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Deposited by the
Linonian and Brothers Library

THE

HISTOEY OF CIVILIZATION,

AMOS DEAN, LL.D.

IN SEVEN VOLUMES.

VOL. VII.

ALBANY, N. T. :
JOEL MUNSELL. 1869.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1869,
By A. H. Deah,
In the Clerk's office of the District Conrt of the United States,
for the Northern District of New York.

J3 23 v.1

CONTENTS

EUROPEAN ART. Page.
Objective Arts, . . . Architecture, - ' 6
Sculpture, - - 82
Painting, - ... 128
Subjective Arts, . . Music, - - - - 261
Poetry, .... 304
Eloquence, - - - 424
• Mixed Arts,  The Drama, - 460
The Military Art, - - 516
Index, ... - 599
List of Subscribers, - 625

('

HISTOEY OF CIVILIZATION.

EUROPEAN ART.
Art, in some of its phases, is wholly wedded to the beaur
tiful ; and may be expressed as thought realized in some
form of beauty or sublimity. This relates more especially
to the fine arts ; those of architecture, sculpture, and paint
ing ; in which the forms of physical beauty are so moulded
by the hand of genius as to serve a higher purpose in the
production of moral beauty. The arts of a people are,
however, by no means limited to those of design. The
mental arts of music, poetry, and eloquence, possess as strong
a claim upon the aesthetic nature of man as those of archi
tecture,- sculpture, and painting. Nor is a limit found here.
There is art in dramatic representation. There is art in
sieges and battles; in attack and defense. The question
then arises, how- are we to define art in its most exten
sive signification? "What is the subject upon which it
operates ? What is the reason or final cause of its opera
tion ? And where is the limit or ultimate termination of
all its action ?
Let us say then that art is " an habitual power in man,
of becoming the cause of some effect, according to a system
of various and well approved precepts." That it is a
power wielded by man for the production of some effect is
obvious. The habit of its exercise is also essential to con-
vnj 1 •

2 HISTOEY OF CIVILIZATION.
stitute the artist, because no purely instinctive or impulsive
action can ever be artistic. Again, its exercise must be
guided. The canons of art, its rules and precepts, must be
¦ obeyed. When this habitual power is directed in its exer
cise according to a system of well approved rules and pre
cepts, the result is a creation of art.
The next inquiry relates to the subject upon which it
operates. And the answer here is, that " it is only on the
contingent, which is within the reach of the human powers
to influence." The great primal causes that lie at the
foundation of all movement, the essential essences of things,
the immutable and necessary in nature, that with which
science is more strictly conversant, can never become the
subject of art. All these can be influenced by no other
than the power which has created them. But there is a
lower order of existences, such as the elements and their
different combinations, which are subject to interruptions,
variations, and contingences, and these lie within the do
main of art. Such are earth, air, water, fire, vegetables,
animals, man. These may be influenced by human power,
and may, therefore, become the subjects of art.
If we have found a subject upon which art can operate,
and if, in its operation, it becomes the cause which, acting
upon a system of rules, precepts and canons, becomes pro
ductive of some effect, it is obvious there must be some
thing to set this machinery in motion, some reason to
which this active agency may be traced, some final cause
or motive adequate to set it in operation. The next in
quiry naturally arising is, where shall we find this ? It '
exists in the yearnings of our aesthetic nature after some
imaginary good. But this good, although not capable of
strict definition, may, nevertheless, be reduced within cer
tain limits. It must not be of impossible attainment. To
seek seriously after that which, belongs to higher natures,,
and can minister only to their enjoyment, would mark the
maniac, and not the reasonable man. Neither must it be
a good that has no relation to human life, or any of its

EUROPEAN ART. 3
pursuits. It maybe a fancied good to fly like the eagle, or
to possess the physical power of the lion, but no sane
dreamer would ever expect either. Once more, it must
not be a good so obvious and easy that every man in his
ordinary state and condition is able to make the acquisition
- without labor or application. The absence of that good,
which mere instinctive impulsive effort can secure, will
never give origin to art. We may then define this reason,
final cause, or motive, to be " the want or absence of some- .
thing appearing good, relative to human life, and attain
able by man ; but superior to his natural and uninstructed
faculties." The only inquiry remaining, relates to the limit, or ulti
mate termination, of all its action, the end attained by it.
This end is either an energy or a work. All art is ex
pended either in present energy, or in a work completed.
The former has a more direct application to mental arts,
the latter to the fine arts. The execution of a piece of
music ; the strong working of poetical inspiration ; the
powerful appeals of eloquence ; are so many exhibitions of
a present acting and powerful energy. But the arts of
design presenting themselves to us in the -finished edifice,
the perfect statue, the completed painting, afford us speci
mens of the work itself after the energy that produced it
has ceased.
Thus bringing these various things together we would
say that "art is an habitual power in man, of becoming
the cause of some effect, according to a system of various
and well approved precepts ; that it acts only on the con
tingent, which is within the reach of the human powers to
influence; that its final cause or motive is the absence or
want of something appearing good, relative to human life,
and attainable by man, but superior to his natural and
uninstructed faculties ; and that it will be accomplished
and ended in an energy or a work."
Having thus defined art, its subject, final cause, and end,
we proceed next to its classification. The topics we shall

HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.

include among the arts have a three-fold division. They
are arranged according to the following plan :

1. Objective

2. Subjective

3. Mixed. .

Architecture. Sculpture.
Painting.
' Music.
Poetry.
_ Eloquence.
Art Dramatic.
Art Military.

The principle involved in this classification answers the
inqujry where we may find that indefinable something,
whether it be the beautiful, the sublime, or a hidden har
mony, that reveals the true spirit and essence of art. In
all those included in the first class it is to be found in the
object. Whether it be the well proportioned structure,
the faultless statue, or the splendid painting, it is from the
object that the soul of art looks forth, to awaken in our
aesthetic nature the love of itself. Hence we term this the
objective. It includes the arts of design. It is intended to
embrace all those cases in which genius seeks the realiza
tion of its high ideal, through the objective realities of the
material world.
The second class embraces arts of a very different cha
racter. Genius is not here found going to external nature,
transforming it into its own creations, and bringing it
back to mind as the umpire of its success. It does not
leave the place of its birth. It subjects the mind itself to
its own dominion. Through the operation of powers that
are purely mental, it breathes forth in tones of harmony
and melody ; embodies its bright conceptions of the ideal
in the seraphic strains and harmonious numbers of poesy ;
and quickens thought, arouses passion, stirs the secret
depths of the soul, and prompts to all life's activities,

EUROPEAN ART. 5
through its insinuating, seductive and irresistible elo
quence. It is, therefore, that we term this the subjective,
the embodiment by the mind of its own powers for the
accomplishment of its own purposes.
There is a third class of cases that do not appear to come
exclusively under either the objective or subjective. The
dramatic art derives from the subjective, or mind, the drama ;
while the pleasure experienced by the hearer arises wholly
from its objective exhibition upon the stage. So also the
military art is indebted to the subjective for its system of
tactics, while their actual working in the siege and on the
battle-field is wholly objective. We have, therefore, de
nominated this class mixed, as partaking both of the obj ective
and subjective.
These are the principal arts excluding the merely useful,
such as agriculture, gardening, the various manufactur
ing processes, and mechanic arts, which belong more
appropriately to the element of industry.

HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.

OBJECTIVE ARTS.

ARCHITECTURE.
One of the first wants of man is a home; a place of
residence for himself and family ; a single spot on earth
that he can call his own ; one that he can flee to for protec
tion against the elements ; one that he can make a frown
ing castle in time of war and a paradise of joy and loveli
ness in time of peace. So in proportion as civilization
advances, and new wants are developed, other homes, or
residences,or public buildings are required. He must have
palaces, or public bouses for his kings or rulers ; structures
sometimes on a large scale, for the education of the rising
generation; and splendid temples for the residence or
worship of his god or gods.
All these wants and demands have given origin to the
architectural art, and the various exhibitions of which it has
been productive. It is obvious that the developments of
this art cannot have been of a purely arbitrary character.
It must have been in subjection to certain laws, and had
reference to certain facts, or states and conditions of things,.
which have influenced, and to a great degree, controlled it
in its various exhibitions. Thus it must have had refer
ence :
1. To the material which was the most readily accessible,
and the most proper to be employed in the construction .
of its edifices. 'From the mud wall and the log cabin, to
the lofty mansion, in which birch and beech, and pine,
fir and cedar displayed their different qualities, and from
the humble brick or stone dwelling to the magnificent
palace, temple, or church, the antiquity of forests, quarries,

EUROPEAN ART. 7
and brick-making materials and facilities, have never been
without their due weight and consideration.
2. The face of the country has no doubt had its influence
upon the nature of its architecture.1 In a hill country it is
the position of the architectural structure that gives it im
portance : while in a level country it is the bulk that is
more regarded. Amid mountain scenery it were vain to
attempt by size of edifice to rival nature. But by position
or location, thus cooperating with nature, an edifice hav
ing nothing imposing in its structure may acquire import
ance. On the contrary, in a flat, level country, like Egypt,
human efforts have been combined in the erection of im -
mensely massive structures, which may be seen looming
up above the line of the horizon at great distances in every
1 direction. It is their bulk, and not, position, that gives
importance. .
3. The domestic architecture is, influenced, and more
or less controlled in its character, by the form of govern
ment, and prevailing habits of the people in reference to
.peace and war. The reign of feudalism substituted the
baronial castle with its moat and drawbridge, in the place
of the Roman villa, with its fine situation, tasty adornments
and delightful grounds. So in the north of England, from
the early part of the fourteenth century down the union of
the two crowns ofEnglandand Scotland under one monarch,
where a border warfare was almost incessantly carried on,
no residence was deemed safe unless it had the means of
defense, and hence towers, or 'castellated dwellings, were
scattered all along the English and Scottish border.
4. The state of the country in relation to its wealth ox
poverty, and if wealthy the manner in which the wealth is
controlled, has no small influence upon the character of its
architecture. Wherever poverty prevails, neither the
homes of the people, nor their public edifices, will exhibit
any elegance in design, or beauty in execution. To sub-
Berve the mere necessities, or, at most, conveniences of life

-London Quarterly, 1844,-1847, p. 7.

8 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and of business, is all they seek. But where wealth is at
command, and especially where immense amounts are
wielded by a single power, or a single mind, as has been at
times the case with the Roman pontiff, the king of France,
and the Russian emperor, we have seen structures of sur
passing splendor rising at their command, developing man;
of the hidden beauties and grandeur that belong to archi
tecture as an art.
5. The climate of the country ; its greater or less sub
jection to cold or heat, its exposure to winds and storms, to
snows and tempests, to earthquakes and tornadoes, to light
and darkness, largely influences its style of architecture.
The pointed roof and immense strength of the Gothic, has
been referred by many to the storms and tempests that
assail it ; and more especially, to the heavy weight of de
scending snow tjiat might endanger the safety of a building,
the roof of which was flatter, and less protected. So in
northern countries, and those obscured by fogs and clouds,
larger provision must be made for the admission of light
than in those, like Italy, where an ever cloudless sky inter- '
poses no obstacle to the full blaze of the solar luminary.
6. The architecture of a country is also influenced and
controlled by the advance which its people have made in
the development of all the other elements of humanity.-
The aesthetic nature, it is true, in which everything belong
ing to art. receives its due appreciation, is not necessarily
developed in proportion to the other natures with which it
is associated in the individual, and yet by a law which is
operative through an entire community, all the elements-
conducive to general civilization have nearly a coequal and
harmonious development.
7. Not only are architectural^struetures, by their differ
ence in form, proportion, structure, and general style, made'
to reflect the different degrees of civilization, under the in
fluence of which they were reared ; but a difference equally
as great and striking is proclaimed in those architectural
remains, which owe their origin to difference of race among
mankind. Architecture is ethnographical. "It is thus,"

EUROPEAN ART. 9
says a writer, " that looking on an ancient building, we can
not only tell in what state of civilization its builders lived,
or how far they were advanced in the arts; but we can
almost certainly say also to what race they belonged, and
" what their affinities were with the other races or tribes of ,
mankind. So far as my knowledge extends, I do not know
a single exception to this rule ; x and, as far as I can judge,
I believe that architecture is in all instances as correct a
test of race as language, and one far more easily applied
and understood." This fact gives to every monument,
coming under architectural criticism, a greater degree of
interest and importance.
It should here be remarked that mere construction alone
can present no claims for consideration as an embodiment
of architectural art. . So far as that is concerned it is
properly the work of the engineer. He selects and arranges
his materials, with a view to the production of an economi
cal result in the most scientific manner. The laws that
govern mere construction are very different from those that
preside over the development of man's aesthetic nature.
It is only when construction is wrested from its simple uti
litarian purpose, and made to gratify a higher want, one
deriving its origin from the ideal, that architecture can pre
sent any claim for consideration as an art. And then it
does present such claim. The architect begins his work
just where the engineer left it. He works upon the mate
rials of the engineer, but the forms into which he moulds
them, have no express reference to economy or utility. His
arrangement of these materials is with reference to artistic
effect, and by disposition of light and shade ; by his har
mony and contrast of form ; by his variety of outline ; he
seeks the production of a result that shall awake the ideal
to a sense of permanent beauty. All this he seeks merely
by arrangement of material. And when to this he super
adds such variety and depth of ornament as the nature of

1 Ferguson's Illustrated Hand Book, i, lii.
vii] 2

10 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
his structure admits', and the suggestions of a refinecMaste
sanction, his work may be considered complete.
Although what may be called the styles of architecture
have considerable variety, yet they all are derived from,
and are modifications of, two great principles of mechani
cal construction. The widest and the most thorough gene
ralization presents the entablature and the arch, as the two
great original contructive forms, out of which grow all the
vast varieties of architectural designs. To realize the neces
sity of employing one of these two in every architectural
work, we need only perceive the necessity in its completion,
of doing something more than simply raising uprights,
whether they be piers, posts, pillars or walls. These alone
could never form a structure. Some kind of unibn of these
at the top must be effected before any edifice can be con
structed. It is in the different modes of effecting this union
that we find the point from which diverge the two lines out
of which grow all the varieties of architectural style. The
One is by simply placing on the top of. the two uprights,1
which are af such distances from each other as to avoid all
breakage from mere weight ; a third, or horizontal mass,
which is held together by mere cohesion. This may be done
wholly independent of material, as it is obvious that beams
of wood or blocks of stone will equally well accomplish it.
This is the union effected by the entablature, the definition
of which is, "the superstructure which lies horizontally
upon the columns in classic architecture."
In the other an union is also effected, but by different
means and upon a different principle. It is not by a sin
gle block, or mass, kept together by cohesion, but by a
series of such blocks, or other similar substances, bound
together without any visible support, and sustained by a
curious and wonderful law of the mechanical powers. It
is by the structure of the arch, which is defined to' be
" a construction of bricks, or stones, over an opening,
so arranged as by mutual pressure to support each other,
1 Freeman, 30.

EUROPEAN ART. 11
and to become capable of sustaining a superincumbent
weight." All structures of every description come under one of
these two principles, and hence the two leading styles
of architecture proceeding directly from them, develop
them the more fully as time a.nd opportunity are afforded
for that purpose. Every definite style of architecture pro
ceeds from the entablature or the arch, and adapts its forms
and details to this construction. The one or the other con
stitutes the animating principle in obedience to which, not
only the structure is reared, but also the various decorations
and ornamental embellishments are selected and used.
The style which adopts the entablature may be called the
horizontal style. Its structures are generally less lofty,
but cover large areas. They creep along the earth with
little or nothing of upward aspiration. The upright pillar
or wall, with the superincumbent mass that binds them
together, present the only principle that controls their
structures. Into the capitals of their pillars, and the divi
sions of their entablatures might be introduced ornament
and decoration. So the elegant proportions of different
parts of the edifice may be such as to produce a pleasing
effect. The style which adopts the arch is very appropriately
termed vertical. It has an upward, and not a horizontal
development. This is accomplished by means of piers and
arches, which may be made to rise successively over each
other; at least the arches may shoot off in succession one
above another from different or the same continuous piers
or columns. This, also, as we shall see, has its peculiar
species of decoration and ornament.
Of these two styles, the horizontal was the earliest de
veloped. Although the arch was certainly known in
Egypt, and probably in Greece, yet it did not enter into
the architecture of either of those people. So, also, in the
early Pelasgian or Cyclopean monuments, the ruins of
which are still found in Greece -and Italy, there appears to
be a dim foreshadowing of the arch principle and a striv-

12 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
ing to arrive at it, but without ever actually reaching it,
at least so as to embody it in a style of architecture. The
earliest structures among a rude people are always after
the horizontal mode. The Celtic remains of north-western
Europe, those wonderful Druidical structures of Stone-
henge; Avebury and Carnac, are all of this character.
They all consist of stones piled together upon the principle'
of the entablature, and adhering together by force of gravi
tation. It was the Greek who gave to this form of art a grace
and loveliness before unknown. Among them it found
its complete development. Its structures were faultless"
in proportion, beautiful in outline, and when its three
orders of architecture, Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian, arrived
at their full completion, forms of perfection were produced
that seemed unsurpassed by human skill. Grecian archi
tecture was productive of one form of the most perfect
beauty,1 but that seemed to be all it was capable of produc
ing., Every structure followed the same general type, pre-
' senting. the same outline, and the same features both con
structive and decorative. No variety was attainable except
by diversities of detail, and of proportion. This is, perhaps,
a difficulty inherent in the horizontal style. If it had not
been, Grecian genius would most certainly have surmounted
it. One great cycle in the history of architecture reaches
its furthest limit in Greece. That cycle was designed, and
actually did accomplish the entire development of the
entablature. From the roughest specimens to the most
perfect productions, from the Druidical circle to the portico
of the Parthenon, we witness a regular series in advancer
ment until the refined taste of the Greek left nothing want
ing to the full and perfect completion of this style. All
there was in it was thus brought out, and the age of Pericles
was the final consummation of everything it had in its
power to offer.

1 Freeman, 25.

EUROPEAN ART. 13
With the arch commences another cycle in the history of
architectural art, and like every other great agent of pro
gress, it is slow and progressive in its development. The
capacities of the. arch, and its adaptations to different vari
eties of architecture, required almost twenty centuries
fully to develop. Although known undoubtedly both in
Egypt and iu Greece, yet in neither did it form any marked
feature in architectural construction. It is not until we
arrive in Italy that we find the arch employed as a princi
ple in construction. It appears to have been in use among
the ancient Etruscans, and by them was communicated to
the Romans.
In Roman architecture the arch was the predominant
mechanical feature. It was mainly by means of it that the
Romans were enabled to accomplish so much by their
architectural labors. In their palmiest days, the resources
of the world were open to them, and those who had per
sistent energy sufficient to subdue the world sought by
their gigantic structures, to leave lessons in marble for all
coming time. They have been reckoned among the best
builders, but the poorest architects the world has ever seen.
Their^ architectural works have been of great magnitude, ¦
of vast design, and of wonderful mechanical skill, and bold
ness of execution. Look at their Coliseum, their amphi
theatres, temples and aqueducts, many of them on a scale
of vastness beyond what had been ever before witnessed.
But as architects they neglected the opportunity, so fairly
presented, of completing a national round arched style.
While the arch, with its piers and imposts, constituted
the real frame work of their fabrics, they resorted to the
beautiful Grecian models for their ornamentation. Thus
the forms of Grecian art, although beautiful in themselves,
were,, nevertheless, a disturbing element in Roman archi
tecture; and it is only where that element the least prevails
„that the real Roman construction, the pier and the round
arch, comes out in all its purity and majesty, and exercises
so wide and lasting an influence upon the architecture of
the entire civilized world.

14 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
The architectural history of modern Europe is the most
fully proclaimed from the churches and edifices consecrated
to religion. It is these that have commanded the largest
resources ; that afford examples of the highest styles of
architecture of every people ; and that have proved the
most enduring as to time. It is, therefore, in the archi
tecture of modern Europe, Christian art which is the real
subject of study. The architecture of Europe, since the
downfall of the Roman empire, may be included under five
great divisions, viz :
I. The Byzantine, or style originating in Byzantium or
rather Constantinople, and used by all the Slavonic races of
Europe as contradistinguished from the Teutonic, and
generally by all belonging to the Greek church.
n. The Romanesque, or Christianized Roman.
III. The Gothic, or that style practiced by the Teutonic,
or Celtic races, wherever they predominated in Europe.
IV. The Renaissance, or attempt to return to the classic
forms of Greece and Rome consequent upon the revival of
letters. V. Modern architecture.

I. Byzantine Architecture.
This, although not the earliest, is, nevertheless, introduced
the first, as being the most eastern ; as prevailing among a
particular race and symbolizing a religious sect nowhere
else prevailing; and more especially as exhibiting forms
of ecclesiastical art, unique and peculiar, and deriving
nothing from Roman and Teutonic elements. All the
other kinds we shall find resulting from the Teutonic alone,
or that and the Roman, or Roman and Grecian combined.
This style applies only to that form of art invented in Con
stantinople after its virtual separation from the western
empire, and practiced by the Greek church during the
whole of the middle ages.

EUROPEAN ART. 15
The Byzantine builders of Constantinople were away
from Rome and its resources. They were compelled to
find their own materials, and to originate their own style.
Besides, their location placed them in the east rather than
the west, and hence, by necessity, subjected them to ori
ental influences.
The history of this style of architecture is divided into
three periods : The first extends from the time of Constan-
tine to that of Justinian. Very few monuments of that
period are now remaining. The second extends from
Justinian to the eleventh century, and it is this period that
presents us with the pure forms of Byzantine architecture.
The third, beginning with the eleventh century, extends to
the final conquest of the Greeks by the Turks, includes the
period of the Venetian conquests, and exhibits the marked
influence of Italian features and details.
The main feature that serves more especially to charac
terize this style is the dome or cupola. This is its crown
ing majestic ornament, its life and soul, to which every
other feature is subordinate. This feature had not here
its origin, but its use had hitherto been mainly confined to
circular buildings. Here it was employed as the central
point of a Christian temple, and involved a revolution in
the existing principles of architecture.
The principal difficulty encountered was how it should be
sustained. A dome, when constructed in Rome, was sup
ported on a circular drum of solid masonry, and as long as
the Byzantine architects confined themselves to domes
placed on octagons, or supported by eight piers, they had
no great difficulties to contend with. This, however, prac
tically limited the church to the space below the dome.1
To obviate this they placed the dome on four instead of
eight piers, filling up the whole angle of the square by a
great bracket. By this means the building could be ex
tended in any direction, without contracting its dimensions.
It gave also the power of adding domes or semidomes of

1 Ferguson, n, 947.

16 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
any required size or form, all. of which could aid in carry
ing the eye to the great dome, and by contrast of dimensions
much increase its apparent size.
In accordance with these principles the churches were at
first round or octagonal. They were afterwards square,
the nave being a little extended in length, four columns
occupying the centre and supporting the cupola, or dome.
The bracketing of the angles furnished the pehdentiyes,
which could sufficiently resist the outward thrust of the
dome. The extremities of the nave were covered with
hemispherical cupolas. The facade presented a square
without gables, and terminated by a cornice with salient
and reentrant angles.1 Apses were also in use, often
three in number, more generally semicircular than poly
gonal. The Byzantine architecture sacrificed everything to the
dome, making that the centre, the crowning point of all, to
which every other portion of the pile converges and rests
under the shadow of its majestic canopy. "The western
limb of the basilica is too long, the others too short ; its
oblong form is, therefore, rejected, and the church assumes
a square or octagonal form ; the surrounding portions only
radiating around, and supporting the vast central cupola;
nave, choir, transepts, chapels, being little more than its
supports and accessories, existing only to lift it soaring
above them.2 And not only did the grand cupola crown
the who^e pile, but the smaller portions are often covered-
with smaller domes and semidomes, so as to fender the
outline of a large Greek church totally unintelligible to
one accustomed only to the buildings of the west. The
eye habituated to the long naves and triple towers of our
own great churches is totally bewildered in contemplating
so huge a pile with apses and semidomes sprouting out in
every direction, and all circling round the vast central
cupola, swelling its majesty, like tributary rulers encircling
an imperial throne."

1 Freeman, 168. 2 Idem, 167.

EUROPEAN ART. 17
The most perfect, complete, and splendid sample of the
Byzantine style is the church of St. Sophia, erected in Con
stantinople by Justinian. It is nearly an exact square of
two b-nndred and twenty-nine feet north and south by two
hundred and forty-three feet from east to wes,t, surmounted
in the centre by a great dome one hundred and seven feet in
diameter, rising to a height of one hundred and eighty-twQ
feet from the floor of the church.1 East and west of ,this
are two semidomes of the same diameter ; these are again
cut into, each by three smaller semidomes, supported by two
tiers of pillars. The great dome is pierced by forty windows,
and the greater and smaller semidomes each with five.
The Greek church, constructed according to the Byzan
tine style, presents a very extraordinary union of contend
ing principles.2 Although in its ground plan it is usually a
mere square, yet it nevertheless preserves the cross form
as distinctly as a Latin cathedral. The square is broken
up by the four liinbs rising above the ,portions which fill
up its angles, and these again converge and support the
circular cupola crowding the whole. In its minor features
is also carried out the principle of cutting up the flat out
line. Curved lines are everywhere sought for until. even
the outline of the cupola itself becomes interrupted in this
manner. This style is a pure offspring of the arch, as it
is that which produces the vault, and the vault the cupola.
As between the pier and the .column? the Byzantine style
-selects the former, as forming a stronger and much more
appropriate support for cupolas. Wh§re the column is em
ployed very little regard is paid to classical proportions.
The Byzantine style was characterized by considerable
elegance, with occasional combinations of a high order.3
It was the age of Justinian that gave to it its greatest grand
eur, and enabled it to ,rank among the great styles of the
earth. From that period its history is one, of decline until
its final extinction caused by the conquests by the Vene
tians and Turks.

1 Ferguson, n, 950. ''Freeman, 170. " Ferguson, u,{
vn] 3

18 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
This style of architecture exerted an influence upon
western Europe. This was particularly observable in
Ravenna and Venice. In the former, the Church of St.
Vitalis, erected in A.D. 547, presents the oriental characters
of being octagonal in form; its root being a magnificent
cupola; l and having around the arcade a succession of small
apses, divided, after the oriental manner, into galleries sup
ported by columns of a completely Byzantine character.
In the latter city the magnificent cathedral of St. Mark,
commenced near the close of the tenth century, presents an
appearance quite anomalous in its general character. In
its facade, pointed arches and pinnacles, it points to the
Gothic age. Within are the columns and arches that giveit
a basilican character. But above and over all soar its five
cupolas, or domes, one placed over the intersection of the
Greek cross, and one over each of the four great limbs.2
These domes, however, are different from that of St. Sophia,
more resembling those of Saracenic origin, and prevailing
among Mahometan nations. It may be possible that the
western Christian and the eastern infidel may have'
developed in the same path from the common Byzantin&-
source.

H. The Romanesque, or Christianized Roman Architecture.
The early Romanesque, or debased Roman, grew out of
one of the features which characterized the later exhibitions
of Roman architecture. The round arched style was essen
tially Roman, but the direction and character of its ulti
mate development depended very much upon that which
contributed to its support. This is the pier, used here in
the sense of any support for an arch. The form of it may
either be a mere mass of wall, square or otherwise .deco
rated, or it may be a real pillar. The latter is borrowed

1 Freeman, 175. a Idem, 175.

EUROPEAN ART. 19
from the Grecian system, and hence is a link connecting
it with an earlier style of architecture. The former is
original in its character; grew out of the necessities of
the case ; is the natural and legitimate treatment of the
arch ; and, therefore, harmonizes much the best with the
solidity and sturdiness of a round arched style. It is inter
esting to notice in the palace of Dioclesian at Spalatio, the
attempts of architecture, while using the column, to eman
cipate itself from the style to which the column properly
belonged. In almost all its arcades the entablature has
nearly vanished, and in its place the arch springs boldly
from the capital of the column. Thus the fact is rendered
apparent that the arch is destined to supplant the entabla
ture, even upon that which had hitherto been the main
support of the latter.
When the Christian religion came to supplant the pagan
forms of worship, an imperative want was felt for a church
edifice in which the Christians might congregate for wor-
.ship. There existed, it is true, the heathen temple, but
that was never designed, and was illy adapted to Christian
worship. The object of that was to present a splendid ex
terior display. In the interior, it was pent in by four blank
walls, was of small extent, dark and dreary in aspect, and
designed to be accessible to the priesthood alone. The
Christian worship, on the contrary, required the assembling
together of worshipers. This originated the necessity of
internal adornment, and required large spaces for the
accommodation of their assemblies. Hence size of edifice,
interior arrangement, and fine architectural design and
execution, became demands that were clamorous for grati
fication. All these conditions could not be immediately
supplied by the erection of new buildings. Of those al
ready erected, the temple was entirely inadequate. Re
course was therefore had to the basilica, or hall of justice, in
which courts were held and justice administered. This
already possessed the long nave separated by arcades from its
smaller aisles, sometimes a single one, sometimes two on
either side. In some cases was even to be found a kind

20 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of transept,1 called chalcidica, crossed the aisles at. one
end. In most cases, the large central avenue was ter
minated by a semicircular apse, in which was Contained
the seat of the presiding magistrate. In this is found the
complete type of the Christian chureh, such as has more or
less prevailed from the age of Constantine to the' present
time. The nave is that part westward of the choir in
which the congregation assemble.. The aisles, one or more
of them are the lateral divisions, or wings, for such is the
relation they bear to the body of the church. The transept
is that part of the church, which projects at right angles
from the body, being of equal or nearly equal height to it.
It is this which gives to the church its crOcifofm arrange
ment, and hence the finding of this in a heathen basilica
has been hailed as already foreshadowing the future
triumph of the cross. The apse is a semicircular recess,
at the eastern end of the church, and usually vaulted
with a semidomd
Thus in the old basilica all the necessary arrangements
for Christian worship seemed already made. The altar
had only to be placed at the end of the nave, on the chord
of the apse. The bishop's throne behind it took the place
of that of the judge. The subordinate seats of the presby
tery were ranged on either side of the bishop along the
walls of the semicircle.
The choir for the inferior ministers was formed in the,
nave by Screening off a sufficient space in front of the altar,
while the long nave and aisles accommodating the congre
gation, the lateral division maintaining the requisite ,
separatiqn of the sexes. To the west end, not as then
,but long subsequently understood, was attached a portico.
This, in the church, was the place for catechumens and
penitents, and, as the place for discipline, was called- the
narthex. This in time developed itself into a cloister, an
open square surrounded by pillars which is found in many
early churches.

1 Freeman, 155.

EUROPEAN ART. 21
«
TJiis change of the basilica into a church has not failed
to attract attention to its moral aspect. From the hall of
justice, the judgment seat of the Caesars, the Christian
martyr had received his sentence, and been led away to his
crown of martyrdom. In that same building was now
upreared the altar, where holy gifts were offered over that
martyr's relics. It seemed like a just retribution to that
power that had too often tyrannized in the name of justice.
This early Romanesque, more frequently called basili-
can style of architecture, had little to commend it externally.
There was nothing of the spreading dome of the Byzan
tine, or the soaring spire of the Gothic minster. Nothing
Was presented but a long dead wall, unbroken by porch or
buttress, by cupola or tower.1 In front was a low portico,
and above it three long, round-headed, undivided windows,
symmetrically arranged, and above these, a round window
in the pediment. Within, however, were long rows of
columns supporting round arches, which were of con
tinuous sweep, unbroken by a keystone, and resting on
the capitals of the pillars. The wall rises considerably
above the arcades, a gallery being sometimes present, and
sometimes absent. Except in the conch of the apse, the
vault, as a covering, does not appear in the ancient basilica.
¦ The wall, supported by columns of classical proportions,
was not of sufficient thickness to sustain one. The roofs
were wooden. The basilican architecture, although con
taining within itself all the main elements which were to
constitute the future Gothic, yet presented them so de
tached, so disjointedly, in such lifeless juxtaposition, that
the general effect, as an artistic arrangement, was destroyed.
Contemporaneously with the basilican, there was another
style of ecclesiastical building in Italy, and that was the
circular form. This was either round or polygonal, the
former characterizing the sepulchral chapel, the latter the
baptistry. This style of structure had a roof, which was
domical within,2 with an external cone, the aisles being

1 Freeman, 157. *Idem, 162.

22 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION. *
vaulted. The chief constructive principle of Roman archi
tecture we have seen to be the round arch, and here it
becomes, for the first time, the great source of decoration ;
.the architect having mastered the great law that, in all
complete and perfect architecture, the construction and the
, decoration must be derived from the same source.
There was a new style of Romanesque still deriving much ,
from the old Roman, but approaching still nearer to the
Gothic than the basilican, introduced into Italy by the
Lombard. It is sometimes called the Lombard style.
This was about A. D. 568. These Teutonic migrators had
no architects or architecture of their own, but while they
employed ,those of the conquered country, they infused into
their works a new spirit. They gave new forms to the
pillars, and their more extended application as decorative
features.1 They added a new style of sculpture. They
originated a new ground plan and outline of churches, ex
tended very much the use of vaulting, and, what very
much changed the appearance of buildings, introduced
steeples or belfries. In the interior, they often introduced
piers formed of clustered columns, the pier being lower,
-while each separate shaft was frequently longer than was
allowable by classical precedent. The Lombards resorted
to constructive features as a source of decoration, and
covered the exterior of their richer buildings with an infi
nite number of small arcades resting on ornamental shafts
of various forms and proportions. Sometimes these are
found detached, thus forming actual galleries. At others
they are merely decorative enrichments of a blank surface.
A whole facade is sometimes found covered with row
upon row of these arcades, resting on shafts single or
double, detached or engaged, plain, fluted, twisted, as
suited the taste and caprice of the designer.
In the Lombard structures we find the strong sturdy
pier in the place of the slender column of the basilica.
This enabled their architects to substitute the stone vault

1 Freeman, 177.

EUROPEAN ART. 23
in the place of the wooden roof, which was often done.
The first form of it was plain barrel vaulting, but subse
quently cross-vaulting with groined ribs was introduced.
These were often supported by tall shafts rising directly
from the ground.
The church is made to assume the shape of a Latin cross,
and of its four arms the western was much the longest. At
the point of junction an octagon was frequently reared on
a square base, forming an internal dome and presenting
without a conical roof. One or more apses of a semi-circu
lar form were to be found at the east end, the apse end being
always termed east, and the entrance end west. These,1
with the Lombards, were low, distinct buildings, a gallery
of open arches often running round the upper part. The
church exteriorly presented a low roof, and consequently
no prominent gables, and having no buttresses or pinnacles,
the facades were flat, and the whole outline but little
marked or varied. But the feature of peculiar interest to
which the Christian temple in all future time is indebted
to the Lombard architecture is the campanile, bell tower,
or steeple. This was and has ever since remained, a fea
ture peculiarly Christian. No pagan temple ever possessed
it. No mosque of the false prophet ever tolerates it. It is
only where worshipers are wont to assemble that the tones
of the bell are chimed forth to call them together.
The Lombard campanile was usually separated from the
church, or was merely connected with it as an adjunct, and
not as an integral part. It was in the form of a tall, round,
'thin tower, unbroken by buttresses, and usually covered
with a pyramidical capping. Octagonal stages crowned
with spires are often found, but these are, in many cases,
later additions.
The Romanesque style improved upon crossing the Alps,
and enlisted the efforts of the German nations. Here the
towers, which in Italy had stood apart from the church,
were united with, and made an essential part of, the fabric.

1 Freeman, 188.

24 ' HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
They were seized upon as beautiful appendages, were
shaped in various forms, as square, round, or octagonal.
They had a variety of capping, from the low pyramidical
roof to the lofty spire, and were ;made to flank every front
and fill up every angle of the larger buildings.
A change somewhat similar was also made in the apse.
This also in Italy, and during the period of pure Roman
esque, was a distinct part of the church, and attached to a
front, although inferior in height and width. But in
Germany it was attached to and made a part of the church.
The Germans were not satisfied with a single apse at the
east end. They were often introduced at both ends of a
large church, and were attached both to the fronts and to
the eastern faces of the transepts. The square pier was
the most characteristic of this style, ;but the column was
not excluded, especially in those churches which were not
vaulted. The triforium is a gallery or arcade in the wall over the-
pier-arches, which separate the body from the aisles of the
church. This in the German Romanesque was by no
means a necessary feature, nor very conspicuous when it
occurred. As it was not used as a gallery, it appears to
have been omitted, or treated as a subordinate feature.
A very interesting style of the early Romanesque is to be
found in the island of Ireland.1 Here are the earliest exist
ing Christian temples in northern Europe, not deriving their
origin from the basilica, but from the lowly shrines of the
days of persecution. They are small and unadorned, and,
what points to a creation prior to the basilican model, they
are destitute of an apse. Its type is of the simplest kind,
consisting merely of a quadrangular chamber, entered by
a single doorway at the west end, and in the larger churches,
connected by an arch with another chamber to the east,
forming the chancel. The churches were small, varying
between sixty and thirty feet in length, compensating for
their diminished size by their greater number. There is

'Freeman, 196.

EUROPEAN ART. 25
a-great similarity between these and the Pelasgic remains
in Greece. This, however, is regarded by some merely as
accidental. There are other buildings in Ireland, besides churches,
which are of great antiquity. There are small oratories
and houses supposed to have been the dwelling places of
the earliest qaints. There are also round towers, supposed
to have been detached campaniles, which served not only
for bell towers, but also as beacons and places for refuge
in case of a sudden assault- They are found as the com
panions of churches, and frequently possessing Christian
symbols. Their architecture corresponds with that of the
churches of their own date. They are proportionally taller
and thinner than the Italian campanile, and covered with
a low conical capping.1 The doorways are placed high,
showing that they were also intended for defense.
We can have very little certainty in regard to the remains
of Saxon architecture. The Saxons, on their settlement
in Britain, appear "to have employed wood principally as
their building material. Even down to the time of the
conquest they employed wood mostly in tiieir bujldingB-
Besides, there is difficulty in discriminating and deciding
with certainty what is purely Saxon. As far as can be ascer
tained, they followed the usual type of the Latin church in
regard to the chancel,2 nave, and aisles, with their arcades
and clerestory. The apse, although not excluded, is not of
frequent occurrence. The piers were large and square ;
pier arches rare, chancel and belfry arches not uncommon,.
The old Saxon tower was a rude imitation of the Italian
campanile. It was hard in outline, unbuttressed, and pos
sessed much barbaric grandeur. The Earl's Barton is an
undoubted relic of Saxon architecture.
There are two forms of the pier in the Romanesque
style. In the one it is a rectangular mass,3 jn the other a
column. These two forms are illustrated in the Saxon and
Norman architecture. The former is Saxon; the latter

'Freeman, 201. ' Idem, 208. 3Idem, 215.'
vn] 4

26 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION1.
Norman. If the Norman is not actually columnar it is at
least constructed on the columnar principle. The. Saxon
arch, on the contrary, is in its essence perfectly rectangular,
not channelled or divided, but simply having roll mouldings
attached to its square surface.
T,he development of the Romanesque, which is possessed
of peculiar interest to the Anglo-Saxon inquirer, is the
Norman. Some have denied this to be Romanesque, but
insist that it is incipient Gothic. There is no doubt but
that the Norman does point strongly towards the Gothic,
and still its style is ranked as a pure Romanesque develop
ment. The Normans did not bring over with them a new
style, but they did bring over better constructive processes,
a more perfect conception,1 and a more excellent manner
of treating the style already in use. Their type of a church
was cruciform, the nave being of great length, amounting
almost to a deformity. The transepts are shorter, and the
choir, although comparatively small, is not hidden by tur
rets, but stands out boldly as a distinct part of the church.
It is apsidal, but without diverging chapels, and sometimes
without a surrounding aisle. The tower is made to rise
from the pOint of intersection between the nave and tran
sept. - It is sometimes gabled, but more commonly covered
with a conical roof or spire. The west front is usually
flanked by two lighter towers, which terminate the aisles.
Smaller turrets occasionally occur in other positions, but
no large ones, as in Germany, at the east end. The towers
are square, and it is the central and western ones that give
magnificence to the outline of the church.
The end of the nave below the gable was occupied by two
rows of small round-headed windows. The gable itself was
very plain. So also the towers were plain before arriving
at the point at which they became clear of the church. In
their upper portion they were profusely decorated with
arcades, and usually relieved at the angles by flat pilasters.
In the larger Norman churches the east or apse end was
1 Ferguson, n, 846.

EUROPEAN ART. 27
usually terminated by an apse, while in the west was the
entrance door, which in the smaller churches, was often of
-great richness below, while above was a single row of
arches, one or more being pierced as windows, and also a
gable left plain,1 or pierced with one or more windows.
So also pilasters formed by projection, or by recessing the
ornamental parts, usually flank the sides, but pinnacles or
turrets scarcely occur. The front is commonly divided
vertically into two or three compartments by pilasters, and
horizontally by strings into three ranges, answering to the
arcade, triforium, and clerestory of the interior; each of the
i divisions thus formed being occupied by a window. The .
aisles generally followed the same rule, making a fourth
and fifth vertical division, and having the two lower ranges
of windows continued across them.
The special mission of the ROmanesque style of architec
ture seems to have been to develop perfectly the round
arched construction. The round arch occupies in archi
tecture a middle ground between the entablature and the
pointed arch. It is the entablature, rounded, and thus
bridging over the space intervening between the horizontal
and the vertical style of architecture, as it thus presents
itself as a kind of transitional agent between the horizontal
and the vertical style, the question arises whether there is
an ideal perfection of the round arched construction, in the
same sense as there admittedly is, of the entablature and of
the pointed arch ? To this it is answered that although
the ideal perfection of the arch is to be found in the
pointed style, yet the round arch does certainly exist as a
construction, and is as mechanically excellent as any other,
and is also a portion of a figure, the circle, which is con
fessedly beautiful. It has, therefore, its own aesthetical
character, distinct alike from the entablature and the
pointed arch. So, also, it has its system of ornament con
sistent with the round, but inconsistent with the pointed
arch. It consorts harmoniously with the massive pier

1 Freeman, 233.

28 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
which supports it, but not with the soaring clustered pil
lar which attends the pointed style. All this certainly
, tendB to show that the round arch has its appropriate treat
ment parallel to that of the pointed, and consequently has
an ideal of perfection in which this treatment shall be most
completely and consistently carried out.
But there is a great distinctness of the two as mere styles
of architecture. " The Romanesque is the development of
the round arched construction,1 and as such has totally dif
ferent principles from Gothic, the development of the
pointed. While the whole soul of Gothic architecture is
the vertical line, and while the horizontal stands in a like
relation to that of Greece, the distinguishing feature of
Romanesque is that neither is allowed to obtain a marked
predominance. The other two imply extension, almost
motion, in their respective directions. The Gothic minster
seems absolutely to rise from the ground; the Grecian
temple seems to stretch away to some distant point of the
horizon. Rut in Romanesque the great characters are rest
and solidity, an enduring, an immovable firmness, which
seems inconsistent with any very strong carrying out of
either of the other notions. The eye is neither carried up
an infinite series of vertical lines, nor yet does it run along
the long line of entablature. It rests on the supporting
piers and supported arches, not growing out of their sup
port as in the arborescent Gothic, not laid on them as
something distinct, like the long beam of the entablature ;
neither idea comes out forcibly ; the arch simply exists in
its immovable firmness, resting on its support, without
raising any inquiries as to how it came there. AH this is
the natural character of the round arch. Channel it with
the continuous mouldings of the pointed, or place it on the
gracefully clustered shaft, and its own purity is gone with
out its acquiring the distinct and opposite purity of the
other forms. It desiderates its own square section, and its
own massive pier.

'Freeman, 260.

EUROPEAN ART. 29
" Every feature in the Romanesque must be solid, and
furnished with its due support ; the parts must retain a
strongly marked individuality, so that each may of itself
be sufficient to arrest the eye, and not be a mere link in a
horizontal or vertical series. The light and airy character
of the Gothic is therefore a total stranger to its predecessor.
The former endeavors to render the supporting masses as
slight as is consistent with real and apparent security, it
connects every part with every other, and fuses all into one
harmonious whole. Romanesque, on the other hand, de
lights in the appearance of strength afforded by the massive
pier and round arch, and the vast unbuttressed wall. All
the parts retain their separate existence ; the pier of every
form has a strongly marked impost or capital; the com
pound pier is not fused into one composition,1 like the fully
developed cluster, but at most has independent shafts
attached as something extraneous ; and each of these has
its own well defined boundary in the square abacus. The
square section brings the arch, as a distinct feature, far
more forcibly upon the eye. It at once shows more plainly
its construction, hinders the continuity of the Gothic archi
trave, and retains a separate existence for each of its orders.
The same principle will be found carried out in the tri-
forium, the clerestory, and all the other features of the build
ing. All remain distinct. There is no attempt at subordi
nation of parts to more comprehensive parts, or to the whole,
or at making one fit into another. Rest and immobility
are the ideas impressed upon every stone."
The Romanesque is claimed to be not an imperfect
Gothic, but a distinct form of Christian architecture, hav
ing its own principles, beauties, and moral teaching.
The Romanesque style had its inception with the Lom
bard. All the great features begin to be designed according
to Romanesque principles. The true manner of decorating
plain surfaces was arrived at, and that germ of all that was
grand and beautiful, the campanile, was added. While the

'Freeman, 281.

30 history op civilization.
>
Lombard style was actively at work on the basilican form
of churches, the Byzantine was carrying out the domical.
The next advance was made north Of the Alps, and the
German Romanesque is found fully carrying out the Lom
bard idea. Both this and the Norman, put in abOut equal
claims as to the perfecting of this style of architecture. The
boldness and vigor "of the latter are in harmony with the
native genius of that conquering race.
Between the German and Norman styles there were
some distinctions. The former has two octagons and four
towers, or four towers only, all of about the same height,
and forming two groups balancing each other. But there
is no' centre, no one point of unity around which the other
portions of the building circle. In the Norman the arrange
ment is different. There is there no balancing, no distract
ing equality. At the point of intersection of the nave and
transept rises a tower, which thus is made to form a centre
of unity. At the west end rises two towers, which being
subordinated to the central, produce by their combination
with it, a pyramidical outline of the greatest beauty.
The double apse of many of the German churches is a
peculiarity which has an unfortunate effect. It breaks in
upon the otherwise uniform custom of regarding the apse
or altar end as the eastern end of the church, and the other,
or entrance, as the western end. The apse at each end
necessarily confounds the two. Upon entering the church
the triforium, the gallery, or arcade in the wall, over the
pier arches, which separate the body from the aisles of the
church, assumes in the Norman style the importance which
it lacks in the German, and there is more unity in the
lateral elevations. The pier also receives greater variety,
and capability, and while the column and the rectangular
pier are retained, the massive cylindrical pillar, is also intro
duced. The use of the shaft is more fully developed, a
fewer flat surfaces are treated as columns or pilasters.
Under all these circumstances, the Norman style is gene
rally considered as the most perfect and fully developed
form of Romanesque.

EUROPEAN ART. 31
This latter maybe regarded as the point of union be
tween the waning civilization of Rome, and the rising
power of the Teutonic races. Assuming the old .basilica
as the premises given, they modeled upon it a higher and
a better style of art. They found it a remove from the
horizontal style, and they approximated it still nearer to the
vertical. But the lingering influence of Rome still was
paramount. The traces of that power that had reduced a
subject world underits dominion, were slow in utterly disap
pearing. The system of chivalrous and feudal Europe had
not yet received its development. The Teutonic races, air
though politically conquerors, had not yet achieved an intel
lectual supremacy. In arts, in laws, in all that civilizes,
that enlightens, and humanizes the mind, they were con
tent to be the followers of those over whom they bore sway,
But the time was to come when they could and would
assert their own supremacy ; and when as the evidence of it
as the embodiment of their principles, and as the symbol
of their own free, unfettered, and upward aspirations, they
would send up towards heaven the tall shaft, the soaring
arch, and the airy spire ; when in the fullness of time they
would perfect the Gothic style of architecture.
Before entering upon the consideration of the Gothic
style it seems proper to notice briefly another element that
has entered, although not to a very large extent, into the
\ architecture of a portion of the south of Europe. I allude to
the.Arabian, or Saracenic, style, brought by the Saracens or
Moors into Spain, firmly established there, and from that
point influencing the style of other places, particularly
Sicily. It has also been claimed that this style contained
the lifeless seed which, under more genial influences, grew
up into the " pillared forest of the Gothic minster." > In
its possession and use of the pointed arch it was certainly
a foreshadowing of the Gothic style.
As a style of architecture, however, the Saracenic has
little to recommend it beyond the excessive richness and
gorgeousness of its buildings, and the romantic associations
connected with them. But the splendor has been styled

' 32 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
mere barbaric magnificence superadded to fantastic and in
consistent forms, lifeless germs which existed for ages
without developing into the features which would seem tO
be their natural results. It possessed the pointed arch for
twelve hundred years, using it systematically as a favorite
form, and yet never superadded to it the mouldings which
are its natural accompaniments. It dealt in excess of or
nament, and in strange forms given to arches and cupolas.
It delighted in astonishing the eye with vastness of super
structure raised and sustained upon apparently the most
_ feeble means of support.
It is generally in arcades or colonnades that those features
are found which most decisively stamp the character of a
style. But here the relation between the arch and its sup
port is badly maintained. The capital is surmounted with
a mass of masonry, serving only to crush the column, and
cut it off from all connection with the arch. Its frequent
use of the horse-shoe arch is also deemed faulty, as, when
that occurs, the pier does not support the arch, but the
arch seems crushing or falling off the pier.
Not only in the pointed arch, but also in the minor
ornaments, are to be found isolated Gothic features. Such,
for instance, is the panelling, filled with quatrefoils, or with
other figures either actually found in that style, or not in
compatible with it. Some of the ornaments, however, are
more Romanesque than Gothic. There are found lavish
splendor, tinsel decorations and walls where not an inch is
left unadorned with sumptuous carving.
The one single edifice that combines magnitude of de
sign, vast extent of arrangement, gorgeousness of decora
tion, and it may be added, peculiar defects in the style
itself, is the splendid palace of the Moorish kings of
Granada, the Alhambra. This was conceived and executed
in a style of more than oriental magnificence. The imagina
tion almost tires in attempting to grasp the realization of the
embodiment of so much splendor. So far as mere decoration
is concerned, no edifice in the world can compare with its
stately halls. Every inch of wall was covered with ara-

EUROPEAN ART. 33
besque and fret work, and the ceilings were fairly dripping
with gorgeous ornaments. But the eye is obliged to rest
on a forest of slender columns serving as supports to
arches far overlapping their capitals. A column of this
character is made to support a capital of too great a pro
jection, and this again an overlapping stilt or fragment of
entablature. The arch itself, in many cases, does not spring
immediately from this entablature, but from corbels over
lapping again ; so that being thus cut off from all decora
tive connection with the column below, it appears as if
suspended in the air without any sustaining power at all.
There is also another interesting relic of Saracenic archi
tecture in the gigantic tower of the Giralda at Seville, and
which now serves as the campanile of the vast cathedral
church which later ages have reared close to this proud
monument of the vanquished Moor. The analogy is very
great between this vast, unbroken, unbuttressed and lofty
tower and the campaniles of Italy, especially to the grand
contemporary structure at Venice.
The Saracenic structures in Spain have not been without
their effect as models of imitation elsewhere. These are
more especially marked in the island of Sicily. Here are
found buildings in the pointed style, which are reckoned the
earliest Latin edifices in which is to be found a systematic use
of the pointed arch. It is used here as a general feature at
a period of time when it is rarely found in northern Europe.
It cannot, therefore, be considered as Gothic,1 and does
not, in fact, combine with its pointed arches a single dis
tinctively Gothic feature.
The principal buildings erected at Palermo during the
period even of the Norman rule are of a decidedly Sara
cenic character, and entirely unlike the contemporary ones
of Normandy, or of any other part of Christendom. The
pointed arch prevails throughout, but it is unaccompanied-
by Gothic mouldings, or by other Gothic or transitional
detail. Although, therefore, these may have been the first

'Freeman, 286.
vn]

34 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Christian structures which exhibit the systematic" use of
the pointed arch, yet they are not, for that reason, them
selves Gothic, nor could they probably have been developed
into a pure and consistent Gothic style. It, seems, there->
fore, clear that the pointed style of Sicily was not Gothic,
and that there, where the systematic use of the pointed arch
first appeared, the real Gothic architecture was the very last
to be received, and then only as an exotic. So, also, in
Italy pointed arches occur at a very early period, as in the
cathedrals of Pisa and Venice, and yet the time has never
yet arrived when Gothic architecture, in its purity, was
naturalized in Italy.

IH. Gothic Architecture,, or the Style of the Teutonic and Celtic
Races.
The Romanesque style of architecture arose from an
infusion of the Teutonic' spirit into Roman forms. It
imparted to those forms new life and animation. It gave
to them their most perfect development. It threw- around
and over them the charm of rest and solidity.
But there. was yet a more perfect style to be developed.
The Teutonic spirit was to originate its own forms; to
breathe into them its own life ; to perfect its own style ; and
one unlike anything before or since ever witnessed. This
has been termed the Gothic, and is the peculiar heritage
Of the Teutonic race. It came to perfection only where
that race was dominant, and never flourished among the
Romanic nations of the south. It is the style largely pre
vailing throughout western and central Europe during the
prevalence of the feudal system. It might not inaptly be
termed the feudal style of architecture.
This style is essentially based upon one grand principle
which subordinates everything to itself, and which unites
in its own development every feature of construction and
decoration. This principle substitutes lightness and exten-

EUROPEAN ART. 35
sion upwards in the place of rest and solidity. It consists
in the upward tendency of the building, drawing after it
all its minute details. It is the adoption and carrying out
of the vertical principle. The entablature of the Greek
was the purely horizontal. The round arch of the Roman
and Romanesque was in truth only a curved entablature.
Although here the purely horizontal style was departed
from, yet the vertical was not yet reached. Nothing short
of the pointed arch of the Gothic, with its necessary side
thrusts and buttresses to meet them. " The Gothic," says
Mrs. Whewell, " is characterized by the pointed arch ; by
pillars which are extended so as to lose all classical propor
tions ; by shafts which are placed side by side, often with
different thicknesses, and are variously clustered and com
bined. Its mouldings, cornices, and capitals, have no
longer the classical shapes and members ; square edges,
rectangular surfaces, pilasters and entablatures disappear ;
the elements of building become slender, detached, re
peated and multiplied ; they assume forms implying flexure
and ramification. The openings become the principal part
of the wall, and the other portions are subordinate to these.
The universal tendency is to the predominance and prolong
ation of vertical lines, for instance, in the interior, by con
tinuing the shafts in the. arch mouldings; on the exterior
by employing buttresses of strong projection, which shoot
upwards through the line of parapet and terminate in pin
nacles." In the composition of Gothic architecture, the pointed
arch was a necessary element. This was not, however, in
vented. It was simply adopted from the Mahometan
nations. This was the most important step in carrying
out the vertical principle. This was also aided by its
system of decoration. Thus, the abacus, the uppermost
member or division of a capital, from being square, be
comes round or octagonal. While square it constituted the
boundary of the column, but when made round or octa
gonal it became a mere moulding corresponding with the
form of the column, and forming a relief without arresting

36 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
the progress of the eye in its upward ascent. The true
-vertical effect can only be produced when the separate, ex
istence of the parts is destroyed, and all are subordinated
to the whole. To effect this the column must be such as
not to exist separate from the arch above it. It must pre
sent itself as a trunk with its branches growing inseparably
out of it, and this it is enabled, to a great extent, to do by
sinking the square abacus into a moulding corresponding
with the form of the column.
Another feature essential to the ideal perfection of
Gothic architecture is the clustered pillar. While the Ro
manesque presented its complex piers, forming a rectangu
lar mass, with shafts attached to its surface, or set in its
angles, the Gothic pillar consists either of an assemblage
of shafts brought into close juxtaposition, or of a mass
channelled with mouldings, so as to present as nearly as
possible the appearance of shafts. Thus, by clustering and
channelling pillars, each order of the arch above paay have
its. own source in the pier below, the shaft being more or
>less perfectly continued in the mouldings of the architrave.
The clustered shaft and the moulded architrave well accom
pany each other, both being required for the highest style
of perfection.
Another important feature in the Gothic style is to be
found in the mouldings . which are its accompaniments.
The great point of difference between these and those
which characterized the Romanesque, is to be found in the
fact that tQe latter exhibited the square section, while in
the Gothic not a single edge was allowed to remain. Even
the simplest form was chamfered off. Bases, abaci, often
the angles of buildings, lose their sharp, square edge. But
the Gothic, in its complete development, does not content
itself with cutting away or chamfering off the square sec
tion. It proceeds further and excavates the surface with
hollows. In the Gothic, no member of a moulded archi-'
trave ever projects from the surface. All is contained
within the line of the chamfer. The Gothic mouldings,
meaning by these all the varieties of outline or contour given

EUROPEAN ART. 37
to the angles of the various subordinate parts and features
of buildings, are a remarkable development of the Gothic
principle. The square edge, or hard boundary of two
plains, being regarded as a mark of distinctness, is swept
away. The chamfer and hollow moulding form strongly
marked vertical lines. More especially does the deep hol
low in a moulded arch form a strong line of shade along
which the eye runs with great facility.
We are not, however, to conclude that the Gothic con
sists wholly of vertical lines. If it did, nothing could be
derived from the principle of contrast, the effect of which
the Gothic architecture could not afford to lose. Hence it
presents strong horizontal lines, deeply marked string
courses, transoms, and division of height into stageB.1
These, however, are not so frequent but that the vertical
lines predominate, thus constituting the ruling idea through
the entire structure. To rise, soar, ascend, is eminently a
characteristic of the Gothic style. " From the tall spire
forming the crowning point of a vast cathedral to the sharp
canopy over a diminutive niche, the same soaring tendency
v is displayed." This vertical effect inherent in the very being of Gothic
architecture, and developed by those things that may be
termed necessaries of the style, is still further aided by what
may be called its luxuries. These are the high roofs, spires,
pinnacles, and flying buttresses, which are arch-formed
props connecting the walls of the upper and central por-
tions-of an aisled structure with the vertical buttresses of
the outer walls. This latter is merely a mechanical help
for producing greater height, and thereby- incidentally
giving greater scope to the principle of verticality although
it becomes itself a vertical feature in the external view.2
Another feature still necessary to be considered in the com
position of the Gothic style is that of vaulting. The sim
plest kind of vault is the cylindrical, called also a barrel, and
sometimes wagon vault, which, springing from the two

'Freeman, 306. * Idem, 307.

38 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
opposite walls, presents a uniform concave surface through
out its whole length. This was in use among the Romans.
The vault, therefore, is not an emanation from the vertical
principle. It is seized hold of by that principle, and so
modelled as more effectually to carry it out. It is analo
gous to the arch, being, in fact, only the arch' continued.
The Gothic style requires both to be of a particular form.
Gothic churches are found without vaulting, but the style
cannot reach an ideal perfection without it. It is the only
means by which the vertical principle can be carried out in
one continued ascent from the floor to the apex of the roof.
Any other form of roof would present the horizontal line of
the cornice as a check to the vertical progress of the eye.
Even the high pitched open roof is objectionable, as pre
senting the wall plate which breaks the continuity of
vertical ascent as the eye moves from the floor to the
high pitch of the roof. The effect is, that it gives the
latter the appearance of being something adventitious ;
put on because necessary, but not architecturally con
nected with the building below. On the contrary, in a
church whose vaulting springs from shafts, not corbels,
the eye 'rises continuously and uninterruptedly from the
pavement to the key stone of the vault ; and that being
formed of pointed arches, carries it still higher, seeming
to soar into infinity. The roof, instead of seeming some
thing adventitious, then presents itself as a necessary
addition. It is still a distinct design from the walls.
The vault and the walls are portions of the same design.
They unite together and constitute one whole, the walls
forming but one vast impost for the vaulting arch.
Much speculation has been gone into to account for the
origin of Gothic architecture. It has been found very
much to resemble the Arabian or Saracenic style. In both
are found the pointed arch, foliation, and attempts at-
tracery. The first appearance of the Gothic, also, very
nearly coincides with that stirring period when the Cru
sades brought Europe and Asia face to face on the plains
Of Palestine. It is supposed, and not without reason, that

EUROPEAN ART. 39
the CrUsaders, on their return, brought with them certain
forms of Saracenic architecture. These were seized upon
by the northern mind with its vast fertility of genius, and
gradually worked into a style which became the Gothic.
The pointed arch, thus derived from the Saracen, is an
element of the pointed style, but not the only one. Verti-
cality, as opposed to horizontality, was the real principle,
and this may have been suggested by the pointed arch.
But the mere -use of the pointed arch alone would not
make a Gothic building.
•Another source, which has been quite a favorite one, is
that the style is an imitation of natural forests and of arti
ficial structures of posts and twigs. There is a marked
resemblance between the long vista of a thick grove and a
Gothic nave with its clustered pillars, its arches and ribs
stretching forth in every direction and interlacing one with
another, the;tracery of its windows doing about the same
thing, all its choicest details very closely imitating the
vegetable world. The two origins are not inconsistent
with each other. The Teutpnic architect, after he had
established the pointed arch, in looking about for forms the
best adapted to his new construction, might very properly
obtain from the forest growths by which he was sur
rounded, those which he deemed would harmonize the best
with his design. This may have given us the foliaged
capital, and the clustered pillar. It is very generally con
ceded that natural forests and artificial structures of wicker
have contributed ideas to Gothic architecture. The clus
tered and banded pillar more closely represents a number
of rods fastened together than any natural object whatever.
So, also, the ramifications of vaulting, as well as several
forms of tracery, are easily deriveable from the natural
grove. So we have a whole class of windows of the best
period of tracery, the type of which is so strikingly vegeta
ble that one can hardly doubt their imitation of the
branches of a tree. It is observable that the later Gothic is
more forest-like than the earlier ; and it is said to be the
general tendency of styles of architecture as they ad-

40 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
vance to depart further from the sources to which they
owe their origin.
The supremacy of the Gothic was not accomplished
without a struggle. The old forms of the Romanesque
were not so easily surrendered. During the latter half of
the twelfth century the new and old forms, both of detail
and construction, were struggling for ascendency. The
earliest Gothic feature introduced was the pointed pier
arch.1 But while the pointed arch was the first, the round
abacus was the last feature of the new style to come into
general use. The transition was about equally slow* in
regard to pillars.
In passing from the Romanesque to the Gothic, changes
were made both in the capitals and bases of the pillars.
The first step towards the development of the foliaged
Gothic capital seems to have been a return towards classical
models. In the bases, also, there is a return towards the
same models. The -early Gothic base is similar- to the
Attic; its mouldings being the same, a hollow between two
rounds. While the Gothic style has its peculiarities, which serve to
distinguish it in a very marked degree from every other, it
has its own subdivisions, possessing each its own distinctive
features. These have been variously designated. In Eng- '
land they have been stated as three, viz : the early English,
decorated, and perpendicular. Others have named them :
first-pointed, middle-pointed, and third-pointed. Another
more general division, as covering the whole field of Gothic
architecture, is into early and continuous Gothic ; the
former including the early English and geometrical deco
rated of the common nomenclature, while the latter is
made to comprehend the flowing decorated, flamboyant,
and perpendicular.
In the early Gothic, the shafts are of great height, clustered
together,2 with delicately flowered capitals, and a round or
polygonal abacus ; lofty pointed arches, with rich and deep

'Freeman, 323. a Idem, 340.

EUROPEAN ART: 41
mouldings ; ribbed vaults ; and windows formed of a com
bination of lights with geometrical tracery. Flying but
tresses, elegant pinnacles, and angular canopies, which are
often , crocheted, enrich the exterior. Foliation is used
freely, but is not essential. The shaft is introduced abund
antly, and may be said to mark the style in large build
ings. To prevent the occurrence of monotony, angular
edges were introduced instead of convex or cylindrical
surfaces, by means of which, with narrow, flat faces and
bold concavities, a rich effect is produced, at a less expense
and in greater variety. Shafts with capitals^ though often
used, were no longer the same prominent feature, and folia
tion became much more necessary.
In the continuous, or later Gothic, a great alteration
took place in the tracery, which instead of being formed
of geometrical figures touching each other, branched out
into ramifications, either in free and bold curves, as in
the late decorated and the continental flamboyant, or in
lines preserving the vertical direction of the mullions, or
slender piers forming the division between the lights of
windows, screens, etc., as in the English perpendicular style.
The mullion itself, also, had a more decided character, not
only appearing in the window, but also often repeated in
panelling over a large surface of the building. The form
of the arch was more varied, especially at a late period ;
and transoms, and even square heads to windows, were ad
mitted, by which they might be more easily adapted to the
space they were designed to occupy.
The beauty of the early Gothic prevails more in its dif
ferent parts in the slim and delicate shaft, the graceful
foliage of the capital, and the bold rounds and hollows of
the mouldings, all which are brought into prominent notice
and forced on the eye at the first glance.1 In the continu
ous Gothic, the parts almost disappear, being merged in the
greater eflect produced by the combined whole. Hence the
grace and beauty of the details of the early style; and in the

'Freeman, 341.
VII] ,

42 HISTORY QP CIVILIZATION.
later, the fact that its beauty is that of the perfect whole,
whose parts exist but in and through that which they con
stitute. One thing marking the early Gothic is the employment
of the distinct shaft and arch in decoration, thus giving an
unity to the minutest details, paralleling the main arcades
• of a church in the decorative ones which run along its
walls.1 It is possible at once to distinguish the shaft from
the arch which it supports, and capital, abacus, band, and
base, all lend their aid in increasing the distinctness.
In the disappearing or merging of the parts into the
. whole, the arcading, which stands as a correlative to the
pannelling, gradually sunk the one into the other. The
shaft gradually disappears, owing first to the fact that the
flow of the mullion and the arch is rendered more contin-
ous; and, secondly, because a wider field is thus given for
carrying out an uniform design.2 The substitution of the
mullion for the shaft enables the combining a whole wall in
one design, as the former runs up the whole height, throw
ing off successive arches at different heights. The same
idea, under different modifications, is presented by blank
panelling, tracery, and screen work.
A very important element in the composition of Gothic
decoration in its perfect state is foliation. It is not, how- '
ever, essential, nor is it a development of the vertical prin
ciple.
'< The tracery of the windows offers the feature in which
all the principles of the styles are the most readily discern
ible. In the early Gothic the separate existence of parts is
most strongly marked in the windows. They are either
actually distinct lancets, or windows, with tracery in which
the most severe distinctness still prevails.
The early Gothic had several varieties. The first is the
earlyEnglish, and has been denominated the lancet style. ,
In this the window is single, and is often grouped into com
binations, but not divided by mullions and tracery. This,
 ?
'Freeman, 343. "Idem, HA.

EUROPEAN ART. 43
in its details, exhibits the fullest development of distinct
ness of parts.
The second variety has tracery in its windows consisting
of geometrical figures filling up the head, but not springr
ing from the mullions, or fused into each other. This may
be called the geometrical variety.
So also the continuous style had its varieties. , Its first
appearance was in a form denominated flowing, so called
from the lines of its window tracery. In it, the mullions
are continued, and the figures in the tracery are melted
together and completely foliated.
In the fuller development of this style in England and
France, it is known by the names of perpendicular and
flamboyant. The great feature presented in both these is
continuity. The tracery is no longer made up of figures.
It is a mere prolongation of the mullions. In the per
pendicular they are straight ; in the flamboyant, curved
lines. The intervening spaces are foliated at one or both
ends. The lancet, or early English, was almost entirely con
fined to England. It adopted the round abacus, which
distinguished it from the . Romanesque and the lancet
window, which constituted its chief difference from the
succeeding geometrical. In France might be found the
lancet window, but combined with the square abacus ; and
in the geometrical is the round abacus, but combined with
the traceried window. The lancet windows chiefly dis
tinguished the style, and constitute a feature of great ele
gance. One effect of the introduction of the lancet princi
ple into windows is that they are brought, by means of it,
near together, and become members of one composition.
The detail of the lancet style presents great beauty and
loveliness.1 We have here detached marble shafts, with
their deep cut bases, their bands, their capitals of the rich
est and most graceful foliage. We have the deep mould
ings, forming the finest contrasts of light and shade; long

1 Freeman; 358.

44 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
rows of the most elegant and satisfactory tooth ornament ;
corbels and bosses, and knots of foliage, and the greatest,
profusion of arcades. Although succeeding styles carried
out the Gothic principle more perfectly as a whole, yet no
one exceeded this in its beauty of detail. The use of de
tached shafts seems peculiar to this style, and constitutes
one of its most graceful features. It is the great distinct
ness of parts, and the extreme lightness and delicacy per
vading the lancet style that constitutes its principal charm.
The shaft employed is perfectly distinct, stands free, and
acknowledges as its only bonds of union the capital, base,
and band.
The geometrical variety of the early Gothic is distin
guished from the lancet by the introduction of tracery.
Its necessity was the most strongly felt in couplets. Thus
the joining together of two lancets left a blank space, the
appearance of which could be greatly improved by its in
troduction. Another feature of great importance was the tower. Its
form was usually square, but occasionally octagonal, and
sometimes an octagon crowning a square. The arcade was
the principal ornament, sometimes employed in several
stages, the whole surface being occasionally covered by
arcades. The spire generally grew out of the pyramidical
capping. As regards the interior, the first noticeable thing is the
lateral elevations of the nave and choir. The vertical prin
ciple here is very seldom presented, and in some instances
the horizontal prevails over it.
The pillar is always an assemblage of columns. As the
lancet style ceased, the shafts lost their detached condition^
but they still remained clustering together, united by their
abaci and bases. The proportions of the pillars and arch,
and of the whole compartment are regulated by the size of
the triforium, which is the gallery, or arcade, in the wall
over the pier arches, which separate the body from the aisles
of a church. The early Gothic triforia were very analo
gous to windows. They resembled a window of two.

EUROPEAN ART. 45
three, or four lights, and exhibit the complete geometrical
tracery, and the same imperfect and transitional forms as
the windows.1 They were abolished by the later archi
tects, but the principles of the early Gothic require their
presence. The idea of a triforium could not be clothed in contin
uous forms. It is the creation of the shaft and arch, and
cannot be translated into the language of the mullion and
panel. In that kind of the late, or continuous Gothic, termed the
perpendicular style, we find, as its peculiarity, the applica
tion of the four-centered arch, the best forms of which ex
hibit a very graceful curve. Again, this style presents us
with the bold prominent buttresses, which are projections
from the wall to create additional strength and support.
They are a purely Gothic invention, being there rendered
necessary to meet and overcome the thrust of the pointed
roof. They impart the appearance as well as the reality of
strength. Along with them are the vast windows which
occupy the intervening spaces.
So, also, we meet here with the clerestory, which is any
window, row of windows, or openings in the upper part of
a building, or of a wall or screen. This is more usually
applied to the upper part of the central aisle of a church in
which windows are formed above the roofs of the side
aisles. Another noble feature of the continuous style is its
magnificent steeples either with or without spires. These
were ornamental appendages to the tower, springing out
from the middle of it, and sometimes abutted on by small
flying buttresses from the angles. The spire is now more
frequently set on an octagon, which gives it a more grace
ful and greater sublimity of outline. Being thus reduced
to an ornamental appendage, and the tower being complete
without it, the former was often altogether omitted, and
the latter alone worked into a prominent feature. Thus

Freeman, 366.

