze upon the objects near 
 
150 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 us, those farther off acquire a similar mystery of vision. 
 The artist, therefore, who renders all his landscape 
 with equal ocular precision violates nature. 
 
 Artistic distance depends chiefly upon the greater or 
 less distinctness of the drawing of detail. By this rule 
 the spectator can at once judge where the artist would 
 direct his eye, and if at that point he sees the landscape 
 with the same comparative clearness that he would at 
 an equal distance in Nature, he may he assured that, 
 for wdrat is more suggested than absolutely shown, 
 there is an imperative law, which the artist can vio¬ 
 late only at a sacrifice of truth. 
 
 The second reason why this positive clearness of all 
 objects in painting is wrong is, that as a painter 
 cannot give the entire variety of Nature, he must 
 content himself with suggesting all that she would give 
 under similar circumstances. The utmost variety 
 that Art can absolutely incorporate into painting is 
 mere feebleness beside the natural world. Hence, if 
 throughout his space we see only what his pencil abso¬ 
 lutely defines, we exhaust his art at a glance, and go 
 away with as little impression on our minds as if we 
 had looked at a shop wdndow. On the contrary, if 
 every touch suggests more than it represents, we recur 
 with fond delight again and again to his pictures, 
 because every glance reveals some new form or idea. 
 An artist whose power goes not beyond absolute ex¬ 
 pression repeats only himself. The spectator should 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 151 
 
 be made to forget both the artist and his material, and 
 lose himself in its nature or thought. 
 
 There is another test still more striking of true 
 excellence of work. Indifferent or superficial art 
 makes no impression on the mind. You leave it, and 
 straightway it is forgotten. Not so with the labors 
 of genius. Shut your eyes and the picture is more 
 visible to the mind than ever it was to the sight. It 
 has become a fixed fact of your inner life. No time 
 or distance will obliterate its image, but it will “ grow 
 with your growth, and strengthen with your strength.” 
 Thus you may judge of its merit by the power it has 
 over your heart. 
 
 Man has but a secondary part to play in the 
 landscape. Wherever he is introduced, so as to 
 interfere with its spirit by directing the eye to 
 incongruous action or motions, he is a blot upon 
 its harmony. Few artists understand the import¬ 
 ance of keeping figures in subjection to the land¬ 
 scape. The reverse of the principle holds true when 
 the artist seeks to render the life or works of man. 
 Then the landscape becomes the secondary object, 
 and should be used only in developing the general 
 idea. 
 
 Man, as being the climax of Nature, is the noblest 
 subject-matter of Art. In all ages artists have recog¬ 
 nised this truth in their attempts to render the human 
 figure, either as the perfection of physical matter, or 
 
152 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 as the form through which spirit most delights to 
 manifest itself. 
 
 Female loveliness is the most fascinating type of 
 humanity. In it we have the highest development of 
 form and color as united in beauty. The lines of the 
 perfect human form are the most beautiful in their 
 graceful curvatures that Nature produces. They are 
 living witnesses that she formed them for her noblest 
 purpose. So of color. No hue of the animal or vege¬ 
 table kingdom rivals the tints with which the charms 
 of woman glow. They were bestowed as the strongest 
 appeal to the sensuous heart. United with virtue 
 they robe the sex with irresistible attraction. The 
 Art that can make us feel the smoothness and elas¬ 
 ticity of the female skin, its cleai’, translucent surface, 
 not lustrous but tender from its delicate mingling of 
 white and pale warm red, subdued by the nicest gra¬ 
 dations of the purest and most pearly greys into sense- 
 captivating loveliness, is scarcely of earthly mould. 
 If to the physical ideal be added the greater loveliness 
 of mind, which radiates from the features as light from 
 the sun, elevating and purifying all things on which 
 its glances rest, we have all that Art might aspire to 
 and yet not reach, unless its lamp were replenished at 
 the divine fountain from which beauty itself was created. 
 
 The same rules which guide our judgment in the 
 character and quality of the landscape world, and the 
 choice and treatment of subjects, in relation to their 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 153 
 
 natures and ideas to be conveyed, are of equal value 
 as applied to man. His ideal physical beauty is often 
 to be subdued to or sacrificed for the nobler expres¬ 
 sion of intellect or soul. These are more emphatic, 
 perhaps, as they triumph over the weaknesses of 
 flesh. Yet nothing connected with man, that is solely 
 sensual, by which the divinity bestowed upon him is 
 utterly extinguished or buried deep in lusts, or which 
 refers exclusively to his physical agonies or sin’s 
 heritage, without motive of higher import, should be 
 presented by Art. Out of such attempts nothing can 
 come but hopeless sorrow and degradation. We 
 shrink from the display of animal suffering in Art, 
 because it pains our sympathies and allows of no 
 compassionate action for their relief. Our own sensual 
 passions have sufficient innate force without the excite¬ 
 ments of pictured or sculptured temptation. We 
 would not reject, however, the warning experience of 
 frailty, or the sterner retributions of crime, provided 
 the moral is legible. Human functions have a capa¬ 
 city of expression as limitless as the intellect they 
 house. The artist whose own soul does not respond 
 to the depths of another’s heart, who cannot catch 
 inspiration from the gleaming of the eye and read the 
 thought on the curling lip, put fire or repose at will 
 into the limb, suggesting the action or speech as pal¬ 
 pably as if body moved and tongue spoke; in short, 
 who cannot make his canvas or marble live, has no 
 
 H* 
 
154 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 right to lay his profane hands on the human form or 
 countenance. We have enough of vacancy in fair 
 faces at all times; enough of spiritual dross, stupidity, 
 and intellectual degradation in the human world in 
 which we move; more than enough of insipidity from 
 lack of soul-culture in both men and women, upon 
 whom sloth and sense have laid their heavy hands, 
 without an endless repetition of their deadly loss to 
 stare at us unceasingly from gallery walls. No! let 
 ignoble features alone! Give us the subduing power 
 of love, the tenderness of sympathy, the fulness of joy, 
 the sweetness of hope, the strength of faith, the he¬ 
 roism of virtue, the power of intellect, the lessons, and 
 if need he the suffering of self-denial, the repose of 
 constancy, and the patience of charity. Let these and 
 every sentiment or passion consecrated by religion and 
 ruled by mind, look at us through human flesh, tender 
 in quality with blood and muscle beneath, that a pin 
 might make flow or a blow turn blue, truthful in out¬ 
 line, severely graceful in proportions, combining soul, 
 color, and form in one harmonious portrait, and then 
 we may talk sensibly of the triumphs of Art as the 
 interpreter of humanity. 
 
 Exaggeration, however, must be scrupulously 
 avoided. The main idea can be kept prominent, and 
 yet all others so nicely graduated, that there shall be 
 no violent transitions, or swellings up of parts at the 
 expense of others, and to the loss of the harmony that 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 155 
 
 Nature exacts in all her works. Physically, we may 
 create a monster or a pigmy by abuse of the law of 
 proportions; morally, we destroy all dignity, and de¬ 
 range our subject by its violation. It is much easier 
 to make sentiment ridiculous, or even grief disgusting, 
 by the aggravation of its outward expressions, as in 
 Guercino’s Hagar, than to ennoble passion by its sub¬ 
 jection to virtue and reason. In Art we want neither 
 fools nor madmen. Passion we must have as the 
 great lever of the human heart; but bring it to us in 
 the quiet majesty of the true hero, or the sublimity of 
 virtue born of beauty, and not in the mockery and rant 
 of stage effort in its garb of tinsel show. 
 
 Much doubt exists as to the propriety of rendering 
 the nude figure. In sculpture it is universally ad¬ 
 mitted, because mere form does not appeal strongly to 
 sense. As I have before remarked, its chief claim is 
 upon the intellect; add color, however, and upon the 
 universal principle of nature in its use, feeling is at 
 once touched; it must, of course, be combined accord¬ 
 ing to the law of harmony. A gilt or a bronze 
 statue arouses no emotion beyond intellectual admira¬ 
 tion ; any artificial employment of color, such as 
 tinting marble, strikes the mind disagreeably as a 
 falsification of the material without any adequate 
 motive. We look to sculpture for form alone; if it 
 attempt more it becomes painful as a violation of its 
 primary truth; indeed, I believe for sculnture itself, 
 
156 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 as confined to the human figure, that the intellectual 
 pleasure diminishes in the degree that pure white is 
 departed from as its material. Does any one find 
 other pleasure in the artistic freaks of the classical 
 ages, and the imitations of the Renaissance in the shape 
 of blackamoors, draperies, and occasionally separate 
 features, rendered by the natural colors of their stone- 
 material, than in the ingenuity of these combinations? 
 This is a separate question from color in architecture, 
 to which I strongly incline, especially if, as in the 
 Duomo of Florence, it is derived from the porphyries, 
 jaspers, serpentines, and other precious stones of which 
 it is constructed. So, too, of statuary on the exterior 
 of buildings ; to be in harmony with the architecture, 
 they must acquire its general hue. The atmosphere 
 understands this law of unity, and soon tones all sur¬ 
 faces to its natural key; but for indoor statuary, the 
 most pleasing color is the transparent white of the 
 marble itself, softened by time to flesh-like delicacy. 
 
 The Reformation inflicted no greater injury upon 
 good taste than in whitewashing the interior of its 
 churches. Wherever Puritanism and its kindred creeds 
 prevail, whitewash almost appears to be an article of 
 faith : it has even made inroads on Roman ground. 
 Throughout the United States, and over a great por¬ 
 tion of Europe, the interior of churches is one blinding 
 glare of white. Why is this ? Must the soul do con¬ 
 tinual penance through its eyes to keep alive its faith? 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 157 
 
 The Almighty does not thus mortify our tastes. He 
 spreads color all over his creation for the special pur¬ 
 pose of gratifying our vision. He connects its enjoy¬ 
 ment with feeling, and thus makes it food for the soul. 
 True, it may be made an instrument of sense; but so 
 may love itself, on which religion is based. Color is 
 the type of holiness : if you doubt this, go to Nature’s 
 sunsets, and then seek, through the endless variety of 
 her beauty, to find from out of it a pleasure more pure 
 and sincere than this. You cannot! Ask revelation 
 whether it is form or color that is most used as a type 
 of spiritual glory ? The throne of God is “ like unto 
 an emerald,” and “ there was a rainbow round about 
 the throne.” The glory of God was for “ light like 
 unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, 
 clear as crystalthe foundations of the walls of the 
 celestial city “ were garnished with all manner of pre¬ 
 cious stones the twelve gates were twelve pearls, 
 and the streets pure gold. There we have color 
 without regard to form, used to impress upon our 
 minds the beauty of that spiritual world. We may 
 safely conclude, without risking the salvation of our 
 souls, that color was given for man’s use and enjoy¬ 
 ment ; if he persist in making his world barren, angels 
 may pity, but cannot save him from his own blindness. 
 
 Puritanical whitewash is no more applicable to a 
 church on the one hand, than the upholstery decorations 
 and ball-room taste of the Madeleine and Notre Dame 
 
158 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 de Lorette at Paris, on the other. Color has mean¬ 
 ings : it can be gay or serious, solemn or frivolous; 
 indeed, it is eminently suggestive to feeling. Like 
 music, it has, in a certain degree, the power to arouse 
 emotion. Why, then, should not its capacity he em¬ 
 ployed in our churches, to give that serene repose to 
 the eye which so aids thought in its service of the soul ? 
 To the scoffer at its spiritual efficacy, I would say, Go 
 straight from one of those naked meeting-houses into 
 the solemnity of the Strasbourg Cathedral, and then 
 tell me if the light of day, subdued into keeping with 
 those greyish-purple time-tinted columns, and massive 
 roof of stone, lifting its arches in heavenward span, 
 while through the glass-stained windows, rainbow 
 glories pour with mellowed rays, sparkling in the 
 atmosphere like down from angel’s wings; whether 
 these be not more in keeping with what we are told of 
 the celestial abodes, than those four-sided, flat-roofed, 
 colorless walls into which Calvinistic Protestantism 
 cramps itself! I write feelingly on this subject, be¬ 
 cause I do not wish to see—as has often been said of 
 music—color employed only in the service of the devil ; 
 the Being who created it has the sole right to its 
 loyalty. 
 
 To return to sculpture. The nude figure is its 
 legitimate province when it wishes to represent men or 
 women as created for Paradise, perfect in form and 
 pure in feature. The power, action, and beauty of the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 159 
 
 human figure can in no other way be adequately pre¬ 
 sented. Clothing becomes then a mere accessory, and 
 not as by the laws of social propriety a necessity. We 
 are to look upon the creation of the sculptor as God 
 looked upon Adam when He pronounced him “ good.” 
 If he fail to awaken in us this feeling, there is a taint 
 of foulness either about him or in ourselves. Search 
 for it and cast it out, for it will bite with a serpent’s 
 tooth. The majority of men associate vulgar ideas 
 with the human form, simply because they have 
 debased their own minds by sensual thoughts or 
 actions. With the young it often assumes the form of 
 mock modesty, owing to the false direction given to 
 their education. Were their own natural instincts of 
 purity left free to act, they would see only in human 
 beauty the power and wisdom of the Creator. Still, 
 even in sculpture a wrong direction can be given to 
 the purest material from the corrupt imagination of 
 the artist, as may be seen on the tomb of Paul III., 
 in St. Peter’s, at Pome. Two women, as Virtues, 
 recline upon it. To the younger the sculptor imparted 
 so lascivious a contour of limbs, that one of the popes 
 was compelled to clothe them in bronze drapery; their 
 effect upon the prurient minds of clergy doomed to 
 celibacy being not of the most edifying character. 
 Even now there is an atmosphere of voluptuousness 
 about it that the bronze cannot wholly conceal. It 
 would have been far better to have ground the statue 
 
16C 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 to pieces for lime than to have left it as a monument 
 in a Christian temple. 
 
 In treating the human figure, particularly the 
 female, in painting, so as to escape all appearance of 
 sensuality, it requires not only consummate art but 
 equal purity of mind. It can be so represented, as by 
 Titian in his ‘ Dresden Venus,’ that no idea of modesty 
 or immodesty enters the mind, but the spectator be 
 wholly lost in the enchantment of the perfect-art 
 woman. Then again, as in his ‘Tribune Venus,’ at 
 Florence, we have before us the complete type of 
 voluptuousness, yet so sanctified by his art that desire 
 makes no inroads upon admiration. We see, it is 
 true, a naked woman of life-size glowing with passion, 
 but so wrapt in beauty’s mould, that while we recog¬ 
 nise in her the great design of her sex “ to be fruitful 
 and multiply,” yet no profane thought abides with 
 that unequalled triumph of Art. 
 
 We have had, however, but one Titian. Unless an 
 artist feels an equal capacity of so purely rendering 
 the nude figures in those modes, which if not treated 
 with the noble freedom with which Nature inspired 
 man before he knew sin, approaching, as it were, the 
 natural innocence of animals in obeying their instincts, 
 he will but display his own corruption, and he had 
 better drape his flesh and blood sufficiently to hide 
 that consciousness of nakedness that came to us only 
 with our fall. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. IG3 
 
 Sculpture precedes painting in civilization, because 
 its materials are simpler, its mechanical difficulties 
 more easily overcome, and it requires less mental 
 effort. Painting in its highest flight demands all that 
 sculpture knows and something more. Which has the 
 greater abstract power over the human mind has been 
 often discussed. I believe it lies with painting; 
 though what it gains in color is perhaps counter¬ 
 balanced by what it loses in completeness of form. Its 
 capacity is, however, far greater. If it lack power in 
 comparison with sculpture over the popular mind, it 
 is because its faults are not only more conspicuous, 
 but its excellences require greater cultivation to appre¬ 
 ciate. The same general principles of harmony, 
 unity, variety, repose, and sincerity are equally appli¬ 
 cable to both. The same vices of composition, exag¬ 
 geration, feebleness, incongruity, and distortion of 
 parts, are to be likewise avoided. The first great 
 question in regard to it is its idea or motive ; second, 
 its execution or finish. With cither, great thoughts 
 have often been more forcibly given in outline than in 
 completion, because with finish came perhaps over¬ 
 attention to the externals, by which the original 
 thought was frittered away, or distracted from the 
 spectator’s mind by glaring faults of form and want of 
 general unity. 
 
 Whatever we feel or know of inner life must be mani¬ 
 fested in form or color. Spirit, like matter, has shape 
 
1G2 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 and hue. Every emotion, however subtle, discloses 
 itself by external action; in fine, the soul, whether 
 spiritualized or sensualized, gives likeness to the outer 
 man. Hence the idea, that to render the human form 
 in its most perfect expression in sculpture, nothing 
 more is necessary than an instrument which shall 
 accurately give every material length, diameter, and 
 superficies of skin-surface in all their fine gradations 
 and relations to the whole. An instrument of this 
 nature can indeed do much, as I have witnessed.in 
 one constructed by Joel T. Hart, the American 
 sculptor, at Florence. Mr. Hart resolves the capacity 
 of sculpture into a system of mathematical measure¬ 
 ments. He argues that the sculptor to produce 
 actuality as in life must measure or judge by the eye 
 alone, consequently an instrument which shall com¬ 
 bine in itself a sufficient number of measurements, 
 applied to the human form so as to render its infinite 
 gradations in their complex unity, will do what the 
 unassisted eye or mind cannot effect. Moreover, as 
 the unsupported figure is continually changing, and 
 expression varying, whereby the relations of parts to 
 the whole are constantly disturbed, the instrument 
 which shall measure accurately expression and alti¬ 
 tude through form in their highest conditions, does 
 what the sculptor can never hope to do by the common 
 process of callipers and mental judgment. It seizes 
 and fixes the right expression or action, and from the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 1G3 
 
 rapidity and accuracy with which it works, completes 
 the design of the artist as it were at one effort, with¬ 
 out fear of loss of harmony by variation of parts, 
 owing to differences of time in modelling as is the usual 
 practice. But to do full justice to Mr. Hart, I will 
 quote his own words to me in explanation of his inven¬ 
 tion, or rather its intention. Until his patents are 
 secured, he does not wish to make public the principles 
 of its construction. 
 
 “ The invention claims to transfer from the living 
 original to clay or other material the masses and 
 movements in all their variety and perfect relation and 
 proportion to one another and to gravity, in exact 
 size, form, and expression as a whole, maintaining the 
 figure or group poised in the altitude desired. This 
 is done at one sitting of from fifteen to thirty minutes, 
 without incommoding the sitter. 
 
 “ The basis thus established by a given number of 
 points, the sculptor proceeds to work out the forms 
 thus mathematically designated, requiring nature for 
 the smaller details only. He accomplishes his work 
 in far less time than by the common method, and with 
 far more perfect results. 
 
 “ As a scale measures planes in geometry, so does 
 this instrument measure cubes in all their complexity 
 of forms, from either inanimate objects or living intel¬ 
 ligence in any altitude or expression; and transfers 
 them to other substance. The ordinary workman can 
 
164 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 execute in great part the labor which the sculptor only 
 hitherto could perform. 
 
 “ As the ideal is produced from the actual, let the 
 best actuality be perfectly produced from life with the 
 instrument; then the artist will have more perfect 
 material from which to select and build his more per¬ 
 fect ideal. 
 
 “ The instrument will also perfectly copy the great 
 works, such as the Laocoon, Apollo, Venus, &c., with¬ 
 out encumbering or injuring them in the least, which 
 is not now allowed, because the old method by callipers 
 would mar them. Casts from them are so imperfect, 
 and the inaccurate copying with the callipers from the 
 casts makes so many departures from the originals, 
 that copies, as hitherto made, are of little value. 
 
 “ The instrument also mathematically copies the 
 sculptor’s own productions, relieving him of the neces¬ 
 sity of working upon the marble; because, when his 
 model is completed, his workman can execute it 
 equally as well as himself. If defects be found in 
 the marble, they can be cut away to tbe last frac¬ 
 ture of its dimensions, as the basis of the measure¬ 
 ments are not taken, as in the old way, from the block 
 itself. 
 
 “ Thus the sculptor can produce his models in 
 America or elsewhere, and send them to be wrought 
 out where labor and material are cheaper, without 
 the necessity of laboring upon them himself; the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 165 
 
 measures or points being exact and fixed, there can be 
 no departure from them, and hence no necessity, as 
 often arises in the old way, of compromising the entire 
 harmony of proportions to avoid some bad pointing in 
 parts. The workman also, besides being mathemati¬ 
 cally accurate in his points, can produce two in the 
 time required for one in the old way.” 
 
 Did Mr. Hart confine himself to claiming for his 
 invention all that he does as a copyist, or as an aid in 
 securing form and expression, whereby much time and 
 labor are saved, and consequently the sculptor’s art 
 cheapened as to cost, and made more true to external 
 likeness, I could assent to his views. But he makes a 
 fatal mistake to the dignity of his art in also reducing 
 it to a system of external measurements, believing, as 
 he undoubtedly does, that “beauty, expression, and 
 character ” can all be reproduced in material through 
 the agency of a machine. This is but another de¬ 
 velopment of the common error of the age, by which 
 mere science is made paramount to spirit, and all 
 phenomena of the soul resolvable into her laws ; thus 
 creating nature or matter, the god of the universe. It 
 proceeds from the popular system of reasoning from 
 the external to the internal. Now although, as I 
 have before said, spirit can be known only through 
 substance, yet it is something apart from matter; it is 
 its vitality or governing principle. The aim of the 
 artist is not, therefore, to be confined to mere elegance 
 
166 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of proportions, beauty of contour, or tenderness and 
 harmony of hues for their own sakes; but he is to 
 make them glow with the governing principle of life, 
 the soul’s vitality, by which its image is reflected 
 through outward shape and hue. Hence these latter 
 may be accurately rendered by measurement, so that 
 no eye or instrument can detect any discrepancy of 
 proportion or parts between them and their originals, 
 and yet the Art be lifeless in comparison with Nature. 
 Imitation in Art should be confined to external quali¬ 
 ties. When the artist seeks to imitate spiritual truth, 
 or even intellectual emotion, he necessarily fails, be¬ 
 cause their subtle principles can only be suggested, 
 and not represented. His work must actually glow 
 with the feeling from his own mind of the great truth 
 or thought which he wishes to reflect in his material. 
 Matter is but the clothing of spirit, and of itself life¬ 
 less ; the soul only illumines its surface, and causes its 
 action. But in the body we see only with our natural 
 eyes, and measure only with our natural hands ; con¬ 
 sequently, if we undertake to measure spirit by the aid 
 of matter, we undertake an impossibility. We mistake 
 its effects for the cause, and substitute the grossness of 
 the material for the refinement of spirit. Whoever, 
 therefore, works on this principle, however successful 
 in delineating the mere harmonies of flesh and blood, 
 will fail in high Art. He goes astray, because he 
 works from a wrong principle. It requires the same 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 107 
 
 responsive truth in the sculptor to light up his marble 
 with life as it does the painter in his portrait. No 
 machine can model an idea, or fill an hiatus of the 
 imagination. When we succeed in measuring a soul, 
 then, and not until then, we may be able to reduce 
 sculpture to a mechanical art . 1 
 
 Sculpture that violates our sympathies by unneces¬ 
 sary pain, that does not suggest more than it exhibits 
 in shape, that does not throw all its action towards the 
 central idea, that pays not more attention to the soul 
 than to the body, and more to the body than to its 
 garments, is the work of feebleness, whatever may be 
 its merits of finish. It is great only in proportion to the 
 greatness of its idea, and the harmony of all the detail 
 with that idea. The unity of sculpture lies both in 
 the unison of sentiments or passions to the chief 
 thought and the subtle proportion of the material parts 
 of the whole. Its variety lies within the circle of 
 human action, though imagination, fancy, and nature 
 at large supply an infinite variety of forms for its 
 
 1 Mr. Hart has been very successful -with his busts, aided no 
 doubt, in all that mechanics can do, by his invention. Indeed one 
 of his busts, recently taken from life and idealized by him into a 
 Juno, is strikingly beautiful and harmonious, -with much tenderness 
 of surface, and glowing with vitality from within. But I see in its 
 higher qualities more of the feeling of the artist derived from him¬ 
 self, than the imitative capacities of his invention. He is disposed 
 to exalt that at the expense of his own merit, in those points which, 
 as I have remarked, no machine can express, from a general prin¬ 
 ciple of Nature, that power proceeds invariably from the higher 
 principle to the lower, and never the reverse. 
 
1G8 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 exercise. Still its inspiration lies chiefly in thought, 
 and its value in its sincerity. Wherever we see more 
 of the sculptor or his material than the idea, we may 
 be assured of his insincerity. Vanity and vulgarity 
 are as legible upon marble as upon canvas. 
 
 The true test of the power of sculpture is in its 
 repose. We then feel that all its parts and motives 
 are in unity. They affect the mind as do the grand 
 features of the landscape. We can no more escape 
 from the impression produced by perfect statuary than 
 we can from the effects of uttered thought: eternity 
 will still find it in our companionship. 
 
 Art has its limitations not only in absolute choice of, 
 but in the use of material, as regards subjects. Paint¬ 
 ing has a wider field than sculpture, but there are cir¬ 
 cumstances of the greatest interest as related in lan¬ 
 guage, which fail in painting from want of sufficient 
 action to make the idea intelligible. A battle, a ship¬ 
 wreck, a landscape, or a portrait tells its own story ; 
 but let a man who has never read the American 
 history, see, for the first time, the national painting of 
 the ‘ Declaration of Independence,’ and it would be 
 to him nothing more than a circle of plain-dressed, 
 intellectual-looking gentlemen, gathered about a table 
 to sign some important document; it would interest 
 him no more than a committee on duty, or a court in 
 session. Enlighten him as to the history, then his 
 imagination comes into play, and the picture is invested 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 169 
 
 from his mind with that interest which it was incapable, 
 by itself, of conveying to his mind. Such a painting 
 may be valuable as a collection of portraits, but as an 
 evidence of high Art, it fails from selection of subject. 
 
 Many of the failures of sculpture may be traced to 
 equal inaptness of subject, though great genius will 
 do much to invest with interest the most unpro¬ 
 mising ; ordinary minds, however, oftener shipwreck 
 them. It is evident, therefore, that the selection as 
 well as the treatment of the subject requires great 
 judgment. 
 
 The material which is good for one subject is fre 
 quently bad for another; on the grounds of fitness and 
 situation. Bronze is superior to marble for certain 
 character of ornament and expression; and the con¬ 
 trary. A suitable subject for a cameo might be very 
 unfit for elevated painting, or for heroic sculpture. 
 
 Size, too, has an important bearing on Art. That 
 which looks well on a small scale in one material, be¬ 
 comes ridiculous when enlarged in another. This is 
 particularly true of the merely ornamental. Perfect 
 grace and majesty may be expressed in Lilliputian 
 size, provided the proportions of the parts are perfectly 
 preserved. A figure may even be colossal throughout, 
 and yet require a magnifying-glass to exhibit its accu¬ 
 racy of proportions. A colossal statue, in its heroic 
 acceptation, is not, however, to be created by merely 
 exaggerating the natural size ; we should simply arrive 
 
 I 
 
170 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 at an overgrown man, a giant perhaps, but not to the 
 superhuman grandeur of a colossus. A mathematically- 
 enlarged man-model will not make an heroic statue, 
 unless the intellectual proportions be correspondingly 
 elevated; otherwise the harmony between physical 
 size and mental grandeur is lost, and the result be a 
 mammoth fool. Neither can we get at the human 
 form so as to preserve a unity with the face by working 
 from the outside, inwardly ; paying more attention to 
 the labor of the tailor than the work of God. Clothing 
 is a mere contingent of sculpture. 
 
 These are all important considerations for both 
 artists and amateurs whose aim is excellence. Artists, 
 however, are often inappreciated from their works 
 being placed in positions or lights for which they were 
 never intended. To judge fairly of Art, it should be 
 seen at home, that is, in exactly the spot and under the 
 circumstances for which it was made; otherwise we 
 may go away not only with wrong impressions of the 
 artist, hut with a wrong lesson to ourselves. It is of 
 importance, too, that a lover of Art should know, him¬ 
 self, the conditions necessary for best exhibiting its 
 works; these may be termed the truths of adaption. 
 A little experience and study of the effects of light 
 and shadow will solve any difficulties of this nature, 
 keeping in view the Art-idea. That which is made to 
 be seen near to, should not be placed above and out of 
 sight, as are the best statues of the Milan Cathedral; 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 171 
 
 nor that which should be seen above, as was intended 
 Michael Angelo’s Moses, be placed on a level with 
 our eyes. No artist suffers more from misplacement 
 than Michael Angelo. Position to him is all important 
 to render his designs effective. His defective draw¬ 
 ing, exaggerated anatomy, and harsh coloring, seen at 
 the distance intended by him, lose much of their unna¬ 
 tural character; yet, unlike the best works of Greece, 
 there is in him more that is monstrous than truly 
 grand in style, made worse often by being studied at 
 ten feet off, when intended to have been seen only at 
 fifty. The finish and proportion of parts depend 
 greatly upon the distance and elevation for which they 
 are intended. If the eye is puzzled or wearied in 
 reading sculpture, or distracted to parts, it is a sign 
 that it is either wrongly placed, or over-finished in 
 detail. Ornament is worse than useless that does not 
 correctly meet the vision ; its whole purpose is lost, 
 and the artist has thrown his power to the winds . 1 
 
 1 No principle in Art is more subtle, and yet effective, than 
 correct proportion. In the degree it is reached we find an obvious 
 pleasure, though we are not always able to define either the cause 
 or its laws. That there must exist in nature universal rules of pro¬ 
 portion applicable to each class of subjects is evident. To the 
 extent these rules are departed from we lose pleasure in Art. This 
 is particularly true of Sculpture. Yet few are able to define its 
 correct standard. Many theories of the true human proportions have 
 been in vogue, but no one strikes me as so simple and applicable 
 as the following, adopted by William Page, of Rome. He should 
 expound it to the world in the scientific manner of which no artist 
 is more capable. Simply and untechnicaily the principle is this ; 
 
172 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Briefly to recapitulate the most important truths of 
 this chapter, X would say, that Great Art is the result 
 only of the noblest powers directed to the highest ends. 
 As it requires the whole mind of the artist to create it, 
 so it requires the whole understanding of equal minds 
 to fully comprehend it. Cultivation of the soul to the 
 fullest expansion of all its faculties is the sole key 
 which will unlock to us its entire treasures. The 
 common mind at first sees blindly; but if it possess 
 feeling and capacity, it will be attracted, and return 
 again and again to Art, until it has raised itself to a 
 level with its truth. 
 
 divide the human figure into three equal parts, so that the first, 
 commencing at the crown of the head, terminates at the pit of the 
 stomach, following the true waist round ; let an equal length reach 
 the insertion of the muscles of the leg, just above the kneepan; 
 thence to the heel for the third part. Grandeur and grace are 
 attained in the degree this rule is followed. The most perfect 
 exemplification is in the figure known as the Egyptian Apollo. 
 However much reduced, it retains its beauty and dignity, provided 
 these three equal anatomical divisions are preserved. It is supposed 
 that the Greeks, in their best works, derived this standard from the 
 Egyptians. The original authors could have arrived at it only by 
 careful comparison of proportions of the best-formed of the human 
 
 race. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SCHOOLS OF ART—GREECE, ROME, AND CONSTANTINOPE. 
 
 Art generically, as I shall term the character which 
 it assumed in the different stages of its progress as 
 represented by schools, is an important branch of in¬ 
 quiry. Artists, as a class, have rarely been able to 
 control and direct the public mind. With but indi¬ 
 vidual exceptions they have always succumbed to 
 external pressure. In every age Art has been the 
 embodiment of either the democratic, religious, or 
 aristocratic idea; that is to say, the people, priestcraft, 
 and rulers,-have alternately given it direction. 
 
 The style and thought of the various schools which 
 have arisen among the several nations that have de¬ 
 veloped Art, will be found to be characterized in a 
 great degree by the prevailing sentiment of their era, 
 varying in choice and treatment of subjects according 
 to the fluctuations of morals and education. At no 
 time has Art been entirely free. Perhaps it is too 
 much to expect that it will ever wholly liberate itself 
 
174 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 from human prejudice or infirmity, and rise to its 
 legitimate position of an incorruptible teacher of Truth 
 and expounder of Beauty. The utmost that can be 
 rationally hoped for it, is, that good taste may be so 
 diffused as to create a demand for excellence, and a 
 prompt rejection of artifice. Great minds only can so 
 impress the common mind as to lead it steadily for¬ 
 ward in the road of good taste. Their task is a 
 gigantic one, owing to the eccentricity of popular 
 impulses, and the diligence of weaker minds, who, not 
 content with being wrong themselves, are ever striving 
 to draw others after them. Then too, as has been 
 shown in the earlier chapters, state policy and priestly 
 guile are perpetually on the alert to corrupt so power¬ 
 ful an agency into the furthering of their designs. 
 Yet with all these drawbacks, we constantly see in 
 Art signs of promise. Her struggles are incessant to 
 escape from the snares in her path, and her progress, 
 as a whole, may be said to be onward. Every lofty 
 development of genius in schools becomes a stimulus 
 to greater exertion. It is true many ages may yet 
 pass before certain past excellence is again rivalled, 
 but the standard it creates fixes itself indelibly upon 
 the human mind, which contents itself permanently 
 with nothing inferior. Whatever degree of perfection, 
 in their particular studies classicalism arrived at, we 
 seek for ; so of medievalism ; thus modernism has the 
 threefold advantage of possessing not only her own 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 175 
 
 artistic energies and aspirations, but also the ex¬ 
 perience and progress of those two great eras of Art. 
 
 Schools of Art had their origin in individual talent, 
 fostered by public patronage to a degree which exalted 
 the private taste or particular excellence of the artist 
 into a rule, as it were, for his immediate neighborhood 
 or generation. They have all been more or less par¬ 
 tial in their scope, owing to the particular direction 
 given to the genius of their founders which continued 
 to affect their pupils, until an equal or superior ijiind 
 arising, forced the bias of his own method upon his 
 generation, and thus modified the old or created a 
 new school. My remarks will apply mainly to paint¬ 
 ing. Sculpture and architecture will be glanced at 
 incidentally, only as connected with painting in the 
 various Art-changes of past time. 
 
 By whom painting was first practised is an inquiry 
 of no moment. It is probable that every nation, how¬ 
 ever barbarous, sought, in its artificial productions, to 
 rival the colors of nature. We see among all savages 
 the same innate love of bright hues and violent con¬ 
 trasts. Expression, however, first took the form of 
 sculpture. Painting was largely used as an accessory. 
 Almost all of the earliest architecture and domestic 
 utensils with which we are acquainted, such as those of 
 Nineveh, Egypt, and Etruria, were profusely adorned 
 with brilliant paint, laid on without reference to natu¬ 
 ral hues, but evidently from no other motive than love 
 
176 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of positive colors. These early efforts of an impulsive 
 feeling for color are too nearly allied to the untutored 
 labors of all barbarous nations, to be dignified as 
 painting. They were merely its alphabet. Its pro¬ 
 fessors were just learning to spell, even while sculp¬ 
 ture and architecture had risen to a certain degree of 
 eminence. Still there were striking analogies between 
 all three in their simplicity, serenity, grandeur, and 
 sincerity. 
 
 Ezekiel 1 informs us that the Jews were acquainted 
 with portraiture, but it was evidently of the simplest 
 character, such as we still see in the tombs of Egypt. 
 They saw “ men portrayed upon the wall, the images 
 of Chaldeans, portrayed with vermilion, girded with 
 girdles upon their loins, exceeding in dyed attire upon 
 their heads.” The oriental fondness for pure color is 
 here strikingly manifested. The oldest-known por¬ 
 traits are found in the monuments of Egypt, dating 
 back 5,300 years. They are flat profiles, without per¬ 
 spective, brightly colored, and the eye given in full. 
 
 The early efforts of the Grecians were undoubtedly 
 equally rude. Their rapid advances towards perfection 
 in sculpture are sufficiently attested by the noble 
 works which have reached our time, and indeed form 
 both the basis and rule of our sculptural art. Of their 
 success in painting we unfortunately know less. The 
 fame of their great painters has alone descended to us. 
 
 1 Chap, xxiii. ver. 14. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 177 
 
 Few names of modern times have equal celebrity with 
 the old Greek artists, Parrhasius, Zeuxis, Protogenes, 
 and Apelles. We are compelled, however, to receive 
 their reputations on hearsay, as nothing remains of 
 their works. 
 
 The disentombment of Pompeii, Herculaneum, and 
 the discovery of certain mosaics, as well as the contents 
 of classical tombs, have thrown some light upon the 
 character of this branch of Art among the Greeks and 
 Romans. In execution we find an oriental partiality 
 for positive colors; gradations or neutral tints rarely 
 attempted, and an exaggeration of parts for particular 
 effects. Unity and harmony, in the broad modern sig¬ 
 nification, are but little attended to, while we see much 
 incorrect drawing and general faultiness of perspective. 
 In short, such ancient paintings as we possess will not 
 endure criticism, as a whole, in the complete details of 
 modern executive Art. Yet with all the violations of 
 the simplest rules of painting, there is much vigor, 
 originality, thought, and skill. Some of the pictures 
 at Pom«pei.i seem to have been managed with a degree 
 of knowledge as to the effects of distance worthy 
 of a Turner. Approached near to, they exhibit 
 nothing but meaningless spots of color. Seen in 
 their correct position, a tolerable landscape comes 
 into view. 
 
 Art was united with manufacture, which, indeed, 
 appeared to derive its chief value from the former. 
 
 j* 
 
178 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 with the Greeks and Romans in their domestic utensils, 
 to a degree quite unknown among the moderns. Many 
 of these articles had an established form, or figurative 
 ornament, in which beauty and allegory were happily 
 combined. In this manner those nations surrounded 
 themselves in their households with objects which per¬ 
 petually recalled their poetical or sensuous faiths, and 
 kept alive their sensibility to artistic beauty. 
 
 In the reign of Augustus it became fashionable for 
 the first time to cover the entire walls of rooms with 
 landscapes and historical or mythological scenes. Pre¬ 
 vious to this the walls were painted in simple color, 
 relieved by capricious designs. We have no specimens 
 of the easel paintings of the ancients. Multitudes, 
 however, of encaustics—colors prepared in a mixture 
 of wax and oil—and frescoes have been discovered in 
 the lava-buried towns of Campania. Perhaps these 
 should not be considered as the highest effort of Greco- 
 Roman Art, from the fact of having been found in 
 provincial cities of comparatively little importance; 
 yet they are the only clue we possess to the general 
 knowledge and principles of ancient painting. 
 
 The perfection of classical sculpture is by no means 
 the rule for classical painting. Before painting had 
 advanced beyond flat outline, the most perfect statuary 
 of Greece had been produced. Apollodorus and 
 Zeuxis were the first painters who comprehended light 
 and shadow in Art. The difficulty of arriving in the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 179 
 
 latter to an equal excellence with the former, evidently 
 arose less from a want of correct feeling for its highest 
 expression, than from an ignorance of detail and ma¬ 
 nagement of materials. Their best pictures are often 
 gracefully composed and vigorously expressed, show¬ 
 ing great truth of outline, much humor or fancy, and 
 evidences of a fertile and powerful imagination. They 
 exhibit, indeed, more of the particular excellence of 
 their statuary Art, than that which more properly 
 characterizes painting. Scrupulous attention is, how¬ 
 ever, sometimes paid to the management of details and 
 accessories, particularly in mosaics, in which the groups 
 are finely put together, the draperies often elegant, 
 and the lights and shadows cleverly managed. 
 
 If we may rely on the testimony of the ancients 
 themselves, their first masters produced prodigies of 
 Art. But while allowing them every credit for the 
 higher qualities of invention and composition, I am not 
 disposed to consider the excessive eulogiums of their 
 classical writers, who have spoken of the celebrated 
 pictures of antiquity, as proof of equal merit with modern 
 Art in its more comprehensive detail. Zeuxis had so 
 high an opinion of his own works, that at last he refused 
 to sell them, but gave them away, saying that they 
 were above-all price. The little that we know of the 
 ancient masterpieces is derived from Pausanias and 
 Pliny, and some remarks of Cicero. But to me, their 
 extravagant praises are rather evidence of the com- 
 
180 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 parative novelty and rapid progress of their Art than 
 ot its perfection. The spectators of the nineteenth 
 century smile when they contrast Cimabue’s Madonna 
 with the enthusiastic welcome it received from the Art- 
 judges of the thirteenth. The first great steps in 
 invention in Art are always hailed with wonder, from 
 contrast with preceding poverty or feebleness. Their 
 after-progress being less marked, although constantly 
 advancing towards perfection, creates but little popular 
 sensation. 
 
 For the first six hundred years of their national ex¬ 
 istence, the Romans were mere barbarians in Art. 
 Their soldiers wantonly destroyed both the pictures 
 and statues of Greece. After the capture of Corinth, 
 innumerable treasures of taste were sent to Rome, and 
 their exhibition gave its citizens their first ideas of 
 Art. But so little was even their general, Mummius, 
 aqquainted with the value of the statues and pictures, 
 whose beauty for the first time captivated his eye, that 
 he required of those charged with their conveyance, in 
 case of loss or injury, that they should furnish neiv. 
 Grecian artists were also transported to Rome, and 
 either sold as slaves, or reduced to the condition of 
 artisans. Deprived of their personal freedom, and 
 those sources of inspiration derived from national inde¬ 
 pendence, their Art degenerated into mere imitation. 
 Great works and magnificent temples were, indeed, 
 erected under the authority of the emperors; but the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 181 
 
 true greatness of Roman Art lay not in copying 
 Greece, but in its own grand architectural creations. 
 While sculpture flourished at Rome, painting was 
 neglected to such a degree, that even in presence of 
 several of the much-lauded masterpieces of Greece, 
 which were deposited in the temples, it was reduced to 
 the level of a servile trade. This fact alone would 
 seem to confirm the comparative inferiority of classical 
 painting to its sculpture. 
 