46 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
the square tower, capped by battlements and pinnacles,
became one of the noblest features of Gothic architecture.
The perpendicular style brought forward the fan tracery
vaulting which is a creation of its own. In it all the ribs
that rise from the springing the vault have the same curve,
and diverge equally in every direction, thus producing an
effect something resembling that of the bones of a fan.
This is more commonly found in use for small buildings, as
cloisters and small chapels, than over wider spaces.
The flamboyant style on the continent was contempo
rary with the perpendicular in England. It is so called
from the flame-like wavings of its tracery. It abounds in
intricacy and redundancy of ornament. It has a waving
arrangement of the tracery of windows, panels, etc. This
style never had the regularity and fixedness of other styles.
It ran wild in quest of ornament ; adopted it wherever
found ; frequently in order to obtain it, reverts to geome
trical forms ; it alienizes, and introduces forms alien to the
true Gothic. All this has contributed to give to it capa
bilities possessed by no other style, and while it has in
some cases reared the noblest church edifices, in others it
has run into all the perverse extravagances of an exuberant
and undisciplined fancy.
It is by no means all of Europe that is equally the
home of the Gothic architecture. The three nations in
which it arose and flourished the most, are England,
France, and Germany. In each of these it was thoroughly
native ; although in each it exhibited its own peculiarities.
But the pure Gothic, as a style, found difficult, although not
entirely impassable barriers, in the Alps and the-Pyrenees.
It was not a native style either in the Italian or Spanish
peninsula. In neither of those countries was the pure
Teutonic stock ever so prevalent as in England, France,
and Germany. In Italy, more especially, the vast colossus
of Roman civilization cast a lengthened shadow. Rome,
as a political power, had passed away. But her arts and
civilization still remained behind. These proved too
strong for the Teutonic races that deluged Italy, ever to

EUROPEAN ART. 47'
subdue. Classical ideas, and classical forms, still main
tained their ascendency throughout the whole Gothic
period,, until the Renaissance came at last to their relief,
and found in them a nucleus around which it could
gather its elements to repel back the Gothic tide.
We have an Italian Gothic, but it exhibits none of the
necessary features of that peculiar style. There is no
Gothic outline presented. Venice exhibits to us her glo
rious old cathedral of St. Mark, with its strange, rich, and
wildly beautiful forms of architecture, savoring of an
orientalism, either Byzantine or Arabian. The nearest
resemblance to the Gothic style which may be found south
of the Alps, is undoubtedly in the cathedral of Milan;
which, for noble dimensions, precious materials, and
richness of ornament, is hardly surpassed by any other
Christian temple.
South of the Pyrenees, the Christian architecture is
Gothic, and comes nearer the true Teutonic model than in
Italy. There was here no stupendous power to sap from the
Gothic its vitality. The great difficulty here encountered
'was in the preoccupation of the Spanish soil, or at least
the southern portion of it, by the Saracenic style. There
is a continual recurrence of fantastic forms borrowed from
an Arabian source ; and?, what proves beyond any ques
tion, the early and powerful influence of the Saracenic
style, is the curious fact, that the Renaissance in Spain '
appears to have assumed, to a certain extent, the character
of a closer return to the forms of that style. There are,
however, several cathedrals in Spain, that are essentially
Gothic in their character. Among these are the stupend
ous cathedral of Seville, as also that at Burgos. That of
Toledo has all the features of a true Gothic minster. It
has its interior, presenting arcade, triforium, and clere
story, together with clustered pillars and vaulting shafts.
The triforium and clerestory present only the rudiments of
tracery, and most of the shafts have the square abacus.
The Gothic style, as prevailing in England, France, and
Germany, had peculiar adaptations to the demands of

48 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Christian worship. In its nave and transept, it symbol
ized the cross. The choir, destined for those taking an
active part in the services of the sanctuary, was early
separated from the grand area designed to receive the
congregation, and constructed on the noblest scale; form
ing, as it were, a lesser church, contained within the limits
of the principal structure. The necessity of a passage
round the choir led to the erection of side aisles, adjoining
the nave, which was so completely distinguished from them
by its greater elevation,1 that these aisles often appear like
separate buildings attached to the centre pile. Everything
contributes to produce that copious variety of design and
decoration, which is a distinctive characteristic of Gothic
ecclesiastical architecture.
Perhaps the most perfect specimen of Gothic architec
ture may be found in the vast cathedral at Cologne. The
pillars there serve to illustrate the manner in which the
idea of this mode of construction arose and developed
itself. Each pillar, besides its solid centre, has four others
Of equal size surrounding it, and four, eight or twelve of
the smaller, the number varying according to the situation
and importance of the pillar. " When many such systems
of clustering columns are assembled together, as at the
interior angles of the tower, a surprising idea of vastness is
produced by their multiplied variety. Hence arose the
peculiar character of the Gothic arch. The high pitched
northern roof gave to the arch its pointed form, in accord
ance with -the harmony which it is essentially necessary to
preserve between the exterior and the interior. In carry
ing up these clustering shafts, they naturally unfolded
into numerous ribs and branches, which, crossing and
intersecting each other in every direction, became a groined
and pointed roof, the vaulting of which gave peculiar
grandeur of expression to the lofty aisle, and stamped it
with a variety and beauty found only in Gothic architec
ture. The form of the arch derived from the high pitched

'Sehlegel's Msthetie Works, 178.

EUROPEAN ART. 49
r#bof of the northern manner of building, extends also to
the doorways,1 in which the numerous banded pillars, ex
panding above form arches, retiring one within the other,
narrowing and deepening towards the interior, and exube
rantly ornamented. The oldest Gothic windows are mostly
trefoiled. Here, again, if we seek the slender, long drawn,
pointed arch, in this as in every other part, as far as it is
practicable, we find a repetition of the same general prin
ciple, and in all. its variations the one fundamental figure is
apparent. In the close juxtaposition of two such arches,
and the introduction of the trefoil, at the point of- union,
we discover an anticipation of the subsequent foliated
tracery. The rose and the trefoil in various combina
tions may be recognized as the basis of all the highly
artistic foliation with which the cathedral at Cologne is
adorned." In the Greek, or classical, and the Gothic or pointed
architecture, we have presented the two most perfect repre
sentatives of the horizontal and vertical styles of architec
ture. It may be well to bring the two into contrast with
each Other, with the view of getting a more perfect idea of
each. In the Greek, the lines are horizontal : they form no
arches. In the Gothic, the lines are vertical, and arches a funda
mental principle.
In the former an entablature is absolutely necessary.2
This always consisted of two, and more generally of three
distinct parts, each closely related to, and its character and
ornaments determined by, the columns which served as
its supports.
In the latter, there is no such thing as an entablature
composed of parts. __What answers in the place of an
entablature is an arch, round in the Romanesque, and
pointed, or lancet, in the Gothic.

'ScMegel's JEstlietie Works, 179. J Pictorial Gallery of Arts. 2d Series,
Fine Arts, 115-
VII] 7

50 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
In the former, columns alone support an entablature
and nothing else; and no arch can spring directly from a
column. In the latter, the pier, or shaft, supplies the place of the
column, which can only support an arched moulding, and
in no case a horizontal line.
In the former, the arch, if it exist at all, must spring from
a horizontal line.
In the latter, no horizontal line is necessary, and never
any but the small cap of an arch. The shaft bears nothing,
and is only ornamental, and the round pier still a pier.
In the former, the arch is regarded as foreign to the
style, and when introduced, its diagonal presence excludes
from the decoration.
In the latter, the arch is the one essential feature. Its
diagonal pressures are most studiously manifested, and the
rest of the composition harmonizes with them by other
inclined planes.
In the former, we have the flat column standing out -
.from the wall, called the pilaster, which can be used as a
column. In the latter, there is nothing analogous to a pilaster.
Every flat, ornamented, projecting surface is either a series
of panels or a buttress.
¦ In the former, there are no projections like buttresses, and
all projections are stopped and bounded by horizontal lines.
In the latter, buttresses are essential parts. They stop
horizontal lines, resist the thrust of the arch, and give the
assurance of strength and security.
, In the former, the pediment, or triangular termination at
the ends of buildings, over porticoes, etc., is fixed.
In the latter, the pediment is only an ornamented end
wall, and may^be of almost any pitch.
In the former, openings are limited by the proportion
of the column.
'". In the latter, openings are almost unlimited, the open
lattice work being a great beauty in the Gothic archi
tecture.

EUROPEAN ART. 51
In the former, regularity of composition on each side of
a centre is necessary.
In the latter, regularity of composition is very seldom
found, while variety of ornament is universal,
In the former, different planes of decoration are avoided,
and never exceed two in an entire composition.
In the latter, different planes of decoration are placed
behind each other to any number, and in every possible
degree of variety even in a single member, aa in an arch .
In the former, superincumbent weights are united as far
as possible by resting on the horizontal cornice, which
combines them into one mass.
In the latter, superincumbent weights are divided into
as many parts as possible, and then given to independent
props. In the former, artifices of construction are concealed, as
they are thought to impair the simplicity of effect.
In the latter, every possible artifice of construction is
displayed. In the former, chamfered surfaces are held inadmi.ssable,
and mouldings can only stop against a surface perpendicu
lar to their course. *
In the latter, chamfered surfaces are universal; mould
ings are applied to them, ahd may die against them or any
other surface at any angle.
In the former, panels are mere superficial ornaments.
In the latter, panels are apertures between the parts of
the decorative frame of the building.
In the former, no good steeples can arise, because, when
attempted, they nearly resemble ornamented buildings
piled on each other.
In the latter, steeples may form a part of the structure.
They are there composed of an ascending series of vertical
lines which may be carried to any practicable height, with
almost ever increasing beauty.

52 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.

IV. The Renaissance, or Attempt to return to the Classic
Forms of Greece and Rome consequent upon the Revival of
Letters. The Gothic was truly a noble style of architecture. Its
mission was the development of the vertical principle.
During three centuries it was employed in originating all
the possible styles in which this principle could be exhi
bited. And when the lancet, geometrical, perpendicular,
and flaniboyant styles were all run through, it had nothing
more to offer. It had worked itself out. All its resources
were exhausted. Nothing remained but a repetition of
the same principles embodied in similar forms.
But the human mind could not stop. It was a creature of
progress. In obedience to the demands of the aesthetic
nature, it was still bound to move onward, and to exert its
full powers in devising and executing such styles as could
promise to be acceptable. It is, however, true that in one,
and that too a very important sense, the history of archi
tecture closes with the period of the Renaissance. And
that is, that subsequent to that period no new element of
a marked character has beerf introduced into architecture.1
The Renaissance, the revival of ancient art, might well
commence in Italy. There were many of its most splendid
remains. There were still to be found lingering remnants
of a taste that was born and nourished amid classic models,
with southern and central, and even to a large extent, with
, northern Italy, the Gothic was ever a foreign style, which
had crossed the Alps with its conquering races, and was
tolerated from necessity. It hardly even obtained a foot
hold in central and southern Italy. It would not, there
fore, require, on. the part of the Italians, the operation of a
very powerful cause to induce them to attempt a revival of
ancient architectural art. They could very easily abandon
that complicated pointed arch, and that expanding buttress,

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 119.

EUROPEAN ART. 53
which had become such prominent features, and substi
tute in their place the simple coved ceiling, a transverse
cincture, and upright support. They could easily set aside
every species of tracery and tabernacle work, of cusp and
canopy and crochet, and other ornaments peculiar to the
Gothic style, for the capital, cornice, entablature, balustrade,
and vase of the ancients.
Tt required, however, some time, even in Italy, to work
such a change in public taste as would justify a return to
classic or pagan forms of architecture. There is an inter
mediate or transitional style between Gothic and Italian
prevailing in . Italy at the time of the first attempts to re
store classical architecture. This transitional style is called
the cinque-cento,1 literally five hundred, but means fifteen
hundred, to designate the century during which it prevailed.
The great distinguishing feature of this style consisted
in its application of classical detail according to Gothic
principles. Architects had formerly been accustomed .to
enrich their buildings with many small compartments of
paneling and minute ornament. Their successors, in the
place of the simple colonnade and expansive arch, used a
profusion of small columns, entablatures, pediments, and
arches, encrusting the face of the building with classical
detail, as the former architects had done with Gothic.
Thus many Gothic vestiges still remained, but combined
with a style of ornamentation entirely foreign to its own
nature. The architect whose efforts contributed the most towards
the introduction of the new style into Italy was Philip
Brunelleschi, who flourished between the years 1377 and
1444. The most splendid monument of his architectural
genius is the great dome of the Florence Cathedral, which
for vastness and grandeur, for greatness of conception and
skill of execution, must rank among the noblest of human
achievements.2 It is reared upon a vast octagon, which
soars aloft almost like a Gothic spire. As spreading as St.

1 Freeman, 429. * Idem, 431.

54 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Sophia, it is the largest mass ever reared upon piers and
arches, and elevates the cross to a height equal to that of
the proudest steeples of the north. Great in every propor
tion, and with the superadded richness of the octagonal
form, it has been called the most wonderful exhibition of
mechanical skill, and one of the most glorious products of
architectural genius, that the world has ever seen. This
domical feature, imported from the east, strikes with a
¦ grandeur, power, and even beauty, superior to any and all
other things except the towering majesty of a Gothic spire,
if that even be an exception.
The Renaissance was rarely applied to sacred edifices,
for which it was not so well adapted. For them the
Gothic possessed peculiar adaptations which have embalmed
its style forever in the memory of the faithful. The
Renaissance was much used in the construction of chateaux,
hotels-de-ville and domestic buildings.1
There are reckoned in Italy during the period of the
Renaissance three schools of architecture, viz : the Floren
tine, the Roman, and the Venetian ; the first extending from
A. D. 1400 to 1600; the second from 1470 to 1607; and the
third from 1500 to 1620. The differences between these
different schools were attributable in part to climate, in
part to the habits of the people, and in part to the different
materials for building which were at hand.
The Florentine school presents its characteristics more
in palatial mansions than in churches, and these were
influenced in their form and construction by the necessity
of affording defense to a nobility in a place where insur
rection was continually occurring.2 The palaces of the
great governing families in Florence, such as the Medici,
the Pitti, and the Strozzi, present the»appearance both of a
strong fortress, and of a princely residence. Immense
masses with small openings, diminutive details, rustic
divisions, crowned by immense cornices, characterize these
palaces of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The

1 Oleghorn, 1, 116. 'Pictorial Gallery, n, 130.

EUROPEAN A.RT. 55
general plan consists of a range of buildings disposed on
the four sides of a cortile, or quadrangular court. At the
angles are square towers, which are crowned with battle
ments and machicolations. These towers, as well as the
rest of the building, are divided into stories, with a bold
horizontal cornice to each. In the lower story are the
entrance gateways, generally three in number, covered by
semicircular arches.
The Roman school was founded by Bramante, in 1470.
The style of its palaces is far less massive than that of
Florence.1 Its buildings have not the fortress-like appear
ance that mark the Florentine. The models of antiquity
were there more abundant, and the style, in its lightness
and grace, indicates a better acquaintance with them, and
consequently, an advancing state of the art, as well as more
pacific habits on the part of the people. Columns are
frequently introduced. The buildings are much elevated.
The entrance is almost invariably converted into a princi
pal feature. The court is usually surrounded with an
arcade, from which a staircase of great dimensions leads
to the sala of the palace. The general character is that
of grandeur, divested of the severity that marks the Flo
rentine school. The Italian palace had what is termed
a mezzanine story, which consisted of a range of apart
ments of low elevation, between the two principal stories.
BesideB Bramante, the two Sangallos, Vignola, and
Michael Angelo, are famous names in the Roman school
of architecture. To one of the former, in conjunction
with the two latter,2 is attributed the Farnese palace at
Rome, which, for grandeur of mass, regularity of plan,
and excellence of architecture, holds foremost rank among
palaces. It is rectangular ; two hundred and forty feet long,
one hundred and seventy wide, and more than one hundred
from the ground to the top of the cornice. The facade
presents an unbroken mass, consisting of three stories,
separated by horizontal bands filled by sculptured foliage.

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 130. 2 Idem, 131.

56 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION-
Michael Angelo is a great name in painting and. sculp
ture, as well as in architecture. In all three, he attempted
to relinquish everything that was minute, and strike for
a style that was bold and impressive. In place of the
small orders, each only the height of a single story, accu
mulated over each other, he instituted a single colossal
order, spanning the whole edifice. He is, however,
charged with wanting taste, and with losing sight of pro
priety in his pursuit of novelty. In his ardent pursuit of
the grand, he frequently found only the gigantic, the
affected, the whimsical, and the extravagant. He often
presents pedestals preposterously high, pilasters split,
sliced, folded, divided, and clustered in every way ; enta
blatures profiling over columns, and all the faults of the
JMoclesian age. A portion of St. Peter's, of the Farnese
palace, and the Porta Pia at Rome, are among the archi
tectural works of Michael Angelo.
The St. Peter's church in Rome is one, if not the most
remarkable, of the architectural products of any age or
country. It was commenced as early as 1450, but it was
not until 1503, when it was confided to Bramante, that it
may be said to have commenced upon a regular plan. His
plan was in the form of a Latin cross,1 with a portico of six
columns, and an immense cupola over the crosses of the
transept, supported on four colossal pillars. He first ad
vanced the bold idea of " setting the Pantheon upon a
basilica," and thus of accomplishing a work unapproached
in grandeur. Nearly half a century afterwards, however,
the great Michael Angelo changed the plan from the Latin -
to that of a Greek cross, enlarged the tribune or apse, and
the two transepts strengthened the piers, and made prepa
rations for constructing the gigantic cupola, which was
afterwards finished exactly upon his plan.
In 1608j the architect Carlo Maderno abandoned the plan
of the Greek cross and reverted again to that of the Latin.
In 1780 it was completed, having continued through nearly

'Pictorial Gallery, n, 131.

EUROPEAN ART. 57
three centuries and a half from the time of its commence
ment, and through the reigns of forty-three Roman pontiffs.
So enormous were the expenditures required, that both
Julius II and Leo X, resorted to the sale of indulgences
for the purpose of meeting them, thus sowing the seeds of
the reformation under the dome of St. Peter's at Rome.,
This immense edifice is six hundred and fifty -seven feet
in length. That of the middle aisle, in the clear, is five
hundred and sixty-five feet, and that of the transept is.
four hundred and fifteen feet. The width of the middle
aisle is seventy-eight feet,1 that of the cross arms almost
seventy-three feet. The inner width of the dome is one
hundred and forty-four feet ; the four decorative pilasters
seventy-eight feet high and eight broad ; the entire height
to the cap of the lantern three hundred and sixty-three
feet. The church covers an area of one hundred and
ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six square
feet, of which more than one-fourth are occupied by the
masonry, the smallest thickness of the outer wall being
twenty-six feet. It can hold twenty-nine thousand persons.
Its architectural character has been thus described : " To pro
duce the effect of magnificence in architecture, three things
seem to be necessary: greatness of dimension, simplicity of
design, and richness of decoration.2 To satisfy the mind
after examination, three other things are requisite: correct
ness of proportion, graceful drawing, an(J delicate execu
tion. Of these six points, St. Peter's has the first in a high
degree, something of the second, and a great deal of the
third. The latter three it also possesses, though not in a
very remarkable degree ; the proportions do not offend,
and the drawing and execution are good."
The third Italian school was the Venetian. Venice was
early in the field of art. The church of St. Mark was
commenced in the twelfth century, and from thencefor
ward, as the republic rose by its arms and commerce, it
was also distinguished by its arts. Both its arms and its,

' IconograpJdc Encyclopedia, iv, 187. a Pictorial Gallery, ii, 134, 135.
vn] 8

58 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
commerce enabled it to extend its observation, and thus
enlarge the sphere of its knowledge. Greece and the re
moter east were open to it. The wealth that flowed in upon
its city of the sea not only created new wants, but also
afforded the means for their gratification. In Venice were
merchant princes; and their rivalry with each other, together
with their desire to perpetuate their name by their habita
tions, although not in general leading to works on a colossal -
scale, led nevertheless to a more general diffusion of mode
rately splendid and elegant patterns. Hence the great
number of beautiful specimens of the building art which
the Venetian school supplies.
This school commenced with San Micheliin the beginning
of the sixteenth century, and includes Sansovino, Palladio,
and Scamozzi among its chief members. It continued a
little more than a century. It is chiefly characterized by
its great lightness and elegance, the convenience it exhibits
in distribution, and the very abundant, if not exuberant,
display of columns, pilasters, and arcades in its composition.
As we shall find its sister school of painting emulous of
captivating the senses by its strong and vivid coloring, so
also does this endeavor to address the same with more effect
than the two preceding schools.1
The structures of San Micheli, the founder of this style,
are characterized by convenience, unity, harmony, and sim
plicity. The general arrangement of his palatial facade
was a basement of rustic work ; then the principal story,
having an order of pilasters or columns and a range of
arched corridors connected with the pilasters in the manner
of an arcade, with an entablature crowning the whole.
Palladio was the greatest architect of this school, and has
given the term Palladian to indicate Italian architecture.
His style originated in the necessity of bending architec
ture to the requirements of modern society. These could
be answered neither by the Greek temple nor the Christian
cathedral. Exterior beauty must be accommodated to

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 135.

EUROPEAN Art. 59
interior convenience, and the wants of persons must be
suited to the means they possessed. His plans were ad
mirably fitted for the climate of Italy, and the means and ,
habits of those for whom he worked. Many of these have
Served as models upon which mansions have been built in
England, modifications being introduced in accordance
with the'difference in circumstances and climate of the two
countries. The best days of Italian architecture ended with the
opening of the seventeenth century. No one of the three
schools, just mentioned, ceased at that time ; but the archi
tects who came afterwards showed less purity of taste.
They possessed less originality ; ceased to carry through
their structures any single plan or purpose, or to follow
out any particular, style; accumulated -together all sorts of
features, and derived their results from all sorts of styles.
The consequence was a want of uniformity, and a mixture'
of features, which was far from being pleasing or agreeable
to a refined taste..

V. Modern Architecture.
1. Upon the continent.
2. In Great Britain.
The Renaissance grew out of the protest of Greek and
Roman ruins against the overwhelming tide that was sub
merging Italy beneath the buttress, pointed arch, and spire,
of the Gothic style of architecture. The rally in defense of
the entablature, the pilaster and other accompaniments Of
the horizontal style, as might naturally be expected, was
effectual in Italy. But when it crossed the Alps, and at
tempted to supersede the Gothic upon its own soil, and
amid its own defenders, it encountered opposition and dif
ficulty. " In northern countries, Gothic was a favorite style,
hallowed by religion, chivalry and art ; and the inroads of
any principle at variance with it could not work its over-

60 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
throw without a severe struggle.1 The race that had
reared Cologne, and Freyburg, Lincoln and Winchester,
Amiens and Beauvais, could not at once surrender, the
deep moulding, the luxuriant foliage, the waving tracery,
the clustering trunks and stony branches of their own pil
lared forest for the dull monotony of the five orders,
the stiff forms and hard outlines of the round arch and un-
malleable entablature."
The wars in Italy Under Charles VLU, Louis X.11, and
Francis I, nO doubt operated extensively as a means of
introducing a taste for Italian architecture. These wars
opened to the French people a knowledge of Italy, and of
Italian arts. These would naturally have an effect, partly
as novelties, and partly as a revival of old Roman forms,
the remains of Which were still frequently to be found,
' especially in southern France. Francis I was more espe
cially distinguished for his fine taste and enlightened
patronage of the arts.2 He induced several Italian archi
tects to visit France, among whom were Vignola and
Serlio. Notwithstanding all these adventitious aids, the struggle
in France was very severe. Although not by any means
strictly and purely the land of the Teuton, yet his style of
architecture had been so thoroughly adopted, that all
direct departures from it were at first made with great
reluctance. In some cases, the two styles came into
actual opposition. In some cases a kind of compromise
was made, by uniting to the old Gothic form, Italian
detaiNind Ornamentation. Thus the church of St. Eustace
at Paris, erected between 1532 and 1648, retains every
feature of a real Gothic minster, substituting the minute
details of the new style for those appropriate to its outline.
There are the vast height, the tall clustered piers, the
vaulting shafts) triforium, and clerestory ; the apse and
arcade, which are all Gothic,3 and found in the elder
French cathedrals. But along with these, we have the

'Freeman, 432, 433. *Cleg7iorn, i, 116. 8 Freeman, 435.

EUROPEAN ART. 61
round arch, classical capital, heavy impost, arid general
squareness and flatness of the Italian style. So the front
of St. Michael's, at Dijon, is conceived on the old outline ;
with two towers of noble proportions, with buttresses of
the boldest projection, staircase turrets, and an advanced
porch with three entrances, on the old plan. But here
again the details are all Italian ; round fretted arches, a
grotesque entablature, the whole facade crowded with
small columns, entablatures and pediments ; the windows
round headed, and almost all without tracery? and the
octagonal lanterns on the two steeples terminate in cupo
las. So in St. Peter's, at Caen, its east end furnishes one of
the best examples of this corrupt style, having a polygonal
apse, and apsidal chapels, with buttresses, pinnacles,
flying buttresses, niches, and open parapets, all cinque-
cento ; the Italian element being shown rather in the strange
character of these ornaments, than in the actual presence
of classical members.
Even in cases apparently the most favorable for the in
troduction of the pure Italian, the Gothic has asserted its
claims. Catharine of Medici, an Italian, and queen of
Henry II, resolving on the construction of a palace,
selected, as a site, the spot occupied by some tile-kilns
(tuileries), and employed the architect, De l'Ome, who is
said to have " seen ancient Roman buildings with eyes pre
occupied by the Gothic style," and thus a certain comming
ling of the two elements is observable in his works. But
at a later period Mary de Medici, the queen of Henry IV,
a Florentine by birth, directed her architect, De Brosse, to
"build the Luxembourg palace as near as circumstances
would allow, like the palazzi of Florence. The queen's
preference made this style fashionable, and was thus in
strumental in producing an intermediate style, which lasted
long in France, and retarded the advancement of the art.
Under Louis XIV, Mansard constructed the Church of
the Invalids and the Palace of Versailles. Of the former it
is said that it is a whole in which " richness and elegance
are combined ; in which lightness and solidity are well

62 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
balanced;' in which unity is not injured by variety; and
whose general effect silences the critic, however he may be
disposed to find fault." He was also the architect of the
splendid dome of the Invalids. The palace is a work of
extraordinary grandeur and magnificence, but having in it
a mixture of Florentine taste.
The latter part of the reign of Louis XV was charac
terized by the introduction of an improved taste into French
architecture. At the commencement of the eighteenth cen
tury, French palatian architecture had attained a degree of
excellence which it has never surpassed. During the last
half of that century were erected or commenced some
edifices that have acquired much celebrity. Among these
are the St. Genevieve or the Pantheon, by Souflot, which is
said to form an era in French art. It is the largest modern
church in France, and occupies the fourth place of the
modern great churches in Europe, those of Santa Maria
del fiore at Florence, St. Peter's at Rome, and St Paul's at
London, being in advance of it. The corrupt Italian style
is made here to yield to the forms of the antique. In its
plan it unites the Latin and the Greek cross. The interior
is separated into three very unequal parts by isolated
columns, instead of arcades decorated with pilasters. The
building is three hundred and fifty feet long including the
portico, and its width at the transepts is two hundred and
sixty feet, and at other parts about one hundred. A
range of columns sixty feet high forms the portico. The
entablature is continued along the whole building, consti
tuting almost its only decoration.1 It has no windows, the-
interior being lighted by a dome, and by large semicircular
windows above the internal colonnade, which are not visi
ble externally. The lower part of the dome is encircled
by a Corinthian peristyle of thirty-two columns, thirty-six
feet high, on an unbroken stylobate, or base of the wall.
But of all the monumental structures of Paris the Temple
of the Madeleine takes the lead in style of architecture,
1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 138.

EUROPEAN ART. 63
grandeur, dimensions, and rich decoration. The history of
its construction extends over half a century, and carries
along the history of art in its architectural applications,
during that period. It was in progress at the breaking out
of the revolution, which caused its temporary suspension.
The emperor, Napoleon I, with a view to commemorate his
victories in December, 1806, decreed that it should be con
verted into a national temple of glory, and decorated with
the statues of the marshals and distinguished generals of
France. From his camp at Tilsit he decided on the plan
of a Grecian octostyle temple, of the Corinthian order, as
the best suited to the grandeur and magnificence of a
, national monument. The work was in progress at the
restoration of Louis XVIH, but the restored Bourbon did
not care to have it perpetuate the glories of Napoleon.
The exterior was already completed, but the interior was
so changed in its arrangements as to adapt it to the wants
' of a Roman Catholic church. Externally it resembles a
Corinthian peripteral temple, and is one hundred feet
longer, and forty wider than the Parthenon of Athens..
On the stylobate are fifty-two columns more than sixty
feet in height. The interior is divided lengthwise into
three aisles,1 covered by as many iron flat domes, through
which the building is lighted, there being no side windows.
In order that its heathen style ~ should not belie its real
character, the frieze all round the colonnade is decorated with
angels holding garlands, intermixed with religious attri
butes. It is one of the most classical and magnificent
structures in Europe.
The classical character, however, of the French style,
has been rather Roman than Grecian, but, as between that
and the modern schools of Italy, the portico style has been
much in advance of the palace style..
The Madeleine is by no means the only architectural
record left by Napoleon. There are also the gallery unit
ing the palace of the Louvre and Tuilleries ; the triumphal

' Pictorial Gallery, n, 138.

64 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Arch de I'Etoile ; the Bourse, which is the great tribunal of
commerce; the cupola of the corn market; the triumphal
arch in the place de Carousel ; the Fountain of the Ele
phant, the Pont des Arts, the column of the place Vendome,
besides many others. Many of these were left incomplete
by Napoleon, and owe their full completion to Louis Phi
lippe. Among those thus left was the Arco della Pace, the
Arch of Peace, which at the time of his fall was in the pro
cess of erection at Milan, being at the southern or Italian
termination of the road he caused to be constructed across
the Alps, at the pass of the Simplon, and designed as a
trophy of his victories. This, along with the duchy of Milan,
fell into the possession of the emperor of Austria, who
transformed it into a record of his own fortune and of
Austrian prowess.
The pointed, or Gothic style, fell into a state of decline in
Germany, although the father-land of the Teuton. It
would seem as if when one thing had become perfected by
man in his onward progress, it is always- sure to be aban-
, doned and another substituted in its place, although it
might be in itself far less meritorious. It is thus that every
. successively civilized nation may, in its turn, develop all the
different styles to which human ingenuity has ever given
rise. Immediately after the decline of this style the man
sions of the nobles were constructed in a castellated style,
upon the plan of a square or parallelogram, consisting ot
- buildings surrounding an open court, the windows being
high and narrow, and at each angle a square or round
tower, crowned by an embattled parapet with machicola
tions, or openings formed for the purpose of defense, and
terminating in a high pyramidical or conical roof. They
were generally planted on terraces supported by slop
ing walls, with a watch tower projecting beyond the walls
at each angle. At a somewhat later period, there was an
excess of ornament. The old houses still existing in Ger
many,1 Holland, and Normandy, have octagonal towers,
* Pictorial Gallery, n, 142. *

EUROPEAN ART. 65
high roofs, and disproportioned columns with spiral flut-
ings. They also used dormers, or windows, in the roof?
and these, as also the surfaces of the walls, were covered
with a profusion of ornament-
It is, however, true, and perhaps creditable to the Ger
mans, that no German architect of any celebrity ever arose
to transplant the styles of the Italian schools, or the excesses
into which they run, into Germany. Some Italian archi
tects brought their -native style to Germany, where they
built many structures. But it was not until near the close
¦ of the eighteenth century that native Germans of distinction
arose, and then they sought their models not in Italy but
in Greece. Thus they were enabled to introduce a style
more purely classic, at least possessing more of the Grecian
element, than that derivable through the schools of Italy .
The result of this has been that since the present century
commenced, many buildings have been constructed in
.Berlin, Munich, and some other places, exhibiting a much
nearerapproach to the columnar style than had ever before
been made in Germany.
It is to art -loving Munich that the admirer of art will de
light more especially to refer, and it is to the Bavarian king,
Ludwig I, that not only architecture, but its sister arts,
painting, fresco, sculpture, are so largely indebted. The
most celebrated architect, whose structures have enno
bled the reign of this monarch, is Leo von Kleuse. Of
the most celebrated of his works two are in Munich and
one near Ratisbon, those in Munich are the Glyptothek, or
sculpture gallery, and the Pinacothek or picture gallery.
The first is a free application of Greek architecture. It
is a square of about two hundred and twenty feet, surround
ing a central court. In front is a portico which- may be
termed an Ionic octastyle, having a cornice above it very
richly decorated, and the pediment filled with sculpture
representing processes connected with the arts of modeling,
sculpture, and carving.
The Pinacothek is a larger building, and more in the
Italian style. The body of the building is of brick ; the
vn] 9

66 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
, balustrades, entablatures, and windows of stone. It con
sists of an upper and lower story, the upper to contain the
pictures. The gallery is an oblong edifice with two wings
at the extremities. Along the front of the building runs a
corridor, about four hundred feet in length and eighteen in
width, lighted by twenty-five lofty arched windows.
The Valhalla, or Walhalla, is a German national monu
ment, a temple erected to national glory, and was projected
by the Bavarian king when crown-prince. It is situated
on a rocky cliff on the Danube, near Ratisbon. It is in
the form of an octostyle Grecian Doric temple, after the-
Parthenon, with seventeen columns in the flanks, the whole
constructed of marblo. Although not a precise copy of the
Parthenon yet its interior is a perfectly fresh architectural
conception, faithful to the spirit of Grecian art, and giving
us not merely its forms but its essence and its poetry. No
other edifice of modern times is so intensely Grecian, or so
.highly elaborated as a monument of art. It is planted
upon an enormous substructure of Cyclopean masonry,
forming successive terraces, and flights of steps leading up
to the platform on which stands the Doric temple itself,
displayed with a pomp of architecture that may be said to
have no precedent. It is two hundred and seventy feet
long by one hundred in width. The columns and enta
blature are about forty-five feet high and the pediment
twelve. In the two pediments are groups of sculpture,
representing symbolically some of the earlier personages
of German „ history. The whole structure is of marble, -
and equally remarkable for beauty and for strength. This
splendid specimen of Germanized Grecian art is intended
for the reception of modern sculpture of illustrious Ger
man heads who have distinguished themselves in Ger- ,
man history either in war, politics, Bcience^x^f^t^^f
this use to which it is dedicated that has given it thk^me '
of Valhalla or Walhalla, the paradise of the Scandinavian
mythology. i
The Berlin Museurauthe work of «»!•»•» w^, - y---~-~
both a picture and a scul^a*«^fIe^y?**»^orms a regular,

EUROPEAN ART. 67
unbroken oblOng of two hundred and eighty feet by one
hundred and seventy. The principal facade consists of a
grand colonnade of nineteen intercolumns, formed by
eighteen fluted Ionic, columns forty feet high, and two
very broad antae at the angles. These columns rest upon i
a solid stylobate. The portico has five open intercolumns.
The main portion of the interior is occupied by a rotunda,
nearly seventy feet in diameter, by nearly as much in
height. The lower part is surrounded by a peristyle of
twenty fluted columns, above which runs a gallery com
municating with the apartments on the upper floor. The
rooms on the lower floor contain the sculptures, those of
the upper the pictures. This edifice has great merit
attributed to it for its architectural design and execution.
It is of a character well calculated to direct an architect's
ideas into a fresh and vigorous current, leading to origin
ality of style. The works of Schinkel have attributed to
them the merit of originating enlarged ideas, and of afford
ing instruction as to the copiousness and variety of which
architecture is susceptible, and as to the real spirit of
antique art when applied to modern purposes.
Another national structure of considerable celebrity
erected on Mount Michael by the king of Bavaria after
M. Von Gartner's plan, is the Befreing Shalle, Deliverance
Hall.1 This consists of a rotunda and cupola, surrounded
by grand arcades, forming a polygon of eighteen angles.
The whole rests on a basement of three gradations, rising
together twenty-four feet in height. An opening twenty-
five feet in diameter admits the light into the large sphe
rical chamber of the interior, which is ornamented with
eighteen columns. The diameter of the building is two
hundred and thirty-six feet, the span of the cupola one hun
dred, and the height of the whole one hundred and seventy
feet. The vaults of the interior gallery are to be adorned
with, trophies and allegorical representations ; the cupola
to be richly ornamented, the floor laid with mosaic mar-

Oleghom, i, 127.

68 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
bles, and the walls coated with marble. The general style
of it resembles the old Italian.
In Russia, the style of architecture, until the last century,
was, more or less, after the Byzantine pattern. Recently,
St. Petersburg has become a city of marble palaces, and
attracted much attention to its architectural features.1 It
presents one street nearly three miles in length, longer
than any street in London. The houses in St. Petersburg
have great elevation compared with their number of stories,
those of no more than three stories rising to as great a
height as one of four or even five in London. The base
ments of many of them are occupied as shops, even when
persons of distinction reside in the upper stories.
Russia has no style of architecture of its own. Its dif
ference of races from those occupying central and western
Europe is sufficiently proclaimed from the fact, that when
compelled to import a foreign architecture, instead of re
sorting to the Gothic, which, in some of its features, is pecu
liarly adapted to a cold climate, it had recourse to the
bland climate of Italy, and transferred to the rigors of a
Russian winter the revived classical or Graeco-Roman style,
taken principally from designs of Italian architects. It is
from these that have been erected most or all the public
buildings of the city, the royal palaces and the mansions of
the princes or nobles.
What goes under the name of the Admiralty is a pile of
vast extent, reaching along the Neva nearly half a mile.
and then extending off from it at right angles between six
and seven hundred feet. In the centre of one facade is a
tower with a tapering gilt steeple. It incloses a clock-yard,
school-rooms for naval cadets, and officers connected with
the royal marine.
The Winter Palace, which was burnt down a few years
since, was one of the most gigantic buildings in Europe.
It was, however, more remarkable for vastness than for
beauty. Another royal residence, built by Catharine II,
1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 146.

EUROPEAN ART. 69
is called the Marble Palace. The Hermitage is still
another royal palace, whose principal facade faces the
Neva, and consists of three distinct parts, the work of three
different architects. This was the principal residence ol
Catharine H, and where, frequently casting aside the
robes of royalty with the etiquette of a court, she gathered
around her those who were most distinguished for their
talent and learning.
Another continental nation in which there is much con
fusion in its architectural remains is Spain. We may
naturally expect this from the number of different races
that have, at different periods of time, held dominion over
the whole, or of different parts of the Spanish peninsula.
Ferdinand and Isabella, in the latter part of the fifteenth
century, succeeded in uniting Spain under their joint
sovereignty at the precise period when the Renaissance
was successful in driving back over the Alps the last rem
nants of Gothic architecture. They were the first to patro
nize the revived orders then so much in the ascendant in
Italy. Several buildings erected during the latter part of
that century, as the college of Santa Croce at Valladolid,1
the church of Santa Engracia at Saragossa, the College of
Alcala, and Cathedral at Salamanca, present a mixture of
Gothic, Saracenic, and Italian, the latter obviously gaining
upon the others. During the next century many edifices
of note were erected, but much the most famous of them
all was the palace of the Escurial near Madrid. This was
commenced in 1563, by Philip H upon the plans substan
tially as furnished by Giovanni Batista, although it was not
completed until after his death. It is an immense building,
or pile, enclosing fifteen courts, many decorated with
porticoes and galleries, and containing upwards of eighty
. fountains. At the four angles of the buildiflg are towers
rising four stories in height. The principal facade towards
the west is seven hundred a'nd forty feet long, by sixty in
height, the towers at the corners rising to the height of two

'Pictorial Gallery, n, 146.

70 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
hundred.1 This fagade has five stories of windows. Its
central compartment is one hundred and forty feet long,
and consists of two orders of half columns; the lower eight
semi-columns, which are Doric, and stand on a plinth, the
upper of four Ionic columns or pedestals, surmounted by a
pediment. The plan of the whole building was intended
to have the shape of a gridiron, to commemorate the
martyrdom of St. Lawrence. To carry out this plan the
eastern fagade has a projection in the middle answering to
the handle of that instrument.
Modern Architecture in Great Britain. — The reaction, or
rather revival, of classic art in Italy, was slow in finding its
way and becoming established in England. The means of
intercommunication between nations at a distance from
each other, and differing essentially in manners and
language, were so few, and so restricted, that a state of '
' almost complete isolation was the result. Besides the
suppression of the monasteries under Henry VIII, and the
entire withdrawal of England from the dominion of the
pope, led to a sundering of all the ties that had once
existed between England and Italy. These, and some
other causes, rendered the introduction of the Renaissance
into England so slow that its traces are hardly perceptible
there until the last half of the sixteenth century. It was
not until the era of Elizabeth that Italian styles had made
any matrked progress in England. The Italian palace style
Was the first introduced. The mansion at Longleat in
Wiltshire was erected in 1580. This was in the Italian
style. The arrangement here was found so elegant, and
yet so delicate and effective in detail, that it strongly com
mended itself to men of taste and judgment.2 The six
teenth century in England was the transition period during
which there was a sort of struggle going on between the -
Tudor and Italian styles. The latter becoming more and
more prevalent as the time of Inigo Jones approached.

'Pictorial Gallery, n, 146, 147. 2 Idem, 147.

EUROPEAN ART. 71
This celebrated architect was born in 1572, and flou
rished during the reign of the first Stuart, James L He
studied architecture in Italy, having gone there for that
purpose as early as the year 1612. He planned the royal
palace at Whitehall, which had it been completed in con
formity with the plan, would have been one of the grandest
of European palatial structures. It was found, however,
easier for Jones to plan than for James to execute. The
banqueting hall (the present Whitehall chapel) which was
only a fragment of the entire plan, was the only part ever
completed, the death of James I, the poverty of the early
years of Charles I, and the calamities which marked the
close of his reign, effectually arresting and destroying its
further progress. Rut as the whole of the plans,1 eleva
tions, and sections were worked out by Jones, they have
been subjects of criticism, the structure, either as an entire
palace, or in relation merely to the finished part, having
been made a sort of standard in discussions relating to the
merits and demerits of the Italian style. The chief defect
in the ideal palace seems to be the absence of some central
point, or crowning object of attraction, to correct and com
bine the whole.
While Jones was in the height of his reputation in 1632,
was born Sir Christopher Wren. The occurrence of the
great fire in London in 1666, left to this remarkable, man
the opportunity of giving full scope to his architectural
powers. He was destined to raise a metropolis from its
ashes, and nobly did he perform the task. The number of
public buildings he designed and executed while employed
upon the constructing of St. Paul's Church, seems almost
incredible, and their merit is not inferior to their extent.
The one single edifice, however, upon which his great ,
reputation principally rests, is that of St. Paul's in London.
This was commenced and completed under his superin
tendence. The St. Peter's at Rome furnished him with a
model. The plan is that of a Latin cross, with nave, choir

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 150.

72 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and transepts. The length from east to west is about five
hundred feet; that of the transepts from north to south
about half this amount ; the general breadth from wall to
wall a hundred and twenty -five. The height of the middle
aisle is ninety feet, the inner vault of the dome two hundred
and sixteen feet above the church floor, the outer to the foot
of the lantern two hundred and eighty feet. 'The whole-
height, the lantern included, is three hundred and sixty
feet.1 The outer breadth of the dome is about one hun
dred feet, and its height fifty-six feet, forming a half ellip
soid. The effect of the interior is weakened by no defects,
and its grandeur of proportions and neatness of execution ,
are well calculated to make a deep and lasting impression'
on the beholder. It may, for elegance of design, bear com
parison with the Cathedral of St. Peter's at Rome, although
far less in size. Within it is the tomb of Sir Christopher
Wren, his epitaph concluding with :
Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you. '
The architectural labors of Sir Christopher were by no
means confined to St. Paul's. No less than fifty-one .
churches from his design were constructed in the city of
London. His reputation is chiefly based upon his church
edifices. As applied to them the Italian was the only style of archi-
ture then in vogue,2 and he may be said to have natural
ized that style in England. He invented plans by which.
that style could be adapted to Protestant worship. He
adopted three different forms, the dome, the basilica, and
the plain quadrangular pile. His most beautiful speci
men of domed churches, after St. Paul's, is the .church of
St. Stephen. As specimens of churches on the basilica
plan of a nave and side aisles, separated by columns or
piers and arches, are St. Magnus and St. Michael. Again
he made the most out of steeples, rendering them very
prominent features. He ran up steeples and campaniles
' IconograpMa Encyclopaedia, rv, 199. 'Pictorial Gallery, n, 151.

EUROPEAN ART. 73
far above the sordid and dingy mass of habitations, and
made them to cluster like satellites round the majestic
dome of the Cathedral, and thus imparted to the general
aspect of the city a picturesque grandeur scarcely rivalled
by Rome itself. Although he did not originate the princi
ple upon which his spires and lanterns are composed, of
applying Italian details to Gothic forms, yet his mode of
adapting it is peculiarly and exclusively his own, and he
has been eminently successful in maintaining the most
characteristic features of the English church in a style never
before applied to it.
Sir Christopher Wren lived through the eventful period
from the reign of Charles I, to that of George I ; and for
nearly a century succeeding, no architect of any celebrity,
except Sir John Vanbrugh, appeared in England. He did
not build churches, but mansions; and hence was com
pelled to put turrets and chimney stacks in the place of
Wren's steeples. Both in the construction of these, and
in his general plan, he departed much from the Palladian,
or Italian style, which Inigo Jones had introduced into
England. His style was more massive, and that feature
provoked the following epigram from Horace Walpole :
Lie heavy on him, earth ; for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee.
There is much controversy as to Vanbrugh's merit as
an architect. This has grown in a great measure out of
his originality. He did not exclusively follow any one
form or style, and hence has incurred both praise and
censure. When judged upon the principles of universal
art as applied to architecture, his performances have gene
rally met with approval. Sir Joshua Reynolds thus speaks
of him" according to the principles of his own art, and I
refer to it in part to show that all the fine arts, have, with
each other, closer and intimate connections: -"To speak
of Vanbrugh in the language of a painter," says Sir Joshua,
" he had originality of invention, he understood light and
vii] 10

(74 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
shadow, and had great skill in composition. To support
his principal object, he produced his second and third
groups of masses; he perfectly understood in his art, what
is most difficult in ours, the conduct of the back ground
by which the design and invention are set off to the greatest
advantage. What the back ground is in painting, is the
real ground upon which the building is erected ; x and no
architect took greater care that his work should not appear
crude and hard, that is, it did not abruptly s'tart out of the
ground without expectation or preparation."
So, Sir Uvedale Price, in speaking of his most celebrated
work, the Blenheim mansion, says : " He has conceived
and executed a very bold and difficult design, that of
uniting in one building, the beauty and magnificence of
the Grecian architecture, the picturesqueness of the Gothic,
and the massive grandeur of a castle. His first point
appears to have been massiveness, the foundation of
grandeur; then, to prevent the mass from being a lump,
he has made bold projections of various heights as fore
grounds to the main building ; and, lastly, having been
forcibly struck with the variety of outline against the sky
in many Gothic and other ancient buildings, he has raised
on the top of that part where the slanting roof begins in
any house of the Italian style, a number of decorations of
various characters. The union of these gives a surprising'
splendor and magnificence, as well as variety, to the sum
mit of that princely edifice."
He, no doubt, departed wholly from the severity of
Grecian models; but it is claimed that he obeyed the
spirit, even while he was violating the letter of the old
classic law. He excels in the poetic effect and richness of
his combinations. He has grouped his building, with all
its cupolas, pediments, pavilions, clustered chimneys, and
statues, in a way at once original and harmonious, and
which gratifies all admirers of picturesque magnificence.2
He had especially, the art of grouping his chimneys till
'Pictorial Gallery, n, 154. a Idem, 154.

EUROPEAN ART. 75
they resembled pinnacles, or of connecting them into an
arcade, by which the massiveness of the building was
much relieved. He was also a great master of perspective,
and in the summits of his houses, always raises a central
point of attraction, and groups pinnacles, peaks, towers, -
domes, and pavilions around it, uniting them into a
splendid whole, little regarding the rules of classic art, but
obeying those of poetic compo sition.
During the later years of the reign of George II, the
Earl of Burlington and his architect, Kent, gave the tone
to English architecture. He is accused, however, of being
a mere copyist, and of working strictly according to pattern
and rule. From his time to that of Sir William Cham
bers, in the reign of George III, there was little variety, the
Italian style being imitated so strictly, that the mansions
constructed appeared to be little more than mere copies of
each other. Lofty basement stories, external flights of
steps to reach to the principal story or piano nobile, and
a small or minor opening in the basement were the princi
pal characteristics. Sir Robert Taylor, about the same
period, made great extensions to the bank of England, and
also applied to country villas many Italian features, which
till then had only been applied to the larger mansions.
Down to and including the time of Taylor and Cham
bers, the Italian style was that mainly adopted in English
architecture. Soon afterwards a taste began to be formed
for the more simple and severe style of Greece. This
arose in part at least, from the increased means of study
ing it. In 1753 and 1757, Wood and Dawkins published
descriptions of the ruins of Palmyra and Balbec. In 1762
began to appear Stuarts Antiquities of Athens, and in 1769
Revett published the Antiquities of Ionia, and Robert Adam '
the Ruins of Spalalro. From these different sources a new
desire was awakened for an elder and severer style of archi
tecture. At the end of the last and beginning of the present cen
tury, war and political agitation prevailed to such an extent
as to prove extremely unfavorable to the progress of art in

76 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
England, but the tendency was to the Greek style. The
refinement of Greek art, as revealed by Stuart and others,
so affected the public mind as to lead to its adoption more
as a fashion than a principle.1 The reproduction of its
forms was demanded without reference to the propriety of
their application, or to the relations which essentially con
stitute the beauty of architecture.
The present century has already witnessed in England
three phases of change : 1. The fashion of Greek porticoes
and pillars, everywhere employed, and without much refer
ence to convenience or conformity to other parts of the
edifice. 2. The application of the Italian palazzo style,~
and of this, many of the club houses are very fine speci
mens. 3. The Gothic pointed style has been again revived
for ecclesiastical structures.
The strong tendency existing in modern times to recur
to Grecian models has led to the introduction of polychrome
architecture. Many students and travelers insisted that
remains of color were observable on the columns, friezes,
cornices, etc., of Grecian temples. Hence the question
came to be agitated whether the aids of coloring were not
required to render architectural effect full and complete.
This has led, in some instances, to the application of
colors to the interiors of buildings. It never seems to have
led to such Application to the exteriors. No warrant for
this latter could be gathered from any remains of Grecian
art, or from the disinterred houses of Pompeii, or other
Roman remains.
The search after evidence of polychromy was not re
stricted to ancient Greek and Roman remains.2 The
remains of Gothic coloring in our ancient cathedrals was
diligently explored. Many were carefully restored with as
much of the ancient colored decoration as reliable models
could be found for ; and whatever was wanting modern
design attempted to supply. In Germany the most strik
ing example of restored Gothic polychromy is the great
1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 155. 2 Ten Centuries of Art, 26. ,

EUROPEAN ART. 77
Cathedral of Cologne, while in France the restoration of
the Cathedra] of St. Denis, and of the Sainte Chapelle offer
similar, and perhaps in some respects superior, examples.
The polychromy of modern times is the most frequently
found in France and Germany. In the former the chapel
in Chausse d'Antin affords an example. The interior
walls are entirely covered with paintings on gold grounds
after the Byzantine manner. It offers a splendid instance
of the return to richly colored interiors. Another example
is afforded in the Madeleine church,1 although in a differ
ent style. The great principle of the abundant use of color
forms the basis of its internal decorations. The severe in
tentions of the original plan have been even superseded by
the overwhelming passion for color. Richness and variety,
both of color and material have in fact been so splendidly
wrought out, that the eye, captivated by the blended rich
ness of painting, sculpture and gilding, scarcely perceives
the peculiarities of the structure. Other splendid examples
of internal decoration are found in the walls and ceilings
of the Egyptian museum in the Louvre, and also in some
of the new apartments. Of the Hotel-de-Ville. These, how
ever, are founded rather on the works of the period of the
Renaissance than on classical examples.
The polychromic element in Germany has been more
limited to the purely classical in character.2 The palace
and the Glyptotheca and Pinacotheca of Munich offer
themselves as examples. Although the first glitter and
freshness of these works have faded, and they are, to a
certain extent, failures, yet they have given rise to a great
many inquiries and investigations, and have been the
means of educating quite a class of students to that branch
of architectural decoration.
Polychromy has also been introduced into England. It-
has been employed to decorate the ceiling of the Royal
Exchange. So also has it been introduced into the lead
ing club hpuses, and several private mansions. One of

1 Ten Centuries of Art, 27. 2 Idem, 28.

78 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the most conspicuous examples is afforded in the hew
internal decorations of the British Museum. In this last,
the gallery of antiquities is considered excellent, espe
cially in the mass of rich red which forms the back ground
to the statues.
As to the ground upon which artificial coloring is best
applied, it has been suggested that a white ground, similar
to Parian marble,1 may be colored with a general tone of
color, or receive a painted pattern, because it is suited, by
the uniform tone of its surface, to the reception of either a
plain color, or a painted device. On the contrary, granites,
and veined marbles, having their own natural coloring, are
unsuited to receive any artificial additions of color.
In one respect, however, modern taste seems not to
have followed that of the Greeks. The latter occasion
ally, if ;not very frequently, painted their statuary, as well
as columns, mouldings, etc. The modern feeling and
taste seem hitherto opposed to applying polychromy to
decorative sculpture, or statuary. That must remain
white without any addition of colors, the light and shade
produced by the varieties of relief being deemed a suffi
cient effect.
It may perhaps be doubtful whether polychromatic
decoration has been yet sufficiently tested, in all the dif
ferent varieties of which it is susceptible, and for the
length of time necessary fully to establish it as an aid to
architectural art. The colors, however skillfully laid on,
must in time fade and disappear. Besides, the effect is
different in cases of natural and artificial coloring. The
shell cameo pleases when the artist is able to produce an
agreeable and striking, yet natural contrast. But the
same effect would not be produced if he were to paint
the relief orange or green, or the ground blue or scarlet.
There is a natural polychromy from which the richest
combinations of color may be obtained. Of this, the
interior of St. Peter's offers one of the most splendid

'Ten Centuries of Art,

EUROPEAN ART. 79
examples. There, all is natural polychromy ; and yet the
variety of color is described as endless. " The blue is lapis
lazuli ; l the violet, marble of Africa ; the orange and yel
low, are from the quarries of Sienna; the green is the antique
serpentino ; the red, the famed rosso-antico ; the white, the
stainless stone of Carrara. All these various materials, under
the skillful hands of the great race of architects who succes
sively spent their lives on this vast monument,gravely dispose
themselves into glorious masses of light and dark, of warm
and cool, of rich and sober, every mass endlessly, yet
unobtrusively, enriched with exquisite details, formed,
either by sculpture in relief, or inlaid designs ; the whole
blended into one harmonious whole, by the pervading, yet
subdued glitter of the profuse gilding. All this gorgeous
richness of effect is yet, at the same time, chaste and pure,
because the spectator feels there is no sham, no artificial
dye, or color ; like the cameo, its contrasts and its colors
appear innate, and have those intimate associations with
each other, that caBt an atmosphere of reality and pro
priety over all, such as the artificial can rarely attain to."
We cannot take leave of the architectural art without
indulging in a few reflections. It constitutes the link
uniting the useful with the fine arts. Its combinations
must, therefore, adapt themselves to those two phases that
enter into its composition. It is an art which employs the
most substantial materials in the most substantial manner.
Its monuments remain standing witnesses to attest to
future generations and centuries, the excellence and
purity of the style and taste of their builders. And they
are the most valuable when they are allowed to stand as
they were originally constructed. Alterations and amend
ments destroy their unity, and convert them into patch
work. They are not fit subjects for experiment. The
plan once adopted, cannot be materially altered or trans
posed, without impairing, its beauty and character.

'Ten Centuries of Art, .-81.

80 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Architecture, unlike the other arts of design, possesses
no specific prototype in nature. The artist here, may be
influenced by certain analogies, but nature can present
him nothing that can serve as a pure model for his imita
tion. The sculptor and the painter find in nature, that
which their own art brings out and represents. The
architect has no such resource. He is obliged to deal
more with abstractions. He is more limited by fixed
principles, rules, and mathematical precision; bylaws of
stability and fitness for definite purposes. In his compo
sitions there is less scope for the fancy. They are less
addressed to the passions and senses, than to the judgment
and reasoning faculties.
It is the belief of some that architectural versatilities,
and varieties of exhibition, are nothing but the outward
expression of what is internally felt. This, to a certain
extent, is undoubtedly true, but to suppose that some of the
oddities and eccentricities of architecture are gone into
deliberately to work out a whim, or to show the utter
absurdity of a conceit, would seem to be carrying the joke
too far, and making it a little too practical and expensive.
There can be little doubt, however, but that the real and
essential spirit of a people runs into, and is exemplified by
the styles of its architecture. The pure and refined taste
of the Greek, the grave and energetic cast of the Roman,
the fresh and aspiring character of the Teuton, are each
traceable in their different styles of architecture. It is not
improbable that every peculiar feature of every different
race or variety of mankind, may be traceable into the style
of architecture to which each has given rise. At the same
time it must be obvious that one may have copied from
another; and thus, in the course of time, an approximation
of two or more to each other may have resulted. More
observation than has hitherto been made is necessary to
trace out the different styles, and to assign them to the
people or race to whom each respectively belongs.
The history of architecture thus far discloses two princi
ples, and only two, that lie at the foundation of all the

EUROPEAN ART. 81
different styles. These are the horizontal and the vertical.
The former was developed and perfected by the Grecian,
the latter by the Goth. The former was characterized by
the entablature, the. latter by the pointed arch. These
represent the two extremes. Something was required to
connect the two, to bridge over the intervening space.
This was found in the round arch developed by the Roman.
Each one of these was accompanied by its own species of
decoration. For the purpose of fully carrying out and developing
these principles, we have the different styles of architecture.
These seize upon some peculiar feature embraced within one
of the principles above mentioned, and accompanying it
with its own appropriate system of decoration, carry out
that feature and system to its utmost possible extent. Aa
a general fact, each style when introduced, has not passed
away until all contained within it has been brought out
and perfected. Thus while the principle is general, the
style is partial, limited, unique and busied only in applying,
so much of the principle as, with its appropriate decoration,
form together a system complete and perfect within itself.
It is thus that, through the medium of the different styles,
the principle may attain to its full and complete develop
ment. Thus we have in modern Europe the Byzantine,
the Romanesque, the Gothic, the Renaissance, and the
modern, which is in reality only the continued Renaissance,
embracing the three Italian schools, and the subsequent
developments in modern architecture.
It will be perceived that when all the different styles of
which a principle is susceptible, have been introduced and
carried out into all their possible applications, the whole
subject will be exhausted, and nothing new can be possi
ble, except what may arise from new combinations among
the different styles. It has been asserted that the rising
race of artists of every class is fast emancipating itself
from the thraldom of fixed styles of any epoch. This is
probably so ; but their efforts in the direction of architec
ture, have tended to mix together features of different styles,
- VII] 11

82 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and thus to offend, instead of gratifying, the dictates of
a pure taste.
The problem now presented may be considered to be:
, whether, for all practical purposes, the different styles
already introduced and carried out, have not exhausted
everything contained in the principles; and whether,
therefore, anything now remains but a repetition and re
iteration of the same styles, or the adoption, in architectural
art, of the eclectic principle in philosophy, viz : a careful
selection from the different styles, according to site, asso
ciation, and circumstances, and a recombination, such as
in effect would present the essentials of a new style. That
this is the ultimate destiny of architecture, I have little
doubt. But whether the period has yet arrived at which
it should be resorted to, is among the yet unsolved prob
lems of the future.

SCULPTUEE.
The idea of sculpture was first suggested by a shadow.
This gave origin to the notion that forms, and even re
semblances, might be raised upon, and even indented
into, plain surfaces. Hence, reliefs were probably the first
species of sculpture. These were of three kinds :
1. Low ; scarcely raised above the surface, little more
than a stereotyped shadow, one rendered permanently
visible by a material device.
2. Middle ; in which the figure is half raised, and thus
made much more prominent.
3. The high, full, or alto relief, in which the figures
are nearly entire, and seem to project from the ground.
Thus a progress is indicated by which any solid body, as
the human figure, emerges by successive steps or stages
from the solid material, or marble, in which it is contained.
The shadow continues to deepen in intensity, until it be
comes substance. The figure is gradually eliminated from

EUROPEAN ART. 83
its marble thraldom, until it stands forth wholly detached,
the perfect statue.
A severe contest was once waged between sculpture and
painting, each claiming the supremacy for itself both in
its history, objects, and processes. It is, however, of more
importance to determine wherein the two agree, and in
what respect they differ ; what each is susceptible of
borrowing from the other; what is the peculiar pro
vince of each; what the boundaries which divide them ;
and the particular goal for which each should strive.
Each has a definite nature and limits, within which the
artist should possess the full knowledge of his art, and
know the danger of disregarding either.
The aim of the painter and the means by which he seeks
to accomplish it, will be hereafter considered. The sculptor
has little to do with light and shade, color and perspective .
These are the great instrumentalities by which the former
endeavors to make his figures project from the canvas.
But that projection is seeming, not real. It is a real de-
1 ception, and the further it is carried, the more perfect the
art. The sculptor, practices no deception. He first forms a
conception of his figure. The clay, ductile to his touch,
is made to assume a form corresponding to this internal
conception. The accuracy of the correspondence depends
upon the strength and power of the conception, and the
ability to mould the clay in conformity with it. The
model which exists in his conception should be as perfect
as was that of the archetypal man in the creative mind.
He "projects it from his own mind, building it up in idea-,
from a scaffolding of bones, which he covers with muscles,
gradually working it into perfection of form and attitude.
Thus the statue is made to assume the proportions and
form of man. When cut in marble it appears only to dif
fer from its living prototype in substance, color, and weight.
Both to the sculptor and painter, one thing is common,
viz : design ; but with the former that design has to do
with the entire figure in all its dimensions, viz : height,

84 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
breadth and depth ; 1 while with the latter, it is limited to-
the two former, and attempts to represent the latter by
shadows, light, and color.
The sculptor is limited as to his means of representation.
He can deal only in forms, and attitudes, and such motion
and expression as he is able through them to represent.
The painter has other and ampler means. He can repre
sent not only action, but passion. As passion prompts
action it displays itself through itin many different ways. In
strong concentrated action everything about the man con
curs. His color changes ; the character of his look alters ;
the features themselves are less regarded by the spectator
than their expression. All this the painter can give. But
the sculptor cannot. All violent action is transitory in its
very nature, and hence utterly incapable of putting on the
permanence, the eternity, so to speak, of marble. It is
repose, passivity, endurance, that marble is fitted to pro
claim, and hence activity, resistance, aggression are rather
for the pencil than the chisel.
While the painter may more appropriately give the
action, the sculptor can more forcibly represent the posi
tion. The first, by a few strokes of his pencil, may trans
fer to his canvas looks of alarm, terror, rage, grief, jby and
ecstacy, every fierce passion, or deep emotion, and that by
a sudden flash of genius far more transitory than the pas
sion or emotion whose expression he records. The latter
calmly and quietly develops his subject, evincing more of
depth than of brilliancy. Deep and abiding emotions, like
grief, may be perpetuated in marble, but those which are
rapid and transitory, like anger or rage, never. A wrath
ful Or a laughing statue would be hardly endurable.
The sculptor should ever aim at simplicity, whether it
be in the choice of his subject, or in attitude, form, or ex
pression. By simplicity is here meant singleness. Men
may be under the influence of different or contradictory
emotions, but not statues. It is enough, and if violent too
1 Guizot, 12.

EUROPEAN ART. 83*
much, for them to be under the influence of even one emo
tion. Hence in all the master pieces of, antiquity each one
presents one simple, strongly defined expression, in accord
ance with the nature and capabilities of the art.1
As to the subjects, and their mode of treatment, a far
wider field opens to the painter than to the sculptor. To
the former opens up the landscape with all its vast variety.
Its amplitude of plain, its diversity of hill and valley, its
waving woodlands, its meandering streams, its ever moving
panorama, are all legitimate matters for the canvas. But
the pencil has far higher aims than the portrayal of nature
even in its lower organized forms. It looks higher when
it transfers to its canvas the human form divine. And
far higher still, when that form is filled with emotion, ani
mated by passion, and intensified by action on the theatre
of history. It exhibits to us Alexander at the Granicus,
on the plains of Arbela, and amid the repose of his tent
life. It follows our Lord and exhibits him to our view
' when in the cradle or the arms of his mother, and thence
forward through all the marked phases of his short but
eventful life, until his final disappearance amid the glories
of the ascension. Landscape, portrait, and historical paint
ing, each has its own devoted followers, who consider the
field of his own special labors as sufficiently extensive for
his own cultivation.
So also in the mode of treatment the painter has much
the greatest variety. The sculptor deals more with single
figures, and produces more effect with them than the
painter. This he is enabled to do by virtue of his power
of presenting to spectators the human form in all its beauty
and fullness. With him it is the dignity of repose, not the
excitability of action. His work may be suggestive of
powers and energies, but they are slumbering, gathering
strength for renewed effort.
The painter may awaken, unchain them, and display
them in action. He invests them with life, and doing so,

1 Guizot, 23.

86 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
is bound to represent them as possessing and exercising
life's powers, forces, and energies. The spectator- beholds
passion stirring the brain, animating the countenance, and
moving the muscles. Besides, his power of complication
is very much greater. By means of grouping together
great numbers of figures, he has almost infinite means of
varying his effect, and enlarging his sphere of operations.
The rules by which the two are governed as to composi
tion' and attitude are derived from different principles.
The sculptor studies the philosophy of repose. " A figure
when at rest, naturally and unconsciously takes the posi
tion, best suited to the. development of its characteristic
forms,1 simply because the physical structure, and the
relative weight of the parts, determine the manner in which
they dispose themselves. If the action is a simple one,
and restricted to one figure, the attitude will be equally
simple and the natural result of the action. The artist will
give his figure the position it would assume in order to
the action in question, the forms developing themselves
according to that action. Such are the Sitting Menander,
Reposing Fawn, Sleeping Ariadne, Jason, and the Discobo-~
lus." But the moment composition is entered upon (which
belongs more peculiarly to the painter) ; the moment seve
ral figures are rendered uecessary to concur in an action ;
then both the place, attitude, position, personel of each
will be determined by the part which it is designed to per
form. Everything must be planned with reference to the
production of some general effect,2 The single figure can
no more afford to be individualized, isolated, falling into
its natural position, or considered separately from the rest,
than can the companies or battalions of an army, when a
battle requires" their joint, united, concurring action. It
would even take from the general effect if, under such cir
cumstances, any individual peculiarities were so marked
and peculiar as to attract the attention. The main en-

1 Guizot, 31. 2 Idem, 32.

EUROPEAN ART. 87
deavor of the artist is no longer to develop the forms of
his figures in the best manner. He will no longer place
them just as he chooses with reference to individual im
pression, but will give them such positions as they should
occupy in contributing their part to the joint action.
Here, therefore, is one point of difference. The sculptor
limiting himself to one figure, has only to consult the in
terest of a single actor, while the painter must sacrifice that
interest to the accomplishment of his general purpose.
Men, amid the busy scenes of life, take positions and atti
tudes varying essentially from what they would naturally
in a state of perfect isolation. The former belongs to
the painter to represent, the latter to the sculptor,
Another important, in fact necessary feature for the
painter is the introduction of perspective by means of which
distances arc realized, and all the figures subordinated, in
reference to space, to the production of a single effect.
The practice of this art forms no part of the study of the
sculptor. In regard to the element of expression, the study and the
practice of the painter and sculptor are found essentially
to differ. The former has many means of giving or vary
ing it which the latter has not. The former can give or
change it so as to conform to the circumstances under
which the individual is placed. The latter can only give a
single unvarying expression, and hence it is that those
forms of expression which are borrowed from sculpture are
either cold and stiff or exaggerated. Lanzi blames the
scholars-of Michael Angelo for having imported into their
pictures that strength of limb, that anatomical precision in
-the-marking of the muscles, the stern features and peculiar
attitudes which characterize the terrible style of their
mighty master.1
Thus the two sister arts of painting and sculpture have
seldom the same aim, and never the same means of reach
ing it. While the latter deals in forms individualized,

1 Guizot, 38, 39.

88 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
striking, and perfect as far as art can go, the latter loo!
to combinations, composition, corresponding attitude an
expression, and the production of general effect.
Architecture is invoked to furnish man a dwelling,
sbelter, a home. In its form, style, and arraugemem
recourse is had to art. Not only does art preside ove
the structure. It presides to a still greater extent over il
embellishment. Sculpture . affords one of the means b
which this latter is accomplished. This, as an art, rank
much higher than that of architecture. Its origin an
development are due to moral and intellectual wants
while architecture, in one of its aspects, regards only th
physical. The art of sculpture had reached its highest point c
attainment in ancient Greece. There the climate, mod
of life, and athletic exercises had all united in the givin
of unrivaled perfection to the human form. The manne
in which those exercises were conducted, affords th
best possible opportunity of witnessing that form in al
its varieties' of position and action. The lively imaginatioi
of the Greek could easily select the varied excelleneie
discoverable in different forms, and by a happy com
bination, present the magnificent, beautiful, and faultles
figures of his Jupiter, Venus, and Apollo. The multipl:
cation of sculptures in the age of Pericles, filled Greec
with statues, and rendered her the wonder and admiratio:
of the world.
When Rome, by force of arms subdued the world, an
gathered within the walls of her capital all the treasures c
art which were accessible, Greece was despoiled of he
beautiful sculptures, which were taken to adorn the grea
patrician mansions, and thus Italy became almost as fu
of wonders of art as Greece had been before her. Bt
in time the avenger came. The barbarian hordes pourin
over the Alps came down upon Italy. The fifth centur
was the most fatal of all for the remains of ancient art an
civilization. The west Goths under Alaric captured Rom

EUROPEAN, ART. 89
in 409. In 437 was the persecution of the catholic Chris
tians by Genseric the Arian. In 445 Attila, the scourge
of God, came down upon Italy. In 455 Genseric set fire
to Rome, destroying the palace of Sallust with all its trea
sures of art. In 476, Odoacer, king of the Heruli, put an
end to the western empire, destroying many treasures, of
art. But there was another cause of destruction besides that
proceeding from indiscriminate barbarian rage. It pro
ceeded from the hostility of the Christian against these
sculptured figures of pagan deities. In their destructive
zeal they not only demolished statues, paintings and mo
saics of mythological import, but attacked also other objects
of art. The great effort was to destroy everything pagan.
- Both these destructive agencies resulted in entirely or par
tially destroying almost all the beautifully sculptured mar
bles that were not kept so fully concealed as to elude the
keenest search. The history of the modern European arts
of design begins, therefore, with the destruction of every
accessible ancient model. This was followed by about five
centuries, during which the fine arts, if they could be said
to exist at all, were in so rude a state as not to be deserv
ing of that appellation.
All the arts depend very much for their origin, growth,
and development, upon two sources, viz : religion, and the
form of government. The first furnishes subjects and
scenes, and, what is of more importance, the moral ele
ment that breathes through and animates both. Grecian
art went to heathen mythology, and gave form, expression
and action to those gods and goddesses who had been born
of the poetic fancy, and worshiped by those who could
find no higher objects which they could recognize as deity.
The moral element here was materialistic and sensual.
Christian art visits the first pair in Eden, depicts the fall,
goes to the manger in Bethlehem, exhibits our Lord in all
the varieties of his earthly pilgrimage, unveils the beauties
of Paradise, and reveals the terrors of the last judgment.
The moral element here is eminently spiritual. We may,
vn] 12

90 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
therefore, expect to find modern art differ from ancient in
its subjects, scenes and the moral element by which it is
animated. The form of government exerts only an indirect influ
ence. The arts have never flourished to any extent except
under a free government. It is those forms only that have
been developed in an atmosphere of freedom, that can
furnish models worthy of the plastic art. It was so in the
days of Grecian greatness. It is so in the revival of art in
Italy in modern times.
Some have attributed to the Crusades an important
agency in the revival of modern art. It is not, however,
true that any important works of art were brought by the
Crusaders into the west to serve as models. It is true that
many bishops, abbots and monasteries availing themselves
of the rage of land owners to join in the CrusadeS, by
means of making money advancements, were enabled to
enrich themselves in lands. These, therefore, becoming
opulent, could indulge their taste in the fine arts, and
adorn their palaces and churches with marble, works of
sculpture, paintings, and mosaics. At about the same
period, several of the cities of Italy, as Venice, Florence,
Genoa, Pisa, etc., assuming republican forms of govern
ment, and embarking in profitable commercial pursuits,
many of their citizens became wealthy, and able to indulge
themselves in the same luxuries as the bishops, abbots and
monasteries. The demand from these two different sources
not only originated, and often successfully, a search after
lost or 'concealed sculptures, but also had the effect of
stimulating to the production of new ones.
It is in Germany and Italy that we find the first success
ful efforts made for the revival of sculpture. With the
eleventh century commenced the period at which this art
began to make its influence felt in Germany.1 It, however,
then, and during the entire period of Gothic architecture,
stood in intimate connection with the architectural art.

' Tomographic, TV, 49.

EUROPEAN ART. 91
In fact, sculpture became the handmaid of architecture. Its
works were almost exclusively of an ecclesiastical character,1
consisting of alto-relievos, representing different passages in
the life of Christ, treated more or less symbollically,
and also figures of the apostles and evangelists, after the
same style. So both in Germany and Italy, and other
parts of western Europe, sculpture began to present its
sepulchral monuments.2 These were in the sculptured
effigies of the first Crusaders, presenting their chain mail,
their massive swords, and their crossed legB, each portray
ing great individuality of character.
This mode of sculpture in alto-relievo was long con
tinued. Even from the thirteenth to the fifteenth centu
ries this art was almost entirely confined to that, and
semi-detached statuary on the exterior of the great Gothic
cathedrals, and to the sepulchral monuments within.3 The
taste for statuary, in the place of mere carving, continued
to increase, as the works of masters in the art were gradu
ally presented. Then it was that sculpture retreated more
from the fronts to the interiors of churches, the better to
satisfy the increasing tendency to a fond elaboration of
details. Still the connection between sculpture and archi
tecture remained so intimate that the architectural idea
was predominant.
During the fourteenth century, the sepulchral monument
attained a very high degree of excellence in the truly
Gothic phase of the art. Every successive link of pro
gress for nearly two centuries continued to exhibit some
new and exquisitely worked out features of ornament or
general structure. The figures were recumbent as in the
earlier periods,4 the arms generally joined over the breast,
while the hands were placed palm to palm, and raised as if
in the attitude of prayer. This posture of perpetual
prayer is given to nobles and princes equally as to prelates.
Above rich canopies of fretted- stone exhibited elaborate
tracery, often of most exquisite design, and wrought out

1 Ten Centuries of Art, 41, 42. 2 Idem, 42. 8 Idem, 42. 4 Idem, 42.

92 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
with a high finish, and a patient and persevering labor.
" By the close of the fifteenth century, the richness and
beauty of these works, combining the skill of the ornamen-
talist, the architect, and the sculptor, attained the culmi
nating point of excellence."
Thus the plastic art in modern Europe first conse
crated its efforts to embellish the temple and the tombr
and thus imparted to them a solemn grandeur, and a
sedate grace, which in after times gave way to popular and
poetical works of a more worldly tone and lighter charac^
ter. But the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries witnessed
the extinction of Gothic sculpture as well as Gothic archi
tecture, and beheld new schools in progress, giving birth
to new forms of art, formed and fashioned upon new
models. Not that the temple or the tomb was by any
means deserted, or had lost any of- their elaboration or rich
ness. They both seemed to increase, but under the guid
ance of a different feeling. Instead of a single figure with
its canopy, thus giving birth to that solitariness, and isola
tion appropriate to the domain of death, we have some
times, as in the tomb of Maximilian, groups of attendant
statues, standing around, thus seeming to guard the mighty
dead from any intrusion. The tombs of Francis I, at St.
Denis, of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, and of Henry
VH, at Westminster, among other works of art, exhibit a
great style of splendor belonging to this era, which almost
entirely expired with the close of the seventeenth century.
We do not mean to be understood, however, that sculp
ture has ever deserted the tomb. She has ever been there
exerting her utmost powers and energies in bestowing
all of immortality she could upon the remains of those she
loved. It is not her fault if the monumental marble does
not bear to future ages the memory of the dead, together
with the noble specimens of her own glorious handiwork.
Her torch has ever burned with the greatest brilliancy
where the death damps have lain with their heaviest pres
sure. Her chisel has ever worked with its most wondrous
cunning, when she could fancy that by some curious de-

EUROPEAN ART. 93
vice she was perpetuating the memory of the dead, or by
a life-like resemblance, almost anticipating the resurrec
tion. Her silent monitions have ever spoken with great
est effect to the living, when she has given to death a
tongue, and out of the stony mouths of the tomb, given
her utterances of love, of wisdom or of warning. When
she sounds a retreat from man's last resting place, we may
bid a long farewell to her greatest, most moral, and most
glorious creations.
We must now visit Italy, and witness there the rise and
progress of modern sculpture, "Art was never wholly extin
guished in Italy. Many remnants of Grecian art survived
the general wreck which the fifth and several following cen
turies made of those inestimable treasures. These could
not fail of meeting with some appreciation in the free cities
of Italy, in which the activity of the human mind leading to
accumulations of wealth created in time a new class of
wants, which that wealth could supply, and the lersure they
now enjoyed would afford an opportunity of gratifying.
Even as early as the commencement of the eleventh century
the cities of Pisa, Florence, Bologna, Sienna, Venice, and
Amalfi assumed the privileges of free cities, and very soon
afterwards the antique remains, both architectural and sculp
tural, began to be studied and appreciated.
The first great name that presents itself is that of Nicolo
Pisano, or Nicolo of Pisa, who was born in the beginning
of the thirteenth century, and distinguished himself both
as a sculptor and an architect. At that early period so
little had the division of labor in the field of the arts pro
gressed, that the same artist often united in himself the
avocations of architect, sculptor and painter. While this
fact proclaims the kindred character of these arts, it affords
evidence equally clear that comparatively little progress
had been made in each. While he is regarded as the
reviver of the plastic art in Italy, his manner of composi
tion did not differ essentially from that of his predecessors
and contemporaries, but in his forms he copied far more
closely the antique. He did not excel so much in define-

94 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
ating the terrible and grand, as the gentle and delicate.
His principal works are the descent from the cross, and
the pulpit in the baptistery of Pisa, and also that in the
cathedral of Sienna. He may be considered the founder of
the primitive school of modern sculpture, in which were
educated his son, Giovanni da Pisa, and Augustino and
Anasto da Sienna, his favorite pupils. To this school may
be traced the practice of the first separation of modern
sculpture from architecture, and to it Europe is indebted
for the revival of classic art and a taste for the antique.
From this point ecclesiastical sculpture goes into a gradual
decadence, while the sculpture of romance, of poetry, and
of history is as gradually rising in importance.
A question has been raised as to how much the imitation
of the antique contributed to the revival of modern art.
While it is conceded that such imitation would result in
the production of the most faultless forms, it is still asserted
that the mind and spirit observable in the paintings and
sculptures of the time of the revival,1 are of an entirely
original character, and quite independent of the ancient
schools. In the modern Christian art are discernible great
depth of feeling, and Of intention, and its revivers seem to
have aimed at appealing to the sympathies, rather than
gratifying the eye and pleasing the fancy only, by present
ing to them the most beautiful forms.
In the fourteenth century art was carried by Andrea
Pisano, the grandson of Nicolo, to Florence, which very
soon became its great head and fountain. He was the father
of the Tuscan school. His sons Tomas and Nino, were
the means of diffusing it over Lombardy and other parts
of Italy.
The sculptures of this period were mostly relievi in
bronze, there being but very few statues. These relievi
were mostly dedicated to religion or to the memory of the
dead, were simple, truthful, and of natural expression, and
form an interesting link between the barbarism of the dark

'Pictorial Gallery, n, 303.

EUROPEAN ART. 95
ages, and the splendid productions of the two succeeding
centuries.1 The close of the fourteenth and commencement
of the fifteenth centuries were signalized by a remarkable
work of art, viz : the relievi executed upon the bronze fold
ing doors of the baptistery at Florence. On one of these,
Andrea Pisano wrought a bas-relief illustrative of the life of
St. John. About the year fourteen hundred, the Arti, or
guild of merchants, at Florence, resolved upon the con
struction of a Becond gate or door of bronze, as a companion
to the one just mentioned. The proposed work was opened
to the competition of the greatest of the Italian artists. It
was finally awarded to Lorenzo Ghiberti, who consumed
twenty-two years of his life upon the work. He chose for
representation a series of scripture subjects embracing vari
ous events from the annunciation to the descent of the
Holy Ghost, which were wrought in relief on twenty panels
or compartments, ten on each of the folding doors.2 The
Florentines subsequently confided to him a third gate upon
which he expended the labor of sixteen years, choosing his
subjects from the Old Testament and representing them on
ten compartments, each two and a half feet square.3 The
series began with the creation and ended with the meeting
of Solomon and the queen of Sheba.4 Although these have
been somewhat criticized, yet the fertility of invention ex
hibited the felicity and clearness with which every story is
told, the grace of some of the figures, the simple grandeur
of others, the luxuriant form displayed in the ornaments,
and the perfection with which the whole is executed, are
justly considered as entitling them to the praise bestowed
upon them by Michael Angelo, viz : that they " were worthy
to be called the gates of Paradise."
There were also others of the same period who distin
guished themselves in sculpture. Among these were
Donatello, born in 1383, whose performances, in almost
every variety of material, are scattered over all Italy, the

'Cleghorn,!, 292. 2 Pictorial Gallery, ii, 303. "Idem, 306. * Agincourt,
xli, of Sculpture.

96 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
best being in Florence.1 The most of them are in bas-
reliefs, and those so little raised above the level of the back
ground as to appear, in some respects, more like pictures
than sculptures. He also sculptured completely detached
statues of which the famous group at Florence, treated
after the antique manner, without drapery, has served as a
type of so many more recent and less excellent works.2
He is considered as having been the first to throw off the
conventional stiffness of Gothic art, and to idealize the fine
forms of nature rather than servilely to copy them. He
revived the idealized treatment of natural forms, and in
correctness and perfection of finish, is said even to have
excelled Michael Angelo. Another great contemporary
was Brunelleschi who represents architecture as well as
sculpture, and excelled in both.
The thirteenth and fourteenth centuries have been
termed the infancy of sculpture, during which we find
views frequently derived from the antique, as well as a
faithful imitation of nature, and just expression.3 An
appearance of restraint and meagreness long pervaded the
early labors of sculpture, arising from the want of acknow
ledged principles of taste or of composition. The plastic
art, during this period, was chiefly dedicated to devotion,
and to the memory of departed worth. By means of it,
the heart is often awakened to deep feeling by unexpected
beauties of the sweetest power, arising from a diligent imi
tation of nature.
The three great contemporary sculptors already men
tioned, had their pupils who carried the practice of the
art into the fifteenth century. Its cultivation was not
confined to Tuscany, but extended also to Bologna, Mo-
dena, the whole of Lombardy, Venice, and Naples. Its
style and character was more elevated. Down to the close
of the century " it was distinguished by general improve
ment, more than by any marked superiority of individual

'Pictorial Gallery, n, 306. s Ten Centuries of AH, 44. 3 Constable's Mis
cellany, 97.

EUROPEAN ART. 97
genius and manner. It is remarkable for simplicity, chaste
fidelity to nature, unaffected composition, sweetness of
expression, as well as an acquaintance with the antique ; 1
though it is, at the same time, deficient in vigor, freedom,
and grandeur, grace, and selection of form. The object was,
not so much to produce ideal beauty, as a faithful imita -
tion of individual nature, in which a very high degree of
excellence was attained."
The largest proportion of the sculptures wrought during
this century continued to be in bronze and relievo. The
execution in bronze is assigned as a reason why the style
appears in some respects harsh, with an appearance of re-.
straint, and occasionally defective in energy.2 The design,
however, is always chaste, and often extremely elegant.
The composition appears judicious, and is seldom con
trasted or grouped artificially. " The expression is sweet
and calmly dignified, for rarely is strongly marked passion
attempted. No decided aims at representation of abstract
or ideal beauty can be observed ; the powers of fancy are
never presumed upon, seldom rounded by remote associa
tions. The mind of the artist, now no longer entirely
engrossed in mechanical detail, or confined by difficulties of
mere representation, expatiates, selects, combines. If the
forms and conceptions are not invested with the sublimity
of ideal elevation, the beautiful models of real existence are
imitated not unsuccessfully. Were the extent and object
of art confined to simple imitation, the aim of the sculptor
would now nearly be attained."
One department of sculpture during the fifteenth century3
attained a perfection which has never since been surpassed,
and that is the sculpture of high and low relief, the former
as practiced by Donatello, and the latter by Ghiberti, the
former in the church of San Lorenzo, representing the
;most memorable events in the life of the Saviour; the
latter on the gates of the baptistery at Florence. The prin -
cipal source from which sculpture, during this age, drew

1 Cleghorn, i, 293, 294. * Constable's Miscellany, 98. * Idem, 99.
vii] 13

98 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
its representations, was from scripture, and it is to the influ
ence of deep religious impressions that its improvement
is mainly attributable.
The sixteenth century, that saw at its opening such mighty
changes occurring in European affairs, witnessed in Italy
a state of things highly favorable to the further advance
ment of art. The progress hitherto made in that of sculp
ture had inspired a higher and a purer taste. The Italian
republics, like the Grecian centuries earlier, by their
rivalries and efforts to outdo each other, contributed to
advance the arts. Their merchant princes possessed the
.amplest means for indulgence in these elegant luxuries.
In Florence arose the house of Medici by whose efforts the
Florentine museum was established, and whose munificent
patronage awoke and called into active exercise the dor
mant powers that might otherwise have forever slumbered
in such lofty minds even as that of Michael Angelo. The
Roman pontiff, possibly fearing that the spread of know
ledge and intelligence might endanger his exercise of
power, was inclined to favor the arts, and by their gorgeous
display divert the attention from other and more serious
considerations. Besides, by deriving from religion the
subjects upon which art could exercise all its powers and
skill, an union was effected between the two, and thus
mutual aid rendered to each other.
With the exception of poetry, sculpture had made the
greatest advances since the revival of intelligence. Still
there was wanting to its perfection " greater ease and
execution,3 more perfect and elevated expression; more
refined selection of form and composition ; more of that
heightening charm which fancy lends to reality, which
constitutes the poetry, not the fiction, of art." The hour
had arrived when Italy and the human race demanded a
great genius, with powers adequate to combine together
everything scattered over the field of art. That genius
arose in the person of Michael Angelo. This remarkable

'Constable's Miscellany, 100.

EUROPEAN ART. 99
i
man was born of poor parents, near Florence, in the year
1474. The world is indebted to Lorenzo de Medici, termed
by some, Lorenzo the Magnificent, for the first nurture
and maturing of those tender buds, whose blossoms and
fruit were afterwards the wonder of the world. It will
be long before the devotees of art will cease to bow before
the shrine of Michael Angelo.
In the minds of many he was a great genius self-taught,
self-inspired. This is a mistake. Few are more indebted
to rigid, severe culture than he. We find him early
devoted to every branch of study connected with art.
He visited the remains of antiquity, architectural and.
sculptural, and imbued himself with their spirit. He de
voted himself long and arduously to the study of physical
and anatomical science, more especially to the latter.
His knowledge of muscular development, the contour of
the different muscles in a state of repose ; the variations
produced while in a state of action ; the mysteries of move
ment that go to constitute and vary the expression, was
deeper, more profound, more perfect, probably, than that
of any other living man. His paintings and sculptures
all proclaim that.
Michael Angelo, for more than half a century, was the
great leading genius in all the schools of art. In all the
arts of design, he was a master. To be convinced of this,
we have only to look, in sculpture, upon his Moses ; in
painting, upon his Last Judgment ; and in architecture, to
elevate our eyes to the cupola of St. Peter's, a dome so
lofty, so capacious, so poised, so hung in the realm of
ether, as to suggest the idea of its being upheld and sus
tained by a hand let down from heaven for that purpose.
He stood upon so high a platform, that in him were com
bined elements so lofty, as to find themselves at home in
every art, at least of design ; thus affording the amplest
proof, that those arts are all kindred to each other ; that
they progress in converging lines, until, arriving at their
utmost reach, they meet and mingle with each other in one
blended and inseparable union.

100 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
It is difficult to decide to what department of art to
assign Michael Angelo. His peculiarities were displayed
both in painting and in sculpture ; perhaps a little more
fully in the latter. There is less difficulty in assigning his
place in the history of modern art, the mission he seems
designed to accomplish, and the effect it has had upon art
in its subsequent history. The ability to do this arises out
of the peculiar qualities, capacities, and even idiosyncrasies
of the man. It has been well remarked that " the subor
dinate parts of an art expand themselves by a slow and _
progressive growth ; but those which depend on a native
vigor of imagination generally burst forth at once in full
ness of beauty." ' This profound remark of Sir Joshua
Reynolds justifies and requires a reference to the peculiar
qualities that compose the man in order satisfactorily to
account for any sudden outgrowth, or change in character,
of the higher parts of an art, to which he has devoted the
energies of a life. To Michael Angelo belonged impatience
of slowly progressive labor, indomitable activity and un
wearied industry, exalted perceptions of excellence united
with a reckless daring in execution, a comprehensive
knowledge of anatomical structures, of the law of expres
sion, and of the mighty changes wrought by passion in the
action and appearance of the different organs. To all this
should be added a power of entering the realms of the im
agination, of giving forms and functions to the creations of
his own fancy, of impressing upon canvas and marble the
character and expression which that fancy should dictate,
and the will and disposition ever to do and dare whatever
should originate in his own great conceptions. His man
ner of working, and style of production, are both in har
mony with this description.
As to the first, a contemporary thus speaks of him : 2 " I
have seen Michael Angelo, when above sixty, and not very
robust, make more fragments of marble fly off in a quarter
of an hour than three vigorous young sculptors could have

'Reynolds's Discourses, 405. 'Pictorial Gallery, 11, 307.

EUROPEAN ART. 101
done in an hour; and he worked with so much impetu
osity, and put such strength into his blows, that I feared
he would have broken the whole to pieces ; for portions,
the size of three or four fingers, were struck off so near to
the contour or outline, that if he erred by a hair's breadth
he would have spoiled all and lost his labor."
His style of production was such as would naturally
follow such a manner of working. Overleaping the truth
and modesty of nature, as well as the principles of the
antique, disdaining to follow in the path of his predeces
sors,1 he gave loose to his own daring, sublime, and terri
ble conceptions. In giving those conceptions body and
expression, his execution was wonderful. " A force, a
fire, an enthusiasm, elsewhere unfelt, unknown, give to
every limb and lineament a vitality, a movement, resem
bling more the sudden mandate of inspiration, than a labor
ious and retarded effort." His statues are very generally
wanting in that simplicity and repose, which is so essen
tial to beauty.2 In the place of it we often meet with
constrained attitudes, exaggerated proportions, awful,
gloomy, and unearthly expressions, unnatural forms, and
an appearance of superhuman energy. Of his six sculp
tured figures in the Lorenzo chapel, all belonging in sonie
measure to one group, his Lorenzo de Medici is thus
described : " It is a statue almost awful in its sullen gran
deur. He looks down in a contemplative attitude.3 But
there is mischief in the look ; something yague, ominous,
difficult to be described. Altogether, it well nigh realizes
our idea of Milton's Satan brooding over his infernal -plans
for the ruin of mankind." By another it has been styled
" the most real and unreal thing that ever came from the
chisel." Another speaks of it, that the " general action is
one of perfect repose, and the expression that of deep
meditation. It is impossible to look at this figure without
being forcibly struck with the mind that pervades it. For
deep and intense feeling, it is one of the finest works in

1 Cleghorn, i,295. 'Constable's Miscellany, 103. "Pictorial Gallery, n, 307.

102 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
existence.1 It has been well observed of this statue, that
it has no resemblance to the antique, but it rivals the best
excellencies of the ancients in expression combined with
repose and dignity." Sir Charles Bell traces minutely, the
action of the muscles in the figures of this group, and
points out how wonderfully they correspond with the
actual development which would accompany the attitudes
chosen. He adds, " in these statues, great feeling of art
and genius of the highest order have been exhibited ; ana
tomical science, ideal beauty, or rather grandeur, com
bined." Another of his statues, the Moses, is termed the
realization of his high conception of the human figure.
In his bronze statue of Pope Julius II, he threw into the
figure and attitude so much of the haughty and resolute
character of the original, that Julius, on seeing the model,
inquired of him, whether he intended to represent him as
blessing or cursing mankind. Two of the statues intended
to compose a part of the monument of Julius H, were
carried to France by Cardinal Richelieu, and there the
French sculptor, Falconet, who, without having seen, had
censured his style, on beholding them exclaimed : " I have
seen Michael Angelo, he is terrific." 2
He seldom attempted subjects of an ancient or classical
character. Most of his works related either to Christian
subjects or to portraiture of individuals. His works in
sculpture are not numerous, and few are even finished.
Nor did he like many other artists leave many models or
designs for future execution. Few, however, as his sculp
tures were, they have exercised a mighty influence in the
realm of art. His style and manner have elicited the
highest commendation and the severest criticism. They
have been regarded by many as the standards of perfection;
But they were the results of a high disdain to follow in the
path of his predecessors, and, in their construction, he over
leaped the truth and modesty of nature,3 as well as the

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 307. a Boscoe's Lorenzo de Medici, n, 283. 3 Cleg-
horn, i, 295.

EUROPEAN ART. 103
principles of the antique, giving loose to his own daring,
sublime, and terrible conceptions. " He had marked the
perplexities and constraint under which his predecessors
had labored, in their endeavors to unite the forms and ex
pressions of living nature with images of ideal beauty,
overlooking the productions of classic sculpture, in which
this union is so happily accomplished."
The point of divergence at which Michael Angelo differed
from all other sculptors was in grasping at expression and
endeavoring to bring that, as a controlling element, into
sculpture. The ancients had selected form as the principal
element of sculptural design. But the great Tuscan pre
ferred expression. He desired to import the painter's art
into sculpture. His aim was, by means of the chisel, to
enable internal passions and emotions so to proclaim them
selves through his stony structures, as to leave unmista
kable evidence of the severity of their action in the
expression of features and the contortion of muscles. As
to the merits of this point of difference the critics gene
rally side with the ancients, maintaining that " passion is
inconsistent with the beautiful in form, or the dignified in
sentiment;1 that a sweetly pleasing, a gently agitating
excitement, or a nobly repressed feeling, visible only in the
resolve of soul, and mastering of sorrow, is the true and
the only proper expression in sculpture."
Where expression as well as form is sought to be brought
-out, a double difficulty is imposed upon the sculptor. In
his eagerness to bring out both, and the consequent impos
sibility of giving his undivided attention to either, it is
quite possible that both may suffer. Besides his practice
was to cut from a mere sketch or small model, or without
any guide whatever. " While the hand, the eye, the mind,
were thus in instant exertion ; while propriety of expression
and beauty of outline, mechanical detail, and general effect,
grandeur of the whole, and propriety of parts, were at once
to be studied, and that, too, where each stroke removes

1 Constable's Miscellany, 106.

104 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
what never can be again united, imperfection was almost a
necessary consequence." Hence undoubtedly arises some
of the defects of his style. Among these is the want
of proportion sometimes noticed. Then it has been -ob
served that in the salient lines of contours, the circles rarely
have their just value, nor the surfaces their proper
fullness.1 To compensate this deficiency in the advancing
curves, and also by way of producing an appearance of
strong muscular development, the retiring lines, or muscular
depressions, are expressed in exaggerated depth. Of his
works in sculpture the virgin and dead Saviour, completed
in his twenty-fourth year, is called the least exaggerated,
,and the most natural of all. So also his Bacchus is correct
in its forms, while every one of his six figures in the tomb
of the Medici " bears the strong impress of a spirit delight
ing in the great and the wonderful ; an imagination eager
in the pursuit of untried modes of existence, and a con
sciousness of power to execute the most daring conceptions.
Intelligence in science, breadth of touch, boldness of
manner, fearlessness of difficulty, unite to give life and
movement to attitudes the most remote from such as nature
would voluntarily assume, or graceful design select."
Thus the sixteenth century is enobled by one great name
in art ; a name that towers far above all others, shedding
over the century a halo of glory. He impressed his own
peculiar style and manner upon the age. The beauty, and
symmetry and loveliness of the antique, even under its
own Italian skies, gave way to the stern, original, strongly
marked, inflexibly severe, and awfully expressive forms
and features, that grew out beneath the chisel of Michael
Angelo. No other sculptor appeared during the century
who was not either his pupil or imitator. The result of
this was the rapid decline of art. His pupils and imitators
had neither his knowledge, nor the fire of his genius.
They imitated his defects as well as his excellencies. Be
sides, in imitating him they neither imitated the antique,
1 Constable's Miscellany, 106, 107.

EUROPEAN ART. 105
nor still life, nor living nature ; but only both the latter as
conceived in the brain of Michael Angeio. The last thirty
years of the century was more especially marked by a
rapid decline in the art of sculpture. The principles which
had been . originated and matured by the great Tuscan,
could only be upheld and - Sustained by his genius. That
alone could consecrate and Conceal their errors. All
imitation must degenerate more and more into mere
mannerism, in proportion to its more distant removal,
both in time and space, from the source of its original
inspiration. One other cause of a deterioration of art was, that a
profusion of Ornament began to be associated with
sculpture, to the neglect of the simpler qualities of design ;
mouldings, flowers, scrolls, and other objects of minor im
portance, were allowed to absorb the time and attention,
which were really due to matters of much greater magni
tude. The seventeenth century opened with no brilliant prospect
forthe art of sculpture. The art had hitherto only flourished
in Italy, and there had been almost or entirely limited to
those free commercial republics, whose activity was so
signally manifested in so many departments of life. Over
those republics had swept a sad change. The commerce
of the world by doubling the cape, had found for itself new
channels, and thus left the city of the sea, and the plains
of Lombardy, to mourn over their vanished wealth and
departed glory. Those republics had also lost their liberty,
and with it all their lofty aspirations. They could not,
therefore, be expected to vie with each other in the encou
ragement of art. Besides the: sister art of painting had
been continually claiming for itself a larger measure of
attention, and thus diminishing that which was paid to sculp
ture. In addition, the art itself, having reached a peculiar
style of excellence under Michael Angelo, and no other great
genius appearing either to sustain it, we should naturally
expect a rapid decline.
vn] 14

106 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
The most prominent original sculptor that next suc
ceeded the great Tuscan, was Bernini, who was born at
Naples in 1598. His powers of execution were very great,
and he also possessed great exuberance of fancy, but no
sound judgment or manly taste. Like Michael Angelo he
commenced his career early, his much admired groups of
u3Sneas and Anchises, Apollo and Daphne, being produced,
the one at the age of fifteen, and the other at eighteen'.
He thought the antique style too tame, and that of Michael
Angelo too severe, and hence desired to invent a new style, -
steering clear of the defects, and embracing the beauties of
both. But he lacked the judgment to select, the skill to
combine, and the taste to approve. He gave way to
caprice and extravagance, and thus made a further depart
ure froirigood taste. The school, which he maybe said to
have founded, sought to produce an effect by flying drapery,
striking and affected attitudes, and strength devoid both
of nature and science.1
Bernini died in 1680, and Camilla Rusconi, a Milanese,
during the remainder of the seventeenth, and the early part
of the eighteenth century, attracted the most attention as a
sculptor. He followed out the principles of his predecessor,
but with less genius and talents, and hence the deterioration
of taste became more rapid. Thus through defect of prin
ciple, -and poverty of means, the plastic art continued more
and more to languish throughout the Italian peninsula.
The history of sculpture, almost, or entirely, like that of
other arts, and even speculative sciences,, when critically
examined, has its cycles or periods of advance and reces
sion ; and those of advance will probably be found to
possess characteristics peculiar to themselves; so that in
process of time all the possible developments of which the
art is susceptible, will be brought out and exhibited in all
their fullness of perfection. Thus one cycle found its
farthest advance in the works of Michael Angelo ; and in
them art was found treading with adventurous step on

1 Cleghorn, i, 299.

EUROPEAN ART. 107
that extreme limit at which a union of profound knowledge
of nature and muscular development, and powers of ima
gination, active, vivid, and efficient, sought to rescue sculp
ture from the dominion of form, and to place it under that
of attitude, action and expression. It may be well
-doubted whether the world's history will ever furnish
stronger instances of this peculiar phase of art than is ex
hibited in the works of the great Tuscan. Upon his
demise the art of sculpture rapidly declined. There were
no shoulders left to sustain the weight of his mantle. It
is said that in his very old age, he perceived and lamented
the brilliant but fatal errors of his style, and in the few
works then finished,1 a degree of sobriety and chasteness
isobserved. That he saw and lamented, too late, the fall
prepared for sculpture.
This cycle in the history of sculpture was run entirely in
Italy. It is not until comparatively quite a modern period
that sculpture, as an art, is found flourishing north of the
Alps. • Even the next cycle it runs in, its advancing history
is to be found in Italy. This brings us to the latter part of
the eighteenth and the first quarter of the nineteenth cen
tury, to the age of Canova.
Antonio Canova was born at Possagno, a village at the
foot of the Venetian Alps, on the 1st Nov. 1757. His
ancestors, for two generations on the paternal side, were
stonecutters. In. his fifteenth year he repaired to Venice,
and there obtained, through the benevolence of the good
fathers, the cloisters of a -convent for a work shop. As his
mind expanded, he became disgusted with 'the mannerism
and conventional style of the academy, he at length resolved
to return to the study of nature, and explore alone those
paths which had been followed by the ancients. When
not engaged in the practice of his art, he spent his time in
dissection and the study of anatomy, in observation made
upon living nature, in acquiring languages, and improving
himself in literature.

Constable's Miscellany, 107.

1 08 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
His first essays were models of animals and various
ornaments, some of which he cut in marble. There was
then an academy of art in Venice but into it the new
light had not yet penetrated. His great study was nature,
and his first productions grounded upon such study were
hi8i Orpheus and Eurydice at the moment of their separa
tion. This was at the eariiy age of sixteen and seventeen.
Th,ese. shadowed forth the meridian splendor that might
be expected from, such a dawn. Next in order followed
his Daedalus a,nd Icarus, a group which shows a careful,
study pf nature, and an abandonment of the conventional
modes of the, day. In December, 1780, he went to, Rome,
and; there, in the palace of the embassador, the last men
tioned group were exhibited to a number of the most
eminent artists, who examined it for some time in wonder
and silence. At length Gavin Hamilton,1 addressing him
self to Canova, advised him to, endeavor to invest so beau
tiful and affecting a representation of nature wi,th the.
grace, and ideal of the antique, assuring him that by such
a course of study, for which Rome afforded every facility,
he, would reach an, excellence never yet attained by modern
sculpture. This advice, thus timely given, was followed by the
young sculptor. His first three years of residence at Rome
was devoted to a profound and severe study of the antique,
without, however, losing sight of anatomy and living nature.
Had. Michael Angelo followed the same course, it is not
difficult to perceive that his style would have been quite
different. As the result of this course of study, Canova
became convinced that the style of sculpture, as then prac
ticed, was false and corrupt; and he, therefore, resolved to
strike out a new path of his own, which should be founded,
both on an assiduous study of nature and the true princi
ples of the antique; and that this presented the only means.
of attaining excellence and originality. By strenuously:
proceeding in this course he ultimately succeeded in effect-

1 Cleglwm, i, 302.

EUROPEAN ART. 109
ing a complete revolution in taste,, and became the great
agent on the continent in the establishment of a purer and
finer style of sculpture than had previously prevailed.
The life of Canova exhibits an instance of unwearied
study and devotion to the practice of a single art. A series
of more than two hundred compositions, some merely
modeled, some moulded in clay, some cut in soft stone, and
many in marble, attest an industry that might well be
deemed the labors of a generation. His works have been
classed under three general heads i1
1. Those in which the subjects were heroic.
2. Compositions of softness and grace.
3. Monumental erections and relievos.
As the. two first mentioned require, a differenee in style
and composition, it is hardly possible to expect equal excel
lence in both. He has been justly styled the sculptor of
Venus. and the Graces. Here probably lay his greatest
excellence. And yet no one can deny that he possesses in
the heroic a very superior style of excellence. His Perseus
exhibits a manly and vigorous beauty of form; his Pugilists
a degree of forceful expression seldom equaled;2 his Theseus
combatting the Centaur is a harmonious and noble com
position, while his Ajax, Hector, Paris, Palamedes, all be
longing to the grand style in art, may challenge compari
son with any works of the modern chisel, in the beauties of
sustained effect, learned design, and boldness yet exquisite
delicacy of execution. His Hercules and Lycius, in all
its circumstances, proclaims the terrible intensity of suffer
ing, and under the chisel of Michael Angelo would undoubt
edly have exhibited a horror of expression most frightful
to look upon. But under the' chisel of Canova the features
of the hero god, although distorted by the fierce pain which
consumes him, are still made to preserve that dignity of *
aspect" which the great masters have always observed even
in depicting the greatest severity of suffering. It is the
high tribute which the sculptor pays to mind and power

¦ ' Constable's Miscellany, 121. 2 Idem, 122.

110 . HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of will, in thus enabling it, by forces peculiarly its own, to
control the natural expression which the tortured organs
would, of themselves, assume. In. the successful accom
plishment of this lies, perhaps, the highest office of sculp
ture. Under the second head are found the most glowing
conceptions of elegance and grace, and these are raised
and yet more refined, by the expression of some elevating
or endearing.sentiment. Here has been generally conceded
to lie his greatest excellence ; but this is denied by Dr.
Memes, who claims that this class is less uniformly digni
fied and excellent than the first; but he concedes that the
Venus Recumbent, the Nymph and Cupid, are superior, as
examples of beauty and grace, to any one of masculine
character which might be compared with them. The
defect he complains of is a want of dignity in the female
figures, exhibiting sometimes the meagre and the cold,
where grace should be found united with sweetness. " This;"
he saysj " is occasioned by a want of harmony between the
just height and roundness of the forms, from an absence of
those firm, yet gracious contours, meeting, yet eluding the
eye, rounded into life and' dissolving in the animated mar
ble, which render, for instance, the Medicean so incom
parably superior to the Venus of Canova." x The ornate
runs through this entire class. But it is accompanied by
inimitable ease, and that which indicates a refined taste
and cultivated mind. Little is derived immediately and
simply from nature. Everything has been determined
after much thought and many trials. Art has here ac
quired that degree of perfection by which it is enabled to
conceal itself, and this lends to its creations, the enchant
ment of nature's own sweetest graces.
Under the third head are included a class consisting of
architectural elevations, supporting colossal statues, and of
tablets in relievo. As instances of the former we have the
tombs of the popes at Rome, of Alfieri at Florence, and

'Constable's Miscellany, 123.

EUROPEAN. ART. Ill
of the Archduchess Maria Christina at Vienna. The
second, which are quite numerous, are composed of nearly
the same simple elements of design, viz: a female figure or
a genius, in basso-relievo, mourning over a bust or an urn,
yet exhibiting much diversity of character and arrangement.1
The tomb of the archduchess, and the grand relievo of the
d'Haro family mourning over the funeral couch of the
deceased daughter and wife, are cited as the choicest illus
trations of this class and as equal to anything in the
whole compass of art.
From the great multitude and variety of the works of
Canova the inquiry very naturally arises, what were the
constituents of his genius, and what his rank in the-history
of his art? One thing that strikes us at once is the uni
versality of his genius. He seems almost equally at home •
in every province of his art. In each varied exercise, he
displays the same judgment and taste, blending into one
harmonious and regular effect the outbreakings of those
peculiar energies that usually characterize the possession
of great powers. This would indicate correctness rather
than force. And yet very clear evidence, is afforded that
his mind was deeply imbued with both fire and enthusiasm.
It was in the first place richly stored with materials, and
upon those an ever active imagination was constantly at
work shaping them into forms of beauty and grandeur,
until the marble could be made reluctantly to yield up its
contained treasures. And yet he possessed the power of
controlling its too prurient suggestions, and of ever bring
ing to them the chastening influence of the understanding.
Energetic and rapid in composition,2 he was slow and fas
tidious in his corrections and final determinations. He
changed often, and always improved by it. Such a men
tal constitution was most eminently fitted to correct public
taste ; a necessity that then the most strongly required the
mission of such a genius as Canova. And it is interesting
to notice that however vicious the public taste may have

1 Constable's Miscellany, 424. 2 Idem, 125.

112 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
become, and however much fantastic exhibitionSj'and dis
plays of meretricious ornament, may have succeeded in
usurping the public mind, yet no sooner do the works and
outgrowths of a pure, Cultivated, and refined taste make
their appearance, than they are immediately recognized,
and their authors acknowledged as the true oraclesof their
art. It is to this great fact that true art must ever owe its
success and triumphs in the world.
Canova practiced so thorough a study of the antique,
that many of his works remind us Of more than casual
imitation. But on the other hand some Of his uncom
monly numerous compositions proclaim great powers of
invention, and to them he has applied, not unsuccessfully,
the principles he derived, from the antique. His claim for
preeminence among the moderns rests upon his being the
first who established improvement upon genuine and uni
versal precepts of art.1 The perfection to which he aspired
in the ideal is found in the union Of the two elements of
sculptural design, keeping each in just subordination to
beauty. In the antique, it is the form which constitutes
the primary, if not the sole thought,2 that fills the mind of
the sculptor. To perfect it in all its varieties, its shades,
its fullness of contour, so as by its angularity to present
the grand, and by its waving line, the beautiful, was the
great object, whose successful accomplishment lay in the
minds of the ancient masters. The art of sculpture had
run through one cycle of its history, when it had attained
to this perfection of form. This was the mission Of the
ancient masters, and their successful performance of it is
recorded in the marbles constituting the antique. Among
the moderns this art, as we have already seen, ran through
another cycle of its history, and that was to make it the
instrument of expression as well as of form, giving to the
former greatly the preponderance. This was the mission
of Michael Angelo in the sixteenth century. His was a
style of composition more purely ideal, and little connected

1 Constable's Miscellany, 126. a Idem, 126.

EUROPEAN ART. 113
with nature. In its masterly, and terrible execution,
" genius hovered on the very confines of credibility and of
the impossible, deriving the elements of its creations from
imaginings awful and imposing, embodied in forms of
gloomy sublimity and power , overwhelming not awakening
to the human sympathies. As characteristics of this im
aginative style, the proportions are enlarged, the expres
sions forced, and action and energy are given," destructive
of grace and reality.1 Art is raised to the regions where
nature is unknown, and where the very highest exertions
of intellect and fancy could hardly sustain interest." It
was impossible to retain it there. Its fall was owing to
an internal necessity. All that could be pressed into
the service of art had worked out in that direction.
It ceased from further progress because its energies were
exhausted. The new cycle which commenced running in the history
of this art under the auspices of Canova was eclectic in its
character. In his figures there is not, as in the antique, so
exclusive a devotion to the beauties of form ; nor is it
made so subservient to action and expression as in the
works of Michael Angelo.2 The expression holds an inter
mediate character between the unmoved serenity of the
ancients, and the strongly marked lineaments of the great
Tuscan. In some instances this union is very happily
accomplished. It has been remarked as a defect in his de
velopment of form, more especially of the female, that there
is a meagerness and want of vigor; but his contours are
full, flowing, and well sustained. Another remark is, that
all his grand parts may be resolved into a primary, and
two secondary forms ; and as this ternary combination is
sweetly yet decidedly marked, blending yet separating its
constituent lines, the graceful ease and infinite variety of
natural outline is obtained. He adopted and put in practice
that principle derived from the old masters of the antique,
"that from whatever resources of imagination any figure

' Constable's Miscellany, 118. "Idem, 12.
vn] 15

114 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
may be composed, the final surface, all that meets the eye
at last, must be finished, and faithfully imitated from in
dividual nature."
There has been remarked one other characteristic which
preeminently distinguishes the works of Canova, and that
is the exquisite beauty of their composition.1 " They
unite the dexterity and force which constituted the pecu
liar praise of the masters of the sixteenth century, with a
delicacy, a refinement, and truth, exclusively their own."
He was the first to introduce the practice of using finished
models of the exact dimensions of the work to be executed.2
He died on the 31st of October, 1822, in the sixty-fifth
year of his age.
The history, progress, and development, thus far achieved
in European sculpture since the downfall of the Roman
empire, although not confined to the Italian peninsula,
has, nevertheless, there found its great masters, and run
its great cycles. Since the downfall of Greece, Italy has
ever been the father-land of sculpture. The ancient sculp
ture, the antique, has there, by its solemn presence, pro
claimed what were the possibilities of the art ; what had
been accomplished by it in earlier times, and thus made
a constant appeal to each successive generation not to be
wanting in efforts to contribute to its further progress and
development. These appeals we have seen to be success
ful. In countries north of the Alps, sculpture was long
associated with ornamental architecture.
In the latter part of the fifteenth century, Charles VlU,
by his invasion of Italy, brought the French mind into
contact with the Italian, and its works of art. Francis I,
whose reign continued until near the middle of the six
teenth century, had the opportunity to see much of Italy,
and had, himself, a strong perception of the beauties of
art. He introduced among his subjects, some knowledge
of Italian refinement, so that by the middle of the sixteenth
century, French sculptors begin to make their appear-

1 Constable's Miscellany, 127. * Cleghorn, I, 307.

EUROPEAN ART. 115
ance. The first one of much eminence was Jean Gougon,
who is regarded as the restorer of the art in France, as
before him no sculpture of French execution had been
done since the reign of Charlemagne. All the adornment
of churches and monasteries had been done by Italian
artists. Gougon flourished ab,out the middle of the six
teenth century. His principal work is Fountain of the
Innocents. Little, however, presents itself in France
worthy of note, until the last half of the seventeenth cen
tury, the reign of Louis XIV, the golden age of refine
ment in France. Then appear, two sculptors ; Girardon
and Puget. The manner of design of the former, with a
degree of hardness,1 is yet noble ; and though cold, is more
correct than that of his contemporaries. The style of the
latter was somewhat assimilated to that of Michael Angelo.
To the schools of these two, and more especially the latter,
the succeeding sculptors of France are to be referred.
His works, are, in many respects, superior to his Italian
rivals, Bernini and Algardi.2 Among these are his
celebrated Caryatides, which support "the great balcony of
the Town Hall at Toulon. These are magnificent of their
kind, and the vigor with which they are conceived and
executed, earned for their author the title of the French
Michael Angela. Another celebrated work of this sculp
tor, is his Milo of Crotona, who, while attempting to split
a tree, had one hand caught fast, and, at the same time,
a lion attacks him in the rear. This has been criticized
as attempting too much for sculpture. The aim was to
represent two simultaneous actions ; 3 the one hand be
ing engaged in attempting to free itself from the tree,
' while the other is repelling the lion. The critic complains
that the whole statue is not, as it should be, in a state of
tension ; but that while the arms and upper part of the
body exhibit but little tension, the lower extremities, the
thighs, knees, muscles of the calf, and feet, exhibit a great
deal of it. That thus " in the head and arms there is

'Constable's Miscellany, 110. 'Ten Centuries of Art, 46. 3 Guisot, 16, 17.

116 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
more suffering than resistance ; in the lower extremities,
more resistance than suffering."
During the seventeenth century many equestrian statues
of great excellence were executed in France.1 Among
these the Horses of Marly are perhaps the most cele
brated. In the beginning of the eighteenth century,
there were indications of decay in the French school of
sculpture, and the last names connected with the art,2
previous to the revolution, are those of Bouchardon and
Pigal, whose chief merit consists in expert execution.
The style is trivial, and the flutter of the draperies greatly
exaggerated. The French revolution exerted a depressing influence
upon this art. It might well fly from the reign of terror.
It could find nothing congenial in the stormy debate, or
the ferocious mob, or the descending guillotine. Since the
restoration of social order no sculptor has arisen of more
celebrity than Jean David of Angers, who was born in
1792, and became to .France what Canova was to Italy.
He enjoyed for some time the benefit of Canova's instruc
tion, and at the same time the opportunity of studying the
antique. He afterwards prosecuted his studies in London,
availing himself of the opportunity there presented of study
ing the Elgin marbles. His works are very numerous.
Among the principal of these, is the statue of the great
Conde3 representing the hero at the moment of hurling his
commander's staff into the enemy's redoubt, to rush for
ward at the head of his troops and recover it. Another is
Gutenberg's monument in Strasburg, a colossal figure
executed in bronze, his physiognomy exhibiting deep folds
and furrows, holding in his hand a proof sheet, on which
were words printed, meaning "and there was light." He
manifested a great fondness for portraits, and in this line,
as also in that of bas-relief, he has furnished the finest
specimens of his talent. The bust of Alexander Von Hum-

'Ten Centuries of Art, 46. 'Idem, 46. " Iconographic Encyclopaedia,
TV, 59.

EUROPEAN ART. 117
bolt is accounted a perfect likeness, and his two busts of
Goethe and Tieck, are much celebrated.
His style was not formed from a pure imitation of the
antique, but embraced also an imitation of nature, and a
free expression of his ideas.1 He was opposed to the bald
ness and severity of the antique, and practiced a style of
sculpture which was effective and powerful, and hence
eminently adapted to the colossal. At the same time it is
very different from the prevailing mode of treating clay
and marble, especially in Germany, giving him liberty to
exercise a warmth of inspiration and bold sweep of the
hand with which he embodies his ideas.
There is also among French sculptors a lady artist of
celebrity. This was the Duchess Marie of Orleans, a
daughter of Louis Philippe, late king of the French. She
lived to be only twenty-six years of age, but developed a
great talent for sculpture. Her principal works are the
Maid of Orleans, which stands in Versailles, and a beautiful
angel of white marble, which stands in the chapel of Sablon-
ville,2 on the sarcophagus of* her brother, the Duke of
Orleans. Her productions are equally remarkable for the
spirit of their conception and the beauty of their execution.
The German mind was slow in accomplishing much in
the plastic art. Its early efforts betray no traces of the
study of the antique.3 Prior to the seventeenth century,
it accomplished nothing worthy of notice in a general
history of sculpture. Its constitution has always better
fitted it for sounding the depths of the philosophy of sculp
ture, than of excelling in the practice of it as an art, and
yet that very constitution may- ensure, in the end, the
greatest degree of advancement, although it may be the
slowest in its progress. All its processes, under the guid
ance of a critical philosophic spirit, become surer in their
aims, and more certain of accomplishing their purposes, the
more fully the longer they are continued in operation.

* Iconographia Encyclopaedia, rv, 60. "Idem, 60. "Constable's Miscel
lany, 117.

118 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
In the last half of the, eighteenth century appear several
German sculptors of eminence. Among these, Schadow
is reckoned the father of sculpture in northern Germany,
and Dannecker in southern. The works of the former,
which are quite numerous, are distinguished by great truth
to nature and vigorous conception.1 Among them are
the monument of Count Von der Mark in the church of
Saint Sophia in Berlin, and that of Frederick the Great in
model of the beautiful quadriga over the Brandenburg
Stettin; also the statue of Duke Leopold of Dessau, and the
gate in Berlin. The works of Dannecker breathe more
the spirit of the antique. His works are more of characters
derived from the antique. They consist of statues of Ceres
and Bacchus, which procured for him admission into the
academies of Bologna and Milan. His Ariadne is also
much celebrated. Besides these were his colossal Christ,
and his Amor and Psyche, both in England. Another
celebrated German sculptor of a little later period was
Tieck, the brother of a poet of the same name, who was
the pupil of the elder or old' Schadow so called. Like the
French David he excelled in portraits, and very many of
the busts of celebrated Germans, which grace the Valhalla
at Ratisbon are the productions of his chisel.
Another whose works are estimated as having greatly
advanced the plastic art in Germany is Christian Rauch,
whose works are all included within the present century.
He was the first German sculptor, who after a lapse of two
and a half centuries, attempted to revive the taste of the
middle ages,2 as manifested in the works of Albert Durer.
He revived the old German style of Fischer, improving
and adapting it to the present state and intellectual pro
gress of society. He seemed to combine a true conception
of nature with a very refined study of the antique in the
design and execution of his works.3 He executed a statue
of the late queen of Prussia, two colossal busts of Blucher
in bronze, besides many busts and monumental statues to

'Tomographic Encyclopaedia, 61. " Cleghorn, 314. 8 Iconographic,63.

EUROPEAN ART. 119
field marshals, generals, etc., He has so modified the
forms of military dress as not to offend the aesthetic feeling
in its demand'for drapery of a free, unconstrained, pictu
resque character. A recent work of his is a colossal
equestrian statue of Frederick the Great at the entrance of
the Linden in Berlin, and one of the grandest monuments
of modern times.
Schwanthaler is another recent German sculptor of great
celebrity. He was a pupil of the celebrated Thorwaldsen,
who influenced considerably his style. He has executed a
large portion of the sculptural decorations of Munich,1 in
cluding those of the Valhalla. Every public edifice in
the German capitals is more or less enriched with works
of sculpture, thus giving a more extended encouragement,
and a more ample scope for its production.
The German mind is by no means ill adapted to the
appreciation of art, The German artists are generally
'men of liberal and refined culture, possessing retired
habits, enthusiastic temperament, and great elevation of
mind. This has been, no doubt, influenced by the flourish
ing state. of classical learning, and the great attention paid
to philosophy, poetry, and music. The higher arts all lend
their mutual aids to each other. They are each and all
only so many outgrowths of the same aesthetic nature.
One result of this is that art is there cultivated less for
worldly gain, or even . fame, than for its own sake, as a
noble, intellectual, and national object. The fine arts in
Germany have been truly appreciated,2 and highly honored.
More especially within the last half century the kings of
Bavaria and Prussia have extended their enlightened pa
tronage to -sculpture and painting, and thus caused these
arts to be pursued with enthusiasm and success. The
great national structures of Munich and Berlin, their
sculptural and pictorial decorations, the restoration of
fresco and the ancient encaustic, the formation of splendid
galleries of pictures and antique marbles, have all con-

' Oleghom, 315. ' Idem, 313, 314.

120 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
tributed to give an extraordinary impulse to the higher
departments of art.
In turning our attention towards the north of Europe,
we find one great name eclipsing every other, viz : that of
Thorwaldsen the Dane, born in 1770. From his early child
hood he busied himself with the art of sculpture. When
twenty-six years of age he visited Rome, and there, after
much study of the antique, he modeled his statue of Jason,
which in despair of encouragement, he was about to break in
pieces, when its execution in marble was ordered by the
late Mr. Hope, the English banker. On its completion its
great beauty established his reputation as a master, and his
subsequent success was certain. His professional career
extended over nearly half a century, and was marked by a
great number of works, statues, groups, relievi, and busts,
all of them the result of his fertile genius and imagination,
and of his unceasing ardor and perseverance. One of his
great works was the Procession of Alexander, designed in
honor of Napoleon, and executed in marble for the villa
Sommariva on the lake of Como. In this he shows much
penetration into the spirit of the antique. Its subject is
the entry of Alexander into Babylon. Besides this his
principal works are Venus Victrix with the apple of Eris,
the Three Graces, the Apollo, a beautiful relief of Achilles
and Briseis, two celebrated reliefs of Night and Morning.
Of subjects taken from the Christian religion we have the
colossal Christ, the Twelve Apostles, the Angel of Baptism,
Christ's procession to Golgotha, and other bas-reliefs in the
cathedral of Copenhagen, one remarkable group of which
represents St. John the Baptist preaching in the desert,
another Christ bearing the cross, another the four great
prophets, and around the altar the twelve apostles with
the Redeemer ascending in the midst. So also we have
his colossal Swiss Lion cut out of a mass of rock near
Berne, between sixty and eighty feet in height, and the
Poniatowski and Gutenberg monuments.
Thorwaldsen was the contemporary of Canova, and in
the qualities of power and energy, forms a decided contrast

EUROPEAN ART. 121
to the style of the latter. Canova represents the type of
the effeminate and voluptuous region of Italy, while the
other embodies the more stern and rugged character of
Scandinavia. The general character of his works will per
haps approximate him nearer to Michael Angelo than
Canova. His merits and defects are thus summed up by
an able critic : " His character and powers are doubtless
of a very elevated rank ;l but neither in the extent nor ex
cellence of his works do we apprehend his station to be so
high as sometimes placed. The genius of the Danish
sculptor is forcible, yet is its energy derived more from
peculiarity than from real excellence. His ideal springs
less from imitation of the antique, or of nature, than from
the workings of his own individual mind. It is the creation
of a fancy seeking forcible effect in singular combinations,
rather than in general principles, and therefore hardly fitted
to excite lasting or beneficial influence upon the age.
Simplicity and imposing expression seem to have hitherto
formed the principal objects of his pursuit ; but the distinc
tion between the simple and rude, the powerful and the
exaggerated, is not always observed in the labors of the
Dane. His simplicity is sometimes without grace; the
impressive — austere, and without due refinement. The air
and contours of his heads, except, as in the Mercury, an
excellent example both of the beauties and defects of the
artist's style, when immediately derived from antiquity,
though grand and vigorous, seldom harmonize in the
principles of these efforts with the majestic regularity of
general nature. The forms, again, are not unfrequently
poor, without vigorous rendering of the parts, and destitute
at times of their just roundness. These defects may, in
some measure, have arisen from the early and more fre
quent practice of the artist in relievos. In this department,
ThOrwaldsen is unexceptionably to be admired. The
Triumph of Alexander, originally intended for the frieze
of the government palace at Milan, notwithstanding an

' Constable's Miscellany, 128, 129.
vn] 16

122 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
occasional poverty in the materials of thought, is, as a
whole, one of the grandest compositions in the world ;
while the delicacy of execution, and poetic feeling, in the
two exquisite pieces of Night and Aurora, leave scarcely
a wish here ungratified. But in statues, Thorwaldsen ex
cels only where the forms and sentiment admit of uncon
trolled imagination, or in which no immediate recourse
can be had to fixed standards of taste, and to the simple
effects of nature. Hence, of all his works, as admitting of
unconfined expression, and grand peculiarity of composition,
the statues of the apostles, considered in themselves, are
the most excellent. Thorwaldsen, in fine, possesses singu
lar, but in some respects erratic genius. His ideas of
composition are irregular; his powers of fancy surpass
those of execution ; his conceptions seem to lose a portion
of their value and freshness in the art of realizement. As
an individual artist, he will command deservedly a high
rank among the names that shall go down to posterity.
As a sculptor, who will influence, or has extended the
principles of the art, his pretensions are not great; or,
should this influence and these claims not be thus limited,
the standard of genuine and universal' excellence must be
depreciated in a like degree."
Works of sculpture were early introduced into England.
They came with the Roman eagles. The Romans over
spread the southern part of the island with temples, baths.
and public buildings, decorating them with a profusion of
statues both in marble and bronze. Thus the Britons
had an early introduction to these arts, and retained them
long after the departure of the Romans. But they were
subsequently all destroyed by the Picts and Scots, and the •
Saxons, and probably left little, if any, influence upon the
mind and character of the subsequent dwellers in Britain.1
The art of the Saxon was of the rudest kind, eonsisting in
carving images of their gods in wood and stone. The early
introduction of Christianity in the beginning of the seventh

'Cleghorn, 315.

EUROPEAN ART. 123
century destroyed all traces of this art. This was followed
by the introduction of Christian art, at first foreign, but
later of domestic production. The first introduced was
the rudest style of painting. The earliest sculpture was
the monumental sepulchral, which was first introduced at
the Norman conquest. The figures of the deceased were
generally cut in low relief on the gravestones. The cloisters
of Westminster Abbey furnishes some instances of this
early sculpture.
The Crusaders on their return from the east endeavored
to introduce the arts and magnificence they had witnessed.
They began to decorate the architecture with foliage, and
to introduce statues against the columns. So successful
were these efforts, that the early reign of Henry IH is
remarkable for the improvement of architectural sculpture.
In the cathedral of Wells, rebuilt by bishop Joceline in
the beginning of the thirteenth century, there is a great
variety of sculpture consisting both of statues and relievi
embracing subjects from the holy scriptures, such as the
creation, the acts of the apostles, the life of the Saviour, etc.,
all executed in a style of great skill and truth for that
early period. From the fact that the tombs of Edward
the Confessor and Henry IH, which were executed by
Italian artists, are different both in style and architecture,
it is supposed that these early sculptures were executed by
English artists.
Much of the early sculpture in England was, no doubt,
the work of foreigners. As early as the middle of the
fourteenth century confraternities of itinerant artists ex
isted in Italy,1 the members of which were seeking employ
ment in foreign countries. Besides, the style of many of
the early sculptures in England betrays their Italian origin.
This is more especially the case with those beautiful nionu-
mants of Eleanor, the queen of Edward I, which partake
largely of the character and grace particularly cultivated
in the school of Nicolo Pisano. So also in these and other

1 Constable's Miscellany, 130.

124 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
English works are decidedly apparent the improvements
introduced by Giovanni da Pisa, son of Nicolo, in the dra
pery. While the decorated style of architecture prevailed
in England during the reign of Edward III, sculptured
statues were used to a considerable extent as architectonic
embellishments. Sacred sculpture was also cultivated with
much ardor and success. Examples of this are found in
the key-stones of the Lady chapel of Norwich Cathedral
in alto-relievo, from the life of the virgin, particularly
those of the cloisters, one hundred and fifty in number,
embodying subjects from the Old and New Testaments.
The reign of Henry VI was productive of many monu
mental statues of great interest. The figures are remark
ably natural and graceful, and are considered by Flaxman
equal to anything which the Italian artists of the same
age could have produced.
The chapel of Henry VII, attached to Westminster
Abbey, presents the greatest work of sculpture of that
reign, if not of that age. The statues belonging to it num
ber about three thousand. Many of them are now de
stroyed. They were the work of Touigiano, the Italian
artist. Henry VLH, in the fierce warfare waged by him
against the monasteries and religious establishments, caused
much destruction of works of art both of painting and
sculpture. He regarded both as idolatrous in character.
The same system was continued under Edward VI.
Sculpture seems never to have been practiced as a separate
branch in the early history of Scotland. Her masters ap
pear to have been derived from France, not Italy. The
art of carving in wood, associated with Gothic architecture,
seems to have reached considerable excellence. This is
evidenced by the Stirling Heads, which decorated the
roof of the presence chamber of the palace at Stirling
Castle. In the reign of Charles II, we have the name of Grinling
Gibbons, who is accounted by some as commencing the
English native school of sculpture. He excelled the most
as a carver in wood. It is asserted that there is no instance

EUROPEAN ART. 125
before him of a man " who gave to wood the loose and
airy lightness of flowers, and chained together the various
productions of the elements with a free disorder natural
to each species." x Under his operations birds seemed to.
live, foliage to shoot, and flowers to expand.
From the fall of the Gothic sculpture to near the middle
of the eighteenth century, the plastic art in England, with
very few exceptions, was exercised exclusively by foreign
ers. Cibber, Roubilac, Schumacher, Carlina, Locatelli,
Rysbrac, all foreigners, flourished in England during the
greater part of the eighteenth century.
The commencement of commemorating British worth
by British art, dates from the birth of Banks in 1738.
Few have excelled him in power of modelling, and he is
mentioned by foreign writers as among the very few at
Rome, who, previous to the appearance of Canova, pre
sented in their works the dawnings of reviving art. He
established several points of improvement afterwards more
fully worked out by Flaxman.
Contemporary with Banks was Nollekens, inferior as a
sculptor of classical composition, but superior in the mak
ing of busts. His marble portraiture maintained a long
rivalry with the canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds. His
treatment of heads is peculiarly his own, and yet entirely
free from mannerism. His reputation rests upon his busts.
Another contemporary was Bacon, in every respect an
English artist. In simplicity, his, works have great merit,
and he was not unacquainted with the literature of his art.
The greatest of English sculptors is John Flaxman, a
name which is the same to England as that of Canova to
Italy, and Thorwaldsen to Scandinavia. He belongs to
posterity, and has more widely extended the influence of
his genius, more intimately connected his labors with
general improvement, than any other English sculptor.
To his genius, fine taste, and classical conceptions, Eng
land unquestionably owes the regeneration of sculpture.

1 Pictorial Gallery, n, 314.

126 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
His fame, however, rests more upon his illustrations,
designs and models, than his works in marble, which are
often deficient both in invention and execution. In 1787,
at the age of thirty, he went to Rome, where he remained
until 1794. It has been thought that had he remained in
Rome he would have rivaled his great contemporary,
Canova. "From his youth, Flaxman was distinguished
by the strength of his genius, by devotion to the study
of the ancient models, and by fearless, but judicious disre
gard of those conventional affectations by which art was
disgraced. He was among the first, if not the earliest, -to
awaken the long dormant energies of sculpture, to unite a
new art witlfnature. The simple and the grand of anti
quity he made his own ; nor, since the best ages of Greece,
do we anywhere find greater meaning, more deep feeling
of truth, with less pomp of art, than in the sculpture of
Flaxman. The wonderful designs from Homer, the sta
tues of Mr. Pitt and Sir Joshua Reynolds, the monuments
of Montague, Howe, and Nelson, the group of Michael and
Satan,1 will alone fully justify this character. If, in the
works of this master, a defect may be pointed out, it is an
excess of the severe and simple, which nearly approaches
to harshness. Surpassing both Canova and Thorwaldsen
in the loftiness of his conceptions, and perhaps in classic
purity of taste, in the graces of composition, and the
facilities of modeling, he is inferior to the former. But in
all that constitutes the epic of the art, Flaxman is not sur
passed. To Flaxman our obligations are very great, since
as far as our acquaintance with his works extends, they
served nobly to elevate from a certain monotonous lethargy,
and to create afresh that taste for the severe and golden
style of antiquity, which he applied to his own inventions."
Another English sculptor who died in 1841, was Sir
Francis Chantrey, who, in many respects, presented a
contrast to Flaxmau. He effected but little in the poetical,
the religious, and the classical,2 three departments which

1 Constable's Miscellany, 133, 134. 'Pictorial Gallery, n, 318.

EUROPEAN ART. 127
Flaxman cultivated with so much success. His great
strength lay in ehiseling the marble into the semblances
of living forms. He expended over twenty years upon
statues and busts. " To represent the living man without
affectation and without disguise ; to dignify the action
and bearing, and to impress the mind upon the counte
nance ; these powers, aided by a skill in execution, which
invests the marble with the texture of flesh, constitute the
excellence of Chantrey."
Maedowell is a sculptor of much celebrity. His heads
are ideal, and yet there is about them a seeming reality
belonging to the present age, and to the Anglo-Saxon
race. The inquiry may very well arise as to what may
be considered the highest aim of the plastic art as to form
and expression, in sculpture busts. There can be no real
excellence in any art without idealism.1 But what shall
lay at the foundation ? What is it that must be idealized ?
Not other times, or other forms of civilization, or extinct
peculiarities of race. But present times, existing forms of
civilization, and races that are now running their courses
of activity. All sculpture should reflect the living forms
of its own age. The individuality that is brought out
should be subjective, not objective. It should proceed
from the special mode of idealizing, belonging to each
sculptor, and not from mere copies of individual nature.
Maedowell, it is claimed, acts upon these principles.
His Eve is cited as an illustration. The features are not
those of any individual woman. If they were, they would
contain the defects, as well as the beauties. They are not
an embodiment of the style of beauty which characterizes
the antique. That was brought out and fully displayed,
under the chisel of the Grecian sculptors. It has per
formed its part in the role of sculptural art. It is now for
other races, and other forms of civilization, to become
idealized under the chisel of modern sculptors. The
world of art is rapidly waking up to this great idea. Its

'Ten Centuries of Art, 51.

128 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
creations in marble, are not, in the future, to be limited
to the mere portraiture of individuals. They are not to
be servile imitations of the antique. They are not to reflect
the forms of past races and civilizations. Their embodi
ments are to present the history, the poetry, the eloquence,
the religion, the industry, all that goes to constitute the
life of present races in the enactment of new forms of
civilization which they are continually unfolding. It is
thus we are to see great thoughts embalmed in marble.
It is thus the sculptors of each successive age and century,
are to idealize the forms of their own times, and to send
them down as their visiting cards to posterity. And so,
as time continues its march, and centuries run their cycles,
each will open up more and more perfectly, the idealized
embodiments of its own forms and ideas, thus presenting
a continuous history of races and civilizations, written in
marble. If a trust so noble and mighty is confided to
sculpture it may, perhaps, well claim to rank as the
highest and purest of the arts.

PAINTING.
The painter's art has a history more deeply interesting
than even that of sculpture. It affords means, opportunities,
and facilities for reflecting the civilizations of races, as
they successively appear in the world's history, much beyond
those offered by the plastic art. We have already had oc
casion to call attention to the principal points of difference
between these two sister arts.
Painting, as an European art, has been either in tempera,
in fresco, or in oil. The first is so called because the colors
are tempered with some glutinous substance,1 as the
yolk of eggs, milk, gums, etc., to such a consistence that

'Art Studies, 105.

EUROPEAN ART. 129
they become easy of application and adherence. The
viscid mediums were made diluent with wine, the juice of
the fig tree, or vinegar and oil. The ingredients properly
mixed gave a firm surface to the painting. Where the
colors were prepared with wax subjected to heat, the en
caustic process, derived from antiquity by the Byzantine
painters, the effect was very permanent. The effects of
time, and atmosphere were alike resisted, and great depth
and richness of colors given. Its employment gives great
precision of outline, gemlike hues, and intense, full light.
Painting in fresco is executed upon the last coat which
the plasterer puts on when finishing a room, while it is
freshly laid and still wet. This coat is usually composed
of finely sifted river sand and lime mixed in certain pro
portions. The character and durability of fresco is owing
to the tendency of lime, when thus used, to imbibe water
and harden. The colors being ground in water and mixed
with lime, when applied to this absorbent surface, become
incorporated with the lime water and sand of the plaster,
and when dry are not again dissolvable by water. Thus
the basis of fresco and the colors become inseparable and
harder than stone. One of the difficulties presented is
found in the rapidity with which this coat of plaster dries.
Only so much of the plaster must be laid on as the painter
can cover and complete as a portion of a picture in one
day. This renders joinings unavoidable, and requires the
exercise of considerable ingenuity to conceal them. The
fresco painter is limited to natural colors, or earths sober in
hue, which light and lime will not deteriorate. He has not,
therefore, the same compass of depth, transparency, fusion,
gradation, and force of shadow as the oil painter. But
to compensate for this, he has more breadth of execution,
brilliancy of light, and largeness or scope for composition.
The earliest modern paintings were in tempera and fresco.
That in oil is of more modern discovery. The origin of
it is not settled. Some claim it of Italian origin, and its
earliest use appears to have been in Italy. But the Italian
painters were much given to fresco, while in the Nether-
vn] 17

130 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
lands that style of painting was very little followed on
account of the climate. Whatever might have been its
origin, it is certain that the perfecting and introducing it
into general use is due mainly to John Van Eyck, a Flemish"
painter, at the very commencement of the fifteenth century.
His chemical knowledge, enabled him to discover a varnish
with which he covered his pictures in water colors, thus
giving them more brilliancy and strength. But this would
sometimes crack upOn drying. He then made another
varnish out of nut and linseed oil, and resinous ingredi
ents, which was itself nearly colorless, and of a consistence
allowing the most delicate execution. With this the colors
easily mingled. The greater transparency, luminousnesj3,
and richness of oil painting, "its magical illusions of light
and shade, the mysterious melting of form into colors,"
the greater capacity it offers for imitation, and more
manageable tones, led ultimately to its more general
adoption everywhere.
The different kinds or varieties of painting employ, with
a view to their perfection, the processes of invention, com
position, expression, color and chiaroscuro. It is invention
that discovers, selects, and combines the possible, the pro
bable, the known, in a mode that strikes at once with an
air of truth and novelty. Its realm is the visible universe
made known to us through the channel of sense ; and the
invisible one, its counterpart, in which the visions of sense-
are subordinated to a higher power, that of the fancy or
imagination. A question has been raised whether a
painter can find or combine a subject from himself, with
out any recourse to tradition, to history, or to poetry.
This is answered in the affirmative, provided it to be within
the limits of his art, and the combinations of nature,
although it might have escaped observation. Some have
possessed a very remarkable power of flashing their intui
tion into the sudden movements of nature, and of seizing
its pure emanations, whether arising from the conflict of
passion, the lovelier round of gentle emotion, or the almost
silent hints of mind and character.

EUROPEAN ART. 131
Invention is much indebted to poetry and authenticated
tradition for its subjects. There is what is styled the epic
painter, whose aim is the production of astonishment by
strongly impressing upon the mind one general idea, one
great quality or mode of society,. or one great maxim, with
out descending into any of those minute details or subdivi
sions which, by dividing and distracting the attention,
inevitably weaken the general result. With such a
painter the visible agents he employs are only engines to
force upon the mind and fancy one irresistible idea. In
vention here arranges a plan by general ideas; and the
selection of the most prominent features of nature, or
favorable modes of society, or strong beings from the realm
of fancy, serve visibly to substantiate some great maxim.
The employment of mere history for its basis, and keeping
within its limits, would operate to dwarf the epic character.
It is rather in the regions of mythology, in the undefined
conceptions that belong to the supernatural, that it finds
both its appropriate home, and objects. It there revels in
all the greatness and vastness of its own mighty conceptions.
Probably the strongest instance of this is to be found in
the fresco of the Last Judgment in the Cistine chapel by
Michael Angelo.
There is also the dramatic painter, whose powers of
invention are tasked rather to move than to astonish. He
finds his realm and subjects within the real world. He
meets pure history, but is unwilling to recognize it as such.
The change he effects in it is by elevating, invigorating and
impressing the pregnant moment of a real fact with cha
racter and pathos. This is best illustrated in the cartoons
of Raphael.
There is still the historic painter, who follows next upon
the dramatic. His business is neither to move nor to
astonish, but simply to inform. All mere fiction now
ceases, and invention consists only in selecting and fixing
with dignity, precision, and sentiment, the moments of
reality." Its first great aim is to administer to truth while
the exhibition of character in the conflict of passions with

132 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
the rights, the rules, the prejudices of society, is the legi
timate sphere of dramatic invention.
One test of the sufficiency and merit of a painting as
a work of art is that it constitutes one whole ; that it
be independent; that it pronounce its own meaning,
and tell its own story.1 In order to enlarge the range
of subjects, invention introduces a cyclus, or series, to
tell the most important moments of a long story, its
beginning, its middle and its end. Thus, the whole
story becomes known by dwelling on the firm basis of
it, on its most important and significant moments, or its
principal actors.
The series of subjects presenting themselves to the pencil
of the painter, and in relation to which his invention may
properly be tasked, are the following. The first subjects
are only a single remove above the scenes of vulgar life,
of animals, and common landscape, the simple representa
tion of action purely human.2 Their eflect is immediate,
and they require no explanation.
The next step brings us to historic subjects, either singly
or in a series. Beyond these lie the delineation of cha
racter, which introduces us into the realm of the dramatic;
and above these, the highest in the' ascending scale, lies the
epic with its mythologic, allegoric,, and symbolic branches.
There is also portrait painting, which is said to bear the
same relation to historic painting in art, that physiognomy
does to pathognomy in science.3 While the former shows
the character and powers of the being which it delineates,
both in its formation and at rest, the latter shows them in
actual exercise.
Composition superintends the disposition of those mater
rials to which invention has given birth. It has both phy
sical and moral elements. The chief of these are unity,
propriety, perspicuity and perspective, light and shade. By
virtue of the first such an arrangement and reciprocal relation
of these materials is effected as to constitute them so many

1 Fuseli, n, 190. ' Idem, 192. * Idem, 171 .

EUROPEAN ART. 133
essential parts of a whole. Its elements are : 1. Unity of
purpose, as having relation to the mind of the artist. 2.
In relation to the parts, there is necessarily variety as ex
pressed in diversity of shape, quantity and line; the latter
term signifying the course, or medium through, which the
eye is led from one part of the picture to another.1 3. Con
tinuity, such as is carried out and expressed by the con
nection of parts with each other, and their relation to the
whole. 4. Harmony of the several parts, or the essential
agreement of one part with another, and of each part with
the whole.
But while unity enables it to span its subject,2 propriety
is also necessary in order that it may properly tell its story ;
while perspicuity is equally essential in banishing every
thing tending to disturbance and confusion. I cannot
better or more vividly describe the effects of light and
shade than by adopting the words of another : " The
charmed eye glides into the scene : a soft, undulating
light leads its on,3 from bank to bank, from shrub to
.shrub ; now leaping and sparkling over pebbly brooks and
sunny sands; now fainter and fainter, dying away down
shady slopes, then seemingly quenched in some secluded
dell ; yet only for a moment, for a dimmer ray again carries
it onward, gently winding among the boles of trees and
rambling vines, that, skirting the ascent, seem to hem
in the twilight ; then emerging into day, it flashes in sheets
over towers and towns, and woods and streams, when it
finally dips into an ocean, so far off, so twin-like with the
sky, that the doubtful horizon, unmarked by a line, leaves
no point of rest : and now, as in a flickering arch, the fasci
nated eye seems to sail upward like a bird, wheeling its
flight through a mottled labyrinth of clouds, on to the zenith ;
whence gently inflected by some shadowy mass, it slants
again downward to a mass still deeper and still to another,
and another, until it falls into the darkness of some
massive tree, focused like midnight in the brightest noon ;

'Allston, 143. "Fuseli, n, 239. 'Allston, 158.