 The subjects of the ancients were confined to a much 
 narrower compass than are the modern. There are, con¬ 
 sequently, more sameness and repetition in their Art. 
 It is, however, deeply imbued with their sensuous, re¬ 
 ligious mind, passing, by almost imperceptible changes, 
 from the loftiest expressions of human emotion and the 
 unspiritual heroism of their earthly divinities, in all 
 their beauteous intellectuality and forms, to the vulgar 
 field of fleshly weaknesses and the corruptions of bodily 
 lusts. Its better expression was eminently poetical; 
 but in the lower it partook of the selfishness and de¬ 
 gradation of the masses, with no higher aim in either, 
 than to excite the intellect, amuse the senses, or arouse 
 the passions. There are in it—as in the Sacrifice of 
 Iphigenia; Medea meditating the murder of her 
 children ; and Leda presenting her three offspring, 
 Castor, Pollux, and Helen, to her husband, Tynda- 
 rus—moments of lofty self-sacrificing enthusiasm, of 
 high tragical import, and of sweet domesticity, given 
 
182 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 with much spirit and freedom. The ancients under¬ 
 stood better the spiritual portraying of their subjects 
 than their mechanical execution. We find in their 
 Art a marked central point, to which the common 
 interest and lesser individualities tend; a nice distri¬ 
 bution of attributes, subtle discrimination of character 
 and all those higher artistic truths which complete the 
 unity and fix the attention upon the story. Their 
 knowledge, however, of painting as a whole was 
 limited in comparison with modern attainments. 
 
 The establishment of Christianity as a political in¬ 
 stitution in the fourth century proved the destruction 
 of the ancient schools of Art. They had long been on 
 the decline, chiefly from the decadence of belief in the 
 mythology, from which they had mainly derived their 
 sustenance. In the struggle between the old. and new 
 forms of worship, carvers of images were in the outset 
 considered as agents of the devil. They were refused 
 baptism and permission to pursue their avocation. 
 The hatred against idols extended to works innocent 
 of any claims to sanctity. Not only were the temples 
 injured by the fervor of the reaction against paganism, 
 and every work of art that recalled the detested 
 mythology of the past, but even the busts and statues 
 of celebrated men which decorated the public edifices 
 were often wantonly destroyed. 
 
 The love of Art was, however, too deeply implanted 
 in the ancient mind to be wholly eradicated. Gra- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 180 
 
 dually old tastes and natural instincts came again into 
 play. Art was, however, purified as far as possible 
 from pagan taint and adapted to the new forms of 
 worship. Still, much of its knowledge and many of 
 its forms were necessarily borrowed from the schools 
 of the past. In the infancy of knowledge, before 
 printing had made its essence as free and intelligible 
 as speech, ideas were often conveyed through the 
 forms of symbols or allegory. To the modern mind 
 this mode of expressing abstract thought is in a great 
 degree tedious and unprofitable, because we have 
 better methods of conveying instruction. Not so to the 
 ancient mind. That was educated to interpret their 
 language as readily as we peruse a newspaper. Con¬ 
 sequently what to us is expressive only of cold reason, 
 often far-fetched and difficult to comprehend, w r as to 
 them living faith. The eagle and thunderbolt were 
 emblematic of pow r er. The rod with two serpents, 
 of commerce, because Mercury was god of traffic. 
 Strength, or Hercules, was known by the club. The 
 griffin w r as consecrated to Apollo. Indeed, the defence 
 which Romanists of to-day make in regard to their 
 images and symbols as representative only of sacred 
 ideas was equally true of ancient rituals. In both, 
 cases only the common mind is led to substitute the 
 sign for the object, but in both the tendency has ever 
 been to idolatry. The Christians altered heathen 
 symbols to conform to their ideas. Many new ones 
 
184 
 
 ART HINTS. 
 
 were adopted, and thus a numerous class of sacred 
 hieroglyphics sprung up, which have not yet altogether 
 lost their significance. They were also a sacred bond 
 of recognition among Christians. The principal of 
 these signs were the cross and monogram of Christ, 
 —a lamb—Christ himself as a sacrifice; the dove 
 represented the Holy Ghost; eternity was known by 
 the phoenix or peacock; watchfulness as a cock; 
 worship under the form of the lyre ; the palm, victory 
 and resurrection. 
 
 Previous to the triumph of Christianity much of 
 mythological feeling had died out of heathen Art. 
 Meleager, Niobe, Psyche, Cupid, and other fables, had 
 ceased to be personal histories, appealing to the heart. 
 They had lapsed into conventional forms of Art em¬ 
 bodying destruction, death, futurity, love, and other 
 abstract ideas. Hence the Christians were less averse 
 to revive Art. 
 
 Historical Art soon established itself upon the 
 merely symbolical. About the time of Constantine 
 we find pictures of the Saviour performing miracles, 
 but no representation of the Passion or Crucifixion 
 before the eighth century. The reason for this was 
 probably that to pagan minds Christ was more con¬ 
 vincing through his divine power than through his 
 human suffering. His disciples therefore wisely dwelt 
 chiefly upon the former in their efforts at conversion. 
 As early as a.d. 230, the Emperor Alexander Severus 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 185 
 
 placed the image of Jesus Christ in his private temple 
 alongside of the statues of Apollonius of Tyana, 
 Abraham, and Orpheus. Nothing, however, is posi¬ 
 tively known of his personal appearance. The received 
 ideas appear derived from the apocryphal letter of 
 Lentulus to the Roman Senate. It was written in the 
 third century, and probably embodies his traditionary 
 likeness. “A man of lofty stature, of severe and 
 imposing countenance, inspiring love as well as fear. 
 His hair the color of wine (dark?), straight, and with¬ 
 out lustre, as low as the ears, but thence glossy, 
 flowing upon the shoulders, and divided down the 
 centre of the head after the manner of the Nazarenes. 
 The forehead is smooth and serene, the face without 
 blemish, of a pleasant, slightly ruddy colour. The 
 expression noble and engaging. Nose and mouth of 
 perfect form ; the beard abundant, and of the same 
 color as the hair, parted in the middle. The eyes 
 blue and brilliant. He is the most beautiful among 
 the children of men.” 
 
 Christian Art continued pure and sincere so long as 
 it was the secret symbols of a persecuted sect; but 
 when in the fourth and succeeding centuries the Church 
 rose to the position of a dominant power, it became 
 ostentatious and costly, and finally false and corrupt. 
 For some time, however, classical knowledge lingered 
 amid it, gradually growing fainter, until its pure 
 forms, chaste draperies, and rare skill, were wholly 
 
186 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 extinguished amid Byzantine ignorance and false 
 feeling. 
 
 The best mosaics of Roman Christian Art are the 
 earliest, such as are still to be seen in Santa Maria 
 Maggiore, SS. Cosimo and Damiano, of the sixth 
 century. These have some animation and expression, 
 and are superior in design and draperies compared 
 with later works, which are stiff, gaunt, and immobile, 
 showing that the principles of Art were wholly lost. 
 
 In architecture, however, there arose a new style, 
 the Lombard, having its type in the noble-arched 
 buildings of Rome, the basilicas, baths, and amphi¬ 
 theatres, whose lofty and graceful cur-ves in time- 
 enduring material still remain, our wonder and admi¬ 
 ration. With the exception of that new architecture, 
 which was consecrated to religious purposes,—in the 
 East modified from its stern and simple northern 
 element by Oriental exuberance of fancy,—a few 
 missals, and an occasional gleaming of individual talent 
 which cast a ray of light into the general darkness 
 that came over the world at this period, there is nothing 
 worthy to be called Art that arose out of the Byzantine 
 school. Its prominent feature was ugliness, and the 
 service to which it was applied, Superstition. Each 
 figure was a pictorial dogma, of a fixed conventional 
 form, of the rudest character, and which the artist 
 dared no more to vary than he would have an article of 
 his creed.. He was a mere instrument to repeat the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 187 
 
 monotonous and stupid tales of ignorant monks. 
 Sometimes his soul partially escaped this bondage, 
 and he so managed in mosaic Art to present, as in 
 the sorrowful Madonna of the half-ruined church 
 of Torcello, near Venice, with her accumulated so¬ 
 lemnity of a thousand years, figures of grand and 
 serious import. But in general they were like the 
 tasteless and ill-favored semi-human types that 
 frown upon the spectator with imbecile dignity from 
 the dome of the Baptistery at Florence. Almost all 
 of the libels upon Art, those grim and blackened 
 virgins which Romanism attributed to St. Luke, and 
 religiously preserves from vulgar sight to be dimly ex¬ 
 posed only under cunningly-contrived pretence of 
 miracles to extort money and kisses from fools, or to 
 impose upon their. deluded devotees the idea that a 
 dirty canvas possesses Divine power, are legacies from 
 the Byzantine school, and inherit its ignorance and 
 falsity. 
 
 Constantinople sustained its school, such as it was, 
 when Rome was lost even in name to Art. The 
 Byzantine style, strictly so called, commenced about 
 the fifth century. Springing from a slavish population, 
 corrupt court, and a priesthood, known more by their 
 perversion than by their devotion to Christianity, it is 
 not surprising that both Art and Freedom lost ground. 
 The pertinacity with which the church insisted upon 
 the slavish copying of the types is forcibly illustrated 
 
188 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 by an advocate for the worship of images at the Second 
 Nicene Council, a.d. 787. He says,—“ It is not the 
 invention of the painter who creates the picture, but an 
 inviolable law or tradition of the Catholic Church. It 
 is not the painters but the holy fathers who have to 
 invent and to dictate. To them manifestly belongs the 
 composition,—to the painter only the execution.” 
 
 This bondage of Art to Superstition obtains to the 
 present day with the common mind in Russia, and 
 generally where the Greek ritual prevails. In the 
 tenth century, particularly. Art was allowed only in 
 accordance with the above idea. Consequently, 
 paintings manufactured on this principle, however 
 much destitute of genius and power, were honored as 
 essentially sacred ; in fact, the peasant of to-day con¬ 
 siders them as having power to charm away evil, and 
 avert disaster. He carries them with him to battle. 
 The churches are crammed with them. They open to 
 him the gates of Paradise. He cannot have too many 
 idols, so serviceable to his temporal and eternal in¬ 
 terests. Wherever the doctrine of absolute obedience 
 has prevailed, both Art and Christianity have re¬ 
 mained immersed in ignorance and superstition. This 
 is powerfully illustrated in the monastic establishments 
 in Mount Athos in Greece, the chief school of painting 
 of this style for thirteen hundred years. It became a 
 manufactory where pictures innumerable were prepared 
 by written receipts for grouping and coloring with 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 189 
 
 uniform devices and inscriptions. These were largely 
 exported as merchandize to Russia and Turkey. Many 
 have found their way into Italy, and possess a hold 
 over the uneducated mind, which can only be ac¬ 
 counted for on the general principle, that like seeks 
 like. Consequently ignorance and ugliness may ever 
 be expected to react upon each other to their mutual 
 extension. 
 
 Amid, however, the prevailing spiritual darkness, 
 increased by the curious contests of the iconoclasts and 
 their adversaries, deepened by those rancorous theolo¬ 
 gical disputations peculiar to the Lower Empire, and 
 which degraded Christianity, if possible, still lower, 
 there existed a simple religious element exhibited in 
 .Art, which could have had its origin only in hearts 
 that were sincere and pure. 
 
 According to Rio, in his admirable work of the 
 ‘ Poetry of Christian Art,’ the majestic figure of 
 Christ in mosaic was generally placed in the tribune, 
 the right hand resting upon the book of life, with this 
 inscription in large characters— Ego sum Via, Veritas 
 et Vita. 1 
 
 “ To strike the imagination of the faithful upon 
 entering the temple by the image of the God-man, 
 whose mediation they came to invoke, to enforce this 
 impression Dy three words which admirably expressed 
 the entire mission of the Mediator, such was the aim 
 
 ‘“lam the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” 
 
190 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of Christian Art in its primitive grandeur and sim¬ 
 plicity.” 
 
 Had it remained faithful to its office of interpreting 
 Christian truth in its purity, all men would have con¬ 
 tinued to recognise the value of similar types in a 
 Christian church, especially in an age when the only 
 means of impressing the general mind was through 
 verbal discourse or pictorial representations, such as 
 the mosaic histories of St. Mark’s at Venice, by which 
 the most prominent events of the scriptural narrative 
 and the confession of Christian faith are brought home 
 to every eye. But the power which Art thus exercised 
 was speedily perverted by the pfiesthood. 
 
 Christ in his Divine character as Mediator, presented 
 in the simplest forms of Art, in a material in which . 
 color and durability were typical of heaven and eternity, 
 was set aside for the intercessory worship of the Virgin 
 and Saints, whose favors were to be bought by gifts to 
 their images and their guardians. 
 
 The Roman clergy, losing sight of the primitive 
 motives for the introduction of pictorial Art into their 
 churches, corrupted its use into idolatry as gross as 
 that of discarded heathenism, in barter for lucre and 
 power. There is no sin more deadly, or for which the 
 final reckoning will be more severe, than this perversion 
 of one of the purest emotions of the heart into a 
 grovelling superstition. With it came the increase of 
 images, the worship of relics, and the entire prostitution 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 191 
 
 of Art., not only in its departure from its calm and 
 simple spiritual types, but in the introduction of every 
 artifice , even of upholstery, gewgaws, and mock 
 splendor, which could corrupt the taste and enslave the 
 mind; and this, too, under the pretence that it was 
 devoting the riches of the world to the service of 
 heaven. The Roman priesthood, in the outset, had 
 simple minds and tender consciences in their charge. 
 There never was a more favorable opportunity for ele¬ 
 vating the minds of men by the development of their 
 souls. Of the sensualities of paganism the world had 
 had enough. The Gospel gained ground daily, while its 
 apostles spoke of spiritual truths, for they supplied the 
 innate craving of all men for loftier motives of 
 existence than the mere harmonies of sense. But 
 priestcraft saw its worldly advantage, and under the 
 specious pretence that their flocks would not appreciate 
 the spirit of Christianity, shut out from their view “ the 
 Way, the Truth, and the Life,” assuming to them¬ 
 selves the power to open heaven by virtue of mum¬ 
 meries that have reduced religion throughout the 
 Roman Catholic and Greek world, where it rules su¬ 
 preme, to an organized system of deceit and stage- 
 effect. There are many believers in this monstrous 
 sham — men whose faith and hopes no falsity can 
 blight—but with the mass it is form without soul, 
 appealing to their fears and sympathies for motives of 
 rectitude, and making their hopes of heaven dependent 
 
192 
 
 ART-HINTS. ■ 
 
 upon their abasement of mind and implicit obedience 
 to a hierarchy, which flourishes only as liberty and 
 progress are trampled under foot. 
 
 The labors of Byzantine Art, beside mosaic painting, 
 were confined mainly to the adornment of shrines, 
 reliquaries, crucifixes, church-plate and vestments, and 
 the gear of royalty, both powers being now firmly 
 leagued in their common objects of enslavement of the 
 human race. In such hands there need be no surprise 
 at the rapid decadence of taste. Richness of material 
 became of more consequence than beauty of workman¬ 
 ship. Gold, and silver, and porphyry, and precious 
 stones, took the place of pure marble for statuary. 
 Above all, the jeweller’s art was most esteemed, and 
 his skill was more shown in a barbarous medley of 
 jewels and costly material than in fine workmanship. 
 Even the numerous relics of early Grecian and Roman 
 Art, which the Eastern emperors had collected at 
 Constantinople, did not escape the effects of this cor¬ 
 ruption. The majesty and the beauty of the Jupiter 
 Olympus of Phidias, and other precious works, were 
 lost amid a mass of vulgar though costly ornament, 
 which, no doubt, contributed to their final destruction, 
 at the sack of the city in 1204 by the Crusaders. 
 
 Two more powerful artistic contrasts history never 
 presented than the Greeks of the ancient republics and 
 their descendants of the Eastern empire. Neither 
 Christianity nor Art could withstand the corrupting 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 193 
 
 effects of a government so false to human truth and 
 enterprise. Both sank lower and lower, until their 
 common enemy overwhelmed them in richly-deserved 
 ruin ; sweeping, as it were, all traces of their existence 
 from a soil they had long ceased to fertilize. 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE MEDIAEVAL SCHOOLS—RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 Two centuries previous to the capture of Constanti¬ 
 nople by Mahomet II., in 1453, Art had made quite 
 an advance in Italy. Under the united stimulus of 
 civic freedom and religious enthusiasm, it rapidly 
 passed from the degenerated types of the Byzantine 
 school into free and more perfect expression. Siena 
 and Florence took the initiative in this revival. Clas¬ 
 sical forms and knowledge were either buried in the 
 earth, awaiting their later resurrection, or had passed 
 entirely from the memory of man. This was a fortu¬ 
 nate circumstance ; otherwise, those noble minds to 
 which the world is so much indebted, might have done 
 as did others centuries after them; they might have 
 wasted their genius in the feebleness of copy, and the 
 futileness of effort to revive that which, having lost its 
 soul, can never again be a thing of life. 
 
 The mediasval-Italian mind in its first Art-efforts 
 was wholly guided by religion ; it became, in fact, a con- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 195 
 
 fession of faith. We read in its Art the simplicity, sin¬ 
 cerity, truth, and earnestness of devout souls. To them, 
 those quaint figures with their solemn expression, with 
 all their faults of perspective and imperfect anatomy, 
 clad in garments of exceeding richness of color, yet of 
 simple fashion, reposing stiffly in their atmosphere of 
 gold, were as angel voices of hope and warning. Guido 
 of Siena, Simon Memmi, Cimabue, Giotto, and Or¬ 
 cagna, were not artists only, but prophets, who foretold 
 the joy of heaven and woe of hell. Each was a Dante 
 in painting ; such as they believed they expressed in a 
 manner so serious, that no modern eye, not dimmed by 
 unbelief in all spirituality, can look emotionless upon 
 their revelations of the bright robes and hallelujahs of 
 the faithful, and the terrible torments of the damned; 
 they carried their hearts into their Art. For three 
 centuries artists labored in this spirit, and mankind 
 rejoiced in their work. The early German school was 
 equally serious and sincere; harder in outline, with 
 like simplicity, but more variety and richness in detail, 
 and greater vigor of touch. Albert Durer was its 
 greatest seer. Both Italians and Germans studied 
 and prayed to know how they might best give glimpses 
 of the spiritual world. It was reserved for Fra An¬ 
 gelico, of Fiesole, to invest Art with its perfect robe of 
 spirituality, elevating it at once into the peace, purity, 
 and glory of the celestial Paradise. 
 
 Between the new schools of Italy and Byzantine Art 
 
19G 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 there was this great distinction: the latter simply 
 copied old types; the former, even in employing them, 
 gave to them a new arrangement, and not content with 
 reviving life in their dry bones, the artist gave play to 
 his own ideas. Innocent III. was the presiding genius 
 of the papal see in the thirteenth century. It was an 
 epoch of great talents and triumphant progress for the 
 Church, which attained a power and splendor before, 
 unknown. The feeling of this century was eminently 
 religious, and directed by the Roman Church. St. 
 Francis of Assisi awakened an ecstatic enthusiasm and 
 glowing devotion to its tenets that even now seem to 
 linger amid the scenes of his saintly career. Art par¬ 
 took both of the mental impetus and its mystical direc¬ 
 tion. The Byzantine style did not, however, yield its 
 supremacy without a struggle, involving a transition 
 period, as is discernible in the mosaics of St. Miniato 
 al Monte, near Florence, which, although of this 
 period, are almost wholly of that school, while those of 
 the cathedrals at Pisa, and the former city, manifest 
 the freer conceptions and more dignified expressions of 
 the dawning art. Duccio, in his large picture of the 
 entrance of Christ into Jerusalem, done between 1308 
 aud 1811, for the cathedral of Siena, strikingly dis¬ 
 plays the departure from the previous incapacity, by 
 his skill in grouping, the fine expression of his heads, 
 and the dramatic action of his figures, imbued with 
 religious feeling, and in beeping with his subject. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 197 
 
 Like Ciraabue’s, his picture, for which he was paid 
 three thousand gold florins—a large sum considering 
 the time—was carried through the city in triumphal 
 procession, his fellow-citizens considering the successful 
 artist as worthy of their highest honors. 
 
 The advance from the meagre forms and vacant 
 countenances of Byzantine Art, through all its inter¬ 
 mediate steps, until symbolism—as that branch of 
 painting which is guided wholly by an ecstatic imagi¬ 
 nation, may be termed—found its purest expression 
 in the labors of a Dominican monk, was as from entire 
 darkness to perfect day. Fra Angelico was one of 
 those rare beings born a saint. His devotion took the 
 form of surrounding influences, but the motives which 
 inspired his labors were exclusively the offspring of 
 his own spiritual nature. He is the highest though 
 not the most forcible type of the religious mysticism 
 which pervaded Art during its early revival. His 
 imagination was less remarkable for power than for 
 purity; there is a celestial glow in all his beatified 
 faces that seems to radiate from his own soul ; indeed, 
 he never commenced work without first imploring the 
 blessing of heaven. Every time that he painted Christ 
 upon the cross, the tears would roll down his cheeks as 
 if he were an actual eye-witness of his Saviour’s agony 
 With such feeling, how could he be otherwise than 
 ecstatic in his work ? 
 
 To repeat all the names that distinguished them- 
 
198 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 selves in this species of Art would be to fill a volume. 
 Their works and influence are traceable throughout 
 Europe, even to the present day, when a new school, 
 the pre-Raphaelite, has arisen, guided by the same 
 principles. Its object is purity of expression united to 
 truth of outline. As an influence needed to recall 
 modern Art to the necessity of seeking its highest 
 inspiration in Divine truth, it promises well; but so 
 far as I have seen the works of Overbeck and other 
 able professors, they indicate a disposition to copy the 
 old religious masters, rather than to study as they did ; 
 consequently, what was strength in the one, becomes 
 feebleness in the other. The medievalists used such 
 science as they possessed to perfect their works: they 
 constantly made progress; and while they continued 
 in their sincerity, they exerted an influence over the 
 popular mind such as the world has since not seen. 
 But the modern artists of this school are imitators 
 rather than creators. In their zeal for their prototypes 
 they not only seek to revive their motives, but they 
 perpetuate their errors; consequently we find faults of 
 design, hardness of outline, weakness of tint, inharmo¬ 
 nious combinations of color, beside the general mysti¬ 
 cism or its opposite overtelling of the story, which was 
 not uncommon among them, while as yet their higher 
 qualities have not been attained. They give us the 
 faults and not the spirit of the age; even if they could 
 render the latter it would not be desirable, neither 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 199 
 
 would it be generally received, because our age claims 
 more of Art on account of its greater knowledge and 
 opportunities. While appreciating the power of the 
 feeling of the medievalists, it requires also its harmo¬ 
 nious combinations with form and color under all the 
 advantages of modern science. It does not believe 
 that progress in Art in any of its branches is to be cast 
 aside, but rather that it must be stimulated to action 
 until it develops a perfect whole. Religious truths 
 can be better expressed in correct forms and beautiful 
 color than in any other way. Nature gives us her 
 highest truths under the most captivating appearances. 
 We may, from the lower level of debased humanity, 
 distort or pervert them to falsehood or sensuality; 
 but, as a universal rule of God, his spirit is mani¬ 
 fested to us only through form, color, or action, 
 in the garb of beauty. The pre-Raphaelites mis¬ 
 take also their relation to the age in seeking to carry 
 back its intellect to a time when mere symbolism or 
 pictorial writing best embodied its instruction. We 
 are now beyond that, books being the best agents for 
 the conveyance of abstract ideas ; consequently, artists 
 who, like Hunt, represent the Saviour as the Light of 
 the World by a lantern in his hand, only make the 
 idea contemptible and themselves ridiculous. 
 
 The leading souls of the ecstatic style of painting— 
 I say souls, because the spiritual faculties entered the 
 most fully into their compositions—were, besides Fra 
 
200 
 
 ABT-H1NTS. 
 
 Angelico, Luini of Milan, Francia of Bologna, Gentile 
 and John Bellini of Venice, Fra Bartolomeo, a monk 
 of Florence, Perugino of Perugia, and finally, Raphael 
 of Urbino, who so excelled them all in grace of outline, 
 completeness of detail, and harmony of color, that his 
 name has been ever since a byword for excellence 
 in high Art: perhaps Leonardo should be included in 
 this list, though intellect more than soul characterizes 
 all his works. The same devout spirit which led 
 Perugino to inscribe upon his portrait, now in the 
 Ufizzi gallery at Florence, “ iimete Deum,” fear God, 
 was their daily sustenance. Through their works they 
 sought to declaim His glory. As Raphael was the 
 climax of this school, so was he the connecting link 
 which united it with more profane Art. The latter 
 portion of his life was given to the study of classical 
 subjects, and to mechanical perfection, by which, in 
 religious pictures, while he gained in naturalness of 
 manner, he lost somew'hat that heaven-toned expression 
 which, as in his St. Cecilia at Bologna, distinguishes 
 his earlier works. 
 
 While the lofty thoughts of the religious artists 
 required for full appreciation similar purity and eleva¬ 
 tion of mind, their faults of mechanical execution, 
 unfortunately, were apparent to the commonest under¬ 
 standing, though even these were often forgotten in 
 contemplation of the exceeding loveliness of their 
 works. The later artists, like Raphael and Fra Bar- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 201 
 
 tolomeo, had so united the two degrees of excellence 
 as almost to disarm criticism ; at all events, sufficiently 
 to captivate the senses as well as the spirit. Yet the 
 tendency of the religious mind to cling to one extreme 
 produced a reaction in another class, and led the way 
 for a system, which, taking nature for its guide, was 
 called Naturalism. It gave the preference to the 
 truths of physical beauty and action, seeking, however, 
 intellectual motives, but rarely venturing upon the 
 domain of the pure spiritualists. 
 
 The proper union of the two can alone constitute 
 excellence; for it is f necessary for high Art not only to 
 have great thoughts, but to be able to express them 
 intelligibly and agreeably. This can be done only by 
 careful attention to form and color in their natural 
 combinations. The superhuman element can, in its 
 best estate, be but partially successful; but when the 
 artist adheres to nature, impregnating it with thought 
 and spirit as the Creator works to our vision, we feel 
 sure that so far as he goes he is right. Every stone 
 and leaf become then an object of careful study; a 
 complete natural unity being the aim. 
 
 No picture more wonderfully comprises the general 
 truths of Art in an effective unity than the ‘ Last 
 Supper,’ by Leonardo da Vinci, at Milan. It is true 
 that the spectator is obliged to make up an ideal whole 
 from the few scattered bits of the artist’s genius still 
 left untouched by time or the restorer. The mystery 
 
 Tv* 
 
202 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of partial destruction, by softening and confusing the 
 lines, may exalt and refine the picture to a certain 
 degree. But the composition is perfect; detached 
 portions of the original colors can be seen; expression 
 and outline are distinct; restoration has indeed marred 
 some features, but the treacherous avarice of Judas, 
 the tenderness of John, and that wondrous head of the 
 Saviour, with its more than mortal grace and serene 
 divinity, a head which combines both human and celes¬ 
 tial beauty in one ineffable look of consciousness of 
 coming betrayal and yet forgiving love, remains to 
 haunt the soul as the noblest work of Art. 
 
 Naturalism then was the reaction of mysticism. It 
 had its origin in the want created in the public mind 
 by the incompleteness of the latter school. While 
 figures were purely symbolical, accuracy of outline and 
 harmony of color were overlooked, so that the religious 
 idea shone prominent. Cimabue and his contemporary 
 artists were the first to throw off the stupefaction of 
 the Greek school, but its influence is perceptible in all 
 their works. Before him Guido of Siena, and Giunto 
 of Pisa, as early as the year 1200, had ventured to 
 vary its types, and suggest progress to painting. It 
 was reserved, however, for Giotto, who was born in 
 1276, to found a new era in Art. 
 
 Cimabue found him, one day, a youthful shepherd- 
 boy, sketching a sheep with a sharp stone upon the 
 ground. Its spirit attracted him, and he took the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 203 
 
 child to his studio, and instructed him in the rudi¬ 
 ments of painting. The genius of Giotto rapidly 
 developed, and he soon arose to be not only the founder 
 of a school in painting, but he gave a new impetus to 
 sculpture, architecture, and engineering. His monu¬ 
 ment is the Campanile of Florence, that glorious tower 
 which Charles V. said should be kept under a glass- 
 case and exhibited only on holidays. 
 
 Giotto is more generally known through his pictures, 
 which are now wonderful only as they mark the entire 
 enfranchisment of the Art from Byzantine degradation. 
 Not only did he give animation to his compositions and 
 more grace to his figures, elevating their expression 
 while making them more natural, but he studied the 
 effects of draperies, revived the forgotten art of por¬ 
 traiture, as we see in his lately-discovered and noble 
 head of Dante, 1 and improved coloring. In fine, he 
 made so great progress as to be considered a miracle 
 in painting, and universally known as the author of a 
 new method. 
 
 Giotto’s mind was of a liberal, generous type, and he 
 altogether a pleasant and joyous personage. He rose 
 above the cramping influences of the merely super¬ 
 stitious fervor of his time, and consequently, being in 
 advance of his age, influenced his successors in Art for 
 more than a century. Dante was, however, the pre- 
 
 1 By repainting, the original outline is lost, so that it is not -worth 
 the trouble to seek for it in the prison at Florence. 
 
204 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 siding genius of this epoch, spreading his thought over 
 the intermediate generations, until he found in Michael 
 Angelo his most powerful expositor. According to 
 tradition the spirit of Dante visited Giotto, who was 
 his intimate friend, in dreams, and aided him in his 
 allegorical designs of the famous frescoes of ‘ Poverty,’ 
 ‘ Obedience,’ and ‘ Chastity,’ which he painted in the 
 church of St. Francesco, at Assisi. Orcagna also 
 borrowed largely in thought from Dante in his great 
 composition of the ‘Last Judgment,’ in the Campo 
 Santo, at Pisa. He better understood his subject than 
 Michael Angelo, as can be seen in his more dignified 
 treatment of it as a whole. 
 
 Nicolo Pisano (1231), of Pisa, was perhaps the 
 artist who first gave form and direction to the school 
 which afterwards produced Giotto, Orcagna, Ghiberti, 
 and other eminent men, each of whom receiving into 
 himself the progress of his predecessors, was inspired 
 thereby to greater exertion and more complete expres¬ 
 sion. The modern study of the antique, though from 
 few and imperfect materials, dates from Pisano. It 
 influenced his draperies and figures. We find in 
 purity of outline a resemblance between some of the 
 heads of Giotto and the best Greek sculptures. All 
 this indicates the right direction which these minds 
 gave to their genius. It was one not of mere imitation, 
 but of progress, seeking truth in studies either from 
 nature, the antique, or their own ideal. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 205 
 
 The labor bestowed by the medievalists on the 
 development of their art is forcibly illustrated by 
 Paolo Ucello, who was so zealous in his study of per¬ 
 spective as to shut himself up through long winter 
 nights in his fireless studio, despising, in his passion 
 for this branch of his art, cold, hunger, and poverty, 
 replying to the remonstrances of his wife, “ Anima 
 mea, my love! if you could only understand the de¬ 
 lights of perspective !” He was a poor artist because he 
 neglected everything else; but his sincerity, and indeed 
 that of all the great masters of this epoch, stands in 
 striking contrast with the greedy haste and careless¬ 
 ness of later artists, the effects of which were percep¬ 
 tible both on their works and in their characters. 
 “We paint six pictures in a year,” says Vasari, a 
 century later, “ while the earlier masters took six 
 years to one picture.” With such faultiness of execu¬ 
 tion there existed moral laxity, showing that works 
 done in a vainglorious spirit were fed from impure 
 mental sources. Painters had become courtiers, in¬ 
 triguants, and even assassins. Guido and Domeni- 
 chino were driven from Naples by the brutal violence 
 of rivals; the latter was poisoned, and later, in Rome, 
 Barrocio met with similar treachery from like jealousy. 
 
 Other Italian cities preceded Florence somewhat 
 in the artistic movement of the thirteenth century. 
 There were many artists of repute all over Italy at 
 this time, as is evident from its ecclesiastical architec- 
 
206 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ture, which embodied a profusion of sculpture and 
 painting. Indeed, there was a general awakening of 
 mind from its long paralysis. Florence, howevei, boic 
 away the palm of progress, and contributed more than 
 any other city to the spread of Art, mainly from the 
 impetus given it by Giotto. 
 
 Artists multiplied with unprecedented rapidity. The 
 public taste demanded their labors in every depart¬ 
 ment in which painting or sculpture could be intro¬ 
 duced. The first great thought of the aroused intellect 
 was, as we have seen, eminently religious. Originat¬ 
 ing in Italy, it spread over Europe, and gave the 
 world all those noble varieties of Christian architecture 
 which are classed under the general term Gothic. 
 Other forms have been tried in various ages, but they 
 all fail in comparison with this style as an expression 
 of the feeling and thought of spiritual devotion. There 
 is reason for this. The earliest forms of sacred edifices 
 were but a modification of pagan basilicas. In the 
 Renaissance we see a partial revival of heathen temples, 
 without their simplicity and beauty of proportions; 
 instead, a profusion of meretricious ornament, borrowed 
 from classical sensualism and modern luxury, in odd 
 companionship, upon a Christian church. 
 
 The spirit of these two styles must necessarily be 
 tainted by their sources, though the former was so 
 thoroughly purged from all previous associations, as to 
 be in every respect superior to the latter. IMediceval 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 207 
 
 church architecture relied solely upon Christianity for 
 its spirit. It had no other resource, because classical 
 knowledge was forgotten, and nothing left but the Bible 
 as the universal hook. This is sufficient of itself to 
 account for the religious feeling of this age. There 
 can be no doubt that if the mediaeval generations had 
 possessed the same familiarity with the literature of 
 Greece and Rome, which was the result of a later 
 diffusion of knowledge, they would have exhibited the 
 same love of variety and fondness for classical prece¬ 
 dents which characterized their descendants. Human 
 nature in its elements is ever the same. Its proneness 
 to extremes, though stimulating to thought and enter¬ 
 prise, is dangerous to its moral repose. We shall 
 perceive, as we prosecute our inquiry into the spirit of 
 the several ages as manifested in Art, that their essen¬ 
 tial differences take their origin largely in the reaction 
 consequent upon all extremes. The only true basis 
 for human progress lies in the equal cultivation or 
 balance of all its faculties. 
 
 The medirevalists, therefore, were religious from 
 necessity. Their encyclopedia of knowledge lay in 
 the Bible. Intellect was compelled to slake its first 
 thirst in Scripture. Its vigor was that of a man 
 aroused from a long sleep. The puerility and imbe¬ 
 cility of Byzantine Art were thrown aside at once and 
 for ever. Bibles were multiplied everywhere in manu¬ 
 script—a slow process, but one which indelibly fixed 
 
208 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 attention upon the narrative. We have noticed the 
 effect of this inevitable study upon the schools it 
 created of architecture, sculpture, and painting. In 
 domestic life its results were no less striking. Having 
 no heathen mythology to go to for decorative forms, 
 or Ovids, Homers, or Virgils for classical subjects 
 for the ornamentation of their dwellings, they borrowed 
 their stories from the lives of Christ and his Apostles, 
 or the histories of the Old Testament. Walls and 
 tapestries related, not as in modern times, the amours 
 of Venus, the wars of Mars, the thefts of Mercury, or 
 the rapes of Jupiter; they were not peopled with 
 Satyrs, Pans, Cupids, or Titans ; they displayed no 
 assemblages of gods and goddesses in angry disputa¬ 
 tion or carnal feasting; none of these things looked 
 down upon them by day and by night. These subjects 
 were reserved for the fashion of more enlightened 
 times. But they did see at all hours, amid their 
 rejoicings or as they slept, holy personages, saints and 
 virgins, apostles and evangelists, martyrs and the sym¬ 
 bolized faith for which they died; virtues and not 
 graces, angels and notnnuses, types of spiritual truths 
 and not expressions of sensuous beauty or lustful pas¬ 
 sion ; these were their daily intellectual food. Amid 
 all things, in church, shop, or bedroom, on the road¬ 
 side and by the palace, at every street-corner and over 
 every threshold, were the figures of their Redeemer 
 and his holy mother to direct their thoughts still higher 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, Ai\ T D PAINTING. 209 
 
 heavenwards. Religion, at all events in its external 
 forms and as believed , was confessed by all men and 
 in all places. Youth were taught to rely on spiritual 
 powers for their earthly support and soul sustenance. 
 Charity, faith, the due subjection of the body to the 
 development of its perfect strength, humanity, the 
 succour of the oppressed, the relief of the unfortunate ; 
 Devoir, duty to all men—such were the doctrines of 
 chivalry in the Middle Ages. 
 
 Classicalism believed in its mythology; therefore, 
 its works were sincere. Medievalism believed in its 
 symbolical Christianity; therefore, it wrought likewise 
 in sincerity. The Renaissance, as we shall see, be¬ 
 lieved in neither; therefore, it had no religious 
 character. 
 
 Modernism is but awakening from its dream of 
 sense to inquire how it can worship in “spirit and 
 truth.” In the degree that it develops these 
 elements of inner life, it will take precedence of all 
 preceding ages in intellectual dignity and spiritual 
 greatness. 
 
210 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SCHOOLS OF ART—SYMBOLISM AND NATURALISM. 
 
 Although the character of the revived Art was so 
 thoroughly religious, the public taste demanded that 
 ornament, chiefly of the same element, should enter 
 into every domestic object to a degree that almost 
 obscured its use. Instead of being confined to public 
 edifices and the wealthy classes, it penetrated the most 
 humble households, and was employed on the most 
 common materials. Not only was furniture most 
 elaborately carved and richly painted or gilded, but 
 ordinary domestic utensils were wrought with an atten¬ 
 tion to ornament which reminds one of the fanciful 
 designs and graceful patterns found in similar objects 
 at Pompeii and Herculaneum. Paintings formed a 
 portion of marriage dowries. The bride’s effects were 
 given in chests decorated to the utmost capacity of the 
 then known art. Even saddles, the trappings of 
 horses and armor, were all richly ornamented. 
 
 Associated with artists were those trades in which 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 211 
 
 ornament was conspicuously intermixed. In fact, 
 workers in metal, carvers, gilders, saddlers, and other 
 mechanics, were considered as on a level with artists. 
 This did not so much elevate manufacture as it tended 
 to degrade Art. 
 
 There existed, however, a reason for this association 
 in the congeniality of labors. Painting was still 
 secondary, not having so speedily and wholly eman¬ 
 cipated itself from traditionary types as sculpture and 
 architecture. Besides, the artist was necessary to 
 design. Even Leonardo da Vinci condescended to 
 paint a buckler. Some of the greatest names in Art 
 were those that arose from the condition of artisans; 
 their genius being developed by the demand for beauty 
 and skill in ornamentation. 
 
 This exigence of the public was beneficial to the 
 workman. It prevented him, as in modern manufac¬ 
 ture, from degenerating into a mere machine. Both 
 thought and imagination were kept alive in the crea¬ 
 tion of new forms to keep pace with the public taste. 
 He was interested in his work as an evidence of his 
 own talent, and not the nice adjustment of a steam- 
 engine or the servile copying of a set pattern. Head 
 and hands were equally employed; consequently, not 
 only was mediaeval labor more healthful than modern, 
 but it avoided all sameness and mechanical precision. 
 It is true that machinery is a better workman for all 
 purposes connected with mere utility. But when it 
 
212 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 approaches the domain of beauty or suggestiveness, its 
 clumsiness becomes painfully apparent. 
 
 Machinery is an advantage to the artisan only in 
 the degree that it saves him time for the enjoyment 
 and cultivation of his intellectual faculties. The me¬ 
 dievalist found scope for both in his work. Modern 
 civilization is treading a dangerous path in converting 
 the working classes into mere automatons for the pro¬ 
 duction of objects into which no thought of their own 
 can by any possibility enter. Time and opportunity 
 are needed for mind culture. A trade is wholesome 
 in proportion that it interests and occupies the entire 
 mental and physical faculties of the artisan. Those 
 trades or manufactures that deprive him of all will 
 of his own, degrade him to a bondage infinitely more 
 hopeless than that of the slave who toils in the open 
 air. Statesmen should ponder over the gathering 
 results of merely time-consuming, soul-deadening 
 labor. To it may be traced the restlessness and 
 misery of so many of the working-classes throughout 
 those nations in which Science is paramount to Art. 
 I can see no remedy for the increasing evil other than 
 to give them either time or material for the expansion 
 of their intellects, or so to direct their industry that it 
 shall produce a similar result. The latter can be 
 done only through the improved taste of the cultivated 
 classes, in exacting of labor or manufacture evidences 
 of the mental freedom of the workmen in the produc- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 213 
 
 tion of his hands, and resolutely rejecting all those 
 trickeries with which, under the spurious garb of 
 beauty, modern civilization has inundated the world. 
 
 The revival of Art was a direct benefit to every 
 class. Entering as it did into all domestic objects, it 
 gave employment to every class of mind, creating in 
 all a feeling and knowledge for Art purer and more 
 universal than the world ever knew before, or has 
 known since, excepting perhaps the best days of 
 Greece. Commerce felt its influence, and by it civili¬ 
 zation spread. Mind was stirred to activity through¬ 
 out Europe. Italy preceded all other countries in 
 this intellectual movement, as she did later in its down¬ 
 fall. The same great ideas sprang spontaneously into 
 existence throughout Christendom, but the germ of 
 progress came from Italy in the course of the thir¬ 
 teenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. 
 