134 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
there stops the eye, instinctively closing, and giving place,
to the soul, there to repose and dream her dreams of
romance and love."
The term chiaroscuro is adopted both to express the
division of a single object into light and shade, and also the
distribution of light and shade over an entire composition;
The term is of Italian derivation, and its use is employed
to give substance to form) place to figure, and create
space. It is one of the great agents, probably the
greatest, that enables the painter to throw over all the
varieties and diversities of his composition the bond and
charm of a single unbroken unity;
Legitimate chiaroscuro is different from mere natural
light and shade. The latter is given or withheld indiscrimi- '
nately, every object having what its place and position
entities-it to receive. By means of the former* they are at
the command of the artist, and by fixing a centre, he can
distribute them according to the more or less important
claims of the subject. He can thus exercise a species of
creative power, and radiate his principal mass of light from
a central point, or wind it in undulating shapes, or dart it
in decided beams from the extremities. He can make it
emanate from a single source, or borrow additional effect
from subordinate ones. He can compel it to mount like
flame, or descend in lightning.1 Emerging from a dark
or luminous medium, he can dash it in stern tones of
terror on the eye ; or stealing stealthily through the twi
light, he can immerse it in impenetrable gloom, or make it
gradually vanish in voluptuous repose. It is thus that in
painting a vessel in a tempest you are made to hear the
howling blast, to see the grasp and fiery exertion of the
sailors, to mark the lightning that bursts from the clouds,
to look upon the oars bent by the flood, and the flood broke
by the oars,2 and dashed to spray by the sinews of the
rowers, until, to your own terror stricken mind, the very
canvas itself is made to tremble.

1 Fuseli, n, 279. ' Idem, 291.

EUROPEAN ART. 135
The full effect of chiaroscuro is accomplished far less by
brilliancy than by unison of color. The following is- a
statement of one of its laws: "A sovereign tone must
pervade the whole,1- which, though arbitrary and dependent
on choice, decides all subordinate ones ; as the tone of the
first instrument in a regular concert tunes all the rest."
Another law is that whatever ton© of light is chosen, the
shade designed to set it off is only its absence, and is not a
positive color ; and both, are to be harmonized by demi-
tints composed of both. It is thus that the central radiance
is to be modified and softened by its counterpart, purity of
shade, and the coalescence of both through impercetible
demi- tints.
The discovery of Chiaroscuro as a distinct and all im
portant agent in the painter's art appears due to Leonardo
da Vinci,2 about two hundred years after the resurrection
of art in Italy. Since that period it has performed an es
sential part in the different schools of painting.
The painter's art maybe said, perhaps, to commence
with design, the term being limited to the drawing of the
figures and component parts of the subject. This is neces
sarily involved in the representation of form, or figure.
The existence of all form is given, subject to one condition,
that of the outline within which it is included. It is here*
therefore, we are to find the seat of corporeal beauty.
Form is its legitimate vehicle, and hence design is a neces
sary element of art.
Design has two elements, viz : correctness and style, the
opposites of which are incorrectness and manner. It also
embraces both copy and imitation. For the former, is
required an eye geometrically just, and a hand steady and
implicitly obedient. But there is nothing of choice or se
lection embraced in it. Imitation involves the necessity of
choosing, and is the more perfect when the choice is di
rected by judgment and taste. It is, therefore, the latter
that presents us with those elements that compose the

1 Fuseli, n, 279. ' Idem, 281.

136 , HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
artist. As regards the former it is fidelity of eye and obe
dience of hand that form precision,1 while precision gives
proportion, proportion symmetry, and symmetry beauty.
The line and the proportions of the ancients, it is said, have
never been reached by the moderns. It is probable that the
full and perfect development of physical nature in Greece
has never yet been exceeded, and hence no greater or
higher perfection of outline has ever presented to the hu
man eye. It is, therefore, that now the artist is compelled
to make the antique the basis of his studies, because in the
doing of that he reaches the sources of form.
While correctness applies to copy, style more regards
imitation. It pervades and consults the subject and coordi
nates its means to its demands. It manifests itself in a power
of selecting and combining together such parts and propor
tions as will be productive of the most harmonious result.
Besides accuracy of drawing, whether in copy or imita
tion, thus arriving at perfection of outline, the coloring
enters largely as an element into the painter's art. The
painter seeks to reach the intellect and heart through the
senses. The first impression, therefore, must be made
upon the latter. To do this, form and color are important
agents. " To color " says an eloquent writer, " when its
bland purity tinges the face of innocence and sprouting life,2
or its magic charm traces in imperceptible transitions the
forms of beauty ; when its warm and ensanguined vigor
stamps the vivid principle that animates full grown youth
and the powerful frame of manhood, or in paler gradations
marks animal decline ; when its varieties give truth with
character to individual imitation, or its more comprehensive
tone pervades the scenes of sublimity and expression, and
dictates the medium in which they ought to move, to strike
our eye in harmony ; to color, the florid attendant of form,
the minister of the passions, the herald of energy and cha
racter, what eye, not tinged by disease or deserted by nature
refuses homage? "

1 Fuseli, n, 811, 312. ' Idem, 384.

EUROPEAN ART. 137
The gradations of color are infinite,- but they all lie
between the two extremes of light and shade.1 From the
point of light in all directions the existent parts advance
or recede, by, before, behind each other ; the two extremes
of light and shade making a whole, which the local or
essential color defines ; rounding by its coalition with the
demi-tint the shade and the reflexes, and tuning by the
corresponding of each color, with all the others.
It seems to be an admitted law, that one color has a
greater power than a combination of two, and that a mix
ture of three impairs that power still more. Again, color
has two essential parts, imitation and style.2 Its history
is peculiar, commencing its mission in glaze, being caught
by deception, eliminated or emerging to imitation, and
finished by style.
In the infancy of taste, the first feature is glaze. The
, paint as deeply colored as possible, is spread over a sur
face unbroken by tint, and unrelieved by shade. Such
are the flaming remnants of feudal decoration, the missal
painting, the alluminar of Dante, the art of Cimabue. It
was the prevailing taste down to the age of Michael An
gelo and Raphael.
" Next follows deception, which attempts to substitute
the image for the thing, by means of form or color. It
realizes its highest idea in the " successful mimicry of
absent objects." FrOm this stage in its history, much was
learnt respecting the nature of color ; such as the differ
ence of diaphanous and opaque, of firm and juicy color.
So also that this color refracts, and that absorbs light.
Here was taught the contrast of the tints, of what is
called warm and cold, and, by their balance, diffusion,
echo, to poise a whole. It was here learned that " color
acts, affects, delights, like sound; that stern and deep-
toned tints rouse, determine, invigorate the eye, as war
like sound or a deep base, the ear ; and that bland, rosy,

1 FuseU, n, 336. " Idem, 338.
vn] 18

138 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
gray, and vernal tints soothe, charm, and melt like a
sweet melody."
If color in the earliest stages of its history found its able
representative in Cimabue, in its more perfect completed
stages it realized its highest ideain Titian. " He penetrated
the essence and the general principle of the substances
before him, and on these established his theory of color.1
He invented that breadth of local tint which no imitation
has attained, and first expressed the negative nature of
shade. His are the charms of glazing, and the mystery
Of reflexes, by which he detached, rounded, connected or
enriched his objects. His harmony is less indebted to the
force of light and shade, or the artifices of contrast, than to
a due balance of color equally remote from monotony and
spots. His tone springs out of his subject, solemn, grave,
gay, minacious, or soothing. " From him landscape dates
its origin, and portrait painting a mighty advance towards
perfection. The effect of color is made to depend on the choice of a
sovereign tone, and the skillful disposition, gradation,
rounding and variety of the subordinate tones, their princi
pal light, the local color, the half tints, the shades, and the
reflexes. The selection of the primary tone depends on
choice, and is arbitrary ; but being once selected it decides
all the rest, " as the tone of the first violin in a regular con
cert tunes all the voices and all the .instruments. Its effect
entirely depends on the union of the surrounding tones
with it, and has no other value but what it derives from
contrast." It is the delineation of form and the disposition of color
that enables the painter to give expression to the creations
of his pencil. In expression is, therefore, found the point
in which form and color meet and harmonize. In its
highest sense it is understood to be "the vivid image of
the passion that affects the mind.2 It animates the features,
attitudes, and gestures, which invention selected, and com-
1 Fuseli, n, 361 . " Idem, 255.

EUROPEAN ART. 139
position arranged ; its principles, like theirs, are simplicity,
propriety, and energy." True expression is only found
where the line is true to nature ; and the delineation of
passion, whose inward energy develops itself in the organ
ism with which it is connected now with heat, and glow,
and fervid redness, then with cold and fainting, and deadly
pallor, according as the vital current is thrown to the sur
face and extremities, or recedes from them and concen
trates near the heart, can only be accomplished by the right
disposition of color, and the correct dispensation of light
and shade. All similar passions, although resembling each
other in their general character, are yet modified in their
exhibition by the individual and the temperament which
they animate. The joy of the sanguine is not that of the
phlegmatic, nor the anger of the melancholy that of the
fiery character. The passions do not speak in all with
equal energy, nor are they circumscribed by equal limits.
But in their highest state of intensity, when they become
too big for utterance, then all alike must sink into a species
of tranquillity. The extreme of passion, whether it be joy
or grief, or fear sunk to the level of despair, annihilates all
individual expression, absorbing everything into itself.1
* The painter, by his art, seeks to rival, and even to excel,
the beauties of nature, by reproducing them according to
a law which his own genius dictates. By sensuous imagery
and spiritual symbolism, he translates the senses to a higher
sphere, and interprets to them a language known and
fully recognized only in man's aesthetic nature. To accom-
-plish this, he requires to be appreciated and encouraged,
and this is only possible among communities and races in
which a certain degree of cultivation and refinement pre
vails. The practice of the art in its turn tends to refine
and cultivate, and thus, mutual action and reaction should
result in an ever increasing advancement.
Both painting and s%ulpture have two great cycles to
run in their historical development; both, however,.

'Fuseli, n, 259.

140 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
founded upon the same idea. These have relation to their
pagan and Christian features ; but the motive idea, Tying
at the foundation of each, has been worship. The highest
ideal to which man could reach, he has made his deity;
and the loftiest effort of his art has been to render that
deity familiar to his mind.
To the pagan world there was no revelation, and hence
the human mind was there left unaided in forming its own
conceptions of deity. This it could only do by enlarging
its conceptions of human power and virtue to their ex-
tremest limit, and then producing such embodiments in
material forms as would best aid them in the realization of
such conceptions. This, in one point of view, rendered
this cycle the most favorable for art development. It
caused all artistic effort to be exerted in the direction of
arriving at and developing the most perfect forms, and so
arranging and disposing of color, and light and shade, as to.
render them the embodiments of the largest amount of in
tellect, power, and passion. This cycle reached its highest
possible point of attainment in the city of Athens in the
age of Pericles. The means here resorted to for the ac
complishment of what pagan art proposed to itself, consisted
almost entirely of sensuous imagery. In its perfect pro
duction the Grecian chisel has probably never been exceeded
or even reached. As art here proposed to itself no other
or further end than the production of the most beautiful
forms as embodiments of the largest intellect, the highest
power, the deepest sentiment, and the strongest passion,
and its entire line of effort lay in that direction, it would
naturally follow that its achievements would be corre
spondingly great. Accordingly, the great chef-d'ouvres
of Grecian art have ever remained the most faultless models
for all subsequent imitation. It may, perhaps, have lain
in the order of providence that the limited end proposed,
the singleness of effort, and other favoring circumstances,
should have been designed to carry mere sensuous imagery
far into the region of the ideal and the perfect, before
another and higher cycle should commence its course.

EUROPEAN ART. 141
The ancient world, wedded to its sensuous imagery, ex
pired with the downfall of Rome. With the modern and
Christian world commenced the new cycle, which was des
tined to embrace in its comprehensive sweep, not only the
sensuous imagery of the former (for humanity loses nothing
in her onward progress), but also that higher element of
spiritual symbolism, which still remained as a new develop
ment. The necessity of adopting this new element is appa
rent from the fact that the new religion which the light of
revelation flashed upon the world could accept of nothing
less in satisfaction of its demands. That religion dwelt
essentially in the supersensuous, and hence neither its teach
ings, doctrines, nor anything about it, could be properly
represented by mere sensuous imagery. It could and did
employ that imagery, but only for the production of higher
ends, the linking of the unseen with the things of time and
.sense by means of symbols taken from the latter and opening
• into the former.
Before speaking of the individuals and schools through
which the art of painting has received and is still receiving
its developments in modern times, it may be well to observe
that there are three great eras of modern art under which
all the different schools may be arranged. These are the
theological, religious, and naturalistic. The first designates
the period during which art was controlled by the dogmas
and traditions of the church. The second that in which
religious ideas often furnish the subjects and also the in
spiration, but the whole soul of art is left free to revel in
its own beautiful creations. The third is that in which
both the motives and the models are derived directly from
the natural world. The first had a double origin, viz : the
Roman Catacombs, and Byzantium. The second was the
art of catholic Rome, and culminated under Michael Angelo,
and Raphael. The third was developed in the protestant
countries of Europe, particularly in the schools of the Teu
tonic race. The first made use of allegory and symbolism,
and finally terminated in lifeless forms, uncouth and exag
gerated. The second, bursting from the control of theolo-

142 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
gical fetters, taking mostly from religion the subjects it
represented, folding around it its mantle of delightful ima
gery, it walked forth the glory of Italy, seeming to envelop
itself in all the beauties of this earthly sphere in order to
point the more effectually to another and a higher, until
when religion gave way to skepticism, freedom to despotism,
and luxury to sensuality, it sank into helpless imbecility
and degradation. The third, under the free spirit of pro
testantism, and in countries where private domestic life
presents more charms than public, is accustomed to gather
up its stores from the familiar scenes of every day life, to be
truthful to the beauties of the landscape, to exhibit those
scenes of gravity and gayety which are the most familiar,
and thus to present to the eye and mind the idealized pic
ture of what life in all possible moods has in store for us.
The first commenced in the second century, and continued
until the thirteenth. The second was born in the general,
awakening of mind in Italy towards the thirteenth century,
and in four centuries had passed away by the reactionary
force of the causes which produced it. The decline of the
second led the way to the third, which has continued until
the present time.
The theological was the earliest and the longest in con
tinuance. It succeeded the decadence of Roman art, and
so far as related to that part which had its origin in the
catacombs, was little more than pictorial writing and em
blematic language, being simple in motive, rude in style,
and narrow in idea. Rome from an early period has been
undermined by subterranean excavations, extending in
every direction, constituting the catacombs. In these,
during the ages of persecution preceding the reign of Con-
stantine, lived and suffered and died the early Christians.
These constituted the home of the primitive Christian .
church, and here was born and nourished the first rudi
ments of Christiau art. The subjects are few and meagre,
and their execution generally inferior to the worst speci
mens of contemporary heathen art. They were either
symbols such as the cross, denoting salvation; the peacock,

EUROPEAN ART. 143
Christianity ; the anchor, hope, faith and fortitude ; the
ship-, the church ; the lyre, public worship ; the dove, the
Holy Spirit; or there were compositions derived from
scripture.1 Among those the most frequently occurring is
, the Saviour, represented as the good shepherd either leaning
on his staff or carrying the lost sheep on his shoulders. So
also are found many scenes from the Old and New Testa
ments, such as the Fall, Abraham's Sacrifice, the Nativity,
Adoration of the Magi, etc. All these are pure, simple
and suggestive, differing from the classical, by avoiding
altogether the nude. The art thus born in the catacombs,
although it survived its translation to upper earth, yet never
flourished there. Its richer development was to be found
in the subterranean home of its origin.
The other origin of modern European art, and one
whose relative importance seems not to 'have been fully
acknowledged, is the eastern, Grecian, or Byzantine.
Many of the symbols, or hieroglyphical language of the
early Christian world, derive their origin from the east.
The council of Constantinople, in 692, prohibited the use
of symbols, enjoining in their place direct representation.2
Within the next succeeding century, there originated in
the Greek church a cycle of compositions of extreme
beauty, feeling, and simplicity, although of debased mecha
nical skill in the execution. Several of these Greek
Christian compositions, such as the Creation of Adam and
Eve, the Nativity, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, Glori
fication, and the Last Judgment, have been standards to
the great Italian painters, and from which they scarcely
ventured to deviate for ages. It was these early composi
tions, the products of Byzantine art, that subsequently
exercised the maturer powers of Nicola Pisano, Cimabue
and Giotto, and being by them reissued, modified, and
improved, were again taken up by succeeding schools,
until in the golden age of Michael Angelo and Raphaelj
they received the last touch of genius, and became forever

' Lewis, 79, 80. ' Lord Lindsay, 1, 71-3.

144 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. -
after the acknowledged embodiment of the great canons
of art. It is worthy of remark, that the head of the Sa
viour,1 as represented in the catacombs, is not personal,
but is intended to represent the genius of Christianity,
the whole form and figure being youthful, to signify the
everlasting prince of eternity. It was the place and era of
symbols. Byzantine art presents us with the traditional
head, with which we are at the present day familiar ; an
expressive type, which, if not the actual likeness, comes
nearer to our conceptions of what that likeness may have
been, than Christian humility could have hoped to soar.
The representation of angel ministry was peculiar to By
zantium. There are two peculiarities in the art compositions of the
Byzantine school,2 viz : the approximation of successive
incidents of the same story, within the same field, or
compartments, and the representation of personages of
superhuman power as of superhuman stature.
In the commencement of the thirteenth century, the
Venetians captured Constantinople, which brought the
east and the west more into contact with each other, and
tended more strongly to the revival of art under the skies
of Italy. Several of the Italian states had fortunately
succeeded in achieving a position which would enable them
to attend to matters of art. They had passed through
centuries of turmoil and revolution, and were achieving a
new and vigorous civilization, in which the remnants of
the earlier races that had peopled Italy, were largely
impregnated with the Gothic element. Circumstances
were, therefore, extremely favorable for infusing new
lite into the old,' sunken, and lifeless forms, that entered
into the traditional compositions of the Byzantine school.
That school constituted the channel through which the
spirit of Christian art passed from Greece into Italy, and
Europe. Its great compositions have never died out.
They have reappeared under the improving touch of the

1 Lord Lindsay, I, 76. a Idem, 1, 97.

EUROPEAN ART. 145
great Italian masters. Each one of the great Italian schools
will be found, on close examination, to have its distinct
series of traditional compositions ; 1 a few original, but the
greater number inherited and improved by its immediate
founder. Thus each series is inseparably linked with
those which precede and follow it, by means of which, the
continuity of art is preserved unbroken.
It is usual to connect, great movements with illustrious
individuals who seem to originate and control them. They
are regarded in the light of causes, whereas they only act
in virtue of principles or influences which come from the
unseen, and through their agency pass into realization.
There is still a mighty mystery hanging around these
movements that, like electrical currents sweep at times over
the earth, leaving only their effects behind them, with
nothing to indicate whence they came or whither they go.
It may yet be that the laws that govern their movements
may be brought within the grasp of the human intellect.

The Italian Schools.
The new art movement in Italy commenced during the
last half of the thirteenth century, and reached its climax
in the sixteenth. We can only note the different schools,
their successive development, their peculiarities, the indi
cations of progress afforded by each, and the great name
or names which they have given to the world.
One of the principal features which characterized the
revival of art in Italy was that the chief aim of the artist
came to be the intelligible expression of the theme he had
chosen,2 to seize this characteristically, to represent it
faithfully, and to give it animation and power. He strove
to infuse life into the dead forms of Byzantine art.3 Be
sides, an arbitary symbolization was no longer held

* Lord Lindsay, I, 98. 'Kugler's Italian Schools, 1, 119. a Idem, 120.
vn] 19

146 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
sufficient. The representation itself was required to be at
once both symbol and meaning. Great names now began
to present themselves as the representatives of Italian art.
Schools, obedient to local influences, and receiving an
infusion of new life from the vigorous individualism of the
times, everywhere rose into existence. They were both
formed, and in their turn gave birth, to the great masters
of the art.1 " All art of a certain -character is baptized by
the name of its most prominent or distinguished representa
tive, who thus perpetuates his personal influence as the
head of a distinct school, apart from his position as a lead
ing member of the great national school, of which the
former may be classed as a variety." Thus Giotto, Orgagna,
Ghiberti, Masaccio, Fra Angelico, Leonardo, Raphael,
and Michael Angelo, centered in themselves epochs and
styles that, through schools, spread themselves far and
wide through all subsequent time. These, and all such,
labored for universal skill and knowledge. Some of them
were eminent not only as painters or sculptors, but excelled
as architects and engineers, and even were accomplished
as musicians and poets ; thus demonstrating that all the
arts in their higher relations, possess in common such
kindred elements as to kindle in great minds the earnest
desire, and awaken the capacity of achieving success in all.
These generated multitudes of artists less distinguished,
who limited themselves to specialties of art, seeking success
in some one of its departments.
The first outburst of revived Italian art was in the old
Etruria, comprising Tuscany, and portions of the adjacent
Roman states. This may well rank as the chosen home
of genius. It boasts such names as Dante, Petrarch,
Boccaccio, Galileo, Giotto, Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Masac
cio, Raphael, Leonardo, and Michael Angelo ; names that
in different departments of art will continue household
words to the end of time. What is the law that assigns
a home to genius ? Obviously some spots of earth are vastly

1 Janes, 103.

EUROPEAN ART. 147
more favored than others. Is this in virtue of the higher
gifted races that inhabit them, or of a multitude of physi
cal or moral causes, or of unseen agencies that there exert
themselves ? Whatever may be the original cause there is
little doubt that the action or influence exerted by each
favored one on all the others, together with a highly
appreciating community, thus furnishing a motive, are
among those causes that press on to the highest styles '"Of
development. This was certainly the fact in the region of
the ancient Etruria. And the idea of the importance to
be attached to original races is much favored by the fact
that although new motives were here brought to bear, yet
art still clung tenaciously to the primary characteristics of
its most ancient manifestations.1 These were naturalistic
as distinguished from the idealism of Greece.
Although all admit the vast agency of Florence as a
nursery of art during the fifteenth century, yet it may be
well doubted whether the first impulse was there given to it.
In this respect the schools both of Pisa and Sienna prefer
their claims.2 The revival of classical sculpture and design
by the Pisan school extended far and wide its influence,
and was the means of effecting a similar revival in painting.
The two earliest schools of painting are to be found in
Florence and Sienna.3 While the former aimed more at
reality of character, and exhibit richness of thought and
composition, the distinctive feature of the latter is more
exhibited in the grace of their single figures.
The founder of the Tuscan school at Florence, and the so-
called father of Italian art, was Giovanni Cimabue, of noble
lineage, who flourished in the last half of the thirteenth
century. He developed an independent style, improved
draperies, and grouped his figures with animation and vigor.
His heads have a deep, earnest character, and are fairly
individualized. From him dates the history of Italian
painting. His chief merit, however, in the world of art,
consists in his giving to it, Giotto, whom he found, a shep7

1 Lewes, 105. * Cleghorn, n, 22. s Italian Schools, 1, 122.

148 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
herd boy, atthe age of ten years, drawing a sheep upon a slab
of stone. He is properly the first great master appearing
in the fourteenth century. His genius was not limited to
painting, but extended also to kindred arts. He practiced
sculpture with considerable success, and his design of the
beautiful Gothic campanile, or bell tower, adjoining the
Duomo of Florence, proclaims his skill in architecture.
In painting, his works spread from the Rhone to Vesuvius,
and from the Adriatic to the Tyrrhenian sea. He painted
both in fresco and in tempera. He was the restorer of
portrait painting, imparting the resemblance to character
of face and attitude. He went to every accessible source
for information and inspiration, being eclectic in his ten
dencies. He seems to have commenced and prosecuted
his art studies upon system, his first object being to infuse
new life into the traditional compositions, by substituting
the heads, attitudes, and drapery of the actual world, for
the spectral forms and conventional types of the mosaics
and the Byzantine painters,1 idealizing when the person
ages represented were of higher mark and dignity. He
next ventured to introduce modifications and improve
ments into the traditional compositions, and also new
creations derived from sacred or ecclesiastical history, or
from the fairy-land of allegory. He was the intimate
friend of Dante ; and the allegorical mode of conception
embodied, in the Divine Comedia, the grandest poem of the
age, no doubt impressed its allegorical character strongly
on all contemporary art. Tradition asserts that the designs
of his allegorical frescoes at Assisi, were suggested to him
from the spirit world, by his deceased friend, Dante.
Giotto was naturalistic in all his tendencies. He is re
garded as the fountain head of naturalism in the Tuscan
schools, but is more apparent in motive than in execution.
His invention is mainly distinguished from the earlier pro
ductions by the introduction of natural incidents and
expressions.

'Lord Lindsay, n, 260, 261.

EUROPEAN ART.' 149
It seems to be in the order of arrangement that power
must be acquired in the gross prior to its distribution in
detail,1 and that the progressive, or dramatic principle,
must necessarily take the lead, before the contemplative
can do itself justice. Giotto impressed upon the schools
of Florence the dramatic character. He exhibited powers
and forces in action. To do this the more effectually all
his compositions are made to bear the impress of a strong
individuality.2 His heads frequently exhibit a peculiar and not very
beautiful habitual form. The eyes are generally long and
narrow, and very close to each other. Beauty was less his
object than the expression of character, showing clearly
the dramatic character of the school he founded.
For the first time in the revival of art we observe a suc
cessful attempt at the regular disposal of the subject in the
space allotted. In the true dramatic spirit he incorporates
the accessory incidents into the main story by concise and
vigorous modes.3 He tells his stories in brief, simple,
touches, in the execution of details often sketchy and sug
gestive. During his life of sixty years' continuance he
painted works for the cities of Avignon, Milan, Verona,
Ferrara, Urbino, Ravenna/Lucca, and Pisa, of which few
comparatively now exist, and these of doubtful authenticity.4
His Crowning of the Virgin in the church of Santa Croce
at Florence, and his scenes in the life of St. Francis at Assisi
are much celebrated. His crucifixions instead of exhibiting
physical sufferiug, have infused into them dignity, feeling,
and religious sentiment. Although, at the commencement
of his career " binding himself to nature's chariot wheel,6
confident that ere long she would emancipate and own him
as her son ;" yet throughout his works an earnest, lofty,
-and religious aim and purpose are constantly revealed as
laying at the foundation and guiding the movements of his
art.

'Lord Lindsay, n, 103. " Italian schools, 1, 133. s Lewes, 129, 'Uleghorn,
n, 25. 6 Lord Lindsay, n, 260.

150 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
"* Giotto may well be regarded as the type of a coming
great and important epoch. He was more than the
founder of a school. He was the representative man of
this epoch. In him really centres the principles which
receive their development in the art of the fourteenth
century. His disciples, followers, and imitators, known
as the Giotteschi, for almost a century, were occupied in
following the lead he indicated, and in more fully carrying
out and developing the principles he originated or suggested.
Some of these equalled, in some respects even exceeded,
their great master, and yet they made very little progress
in the art of painting.
This art has a history, a development, which its different
epochs and schools fully proclaim. In the Giottian
epoch, now under review, great advances were made in
coloring, composition, and expression, and yet at that early
period, perspective, chiaroscuro, and foreshortening, were
either entirely unknown, or their possibility only was
admitted. The imitators of Giotto, says Fuseli " saw little
in chiaroscuro, and less in perspective and line ;x their figures
still step from their planes, their fabrics have no true point
of sight, their foreshortenings depended solely on the eye."
Stefano dal Ponte, the grandson of Giotto, possessed of an
ardent and inquisitive spirit, prompt in the discovery and
ardent in the overcoming of difficulties, first ventured on
foreshortening, and improved perspective. But he saw
rather than conquered the difficulties. The rest either
evaded or palliated them.2 The Umbrian Pietro della Fran-
cesca was the first who called geometry to the assistance of
painting, and taught by his works at Arezzo the principles of
perspective. Thus slow has been the progress of the painter's art, and
the Giotteschi, although laboring for nearly a century are
said to have fulfilled their mission nobly, and to have left
little or nothing undone that the original impulse Qf their
patriarch implied.

1 Fuseli, in, 172. ' Idem, 172.

EUROPEAN ART. 151
The student of the history of painting before passing to
the next epoch of that art will devote some attention to the
school of Sienna, and the peculiar style of painting which it
produced. This school had as early or even an earlier
origin than that of Florence, Sienna having been in the
early part of the fourteenth century a city of great import
ance even among the Italian cities of that period. " Every
one," says an old chronicler, " minded his own business,
and all loved each other as brethren," a sufficient reason
to account for the greatness of any city.
The works and influence of the great sculptor Nicola,
Pisano, in the early part of the fourteenth century, gave a
new impulse to art, which was long felt in its results.
The citizens of Pisa were Ghibelline in politics, enthusias
tically devoted to the virgin, and possessed of a deep feel
ing of religion. The many points of difference in feeling
and character between Florence and Sienna led to a differ
ence in their art. While that of the former was more
original and dramatic in its character, the latter was more
symbolical, allegorical, and lyrical, adhering more closely
to the old traditional compositions, and having in it a
stronger infusion of the spirit of Christian Greece.1 The
prominent traits of lyric art have been stated to be "deli
cacy and grace ; moral and physical harmony ; the realiza
tion of exalted idea in corresponding form ; pure, simple
colors, brilliant as gems ; flowers and quietude ; the
absence of disturbing passion;2 the song of joy; faith
triumphant; and the sense of beatitude." While, there
fore, it was less historical, less natural, less inclined to
portraiture, possessed of less force and breadth, it had
within it a much larger infusion of spiritual beauty.
Of the fathers of this school, Mino flourished in the latter
part of the thirteenth century, and Duccio was the contem
porary of Giotto. He painted an altar piece for the cathe
dral of Pisa much celebrated in its time, and the fragments
of which still remain. He is said to have rivalled the great

1 Lord Lindsay, in, 4. ' Lewes, 189.

152 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Florentine in richness of fancy,1 taste in composition, truth
and variety of expression, and general mechanical execution.
He has been placed at the head of that line of succession
in the Siennese school, characterized by a preference and
general tendency to the darker coloring and the peculiar
religious feeling of the Byzantines.
Another celebrated artist of this school was Simone
Martini who is described as being prolific in grace and
beauty, tender in sentiment, noble in character, delicate
and bright in color, and copious in all that has its origin
in the finer sensibilities of our being.2 To him are described
three great fresco paintings, one in the Campo Santo at
Pisa, one on the cupola of S. Marise Novella at Florence,
and one in the chapel of St. Martin at Assisi. The Campo
Santo, or cemetery, of Pisa, is the most important place in
the history of. the art of the fourteenth century.3 In truth,
the great master painters of that century, by means of
churches and public edifices, were enabled through their
art to hold communion with the public mind. There were
no printed books, and no manuscripts except for the few.
It was an age in which the appeals to sense were the only
ones much heeded. These could be made the most effect
ually through pictorial representations. Hence the loud
demands made by religion upon the painter. His art was
the material medium of knowledge, the great awakener of
sentiment and emotion. He who possessed the art of so
embodying facts, of so presenting character through form
and expression, as to arouse, inform, and affect the mind
of the beholder, met the demand of his age, and was made
immortal. Church edifices had other tongues besides those of the
preachers. The frescoes that adorned their walls were
living sermons that, from generation to generation, pro
claimed the great truths of the gospel. Whether dramatic
in their character, indicating power in action ; or contempla
tive, lyric, indicating it in repose, it went home to the heart

'Lord Lindsay, in, 14, 15. 'Lewes, 195. "Italian Schools, 144.

EUROPEAN ART. 153
of the gazer. The great efforts of the great masters were
with a singular unity of purpose, all directed to the
promulgation and enforcement of religious truth. They
drew from the abstract, mystical, and doctrinal, seeking
from nature suggestive forms. Their object was rather to
interpret than to delineate, and what was too subtle, or far
removed for direct presentation they sought to render
clear to others by a profound symbolism. Thus all the
resources of art were appealed to for the purpose of teach
ing and enforcing moral and religious truth, and to this is
undoubtedly owing the golden age of Italian art which we
are gradually approaching.
There are two other painters, who, although not Si ennese,
yet deserve mention in connection with that schoo 1. One
of these is Andrea Orgagna, or Occagna, who flourished
in the second half of the fourteenth century, dying in
1389. Like many other of the great Italian artists, espe
cially in the early history of art in Italy, he excelled in
the three arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting. In
the latter, he achieved the highest celebrity. His three
frescoes on the walls of the Campo Santo at Pisa, have
rendered him immortal. These are the Triumph of Death,
the Last Judgment, and Hell. These embrace the whole
world of passions that make up the economy of man ; l not
-confused or crushed into each other, but expanded and
enhanced in quality and intensity, to meet the mighty
magnitude of the change attendant upon the resurrection.
And yet, from their very intensity, these passions appear
suppressed and subdued, stilling the body, and informing
only the soul's index, the countenance. All is calm. The
saved are too full for utterance ; the lost exhibit a grief
too deep for caricature; and " while every feeling of the
spectator, every key of the soul's organ, is played upon by
turns, tenderness and pity form the undersong throughout,
and ultimately prevail."

'Lord Lindsay, in, 140.
VII] 20

154 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
The other artist is Fra Angelico ofFiesole, born in 1387,
and died in 1455. He has been styled the St. John of art,
the highest type of the ecstatic purists, one of those painters
" who seem to have dipped their pencils in the rainbow
that circles the throne of God." l Great artists uncon
sciously proclaim their own character in their art. The
form and expression they produce is but the outgrowth of'
the feelings, passions, emotions, and sentiments that stir
their own bosoms. Perhaps this truth is nowhere more
fully proclaimed than in the case of this artist. He enjoyed
a profound serenity of feeling, a pure and holy frame of
mind, a confiding devotedness, knowing nothing of human
anxieties, of struggling with passion, or of victory over it.2
Consequently, he endeavors to reveal to our view a more
glorified and blessed world than the reality can present.
" He seeks to invest the forms he places before us with the
utmost beauty his hand could lend them ; the sweetest ex
pression beams in all their countenances; an harmonious
grace guides all their movements. He selects the most
cheerful colors, and employs every auxiliary that can give
a new glory to his holy subjects. He adheres scrupulously
to traditional types, and ventures on none of the innova
tions which were already introduced into art at Florence.
He is inimitable in his representations of angels and glorified
saints, but weak, timid, and embarrassed when he intro
duces man in his human nature." All his themes are said
to have followed his supplications to deity, and when the
composition of them was once fixeji in his imagination, he
always refused to change it, believing the design to be
inspired by the divine will. His most celebrated paintings
are the Annunciation, the Flight into Egypt, the Resurrec
tion of Lazarus, the Compact with Judas, the Coronation
of the Virgin, Christ's entry into Jerusalem, the Arraign
ment before Pilate, the Burial, Descent into Hell, and the
Last Judgment. In reference to his rank and position in
the history of art an eloquent writer remarks that "to those

1 Lord Lindsay, n, 264. ' Italian Schools, i, 164.

EUROPEAN ART. 155
who regard society as progressive through the gradual
development of the component elements of human nature,1
and who believe that providence has accommodated the
mind of man, individually to the perception of half truths
only, in order to create that antagonism from which truth
is generated in the abstract, and by which the progression
is effected, his rank and position in art are clear and defi
nite. All that spirit could achieve by herself, anterior to
that struggle with intellect and sense, which she must in
all cases pass through in order to work out her destiny,
was accomplished by him. Last and most gifted of a long
and imaginative race, the heir of their experience, with
collateral advantages which they possessed not, and flou
rishing at the moment when the transition was actually
taking place from the youth to the early manhood of
Europe, he gave full, unreserved, and enthusiastic expres
sion to that love and hope, which had winged the faith of
Christendom in her flight towards heaven for fourteen cen
turies, to those yearnings of the heart and the imagination,
which ever precede in universal as well as individual de
velopment; the severer and more chastened intelligence of
reason. Fra Angelico belonged wholly to the earlier age,
a simpler and more believing, if a less progressive one ; the
technical improvement and anti-Christian tendency of art
during his latter years in no wise affected his essential ima
ginative spirituality, it remained precisely what it was,
and even anticipated the result of the struggle by drawing
additional vigor from the contact. This constitutes the
distinctive difference between himself and his contempora
ries, Masolino, Masaccio and Uccello."
We have now arrived at the fifteenth century, and this
brings us to a new epoch in the painter's art. The previous
one had been characterized by the internal working in the
mind of the painter. It was the subjective era. The
painter had awoke to the consciousness of his own powers.

1 Lord Lindsay, in, 189.

156 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
He felt stirring within him forces and energies which must
make themselves realized in the world of art. Giotto, and
the Giotteschi, had taken the direction of forces in action,
the dramatic ; the school of Sienna, of forces in repose, the
lyric. The main sources of inspiration in both those from
which all their themes were taken, and to which all their
invention and composition had reference, were the sacred
scriptures. The object was less to wed sense with spirit,
to approximate nature to God, to develop the beautiful in
nature through artistic laws, than to lead the mind back to
those early periods in the history of the church when the
primal truths of Christianity were proclaimed. Nor is it to
be doubted but that the ascetic tendencies of the times, the
mortifications of sense as a means of purifying the spirit, .
exerted an influence upon art. Under all these influences,
together with the additional one that power, in its new
born consciousness, is always less solicitous as to the man
ner than as to the fact, of making itself felt, we shall not be
surprised to find that art, as a thing of beauty, and a pro
duct of law, had yet much to attain. The laws of perspec
tive, of foreshortening, of chiaroscuro, although in part
apprehended, were yet to be almost wholly developed and
applied. It is obvious that art can have recourse to only two
sources for its models.1 The one is the subjective, the ima
gination of the painter summoning from the depths of his
own mind those forms or embodiments of power, whose
original types were taken from the natural world, but into
which fancy has introduced many curious and sometimes
strange modifications. This will better characterize the
epoch we have just passed through. The other source is
the objective, the objects existing in nature, the scenes and
things by which we are everywhere surrounded. These
require to be copied or imitated, and this cannot be done
effectually without recourse to laws to be ascertained and
applied. The laws of form in its various appearances, had

1 Lewes, 245, 246.

EUROPEAN ART. 157
less application when those forms were mere creatures of
the fancy. But when taken from, the world without, they
must be subject to those conditions of representation with
out which their accuracy would fail to be acknowledged.
We have now arrived at the epoch in which the laws,
which are the expression' of these conditions, are to be in
vestigated, and their application more fully understood,
the era of the emancipation of art in its external relations,
as the preceding was of its internal life.
We here - return again to Florence and the Tuscan
schools. Masolino and Paolo Uccello herald the coming of
Masaccio, who sustained about the same relation to this
epoch that Giotto did to the last. He was born about the
beginning of the fifteenth century, and died in 1443.
Masaccio went neither to his own imagination, nor to
the antique, the idealized forms of Greece, for his models.1
He went to the exhibitions of actual nature as the sources
of his supply. He portrayed the man, animal, tree, indi
vidualized, not idealized. His aim was to supply to nature
nothing, either from his own imagination or from the ideal
ized antique. He thus inaugurated a principle in the
process of painting which has continued in active force
until the present time. This necessarily led him into a
thorough study of the philosophy of form. It originated
a feeling, which in beauty recognizes and preserves the
expression of proportion, and in repose and motion, that
of an harmonious development of the powers of the human
frame. With him the nude first assumes a close alliance
with living nature. The art of raising the figures from the
flat surface, the modelling of the forms,2 hitherto only
faintly indicated, here begin to give the effect of actual
life. We find also a style of drapery adopted, which is
free from the habitual type-like manner of the earlier
periods, and adopted in reference to the form underneath.
So also a style of composition has been noticed exhibiting
a powerful feeling for truth and individuality of character.

'Lewes, 253, 254. 'Italian Schools, I, 195.

158 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
He is claimed to have excelled all modern painters up to
his time in harmonious and correct delineation of forms
and proportions, strength of relief, truth of modeling, gra
dations of color and skill in chiaroscuro, and in mingling
outline imperceptibly into distance. His most celebrated
paintings are Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise,
the Tribute Money, St. Peter and St. John healing the
Sick, and St. Peter baptizing.
Nearly contemporary with Masaccio, was the Carmelite
Filippo Lippi,1 who was the first notoriously profligate artist
among the old masters ; and in harmony with this cha
racter, was in sentiment, the first great sensualist that
occurs among them. He therefore exhibits a new moral
aspect in painting, and commences the naturalistic reaction
on its purely material side. Down to his time, painters
had idealized the head of the virgin, having taken the
type from the loveliest head they knew of in existence,
there being no one fixed traditional resemblance, as in
the case of the Saviour. He seems to have been the first
to take the head from living models, usually those of his
mistresses.2 This practice of copying from living heads
was subsequently more generally followed, so that those who
now suppose themselves looking upon the heads of St.
Peter and St. Paul, are probably contemplating those
actually worn by venerable Florentines of the fifteenth
century. The two most distinguished painters of the Tuscan schools
that adorned the last half of the fifteenth century, were
Luca Signorelli and Domenico Curadi, more generally
known as Ghirlandajo. The first was the great precursor
of Michael Angelo. Ever since the great change effected
by Masaccio in reference to the objects about which art
should busy itself, there seemed to be a growing desire,
and increasing effort to vie with nature herself in represent
ing the nude, or naked figure. The progress that had
been for some time making in the sister art of sculpture

'Lewes, 262. 'Idem, 264.

EUROPEAN ART. 159
no doubt contributed to increase this desire and effort.
This would involve the necessity of possessing a larger
amount of anatomical knowledge than had hitherto been
required in the painter.
The painter who seems first to have brought into exer
cise, in the construction of his nude figures, this larger
knowledge of anatomical structure, was Luca Signorelli.
His extent of knowledge and peculiar powers in the applica
tion of it are best developed in the frescoes with which he
embellished the chapel of the Cathedral at Orvieto. Here
he painted the End of the World, or Last Judgment,
and the History of Antichrist. These frescoes are four
large representations on the two side walls, in which the
History of Antichrist, and also the Resurrection, Hell, and
Paradise are depicted, the figures chiefly being nude, and
replete with meaning, action, and expression.1 A severe
but perfect and noble drawing of the nude is observable in
these pictures ; and a number of new positions of the body,.
never before attempted in art, are introduced with careful
study and success. There is no apparent striving for mere
anatomical correctness, but a peculiar grandeur and eleva
tion stamped alike on scenes of tranquillity and beatitude,
and on representations of vehement and fantastic action.
There is also a subordination of the merely accidental to
the living majesty of the pure human form, which might
well form an introduction to the higher creations of
Michael Angelo.2 In the language of an elegant writer.
" preceding creations, being monotonous repetitions of
Byzantine inventions or plagiarisms from Dante's forcible
imagery, had become ineffective. Here we have original
thought with an intensified diabolism and despair, depend
ing, as heretofore, not on mere brutal forms for horror, as
with Orgagna, Spinello, and Fra Angelico,.but upon the
action and expression of evil spirits whose organisms are
almost human. Their inventions recognized in hell's
demonology distinct creations, without likeness to man, and

1 Italian Schools, i, 216. "Lewes, 274.

160 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
as far removed below him in the power and ugliness of sin
as heaven's hierarchy is above in the beauty and power of
holiness. But Signorelli calls up out of their everlasting
burnings devils with such transformations only from
humanity's shape as it might be supposed to undergo by
the force of unchecked lusts, passions and despair. Of a
verity, his are God's avenging ministers of evil ; overflowing
with wrath and affright ; filled with the violence and de
sire of wickedness; men, as incarnated devils and the
damned, recognizing their" coming likenesses in them;
such is his idea of the inhabitants of hell."
The aim of the other artist, Ghirlandajo, was no longer
external for itself, but a predeliction for particular forms,1
for the purpose of illustrating grand and important rela
tions of life. He had a faculty of so constructing his art,2
as to betray no secrets of the artist. His characters are
made to act themselves, not him. His observation and
sagacity enable him to adapt form to character, and his
manysidedness gave him the power of exhibiting the cha
racters of others in connection with their appropriate
forms, with much the same power and effect, as if he had
drawn from his own consciousness. The art which is thus
possessed, " pertains to the object, reflects its image, and
vitalizes it with its appropriate form and expression."
The portrait, in the largest signification of the word, is
the prominent characteristic in his productions.3 He intro
duced the portraits of his contemporaries into his church
historical representations ; not, however, as the holy per
sonages themselves, but as the spectators or witnesses of
the scene he intended to represent. This scene he usually
places in the domestic and citizen of the time.
He is the first of Florentines who gave depth and
keeping to composition,4 while gold and tinsel glitter
appear less frequently in his colors. Precision of outline,
decorum of countenance, variety of ideas, facility and

'Italian Schools, 1, 208. 'Lewes, 286. "Italian Schools, i, 208. l Fuseli,
in, 186.

EUROPEAN ART. 161
diligence, distinguish his works. His most celebrated
productions are found in the churches Degli Innocenti,
Santa Trinita, and Santa Maria Novella, at Florence.
During the fifteenth century, another and different
school of art was also flourishing in Italy, viz : the Pa- ,
duan. This originated with Francesco Squarcione, who, in
the early part of the century, collected together at Padua,
statues, torsos, reliefs, vases, etc., all remains of ancient
art, which he was able to procure. This collection, much
the largest of the time, attracted many students- from dif
ferent parts of Italy. It gave a peculiar character to this
school of art. These masterpieces of antique sculpture,
in which the common forms of nature were invested with
an ideal beauty, were substituted as models, in the place
of the actual productions of nature herself. This led art
in a new directioh, bringing it face to face with the an
tique. The result was that it borrowed from it first the
outward decoration, and subsequently sought to attain to
the . plastic representation of form.1 This originated a
style of conception and treatment, more plastic than pic
torial. The forms are severely and sharply defined ; the
drapery assimilated to the antique costume ; the general
arrangement more resembling that of basso-relievo, than
of rounded groups. The study of antique sculpture led
not only to exaggerated sharpness in the marking of the
forms, but also to the use of small, sharp, oblique folds,
which break the large flowing lines in the drapery.
The greatest of the classically trained painters, and chief
representative of this school, was Andrea Mantegna, who
flourished during the last half of the fifteenth century.
" Precision, sharpness, richness, at times a slight admixture
of gold, deep color, marvelous finish, severity of design,
dignity and intensity of expression, considerable beauty
but not equal grace, refined 'feeling, much overborne, how
ever, by his technical force, distinguish the Jjest manner of
Mantegna." 2 He seems to have aimed much at optical

1 Italian Schools, i, 219. 'Lewes, 311.
Vii] 21

162 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
illusion, and his works; taken generally, leave an im
pression of great meaning.1 Some of his most celebrated
paintings are of classical origin, such, for instance, as the
Triumph of Caesar, and the Triumph of Scipio.
The Florentine schools of the fifteenth century gave
themselves up to the delineation of form and expression as
actually exhibited in nature. The Paduan resorted to the
antique, and sought to reproduce the idealized forms and
expression which had been hallowed by antiquity. There
is also a third element that contributed to the emancipa
tion of art in its external or imitative character to be found
in the Venetian school, which unfolded itself in the second
half of the fifteenth century. This was the element of
coloring, which it seems to have been the special mission of
the Venetian school, if not to originate, certainly to im
prove, and almost to perfect.
The Venetians were of a cheerful and festive spirit.
Their relations were more intimate with the orient, where
splendor, especially in coloring, was more prevailing. In
addition to these facts they were the first among the Italian
schools who practiced oil painting, which by its greater
fluidity and juiciness was highly favorable to their peculiar
aim.2 It was about the middle of the fifteenth century
that Antonello da Messina learned from the school of John
Van Eyck, in the Netherlands, the secret of preparing and
using oil colors in painting. He also learned there the
treatment of those minor Objects of life which constitute
accessories in composition. This naturally led to a greater
embellishment of their compositions with pleasing acces
sories, such as sportive boy angels, sometimes repre
sented as singing ahd playing on instruments, sometimes
bearing festoons of flowers and fruit.
The foundation of Venetian coloring has been stated by
an elegant writer to be "in an innate passion for warm
tones, deep shadows and sparkling play of light.3 In its
luminous fusion of tints, subtle gradations, powerful yet
Italian Schools, i, 221. 'Idem, 235. 'Lewes, 314.

EUROPEAN ART. 163
harmonious contrasts, force of projection, imperceptible
outlines lost in the sleight of color, festive or serious as
pects, rarely descending to absolute sensualism nor arriv
ing at full spirituality, always clinging to its peculiar choice
of light, its oligarchical features and semi-oriental feeling
for the alternations of deep repose or strong action, above
all in its magic unity of tone, it,has a fascination as strong
and mysterious as the wave-worn queen of the Adriatic
herself. It is the romance of color, as the Greek sculpture
is the idealism of form. In proportion as beauty assumes
sensuous or sensual feeling, its expression in color deepens
and darkens, for it seeks a grosser incarnation in material,
and relies more upon contrasts of lights and shadows,
warmth and fusion of tints, and the subtleties of imitation,
elevated or common, according to the quality of the inspi
ration, than upon the power of symbolism or the suggestive-
ness of etherialized pigments."
The real depth and power of color, however, required
time and effort for its full development. Among the
earlier Venetian artists the predominant taste was exhi
bited in a fondness for glittering magnificence and varied
splendor in the place of that harmonious union of color,
which was the attainment of a subsequent period.
The head of the Venetian school is Giovanni Bellini ;
connecting by a life of ninety years' duration the fifteenth
with the sixteenth century, extending from 1426 to 1516. .
His long life was devoted to his art, even the two last years
of it producing the Bacchanals, to which Titian after his
death added the landscape. Many of his paintings, show
ing no diminution in power, were executed after he had
attained the age of fourscore.1 They approximated closely
the Venetian style of the sixteenth century.2 In every
thing relating to drawing, arrangement and embellishment,
the early Venetian school adopted the practice of the Pa
duan, but in the hands of Belliniits sharpness and austerity
were essentially modified, and a moral beauty exhibited,

'Italian Schools, i, 238. "Idem, 235.

164 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
which, without totally spiritualizing the life of this world,1
displays its noblest and most edifying side, and stops with
unerring certainty on the narrow line of demarkation be
tween the actual and the visionary. His type represents a
race of men of easy and courteous dignity, a race not yet
extinct in Venice. His Madonnas are amiable beings, im
bued with a lofty grace ; his saints powerful andnoble forms;
his angels cheerful boys in the full bloom of youth. In his
representations of the Saviour he displays a moral power
and grandeur seldom equalled in the history of art. With
him the art of coloring as practiced in the Venetian school,
attained, if not the highest truth of nature, at all events
its greatest intensity and transparency. The greatest num
ber of Bellini's works are to be found in the galleries and
churches of Venice.
Bellini trained a great number of scholars in the practice
of his art. They have been divided into two groups, one
distinguished by a soft and graceful manner, the other
severer and more sculpturesque.2 Besides, issuing from
the school he established, were Giorgione and Titian, who
adorned the coming magnificent era of Italian art.
Another Italian school that came into existence in the
last half of the fifteenth century was the Umbrian, so called
from its arising in the province of ancient Umbria. In
this retired valley of the upper Tiber, the habits and cir
cumstances of life tended to give a spiritual direction to
art. Here arose a counteracting influence to those schools
whose great aim was to arrive at mere truth and beauty of
external form,3 rather than at spiritual depth of meaning.
The tendency of thought here reached in time the external
forms, developing in them that idealizing habit which is
the natural result of spiritual and devotional sentiment.
The influence of the early school of Sienna was strongly
felt in giving birth to that of Umbria. The spiritualistic
tendencies of both were the same. The Umbrian school had,
however, much more to contend against in the strong re-

' Italian Schools, i, 288. " Idem, 242. 8 Idem, 249.

EUROPEAN ART. 165
alistie tendency of the Tuscan schools of the fifteenth
century. The origin, or rather the prevailing tendency of the
Umbrian school, is due to Nicolo Alunno. He gave his
figures a generally attractive expression, imparting great
refinement and purity to his female and angelic heads.
Another Umbrian painter was Giovanni Santi or Sanzio,
. of Urbino, a progressive artist, whose works contain the
germs of that purity and tender seriousness which after
wards characterized the first manner of his son Raphael.
Another Umbrian painter who commenced the prosecu
tion of his art in his forty-sixth year, was Francesca Francia
of Bologna. He excelled in portrait painting, his style
resembling the Florentine manner of Raphael. He intro
duced no superfluous accessories, and arranged his dra
peries, costutnes, movement and background in harmony
with his leading motive. He also excelled in land
scape, giving it delicate gradations of distance and aerial
perspective. He aimed at repose, being sparing in minute
details, and, by a few well chosen features, suggesting the
variety of nature.
The Umbrian painter, who serves more especially to con
nect the Italian schools of the fifteenth with those of the
sixteenth century, was Pietro Perugino, born in 1446 and
dying in 1524. His art culture was quite extensive, having
¦ spent considerable time at Florence, Rome, and some other
parts of Italy, but his earliest and strongest impressions
were derived from the pure mysticism of his native Umbria.
Near the close of the fifteenth century he opened a large
studio and school at Perugia.
The fact that Perugino had been in the practice of his
art in different places, the seats of different schools and
styles of painting accounts for the variety that is found in
his works, sometimes being naturalistic and at others
spiritualistic in their tendencies. Those frescoes remaining
which he executed in the Sistine chapel at Rome in 1480,
viz : the Baptism of Christ, and the Delivering the Keys to
Peter, arc in the Florentine manner, whether reference be

166 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
had to the composition as to arrangement of groups, or to
drapery. After passing through the schools, and settling
at Perugia, he returned to his own first manner. It was
then that his paintings exhibit " that grace and softness,
that tender enthusiastic earnestness, which give them so
great a charm ; and if they sometimes leave much to be
wished for in force and variety of character,1 the heads,
especially the youthful and ardently expressive ones, are of
surpassing beauty. In the coloring both of the flesh and
drapery, in the warm bright skies, and in the well managed
gradations of his landscapes, he had great and varied
merit. He was the teacher of Raphael Sanzio.
In closing the fifteenth and commencing the sixteenth
century, we arrive at the golden era of Italian art. During
the last half of the fifteenth century were born five great
masters, whose names will be forever identified with the
highest and noblest styles in the art of painting. These
were Leonardo da Vinci, born in 1452, Michael Angelo in
1474, Titian in 1477, Raphael in 1483, and Correggio in
1494. All these lived and labored in the sixteenth century,
some of them, however, not reaching very far into it.
Leonardo da Vinci died 1519, at the age of sixty-seven,
Raphael in 1520, at that of thirty-seven, Correggio in 1534,
at that of forty, Michael Angelo in 1563, at the advanced
age of eighty- nine, while Titian reached even to 1576, span
ning the long period of ninety-nine years. The two last lived
to witness the declension of art. The other three closed
their eyes when its glories were culminating to their high
est point. They might all be said to be contemporaries,
except that the artistic life of Leonardo da Vinci preceded
the others by nearly an entire generation. His labors, there
fore, although not affected by the others, may have exerted
some influence upon those of Raphael and Michael Angelo.
With that exception, and the possible influence which the
great contemporary works of the two latter may have ex
erted upon each other, each one of these projected and

1 Italian Schools, i, 254.

EUROPEAN ART. 167
ught out his own art creations wholly uninfluenced by
artistic performance of the other or others. In fact,
i one seems to have had an important mission confided
im in reference to the development of some feature or
lity of art, and to have been permitted faithfully to per
il it, before being called away. Even the youngest, called
ihael, was allowed to accomplish his mission as fully as
venerable Titian, who laid down the burden of life in
ninety-ninth year.
'he period politically would have seemed unpropitious.
! golden period of Italian industry and liberty had passed
y. The world's industry had created for itself new
unels after the discovery of the passage round the Cape
3ood Hope, and liberty had expired under the joint
on of intrigue, faction, force, and tyranny resulting
a usurpation. And yet it may have been the most
ir'ed time for art. The liberty that had existed had
ised every faculty and power into activity, which would,
ome extent, remain after its cause had ceased. Again
wealth that had arisen from the profitable employment
ndustry was on hand, and as it could not be so profita-
used as formerly, naturally gave encouragement to the
>rs of artists. The outgrowths of art had already been
1 as to attract great attention, and to command much
liration. The wealthy and powerful became in many
ances, the patrons of art. The usurper sought to bury
be light of its glorious creations the very memory of
le rights and privileges of which he had deprived the
pie. That day is the brightest for the liberation and
mph of art that witnesses the fetters of a growing des-
sm gradually tightening upon the limbs of the people.
as been so from the age of Pericles down to that of the
iici ; and even to that of Napoleon, who gave utterance
be principle when he sent his message from Egypt to
the dome of the Invalids.
a all the great departments of human progress a law has
at the foundation, in accordance with which the special
aents of that to which the progress relates are first

168 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
developed and unfolded. Human industry and effort first
attaches itself to each, and singly exerts itself in bringing
distinctly into realization everything belonging to each.
The elements are then brought into union With each other,
and genius of a higher order acting upon the combined
result, carries out to a remoter limit the lines of progress.
The history of painting at this period furnishes an apt illus
tration. The schools of Florence, of Sienna, of Venice, and
of Umbria, under the old masters who had flourished during
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, had each been de
veloping elements, all of which were necessary in combi
nation to render the art perfect. About the close of the
fifteenth century, presents the point of time when their
union was required, when the attainments hitherto made
must be combined together, thus presenting a new starting
point for the further progress of the art. " This union
constituted a most rare and exalted state of human culture,
an era when the diviner energies of human nature were
manifested in all their purity.1 In the master works of
this new period we find the most elevated subjects, repre
sented in the noblest form, with a depth of feeling never
since equalled."
The first who led the way into this higher region of art
progress was Leonardo da Vinci. He was a mortal most sin
gularly favored. "Facility, ingenuity, versatility, indus
try, inquisitiveness, boldness, and thoroughness ; a prodi
gious memory, a plastic will,2 a rich, creative imagination,
and inexhaustible capacity of invention, a predominating
reason holding all these intellectual and executive reasources
in perfect control, undisturbed or misled by illusions,
operating with mathematical certainty, and sustained by a
physical organization as strong and healthful as it was
beautiful and untainted by vice ; such was the fundamental
force and universality of this wonderful being, who was
perhaps the most completely endowed man by nature ol
all time." So .rarely and singularly gifted by nature, his

1 Italian Schools, n, 373. " Lewes, 383.

EUROPEAN ART. 169
mission to the world of art could not be mistaken. He
could only conceive the essence of beauty as confined to
no fixed canon, as pervading life in its whole extent as
still to be conceived freely, and represented in a freely
created form, by the gifted artist according to his indivi
dual feeling. /
He was an intense student. His leanings towards
science were as great as towards art. He excelled in civil
and military engineering; made many inventions, was
styled by Alexander Von Humboldt the greatest physical
philosopher of the sixteenth century. His was emphati
cally a mathematical, constructive, and inventive mind.
And yet his excellence lay in the higher region of art.
There he excelled as poet, musician, architect, sculptor,
and painter. He learned anatomy, animal and human, by
dissection. He followed criminals to execution in order to
sketch from them the pangs of the deepest despair.1 He
invited peasants to his house, and related to them laugha
ble stories "that he might catch from their physiognomies
the essence of comic expression. He studied inanimate
nature with the same persistent earnestness. Nothing that
he could infuse effectually into his art escaped his vigilant
observation. He wrote a treatise on painting, and unfolds
probably the secret of his own action by saying :2 " Thus, as
a mirror reflects all objects with their particular colors and
characters, the imagination of a painter accustomed to re
flect will represent to him without difficulty all that is most
beautiful in nature." " No painter " he says " should imitate
another, always have recourse to nature", consult her for
everything." His recourse uniformly was to reflection, law,
analysis, synthesis. He desired always to superadd to feel
ing the sanction of reason. He derived little or nothing
from classical art. He went directly to nature and to the
resources of his own mind for the material of his art. So
effectual were these resources that it has been said "he
could compose new forms, as it were, for nature, un-

1 Italian Schools, n, 277. 'Lewes, 387.
vn] 22

170 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
like any of her own creations, and yet in such apparent
harmony with her ways that in admiring their strength
and beauty, and interpreting their meaning, we lose sight
of their impossibility." x It is said he once painted a fabu
lous monster so frightful in appearance that his own father
drew back in fear from the horrible picture.2 His ideal of
truth and beauty was not, however, so much a sudden flash
of intelligence as a thing of study and toil. 'With him the
law of perfection had its foundations reposing on imperish
able labor.
When he attempts the production of his idealized con
ceptions he evinces a peculiar predilection for one type of
male or female beauty, and which is much alike in both.
" It is full of grace, and refined, pure sentiment, verging
upon weakness and languishment,3 and destitute of real
spiritual elevation. His Ledas and virgins enlist our sym
pathies as beings to" be cherished for the sake of their
entire loveliness of person and character, as we love the
grace and innocence of infancy." " His ideal females are
the creations of a chaste soul united to a refined taste ; not
aspiring to the spiritual, nor descending to the level of com
mon womanhood, yet true and substantial."
He was a consummate judge of character, and knew
thoroughly the modes of expression by which its workings
were displayed. He had made himself familiar with the
language of the passions and knew their appearances as
they indexed upon the form their internal action. He im
parts to his works no idiosyncrasies of his own. He deals
in abstractions. The revelations he makes arc not of him-
selfnor of any other particular individual. Hecarries an idea
back to the laws of its own being, and from the action of
those laws determines how, in what form, and under what cir
cumstances, it should appear. It is often, therefore, nature
as cast in the mould of his own mind, which he presents
to us. But in that mould he seeks to plant universal laws,
and to present as his creations the results of their action.

'Lewes, 390. 'Italian Schools, n, 278. "Lewes, 393.

EUROPEAN ART. 171
Leonardo's authentic works are not numerous. It was
long before he would dismiss a work as completed. His
portrait of Mona Lisa, the wife of his friend Giocondo, in
the Louvre, is a picture of extraordinary loveliness and of
exquisite finish.1 The painter had worked at it for four
years and pronounced it still unfinished. In reference to
this it has been said : " His flesh is virginly warm and
tender, his anatomy and modeling the reproduction of
nature itself; 2 the beating of the arteries and the movement
of the chest are indicated ; the lucidity of the eye,, the
flexible, soft quality of hair and its adhesion to the skin,
the bony and muscular structure; in fine, every element of
nature's handicraft, to the strictest truth of likeness itself,
without any approach to idealization, yet all harmonized
into a head of exceeding interest, if not of beauty, was
united in this portrait."
The work by which he is far the most extensively
known, through the medium of the engravings taken from
it and everywhere diffused, is the Last Supper. Here
Jesus and the twelve are alone, and are seated at a plain
table, on which a light repast is spread. The traditional
style of composition handed down from an earlier period
is adhered to, the assembled guests being made to sit on
the further side of a long narrow table, Christ being seated
in the middle. The point of time selected is that at which
the announcement is made : " One of you shall betray
me," the effect of which, upon that impassioned audience,
is sought to be portrayed. The different exhibitions of
feeling with which this is received ; the different outbursts
of passionate expression; marking all the gradations of
character from the loving John to the fiery Peter, "are
sketched by a master's hand. The heads are the ideal
embodiments of the several characteristics of the apostles.3
An interesting incident. is related which well shows his
method of composition. The prior had accused him before
the duke, of dilatoriness, and of passing half a day at a'

'Italian Schools, n, 287. 'Lewes, 400. 'Idem, 396.

172 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
time absorbed in reflection before his work. He replied,
that " men of genius are sometimes producing most when
they seem to be laboring least, their minds being occupied
in the elucidation of their ideas,1 and in the completion of
those conceptions to which they afterwards give form and
expression with the hand. Adding, that he could not
hope to find the Saviour's head On earth, and he had not
yet attained the power of presenting it to himself in
imagination, with all that perfection of beauty and celestial
grace, which appeared to him to be demanded for the
representation of the divinity incarnate." So also the
head of Judas was still Wanting, and he distrusted the power
of imagination to form up to itself features adequate to
express his character, but closed by intimating that if all
other resources failed him, he might possibly take the face
of the impertinent and annoying prior.
A very celebrated cartoon of his, or rather fragment of
one, is what is termed the Struggle for the Standard,
in which he has attempted to depict the turning, point of
.victory. " His horses and men are the very incarnations
of the fury and fierceness,2 the animals rivalling the rage of
their riders, of deadly strife for the most precious of mili
tary trophies. The intensity of the struggle is appalling."
Giotto and Leonardo have been thus compared with each
other. " They were complete, universal men, with a range
of intellectual power capable of eminence in any direction.
Leonardo's more varied acquirements were in unison with
the advanced knowledge of his age. Giotto's influence on
art was more profound, inasmuch as he concentrated his
genius solely upon it. Each sought its development through
similar processes of imagination, reflection, and study of "
nature. Each was independent of the influence of other
artists. Each largely inspired in thought and manner the
greatest of the masters of their times."
The next great genius in art that looms up near the
commencement of the sixteenth century, is Michael Angelo,
'Lewes, 398. ' ' Idem, 400.

EUROPEAN ART. 173
born in 1474, and who lived to witness the decline of art.
The preeminent qualities of this great man as an artist
have already come under review while on the subject of
European sculpture. We shall here only consider him as
a painter, and his architectural and sculptural power are
here rendered apparent. His painted figures are said to
have " a certain mysterious architectural grandeur.1 They
are the expression of primeval strength, which stamps them,
whether in motion or in rest, with a character of highest
energy of intensest will."
He did not excel in every species of painting. His
landscape is little less than a barren line of horizon. He
seems entirely to ignore it. For the lesser, feebler, more
delicate forms of nature he had no predilection. Neither
did he excel in portrait painting. His character of mind
stands alone, great, original, creative ; of a depth and in
tensity far removed beyond ordinary comprehension. His
superior excellence lay in sculpture, and his profound
knowledge of anatomy, and comprehensive mastery over
form would naturally attach him strongly to that style of
art. At the same time his deep penetration into the
sources of passion and emotion, and into the laws of their
evolution, enabled him, by means of expression, to give a
depth, spirituality, and power to his painted figures, much
beyond the reach of any who had preceded him. In the
characters of form and expression he may be expected to
excel. One of his earliest performances in painting is a cartoon,
of which a fragment only has reached us of a party of sol
diers bathing in the Arno when an unexpected summons
to battle reaches their ears. This was to him a lucky idea.
It enabled him to display in full and lively development,
his knowledge of the human form. All is in movement.
Some are already clothed, some half, others wholly naked.
All crowd hastily together. It is a most graphic and
vigorous display of martial forms with fine muscular

Italian ScJiools, n, 299.

174 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
developments acting under emotions of mingled alarms,
courage, surprise, confusion, and impatience for the com
bat, drawn and grouped with amazing skill and natural
ness of action and feeling.
It is, however, on the ceiling and end wall of the Cistine
chapel that are found the mightiest remains of Michael
Angelo.1 On the former are represented in fresco the
creation and fall of man with its immediate consequences.
" It required," says Kugler, " the united power of an archi
tect, sculptor, and painter to conceive a structural whole
of so much grandeur, to design the decorative figures
with the significant repose required by their sculpturesque
character, and yet to preserve their subordination to the
principal subjects, and to keep the latter in the proportions
and relations best adapted to the space to be filled. After
the creation and fall, come the prophets and sibyls, repre
sented seated, and employed with books or rolled manu
scripts.2 They sit pensive, meditative, inquiring, or
looking upward with inspired countenances. Their forms
and movements are majestic and dignified. They appear
capable both of bearing the burdens of earth, and of
receiving consolation from the secrets of the future."
This, as a whole, is pronounced by Jerves, the noblest
monument of Michael Angelo's mind, " combining the
most varied and profound motives with adequate material
expression,3 in which not only are the technical difficulties
of position and art wonderfully overcome, but it also pre
sents a tenderness of feeling, and delicate appreciation of
woman's most wiuning traits and domestic nature, and a
general grace, not usually characteristic of him ; and at
the same time, the dignity, majesty and intensity, more
exclusively his, harmonize admirably with these qualities.
Not only is it the highest effort of Michael Angelo's mind,
but if it be viewed as a composition blending in one great
whole the supernal elements of Christian faith and historic
truth, poetry, tradition, and revelation, in their fullest and

'Italian Sclwols, n, 301, 302. " Idem, 304. 3 Jerves, 430.