 My principal object is to trace its Art-manifesta¬ 
 tions as exhibited under the several moral and intel¬ 
 lectual movements of various schools. We have seen 
 the birth of the mystic school upon the debris of the 
 Byzantine, and traced the causes for this religious 
 direction. Naturalism, it has been shown, was the 
 reactionary force of the mind, seeking at first to fami¬ 
 liarize spiritual ideas under more correct and beautiful 
 forms. Its real purpose was to give artistic as well as 
 spiritual truths. The first necessity for its introduc¬ 
 tion sprang from mental repugnance at endless repe- 
 
214 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 titions of figures more or less symbolical, and often 
 from rudely-exhibited physical agony or overwrought 
 I’epentance, more painful to the sympathies than in¬ 
 structive to the soul. 
 
 Satiety in this, as in all things, led to disgust and 
 eventual change. Men grew tired of looking upon 
 arrow-struck St. Sebastians and broiling St. Law¬ 
 rences, especially as they became the vapid topics of 
 inferior hands, whose souls could not grasp any idea 
 beyond the struggles and contortions of suffering 
 flesh. 
 
 Were all religious artists, Angelicos, Bartolomeos, 
 or Raphaels, the world would have gazed unraptured 
 to this day. The exceeding loveliness of their works, 
 however, only the more painfully contrasted with the 
 productions of weaker minds, and suggested the capa¬ 
 city of Art for something better. Angelico was wholly 
 immersed in spirit, and never ventured to change his 
 first thoughts, believing them heaven-directed. Raphael 
 and Bartolomeo, on the contrary, studied to improve; 
 to fulfil, if possible, the highest capacity of Art. 
 Consequently, they looked equally to Nature for 
 instruction. 
 
 The scope of the religious artists was necessarily 
 confined to those subjects approved by the Church, 
 or made venerable by tradition. Expression was to 
 them everything. They told their story in homely 
 words, but they were words of sincerity and truth. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 215 
 
 Their earlier efforts were so restricted to figure sub¬ 
 jects, that the want of the variety of the natural 
 world was scarcely felt. When they departed from 
 the human, it was to soar to the superhuman. Some 
 were purely mystical. Others, like Orcagna, told their 
 stories with the startling fidelity of moral purpose, and 
 terrible energy of expression. They neither tried nor 
 cared to imitate nature, except as secondary to their 
 great religious motive. 
 
 Now the aim of the naturalists was simply to imitate 
 Nature. Those great minds, who, like Donatello and 
 Brunelleschi, were the first to appreciate its value, 
 saw also of what importance it had been to the artists 
 of antiquity. They did not, however, allow the enthu¬ 
 siasm of a first love to compromise their own indivi¬ 
 duality. This school took a broader hold upon the 
 human mind. Beauty, indeed, became a primary 
 motive, but the variety of Nature was ample for all 
 tastes in the selection and treatment of subjects, with¬ 
 out necessarily losing originality or becoming enslaved 
 to system. 
 
 Masaccio was the first great genius in the new style. 
 He studied the principles by which it could be brought 
 to resemble Nature, with such success, that according 
 to Vasari, “ his pictures seem to live, they are so true 
 and natural.” Perspective, foreshortening, anatomy, 
 gradation of color, in fact, all the mechanical part of 
 Art made a wonderful advance in him, while he was 
 
216 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 no less successful in his delineations of mind. His 
 most celebrated figure in the Baptism of St. Peter, 
 in the church of the Carmine at Florence, shivering, 
 as it were, with cold, has been the admiration of artists 
 for centuries. Even Raphael studied him to advan¬ 
 tage. He died in 1443, at an early age, after giving 
 promise of talent till then unsurpassed. 
 
 Contemporary with Masaccio was Lorenzo Ghiberti, 
 who had just finished those wonderful gates of bronze 
 to the Baptistery of the Duomo, at Florence, which, 
 standing prominent in that branch of Art, at that date 
 might have constituted an epoch in painting, if its 
 professors had had sufficient taste to appreciate their 
 merits. In them may he seen those artistic truths of 
 perspective, purity of design, and elegance of com¬ 
 position, which were not incorporated into Art with 
 equal excellence until later. The variety they give of 
 Nature is equalled by the accuracy with which each 
 object is finished. Not only the human figure, but 
 architecture, the landscape, every bird, leaf, and each 
 pile of fruit, have the freedom and grace of life. 
 
 Those who would examine the perfection to which 
 the imitation of natural objects in stone was carried, 
 should look at the carved foliage about the doorways 
 of the cathedrals at Florence and Strasbourg, which 
 seems as if it could shake in the wind and gather dew- 
 drops from the atmosphere. 
 
 The religious artists borrowed but slightly from the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 217 
 
 natural school. Even their landscapes were in general 
 purely conventional. Naturalism, on the other hand, 
 often went into the domains of religion for sub¬ 
 jects, which it sought to invest with the truth and 
 beauty of the material universe. While the two 
 schools are readily distinguishable, many artists united 
 in themselves both styles, endeavouring to attain an 
 ideal perfection from the union of the excellencies of 
 each. 
 
 The difficulties attending the religious treatment of 
 Art, in its mystic sense, joined to its leaning towards 
 superstition, and even idolatry, when in the hands of 
 priestcraft, have led to its almost entire abandonment. 
 All of the schools that have come into existence since 
 the fifteenth century, with the exception of the limited 
 efforts of the pre-Raphaelites, have had their root 
 either in naturalism or classicalism. Those artists 
 who have ventured upon religious grounds have been 
 more governed by their Art than their piety. Not 
 one has reached that vigor, sincerity, and purity of 
 expression of the old masters, which, by elevating the 
 thought into celestial realms, disarms all earthly cri¬ 
 ticism. Indeed, with the early manner of Raphael 
 the school may be said to have become extinct, 
 although occasionally a painter, like Andrea del Sarto, 
 by the exquisite grace of his types, serves to recall the 
 lost ideal. All more modern attempts that I have 
 seen have been utter failures. Even in technical 
 
 L 
 
218 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 treatment the want of success is painfully apparent. 
 Prayer and faith made Angelicos heaven’s artist. 
 They gave divine grandeur to Bartolomeo, and serene 
 loveliness to Francia. Bernardino Luini’s faces inspire 
 an equal elevation of sentiment; but in gazing upon 
 them we cease to be astonished when we know that he 
 saw £ The Last Supper ’ of Leonardo da Vinci in its 
 perfection. The world will never witness a revival of 
 their inspired Art until artists believe as they believed. 
 
 If mysticism had its peculiar dangers, naturalism is 
 no less pregnant with temptations. By too exclusive 
 study of beauty in its more material sense, artists for¬ 
 get the elevating influences of spirit, and apply them¬ 
 selves to the finish of externals to the neglect of the 
 moral and physical unity of nature. Sensuous beauty 
 leads them captive. Great talents may indeed rival 
 nature in grace, but the weaker become merely man¬ 
 nerists or copyists. The various forms naturalism has 
 assumed from its revival by Ghiberti and Masaccio 
 through its several schools until our day, will be a sub¬ 
 ject of further consideration. 
 
 Two discoveries, or more properly inventions, which 
 occurred in the fifteenth century, contributed greatly 
 towards the spread of Art. It is not known whether 
 the classical artists painted in oil, although from what 
 has been asserted of the brightness and durability of 
 their colors, it has been conjectured that such was 
 the fact. Oil-painting was practised in Giotto’s time, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 219 
 
 as we see by an allusion of Ghiberti to that master: 
 “ lavoro in olio.” But the knowledge did not spread 
 until 1410, or thereabouts, when a Flemish artist, 
 John Van Eyck, of Bruges, either invented or revived 
 the practice. Previous to this date painting had been 
 confined to the mosaic, encaustic, or fresco methods. 
 The harmony and brilliancy imparted to colors by this 
 discovery greatly excited the Italian artists. One 
 Antonelli of Sicily went to Flanders and obtained 
 from Van Eyck his secret. From him it was imparted 
 to a Florentine named Domenico, who employed it 
 with so much success as to excite the envy of other 
 artists. Among them was his friend, Andrea del 
 Castagno, to whom he revealed the process. Cas- 
 tagno, thinking to become its sole possessor, murdered 
 Domenico, hut upon his deathbed revealed the crime 
 and its cause. From him it spread rapidly over Italy, 
 and has ever since been the chief medium of the art. 
 
 Somewhere about the year 1450 engraving on wood 
 and copper came into vogue, to the very great advan¬ 
 tage of Art in multiplying the designs of the great 
 masters. It no longer became indispensable to travel 
 to see their works. Albert Durer especially cultivated 
 this art, and his example has since been followed by 
 many distinguished painters. 
 
220 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TIIE STRUGGLE. 
 
 In the freedom which immediately succeeded the dawn 
 of Art over Europe individual mind threw off its old 
 shackles, and boldly launched out upon an unknown 
 sea of inquiry. For three centuries a contest was 
 waged between liberty and truth, on the one side 
 inclining to republican forms and progress, and on the 
 other tyranny and falsehood siding with sensuality and 
 superstition. In Italy the latter triumphed by the 
 help of external force and the seductive power of 
 beauty under pagan forms. The influences which led 
 to this unfortunate result are now to be considered; 
 for it is important to establish the fact that during this 
 period humanity and art, science and literature, were 
 making continual progress, developing liberty of thought 
 at each step out of much trial and many reverses until, 
 from causes ah-eady alluded to, southern Europe was 
 blotted out of the map of even partial freedom. 
 
 Mind being excited to its utmost action had not 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 221 
 
 only to contend with external tyranny in its worst 
 form, but its own still more dangerous proclivities to¬ 
 wards extremes. Hence we find the history of this 
 period strongly marked by contrasts in forms of govern¬ 
 ment, modes of thought, and all those moral phenomena 
 which characterize society in its transition state. Yet 
 amid all this great discoveries were made, wealth and 
 power created, the arts encouraged, science improved, 
 religion was tested, and truths everywhere made pro¬ 
 gress. These advances were the result of that mental 
 freedom which admitted all men to the proofs of their 
 intellectual nobility. 
 
 In Art, as in society, there were two strongly-marked 
 divisions which each of the rival political parties sought 
 to influence to the promotion of their own interested 
 aims. Both saw in Art a powerful ally ; one well 
 calculated to sway the hearts of the people. But the 
 directions which each sought to give it were as oppo¬ 
 site as night from day. These political parties, are 
 distinguishable under the general heads of republic¬ 
 anism and despotism. The former sought to maintain 
 the civil freedom of cities under elective magistrates ; 
 the latter to concentrate the entire power into the 
 hands of individuals. In the struggle which took 
 place at Florence we have a fair illustration of the 
 general spirit of Italy at the close of the fifteenth and 
 the commencement of the sixteenth centuries. 
 
 Among those active minds, which, partaking of the 
 
222 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 spirit of the age, acknowledged no authority superior 
 to its own will, was Filippo Lippi, educated a monk, 
 but born an artist. In all things he was the very 
 reverse of Fra Angelico, being of such loose morals as 
 to seduce a young and beautiful novice who sat to him 
 as a model for a Madonna, which he was painting for 
 her convent, and afterwards refusing to avail himself 
 of a dispensation from the pope to marry her, alleging 
 that between him and his mistress there was no need 
 of a binding ceremony. This fact forcibly illus¬ 
 trates the individual independence of character which 
 aroused intellect had developed among men ; in some 
 cases to the injury, in others to the benefit of society. 
 
 Lippi was the inheritor of the genius of Masaccio, 
 but not of his purity. Lie studied living nature with¬ 
 out reference to the antique, and, although a thorough 
 naturalist, painted chiefly religious subjects. Land¬ 
 scape with him, emerging from its conventional reli¬ 
 gious type, first began to assume its natural variety. 
 In color, likewise, he made a considerable advance; 
 but in the expression of his Virgins and saints he was 
 unable to overcome his native lewdness, so that they 
 present, by their vulgar beauty, a striking contrast to 
 the pure types which had been up to this time— 
 1400-1469—the chief features of Christian Art. His 
 Madonnas were portraits of the transient objects of 
 his passions, while to angels he gave the air of masked 
 rogues. Where, however, dramatic action and violent 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 223 
 
 emotions were required, he was at home, and it is to 
 be regretted that he had not always followed the 
 natural bent of his genius instead of attempting reli¬ 
 gious topics, for which both his nature and habits dis¬ 
 qualified him. 
 
 I refer to Lippi for a double purpose: firstly, to 
 show what master-mind first led the way in the profa¬ 
 nation of sacred Art, by which it eventually became a 
 mere thing of sense, and wholly to be despised, as may 
 be seen in its fullest extent in Correggio ; secondly, to 
 exhibit the character of the artists who were most 
 honored by the Medici in their wily policy to subvert 
 the liberties of their country. 
 
 Much, however, of the reaction of morals and spread 
 of infidelity of that period was the natural result of 
 previous restraint and unqualified belief. The intellect 
 and imagination had been too long under ecclesiastical 
 bondage. Freedom of thought but confirmed the 
 faith and virtue of some ; with others, it led them into 
 sensuality, or left them bewildered amid the mazes of 
 doubt. 
 
 At this period Italy was filled with Greek scholars 
 who had there taken refuge, at the capture of Con¬ 
 stantinople by the Turks. They brought with them 
 classical manuscripts and the learning—such as it then 
 was—that had come down from antiquity, filtered 
 through so many ages of ignorance and superstition, 
 as to have almost lost its essence and become a mere 
 
224 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 skeleton of verbiage. It was sufficient, however, to 
 awaken curiosity and afford additional food to the 
 excited Italian intellect. Paganism and its literature 
 soon banished the Bible and Church traditions from 
 most cultivated minds. Their novelty had all the 
 fascination of a new intellectual excitement. As popes 
 and statesmen the Medici favoured this movement. 
 It diverted men’s minds from topics of substantial in¬ 
 terest, which might affect their sway, to studies and 
 researches which both chained them to the past and 
 weakened their powers by mere verbal culture; an 
 accumulation of knowledge to no useful ends. 
 
 I do not mean to assert that those princes had not 
 an honest love for classical literature. They had. 
 But even they neglected its wisdom in the pursuit of 
 its subtleties, content with the shadow from inability 
 to grasp the substance. Policy likewise taught them 
 its value in aiding their designs, so that they were its 
 patrons equally from taste and interest. 
 
 The effect of the exclusive cultivation of classical 
 literature soon manifested itself among the people. 
 Christianity was either openly denied or hypocritically 
 confessed. Men were so deluded by heathen lore as 
 to mock at those who still held to the truth of the Holy 
 Scriptures. Ovid, Catullus, and Tibullus took the 
 place of the inspired poems of David, Isaiah, and Job. 
 Education felt the fatal influence. The fables of 
 antiquity and tales of mythology became the text 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 225 
 
 matter of schools. Mind, instead of progressing, was 
 actually turning back two thousand years, and taking 
 its standard from the lesser light of Paganism. Three 
 centuries have passed, and the entire civilized world is 
 still wedded to a method which, in its proper degree, is 
 eminently useful, but which, systematized into barren 
 learning, usurps’the time and place of nobler studies, 
 conferring no benefit adequate to the mental applica¬ 
 tion it requires. Indeed, most of the youth who re¬ 
 ceive a classical education acquire their first and often 
 strongest impressions from Grecian mythology, to the 
 neglect and consequent indifference of the more glow¬ 
 ing poetry and spiritual truths of the Hebrew writers- 
 If such be the result in countries where the entire 
 Bible is in the hands of all men, what must it have 
 been in countries which were forbidden its free perusal, 
 and where the population were taught to rely for sal¬ 
 vation on ceremonies or penances which wearied their 
 bodies, and in traditions and dogmas that equally dis¬ 
 gusted their minds ? Ecclesiastics themselves went to 
 heathen literature for relief. They sickened at their 
 own idolatry, and turned wistfully to another. Scep¬ 
 ticism found entrance even into the holy see. The 
 church, by prohibiting healthful food to the intellect, 
 had so weakened it as to leave it without judgment to 
 choose between good and evil. Consequently, from 
 famine it fell to feasting, without testing the whole¬ 
 someness of that which was presented. 
 
 L 
 
226 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 But other causes contributed to the increasing 
 scepticism, and consequent depravation of manners, 
 beside the too great prominence given to classical lite¬ 
 rature. To know all that the ancients knew, which 
 could enlarge thought or influence taste aright, could 
 not by itself be otherwise than beneficial as an auxiliary 
 to modern civilization. But to know only what they 
 knew, which to them was faith, to moderns became 
 infidelity and an incentive to sensuousness. Pagan 
 Art was raised at once to the standard of excellence 
 for Christian artists. The monuments and statuary of 
 Greece and Rome took that position of ideal perfection 
 which modern Art had hitherto sought from out of the 
 depths of its own spiritual truths. From celestial 
 beauty artists descended to carved stone and imperfect 
 flesh for their models. Their works in consequence 
 partook of the spirit of their choice. Naturalism, in 
 its lower interpretation, daily gained ground upon the 
 purely spiritual Art. Madonnas, Magdalens, and 
 saints were picked up from streets and stews ; by the 
 transforming power of paint, viragos became holy and 
 humble women, saints in glory, while the type of 
 chastity was often taken from mercenary voluptuous¬ 
 ness itself. Such were the images before which the 
 youth were often required to kneel at the family or 
 church altars. Men could scarcely look upon the new 
 style of Holy Virgin, clothed in the garb of a courtesan, 
 so says Rio, instead of the traditional simplicity of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 227 
 
 attire, without erotic desire. In one church the clergy 
 were compelled to remove a naked St. Sebastian on 
 account of its interfering too warmly with the devotion 
 of the nuns. A worthy citizen, who was scandalized 
 at the lascivious appearance of a Madonna, which he 
 had ordered for his private chapel, requested the artist, 
 Nunziata, to paint him another of an age and an ap¬ 
 pearance more in keeping with the pure mother of 
 Christ. He sent him a ‘ Virgin ’ with a long goat’s 
 beard upon its chin. Consider the distance in faith 
 and purity between Nunziata and Angelico, the ex¬ 
 tremes of religious and profane Art! A gulf as wide 
 was now rapidly opening between two classes of citizens ; 
 the one upholding the Medici, the other sustaining the 
 reforms of Savonarola. 
 
 Deeply impressed with the growing corruption of 
 the age, and its rapid progress towards Paganism as 
 it existed when despotism and licentiousness jointly 
 swayed the nations of antiquity, Savonarola, a simple 
 Dominican monk, resolved to devote his energies, and 
 if need be his life, to the reformation of his country¬ 
 men. It is to be remarked that, if the deepest scandals 
 to religion came from the bosom of the Christian 
 Church, so did the most strenuous efforts to revive 
 virtue and purity. The wickedness of Pope Alex¬ 
 ander VI. nerved the heroism of Savonarola to the 
 futile attempt to recal a Borgia to a sense of his duties 
 as the successor of St. Peter. A few years later, the 
 
228 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 extravagance and scepticism of a Medician pope, 
 Leo X., aroused in another monk the thunders of an 
 indignant eloquence, that, equally unsuccessful to re¬ 
 vive apostolic faith and practice in the heart of Chris¬ 
 tendom, finally tore, from Romanism nearly half a 
 continent, and gave to it the doctrines of Luther. 
 
 Savonarola has been called the precursor of Luther. 
 His life, like the great German’s, was one continual 
 protest against the corruptions of the Roman Church ; 
 but he continued to acknowledge its authority and 
 practise its rites, while refusing obedience to the un¬ 
 worthy occupant of the apostolic chair. His mind 
 was in a transition state, wavering between truth that 
 urged him forward, and education that bound him to 
 the past. Still had success remained finally with him, 
 there is not a doubt but that the Reformation in Italy, 
 even if it did not assume the same doctrinal and poli¬ 
 tical shapes that it did in Germany, would have been 
 no less effective towards promoting human progress. 
 
 The bias of Savonarola was decidedly republican. 
 He had no faith in popes or princes, such as then 
 ruled. The people, enlightened as to their true in¬ 
 terests, he considered were qualified to govern them¬ 
 selves. With the authority of a prophet, speaking to 
 the people, like Samuel of old, in the name of the 
 Most High, he sought to purify the land from idolatry 
 and lewdness of every kind, hewing to pieces the cap 
 five vices, with the intent to re-establish the kingdom 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 229 
 
 of Jesus Christ in the hearts of all. The fouler 
 features of Paganism had taken deep root and spread 
 widely. Against them he directed an eloquence de¬ 
 rived from a close study of the Bible, sustained by 
 constant prayer, and inspired by the deepest conviction 
 of the necessity of his mission—it may be also of his 
 direct authority as an ambassador from heaven—with 
 an effect that was truly marvellous. A preacher, with 
 his Bible in the one hand, boldly, and, while his fol¬ 
 lowers kept within the bounds of reason and charity, 
 successfully, attacked a pope, whom no crime deterred 
 from his revenge, and a powerful family, who ruled 
 their country chiefly through the seductions of taste 
 and pleasure. 
 
 Had his aim been confined simply to a reformation 
 of manners and improvement in the system of educa¬ 
 tion, there would have been more ground for per¬ 
 manent success, because all good citizens, without 
 reference to political views, must have been convinced 
 of their necessity. Even Lorenzo di Medici could not 
 but have countenanced the labours of a monk directed 
 solely to the cause of piety. The classical taste re¬ 
 quired pruning, not extermination. But it was not an 
 age for moderation. Extremes meet. However up¬ 
 right and reasonable Savonarola might have been in 
 the outset, he could not altogether control the results 
 of his own doctrines, after the feelings of the people 
 were aroused. On the other hand, although many of 
 
230 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 the partisans of the Medici were gentlemen of taste 
 and erudition, they were equally unable to check the 
 spreading corruption which came in with the downfall 
 of the religious school and the revival of classical know¬ 
 ledge. Savonarola preached to, and relied upon, the 
 people. For authority and arguments he looked to 
 heaven. His doctrines were necessarily democratic. 
 The constitution which he drew up for the Florentines 
 was pronounced by Machiavelli to be the very best 
 form of government ever devised for them. Among 
 his friends and admirers were men of the purest lives 
 and greatest genius. Even John de Mirandole, then 
 esteemed a miracle of learning, bore witness to his re¬ 
 markable powers; as did also the poet Politian, who 
 equally testified to the extent of his scientific attain¬ 
 ments and the disinterestedness of his piety. Both of 
 these men were partisans of Lorenzo di Medici, and 
 the latter an ardent lover of the profane literature 
 which Savonarola sought to displace. There can be 
 no better evidence of the true greatness of Savonarola 
 than the enthusiastic devotion of minds like Fra Bar¬ 
 tolomeo and Lorenzo de Credi, both artists of high 
 renown; while even the Platonic poet and chanonine, 
 Benivieni, a friend of the Medici, in the hour of his 
 danger published an energetic defence of his doctrines. 
 Raphael, too, admired his character; and ten years 
 after his death, under the pontificate of Julius II., 
 honored his memory by placing him among the most 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 231 
 
 celebrated doctors of the Roman Church, in his famous 
 fresco in the Vatican of the ‘ Dispute of the Holy 
 Sacrament.’ The solitary and morose Buonarotti was 
 a member of the political party based upon his prin¬ 
 ciples, and both fought and labored for its existence. 
 
 • Thus it will be seen that eminent men of most opposite 
 characters and all parties united in the bestowal of 
 their suffrages upon Savonarola as a scholar and patriot. 
 It may he inferred, then, that wherein he failed it was 
 owing more to the fatal tendencies of the times than to 
 his own fanaticism. 
 
 It is universally acknowledged that extreme danger 
 requires extreme measures. There can he no doubt 
 that religion was scandalized in the extreme when 
 Alexander VI. employed the first painters in the capital 
 of Christendom to adorn the papal palace and the castle 
 of St. Angelo with the histories of his lustful and 
 tyrannical family. But not content with this mockery 
 of virtue in the Vatican itself, he had a notorious 
 courtesan painted as the chaste Virgin ; thus stamping 
 himself as shameless as he was profligate. 
 
 The popes and princes of the family of the Medici 
 were, it is true, guilty of no such positive outrages 
 against the religious mind, but they encouraged the 
 increasing depravity of manners and contempt of 
 sacred subjects by directly patronising the revival of 
 pagan Art. Pallajuolo, Ghirlandajo, Luca Signorelli, 
 and other able artists were required to perpetuate the 
 
232 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 fabulous histories of heathen gods and goddesses in all 
 their scandalous details of lewdness and nudity for the 
 edification of the inhabitants of Christian edifices. 
 
 Subjects taken from classical history and mythology, 
 and illustrated by Art, are legitimate studies for all 
 interested in knowing what mankind did and what, 
 they thought scores of centuries gone by. In this 
 respect they are valuable, and worthy of the pencil of 
 a Raphael to bring them before us in living energy and 
 truth. The objection to them lies in the selection and 
 treatment. They can be so rendered as to be either 
 simply interesting as an exposition of the past, or posi¬ 
 tively hurtful as a means of corruption of present 
 generations. Raphael stands conspicuous for the 
 former manner. He could change his subjects at the 
 command of princes, but he carried into them his 
 own innate refinement. Side by side in the Vatican 
 are his noblest works of Christian faith and classical 
 learning, each pure and sincere in spirit. 
 
 Not so with lesser minds. They corrupted Art, and 
 the Art they were called to execute in turn corrupted 
 them, while both united in porrupting the people. 
 Poetry and music equally become vile instruments for 
 the promotion of universal depravity in this miscalled 
 golden age. 
 
 It is curious to observe that the same fact which 
 marked the decadence of Art in ancient Rome under 
 the emperors, was equally conspicuous at the com- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 233 
 
 raenceraent of its degradation in the modern city and 
 elsewhere in Italy. The religious Art of antiquity 
 had its ideal types of mythological beauty, the same as 
 its successor of modern times had its conventional 
 forms and countenances of celestial beauty. While 
 the Greek and Roman Art held firmly to its ideality 
 it was respected; but as soon as, at the command of 
 emperors and princes, it substituted their likenesses 
 and those of their female favorites for the features of 
 gods and goddesses, both Art and Religion declined. 
 The difference between the Olympus of Homer and 
 that of Nero w r as the difference between the senate 
 of republican Rome, when Brennus slaughtered its 
 members, and what it was when an emperor made his 
 pet horse a senator. Jupiter had degenerated into 
 a Heliogabalus, and Venus into a Messalina. The 
 same relative decline in Art and its free spirit took 
 place after popes, princes, and monks were able to 
 set aside the celestial forms of spiritualized ideality 
 for their own earth-worn frames and sensualized faces; 
 or worse yet, for those of the partners of their crimes 
 and debaucheries. 
 
 Art, with such men as Raphael, Tintoretto, or 
 Titian, saved itself by their consummate skill from 
 entire spiritual degradation. At all events, their 
 portraits took not the place of, but bent the knee to, 
 divinity. They and kindred minds were, however, 
 but exceptions, whose example was lost in inferior 
 
234 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 souls. Spiritualities were reduced to the level of 
 humanity, often buried beneath its lusts, or coated 
 with contemptible vanities, so that which in purer 
 times had been manna for the soul now became “ a 
 stumbling-block and rock of offence.” 
 
 Contemporaneous with the decline of high Art were 
 the gradual encroachments of princes upon civil liberty. 
 Let it not be forgotten that Savonarola, after possess¬ 
 ing greater influence and loftier moral power than 
 ever a Medici possessed, because founded upon the 
 noblest instincts of his fellow-citizens, and absolute 
 only in the degree that he convinced their minds, gave 
 a constitution to his country. The family of the 
 Medici, having in vain employed Art and wealth to 
 obtain the supreme authority, finally leagued them¬ 
 selves with foreign despots, and by force of arms 
 destroyed the constitution of Florence, slew or exiled 
 its ablest citizens, and fastened upon Tuscany a 
 tyranny so subtle and soul-crushing that even at the 
 expiration of three centuries, under ameliorated rule, 
 its population is wofully deficient in manliness of 
 character and patriotic virtue. 
 
 What would have been the result had Savonarola 
 been able to permanently establish the semi-hierarchal 
 government which his principles implied, can only be 
 inferred from similar experiments among other nations. 
 Among none, however, has the basis been so pure and 
 enlightened as that promulgated by him. Unlike the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 235 
 
 Puritans, he conceded the necessity and power of the 
 imaginative faculties, but sought to direct them to 
 exalted ends. The natural world was to him a source 
 of joy in its beauty. He laboured to divorce the 
 material element from the heavenly, and to turn the 
 hearts of his auditors to the contemplation of its divine 
 essence. Deriving his standard from his own lofty 
 conceptions of the capacities of man for virtue, he 
 strove to exalt him to the same pinnacle. His en¬ 
 thusiasm accomplished so much that he was himself 
 led to believe it to be the result of miraculous power. 
 He preached separately to men, women, and children. 
 Hope dawned upon his mind brightest through his 
 success with youth. In one of his sermons to them he 
 remarked, “ that a child who is protected from sin 
 until of age for self-judgment, acquires so great a 
 purity of mind and heart that the angels of heaven 
 come frequently to converse with him.” He demanded 
 of children their prayers for Divine success to him in 
 his great work of national reformation, and that the 
 hearts of their parents might be divinely guided in the 
 election of their magistrates. 
 
 A more comprehensive reform of all the tastes and 
 affections of a people was never undertaken, and yet 
 in the main it embraced little that was unreasonable or 
 above the capacity of human nature, however much 
 it might disagree with its carnal propensities. In 
 education he claimed that “youth should not receive 
 
236 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 a lesson of Paganism without receiving at the same 
 time a lesson of Christianity, and that they should be 
 equally instructed in eloquence and truth.” The 
 devotion of saints and martyrs he placed above the 
 heroism of the great men of antiquity, and of more 
 consequence for Christians to know. Love and obe¬ 
 dience to God were his two governing principles. He 
 demanded, it is true, the whole heart, and would 
 accept of no partial sacrifice. In this, of course, the 
 world’s experience prognosticates failure. This, how¬ 
 ever, served but to stimulate him, hoping, if not 
 believing, in the Utopia of a perfect government and 
 pure citizens. His course was marked by those 
 seeming contradictions incidental to all great minds in 
 progress, which have led the Protestants to claim him 
 as the precursor of their Reformation, while • the 
 Romanists, who burned him, have since sainted his 
 memory. Centuries after his ashes were thrown to 
 the winds, the Florentines were accustomed to scatter 
 flowers over the site of his martyrdom on the eve of its 
 anniversary. 
 
 It would be interesting to trace the actions and 
 motives of this remarkable man to the tragic scenes of 
 his death, were it within the scope of this work. I 
 have introduced him only as the antagonistic principle 
 in Art to the Medici—the sacred and profane elements 
 being now engaged in mortal combat—and I must 
 confine my remarks to the part he more directly took 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 237 
 
 in endeavouring to restore the former to its legitimate 
 position in the hearts of Italians. For eight years he 
 labored to this end, with all the might of a Christian 
 soul. 
 
 I have said that his hopes rested mainly upon the 
 youth. It was, indeed, an extraordinary spectacle to 
 the Florentines to see their children, ordinarily so rude, 
 disobedient, and restless with ambition, submit to the 
 absolute control of a simple monk, who spake to them 
 only in words of exhortation or reproach. At his bid¬ 
 ding they devoted themselves to pious exercises, the 
 most contrary to their natural inclinations, reciting in 
 their homes the religious lessons he had prepared, 
 while out of doors they attended his sermons, and 
 joined with the full power of enthusiastic devotion in 
 chants to God and the Virgin. 
 
 To distract them from profane music, Savonarola 
 had composed sacred songs, adapted to the popular 
 airs. These took the place of the licentious words 
 with which they had been accustomed to intermingle 
 in the orgies of the carnival. He experienced con¬ 
 tinual opposition; religion was often burlesqued; 
 sacred things profaned ; threats were uttered and 
 violence attempted; feuds arose ; the pope forbade 
 him to preach; but amid the confusion the undaunted 
 monk went perseveringly on, until all Florence was, as 
 it were, swayed by his will. 
 
 In no respect was his influence more perceptible 
 
238 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 than in the change of public opinion on objects of Art. 
 Aware of the power of persuasion and example over 
 force, he did not undertake to prohibit the music to 
 which the populace had been accustomed, but he 
 sought to win them to a purer taste by familiar airs 
 with better words sang by infantile voices. In this he 
 showed a political wisdom that met with deserved 
 success. 
 
 For a model-convent he proposed that the monks 
 should particularly occupy themselves with sculpture 
 and painting, believing that religion would so keep 
 their labors pure that they should be an unfailing 
 source of spiritual exaltation to laymen. Through 
 Savonarola’s influence the entire family of Robbia 
 devoted their new invention — which unfortunately 
 perished with them — of permanently coloring and 
 hardening moulded clay figures, to his cherished ideas. 
 Distinguished warriors hailed the monk as “ the pastor 
 of Florence,” and were ready to fight for him had he 
 countenanced force. 
 
 In 1496 Savonarola organized a spectacle, which in 
 its results the year following has no precedent in 
 history, unless the burning of the books at Ephesus in 
 the days of St. Paul be considered a like occurrence. 
 That was partial and momentary in its effects. The 
 sacrifice of the Florentines was repeated annually for 
 several years, and embraced every variety of objects 
 and literature which could be considered in the most 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 239 
 
 remote degree as administering to the lust of the eye 
 or the corruption of the heart. True, it was the 
 throe of fervid enthusiasm, and produced a reaction 
 fatal to its originators. But all noble deeds are the 
 offspring, not of selfish calculation, but of self-enduring 
 feeling. 
 
 The occasion selected for the novel ceremony was 
 Palm Sunday. A long procession of boys, to the 
 number of eight thousand, defiled through the streets 
 of Florence, holding in one hand a small red cross, 
 and in the other an olive branch. Some of their 
 number were selected to receive alms for the Monts- 
 de-Piete, which Savonarola was about to establish, in 
 order that the poor might have offices where they 
 could pawn their property in time of need, without 
 being fleeced by greedy bankers and money-changers. 
 The boys were succeeded by the clergy and different 
 religious orders in full canonical costume; after them 
 followed an immense crowd of citizens of all ages and 
 conditions. A numerous company of girls clad in 
 white, with white garlands upon their heads, accom¬ 
 panied by their mothers, closed the procession, which 
 moved along alternately chanting original hymns and 
 singing patriotic songs. All the bells of the city, and 
 their number was myriad, pealed joyfully forth in 
 unison with the many thousands of youthful voices that 
 rent the air in- praise to God and salutation to their 
 country. 
 
240 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Rio, from whom I mainly derived this narrative, 
 states that the spectators were melted into tears. 
 Even many of the “ tiedes,” as the partisans of the 
 opposite party were called, who came to mock and 
 interrupt the spectacle, were carried away by the 
 universal enthusiasm, and wept and blessed among the 
 rest. The amount of money and jewels collected was 
 sufficient to establish a charitable bank for pawning in 
 each quarter of the city. 
 
 A still more solemn procession was organized in the 
 succeeding years, to represent the triumph of Christi¬ 
 anity over Paganism. The children went from house 
 to house demanding, in the name of Jesus Christ and 
 his holy mother, that to them should be given up every¬ 
 thing anathematized. By this phrase was compre¬ 
 hended all objects of luxury or Art condemned by 
 their pastor. 
 
 Every possible method to enhance the magnificence 
 and striking effects of the spectacle had been put in 
 operation by Savonarola. To more forcibly appeal to 
 the imagination of the Florentines, and attest his 
 influence over customs consecrated by usage from time 
 immemorial, he selected for this fete the day on which 
 the carnival, in all its pagan license, had heretofore 
 been inaugurated. Its object being the destruction 
 of profane, and the triumph of Christian Art, the most 
 remarkable works of the latter, including an infant 
 Jesus by Donabello upon a gold pedestal, from which 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 241 
 
 he was represented blessing the people with one hand, 
 while the other held the cross, nails, and crown of 
 thorns of his passion, were carried with the procession. 
 With flying banners, and accompanied by the vene¬ 
 rated images of saints and the “ noble army of 
 martyrs/’ it traversed the city, collecting alms as 
 before, and chanting psalms, hymns, and patriotic songs, 
 closing with a pious invective against the carnival, 
 thundered forth by the entire mass of children. 
 
 The number and value of the spoils collected were 
 astonishing; not only were the tales of Boccaccio and 
 other romances of the same character given up,—the 
 erotic works of antiquity, and the vile modern imita¬ 
 tions then so much in vogue, the vulgar and licentious 
 songs and musical instruments—but paintings and 
 sculpture of great price, though of immoral or dubious 
 tendency. Owners and artists rivalled each other in 
 their contributions to the coming holocaust. Several 
 statues of antiquity, to which, from their voluptuous 
 expression and general resemblance, had been given 
 the names of the reigning beauties of the day, were 
 also sacrificed. Fra Bartolomeo, Lorenzo di Credi, 
 and other artists, brought forth all their studies of the 
 nude human figure, and deposited them in the hands 
 of the children to be borne to the scaffold, where they 
 were to be burnt. 
 
 This had been erected in the public square. It was 
 surmounted by a demoniacal figure, emblematical of 
 
 M 
 
242 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 the carnival and its ignoble pleasures. As soon as all 
 the objects collected had been deposited upon the 
 scaffold, it was fired; the people uniting with one 
 accord in a solemnly-uttered “ Te Deum,” while the 
 bells of the city rang, and the trumpets of the military 
 added their deep notes to the universal chorus. 
 
 Savonarola had pushed reform too far to hope for 
 final success against the powerful cabal now arrayed 
 against him. Many, probably, of the well-intentioned 
 and thinking citizens felt that their free will was in¬ 
 fringed upon ; the bankers and usurers hated him be¬ 
 cause their gains were lessened by his charitable esta¬ 
 blishments ; sensualists missed their accustomed supply 
 of carnal beauty, and lusts grew hot by restraint; 
 literary men despaired in seeing their profane scholar¬ 
 ship made of no account; artists and even mechanics 
 felt the evil effects of the too-sudden closing of the 
 usual avenues of luxuries; while aristocrats of every 
 degree hated him for his democratic doctrines, and 
 priestly hypocrites for his purity and sincerity : in fine, 
 every class whose tastes disposed them towards an 
 unlimited indulgence of pleasure or sensual desire, 
 or whose livelihood depended in any degree upon the 
 past corruption of manners, leagued themselves against 
 him. With the assistance of his mortal enemy, the 
 Borgian pope, they finally compassed his destruction. 
 In Savonarola terminated the last grand systematized 
 effort to place Art exclusively upon a Christian basis. 
 
ARCHITECTURE SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 243 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE VARIOUS DIRECTIONS OF NATURALISM IN ITALY. 
 
 Although religious Art in its strict purity perished 
 with Savonarola, yet it left its seeds in mighty minds, 
 which gave it, as a whole, a more complete and accept¬ 
 able expression. The mystical artists strove for too 
 much in seeking to withdraw Art wholly from hu¬ 
 manity. Countenances illumined with holy peace and 
 love, radiant with celestial joy in triumphing over the 
 infirmities of the flesh, emaciated by self-inflicted 
 penances, or racked by the fierce tortures of martyr¬ 
 dom, were indeed good in themselves, and read lessons 
 of high import to man ; but they did not embody the 
 entire excellence of Art, and consequently failed to 
 satisfy the human mind in its love for universal Beauty, 
 however much they might exalt its spirit. Natural 
 forms were in a measure despised, or rendered in so 
 conventional a manner, as in some degree to partake 
 of the character of hieroglyphics. The human figure, 
 in particular, was carefully concealed in ample robes 
 
244 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of the chastest fashioning. Beauty, which was not of 
 strictly a moral or spiritual type, was either unat¬ 
 tempted or failed from technical ignorance. 
 
 Naturalism, in its wholesome operations, sought to 
 unite spiritual with physical beauty. It believed that 
 all Nature was a worthy object of study. Putting its 
 trust in the divinity which, in more or less degree, 
 invests all the^works of the Creator, it went forth with 
 sympathising power, to explore every human emotion, 
 and to probe the entire capacities of creation to the 
 intent to make of Art a harmonious whole. Those 
 laws of matter, through which alone the mind can 
 operate on earth, had been indissolubly connected in 
 time with the spirit, and Beauty made the most perfect 
 medium of interpretation; therefore, what God had 
 joined together, naturalism did not dare to put asunder. 
 Indeed, from the glimpses of heavenly spheres which 
 have been occasionally revealed to holy men, we may 
 gather that perfect beauty is the combination of those 
 forms, colors, and melodies with all that is true and 
 glorious in spirit, which constitute “ the things ” that 
 God hath prepared for them that love Him, and 
 “ which eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither have 
 entered into the heart of man to conceive.” 
 
 By naturalism, therefore, is understood the artistic 
 study of Nature in its entire physical and spiritual 
 completeness. From it proceeds most of the varieties 
 of schools which have risen in modern civilization. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 245 
 
 Classical Art was inspired by its mythology, and bor¬ 
 rowed of Nature, chiefly its highest type, the human 
 figure, which it tempered with earth-born divinity. 
 For the lower forms of creation it had but doubtful 
 relish. Mediaeval religious Art, overlooking Nature, 
 aspired to spiritual truths. Naturalism seeks to restore 
 the balance, and to give to Art the variety and beauty 
 of Nature. 
 
 The influence of the old religious masters is strongly 
 marked in Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and 
 Raphael. Their early education was derived from 
 them. Michael Angelo, however, also studied in his 
 youth the classical models which were collected in the 
 garden of his patron, Lorenzo di Medici, and from 
 them, probably, strengthened his native bias towards 
 design. From these artists down, there is a progressive 
 neglect of spiritual vitality, and a corresponding atten¬ 
 tion to externals, resulting in the gradual decline of 
 Art in Italy, and many fluctuations elsewhere. As 
 symbolism preceded^ naturalism on the one hand, so 
 another element in Art arose from it, which, for want 
 of a better term, I must define as sensualism. They 
 were its extremes: the latter, as its name indicates, 
 was the corruption of Art, not only by its perversion to 
 the service of mere sense, but in its worst features a 
 monster, the joint offspring of festering paganism and 
 meretricious modernism. 
 