EUROPEAN ART. 175
deepest significance, vitalized by an inspired imagery sug
gestive of man's creation, fall, and redemption, and sym
bolizing in grand and solemn forms the whole compass of
religion, it embodies the highest excellence that strictly
Christian art has ever attained."
The immense work in fresco, however, by which, as a
painting, Michael Angelo is best known to posterity is pro
bably the Last Judgment. This was undertaken in his
sixtieth year, and required seven years for its completion.
" If," says Kugler, " we consider the countless number of
figures, the boldness of the conception, the variety of move
ment and attitude, the masterly drawing, particularly the ex
traordinary and difficult foreshortenings, this immense work
certainly stands alone in the history of art,1 but in purity and
majesty it does not equal the paintings on the ceiling." He
had much to contend with. The pope, Paul IV, reproached
him with the nudity of his figures, but he replied that " if
his holiness would only reform the opinions of mankind
the picture would be reformed of itself." 2 The same objec
tion somewhat offensively had been made by Cesena, mas
ter of ceremonies to Paul IH, whereupon Michael Angelo
transformed his diabolical Minos into an unmistakable
likeness of the complainant,3 who forthwith demanded re
dress of the pope. " Where has he placed you ?" inquired
his holiness. " Put me, why in hell " exclaimed Cesena in
deep distress. " Alas, then," said Raul, " he has put you
out of my reach ; had it been only in purgatory, I might
have delivered you, but in hell there is no redemption."
Many of the figures were, however, subsequently draped by
another artist.
The artistic world has been somewhat divided as to the
merits of the Last Judgment. The attempt by fresco or
any other means, to represent the triumph of the saved
and the despair of the lost, the joys of heaven and the
horrors of hell, was too daring even for Michael Angelo.
Hence all must feel that an adequate conception of such

1 Italian schools, n, 306. ' Lewes, 420. a Idem, 420, 421 .

176 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
a theme is beyond mortal power. He has succeeded best
in the lower part depicting hell. In the groups he there
presents,1 " from the languid resuscitation and upraising
of the pardoned, to the despair of the condemned, every
variety of expression, anxiety, anguish, rage and despair,
is powerfully delineated. In the convulsive struggles of
the condemned with the evil demons, the most passionate
energy displays itself, and the extraordinary skill of the
artist here finds its most appropriate exercise."
In this fresco the powers of the sculptor, and the know
ledge of the anatomist, are fully displayed. " In this stu
pendous work" says Flaxman, "in addition to the genius of
the mighty master, the mechanical powers and movements
of the figure, its anatomical energies and forms,2 are shown
by such perspective of the most difficult positions, as surpass
any examples left by the ancients on a flat surface or in
low relief, and are only to be equalled in kind, but not in
the proportion of complication, in the front and diagonal
views of the Laocoon, and all the views of the Boxers,
which are both entire groups."
We must now take leave of Michael Angelo. We have
seen him as architect, sculptor, and painter, in certain styles
of art, looming up, the grandest among the greatest of this
proudest era of Italian art. Originally constituted of the
sterner stuff that exalts character ; favored by circumstances
in his commencement and in much of his progress through
life ; honest and untiring in his devotion to art, and in his
efforts to reach its highest styles, he has left behind him a
soul that still lives in his productions, and a name that will
be among the very last to die out from the memory of men.
The next great painter who occupied the foremost rank
in the galaxy of artists, who adorn the commencement of
the sixteenth century, was Raphael Sanzio born in 1483,
and who ran his brilliant career, dying at the early age of
thirty-seven, in the year 1520. And yet it has been said
that during the thirty-seven years of his short life,3 he tra-

1 Italian Scliools, n, 307. " Pictorial Gallery, n, 359. * Guizot, 74.

. EUROPEAN ART. 177
versed a distance equal to that which usually lies between
separate epochs of art. He possessed a progressive nature,
one capable of rising to higher and still higher degrees of
improvement. Michael Angelo's system of art seems to
have been born with him ; at least his infancy, virility,,1
and age, exhibit one uniform . principle. The peculiar
elements that compose it, the marked characteristics of the
great painter appear in all his works. With Raphael it
was different. " He arrived " says Fuseli, " by degrees at
style in design,2 by degrees at style in composition, by de
grees at invention, expression, and at what appeared to him
color. His genius emancipated him from the shackles of
prescription and fashion, rapidly, if we compare his progress
with the shortness of his life or the progress of the rest of
his contemporaries, but slowly if we compare him with
Michael Angelo."
There were three distinctly marked epochs in the artistic
life of Raphael, characterizing the styles of three different
schools. The first was the Umbrian, which was acquired
under his pupilage to Perugino. His first independent
works bear the general stamp of the Umbrian school, but
in its highest beauty. It was probably well that his art
life drew its first inspiration from the deep spiritual tenden
cies of mystic Umbria. The tender enthusiastic sentimen
tality which is the general characteristic of this school, not
only harmonized well with his character, but was ex
cellently well adapted to impart to it such elements as are,
among others, essential to its perfection. Here were made
his first youthful efforts, which contained the earnest of a
high development. Here were executed some of his Ma
donnas, some easel pictures and altar pieces. Before leav
ing Perugia, his pictures although still bearing the features
of the Umbrian school, show nevertheless the freer impulse
of his own mind, a decided tendency to individualize.3
At the age of twenty-one he visited Florence, arriving
there at a period when Tuscan art had attained its highest

'Fuseli, in, 257. "Idem, 256. a Italian Schools, ii, 334.
Vii] 23

178 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.-
perfection, and its glories were developing under the efforts
of the most celebrated artists. One remarkable quality in
the mind of Raphael was that of extreme susceptibility to
beauty of every degree and form, and a ready facility of
adopting any new style of art that appeared to him to pos
sess a superiority over every other. This ability to reflect
the high art of his age, and yet so to specialize as to stamp
it with his own individualism, formed one marked distinc- '
tion between himself and his great contemporary, Michael
Angelo. The latter was everywhere, and throughout life
the same lofty, unbending, inflexible Michael AngelO ; his
style, his spirit, his embodiments of form, of beauty, and
power, were his own, and in their essence unchangeable.
He derived little from others.
Raphael, being so favorably constituted, could not fail
to derive an immense benefit from the higher style of art,
which was then developing in the Tuscan schools. He was
already imbued with the spiritualistic tendencies of the
Umbrian school. This constituted one essential element
in the formation of a great painter. But along with it was
a confined manner from which any considerable degree of
perfection required an emancipation. The perfect mastery
of form, the untramelled development of free life, could not
be acquired without it. Hence the necessity of drinking
at the well-springs of Tuscan art, of imbibing the spirit of
ihe schools at Florence, before the painter could feel satis
fied that he had gone to all the accessible sources of supply.
Raphael profited from his Florentine teachings. He
became transformed by them from the sweet and pensive
spiritualist into the dramatic artist. A love for the natural
istic was inspired. His sphere of observation became much
enlarged. Nature became now his great field of study,
and he was led to practice more in portraiture and historical"
painting. The former works contain an expression of his
own mild spirit. Those now succeeding are characterized
by a cheerful and unconstrained conception of life. His
progress while in Florence is marked more especially in
the small pictures, half figures of the Madonna with the

European art. 179
child in her arms. The earliest of these are characterized
by the deepest,1 tenderest feeling, while a freer and more
cheerful enjoyment of life is apparent in the later ones.
To this period also belong some portraits and altar-pieces.
Among the latter the Entombing of Christ is the most
celebrated. In 1508, when in his twenty-fifth year, on the invitation
of Pope Julius n, he removed to Rome, and here commenced
and was completed his third and last epoch of art life.
Here he acquired the full consciousness of his powers. The
treasures of antiquity were around him, and he stood face
to face with the antique. The walls of the Sistine chapel
were already kindling into life under the pencil of Michael
Angelo. The papacy might then well claim to be a leading power
in Europe, and in all matters relating to mental culture
undoubtedly stood the highest. For the purpose of ren
dering Rome the great centre of attraction, it was decided
to adorn the walls of the Vatican with paintings in the high
est style of art. These paintings are all executed in fresco,
covering the ceilings and walls of three chambers and a
large saloon, now bearing the name of the stanze of Ra
phael. The execution of these paintings occupied Raphael
during the whole of his residence in Rome, up to the
time of his death, and were only completed by his scholars.
They are not, however, altogether the work of his own
hands, but they were done under his directions. What is
termed the Roman school, had its culminating point in
Raphael. The subjects selected for representation in these great
works, were no Bacchanalian or vulgar scenes ; but they
were the exalted symbols of science, the sacred functions
of religion, great military actions, and important events
of former days. The first apartment was devoted to the
representation of theology, poetry, philosophy, and jurist
prudence ; those four high intellectual pursuits, embraced,

1 Italian Schools, 11, 340.

180 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
to some extent, in every branch of human culture. These
are represented on the ceiling by four allegorical female
figures, and on each of the neighboring facades, is a large
historical picture illustrative of these subjects. As a
sample of the manner in which these high intellectual
pursuits are represented, we may take philosophy, which
is portrayed in that celebrated painting called the School
of Athens. Here we have Plato and Aristotle in earnest
dispute ; the former to indicate the source of his philo*
sophy pointing to heaven, the latter, for a similar purpose,
pointing to earth. On either side are listeners. On one
side Socrates instructs Alcibiades ; on the other, various
figures are employed in discourse or study. The arts and
sciences have their representations in Pythagoras and Ar
chimedes, Zoroaster, and Ptolemy, the geographer. There,
also, alone and avoided by all, sits Diogenes the cynic,
while just entering the hall are seen Raphael himself, and
Perugino. This picture is one of the most perfect of
Raphael's creations, exhibiting in its regularity and sublim
ity, a great variety and dramatic vivacity; the drawing,
both of the nude figure and the drapery, being free, accu
rate, and spirited.1 The group of Archimedes and his
scholars has been more especially commended. There are
not here, as in the others, poetic or allegorical figures, and
the genius of the painter is shown less in the poetic effect
of the whole composition, than in the beauty of the single
groups and figures, which fill the mind with wonder and
delight. In the second chamber of the Vatican are the series of
compositions representing the power and glory of the
church, and her miraculous deliverance from her enemies.
Among these, the expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple
is one of the grandest and most poetical of all Raphael's
creations. Here is also the miracle of Bolsona, representing
a priest who had entertained doubts as to the doctrine of
tran substantiation in the art of being convinced by per-

'Munich Gallery', n, 10.

EUROPEAN ART. > 181
ceiving the blood actually flowing from the consecrated
wafer. In the third chamber are pictures -representing events in
the lives of Leo HE and Leo IV, the most remarkable of
which is an immense fire in the Borgo of Rome represented
as extinguished miraculously by St. Leo IV.
In the last of these chambers is the Hall of Constantine,
which is decorated with scenes from the life of that emperor. ,
These, although from the designs of Raphael, were never
theless mostly painted by his scholars, and many of them
after his death.
While these great frescoes were in progress Raphael was
also engaged in many other works, among which were
the decorations of the loggie of the Vatican, , which are
open galleries running round three sides of a court. These -
which were originally so beautiful and resplendent as to be
thought " a vision of paradise," are now merely the shadow
of what they once were.
In each one of the thirteen cupolas are four pictures, the
subjects of which are taken from the Old Testament.
They are known as Raphael's Bible. The composition
of each is his, but the execution is by his scholars.
Another work which has rendered Raphael the most
universally known through the civilized world by means
of engravings made from them, are the cartoons, eleven
in number, executed by him in water colors to serve as
patterns for the tapestries subsequently worked from them
at Arras in the Netherlands, and which, with two excep
tions, are now in the galleries of the Vatican. Seven of
these original cartoons, all that now remain, are at Hamp
ton Court, England. There were originally two series, the
one representing the principal events in the life of St.
Peter; the other in that of St. Paul. Among these those"
the most generally known from engravings are: the
Miraculous Draught of Fishes, the Healing of the Lame
Man, the Death of Ananias, the Conversion of St. Paul,1
Elymas the Sorcerer struck Blind, and Paul Preaching at
Athens. "Compared with these," says Hazlitt, " all other

182 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
pictures look like oil and varnish ; 1 we are stopped and
attracted by the coloring, the penciling, the finishing, the
instrumentalities of aut ; but here the painter seems to have
flung his mind upon the canvas. His thoughts, his great
ideas alone prevail ; there is nothing between us and the sub
ject; we look through a frame and see scripture histories, and
are made actual spectators of miraculous events. Not to
speak it profanely they are a sort of revelation of the subjects
of which they treat ; there is an ease and freedom of manner
about them which brings preternatural characters and
situations home to us with the familiarity of every day ocT
currences ; and while the figures fill, raise and satisfy the
mind they seem to have cost the painter nothing. Every
where else we see the means, here we arrive at the end
apparently without any means. There is a spirit at work
in the divine creation before us ; we are unconscious of
any steps taken, of any progress made; we are aware only
of comprehensive results, of whole masses of figures : the
sense of power supersedes the appearance of effort. It is
as if we had ourselves seen these persons and things at
some former state of our being, and that the drawing cer
tain lines upon coarse paper by some unknown spell
brought back the entire and living images, and made them
pass before us, palpable to thought, feeling, sight."
In addition to these works, Raphael, while he resided in
R^ome, executed a large number of commissions for princes,
public corporations and private individuals. Instances of
these are afforded in the fresco of the Four Sibyls in the
church of S. Maria della.Pace, that of the Prophet Isaiah in
the church of S. Agostino, and the decoration of the chapel
belonging to the Chigi family in S. Maria del Popolo at
Rome. It has been remarked that Raphael always appears the
greatest when, undisturbed by foreign influence, he follows
the free, original impulse of his own mind.2 -His peculiar
element, and that in which he more especially excelled,

'Munich Gallery, n, 18. "Italian Scliools, n, 372.

.EUROPEAN ART. 183
was grace and beauty of form, in as far as these are the
expression of high moral purity. In the abstract concep
tion of form he is inferior, and hence in his mythological
representations he becomes feeble in proportion as -he
generalizes. He is the painter of men as they live, feel
and act, embodying actual sentiment, feeling, and passion,
and not the delineator of man in the abstract, portraying
the capacities, energies, and idealities of form. Notwith
standing the greatness and grandeur of the works in which
he was employed by the popes, his peculiar powers are the
most fully developed' in the Madonnas and Holy Families,
,of which an immense number were painted from his de
signs, and under his superintendence, receiving their last
touches from himself. They amount to about one hundred
ahd twenty in number. His natural tendencies are shown
in the fact that in his youth he was the fondest of this class
of subjects, and if his earliest works of this kind appear
dreamy and sentimental, and the later ones exhibit a more
cheerful conception of life, the works of his third period
form the happiest medium between cheerfulness and
dignity, between innocent playfulness and a deep penetra
tion of the spirit of his subject. " They are conceived with
a graceful freedom,1 so delicately controlled, that it appears
always guided by the finest feeling for the laws of art.
They place before us those dearest relations of life which
form the foundation of morality, the choicest ties of family
love ; yet they seem to breathe a feeling still higher and
holier. Mary is not only the affectionate mother, but sbe
has, at the same time, an expression of almost virgin
timidity. The infant Christ is not only the cheerful,
• innocent child, but a prophetic seriousness rests on his
features, which tells of his future sacred destiny. In the
numerous representations of these subjects, varying in the
number, attitude, and grouping of the figures, there pre
vails sometimes a more simply natural, sometimes a more
profound conception ; and thus they offer many interesting

'Italian Schools, n, 373.

184 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
points of comparison." x In those of a later period there is a
grander style of ideal beauty, and instead of a tender enthu
siasm, earnestness, and fervor of youth, there-appears a tran
quil enjoyment of life, ennobled by the purest feeling. But
these are not the glorified holy forms which inspire adora
tion. They exhibit interesting moments of domestic life,
the accidental reunions in a family, when the agreeable
sports of graceful children attract the delighted observation
of parents.
Raphael also in the best time of his art executed a great
number of portraits. The most celebrated of these are
that of Bindo Altoriti, the Fornarina (baker's daughter),
Julius H and Leo X, together with those of the cardinals
Medici and de Rossi. The chief excellence of these resides
in their unaffected conception,, and characteristic expres
sion, and many of them display also the purest and most
admirable execution.
The last great painting undertaken by Raphael, not
quite completed at his death, and suspended 'over his corpse,
a trophy of his fame, at the time of his funeral, was the
Transfiguration of our Saviour on Mount Tabor. This is
distinguished by the dramatic development of an historical
event, by the important prominence given to the principal
incident, and by grandeur of style. With these qualities
is also united a profound symbolical treatment, which, in
the representation of a particular event, expresses a general
idea. The composition is divided into two parts. On the-
summit of Tabor lie prostrate the three disciples, dazzled
by the divine light, and above them the Saviour floats in
air, accompanied by Moses and Elias. At the base of the
mount the other nine disciples are in vain besought to heal
those maladies which God alone can do by directly impart
ing his power. The lower portion is thus made to repre
sent symbolically the calamities and miseries of human
life, the rule of demoniac power, the weakness even of the
faithful when unassisted ; while above, in the brightness of

1 Malicm Schools, n, 376.

EUROPEAN ART. 185
divine bliss, undisturbed by the suffering of the lower
world, we behold the source of consolation and redemption
from evil. Some of the disciples, conscious where help
and strength lies, are pointing upward to the summit of
the mountain.
In Raphael, we have a third instance in immediate suc
cession of one, the universality of whose genius pervaded
the entire domain of objective art. While he did not
neglect the study and even the practice of sculpture, he
was for the last six years of his life the chief architect of
St. Peter's Cathedral, and was superintending the excava
tions ordered by Leo X with the view of disinterring and
bringing again to light the remains of ancient art that lay
bUried in Rome. The wonder and marvel among men is
that he could have accomplished so much within a life of
thirty-seven years. It shows pretty clearly that life is to
be measured by thoughts, words and acts, and not simply
by duration.
It is, however, only as a painter that Raphael entitled
himself to the praises of posterity. His mind was endowed
with that rare good fortune as to harmonize with the age
in which he lived.1 It was so constituted as to be rich in
the power of acquisition at a time when the germs of all
things were bursting into life with an incredible vigor. It
possessed a preeminent faculty of discrimination at a time
when it would seem that all that was necessary was simply to
choose. It was a fruitful soil where the germs of all styles
could fructify, and attain each to a high degree of excel
lence without dwarfing any of the others. His genius
almost equally pervaded the whole domain of painting,
while it failed to attain those lofty heights to which others
singly were successful in ascending. In grandeur of inven
tion and form he is inferior to Michael Angelo, in chiaro
scuro to Correggio, in coloring to Titian. But in the com
position of Raphael the style of design is made to accord
so exquisitely with the forms, the coloring with each, the

1 Guiaot, 75.
vn] 24

186 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
chiaroscuro being just adequate to the degree of perception
meditated, the whole harmonized by innate and unerring
propriety, animated with his own peculiar grace aiid~senti-
ment,1 while each separate quality becomes yet more per
fect in the combination, thus altogether, not singly, but in
combination, giving to the pencil its greatest possible
triumph. He, above all other painters, possesses the power
of concentrating himself on an idea, simple in its relation to
the present, but brilliant as regards both past and future f on
some expression at once pure, simple, and full of meaning,
in which he makes even the minutest details of his com
position meet and assist. As 'stated by MengS " in the
invention of bis pictures he attaches himself above all' to ex
pression to such a degree, thathe has never given to a limb a
movement which is not precisely necessary for it, or which
does not convey some expression ; nor has he ever bestowed
one touch on any figure, or any limb of a figure, without
its having a direct relation to the main expression, from
the general structure of man to the smallest movement.
Everything in his works has reference to the chief inten
tion of the picture; everything unconnected with it is
rejected. At the same time he gives a different expression
to each of the persons of his pieture according to its place
in the general idea. For he had a power of seizing, with
the most rapid perception, and in a kind of inspiration, the
appearances caused by the momentary actions of passion."
Raphael was suddenly called away while yet young, and
in the full tide of success. He had many designs un
finished, many works in progress. He had many painters
in his employ, who were chiefly occupied in advancing
the works he had designed, the finishing touches, equally
with the designs, being generally his own work. In addi
tion to these, many painters had fioeked to Rome, attracted
thither by his great reputation, in order to perfect them-.
selves in the art. All these, more especially the former,
had drank in the manner and style of the great master, as

1 Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 169. a Guissot,

EUROPEAN ART. 187
far as their different idiosyncrasies would permit. But
none ever reached the fountain head, or attained to all the
excellencies of Raphael. They, however, exercised con
siderable influence over art in various parts of the Italian
peninsula. Among these, none were more famous or accomplished
than Giulio Romano, who, together with Gianfrancesco
Penni had been intrusted by Raphael with the comple
tion of his works. He afterwards removed to Mantua, and
as painter, engineer, and architect of the duke, undertook
and completed so many splendid structures, that the latter
declared he had a better title to be called master of
Mantua, than he himself had.1 He was there the head of
a school, rich in studies copied from the antique and
Raphael, powerful in design, combining fertility of ima
gination with taste and selection; celerity with correct
ness ; and knowledge of history and fable, with grace and
facility of treatment. He followed the example of Raphael
in preparing the cartoons and making his pupils paint
-them, subsequently going over the whole with his pencil,
retouching, and correcting defects. He was great in
design, having a very perfect knowledge of the human
figure, its muscles, movements, and foreshortenings.
There were several others, pupils of Raphael, and
belonging to the Roman school, who subsequently obtained
considerable distinction, as painters, but not sufficient to
justify our devoting to them any special consideration.
The Roman school found its greatest glory in Raphael.
That school is characterized by deep religious sentiment
and aspiration, by noble and correct design, by a profound
study of nature, founded on the antique, but having reference
still to the old Christian types, by sober and dignified
composition, by unrivalled passion and expression, by clear
conception and wonderful invention.2
The Tuscan or Florentine, and Roman schools of paint
ing, together with the ancient Siennese, and more modern

1 Cleghom, n, 64. ' Idem, 77 .

188 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Umbrian, by the close of the first quarter of the sixteenth
century, had, in many points of excellence, carried this art
so far in advance of everything previously known as almost
to discourage all future effort. Florence furnished living
nature as models, thus giving it its naturalistic features.
Sienna and Umbria had evoked the spirit, and in its
workings as outwardly displayed, had given the tendency to
the spiritualistic. Rome had yielded up the antique, and
thus had contributed the idealistic element. And now
what was required further to complete the works of the
old masters, and to traverse the entire circle of what was
essential to perfect art? The ahswer is ready. We still
. lack the perfect chiaroscuro and color. Hence the n ecessity
of Correggio and Titian.
The chiaroscuro, or disposition of light and shade, owes
its discovery to Leonardo da Vinci; who made such ad
vances in it as to render it an important instrument in the
art of painting. But with him its progress made a pause.
Even Raphael so thoroughly catholic and alive to every
element of his art, considered chiaroscuro as a subordinate
vehicle, and never would suffer it to absorb meaning, or to
supplant expression and form.1 But although both the
Florentine and Roman schools appear indifferent to this
element, and omit the proper study and use of it, yet the
Venetian school, the nurse of color, has rendered to it a
due degree of homage. The effects it produces by the
opposition of dark to lucid, opaque to transparent bodies,
and cold to warm tints, were well understood by Paolo
Cagliari.2 But the great master who the most fully .com
prehended the mysteries of this subtle agent, developing
and applying it more thoroughly than all preceding, con
temporary, and subsequent schools, was Correggio.3 To
the schools of Florence and Rome, light and shade were
esteemed necessary, only so far as they were attendant on
design, composition, and color. But all these were to
Correggio little more than submissive vehicles. He made

'Fuseli, n, 285. "Idem, 296. *Idem,297.

EUROPEAN ART. 189
them in a great degree subservient to his disposition of
light and shade. This disposition, and the foreshortening
he so frequently and successfully introduces, entitle him to
the rank, of a representative man in the art.
An able 'writer thus draws the parallel between Raphael
and Correggio : 1 " The simplicity of Raphael's forms is
little beholden to that contrast and those foreshortenings
which are the element of Correggio's style. Raphael
sacrifices all to the subject and expression ; Correggio, in
an artificial medium, sacrifices all to the air of things and
harmony. Raphael speaks to our heart; Correggio insinu
ates himself into our affections, by charming our senses.
The essence of Raphael's beauty is dignity of mind ; petu- '
lant naivete, that of Correggio's. Raphael's grace is founded
on propriety; Correggio's, on convenience and the harmony
of the whole. The light of Raphael is simple daylight;
that of Correggio, artificial splendor. In short, the history
of artists scarcely furnishes characteristics more opposite
than what discriminate these two."
Correggio was born in 1494, at Coreggio, in the duchy of
Modena, and much obscurity rests upon his history. He
died in 1534 at the early age of forty. There is no evi
dence that he derived anything from the labors of Michael
Angelo or Raphael. The works of Leonardo da Vinci,
and his school, exercised upon him the most important
influence. He is supposed to have formed himself princi
pally by observation and practice. That may perhaps
account for the fact that he is distinguished by a subjective
mode of conception, a susceptibility to the highly wrought
feelings and affections. His perfect command over the
element of chiaroscuro appears to have been founded on
that delicacy of perception,2 that quickness of feeling which
is alive to every lighter play of form, and is thus enabled
to reproduce it in exquisite modelling. He could anatomize
light and shade in endless gradation, and could give the
greatest brilliancy without dazzling, and the deepest shade

'Fuseli, in, 369. 'Italian Schools, n, 419.

190 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
without offending the eye. He observed also the Telation
of colors with such masterly skill that each appears in it
self subdued yet powerful in relation to others. He
delighted in undulating lines, avoiding the straight and
angular.1 He was superior in the management of drape
ries, both in regard to their masses and contrasts. His
youthful heads are natural, beautiful, radiant with smiles
and unaffected simplicity. His pictures possess an internal
light. In every variety of chiaroscuro and aerial perspec
tive, in the disposition of his masses of light and shade
in their infinite gradations, oppositions and reflexes, he is
unrivalled. So also in the expression of grace, sweetness,
tenderness, and rapture, as well as sorrow and suffering, it
is claimed he has never been excelled. In his own peculiar
sphere he attained such greatness and freedom,2 that
the highest pesition has been assigned to him. He could
depict, as it were, the very pulses of life in every variety
of emotion and excitement. And yet it seems conceded
that he never reached, especially when compared with
Raphael, the higher elements of beauty and dignity, or of
ideal grandeur of form, and of intensity of expression. In
expression he has endeavored to impress the soft hues and
undulating lines which rapture and joy leave on the coun
tenance. He does not appear to have entertained even the
slightest conception of the ideal. He copied nature with
the utmost precision, and every form wears the stamp of
that living original whence he derived it.
The principal works of this master are the two noble
cupolas of the cathedral churches of Parma, painted in
fresco, the subject of one being, the Assumption of the
Virgin, that of the other, the Ascension of the Saviour.
Besides these his most celebrated paintings are his famous
Notte, the Holy Night, celebrated for the striking effect
of the light, which, in accordance with the old legend,
proceeds from the new born babe, the radiant infant and
the mother both being lost in the splendor which has

1 Cleghorn, n, 88. "Italian Schools, n, 420.

EUROPEAN Art. - , 191
guided the distant shepherds. The Nativity of* Christ,
Jupiter and Io, Leda, Antiope asleep, St. Jerome, the
Marriage of St. Catherine, the Magdalen, and a Holy
Family, are all remarkable for the dominant qualities of
the painter.
s Correggio left no pupils of any eminence. Indeed his
works did not acquire that celebrity to which they were
entitled until after his death. Then it was that students
having resorted to Parma from various quarters to make
them their study, his influence became extended over the
different schools of Italy.
We have now seen the different Italian schools develop
ing either successively or simultaneously, the different
elements that lie at the foundation of the painter's art.
The mysteries of form, whether lying in nature, or in the
imagination, or in the antique, have been thoroughly
investigated and brought to light. Masaccio, Leonardo
da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raphael, had left little to
be accomplished in either of those directions. So also the
marvels of expression, the spiritualistic, had been much
indebted to the schools of Sienna and Umbria. The chiaro
scuro had remained for the master touches of Correggio,
who has never been surpassed in uniting the relievo and
the morbidezza, as the Italians call it. There was one
element yet remaining, in the development of which, no
painter had yet acquired much celebrity, and that was
color. The true development of this brings us to the mis
sion of the Venetian school.
The full display of color in all its beauty and gorgeous-
ness, was well confided to Venice. The Venetians loved
splendor. The magnificence of the orient found its appro
priate home in this city of the sea. The Italian skies no
where revealed more clearly the blue depths of ether, or
looked down more lovingly than upon the queenly city of
the Adriatic. The Roman school gave us beauty of form ;
Correggio, chiaroscuro ; to the Venetian we must look for
color. It is this school that gives the warmth of life to the
color of flesh ; that imitates the splendor and brilliancy of

192 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
different materials, and relieves light on light. The Vene
tian school painted very little in fresco. Its works were
chiefly in oil, that being more favorable to its peculiar
object than the severer methods of fresco.1
The great representative and chief embodiment of the
Venetian school was Titian. This great painter was born
at Cadore, near Venice, in 1477. In the same year was
born Giorgione, who may be regarded as the first success
ful pioneer in the new art of color. He died in 1511, hav
ing shown the way to eminence as a colorist.
Parallels have been drawn between -Titian and Correggio
and Titian and Raphael. He has been distinguished from
Correggio by the totally different aim which actuated each,
while Correggio seeks animation and excitement, Titian
prefers repose and quiet dignity. The former apparently
calls his figures into life only to make them the organs of
particular emotions; 2 the latter gives them first the grand
eur of mere conscious existence ; the former, in the warmth
of his passion can hardly muster sufficient patience to pro
ceed to the development of fine forms ; the latter always
builds on the immovable foundation of necessary and
general beauty. The former is the developer of chiaro
scuro which is something conditional and accidental, a
phenomenon lying on the surface of objects ; the latter de
velops coloring which is the expression of life itself. " Ra
phael and Titian," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, " seem to
have looked at nature for different purposes ; 3 they both
had the power of extending their view to the whole, but
one looked for the general effect as produced by form ; the
other as produced by color. Titian attended to the gene
ral form of his object as well as color, but his deficiency
lay in not possessing the power like Raphael, of correcting
the form of his models by any general idea of beauty in his
own mind." The style of Titian may be divided into three
periods, viz : " when he copied, when he imitated, and
when he strove to generalize, to elevate, or invigorate the

1 Italian Schools, n, 431. " Idem, 442. * Munich Gallery, n, 51.

EUROPEAN ART. 193
tones of nature. The first is anxious and precise, the
second beautiful and voluptuous, the third sublime. In
the second the parts lead to the whole;1 in the last the
Whole to the parts. It is that master style which in dis
criminated tones imparts to ornament a monumental
grandeur." Titian had but few and simple colors on his pallet, but
his great merit consisted in his knowing how to combine
and contrast them to the greatest advantage. When light
and shade were insufficient for his purpose he applied either
simple tints taken frOhi nature, or artificial ones to produce
illusion.2 In the nude, he avoided masses in shade and
deep shadows, which are destructive of the grace and deli
cacy of the carnations. He made use of various degrees of
middle tints for the flat portions. He used a variety of
colors one over the other, which, while it gave the appear
ance of a mere accident of nature, was the most dexterous
art. He was also a master of perspective, and was the first
who availed himself of an ideal harmony in tha colors of
his draperies. He was also skilled in giving grace, clear
ness of tone, and dignity to his shades, middle tints and
lights, as he distinguished with infinite variety of tints the
various complexions and carnations. He imagined a
chastened light from on high, which admitted of various
gradations and middle tints. His pictures possess a pecu
liar internal light, supposed to result from the clear or
tempera grounds, and color placed above color, so as to
produce the effect of a transparent veil.
Titian produces his rtfost gorgeous effects both by keep
ing down and by heightening his colors. The fineness of
his gradations adds to their variety and force. It is the
severity of his eye, and the patience of his touch that ac
complishes his work.3 He keeps pace with nature by never
trying to outrun her, and " as he forms the broadest

'Fuseli, n, 363. ' Cleghorn, 11, 80. 'EazUtt's Literary Bemams, 199.
vn] 25

194 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
masses out of innumerable varying parts and minute
touches of the pencil, so he unites and harmonizes the
strongest contrasts by the most imperceptible transitions.
Every distinction is relieved and broken by some other
intermediate distinction, like half notes of music ; and yet
all this accumulation of endless variety is so managed as
only to produce the majestic simplicity of nature. So that
to a common eye there is nothing extraordinary in his
pictures, any more than in nature itself. He hides the
artifice of his coloring and execution in its apparent sim
plicity, and is therefore the most difficult perfectly to copy."
Titian displays peculiar mastery in the representation of
the naked female form, because here the magic of his
coloring is developed in its fullest power.1 His flesh color
partakes of the glowing nature of the climate, and the
luxuriousness of Venetian manners.2 He represents objects
not through a merely lucid medium, but as if tinged with
a golden light.
Titian maybe considered as the finest portrait painter of-
all times. In his heads the Italian character is always ob
served to predominate. They are marked by a look of
piercing sagacity, of commanding intellect, of acute sensi
bility. Their countenances exhibit the daring spirit and
irritable passions of the age and country. They have
great consistency of form and expression. This consistency
constitutes as great a charm as the harmony of coloring.
He always seems to have taken his sitter at the happiest
moment, and thus has left us the true conception of the
old Venetian.
He appears never to have made a thorough study of
anatomy, or of the antique. He did not possess, therefore,
a full knowledge of the muscles, nor did he always give
ideal beauty to his contours. His figures, nevertheless, are
possessed both of truth and character. In landscape back
grounds he is said never to have been equalled. He did not
make use of them merely as ornaments, but rendered

1 Italian Schools, n, 447. " Hazlitt, 199.

EUROPEAN ART. 195
them strictly subservient to the purpose for which he intro
duced them. In his mastery of coloring three principles
have been remarked :
" 1. The interposing medium between the eye and the
object is supposed to be a mellow golden light.
" 2. The most glowing and gorgeous lights are produced,
not so much by rich local tints as by the general conduct .
of the whole piece, in which the gradations of tone are
almost evanescent, yet in their strongest hues powerfully
contrasted.1 " 3. The colors are laid on pure, without mixing, in tints
by reiterated application, and apparently with the point of
the pencil."
Titian lived a long life, not laying down its burden until
he had reached his ninety-ninth year; and then,, while
Seated at his easel he was seized with the pestilence which
ravaged so large a portion of Italy in 1576. He was
honored by kings and senators. His pictures are very
numerous, and to be found in several European galleries,
in those of Spain, of Rome, of England, and of France.
The Martyrdom of St. Peter the Dominican is esteemed
his chef-de-ouvre. Of this picture Haydon says : " The
terrific gasping energy of the assassin, who has cut down
the monk; the awful prostration of the monk, wounded,
and imploring heaven ;2 the flight of his companion striding
away in terror, with his dark mantle against a blue sky ;
the towering and waving trees, the entrance as it were
into a dreadful forest ; the embrowned tone of the whole
picture, with its dark azure and blue sky, the distant
mountains below, and splendid glory above, contrasting
with the gloomy horror of the murder; its perfect though
not refined drawing ; its sublime expression, terrible light
and shadow; and exquisite color; all united, render this
the most perfect picture in Italian art."
The Venetian school reached its culminating point under
Titian. There were, however, two other painters who at'

' Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 172. ' Clegliorn, n, 79.

196 HISTORY -OF CIVILIZATION,
tained considerable celebrity. The first one of these was
Tintoretto, born 1512, died 1594, who was - called the
lightning of the pencil, from his miraculous dispatch.
He sought to combine the coloring of Titian with the
grandeur of design of Michael Angelo. He studied ana
tomy, and hung up models of wax or clay in different atti
tudes to become studies for foreshortening.1 He united
great strength of shadow with the Venetian coloring, and
thus became a vigorous painter seeking rather than avoid
ing difficulties ; but under him Venetian art was rapidly
drifting . into the mistaken path of collossal and rapid pro
ductiveness. He takes his attitudes and movements from
common life, and not from the best models.2 His compo
sitions are revealed more by masses of light and shade than
by any studied degrees of participation in the principal
action. His was an. off-hand style. Reckless and rapid in
execution he gave the reins to his imagination without
much study or selection. With a few patches of color he
could express the liveliest forms and attitudes, but he is
often harsh and gloomy, with exaggerated contrasts of light
and shade. In his landscapes there is much brilliancy of
color, and great vigor and impetuosity of pencil.3 His
compositions are often grand and noble, full of elevated
ideas, but he fails in that artistic arrangement of the whole,
and in that nobility of motives in parts, which are the ne
cessary exponents of a high idea.4 His most celebrated
works are the Miracle of the Slave, the Crucifixion,"
and the Universal Judgment.
Paolo Cagliari, Paul Veronese, of Verona, bom 1528,
and died 1588, is another apt representative of the Vene
tian school. " Had I," says he, " the time, I should like
to paint a grand entertainment in a superb gallery,5
at which I would introduce the virgin, the Saviour, and
St. Joseph. They should be waited upon by the most
glorious company of angels that one could conceive of,

'Cleghorn, n, 81. ' Italian Schools, n, 460. s Cleghorn, n, 82. * Balian
Sclwols, n, 460. ° Guizot, 111.

EUROPEAN ART. 197
who should be presenting' them the choicest viands, and the
most rare and costly fruits, on dishes of gold and silver.
Others should be pressing upon them the most delicious
beverages in transparent crystal, and in brilliant golden
vessels, showing thereby, how eager such happy spirits
are to serve their master." There speaks the soul of the
great master. His high ideal was to develop scenes
of worldly splendor. His imagination revelled in festivi
ties. His most celebrated work is the Marriage of Cana.
He painted many Last Suppers and Banquets, usually
introducing a large number of figures, but preserving
throughout an unity of purpose. He had the merit of
originating a new, magnificent, and decorative style, pecu
liarly adapted to the gorgeous splendor, rich ornament, and
characteristic voluptuousness of the queen of the Adriatic.
His paintings are said to be like full concerts of enchant
ing music. Through all is proclaimed the pomp of color.
He found his models in nature, not in the antique, or the
ideal ; but his imitations were select, not servile. Although
wanting in the perfection of flesh-tones, yet, by splendor
of color, aided by rich draperies and other materials, by a
clear and transparent treatment of the shadows, by com
prehensive keeping and harmony, he infused a magic into
his pictures, which surpasses almost all the other masters
of the Venetian school. He diffused through all bis
paintings a beautiful vitality, a poetic feeling. They
abound in grand architecture, in splendid vases and furni
ture, in brilliant and gorgeous costume, and in a race of
human beings, powerful and noble, elate with the con
sciousness of existence, and full of enjoyment. But his
was, nevertheless, a style of beauty more addressed to the
senses than to the soul, and like all such, contained within
itself the seeds of corruption. It was like the last gleam
of the setting sun, more resplendent from the depth of
shadow that succeeded it; like the last rallying of the
living system ere death asserts its sway, putting forth yet
one more effort to live, pouring forth one more beam of
unclouded reason, as if to reveal in its very light, the

198 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
dissolution that extinguished it. The school "of Venice
expired with Paul Veronese.
By the middle of the sixteenth century the Italian schools
of painting had completed one great cycle in the history
of art, viz : they had produced great masters who had,
either simultaneously or successively, developed every ele
ment which went to constitute it. What now remained
to be done ? The proclamation of, and action upon the ec
lectic system. This brings us to the eclectics, who assuming
that all the different elements of their art had been sepa
rately developed and unfolded, and that hence nothing new
remained for them to develop, directed all their efforts
to the selecting and uniting the best qualities of each of
the great masters, not, however, at the same time excluding
the study of nature. They failed to observe that the
greatness of those masters largely consisted in their indivi
dual and peculiar qualities, and that hence the attempt to
unite together characteristics that were in themselves essen
tially different, could hardly be expected to succeed. Eclec-
tism in art, equally as in philosophy, appears more beauti
ful in theory than successful in practice. In art it proposses
simply to open a new well spring of supply. It allows still
a resort to nature and to the antique, but along with this
seeks to unite according to theoretical rules, derived from
man's aesthetic nature, into a new and more perfect whole,
the many varied excellencies they coveted in those great
masters, who were their models in painting. From one,
for instance, they propose to borrow invention, from another
the rules of composition, from a third the management of
shade, and from a fourth the art of laying on colors. Aside
from the difficulty of universally agreeing upon theoretical
rules, it is obvious that the widely differing qualities of the
old masters could never be brought to unite into an har
monious and homogeneous whole. And yet this school,
although incapable of ultimate success upon its own princi
ples, had nevertheless some good practical results. It made
the strongest possible appeal to intellect, and was there
fore adapted to the development of talent, and to the teach-

EUROPEAN ART. 199
ing the theory and practice of art according to established
rules.1 It was, therefore, directly opposed to the lawless
habits and crude inventions of those# painters who took as
guides their own erratic wills, desirous rather to dazzle or
astonish, than to win truth, or create beauty.
Ludovico Carracci, born 1555, died 1619, is regarded as
the founder of the eclectic school. In conjunction with
his two nephews, Agostino and Annibale Carracci, he
.opened an academy at Bologna, which they jointly fur
nished with casts, drawings, engravings and living models
for drawing and painting, instructing in perspective,
anatomy, the study of nature, and the imitation of the
great masters.
This school was far more successful than any other of its
day. Its founders possessed a true feeling for the repre
sentation of the higher subjects of life, and by their zeal
and perseverance they attained a considerable, though not
a perfect harmony of corresponding style. Although
they all entered on the same path, yet they pursued it in
different manners. Ludovico excels in variety and in
tensity of expression, Agostino in ingenuity of conception,2
while Annibale has surpassed them both in purity and
grace. But the productions of all three were alike in
evincing great depth of thought. Annibale was accounted
the greatest painter, Agostino the greatest genius, and
Ludovico the greatest master.
Annibale is very happy in small compositions, such as
Madonnas and Holy Families. He was also one of the
first who practiced landscape painting as a separate depart
ment of art. In some of his historical pictures the land
scape divides the interest with the figures. His best-
performance is a series of frescoes of mythological designs
in the Farnese palace at Rome.3 These works are regarded
as the fairest criterion of the school. They are. among the
most finished specimens of fresco painting. They were
his last important works.

1 Lewes, 473. a Guizot, 129. 8 Italian Schools, n, 487.

200 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
The school of the Carracci, thus successfully established
at Bologna, gave birth to several artists of distinction whose
productions take a high "rank among the works of art.
The most distinguished of these are Domenichino, Albani,
and Guido Reni.
The first mentioned excelled both in oil painting, and
in fresco. He is less skilled in invention than some others,
but his attitudes and expressions are just and true to nature.
His most celebrated works are the Communion of St.
Jerome, the Flagellation of St. Andrew, and the Martyr
dom of St. Agnes. The first mentioned is pronounced by
Poussin to be one of three best pictures in the world, the
Transfiguration by Raphael, and Volteria's Descent from
the Cross being the other two.
Albani achieved the characteristic of elegance as a
painter. He surpasses in the representation of females and
children. He was designated the Anacreon of painting.
He is sometimes allegorical, as in his paintings of the four
elements in the Borghese palace.
Guido Reni, exhibits two styles of painting at different
periods of his life. Those of his early time abound in
grand, powerful figures, majestically arranged, and dark sha
dows giving an imposing, sometimes solemn air, to his pic
tures. Such is the Crucifixion, the Crucifixion of St.
Peter, and the Massacre of the Innocents. Subsequently
he changed, and made beauty, grace, and sweetness his
aim, seeking them both in design, touch and coloring. He
formed an abstract and ideal beauty of his own, which
being his own creation, he could change or modify to suit
his purpose. The best illustrations of his latter style are
in his fresco painting of Phoebus and Aurora, Concert of
Angels, and St. Andrew on his Way to Execution.1
The entire cycle in the history of Italian art" is completed
by the advent and development of the eclectic school of
the Carracci and their followers, as was that of European
philosophy by that of Cousin. But in the latter -a new

'Italian Schools, n, 492, 493.

EUROPEAN ART. 201
cycle was commenced, finding its first starting point, but
not certainly its last resting place in the positivism of
Auguste Comte. So also in the former, the first step
taken from the eclecticism of the Carracci was into down
right materialism. It would seem as if the latter, both in
philosophy and in art, was the starting point from which
the first rebound was taken, and the refuge. to which those
of tired wing and exhausted energies might return, but
which never could furnish a final resting place either to
thought itself, or to thought realized in art, because it
could never satisfy the cravings of a nature which was not
in it or of it, but beyond and above it. As we took leave
of philosophy merged, crippled, obscured, but not forever
to be confined, to positivism, so we shall now take leave of
Italian art by a brief reference to the school of the natur
alistic. The principle upon which this school proceeded was the
direct imitation of common nature, founded on a peculiar
feeling strongly manifested in that particular direction..
The object was more especially the development of passion.
The forms it -brings before us are not those of modified na
ture in which beauty is the evidence of moral harmony, but
those in which some powerful and demoniac passion was
either just on the eve of an outbreak,1 or in the art of revel
ling in its intensest workings. Even when no animated
scene is represented, the spectator feels that they are capa
ble of the wildest excitement. As the thoughts and work
ings even of a well constituted mind when they are all
displayed fully to the calm gaze of another, could not but
present in many points an unfavorable result, so this indis
criminate imitation of nature has been not inaptly termed
the poetry of the repulsive. This common nature is imi
tated in the sensualistic direction, their works displaying
sharp, abrupt lights, and dark shadows.
This school finds its chief representative man in Cara-
vaggio, born in 1569 and dying in 1609 ; an artist whose

1 Italian Schools, n, 503.
vn] 26

202 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
avowed principle of painting was the " imitation of indi
vidual nature without selection,1 taking the first model
that offered, and that the more hideous the better. He
deals in the blackest and fiercest shadows. He revels amid
banditti, murderers and maniacs. But notwithstanding
his vulgarity of conception his works display a peculiar
breadth, and, to a certain extent, even a tragic pathos, to
which the grand lines of his draperies lend a special assist
ance. Through all his works he develops a powerful
nature, which fails not to interest through the coarse super
ficialities of the naturalistic school. He succeeds best in
scenes of sorcery, murder, and midnight tumults and treach
ery. His Cheating Gamester is much celebrated. So
also are his Martyrdom of St. Matthew, and Entomb
ment of Christ.
Caravaggio had several scholars and followers, among
whom was L6 Spagnoletto, a Spaniard, whose Adoration"
of the Shepherds is much celebrated, but his pictures, in
general, exhibit a wild, extravagant fancy, his figures being
bony and angular, and his greatest delight being apparently
in executions, tortures and martyrdoms.
From his school, however, came Salvator Rosa, who
painted history and landscape, following in the former the
style of the naturalistic. Among these, the Conspiracy of
Cataline is the most esteemed. He also adopts the same_
style in portrait in which he excels. But his principal
excellence lies in his landscapes, in which he attained much
celebrity. Faithful, however, to the naturalistic principle,
he displays more beauty and originality in wild mountain
scenes, lonely defiles and deep forests. " In the wild and
stormy scenes of Salvator Rosa," says Allston, " the lines "
(by which he means the course or medium through which
the eye is led from one part of the picture to another),
" break upon us as with the angular flash of lightning ; 2
the eye is dashed up one precipice only to be dashed down
another; then, suddenly hurried to the sky, it shoots"

1 Cleghorn, n, 70. ' Lectures on Art, 149.

EUROPEAN ART. 203
up, almost in a direct line, to some sharp-edged rock ;
whence pitched, as it were, into a sea of clouds, bellying
with circles, it partakes their motion, and seems to reel, to
roll, and to plunge with them into the depths of air. "
He usually peoples his landscapes, introducing into them
hermits, robbers, or wandering soldiers, who assist in the
general effect, and deepen the impression of loneliness and
desolation. In a later, sometimes termed the Florentine
period of his painting, he appears to break away from the
peculiarities of the naturalistic style,1 and to adopt an ideal
treatment relaxing into simple purity of line and serenity
of atmosphere. An instance is found in a coast scene in
the Colonna gallery at Rome. We here see an approxima
tion towards a style which finds its ultimate and highest
development in Claude Lorraine. Salvator Rosa died in
1673, and with him the history of painting in Italy, as a
living art, and animated by genius, may be said to close.

German Schools.
We now cross the Alps, and find ourselves among other
races of men, and other styles of art, than those that flou-
ished under Italian skies. We are in the old German
father-land and among the Teutonic races. We find,
however, that similarity of political institutions are followed
by similarity of results in matters of art. We encounter in
central Europe, as in Italy, the great political fact, of the
rise and commercial prosperity of free cities, which, almost
independent of each other, attained to great wealth and
power. They ran the same round, and perished in the
same manner, history everywhere teaching the same lesson,
viz : that the seeds of decay and dissolution of free institu
tions are sown in the luxury and effeminacy which are conse
quent upon wealth, and that disorganization and anarchy,
or a resort to tyranny as a refuge, are sure to follow as the

1 Italian Schools, n, 509.

204 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
certain and inevitable harvest. From this the old Teu
tonic types could claim no exemption, and accordingly the
histories of Cologne, Augsburg, Antwerp, and Brussels fol- ,
low in the wake of Florence, Sienna, Milan and Venice.
The influence of Roman art long lingered in central
Europe, and classic forms were rudely imitated. The
northern races had, at first, no other models, aside from
actual nature, than those of classic origin. But with
these they were never entirely satisfied. In the tenth and
eleventh centuries they broke away from them in their
architecture, shooting up their pointed Gothic in the place
of the old Roman basilicas. Its innumerable columns,
ample windows, and vaulted ceilings left less space for
wall painting than the churches of Italy. A few paintings
of the thirteenth century are still to be seen in the churches
of Germany, and also something is to be gathered from
the illuminations of manuscripts. The first out-croppings
of Teutonic art indicate a marked difference between it ahd
the Italian. The difference results from the different cha
racter of mind in each, and the tendencies to which each is
subject. While the Teutonic is subjective in its character,
the Italian is objective. While the former worships reason,
and is always ready to sacrifice fancy to truth, the latter
inclines to revel in the boundless field of the imagination.
The former is analytic in its action, the latter synthetic.
The former is practical, the latter theoretic ; the former
real, the latter ideal ; the former looks to earth with its
earthy atmosphere, the latter can accept no earthly model
until it haB been bathed in the hues of heaven. Conse
quently, the features of Teutonic art, which are the most
prominent, are great energy, individuality attained by strik
ing contrasts and exaggerated expression, human feelings
and emotions indicated by contorted action and violent ges
ticulation, vice displayed by hideous distortion and absurd
caricature, nature copied in her lowest and most vulgar
instead of her highest and best features. One very natural
result from this tendency, and this, disposition to break
away from classic forms and models, would be a love for

EUROPEAN ART. 205
landscape painting, and we accordingly find the German
schools in early pursuit of that as a separate branch of art.
This indicates a love of nature for itself, and hence pro
claims an innate purity in the German mind ; for vice, dis
ease, aud human deformities have nothing to do with the
beauties which God has given to the landscape.
It may well follow from what has been remarked that
the tendencies of the Teutonic mind were all naturalistic,
and that is another of its distinguishing features! It too
often fails to discover that there are degrees of beauty in
nature, and that the highest style of mind, in its works of
art, is best employed in selecting and combining such ob
jects and things as in its judgment are best calculated to
awake in the beholder a sense of the beautiful or sublime.
Instead of this, the Teutonic mind presents a precise tran
script of what actually exists in nature in the exact order
and arrangement of nature herself.
The first school north of the Alps, and worthy of notice
as presenting, the workings of the Teutonic mind, is the
school of Cologne on the Rhine, in the latter half of the
fourteenth century. This school stands in nearly the same
relation to Teutonic art as that of Giotto does to Italian.
Its chief characteristics are: correct design, frequently
evincing considerable knowledge of anatomy; drapery
flowing and dignified, free from the angularity of the later
German and Flemish painters. Expression at first rather
Byzantine,1 afterwards less so, the types of the male saints
being full of dignity and character, those of the female
sweet but exceedingly German, that of the Virgin being
nearest the ideal; the coloring rich and harmonious; linear
perspective adhered to ; serial little known. Its principal
painters were Meister Wilhelm and Meister Stephan. ¦
This brings us down to the fifteenth century, with the
commencement of which a new element in art, viz : a
strong feeling for nature, appears amongst the nations of
the German race. The school of Cologne had intimate

1 Lord Lindsay, in, 580.

206 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
relations with architecture and sculpture, being, like
that of Giotto, largely derived from the latter. The
old Flemish school of Van Eyck adopted strongly the
principle of Masaccio. The motto that has been ascribed
to it is : " Nature as she is, in all her beauty and all her
deformity, and farewell to the ideal." The two brothers,
Hubert and John Van Eyck, particularly the latter, exer
cised a mighty influence in the history of painting. They
discovered, or rather perfected, the art of painting in oil
colors, which gradually in Italy and all over Europe, took
the place of the fresco and the tempera modes of painting.
In the celebrated altar-piece, the Worship of the Lamb,
the joint work of the two brothers, are united all tiie
highest qualities of the first period of Teutonic art. But
the greatest work of the school is the Adoration of the
Lamb, in which the spiritual and conventional art of the
middle ages was probably carried to as high a degree of
perfection as the Teutonic artist was able to attain.
In this school, the Byzantine types and traditions were
almost wholly rejected. In its later period little sympathy
existed with Cologne, or sculptured art. The heads of its
saints are individual, truthful, vigorous; exhibiting little
variety of emotion, becoming at last, pure, unmitigated
Flemings. One great point of excellence consists in its
coloring and anticipations of still life. A vast improve
ment is made in lineal and serial perspective. Landscape
painting is made to glow with a reality hitherto unknown.
The eye is carried into distant space ; the world around us,
objects both near and distant, the green meadow, the trees
laden with fruit, the overhanging heavens, the graceful swell
of the mountain looming up in the distance, the dwellings"
of men, both their interior and exterior, the implements
and necessaries of life, are all reflected in the works of the
school. It was the first to express in art that quiet enjoy
ment of natural beauty out of doors,1 of which the Italians
seem far less susceptible than the Teutonic races. The

'Lord Lindsay, in, 305.

EUROPEAN ART. 207
latter are by far the most strongly impregnated with the
sentiment of individuality and of home. Again, the Teu
tonic mind is more strongly inclined to fix on points of
dissemblance rather than similarity ; l on things exceptional,
rather than those establishing the rule of nature. This
accounts for the reason why the Flemish and German
artists apparently delight to dwell on personal deformities ;
why, for instance, if a wrinkle or a wart happen to exist,
it is brought forward and assigned a prominent place
among the individual peculiarities.
Hans Meneling, who was removed a full generation from
the Van Eycks, carried the peculiar qualities of their
school to the highest perfection. In him there is a reaction
from the pure naturalistic. A strong feeling for beauty
and grace modified the realistic spirit, which worked with
out selection of types. His compositions are less conven
tional, the expression of his heads less vulgar, his delineation
of the human form less hard and dry, and his draperies
less angular and artificial in the folds. The features he
paints are less lovely but more earnest;2 the movements
are less soft, the handling sharper, with greater finish of
the detail. His grouping is symmetrical, and he confines
himself to the characters absolutely necessary. He excelled
in carrying miniature painting to a perfection that no
other artist had hitherto attained. He could represent upon
the very smallest scale, and with great truthfulness, events
of the greatest interest and variety.
The old Flemish school of the Van Eycks exerted a
powerful influence upon the art of painting, both in central
Europe and Italy. It was the greatest school north of the
Alps to which the fifteenth century gave birth. Near the
cloge of that century we must return to Germany to find
in the old city of Nuremburg a man destined to exert a
great influence in the world of art both as a painter and an
engraver. This was Albert Durer, born in 1471, and who
died in 1528. He is by some esteemed the father of pain t-

1 Lord Lindsay, m, 305, . ' German Flemish Schools, 84.

208 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
ing in Germany, and is admittedly the exponent of Teutonic
art during the first quarter of the sixteenth century. The
same period which in Italy witnessed the full blaze "of art
under the glowing pencils of Raphael, Michael Angeloj,'
Correggio, and Titian, in Germany was no less propitious
in ushering in Albert Durer to work out under German
skies the peculiar beauties of Teutonic art. What is the
law of progress in the development of Art ? Does its bistory
march onward in successive strides gradually and continuous
ly; or do great single pulsations, as if coming from another
sphere, occasionally from different points, scatter over our
world those sublime and splendid products of art, which the
men of all time may admire, which few of the men of any
time can reach, and which are the embodiments of a genius
that expired in the light of its own creation ? It would seem
as if the latter were the law of its development.
In Italy, art presents us with the most perfect forms of
beauty. But in Germany there seem to have been obsta
cles in the way of developing such forms. The subjects
upon which art must be exercised were not in all respects
the same. The land of the Teuton is not covered with the
bright skies of Italy. Its vales are dim with mists. For
almost half the year it wears its wintry shroud. Its land
scapes are more angular and broken. Its human forms
savor far. more of strength than of beauty. Existence is
there taxed with severer efforts for its own support. The
musings of its mind are far less upon the glories of the set-
ting sun than upon the labors which on the morrow must
earn its daily bread. Its thought is more profound than
sprightly, its vein more philosophic than ideal. Its tenden
cies are realistic from necessity rather than choice. It pos
sesses nobility of purpose, but lacks elevation in sentiment.
The rougher aspects of nature, the ruder forms of society,
the stronger demands upon living energies, leave less
time, opportunity or disposition to cultivate the ideal.
Its pleasures are more gross than refined. Its thought
penetrates so deep that it perceives everywhere mysteries,
which it is utterly unable to unravel. Its sympathies are

EUROPEAN ART. 209
with death, and with sorrow and suffering, rather than
pleasure and enjoyment, while those of the Italian art are
with life, and all that life brings in its train. Hence the
multitude of fancies and of fables that fed the old Teutonic
mind. Hence the fantastic ornaments in the architecture
of the middle ages, and in the illuminated borders of the
elder manuscripts. It is only where nature's types, spring
ing from fixed organic laws, are regarded and idealized,
and not where fancy is allowed to reign, that the sovereign
power of beauty can be fully manifested.
From these or other causes the fantastic betrays itself
early in the development of northern art,1 being the most
visible in subordinate parts, although occasionally in those
of higher pretensions. The strong realistic tendencies also
developed a coarseness and vulgarity in the types from
which were derived the models of Teutonic art. All these,
together with a feeling and love for the grotesque, weighed
heavy upon Teutonic art, and prevented its early rapid
development. Albert Durer marks a transition period from a lower to a
higher style. He was not only a contemporary with the
great Italian painters, but spent some years in Italy. His
genius was essentially German, and he was never able
wholly to divest himself of his Teutonic proclivities. He
had strong powers of conception by which he was enabled
to trace nature through all her finer shades, accompanied
with a lively sense as well for the solemn and sublime as
for the simple and tender. His invention was inexhausti
ble, and in the versatility of his genius he rivalled the
great Italian painters. His drawing is full of life and
character, with occasional strange attitudes. His coloring
has a peculiar brilliancy arising from a play of the fancy
indulging itself in light and splendor.
All are not agreed as to the principle upon which Albert
Durer proceeded. One says: "Albert saw nothing but
what was, and painted nothing but what he saw ; 2 nature

1 German, Flemish, and Butch Schools, 115. ' Lord Lindsay, m, 375.
vn] 27

210 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
was his model in all things, nature as developed at Nurem-
burg, in healthy, robust, substantial truth." Another
says, " even in the expression and form of the countenance,1
Durer follows a certain form, which cannot be called the
normal type of ideal beauty, nor even a faithful copy of
common life after the manner of his predecessors, but can
only be explained from his prevailing tendency towards
what is singular."
And, again, it is evident that at the time when Durer de
signedly entered upon the execution of individual minutiae,3
he did not strive to purify the earthly form of man from its
defects and accidents, but rather assigned a value of its
own to strict individuality of character, with all its narrow
ness and imperfection, that he sought to give it elevation
by a sort of miracle (for what else can we call the phantas
magoric play of his color) rather than to impart to it a
higher dignity by the instrinsic significance of its form."
This shows more clearly that he belonged to the transi
tion period, the period when Teutonic art had in part
emancipated itself, from the low, realistic, grotesque, fan
tastic, and mere common forms of nature and life, and
ascended into the higher, more select, artistically combined,
and idealized forms, which were issuing from the schools
of Raphael, Correggio, and Titian.
Albert Durer himself undoubtedly made a progress from
the lower to the higher. We have towards the last of his
life a confession " that the beauty of nature had not un
folded itself to him until a late period ; 3 that he had then
only learned that simplicity is the greatest charm of art;
that he sighed over the motley pictures of his early days,
and mourned that he could no longer hope to emulate the
great prototype, nature." He must, therefore, most cer
tainly have caught glimpses of what should be the highest
aim of art, viz: " the representation of the beautiful, whose
province is to disclose the one great mystery,4 and place

1 German, Flemish, etc., Schools, 119. "Idem, 135. 'Idem, 144. 'Idem,
118.

EUROPEAN ART. 211
before us the inward subject and the outward form as one
and indivisible."
The most celebrated works of Durer are the Trinity;
the Life of the Virgin, the Greater and Lesser Passion, Christ
taken from the Cross, the four Apostles, John, Peter, Mark
and Paul, beside many others. No painter seems to have
excelled him in concentrating thought, meaning and expres
sion in a subject. His works have been termed poems in
themselves. He possessed the power of conveying his
ideas in the most striking allegories, dressed up in the most
original and fanciful forms. For instance, that of the
Knight, Death, and the Devil, representing a solitary knight
riding, with stern resolve, through a dark glen, the rugged
valley of life, unmindful of the two horrible demons, death
and the devil, who are besetting him on either side, is the
most important work which the fantastic spirit of German
art has ever produced. Another allegorical painting, not
much less celebrated, is that termed Melancholy, in which
is a winged woman seated in the midst of the various in
ventions of man's skill, her head resting upon her hand, her
face the tablet of unutterable thoughts as she muses in
sadness upon the realities of life, and the insufficiency of
the human intellect to penetrate the hidden mysteries of
creation. It is thus that art may teach its lessons of duty,
and strike that mysterious net-work in the meshes of which
our being is involved.
Another painter of distinction in the school of upper
Germany was Hans Holbein, the younger, born at Augsburg
in 1498, who spent the earlier part of his life at Basle and
the latter part of it in London, where he died of the plague
in 1554. He has been termed the Leonardo da Vinci of
German painting, having carried the German branch of
Teutonic art almost to the highest perfection, developing
to the utmost its best qualities.
Holbein attained great excellence in portrait painting.
" Nothing," says Lord Lindsay,1 can surpass his portraits

'Lord Lindsay, in, 393.

212 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
in their peculiar style of truth, actual and unidealized;
his heads are life itself, but life in repose, as the originals
appeared when resting on the lowest step of their intellect
ual or moral ladder ; the eager eye, the speaking lip of
the great portrait painters of Italy, his contemporaries,
seldom or never animate them." "He proceeds," says
Schlegel, " on principles essentially different from those of
Titian.1 He aims not only at producing an impression
such as charms our senses, and at attaining an eflect in
itself strikingly great and forcible, but he endeavors to give
the truest, and most profound representation of character,
joined with the most perfect objective truth. Hence it is
that the position which he chooses is generally quite
straight and simple, and the background only a dark green
uniform surface ; whilst all the details of the dress are
executed with the greatest diligence and exactness."
Holbein was a little later than Durer, and is evidently
less purely German in his works. The influence of the
great Italian masters was beginning to be felt. He is not,
however, more than Durer, a copyist of German styles.
The influence is manifested by the infusing into the old
German feeling and style the utmost beauty of which they
were susceptible. This is the more specially made appa
rent in his celebrated picture of the Burgomaster of Basle
kneeling with his Family before the Virgin, which, while
intensely German, has still about it a softness and richness
which give it a high characteristic of purity and beauty ;
and yet when contrasted with the Madonna di S. Sisto, by
Raphael, in the same gallery of Dresden, the one appears
materialistic, as if bound to earth, and incapable of rising
above it ; while the other is spiritualistic, as if soaring on
high, and seeking to elevate the human form and sentiments
to the utmost limits of the imagination.
Holbein shows in his paintings a very intimate acquaint
ance with human passions and emotions, and a power of
representing them with great truth and fidelity. But he

1 German, Flemish and Dutch Schools, 193, note.

EUROPEAN ART. 213
had, to a larger extent than other German painters, pre
ceding or contemporary, a tendency to the objective
conception of nature, and to the delineation of it in repose
rather than in action. In him the coarse, fantastic or
grotesque phase of Teutonic genius is displayed not in
mere distortion, ugliness, and caricature, but in the most
profound satire and irony. This is the most fully deve
loped in his celebrated Dance of Death, in which the
enigmatical, the visionary, and the marvelous, are all kept
in subordination to a higher aim. Through the whole
composition, consisting of some forty prints, is carried a
most daring humor and cutting irony, death being made a
fantastic skeleton, and appearing in a great variety of gro
tesque forms, surprising his victims often in their very act of
sinning, always unexpected and unwelcome, except in the
case of the very old man in the last stage of senility,
who with -his bowed head and tottering step, leans confi-
, dingly upon his bony arm, attracted onward by his tinkling,
dulcimer towards an open grave into which the next step
will inevitably land him.
Contemporaneously with Durer and Holbein we meet in
Saxony with Lucas Cranach, born in 1472, and dying in
1553, whose long life marks also in his own experience a
transition from the German to the Italian style of art. " His
works," says Lord Lindsay, " are characterized by singularly
original, often profound thought,1 coupled with an almost
irresistible propensity to caricature ; the composition is
highly graphic, but sometimes confused; the expression
often very forcible, occasionally even dignified, but never
beautiful ; his design is, for the most part, careless and inac
curate, his coloring very pale, but still fresh and clear; in
a word, the thought and the purpose of his pictures far ex
ceed their technical merit. This applies to his works of
purely German character ; in others, he has adopted the
Italian manner, yet like a mask in the carnival to be donned
or doffed at pleasure." He also was a portrait painter

'Lord Lindsay, ill, 397.

214 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
of celebrity, and distinguished by his simple and faithful
adherence to the forms of nature.
His works are very numerous, but we only notice the
Font of Youth, at Berlin, a large basin fed from a mira
culous fountain, into which numbers of old women, the
ugliest of the ugly, having entered, are seen splashing
about, and gradually regaining youth and beauty as they
approach the opposite side, until having regained it, they
become young and beautiful, and join in the feast and
dance which is there awaiting them.1 This affords an ex
cellent opportunity, which is happily improved, of marking
the gradation from ugliness to what the artist conceived
the finest expression of beauty.
We have now reached the termination of the first cycle
in the history of Teutonic art. Its important mission was
to work out artistically the Teutonic character. The Ger
manic races possessed their own distinct features, which
were shadowed forth in their manners, customs, feeling,
thought and physiognomy. These it was the first business
of their art of portray, and the old German masters were
faithful to their trust. But their works, in some respects^
compared unfavorably with the more splendid productions
of the great Italian masters at the commencement of the
sixteenth century. This produced an endeavor on the part
of the German painters to reconcile the opposite principles
of the two developments of painting, which were founded
upon opposite national characteristics. A class of painters
arose seeking to unite the features most easily imitated or
caricatured in both forms of art, but who possessed none
of the highest qualities of either. This was the first step
downward. It was, of course, a failure, and, therefore, ne
cessarily required another course to be pursued.
This brings us to the second half of the sixteenth century,
when the influence of Italian art having superseded all
others, the German painters wholly abandoned the old

1 Lord Lindsay, in, 400.

.EUROPEAN ART. 215
German masters, and occupied themselves in imitating the
works of the Italian artist. It has been truly remarked
that " the Greeks and Egyptians, the Italians and Germans,
all became great in art while it was confined within severe
and well defined limits,1 and in all alike we may date their
decline from that high eminence at the period when indis
criminate imitations were first practiced. That painting
which can present an outline only of material forms, must
depend greatly on its power of seizing both the purely
spiritual and the individual expression of those forms, and
it should so employ the magic of coloring, as to embody
and retain the exact proportions and appropriate ideality of
each object, as existing in different nations and localities."
This imitation was first of the Roman and Florentine
schools in order to attain a more perfect development of
form. But however perfect the imitation the true spirit of
Italian art was not there. They could reach no further
than the imitation of external types. The living principle,
the source of all loftier beauty in the Italian masters, was
denied them. They could, and did, by mere imitation
attain to the ideal, but when they had reached and grasped
it, it had ceased to be the glorious ideal of the Italian artists,
but had hardened into a mere form without spirit, meaning
or inward life. One form of art peculiar to one race can
not be transplanted wholesale to another.
There was a revival of art during the first half of the
seventeenth century. This was in the schools of the
Netherlands and of Holland. It was not distinguished by
the attainment of perfection of form, or the highest kind
of feeling. It was rather characterized by its apprehension
of individual life in its singularities, interests, and passions ;
in the concernments of its daily life,2 in the expression of
a happy tone of mind, in the play of light and color, and
in a certain delicacy of execution which affords delight by

'Schlegel's ^Esthetic Works, 118. ' German, Flemish, and Dutch Schools,
221.

216 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
the brightness of its images. It was chiefly developed in
the experiences of three men, Rubens, Vandyke, and
Rembrandt. Peter Paul Rubens, the founder of the Brabant school,
was born in 1577, and died in 1640. He spent seven years
in Italy studying mostly the works of the Venetian masters.
He has been accounted the most artificial of all the great
painters, and the one who painted the most from his
imagination. His forms are not derived from the antique,
nor are they selected according to some universal and
arbirtary principle of beauty. They are those of a bold and
vigorous nature, in which the fullness of life that distin
guished that period is strongly and appropriately expressed?.
It is hence that his compositions exhibit great dramatic
power. His characters are not only expressed with pre
cision, but their gradations are accurately marked. Each
individual is original and independent.
Rubens has been called the Flemish Michael Angelo,
although no one claims that he has ever made any near
approach to the startling splendor of his genius. The
resemblance consists in his throwing off all conventional
trammels, and giving full play to a genius of singular
power and originality. He also shows a similar daring
conception, inexhaustible invention, and mastery over
technical difficulties. There is also in both the same ten
dency to exaggeration of form and idea, but the Fleming,
instead of exaggerating the loftiest form, resorts often to
the lowest, taking the most common and vulgar types
which were the readiest recipients of sensual elements and
animal passions. At the same time " he is always great
when decided action, energetic power,, or lively feeling
are to be expressed."
Again, it has been said that what Michael Angelo was
in form, Rubens was in color ; that he came to nature
and tinged her with his color, the color of gay magnifi
cence. He has not taken altogether the splendor of the
Venetian coloring, but a more blooming tone of com
plexion, arising from moister air and a colder climate. He

EUROPEAN ART. 217
has given to his flesh greater transparency and freshness
than any other painter. In his Peasant Family going to
Market, the figures have all the bloom of perfect health,
the very surrounding atmosphere appearing to strike sharp
and wholesome on the sense.
Rubens had another excellence. He is, par excellence,
the painter of motion. All his forms have ease, freedom,
and excessive elasticity. Everything that relates to the
expression of motion is given with great power and effect.
Rubens did not alone excel in historical painting in
which his great dramatic power came into special requisi
tion. He also excelled in landscape painting, which first
came into special notice about the beginning of the seven
teenth century. His vivid conception of life, and power
of seizing individual character, eminently fitted him for
this species of painting. His landscapes, however, are
generally Flemish in character, giving such general outlines
as are presented in the Low Countries. But there is in all
his landscapes " the same juiciness and freshness, the same
full luxuriant life, the same vigor and enthusiasm as in his
historical pictures."
The works of Rubens are surprisingly numerous, but,
very many of them, especially of his great works, were
painted by his scholars from small colored sketches by his
own hand. Among his most celebrated paintings are:
The Elevation of the Cross, the Descent from the Cross,
the Battle of the Amazons, the Conversion of St. Paul,
and Sampson betrayed by Delilah.
Anthony Vandyke was born in 1599, and died in 1641 .
He was the scholar of Rubens, and at first an imitator of
his style. After pursuing his studies in Italy he formed a
style of his own, exchanging the heavy forms of a ruder
nature for the more graceful figures and softer coloring of
the Italian masters, at the same time that he endeavored
to give the " expression of deeper feelings, of a more ten
der Jove, a more spiritualized sorrow, and a more touching
emotion." His subjects have generally a character of out
ward repose, and are confined within a narrow circle.
vn] 28

218 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
There is a class of pictures of his painting, the subjects and
composition bearing a close affinity to each other, in which
he has succeeded admirably in expressing the action of the
most profound sorrow that can overwhelm the soul. They
represent the body of Christ taken down from the cross, and
mourned by his followers. In his Holy Families, of which
he painted a number, we generally find a charming ex
pression of cheerfulness and soft repose.
- But it was as a portrait painter that Vandyke stands
unrivalled. " His portraits," says Hazlitt, " have a cool, re
freshing air about them, a look of simplicity and modesty
even in the very tone, which forms a fine contrast to the vo
luptuous glow and mellow golden lustre of those of Titian.
There is a quality of flesh color in Vandyke which is to be
found in no other painter, and which exactly conveys the
idea of the soft, smooth, sliding, continuous, delicately va
ried surface of the skin. The objects in his pictures have
the least possible difference in light and shade, and are pre
sented to the eye without passing through any indirect me
dium. It is this extreme purity and silvery clearness of
tone, together with the facility and precision of his particular
forms, and a certain air of fashionable elegance, character
istic of the age in which he flourished, that places Van
dyke in the first rank of portrait painters." His portraits,
although marked by perfect individuality,*' are nevertheless
regarded as historical works, recording the types of the
highest civilization and intellectual culture of his age.