 Those of my readers who have never had an oppor- 
 
246 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 tunity to observe for themselves the base styles of 
 ornamentation, and the foulness of pictorial and sculp¬ 
 tured Art which came in with the Renaissance of pagan 
 studies, under the patronage of despotism, may deem 
 these epithets harsh ; fortunately the taste for them 
 has not outlived the immoral rules in which they were 
 generated. Examples survive, however, in sufficient 
 number on continental Europe, to stamp their age as 
 the most licentious and infidel since the Roman empire. 
 It possessed knowledge without faith. Science was the 
 servant of princes, and its laws became the rule of Art. 
 The people, from freedom of thought and vigor of 
 action, became slavish instruments of aristocratic am¬ 
 bition. All of the architecture of this period, say from 
 the final triumph of the Medici and kindred princes in 
 Italy, and during the long Bourbon rules in Spain and 
 France, influencing, as they did, Europe generally, 
 was characterised by pride, luxury, and profuseness of 
 pagan ornament. Rusldn, in the third volume of his 
 ‘Stories of Venice ,’ 1 has so eloquently expressed this 
 truth, that I cannot do better than quote a portion 
 of his remarks on this period of Renaissance architec¬ 
 ture, though I cannot follow him to the entire extent 
 of its condemnation, and desire to revive the Gothic 
 for domestic purposes. Whatever Mr. Ruskin writes 
 on Art has meaning, and deserves attentive considera¬ 
 tion. 
 
 Page 59. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 247 
 
 “ And if we think over this matter a little (the pride 
 of state as the chief feature of Renaissance architec¬ 
 ture), we shall soon feel that in those meagre lines 
 there is indeed an expression of aristocracy in its worst 
 characters; coldness, perfectness of training, incapa¬ 
 bility of emotion, want of sympathy with the weakness 
 of lower men, blank, hopeless, haughty self-sufficiency. 
 All these characters are written in the Renaissance 
 architecture as plainly as if they were graven on it in 
 words. For, observe, all other architectures have 
 something in them that common men can enjoy; some 
 concession to the simplicities of humanity, some daily 
 bread for the hunger of the multitude. Quaint fancy, 
 rich ornament, bright color, something that shows a 
 sympathy with men of ordinary minds and hearts, and 
 this wrought out at least in Gothic, with a rudeness 
 showing that the workman did not mind expressing his 
 own ignorance if he could please others. But the 
 Renaissance is vastly contrary of all this. It is rigid, 
 cold, inhuman, incapable of glowing, of stooping, of 
 conceding for an instant. Whatever excellence it has 
 is refined, high-trained, and deeply erudite; a kind 
 which the architect well knows no common mind can 
 taste. He proclaims it to us aloud, ‘ You cannot 
 feel my work unless you study Vitruvius. I will give 
 you no gay colour, no pleasant sculpture, nothing to 
 make you happy, for I am a learned man. All the 
 pleasure you can have in anything I do, is in its 
 
248 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 proud breeding, its rigid formalism, its perfect finish, 
 its cold tranquillity. I do not work for the vulgar, 
 only for the men of the academy and the court.’ ” 
 
 This is true. Gothic architecture gives life to the 
 heart, it rejoices all men. Renaissance, in its best 
 estate, arouses no emotion beyond intellectual appro¬ 
 bation of the purity of its materials, the beauty of its 
 proportions, and the high finish of its ornament. In 
 its worst estate it is a blot upon humanity and a libel 
 upon taste. There is no fear of its permanent intro¬ 
 duction into America. Even in England, where it has 
 been elevated by the genius of Inigo Jones, as we see 
 it in St. Paul’s and Whitehall, it enters as it were 
 only by stealth and in a modified form. Venice ex¬ 
 hibits its purest and basest features. There we see 
 all that is admirable in it, as in the Casa Grimani, on 
 the Grand Canal and the later portions of the Ducal 
 palace; at Florence, in the Palazzo Pandolfini, de¬ 
 signed by Raphael; in Paris, by the edifices con¬ 
 tiguous to the Palace de la Concorde; and in 
 Rome, by St. Peter’s, the combined work of Bramante, 
 Raphael, and Michael Angelo. Compare these build¬ 
 ings, as wholes, with the preceding architectui'e, and 
 tell me which takes deepest hold on the mind ! The 
 Casa Grimani, or the charming Gothic palace on the 
 Grand Canal at Venice, now occupied by Taglioni; 
 the canal or sea faqade of the Ducal palace; the 
 Ricardi palace, at Florence, or the Doria Pamfili 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 249 
 
 palace at Rome; Santa Maria del Fiore of the former 
 city, or the modernised basilica of Santa Maria Mag- 
 giore of the latter; the Siena cathedral, or the 
 church of the Jesuits at Venice, or any church of 
 that order in any part of the world; the venerable 
 Lombard church at Coire, in the centre of the Alps, 
 or Notre Dame de Lorette, at Paris; in fine, all the 
 churches and palaces built previous to those built after 
 Palladio and Sansovino introduced their medley of 
 classicalism and modernism into architecture. 
 
 The fatal influence of Renaissance, which term I 
 apply more particularly to the revived types of an¬ 
 tiquity, as developed by the rule of princes, was more 
 perceptible in its effects upon painting and sculpture, 
 in detail, than even upon architecture as a whole. 
 
 As early as the commencement of the fifteenth cen¬ 
 tury, Dello, a Florentine artist, acquired much repu¬ 
 tation, and made a large fortune in the service of the 
 King of Spain, by his skill in ornamenting houses and 
 furniture with subjects from pagan mythology. At first 
 their topics were treated with a refinement which aided 
 their popularity. As manners grew more corrupt, the 
 demand for its more vulgar types increased, until 
 even ordinary nudity and passions were not sufficient 
 to satisfy the morbid appetite which had arisen for the 
 excitements of sense. A new style of grotesque was 
 originated, combining the grosser forms of heathen 
 imaginings with the lewd inventions and erotic fancies 
 
 M* 
 
250 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of modern dissoluteness. One of the most prominent 
 examples of this species of ornament is to he seen on 
 the front of the palace of Bianca Capello, in Via 
 Maggio, at Florence. Contrast the lecherous satyrs, 
 half-vegetable Pans, and general character of this 
 fresco, with the design and spirit of that done more 
 than a century previous (1442) on the Bigallo ! There 
 we see angels and holy men and women, modestly clad, 
 listening to “ glad tidings of exceeding great joy.” 
 With such facts staring us in our face, we are con¬ 
 tinually prating about the progress of modern times in 
 virtue. We have a great work on hand to get back 
 in taste and morality to even where Raphael left Art, 
 after the allurements of a sensual court had done their 
 worst on his mind. 
 
 Michael Angelo swayed Art after a different manner. 
 His power lay in majesty or grandeur. Of color he 
 was profoundly ignorant, depending mainly upon ex¬ 
 pression and design. In him sculpture and fresco¬ 
 painting assumed a character which his genius alone 
 could immortalize. He said himself that his style 
 would create inept artists. What was sublime in 
 Michael Angelo became exaggeration among his imi¬ 
 tators. Taking him for a master in color, as well as 
 design, the Florentine school that adhered to him, 
 such as Vasari and Bronzino, became vapid in the one 
 and gross in the other. Their works have an anatomi 
 cal look, as though difficult posture of limbs was of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 251 
 
 superior consequence to general grouping and ease. 
 Strength became mere bulkiness, vulgar size being 
 mistaken for heroic dignity, and awkward action for 
 graceful repose. The influence of Michael Angelo in 
 painting, I consider an inauspicious one. With the 
 exception of the dignity and grandeur of expression and 
 posture of certain individual figures, as in the sybils 
 and prophets of the Sistine Chapel, there is no indica¬ 
 tion of profound imaginative power in his paintings. 
 The ‘Last Judgment’ is but a powerful condensation 
 of the common idea. It has in it nothing new, nothing 
 that Dante, his favorite poet, had not much more for¬ 
 cibly brought home to the hearts of Italians in verse. 
 The principal emotion at viewing it is wonder at the 
 extraordinary attitudes and skilful foreshortenings. 
 The Saviour is all denunciation, apparently more 
 pleased to send the condemned to hell than to receive 
 the saved into heaven. The whole painting is out of 
 harmony with its spirit and Art itself. There was an 
 impatience about Michael Angelo that seldom per¬ 
 mitted him to finish his own conceptions, and even more 
 rarely to study all the details necessary to preserve 
 their unity. He was exceedingly great in parts, hut 
 the sacrifices in other respects are painfully apparent. 
 In his unfinished sculpture he often appears greatest. 
 No artist ever excelled him in awe and sublimity. He 
 was a great creative genius, going to Nature, less to 
 study her details than to force them to take the direc- 
 
252 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 tion of his will. I am constantly reminded by him of 
 an intellectual Titan, struggling against the impotency 
 of material to express himself. 
 
 It will not be worth our while to follow the Floren¬ 
 tine school further, but to turn to others which acquired 
 equal eminence, some for one mode of expression of 
 facts, and s8me for another. Naturalism was the 
 prevailing study. No school united in it all its capa¬ 
 cities. A few artists only have suggested them. 
 
 The three principal schools of Italy, beside the 
 Florentine, were the Roman, Bolognese, and Venetian, 
 each distinguished by separate advances in painting. 
 The Roman was most conspicuous for attention to 
 form, as derived from studies of the antique. Raphael 
 gave it direction. In purity and completeness of 
 design and freshness of composition, combined in one 
 graceful whole, he stands pre-eminent. His pupils 
 imitated him and the marbles of antiquity. There is 
 therefore a greater uniformity of character in this 
 school than the others, both in subject and treatment. 
 They may be divided into the classical and religious, 
 the former preponderating. Of the latter, after Ra¬ 
 phael, there is nothing that recalls his early manner. 
 As elsewhere, it became a labor of the intellect, or a 
 trick of hand, to express what was but weakly felt by 
 the spirit. Consequently we find religious Art, though 
 abundantly practised throughout Italy, divested of 
 spirituality and robed in mannerism. Each artist 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 253 
 
 selected his subject, not to exalt piety, but to display 
 his skill. Its essence was rather from his imagination 
 than his soul. We have noble religious paintings in 
 the sixteenth century, but they speak louder of the 
 artist than his theme. Occasionally we find a gleam 
 of the old devout spirit breaking through technical 
 subtleties, to let us know that its seed still existed in 
 man. But, as almost a universal rule, among master 
 minds their manner, more than their story, affects the 
 spectator. We admire their dexterity, and wonder at 
 their power, but seldom go away exalted in our souls. 
 This must ever be the case when Science gives the law 
 to Art. Successful technical treatment had become 
 the great aim. The time formerly given to prayer or 
 devout meditation was now occupied in measurings 
 and experiments. 1 Thus, from one extreme of spiritual 
 ignorance, religious Art rapidly passed into another of 
 vain knowledge, puffed up with its manual dexterity. 
 With inferior minds this degenerated into imbecility 
 
 1 Lippo Dalmasio, an early painter of Bologna, noted for the 
 sweetness and purity of the faces of his Madonnas, never painted 
 the Holy Virgin without fasting the previous evening, and receiving 
 absolution and the bread of angels (the Eucharist) in the morning 
 after ; and finally never consented to paint for hire, but only as a 
 means of devotion. Guido Reni sought the inspiration from the 
 works of this painter which was foreign to his own soul, saying, 
 that he “ believed Lippo’s pencil had been moved by a hidden gift 
 of inspiration rather than mere natural skill, exhibiting (as he did) 
 in those pure mirrors of the ideal a holiness, a purity, and gravity, 
 which no modern artist, however excellent, however studious, had 
 ever been able to attain to.”—See Lord Lindsay’s ‘ Christian Art,’ 
 vol. iii., p. 217 
 
254 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 both of style and expression. At this hour there is 
 nothing more lamentably contemptible in Italy than 
 the puny efforts of its self-styled artists in religious 
 subjects. Domenichino and Correggio gave us at least 
 a certain stage-effect of piety; Guido Reni, Carlo 
 Dolce, and Sassaferrato, though pure naturalists, were 
 able to endow their sacred heads with an external 
 glow of emotion; but their degenerate descendants 
 have not even sufficient skill to counterfeit sentiment 
 of any nature. 
 
 In color the Roman school was dry and inhar¬ 
 monious. Had Raphael lived there can be no doubt 
 but he would have profited from the Venetian school 
 in this respect. That which, however, was pleasing in 
 him became harsh with his disciples. The technical 
 principles of masters are often overdone by pupils, as 
 their spirit is weakened from imitation. This was 
 particularly the case with the classical portion of 
 the Roman school, after Raphael’s greatest pupil, 
 Julio Romano, was dead. In design he was more 
 prone to the energy of Michael Angelo than the deli¬ 
 cacy of his master. The asperities of his coloring are 
 displeasing. With him, as with his successors, the 
 study of statuary for form alone was detrimental to 
 excellence in other respects. 
 
 Attention to color, as the prominent technical ex¬ 
 pression of Art, was the characteristic of the Venetian 
 school. This was not at its zenith of fame until 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 255 
 
 Florence and Rome were retrograding. Its tendency 
 was towards great compositions, chiefly illustrative of 
 the history of Venice or the Holy Scriptures. We find 
 in it little that is low or frivolous. It partook of the 
 serious and luxurious character of the noble Venetians, 
 and was attractive even in its decadence from the 
 warmth and brilliancy of its tints. 
 
 In its early stage, it was peculiarly grave and 
 solemn, both in color and composition, and imbued 
 with the deep religious feeling which for so long a 
 period characterised the Venetian mind. No doubt 
 the intimate relation of Venice with the Orient, 
 through its commerce, fostered its love of splendor and 
 richness of detail in Art, and confirmed the general 
 taste for deep, strong color. The superior knowledge 
 and deep feeling of its artists, gradually led it from 
 their primary harsh and crude manifestations to the 
 richest and most harmonious combinations of all that 
 constitutes varied depth, tenderness, brilliancy, and 
 seriousness, both in painting and architecture, that 
 modern civilization has witnessed. Giovanni Bellini 
 was the most profound religious artist of Venice. He 
 may he considered as the true founder of her noblest 
 style. Unlike Angelico, he did not aspire to portray 
 pure spirit, but sought to endow humanity with its . 
 deepest emotions, sympathising with moral beauty 
 and religious feeling with all the earnestness of a 
 kindred nature. Giorgione and Titian were his pupils. 
 
256 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 The latter is the impersonification of the Venetian 
 school. 
 
 The Bolognese school had its origin in the brothers 
 Ludovico, Agostino, and Annibale Carracci; pure na¬ 
 turalists, who sought to unite the strength of Michael 
 Angelo, the grace of Raphael, the coloring of Titian, 
 and the magic cliiaro-oscuro of Correggio, in a har¬ 
 monious whole, studying Nature for models, and em¬ 
 bracing all subjects in their range. The principles 
 upon which their academy was formed, were correct for 
 teaching Art. Individual genius was allowed its bent, 
 instructed in details, and encouraged to develop itself. 
 Rules of Art as then understood, were systematised 
 and universally applied to its progress. Bologna stood 
 high in painting when the rest of Italy had fallen into 
 decline. Still this school is more remarkable for 
 technical excellence than for originality. It was 
 capable of externally perfecting Art, but required the 
 genius of master-spirits to quicken it into genuine life. 
 With lesser talents it degenerated into vapid imitation, 
 burlesquing attainments it sought to rival. 
 
 The Umbrian school, in its mystic influence upon 
 others, bears to them too important a relation to be 
 wholly overlooked. It was in the retired and moun¬ 
 tainous district of Umbria that the purely-religious 
 Art found its strongest foothold. Among the simple 
 and severe manners which characterised the inhabitants 
 of this portion of Italy, inspired by the devotion of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 257 
 
 St. Francis, and other enthusiasts, Art assumed an 
 intensely-religious expression. The Umbrians were a 
 hardy, devotional race, sincere and self-sacrificing in 
 their attachment to their dukes and church. Hence we 
 find that painting here, as in Venice and Florence, 
 partook of the national, or, more properly speaking, 
 sectional tone of mind. It was expressive of fervid 
 longings, earnest adoration, simple manners, and mystic 
 thought; in short, excelling in expression of soul, but 
 lacking force, variety, and action. No sculptor or 
 engraver arose from it. Perugino was its most con¬ 
 spicuous artist, excepting Raphael, who, although born 
 in, and deriving his first inspiration from it, speedily 
 emerged into the wider scale of naturalism and 
 classical knowledge. 
 
 Previous to the Carracci, the Bolognese school was 
 governed by the same principle as the Umbrian. It 
 was equally devotional in feeling; and when we con¬ 
 sider that its chief artist, Francia, had two hundred 
 and twenty pupils, we can be at no loss to account for 
 the multitudes of religious paintings which still exist 
 in Italy, independent of the great public collections. 
 Vitale, who was of this school, refused to paint the 
 Crucifixion, urging that “ Christ was sufficiently cru¬ 
 cified already; once by the Jews, and daily by the 
 evil actions of wicked Christians.” 
 
 Montagna was the most distinguished artist of the 
 Mantuan school. Although a Christian artist in the 
 
258 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 mystic sense of his age, yet he was successful in 
 classical subjects, and his treatment of the nude figure, 
 as may be seen in his Apollo and the Muses in the 
 Louvre; which, although highly allegorical, are 
 original in treatment, and possess much grace and 
 beauty. I ; Ie^ was succeeded by Julio Romano in this 
 school. He debased its sentiment without improving 
 in any commensurate degree its technical execution. 
 Moreover, he delighted in licentious designs, prosti¬ 
 tuting his Art to illustrate an obscene and scandalous 
 work of Aretino. 
 
 The pupils of Raphael, and later, the principles of the 
 Carracci, influenced the school of Naples ; while that of 
 Milan was directed by the genius of Leonardo da 
 Vinci. 
 
 The Carracci led the way to a genuine love of land¬ 
 scape. Earnest, industrious, and universal in their 
 studies, they sought to free this portion of Nature from 
 its merely subordinate position in Art, and to elevate it 
 to a distinct branch. Previous to this it had been 
 used simply as an accessory. Symbolism had given it 
 a pure and sincere ideality, without variety, hinting at 
 its elements rather than expressing them, yet carrying 
 the spectator always into clear skies and pleasant 
 fields, or leaving him amidst its sweetest flowers. 
 There was always a congeniality between the celestial 
 and earthly simplicity and beauty, which appealed 
 warmly to the heart. Titian was the first great 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 259 
 
 natural landscapist. He made sparing use of variety, 
 but his feeling was true and his expression correct. 
 When we reflect on what he suggested of the great 
 harmonies of the natural world, even in the secondary 
 part he gave to landscape, it is really wonderful 
 that artists did not see its value as an independent 
 source of beauty and instruction. A century passed 
 before this was understood, and then only imper¬ 
 fectly. 
 
 Salvator Rosa seized upon a few features, and in a 
 half-robber, half-artist like manner, vigorously gave 
 vent to his new passion in a medley of coarseness and 
 refinement, truth and falsity, that alternately perplexes 
 and pleases. To Claude Lorraine was reserved the 
 key of Nature’s loveliness in her great elements of 
 earth, sky, and water. He introduced the complete, 
 healthful landscape, striving to express both particular 
 and general truths. 
 
 After him arose a mock landscape, the heroic, as 
 Goethe calls it, as unlike the real as it was cold in 
 expression. The Poussins gave the highest type of 
 this, stately and picturesque, studied from Nature,- yet 
 partaking not at all of its free and joyous spirit. 
 Their landscapes may he termed dainty falsehoods. 
 The eye finds in them no repose, but gazes bewildered 
 at their artificial beauties. I presume their failure as 
 transcripts of Nature lies in the feebleness of its ex¬ 
 pression, in comparison with the particular prominence 
 
2G0 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 given the works of man, not in keeping with what the 
 landscape attempts to express. 
 
 In another generation pastoralism became the pre¬ 
 vailing sentiment. This still further led taste from 
 the healthful ideal. Without being essentially corrupt 
 it was weak and silly; enticing men from realities 
 into pursuit of the incompatible, and disturbing both 
 natural and moral harmony. Seized upon as a new 
 excitement by the prurient fancy of the French school, 
 it became amorous and disgusting, looking to Nature 
 only as a covert for or excitement to sensuality. Be¬ 
 low this it was not possible for landscape Art to fall. 
 This century has seen a healthful reaction everywhere. 
 Artists now seek to render, at all events, the externals 
 of Nature, and to give them to us pure and undefiled. 
 A few are penetrating its spirit and catching its in¬ 
 spiration. More of them anon. 
 
 Italian Art is remarkable for its absence of humor 
 and of love of domestic life, two elements which abound 
 in the German races. It deals abundantly in high 
 life, in its aristocratic forms, in religious topics, human 
 passion, and historical events ; it is prolific of classical 
 knowledge and heathen mythology, but it has failed to 
 give us a portraiture of the people. From it we gather 
 nothing of their hopes and fears, their struggles and 
 enjoyments, their actual, every-day existence; in fact, 
 it negatives their being. Caravaggio is perhaps a 
 solitary instance among Italian artists of repute who 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 261 
 
 has condescended to recognise the wayward humors 
 and fancies of every-day humanity, but with so much 
 coarseness that we can well forgive the rarity of his 
 pictures. May not this be attributed to the governing 
 principles of church and state which have so effectually 
 paralysed the heart of Italy? Since they became 
 despotic, Italy has produced but one great mind— 
 Galileo. Him they fettered and chafed until he con¬ 
 sented in a weak hour to degrade truth by its equivocal 
 denial. Art now lies hopelessly prostrate. A few 
 ideas only live in the minds of some who under better 
 auspices would honor Italy and themselves. With the 
 mass it is an unintelligible word. They have lost 
 even the capacity to comprehend the truths of those 
 great minds who are their daily boast. Treasures of 
 Art incalculable remain in their keeping, but their unc¬ 
 tion has long since departed. In Florence, the cradle 
 of modern Art, annually, within the very walls around 
 which are hung the works of those great and pious 
 minds that first poured out their souls’ strength to 
 regenerate Italy, is exhibited a collection of plaster 
 and canvas trash which would disgrace an auctioneer’s 
 room of London or New York. The Florentines call 
 this Art, yawn over it, and go away satisfied that they 
 are still worthy of the fame of their ancestors, and in 
 their self-sufficiency scorn the budding genius of nobler 
 races. Among Italians generally, painting is reduced 
 to a trifling dilettantism, a mere amusement, an occu- 
 
262 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 pation of otherwise idle hours, or a simple trade. 
 Copies (?) of masterpieces are multiplied without num¬ 
 ber by men calling themselves artists, yet content to 
 work for a daily pittance far beneath the wages of a 
 common laborer in America. Their pictures go chiefly 
 to England and the United States, where they pass as 
 facsimiles of the works of those noble minds they so 
 lamentably caricature. Indeed they are often sold as 
 originals. No wonder, then, that there is a popular 
 distaste in those countries for the old masters. Italy 
 defames her ancestral genius, and leads astray those 
 who seek her guidance. There is no cure for this 
 except in the regeneration of her national spirit. Let 
 her cease to believe in her own Art-infallibility, and be 
 emulous only of rivalling her past glories, despising 
 those who would both degrade and barter it away for 
 a “ mess of pottage.” Her academies are crowded 
 with scholars. Why is it no light arises among them ? 
 Whence this universal deadness, where the Past calls 
 so loudly for genuine Effort ? Ask those tyrants 
 who quenched her genius in sensuality and despotism. 
 It is time that the mistaken idea that the Medici and 
 kindred rulers were the true promoters of Art should 
 be exploded. They were its destruction. All that 
 was noble and great in Art had its origin among the 
 people, when democratic communities and free cities 
 emulated each other’s work and labored to honor God 
 by their genius-directed handicraft. Compare the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 263 
 
 spirit which led the citizens of plague-stricken Flo¬ 
 rence, in the fourteenth century, to employ Orcagna 
 and spend eighty-six thousand gold florins—more than 
 four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the offerings 
 of gratitude—in the erection of that noble shrine to 
 the Virgin which gtill stands “ a miracle of loveliness, 
 unrivalled in grace and proportion,” in the church of 
 Orsanmichele, to the vanity of Ferdinand I., in the 
 building of the still-unfinished chapel or monument of 
 his race in the rear of San Lorenzo; at Florence, on 
 which architectural egotism seventeen millions of dol¬ 
 lars are said to have been expended I 
 
 Externally it is a piece of unmeaning barbarism, 
 and internally an empty show of precious marbles, 
 savoring only of aristocratic pride and pompous extra¬ 
 vagance. In the interior chapel or actual tomb begun 
 by Clement VII., Michael Angelo was employed to 
 make those glorious- statues which are his monument, 
 and not that of the family of the pope he so vainly 
 strove to commemorate. Julius V., another pontiff, 
 essayed to divert much of the treasure of the Church 
 and the talents of Michael Angelo to the erection of a 
 proud monument for himself. The same pope insisted 
 that his own burly figure, in complete papal costume, 
 borne on a canopy upon the shoulders of men, should 
 be introduced into Raphael’s noble fresco in the 
 Vatican, of ‘ The Angels driving the sacrilegious 
 Heliodorus from the temple at Jerusalem,’ without 
 
264 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 compunction at the historic anachronism he was forcing 
 upon the artist. In another fresco of a scene in the 
 seventh century we find the equally inexplicable por¬ 
 trait of Leo X. So in Raphael’s ‘ Transfiguration,’ 
 the monks for whom it was painted required that some 
 of their order, in their beggarly apparel, should be 
 made to accompany the Saviour in the scene of his 
 celestial glorification. This vanity is the ruling spirit 
 of the priests and princes who corrupted Art. It 
 pervades the works of the best artists, such as Bernini 
 and Canova, who owe their success to aristocratic 
 patronage. The simplicity of nature gives way in 
 them to stage effects, and truth to mere wantonness. 
 
 Giotto, Ghiberti, Brunalleschi, Angelico, Bartolo¬ 
 meo, Masaccio, Raphael Sanzio, and Michael Angelo 
 Buonarotti, were artists of the people. The latter 
 two were partially employed, it is true, by popes, but 
 it was, as has been seen, to the sacrifice of some 
 portion of their artistic independence. Leo X. com¬ 
 pelled Michael Angelo to spend the very best years of 
 his life in quarrying marble, simply to gratify a selfish 
 whim. 
 
 If the influence of courts were so detrimental to the 
 genius of the greatest artists, what must it have been 
 on less noble minds ! Vasari, Ammanato, and Carlo 
 Maratti were the growth of despotism. The genius 
 of Benvenuto Cellini disdained all restraint but his 
 own daring and volatile will. His talent was set 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 265 
 
 aside, except as it forced its own way, for more pliant 
 material. Where power is concentrated into the grasp 
 of the few, this principle will ever rule. The very 
 authority they possess engenders selfishness with all 
 its petty or sensual aims. Art must be free if it 
 would make progress. It takes root firmer in the 
 hearts of the many than in the tastes of the few. 
 Italy proves this by her experience; yet history, as 
 written, constantly falsifies this fact, out of aristocratic 
 contempt for the people, and to make princes believe 
 that Art thrives only in their keeping. Venice longest 
 preserved the semblance of republicanism. There 
 were no ruling families in her bosom to dictate, as in 
 Florence and Rome, laws and taste for the people. 
 She was governed by an assembly of wills, selfish and 
 unprincipled it may be, not for themselves, but for 
 Venice. Artists here were liberally sustained and 
 left freedom of choice, but made personally respon¬ 
 sible for the quality of their works. This applied 
 more particularly to architects. Sansovino was em¬ 
 ployed to superintend the construction of the public 
 library erected to preserve the books given to the state 
 by Petrarch and Cardinal Bessarion. The ceiling of 
 the principal hall was divided into twenty-one com¬ 
 partments, to be painted by the ablest artists. Hardly 
 was it finished before it gave way. Sansovino was 
 immediately imprisoned, fined a thousand crowns, de¬ 
 prived of his office of chief architect, and finally rein- 
 
 N 
 
266 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 stated only out of regard to his great abilities and the 
 solicitations of numerous and influential friends. 
 
 Venice not only exacted much of artists, but ho¬ 
 nored them proportionally. A nobler taste and purer 
 expression characterized her style after Rome and Flo¬ 
 rence were far gone in degeneracy. Even Christianity 
 was here more honored, if not in the heart, in its 
 external symbolism, as inherited from those freer ages 
 when it was the governing principle of civil polity. 
 The practice of a public confession of Christianity in 
 inscriptions on her architecture, as well as its feeling 
 incorporated into painting, tended to preserve alive 
 loftier principles in Art, which even the Renaissance, 
 with all its egotistical appeals to the meaner qualities 
 of human nature, was slow to overcome. “ Non nobis, 
 Domine, non nobis, sed nomine tuo de gloriam we read 
 upon the fagade of the Palazzo Vendromini. This 
 acknowledgment of religion was carried into all their 
 domestic and public acts when the republic was most 
 conspicuous for strength and dignity; and even during 
 the sixteenth century, notwithstanding the prevailing 
 sensuality, their triumphant generals and crowned 
 doges were almost invariably represented in their 
 family pictures as kneeling bareheaded before Christ 
 and the Virgin; an act of adoration first introduced by 
 Giovanni Bellini. 
 
 That pious painter, Gentile da Fabriano was invited 
 to Venice, paid a golden ducat a-day, and permitted to 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 267 
 
 wear the costume of a senator. Gentile’s name was 
 characteristic of his works. Ornament he loved for its 
 own sake. He had a keen sense of the beautiful, and 
 a noble, graceful, joyous nature, which particularly 
 endeared him to the Venetians. Some have called 
 him the perfect type of the knightly, as Angelico was 
 of the devotional artist; both were equally pure in 
 sentiment. 
 
 Dukes and popes solicited Sansovino to enter their 
 service ; his reply was, “ that having the happiness to livt 
 under a republic, it would be folly to live under ar 
 absolute prince.” Titian was equally proof against thf 
 seductions of royalty to quit Venice; he knew, above 
 all men, the importance of entire liberty to an artist. 
 The greatest men of his age, including royalty and the 
 aristocracy of letters, paid him the tribute of visits at 
 his own home. Of the eminent artists of Venice, the 
 two Bellini and Tintoretto alone were born within 
 her limits. Other great names, of which so many 
 illustrate her annals, were attracted thither by the 
 superior advantages her form of government offered to 
 artists. Titian came from Cadore ; the two Veronese 
 from Verona; Palma the elder and Bassano from 
 Ponte; Schiavoni from Dalmatia; Giorgione and 
 Paris Bardone from Treviso; Sansovino from Flo¬ 
 rence, and Palladio from Vicenza. Holland, too, as 
 a republic, will be found no less favorable for the de¬ 
 velopment of Art; so that those who lament over the 
 
2G8 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 inability of free governments to foster it, are in reality 
 grieving over a fiction of their own minds, while those 
 who deny this truth are lending their influence to keep 
 Art in bondage. 
 
 The artists of Italy have been legion. Lanzi enu¬ 
 merates upwards qf three thousand worth mentioning, 
 between the years 1200 and when he wrote, 1790. 
 Singular enough, among them all, there are but two 
 females, Elizabeth Sirani, an imitator of Guido, and 
 Sofonisba Anguisicola of Cremona, who acquired repu¬ 
 tation as painters. The latter is known by a few 
 portraits only, which portray strength of color and 
 expression, and by the remark of Vandyke, who, 
 visiting her in her old age, at Genoa, said that he had 
 learned from her conversation more of his art than 
 even from his master Rubens. She was greatly ho¬ 
 nored in contemporary society of the highest rank. 
 
 Whence arises this overwhelming preponderance of 
 the male mind in the Arts, if not from a universal law 
 of Nature, which, in implanting deeply in woman 
 the absorbing principle of love, gave to man as his 
 rnoiety of humanity, knowledge ! Copyists there are 
 in multitudes. A few artists of a secondary rank, like 
 Angelica Kaufman, Rosa Bonlieur, and Madame Le 
 Brun, have distinguished themselves ; but the world 
 still awaits the development of the female into a “great 
 master ” of Art. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 209 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SCHOOLS OF ART—SPANISH AND NORTHERN SCHOOLS— 
 ART IN ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND AMERICA. 
 
 It is not my object to enter into the respective merits 
 of the several schools of Art, but simply to point out 
 their general differences, and such analogies as may be 
 most conspicuous. The principles of Art, on which I 
 have already dwelt, will enable my readers to classify 
 for themselves the degrees of excellence to which each 
 may claim, either in spirit or in execution. For the 
 latter, however, it is absolutely necessary personally 
 to study the works of Art, for no description can 
 adequately convey ideas of the subtleties of technical 
 skill. The choice and general treatment of subjects 
 will, however, guide the mind in its judgment of the 
 actual standard of the artist in an eclectic point of 
 view. 
 
 I have said that modern Art had its origin in the 
 thirteenth century, coincident with the general and 
 gradual awakening of mind throughout Europe, 
 
270 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Previous to this time, especially in the tenth century, 
 there had been individual instances of learning, and 
 considerable effort to arouse thought, but unattended 
 with any permanent or universal impression. Where 
 intellect is universally active in the developing of ideas, 
 it is very difficult to trace the exact origin of any one 
 prominent reform or improvement. Coincident with 
 the modern rise of Art in Italy, there was a similar 
 action north of the Alps, possessing the same general 
 characteristics, and differing only in such features as 
 widely-separated localities or contrasts of climates 
 produce. The north certainly had styles of archi¬ 
 tecture and sculpture peculiar to itself. Her painting 
 also bore impress of another mental type, though less 
 distinct from the southern than the former two. 
 Italy perhaps owes nothing to Germany in the spirit of 
 Art, but she has profited somewhat from her knowledge 
 or example in the treatment of particulars and, 
 especially, in the discovery by Van Eyck of oil- 
 painting, which at once commenced a new era in that 
 branch. 
 
 Spanish Art remained isolated from the rest of 
 Europe, until the marshals of Napoleon dispersed its 
 treasures throughout the civilized world. It was an 
 emanation of Spanish character, deeply imbued with 
 its religious tone and serious mien. Although derived 
 in the main from Italian sources, even after they had 
 become infected with pagan leaven, yet it retained in 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 271 
 
 a remarkable degree a devotional spirit; delighting in 
 traditions of holy virgins and saints, the martyr-heroes 
 of Christianity, and rarely condescending to common 
 life or profane subjects. 
 
 No nation so long and scrupulously confined Art to 
 purely religious motives. There were several causes 
 thus limiting its domain. The Spanish character is 
 naturally grave and decorous. Its etiquette is graceful 
 and solemn, full of sonorous compliments, stately, yet 
 impressive in speech and action. Their religion has 
 ever been remarkable for its enthusiastic devotion and 
 intense fanaticism. Among Romanists they are con¬ 
 sidered the most Catholic ; among Protestants, the 
 greatest bigots of their Church. They were the last of 
 Christian nations that embarked in the Crusades 
 against the Moors. Venice for many centuries at one 
 end of the Mediterranean, and Spain, at the other, 
 were the, bulwarks of Christianity. ach had to 
 
 maintain a perpetual struggle with the infidel for 
 national existence. In both, therefore, we find an 
 enthusiastic devotion to the dogmas for which they 
 fought. The former government, however, wisely 
 tempered its faith with more correct principles of 
 national policy, maintaining its independence while 
 accepting a creed. Not so Spain. She gave herself up 
 body and soul to Rome, with all the fervor of a race 
 more prone to impulse than reason. Church and State 
 in this country became united in an indissoluble league 
 
272 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 for the selfish maintenance of their joint rule. No 
 mind was left free either in thought or action. 
 Nothing that in the most remote degree could loosen 
 the shackles of tyranny or superstition was allowed to 
 exist. Consequently Art in Spain became a mere 
 instrument of royalty or the Church, for the further¬ 
 ance of their aims whether of pride or of power. The 
 Kings being bigots, the Church held the real sway. 
 The more firmly to maintain their rule, by controlling 
 all that could arouse emotion or excite thought, it 
 placed Art under the direction of the Inquisition. 
 
 By nature the Spaniards were less disposed than the 
 Italians, to what may be termed the frivolities of Art. 
 They were too dignified to take pleasure in the 
 nonsense and incongruities with which so many of the 
 Italian masters of the sixteenth century disfigured 
 their paintings. Even without the fear of the In¬ 
 quisition before their eyes, we cannot conceive of them 
 as enjoying the introduction of wrangling curs, spitting 
 cats, beastly monkeys, fiddles and follies of all sorts 
 into canvases devoted to sacred subjects. The censors 
 of Art in Spain justly forbade this, and also the making 
 or exposing of immodest paintings, under pain of exile, 
 excommunication, and a fine of fifteen hundred ducats. 
 An unfortunate painter was actually imprisoned for 
 varying the religious conventional style of dress of the 
 Holy Virgin, by an embroidered petticoat and fardin- 
 gale, and putting St. John in trunk hose. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 273 
 
 El Mudo, so called from being dumb, tbe Spanish 
 Titian, as his countrymen somewhat ambitiously style 
 him, made himself notorious, by venturing to introduce 
 in a Eloly Family a cat and dog snarling over a bone. 
 He never repeated the offence. It is generally 
 believed that Torrigiano, the sculptor, was condemned 
 to death by the Inquisition, for having in a passion 
 broken to pieces a crucifix he had just completed. 
 The popularity of this anecdote, whether true or not, 
 illustrates the severity of the censorship exercised over 
 Art in Spain by the Church. 
 
 The Spaniards being by temperament more devout 
 and enthusiastic than the Italians, were also less in¬ 
 tellectual and more sensuous. Consequently, their Art 
 was more imbued with emotion than thought. Indeed, 
 its chief characteristic may be said to have been 
 superstition. They carried this principle farther than 
 any other nation. Even in the present century Queen 
 Christina, by no means an example of virtue, in 
 meeting the host at midnight in the streets of Madrid, 
 has been known to descend from her carriage in a ball- 
 dress, and make her way on foot to her palace, 
 abandoning her equipage to the sacred wafer and 
 attendant priests. This external respect had its 
 origin in the fierce bigotry of Philip II. His suc¬ 
 cessors, however loose in private life, conformed to all 
 the outward discipline of the Church. Spain, under 
 the fostering care of royalty, became the elysium of 
 monks. Their princely revenues enabled them to 
 
 N* 
 
274 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 patronize as well as direct Art. Hence it became 
 doubly their servant. Nowhere are sacred images 
 more multiplied. With them miracles equally in¬ 
 creased. The national feeling delighted in a faith so 
 consonant with its innate desires. At Rome, scep¬ 
 ticism, worldly aggrandisement, classical tastes or 
 licentious desires, alternately leavened and perverted 
 the ecclesiastical polity. In Spain, on the contrary, the 
 pomp and luxury of the papal ritual not only excelled 
 those of all other countries, but were joined to a 
 uniform severity of discipline and zeal, which have 
 equally distinguished the Spanish Church in every 
 age. 
 
 In all, therefore, that the Spaniards undertook in 
 Art there entered a feeling, deeper, statelier, and 
 more universal than elsewhere. “ Let us build a 
 church that shall cause us to be taken for madmen by 
 those who come after us,” said the builders of the rich 
 and solemn cathedral of Seville, commenced in 1401. 
 To prove their sincerity, the prebendaries and canons 
 for many years gave up the greater part of their 
 incomes to this undertaking. This was at a time when 
 religious buildings took precedence of those which 
 administered more directly to the pride and luxury of 
 man. The fruits of this spirit are still to be seen all 
 over Spain, and her possessions in the new world, 
 in stately cathedrals and magnificent abbeys, in the erec¬ 
 tion of which, however much we may question good 
 taste, there can be none as to their spirit and expense. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 275 
 
 The intimate connection of the Spaniards with their 
 Moslem neighbors, through so many centuries, greatly 
 influenced their taste and habits. Much of their more 
 graceful architecture is directly derived from the 
 Moors. So also the ecclesiastical carving or painted 
 sculpture peculiar to Spain, colored to imitate life, bor¬ 
 rows its design from the Arabs, who doubtless obtained 
 their ideas from the colored architecture of Egypt and 
 Nineveh. In this species of sculpture the tints were 
 studied as on canvas; distant views given, the prin¬ 
 cipal figures being detached from the backgrounds, real 
 drapery used; in short, the effect of the whole was 
 pictures in relief. 1 
 
 In no respect did Moslem feeling influence the 
 Spaniards more than in their treatment of the female 
 sex. If the natives of Polynesia were not direct 
 proofs to the contrary, one would be justified in sup¬ 
 posing that a southern climate tends to arouse jealousy 
 in men, and consequently to keep women in seclusion. 
 But the tribes of Polynesia and other portions of the 
 globe most favored in temperature refute this, by 
 making their hospitality in part towards strangers to 
 consist in proffering them their wives and daughters. 
 Therefore, we must consider the jealousy of the 
 Spaniards to be partly borrowed from the still more 
 sensual nations and sensuous faith with which they 
 were in so close contact, and partly the result of their 
 
 1 Stirling's ‘ Annals of the Artists of Spain.’ London, 1848. 
 
276 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 suspicious natures, with a respect for chastity based 
 upon the superior morality of Christianity in constant 
 conflict with amorous temperaments. Thus we find 
 that while Spanish Art abounds in male portraits, but 
 few of women exist. They were also too closely 
 guarded to be ever used as models, as we find so many 
 instances in Italy among high-born dames. No Yenuses 
 or Bella Donnas, like those of Titian, or Fornarinas, 
 like those of Raphael, are to be found in Spanish Art. 
 The painting of the nude figure was absolutely for¬ 
 bidden by the Holy Office. Velazquez, at the request 
 of the Duke of Alba, once attempted a naked Venus; 
 but this is almost a solitary instance. So much was 
 jealousy respected among this race, that the Duke of 
 Albuquerque, feigning ignorance of their persons at 
 the door of his own palace, ventured to waylay and 
 whip Philip IV., and his minion, Olivarez, whom he 
 caueht on a nocturnal visit to the Duchess. 
 