The Holland School.
The Dutch school of painting, or school of Holland, was
ennobled by the appearance of Rembrandt in the second
quarter of the seventeenth century. Paul Rembrandt was
born in 1606, and died in 1664. He was the son of a miller,
born in his father's mill on the banks of the Rhine, was so
imperfectly educated as scarcely to be able to read, and in
the art to which he devoted himself is said to have been

EUROPEAN ART. 219
ignorant of the principles of perspective, and even of the
common rules of practice in painting. And yet he was a
man of singular genius and originality, standing in some
respects almost alone in art. There is certainly no painter
before or since with whom he can in all respects be com
pared. There are seeming contradictions in his character. He
loved the most finished and perfect works of art, and made
himself bankrupt in collecting them, and yet took a posi
tion in hostility to the study of the ideal, or of pure beauty
of form, rejecting every type of it, and choosing as his mo
dels objects of the most common and vulgar nature. He
gave to them, however, a certain ideal character, leaving
behind the suggestion that he may have cultivated ugliness
in his forms in order to show what obstacles he could over
come. His great aim was to transfer to the canvas the
character of his own mind with its dark feeling of dreamy
power and subdued passion ; and not, like other artists of
his time, represent on it the sublime repose which the con
templation of perfect beauty produces. His style through
out was, therefore, eminently subjective. He made use of
external nature, and ofteu the ugliest part of it, to proclaim
the tone and feeling of his own mind. Hence his figures
often appearing as singular and fabulous beings, yet with
their accessories always excite in us the peculiar tone of
mind aimed at by the artist, and which is generally of a
gloomy character. His pictures, although professedly from
t;he forms of common life, yet seize upon our inward feel
ings far more deeply than a mere imitation of nature could
possibly do. They touch a hidden cord that lies profoundly
deep in our common nature.
In contrasting Rembrandt with Rubens it has been said
that " if the latter represents exciting events in a tho
roughly dramatic form,1 the former generally portrays the
stillness of passion fermenting in concealment. If the
latter endeavors to delineate life objectively, with a full

1 German, Flemish and Dutch Schools, 251.

220 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
development of all the varied shades of character, it is the
subjective element, the expression of his own tone of mind,
which is the chief aim of the latter." While Vandyke
made use of the smallest contrasts of light and shade, and
painted as if in the open air, Rembrandt used the most
violent and abrupt contrasts, and painted as if in a dun
geon. Rembrandt produced results the most striking and
peculiar by means of his laying on of colors, and his dis
position of light and shade. The former he sometimes
drops in lumps upon the canvas, laying them on at times
with his fingers, and painting with the handle as well as
the point of his brush. Sometimes they are laid on as
smooth as glass. Masses of light and shade are so placed
in opposition as to produce a mysterious and solemn effect.
" Mystery and silence have been said to hang upon his
pencil." His pictures are "bright with excessive dark
ness." " He gives," says Kugler, " no sharply defined
forms, but merely indicates them with a bold and vigorous
brush; the principal points alone are made bright and
{prominent by striking lights, but/ at the same time the
ights reflected from them penetrate in a wonderful man
ner the surrounding darkness to which they thus give life
and warmth. There is something phantasmagoric in this
style, which reminds us of the predominant tendency of
northern art towards the close of the middle ages to the
marvelous and strange." l
Rembrandt excelled in historical, landscape, and portrait
painting. His peculiar style appears to most advantage
when the subject represented accords with his own gloomy
and powerful mind, as in the representation of the prince
Adolphus of Gueldres threatening his imprisoned father to
compel his abdication. So also Moses destroying the
Tables of the Law.
In some of his works the effect depends almost wholly
upon some fanciful burst of light appearing to strike on
'Hand Book, 251.

EUROPEAN ART. 221
the persons in the picture with a startling and stunning
power, hurrying the spectator with irresistible force into
the world of the marvelous and the romantic.1 Thus we
have as illustrations the Sacrifice of Abraham, and Tobit
and the Angel. In some others it is less this sudden effect
of light than a still, mysterious play of chiaroscuro, exciting
a peculiar dreamy tone of mind, as in the Two Monks
engaged in Study. His landscapes one can look at forever,
although there be nothing in them.
In the department of portrait painting he possessed pecu
liar excellence. He is known to have sketched the outlines
of his portraits with great rapidity, and afterwards to have
completed them with touches of such vigor, and laid on
his lights with such considerable substance, that he seemed
rather to model his figures than to paint them. One of
his heads is cited, as having the nose, a Dutch one, it is pre
sumed, almost as solid as it was in the living subject. In
his celebrated painting of Nicholas Tulp dissecting a dead
body in the presence of several hearers, the execution,
modeling, and truth of the portraits are admirable, and
the coloring and chiaroscuro of the dead body so perfect
that it has been said skillful physicians could, from the
appearances by that means presented, determine by what
desease the death had been produced.
Until near the middle of the seventeenth century, his
torical and portrait painting were the only branches of the
art that were much recognized. At this period of time
an outgrowth of the Flemish school cultivated genre paint
ing, that is, the representation of common life in its every
day relations,2 as opposed to religious or heroic subjects,
or to any others of an elevated character. There were
two classes of subjects. One sought to represent life
under the regulation of established customs and civilized
manners. The other exhibits its rude and vulgar side,
with the unchecked license of a free and unbridled humor.

'Handbook, 256. " Idem, 266.

222 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Among the most distinguished painters of the latter
class stands David Teniers, the younger, born in 1610,
dying in 1690. The subjects and scenes he excelled in
portraying were those of peasant life. He exhibits nothing
pastoral, but his peasants have the garb of every day life,
and even when occupied in the most common place employ
ments, have the expression of peculiar seriousness and
importance. They are the most commonly occupied in
smoking, card-playing, and beer drinking. His works
usually have but few figures, often exhibiting low tavern
scenes, in which the clowns, in their appropriate costumes,
are seen whiling away their time with cards, beer, and
tobacco, apparently content with such a routine of fife,
and asking nothing further of the world or of fortune.
Sir Joshua Reynolds characterizes his works as being
worthy the closest attention of the painter who desires to
excel in the mechanical knowledge of his art; that his
manner of touching, or what the painter calls handling,
has . perhaps never been ' equalled ; there being in his
pictures, that exact mixture of softness and sharpness,
which is difficult to execute. The peculiar merits of the
painter, so far as form, position, expression, and the out
flow of the internal life-principle is concerned, may be,
perhaps, as well displayed in paintings of this, as in those
of any other character.
Another painter, but belonging to the Dutch school, is
Adrian Van Ostade, born 1610, and dying in 1685, whs
also gave himself to genre painting, and stands second
amongst the painters of the low and humorous style.
His subjects are also taken from peasant life, but he ex
hibits more homeliness and less humor in his treatment
of them, than Teniers. He seems the most at home in
the representation of low public houses, in front of which,
under a ruined arbor, the peasants sit together enjoying
themselves in singing and playing the fiddle.
Another master in this species of painting is Jan Steen,
the jovial tavern keeper of Leyden, born 1636, dying in
1689. He was decidedly a genius, and kept a hotel for the

EUROPEAN ART. 223
fun of it, himself patronizing the bar fully as much as his
guests. He gives a cheerful view of common life, treating
it with a careless humor, as if the whole concern were a
laughable masquerade, or mere scene of perverse absurdity.
It is not so much the situation of his boors and drinking
parties that he depicts, as he does the action, together
with all the reciprocal relations and interests between the
characters, which spring from it. He gives great force
and variety of individual expression, evincing the closest
and the sharpest observation. He brings into full play all
the elements of comedy. Among his paintings, the Repre
sentation of Human Life, the Alchemist's Laboratory,
and the Physician visiting the Sick Lady, are very highly
esteemed. We have hitherto seen illustrations only of the rude and
vulgar side of genre painting. It now remains to give
one or two of the other class, in which a higher and more
regular style of life is made the subject of the painter.
This style finds a representative in Gerard Terburg, born
in 1608, and dying in 1681. His great merit, like that of
Van Steen, consisted " in accurately seizing the feeling of a
particular scene or action, and in discriminating with the
utmost nicety, the finer shades of individual character."
He has been called " the creator of conversation painting,
which may be said to bear the same relation to historical
painting on the one side, and to the buffooneries of Jan
Steen on the other, that genteel comedy bears respectively
to tragedy and to farce."
In Gerard Dow, born in 1613 and dying in 1680, is
another delightful instance of the genre species of painter of
the higher order. He rarely seeks, like Terburg, to awaken
interest by the traces of some passion hidden beneath the
surface. He delights most in subjects taken from the
circle of the family, in portraying the affectionate relations
of simple domestic life, and the peaceful intercourse of
quiet homes. The execution is neat and highly finished,
the accessories, as they perform so necessary a part in
domestic life, are handled with the same care as the

224 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
figures.1 They not only combine agreeably with the whole, '
but not unfrequently occupy a considerable portion of the
picture. He was formed in the school of Rembrandt, and
hence possessed a superior knowledge of light and shade,
and the power of producing harmonious effect by its proper
distribution. By means of it he very frequently renders
the comfort of domestic privacy more striking through the
twilight of evening or by candlelight.
There is also another species of painting in which the
Flemish and Dutch painters attained to considerable ex
cellence, viz : that of landscape painting. As this, however,
made so much larger attainments under the pencil of
Claude Lorraine, it is unnecessary here to enter into any
particulars relating to it. The tendency of the Dutch
painters to imitate with perfect truth to nature rendered
them very successful in portraying the landscape. But as
they exhibited on .canvas just as it appeared in nature,
neither selecting nor idealizing, they could, not attain the
highest order of excellence in that species of painting.
The same tendency to imitate also rendered them skillful
painters of flowers, fruit, animals, birds, and all those
things that usually come under the denomination of still
life. The German, Flemish, and Dutch, have exhibited little
originality, little skill in painting, little of the pulsation of
art-life for almost two centuries past. The great intellect
ual movement in Germany of the present oentury, which
has hitherto been manifested in philosophical speculation,
minute analysis, and broad generalization, may, and most
probably will sweep into the world of art, and commence
there a new cycle in its history, whose higher course, and
more comprehensive development, it will be for the future
to unfold. The elements of the Teutonic mind, the slow
ness and sureness of its march, the tendency that exists
towards the complete development of all it contains before

1 Handbook, 290.

EUROPEAN ART. 225
it closes any cycle in its progress, certainly promise much
in reference to the coming generations.

The Spanish School.
The Spanish peninsula has not been wholly unproduc
tive in the realm of art. Art was here characterized by
some peculiarities. It was grave and solemn. The work
ings of an ascetic spirit were plainly discernible. The pre
vailing tone was one of gloom and severity. Along with
this, however, are expressions of enthusiastic devotion, as
both sternness and enthusiasm- enter into the composition
of the Spanish character. The circumstances which formed
that character were peculiar. Of these the contests with
the Moors, and the establishment of the inquisition, were the
most important. The former developed sternness and
severity, with a dash of religious enthusiasm. The latter
exerted a constant and uniform pressure on all the means
Of developing and cultivating the human mind, or of im
parting its ideas and sentiments to others.
An illustration of both these is afforded in the precepts
prevailing as to the proper mode of painting the virgin.
Any approach towards nudity must be most carefully
guarded against. The representation of her sacred feet,
uncovered and naked, was forbidden by the holy inquisi
tion. Besides, they could prove that she was in the habit
of wearing shoes by " the much venerated relic of one of
them from her divine feet in the cathedral of Burgos."1
The coloring of the early Spanish schools was less bril
liant than that of the old German, but to compensate for
that there was about it a softness producing the effect of
a veil thrown over the picture, and giving a breadth of
coloring. Subsequently they adopted the warm coloring
of the Venetians, as being better adapted to the glowing
fancy of the Spaniard. But with all that brilliancy of sur-

1 Spanish, and French Schools, 14.
vu] 29

226 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
face the skin of the Spaniard seems reposing on an under
surface of an olive tint.
The Spanish schools went through the three usual phases
of progressive advancement, highest attainment, and
decline. Their culminating point was reached under Ve
lasquez and Murillo, about the middle of the seventeenth
century. It marked that period in Spanish history when
the peninsula was developing the most fully all its powers
and resources ; when, fresh from the conquest of the Moors,
it was carrying its arms and civilization into both hemi
spheres; and when the glories*of Italian art were kindling
all over Europe that love and passion for painting which
in Raphael and Michael Angelo had apparently reached
the summit of perfection. Under Charles V and Philip
n, the Spanish taste for painting was formed on Italian
models. Painters of some distinction as Morales, Becerra,
Campana, etc.,, flourished in Spain. Under Philip IH, ap
peared also able and powerful masters, as Pacheco, Roe-
las, Herrera the elder, who trained those of the succeeding
age. Then comes the great era of Spanish painting under
Philip IV. It was the era of Velasquez and Murillo, dur
ing the latter years of whom no school in Europe rivalled
that of Spain in portrait and historical painting.1 The
great painters of Italy had then passed away, and Rubens
and Vandyke had gone to their rest. It was left to Spain
to keep alive the fires of artistic genius.
There were three Spanish schools of painting viz, : Va-
lentia, Madrid, and Seville. Valentia was the first in point
of time, having for its founder Vincent Joanes who was
born in 1523 and died in 1579. He was a celebrated his
torical painter, confining his painting to historical subjects,
and chiefly for the embellishment of churches. His color
ing is in the taste of the Roman school,2 his draperies broad
and well cast, and his foreshortening excellent. He
always partook of the sacrament previously to commenc
ing his pictures.

1 Spanish and French Schools, 190. ' Spanish Painters, 1, 168, 169.

EUROPEAN ART. 227
It is, however, only when we come down to the com
mencement of the schools of Madrid and Seville; to the
seventeenth century, and near its middle ; to the master
works of Velasquez, Murillo, and Ribera ; that we reach
the golden age of Spanish painting ; the age in which the
peculiar genius of the Spanish people broke through all
restraint, and became embodied in the executed conceptions
of the great painters. Then it was that everything is made
to bespeak a grand and solemn nation ; x the dignified out
lines, the monastic saints, the melancholy beauties, the
proud forms of the men, the stern severity, the dark and
vigorous chiaroscuro, all breathing the sad and solemn
legends of history.
Velasquez De Silva, the founder of the school of Madrid,
was born in Seville in 1594. In order the more completely
to be able to command the expression of the countenance
at all times, he resorted to the singular expedient of transr
ferring from the field to his studio a peasant boy, whose
extremely flexible features he could always control ; 2 and >
who was ever ready to put on a grin, and lengthen it too,
to assist, his delineation of a mirthful countenance, or to
. assume a lachrymal expression when a bawling youngster
was about to be represented. By this, and other expedi
ents, he acquired great power in delineating with truth
and accuracy the force and variety of human expression.
In 1623, he went to Madrid, where, becoming the favorite
of the king, Philip IV, he experienced, until the time of
his death, a series of successes, such as seldom fall to the ,
lot of the most favored mortals. In 1629, he was per
mitted to visit Italy, and to spend a year and an half in
studying and copying there the works of the great masters.
In 1648, he made a second visit, at this time more especi
ally with the view of collecting for his sovereign a large
number of curious works of art for the new academy of
fine arts just commencing at Madrid. He also enjoyed
the personal friendship and intimacy of Rubens.

¦orn, n, 117. ^Spanish Painters, n, 234.

228 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
With such rare facilities for developing so rare a genius,
the greatest expectations may well be formed. Nor were
these disappointed. Madrid, the home of the great Anda-
lusian, permits him to be studied " in all his Protean
variety of power." He was great, although not equally so
in portraits, history, genre, and landscape. His style is
marked by correctness, ingenuity, facility, and truth. He
maintained that the superstructure of his art must be in
strength supplied by the study of nature, and that secured,
learning and refinements would rise more fitly from the
basis. He had a profound knowledge of the antique,
which did not destroy, but rather assisted his designs from
nature.1 While in color he could not reach the great
Venetian, Titian, yet he even exceeded him in communi
cating an elastic airiness to the atmosphere of his picture,
which places him on a level with Rubens himself in that
magic point of art. He is also ranked as superior to Titian
in the knowledge of light and shade, as also in serial per
spective. He is also claimed to have equalled, if not actually ex
celled, Titian in portrait painting. His figures have even
greater reality than most of the portraits executed either
J)y Titian or Vandyke, although inferior to the former
in color, and to the latter in elegance. There is nothing
conventional about his portraits. Every touch has mean
ing, and the effect of the whole is that of nature seen
through the clearest medium, all being handled in such a
manner as to make a perfect work of art. The feeling and
spirit of his subject are admirably conceived and perfectly
expressed. Even the heavy, stupid look of the Austrian
race is made consistent with dignity or softened by treat
ment in the picture. So admirable was the resemblance,
that when he painted the Spanish Admiral Paresa, the
king, it is said, addressed the picture with : " Why, ad
miral ! I thought you had sailed." He often made use of
long handled brushes, thus calculating practically the

i%h Painters, n, 261.

EUROPEAN ART. 229
result of distance. There is much resemblance between
him and the works of some of the chiefs of the English
school ; * but the difference has been said to be, that he
does at once what they do by repeated touches.
Velasquez is the only Spanish painter who seems to have
made an attempt in landscape, which he modeled upon
Titian, and appears to have combined the breadth and pic
turesque effect for which Claude and Salvator Rosa, who
came after him, are remarkable. Besides nearly fifty por
traits still remaining, his most celebrated paintings are the
Crucifixion, St. Paul the Hermit, and St. Anthony fed by
a Raven in the Desert, the Surrender of Breda, las Meninas
and the Bebedores, or Drinkers.
The head of the school of Seville was the celebrated
Bartolomede Murillo, born in 1618 in obscurity, and who
by theforce of his own genius and indomitable perseverance
achieved a high position in historical, portrait, and still
life painting in oil and fresco. He began to sketch even in
childhood, and at the very outset with him, invention and
connection were marked features. The return of Pedro
de Moya to Seville, who imported from England the good
taste and fine coloring of Vandyke, awakened in Murillo
the consciousness of his own powers, and was thus made
the turning point in his life. He visited Madrid, was kindly
received by Velasquez, and spent there three years in study
ing and copying the works of the great Italian and Flemish
masters, particularly of Titian, Paul Veronese, Rubens and
Vandyke, which were to be found in the capital, and at
the Escurial. He returned to Seville in 1645 ready for
the execution of great works. Velasquez appeared to feel
the most at home while delineating the scenes of ordinary
life ; but Murillo, with a gifted and brilliant imagination,
and a tender and delicate sentiment, had a strong taste
for sacred subjects. His art broke through the common
rules of nature in . order to throw itself with less encum
brances into the ideal world. He was thus enabled to

1 Spanish and French Schools, 155.

230 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
give an inspired expression to his Virgins, and supernatural
and divine character to his Christs and St Johns, not to be .
found in any other painter. He spent three entire years
in the Capuchin convent, which, by his twenty-five pictures,
he rendered one of the richest and most interesting of
monastic establishments. His style of color was always
charming and progressing in beauty, but in 1655 it was
marked by its third change, which brought together deli
cacy, sweetness, richness, brilliancy, force of effect, and
perfect harmony. But the period of his finest manner
Of painting, during which he was the most prolific, and
which forms, in fact, the most glorious epoch of his life,
was from 1670 to 1680, when he was approaching and ex
ceeded sixty years of age. He died in 1682, in consequence
of an injury he received from the accidental falling of a
scaffold upon which he was painting the Marriage of St.
Catharine. " The unsullied tissue of his life, " says his bio
grapher, "has only presented a web clear of infirmity of
disposition and character, while the unrolling of his genius
constantly dazzled in proportion as it was revealed. He
could never be without force in design, he never could be
opaque in his coloring,1 he never could execute without
freedom, for all these characteristics of his talent were
allied to his performances from the earliest period of his
practice, although not brought to bear in one point of per
fection, as in after years." r
Murillo's style happily combines softness and vigor with
the finest coloring. In his heavenly figures, more particu
larly, there is " a lightness and clearness, which produce's
the effect of a texture wholly different from that of the
earthly personages, and the contrast often gives additional
value to each separate portion of the same picture." Thus'
the kneeling saint, or crowd in the foreground, is found
contrasted with the glorified beings above hovering in a
sort of halo of misty light. In the execution of his pictures
he made the cold grey tones of his backgrounds serve to

' Spanish Painters, 267, 269.

EUROPEAN ART. 231
bring out and give full value to the mellow color of his
principal figures, and in the painting of flesh as such he
never was excelled. As a colorist he occupies a higher
position than Velasquez, excelling more especially in his
flesh coloring, as he appears there, like Rembrandt, to aim
at the general character of flesh when tinged with the
glow of the sun. Like that of Titian and Correggio his
color is not minute ,and particular, but, a general, and
poetical recollection of nature. It is cited as not a little
singular, and as evidencing the individuality that runs
through the being of the painter, that the two great artists,
Velasquez and Murillo, both lived in the same time, in the
same school, painted from the same people, and of the
same age, and yet formed two styles of painting so different
and Opposite, that the most unlearned can scarcely mistake
them, the former being all sparkle and vivacity, and the
latter all softness.
The Murillos, or paintings of Murillo, are numerous,
and of great value. Of these we can only mention Moses
striking the Rock, which is admirable for its composition ;
for " whilst the dark mass of the rock and Moses standing
beside it, form a sort of focus, the groups to the right and
left make up the whole, and, by their details, tell the
story of previous suffering, and miraculous relief, with
the greatest truth and feeling," In the Conception, the
bright glow of light shed around the virgin, and poured
full, as it were, from the higher regions of heaven by the
angels, is admirable. Others are the Loaves and Fishes,
the Prodigal Son, the Beggar Boy, and the Flower Girl.
Contemporary with Velasquez and Murillo was another
great Spanish painter, although his art-life was spent in
Naples. That was Jose Ribera, surnamed Lo Spagnoletto,
or the Spaniard. He was born near Valentia in 1588, was
of noble descent but poor; went early to Italy, where he
became while young so thoroughly impregnated with the
spirit and principles ofthe terrible Caravaggio as to influence
in the most sensible manner his whole after life. He after
wards studied the paintings of Correggio, and for a time

232 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
their influence was perceptible in softening the harshness
he had acquired from Caravaggio. In his celebrated
Descent from the Cross, he has, with exquisite feeling,
mingled the softness and suavity of Correggio with his own
severer methods, and thus placed the picture among the
master-pieces of the world.
One of his chief sources of excellence, as well as means
of originating conceptions of horror, was his profound
knowledge of anatomical structure. He was enabled by
means of it to make his representations so true to nature
as to remain unsurpassed by the greatest Italian masters.
His executions of criminals, and his martyrdoms of saints,
the terrible variety of contortions arising from various
modes of torture, are all rendered by him with sueh faith
fulness and accuracy as to be truly dreadful. His works
are very numerous, scarcely a cathedral or great church
of Spain is without specimens by this truly great master.
Other Spanish painters followed in the footsteps of these
great masters, but none acquired a celebrity sufficient to
entitle them to consideration here.

The French School.
In France there has never prevailed any very clear, distinct
characteristics of a national style of painting. Great Freneh
painters have arisen, academies been formed, government
patronage afforded, but the influence exerted by Italy on
the one side, and Flanders on the other, has prevented the
formation of any French style of painting. It has been
rather a cross between the two, uniting, to some extent, the
excellencies of both, but inferior to either in originality.
One very natural consequence has been that taste, as re*-
spects painting, has been in that country extremely fluc
tuating. The Flemings have always exceeded the French in the
life, truth, and variety derived from nature, but were un
equal to the latter in their style of arrangment and flow of

EUROPEAN ART. 233
outline, and also in drapery and ornament,1 although in the
latter they were exceeded by the Italians, whom in turn
they surpassed in the application of perspective to repre
sent space whether in architecture or landscape.
The pictures of the French painters have been modeled
the most upon the style of the Italian. The style of the
latter had arrived at great perfection ere the former could
be said to have attained even the elements of a correct taste ;
and when art is thus borrowed in a state of forwardness it
can receive no new or valuable modifications from hands
and fancy unskillful and unpracticed. This art in France
has been subject to fluctuations arising from the influence
which favorite masters have been able to exercise over the
art in that country. Another influence which has been
quite controlling in the history of French art is the bestow-
ment of court patronage upon particular painters. This
resulted not merely in patronizing and encouraging parti
cular painters, but also in giving currency to the styles of
art they adopted; thus rendering the court, and not a
refined taste, the arbiter of painting. Thus the French
painter has never 'looked for encouragement to sympathy
from his countrymen, but to the patronage of the great, and
this has been extended to him because of its contributing
to amusement and luxury, and also to the pomp, splendor,
and show of le grand nation. Hence the total absence of all
true national interest, and the conversion of even the
painter's art into a court engine. This more especially ap
plies to that period of time included within the reigns of
Louis X l IT, XIV, and XV. Of these three reigns the cul
minating point of court influence was reached during that of
the second one mentioned, in which this most splendid of the
arts was converted into a vehicle of adulation, through ful
some and direct flattery, or glaring and far-fetched allegory.
The first French monarch who could be really said to
have a taste for the fine arts was Francis I, and with him,
therefore, . properly commences the history of French

1 Spanish and French Schools, 223.
vn] 30

234 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
painting. This was during the first half of the sixteenth
century. His patronage was bestowed upon Italian
painters, by whom the school of Fontainebleau was esta
blished, all the frescoes of which have been either ruined
by the wars or otherwise destroyed.
Jean Cousin, a native artist, born at Soucy, near Sens,
and flourished under Henry H, Henry IH, and Charles
IX, is called by some the founder of the French school.
His principal work, the Last Judgment, is now in the
Louvre. Francois Clouet, surnamed Janet, who worked between
1540 and 1560, somewhat resembled Holbein, or the
Flemish masters, in the conception of his portraits, but is
not equal to either in the treatment of the flesh.
Another, accounted by some the founder of the French
school, is Simon Vouet, born at Paris in 1582, and dying
in 1648. His tendency was naturalistic ; he was influenced
both by Caravaggio and Guido. He was also celebrated
for his profound knowledge of the science of reflexes, in
which he has not only surpassed all the French,1 but all
the Italians also. His naturalistic tendencies gave to his
pictures much the appearance of living nature.
The great period of French art, or rather of the art of
painting as practiced by Frenchmen, lies in the last half of
the seventeenth century, in the reign of Louis XTV. Dur
ing this period flourished four celebrated French painters,
viz : Nicholas Poussin from 1594 to 1665 ; Claude Lorraine,
from 1600 to 1688; Charles Lebrun, from 1619 to 1695,
Eustache Lesueur from 1627 to 1655.
The first, Nicholas Poussin, was by birth a Frenchman, but
his residence was Rome, and his style of painting belonged
to the Roman school. His constant residence at Rome led
him to converse more with antiquity than with living men.
Hence his style was formed mainly on the antique. So
thorough was his devotion to it, that he might be said to
live out of his own age, and hence to lack some things which

orn, n, 120.

EUROPEAN ART. 235
his successors might wish he had possessed. Drinking in,
as he did, the character and tone of the antique, the cha
racteristics of his works are extreme correctness of form
and costume, great propriety in keeping, and the most
enchanting simplicity of design. These he derived from
his profound knowledge of ancient sculpture. "He
painted," as Fuseli says, " in basso-relievo." But while he
thus drew largely upon one of the great sources of ex
cellence, the antique, he was led to the neglect of another
which to the painter was the more important of the two,
viz : nature. Hence he appears cold and formal in his
ordinary works, as if he was in actual fear of making
a nearer approach to humanity than is done by marble.
His faces want natural expression, and his figures, grace.
His coloring is cold and sombre. There is the absence of
that life which in nature breathes through every figure.
His landscapes he probably took from nature, and these
are accounted superior as paintings to his historical pieces.
One of the finest of these is his painting of the deluge.
The sun is barely seen wan and drooping in his course.
The sky appears overborne with the weight of waters, and
the heavens and earth seem mingling together. So also
he excels in the back-grounds of his historical composi
tions. In the Plague of Athens "the very buildings
themselves seem stiff with horror."
But in the choice of his subjects, and the manner of re
presenting its incidents, Poussin has few equals. There is
also always " a most charming harmony of thought, the
scene, the figures, the handling, even the forms of inani
mate objects in his landscapes, all have an antique air,
transporting the imagination into an ideal world."
Claude Gelee, better known as Claude Lorraine from his
native province, was another instance of a Frenchman
born, and an Italian painter. The sources whence he
drew his inspiration were directly the reverse of those of
Poussin. They were nature as displayed in the landscape.
The peculiar mission was to exhibit on canvas the beauties
presented by nature in her landscape glories. For this

236 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION. '
purpose the skies of Italy offered their wealth of glowing
beauty. He was a great master -of atmospheric effects,
and in the sunny scenes of Italy obtained an accurate
knowledge of the phenomena of light. He affords an
instance of a self-taught genius, and to him landscape
painting mainly owes its interest and its loveliness _as~ a
separate and dignified branch of art.1 His actual forms are
derived from Italian nature. The flow of his lines is clear
and harmonious. The eye of the observer ranges un
checked over outspread plains, often bounded by the sea.
He understood well the effect of air, and the brilliant and
vivid workings of light. In its sweetest, most varied, and
most brilliant effects, " from the first blush of day to the
fall of dewy eve, he is unrivalled.2 The serial. perspective,
and the liquid softness of the tones, in his pictures, the
leafing, forms, and branching of the trees, the light flick
ering clouds, the transparency of hue, the retiring dis
tances, all make as near an approach to nature as it is
possible for art to accomplish."
Under the magical effects wrought by his pencil " the
quivering of the foliage, the silent Sweep of light clouds
across the clear sky, the ripple of the lake or the brook,3
the play of the waves of the sea, the pure breezes of morn
ing, the soft mists of evening, and the glistening dew upon
the grass, are all truth itself, and all seem instinct with
joyous life. A soft vapor separates one distance from
another, and allows the eye to wander into boundless space,
only to be recalled by the warmth and richness of the
foreground. Light pervades the whole, and every object
breathes a blessed serenity and repose. He paints the
'forms of earth indeed, but veils them in an ethereal dra
pery, such as is only at moments visible to our eyes ; he
paints that worship of the Creator which nature solemnizes,
and in which man and all his works are only included as
accessories."

'Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 197. 'Idem, 197, 198. "Ger
man, Flemish and Dutch Schools, 316.

EUROPEAN ART. 237
One objection has been made to the representations of
Claude, which, as far as it goes, destroys the natural effect
of the constituent features of his pictures,1 and that is, that
they are too frequently compositions, or what are termed,
heroic landscape. This, in one view, heightens the charm,
as it adds to the powers of the imagination. But, on
the other hand, it detracts from the still deeper interests of,
reality. Charles Lebrun was an artist eminently fitted for the
age and character of Louis XIV. He was made the court
painter, and was largely imbued with the spirit of his mas
ter. Critics are not entirely agreed as to the merits ot
this painter. By French writers, his compositions are
termed grand and rich, exhibiting a full knowledge of the
art;2 his heads sublime in expression; his attitudes im
posing; his drawing full of vigor; his proportions rather
short, and his doloring powerful. By others, the qualities of
his paintings are deemed to bear the same relation to true and
simple grandeur in art,3 as his great master, Louis XIV,
when he made war in his coach and six, bore as a general to
Julius Caesar. They claim that all is ostentation and strug
gle for effect, joined with considerable technical excellence,
and little genuine feeling. That the scale of his pictures
is gigantic, and the impression produced by them, much
like that of a scene at the opera. This, however, applies
more particularly to his great series of historical pictures,
such as his History of Alexander. Those of less preten
sion, as the Stoning of Stephen, and the Magdalen, have
much to recommend them.
Eustache Lesueur was one of the glories of the reign of
Louis XIV. He was a native Frenchman, and was never
out of France. He exhibits a fine genius in composition ,
design, and expression, but in his earlier pictures his
coloring is hard and crude and his chiaroscuro defective.
But some of his finished works, such as the Preaching of

'Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 198. ' Painting and Celebrated
Painters, n, 251. s Spanish and French Schools, 274. *

238 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
St. Paul, and the Descent from the Cross, are deemed as
perfect in color as in design. His greatest work consists
of a series of paintings, twenty-two in number, representing
the different events in the life of St. Bruno. In this he
has shown that he well understood the heart and the mind
of the cenobite. He has transferred to canvas the touching
melancholy of a life of contemplation. His attitudes, his
gestures, the pose of his heads, express the inmost thoughts
and feelings of the saint.1 His forms, outlines and draperies
are of wonderful truth and effect, while his personages are
represented as they really were in their retired seclusion.
The passions in these men seem to have died out ; they-
have surrendered their own will to that of heaven, and
hardly indicate, by their appearance, that they belong to
this world.
The art of painting is never stationary. Having reached
its highest point of attainment in France under Louis XIV,
it commenced declining under his successor, the corrup
tion in taste and morals having become simultaneous.
The.fi.ne arts cannot avoid sympathizing with the character
of the times in which they are cultivated. As morals be
came more and more corrupt, these arts became more and
more degenerated. Paintings ceased to be ordered except
for the boudoirs of court ladies. The modest graces,
finding no admirers, went off into retiracy. Painting must
become essentially sensualistic in its character in order to
meet the demands of a materialistic age and people.
There was a point beyond which social, political, and
moral degradation could not be carried without invoking
the horrors of revolution. That point having been
reached and passed in France, the revolution came. But
it was not confined to politics. It pervaded also the realm
of art. It culminated in the school of David.
David, the founder and representative of the new French
school, was born in 1750, and lived until 1825. He de
voted himself at Rome to the study of design and the
'Painting and Celebrated Pointers, n, 282.

EUROPEAN ART. 239
antique, and forsaking the conventional feebleness and
false glare of his contemporaries, became the restorer of
art. That restoration, however, was limited to form. By
the careful study of antique sculpture, he rendered his
drawing correct, and his style of design noble ; but the
whole was cold and devoid of feeling. French art, how
ever, not only was wanting in correct form, but also in
simple and natural expression. The most profound study
of statuary could give no aid to painting beyond form and
proportion. Expression, action, composition, coloring,
must come from nature. Here David failed. His pictures
are numerous, and some of them celebrated. Among
these are his Coronation, his' Leonidas, his Brutus, his
Sabine Women, etc. But in reference to all his works it
has been said that " in him, as in other French artists, we
meet the rigid adherence to the antique, and to certain
fixed rules, framed as if to compensate by their inflexible
character, for the theatrical exaggeration of expression and
passion. The personages in David's pictures, are like
models in a studio. They convey no impression of reality.
There is no genuine life or movement in them. They
stand in positions like the Horatii, or sit like Leonidas, as
if they knew all the world were looking at them. The
color is disagreeable, and there is a total want of trans
parency, or of true feeling, for the effect of chiaroscuro,
and yet one cannot but admire the qualities which David
introduces into art. Admirable drawing, and great beauty
of form, characterize his productions. The flutter and
tawdiness of the artists of Louis XV, is succeeded by a
severity and simplicity, which, though not free from affec
tation, and thoroughly French in its character, is yet full
of power and truth of a certain kind."
The school of David having fallen into the wane, has
been succeeded by a revival in the various branches of
art. Among the most distinguished French painters of
the present century are Vernet, Delaroche, Ingres, Prud-
hon, Delacroix, Ary Scheffer, Couder, Dupres, Decamps,
and Ziegler.

240 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.

The English School.

The cultivation of the art of painting in England is com
paratively of recent origin. Whatever there was of it
during the middle ages was dedicated to the service of re
ligion. The destructive civil wars so long waged between
the houses of York and Lancaster had left little time or
inclination to cultivate any other art than that of war. On
the accession of the house of Tudor near the close of the
fifteenth century, the state of exhaustion was so great that
all the energies of the people, were necessarily employed
in efforts to improve their physical condition. Henry
V1LL, the second in the Tudor line, in breaking away from
the Romish church, destroyed the influence of that faith
which had both furnished the subjects of the painter's
pencil, and then by rewarding his labors, afforded him the
proper encouragement in the use of it. England thus
became divorced from Italy, and that at a period when
Italian art was occupying its highest place of power and
influence. The persecutions of Mary, and the strong deve
lopment of the industrial element under Elizabeth, left little
time and inclination to cultivate the arts. Charles I, the
second of the Stuart line, in the first half of the seventeenth
century, was possessed of an excellent taste, and was col
lecting the works of the great masters, and affording en
couragement to artists, when his head fell under the axe
of the executioner, and the reign of the puritans banished
the arts and elegances of life, lest they should interfere with
its sterner duties. The restoration brought back with it
only the elegances that could corrupt, and towards the
latter part of the seventeenth century another revolution
changed the order of succession, and carried to still higher
perfection the English constitution. The English mind,
down to a comparatively late period, had other occupations
than the fine arts. The government element largely oc
cupied its attention in the perfecting that system of checks
and balances which together compose the English constitu-

EUROPEAN ART. 241
tion. The industrial element also asserted its claim, and
the creation, diffusion, and accumulation of wealth drew
largely upon all the disposable forces of England's intellect.
And then the Baconian philosophy led to the investigation
of physical science, and the sublime mysteries unveiled by
the genius of Newton, gave an especial bias to men's
minds, causing them to view with indifference those artistic
pursuits which adminster rather to the amenities than the
utilities of life, and are regarded rather as society's orna
ments than as essentially contributing to its progress. Thus
it came to be late before native artists arose who were
capable of acquiring much distinction.
Hogarth was the first native artist whose fame extended
beyond the limits of England. His life and labors occupy
the first half of the eighteenth century. In comic and
caricature he is the greatest painter of any age or country.
His paintings are powerful moral satires, presenting vice
and folly in the most ludicrous points of view. His aim
is to show vice her own feature ; scorn, her image. With
a great knowledge of human life and manners, he possessed
great skill in arranging his materials, and, by a masterly
execution, seemed to embody and render tangible the very
thoughts and passing movements of the mind. In masterly
delineation of character, in fertility of incident, in genuine
wit and humor, in life and motion, in everlasting variety
„and originality, his pictures have never yet been surpassed.
His humorous satire struck equally at high and low life,
ahd his Harlot's Progress, and Rake's Progress, and Mar
riage a la Mode presented so many moral lessons whose
effect for two centuries has continued almost unabated. He
stands alone as an artist, having had neither predecessors,
rivals, nor successors.
The first English school of painting owes its existence
to Sir Joshua Reynolds. He was born in 1723, and besides
his numerous portraits, of historical and poetic subjects he
painted upwards of oue hundred and thirty. Through the
kindness of a friend he was enabled to visit Italy, and
spend some time at Rome. He says " I viewed the pictures
vn] 31

242 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of Raphael again and again. I even affected to feel their
merit, and to admire them more than I really did. In a
short time a new taste and new perceptions began to dawn
upon me, and I was convinced that I had originally formed
a false opinion of fne perfection of art ; and since that
time, having frequently resolved the subject in my mind, I
am of opinion, that a relish for the higher excellencies of
the art, is an acquired taste, which no man ever possessed
without long cultivation, great labor and attention."
The splendid display made by the great master-pieces he
beheld at Rome induced him to aim at the great style of
art as exemplified in the works of Raphael and Michael
Angelo. Unfortunately the theory he formed for that pur
pose does not seem very satisfactory. " The great style in
art " says he, " and the most perfect imitation of nature,
consists in avoiding the details and peculiarities of parti
cular objects ;"x and again : " The perfection of portrait paint
ing consists in giving the general idea or character, without
individual peculiarities." On the other hand it is asserted
by others that the excellence of art, and the most perfect
imitation of nature, do not consist in the avoiding of details^
but in the happy union of detail and of individual resem
blance with greatness and breadth of general power ;2 that to
avoid details is to rest contented with an inferior aim in art ;
to avoid, in fact, the chief difficulty and the chief glory
that mark the career of the artist. It is claimed that it is,
individual peculiarities that give force by the addition of
individuality to the general resemblance.
Sir Joshua's principal excellence lay in portrait painting.
There he exhibited graceful composition and breadth of
light and shade, combined with a rich and mellow tone of
coloring. The principal object in the~school he originated
was effect, and this naturally led to the rejection of all
minute and elaborate modeling. Carrying out his general
theory, his principle in portrait painting was that likeness
and individual character depended more upon the " general

1 Sculpture, Painting, and Architectwre, 223. " Idem, 226.

EUROPEAN ART. 243
effect " than upon the " exact expression of the peculiarities
or minute discrimination of the parts." In the following
out of this principle it has been remarked that the " striving
at some delusive, some shadowy excellence of general
expression, instead of representing the air and character
exactly as in the countenance of the sitter, has greatly de
preciated the intellectual qualities of British art." That
"His florid unfinish, and his undefined forms, not only long
characterized painting in England, but became the princi
pal goal of the painters, and the general standard of ex
cellence." Sir Joshua's greatest successes in portrait painting were
achieved in defiance' of his system. Such were the por
traits of his intimate friends, as Dr. Johnson, Goldsmith,
John Hunter, and Bishop Newton. It was in these men
whose habits of thought and action were pressed upon him
by constant observance, that he sunk his system into the
subject before him, and became a perfect painter, as all
others must, by resigning himself to nature.
Contemporary with Sir Joshua Reynolds, were Romney
and Opie ; the former an original, and, to a great degree,
self-taught artist. His style of design is simple, his color
ing warm and rich, but in his affectation of breadth he
often neglects form, and attempts a too vague generaliz
ation of sentiment. His want of early culture led to
something defective in his general management, rendering"
the whole somewhat imperfect. He was, however, a
rival of Reynolds in portraiture, and quite a successful
one too.
The great attention paid in England to portrait painting
has somewhat cast into the shade the historical, although"
the latter had an earlier development than the former.
The first great historical English painter was Hogarth,
whose great merit consisted in the delineation of manners,
in the correct expression of sentiment, and in striking
representation of natural character. He has also extended
the bounds of the art in the close alliance he has succeeded
in forming between the imagination and the heart; be-

244 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
tween amusing of the external sense, and the profound
reflections awakened by it. His pictures are less passing
scenes, or momentary actions, than profound moral lessons.
Much has been claimed for Sir Joshua Reynolds, as an
English historical painter. He exerted great influence on
historical as well as portrait painting; but his example
has, on the whole, retarded the advancement of its study.
In summing up his merits it has been said,1 that " he owed
more to taste and application, than to genius; more to
incessant practice than to science. He derived all from his
predecessors which he has bequeathed to posterity ; but if,
in making the transmission, he added no new nor essential
principle of imitation or invention, he established, in high
practical excellence, the arts of his country."
Another historical painter of distinction- was James
Barry, born at Cork, Ireland, in 1741. In his character,
a great rudeness of exterior was united with a moral
grandeur of unshaken resolve, of enduring enthusiasm,
and of stern and uncompromising self-denial. With only
sixteen shillings in his pocket, he undertook, without
remuneration, and alone, to perform one of the greatest
works which had been attempted within two centuries.
This he accomplished within six years. It was a series of
six pictures, of the size of life, representing the progress
of civilization, commencing with man in a savage state,
and terminating with Elysium. It was painted for the
hall of the Society of Arts. Through the friendship of
Edmund Burke he had been enabled to visit Rome, and
his fancy ever after seems to have revelled amid the beau
ties of the antique. So strong were his proclivities for
the classic, that his pictures were mostly representations
of classic subjects. Thus we have his Pandora, Birth of
Venus, Philoctetus in LemnOs, Jupiter and Juno, and
others. These subjects had worked out all. they were
designed to accomplish in the Grecian and Roman mind,
and hence excited less attention and interest in modern

1 Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 230.

EUROPEAN ART. 245
times. The artist who fails to reflect the spirit of his
own age, will seldom awaken a response in the breasts
of his countrymen. His first picture, the Legend of St.
Patrick, awoke a higher degree of enthusiasm. He died
in 1806, at the age of sixty-five.
For the most celebrated of her historical painters of the
eighteenth century, England is indebted to America.
Near the middle of that century, the future president of
the British Academy might have been seen, while yet a
boy, learning archery, and taking lessons in painting, in
the town of Springfield, Pennsylvania, from a band of
wandering Indians. This was Benjamin West, the Quaker
boy, who, secretly- and by stealth, composed his first pic
tures from two engravings he chanced to obtain, and
which sixty-seven years afterwards being exhibited in the
same room with his sublime painting of Christ Rejected,
drew from the painter the remark, "that there were inven
tive touches of art in this, his juvenile essay, which, with
all his subsequent knowledge and experience, he had not
been able to surpass." A confession which clearly esta
blishes the supremacy of genius, and would seem to place
the highest touches of art without and higher than any of
the deductions of experience,.
Through the generosity of Borne of his friends in New
York and Philadelphia, West was enabled, at an early period
of his life to go to Italy, where he visited Florence, Bologna,
Venice, and Rome, surveying with admiring eye the works
of the great masters. He finally settled in London, where
under the patronage of the crown, he commenced his career
as a historical painter. The period of time seemed ex
ceedingly auspicious for that purpose. Hogarth was on
the brink of the grave. Reynolds was devoted to portraits.
Barry engaged .in controversies in Rome ; and Wilson and
Gainsborough's excellence lay in landscape. The course of
the historical painter seemed to open without much chance
of opposition. His first painting was Agrippina landing
with the Ashes of Germanicus, which was painted for the
Archbishop of York ; the second, the departure of Regulus

246 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
from Rome, was painted for the king, George HE. After
exhausting courts, and camps, and battles, he undertook a
series of pictures on the progress of revealed religion. He
divided into four dispensations the Antediluvian, the Patri
archal, the Mosaical, and the Prophetical.1 They contained
in all thirty-six subjects, eighteen of which belonged to the
Old Testament, the rest to the New. They were ali
sketched, and twenty-eight executed. It was probably
the- most extensive and varied work ever undertaken by
any painter, and it would seem that the themes were of
too high and glorious a nature to pursue without overtasking
the imagination of West, the soft, the graceful, and the do
mestic being better suited to his talents.
He lived the long life of eighty-two years, having painted
and sketched in oil upwards of four hundred pictures,
mostly historical and religious, and leaving more than two
hundred original drawings. Even down to his eightieth
year he was employed in new exercises, not inferior to, or ,
in some respects excelling, the enterprises of his vigorous
strength. "He produced," says Sir Thomas Lawrence,
" a series of compositions, from sacred and profane history,
profoundly studied, and executed with the most facile
power, which not only were superior to any former produc
tions of English art, but, far surpassing contemporary
merit on the continent, were unequalled at any period
below the schools of the Caracci." His pictures appear
faultless as to what relates to the composition of the sub
ject; to the regular arrangement of the groups; to the
anatomical proportions of the human body; and to the
technical knowledge of expression. No academical pre
cept seems to be violated ; his figures are arranged with skill ;
his coloring is varied and harmonious, and to the ordinary
spectator nothing appears wanting to render his work com
plete. He himself furnishes the clue to his own deficiency,
when in addressing Lord Elgin on the Phidian Marbles of
the Parthenon, he says: "Had I been blest with seeing

'Manual of the Fine Arts, 181.

EUROPEAN ART. 247
and studying these emanations of genius, at an earlier
period of life, the sentiment of their preeminence would
have animated all my exertions ; and more character, and
expression, and life, would have pervaded my humble
attempts at historical painting." In perfect consistency
with this it has been remarked that below all this splendor
of coloring, arrangement, and composition, there is little
of the true vitality ; that in the human face there are only
bones and cartilages ; that there is monotony of human
character, the groupings being unlike the happy and care
less combinations of nature, the figures being seemingly
distributed over the canvas by line and measure, very
similar to trees in a plantation. It is alleged that his pic
tures do not go beyond the instrumental parts of the art ;
that they never " snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,"
that they " exhibit the mask, not the soul of expression."
This want of natural expression is complained of gene
rally in English historical paintings, and it has been
suggested that it proceeds from " a certain inertness and
constitutional phlegm, which does not habitually impress
the workings of the mind in correspondent traces on the
countenance, and which may also render Englishmen less
sensible of these outward and visible signs of passion, even
when they are so impressed there."1
With the variety and beauty of English scenery, and
the rural imagery that so largely enters into the English
man's dream of enjoyment, we may well expect to find
landscape painting carried to a high degree of perfection.
In this department of art we find Wilson, Gainsborough,
and Turner, each demanding some special notice. Richard
Wilson was born in Wales in 1713. He commenced as a
portrait painter, acquired in his thirty-sixth year sufficient
by his savings, and the help of friends, to enable him to
visit Italy, and while there discovered by accident his
ability to paint landscape. For this species of painting he
had been unconsciously training while surrounded in his

'Hazlitt's Literary Bemai/ns, 216.

248 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
youthful days with the beauties of natural scenery, and
the picturesque mountains and glens of his own native
Wales. His first landscapes were Italian, and were imita
tions of the manner of Claude. Then followed his copies
of English scenery, and lastly his historical compositions.
His first have been deemed the best. "In looking at
them " says Hazlitt, " we breathe the air which the scene
inspires, and feel the genius of the place present to us. In
the first, there is the cool freshness of a misty spring
morning ; the sky, the water, the dim horizon, all convey
the same feeling. The fine grey tone and varying outline
of the hills ; the graceful form of the retiring lake ; broken
still more by the hazy shadows of the objects that repose
on its bosom ; the light trees that expand their branches
in the air, and the dark stone figure and mouldering
temple, that contrast strongly with the broad clear light of
the rising day, give a charm, a truth, a force, and harmony
to this composition, which produce the greater pleasure
the longer it is dwelt on. The distribution of light and
shade resembles the effect of light on a globe."
While he applies these remarks more especially to Wil
son's picture of Apollo and the Seasons, he also says his
Phaeton " has the dazzling fervid appearance of an au
tumnal evening; the golden radiance streams in solid masses
from behind the flickering clouds ; every object is baked
in the sun ; the brown foreground, the thick foliage of the
trees, the streams, shrunk and stealing along behind the
dark high banks, combine to produce that richness and
characteristic unity of effect which is to be found only in
nature, or in art derived from the study and imitation of
nature." As a landscape painter, the merits of Wilson have ever
been conceded to be great. While his conceptions are
generally noble, his execution is vigorous and glowing.
The dewy freshness, the uatural lustre, and harmonious
arrangement of his scenes, have seldom been exceeded.
His process of painting was simple, his colors few, he used
but one brush, and worked standing. He had his secrets

EUROPEAN ART. 249
of color, and his mystery of the true principle in painting,
which he refused to explain. Both he and Gainsborough
failed in the proper introduction of figures. The great
masters of historical painting, as Titian, Carracci, N. Pous
sin, always subordinated the scene to the figures. This
was also generally the case with the more professed paint
ers of historical or heroic landscape, as Salvator Rosa,
Albano, etc. The great difficulty lies in maintaining
subordination and unity, and at the same time preserving
the interest of the respective parts of the composition. In
these higher beauties Wilson, and most of the English art
ists, have failed. The landscape overwhelms the story,
while the story generally discredits the landscape, or the
attention being equally divided between both, the interest
of each is weakened. In pure landscape painting the fig
ures should always be subordinate, forming merely a part
of, and corresponding with, the scene. Everything having
a tendency to lead the mind and the imagination away
from nature, tends to the deterioration of art. The Brit
ish landscape presents every element of the painter's art
in its best perfection,1 from the softest beauty in a fresh
ness of dewy verdure elsewhere unknown, to the wildest
sublimity of lake, mountain, v^ood and torrent. Even in
the gorgeous magnificence of the changing sky, there is a
gloriousness and grandeur of eflect, which is never seen
even -in Italy. If again the painter seek for objects of
moral interest, there is the feudal fortalice, the cloistered
abbey, the storied minster, the Gothic castle, with all their
rich associations ; there the mouldering monument, the
fields of conflict, the scenes of tradition, of poetry and of
love; and, far amid the wild upland gleams the mossy stone
and bends the solitary ash over the martyr of his faith.
The painter can therefore hardly be permitted to urge that
nature has here left him without models, or history no traces
in its onward progress.

* Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 245.
vu] 32

250 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Thomas Gainsborough was born at Sudbury in 1727,
and lived until 1788. He was a painter from his early
youth. While still a school-boy he used to frequent a
beautiful wood about four miles in extent, whose ancient
trees, winding glades, and sunny nooks inspired him early
With a love of art. It was thus that nature sat early to
him in all her attractive attitudes of beauty ; and his pencil
traeed with peculiar and matchless facility, her finest and
most delicate lineaments. He was both a portrait and a
landscape painter. His custom was to paintstanding, and
the pencils which he used had shafts sometimes two yards
in length. In painting his portraits he stood as far from
his sitter as he did from his picture, in order that the hues
might be the same.
His landscapes are of two classes or periods, his earlier
and later pictures. The earlier are the most exact imita
tions of nature, while the latter exhibit evidences of great
inattention. " It would seem," remarks a critic, " that he
found there was something wanting in his early, manner,
beyond the literal imitations of the details of natural ob
jects, and he appears to have concluded rather hastily,1
that the way to arrive at that something more, was to dis
card truth and nature altogether." The works on which
his fame principally rests are not what is usually called
landscape. They are rather fancy pieces, cottage children,
shepherd boys, etc. " The wildest nooks of his woods
have their living tenants, and in all his glades and his vak
leys we see the sons and daughters of men. A deep
human sympathy unites us with his pencil, and this is not
lessened because all his works are stamped with the image
of old England.2 His paintings have a national look. He
belongs to no school;* he is not reflected from the glass of
man, but from that of nature." His children are running
wild about his landscape, They bear about them an
untamed wildness and a rustic grace, which speak of neg
lected toilets and of country life. They resemble more

' HazUtt, 207. ' Manual of the Fine Arts, 171.

EUROPEAN ART. 251
the offspring of nature, running free in their own wild
woods. They are often chosen with great felicity, and
-have great truth and sweetness.
It has been nevertheless objected even to him that he
presents us withanideal of common life, of which we have
had a surfeit in poetry and romance.1 That his subjects
are softened and sentimentalized too much; too much like
nature sitting for her picture. His Woodman's Head,
and Shepherd Boy in a Storm are highly spoken of.
He has been thus compared with Wilson. " Wilson ex
cels in splendor of effect and magnificence of composition;2
but Gainsborough is more natural and pleasing, at least in
his early pictures. Latterly he introduced the notion of an
ideal beauty in rural nature, which has too frequently been
imitated. Both possessed genius in no ordinary degree ;
but though to the first has been conceded the higher walk,
as it has been called, because imaginative, to the latter
belongs that temperament of mind more essential, we think,
to the landscape painter, which powerfully conceives the
objects of contemplation and places them in vivid reality
before the eye and the fancy."
The latest great painter of landscape is Turner, who, in
that department, has extended the boundaries of his art
by the invention of prismatic colors, and their novel appli
cations. He is a more original artist than Wilson. He
has shown a knowledge of the effects of air, and of power
ful relief in objects which was never surpassed. He is the
most varied landscape painter that' ever existed. It was
during his best day that Sir Walter Scott brought romantic
scenery into fashion, and Turner became an illustrator of
localities.3 These he realized and informed as no man had
ever done before, and at the same time exaggerated, dis
placed and intensified, filling his canvas or the page of the
engraver with hundreds of incidents treasured by his quick
and sure observation, treated according to his ideas of

'Hazlitt, 207. 'Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 243. 'Scott's
History and Practice of Art, 327.

252 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
splendor or romance, or introduced by the merely artistic
requirements of composition. Thus his treatment- essen
tially consisted in "making the shows of things answer the
desires of the mind." In his depicting the Seventh Plague
of Egypt, he has made the ministering elements busy in
their work of devastation, the hail descends in sheets, light
nings flash, and fire runs along the ground, trees are up
rooted, and man and beast fall before the destroying blast.:
On the right stands the great legislator of the Hebrews,
with outstretched arms, conscious of his delegated power to
direct and rule the storm, while Aaron, yielding to the
feelings of humanity, kneels and hides his face. The
Tivoli, and many other of his beautiful paintings, are exe
cuted in water colors, a department of art which within the
last half century has made prodigious advances in Eng
land, and to the progress and success of which the numer
ous works of this distinguished artist have, in a preemi
nent degree, contributed.
British art stands much indebted to a foreigner, Henry
Fuseli, who was born at Zurich, Geneva, in 1741. He was
a fine classical scholar, and at first devoted to general litera
ture. Through the recommendation of Sir Joshua Reynolds
to whom he submitted several of his drawings, he was in
duced to exchange the pen for the pencil. During his eight
years' residence in Rome he did not follow the common',
method of copying the chief pictures of the great masters,
in the hope of thus imbibing and carrying away their
spirit as well as the image of their works. He devoted
much time to a profound contemplation of them, and thus
sought by drinking in their spirit to animate his own
compositions. On his return to England he sought to illustrate, by a
series of paintings, the works of Shakespeare and Milton;
For the former he seemed peculiarly adapted. He grappled
with the wildest passions of the most imaginative plays*
and handled them with a vigorous extravagance which
exceeded expectation. He painted eight Shakespearian
pictures, the most celebrated of which were the Tempest,

EUROPEAN ART. 253
the Midsummer Night's Dream, King Lear, and Hamlet,
the last of which was strangely wild and superhuman.
He , understood where lies the boundary line between the
terrible and the horrible, and could display the one with
out trenching upon the other.
He found more difficulty in following Milton. The fear
ful grandeur of the realm of perdition and the sublime
despair of the great arch-fiend, were too much for him.
" He might add fury to Moloch, and malignity to Beelzebub ;
but he could not reach the character of terrible daring,
enduring fortitude, and angelic splendor which mark the
arch-apostate of Milton."
He was extremely fond of the wild mythology of the
Scandinavians, as his Thor Battering the Serpent will
clearly indicate. His sketches were very numerous,
amounting to some eight hundred. He lived until 1825.
His main wish was to startle and astonish. In 1799 he was
elected professor of painting in the Royal Academy, and
his lectures on Ancient Art, the Art of the Moderns, Inven
tion, Composition and Expression, are considered the best.
The opening of the nineteenth century saw a compara
tive languor and flagging in British art. Reynolds and his
contemporaries were gone, except West and Fuseli, upon
whom age was doing its work. But the seed had been
sown for a revival and splendid harvest. The works of
many great painters remained behind them. There were
the Discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds, the lectures of
Fuseli, the writings of Barry, the essays of Burke, the
engravings of Strange, Woollett and Sharpe, the works of
Boydell, the statuary of Banks, Bacon, Nollekens and
Flaxman, especially the classical illustrations of the latter,
all tending to create a more refined taste, and a higher
and purer appreciation of the beautiful. Among the num
bers who have distinguished themselves during the present*
century we can only mention Raeburn, Wilkie and Sir
Thomas Lawrence.
Sir Henry Raeburn was borna t Stockb ridge, near Edin
burgh, in 1756. It should here be remarked that Scotland,

254 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
under the adverse circumstances to which she has been
subject, has contributed her fair proportion to British art.
The destruction of her separate nationality at an early
period, by the accession of James to the English crown,
the tendency among her nobles, ever since that event, to
make London and not Edinburgh, the place of their
sojourn, has no doubt contributed largely, by withholding
patronage from Scottish artists, to depress the arts in Scot*
land. In one respect, however, the Scottish artists enjoyed
more advantages than the English. Owing to political
causes, and the greater number of Scotch residents in Italy,
the intercourse between Scotland and Rome was very free
and unrestrained. This led the Scottish artists more gene
rally to Italy, and enabled them to perfect themselves by
studying the works of the old masters. Gavin Hamilton,
himself an artist, and whose discoveries and knowledge of
antique art materially assisted the general restoration of
taste, resided for a long time at Rome, and materially
aided his countrymen in their studies while there. ,
Allan Ramsay, son of the poet of the same name, was born
at Edinburgh, in 1713. After spending three years in
Rome, he spent his artist life in London, where he en
joyed much distinction. In extent of learning and variety
of knowledge, he is said to have surpassed all artists of his
time. He attempted nothing bold and energetic, but his,
portraits exhibit correctness in drawing, and are graceful
and natural in attitude and expression.
Alexander Runciman was born at Edinburgh, in 1736.
He also spent five years in Rome, and acquired a taste
for historical painting ; on his return he executed a series
of paintings, twelve in number, illustrating the poems of
Ossian. Some of these subjects were Ossian singing to
Malvina, the Valor of Oscar, the Death of Oscar, Death of
Agenderra, and the Hunting of Catholda. These were
executed with a singular boldness of style, and the wild-
ness of the imagery, and the deep, heroic, and -chivalrous
feelings which they breathed, rendered them universal
favorites.

EUROPEAN ART. 255
Sir Henry Raeburn was the representative of painting
in Scotland, from 1787 to his death in 1823. He presents
the ideal of that style, the aim of which is to speak most
powerfully to the imagination, through the slenderest
means addressed to the eye. He was first a miniature, and
then a portrait painter, and his pictures are said to afford
the finest, the most wonderful examples, how far detail
may be sacrificed, and yet general effect and striking
resemblance be retained. In this respect he is a disciple
of the school of Sir Joshua Reynolds. His great object
was to produce strong effect, whatever be the means he
employed for that purpose.
Sir David Wilkie was another Scotch painter of deserved
celebrity. He has chosen to draw the subjects upon
which his art was exercised from domestic or common life.
The following are instances : Blindman's Buff, Distraining
for Rent, The Blind Fiddler, The Cut Finger, Guess my
Name, Village Holiday, Village Politician, etc. In these
there exists a charm that awakens the sympathies of nature
alike in all bosoms. No painter has more frequently or
successfully handled these interesting scenes than Wilkie,
and no painter's works have been more universally, or
more justly admired. His style of composition the most
nearly resembles Hogarth's ; but while the scenes depicted
by the latter display the singularities, more than the lead
ing actions and feelings of life, those of the former are
more the every day exhibitions of which the sum total of
life is made up. " While Wilkie preserves all the force of
individual character and delineation of living nature,1 he
has extended a far more comprehensive grasp of mind over
the moralities of his subject. He has brought within the
pencil's magic sway, and fixed there in permanent reality,
the sorrows and the joys, the hopes, fears, and attachments,
the occupations, customs, habits and even amusements, of
a whole unchanging class of mankind. The distinction
between him and Hogarth is that the latter represents

1 Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, 255, 256.

256 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
general ideas by particular signs. His forms and expres
sions are individual modifications of the limited society to
which they belong, while the conceptions of Wilkie are
the idealisms of his models. Each figure is not only preg
nant with individuality of character and life, but is the
true representative of the class whose constituent it is.
Each expression, though generally but the index of humble
feeling, sends abroad into the heart of every spectator its
artless appeal. He has thus applied the generalizations of
higher art to the interests of common life, yet preserving
its simplicity, its humbleness and reality. Some of the
Dutch painters, especially Teniers, have sought and found
their subjects in every day life, but they have painted vul
gar instead of common nature ; nor, in the complete range
of their school, is there once an example of that delightful
sentiment which Wilkie has so successfully cast over his
most lowly scenes, and by which he has redeemed them
from every approach to vulgarity."
Sir Thomas Lawrence, late principal painter to the king,
and president of the Royal Academy, was born in Bristol
in 1769. He gave early indications of his strong tenden
cies towards the art of painting. While yet in early youth
his portraits were extremely graceful, and accounted fac
similes of his sitters. He also learned early how to deal
with a difficult face, and to evoke beauty and delicacy out
of very ordinary materials. He had, from a very early
period, a great delicacy of manner, in which he continued
to excel in his maturer years. He commenced and con
tinued the use of crayons until his seventeenth year, when
he took to the use of oil colors. From this period his true
fame properly dates.
In 1797 and 1798 he brought out some historical paintings
of great merit. The first was Satan calling to his Legions.
Then followed Coriolanus at the Hearth of Aufidius, Rolla,
Cato, and Hamlet. The latter was a work of the highest
kind, sad, thoughtful, and melancholy, savoring of death
and the grave ; the light touching the face and bosom, and

EUROPEAN ART. 257
falling on the skull on which he is musing. It is one of
the noblest paintings of the modern school.
His great merits, however, lay in portrait painting.
In that he would become so absorbed as to be almost
Unconscious of the lapse of time. His habit was to paint
standing, and he once continued to paint without ceasing
for thirty-seven hours upon the portrait of Lord Thurlow.
He has been called the second Reynolds, from the fact of
possessing very largely the same power of expressing sen
timent and feeling, and of giving to the productions of his
pencil beauty and dignity.1 "He resembled him less in
breadth and vigor than in the freedom and elegance of
his attitudes, in skillful impersonation of human thought,
and in the exquisite grace and loveliness with which
he inspired all that he touched." " The works of Sir
Joshua Reynolds," says Fuseli, " are unequal, many of
them are indifferent, though some cannot be surpassed;
but on the other hand, even the most inferior picture from
the pencil of Sir Thomas Lawrence is excellent." He en
joyed the reputation of being the first artist in Europe. He
died in 1830.
One important generalization relating to mind in its his
torical development is the reactions to which it is subject.
These are discernible in all the elements of humanity, the
separation and full development of which are destined to
exhaust the entire capacity of the race. They are the most
clearly disclosed in the elements of religion, government,
philosophy, and art. In these reactions are to be found the
commencement of great cycles in the history of human im
provement, and these will become more and more clear in
their workings and development, as the race shall continue
to move onward, and to fill time and space with their per
petual recurrence. These reactions, together with the out
cropping cycles to which they give birth, will ultimately be
found subject to laws by which their recurrence is governed,
and these will be the laws presiding over and regulating

' Manual of the Fine Arts, 225.
vn] 33

258 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
human progress, and their ascertainment, settlement, con
ditions, and limitations, will be among the remotest and
•highest efforts of human reason. It is entirely clear that
the experience of man, the progress of the race thus far,
can furnish no facts sufficient to lay a foundation for these
loftiest of all human deductions. In their- ascertainment
will be found the expressed will of God in human history.
They will continue long to lie among the unsolved pro
blems of a remote future; not quietly, for many unsuc
cessful efforts will be made to solve, adjust, and settle,
before their complete solution and establishment can be
effected. We are now to notice one of these reactions in the
history of painting. The civilized world, in its aesthetic
development, has for more than three centuries been re
garding Rome as offering the highest and purest specimens
- of painting. Its artists from the continent and the British
isles have all been flocking thither to become transfixed in
their wondering gaze upon the works of the great masters ;
to drink in their spirit by contemplation and copying.
This has necessarily led to the adoption of a conventional
system, a system containing no other element than those
to be found in the works of those masters. This must
assume that the works of the old Italian masters are en
titled to stand forth as the highest exemplars ever attain
able by man. To encourage and give strength to this
tendency to worship and copy after the old masters, comes
in the doctrine of Sir Joshua Reynolds and his school, to
avoid all details and peculiarities of particular objects, thus
leaving the painter to express all the more strongly the
generalities derivable from such conventional system.
This must necessarily ultimately lead to a reaction, because
the human mind must seek something else after fully
developing all that is wrapped up or contained in the
systems of the early masters. Hence the pre-Raphaelites
of the present century in England. These consist of a
band of devoted young artists, who, in looking back, ascer
tained that conventionalism in modern art began to take

EUROPEAN ART. 259
the place of simple appeal to nature even in the works of
the great Raphael. They have, therefore, determined to
go behind Raphael, to take up art as it existed previous to
his epoch, and to trust to nature alone as the guide of their
future progress. Repudiating all conventionalism, they
have transferred their studios to the woods and fields. In
the beautiful language of another, " they have watched the
morning daisy,1 blushing to the tips of its petals as it un
folded its white veil, and exposed its golden face to the
bright daylight ; they bent over the water lily, and saw it
lift its marble brow above the waters, and expand its
glories to the mid-day sun; they watched its massive
foliage rise while yet folded like a scroll, and by degrees
develop its form, and spread its varnished surface level
with the gently heaving waters, rocking it, as it were, in
a noon-tide siesta upon a glassy bed. They have peered
curiously into the depths of the waters themselves as they
flowed by, and distinguished the shy forms of glittering
fish darting here and there among the stems of the lilies,
or the deep-rooted reeds, where they trace also the vague
outline of other dimly shadowed forms, discovering a
whole world of mysteries hidden deeply from vulgar eyes
beneath the green waters. They have watched the young
shoots expand their youngest leaves, pinked with the ruddy
hue of their forest strength. They have sat so still, and
so wrapt in their communings with this fresh nature, that1
the woodpecker has resumed his low tapping upon the
hollow trunk of the pollard oak, and the jay has lighted
confidently in the branches above them, and sits daintily
arranging his gaudy plumage, from which a few bright
azure feathers, quaintly striped with jetty black, fall
noiselessly to their feet, but not unperceived by these
ardent students. Thus they are enabled to reproduce the
opening daisy, the fresh juicy foliage of the water lily, the
glittering and darkening scales, now seen, now gone, of
the tiny fish, those nimble swimmers, who dart out of sight,

1 Ten Centuries of Art, 62, 63.

260 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
before their form can be defined, except by the gifted eye
of the true student of nature."
Thus we see the reaction productive of the commence
ment of a new cycle, to be characterized by a close, search
ing, severe, all pervading observation of nature. This will,
in the course of time, produce its legitimate fruits, which
will tell upon the history of painting. There is already
one judicious modification of the new system adopted by.
Leopold Robert. He has proposed not a rejection of all
those principles of art evolved by its greatest masters during
three centuries of successive study, but a thorough sifting
of them.1 He found that there really were broad irre
fragable principles upon which the art of painting, in its
highest sphere, must ever be based ; and instead of waiting
to discover them over again for himself by a course of
laborious study, he gladly accepted the discoveries of his
predecessors. This must accelerate the progress of the art,
and thus hasten the development of the cycle which it is
now to run.

1 Ten Centuries, 64.

EUROPEAN ART. . 261

SUBJECTIVE ARTS.

We have now arrived at the subjective arts, viz : music,
poetry, and eloquence, so called because they are arts com
menced, prosecuted, perfected, and wholly exercised in,
through, and upon the mind itself. It is in this great agent
or instrument of all thought and of all feeling that these
arts are nourished, matured, and produce their legitimate
results. The medium of production, exercise, and result
ant effect is the same. In it both subject and object find
their equal identification. The thing that acts, and the
object upon which it acts, are both identical.