 O 
 
 The character of Spanish Art is in general repulsive 
 to Protestant minds, from its deep tinge of bigotry 
 and fierceness. Its compositions are dark and grand ; 
 colors, sombre ; tone, solemn ; draperies, stately ; and 
 figures, majestic. In design it is deficient, for it had 
 but slight anatomical skill, in consequence of its neglect 
 of the nude figure and studies from the antique. 
 Artists who exposed the feet of the Madonna were 
 censured, although Spanish women in general take 
 particular pains to display theirs, on account of their 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 277 
 
 beauty. Luca Giordana was employed by the monks of 
 Escurial to lengthen the robe of Titian’s St. Margaret, 
 because in slaying the dragon she exposed too much 
 of her leg. 
 
 The habits of many of the artists were almost as 
 austere as those of monks. Luis de Vargas frequently 
 scourged himself. He kept a coffin in his room, in 
 which he frequently lay down to meditate on death. 
 With all his asceticism he had a rich vein of humor. A 
 brother painter once asked his opinion of a bad picture 
 of the Saviour on the Cross. “ Methinks,” said Vargas, 
 “ he is saying, Forgive them, Lord, for they know not 
 what they do !” 
 
 Vicentes Joanes, like Angelico, fasted and prayed, 
 and took the Holy Eucharist previous to commencing 
 work. Lie was an artist-missionary of the Church— 
 grave and austere in style, imitating the early sym¬ 
 bolical manner of the Florentine school at a time when 
 (1523—1579) its unction had long departed from that 
 portion of Italy. I have not seen his works, but they 
 are said to be vigorous, hard, and positive in color. 
 His heads of Christ are greatly praised, compared 
 even with Leonardo da Vinci’s; which may not be un¬ 
 likely, if his feeling, as was said, was derived from 
 those texts of Scripture which represent the Saviour 
 as with “ voice altogether sweet, and countenance 
 comely,”—“ whose banner over his people was love.” 
 
 Berreguette, who lived between 1480 and 1561, was 
 
278 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 in some degree the Giotto of Spain. He greatly ad¬ 
 vanced oil-painting in the Peninsula, freed it from 
 much of its previous stiffness of outline, and proved 
 himself both an able architect and clever sculptor, 
 inclining somewhat to overcharged anatomy, though his 
 statues are considered grand and noble in form. 
 
 Morales was emphatically a devotional painter, in¬ 
 clining to the sorrows of the soul, particularly of the 
 Madonna, whom he successfully represented as the sor¬ 
 rowing mother, tie worked in panel, and bestowed 
 great labor upon his pictures. 
 
 Next to Murillo, Velazquez is the best known of 
 Spanish artists. He rarely attempted lofty subjects, 
 but in the main confined himself to court scenes, por¬ 
 traits, sometimes indulging in common life. His colors 
 are dry and harsh, but he possessed great and varied 
 power, particularly in individualizing character, which 
 Rubens, his contemporary and rival, lacked. 
 
 Ribera, or Spagnoletto, by which term he is best 
 known, is characterised by a morbid taste for deli¬ 
 neating human anguish, not of the soul but of the 
 body. He luxuriated in convulsed anatomy and 
 writhing flesh. Among his favorite subjects are 
 St. Bartholomew flayed alive, Cato of Utica tearing 
 out his own bowels, St. Sebastian’s bleeding bosom 
 bristling with arrows, and other masterpieces of horror, 
 heightened by his own sombre management of shadow, 
 from which the eye recoils with disgust and affright. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 279 
 
 His Ixion on the wheel so wrought on the imagination 
 of a pregnant woman, that she gave birth to an infant 
 with hands incurably clenched, as in the picture. By 
 so violently shocking physical sympathies this other¬ 
 wise great artist loses all his power. I quote him 
 as another most remarkable instance of moral in¬ 
 appropriateness in selection and treatment of sub¬ 
 jects. 
 
 Battle scenes, as usually rendered, are almost equally 
 repulsive, though physical suffering, being less directly 
 and conspicuously individualized, and partially ob¬ 
 scured by smoke and dust, less painfully affect our 
 feelings. Artists, however, who, like Salvator Rosa, in¬ 
 dulge in unnecessary horror, or ruffianly display of 
 mangled limbs, give offence to humanity. Of this nature 
 was the Spaniard, Esteban March. He revelled in vio¬ 
 lence. Battles were his pet topics. Furious, reckless, 
 and eccentric, always delighting in the coarse and 
 repulsive, he was a constant terror to his family. In 
 order to excite his imagination to the due destructive 
 pitch necessary to render the scenes most congenial to 
 his character, he was accustomed to rave about his 
 studio like a madman, beating a drum, blowing a trum¬ 
 pet, assaulting the walls and furniture with sword and 
 buckler, and driving his pupils and attendants in fright 
 from the room. He was a rare connoisseur in all that 
 was morbid and disagreeable in the human physique, 
 gloating over uncleaned heads, shrivelled skins, and 
 
28C 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 the bloodshot eyes and distorted features of intem¬ 
 perance. 
 
 It is with pleasure that we turn from such examples 
 as these, who, in their best condition, are a pest to 
 noble Art, to Murillo, who embodies in himself the 
 chief excellencies of the Spanish school. No artist, 
 particularly in his latest manner, in which his outlines 
 are as delicately lost or blended in light and shade as 
 in Nature itself, has formed a more characteristic style, 
 or is more readily recognised. Of his successful and 
 healthful treatment of the merely human Madonna, I 
 shall speak in another chapter. Although by feeling the 
 painter of common nature, yet in compliance with the 
 exigencies of religious taste, he most often essayed 
 sacred and even mystical subjects, treating them with 
 much power and very considerable elevation of thought. 
 He repeated oftenest the ‘Mystery of the Immaculate 
 Conception,’ if not fully successful in spirit, yet with 
 much artistic ability. His ‘ Guardian Angel,’ judging 
 from the print in Stirling, is his happiest effort in sacred 
 allegory. The original is in the Cathedral at Seville. 
 An angel, beautiful and spiritual in conception, leads a 
 young child—emblematic of the soul’s progress through 
 the world—along a dark and treacherous path, and 
 points with his right hand encouragingly towards 
 heaven. The moral is clear and concisely told. Action 
 is in harmony with the idea,-—graceful, yet earnest and 
 vigorous. The draperies are particularly fine, not 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 281 
 
 obtrusive, but simple, chaste, and in unity with the 
 scene. 
 
 ■But Murillo was more at home in the mere outward 
 world. His numerous studies from Nature, sometimes 
 too coarsely rendered, prove this. But I have seen 
 higher evidence of his innate sympathy for the lovely 
 and joyful in the natural world, than those pictures on 
 which his reputation in the public galleries in this 
 respect usually rests, showing that when he affection¬ 
 ately followed the real bias of bis nature, he could 
 raise himself to the highest pinnacle of that branch of 
 Art. 
 
 The subject is a beautiful Andalusian girl, size of life, 
 half-figure, face turned from the spectator, so as to just 
 disclose the profile, the left shoulder and arm being 
 bare, back conspicuous, but covered in part with linen 
 and blue and purple drapery, which hangs negligently 
 about the waist from the right shoulder. The figure 
 is one of about sixteen years, in that climate, perfect in 
 its most generous and richest development, graceful in 
 position, modest in feeling, and fascinating by a love¬ 
 liness that combines all that men most prize in richly- 
 developed, innocent girlhood. The outlines fall off im¬ 
 perceptibly into the atmosphere, rounded and mingling 
 with the air. From her luxuriant, brown, wavy hair, 
 that moves in the summer’s breeze, flutters a gossamer 
 iris-colored scarf. Her hands are holding up a veil, 
 which she has just filled with luscious grapes from a 
 
282 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 vine clinging to a tree in front. The distant landscape 
 is delicately rendered, vaporous, low-toned, the hills 
 and trees telling solid against the sky, which falls back, 
 iea.ding the eye well into space. To the left, in front, 
 are a cluster of trees, and on the ground, pomegranates 
 of Seville, the most natural specimens of fruit I have 
 ever seen. A rich, warm, sunlight hills upon the tender 
 flesh of the young girl, which is full of quality, cool, 
 elastic, and pearly. The shadows on her back are so 
 transparent as to seem to play about the skin. In 
 richness of color, harmony of tints, depth, and natural¬ 
 ness as a whole, no other picture of Murillo that I 
 have seen compares with this, in those qualities which 
 most exalt him as a painter. It is a glorious conception 
 of the glowing beauty of Nature in his sunny home, 
 treated from the heart with the entire capacity of 
 hand. 1 
 
 Landscape was but slightly cultivated in Spain. 
 Velazquez and Murillo gave but sketches. Iriate 
 labored some time in this department,.but not enough 
 to create an extended reputation. 
 
 The monarchs of Spain spent large sums amongst 
 foreign artists. Galleries of Art became the fashion. 
 Under Philip IV. Madrid could boast more and finer 
 than any other city of Europe. Even now, in valuable 
 paintings, it is scarcely second to none. 
 
 1 In a private collection. Formerly in the gallery of the Duke 
 de Choiseul, and sold thence in 1772. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 283 
 
 Among the foreign artists invited to Spain was Luca 
 Giordana, who deserves to be cited as an instance of 
 the deceptive power of fashion in determining repu¬ 
 tation. No artist, perhaps, ever so completely filled 
 his measure with contemporaneous fame, or was more 
 popular with all classes, harvesting honors and riches 
 with astonishing rapidity. Now he is scarcely known; 
 if mentioned, more as a warning and an example of a 
 corrupted style and perverted powers than in com¬ 
 mendation. His rapidity of execution was marvellous. 
 When employed in the frescoes of the Escurial, lest he 
 should go astray in his pictorial theology, two doctors 
 of divinity were ordered to wait upon him, and solve 
 any doubts as to the orthodoxy of his designs. Every 
 evening a courier was despatched to the king to report 
 progress. One of these reports reads thus :—“ Sire, 
 your Giordana has painted this day about twelve figures 
 thrice as large as life. To them he has added the 
 powers and dominations, with the proper angels, cherubs, 
 seraphs, and clouds to support the same. The two 
 doctors of the Church have not answers ready for all 
 his questions, and their tongues are too slow to keep 
 pace with the speed of his pencils.” 
 
 Contrast this hasty execution with Leonardo da 
 Vinci, who worked four years on a portrait, and then 
 pronounced it unfinished! 
 
 By Germany, I include the Netherlands and all 
 those schools which grew out of the Teutonic element 
 
284 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of human nature. Unlike the Italian, it is conspicuous 
 for its love of interior and home life, partiality for 
 details and the minor distinctions of individuality. It 
 sympathizes strongly with Nature in her domesticity, 
 if I may be permitted the term, and takes strange 
 delight in exhibiting its commonest truths, often to 
 the destruction of ideal treatment, and sometimes to 
 the offence of refinement and sacrifice of probabilities. 
 This is particularly true of her early religious Art, 
 In it we find a healthful love of landscape, fuller 
 and freer in its expression than that of Italy—espe¬ 
 cially by John Van Eyck—a greater tendency to 
 merely common and unspiritualized models for reli¬ 
 gious subjects, studies, as it were, from every-day 
 people and fashions, without regard to historic pro¬ 
 priety. Moreover, there is a strange fondness for the 
 outre or deformed in sentiment or person, as if Art 
 became more natural by being less true or beautiful. 
 Holy families were facsimiles of living Flemings, and 
 Jewish architecture was taken from Dutch streets. 
 The Virgin's wardrobe was brilliant in jewels, rich in 
 velvets and brocades, whilst her bed-chamber, in 
 carved furniture and artistic workmanship generally, 
 would have done credit to a wealthy feudal lord. The 
 love or feeling for such accessories seemed to be innate 
 in the German mind, and led their artists later to 
 devote themselves almost exclusively to £t genre ” 
 painting. There is a large c Descent from the Cross,’ 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 285 
 
 in the Louvre by Quentin Matsys, which represents 
 the three Maries in the fashionable attire of the day, 
 the mother of Christ dressed for a ball, with jewels 
 upon her bare arms and richly-laced gloves upon her 
 hands, in overstrained agony, assisting at the scene. 
 
 Albert Durer was deficient in knowledge of pro¬ 
 portion, adaptation, and perspective ; that is to say, he 
 overlooked their importance in the higher truths of 
 invention and imagination. He had a deep, intuitive 
 sympathy with the common actual life, joined to a 
 devout spirit, ignorant of or caring not for the pagan 
 lessons of antiquity. Severity and earnestness rather 
 than grace or freedom characterize his style. Sacred 
 and common objects are oddly intermingled in his 
 work, but all that he did commands respect from its 
 sincerity and thought. His influence is strongly 
 marked on German Art, giving it individuality, not 
 beautiful but graphic and forcible, which was perpe¬ 
 tuated by the Holbeins and Kranach. 
 
 Italian classical taste at this time made itself felt 
 in Germany in the choice and treatment of subjects; 
 but not having any firm natural foundation it speedily 
 gave way to that fondness for homely individuality and 
 domesticity which German Art has ever since retained. 
 The Reformation did not, as in Puritan England, 
 quench Art, but it led it away, in a great degree, 
 from the influence of the imagination into the more 
 prosaic and readily-appreciated truths of the natural 
 
286 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 world, in search of the practical and common, to the 
 neglect of the ideal and theoretic. But great masters 
 are more or less universal in their range. Rubens, 
 like Titian, was an artist of all time. He drew at 
 will upon imagination, fancy, or reason ; but even he, 
 with a genius rarely vouchsafed to man, was unable to 
 elevate religious subjects above the highest effort of 
 historic Art. The Bellini mantle of holy feeling did 
 not descend to him. His Virgins are coarse Flemings, 
 with complexions that savor of the labors of the wash- 
 tub ; while his infant Christs look like little boys just 
 recovering from the excitement of a whipping or a 
 dose of gin. In classical or mythological subjects, and 
 in allegory, he was, however, perfectly at home. Of 
 his power over the natural world it is unnecessary 
 further to speak. Vandyke and Rembrandt, differing 
 widely in their styles, were equally incapable of 
 spiritualizing their religious subjects. Energy arid 
 truth of expression were not wanting in the latter, but 
 there was no approach to a spiritual elevation of feel¬ 
 ing. His idealism depends mainly upon his subtle 
 management of light and shade, and the subjection of 
 his coloring to the meaning of his paintings. Violent 
 action, firm muscles, and extraordinary positions, not 
 for human hut for celestial beings, savoring somewhat 
 of the Michael-angelesque, as seen in his Christ 
 driving the money-changers from the temple and in his 
 Angel Gabriel, test his artistic ability to do what he 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 287 
 
 pleased with human forms and passions, but equally 
 display his inability to express the purer sentiments ol 
 the soul. With others, Yanderwerf for instance, 
 feeling is lost in painful labor. The extreme accu¬ 
 racy of finish given to a straw hat diverts the attention 
 from the feeble expression of the Virgin-mother ; while 
 the skin of animals, on which every hair may be 
 counted, claims equal admiration with the nicely-poised 
 angels floating in the air over the manger. There is 
 feeling in some of his pictures, but the excessive and 
 equal finish given to every portion of his technical Art 
 destroys its moral harmony. 
 
 This passion for imitation of externals, particularly 
 in detail, is a marked feature of German Art. It 
 constantly sacrifices soul for substances, and finds 
 pleasure in the most common objects and vulgar 
 subjects. Ocular deception with many of their 
 artists appears to have been their highest aim. Con¬ 
 sequently, we have brooms and pumpkins painted with 
 faultless accuracy, and scenes of debauchery and 
 boorish violence, that are unmistakably true to 
 human nature, in its low moods. Even animals suffer 
 at times at their hands by being given in moments in 
 which vulgar necessity temporarily destroys ordinary 
 repose and delicacy. There is also manifested a 
 partiality for that which is contrary to natural beauty, 
 the deformed in person or brutal in mind. In short, 
 naturalism among the Teutonic races took the lowest 
 
288 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 forms of vulgarity and petty imitation, often even find¬ 
 ing delight in slaughter and animal combats. They 
 neglected nothing which Nature offered, whether oi 
 not compatible with the true principles of beauty li 
 was far easier for their common minds to indulge their 
 Art in those scenes which constituted their daily plea¬ 
 sure, than to soar to an ideal which would require a 
 sacrifice of sensual pursuits. 
 
 Amid this perversion of sympathy for Nature, we 
 find, however, much that is genuine and wholesome, 
 especially in out-door life. Paul Brill was among the 
 first to give variety and truth to the landscape. In all, 
 however, that the German school has done we find the 
 same over-scrupulous attention to facts, by which the 
 spirit of the whole is weakened. Adrian Ostade, 
 David Teniers, and Paul Potter frequently rise above 
 this, and take us with them into in-door domestic 
 scenes or the common world without, in which every¬ 
 thing is pleasing and natural, from its familiarity with 
 daily experience. With all their study and love of 
 the natural world, even the Dutch, though living upon 
 the sea, have never succeeded in rendering its variety 
 or sublimity. Vandevelde is popular, more from the 
 universal failure of other artists of Germany than 
 through his own success. 
 
 In our day the Dusseldorff school has arisen upon 
 the downfall of the preceding, but its aims thus far are 
 much the same, except that it aspires to a higher 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 289 
 
 standard of historic art. The same outside painting 
 and fondness for detail and finish, degenerating fre¬ 
 quently into mannerism, characterize it, as they did 
 its predecessors. Idealism is sacrificed to Rationalism. 
 The physical truths of Nature are understood, but its 
 feeling overlooked ; secondary are preferred to pri¬ 
 mary truths; hence, although mechanical excellence, 
 particularly in drawing, is common, the nobler art of 
 interesting the soul and giving language to form is 
 scarcely heeded. We have, however, a better choice 
 of subjects and greater Art-probabilities than formerly ; 
 yet those who paint only for the eye can never expect 
 permanent success. The flash of the false gem 
 momentarily dazzles, and is as quickly forgotten, while 
 the hues of the rainbow permeate our hearts because 
 of their double office of beauty and promise. 
 
 Americans in particular need to be cautioned against 
 the sins of omission of this school, because its best 
 works have been sent to them, and are of a character 
 to attract the uncultivated taste. Test their spirit, how¬ 
 ever, by the broad principles of unity and harmony in 
 Art as a whole, and we shall find that there is much 
 in them to condemn, and especially to avoid, as vio¬ 
 lating its greatest elements. Where we should find 
 repose or moral grandeur we are often shocked with 
 confused action, violent contrasts, or exaggerated sen¬ 
 timents. Take, for instance, two of Leutze’s celebrated 
 paintings, the ‘ Storming of the Teocalli of Mexico, 
 
 O 
 
290 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 and 4 Washington crossing the Delaware.’ In the 
 first we have, singularly enough considering the school, 
 an impossible perspective of rude architecture, crowded 
 with the horrors of wounds and slaughter, mothers and 
 babes, warriors and priests, virgins and ruffians, in one 
 repulsive medley of blood, gushing brains, ghastliness, 
 sword-stroke, and lance-thrust, while impotent, unarmed 
 despair, with bare hands and naked breast, confronts 
 deadly steel and sacrilegious rapine. Does such Art 
 as this inspire patriotism ? Does it enlist the sym¬ 
 pathies or create disgust ? We have all that is hor¬ 
 rible in battle without the spirit that redeems the 
 struggle. Convulsed flesh and streaming gore are 
 given with shuddering fidelity, but the sublimity of 
 human strife in the repose of anguish too deep for 
 utterance, the aroused passions concentrated into one 
 desperate coming life-effort for all that makes earth 
 dear, or subdued by the exhaustion of freedom’s last 
 futile blow, are wanting. Pictorial is unfortunately as 
 common as verbal rant. Exaggeration of physical 
 action is mistaken for the quiet of deep mental emo¬ 
 tion. Thus in ‘ Washington crossing the Delaware,’ 
 we find the man most noted of all the world for se¬ 
 renity and majesty of demeanor, standing with scenic 
 effect in the stern of the boat, and pointing onwards 
 with all the declamatory energy of a stage hero. Such 
 action as this shows that the artist neither under¬ 
 stood the character of his subject nor the rules of high 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 291 
 
 Art. Contrast with this picture the moral dignity 
 and appropriate action of Sully’s great painting of the 
 same subject in the Boston Museum. It is in such 
 differences as these that we find the true measure of 
 distinction between schools and artists. 
 
 The imbecility of mere imitation is nowhere more 
 apparent than in the architecture of Munich, the mis¬ 
 named German Athens. Every preceding age having 
 created something for itself had some excuse in be¬ 
 lieving that in it Art was exhausted. At all events, 
 previous ages have contributed to its variety. The 
 moderns act as if they believed there was nothing left 
 for them but to borrow the ideas of their ancestors. 
 Egypt was legitimately proud of her Art; Greece 
 found new and more beautiful expressions; Rome 
 added grandeur; the Lombards, the simplicity and 
 rudeness of untamed nature; the Byzantines luxu¬ 
 riated in Oriental fancies; the Gothic races in northern 
 freedom and quaintness; the Italian in mediaeval 
 variety and beauty; even Renaissance organized new 
 wholes out of old parts ; but modern architects, as seen 
 in Munich, hopeless of their own genius, beg and 
 steal from the past its shadow and glory in their 
 mistimed labors, as if they too had paid their contri¬ 
 bution to Art. 
 
 Is architecture exhausted? Architects of this 
 century, or more properly builders, for they create 
 nothing new, nothing but what clever imitation or 
 
292 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 combination can effect, would seem so to think. They 
 try also to persuade the people to believe in their 
 heresy. No principle is more fatal to Art-progress. 
 The past is a mine from which we can draw rich 
 stores of experience and adaptation to our own wants. 
 But as each age of civilization has identified itself with 
 some advance or variety in Art, the present should aim 
 at no less. Munich, however, has contented itself 
 with a series of architectural shams, classical and 
 mediaeval, and claims to be in consequence the patron 
 of Art. In bronze castings and stained glass her 
 progress has indeed been commendable. A new race 
 of artists has arisen in the latter who excel all that has 
 come down to us of the hitherto lost Art of the middle 
 ages. Not only is their mechanical treatment of 
 color and design superior, but in the spiritual expres¬ 
 sion of their subjects they recall the grace of Raphael 
 and the purity of Angelico. All honor be to them, 
 and to the royal munificence that has recreated this 
 Art in a purity and originality before unknown. But 
 in copying the Loggia of the Piazza del Gran Duca 
 and the Pitti palace at Florence, Munich has shown 
 as little skill in her plagiarism as she has talent in 
 invention. They are mere parodies on those noble 
 edifices—feebleness and nudity substituted for strength 
 and richness. 
 
 From the failure of Munich architecturally to 
 attain the much-coveted external nobility, and for 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 293 
 
 which so much expense has been vainly lavished, it is 
 apparent that true dignity in Art is better found in 
 developing new modes of expression consonant with 
 the feeling and necessities of the people; something 
 •which, being original, becomes a portion of their his¬ 
 tory. Grecian temples have had no real success 
 away from their native skies : so of other architectural 
 creations; if they are not in unity with the circum¬ 
 stances of place and time, they are of no more value 
 than mere models or curiosities of another age. The 
 people look coldly upon them, but soon identify tlieir 
 feelings with that which springs from and is adapted 
 to themselves ; therefore, the aim of architects should 
 be not to copy, but to create. 
 
 The English school has all the healthful love of the 
 German for Nature without its lowness. Such reli¬ 
 gious Art as it possessed was extinguished by the 
 Reformation. Indeed, Art of all kinds met with a 
 narrow escape at the bands of the Puritans. Under 
 more liberal views of human nature it again rose ; but 
 it has ever maintained a secondary position to science, 
 being considered rather as an accomplishment for the 
 cultivated than a necessity for all classes. As a 
 national passion it does not exist; yet, probably, there 
 is no country in which there is a better understanding 
 of its principles, as we see in Music, by the few who 
 have given it attention. What they do, they do tho¬ 
 roughly and systematically; so that it is from England. 
 
294 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 that the world of late has received the soundest criti¬ 
 cisms on Art. With all this, however, there is much that 
 is false in public taste, and but little that is really good 
 or original in their modern architecture. This arises 
 from the wrong direction given by professional men to 
 Art-studies. Instead of stimulating English thought 
 to trust in itself, it has taught it to put its faith in the 
 creations of other countries ; the result has been much 
 copying and corresponding bad taste. Mind, however, 
 in England, is beginning to throw off this thraldom. 
 Evidences of a new era in Art are apparent. Those 
 sound elements of British character which lie at the 
 bottom of its common life in its deeper meaning, the 
 fruition of which is in English homes, and its pleasure 
 in a sympathy with external Nature in her healthiest 
 action and formations, are now beginning to stimulate 
 Art to their real expression ; hence landscape, do¬ 
 mestic life, and national humor, have all found able 
 artists to express their vivifying truths. An attempt 
 to revive symbolical Art has been made, but this can 
 live only under the devotional forms of pure Romanism. 
 English Art as yet has not essayed to rival Italy in its 
 loftiest expressions ; there is a moral, notwithstanding, 
 in its common form, and but few men, if any, have 
 been found willing to violate the wholesome natural 
 instincts of the nation, as manifested in feeling for 
 animals, manly exercises, and ordinary humanity. The 
 morbid perversities and low debaucheries of the Dutch, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 295 
 
 or the selfishness and sensualities of the later Italian 
 schools, would find no sympathy in England ; neither 
 would their early religious Art, except intellectually, 
 by the appreciating few, for the taint of Romanism is 
 indelibly associated with it in the Protestant mind. 
 Instead of the grotesque, we find humor and caricature, 
 the play-elements of reason more especially, than of 
 the imagination. 
 
 The sensual age of English painting in the reign of 
 Charles II. was an influx from the French school; 
 libidinous in spirit, it manifested itself chiefly in female 
 portraiture, feeble in color, with a uniform expression 
 of refined .voluptuousness, and one common type of 
 physical beauty. Since that time portraiture has been 
 a favorite branch among the English; but, unlike the 
 Venetian school, it has produced little that is serious 
 and noble. With much that is excellent in technical 
 management, the prevailing features are aristocratic 
 pride and the vanities of fashion ; an exhibition of 
 titles or mere animal beauty, decorations, external 
 glitter, and pompous self-satisfaction. In gazing upon 
 British portraits, we are more reminded of the position 
 than of mind. They reveal the weakest part of the 
 national character, instead of giving the noblest ele¬ 
 ments—the Englishman in all his cold self-sufficiency, 
 but not his innate manliness and sincerity. It would 
 seem from his portrait, that he prized the false or acci¬ 
 dental more than the true and permanent; or, perhaps, 
 
296 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 lie prefers to keep the inner man from the knowledge 
 of the world, reserving for ks gaze only immobility of 
 features and outward distinctions of rank. Beside 
 Titian’s heads, Sir Thomas Lawrence’s are but as 
 mere substance to spirit ; the one is the ideality of 
 intellect, the other the exaggeration of garb and 
 skin. 
 
 The English school owes much to the appreciation of 
 its greatest masters for the truths of color. Gains¬ 
 borough and Sir Joshua Reynolds labored to introduce 
 into England the Venetian feeling. In their own 
 works their success was eminent. With the former, it 
 was joined to an appreciation of the harmonies of 
 Nature, and a delicate sense of her entire loveliness, 
 which made him England’s purest painter, and, if we 
 except the peculiar excellence of Turner in his won¬ 
 derful rendering of variety, her greatest landscapist. 
 He embodies the highest elements of the English mind, 
 in its sincere love for the broad, visible facts and prin¬ 
 ciples of Nature. Color was to him a gift, heaven-born ; 
 what to others was labor, was in him intuition, as is 
 music to many uncultivated minds. The connection 
 between a natural feeling for music and color is 
 worthy of note as proving their common laws of har¬ 
 mony. Titian, Giorgione, Bassano, Correggio, Leo¬ 
 nardo da Vinci, and Tintoretto were remarkable for 
 their love and knowledge of music. It is said of 
 Gainsborough, that he sometimes recompensed, mu- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 297 
 
 sicians who had given him moments of rapturous 
 pleasure with his finest landscapes. 
 
 Art, in a political sense, is freer in England than 
 elsewhere in Europe. All tastes find scope and 
 support; theories and arguments are favorably re¬ 
 ceived; sound principles encouraged, and Servile 
 imitation of other schools, though to some extent prac¬ 
 tised, condemned. Yet, with all this, painting has 
 retrograded in the present century since the death of 
 Gainsborough, and is now, with few exceptions, im¬ 
 mersed in one common lifeless style, in which techni¬ 
 calities overpower spirit, and both savor strongly of 
 academic teaching, temporary fashion, or the patronage 
 of mere rank- or wealth, to the neglect of the nobler 
 inspirations of Nature. Subjects, also, are confined in 
 variety, and treated with much sameness ; as a whole, 
 however, there is more freedom, with a purer love of 
 Nature, than on the Continent. We have much to 
 hope for from the English mind. 
 
 Between France and England the contrasts are most 
 striking in Art and Taste. The French school has 
 been influenced, to a certain extent, by the Italian ; 
 but to no good purpose. Whatever it has borrowed 
 from abroad, it has so imbued with its own vain treat¬ 
 ment as to leave scarcely a trace of the original thought. 
 In the reign of Francis I., all of its best Art was from 
 Italy; later it went to the same source, which was 
 itself corrupted, and therefore, worked only evil on an 
 
 Q* 
 
298 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 ungenial soil like that of France. The effect of the 
 Renaissance on the French artistic mind, from the 
 direction given it by Louis XIV., has already been 
 described. Religious Art after that period, in archi¬ 
 tecture, sculpture, and painting, was equally false ; a 
 caricature and mockery of all spiritual truth. Holy 
 Virgins of this time are pious grisettes, and penitent 
 Magdalens, grand ladies seized with temporary re¬ 
 morse. It is useless to refer to French religious or 
 symbolical Art, except to point out its utter failure. 
 Artists, in general, looked upon the soul simply as a 
 curious phenomenon from which some additional variety 
 of expression might be drawn to grace their work and 
 display their skill. Dead to all spiritual feeling them¬ 
 selves, their reason should have enlightened them as to 
 the fallacy of undertaking what alone heaven-directed 
 truth could express. The few who possessed right 
 impulses lost them amid misdirected technical methods 
 of treatment. 
 
 Evidence of a wholesome sympathy with Nature and 
 common life is almost equally rare. The Poussins 
 and Claude Lorraine, though horn Frenchmen, were 
 more of Italy than France ; Nicholo w r as labored and 
 superficial; Caspar felt Nature, gave some of her 
 truths, but would not wholly raise himself above the 
 academic tendency of his age ; Claude alone saw into 
 her heart; hut even he w'as unable wholly to free him¬ 
 self from the mongrel pastoralism and classicalism 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 299 
 
 which then perverted public taste. The French are 
 eager to claim these artists as of their schools; Rome 
 was, however, their home and inspiration. Admitting 
 them as Frenchmen, and allowing them all the merit 
 their most enthusiastic admirers can claim for them, 
 their names alone will not save the French school from 
 condemnation as unnatural and pernicious. Joseph 
 Vernet had a genuine feeling for Nature, drew well 
 and forcibly, but lacked the gift of color. Those 
 artists who, like Greuze and Callot, attempt humanity 
 in its ordinary sentiments or passions, are more skilful 
 in rendering the action than emotion. We read the 
 moral from the outside, with greater probabilities of 
 being pained by overstrained external representation, 
 than edified by inward truths. 
 
 To my mind the French school throughout combines 
 more that is false with less that is correct, than all 
 others. In truths of color it is behind them all; accu¬ 
 racy of design is its chief merit; the most prominent 
 faults are vanity and exaggeration. There is nothing 
 of that wholesome love of Nature, eschewing low life, 
 but delighting in virtuous common, with humor and 
 meaning in all that it attempts, which belongs to the 
 English school; on the contrary it revels in vulgar 
 wit, affects painful and startling contrasts, has no nice 
 moral discrimination, is not wise in its subjects, neither 
 displays unity in composition, but is perpetually roving 
 for new and extraordinary modes of design, seeking 
 
300 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 more to amuse the vulgar than to please the wise. All 
 its power for any purpose lies in external action and 
 glitter. It has no soul. 
 
 Aristocratic selfishness, as embodied by Louis XIV.; 
 regal sensuality, as in Louis XV. ; and the reaction of 
 democratic passion, as seen in the first Revolution, 
 mingled with priestly hypocrisy and sceptical levity, 
 the persecutions of royal bigotry and the virulence of 
 popular revenge, a jest of Voltaire more powerful than 
 a principle of truth, in short, God dethroned and Sense 
 worshipped,—all this was the worst possible training 
 both for Art and Taste. To look for excellence amid 
 such a moral chaos, where truth was the sport of cir¬ 
 cumstance, would be as hopeless as to search for the 
 cool repose of a Swiss valley with its murmuring 
 waters, in the hot wastes of Sahara, where the simoom 
 each instant threatens suffocation, 
 
 Rejecting Christianity as a puerile fable, the artists 
 of France, during the Revolution, looked to classical 
 history as their fountain of ideality. Their style, 
 therefore, became imitative; a mere revivifying of 
 pagan thought, degenerating in most cases into stage 
 trickeries. In consequence there arose a taste for the 
 nude, and for expression in form or attitude, taking its 
 hints from antique sculpture, to the neglect of the 
 more general truths of painting. David’s pictures 
 recall the uplifting of a stage-curtain when the whole 
 company are assembled in one tableau. The sole 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 301 
 
 admiration demanded is for postures and scenic acces¬ 
 sories. 
 
 The most famous specimens of French paintings 
 assembled in the Louvre are remarkable alike for 
 their violation of the unities of Nature and Art. Take 
 the ‘ Wreck of the Medusa,’ for instance, a subject of 
 unqualified physical agony, death in its slowest and 
 most appalling forms, frenzy and despair, without one 
 redeeming moral feature to give hope or repose to the 
 spectator. The artist has indeed been successful in 
 showing all the animal horrors of starvation, in a 
 degree which beggars description. But what good 
 end is answered by such a representation ? The nar¬ 
 rative is one unmitigated recital of improvidence and 
 madness. In the painting, the solitude and sublimity 
 of the ocean is unfelt, because nearly all the horizon is 
 lost in one upright glutinous mass of something which 
 the artist intended for a wave, hut which it no more 
 resembles in form or color than it does rock. Viscid, 
 and lacking transparency, if it had been a little darker 
 it might have passed for a lava-stream suddenly ar¬ 
 rested and cooled as it was about to overwhelm an 
 impediment in its path. 
 
 Girodet’s picture of the ‘ Deluge ’ is another and still 
 worse specimen, if such he possible, of exaggeration 
 and accumulation of external horrors, to the destruc¬ 
 tion of correct feeling. The two male figures are 
 simply anatomical curiosities. Physical effort in over- 
 
302 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 strained muscles, forcibly-expressed joints and strongly 
 articulated bones, recall more effectively the dissecting- 
 room, than studies from the entire human figure, in its 
 ideal beauty. In the celebrated charger, by Geri- 
 cault, with its hussar rider, in the same hall, a similar 
 delight in exaggeration is visible, as is equally in 
 ‘Napoleon crossing the Alps.’ Both riders and horses 
 are placed in impossible positions, out of unity with 
 the landscape, and in violation of all moral proba¬ 
 bilities. Napoleon abstracted in thought, bending 
 over the neck of his mule, unconsciously hugging 
 closer his cloak as the chill wind sweeps down from 
 the icy peaks above him, is true to nature, and affects 
 us correspondingly. Turn him into a ranting hero on 
 a prancing horse, fiercely galloping over a road which 
 admits only of the laborious climbing of a donkey, 
 and he becomes ridiculous. Art has power to exalt 
 the meanest or degrade the noblest subject. The 
 French school is conspicuous for the latter, throughout 
 its entire range of treatment no less than in its selec¬ 
 tion. With it Art has never been placed upon its 
 legitimate footing of teacher and representative of 
 beauty. It has been kept either in the bondage of 
 sense, or viewed as a means of intellectual excitement, 
 much upon the par of amusement, to which the national 
 mind is so strongly directed that it becomes a serious 
 care. Consequently every stimulating novelty and new 
 emotion, without regard to truth or moral consequences, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 303 
 
 are hailed with all the avidity of minds palled by com¬ 
 monplace pleasure. This has a most disastrous result 
 on Art, from urging its professors to strive after mo¬ 
 mentary effects instead of permanent truths. Hence 
 it partakes so largely of artifice indulging in show, 
 and straining after scenic representations. Of late, 
 however, there are more healthful symptoms, particu¬ 
 larly in its direction towards the natural world. Rosa 
 Bonheur is the Landseer of France, and, woman though 
 she is, goes into the pure open air and looks for studies 
 for her pencil amid the animal kingdom, in healthful 
 repose or action. Calame, also, with a broader love 
 for nature, and an imagination that gives tongue to 
 its solitudes and joy to its springing waters and 
 forest shades, is doing much to renovate the national 
 taste. 
 
 But the task is seemingly hopeless in face of popular 
 opinion, systematically led astray by the government 
 for centuries, and now chiefly directed to the painful 
 excitements of fields of slaughter, made vivid by the 
 glowing pencil of a Horace Vernet, under the specious 
 pretence of consecrating Art to patriotism. No good 
 to humanity can come from such lessons. Truth, too, 
 is violated. The French are taught to believe that 
 war is the noblest occupation of man, and that their 
 arms are ever victorious. The moral -of a Waterloo 
 or a Blenheim never reaches their eyes. The Nile 
 and Trafalgar would lapse into historical myths if 
 
304 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 their remembrance depended upon French historical 
 Art. Its vice lies principally in its misdirection; the 
 fostering of national vanity and a warlike spirit instead 
 of the ennobling of individual sacrifice, the blessings of 
 peace, and the progress of truth. 
 
 The United States of America have not yet esta¬ 
 blished their claim to a school of Art. For nearly two 
 centuries the combined influence of Puritanism and the 
 doctrines of William Penn have caused the public 
 mind to look with doubt upon whatever savored of 
 sensuous beauty. The energies of a new country 
 must, also, be given for a long period to the absolute 
 necessities of existence. In America, however, a 
 lustrum equals in progress a quarter of a century in 
 Europe. A feeling for Art is rapidly developing. 
 Architecture, though in the main borrowed from Euro¬ 
 pean types, is freeing itself from old forms and adapt¬ 
 ing itself to the spirit of a new race. In rural buildings 
 this is particularly evident. The noble spirit of emu¬ 
 lation and appreciation of Art which led to the erection 
 of the mediaeval edifices of Europe, delighting in orna¬ 
 ment for its own truths of beauty and suggestion, 
 looking to utility in a secondary sense, is still unknown. 
 Rivalry there is, but unfortunately its direction is 
 towards personal show, the indulgence of vanity, and a 
 display of the superfluities of luxury, instead of being 
 diverted into the wholesome channels of great public 
 works, which would stamp a character of thought and 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 305 
 
 enterprise upon our age. Ye? we struggle onward 
 towards a correct feeling for Art. The desire for 
 something beyond abstract utility and mere sensuous 
 excitement is being felt. We are emerging from the 
 fog of sense and opening our eyes upon the world of 
 Art-beauty, astonished at its capacity to elevate and 
 refine. The variety, purity, and spirituality which it 
 unfolds, are no less wonderful to Americans, who, for 
 the first time, are enabled to indulge in Europe those 
 undefined longings of the imagination, which made their 
 spirits chafe beneath the pressure of calculating utili¬ 
 tarianism and selfish enterprise at home. I do not 
 intend to disparage the motives which have led Ame¬ 
 rica so rapidly into civilization and power. They are 
 the first great principles of social progress. But they 
 are not enough of themselves. Something more is 
 necessary to complete the circle of human existence. 
 This we find only in spirit; the loftiest human faculty 
 by which man feels Beauty and takes its truths to his 
 soul. I ask every cultivated American what are his 
 sensations as those treasures of Art, in which Europe 
 abounds, for the first time open upon his intellectual 
 vision ? Does he not feel the same sense of expansive 
 joy,—a new truth springing up within him, something 
 which exalts him inwardly and perfects his humanity 
 by gratifying innate but heretofore inexpressible long¬ 
 ings,—which the dweller amid crowded streets feels, 
 when he also for the first time rambles forth into the 
 
306 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 country, breathes the fresh air, and gazes upon the 
 wondrous variety of nature ? 
 
 Americans wrong their own capacities for happiness 
 by not robbing action of sufficient time to think and 
 feel. Enjoyment to be complete must be universal in 
 its exercise of the mind. There should be no cramp¬ 
 ing of one soul-feature to the expansion of another, 
 but all should have equal scope for healthful exercise. 
 Sense, by which I mean the substratum of humanity, 
 must be under the guidance of reason, and both in 
 equipoise with spirit, to establish the harmony of man. 
 We elevate our standard of action and thought in the 
 degree that we seek after the ideal, which, aspiring 
 constantly to perfection, equally attracts man onward 
 to his origin and ultimate destination in Divinity. In 
 no way therefore can artists more benefit their fellow- 
 men than by devoting genius to the giving of those 
 truths of nature, which, by promoting progress towards 
 the Ideal, connect man more closely with his Maker. 
 