MUSIC.
Music may be considered as the art of expressing condi
tions and emotions of the soul by means of beautiful tones ;
or, more definitely, and considered both as an art, and
science, it is a " science which teaches the properties,1 de
pendencies, and relations of melodious sounds ; or the art
of producing harmony and melody by the due combina
tion and arrangement of those sounds." It produces its
effects directly upon the mind, and hence it is a purely
mental art, of whose operation the understanding can give
no account. It is originally either the mother or daughter
of poetry, and", in many instances, most probably the
former, the early bards first making the tune or melody,

1 MitchelVs Encyclopaedia, 532.

262 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
and adapting the words to it afterwards. In one sense it
is higher even than poetry and eloquence, as it expresses
feelings and yearnings to which no words can be given,
and is a sort of universal " speech of the heart." It has a
great facility in representing and expressing to the mind,
more inwardly than any other sensible mean, the turns and
varieties of all passions to which the mind is subject. Its
effects are by no means confined to the educated, the re
fined, or the highly cultivated. On the contrary, the hum
ble, the lowly, the least intelligent, are often the most
affected by it. The traveler, Acerbi, while assisting others
in performing a piece of music before a company of Finns
in Finland, says: "The eyes of all our hearers were turned
upon us;1 some seemed to follow with every feature of
the face the movements of the melody. We could read in
the physiognomy of the Finlanders the character of the
music we had played ; every look became serious at forced
and strong modulations, while soft and melodious passages
seemed to disperse the cloud, and their countenances
resumed their tranquillity. It was curious to observe the
different effects produced by the music on persons of dif
ferent constitutions. One, for example, remained during
the whole of a sonata, fixed and ' steadfast, his mouth
open, his eyes staring, without moving his eyelids, and
apparently struck with a stupid astonishment. Another,
on the contrary, seemed to follow every step of the melody
with his whole body, and appeared to suffer a sort of mu
sical convulsion. But the moment we began to play
their runa, every eye was drowned in tears, and the emo
tion was general."
All music is based essentially upon sounds, but to con
stitute it, these must be subject to certain conditions.
These conditions to satisfy modern music must be four, viz :
Tone, Melody, Harmony, Rhythm.
1. Tone regards sound in its relations of height and depth,
and also of grave and acute.1 In musical instruments it is

1 Acerbi 's Travels, i, 282, 283. ' Encyclopaedia Americana, xn, 299.

EUROPEAN ART. 263
, determined by the great or less quiekness of a uniform
series of vibrations in a sonorous body. The difference
of one tone from another, in respect to height or depth,
forms an interval, which is made use of to express the
difference in point of gravity or acuteness between any two
sounds. As music deals only with those tones which are
capable of producing harmony, the whole body of sounds,
which are used in musical compositions, has been brought
into a system, which exhibits their different height and
depth, in regular order. In relation to these tones man
has made a marked progress in music. In the earlier
periods of history, he was guided Only by his feelings in
the production of tones, and knew nothing of a regulated
arrangement. But since the nature of sounds has been, in
modern times, more accurately investigated, and their re
lations settled by musical instruments, the tones, although
not limited to a definite number, are yet comprehended
within a measured series.
2. Melody, in its more general sense, relates to any
successive connection, or series of tones; but more espe
cially it is a series of tones which please the ear by their
succession and variety. It expresses the arrangement, in
succession, of different sounds for a single voice or an
instrument. It has been claimed to bear the same rela
tion to music that thought bears to poetry, or drawing to
painting. 3. Harmony expresses the agreement or consonance of
two or more united sounds. It signifies the effect on the
ear, of proportional vibrations of sound, the result of the
union of two or more according musical sounds. The
Greeks seem to have limited it to the expression of an
agreeable succession of sounds, but the moderns are not
satisfied with limiting it to a mere succession of single
sounds; but they required for its production, a union of
melodies, a succession of combined sounds, which shall
be composed of consonant intervals, and moving accord
ing to the stated laws of modulation. This quality, by
its cadences, the variety of its concords, the fullness of its

264 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
modulation, the nature of its rests at the end of phrases,
and by the steadiness which it alone can give to intona
tion, has acquired the character of an essential, and has
been termed the "logic of the art of music."
4. Rhythm means a measured division of time. It is
used to express the measure of time or movement by
1 regularly recurring impulses or accents, and is found in
prose, poetry, music, and dancing. Its constituent parts,
in order to please, must excite the feeling of variety in
harmony or unity. The various jparts must form a whole,
and exhibit a beginning, middle and end, by a measured
rise and fall. It is in music, what metre is in the art
of versification, or perspective in the art of drawing.
Another question may arise relating to the sources of
music. These, are coextensive with sounds, whose exist
ence is subject to the conditions just mentioned. The
sounds rendered up by nature from her own operations un
doubtedly furnished hints to man. On the shore, the moan
of the ocean was ever striking upon his 6ar, and filling his
soul with the most undefinable sensations. In the country,
the shallow brook was always sending up into a noiseless
sky its unending anthem. Thus speaks Lucretius of the
origin of music :
Through all the woods they heard the charming noise
Of chirping birds, and tried to frame their voice
And imitate. Thus birds instructed man,
And taught them songs before their art began ;
And whilst soft evening gales blew o'er the plains,
And shook the sounding reeds, they taught the swains ;
And thus the pipe was framed, and tuneful reed.
The. Baron Humboldt informs us, on the authority of
credible witnesses, that on the banks of the Oronoco, in
South America,1 are heard subterranean sounds, that re
semble the tones of an organ. This, he attributes to the
difference in temperature between the external atmosphere

1 Higgms, 145.

EUROPEAN ART. 265
and the air confined in the crevices of the granite rocks,
which constitute the geological formation of the district.
The contrivances by which music has been attempted to be
extracted, from what were seemingly the most unpromising
materials, have been at times very curious. A concert was
once exhibited at Paris in which cats were the performers.
They were placed in rows, and a monkey beat time to them.
According as he beat the time, so the cats mewed ; l and it
is related that the diversity of the tones which they omit
ted produced a very ludierous effect.
It is related of Louis XI, king of France, that he once
commanded the abbot of Baigne to get him up a concert of
swine's voices, supposing it to be impossible. The abbot,
however, only demanded money and time, both which be
ing granted, he set himself at work, and in time produced
his result.2 He had collected together a great number of
hogs of different ages, and placed them under a tent or
pavilion, covered with velvet, so as to be entirely concealed
from view. In the front he had a table of wood all painted,
and a certain number of keys having some resemblance
to a pianoforte, These were each connected by strings
or cords with the hogs in the interior, so that as he struck
each key a little spike within would stick a hog, and such
was the order and consonance of the mingled notes that
came out of that highly organized organ, that the king
and all the company were highly delighted.
Another unpromising material out of which it has been
proposed to extract music is the braying of asses; but no
attempt at getting up an ass concert ever seems to been
made. The instrumentalities through which music has been
invoked are many and various. Of these the human voice
occupies the place first in importance. It is the most per
fect, and the most expressive .of all musical instruments.
Its richness, compass, and ready adaptation render it deci
dedly superior to any other. No other can both descend

1 Honels Every Day Book, i, 1110. ' Bayles' Dictionary, n, 803, note n.
VII] 84

266 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
so low and ascend so high. To realize its greatest capacity,
however, requires both the masculine and the feminine
voice. Next to the human voice, and greatly in aid of it,
come a vast variety of musical instruments. These pro
perly range themselves under three classes, viz :
1. Stringed instruments, which give us the violin, harp,
lute, guitar, harpsichord, and pianoforte, the last two of
which have keys superadded, and are hence often called
keyed instruments. Stringed instruments give forth their
music through the vibrations of their chords.1 The sounds"
thus produced are more and more grave as the strings or
chords are increased in their lengths and diameters, and
also as their tension is decreased. These sounds are not
produced by the vibrations of the strings alone, but also by
the communication of those vibrations to the substances
that surround them. Thus if the note given out by a
vibrating string be changed by increasing its length or
diminishing its ^ tension,2 the solid in contact with it will
undergo the same change and still vibrate in unison.
Hence it would appear that a string, and a solid that may:
be united with it, form a vibrating system. The stringed
instruments, when the strings become extended and
stretched membranes, give us the drum, the music of which
is produced by percussion. So also when keyed the piano
forte, the tones of which are rich, full, and calculated to
accompany the human voice.
2. Vibrating plates and bars, including also bells, and
vessels of various kinds, the vibrations of which result
from their own elasticity. These give us the euphone, an
instrument invented by Dr. Chladni, which consists of
forty-one fixed and parallel cylinders of glass, of equal
length and thickness, resembling in appearance a small
writing desk, which, when opened, presents a series of glass
tubes, about the thickness of a quill, and sixteen inches
long. - It gives out a pleasant sound. Another instrument
acting upon this principle, is the well known Jew's harp.

1 Higgins, 96. ' Idem, 124.

EUROPEAN ART. 267
3. Wind instruments, whose'sounds arise from vibrating
columns of air. From these we derive the flute, hautboy,
trumpet, and organ. The sound here is entirely due to
the air that is contained within the instrument. The
column thus contained, is set in motion, and vibrations
produced either by blowing over or into the tube. The
organ consists of a series of pipes which are supplied with
air by a pair of bellows. By means of certain stops, the
communication may be opened between different sets
of tubes, and the quality of the tones greatly varied.
These', and several other instruments that range them
selves under these different principles, have mostly been
for a long period of time gradually advancing towards
perfection. The simplest, and probably the first instru
ment invented, was the reed or pipe, ultimately perfected
in the flute. The pipe is found among many savages. It
would very naturally be the invention of the shepherd.
The more artificial the instrument, the later its invention.
Thus the stringed instruments, being more artificial, are of
more recent invention. Instrumental music possesses value
and beauty just in proportion as it resembles the human
voice, and as each are found to possess a mutual adapta
tion to each other. In the wind instruments, increased
volume gives greater depth, and the contrary. In stringed
instruments, the largest gives the deepest note, as it is a
law that profundity of tone is in the ratio of size. The
most comprehensive of all musical instruments, as to extent,
are«the pianoforte and the great organ.
Another thing in which progress has been made, is in
musical notation, or the expression of musical ideas by
means of certain conventional signs. These have under
gone many changes in Europe, and the present system is
the result of a long series of improvements. We know
little of the manner of the ancients in writing music. The
earliest notation of Christendom is on three or four parallel
lines,1 the notes being square or angular, and variously

'New American Cyclopaedia, article Music, 54.

268 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
colored. Although the notes are of different lengths, yet
the melodies are not divided into measures by bars. This
old system, with slight modifications, still prevails in the
plain chant of the Roman Catholic church. The notes
are pjuare and diamond-shaped, and written on a staff of
four lines, a bar being used at the end of every word."
Now the length of a note is indicated by its shape, and
the signs employed denote the length, pitch, and force of
tones. Music, when thoroughly investigated, will be found to
be ethnological in its character. Certain peculiarities of
tone prevail among different races, owing to the prevalence
of peculiar states of the vocal organs in the usual pronun
ciation of their different languages. The French are ob
served to have a nasal, the Germans a guttural, and the
English a sibilant tone, these being the characteristics of the
different languages.1 The Italians differ from all these.
Their smooth and gliding syllables are lubricated by the
constant succession of vowels. This gives them a great
uniformity in the conduct of the voice. They have a regu
lar and certain method of producing tone, which is the
purest and the best hitherto produced by art. The Italians
form the tone in singing at the back of the mouth, keeping
the throat moderately open. There is a place near the
back of the mouth where the voice must pass, and the
Italian method of voicing brings the tone to this spot pre
vious to its production, and sends it forth in its finished
state from that precise point, untainted either by the nose
or the throat, the mouth or the lips. With the English
Binger the mouth takes a distinguished part in the produc
tion of tones, while it has little, if any, immediate influence
in the formation of the Italian tone. This manner of
forming and uttering the voice, no doubt, exercises no in
considerable influence upon the character of Italian music.
It is remarked by Dr. Beattie that " there is a certain
style of melody peculiar to each musical country, which

'Art of Improving Voice and Ear, 93.

EUROPEAN ART. 269
the people of that country are apt to prefer to every other
style." x He claims that Scotland presents a remarkable in
stance Of this diversity, and that the native melody of the
Highlands and Western isles is as different from that of the
southern part of the kingdom, as the Irish or Erse language
is different from the English or Scotch. He traces the
different styles of music to the different sentiments that
control the movements of the musician's mind; and these
sentiments he supposes are mainly due to the peculiar fea
tures of the country, and the physical influences which the
mOst universally prevail. There is little doubt but that
each race, or variety of the species, had originally its own ,
peculiar music in much the same way as each had its own
poetry and language ; and that the nearer we reach the
origin of races, the more peculiar and distinct from every
other would be the music which each would originate. But
as all music is essentially subject to laws which every
where control its displays, its natural tendency would be
more and more to lay aside its distinctive character, and
to assume those common features to which the laws under
which it is developed give birth. Thus the tribute from
each country and race would aid in swelling the mighty
aggregate of musical development, as the tributary rills from
each mountain and hill side form together that mighty
ocean whose waters wash the shores of every country on
the globe.
Great improvements are always slow in originating and
perfecting, and all permanent growth and advancement
are little regardful of the time necessarily required. • But
although discovery is introduced in so gradual a manner,
as to be hardly perceptible, seeming to crop out from that
which preceded it without any effort, yet there are periods j
when accumulated observations, and wants generally felt,
lead men, who are fortunately placed in advance of their age,
to reach forward, and, by seizing on more extensive views of
the subject, to anticipate the future, and to create more

1 Beattie's Essays, n, 345.

270 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
powerful methods of arriving at a knowledge of, it, thus
eventually leading the habits and ideas of the whole mass
of mankind in a new direction. These, renewed at inter
vals, form what is called periods. Of these there may be
enumerated five in the history of music, viz :
1. The formative period.
2. That of developement.
3. Progress 'towards perfection.
4. Permanence.
5. Decline.
The three first appear to be the only ones that now be
long to the history of music.
The formative period carries us back to the first centuries
of the Christian era. It was the early Christians who, by
the introduction of music into their religious ceremonies,
have gathered up and transmitted to us all the ancient
.practical music with which we are acquainted.1 The early
Christian chants, in which all united, must have been of
the simplest character. The first great improvement of
these simple chants was made by St. Ambrose consecrated
archbishop of Milan in 374. He undertook to give a
fixed constitution to church music, introduced the Ambro-
sian chant, one specimen of which has come down to the
present time in the celebrated canticle of the Te Deum.
About two hundred and thirty years after St Ambrose,
appeared Gregory the Great, who formed and introduced
into practice the system known by the name of the Roman,
or Gregorian chant. He founded a singing school for the
teaching of music, which served as a model for other similar
institutions. The education of singers, and the employ
ment of the Latin language in their hymns, by confining
the singing to a few, rendered it more artificial. The
Gregorian chant was sung in unison with loud notes
of similar value, without rhythm or metre. It has been
sometimes called the choral song, because sung by a choir;
Gregory having been the first who separated -the chanters

1 Biographical Dictionary of Musicians, i, 9.

EUROPEAN ART. 271
from the regular clergy. This celebrated chant, or song,
was carried both into England and France, and was very
generally diffused. It is occasionally used in Catholic
churches at the present time, precisely in the form in which
it was then established; thus, like the earlier strata of
the globe, carrying down to late generations those sim
pler elements which contrast strongly with the more com
plex productions of later times.
The influx of the barbarians, overturning the empire of
the west, reduced all musical performances to the chants
of the church and their own national songs. The Gothic
kingdom of Italy, however, imbibed many of the elements
of Roman civilization ; and among other arts that of music
was not neglected. The Roman school of music thus early
acquired an ascendancy which, so far as the execution of'
musical performances is concerned, it has ever since re
tained. Italian singers and performers on musical instru
ments were in demand in other parts of Europe. They
were introduced among the Franks by Clovis. The
Roman, or GregOrian chant, was first introduced into
England by St. Augustine in A.D. 590, and a few years
later by St. Boniface into Germany. It was found difficult,
however, to preserve the Roman chant in its purity among
barbarian performers, and new singers from Italy were in
requisition to prevent its corruption. These were supplied
particularly in England, where John, a celebrated Italian
singer arrived about A.D. 680, and taught the monks of
Wearmouth the method of singing the ecclesiastical ser
vice, and opened several musical schools in different parts of
Northumberland. In France, there came to be so great a
difference between the Gregorian chant as executed at
Rome, and among the Franks, that a quarrel is said to
have arisen between the musicians of the two countries,
each claiming the superiority.1 This being referred to
Charlemagne to decide, " Declare to us," said the emperor
to his singers, " which is most pure, water drawn from its

1 Biographical Dictionary, i, 12.

272 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
source, or that which is taken from a distant stream."
The singers replied, "Water from the source." "Well
then," said the emperor, " return to the original source of
St. Gregory, of whom you have evidently corrupted the -
chant." There was no doubt very great difficulty in re
turning, or in ever acquiring the chant in its purity. An
old historian says that the French and Germans were
quite unable to sing the Gregorian chant.1 "That their
figures were gigantic, and when they sung, it was rather
thunder than musical tones. Their rude throats, instead
of the inflexions of pleasing melody, formed such rough.
sounds as resembled the noise of a cart jolting down a pair
of stairs." Charlemagne obtained singers from Italy,
through whose efforts the Roman chant became so firmly
established in France that it continued down to the com
mencement of the eighteenth century, when the French
bishops reformed the liturgy, and consequently the church
music.2 The introduction of the organ into France in A.D.
757, during the reign of Pepin, the father of Charlemagne,
contributed much to the advancement of music. It was
sent to Pepin from Constantinople by one of the Greek
emperors. This greatest instrument of music was un
known to antiquity. Its agency in the creation of modern
music has been very great. From it has been derived
what may be considered the base of the structure of
elaborate compositions for instruments. The fugue, from
which have flowed the sonata, symphony, and overture,
refined, and in every way enlarged and increased in effect
by the vocal proprieties and poetical alliances of operatic
music, is mainly the outgrowth of the organ.
To the formative period of modern European music must
be referred the songs of the early bards, who, among the
Celts, were of the Druidical order, and celebrated the deeds
of worthy men. Instrumental music was much cultivated
by the primitive Celts ; they and their descendants in the
different races evincing a strong attachment to it. The

1 Higgins, 207. ' Biographical Dictionary, 1, 12, 13.

EUROPEAN ART. 273
song of the Druids was revered as a sacred hymn, and the
chanting of Druidical precepts was even imitated by the
early Christians. Celtic music is generally of a grave and
plaintive character, although occasionally running off* into
cheerful and animating airs.1 The Welsh, the Scots, and
the Irish, have all melodies of a simple sort, which, as they
are connected together by cognate marks, evince their rela
tionship and antiquity. The old bardic works contain
melodies for war, for love, and for sorrow. There was
the song of peace, and the song of victory. The music of
the Scots is composed on a peculiar scale.2 Scotland boasts
of the most ancient melodies. The Irish rank next, and
then follow the Welsh. The scale made use of by the
Gothic nations produces melodies of a character entirely
different from that of the Celts.
The formative period is completed when the musical
ideas of the barbarous nations become mixed and blended
with the remains of Grecian music. Next follows the
period of development ; and here the first thing of import
ance that occurs is the invention of the gamut, or scale, and
the origin of counterpoint. The musical scale first took its
present form in the commencement of the eleventh cen
tury, in the year 1022. It was then that Guido, a Bene
dictine monk, of Arezzo, in Italy, first constructed the gamut.
Next follows, about the middle of the same century, the
invention of modern rhythm. This invention, if not due
to Franco, either of Cologne or Paris, was at least made
available through him,3 as he was the first who1 reduced into
a system the rules respecting rhythm which had been esta
blished before his time, also extending and1 correcting
them. He describes measured music as a chant measured
by long and short intervals of time, the same to be ex
pressed either by the voice or by rests. He divides time
into three degrees, viz : the long, the breve, and the semi-
breve. He also distinguishes five modes, or elements of
rhythm, the first containing longs, or a long followed by a

1 Scottish Gael, 409. ' Idem, 410. "Biographical Dictionary, i, ivi.
vn] 35

274 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
breve ; the second a long preceded by a breve; the third
a long and two breves; the fourth two breves and a long;
and the fifth of two semibreves and two breves. He
arranges and classifies the descant, and also consonances,
and dissonances. All this was making an obvious progress,
and music, with regard to harmony, remained in the same
state for more than a century ; the Crusades, in the mean
time, having almost completely occupied the attention of
almost all Europe.
The rhythmical feet, as determined by-Franco, began to
be abandoned towards the close of the fourteenth century,
and as many sounds were introduced into th*e measure, as
the subdivision of the different orders of notes at that time
would permit. New forms, or figures, now became neces
sary to represent new values of time, and these were ,
formed near the close of the fourteenth and beginning of
the fifteenth century. Near the close of the fifteenth
century appears Fanchino Gafforio, whose writings are
numerous, and form quite an era in the history of
music. They became so famous, that in the course of a
few years they were spread almost all over Europe, and
their precepts were inculcated in most of the schools, uni
versities, and other public seminaries in Italy, France, Ger
many, and England. The most valuable is the Pratica
Musica, which he divides into four books, viz :~
1. Harmony, by which he means intonation ; for har
mony had not yet achieved its independence of the limited
acceptation in which it was received by the ancients.
2. Measured chant.
3. Counterpoint.
4. Musical proportions.
Of these, the two latter are only of much interest.
Counterpoint is when the musical characters, by which
the notes in each part are signified, are placed in such a
manner, each with respect to' each, as to show how the
parts answer one to another. Counterpoint in composi
tion, therefore, is the art of combining and modulating
consonant sounds. After treating of the different kinds

EUROPEAN ART. 275
of counterpoints, Gafforio proceeds to lay down eight rules
on the succession of consonances, which are much the
same as those now in use. He then treats of dissonances, '
and produces a piece entirely composed of discords, which
used to be chanted in the church of Milan, on the eve of
the festival des morts. He also fixed, or nearly so, the
value of notes.
There was one important agency in the history of music,
in its progress thus far, not yet noticed by us, and that
was the songs of the troubadours, the successors of the
ancient bards. These were a class of wandering musi
cians, who traVeled through all the southern countries of
Europe, singing their songs in the palaces of kings, and
the castles of the nobles. The songs thus sung were com
posed in the Provencal language, a compound of Latin
and Teutonic. The troubadours commenced their rhyming
and musical mission in the eleventh century, traveling
from one castle to another, and singing their songs in
celebration of the heroic deeds of warriors, and the beauty
of their ladies. They continued thus traveling and sing
ing, until near the fifteenth century, when their vices,
chiefly of licentiousness, led to their suppression. The
social music of the French people is largely indebted in its
origin to the songs of the troubadours.
The period of development may be said to close with
the fifteenth century. The great general principles of
music were now ascertained. It had traveled through the
dark ages, had arrived at the era of light and knowledge,*
had developed the gamut, counterpoint, rhythm, value of
notes, and many other things essential to the completion
of its system. Its progress hitherto had been steadily
onward. It had constructed and tuned its violin; dis
covered the principle lying at the foundation of its piano-"
forte; and learned to breathe through the deep tones of
its-organ. It had given to religion the Gregorian chant;
had accompanied the minstrel as he sang the deeds of his
warrior patron, and inflamed the soul of the troubadour
as he breathed forth his harmonious lay to his lady-love.

276 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Its progress had gone on keeping pace with the advance
ment of the humam mind, until it had arrived at the
threshold of a new epoch, the sixteenth century. And
now commences the third era in its history, viz : its pro
gress towards perfection, the era which is now in the act
of development.
Assuming that the elements of music are all ascertained,
and its principles settled, we are now to regard the art as
permanently established, and a correct foundation laid for
those wonderful compositions which have thrilled the soul
of so many admirers. During some three centuries, little,
if anything, has been added to the principles of music, but
its powers have been wonderfully displayed, and its in
herent capacities tested by a vast variety of new applica
tions. In many points, the art has been supposed to have
attained the utmost limits of perfection ; so much so, that
' if it does hot now remain stationary at the same point, it
can only recede, unless a complete revolution were to be
worked in the whole system.
The approach towards a musical system rendered it neces
sary to simplify the system of values. To accomplish this,
led to the introduction of bars, the object of which was to
render their calculation of corresponding values easier by
enclosing within the same fixed space as many notes of
the score as would agree with one note of great duration,1
such as a maxim, or a long. Thus originally a bar was only
drawn at every eight or every fourth measure. It was only
in the sixteenth century that printed works contained any
bars, which were not very generally known until the
seventeenth century. The distance between the bars be
came in time diminished until they enclosed but one
measure, as at the present day. The introduction of bars,
with their gradual increase, has resulted in bringing into
disuse notes of great value, the moderns having multiplied
the diminished notes by forming crotchets, quavers, semi
quavers etc., which are now very common. While rhythm

1 Biographical Dictionary, I, xxv, xrvi.

EUROPEAN ART. 277
has sustained but slight variation, it is the reverse with
sounds, and consequently with harmony and counterpoint.
The tones of the Greeks were preserved in the chant of the
Roman church till the close of the fifteenth century. In
the course of the next suceeding century a movement ap
peared which led the art to that state of perfection to
which it has now attained. A piece of music, supposed to
be throughout in the same key,1 will, on being decomposed,
be found to be composed of a certain number of different
keys, each having a direct affinity to the principal key
note. The whole system of these affinities constitutes the
musical mode, and the placing of all the intermediate
sounds, from the tonic to the octave, in regular succession,
forms the scale of the mode. From a great number of
different modes may be formed a variety of systems, each
of which will constitute essentially the same number of
, idioms or musical languages, which will belong to various'
races of men. The eastern system of modes seems differ
ent from ours. We have but two, the major and the
minor. It was during the sixteenth century that this
modern tonality first became universally known. If the
system of tones had experienced no variation, the science
would have attained its utmost limits more than two
centuries ago. Harmony in the first place experienced a
.revolution. Monteverd, in Lombardy, near the close of
the sixteenth century, invented the harmony of the domi
nant. He first used double discord, such as | and £ £, as
well as the flat fifth and the seventh unprepared. The <
admission of his principle led to the conclusion that only
three essential harmonies were to be acknowledged in the
mode, viz : that of the tonic, of the dominant, and of the
subdominant. All this led to the employment of intervals
in melody which till then had been interdicted, and the
intervals in harmony soon suceeded each other in a way
till then unknown. Viadana, about the same time, invented
the fundamental bass, proposing to make it reign through-

1 Biographical Dictionary, i, xxvii.

278 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
out the piece, to consider it as the basis of the whole com
position, and to represent by figures the chord it was to
carry. Four principal styles are admitted in music :
1. Church music.
,2. Chamber music.
3. Dramatic music.
4. Instrumental music.
1. The first admits of four species, viz: the style, a capella,
the accompanied style, the concertante style, and the
oratorio. That first mentioned most decidedly belongs to
the church. By the accompanied style, is meant that in
which the voices are accompanied by the organ alone, or
with some other low instruments to sustain the basses, and
by the concerted style, that in which the voices are ac
companied by all sorts of instruments both of a high and
low pitch. The oratorio is a kind of drama, the subject
being selected from the scriptures, and the performance
being in a church by singers representing the different
persons of the drama. The oratorio owes its invention to
St. Philip of Neri, born in 1515, who in order to divert the
people of Rome from the theatre to the church, procured
sacred interludes written by good poets to be set to music
by the first composers, and then performed by the most
celebrated singers. The experiment succeeded. The first
oratorios were simple and short, but became gradually of
more importance, untill the genuine drama in all but the
pomp of scenic effect was fully realized. Commencing with
a melange of the madrigal style and of the cantata, its
music came at last to differ little, if at all, from that of the
theatre. 2. What was styled chamber music consisted of madri
gals, simple and accompanied, and also of cantatas and
fugitive pieces. The madrigal was so called because it was
set to a peculiar kind of little poem, known also by that
name, and was termed simple when executed by voices
alone, and accompanied, when the voices were accompanied •
by the music of the pianoforte or organ. The simple

EUROPEAN ART. 279
madrigal was the first in order, and was invented about the
commencement of the sixteenth century. After being
much cultivated during that and the following century, it
has been completely abandoned since the early part of the
eighteenth. Accompanied madrigals date from the commencement
of the seventeenth century, when the custom was intro
duced of putting an instrumental bass, differing from
the vocal one, below the voices. These also run their
course before the middle of the eighteenth century, and
have never since possessed much popularity. The cantata .
is a poem set to music, or a song intermixed with recita
tive. . It has no very determinate character, and may be
in all styles, ranging from the simplest forms of musical
expression up to the Passion of Ramler, or the Creation
of Haydn. It originated about the beginning of the
seventeenth century from the lyric drama. This also has
run its course, and has now been almost completely aban
doned for nearly three generations.
Fugitive pieces consist of an immense number of styles
and great variety of subjects. Every nation has its own,
as Italy the canzonetto, the villanelle, etc. ; Spain the bolero,
etc. ; France, the romance and the vaudeville. As the
musical character of every nation is expressed in its songs,
these become interesting subjects of study. They also lie
at the foundation of the ideal style, and thus present the
elements of the modern system of music.
3. Dramatic music arose from the invention of the reci
tative or recited music, which gave to the lyric drama. a
peculiar language and construction. The first specimen of
this was the poem entitled Daphne, to which was applied a
sort of recitation in notes having all the sounds of music,
without its regular support and marked time. This was
performed in Florence in 1597, at the house of Corsi. This
was followed by two others the Eurydice and Ariana,
the former being the first that was performed in public.
Its representation took place in 1600, at Florence, on the
occasion of the marriage of Henry IV of France with Mary

1 280 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
de Medicis. This is supposed to have been a revival of
the chanting declamation of the Greeks. This was the
epoch of the recitative in dramatic music.
By the middle of the seventeenth century in the opera of
Jason, set to music by Cavalli, we recognize airs having a
melody differing from that of the recitative. This was
subsequently improved upon, and in the operas of Cesti,
composed in 1663, airs were introduced in which the talent
of the singer might be displayed to advantage. This was
termed the epoch of dramatic melody.
The next noticeable phase of the opera is that it began
to degenerate into a spectacle calculated to please the sight
alone. By the close of the seventeenth century the
machinist and decorator appear much more prominently ,
than the poet, composer or singer. Still there were an
immense number of composers devoting themselves to this
style; and amongst them the celebrated Alessandro Scar
latti, to whom the invention of the obligate recitative is
generally attributed. The principal characteristic of these
composers is their science, and hence this has been termed
the scientific epoch in dramatic music.
At length was felt, by Scarlatti, the necessity of making
the melody conformable to the expression of the words, and
some attempts made in this direction were successful. It
was reserved, however, to the first generations of the
eighteenth century to complete this great improvement,
and fully to establish the epoch of expression. It was to
the pupils of Scarlatti that the approach to it is attributa
ble. They were strongly seconded by the poets of their
time, particularly by Metastasio. This same system was
followed by three generations, each profiting by the succes
sive embellishments of melody, and of the orchestra.
This was a brilliant period, but it could not be perma
nent. The singers began to display abilities before
unknown, and exacted of the poet and composer such
situations as would best suit their talents. This led to a
new epoch in dramatic music, characterized by the deve
lopment of the true lyric drama. The best lyric poets,

EUROPEAN ART. 281
Marcello and Metastasio gave their talents to the work,
and at length created a perfect lyric drama, that is, a drama
composed according to all the dramatic rules, and in which
the music should be entirely subservient to the action.
The principles upon which this was based were expounded
in the writings of Marcello, but their application to the
stage, with all the fullness of truth, was left to the cele
brated Gluck, who, about the middle of the eighteenth
century, effected this important revolution. -
One more epoch only remains, viz: that of dramatic
symphony. Towards the close of the eighteenth century,
the advancement of instrumental music caused a sensible
movement in that of the drama, some composers having
endeavored to introduce into operatic accompaniments the
richness of the symphony. Here we reach the schools of
Haydn, Mozart, Cherubini and others. This, as a system,
has many great advantages. The only danger seems to be
in eclipsing the vocal, and thus of rendering it sometimes
apparently less important than the accessory part.
All these remarks apply more especially to lyric tragedy.
Lyric comedy has gone through substantially the same
revolutions. The most ancient of these seem to be of the
sixteenth century. Their music was in the madrigal style.
Among its inconveniences was the use of monologues,
sung by several voices, on account of the want of instru-
ments for accompaniment. It does not appear when the
recitative was first introduced into lyric comedy. Pergo-
lese distinguished himself by introducing declamatory
modulation into dramatic music ; and Logroscino, by the
invention of finales, gave to dramatic melody a new kind
of development. At length comic music passed under
the dominion of symphony under the reigns of Mozart
and his followers.
4. Instrumental music should be regarded in reference
to two things : 1. The sonorous principle, which forms its
basis. 2. The mechanism of its execution. In reference
to the first, instruments are either stringed, wind or vocal.
vn] 36

282 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
In reference to the second, they are either bowed, wind,
keyed, stringed; instruments of percussion, or ruechanicaL
instruments. To the first belongs the violin, the viola,
violoncello or bass, and the double bass. To the second,
the German flute, the clarionet, the hautboy, the bassoon,
the horn, the trumpet, the trombone, the serpent, the fife,
and the flageolet. To the third, the harpiscord, the spinet,
the pianoforte, and the organ. To the fourth, the harp,
the guitar, the lyre, and the mandoline. To the fifth, the
drum, and the cymbal. To the sixth, the bird organ, and
the bulafo, or organ of Barbary.
Instrumental music consists of a melody or a system of
melodies appropriated either to a single instrument, or to
several together. There have been the same revolutions,
as to taste and style, in instrumental music as in singing ;
it always having been influenced by the existing style of
vocal composition. During the two first generations of the
seventeenth century music was entirely in the madrigal
style.1 Dramatic music attained the highest degree of
expression, both as to composition and execution, under
Tartini. Since the commencement, or more strictly middle, of the
sixteenth century, all the principles of musical construction
and design, and every kind of musical composition, have
become established, and have been marching on towards
perfection. The sciences, also, and the languages and lite
ratures of modern Europe, have, during the same period,
exhibited the same principle of development and progress.
All these have their derivation from the original barbarian
stock, with so much of Greek and Roman origin as were
adopted and thus made a part of that stock.

1 Biographical Dictionary, I, xlviii.

EUROPEAN ART. 283

European Schools of Music.
Each nation, and more especially each race, develops
the general principles of music in accordance with its own
peculiar tastes and customs. Still those nations only attain
the dignity of having schools of music which have contri
buted, in a sensible manner, to the progress of the art,
either by the suggestion of universally adopted principles
or methods ; or by the production of works universally
regarded as classical. In this sense three schools have been
enumerated : the Italian, German, and French.

The Italian Schools.
Italy, in reference to its schools of music, has been divided
into three regions : the upper, middle, and lower. In the
first are the schools of Venice and Lombardy ; in the second
those of Rome and Bologna; andin the third, thatof Naples.
There are certain traits characterizing all these schools,
such are a nice feeling, and profound knowledge of the
essential and constitutive principles of the art, united to grace
and expression. The origin of passionate grace and refine
ment in music is due to Italy. The most expressive of
instruments, the violin and its family, was fabricated in her
cities. The language of her people, both as to metre and
syllabication, is the best adapted for song. As before
noticed their vocal organs also proclaim the same truth. As
might well be expected,, a race of singers grew up there
- who gave method and laws in song to the European world.
But each one of these schools, independently of all
general traits, possesses features peculiar to itself. To
that of lower Italy belongs, more particularly, vivacity and
truth of expression; to those of middle Italy, science,
purity of design, and grandeur; and to those of upper
Italy, energy, and force of coloring.

284 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Italy, however, had not much early celebrity as a land
of music. During the middle ages it was the theatre of de
structive wars. These extinguished her rising arts. From
the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, she borrowed the
most important improvements in the art from the French
and Flemings. Of these, the latter seem to have been
the original, as an early school there seems to have been
the source of all those now subsisting in Europe. France,
from proximity, participated in the impulse, and early
French and Flemish singers were found throughout Italy,
and the music of French and Flemish composers was sung
in the eternal city. At that period so great a uniformity
existed between all the European nations, that they seemed
to form but one school.
It was near the middle of the sixteenth century before
the schools of Italy distinctly appear upon the scene. The
earliest is that at Rome under the lead of Palestina. , He
was born in 1529 ; was appointed chapel-master of St.
Peter's, and died in 1594, having brought ehoral harmony
to a degree of perfection that has never since been ex
ceeded. The school of Bologna emanated from that of
Rome. The school of Venice is due to Willaerst, and that of
Lombardy to Porta. The school of Naples owes its princi
pal fame to Scarlatti. He was born in 1650, and was the
most voluminous composer of cantatas that ever existed in
any country. These schools have attained a superiority in
almost every kind of music. Having received the old eccle
siastical counterpoint from the Flemish and French, they
were the first who gave to it the sentiment of modern
sounds. Having fixed and determined these sounds, they
have made phrases and melodic periods, and created tonal
harmony. They have also perfected counterpoint or
musical design, while fugue and intricate counterpoint
owe to them their greatest beauties. It is in the Italian
schools that the various branches of sacred music,
from the plain chant to the most highly ornamented
styles, have been successively developed. The style a

EUROPEAN ART. 285
capella, the finest counterpoint, the fugued style, the
accompanied style, and the concerted style, are all indebted
more or less to the Italian schools for their full develop
ment. Chamber music also looks to Italy as its peculiar home.
It is the land of the madrigal, whether simple or accom
panied. The school of Naples is unrivalled in its cantatas.
The opera, dramatic music, belongs almost entirely to
Italy, having received its invention at Florence, and its
perfection at Naples. The Italians have not only perfected
all kinds of vocal composition, but they have also invented
all the different kinds of instrumental music, and have
' been the instructors of all Europe in instrumental composi
tion. In concerted pieces the schools of Italy have fur
nished some chef-d'-ceuvres, but to the symphony, properly
so called, they have little or no claim.
As to musical execution the Italian schools have main
tained a superiority over the rest of Europe. The
superiority of their singers arises from their climate, the
organization of the inhabitants, the more favorable construc
tion of their vocal organs, and the excellence of their rules.
In regard to instrumental music, the Italians were the
inventors of the harpsichord, the bassoon and tfie trombone,
and were the instructors of all Europe in the use of the violin.
Instrumental music, however, has been far less cultivated
than singing. Instruments are there regarded only as the
means of accompaniment, and no small amount of difficulty
would be experienced in having a symphony well performed
in Italy.
It seems to be conceded that music has experienced a
sensible decline in Italy since the latter years of the last
century. The falling off has been not so much in the
number, as in the excellence of its professors. This de
clension has been attributed to the preference universally
given to dramatic music, which will admit of acquiring
considerable success with a very superficial knowledge of
the art. The Italian school, however, still holds a high
rank, and although the public instruction may be some-

286 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION. - V
what feeble, yet many scientific masters are "still to be found,
as well as all the models which have been left by preced
ing generations.

The German School.
Many schools of music are recognized in Germany.
Almost every German capital can furnish one. The Ger
mans are said to prefer those chords which are the most bril
liant in their effects, and those instruments which are
the most sonorous, such as wind instruments. This gives
them great currency among those who confound the
tumult of complicated sounds with harmony. So far as
music is a science, consisting in the simultaneous employ
ment of sounds, it is the same throughout Europe, and
constitutes that part of the art on the foundations of which
all nations best agree. Each nation, or race, however,
makes its own choice of instruments, and style of harmony.
The German schools have an earlier origin than the
Italian, several of their masters having flourished at the
same period as the French and Flemish. But during the
latter part of the sixteenth, and beginning of the seven
teenth century, Germany was devastated by wars, particu
larly by the thirty years' war, which proved terribly
destructive to all the arts, with the single exception of the
art of war itself. It was not until near the close of the
seventeenth century that Germany seemed to awake tho
roughly to a sense of music. She then received an impulse
from the works of Keyser, the first German composer,
who, after the renovation, evinced an original and superior '
talent. The Germans have only followed the Italians in all that
relates to the foundation of the musical system. They
have never equalled them in vocal melody. It is different
in regard to instrumental music. The Germans there can
boast some master-pieces of the first class. They have
chiefly considered counterpoint as it relates to instruments,

EUROPEAN ART. 287
and; hence the voice parts often harmonize badly in their
compositions, because they affect passages and intervals
contrary to the nature and character of the human voice.
The Gregorgian chant was early imported from Italy
into Germany. " The Germans also composed some pecu
liar pieces, called chorals, consisting in several parts, to be
sung by all the congregation, and which have a very fine
effect. This kind of music is peculiar to themselves.
They have counterpoint in the plain chant, also fugues,
but not equal to those of Italy. But in the accompanied
and concerted styles of church music, they have long had
the preeminence over the Italians, having possessed many
compositions by their great masters, such as the masses of
Graun, Haydn, and Mozart. They possessed also oratories
of the greatest beauty and power, such as the Ascension
and the Israelites by Bach, the Death of Jesus- by Graun,
and the Messiah by Handel.
So far as relates to the chamber, or concert style, they
have nothing very remarkable in madrigals', but in the
cantata they have some compositions of rare beauty, the
most celebrated of which are those of the Creation and
Seasons by Hadyn. They have not succeeded well in fugi
tive pieces, as "that is a style which requires* a simplicity
and purity of melody little known amongst them. Since
the commencement of the eighteenth century, and during1
its continuance, the German composers who were formed"
in the school of Naples, conveyed that style to Germany,
and it became predominant, and served as a model to all
others. Thus improved, it became the style of Graun,
Gluck, and even of Haydn and Mozart.
The German school derives its greatest lustre from its
instrumental music. The violin and harpsichord each had
able composers. In regard to wind instruments, they
possessed a species of composition which belongs almost
exclusively to Germany, and in which were a large num
ber of excellent composers. The Germans excelled in
instrumental concerted music. Haydn raised his own
glory, and that of his nation, to the highest point, by bring-

288 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
ing the grand symphony to a degree of perfection which
it seems almost impossible should ever be surpassed. The
Germans excel in musical execution on wind instruments;
There are a great number of excellent German organists,
and with regard to that instrument, no nation can com
pare with Germany. Germany boasts a richer musical
literature than any other country in Europe. A large
number of excellent works have there been published,
mostly in the course of the eighteenth century, on all the
branches of the art. Its cultivation is very universal
throughout Germany. It is publicly taught even down to
the most insignificant charity schools, and no schoolmaster
is permitted to exercise his profession, unless he is capable
of teaching the elements of music, and some instruments.
The musicians of Germany are, in general, very numerous,
and well informed. Their methods of instruction are
much the same as in Italy, with some modifications.

The French School.
At the period of the revival of the arts, the French were
the-^ first to follow the example of the Flemish. Some
French composers flourished at the same period with the
Flemish. The French school attained considerable emi
nence during the reign of Francis I ; but the religious
disturbances, commencing about the middle of the six
teenth century and continuing until near the end of the
reign of Henry IV, together with the bloody wars by
which they were accompanied, and the profanation of the
churches, then the only repositories of music, gave a
terrible blow to the art. Henry IV was indifferent to
music, and the ambitious, gloomy, saturnine, and tyrannical
Richelieu, who, for a long time under Louis XIH, ruled
the French nation, had no special love for it, and did not,
therefore, extend to it his patronage. The long minority
of Louis XIV was attended by disturbances still more
fatal to the arts. For more than a century there was a

EUROPEAN ART. 289
general neglect in the cultivation of music in France,
the French school remaining, all that time, behind that of
Italy. The reign of Louis XIV inaugurated a new era in
French music. That prince was himself an excellent
performer, and passionately fond of music. He power
fully patronized the art which he took so much pleasure in
cultivating. Lully, a Florentine, introduced into France ,
music as it then existed in Italy. He contributed greatly
to the improvement of French music. His compositions
were chiefly operas, and other dramatic entertainments.
He is said to have been the inventor of that species of
composition termed the overture ; and more especially of
that spirited movement, the largo, which is the general
introduction to the fugue. The French music, was, there
fore, originally little more than an outgrowth from the
Italian. The latter was established in the churches, thea
tres, and concerts, and was generally cultivated with suc
cess. The French have also followed the steps of the
Italians in this art. So they have also in regard to melody,
although when left to their natural impulse, they have a
style of melody peculiar to themselves.
But at the beginning of the seventeenth century a violent
struggle took place between French and Italian melody,
which was kept up during almost the whole of that century.
The French melody triumphed on two occasions at the
opera, and in the French cathedrals. After a musical war
of sixty years the national taste, which had been formed
upon the Italian system, obtained the ascendancy, and the
works of Gluck, and several other distinguished composers,
finally gave to France a melody of a peculiar character
in which Italian grace became united to French decorum.
In practical harmony the French have, for a long time,
been far behind the Italians and the Germans. They also
do not,, in general, know so well how to write music as the
Italians and Germans, which may be accounted for from
the difference of their methods.
vn] 37

290 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
In church music the French received from St. Gregory
the Roman chant, and by degrees made great alterations
in it ; so great that it was at length totally abandoned for
absurd plain chants, which were composed at the period
when the art was most depraved in France. It was rela
tively to the counterpoint on the plain chant that the
French school is the most defective.
Church music in France, with instrumental accompani
ment, has always had great connection with dramatic
music, and has undergone the same series of changes. s In
this style the French have had many great composers.
In chamber music, the French have no madrigals except
a few by some contemporaries with the Flemish, all of whose
works are now forgotten. As this species of music flou
rished in Italy during the most troublesome periods in French
history it never came to prevail much among the latter
people. The chief glory of the French school is in dramatic
music. They, in the first instance, borrowed the dramatic
melody of the Italians, and then combining with it that
of their own nation, have formed one peculiar to themselves.
Out of it has issued the lyric drama, which may be con
sidered as of French origin. Lyric representations took
place at the French court as early as the reign of Henry
IV, being introduced by his wife Mary de Medicis. At a
subsequent period the Italian Mazarin imported the Italian
taste into France, and in 1646 caused the first Italian opera
to be performed at the Louvre. The first French opera
was brought out in 1670. The lyric drama of France
owes much of its success to the superiority of its national
theatre. The French excel in musical execution. They boast of
a number of celebrated singers. The excellence and super
iority of the French in respect to execution is the most
strongly marked in instrumental music, more especially
in that of the violin. The French violinists, both in num
ber and talent, have, for some time, stood unrivalled in
Europe.

EUROPEAN ART: 291
Of the three nations already spoken of as having schools
of music, it is in France that this art is the least generally
cultivated. ¦ It is also the art which is the least attended
to in France, and one on which there are no public lectures,
an advantage which it possesses in most other European
countries.

In England the old Puritan element has undoubtedly
contributed very much to retard the progress of the higher
styles of music. Even as early as the reign of Queen
Elizabeth we find among the various requests of the puri
tans, the following :
" That all cathedral churches may be put down, where the
service of God is grievously abused by piping with organs,
singing, ringing, and tro'wling of psalms from one side of
the choir to another, with the squeaking of chanting choris
ters, disguised as are all the rest in white surplices;1 some
in corner caps and silly copes, imitating the fashion and
manner of antichrist, the pope, that man of sin and child
of perdition, with his other rabble of miscreants and shave
lings." Thus the change from Catholicism to puritanism,
and the destruction of the theatre, owing to the spread of
more sombre tastes, led to a great declension of the art of
music. The great English composer, Henry Purcell, flourished in
the last half of the seventeenth century. He learned the
elements of his art very young, and while a singing boy in
the chapel composed many of his anthems, which have
been ever since constantly sung in English cathedrals.
The great powers of his genius embraced every species of
composition that was then known, and with almost equal
facility. In the church, he adopted the new and more ex
pressive style, which he himself had been instrumental in
inventing, and accompanied the voice parts with instru
ments, to enrich the harmony, and enforce the melody

ins, 224.

292 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
and meaning of the words. In the theatre, he employed
to a much greater extent than his predecessors, the color
ing and effects of an orchestra, and gave to 'the voice a
melody more interesting and impassioned than during that
century had been heard in England. In chamber music,-.
whether sonatas for instruments, or odes, cantatas, songs,
ballads, and catches for the voice, he very far surpassed all
of musical composition that preceded him. His composi
tions were very numerous, and were marked by a vigor
and a correct art of word-setting that formed the basis of
Handel's oratorios. And yet, like Mozart, he breathed
out all the hidden harmony and melody of his soul before
completing his thirty-seventh year.
In the eighteenth century Dr. Arne made a brilliant,
though unsuccessful effort, to rival the Italian opera, by the
introduction of recitative song after the Italian fashion.7
His melody, and that of his Vauxhall songs, subsequently
forms an era in English music. It was so easy, natural, and'
agreeable to the whole kingdom, that it had an effect
upon the national taste. It was the standard of all perfec
tion at English theatres and public gardens until a more
modern Italian style was. subsequently introduced by
Bickerstaff and Cumberland. There was in his composi
tions a natural ease and elegance, a flow of melody which
stole upon the senses, and a fullness and variety in the
harmony which satisfied, Without surprising the auditor
by any new, affected, or extraneous modulation. His ob
ject seems to have been to please, in which he fully suc
ceeded. He possessed not the vigor of Purcell, nor the
grandeur, simplicity and magnificence of Handel.
We shall close with some account of the four greatest
musical composers the world has ever seen, viz : Handel,
Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven.
George Frederick Handel was born at Halle, in lower
Saxony, in 1684, and died in 1759 at the age of seventy-
five. In early youth he discovered a passion for music, and

EUROPEAN ART. 293
by the time he attained the age of nine years officiated on
the organ, and began to study composition. After visiting
Italy, and spending some time at Venice, Florence, Rome,
and Naples, he returned to Germany, and in 1710 esta
blished himself in London. It was here that his great
musical performances were brought out, and hence the
occasion furnished to England to lay claim to his extraor
dinary musical powers. Here were performed those great
oratorios, Israel in Egypt, Saul, Messiah, Samson, Bel-
shazzar, Hercules, Joseph, Joshua, Theodora, and others.
During the execution of his oratorios he was accustomed to
wear an enormous white wig, which had a certain nod or
vibration when things went well, but when the signal was
wanting it was ominous of something wrong. He wrote
very fast, and with great apparent eagerness to reduce his
conceptions to form. He was never married, and during
the latter part of his life was afflicted with blindness. This
however, did not prevent him from continuing to play con
certos and voluntaries between the parts of his oratorios to
the last, with the same apparent vigor of thought and touch ,
as ever. He also continued to compose in private after
being deprived of his sight. Later in life he seemed more
willing to trust his inventive powers than his memory, as
after giving the skeleton of each movement to the band,
he played all the solo parts extempore. This power of
continuing his composition so late in life confirms the
opinion of Dr. Johnson : " That it seldom happens to men
of powerful intellects and original genius, to be robbed of
mental vigor by age; it is only the feeble-minded, and fool
born part of the creation, who fall into that species of im
becility, which gives occasion to say that they are super
annuated ; for these, when they retire late in life from the
world on which they have lived, by retailing the sense of
others, are instantly reduced to indigence of mind."
His performance on the organ has been thus described :
"A fine and delicate touch, a volant finger, and a ready
execution of the most difficult passages, are the praise of
inferior artists; they were scarcely noticed in Handel,

294 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
whose excellencies were of a far superior description.
His amazing command of the instrument, the fullness of
his harmony, the grandeur and dignity of his style, the
copiousness of his imagination, and the fertility of his
k invention, were qualities which absorbed every subordi
nate attainment. When he gave a concerto, his usual
method was to introduce it with a voluntary movement on
the diapasons, which stole on the ear in a slow and solemn
progression ; the harmony close wrought, and as full as
could possibly be expressed, the passages concatenated
with stupendous art, the whole at the same time heing
perfectly intelligible, and carrying the appearance of great
simplicity. This kind of prelude was succeeded by the
, concerto itself, which he executed with a degree of spirit
and firmness that no one ever pretended to equal."
The effects of his music on the auditory have been thus
described: " Silence, the truest applause, succeeded the
instant that he addressed himself to the instrument ;
silence so profound, that it checked respiration, and seemed
to control the functions of nature, while the magic of his
touch kept the attention of his hearers awake only to those
enchanting sounds to which it gave utterance."
The control exercised by music over the passions has
ever been acknowledged, but it has been generally under
stood to find a limit in those possessing minds susceptible
to its charms. But those having no passions or affections
upon which music could operate, who if left to themselves
would have interrupted the hearing of others by their
talking, were, by the performance of Handel not only
charmed into silence, but were generally the loudest in
their acclamations.
The powers of composition and of instrumental perform
ance, have with each other no necessory connection. The
union of both in the same person in any .superior degree,
has rarely ever been witnessed. And yet in the person of
Handel all the perfections of the musical art were concen
trated. Though never a master of the violin, yet his man
ner of touching it was that of the ablest masters ; and

EUROPEAN ART. 295
although without a voice, yet he sung most admirably such
music as required more of the pathos of melody than a
quick and voluble expression. -
The choruses of Handel are fugues, in which the grand
est subjects are introduced, and conducted with such art,
as he only possessed. They are in various styles ; some in
the solemn style of the church ; others possessing the
natural and easy elegance of madrigals ; while others still
are in the highest degree expressive of exultation. There
are also others in a style peculiar to himself, and calculated
to excite terror. He. has at times striven after imitation ;
as to express the hopping of frogs by passages broken in
the time, and by others calculated to resemble the buzzing
of flies : and in Joshua by the harmony of one long ex
tended note to make the audience "hear the sun stand
still." But his great mission seems to have been to de
velop the sublime in music. In his compositions were
united majesty and strength. His style is the great style
in music in the same sense in which that of Michael
Angelo is deemed great in sculpture and painting. Even
his elegance partakes of sublimity.
And yet the work of this greatest of all musical com
posers were not destined to perpetuity. The school of
Michael Angelo perished with its great master. That of
Handel was hardly more enduring. It would seem as if
the region of the sublime, in all departments of art, was
attainable only by a few ; and that if those few were fortu
nate enough to lead other minds thither, and apparently to
elevate the popular mind to that lofty stand-point, yet that
it- could not long remain. The very intensity of its work
ings, the extreme tension which would signalize its arrival
would cause a rebound into a lower sphere.
Thus the English mind could not be long kept keyed up
to the sublime of Handel. It was a style too greatj too
exalted, too full of splendid exhibition, to be of long con
tinuance. The Italian school presented itself with its lan-
-guage, its poetry, and its music, all calculated to excite
the gentler passions. " The frequent recurrence of soft

296 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
syllables, the sweetness of the passages, and the Iubrjcity
with which a true Italian singer glides through "melody,
melts at once into a dream of pity and love. Thus the
passions which most agreeably bias and aff'ect the mind
are all to be found on the side of Italy." And thither has
gone the musical taste of England for its gratification.
The operas of Italy have supplanted the Messiah of Handel.
Francis Joseph Haydn was born at Rohrau about fifteen
leagues from Vienna, in 1732. He was born poor, and
was compelled to work through many hardships in acquir
ing a musical education. He composed his first opera,
the Devil on Two Sticks, in his nineteenth year. A series
of fortunate circumstances attached him to the service of
Prince Esterhazy, and from that period his life was uniform
and devoted to study. In the three classes of music, in
strumental, church, and operas, he excelled, but his great
excellence lay in symphony. He was as much at home in
that as was Handel in the sublime. In sacred music he
discovered a new path which ranks him amongst the first
masters. In theatrical music he was merely estimable,
because he was but an imitator.
Haydn always kept with him a pocket-book in which he
was careful to note down the ideas and passages which oc
curred to him. He also made it a practice when in a
happy and cheerful mood to write subjects for airs and
minuets ; when in a tender or melancholy mood he would
write themes for andantes and adagios, so that afterwards
when composing, if he wanted any particular sort of pas
sage, he had recourse to his magazine.
Haydn had some particular and singular rules for com-1
position, which he kept as profound secrets. He never
would disclose them. He never undertook a symphony
unless he felt himself quite disposed for it, and then put
ting on his diamond ring, which had been given him by
Frederick II, he would commence by noting down his
principal idea or theme, and choosing his key. His know
ledge seemed perfect of the greater or less effect produced

EUROPEAN ART. 297
by the succession of certain chords ; and he would some
times picture to himself a history which might convey
musical sentiments and colors to his mind. He underr
stood perfectly all the instruments of which his orchestra
was composed. He saw with the quickness of intuition,
what instrument was necessary fop his purpose. In his
compositions there are often singular modulations, but he
felt that what is extravagant draws the attention too much
from the beautiful. Extraordinary changes were never
attempted without first preparing the ear for them by the
preceding chords. Many of his finest quartettes com
mence by the most insignificant idea, but by degrees, this
same idea assumes a character, which strengthens, increases,
and develops itself, until • its proportions become truly
gigantic. Haydn himself ranked as the highest of his productions,
the Seven Words. These were seven grand symphonies
expressive of the sentiments which the seven words uttered
by the Saviour on the cross, were calculated to inspire.
A reward had been offered for their composition, and
Haydn was the only one who would consent to make the
attempt. He composed many comic pieces, few qf which
have survived. One of these is that well known sym
phony in which all his instruments are made successively
to cease, one after the other, so that, at the conclusion,
the viOlin is left to perform alone. He contrived one
very singular entertainment for the prince. Having pur
chased a basket full of children's whistles, little fiddles,
cuckoos, wooden trumpets, and other such instruments, he
studied their compass and character, and composed a most
amusing symphony with these instruments alone, some
even performing solos, the cuckoo being the base of the
piece. Haydn twice visited London, and the second time had
conferred upon him by the university of Oxford, the
degree of Dqctor of Music, on which occasion he gave as
his specimen of musical science to the university a compo-
vn] 38

298 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
sition, which, whether read from top to bottom, bottom to
top, or from the middle of the page, or on either side of
it, formed an air, and a correct accompaniment. He was,
during his whole life, a great student. He was slow in
composing. A symphony often cost him a month's labor.
He worked incessantly, but with difficulty, not from defi
ciency of ideas, but from a difficulty in satisfying his taste.
He felt the necessity of composing sacred music upon a
different principle from that then and theretofore pursued.
The ancient sacred music was barren, the modern Italian
masses had in them a profane luxuriousness, and the Ger
man hymns were monotonous and insipid. He could bor
row little from dramatic music, but he preserved by the
solidity of the harmony some resemblance to the fine and
solemn airs of the ancient school, sustaining, by the rich
ness of his orchestra, melodies, solemn, tender, and at the
same time dignified and brilliant.
Haydn, when sixty-three years of age, undertook his
great work, the Creation. He employed two entire years
in its composition. This is one of the great master-pieces
of genius. The adaptation of the sound to the sense, the
striking coincidence between the varied harmonies and
melodies, and the ideas they are designed to proclaim, are
clearly traceable through every part of the performance.
The Creation met with rapid success. At its first perform
ance the most profound silence pervaded the assembly as
the first chords resounded from the instruments. A rapid
succession of hitherto unknown beauties unfolded them
selves to the ear, and imparted to every hearer a delight
scarcely possible to analyze, produced by excited desires,
ever renewed and ever satisfied.
Two years after his composition of the Creation, Haydn
animated by his success, composed a new oratorio, entitled
the Four Seasons. The music contains less sentiment
than the Creation ; but to compensate for this want there
are more sallies of gayety, joy at the harvest, and scenes of
love. It is more scientific and less sublime than that of the
Creation. The characters in the one are angels, in the

EUROPEAN ART. 299
other peasants. This finished the musical career of Haydn.
"Formerly," said he, "ideas came to me unsought; now I
am obliged to seek them, and I am not equal to this."
Haydn particularly excelled in the employment of wind
instruments.1 He was the first to discover that each
instrument has a peculiar faculty, and to appoint, to each
its proper office. He has not only drawn from the several
instruments their peculiar language, but has grouped them
into classes, for purposes entirely new.
Haydn has been called the greatest musical genius that
has ever appeared. He has been termed not only the
founder of the modern art, but the most perfect of modern
authors.2 His peculiar excellence lies in that unity of design
and felicity of execution, which we look for in vain in other
composers. In his works we meet with nothing which we
wish to remove or amend. Though learned he is always
intelligible, and the impassioned melody which pervades
his compositions, never fails powerfully to interest the feel
ings. It is from him that we acquire the most correct ideas
of musical taste, and perfection ; and as his music is
founded upon the instinctive tones of our nature, it must
be destined to perpetuity. While to Handel belongs the
stern sublimity and awful grandeur of Michael Angelo, to
Haydn must be accorded the finer beauties, more nicely
adjusted, evenly developed, and admirably balanced powers
of Raphael.
The third great musical genius of modern times we find
in Wolfgang Mozart, born at Salzburg, in 1756. He was a
musical prodigy, displaying astonishing abilities for music
from his attainment of three years of age. At the age of
four years he had learnt, almost voluntarily, to play several
minuets, and other pieces on the harpischord. When eight
years of age, while on a visit to London, he composed six
sonatas, and at the age of nineteen he had attained the
highest perfection of his art. He could, when a mere child,

1 Note in Life of Haydn and Mozart, 41 . " Idem, 4.

300 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
distinguish and point out the slightest variation of sound ;
and every false, or even harsh tone, not softened by some
harmOny^ inflicted upon him the severest torture. During
all the period of his early life he had an invincible horror
to the sound of a trumpetj when not used in concert with
other instruments. Continued blasts of it would come
very near throwing him into convulsions. When a mere
boy he was at Rome, and there heard performed the
celebrated Miserere, a composition which it had been
prohibited either to give or take a copy on pain of excom-
munieationi He listened with such profound attention
that on his return home be noted down the whole piece.
At <bhe age of twenty-five be composed for the theatre of
Munich the opera of Idomeno, which he always considered
as among the best of his productions. His other celebrated
operas were : the Marriage Of Figaro, Don Giovanni, and
the Enchanted Flute.
Mozart never 'reached his natural growth. . His health
was delicate during his whole life. He was thin and pale,
his physiognomy extremely Variable. The expression of
his countenance changed every moment. Some part of his
body was perpetually in motion. He was either playing
with his bands Or beating the ground with his foot.
In everything not relating to his art, Mozart always re--
mained a child. He always indulged in the gratifications
of the moment. The judicious selection of pleasures, and
temperance in the enjoyment of them, were not among his
virtues. His mind was always absorbed by a crowd of
ideas that rendered him incapable of serious reflection.
Music was his constant employment. He most generally
employed the morning in composition, but worked very
irregularly. When an idea struck him he was not to be
drawn from it. If he was taken from the pianoforte, he
continued to compose in the midst of his friends, and some
times passed whole nights with his pen in his hand. At
other times he had such disinclination to work, that he
could not complete a piece till the moment of its perform
ance.

EUROPEAN ART. 301
All the eccentricities of Mozart vanished the moment he •
placed himself before the piano. His soul then rose
above all the weaknesses of his nature, and his whole
attention seemed wrapped in the sole object for which he
was born, the harmony of sounds. The fullest orchestra
did not prevent his observing the slightest false note, and
he would point out with the most astonishing precision the
exact instrument on which the error had been committed.
No musician ever embraced the art so extensively. He
excelled in all styles, from the symphony to the dance,
from operas to the most simple ballads. He was one of the
first pianists in Europe. He ranks as the greatest com
poser that ever lived next to Handel, and in some depart
ments even greater than he. " His most brilliant and solid
glory is founded upon his talents as a composer. His
compositions are principally admired for the amazing fer
tility of the ideas, the clear and happy designs, and systems
followed up with much dexterity, but in which the most
profound science is never destructive of grace. His works
are also remarkable for a new and ingenious arrangement
of the orchestra and wind instruments. He had an extra
ordinary talent for introducing into his accompaniments
the richness of symphony combined with unrivalled ex
pression, energy and fancy."
" He invariably considered and proclaimed, that the
great object of music was,1 not to astonish by its difficulty,
but to delight by its beauty. Some of his own composi
tions are difficult as well as beautiful, and in some, the'
beauty may be too transcendental for senses less exalted
than his own. But the production of pleasure, in all its
varied forms and degrees, was his uniform aim and effort ;
and no master has been more successful. And with all his
genius, he was a laborious and learned musician ; and the
monument to his own fame which he has completed in his
work3, was built upon the most anxious, heartfelt, and
humble study of all the works of excellence that then

1 Blackwood, xxi, 590.

302 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
existed, and without knowing and understanding which,
he truly felt that he never could have equaled or surpassed
them." Mozart died ere he had attained his thirty-sixth year,
under circumstances as singula*!" as his life had been eccen
tric. A stranger had called and engaged a requiem to be
ready in one month. He had declined giving his own
name, or that of the person for whom it was desired, but
paid down the large sum required, one hundred ducats.
Mozart worked upon it night and day, exhausted his
health, and in a state of nervous excitability, began to
entertain the idea that he. was composing the requiem for
himself. The month expired and found the requiem not
completed, but the stranger suddenly reappeared. Learn
ing from Mozart that it was not completed, and that an
additional month would be required, he readily acqui
esced, and voluntarily paid down fifty ducats more. Mo
zart in astonishment exclaimed: "And who are you,
then ? " " That," replied the stranger " has nothing to do
with the subject. I shall return within the month." He
departed, and Mozart in vain sent a servant after him to
find out who he was. He now became convinced that
the stranger was a being of another world, and that he
was really at work upon his own requiem. He redoubled
his diligence, fast sinking by his exhausting efforts. The
unknown returned at the end of the month, but Mozart
was no more. This effort was his last farewell to his art.
He had departed amidst the expiring notes' of his own
requiem. The last great musical composer to which allusion can
be made, is Ludwig Von Beethoven, who was born at
Baun, in 1770. He also early displayed a taste for music,
but was at first more distinguished for his performance than
his composition. While all united in praise of the former,
many objected to the latter a harshness of modulation,
melodies more singular than pleasing, and an evident
struggle to be original, from the latter of which, the former

EUROPEAN ART. 303
difficulties may have arisen. All agreed that his greatest
power consisted in extemporary performance, and in the
art of varying any given theme without the least premedi
tation. He ultimately became a great composer. It is
Said his practice was not to write down a single note of his
compositions till he had mentally completed them. In"
most of his works, his style inclines to the solemn and
melancholy. He disdained to copy his predecessors in
the most distant manner, and accomplished much by his
energetic, bold, and uncommon style of composing. In
the loftier strains of composition, in which the greatest
master can most fully develop both the fertility of his ima
gination in the invention of melodies, and his dexterity
and learning in the construction of harmonies, Beethoven
has attained a very eminent rank. In many of his orches
tral symphonies, overtures, quartettes, for the violin ; con
certos, trios, and sonatas for the pianoforte, he may rank
with Haydn and Mozart. His peculiar beauties have been
thus summed up : " Originality of invention ; uncommon
passages ; a very energetic manner ; imitative passages
almost innumerable; and abstruse scientific modulation."
It is principally to the first as a prominent feature in all
his works that his fame is chiefly owing. The frequent
employment of discords unresolved with a full harmony ;
the apparent sombre cast of expression by a continual rich
ness and depth of the bass, the evident preparation for some
beautiful allegro, or vivare movement, all these serve to
keep alive the attention, and proclaim the art and skill
of the composer. Beethoven died in great poverty near
Vienna, in 1827.
With Beethoven expires the last great composer of
modern times. Haydn and Mozart had raised instrumen
tal composition in Germany to an astonishing elevation ;
and Beethoven may be said not only to have maintained
the art in that stupendous attitude, but even in some respects
to have brought it to a still higher degree of perfection.

304 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.

POETRY.
Poetry, as an art, may be defined to be a metrical com
position, owing its production or embellishment to a crea
tive imagination, and having for its object the giving of
pleasure by exciting, elevated, agreeable, or pathetic emo
tions. It has intimate relations with its sister arts, the
most intimate, perhaps, with those that like it are subjec
tive in character. It has been called the parent of music.
It furnishes the material which harmony and melody
present to the ear under so many atractive forms. With
eloquence its associations are also intimate. Both appeal
largely to the ideal. Both often make use of highly figu
rative language. Both frequently seek to touch the same
hidden springs and by almost the same means. In the
world's early youth eloquence has been accustomed to
borrow of poetry its garb and garniture.
With the arts of design, those that are objective in their
character, especially with that of painting, poetry has been
claimed to have a strong affinity. " Painting," it is said, "is
dumb poetry, and poetry speaking painting." There have
not been wanting those who, like Count Caylus, would
make their usefulness to the painters the touchstone of
poets,1 and allot them their rank, according to the number
of pictures with which they furnish him. In the estima
tion of Caylus it is only those poets that are highly de
scriptive, who are of much account. There is no doubt
but the vividness of word painting with which many poets
are gifted, would present pictures which the pencil of the
painter could make to glow upon his canvas. In the
merely descriptive, perhaps the merit of the first may be
tested by his ability to present to the mind images so per
fect that the last may readily transfer them to canvas, and
thus through form and color enable them to address

1 Laocoon, 96.

EUROPEAN ART. 305
directly the eye. So also might the reverse of this be
practiced. On close examination, however, there are marked dif
ferences observable between the painter's and the poet's
art.1 In that of the painter, the execution appears to be
more difficult than the invention ; while in that of the
poet, this is reversed, and execution seems easier to him
than invention. Another more marked difference is found
in the fact that the poet develops his art in that succession
of events which constitutes time,2 while the painter is
limited simply to space. The former, therefore, presents
the parts that constitute his whole, not as coexistent, but
successive; while the latter presents the parts together, as
coexistent, as a whole made up of parts. In the former,
our minds are occupied by the several parts as they suc
ceed each other ; and we get, therefore, the relations that
mark their succession. The aggregated whole lies in
fancy land, among the wonders of the unknown, until the
successive presentation of parts brings it within the do
main of knowledge. A result of this, which we cannot
fail to notice, is that the successive presentation of these
facts is due to some active cause, and hence that poetry
deals in action, and its causes, while painting is made use
-Of to present us with its results. Homer, for instance, is
true to the. principles of his art when he describes the
shield of Achilles, not as finished and complete, but in its
act of being wrought and completed.3 He changes that
which in his subject is coexistent, into that which is con- ,
secutive. We see not the shield, but the craftsman who
executes it. We hear the strokes of his hammer upon the
anvil, and the figures designed for its ornament grow, one
after another, out of the bronze, under our eyes, beneath
the finer strokes of this hammer. We are altogether
absorbed in the force, power, ingenuity, and cunning of
his workmanship, as part after part, and figure after figure,

'Laocoon, 78. ' Idem, 120. 'Idem, ,126.
VII] 39

306 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
comes successively info being, until, when completed, we
gaze with wonder on the perfect work as it bursts upon
our vision, and our astonishment is heightened by the fact
that we have all along stood by as an eye-witness, and seen
it while in the act of being produced. It is thus that
poetry, while creative in its nature, delights in revealing
to us creative energies while in their very act of creation.
The painter's art could not, in this respect, rival that of
the poet without a multitude of pictures, a number suffici
ent to exhibit every marked change in the line of progress -
towards completion. Although this in some great histori
cal paintings, like the History of Alexander by Lebrun,
has been attempted; yet generally the painter contents
himself with exhibiting the result, as in the instance sup
posed, the shield of Achilles, when fully completed.
The mission of the poet has ever been one of bright-1
ness and beauty. Its importance to our world can never be
fully appreciated. Clothed in robes apparently borrowed
from another sphere, he alights amongst us in different
countries and ages, cheering the disconsolate, elevating the
depressed, holding up everywhere the great facts of life
mirrored in his own ideal, and evoking from everything
around him, whether on earth or in heaven, or in the actions
of men, gods, or infernals, the spirit of beauty and sublimity.
Baptized with the child-like spirit, he carries the simpli
city, sincerity, earnestness, and single heartedness of , the
child into the man, and everywhere diffuses the same spirit
among those by whom he is surrounded. The myths and
traditions of the olden time he weaves into graceful forms,
and thus preserves the golden tresses of the world's youth
for the adornment of its maturer years. The ideal in which
he revels is ever new and ever young, and while he sips at
the springs of Helicon, a perpetual youth plays around his
features. It is true, he may travel so far into the ideal
world, and revel so much in its beauties and glories, as to
render the real little less than misery and torture to his
acute sensibilities. But that can only be regarded as a
punishment for neglecting his mission, which is to invest

EUROPEAN ART. 307
the realities of the actual world with the graces and beau
ties- and glories of the ideal. The hearts of men in all
countries and ages have bade him welcome. The boister
ous attendants upon the barbaric chief have been hushed
in the midst of their wine and wassail to listen to the song
of the bard. From the world's early battle fields his song
ascended as the incentive to effort and the precursor of
victory. He was equally at home amid Scandinavian
snows chanting the praises of Odin, as in the smiling vales
of Provence inditing the amorous epistle of the armed
knight to his lady love. Older than the printing press,
mightier than the steam engine, he has been constantly
lifting the world's thought and feeling into higher and loftier
and purer regions, as old father time with lumbering
nations and races at his back has been running his con
tinuous cycles. It must be now our pleasing privilege to
follow the footprints of his art as he has traversed the cen
turies and impressed them upon the countries of modern
Europe. In so wide a field, occupied by so many races,
for so many centuries, all that can be done is to notiee
briefly the most prominent points of poetic development as
they present themselves in the history of modern Europe.
These will be best considered under the following heads of
inquiry :
I. Poetry of the Celtse. Advent of the bard. Culmina
tion in the poems of Ossian.
II. Poetry of the Goth or Teuton, and of this there are
two branches: 1. The Scandinavian. Advent of the scald.
Culminates in the elder Edda. 2. The German. Advent
of the Bard. Culminates in the Nibelungen Lied.
TTT. Provencal poetry. The troubadour, trouvere, and
minnesinger. IV. The schools of poetry. 1. In Spain and Portugal.
2. In Italy. 3. In Germany. 4. In France. 5. In Eng
land.