 American Art happily thus far is sincere and earnest 
 in its aspirations. In no other nation have there been 
 manifested sounder principles of range and selection; 
 consequently its start is auspicious. We notice par¬ 
 ticularly the same love for the natural world and 
 domestic life which characterizes the English school, 
 but fuller and freer in its expression with us, from our 
 more intimate intercourse with a virgin Nature and 
 new scenes of beauty. In the higher branches of Art, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 307 
 
 history, portraiture, in fact through the entire whole¬ 
 some scope of naturalism, including also its spiritual 
 expression, devoid of the pagan leaven, American 
 artists are cautiously but surely advancing in paint¬ 
 ing. Great masters we have not yet produced, but 
 respectable talents are paving the way to a lofty 
 destiny. The genius of an Allston would have dis¬ 
 tinguished even the old world. The hope of an 
 American school of painting lies thus far in the free¬ 
 dom and purity of its thought. To preserve these 
 elements intact, great caution is necessary in inter¬ 
 course with the degenerated schools of Europe. From 
 all perhaps some advances in technical skill, and the 
 development of the mere science of the Art, may be 
 obtained. But so far as my own observation extends, 
 only the best minds can go through their ordeal of 
 show, fashion, and mannerism, unscathed. Weaker 
 intellects lose the freshness, energy, and pure tastes 
 which were their attributes in America, and adopting 
 the degeneracy of European Art, become crude imita¬ 
 tors of academic styles or plagiarists of olden thought. 
 There is no fear of failure in American Art on the 
 side of scientific knowledge. It will invent, improve, 
 and cheapen material, to an extent as yet unknown. 
 Fettered by no technical systems, free from the bond¬ 
 age of schools, it has no restraint upon its mechanical 
 development, and everything to hope for in its thought- 
 progress, from the untiring activity and daring vigor 
 
308 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of mind wholly free to act and think, and incessantly 
 stimulated by the pecuniary as well as the intellectual 
 success that attends all legitimate enterprise in America 
 But when the public are deluded, as in the case of 
 the Washington monument at the national capital, 
 into the expenditure of hundreds of thousands of dol¬ 
 lars to perpetuate a violation of the first principles of 
 Art, it is time that the indignant protest of good taste 
 should be heard all over the land, to spare it a dis¬ 
 grace as lasting as the firm material of which the 
 monument is being constructed. A simple obelisk, as 
 an expression of aspiring thought, is well enough; but 
 to surround its base with Grecian architecture, detracts 
 from the dignity of the one and ruins the beauty of the 
 other. Neither is in keeping with the character of 
 Washington. Independent of the object of the monu¬ 
 ment, the nation, if it be completed according to its 
 present design, will be in possession of the tallest shaft 
 in existence, rising from out of a forest of Lilliputian 
 columns—I speak in a comparative sense—much the 
 same as a handle is stuck within the broom at its base. 
 The sole idea in its erection appears to be to build 
 something kiglier than any one else has ever built. 
 Much good may this thought do us! Our children 
 will be glad, it is to be hoped, to pay a million of 
 money to pitch the monstrosity into the ocean. On a 
 par with the idea of this monument, is the jugglery of 
 balancing a bronze horse on his hind legs without the 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 309 
 
 aid of his tail. By such nonsense as-this the people 
 are taught to look upon Art as a means of testing 
 mechanical skill, without higher aim than mere ma¬ 
 nagement of material. Such failures are, however, 
 useful in one sense. They are so conspicuous, when 
 tried by the principles of high Art, that the nation will 
 never be duped into their repetition. In the age that 
 tolerated them will remain the exclusive right of pro¬ 
 perty. 
 
 Sculpture, as confined to the human figure, is on a 
 respectable footing in America. No great artist^ have 
 as yet been developed, but clever men are leading the 
 way to a revival in this branch of Art, by the infusion 
 of new beauty and greater truth of finish that promises 
 much for the future. The first step, and one for which 
 Europe may be said to be wholly indebted to America, 
 is the important advance made in busts. Powers was 
 the first American to unite in marble portraiture per¬ 
 fection of finish with a happy expression of character. 
 Others, following in his path, have since equalled and 
 perhaps occasionally excelled him. So distinguished 
 have the American sculptors become in bust-making, 
 that it is universally conceded that they have created a 
 new era in this respect. In statuary, however, the 
 success has been less complete. No great ^deas have 
 yet been born. Some single truths of expression or 
 pretty fancies have been put into marble, but, thus far, 
 its success has been confined to clever imitation of the 
 
310 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 antique or living models, in parts or whole, in new com¬ 
 binations not always the happiest in ideas or loftiest in 
 expression, but indicating a budding national genius 
 in sculpture, oerhaps somewhat too self-confident for 
 its own good. 
 
 The failures of America, and indeed, of Art gene¬ 
 rally, arise chiefly from commencing at the wrong 
 end. Instead of first studying the great principles of 
 Nature, upon which all Art is founded, and working 
 from them outwardly , artists too commonly are led by 
 their .blind impulses; and looking first to external 
 expression, begin on the outside of Art, applying to it 
 . primarily the technical rules of material excellence; 
 as it were, building their house before they knew what 
 kind of spirit is to occupy it. This is working in the 
 dark. The meaning of the work must first be con¬ 
 sidered and the general laws of its expression. Atten¬ 
 tion should be paid to detail and finish, only as 
 secondary to the great idea. Criticism also should be 
 governed by the same rules, first seeking for correct 
 feeling, evidences of spirit and thought, then looking 
 at details to see if they are sufficiently in harmony to 
 create a complete whole. Generally we find that the 
 eye seizes upon some inferior part, or mere trick or 
 dexterity „of Art, and either condemns or praises that. 
 There is no surer evidence of want of sound taste in 
 both the spectators and artist. Great thought and 
 pure feeling intuitively seek their like ; common ideas 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 311 
 
 and false sympathies as invariably seek companion¬ 
 ship in their affinities. The artist, therefore,, can 
 always test himself in the spectator, supposing intel¬ 
 lectual cultivation or native feeling to be equal on 
 both sides. His universality lies in having something 
 to say to all men. 
 
312 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ART IN RELATION TO PATRONAGE, 
 
 I use the name Patronage, in this connection, to express 
 whatever directly or indirectly fosters Art. To sup¬ 
 pose that money alone is the medium by which genius 
 can be encouraged to labor is an injurious supposition. 
 The true artist requires no such stimulus. He asks 
 simply for the means of support and progress, looking 
 to the nobler sentiment of living in the hearts of men 
 through all time by his works, instead of amassing the 
 riches of Mammon in his own generation. Avarice 
 has injured some otherwise great names; but to the 
 honor of artists, be it said, this vice is not common 
 among them. Some would prefer, with their Greek 
 brother of old, to give rather than to barter away their 
 works ; not, however, from the vain spirit that actuated 
 Zeuxis, but from an honorable repugnance to ex¬ 
 change their soul-thoughts for coin, as if mind and 
 work into which they have garnered their affections 
 were mere merchandize. We can no more pay for 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 313 
 
 high Art than we can buy a glorious sunset. Both 
 are gifts from Divinity, to which our homage only is 
 due. To weigh the thought of Shakspeare in gold, if 
 we could, would be sacrilege. Do we estimate the 
 emotions which thrill our hearts from music, poetry, 
 and any of the lofty forms of Art, by the amount of 
 money which the opportunity of communion with them 
 costs us? The moment that monetary calculations 
 solely influence Art, its spirit is lowered and a portion 
 of its freedom lost. Art, like the soul, is priceless. 
 The artist or individual, therefore, who estimates it 
 only from its marketable value, viewing it simply as a 
 source of gain, or in the degree of its cost, has no 
 true feeling. Yet, as money is the medium of 
 exchange, the prices given for a noble work are an 
 indication of the estimate in which it is held. Con¬ 
 sequently, we find that for masterpieces nations enter 
 into rivalry, limited only in their determination to 
 possess them, not by any estimate of their pecuniary 
 value, but by their own resources. Let no one, there¬ 
 fore, deem it folly for a people to buy at the ransom 
 of princes, or the cost of war-ships, the works of 
 mighty minds. In doing this they are but laying up 
 treasures of knowledge and feeling for themselves, 
 besides paying a tribute to heaven-lent genius. We 
 pay roundly to protect our bodies; why not equally to 
 instruct our souls ? 
 
 Utilitarianism falls intp another-egregious error both 
 
 P 
 
314 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 for the artist and spectator in considering Art as mere 
 pastime. If this were true, it would he right to cal¬ 
 culate its cost, as for any other amusement. I have 
 said enough in preceding chapters to show that its 
 highest office is to teach. As we advance in great 
 truths on earth we are in an equal degree prepared 
 for our heavenly career. Lucre is a profitless exchange 
 for a soul. Therefore, if we stint our spirit to fill our 
 purse, we have been no wiser than the drowning man 
 who grasps still closer the treasure which carries him 
 but the more rapidly to the bottom. 
 
 Art is no pretty pastime for the artist; no trifling 
 occupation to grace idle hours. Far from this. It is 
 his serious duty , the life-work to which his soul-energies 
 should be bent for his own good and that of his fellow- 
 men, if he would escape the reproach of buried talents. 
 God requires account of the least of His gifts. How 
 much more, then, of His greatest! Is it a pastime 
 to serve the Almighty? Yet silly minds prate about 
 the pleasure of being an artist as they would of being 
 a bird. To them he has but to expand his wings and 
 soar over creation with as little sense of labor as the 
 feathered tribes manifest in instinctive obedience to 
 their natures. I shall never forget the indignation 
 which burst from the lips of the truest-hearted artist I 
 ever met, as a lady-trifler, in praising a work which 
 had cost him years of the deepest study and incessant 
 application, remarked, “ what an agreeable pastime it 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 315 
 
 must be for him.” She could see only in his picture 
 the facility of execution, and not the intensity of 
 thought. 
 
 As money is necessary for the creation of Art, men 
 should give it freely, but judiciously. Genius thrives 
 best when no pecuniary cares disturb its aspirations. 
 Indifferent to outward existence, we often see it as it 
 were without worldly prudence, dependent upon other 
 minds for those attentions to the common necessities 
 of life, to which it is itself oblivious. I would say, 
 therefore, that you cannot bestow too much upon real 
 genius. Gold to it, like the refreshing shower to the 
 earth, is sure to be returned through a thousand fruc¬ 
 tifying channels. 
 
 On the other hand, nothing is more mischievous to 
 Art than, from erroneous kindness or taste, buying the 
 works of those who take to it from other motives than 
 sincere love. Every other occupation has its basis in 
 utility. Inferiority in the quality of manufacture 
 does not diminish materially the value of an article in 
 point of use, provided that object is kept strictly in 
 view. Consequently we get what we pay for, so far 
 as use is concerned, but not, perhaps, in regard to 
 excellence of workmanship. Disappointment in this 
 respect does not mislead the mind or corrupt the 
 heart; it simply offends our taste in its most super¬ 
 ficial sense. Far otherwise is it, however, with Art 
 when we derive it from impure or insincere sources. 
 
316 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Its mission is too sacred to be the sport of triflers or 
 tampered with by ignorance. Many self-styled artists 
 are confirmed in their mistaken profession, to the detri¬ 
 ment of Art and corruption of good taste, simply 
 because their friends, from equally mistaken motives, 
 encourage them in a career for which Nature has not 
 qualified them, to the loss, also, of some industry to 
 which they are especially adapted. Hence too much 
 caution cannot be used in purchases. Temporary 
 kindness to the individual may prove a permanent 
 injury to the public. Art, properly, knows neither 
 nation nor person. Like Beauty, it is universal, with 
 principles derived not from the institutions of men, but 
 the works of God. Criticism, therefore, be it expressed 
 verbally or by purchase, should look exclusively to Art 
 and ignore the artist. By this means only can we 
 keep taste unsullied by motives foreign to its abstract 
 rules. Yet I would not have the eye accustom itself 
 too freely to seek for defects in preference to merits. 
 Better for the soul’s good to perceive only beauties 
 than to detect solely the bad. The Thebans carried 
 the impersonality of Art so far as to fine the artist 
 who made a bad portrait, on the ground, I presume, 
 of its being doubly libellous. A law good in theory, 
 but in modern times efficacious only through the abso¬ 
 lute rejection by the public of every object of Art not 
 manifesting sincerity of purpose and progressive excel¬ 
 lence. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 317 
 
 We now come to consider in whose hands and by 
 what methods of study Art best thrives. There is no 
 way more sure to elevate it to its just position than by 
 enlightening public opinion. Freedom is the primary 
 condition of all progress. When princes and priests 
 have had the control of Art, we have seen that it has 
 been either perverted, as by the Medici and Bourbons, 
 to selfish and sensual ends, profaned, as by contempo¬ 
 raneous popes, or destroyed, as by the Puritan icono¬ 
 clasts of England. Flence we may infer that Art is 
 not safe in the hands of, exclusively, either princely or 
 priestly influence. Its only true foundation is in the 
 hearts of the people. With the few, bad taste or 
 corruption, leaven all they touch; they have the effect 
 of concentrated poisons. Among the many, they are 
 lost or neutralised by liberty of choice, freedom of 
 criticism, and the influence of pure, unvitiated love of 
 the natural and wholesome. Such is the case in 
 England and the United States, where, it is true, 
 ignorance and prejudice obtain to a lamentable extent 
 in the popular mind; but at the same time there is a 
 continually reacting, regenerating spirit, proceeding 
 from cultivated intellect and native refinement of feel¬ 
 ing, which, having an unlimited scope of action, is ever 
 on the alert to elevate and purify public taste. 
 
 It is a mistake, also, to believe that aristocratic rule 
 is more favourable to expenditure for the promotion 
 of Art than democratic government. In its first effect 
 
318 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 it perhaps is, from the fact that the dominant few 
 centre in themselves the power, taste, and wealth of 
 the abject many. The more democratic the govern¬ 
 ment the more does it reflect the opinions of the people. 
 In France we see Art—partaking, it is true, too much 
 of the character of amusement—liberally provided for 
 the nation, because a government which did not recog¬ 
 nise the wants of the populace, could not exist an hour. 
 An emperor controls their license, but he bends to 
 their lawful claims. In Russia, and all absolute 
 countries, we find that the masses have no voice in 
 Art. Even in its early home, Italy, the people, since 
 civil freedom expired, have no influence whatever upon 
 its expression. They are required to be content with 
 whatever their rulers see fit to give them. Any freedom 
 of choice is repressed as a political heresy. Hence 
 Art under all such sways is but an instrument for con¬ 
 firming power or exhibiting its vanity and pride. The 
 appreciation of the people is confined to the will of 
 their rulers, and rare indeed is the exception in which 
 Art is permitted its full, unbiassed expression. 
 
 Among popular governments such a condition can¬ 
 not exist. The Mind being free impresses Art to 
 essay its universal range. There is nothing that is 
 human or natural, but in some degree or other finds 
 affinity in the popular taste. Consequently Art is 
 taken to their homes, and seeks shelter by their fire¬ 
 sides. From the palace it descends to the humble 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 319 
 
 hearth, and thus becomes an ingredient of common 
 life, influencing taste and advancing national refine¬ 
 ment. The same causes which welcome it into indi¬ 
 vidual hearts give also the means of its pecuniary 
 promotion, so that it will be found that far greater 
 sums in the aggregate are expended for Art in England 
 and the United States by free citizens than elsewhere 
 by despotic governments, though from the fact of the 
 concentration of its objects by the latter, they may 
 make a greater display than the former. From posi¬ 
 tion, also, absolute rulers are more liable to fraud and 
 imposition. Being but individuals, with but limited 
 opportunities for forming a correct task in comparison 
 with free citizens of equal cultivation in other respects, 
 but without the trammels of state and its corrupting 
 influences, they are quite as often conspicuous for their 
 failures as for their success, when they aspire to direct 
 Art. This is emphatically true of the gallery of 
 modern pictures at Munich, under the direction of the 
 king, who has expended vast sums on German artists 
 under the narrowing influences of patriotism in Art, 
 by which he has collected numerous pictures of the 
 most indifferent character. They are, with but few 
 exceptions, of no merit whatever, and calculated 
 to repel a cultivated or to mislead an untutored mind. 
 
 The old Roman patricians bought artists as they 
 would cattle, and compelled them to labor in accord¬ 
 ance with their tastes or whims. Modern patricians 
 
320 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 buy artists through their necessities, and put upon 
 their necks the galling yoke of Fashion. The noble 
 few, whom circumstance or want cannot bend, trusting 
 to what is true in the people to eventually respond to 
 what is true in themselves, abide by the only sure 
 anchor of success. Sooner or later, an appreciating 
 public hail them as their Art-prophets, martyred 
 though they may have been by neglect and censure 
 during their early lives. Be comforted, silent ones! 
 Labor in hope! Sell not your birthright as did the 
 hungry Esau ! The time will arrive when you will 
 assume your true position on a foundation all the 
 firmer for being slowly built. Indeed, the number of 
 genuine artists who have not attained both fame and 
 fortune during their natural lives is very small. 
 Titian was recompensed to his utmost wishes; Raphael 
 had the retinue of a prince: other examples might be 
 quoted from past history, but in our own times it is 
 difficult to point out an artist who deserves the slightest 
 encouragement, who has not met with as much success 
 as men of other liberal professions. Even the unsocial 
 and eccentric Turner died leaving more than half a 
 million of dollars, solely the fruit of his pencil. A 
 picture by Murillo has been within three years sold for 
 one hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars ; Claude’s 
 paintings also, for ten, twenty, and even fifty thousand 
 dollars, and those of other artists for sums corre¬ 
 sponding to their reputations, while there are some 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 321 
 
 pictures, of which the idea of computing their pecu¬ 
 niary value never arises. They may be considered the 
 property of the world. All this shows that genuine 
 Ari: is speedily consecrated in public opinion, and put 
 above all scale of calculation as to price. 
 
 The rule therefore to govern the pecuniary patron¬ 
 age of Art is briefly this : allow of no motive foreign 
 to its intrinsic excellence to affect choice. 
 
 Academies are of some service in affording means 
 for the prosecution of certain branches of study, and 
 for the collection and exhibition of models. They 
 should be used, however, sparingly and only secondary 
 to Nature. She is the great teacher, the true source of 
 knowledge, expanding the soul in proportion as she 
 elevates the intellect. Great artists have never been 
 the product of academies. They have grown up, as 
 it were, in defiance of them, setting aside their methods 
 and attending to the truth that was in themselves. 
 The true artist is independent of locality or circum- 
 stances. His mission is too deeply implanted in him 
 by his Maker for him to escape its fulfilment. It 
 is an absurdity to talk about undeveloped genius. 
 Where genius exists, it lifts its possessor at once above 
 the level of his fellow-beings. When it does not 
 exist, no academic teachings can create it. On the 
 contrary, they foster sterility and weakness, by teaching 
 reliance on technical rules, and encouraging many 
 to proceed in a career of impotence. 
 
 P 
 
ART-HINTS. 
 
 322 
 
 Money may stimulate talent in some cases, but as a 
 general rule, it is its death. The direct patronage ot 
 public bodies seldom produces useful results in the 
 formation of artists. This is particularly apparent in 
 the productions of the pupils of the Academy of Fine 
 Arts at Paris. Its walls are hung around with 
 paintings of one general character, artificial and spirit¬ 
 less, as if forced into existence from uncongenial soils. 
 Those of 1820, however, in color and feeling, are 
 superior to those previous or later. The copies of old 
 masters would not pass muster in even a Florentine 
 picture-shop. Better than the best of them can be 
 manufactured in Italy, at the rate of fifty cents per 
 day’s work. We are not, therefore, to look to the 
 influence of academies or paid salaries for the spread 
 of Art. Better by far were they all abolished, and 
 pupils left to the corrective influences of an independent, 
 unorganised public taste, and the teachings of artists 
 formed in the schools of Nature. In one respect 
 aristocracies have been of service to Art. They have 
 collected and preserved its objects in public museums, 
 when otherwise they might have perished. To them 
 we owe the best galleries of Europe. There has 
 never been, before the United States of America, a 
 republic commensurate in dignity and power with the 
 old monarchies of Europe. What the people may do 
 in this matter remains to be seen. Among themselves 
 they possess more objects of Art than the masses under 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 323 
 
 despotic rule. This results from their superior means 
 and cultivation. I believe also that great public 
 collections will be formed by individual exertions, and 
 that in time America will rival the old world in its 
 Art-treasures. 
 
 Europe does not maintain sufficiently the distinction 
 between a gallery and a museum of Art. The latter, 
 as in the Louvre, should embrace everything good or 
 bad which illustrates its history. The former should 
 be confined to choice specimens of the best masters in 
 their different styles and of all ages, so that the 
 spectator should see nothing but what is excellent in 
 subject and treatment. A few good pictures are far 
 more effective than a myriad collected solely in 
 reference to number. There are upwards of one 
 thousand in the Dresden gallery. Two hundred 
 culled from out this mass would constitute a far more 
 interesting and instructive gallery. The mind then 
 would not be distracted and lose half its time in simply 
 rejecting, or perhaps, misled by trash, overlook those 
 of importance. I believe that Art would actually be 
 benefited, if one-half the gallery pictures were burnt; 
 but as that would savor of Vandalism, it would be 
 better to put aside the inferior into museums open to 
 those who wish to study the progress and spirit of Art, 
 in different generations or masters, reserving for public 
 eye only those that instruct or exalt popular taste. 
 A few, also, have a better opportunity for being rightly 
 
324 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 placed, and therefore appreciated according to the 
 intent of the artist, than when there are a great 
 number. No gallery in Europe attracts more at¬ 
 tention and gives more satisfaction than the Pitti at 
 Florence, yet in num ers it is one of the smallest. So 
 of the Lichtenstein gallery at Vienna, which never 
 exhausts; but the body and mind weary over the in¬ 
 terminable ranges of the Louvre. 
 
 Another reform is equally needed. Most of the 
 public galleries of Europe—the National Gallery in 
 London being a wholesome exception — are turned 
 into picture-shops, where not only the vilest trash is 
 openly displayed for sale, but the best pictures so 
 blocked up by scaffoldings and easels as to be almost 
 lost to the spectator. This is particularly the case at 
 Milan and Paris. If the world be content to accept 
 the shadow for the substance, give it, at all events, 
 certain days of the week when it may gaze upon the 
 originals without encountering the above-named nui¬ 
 sances. Perhaps in that way taste may be led to 
 protest against the imposition of charlatan copyists; 
 and finally, by disdaining their stuff, put an end to a 
 race, out of which nothing but eventual disappointment 
 can come, and who are at all times a disgrace to the 
 Art they so wantonly libel. Some respect should be 
 paid to the old masters themselves. Why should they 
 be daily and hourly caricatured and turned into 
 ridicule for those who may never see them face to face ? 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND FAINTING. 325 
 
 Would that Rembrandt could come down from his 
 frame and drive these modern money-changers from 
 the temple of Art, with the same vigor of stroke with 
 which he represented Christ as punishing the sacri¬ 
 legious wretches who profaned his temple ! 
 
 Modern Art owes, at the least, respect to its prede¬ 
 cessors ;—something more than mere houseroom and 
 bright frames. The spirit of the past should be spared 
 profanation, and allowed to beam upon us in all its pri¬ 
 mitive purity and majesty. The same sacred care that 
 the French government shows in restoring and protecting 
 its architectural monuments should be extended to 
 painting. It should not be permitted to he the sport 
 of imbecility. Before any one is allowed to copy, let 
 him first exhibit proof of being an artist. This may 
 seem a harsh rule, but its benefits would be threefold. 
 Not only would the old masters be protected in their 
 reputations, by confining copies to able hands, but the 
 race of self-sufficient artists and picture-jobbers be ex¬ 
 pelled from galleries, and driven to the more wholesome 
 fields of Nature, where alone can they hope, if aught 
 there be of truth within them, to expand themselves 
 into anything better than plagiarists, or imitators 
 of greatness which their souls cannot comprehend, and 
 their pencils much less reach. A few genuine struggles 
 with Nature and reading of her lessons would be worth 
 far more to ordinary minds than the range of whole 
 galleries. When they have learned the rudiments of 
 
326 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 their Art, then may they hope in time, and with due 
 humility and patience, finally to arrive at the under¬ 
 standing and appreciation of those principles which the 
 Art-masters of all ages have spent their lives in ac¬ 
 quiring. This done, they will he the last to pour con¬ 
 tempt upon the soul-language of others, and fritter 
 away their own thought and labor by a feeble mimickry, 
 which but confirms the evil and weakness of their own 
 natures. They will approach great minds reverently, 
 as men who have travelled before them the same long 
 road on which they walk. Thus will they finally arrive 
 at the goal which is their aim. Then will they have a 
 legitimate claim to test their own progress by an attempt 
 to rival the excellence which fires their own ambition. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 327 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 ART VIEWED IN RELATION TO ARTISTS, CHIEFLY IN 
 RELIGIOUS EXPRESSION. 
 
 No one artist has ever united in himself the entire 
 capacity of the particular branch of Art to which his 
 genius has led him. Some, like Leonardo da Vinci, 
 Raphael, and Titian, have been successful over so wide 
 a range of subjects, or have attained so high a degree 
 of excellence in style, as to merit, in comparison with 
 other minds, being considered as complete artists, less, 
 perhaps, from what they have actually produced in any 
 one whole, than from the variety and degrees of their 
 powers. Leonardo was the first to suggest anything 
 like complete satisfaction in Art. This arose not so 
 much from any one work,—-though his 4 Last Supper,’ 
 and cartoon of the 4 Struggle for the Standard,’ made 
 in rivalry with Michael Angelo’s 4 Soldiers Bathing,’ 
 might be considered perfect in their kind,-—as from his 
 great and versatile talents. These works satisfy science 
 and feeling, at least so far as can now be judged. No 
 
328 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 artist more cleverly united knowledge with genius. He 
 was alike remarkable for gifts of mind and body. Well 
 formed, handsome in features, strong in limb, accom¬ 
 plished in all manly exercises, skilled in the sciences, 
 of indefatigable industry, he was at once sculptor, 
 painter, author, engineer, architect, musician, and poet. 
 He was also a good anatomist and mechanic, and wrote 
 learnedly on physics and art. 1 His works are still 
 esteemed; and there can be but little doubt that 
 Raphael was indebted to him for much of his technical 
 knowledge. Machines for swimming and flying were 
 invented by him. He made compasses, hygrometers, 
 cut canals, planned fortifications, and proposed works, 
 which, if he had been allowed to execute, would have 
 still further distinguished him. With all these varied 
 powers he was studious, always at labor, though, 
 perhaps, devoting himself too much to minor objects, 
 instead of developing the higher powers of his genius. 
 He visited market-places to study character, sketching 
 heads, witnessing executions, and telling humorous 
 stories to peasants to catch from them comic expres- 
 
 1 Alexander Von Humboldt, ‘Kosmos,’ -vol. ii., p. 322, says of 
 him :—“ He was the greatest physical philosopher of the fifteenth 
 century.” “ If the views of Leonardo da Vinci upon physical 
 subjects had not remained buried in his manuscripts, the field oi 
 observation afforded by the new world would have been explored 
 in many of its branches of science before the grand epoch of Galileo, 
 Pascal, and Huygens. Like Francis Bacon, he considered Induction 
 the only secure method of arriving at conclusions in the natural 
 sciences.” 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 329 
 
 sions, and probe the ideas of common life. In fathom¬ 
 ing the divine he was no less intent, and with equal 
 success. The grotesque and horrible were treated by 
 him with a power and originality still unequalled, as 
 may be seen in his ‘ Medusa ’ and his crayon design of 
 ( Dragons at play ’ in the Ufizzi. For such studies he 
 kept a menagerie of snakes, bats, lizards, and other 
 reptiles. The terrific fury of his horses in the ‘ Struggle 
 for the Standard ’ is something beyond description. 
 Thus we find this great artist, though gifted beyond 
 all men in variety of powers, an example to all in ap¬ 
 plication and industry. Like him, every artist of 
 repute has an individuality about his labors that iden¬ 
 tifies him as distinctly as a man by his features, 
 so that an experienced eye is seldom compelled to 
 inquire into the authorship of any work, which time 
 has pronounced remarkable for any particular excel¬ 
 lence. 
 
 In a volume like this, intended simply to embody a 
 few practical hints and principles to assist the general 
 reader in his estimate of Art, I can only glance at 
 topics and works, each of which have enough in them 
 for a hook itself. With the artists themselves, as with 
 the schools, I must confine myself to the chief charac¬ 
 teristics of a few great minds, referring those who 
 would pursue the subject further to objects of Art, 
 which to the amateur are what Nature is to the artist, 
 and to those authors who have treated Art more sped- 
 
330 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 fically than I am able to do in a work of so elementary 
 a character. 
 
 It will, however, be easy for any one who has thus 
 far patiently followed me to the threshold of the temple 
 of Art to make his own way therein, with no other 
 guide than a general chart, which, in pointing out the 
 main features, may save time and preliminary investi¬ 
 gation. Indeed, I believe it far better for the indi¬ 
 vidual, after establishing within himself the broad 
 principles on which Art is founded, that he should 
 walk alone, developing his own judgment, rather than 
 to merge his identity in the opinions or decisions of 
 any critic, however weighty the name. For my own 
 part 1 have preferred to trust more to my own feeling 
 than to reading, investigating Art itself in place of 
 studying erudite treatises; in fact, I have read but 
 little on the subject. My time for several years has 
 been mainly occupied in seeking to comprehend Art- 
 language, and to test the correctness of intuitive feel¬ 
 ing by the sculptured and pictorial truths of its masters. 
 By this course I have undoubtedly laid myself open to 
 professional criticism; but it has helped to preserve 
 my own individuality. This was to me the more 
 important from my desire to develop the genuine 
 impressions of an American mind, unbiassed by ex¬ 
 traneous influences, upon its naturalization into the 
 Art of the old world. My prior experiences were 
 derived solely from years of travel in virgin-soils, where 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 331 
 
 Art was either as unknown as the mountains of the 
 moon, or but a feeble exotic. These “ Hints,” there¬ 
 fore, may, to the cultivated European mind, seem like 
 “ twice-told talesbut to the American I trust they 
 will not he without some value. 
 
 I shall now briefly illustrate some of the principles 
 of Art, as mapped out in former chapters, from the 
 artists and their works most generally known or easily 
 accessible. 
 
 The symbolical or mystic treatment of religious Art 
 is one that appeals so slightly to the common mind,— 
 unless trained to interpret its expression, as in the elder 
 days of Romanism,—that it is unnecessary to recall 
 those artists who, devoting themselves exclusively to 
 the idea, gave hieroglyphics rather than painting. We 
 perceive also a constant struggle to escape from this 
 uninviting style to the more natural, in which thought 
 is clothed in its usual life-forms, to the end that the 
 mind should penetrate the story at once. This led to 
 the more dramatical or historical styles of Art, by 
 which not only the idea but the scene was forcibly 
 brought home to the spectator, under the combined 
 force of attending circumstances and the illustrative 
 power of imagination. By this method Art reached its 
 highest elevation, as we shall see in the works of 
 various masters, each differing in mode of thought and 
 expression, but all aiming at one common result. 
 That which we may term Historical Art, in distinction 
 
332 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 from the purely symbolical, had also its mystic form in 
 allegory, of which Rubens was the greatest master. 
 It has, however, never been popular, except with a few 
 individuals, who were content with affectation, or better 
 pleased to be able to interpret, by the subtleties of 
 learning, that which was an enigma to the general 
 intellect. Art is noblest when its simplicity and sin¬ 
 cerity, united with technical excellence, make it intel¬ 
 ligible to the universal mind. All its truth may not 
 be perceptible to every one ; but its light will so shine 
 that the humblest shall be thereby illumined. 
 
 I have said that Art owes much of its later degra¬ 
 dation to the Roman Church. But this did not take 
 place until temporal power was centralised in the hands 
 of the popes, and they became more princes than eccle¬ 
 siastics. Upon the revival of thought in the thirteenth 
 century, the people took Art into their own hands, and 
 used it to illustrate the sacred legends and stories of 
 their martyr-heroes, which had so long been current 
 among them. These were repeated in such extrava¬ 
 gant forms, and with so many inconsistencies, that the 
 Church at first endeavored, for her own credit, to 
 repress them within more rational limits; but the 
 popular will was too powerful, and she finished her 
 opposition by receiving into her own prolific and 
 orthodox traditions the creations of fancy or enthu¬ 
 siasm which once she was disposed to condemn, pre¬ 
 ferring to make them an instrument of power, than 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 333 
 
 to risk her own influence by boldly vindicating the 
 truth. 
 
 The monastic orders, that rose simultaneously with 
 the revival of Art, did much to aid its development, 
 by commanding works to illustrate their traditions and 
 myths, as well as the facts of Christianity. Christian 
 Art owes its greatest works, and also several of its 
 most distinguished artists, to the various religious bodies 
 of the Roman Church. Indeed, among them, we find 
 the extremes of good and evil of the ecclesiastical 
 system, to which they owe their origin; the greatest 
 learning and the deepest ignorance ; the utmost purity 
 and the most thorough corruption; sincerity and hypo¬ 
 crisy ; liberality and fanaticism. From them have 
 sprung the most eminent men of the Church; too par¬ 
 tially educated to look upon humanity as a whole, 
 nevertheless of large minds and great designs. There¬ 
 fore, even the Protestant, in arguing against their 
 existence from their manifold abuses, should likewise 
 testify to the good that also emanated from them, 
 admitting at the same time the urgency of circum¬ 
 stances that led to their foundation at a time when, as 
 it were, the knowledge and charity of the world, such 
 as existed, were intrusted to their keeping. Many of 
 the finest works of Art, now gathered into galleries, 
 were executed at the suggestion and expense of the 
 monastic orders. Their wealth and taste enabled them 
 to command works beyond the ability of individuals, 
 
334 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 while their piety protected them equally from the in¬ 
 roads of classicalism and sensualism, though not always 
 from a tinge of bigotry or self-glorification. This 
 lasted until the heads of the Church, under the sweep¬ 
 ing changes of the Renaissance, prostrated every bar¬ 
 rier before its blighting influence. 
 
 The first effect of pure-minded and secluded souls, 
 unlike the Greeks who brought their gods down to the 
 earth, was to elevate man into spiritual abodes, and 
 clothe him in the garb of divinity. From mysticism 
 they rapidly passed, with the times, into naturalism; 
 thence degenerated into sensualism; and now are as 
 far behind the world in knowledge and liberality as 
 they were once in advance of it. 
 
 I have before alluded to the mosaics on the ceiling of 
 the Baptistery of the Duomo of Florence, as evidences 
 of the stiff and uninviting features of Byzantine Art, of 
 which they may be considered as an average example. 
 They form a complete pictorial Bible, from the creation 
 of man to the death and resurrection of Christ, com¬ 
 prehending also those ideas, which then obtained, of the 
 thrones and dominations of heaven, its superhuman 
 inhabitants, and the terrific realities of a local hell-fire 
 with its ministering demons. The several histories 
 are all told with the simplicity and vigorous truthful¬ 
 ness that characterize the first impressions of child¬ 
 hood. A huge figure of Christ, clad in robes of deep 
 blue and red, and displaying his pierced hands and 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 33o 
 
 feet, is the prominent object; above him is a repre¬ 
 sentation of the Almighty, as an old man in a red 
 frock, with a carefully-trimmed beard, holding the 
 book of life ; on each side are attendant cherubs and 
 seraphs. Beneath the Saviour is the scene of the resur¬ 
 rection ; angels are helping the good to rise from out 
 of their tombs on his right hand, while, on his left, great 
 green devils with bat-like wings are eagerly pulling 
 sinners from their graves. Satan, as a huge monster of 
 like color, is seen sitting in the centre of hell, munch¬ 
 ing human beings ; on either side of him are serpents 
 and hideous imps pursuing the damned, who escape 
 their fury only by plunging into lakes of fire. Above 
 the infernal regions, the apostles and saints sit in stiff 
 rows, with books in their hands, while archangels lead 
 the saved in crowds to join them. It is singular that 
 the Virgin is nowhere elevated into heaven; her life is 
 confined to her earthly career. These mosaics were 
 executed about the year 1230, and are a fair illustra¬ 
 tion of the Art and theology of the day. 
 
 In the Ufizzi gallery, there is a characteristic ex¬ 
 ample of the better style of Greek painting, in a 
 Madonna and infant, by Andrea Rica of Candia. It 
 dates from a.d. 1200. The drawing has but a vague 
 resemblance to the human figure, either in outline or 
 proportion; while the baby Saviour looks older than 
 his mother, and, turning from her with an unhappy 
 and defiant air, seems to say to some imaginary foe, 
 
336 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 “ Touch me if you dare !” Yet this class of pictures, 
 notwithstanding their concentrated ugliness and for¬ 
 bidding color, exercises the most powerful influence 
 over the Roman Catholic mind, their sanctity being in 
 ratio of their age and repulsiveness. Even Guido 
 Reni, who was famed for the beauty of his Madonnas, 
 always prayed before one of the oldest and blackest of 
 these Art-abortions, instead of seeking inspiration from 
 the reflected beauty of later and more spiritual minds. 
 To the credit of noble Art be it said, it is never mis¬ 
 taken for an idol ; men approach it as the representa¬ 
 tive of mind and spirit, and by it are led to worship 
 Him only who creates genius. The impotent attempts 
 of ignorance or fanaticism alone usurp the place of 
 Divinity and induce fools to put their faith in stone or 
 canvas. Ugliness acquires the power of the savage 
 fetich to charm away evil,—a delusion put upon man 
 by the father of lies; but Beauty, founded on truth, 
 points eternally towards its Author. 
 
 In the Academy of the Fine Arts at Florence, there 
 is a beautiful specimen of the exuberant style of the 
 pure-minded Gentile da Fabriano. It is an Epiphany, 
 bearing the date of 1423. The historical and sym¬ 
 bolical associations connected with that event are 
 admirably united, clothed in the allowable Oriental 
 luxuriance of locality, and displaying a variety in na¬ 
 tural scenery uncommon at that time in Art. The far 
 atmospherical distance is gilt; beneath is the ocean, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 337 
 
 with a wide range of coast, and many vessels. The land 
 is grand in features, broken up into hills and valleys, 
 sprinkled with cities, and covered with other evidences 
 of advanced civilization. Its broad features are, it is 
 true, treated in the Giottesque style, their qualities 
 being merely suggested; but the foreground details of 
 flowers, fruits, and minor vegetation are wrought out 
 with affectionate fidelity. The long procession of the 
 three kings winds among the hills. It is full of mo¬ 
 tion—indeed, the whole picture is instinctive with life ; 
 birds fly through the air ; camels, horses, horned cattle, 
 dogs, and monkeys—which last were the pets of fashion 
 in the time of Gentile—grouped with courtiers, and 
 the paraphernalia of Oriental magnificence and royal 
 retinue, press forward to the humble abode, outside of 
 which sits the Virgin-mother with the divine infant in 
 her lap. Behind her are two female attendants, who 
 receive and examine the gifts; in front kneels one of 
 the Magi, with the hand of Christ upon his head, as 
 though bestowing an infantile blessing. The most 
 remarkable features of the painting are the beauty of 
 expression of the chief characters, and the exceeding- 
 richness of the draperies, arms, and trappings of ani¬ 
 mals, which glitter with embroidery and jewels in 
 actual relief, while the coloring is, for that date, par¬ 
 ticularly gorgeous. A singular instance of the em¬ 
 ployment of gilt in relief is to be seen in one of the 
 panel pictures below, where the sun, as a bright gold 
 
 Q, 
 
338 
 
 ART-HINTS, 
 
 ball, stands out an eighth of an inch from the paint- 
 ing. 
 
 Botticelli, a Florentine artist of a somewhat later 
 date, presents a striking contrast in his mode of treat¬ 
 ment of the same subject. There is equal sincerity, 
 but no display of imagination, or attempt to recall the 
 local features of the scene. His faces are severe and 
 homely, and the costumes chiefly the ordinary fashions 
 of Ins day. Gilding he uses sparingly. Although a 
 religious painter, Botticelli essayed profane subjects. 
 There is in the Ufizzi, a Venus rising from the sea, 
 done by him, the face of which is one of great sweet¬ 
 ness and modesty, resembling his Holy Virgin in his 
 ‘Adoration of the Magi.’ In his time the artists often 
 bestowed upon heathen subjects the grace of Christian 
 expression. It was reserved for more cultivated Art, 
 not only to deprive sacred personages of the chaste and 
 solemn draperies of simpler times, but to transform 
 angels into flying Mercuries, and give them the atti¬ 
 tudes of ballet-dancers; at the same time the forms 
 and countenances of beatified Christians, and the 
 dwellers in celestial spheres, lost their conventional 
 purity and serious mien, and became robed in sensuous 
 beauty and volatile sentiment. 
 
 In the early German religious Art, Nicolaus Fru- 
 menti, in his ‘ Raising of Lazarus,’ dated 1461, also in 
 the Ufizzi, presents a notable example of that school 
 in the incongruous mingling of feeling with detail. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 339 
 
 which, at first view, is apt to give a ridiculous turn to 
 the whole subject. None can help smiling at the 
 naivete with which the fact that “ by this time he 
 stinketh ” is forced upon the spectator, by the upturned 
 noses and looks of unutterable disgust, as the ghastly 
 apparition rises from the grave; even Christ appears 
 to considei’ the odour as somewhat strong. Aside from 
 this, there are a variety* and sincerity of expression 
 among the group of the most striking character. The 
 women, overcome by grief, are weeping and praying 
 too earnestly to notice at once the miracle; the men 
 farthest off, and therefore most remote from the smell, 
 most strongly manifest their surprise; some sneer, 
 others are enraged ; a few only recognise Divinity in 
 the deed. It is evident that the Saviour, who is 
 sublimely unconscious of the emotions he has awakened, 
 is among a crowd of unbelieving Jews. 
 
 Emmelinck of Bruges (1479), in the same gallery, 
 gives one of the most noted instances of the finish and 
 minuteness of detail of the German school. His color 
 is rich, and the entire picture as brilliant and perfect 
 as if finished but yesterday; the subject, a holy fa¬ 
 mily, expressive, not elevated, and hard. A fanciful 
 border of fruits, flowers, lizards, snails, and insects, 
 executed with the utmost delicacy, and sufficiently well 
 to bear examination with a magnifying-glass, surrounds 
 the picture. It would seem that the German artists 
 honored their sacred subjects more by the richness and 
 
340 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 laborious finish of' accessories, devoting to them their 
 cunning handicraft, than by the homage of their souls 
 in feeling. 
 
 In no respect is the healthful feeling of the early 
 religious painters more apparent than in their fondness 
 for the landscape; their holy families are almost in¬ 
 variably placed in the open air, which always partakes 
 of the serenity of the holy personages. Lorenzo di 
 Credi is particularly happy in his simple and affection¬ 
 ate treatment of the landscape in his 4 Christ appear¬ 
 ing to Mary Magdalen ’ as a gardener, especially in 
 the foreground, where the fresh upturned earth and 
 flowers seem to exhale a fragrance appropriate to Him 
 who has been giving them his care. The distance in 
 ‘ The Annunciation,’ of the same artist, is admirably 
 executed. Tried by the technical rules of modern 
 Art, this class of pictures would be greatly wanting in 
 those qualities which are the exact transcript of Nature ; 
 yet they so charm by their loving sincerity, especially 
 in the landscape of Leonardo da Vinci, that criticism 
 is at once disarmed. A century and a half later, we 
 have Christ and his Apostles also in the open air, by 
 Carlo Dolce. The difference between the sickly sen¬ 
 timentality of the one, and the honest feeling of the 
 other, cannot be calculated in words. 
 
 Fra Bartolomeo is almost the only eminent religious 
 painter who uniformly delighted in placing his sacred 
 persons indoors, amid solemn and noble architecture, to 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 341 
 
 the loss, as it appears to me, of much of the genuine 
 sympathy which the loveliness of Nature invariably 
 extorts from pure tastes. His grandeur saves him, as 
 Raphael’s grace elevates his subjects, whatever may be 
 their position : but with both, and Andrea del Sarto, 
 we feel that whenever they take their Madonnas and 
 saints from out of the natural landscape which they so 
 loved, and place them upon thrones with saintly 
 retinues around them, by recurring to the associations 
 of earthly pride to add to their religious dignity, they 
 weaken correspondingly the common bond of affection 
 which unites our hearts with theirs. We sympathise 
 with that which we can all alike enjoy ; but when 
 those who are dear to us surround themselves with the 
 trappings and etiquette of rank, our love becomes 
 simply homage; and in Art is apt to stop short at 
 admiration. This refers more particularly to those 
 stately religious subjects which those artists sometimes 
 give. There is, however, an indoor domesticity or 
 naturalness that goes equally to the heart with associa¬ 
 tions of cheerful sunshine, because it savors of home 
 feeling. Fra Angelico delighted in unclouded heavens 
 when he stopped short at earth ; but occasionally, as in 
 his ‘ Annunciation/ he gives a simple bit of indoor life a 
 such as he felt, that is touching from its sincerity. The 
 scene is a naked cloister of his convent of St. Mark ; 
 the Virgin meekly kneels, with crossed arms, upon a 
 plain stool, as the archangel, radiant with the effulgence 
 
342 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of heaven, tells his message. A brother monk, in the 
 attitude of prayer, inti’oduced into the background, 
 mars the unity of the scene. 
 
 J. Van Eyck, in the same subject, takes us into a 
 richly-decorated Gothic bed-chamber, furnished with 
 divans, pictures, flowers, and all the luxuries of a 
 German household of the fourteenth century, while 
 the angel Gabriel appears in the richly-embroidered 
 robes of a Roman clerical dignity, out of which his 
 wings stiffly stand poised in the air. Better than 
 either is Andrea del Sarto’s ‘ Annunciation,’ in which 
 the angels, unseen by other eyes, greet Mary as she 
 stands in the open air, receiving the message in faith 
 yet “ troubled ” as to “ bow this should be.” The 
 whole scene is natural and impressive. 
 
 Rubens invests this subject with all his magnificent 
 glow of imagination, introducing allegory in the shape 
 of female figures of Peace and Reconciliation on the 
 right hand of the Almighty in the clouds above. The 
 ark of the covenant, borne by angels, appears on the 
 left. Below them are seen Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the 
 Sybils of classical antiquity, who are claimed to have 
 foretold the Saviour to the Gentile world. Moses, 
 Aaron, David, and others of the royal line of Judea, 
 kneel behind the announcing angels. Mary, meekly 
 bending upon a flight of steps, is overshadowed by the 
 Holy Ghost, in the shape of a dove surrounded by 
 cherubim. Such a picture shows the wonderful 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 343 
 
 power of this artist in giving truthful vitality to even 
 the most solemn and mystic subject. Wherein he 
 fails is in the coarseness of his figures, and the lack 
 of religious expression ; and although as a whole his 
 pictures glow with rich coloring, and are warm, sunny 
 and natural, yet in parts, particularly in his youth and 
 females, the flesh-tints are carelessly laid on, the red 
 being too positive. Purple spots often show like 
 bruises, offensive to the eye, and detracting from the 
 general harmony. 
 
 Rubens appears to most advantage at Vienna and 
 Antwerp. No artist is so universally known, both 
 from the multitude of his works and the individuality 
 of his style. Incapable of the highest efforts of the 
 imagination, and without feeling for pure religious Art, 
 yet he ranged successfully over Nature, having a 
 genius capable of grappling with all subjects, and a 
 knowledge that gave them life and vigor. What 
 energy there is in his action ; how his men lift in the 
 ‘ Rape of the Sabines; ’ what weight and solidity of 
 charms in the ravished women; his Bacchante, how 
 they carouse; a few touches of his magic brush give 
 . to us the real animal in all its vitality; what intellec¬ 
 tual power there is throughout his painting! Pie wills 
 form and color into existence. Walls teem with life at 
 his bidding. The glorious earth-painter was he ! We 
 may have the equals of many who excelled him in parts 
 before another such a whole as Rubens greets the world ! 
 
344 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 I cannot take leave of pure religious Art without 
 again referring to the works of Fra Angelico. In the 
 cells of the convent of St. Mark at Florence, seldom 
 seen by strangers, there are several of his frescoes 
 deserving of careful study, as exhibiting in their 
 highest degree those qualities which obtained for him 
 the title of “ Beato ” (blessed) among artists and monks. 
 Of his incapability to treat the horrible or evil in an 
 ideal sense, his ‘ Christ descending into Limbo ’ is a 
 striking example. Satan, an ugly black demon, lies 
 crushed beneath the heavy gates of hell, which at the 
 Saviour’s appearance haye flown from their hinges, 
 overturning the devil, who doubtless was adding the 
 resistance of his weight to their strength. This part 
 of the picture, though purely symbolical, borders some¬ 
 what on the ridiculous, but it is redeemed by the ma¬ 
 jestic figure of Christ, who passes in with supernatural 
 force, quiet but quick, his presence illuminating the 
 depths of a vast cave, from which pour up crowds of 
 hungry and thirsty souls to hail their deliverer. 
 
 Another cell is adorned with the ‘ Crowning of the 
 Virgin in Heaven by her Son.’ The grace of move¬ 
 ment and purity of expression of Mary as she bends 
 towards Jesus, who does not lift but ivills the crown— 
 which he touches only with the ends of his fingers— 
 to her brow, are wonderful. Beneath on the earth, in a 
 semicircle, are several of the holy fathers of the Church 
 gazing in rapt astonishment upon the celestial vision. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 345 
 
 Angelico has been most successful in his contrasts 
 between the solidity and substance of flesh and cloth¬ 
 ing, and the ethereal nature of the celestial beings 
 above, who appear palpably to sight yet transparent, 
 reposing as easily and naturally in their heavenly 
 atmosphere as do mortals on earth, without the sensa¬ 
 tion of effort, or an unnatural support, given by almost 
 every other painter who has attempted to portray 
 spiritual life. Christ and his mother are to our 
 eyes as they must have appeared to his ecstatic vision. 
 
 The fresco in which Angelico appears to the 
 greatest advantage, as embodying the sweetness and 
 poetry of his spiritualized imagination, is the ‘ Visit 
 of the Women to the Sepulchre,’ after the Resurrec¬ 
 tion. It is a composition of the simplest character, 
 and yet far more affecting than the grandest display of 
 Tintoretto’s power or Rubens’s dramatic intellect. An 
 angel sits upon the empty grave, with one hand point¬ 
 ing to the void and the other to heaven, as his parted 
 lips imply, “ He is not here but is risen.” Three of 
 the women are clustered together at the farther end in 
 a graceful group, with a most touching expression of 
 sorrow and disappointment. I cannot recall in Art a 
 more elevated expression of grief joined to .personal 
 dignity and grace than in these three female figures. 
 They exhibit the unutterable repose of deep mourning. 
 Mary Magdalen, with a more convulsed sorrow, bends 
 over and gazes eagerly into the vacant tomb, as 
 
 Q* 
 
346 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 though her heart refused to credit her eyes. Above 
 them and unseen, floating in the heavens, self-sustained 
 and amid celestial glory, which emanates equally from 
 all parts of his person, creating around it an atmo¬ 
 sphere of supernatural light, is the Jesus they seek, 
 looking calmly down upon the mournful group, con¬ 
 scious of the healing halm of faith with which he is 
 about to touch their hearts and open their eyes. He 
 bears in one hand a banner, and in the other a palm- 
 leaf, the emblem of peace and victory. 
 
 The management of the tints by which the contrast¬ 
 ing lights and transparencies are effected, varying 
 from the full materiality of earth to angel-nature, and 
 rising into the intangibility of spirit-life, form without 
 substance, is perfect. Such we may conjecture was 
 the exceeding glory of the transfiguration, divested of 
 all of earth, in an atmosphere vital with divinity. To 
 this excellence is joined a spirituality of expression, 
 and chaste yet natural arrangement of draperies, that 
 make this painting, in my opinion, the climax of 
 religious Art. Those who would realize what it 
 is to see a spirit must gaze upon Angelico’s risen 
 Saviour. 
 
 There is yet another remarkable picture- of his in 
 the cell, known as that of ‘ Pope Eugenius IV.’ It is 
 an Epiphany, and in his latest style. The group is 
 full of life and grace. Some of the figures would not 
 discredit Raphael. To the left, Joseph, the babe, and 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 347 
 
 the mother, are rendered in the usual conventional 
 forms and attitude. But the Magi and procession, in 
 color and outline, are done with all the vigor and 
 truth of the natural school, especially a figure on 
 horseback, shading his eyes as he gazes -intently upon 
 the divine infant. I must confess my astonishment to 
 find Angelico equal to so much dramatic force. Gen 
 tile appears to have borrowed his general idea from 
 this picture, which, as a whole, is I think the most 
 successful treatment of the subject in sacred Art. 
 
 To express divinity distinctly, and apart from earth, 
 was for a long time the aim of religious Art. Raphael 
 and Correggio were the first great masters who strove 
 to humanize the Virgin and her Son, so as to give the 
 tenderness of the mother and the innocence of child¬ 
 hood in one group, in which the Divine element should 
 be secondary to the sanctity of those affections which 
 cling closest to the heart of humanity. They sought 
 to unite the loveliest human forms with its tenderest 
 expressions. Raphael alone triumphed, and gave to 
 the world those holy families, which in motive and 
 grace of feeling are unrivalled in Art. Correggio’s 
 genius was not equal to so lofty a flight. He was 
 undoubtedly great in his manner and clever in the 
 subtleties of painting, but he has left nothing that 
 touches the heart, if indeed he may he said to have 
 escaped affectation. There is no painter, considering 
 his reputation, who disappoints the spirit so much. 
 
348 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 In repeated instances lie sinks into downright insipidity 
 or sensuality. There is nothing divine about his holy 
 women. Their beauty is solely of the skin. No one 
 need fear to make love to them. His children have 
 nothing attractive in feeling. Considered with the 
 French school, Correggio is indeed pure ; but compared 
 with his contemporaries, he made a sad inroad upon 
 sacred Art. 
 
 In painting, Correggio is artificial, and in spirit super¬ 
 ficial. Those cloud-forms in the dome of the Parma 
 Cathedral are, however, wonderfully transparent, and 
 let the eye into the abyss of heaven. He is most at 
 home in the nude and classical, as may he seen in that 
 sunny picture in the Louvre. The flesh is bad. It 
 has not the quality of healthful skin, but looks tainted. 
 On no subject in Art is there more diversity of opinion 
 than in color. Some individuals cannot distinguish 
 one color from another; others call the same hue by 
 different names. A blind man, through feeling , is 
 perhaps a better judge than many with full eyesight. 
 By some Correggio is considered a good colorist. To 
 me, his rainbow-tints have a tricky, flashy look, un¬ 
 worthy of high Art, and savoring more of its legerde¬ 
 main. There is no reality in them. They seem 
 altogether evanescent. Like the toilette of a charm¬ 
 ing woman, they are used more for their own sake 
 than for the subject. 
 
 Vandyke’s Madonnas and Magdalens are scarcely 
 
ARCHITECTURE. SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 349 
 
 better. They savor more of the aristocratic drawing¬ 
 rooms and fashionable weaknesses of modern civiliza¬ 
 tion than of the virgins and penitents of Judea. Cor¬ 
 reggio influenced not only him, but Baroccio and 
 Parmagianino, neither of whom equalled his good 
 qualities, while they carried his weak ones into a still 
 greater degree of affectation. The tall, lank, blonde 
 Madonnas of the last-named artist, with their infants 
 equally long, are as absurd at one extreme of Art as 
 were the Byzantine horrors at the other. Murillo gives 
 healthy Spanish women ; affectionate mothers, well pro¬ 
 portioned and beautiful without being sensual; women 
 full of generous instincts and glowing with humanity. 
 Unable to soar to heaven, he wisely took the best 
 types he could find on earth, and endowed them with 
 a grace peculiarly his own. He preserved the pro¬ 
 prieties of time and scene, and gave to his religious 
 subjects the highest expression his models were capable 
 of reaching. Murillo’s love for common life and 
 healthful landscape has no parallel in the contempo¬ 
 raneous Italian school. 
 
 No great artist fails more in religious expression 
 than Domenichino. His ‘St. Jerome’ of the Vatican, 
 indeed, embodies the technical perfection of the Art of 
 his day, but there is no elevation in it. Its beauties 
 are of the brush. Compared, however, with his 
 examples of religious subjects at Bologna, it is of high 
 order. These are coarse, vulgar, and incongruous, 
 
350 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 painful to the sympathies, and bewildering to the 
 eye. 
 
 Owing to the genius of minds like Guido, 
 Rembrandt, and the eminent artists before mentioned, the 
 natural or domestic treatment of sacred subjects made 
 rapid progress. Mary and Christ were again brought 
 back to earth as examples of maternal and filial love, 
 and made to partake in the wants and sympathies of 
 human nature. This, no doubt, helped to bring them into 
 more familiar relations with the common mind, but it 
 did not contribute to the mysterious sanctity of the holy 
 families, with which those old symbolical pictures 
 had inspired the people. The tenderness and wonder¬ 
 ful power of Raphael, and the deep coloring and 
 artistic treatment of Titian, consecrated all that they 
 touched ; but when, as with Lucio Massari of Bologna, 
 Mary was represented as washing clothes, Joseph 
 hanging them up to dry, and the boy Jesus taking 
 them from the tub to give to his father, it borders 
 closely upon the comical, and we are disposed to smile 
 at a scene, which, although it may have taken place in 
 Galilee many times during the childhood of Christ, yet 
 is one that detracts from the idea of Messiahship. So, 
 of those works of Art—like a bas-relief in the Louvre, 
 representing Joseph at work at his trade, Jesus, as¬ 
 sisted by a troop of juvenile angels, picking up chips, 
 while the Almighty, as an old man with a papal tiara 
 on his head, sitting uncomfortably upon clouds, looks 
 
AECHITECTUBE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 351 
 
 approvingly on. Correggio—in a pretty fancy, which 
 Goethe calls the ‘ weaning,’—pictures the infant 
 Saviour as hesitating between the bosom of his mother 
 and some tempting fruit offered by an angel. 
 
 The human mind cannot bear too much familiarity 
 with sacred mysteries. To preserve their power we 
 must respect their divinity. 
 
352 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 GREAT COMPOSITIONS OF THE MASTERS. 
 
 Tiie worship of the Virgin Mary commenced as early 
 as the fourth century. It found favor in the popular 
 mind the more readily from the position which woman, 
 either as chaste and beautiful, or as a type of Divine 
 maternity, had always held in the mythology of pagan 
 nations. The Egyptian Isis nursing Horus, and later, 
 in Ephesus, the great Diana, chaste and prolific, were 
 examples of this widely-spread belief of antiquity. 
 To eradicate so deep a sentiment from the human 
 heart would have been difficult. The theologians pre¬ 
 ferred to give it another direction. lienee they did 
 not destroy the old idolatry, but transfused into it a 
 new and purer element, retaining the dogmatic idea 
 of an Astarte, Eve, or Venus, a goddess-mother, hut 
 creating a fresh type of perfect womanhood exalted 
 into divinity. As Christianity had then become to be 
 understood, there was need of the infusion of a more 
 humane doctrine, something, which being tender itself, 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 353 
 
 should pity the sorrows and plead for the weaknesses 
 of men. This was found in the dominant belief of the 
 character of the mother of Christ. “ Blessed among 
 women,” she united in herself the favor of the Most 
 High and the loving sympathies and perfect chastity 
 of virgin and mother. She had known the highest 
 joys and the deepest sorrows. All that the human 
 mind could conceive of pure and holy feeling was 
 embodied in this new feminine type, which claimed 
 devotion from attributes that found response in the 
 dearest relations of man. It is not surprising, there¬ 
 fore, that Marianism, as the worship of the Virgin has 
 been called, aided both by Church and state, and 
 appealing so strongly to earthly ties, should have 
 become firmly rooted in the Roman and Greek theology. 
 
 Mary became the universal inspiration. Warriors 
 and fair ladies equally claimed her protection. The 
 ignorant peasant found consolation in her meek, pitying 
 countenance, while the noblest intellect also confessed 
 her influence and sought her divine intercession. 
 
 The earliest description that we have of the person 
 of the Holy Virgin is from Callixtus, a writer of the 
 fourth century, who professed to have derived it from 
 a still older source. It is as follows. I quote it and 
 the succeeding truthful remarks upon the character of 
 Mary, and the feeling inspired by Raphael’s ‘Madonna 
 di San Sisto,’ of the Dresden Gallery, from the intro¬ 
 duction to Mrs. Jameson’s ‘ Legends of the Madonna,’ 
 
354 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 a work which does credit alike to her heart and head :— 
 “ The Virgin was of middle stature, her face oval, 
 her eyes brilliant, and of an olive tint, her eyebrows 
 arched and black, her hair was of a pale brown, her 
 complexion fair as wheat. She spoke little, but she 
 spoke freely and affably; she was not troubled in her 
 speech, but grave, courteous, and tranquil. Her 
 dress was without ornament, and in her deportment 
 there was nothing low or feeble. To the ancient 
 description of her person and manners we are to add 
 the scriptural and popular portrait of her mind; the 
 gentleness, the purity, the intellect, power, and forti¬ 
 tude ; the gifts of the poetess and prophetess; the 
 humility in which she exceeded all womankind. Lastly, 
 we are to engraft on these personal and moral qualities 
 the theological attributes which the Church from early 
 times had assigned to her, the supernatural endow¬ 
 ments which lifted her above angels and men; all 
 these were to he combined in one glorious type of 
 perfection. Where shall we seek this highest, holiest 
 inspiration ? Where has it been attained, or even 
 approached? Not, certainly, in the mere woman, nor 
 .yet in the mere idol; not in those lovely creations 
 which awaken a sympathetic throb of tenderness; nor 
 in those classic features of marble goddesses, borrowed 
 as models; nor in the painted ifhages which stare upon 
 us from tawdry altars, and flaxen wigs and embroi¬ 
 dered petticoats. But where ? 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 355 
 
 “ Of course we each form to ourselves some notion 
 of what we require; and these requirements will be 
 as diverse as our natures and our habits of thought. 
 For myself, I have seen my own ideal once and only 
 once attained ; there, where Raphael—inspired, if ever 
 painter was inspired—projected on the open space 
 before him that wonderful creature which we style the 
 ‘ Madonna di San Sistofor there she stands—the 
 transfigured woman, at once completely human and 
 completely divine, an abstraction of power, purity, and 
 love, poised in the empurpled air, and requiring no 
 other support; looking out, with her melancholy, 
 lovely mouth, her slightly dilated, sibylline eyes, quite 
 through the universe, to the end and consummation of 
 all things ;—sad, as if she beheld afar off the visionary 
 sword that was to reach her heart through Him, now 
 resting enthroned in that heart, yet already exalted 
 through the homage of the redeemed generations who 
 were to salute her Blessed.” 
 
 None ever excelled Raphael in the tender variety of 
 expression he has given to his Holy Virgins. All are 
 of an exalted character, excepting that pardonable 
 touch of conscious loveliness that lights up the ‘ Ma¬ 
 donna della Seggiola,’ which savors more of the 
 human than the divine mother. Amid so much excel¬ 
 lence, it is difficult to decide upon the highest type, 
 but my own impressions coincide with Mrs. Jameson 
 in regard to the Dresden ‘ Madonna.’ As in his 
 
35G 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 c Transfiguration,’ the effect is somewhat injured by 
 the introduction of an ecclesiastic in full costume. The 
 eye, however, involuntarily passes from this incongruity 
 to repose upon the lovely image above. Titian, in his 
 ‘ Assumption,’ startles by the brilliancy and depth of 
 his coloring and the dramatic postures of his figures. 
 There is great feeling in the expression of his Virgin, 
 but as a whole it does not elevate the soul into heaven 
 as does the wonderful painting of Raphael. The artist 
 overpowers his subject. 
 
 Murillo and Guido have frequently essayed the 
 same lofty treatment of the Madonna, but with inferior 
 success. The former is incapable of rising above the 
 lovely, material woman, and the latter is too much 
 cramped, by his classical type of the Niobe, whose 
 face he constantly repeats in his sacred and profane 
 subjects; at times, however, in the former, with a spi¬ 
 ritual expression that does much to redeem his lack of 
 invention. 
 
 In all the oil-paintings of the above character, which 
 aim at creating a celestial atmosphere, there is the 
 same uniform failure, more perceptible in Murillo and 
 Guido, but observable even in Titian. This is the 
 hotness of the colors, reminding one rather of the dry 
 consuming heat of hell, than the joyous hues of heaven. 
 These should embrace every conceivable beauty of 
 color united in one harmonious tint, suggestive of 
 life and not of fire. Time may perhaps reduce trans- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 357 
 
 parency by consuming the oils of many of these pic¬ 
 tures, but I believe the deficiency arises from the same 
 technical want of skill which pervades the skies of 
 most landscapes. The colors are too warm and posi¬ 
 tive, and not sufficiently scumbled, tint over tint, 
 repeated hundreds of times with the most delicate 
 handling, until they so blend as to form a translucent 
 whole, with sufficient body to resist time and atmo¬ 
 sphere. It is a laborious process, requiring much time 
 and skill, but the results are marvellous. Some of 
 the old masters paid but indifferent attention to the 
 qualities of natural scenery, too often content to dazzle 
 instead of convincing the senses. Much, perhaps, of 
 the spiritualized effect of the atmosphere and form of 
 Christ, in Angelico’s fresco, may be owing partly to 
 the vehicle employed, and partly to the consuming 
 touches of time on the plaster, in eating delicately and 
 uniformly into the light colors, softening and blending 
 them into an ethereal whole. Unless great care has 
 been bestowed upon the preparation of oils, time, par¬ 
 ticularly with certain atmospheres, works irreparable 
 injury in paintings. This is particularly observable 
 in the gallery at Dresden, where so many of the 
 pictures, especially the Claudes, have had all their life 
 eaten out of them. Fortunately high Art keeps us 
 spell-bound to feeling. This may be increased, but 
 cannot be destroyed by lack of success in material, 
 while to common Art external truth is indispensable. 
 
358 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 The purest expression of sorrow I have seen in 
 painting is a ‘ Mater Dolorosa,’ in a private collection 
 at Florence. It is apparently of the Bolognese school, 
 though its author is unknown. There is a slight ex¬ 
 aggeration of parts, partaking, in a very remote degree, 
 of the Byzantine type. Notwithstanding these defects 
 of detail, which are however scarcely perceptible, the 
 picture is one of intense interest. To the feeling 
 mind no thought of technical criticism clouds the 
 tender sadness of the bereaved mother, exhaled in a 
 look which penetrates the heart. From out of those 
 large, melancholy eyes, turned towards the spectator, 
 with the head slightly bent, and the lips gently parted 
 by the relaxing weight of grief, there issues a soul- 
 sympathy with all pure sorrow, that draws forth re¬ 
 sponsive throbs of love and pity. In them there is 
 none of the Rachel refusing to be comforted because 
 her children are not. Instead of the'visible tokens of 
 anguish appealing to the ruder sympathies, are the 
 quiet and repose of grief, too deep for utterance, com¬ 
 bined with the consciousness of the necessity of the 
 sacrifice and acquiesence in Divine will. A halo of 
 glory, scarcely perceptible, so delicately is it managed, 
 irradiates from the head and illumines the picture. 
 Mary is represented as chastely beautiful, young in 
 looks, from the preserving power of her soul’s serenity 
 and the exalted character of her destiny, though her 
 years, in the ordinary course of nature, must have 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 359 
 
 been wellnigh fifty. The colors are subdued and 
 appropriate, sad in every tone and harmonizing with 
 the expression. 
 
 Ordinary minds, and even many great masters, find 
 no better way to tell the sad cause of the maternal 
 grief than by some coarse symbol, such as a sword 
 plunged into the heart of the Virgin, or by the direct 
 introduction of the corpse of the Saviour, either lying- 
 in the lap or at the feet of his mother. Not so this 
 unknown poet. Mary simply holds in her hands the 
 crown of thorns. This explains the whole passion, 
 carries us back to Calvary, prostrates our soul in 
 anguish before the cross, and leads us with the weep¬ 
 ing Maries to the Sepulchre. Christ had risen, but 
 the mother knows it not. She touchingly exhibits the 
 sacred relic she had taken from the bleeding brows of 
 her dead son. Thus far the natural sentiment. To 
 the devout mind the crown of thorns symbolizes the 
 redemption of man. There is in this painting’ not only 
 the sublime pathos of sorrow, but the whole story oi 
 Christianity. 
 
 How refined is the treatment of this picture com¬ 
 pared with the ‘ Martyrdom of St. Agnese,’ by Paul 
 Veronese, in which he represents the executioner’s 
 knife as entering her fair bosom, out of which gush 
 streams of blood! So, too, in statuary,‘in Crawford’s 
 ‘ Dying Indian.’ Before us lies a lovely female figure, 
 symbolical of her expiring race. This, if properly 
 
360 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 managed, was sufficient to tell the mournful tale; but 
 the artist, under the mistaken idea of heightening the 
 effect, has placed in her wounded side, from which 
 drops the fresh gore, a broken arrow-shaft! By 
 this unnecessary violence our physical sympathies are 
 shocked, the unity of the work destroyed, and the 
 moral lost in the involuntary wish to extract the 
 weapon and cure the wound. 
 
 For the highest efforts of imagination or dramatic 
 pictorial Art we go to Raphael, Tintoretto, or Titian. 
 Other artists, as, for instance, Guido in his ‘ Cruci¬ 
 fixion,’ at Bologna, and Rembrandt in the solemn gloom 
 and mystery of the same scene, made magic by his 
 treatment of light and shade, occasionally attain great 
 elevation of style. But whatever subject either of the 
 above three artists touch, he stamps it with a genius 
 which, in its kind, admits of no rivalship. For the 
 most wonderful exhibition of superhuman power, as 
 seen in natural objects, we must go to Raphael’s fresco, 
 in the Vatican, of the £ Chastisement of Heliodorus, in 
 his attempt to plunder the sacred treasures of the 
 Temple at Jerusalem.’ St. Michael, stripped of wings 
 and celestial insignia, mounted on a naked steed, un¬ 
 earthly, not in form, but in fire and action, attended 
 by two spirits, with their hair streaming back from 
 their heads, comes sweeping over the marble floor, the 
 three gliding through the air, which seems to part 
 before them from the rapidity with which they dart 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 361 
 
 upon the sacrilegious wretches, who cower before the 
 unexpected apparition. You feel them rush through 
 the atmosphere. The eye is fascinated at the uplifted 
 arm of the archangel, and watches, tremblingly, for 
 the annihilating blow. Rubens was capable of giving 
 human motion, but Raphael alone could impart super¬ 
 natural power to Art in forms of earth. 
 
 Rembrandt, in his- fine picture in the Louvre, in 
 which the archangel Michael cleaves the heavens by 
 the rapidity of his motion, gives him wings, and by 
 muscular effort and outstretched limbs, suggests his 
 power. But with him we feel that it is physical, not¬ 
 withstanding his heavenly plumage. Whereas in 
 Raphael, without a single accessory borrowed from the 
 spirit-world, his figures are unearthly. They strike 
 terror and enlist expectation at once. There is no 
 mistaking their origin. He who could endow form 
 with such force must have derived inspiration from 
 divinity itself. 
 
 Raphael was less complete than Leonardo da Vinci 
 in artistic power. His highest expressions were 
 purity of soul and tenderness of emotion. Unlike 
 da Vinci, he was incapable of rendering the foul 
 passions of the human heart in their full degree. His 
 Judas is, in comparison with Leonardo’s, mild and 
 dignified ; treachery and avarice do not glare through 
 the features born of his pencil. There is in him 
 always a life sense of pleasure, the real, overflowing of 
 
 R 
 
362 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 joyous nature, in distinction from spirit, indicative of a 
 sunny temperament, gratefully appreciating the bounties 
 of material existence, in their forms of life and beauty. 
 This is particularly noticeable in his pure and graceful 
 treatment of classical subjects, whether as emblematic 
 of abstract ideas, or as developments of sensuous joys 
 into human forms. Correggio, who never met him, 
 was even more precocious in his genius, though far 
 his inferior in elevated Art. His feeling lay still 
 more in the physical consciousness of loveliness; an 
 attempt to idealize earthly impulses, irrespective of 
 spirit. He seldom, if ever, depresses by sadness; 
 sometimes he imparts a touch of loving sympathy or 
 pardonable vanity, but never instructs or exalts. 
 
 There is in the Pitti gallery another sublime instance 
 of Raphael’s genius, borrowed from Holy Writ. It 
 is the vision of Ezekiel, a picture of the smallest size. 
 The Almighty floats in the atmosphere, reposing upon 
 those four mysterious unearthly creatures, part animals 
 and part angels, described by the prophet. Heavy and 
 immateri 1 though they be, contradicting all known 
 natural laws, yet they seem appropriate to the scene, and 
 lill the mind with awe. Beneath, the eye ranges over a 
 wide expanse of earth, dim, and suggestive of the vast 
 aerial space above, which God fills with the shadow of 
 His presence. There are truth and sublimity in the 
 conception. How grand does this small picture 
 appear, beside even the colossal St. Mark of Fra Bar- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 363 
 
 tolomeo, which embodies that sentiment in so ex¬ 
 traordinary a degree! 
 
 Among the original designs of the old masters in the 
 Ufizzi collection, there is a drawing of two strange 
 creations by Leonardo da Vinci, species of dragons in 
 play, which, in fire, action, and terribleness of form, 
 have never been equalled. They have no similitude 
 to any earthly organization, yet are so natural, so 
 endowed with vitality, horribly grotesque as they are, 
 that one is tempted to believe in their actual existence. 
 Every other artistic monster is spiritless and artificial 
 beside them. 
 
 For versatility and force of imagination no artist, as 
 a whole, exceeds Tintoretto. He can be studied to 
 advantage only in Venice, and there with difficulty, 
 owing to the bad condition of his pictures, arising 
 somewhat from neglect, but more from the imperfection 
 of his materials. As a colorist, as now seen, he cannot 
 be classed with Titian. He is dry, harsh, and wanting 
 in harmony. Like Michael Angelo, also, he sinned 
 from impetuosity, seeking rather to strike out his con¬ 
 ceptions at one effort, than to patiently labor for per¬ 
 fection. Hence he exhibits the fire, but seldom the 
 completeness,- of genius. He had sufficient power to 
 compose subjects for an army of artists; but not the 
 perseverance, like that of Titian, necessary to improve 
 material and style. In speaking, therefore, of him, 
 his conceptions are more referred to than his execution, 
 
364 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 though even that would have been sufficient to immor¬ 
 talize another artist. He was often unequal, but 
 never little. At times overwhelming by the grandeur 
 of his thought, and at others, as in his ‘ Paradise ’ 
 in the Ducal Palace, confounding by extent and mere 
 labor. 
 
 His greatest composition is his ‘ Last Judgment,’ in 
 the church of Santa Maria dell’ Orto, an immense 
 picture, filled with figures innumerable, and displaying 
 a power over human form unexcelled even by Michael 
 Angelo, whom he surpasses in grace. Unlike him, his 
 imagination soars above the common idea. Ruskin 1 
 has described the spirit of this painting for all time. 
 His words will, I am fearful, soon be all that is left to 
 perpetuate the vivid thought of this great artist. I 
 cannot do better than quote them :— 
 
 “ By Tintoretto only has this unimaginable event 
 been grappled with in all its verity, not typically, nor 
 symbolically, but as they may see it who ‘ shall not 
 sleep but be changed.’ Only one traditional circum¬ 
 stance he has received with Dante and Michael Angelo, 
 the boat of the condemned; but the impetuosity of his 
 mind bursts out even in the adoption of this image: 
 he has not stopped at the scowling foreground of the 
 one, nor at the sweeping blow and demon bragging of 
 the other, but seized, ILylas-like, by the limbs, and 
 tearing up the earth in his agony, the victim is dashed 
 1 Modern Painters, vol. ii., p. 179. New York Edition. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 365 
 
 into his destruction ; nor is it the sluggish Lethe nor 
 the fiery lake that bears the cursed vessel, but the 
 oceans of the earth and the waters of the firmament 
 gathered in one white ghastly cataract, the river of the 
 wrath of God, roaring down into the gulf, where the 
 world has melted with its fervent heat, choked with 
 the ruins of nations, and the limbs of its corpses tossed 
 out of its whirling, like water-wheels. Bat-like, out 
 of the holes and caverns and shadows of the earth, the 
 bones gather and the clay-heaps heave, rattling and 
 adhering into half-kneaded anatomies, that crawl and 
 startle and struggle up amid the putrid weeds, with 
 the clay clinging to their clotted hair, and their heavy 
 eyes sealed by the earth darkness, yet like his of old, 
 who went his way unseeing to Siloam pool, shaking off 
 one by one the dreams of his prison-house, hardly 
 hearing the clangor of the trumpets of the armies of 
 God, blinded yet more as they awoke by the white 
 light of the new heaven, until the great vortex of the 
 four winds bears up their bodies to the judgment-seat; 
 the firmament is full of them, a very dust of human 
 souls, that drifts and floats and falls into the inter¬ 
 minable, inevitable light; the bright clouds are dark¬ 
 ened with them as with thick snow, currents of atom-life 
 in the arteries of heaven, now soaring up slowly, farther 
 and higher and higher still, till the eye and the thought 
 can follow no farther, borne up wingless by their inward 
 faith and by the angel powers invisible, now hurled in 
 
3GG 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 countless drifts of horror before the breath of their 
 condemnation.” 
 
 The canvas glows with this awful scene, a confused 
 and intensified thought, which Mr. lluskin so graphi¬ 
 cally transfers to his pages; but to the careless eye it 
 exhibits only dirt, dim forms, and faded colors. It is to 
 be noticed that Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and every 
 artist but one, so far as I know, who has painted the 
 Last Judgment, places the spectator in hell; Angelico 
 alone lifts him into heaven. This distinction forcibly 
 illustrates the loving character of his mind, which re¬ 
 coiled even from giving expression to a harsh dogma. 
 In all pictures but his, and those imitated from him, 
 damnation is much more conspicuous than salvation. 
 
 In striking contrast with this painting, as a whole, is 
 Tintoretto’s historical conception of the Crucifixion, 
 which embodies all the known facts and probabilities 
 of that event in one vivid composition. As a painting 
 it is excelled by others; the sky is flat and hard, and 
 comes forward of the objects; the introduction of 
 modern portraits and costume destroys the unity; 
 workmen are elevating one of the crosses by ropes 
 from an impossible position in reference to the picture 
 itself. Other minor faults are noticeable; but as a 
 grand, comprehensive thought, illustrated by all that 
 ca-n give solemnity, pathos, local interest, and circum¬ 
 stance to the scene, it is unequalled. Perhaps no 
 artist has ever more successfully, from a simple inci- 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 367 
 
 dent introduced so naturally amid the main features as 
 almost to escape observation, heightened feeling and 
 interest by recalling a contrasting event of brief 
 triumph and popular enthusiasm, with the fatal re¬ 
 action of disappointed national pride and fanaticism. 
 But five days previous, Christ entered Jerusalem upon 
 an ass, amid the hosannahs of the Jews, who strewed 
 palm-leaves in his way. Now, behind the cross, point¬ 
 ing to Jesus in scorn, is one of the late multitude, 
 seated upon an ass, which is quietly eating the withered 
 palm-leaves. We may well call this, with Buskin, a 
 44 masterstroke ” of feeling. 
 
 There is an 4 Adoration of the Magi’ by Tintoretto, 
 consisting of a few dignified Venetians, portraits, re¬ 
 verently approaching the Divine Babe and his mother, 
 which is remarkable for his peculiar grace of com¬ 
 position. His 4 Presentation at the Temple’ is more 
 original in its treatment than Titian’s, though lacking 
 the interest of the other in accessories. 
 
 Tintoretto, with a spirit of buffoonery inexplicable 
 in him, in his 4 Last Supper ’ in the church of Santa 
 Trovasa at Venice, has made St. John fast asleep, 
 while other apostles, with undignified action, are ask¬ 
 ing, 44 Lord, is it I ?” One of their number uncovers 
 a dish on the floor, out of which a cat is stealing meat. 
 Another coarsely grasps a flask. Overthrown furni¬ 
 ture, a beggar eating, and other incongruous acces¬ 
 sories, bespeak rather a low revel than the love-feast 
 
368 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 of our Saviour. Such moral perversities seem peculiar 
 to many great minds. Michael Angelo, although not 
 so vulgar, is frequently coarse, overstrained, and ex¬ 
 aggerated, particularly in position and form. His 
 ‘ Fortune astride the Wheel ’ is an instance of the one : 
 and of the other, the ostentatious anatomy and bulky, 
 ungraceful forms of so many of his figures, particularly 
 his females, which are suggestive of anything rather 
 than the delicate limbs of the sex. There is, how¬ 
 ever, in the Sistine Chapel a group of his of a mother 
 and child, full of tenderness. This is an exception. 
 His Jove, as is seen in his Leda and other females, is 
 chilling and repulsive, lacking sex. But an artist who 
 could, like himself, devote ten years of his life without 
 pay to the completion of St. Peter’s, must have had an 
 elevated soul. 
 
 Titian is the most complete painter the world has as 
 yet produced. Without the grace of expression and 
 elevation of thought of Raphael, the intensity of imagi¬ 
 nation and force of Tintoretto, or the vividness and 
 universality of Rubens, Titian surpasses them all in 
 the general qualifications of his Art. He was little or 
 weak in nothing. Expression, design, color, knowledge 
 and care of material, love of Nature at large, ability to 
 comprehend and feel his subject intellectually, per¬ 
 severance, independence, dignity, and devotion to his 
 Art, were all united in him, and conspicuous to the 
 verge of a life that terminated only at one year short 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 369 
 
 of a century. Therefore I claim Titian to be in whole 
 the greatest of painters. 
 
 Wherever his works appear, though not always 
 equally, he is well represented. There is not a gallery 
 of repute in Europe that does not possess characteristic 
 specimens of his style. Venice, however, retains his 
 greatest works. Titian is as much associated with 
 that city, as Raphael with Rome, and Michael Angelo 
 with Florence. Time but confirms more strongly the 
 judgment of his contemporaries as to his greatness, and 
 still refuses to present the world with his equal. The 
 gift by which he is distinguished from all other artists, 
 even of his own school, is color. For this he had the 
 same intuitive sense of its attractive power, that Raphael 
 possessed for grace of form. His name has become 
 synonymous with its highest expression. Artists of 
 great repute have passed their entire career in endea¬ 
 vouring to penetrate the secrets of his method, that 
 they might rival his success. Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 has been, perhaps, the most successful from study, 
 and Gainsborough from feeling ; but both fail when in 
 contrast with his strength. 
 
 In no respect does he show his greatness as a painter 
 more prominently than in his portraits. There are in 
 the Pitti Gallery, heads of Popes Leo X. and Julius II., 
 by Raphael; of Grotius; Lipsius, and Rubens, in one 
 picture, by Rubens; and of Rembrandt, by himself. 
 Each of them is in the highest style of their Art, and 
 
 R* 
 
370 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 sufficient in themselves to immortalize their authors, 
 particularly Rembrandt, who has thrown around his 
 own likeness the full magic of his golden light, which 
 falls upon his face with all the joyous and rich effect of 
 the beams of a setting sun. Before him we so lose 
 ourselves in admiration at his subtle management of 
 light and shade, that the man is forgotten ; vigor and 
 color attract in Rubens ; and, with Raphael, expression 
 and finish. In each of these artists, wonderful as are 
 their attainments in portraiture, individual style and 
 manner are conspicuous to a degree that eclipses in 
 the main their subjects. 
 
 Not so with Titian. Near the above-named portraits 
 there are two by him; one, an old man, supposed to 
 be Cornaro, the author of a treatise on the c Art of 
 Living,’ and the other unknown. The eye that rests 
 on either thinks only of the real living man, not as on 
 canvas, but standing bodily before one in all his 
 vitality. Look at them through the half-closed hand, 
 so as to conceal the frame, and the illusion is complete. 
 The other portraits betray the brush and flat surfaces. 
 These are surrounded with atmosphere. The heads 
 project from the canvas. Lines are so softened and 
 blended, that no trace is left of Art; color rivals Nature 
 in the cool softness of its hue; the skin is flexible 
 and elastic; blood and bones lie beneath it; perfect 
 harmony is felt in its tints; indeed, no one thinks of 
 color at all, but of the living face, which glows with 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 371 
 
 individuality. The expression of the unknown portrait, 
 that man of stern resolution and intellectual power, is 
 unrivalled. His eyes flash thought. There is that 
 about his look that fascinates, and yet the spirit shrinks 
 before it. We feel that such an individual had a will 
 and intellect to dare all that man can do. What he 
 may have done is unknown; his very name is lost. 
 This adds the charm of mystery, for we know that 
 Titian did not waste his time on common men. 
 
 The ‘Venus’ of the Tribune at Florence is his 
 most wonderful exhibition of artistic skill in color. 
 Those who are not technically acquainted with the 
 difficulties to be overcome in the management of this 
 subject will fail to appreciate its success. Titian did 
 not paint this picture to show a nude figure, but to 
 exhibit his power over light and color, in their most 
 difficult combinations, without the aid of the usual 
 effects of shadow and other art-subtleties by which an 
 inferior artist would have • sought to cover his weak 
 points. As a work of Art it is far superior to the 
 renowned ‘ Venus de Medici,’ which stands beneath. 
 He has given the delicate, roseatic tints of flesh in 
 their most lovely expression, in contrast with the white 
 of linen, and in the full glare of daylight, treating the 
 whole simply, yet embodying truths of Art in a 
 manner so faithful to Nature, that no artist has yet 
 been found to rival him. Examine the outlines of his 
 flesh ! There is no sharpness in them. They dis- 
 
372 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 appear gradually in atmosphere, in soft and distinct 
 form, half displaying and half suggesting the natural 
 curvatures. As in looking upon the best Greek 
 statues, we feel that the anatomy is perfect, but do 
 not think of it. His flesh is warm and springy. So 
 subtly are its tints managed that the entire unity of 
 glowing life reposes in the figure. Generous blood 
 lies underneath that soft skin. Look also at the trans¬ 
 parencies of the shadows: they darken, but conceal 
 nothing; you know they are trembling shadows, not 
 opaque paint, as with common artists. With what 
 consummate art has Titian husbanded his power of 
 light in this picture ! It illuminates itself, and yet 
 there is nothing in it higher than half-light. Every 
 tint is subdued and cool, but the whole picture is 
 transparent and harmonious. What a study for those 
 artists who shock one’s eyes with spotty colors and 
 pictures, pitched upon so high a key as to present 
 broad masses of opaque whites and corresponding 
 lights ! Titian never exhausts himself, simply by not 
 attempting impossibilities. Where he cannot rival 
 Nature he suggests her in so skilful a manner that we 
 forget her scale in his Art. There is labor incal¬ 
 culable in this picture, but no evidences of it are 
 obtruded upon the sight. Indeed, so natural is the 
 whole that its merit is often forgotten in the apparent 
 freedom of execution. 
 
 Although, strictly speaking, Titian had no feeling 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 373 
 
 for religious Art, yet his sacred subjects have been so 
 artistically treated, as to entirely eclipse, in the popular 
 mind, the numerous profane or classical pictures which 
 have issued from his pencil. The Borghese Gallery 
 at Rome owns the ‘ Entombment of Christ,’ by Raphael, 
 full of his touching sympathy and grace of expression. 
 The interest of this painting lies not so much in it as 
 a whole as in the wonderful feeling of parts. We 
 individualize the sentiments and associate ourselves 
 with the persons. Not so with Titian’s 4 Entomb¬ 
 ment’ in the Louvre. Nature harmonizes with the 
 mourners. The unity of the entire scene is kept 
 up, and we feel that we are gazing upon a solemn 
 reality. Its oneness admits of no divided atten¬ 
 tion. 
 
 Titian’s 4 Presentation of the Virgin,’ now in the 
 Academy of Fine Arts at Venice, displays his supe¬ 
 riority to Paul Veronese in architecture, which besides 
 being natural in position and design, has what the 
 other rarely gives, the quality of stone. The acces¬ 
 sories of landscape and domestic touches in this picture 
 are upon a par in excellence with the treatment of the 
 main subject. It includes, perhaps more than any 
 other work, the chief merits of Titian as a painter. 
 Each part is in its proper relation of quality and 
 design to the whole. In it, however, although he 
 displays dramatic effect and sumptuous treatment, he 
 fails in imaginative power. The idea is in the main 
 
374 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 borrowed from the older picture of the same subject 
 by Carpaccio. 
 
 Of all Titian’s grand compositions, the ‘ Peter 
 Martyr,’ on which he worked eight years, is the most 
 effective in technical power and intensity of expression. 
 His imagination, weaker than Tintoretto’s, and less 
 inventive than Raphael’s, makes no effort to reach the 
 sublime or superhuman, but it is wonderfully suc¬ 
 cessful in investing a natural scene with all the pro¬ 
 babilities of circumstance and spirit, calculated to 
 impress the spectator with its reality. In itself, the as¬ 
 sassination of the monk was a no more effective subject 
 than any vulgar murder. Titian has, however, worked 
 it up into a scene of startling truth, despite the draw¬ 
 backs of the bald heads and unpicturesque costume of 
 the sufferers. The locality is the edge of a dark 
 forest, made tenfold more gloomy under the effect of 
 departing day. The sky is filled with dense masses of 
 clouds, through which struggles a mysterious opalescent 
 light. His trees have a spectral look, yet are so true 
 to nature that their branches seem to move in the 
 night-wind, as it moans through their leaves. In the 
 far distance, just perceptible among them, an affrighted 
 horse and rider fly from the crime. But the eye 
 scarcely notices them, so intently does it rest upon the 
 fallen Peter, who vainly endeavors, with uplifted 
 hands, to avert the murderous blows of the assassin, 
 while even then his eyes brighten at the vision of 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 375 
 
 Paradise. To the left, a brother monk, wounded, and 
 with eyeballs starting in horror from his head, rushes 
 forward, confounded and not knowing where to go. 
 His heavy garments trail behind him by the velocity 
 of his motion. The involuntary exclamation at this 
 figure is, “ How he rushes!” More of sympathetic 
 horror, from merely a few natural causes, no artist 
 ever embodied into a painting. We have the crime in 
 its awful truth without the ghastliness and display of 
 gore which, as in Paul Veronese’s picture of the same 
 subject at Parma, weaken the effect by doing too 
 much violence to our physical nature. We indeed see 
 the wounds and trickling blood. These are, however, 
 but secondary objects. Above the dying monk, poised 
 in the air, amid a halo of celestial light, are beautiful 
 angels, waiting to welcome the spirit of the martyr 
 with crowns of everlasting joy. 
 
 No description can do justice to this picture. When 
 I last saw it it had been cleaned, not as is usual in 
 Italy to the detriment of Art, but so as to preserve its 
 original harmony and brilliancy. Tintoretto, Boni¬ 
 facio, Bellini, Palma, Paul Veronese, and other dis¬ 
 tinguished artists, are well represented in the church 
 of “San Giovanni e Paolo,” but all of them pale and 
 look heavy before the radiance of this glorious painting, 
 which from whatever point it is viewed illumines the 
 building. 
 
 No artist is more worthy of study than Titian, 
 
376 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 from the fact that he kept constantly in view that the 
 chief object of a painter was to -paint. Color was in 
 him as expressive of the idea as form, perhaps more so. 
 Painters generally are apt to lose sight of the import¬ 
 ance of color as language. By this neglect they 
 appear to less advantage in painting than in engraving 
 or outline ; whereas with Titian no engraving does him 
 justice . 1 
 
 Rembrandt was also a great colorist. He is not 
 
 1 Some excellent judges claim for Titian also a distinct religious 
 feeling in Art. Inasmuch as he approached the complete artist, he 
 had the capacity, in a high degree, of giving an appropriate expres¬ 
 sion to even his religious pictures ; but this was rather the result of 
 intellectual appreciation than of soul-sentiment. So great and well- 
 balanced a mind as his must have been in some degree devotional, 
 and imbued with a sense of the importance of religion. But it was 
 not with him the governing feeling, as with Giovanni Bellini. This 
 distinction between these two great artists is admirably shown in 
 the celebrated picture in the Camuccini Gallery at Borne, of which 
 the figures are by Bellini and the landscape by Titian ; and the 
 Venus and Adonis, hanging beside it, which is wholly Titian’s. In 
 mythological subjects, nature and all that constitutes free, yet 
 dignified life, sensuous action and high capacities of physical enjoy¬ 
 ment, or intellectual excitement, we find Titian conspicuous. On 
 the other hand, Bellini, who has brought Jupiter and his celestial 
 court to feast on earth, has wholly failed in spirit. Their carnal 
 feasting is a sad, labored affair; no one is enjoying himself; all 
 look as if guilty consciences or forced revelry disquieted them. 
 The artist had no feeling for such a scene, and therefore failed in 
 its treatment. The landscape of this picture is particularly solemn 
 and grand. There are no harmony of colors or unity of conception 
 in it, because neither artist painted on a common key, nor entered 
 into the motive of the composition ; yet it is, as a whole, one of the 
 most remarkable paintings in Europe, from its artistical associations 
 and peculiar treatment. 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 377 
 
 often viewed in this light, owing to the enchantment, 
 which he throws over his pictures by his management 
 of chiaro-oscuro. To appreciate his entire power his 
 great picture in the museum of Amsterdam must he 
 seen. This alone is an epoch in Art-life, because it 
 embraces all the excellencies in their highest degree 
 which make him unique among artists. Nowhere is 
 Rembrandt more himself. The composition is vast, 
 varied, full of motive, diversified in sentiment, yet in 
 color, design, and action in perfect unity. It is called 
 ‘ The Night Guard,’ though it would be as difficult to 
 assign it a name as to define the time of the scene. 
 The intention of Rembrandt was undoubtedly to 
 display his magic power. It must be judged, there¬ 
 fore, not so much in relation to probabilities of nature 
 as to the artistic skill of its author. The relief of the 
 figures is most wonderful. Each keeps its relative 
 position, one behind another, until the eye is lost in 
 the gloom of the obscure doorway. The colors are 
 tender, harmonious, and brilliant, reminding one of the 
 changeable hues of the opal, as each turn of the eye 
 develops some new combination of beauty. There 
 is nothing to explain the action of the piece, yet the 
 interest is fascinated. In no part is the skill of the 
 artist more displayed than in the transparency of his 
 shadows. But the most wonderful feature is the 
 manner of illuminating the picture. No one can say 
 whence comes the light. It is not of day, nor of 
 
378 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 night, it cannot be called that of the moon nor of 
 torches; yet there is a bewitching illumination over 
 the whole, as far removed from the spectral as from 
 the natural. Rembrandt’s genius alone can solve the 
 mystery. 
 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 379 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ART IN RELATION TO ARTISTS—THE LANDSCAPE 
 MASTERS. 
 
 Thus far inyny brief notice of painting I have confined 
 myself to the higher branches of religions or historical 
 Art. Of the painters of indoor and common life I do 
 not intend to treat, because there is something in 
 every refined mind which instinctly leads it to accept 
 the true and reject the false, in objects familiar to 
 heart associations. This refers to the motive rather 
 than to the execution; but I have already said enough, 
 it is to be hoped, to lessen the admiration for external 
 finish by which so many test their appreciation of Art. 
 If not, let them examine carefully the portraits of 
 Denner. No man ever half so carefully finished the 
 human exterior. Every wrinkle, pore, each hair, and 
 the minutest fraction of skin-surface, are all elabor¬ 
 ately worked out and colored after life. Yet I never 
 saw a portrait of his that did not thrill me with dis¬ 
 gust. I would as soon have a flayed animal in my 
 
380 
 
 ART-IIINTS. 
 
 room as one of his heads. They are suggestive ot 
 nothing but nerres and blood-vessels. In striking con- 
 trast with his works are the portraits of Holbein and 
 Kranach ; hard, unnatural in outline, valueless in color, 
 and as unlike the mere physical as possible, yet pleasing 
 from their sincerity and character. In them we find 
 evidences of something better than mere finger-work. 
 
 The natural world, chiefly in landscape, has become 
 the favorite Art of this century. This argues a whole¬ 
 some taste. Of the old, conventional, religious land¬ 
 scape, we have but few recent examples. Each artist 
 affects to go to Nature, because the public mind insists 
 upon nothing less. Many, however, deceive them¬ 
 selves and their friends by shamming what they have 
 not the resolution to pursue. 
 
 Correggio, considering his time, took perhaps the 
 greatest step in divesting landscape Art of its previous 
 stiffness and formalism. He attempts the freedom 
 and grace of Nature, particularly in his foregrounds. 
 To Titian, however, landscape is most indebted. Al¬ 
 though he never wholly freed himself from the old 
 system, yet his landscapes, as a whole, are simple and 
 broad in character, giving the general features of 
 Nature, though not its variety. That which, however, 
 he rendered in foreground detail, is given with perfect 
 fidelity of form and color. Grandeur and majesty 
 were his chief aims. We are impressed, however, both 
 by the general spirit of his views, and by the excellence 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINT NG. 381 
 
 of detached parts. His ‘ St. Jerome,’ in the Brera 
 Gallery at Milan, is a happy example of how far he 
 could steep Nature in his imagination, adhering to 
 her truths but investing them with occult meaning. 
 Landscape with him, however, is always an accessory. 
 One of the most attractive views, from the extent and 
 variety he introduces, is to be seen in his Dresden 
 ‘ Venus.’ Nature, in his hands, always maintains its 
 dignity. In his skies there is perhaps a somewhat 
 artificial rendering of light, as if he sought to exag¬ 
 gerate effects by a species of twilight mystery. He 
 never painted actual sunlight, but tried to give a 
 luminous, serious effect, in harmony with his subjects. 
 Sometimes, as in his ‘ St. Catherine,’ in the Pitti 
 Palace, the clouds are hard and monstrous, rendering 
 his distant hills of blue, in comparison, quite trans¬ 
 parent. These effects were, however, before his style 
 in this branch was fully formed. Later, particularly 
 in his trees, he was unrivalled, both in truth of quality 
 and outline. In general, his water is liquid and his 
 earth dry, telling with solidity against his sky, while 
 his light is subtly and equally diffused throughout his 
 pictures. 
 
 Tintoretto felt landscape, and had a greater grasp 
 of imagination, but with less ability in technical ex¬ 
 pression than Titian. The world can judge of an 
 artist’s power only by its results. It has neither 
 time nor inclination to spend over the illegible. The 
 
382 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 artist, therefore, who slurs his work from impatience, 
 or aims only at coarse effect, like stage scenery, paying 
 no attention to the purity and permanency of his ma¬ 
 terials, must, like Tintoretto, reconcile himself either 
 to be forgotten or overlooked by the public. There 
 is no injustice in this, because genius has no authority 
 to outlaw the vehicles of its thought. To be success¬ 
 ful it must be considerate in all things. 
 
 Salvator Rosa gives confused dreams of the natural 
 world. Much that is false in quality, or strained in 
 sentiment, he mixes with occasional bits of truth, 
 fresh and vigorous from Nature. He had power and 
 will, but lacked judgment and patience. He did 
 much, however, to recall love for open healthful scenery, 
 and the motive and execution of his landscapes have 
 yet power to charm. 
 
 In Claude we see more truthful results from inferior 
 natural abilities. He had no invention or taste in 
 composition. Consequently his landscapes, in general, 
 are unpleasantly artificial, indeed, I may say, little in 
 thought. But in his direct studies from Nature—at 
 all events in one, the ‘ Roman Campagna before 
 Sunrise,’ in a private collection, comparatively un¬ 
 touched—there are more breadth, space, and atmo¬ 
 sphere than I have ever seen in any other painting 
 of his. Architecture, such as then was the fashion, 
 was in him a passion. He built it upon his canvases 
 after a cold and stately ideal of his own, which reminds 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 383 
 
 one more of castles in the air than actual habitable 
 mansions. In drawing and variety he was feeble, but 
 in the great qualities of sky, earth, and water, he 
 created an epoch in Art. An uninjured Claude is a 
 rare object. Almost every one of his pictures have 
 been more or less skinned, to use an expressive term, 
 by the carelessness of cleaners. Instead of their origi¬ 
 nal luminosity, we have cold, dry surfaces, yet, even in 
 their loss, so infinitely surpassing in quality the attempts 
 of other artists, as to still claim for Claude the first 
 position as a painter of the grand elements of nature. 
 
 A sea-view of Claude’s in the Academy of St. Luke, 
 at Rome, and in the Dulwich Gallery, near London, 
 a small picture, called, I believe, the £ Enchanted 
 Castle,’ and two others, in the collections of Mr 
 Rogers and Mr. Baring, most favorably present his rare 
 merits. In depth and unity of color, subtle gradation of 
 light and shade, sparkling liquidity of water, solidity of 
 stone, and opacity of earth and transparency of atmo¬ 
 sphere, they are unrivalled. The water of these pictures 
 is natural in quality; it brings with it the refreshing 
 breeze and musical ripple, and suggests those moments 
 in which Nature is most charming. His sun is not a 
 glaring white spot, but shines, diffusing light equally 
 through the picture; it borrows no external rays, hut 
 covers all things within its influence with a trembling, 
 luminous atmosphere of its own. The vegetation of 
 some of his trees is massed with great naturalness. 
 
384 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 When Art is so much indebted to one man, it seems 
 like sacrilege to notice his deficiencies; but they are 
 necessary to he exhibited as warnings to other artists to 
 strive after a complete whole, while, with people at 
 large, Claude will be remembered only by his diligence 
 and success in making us feel the power of Art to 
 transfer to canvas those general features which most 
 constitute our delight in the natural world. 
 
 We have thus far considered andscape Art, in 
 connection with its masters, rather in parts than in 
 wholes. None of the artists mentioned, not even 
 Gainsborough, with all his power and love of Nature, 
 can be compared to Turner in knowledge of landscape. 
 To England is the honor due of producing the most 
 complete landscapist; one who has shown us the capa¬ 
 bility of Art to make us feel the variety as well as 
 grandeur of Nature. Turner was to the landscape 
 what Raphael was to the human figure ; each embodied 
 in his branch of Art, a certain grace of expression, 
 whether in repose or movement, hitherto unequalled. 
 Everything that either touched, lived; its vital func¬ 
 tions were at once fully developed. As complete, 
 however, as was the external expression of each, we 
 feel that the former has but suggested what remains to 
 be done in comparison with the latter, who, in his 
 water-colors, has created a new era in Art. Turner 
 gave the physical truths of Nature, on every scale, 
 with a fidelity and variety which placed him far above 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 385 
 
 preceding landscapists. Through his works Nature 
 talks to us; she smiles or frowns, incites to action or 
 invites to repose, as may be her mind. To no artist is 
 the lover of Nature more indebted than to Turner; for 
 he has established a standard of truth in Art from 
 which the world will not readily forgive departure. 
 The universality of his genius in this respect is re¬ 
 markable. Other landscapists have contented them¬ 
 selves with being distinguished in parts ; but he aimed 
 at the great whole. Nothing that God had created and 
 endowed with beauty, from an Alp to a limpet, es¬ 
 caped his notice. His true field was Nature ; but in 
 the works of man he could equally distinguish himself. 
 Few artists had ever drawn architecture like Turner ; 
 witness his cathedral at Rouen, in his ‘ Rivers of France.’ 
 Ships, too, were his delight; he revelled in ocean 
 sublimity and mountain grandeur. His heart was no 
 less open to the joy of the plains and the quiet of valleys. 
 Whatever he undertook he touched lovingly; at times 
 carelessly, it is true, and even wantonly, but always 
 with power and meaning. In no respect is his genius 
 more apparent than in his management of Nature, by 
 which, in general, he instinctively seized upon her 
 happiest moments and most beautiful aspects. The 
 trivial and commonplace seldom found sympathy in 
 him, because he felt that in interpreting Nature, his 
 mission was to be faithful to her highest instincts. 
 
 The true field of Turner was the natural world, 
 
 S 
 
386 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 Whenever he aspired to the supernatural, as in the 
 illustrations of Milton, and even the fanciful, as in 
 some of those of Campbell, he failed. His failure is 
 the more prominent from its position in the poems, 
 which shows that in imaginative grasp and beautiful 
 imagery, he was not only unequal to those minds, but * 
 incompetent, even with their aid, to soar equally high ; 
 but when called upon to illustrate natural scenery or 
 domestic life, he then showed himself also a poet. 
 
 His drawings have an exquisite sense of harmony. 
 
 In gradations and variety he carefully studied Nature. 
 One of his chief merits is that he suggests more than 
 he represents. Feeling is conspicuous in his work ; 
 consequently we fail to exhaust his work, but go to it 
 again and again, ever discovering some new beauty or 
 thought. We feel the inability of material to portray 
 his complete idea. There is a sublimity of expression 
 in Nature beyond Art to render, but of which Turner, 
 more than any other artist, makes us sensible; indeed, 
 in the making up of his landscape world, he condenses 
 so much of the noblest and loveliest elements of the 
 natural, that we feel his ideal, while recognising the 
 truthfulness of the actual scenery. He catches the 
 best expression of Nature. While Turner has labored 
 as the prophet of Nature to make us perceive her 
 beauty and sublimity, Ruskin, in no less degree, has 
 wrought as the apostle, to make us comprehend her 
 truths. To these two Art-souls the world is more 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, ANI) PAINTING. 387 
 
 indebted than the present generation may confess. To 
 name the drawings and engravings which stamp 
 Turner as the greatest master of landscape, would be 
 to fill a volume; he was as prolific and various as he 
 was cultivated. We see that he embodied both power 
 and diligence. There are in him no traces of academic 
 teachings; every line breathes of the pure school of 
 Nature. 
 
 As a painter , however, I cannot consider Turner 
 great. He had not that same delicate feeling for 
 color that he had for form; or rather he sought to 
 carry out in oil the same principle which gave him 
 success in water-colors, and failed in consequence of 
 pitching his key too high. Those who seek to esta¬ 
 blish his reputation on this basis do him an injury, and 
 mislead the public in their appreciation of the harmony 
 of color. We can only judge of his oil-pictures as we 
 now find them. They are all fresh in years, and by 
 the ordinary effects of time should be richer in tone 
 than when finished. If Turner was careless or experi- 
 mentive in his materials, so that his colors have not 
 only become opaque, but are changed and even falling 
 from his canvas, he lacked an essential feature of a 
 great painter. On his engravings and drawings must 
 rest for the future his reputation as an artist. There 
 are great paintings of his still in perfect condition, but 
 they are of his early days, when he prided himself 
 upon triumphing over Claude, Salvator, Yandevelde, 
 
388 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 and Cuyp, each in their particular excellence. I have 
 seen even a favorable attempt of his to copy Titian 
 in color. 
 
 These pictures are sufficient to give him much repu¬ 
 tation as a painter, but not to establish him as a great 
 colorist. His power over water is more apparent in 
 form than hue, which is slightly dry; but he so far 
 excels all other artists, even in luminous liquidity, 
 who have painted the ocean in mass—the quiet bits of 
 water by Claude are not to be considered as ocean— 
 that we think of failure in him only in comparison with 
 nature itself. In his ‘ Landing of the Prince of 
 Orange,’ how gloriously the barge lifts on the swell, 
 which is all motion , and passes away in the salt-mist 
 that half-veils the distant vessels. There are brine 
 and tar and bilge-water, the creaking of blocks and 
 the running of ropes, the dull fog-muffled sound of 
 cannon and the quick stroke of oars, the lazy pitch of 
 the hull and the flapping of canvas, in all this. We 
 can cast hook and line in this water and they will go 
 to the bottom : whereas with almost all other artists— 
 even Stanfield’s is viscid—St. Peter would have needed 
 no miracle to have saved him from sinking. 
 
 I have by me a little sea-view by Professor Gamba, 
 of Turin, which, next to Turner, has more of ocean 
 quality in drawing and color than any other that I have 
 seen. It is blowing freshly, the sea is tossed and 
 broken into a thousand fantastic shapes near shore, and 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 389 
 
 riled by the disturbed sand from the bottom, while the 
 horizon is yesty with foam and roughened by huge waves 
 that sullenly move before the wind. Unfortunately 
 the sky is hard, though the water is liquid motion. 
 
 Turner’s fame as an oil painter by some is made 
 to rest upon his later style. I was attracted to 
 London, solely by their encomiums, to see the Art- 
 wonders so enthusiastically indorsed. At the risk ot 
 being all wrong myself I shall frankly give my own 
 views, which, so far as in me lie, are founded upon the 
 broad principles of Art. The remarks will apply 
 exclusively to those works which Turner himself 
 esteemed his best, and willed to the British nation. 
 
 I have already sufficiently conceded his great merits 
 as a general artist. Further than this I would say, 
 that in some of his recent pictures there are portions 
 of color that sparkle with light, and are true to Nature ; 
 but they are so rare, as we now see his pictures, as to 
 seem exceptions to his general tone. 
 
 Turner, being deficient in color, lacked the first 
 essential of a painter. In his paintings in his own 
 gallery he failed in more than this. My first impres¬ 
 sion upon viewing these pictures was that they were 
 the freaks of a madman. They reminded me of the 
 effect of frost upon a window, attractive from its un¬ 
 meaning variety of forms, though sometimes resolving 
 itself into the likeness of natural objects. 
 
 In these pictures Turner appears to have departed 
 
390 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 from all those qualities which make his water-colors 
 so valuable. There is nothing of Nature in them. 
 Occasionally some familiar object is suggested, but 
 there is no certainty, even after close study, of the 
 motive, and scarcely of the form. With many, the 
 time chosen, especially in the Venetian pictures, is when 
 the sunlight is strongest, and we naturally fly from its 
 glare. If his ambition were to rival Nature’s in- 
 tensest light, he has, as all painters must, signally 
 failed. The pictures present glaring white surfaces, 
 spotted with positive colors, laid on with a dash of the 
 brush or the fingers, with little or no attention to form ; 
 an intense blue for the upper sky, but all color opaque, 
 and the canvas so heavily loaded that in many places 
 the paint has dried, cracked, and dropped off. Where, 
 as in the Napoleon, he has aimed at strength of color, 
 he has given only an unintelligible glare of blood-red 
 and spotty-black over a white surface, on which form 
 is almost wholly untraceable, so that the picture is more 
 like an artistic nightmare than a coherent thought. 
 
 His ‘ Hail, Rain, and Steam,’ is no less untrue to 
 Nature. The bridges are mere ghosts of substance. 
 Both earth and water are equally destitute of quality. 
 The sky is far more solid than the stone-work. It 
 has no luminosity whatever, but is actually falling to 
 pieces from its own weight of paint. Even the loco¬ 
 motive, which should have the appearance of metal at 
 least, is a mere phantom. The iron-work, which 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 391 
 
 naturally suggests strength and capacity, is made up 
 of a thin glazing of black. In short, lie has reversed 
 the first principles of painting, leaving solids trans¬ 
 parent and making liquids solid, and pitching all upon 
 so high a key as to offend the eye. Now this is not 
 the work of a sane man. It may be a freakish display 
 of power, an endeavor to accomplish impossible ends 
 through frail materials, or an attempt to dazzle by 
 eccentricity ; but it is not the labor of an artist, rich in 
 the experience of time, diligent and patient, and loyal 
 to Nature’s truths. 
 
 Too much strength to color cannot be given. Its 
 power lies in this. The tints must be harmonized and 
 scumbled into luminosity, not left positive and opaque. 
 Nature overpowers vision by her brightness ; but in her 
 most gorgeous sunsets the sky is full of cool, whitish 
 greys, which amalgamate with and permeate the 
 richer tints, giving them that quivering transparency 
 which is so dazzlingly attractive. We want luminous 
 and liquid air, and not plain white or blue paint, 
 which Turner has given. His skies are spotty and 
 hard. They do not illuminate. The bright atmo¬ 
 spherical colors should appear of prismatic tenderness 
 of outline and texture as in the rainbow, arching space. 
 Solid pigments will not express the qualities of either 
 sky, flesh, or water. 
 
 Yet Turner lavishly employs them for these effects; 
 and when he seeks to render solidity and dryness gives 
 
392 
 
 ART-HINTS. 
 
 an almost ethereal lightness of color. So much faith 
 had he in his method that he often relied on color more 
 than his drawing to suggest objects. The consequence 
 is, that in all this class of pictures, he bewilders the 
 mind by his palpable violations of the first truths of 
 Art. Titian, on the contrary, although relying on the 
 enchantments of color for his greatest effects, never 
 disturbed its harmony by gross departures from the 
 general unity of form and spirit. Turner occasionally 
 indulged in mere tricks. Titian always worked on 
 broad principles. The latter will live through all time 
 by the permanency of his works. The former must 
 depend upon the engraver for his general fame, while 
 his highest merit can be known only to the few who 
 possess or have the opportunity to study his best water- 
 color drawings . 1 
 
 1 America has the promise of a distinguished artist in Mr. Til- 
 ten, now in Rome. He is yet young, twenty-four years of age; 
 but with an innate feeling for color, practical knowledge of ma¬ 
 terial, and devotion for high Art, that I have rarely seen equalled. 
 Among the few landscapes that he has painted, there are some that 
 are natural poems, vital with thought. He has yet fully to express 
 himself. But in the qualities of the landscape, the making felt the 
 differences between earth, atmosphere, and water, his works in these 
 particulars are unrivalled. The eye brings not up upon opaque 
 paint, but passes into space ; quivering moist air, peopled with 
 cloud-forms varied and delicate in shape and color, like the 
 harmonies of Nature itself. So surprising are his atmospherical 
 effects, that upon inverting his pictures, the spectators have com¬ 
 plained of being made dizzy by the apparent aerial motion. It is 
 premature, however, to speak of an artist who yet is only giving 
 signs of his future. Mr. Page, another American at Rome, in color, 
 expression, and feeling, has the attributes of a great artist. No 
 
ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, AND PAINTING. 393 
 
 Unfortunately, for him, engraving cannot do his 
 varied powers, as exhibited in the minute gradations 
 and subtle forms of Nature, full justice. Neither does 
 it thus far adequately represent Gainsborough, Titian, 
 Raphael, Leonardo, or any great mind. Turner has 
 challenged comparison with Claude, by hanging two 
 of his works, in the National Gallery at London, 
 between two of that artist’s, one of which is an in¬ 
 different copy, and the other, if original, inferior to other 
 Claudes in the same room. Turner is by far the 
 greater artist. We find in him an imaginative power 
 and feeling, in short a genius, to which Claude was a 
 stranger. He is great, however, in these pictures in 
 parts, and not as a whole. His color is hot and harsh, 
 as in his ‘ Building of Carthage,’ and the attempt to 
 eclipse Claude in his particular method of composi¬ 
 tion is too apparent. The latter, not in these two 
 pictures, which by no means fairly represent him, but 
 in those that are undoubtedly genuine, please more 
 from their harmony of color and general unity of 
 Nature’s chief elements. 
 
 The grace of Raphael, color of Titian, and variety 
 of Turner, harmonized into one soul, would make the 
 complete artist. 
 
 painter of modern times, in color and scientific knowledge, particu¬ 
 larly in his portraits, so nearly approaches Titian. But no artist 
 can be classed as truly great until he has manifested himself in great 
 thoughts as well as perfect execution. 
 
( 394 ) 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 In looking over tlie biographies of many distinguished 
 artists, I have been struck by their longevity. Be¬ 
 lieving that a table of their ages would be not without 
 interest, I have prepared one of those mentioned in this 
 volume. In some instances the dates are approximative, 
 but the results, as far as can be, are correctly given. 
 
 Born. 
 
 Died. 
 
 
 Age. 
 
 1471 
 
 1528 
 
 Albert Durer 
 
 57 
 
 1578 
 
 1660 
 
 Albano. 
 
 82 
 
 1387 
 
 1455 
 
 Angelico, Fra 
 
 68 
 
 1530 
 
 after 
 
 1621 
 
 Anguisciola, Sofonisba 
 
 90 
 
 1488 
 
 1530 
 
 Andrea del Sarto . 
 
 42 
 
 1469 
 
 1517 
 
 Bartolomeo . 
 
 48 
 
 1487 
 
 1559 
 
 Bandinelli 
 
 . 72 
 
 1510 
 
 1592 
 
 Bassano 
 
 . 82 
 
 1528 
 
 1612 
 
 Baroccio 
 
 . 84 
 
 1421 
 
 1501 
 
 Bellini, Gentile 
 
 . 80 
 
 1426 
 
 1516 
 
 Bellini, Giovanni . 
 
 . 90 
 
 1500 
 
 1572 
 
 Benvenuto Cellini . 
 
 . 72 
 
 1598 
 
 1680 
 
 Bernini 
 
 . 82 
 
 1480 
 
 1561 
 
 Berreguete . 
 
 . 81 
 
 1444 
 
 1514 
 
 Bramante 
 
 . 70 
 
 
 1567? 
 
 Bronzino 
 
 . 69 
 
 1377 
 
 1446 
 
 Brunalleschi . 
 
 . 69 
 
 1556 
 
 1619 
 
 Carracci, Lodovico. 
 
 . 63 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Born. 
 
 Died. 
 
 
 Age. 
 
 1560 
 
 1609 
 
 Carracci, Annibale . 
 
 . 49 
 
 1569 
 
 1609 
 
 Caravaggio . 
 
 . 40 
 
 1616 
 
 1686 
 
 Carlo, Dolce . 
 
 . 70 
 
 1625 
 
 1713 
 
 Carlo, Maratta 
 
 . 88 
 
 1240 
 
 1300 
 
 Cimabue 
 
 . 60 
 
 1600 
 
 1682 
 
 Claude Lorraine 
 
 . 82 
 
 1494 
 
 1534 
 
 Correggio 
 
 . 40 
 
 1748 
 
 1825 
 
 David, Louis. 
 
 . 77 
 
 1581 
 
 1641 
 
 Domenicbino 
 
 . 60 
 
 1383 
 
 1466 
 
 Donatello 
 
 . 83 
 
 1526 
 
 1579 
 
 El Mudo 
 
 . 53 
 
 1239 
 
 1312 
 
 Gaddo, Gaddi 
 
 . 73 
 
 1387 
 
 1455 
 
 Gentile da Fabriano 
 
 . 68 
 
 1377 
 
 1455 
 
 Ghiberti, Lorenzo . 
 
 . 78 
 
 1477 
 
 1511 
 
 Giorgione 
 
 . 34 
 
 1632 
 
 1705 
 
 Giordano, Luca 
 
 . 73 
 
 1276 
 
 1337 
 
 Giotto . 
 
 . 61 
 
 
 1470? 
 
 Gozzolo, Benozzo . 
 
 . 78 
 
 1575 
 
 1642 
 
 Guido, Beni . 
 
 . 67 
 
 1498 
 
 1554 
 
 Hans Holbein 
 
 . 56 
 
 1697 
 
 1764 
 
 Hogarth 
 
 . 67 
 
 1590 
 
 1678 
 
 J ordaens 
 
 . 84 
 
 1452 
 
 1519 
 
 Leonardo da Yinci 
 
 . 61 
 
 1400 
 
 1469 
 
 Lippi, Filippo 
 
 . 69 
 
 after 
 
 1531 
 
 Lorenzo da Credi . 
 
 . 78 
 
 1401 
 
 1443 
 
 Massacio 
 
 . 42 
 
 1474 
 
 1563 
 
 Michael Angelo 
 
 . 89 
 
 1509 
 
 1586 
 
 Morales 
 
 . 77 
 
 1618 
 
 1682 
 
 Murillo 
 
 . 64 
 
 1329 
 
 1389 
 
 Orcagna 
 
 . 60 
 
 1610 
 
 1685 
 
 Ostade, A. 
 
 . 75 
 
 395 
 
396 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Born. 
 
 Died. 
 
 Palma the elder 
 
 Age. 
 
 . 4S 
 
 1544 
 
 1628 
 
 Palma the younger 
 
 . 84 
 
 1503 
 
 1540 
 
 Parmigiano , 
 
 . 37 
 
 1625 
 
 1654 
 
 Paul Potter . 
 
 . 29 
 
 1528 
 
 1588 
 
 Paul Veronese 
 
 . 60 
 
 1446 
 
 1524 
 
 Perugino 
 
 . 78 
 
 — 
 
 1498? Pollaiulo 
 
 . 72 
 
 1594 
 
 1665 
 
 Poussin, Nicolo 
 
 . 71 
 
 1613 
 
 1675 
 
 Poussin, Gaspar 
 
 . 62 
 
 1485 
 
 1520 
 
 Eaphael 
 
 . 37 
 
 1606 
 
 1674 
 
 Rembrandt . 
 
 . 68 
 
 1577 
 
 1640 
 
 Rubens . 
 
 . 60 
 
 1605 
 
 1685 
 
 Sassoferrato . 
 
 . 80 
 
 1615 
 
 1673 
 
 Salvator Rosa 
 
 . 58 
 
 1479 
 
 1570 
 
 Sansovino 
 
 . 91 
 
 1597 
 
 1684 
 
 Subtermans . 
 
 . 84 
 
 1610 
 
 1690 
 
 Teniers, D. . 
 
 . 80 
 
 1548 
 
 1625 
 
 Theoticopuli (El Greco) . 77 
 
 1477 
 
 1576 
 
 Titian . 
 
 . 99 
 
 1512 
 
 1594 
 
 Tintoretto 
 
 . 82 
 
 
 1852 
 
 Turner. 
 
 . 80? 
 
 1389 
 
 1472 
 
 Ucello, Paolo 
 
 . 83 
 
 1599 
 
 1640 
 
 Vandyke 
 
 '. 42 
 
 1633 
 
 1707 
 
 Vandevelde . 
 
 . 71 
 
 1712 
 
 1786 
 
 Vernet, Joseph 
 
 . 72 
 
 1370 
 
 1440 
 
 Van Eyck, Gio. 
 
 . 71 
 
 1512 
 
 1574 
 
 Vasari . 
 
 . 62 
 
 1702 
 
 1788 
 
 Zucherelli 
 
 . 86 
 
 The average of life of the above seventy-seven artists 
 is upwards of sixty-eight years and six months. Forty- 
 two lived to he 70 and upwards, and twenty-two from 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 397 
 
 80 to 99 years of age, wliile but four died short of 40 
 Paul Potter and Titian were the extremes. 
 
 The prices of pictures are worthy of note. I will 
 quote a few, as illustrative of their value in different 
 ages, and the pecuniary difference between the living 
 and the dead artist. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable that objects of art com¬ 
 manded greater prices in antiquity than in modem 
 times. Apelles sold his painting of 4 Alexander grasp¬ 
 ing the Thunderbolt,’ which was deposited in the 
 Temple of Diana, at Ephesus, for 211,000 dollars, ox 
 about 43,000?. 
 
 The highest price paid in our day—mark the dif¬ 
 ference, it being two centuries after it was painted— 
 was for Murillo’s 4 Assumption,’ which brought, in 
 Prance, 125,000 dollars, or 25,000?. 
 
 The ‘ Saint Jerome’ of Correggio was executed by 
 him for a price equivalent to about 200 dollars. In 
 1749, the King of Portugal offered 90,000 dollars for it. 
 When the French had possession of Parma, the Duke 
 vainly offered 200,000 dollars, or a million of francs, to 
 redeem it from being sent to Paris. 
 
 Correggio’s 4 Magdalen,’ at Dresden, was valued 
 at 27,000 dollars, at its purchase with other paint¬ 
 ings. 
 
 A 4 Holy Family’ of Murillo’s, in the National 
 Gallery at London, was bought for 31,000 dollars. 
 
 Prince Demidoff, in 1837, at the sale of the Berri 
 gallery, paid 45,000 dollars for fourteen pictures, one 
 of which, the 4 Breakfast of Ham,’ by Teniers, sold for 
 4,900 dollars. 
 
 At the same sale, Demidoff paid 7,500 dollars for the 
 
398 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ‘ Pasturage,’ by Paul Potter. In 1806, one of his 
 pictures was bought in London for 9,600 dollars. 
 
 The best Ruysdaels are now esteemed at from 5,000 
 to 6,000 dollars each. A century ago they could have 
 been bought for the tenth of that sum. 
 
 Ostade’s pictures are still more valuable. In 1837, 
 his ‘ Village Dance ’ brought 4,400 dollars. 
 
 The two famous Claudes of the British Gallery 
 were sold in 1804 for 20,000 dollars each. A good 
 Claude readily brings from 5,000 to 20,000 dollars, 
 according to its merit. 
 
 Rembrandt’s pictures are equally in esteem, being 
 worth from 1,000 to 15,000 dollars each. In 1844, two 
 of his portraits brought 3,500 and 4,900 dollars respec¬ 
 tively. 
 
 In 1817, West received 4,000 dollars, or 800/., for his 
 ‘ Annunciation.’ In 1840 it was sold by auction for 
 10/., or 50 dollars. 
 
 It would be a curious inquiry to trace the price of 
 celebrated works of Art, from the time they left their 
 authors’ studios to the present day. But the above 
 examples are sufficient to give an idea of the varying 
 pecuniary estimation put upon Art by dealers and 
 amateurs. Turner’s pictures have risen fourfold since 
 his death. As a general rule, I should say, that works of 
 Art have increased in value threefold within the present 
 century—a favorable symptom for artists and the public. 
 
 THE END. 
 



 
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