308 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.

I. POETBY OF THE CELT^!
The Celtse are placed, first because their location at the
earliest historic period, in the extreme west of Europe
indicates that they were the advance guard of that great.
Indo-European race who early left their primitive homes
in the east to seek their more permanent abodes inwestern
Europe. The poets of the Celtic nations were universally
called bards by the ancient writers. These really consti
tuted an institution, composed of. a body of men who had
their duties and their privileges. It was one of their
agreeable duties to sing the brave actions of illustrious
men in heroic song, and their poems on these subjects
were accompanied by the sweet modulations of the lyre.
They were a different order from the Druids, and also
from the eubates or vates, a kind of prophets who made
deep researches into the noblest and most sublime proper
ties of nature,1 and their speculations they endeavored to
express in verse. The bards and eubates, however, were
nearly allied. Both laid claim to inspiration, and the con
ceptions of both rise to the grand, marvelous, and pathetic ;
their language is strong, animated, magnificent, eminently
figurative, and essentially removed from prosaic diction.
To the latter belonged heavenly themes, the hymn, the
anthem; while to the former all the things of earth, and
the ghost machinery of another world, were presented as
their appropriate sphere.
The occasions requiring the song of the bard were many
and various. One was the battle-field. " Go, ITllin, go,
my aged bard," began the king of Morven. " Remind the
mighty Gaul of war. Remind him of his fathers. Sup
port the yielding fight with songs ; for song enlivens war."
The war song was the prosnacha cath, or incentive to
battle, which was chanted both before the commencement

1 McPherson's Dissertations, 201-203, etc.

EUROPEAN ART. 309
and in the heat of battle. These songs were composed in
a quick measure, were rapidly repeated, and had a most
spirit-stirring effect, for, as was said, " the strife was kin
dled with the songs of the bards." The subjects of these
songs were principally "the valorous deeds of worthy men
composed in heroic verse." It has also been asserted that
the bards had power to prevent an engagement,1 and
hence the shaking " the chain of silence " was the signal to
prevent or put a stop to the battle. So also the " song of
victory" was chanted by the bards, who preceded the army
on its return from a successful expedition. The coronach,
or lament, was in the elegaic strain on the death or mis
fortunes of some distinguished individual.
Another occasion was the meals of the chiefs. Each was
attended by a number of bards, who entertained him at his
meals, and roused his courage and that of his followers, by
their powerful recitations. So after the fatigues of the day,
and during the hours of darkness, the " mouths of song "
were an ever ready and delightful solace.
The profession of the bard was by no means of easy
acquirement. A long course of study, and a life of con
tinual practice were essential for proper qualification and
due success. The faculty which required to be specially
strengthened and improved was the memory. In the
memory of the bard was an immense store house in which
was gathered up the accumulated traditions and legendary
lore of former times. In the poems of Ossian allusion is
frequently made to " the songs of old," and bards of other
years. " Thou shalt endure," said the bard of ancient
days, " after the moss of time shall grow in Temora ; after
the blast of years shall roar in Selma." These traditions,
and this lore, did not exist in shapeless fragmentary masses,
but in the poems of earlier bards. The bardic office was
hereditary, and although the son might not be the in
heritor of his father's genius, yet he possessed the earliest
and most extensive means of storing his mincbwith the lore

'Scottish Gael, 384.

310 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
of other days. The bardic compositions commemorating
the worth and exploits of heroes, thus transmitted from
one generation of bards to another, constituted a sort of
national annals, which served the double purpose of pre
serving the memory of past transactions, and of stimula
ting the youth to an imitation of their virtuous ancestors.
In these the Celtic statesmen and heroes, with their great
actions, stood forth in the light of poetry ; and the appeals
thus coming up from the past and urged upon the tender
susceptibilities of the young with all the force and power
which the bard could derive from his own ideal, had the
effect to excite in the hearer the most daring heroism.
The sublime strains in which the virtues of the chiefs of
Morven are celebrated in the poems of Ossian, continued
to animate the Gael until the decline of bardism, and
subversion of their institutions.
But the bard did not content himself with simply remem
bering the tales of other times. The immense stores at
his command were fructified by the touch of genius. New
poems issued from his prolific brain. His chief aim was
to compose his pieces in short, simple, and forcible sen
tences or stanzas, so that they might be easily learned
and retained in the memory, and in this he succeeded
wonderfully well. The language, from its simplicity, was
admirably calculated to assist recollection, and the inge
nuity of the poets added greatly to the effect. " Each verse
was so connected with those 'which preceded or followed
it, that if one line had been remembered in a stanza it was
almost impossible to forget the rest. The cadences fol
lowed in so natural a gradation, and the words were so
adapted to the common turn of the voice, after it is raised
to a certain key, that it was almost impossible, from a
similarity of sound, to substitute one word for another.
This excellence is peculiar to the Celtic tongue, and per
haps to be met with in no other language." The popular
mind was in sympathy with the bards. The genius of
the people was poetical, and hence the secret of bardic
influence. Hence the great veneration in which the genuine

EUROPEAN ART. 311
bards were ever held. Their persons,. houses, and villages,
were deemed sacred. They were everywhere received
with great respect. They were the counsellors of their
chief. They preserved the genealogies and descent of the
chiefs and the tribe, and these were solemnly repeated at
marriages, baptisms, and burials.
The poetry of the Celtic bards found its culmination
in the poems of Ossian. He was the Homer of the Celtic
race,1 and flourished, as nearly as can be ascertained, about
the end of the third century. His immortal poems de
scended from generation to generation, locked up in the
Gaelic language, and limited to the Highlands of Scotland
until the middle of the eighteenth century, when Mr. Mc-
Pherson translated several of them and published them in
English. A sensation deeper and stronger was created
than when they were originally addressed to their Gaelic
auditors. What had the world been doing for fifteen cen
turies, and how could poetry of such beauty and power
have issued from the last decades of the third century, and
for the fifteen succeeding ones remain hidden from the
world? The authenticity of these poems was denied, and
they were pronounced by many to be an impudent forgery.
Mr. McPherson, by his silence, at first, seemed almost
willing to concede the truth of a charge that would render
him their author. But not so the Highlanders. They ral
lied in defense of their immortal bard. The Highland so
ciety, to put an end to the controversy, finally published
the originals of the poems, and thus established the exist
ence and works of their sublime bard.
These poems present two main characteristics : tender
ness and sublimity.2 They offer little of gayety and cheer
fulness. Their air is solemn and serious. The great
Celtic poet prefers ever to move in the lofty region of the
grand and the pathetic. Treating all mere ornament as
the tinsel and trappings resorted to by less elevated minds
to commend topics that might fail upon their own intrinsic

1 Scottish Gael, 390. ' Ossian, i, 113.

312 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
merits, he recorded events that were grave and serious, and
placed them amid scenery that was wild and romantic.
Such are the " extended heath by the sea shore ;" " the
mountain shaded with mist ;" " the torrent rushing through
a solitary valley;" "the scattered oaks, and the tombs of
warriors overgrown with moss." His was emphatically
" The poetry of the heart." His sentiments were noble,
his passions tender and sublime. He wrote not to please
readers and critics. His motive power was the love of
poetry and song. He dwelt upon his past wars, loves, and
friendships, until, as he says : " There comes a voice tO
Ossian and awakes his soul. It is the voice of years that are
gone; they roll before me with all their deeds." His
style is concise, and crowded with imagery.
, A parallel has been run between him and Homer. The
latter is more vivacious, the former grave and solemn.
"The sublimity of the former is accompanied with more
impetuosity and fire ; x that of the latter with more of a
solemn and awful grandeur. Homer hurries you along ;
Ossian elevates and fixes you in astonishment. Homer is
most sublime in actions and battles ; Ossian in description
and sentiment. In the pathetic, Homer, when he chooses
to exert it, has great power ; but Ossian exerts that power
much oftener, and has the character of tenderness far more
deeply imprinted on his works. He must be conceded the
preeminence in dignity of sentiment."
Ossian's works, besides several shorter poems, consists
of two great epics, Fingal and Temora. His machinery,
instead of being gods and goddesses, consist mostly of the
ghosts of the departed. This was in accordance with the
popular belief, and was the only machinery he could with pro
priety employ, as the bard had nothing to do with matters
of religion, which, among the Celts, belonged exclusively
to the Druids. These departed spirits are represented not
as purely immaterial, but as thin, airy forms, which can
be visible or invisible at pleasure.2 Retaining the same

' Ossian, 1, 116. ' Idem, 129.

EUROPEAN ART. 313
^dispositions which animated them here, they ride on , the
wind, bend their airy bows, and pursue deer formed of
clouds. Their voice is feeble, their arm weak, but their
knowledge more than human. He thus describes the
ghost of Crugal : " His face is like the beam of the setting
moon. His robes are of the clouds of the hill. His eyes
are like two decaying flames. Dark is the wound of his
breast. The stars dim twinkled through his form ; and
his voice was like the sound of a distant stream." Spirits
of a superior nature to ghosts, having power to embroil
the deep, to call forth winds and storms,, to overturn forests,
and send death among the people, are occasionally intro
duced. Among these was the spirit of Loda, a Scandina
vian god, whom Fingal fearlessly encounters, and inflicts
upon him a severe wound, causing him to utter a terrible
shriek, " as rolled into himself, he rose upon the wind."
A mournful and peculiar interest attaches to the con
clusion of his songs. Berrathon, " the last sound of the
voice of Cona." Everything is full of the invisible world.
" He sees the cloud that shall receive his ghost ; he beholds
the mist that shall form his robe when he appears on his
hill. The thistle shakes its beard to the wind. The
flower hangs its heavy head ; it seems to say, I am covered
with the drops of heaven ; the time of my departure is near,
and the blast that shall scatter my leaves."
It is worthy of remark that Ossian observes strictly the
proprieties of time and place, and when the development
of his epic leads him to the islands of Inistore, a Scandina
vian region, new objects make their appearance. There
he presents us with the stones and circles of Loda, that is,
Odin, the great Scandinavian deity; and also with the
divinations and enchantments which in early times charac
terized those northern nations. " There," says he, " mixed
with the murmur of waters, rose the voice of aged men, who
called the forms of night to aid them in their war."
Ossian is found to excel in the three great qualifications
of the poet : description, imagery, and sentiment. His
descriptions are concise, as they should be in dealing with
vn] 40

314 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
grand, solemn, and pathetic subjects, In these, energy is
above all things required. The imagination, deeply
impressed by one strong image, desires nothing farther.
All amplification would serve only to distract and weake'fe*
He describes Oscar when standing alone and surrounded
by his foes as "growing in his place, like the flood of the
narrow vale." In describing Agandera, he says : " The
daughter of the snow overheard, and left the hall of her secret
sigh. She came in all her beauty ; like the moon from the
cloud of the east. Loveliness was around her as light.
Her steps were like the music of songs."
The imagery of the poet consists largely in his employ
ment of comparisons or similes. Ossian derives his
imagery mostly from the face of nature as he saw it, the
mountains and valleys, the mists, clouds and storms of the
northern regionB. " The soul of Nathos was sad, like
the sun in the day of mist, when his face is watery and
dim." " The darkness of old age comes like the mist of
the desert." " The face of a ghost is pale as the mists of
Cromla." " The gloom of battle is rolled along as mist that
is poured on the valley, when storms invade the silent sun
shine of heaven." " The little soul is like a vapor that -
hovers round the marshy lake." " The groan of the people
spread over the hills ; it was like the thunder of night,
when the cloud bursts on Cona, and a thousand ghosts
shriek at once on the hollow wind." " He rushed in the
sound of his arms, like the dreadful spirit of Loda, when
he comes in the roar of a thousand storms, and scatters
battles from his eyes." " The music of Carril was like the
memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to
the soul." He also abounds in metaphors. " She was
covered with the light of beauty ; but her heart was the
home of pride." " Thou art to me the beam of the east,
rising in a land unknown." " In peace, thou art the gale
of spring ; in war, the mountain storm."
His sentiments are not only natural and proper, but also
sublime and pathetic. He rests on their majesty, not on
mere pomp of expression. Simple, plain, without super-

EUROPEAN ART. 315
fluous decoration, he reaches the sublime and pathetic,
seemingly without an effort. Witness the conclusion of
the songs of Selma. "But age is now on my tongue, and
my soul has failed. I hear, sometimes, the ghosts of bard s
and learn their pleasant song. But memory fails on my
mind ; I hear the call of years. They say as they pass
along : Why does Ossian sing ? Soon shall he lie in the
narrow house, and no bard shall raise his fame. Roll on
ye dark brown years ! for ye bring no joy in your course ,
Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed.
The sons of the song are gone to rest. My voice remains
like a blast that roars lonely on a sea-surrounded rock,
after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles there,
and the distant mariner sees the waving trees."
" Ossian," says Schlegel, " seems like a melancholy
echo from the voice of a ruined nation, the last vanishing
shadow of man's departing faith in ancient mythology." 1

H. Poetry op the Goth or Teuton.
The wave of population next succeeding the Celtic,
which brought from their eastern homes another mighty
aggregation of families of the same Indo-European race,
brings to our view the Goth or Teuton. This race divides
itself into two branches. The one finds its home in the
wilds of Scandinavia, the other in the forests of Germany.
The first is more purely Gothic, the second Germanic.
We can trace these streams of population with great dis
tinctness in the early poetry of each.
The first is signalized by the advent of the scald, and
finds its highest point of culmination in the elder Edda.
The second by the advent of the bard, and finds its
culminating point in the Nibelungen Lied.
For the full development of the first we are to look to
Iceland. This island was discovered, and colonized by

'^Esthetics, 254.

316 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Scandinavians, mostly Normans, in the last half of the
ninth century. As the Highlands of Scotland, in a manner
isolated from the rest of the world, nourished the Celtic
bards until their power of song reached its culminating
point in the poems of Ossian, and preserved those poems
until, through the agency of printing, they could be
handed down to future generations, so also the island of
Iceland seems to have been reserved for a similar destiny
in reference to the early poetry of the ancient Scandina
vians. There, amid strange desolate valleys, and dreary
yokuls, or ice mountains, and by the side of yawning
craters lighting up long freezing arctic nights with the
glare of volcanic flames, and amid the roar of geysers, or
boiling fountains, and a horrible wilderness of lava streams
and morasses, the Scandinavian scald invoked the power
of song. It would seem as if the roughness, desolation,
and fearful severity of external nature, had compelled him
to look within himself; and to seek in the resources of his
own mind, and amid the kindling fires of his own intel
lect and feeling, those higher compensations which outward
nature had denied him.
The scald of the Scandinavian answers to the bard of the
Celtse. Until the twelfth century, when the scaldic art
was terminated by the monks and the art of writing, this
race of poets was nourished in Ireland, and found their -
way into different countries. They were the most enlight
ened men of their times, and living libraries of history
and the maxims of experience. They were similarly
regarded with the bards of the Celtse.
With the introduction of Christianity into Scandinavia
perished the religion of Odin, and also the hymns and
poems containing its history and doctrines. All were
supposed to be lost when, about the middle of the seven
teenth century, the world was astonished to learn that
there existed still in Iceland the most extraordinary pro
ductions of the early Odin period. These were contained
in the edda rhythmica, or edda of Saemund, and in the
younger edda or prose edda of Snorre Sturleson. The

EUROPEAN ART. 317
former, generally known as the elder edda, is supposed to
have been collected by Saemund the wise, in the eleventh
century from the lips of the scalds.
The elder edda is not, like the poems of Ossian, the
outpouring of a single mind ; nor are the subjects in general
similar to those embraced in the works of the Celtic bard.
It is valuable not so much for the beauty of its poetry, as
for its being the grand depository of the doctrines of the
Odin mythology, and of the lives and acts of the old Scandin
avian Gods. It gathers up and presents us with a view of
the mythological world of the north, much as Homer does
of that of Greece. But there is this difference betwee'n the
two, and the same also applies to the works of Ossian.
The elder edda presents us with the works of different
bards, as they were handed down by tradition from one
generation to another. The Iliad of Homer gives us one
great poem, all its parts bearing the impress of one mind,
although its materials have been collected from many differ
ent sources. " No Homer ever arose in Scandinavia to
mould all these sublime lyrics into one lordly epic."
All the poems of the elder edda remain " huge, wild,
and fragmentary, full of strange gaps rent into their very
vitals by the accidents of rude centuries ; yet like the ruin
of the Colosseum or the temples of Psestum, standing aloft
amid the daylight of the present time,1 magnificent testimo
nies of the stupendous genius of the race which reared them.
The elder, or rhythmical edda, consists of twenty-eight
poems. These are on various subjects, but they have been
divided into two parts, the one of which adopts the very
common practice of the early poets in dealing with the heroic
element, and setting forth the exploits of heroes. The
other is cosmogonic and mythological, containing what
ever relates to the Scandinavian ideas of the creation of
the world, the origin of men, and the stories of the gods.
Thus the field is sufficiently ample, and the topics suffici- '
ently interesting and subline, to afford full scope to the

'Howitt, i, 27.

318 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
loftiest genius. Some of these songs are very ancient, " and
bear all the traces of the remotest age. They carry the
mind back to the east, the original cradle of the Gothic
race.1 They afford glimpses of the gudahem, or home of
the gods, and of the sparkling waters of the original foun
tain of tradition. They bear one on in that direction to
wards the primal period of one tongue and one religion;
and in the words of the edda, of that still greater God
whom no one dared to name."
We cannot attempt to particularize these poems. It has
been said that there is nothing besides the Bible, and the
poem of Homer, which can compare in all the elements of
greatness with the edda.2 That "there is a loftiness of
stature, and a growth of muscle about it, which no- poets
of the same race have ever since reached. That the very
obscurity which hangs over some parts of it, like the deep
shadows crouching amid the ruins of the past, is probably
the result of dilapidations ; but amid this stand forth the
boldest masses of intellectual masonry. We are astonished
at the wisdom which is shaped into maxims, and at the
tempestuous strength of passions to which all modern emo
tions appear puny and constrained. Amid the bright sun
light of a far off time, surrounded by the densest shadows of
forgotten ages, we come at once into the midst of gods and
heroes, goddesses and fair women, giants and dwarfs,
moving about in a world of wonderful construction, unlike
any other worlds or creations which God has founded or
man has imagined, but still beautiful beyond conception.
The mysterious vala, or prophetess, seated somewhere
unseen in that marvelous heaven, sings an awful song of
the birth of gods and men, of the great Tggdrasil, or tree
of life, whose roots and branches run through all regions
of space to which existence has extended, and concludes
her thrilling hymn with the terrible Regnarok, or twilight
of the gods, when the dynasty of Odin disappears in the
fires which devour creation, and the new heavens and new

'Howitt,i,29. "Idem, 28.

EUROPEAN ART. 319
earth come forth, to receive the reign of Balder and of
milder natures. Odin himself sings his high song, and his
ravens, Hugin and Munin, or mind and will, bring him
news from all the lower worlds, but cannot divest his soul
of the secret dread that the latter will one day fail to
return, and the power which enabled him to shape the sky
and all the nine regions of life beneath it shall fall from his
hands. A strange mixture of simplicity and strength, of
the little and the great, the sublime and the ludicrous runs
through this ancient production, or rather collection of
productions." The early and uncultivated mind appears not well
balanced ; certain powers and faculties shoot out in all
their native strength and vigor, and become developed
with a power and energy superior to anything met with in
the more civilized forms of life. Other powers and facul
ties became dwarfed, and hence are but little manifested
in. the action of the mind to which they belong. The
consfit utional energies which should have been developed
through them have gone to strengthen the stronger ones,
which are thus enabled to become powerful at their expense.
This disproportion in the different powers and faculties
leads to inequalities in their display, and thus to a want
of equal balance. It is the work of education of higher
and larger culture, of an advancing civilization to develop
all the mental powers and faculties in due proportion, and
"thus prevent strangeness and singularity of display.
No one can fail to observe the strong contrast between the
poetry of the Celtse as contained in the poems of Ossian,
and that of the Scandinavian scalds as collected in the
elder edda. It would hardly seem as if the infancy of
nations, and of races, could have exhibited such mighty
differences in the development of their poetic element.
The contrast prevails alike in their subjects, modes of
treatment and most of the elements that enter into and
constitute the life of poetry. The one is heroic, the other
in great part cosmogonic and mythologic. The one rises
to the dignity of the epic, and is marked as the outpouring

320 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of a single mind ; the other consists of songs of a very
diversified character, that have descended through vast
ages, growing, like all traditions, continually , darker, and
accumulating lower matter, and more divergent and more
pagan doctrines, until, in the eleventh century, they were
gathered by Saemund from the mouths of the people and
committed to writing for after ages. The one exhibits
more of beauty, the other more of grandeur. The one is
the flow of a placid stream : the other the onward rush of
a tumbling cataract. The one will ever charm by the clear
flow of its imagery, and the brightness and beauty of its
conceptions ; while the other will amaze and astonish by
the strangeness of its ideas, and the dim and distant
shadowings forth of a power and an energy that lie amidst
the profound depths of nature's first causes.
The other, or Germanic stem, of this Gothic or Teutonic '
branch from the great Indo-European trunk, carries us to
the wilds of Germany. There again, the first one that meets
our vision coming up out of the darkness of the past, into
the first auroral blush of Europe's opening morn is the
bard. And he comes bearing with him the legends and
traditions of an elder time. Substantially the same mission
that was confided to the scald of the Scandinavian, and
the bard of the Celtse, was also entrusted to him of
Teutonic lineage. Tacitus, in his Manners of the Germans,
does not fail to mention that they " abound with rude
strains of verse, the reciters of which,1 in the language of
the country, are called bards. With this barbarous poetry ¦
they inflame their minds with ardor in the day of action,
and prognosticate the event from the impression which it
happens to make on the minds of the soldiers, who grow ter
rible to the enemy, or despair of success, as the war song
produces an animated or a feeble sound." Of the bard suffi
cient has already been said, and we therefore hasten on to
the consideration of that culminating point of old German
poetry, the Nibelungen Lied, or Lay of the Nibelungen.

Tacitus, 532, 533.

EUROPEAN ART. 321
The Nibelungen Lied seems not to have been reduced
to its present form before the beginning of the thirteenth
century. It was then the old singer opened with :
I sing of loves and wassailings, if ye will lend your ears,
Of bold men's bloody coinbatings, and gentle ladies' tears.
But his themes or subjects have been carried far back
into previous centuries ; some claiming that " in the Nibe
lungen, under more or less defacement, lie fragments, scat
tered like mysterious runes, yet still in part decypherable,
of the earnest thoughts of men." That its fiction grew out
of a religious or philosophical mythus, which, in subsequent
ages mingling with vague traditions of real events, was
wrought into a story or narrative of earthly transactions.
It embodies the oldest traditions of modern Europe, and
unless we except the songs ofthe Celtic bard, Ossian, is
the oldest European poem. Its roots reach far back even to
the great northern emigrations, and are "ramified through
successive layers of centuries, drawing nourishment from
each." It seems to be the a great prerogative of a legend
that, " instead of being a grand artistic composition, the
creation of an individual mind,1 its operation extends
through many varying periods of time, and many genera
tions of men and poets, like the spirit of undying nature,
not owning any single earthly master, nor formed to bend
beneath his arbitrary will. The German poet, in this hal
lowed grove of early poetry, has gathered for himself a
crown of undying verdure, twined of the oak leaves of his
fatherland." The Nibelungen has been styled the great northern epic,
although it has much of the dramatic in its character. It
consists of thirty-nine adventures, which resemble so many
scenes in a tragedy. It presents us with a youthful hero,
who is represented as invested with all the attributes of
beauty, magnanimity, and victory; but all these are

'Schlegel's JSsthetics, 264.
vn] 41

322 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
dearly purchased by the certainty of an early and a pre
dicted death. He presents the living type of the splen
dor and decline of the heroic world. The poem closes
with the description of a terrible catastrophe ; and one
which is dimly prophesied from the beginning. Slowly
and certainly it becomes more and more distinctly sha-.
dowed forth, becoming strongly and inevitably a part of
destiny as the tramp of events are hurrying onward. " A
shadow of coming fate, as it were, a low inarticulate voice
of doom falls, from .the first, out of that charmed Nibelun
gen land." x It is the early outpouring of the dreamy mind
of the German. It is a poem which has a basis and an
organic structure. A principle of growth runs through it.
' It has a beginning, middle, and end. It is obviously, in its
present form, the work of a single mind ; although that
mind has felt at liberty to gather up its materials from the
traditions and legends of earlier times. These it has
brought into unity, and marshaled into coherence and
completeness, each event, each adventure, is made to tell
on the future, and to play its part in the system of de
velopment. Towards the close, the discord of two women
arising out of the events that preceded it, becomes ulti
mately enlarged into a crime, which engenders murder,
and leads on to a terrible catastrophe, which lays a
whole land in ashes, and sweeps a whole race away.
The machinery employed by the poet differs both from
that of Ossian, and of the elder edda. The ghosts of the
departed have no part assigned Jbem, nor is there aught
cosmogonic or mythologic in its composition. And yet
the resources of the supernatural world are brought to
bear directly in the events of this life. The marvelous is
appealed to and with marked effect. " The whole story
of the Nibelungen is fateful, mysterious, guided on by
unseen influences, and yet the actual marvels are few, and
done in the distance. Those dwarfs, and cloaks of dark
ness, and charmed treasure-caves, are heard of rather than

1 Oarlyle's Miscellanies, n, 343.

EUROPEAN ART. 323
beheld, the tidings of them seem to issue from unknown
space.1 Vain were . it to inquire where that Nibelungen-
land specially is. Its very name is Nebel-land or Niff-land,
the land of darkness, of invisibility. The Nibelungen
heroes appear little different from children of the air.
The Nibelungen song, though based on the bottomless
foundations of spirit, and not unvisited of skyey messen
gers," is yet a song of earth-born heroes, and of human
loves and hatreds.
All that properly constitutes the machinery of the poem
is embraced in the hoard or treasure bequeathed by king
Nibelung to his two sons, whom Siegfried slew and thus
came into its possession. Beside gold and jewels there
was the sword Balmung, of great potency, a divining rod;
which gave power over every one, and a tarnkappe, or
cloak of darkness, which not only rendered the wearer
invisible, but also gave him twelve men's strength. And
yet this hoard or invaluable treasure, proves fatal in the
end to all its possessors. The two sons of Nibelung were
slain while quarreling over its division. Siegfried, its con
queror, while its owner, was assassinated.2 The Burgun-
dian royal house to whom it passed, are splitting into
fragments. The discords which threaten to arise lead
Hagen, of the " rapid glances," to sink it in the Rhine,
first taking oath of Gunther and his brothers that none of
them shall reveal the hiding place, while any of the rest is
alive. But the curse that clave to it could not be sunk
there, and the terrible catastrophe finally sweeps off all
who have had anything to do with it, leaving its unknown
resting place in the bed of the Rhine. Does the singer of
this old song thus mean to intimate that when the powers
of darkness become allied to man, although they may aid
him in the performance of heroic exploits, yet by a sure
and unerring agency, they ultimately accomplish his de
struction ?

1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, n, 342. " Idem, 360.

324 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.

HI. Provencal Poetry.
The contrast is indeed striking to turn from the early
poetic embodiments of the Teutonic traditions and fancies,
to the light, gay, and blithesome song of the troubadour.
Under his influence, life, during the middle ages, in some
portions of Europe, gives itself up to enjoyment. Rallying
its energies, as in the period of its youth, it bursts the
fetters of its long constraint, and escaping from the castle
of the baron, and the cloister of the monk, asserts its own
rights, and unseals for itself new fountains of joy and glad
ness, after reveling in the sweets which are kindly offered
for its acceptance; and becoming itself animated with a new
and joyous principle, it returns to the baronial hall, and
gives new pulsations to its imprisoned inmates, and would
almost seek the solitude of the cloister to pour upon the
darkness of the ascetic monk the brightness and beauty of
its new light.
The part in which this new development took place was
in that part of France lying south of the Loire, whose early
history differs very essentially from that lying on the north
of that river. It had never been subjected to Norman de
vastation. The Teutonic sceptre which had ruled the
northern part of ' France had influenced very little the
southern part.1 While the northern part had been subject
to many invasions, the southern part had enjoyed compara
tive quiet from the foundation of the kingdom of Aries and
Provence by Boson in the ninth century. The Roman
institutions, and the Roman language, had struck their roots
deeper, and exerted a longer and more pervading influence
among the people. In process of time, however, the Ro
mance — Provencal had displaced the Latin, and had become
itself a language admirably adapted for certain kinds of
poetry.

1 Lays of Minnesingers, 69.

EUROPEAN ART. 325
An institution which seems to haveT.been cotempora-
neous with Provencal poetry, and to have imparted to it
much of its life and peculiar character, was that of chivalry.
This possessed a double devotion, viz : to woman and to
honor. This was heightened and sometimes carried to an
extreme degree by the poetical notions which ascribed to
knights and ladies so many virtues, and such absolute per
fection. The song of the troubadour was in return the
animating principle that kept alive the spirit of chivalry.
It contributed to do this more especially by its praises of
the beauty, grace, and virtues of distinguished ladies.
This served to fan the flame of passion in the knight, and
thus to excite him to valorous deeds, and daring exploits.
During the most brilliant period of this species of poetry
many of the knights themselves, as well as distinguished
princes, were troubadours. The warm passions of these
knights and princes gushing forth found an embodiment
in amatory and martial songs. These all belong to the
lyrical style of composition. The production of rhyme, it
is said,1 is derived from the Armorican language. That
language, at an early period, resembled the British, and
subsequently the Welsh, to the poetry of which rhyme is
essential, and from which it may have passed into other
European tongues.2
The poems of the Provencals were divided into chanzos
and sirventes, the former being, devoted to gallantry;
and the latter to war, politics, or satire. The structure of
both was the same. The Provengal songs were generally
composed of five stanzas and an envoy. The form Of
the stanza had great regularity, and was frequently
so uniform that the same rhyme was repeated in the
same place in each stanza. Great efforts were made to
secure harmony, to attain which the troubadours imposed
upon themselves rules in regard to the return of the
same rhymes, or of the same words at the termination
of the verses, by which means they acquired the habit of

1 Tayler's German Poetry, i, 120. " Sismondi, i, i

326 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
playing with words. They displayed a correct taste in the
employment of their different metres, as also in the mix
ture of long and short verses, and in the skillful use of the
regular terminations in the'stanza. They, in fact, were the
inventors of those varied measures of the stanzas which
afterwards were employed to give so much harmony to the
canzoni of Petrarch.1 The forms of the French ode were
also derived from the poetry of the troubadours. So- also
the ballad, in which the return of the same thought
produces such a graceful and pleasing effect, is of Provencal
origin. There is, however, no real depth in Provencal poetry.
It also lacks force and power. Its great merit consists in
a certain harmony and simplicity of expression. It evokes
little from the empire of thought. It is the product of an
early stage in civilization; one in which happy and glad
some sentiments become clothed in beautiful language, in a
pleasing lyrical form. The Provencals were a young
nation, aud drew their ideas and illustrations rather from
the beautiful nature by which they were surrounded, than
the unexplored depths of the human mind. We have here
nothing of that creative energy, sublimity of thought, and
powerful conceptions of genius, which afterwards gave to
the world the drama and the epic. We have a simple
expression of sentiment, a tender and delicate inspiration
seizing on the beauties of outward nature, and again pre
senting them under lyrical forms.
One thing has been remarked, and that is the sameness,
uniformity, among all the productions of the troubadours.
They are all monotonous, presenting similar features, and
little, therefore, of individuality of character. No command
ing genius has ever appeared among them. Their poetry
had no depth of resource, no mythology, no classical
allusions, ho romantic imagination. It was a beautiful
flower growing in an arid soil. It contained within itself
a principle of decay, as its professors were ignorant, and

1 Sismondi, 69.

EUROPEAN-ART. 327
could not give to their poetry a character which they did
not themselves possess. It was not left, however, to perish
through internal decay. In the beginning of the thirteenth
century the storm of war burst over Provence. The
crusade against the Albigenses involved the south of
France in one of the most exterminating wars upon record.
The language and poetry of Provence were extinguished
in blood. Thus this early school of poetry, arising as a
light amid the darkness of universal barbarism, and the
bond which, combining noble minds in the cultivation of
high sentiments, formed so long the common link of union
among different nations, perished from the earth possibly
at the very period when it was about to be developed.
But the gay science, as it was termed, was not limited
to Provence or to the south of France. It crossed the
Pyrenees and found a home in the provinces of Catalonia
and Arragon. The language early spoken in Catalonia
bore great affinity to that of Provence, being the genuine
Romance tongueevidently deduced from the Latin by the
same process as the Provencal. During the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries Provencal poetry was very prevalent
in this part of Spain. So also the kingdom of Arragon
had preserved the Provencal language, and placed her fame
in the cultivation of that literature. And thus we find
here, as well as in Catalonia, " passionate feelings breath
ing in a now forgotten language; tender attachments
and fond regrets, confided to the custody of poetry, for
which posterity has little regard." " These old Catalonian
poems," says Sismondi, "have always seemed to me like .
inscriptions upon tombs."1
But here the fortunes of the troubadour paled before
the rising power of Castile and on the union of the
two crowns of Castile and Arragon the language, of the
former became that of literature, and the Spanish heroic
romances engendered or sustained by the perpetual con
tests with the Moors supplanted the genial song of the

:, i, 134

328 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
troubadour. That song must come from the heart or its
influence must be powerless. For thus he sings :
Little can sweetest song avail,
If from the heart it do not come,
And from the heart it cannot spring,
Unless there first be love at home.
And thus is love the soul to me,
Of all my song and all my joy,
Entrancing eyes and lips, heart, soul, in harmony.
So also the troubadour spirit crossed the Alps, and when
fading and dying out in its own beloved Provence was
adopted, fostered, and perhaps it may be said ultimately
matured, by the poets of the Petrarchian school. Pre
viously, however, to the age of Petrarch, the native Italian
poetry of the troubadour kind was cultivated in Sicily and
some other parts of Italy, more especially under the sove
reigns of the houses of Swabia and Anjou. It sang of
love, however, rather as of a principle, a platonic abstrac
tion, than as a tender or glowing feeling.1 It had no child
hood of romantic poetry, in which to nourish its peculiar
spirit, but it finally adopted the spirit of the new school,
mixed with a peculiar, affected and metaphysical turn of
thought, which has resulted in giving to the earlier works
of the Italian poets a coldness and conceit addressing
rather the wit than the heart.
The gay science, also crossed the Loire and claimed
to establish its empire in some of the northern provinces
of France. Its professors here acquired the name of
trouveres. The language spoken north of the Loire con
tained far more of the German in its composition ; and the
separation politically for a long time from the south, left
it to go through its formative processes without being
much influenced by its southern neighbors. In the last
half of the twelfth century the marriage of Eleanor of
Guienne,2 first with a French, and afterwards with an

1 Lays of Minnesingers, 54. "Idem, 71.

EUROPEAN ART. 329
English monarch, brought into notice the Provencal poets,
and kindled a taste for that species of poetry in northern
France and England. The language of the former was
long in an unsettled state, and so late as the close of the
twelfth century it in some pieces nearly approaches the
Provencal in inflection and melody, while in others it has
more the structure of modern French.1
A prolific school of lyric poetry among the northern
French poets occurs about the age of Philip Augustus.
Many of the French nobility courted the gay mUse. The
lyrics of this period are alleged to possess much of the
sprightliness of heart which sparkles in the songs of the
troubadours. " The same devotion to the female sex, the
same zeal in their service, the same curious blending of
religious and amatory feelings and associations, alike dis
tinguish both.
The trouveres were, however, something more than trou
badours. While some excelled in the lyrics of the trouba
dour, others were the reciters of tales, and invented or
perfected the ancient romances of chivalry. The language
they made use of was the Romance- Wallon, or Langue-
d'Oil, which ultimately ripened into the French language,
while that of the Romance Provencal, or Langue d'Oc, dwin
dled into a mere dialect. The trouveres in this phase of
their character were Teutonic, and their poetry more epic
than lyric. It is to them we are indebted for the origin
of the chivalric poems, the tales, the allegories, and the
dramatic compositions, which fill a large space in the
literature of the middle ages. Of the former were the ex
ploits of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table,
and Charlemagne and his Paladins. Of the allegories was
the Romance of the Rose, which dragged its slow length
through twenty thousand verses, crowding on to the stage
all human virtues and vices under the cover of allegorical
personages. Of the last mentioned, the dramatic fablieaux

'Lays of Minnesingers, 73.
vn] 42

330 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
of the Faucon, the Myre and some others, have furnished
the material out of which modern operas and comedies
have been manufactured. All these, together with legends,
miracles, and licentious anecdotes constituted the immense
store-house out of which were obtained the materials to
enliven the long winter evenings in courts and castles and
even in private houses. Freighted with such a valuable
cargo, the trouveres were ever welcome visitors.
The same light, gladsome, pleastfre-loving spirit that
animated, and lent a charm to the effusions of the trouba
dour, is also found imparting a kindred inspiration to the
German minnesinger. We are here in the land of the
Teuton, where the epic of romance, and all and more than
the trouvere has accomplished, may be reasonably expected
to take the place of the lyric of love, and the gay song of
the troubadour. But the Teutonic head and heart are
many-sided in capacity, and they have proved themselves
not wanting in this phase of poetic art.
The minnesinger, singer of love songs, tuned his lays
under the rule of the Swabian emperors. These emperors
of the house of Hohenstauffen, commencing with Conrad
HI, in the first half of the twelfth century, and continuing
one hundred and thirty years, until the accession of the house
of Hapsburg, encouraged this peculiar style of literature.
This was a stormy period in the history of the empire, and
one which saw it split up into a great many principali
ties over whieh petty princes presided, upon whom the
weighty cares of state did not press so heavily but that
they were enabled to procure for their courts the orna
ments of music, poetry, and the arts. In these they could
seek distinction, and obtain it. These were the patrons
of German literature. Even the emperors were some
of them minnesingers, and others, as Frederick H, their
ardent patrons. The vicinity of Swabia to France favored
the literary intercourse of the people, and in the Swa
bian were compOsed the first imitations of Provencal songs'.
Swabia and German Switzerland seem to have been the

EUROPEAN ART. 331
principal sources whence flowed the poetry of the minne
singers. The songs of the minnesingers that have come down to
us are highly prized. There is, pervading the whole, a
subdued and delicate tone of feeling. They breathe more
clearly than the troubadours, the sentiments of innocent
and tender affection. They are also diversified by the
varied attractions of natural beauty, as well as the impas
sioned tones of feeling. " Admiration of his lady's per
fections,1 joy in her smiles, grief at her frowns, and anxiety
for her welfare, are expressed by the poet in a thousand
accents of simplicity and truth." They communicate a
joyous hilarity and festivity of spirit, as they revel in the
charms of nature, and present themselves clothed in her
most smiling forms. " The gay meadows, the budding
groves, the breezes and flowers sparkle in the song ; and
thebuoyant effervescence of youthful gayety is often in
delightful keeping with the bounding rhythm, and musical
elegance of the verse." There is observed to be less of ex
travagant devotion to the female sex in the minnesinger,
than in- the troubadour, possibly because with the former
the feeling of exaltation of the sex seized on the mind
with all the ardor of novelty, while with the former, it
was more a rule of action founded on social principles.
The poetry of the former is more chaste, tender, and deli
cate, and is also less metaphysical and spiritualized ; less
abounding in scholastic subtleties and casuistries. Their
songs of joy are often found " floating along in buoyancy
of spirit, and glowing with general delight in natural
objects, in the bursting promise of spring, or the luxuriant
profusion of summer." The Provencal poets, preserving
more of the Roman taste and feeling, are more classical in
their illustrations.
In the system of versification the minnesingers differ from
the troubadours. While the Iambus is the only foot of the
latter, the former have almost as many as the classical

'Lays of the Minnesingers, 123.

332 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
writers. The dactylic measure used by some of them was
peculiarly adapted to their hymns of joy. It was carried
to great perfection and resulted in the production of an
agreeable harmony. The songs were frequently sung, and
Were accompanied by musical instruments, and dancing.
The lay of the minnesinger practically ceased with the
imperial house that called it forth. It had survived the
song of the troubadour, and was the last in the develop
ment of this phase of poetic life; a phase that seems kindly
to have been sent at the right period to rally the energies
of the mind and heart, and summon them back to life and
enjoyment. The main instrument through which this was
effected was the Provencal language, and, having accom
plished its mission, that also, for all practical purposes,
passed away. It is still spoken in the south of France,
but so broken up into dialects, that the people of Gascony,
of Provence, and of Languedoc, no longer suspect that they
are speaking the same tongue.1 It is thus that the scaffold
ing used in the erection of beautiful structures, is found to
decay and perish with the structures themselves which
they were made instrumental in uprearing.
Having briefly alluded to those great original features
that mark the early development of the poetic art in Europe
we are now prepared to glance at the diffierent schools of
poetry that have arisen in its different countries.

IV. The Schools of Poetry.
The Schools of Spain and Portugal.
The Spanish peninsula in its literature exhibits the same
strange anomalies as its history; and both are about
equally instructive. The Spanish language, the instrument
1 Sismondi, i, 136.

EUROPEAN ART.
of its literature, is the outgrowth of many different races of
men, each bringing the contribution of its own language.
The understratum is from the old Iberians, upon which
was subsequently engrafted the Celtic, Phoenician, and
Hebrew admixtures. These, prior to the fourth century,
retreated before the Roman into the hill and , valley
country of the Basque, leaving, however, their ineffacable
impress behind them. Next came the advent of the Goths,
building up the old compounded Latin with Teutonic
cement. Then came the Moorish invasion about the be
ginning of the eighth century, which drove the Gothic
element into the Alpine Asturias, as the Roman had more
than four centuries before driven the Celtiberian into the
Basque. Amid the Asturian mountains was nurtured the
Spanish language, the eldest child and heir to the Latin,
a language aggregating the old Iberian, Celtic, Phoenician,
and Hebrew, " based on Roman majesty, buttressed by
Gothic force,1 and enriched with Arabian filagree, a
language regular in construction, solemn and sonorous,
nervous and emphatical." Spain, in its language, litera
ture, and legislation, as well as in its system of law, and
spirit "of freedom, took precedence over the rest of Europe.
In its rise, prosperity and fall, it furnishes a lesson to the
nations. The first school of Spanish poetry is of the heroic order.
It is the Poem of the Cid. This poem consists of over
thirty-seven hundred irregular Alexandrines, of a rugged
character, and of which the rhyme alone enables the reader
to discover that the composition is in verse. The date of
this poem is assigned to the middle of the twelfth century,
and about fifty years after the death of the hero. It is,
therefore, one, if not the earliest epic Of Christendom. It
belongs to the infant period of versification, of poetry, and
of language in Spain, but it -was the manhood of national.
spirit and of heroism. The subject is the glorification of

1 Eclectic for 1851, 3.

334 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the Cid, his exile, triumph, and return. The name of this
hero was D. Rodrigo Laynes, while the appellation Cid is a
title derived from the Moorish el seid, or my lord.
The name of the author of this old epic has not come
down to us. It is obvious, however, that the poem was
not the stringing together of floating ballads, and thus the
work of many different minds. It bears internal evidence
of being an organism ; a composition in which the parts
are subservient to the whole, and hence the work of one
and the same person, like the Iliad, and Nibelungen Lied.
The Cid was the Achilles of Castile, the impersonation of
implicit faith and loyalty, of soldierly sentiments, and
indomitable will. He is made to shine out through the
mists of centuries, an exponent of the grand and heroic in
character. The poem itself is no biography ; it gives but
a fragment of his history, beginning and terminating
abruptly, as if the author were conscious that he was ad
dressing those who knew its connection with previous and
subsequent parts.
The poem itself is without pretension and without art ; x
full of the finest nature, and gives an excellent idea of the
people of that age. We are enabled by it to live among
them, and almost to participate in the scenes with which
they were familiar. His incidents that so strongly strike
our minds, are related by the author as possessing no ex
traordinary character. The simplicity of representation
supplies the place of talent.
The martial poetry of Spain was the most completely
national,2 and the most strictly in accordance with the
manners, habits, hopes, and recollections of the people.
It was inspired by an enthusiasm, which, in return, it
contributed to nourish. We may not, therefore, be sur
prised, in finding that the great poem of the Cid was fol
lowed by others of a similar character. This species
of poetry was so popular, that monkish legends were

:, 11,86. 'Idem, 92.

EUROPEAN ART. 335
reproduced, the cloister coming forward with rival spi
ritual poems, which no doubt produced a humanizing effect
on a rough and violent age. Another humanizing effect
resulted from their adapting their verses to music in order
to render them more popular. Hence the redondillas
(roundelays). This leads us to another interesting school of Spanish
poetry, that embraced in the Spanish ballads ; those " wild
flowers of the native soil," which have, as they ever will,
germinate, blossom, and bear fruit in the hearts of the
common people. They were often " hymns mingled with
battle cries," and in a plain, simple language, embodied
thoughts that burnt in the bosoms of thousands, becoming
thus the " mouth-piece of the age." The oldest are the
simplest and finest. The series relating to the Cid is the
most complete, his ballads occupying a place proportion
ate to the hold he has on the hearts of his countrymen.
Another class extends down to the period of Charles V,
which is more strictly authentic, being based on historical
chronicles, and from which the common people of Spain
have derived most of their historical knowledge.
In its lyrical poetry Spain also took the lead of other
nations. Poems of this character are to be found of the
fifteenth century, very brief, and generally the expression
of a single sentiment, a single image, or a single witty
idea, which is conveyed with an air of gallantry. They
resemble, but are not imitations of, the songs of the trou
badours, the causes producing that resemblance being
traceable to that spirit of romantic love which pervaded
the whole south of Europe. The Spanish love singers
were more passionate than tender in the expression of their
feelings.1 Burning passions and despair, the most stormy
feelings, and not simply ecstacies, lie at the foundation of
the Spanish love songs. True to the national war feeling,
these ballads, or many of them, describe the combats

1 Sismondi, n, 126,

336 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
between reflection or reason, and passion. Few poets
have ever equaled the Spanish in describing the power of
love over the heart. Thus sings one, afterwards archbishop
of Burgos :
Oh ! fierce is this flame that seizes my breath,
My body, my soul, my life, and my death ;
It burns in its fury, it kindles desire,
It consumes, but alas ! it will never expire.
How wretched my lot ! no respite I know,
My heart is indifferent to joy or to woe ;
For this flame in its anger, kills, burns, and destroys,
My grief and my pleasures, my sorrows and joys.
The Spanish poems of this period strangely mix up the
amatory with the devotional, in their subjects and methods
.of treating them. Thus we have the Seven Joys of Love,
in imitation of the Seven Joys of the Virgin Mary. So"
also the Ten Commandments of Love, and the Testament
of Love, whimsically imitating the style of the notaries in
making the final disposition of the soul.
Spanish poetry divides itself into two epochs ; the one
covering the period anterior to the reign of Charles V; and
the other, that which is subsequent to the commencement
of his reign. The authors, in these periods, stand opposed
to each other in the sources of their inspiration, the ends
proposed, and the means employed. During the first
period, the nation was poetic. There was a general diffu
sion of romance and song. No foreign models were
sought. Spain furnished her own models, and an intense
nationality pervaded the whole, The main current of its
stream was Romano Teutonic, while the lighter, gayer,
more sparkling Arabic Moresque, was ever animating the
circling eddies that were playing on its margin.
With the reign of Charles V came a change the most
marked that has occurred in the history of any literature.
The Spanish nation, so far as regards its poetry, may here

EUROPEAN ART. 337
be almost said to terminate. Thereafter the poetry of
impulse, of nature, was abandoned for that of art. Inspira
tion gave place to rules ; creating to translating ; originality
to -imitation; the Spanish nationality to Italian models.
" We pass from the infancy of Spanish poetry to the age
of Charles, as through a long vista of monuments without
inscriptions, as the traveler approaches the noise and
bustle of modern Rome through the lines of silent and
Unknown tombs that border the Appian way." x
And yet the Italian models of poetry were in almost
every respect unlike the Spanish. The essence of the
latter was activity, that of the former repose.2 The former
devoted itself to the celebration of its national glories, for it
then had such to celebrate. In the latter, all allusion to
national events was avoided after the period of Dante and
Petrarch. Its poetry was occupied with an ideal world,
and was contemplative, dreamy, and unsubstantial.
The two great agents who were the most instru mental
in effecting this mighty change, were Juan Boscan
Almogaver, and Garcilasso de la Vega, both distinguished fey
their correct and graceful style, and both equally bent on
reforming Spanish poetry, although at the expe nse of its
nationality.3 They even overthrew the laws of Castilian
versification to make way for the introduction of new canons
founded upon a different system. The former wrote sonnets •
and songs in the Italian style. Although an obvious imita- .
tion of Petrarch, yet he exhibits much of the spirit of a
Spaniard. He has infused that spirit into the precision of
Petrarch's language, but not always into the sweetness of
his melody. The latter exhibits much of delicacy, sensibility
and imagination, occasionally abandoning himself to refine
ment and false wit, mistaken for the language of passion..
There is also another who ranks among the Spanish
classical poets of this period. That is Don Diego Hurtado
de Mendoza, the tyrant of Sienna, detested for his

'Edinburgh Beview Selections,!, 381. 'Idem, 385. ' Sismondi, n, 187-
vii] 43

338 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Machiavelian policy and relentless cruelty, and yet in his
sonnets interweaving noble and correct language in such a
manner as to be productive of grace and harmony. There
is still another Portuguese, viz : George de Montemayor,
w ho, during the same period, is distinguished for the intro
duction of pastoral poetry.
These have been termed the classics of Spain.
They were all soldiers, and actively engaged in the terrible
wars of that period, and yet their poetry displays a sybaritic
softness and aLydian luxury more becoming the effeminate
Italians than the indomitable warriors of Charles V. It is
these who, in the midst of wars and revolutions, and while
the nations of Europe were awaking to the sense of a
higher and more pervading civilization, found the time,
talent and inclination to change the versification, the
national taste and almost the language of Castile; to give
to the poetry of that country its most graceful, its most
elegant, and its most correct form ; and to become the
models of all those who from that period have had any
pretensions to classical purity.
The inquiry has been made how it was possible for-
these men to change entirely the national taste, and to
create a new epoch in its poetry. A cause adequate to the
production of such an effect can hardly be expected to be
found in a few individuals, however greatly gifted they
may be. We should rather look for it in the history of
Spain, and in the fact that her national character had been
silently undergoing a complete change under the opera
tion of new political relations, new principles of govern
ment and new views of religious toleration.1
Charles V found Spain a nation of soldiers. Uniting
these with Austria, the Netherlands and Germany, he
indulged the dream of universal empire. The first step
to accomplish it was to become absolute in his own here
ditary dominions. Hence the first cause; the abolition
of political liberty at home ; the seeking of distinction only
• ' Selections, I, 387.

EUROPEAN ART. 339
through military service abroad; thus dissipating the
Spanish nationality in the effort to give it universality.
But perhaps a still more efficient cause was in the esta
blishment of the inquisition, the terrors of which rendered
the national heart still to its own music, and as its pulsa
tions must continue, enabled it to beat responsive only to
that of another and a foreign land. Again, the languages
of Spain and Italy were cognate. It wa8 in the latter
' that the pope held his spiritual supremacy, exhibiting a
sort of ghost of the Roman empire. And at this epoch
Italy was the guiding star of Europe in arts and letters,
when Lorenzo spread a passion for the antique, and the
classical under Leo X was asserting everywhere its claim
to guide and control the world of taste. Again, the
horrors of those times may have led the minds of the
Spanish poets to look away from them. The despot
ism of the period precluded them from censure, and what
they could not censure they would not celebrate; and
hence they were led to seek a refuge from life's terrible
realities;1 in the innocent delights of an ideal Arcadia.
The Spanish muse, therefore, exchanged her ancient lyre
for the lute, and sung only the strains of love or pastoral
idleness. The Spanish poets were in many respects inferior to the
Italian. Herrera possesses the loftiest and most elevated
style of expression of all the Spanish poets.2 He endea
vored to distinguish and set apart phrases fitted for poetry
from those adapted to prose.3 He also endeavored to imi
tate harmony by selecting words whose sounds agreed
with their sense. But a much greater poet, and the cre
ator of the Spanish ode, is Luis Ponce de Leon, a monk,
who was bred in the silence and solitude of the clois
ter, a profound scholar, and deeply versed in the Gre
cian philosophy. Notwithstanding a marked tendency to
mysticism, no poet seems ever to have subjected the crea
tions of an enthusiastic imagination more strictly to the or-

1 Selections, i, 389. ' Idem, 392. ' Eclectic, 1851, 14.

340 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
deal of a severer taste,1 or to have imparted to the language
of rapture so deep an air of truth and reality. Many of
his lyrics are employed in depicting " the shortness of life,
the flight of time, the fading of flowers, the silent swiftness
of the river, the decay of happiness, and the mutability of
fortune." The poets. of this period have been generally
described as "leaving no strong traces on the mind; as
filling our memories with no splendid passages ;2 as animat
ing us by no spirit-stirring appeals; as presenting us with
little that speaks to the heart, or comes home to the busi
ness of life; but rather as soothing us into an intoxicating
sybaritic softness; as giving dignity to indolence, and
pleasing by a' gentleness and melancholy, which, without
questioning too minutely their reality, we love to contrast
with the stormy agitation of the period which gave them
birth." The jpoetic art in Portugal may be summed up in the
Lusiad of Camoens. ThiB remarkable work is the first
great epic of modern Europe. It appeared in the last half
of the sixteenth century. Its author was through life a
disappointed adventurer. Banished from his country, but
fighting nevertheless its battles; traveling to the remote
east, driven by stress of poverty from one expedient to
another, he at last found a release from this troubled life
in a public hospital in the year 1579, the Lusiad having
appeared seven years previously.
This poem was a marked advance upon all that had pre
ceded it in modern Europe. Trissino, and several of the
Castilians, had written histories in rhyme, and dignified
their works by the title of epics, but unlike them Camoens
considers the epic poem as a creation of the imagination,
and not as a history in verse. But this poetical creation
he considered should form a consistent whole, the ruling
principle and object of the poet being always present to
the imagination of the reader. He also infused into it a

ions, i, 393. ' Idem, 395.

EUROPEAN ART. 341
degree of tenderness, passion, and love of pleasure, which
the ancients deemed beneath the dignity of the epic muse.
Camoens had been led to regard the mythological system
of the ancients as essential to their poetic art. Hence his
employment of the agency of Venus, Mars, Minerva,
Neptune, etc., in the march of his epic. But his real
heroes, Vasco de Gama, and the commanders of the
Portuguese fleet, could only pray to the Almighty Father,
to the Saviour, the virgin, and the saints. Hence he
finds himself constantly embarrassed with two contradictory
machineries, the one essential to his poetry, the other to
his faith. It was not without difficulty that they could be
reconciled, but while prayers were, and must be, offered
to the one, the relief generally came from the other. Thus
at the time the Portuguese fleet, under Gama and his crew,
all good catholics, are pursuing their course to India on
the coast of Ethiopia, the deities of classical mythology
assemble in council, to deliberate on the fate of the fleet,
on which occasion both Venus and Mars are eloquent for
the Portuguese, and the decision goes forth that they shall
be successful. At another time the sea gods, excited by
Bacchus, let loose the winds and waves upon the daring
navigators ; upon which Gama addresses his prayers to the
god of the Christians; but it is the nymphs of Venus who,
at her bidding, adorn themselves with garlands of 'the
freshest flowers, and by their charms and blandishments
seduce into quiet the boisterous winds.
The great object of the epic was the grand idea that
was then stirring the depths of all minds, viz : the sea
passage to India, the establishment of an empire there,
and the monopolization of the commerce of the east.
Vasco de Gama, the commander of the Portuguese fleet,
is the .(Eneas of his poem. He obviously proposes Virgil
rather than the chivalric romances for his model, and has
"conferred on his poem an eminently classical character.
But, like his own Gama, he soon leaves the servile coast
sailing of his predecessors, ventures into the wide expanse
of ocean, and makes his triumphant progress through rich

342 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and undiscovered lands. As the mariner in the midst of
the troubles and tempests of the sea,1 perceives, by the
spicy gales that he is approaching to his Indian haven, so
over the latter cantos of the Lusiad there is diffused the
rich air and resplendent sun of the oriental skies. The
language is indeed simple, and the purpose serious ; never
theless in coloring and fullness of fancy, Camoens. here
surpasses even Ariosto. But he does not confine himself
to. Gama and the discovery of India, or even to the sway
and achievements of the Portuguese of his day ; whatever of
chivalrous, great, beautiful or noble, could be gathered
from the traditions of his country has been inweaved
and embodied into the web of his poem. It embraces the
whole poetry of his nation ; among all the heroic poets
either of ancient or of modern times, there has never,
since Homer, been any one so intensely national, or so
loved and honored by his countrymen as Camoens." It
is thus that he has reared an everlasting monument of his
own and his country's glory, and has perpetuated through
all time the history of that country whose conduct towards
him while living was most oppressive and relentlessly
cruel.

The Schools of Poetry in Italy.
The Italian lauguage is derived probably from more
, sources than any other in Europe or possibly in the world.
These are: 1. The original ancient dialects of the different
peoples of Italy, all which had attained to quite a strength
of development at the period of Roman supremacy. 2.
The Roman development everywhere modifying or sup
planting these dialects by the Latin. 3. The barbaric
inundation, that swept away the Roman dominion and
planted the Gothic dialects in almost every part of the
Italian peninsula. Out of all these slowly emerged the
'Bchlegel's Lectures, ir, 101-2.

» EUROPEAN ART. 343
Italian language. Its progress was indeed slow, owing in
part to the strength and vitality of the Latin language, and
in part to the fact that the different Italian states were each
striving for a separate existence, and hence became
antagonistic to the speedy formation of a national language.
It required the sixth, seventh, and eight centuries to con
summate the destruction of the ancient order of things, and
the ninth, tenth and eleventh, to gather up the fragments .
of anterior systems, and mould them into a form from which
resulted the present living language of Italy.1 For a long
period subsequent to this, all the works which their authors
designed for immortality were written in Latin. This
continued with some exceptions down to the time of
Petrarch, who flourished near the middle of the fourteenth
century. The writing of poetry in the vulgar tongue had its birth
among the Sicilians, and in a very short time spread over
the whole of Italy. When we reach the last half of the
thirteenth century, the year 1265 is marked by the birth
of Dante, styled " the heir of all the ages." He is the
first great poet of modern times, and was destined to exert
a wonderful influence over the coming ages. He may be
almost said to have created the . national thought, and
brought Italian literature to perfection. Born and reared
amid the factions and feuds of Florence ; driven in middle
life from his native city, and compelled to spend the
remainder of his days in exile, a hapless wanderer from
one Italian court to another, until he finally laid down the
heavy burden of his life in 1321, in the fifty-sixth year of
his age. His early sorrows of the heart, his thorough
mastery of all the learning of his time, his early acquaint
ance and friendship with Giotto, the father of the modern
art of painting ; his crushed hopes and disappointed am
bition ; his years spent in wandering over Italy in exile ; all .
were instrumental in fitting him for his high mission, the
conception and development of the Divina Comedia.

1 Eclectic, 1858, 332.

344 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
The fact is worthy of notice, as tending to show that all
art is kindred in its character, and mutually assistant ; that
the art of painting in modern Europe, and also the ars
poetiea, both started on their glorious career at the same
time, and in the' same city, viz : that of Florence. Like
two streams from contiguous fountains, they have coursed
they way onward, mutually lending to each other their
kindly aid, widening and enlarging, and everywhere dif
fusing their bright and happy influences. Thus, the first,
starting from Giotto, becomes developed by Massaccio
and Leonardo, until it reaches its highest point of attain
ment in Raphael and Michael Angelo; while the last,
commencing with Dante, receives fresh accessions from
Petrarch and Ariosto, until it culminates in the splendid
epic of Tasso. Nay more, the terrible conceptions of
Dante, as they have been embodied in his Inferno, have
since found but a too faithful representation on the can
vas, and have stood forth in the Last Judgment of Michael
Angelo. It is thus the two great Tuscans, blending to
gether their mighty intellects, seek to work out, each in his
own way, the same fearful problem of human retribution.
Dante took for the subject of his poem, the three king
doms of the dead ; hell, purgatory, and paradise ; thus
seeking to lay open the secrets of the invisible world.
By a decree of the most high, and accompanied by Virgil,
he is enabled to enter the realm of shadows, passing
through the gate on which are inscribed these terrific
words : All hope abandon, ye who enter here.
His conception of hell was of an inverted cone of the
size of the earth, which consisted of nine circles, each
being lower and narrower than the one which preceded
it. At the bottom, and in its centre, was chained the
arch-fiend, Lucifer, who waves his six gigantic wings over
a frozen ocean, in which he is half submerged. ' He and
the other spirits of darkness, are constantly exercising
their diabolical malignity on the reprobate souls.

EUROPEAN ART. 345
Each narrowing circle contains various cavities for the
infliction of punishments, and these vary in proportion to
the guilt, the intensity increasing as the circles descend
and contract. From the first circle only ascend the eter
nal sighs of those who have never received Christian
baptism. In the next, are those whom love seduced into
crime, and who died unrepentant. In the third circle are
the gluttons, extended upon the fetid mire, and eternally
exposed to showers of ice. In the fourth are the avaricious
and the prodigal, who attack each other with mutual
reproaches. A disgusting slough swallows up those who
have abandoned themselves to their choleric passions, and
in the last circle are found those who betrayed their native
land, entombed in everlasting ice.
After traversing the infernal regions they enter upon
purgatory, and this again consists of an immense cone
divided into seven circles, each being devoted to the expia
tion of one of the seven mortal sins. Purgatory, according
to Dante, is in many respects, only a fainter picture of hell.
The same species of crime is here subjected to the same
kind of punishment, only lighter and limited in duration ,
proofs of penitence having been given previous to death.
Thus the proud are overwhelmed with enormous weights ;
the envious clothed with garments of horse hair, their eye
lids being closed with an iron thread, the choleric suffocated
with clouds of smoke, the indolent compelled to run with
out ceasing, the avaricious prostrated with their faces to
the earth, the epicure tormented with hunger and thirst,
and the incontinent compelled to expiate their crime in fire.
On the summit of purgatory is situated the terrestrial
paradise, forming the connecting link between heaven and
earth. Here he enters the celestial regions, which consti
tute the third portion of the universe, ascending in spiral
rings, from sphere to sphere, to the throne of the eternal. In
paradise he meets Beatrice, his first and only love, who died
in early life, and who now supersedes Virgil as his guide.
When the poet enters heaven, he presents us with super
natural appearances very similiar to those of our wildest
vn] 44

346 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
dreams. He even summons up faculties with which we
have no acquaintance, neither awakens our associations nor
revives our habits. We fail thoroughly to comprehend
him. His attempts to delineate the scenery of the skies
lack the distinctness and appalling sublimity that attach to
his sketches of the infernal realms. It is in these latter
thathe has shown himself the master.
This poem is written in the measure termed terza rima,
which was probably the invention of Dante, and consists
of three verses,1 disposed in such a manner, that the mid
dle line of each couplet rhymes with the first and third
verses of the succeeding.
This poem has no prototype in any existing language.
It is novel both in its parts and their combination into a
whole. It stands alone as the first great monument of
modern genius. It possesses unity of design and of execu
tion. It is referable to no particular class of composition.
Dante himself entitled it a comedy, without any reference,
however, to what is understood by that term. His country
men added the Divine, hence we have the Divine Comedy.
His style was then the most elegant of any in the Italian
language, and when he is himself affected, and wishes to
communicate his emotions, that language of the thirteenth
century, in his powerful hands, displays a richness of ex
pression,2 a purity, and an elegance, which he was the first
to elicit,'- and by which it has ever since been distinguished.
Amid all the gloom of his subject we find such a luxuri
ance of poetic imagery, such a fund of the sublime and
beautiful,3 such a display of learning and knowledge of
mankind, as to rank him, in the estimation of some, next
to Homer himself.
The next great Italian poet in the order of time was Pe
trarch, born at Arezzo, in 1304, and died at Arqua, near
Padua, in 1374. For more than half of the fourteenth
century, he was the centre of Italian literature. This was
a great century for Italian poetry. The great poem of

1 Sismondi, i, 206. ' Idem, 212. * Bevohitions in Literature, 95, 96.

ECJROPEAN ART. 347
Dante, the first which, since the dawn of letters, could bear
a comparison with the ancient epic, heralded its opening.
During its progress the lyric muse strung her lyre at the
call of Petrarch. The lyrical style of poetry appears to be
the first which is cultivated in every language, on the re
vival of its literature.1 It is that which is deemed the most
essentially poetical, and in which the poet can abandon
himself most freely to his vivid impressions. The most
perfect model of the lyrical style in the form in which it
existed among the ancients and also among most of the
moderns,2 is the ode. Petrarch, however, has clothed all
his lyrical inspirations in two measures, both of which are
far more strict and fettered, viz : the sonnet, borrowed from
the Sicilians, and the canzone of the Provencals. The
former is essentially musical and is founded on the harmony
of sound, from which its name is derived. It acts upon
the mind rather through the words than by the thoughts.
The richness and fullness of the rhymes constitute a large
portion of its grace.
Petrarch, it is well known, based his hopes of glory and
immortality on his voluminous Latin compositions. His
lyric poems were composed for his mistress, or for the
amusement of his friends and acquaintance. And yet it is
to these latter to which his immortality is due. " So
correct is the diction of his sonnets," says an Italian writer,3
*' that in the space of four hundred years, these pieces
have never been taxed with the smallest inaccuracy, nor
can they while the Italian language retains its purity.
Nay, so justly has he been accounted the infallible stand
ard of our style, that there is perhaps no author of any
nation, whose expressions may be so freely adopted in
prose or verse, as those of Petrarch, though he flourished
so long ago ; and the language, as a living one, has been
always subject to change. But besides this excellence,
Petrarch has entirely exhausted that species of poetry
which he cultivated. His principal subject is Platonic

1 Sismondi, i, 216. ' Idem, 319. ' Bevolution in Literature, 96-7.

348 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
love, in which the affections of the heart have a greater
share than the pleasures of sense. Upon this he composed
about three hundred little poems, in which he has happily
united the majesty of the ode, with the tenderness of the
elegy, and charms us with novelty in every line. I want
powers to express with what copiousness, spirit and deli
cacy, he has described the passion of love, not only free
from the smallest tincture of licentiousne'ss and obscenity,
but seasoned with moral sentiments equally refined and
unaffected." The Italian language made a sensible advance between
the times of Dante and Petrarch.1 Poetry became more
elegant, more melodious, and more pleasing to the ear of
taste, losing, however, much of the expression of truth
and nature. In Petrarch, the poetry of the troubadour, or
the spirit that produced it, finds its culmination.2 " His
sonnets strike us most vividly from the superexcellent and
wondrous objective art employed in the treatment of
themes so entirely and remarkably subjective. The
beauty and harmony of both arrangement and material
appear to depend on the objective and subjective tendency
beihg combined in due proportions, together with that
exquisite skill in mechanism and imagery, which each
Italian poet so earnestly strove to attain. In Petrarch,
both are harmoniously blended."
The elder poetry of the Italians divides itself into two
classes,3 the one of which is founded on the philosophy of
the middle ages, and is illustrated by the. allegorical
comedia of Dante. The other approaches the faultless
models of antiquity, standing in intimate relation with the
study of the ancient languages. The true exponent of.
this class is Petrarch, who is distinguished from the other
love poets of the middle age, by greater skill in composi
tion, and by a more intellectual and Platonic turn of
sentiment. The first mentioned was master of allegorical,
the second of lyrical poetry.

1 Sismondi, i, 218. ' Schlegel's ^Esthetics, 220. a ScMegel, ii, 2.

EUROPEAN ART. 349 ¦
There still remained another class or Bpecies of poetry
to be developed by the Italian poets. This had its root in
the romances of chivalry. The Italian peninsula was never
so effectually subjected to the reign of chivalry as most of
the other countries of Europe. It was never so Teutonic
as many European countries. It contained all or most
that remained of ancient Rome ; and its civilization, which
had been the growth of centuries, long resisted the suc
cessive inundations from the north, that from time to time
poured over the Alps. With its strength and classical
beauty, and thorough possession of the Italian mind, it was
slow in yielding to the new ideas and forms of civilization
which were borne along by the Teutonic wave. It was,
therefore, late in producing any of the fruits of chivalry ;
so late that it was difficult, if not impossible, to revive its
spirit. Those adventures which the ancient romancers
could recount with an invincible gravity, could not be re
peated by the Italians without a mixture of mockery.
' The Italian school, devoted to the development of this
species of poetry, commenced with Luigi Pulci, in the
last half of the fifteenth century, in his Morgante Mag-
giore; made an additional progress in the Orlando Inna-
morato of Count Boiardo, of about the same period ; and
finally culminated in the Orlando Furioso of Lodovico
. Ariosto, near the commencement of the sixteenth century.
Ariosto was born at Reggio, in 1474, commenced the
Orlando Furioso in 1505, was eleven years in its comple
tion, and died in 1533. This poem exhibits the highest
reach of this school of poetry, and its author ranks as one
of the four great Italian poets. He does not seem to have
intended to write an epic poem. The object of it was to
portray the great struggle between the Christians and the
Moors,1 which began with the invasion of France, and ter
minated with her deliverance. It has little unity, except
in its subject ; commences in the midst of combats, and
gives the lives and adventures of his several heroes, in

'Sismondi, i, 259.

350 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
subordinate episodes. As one of the most exalted of hu
man enjoyments is found in the full development of energy
and power,1 so the great art of the poet of romance is, to
awaken a proper confidence in human resources, by raising
against his hero all the forces of nature and the spells of
magic, and ultimately of rendering him triumphant over
all these combined.
The world into which Ariosto introduces us, is essen
tially poetic, where love and honor are the only laws, and
the only motives to action ; and where all ordinary pains,
disquietudes, and inequalities of rank are forgotten. No
instruction can be derived from it, because the two worlds
of poetry and reality are so entirely unlike, that whatever
applies to one will not to the other. This world of the
poet, is not, however, the creation of Ariosto.2 The re
presentation of these ancient manners, and of the spirit of
past times, was the work of several successive poets ; yet
it was reserved to Ariosto to complete this elegant and
ingenious edifice, and thus to enable chivalry to shine forth
in all its dignity, delicacy, and grace.
A prominent feature of this poem is the magic and
sorcery which, pervades so large a portion of it. This was
borrowed chiefly from the east, the tales of Arabia. These
genii, however, have nothing about them of terror. Their
power is exercised in splendid creations, in a taste for the
arts, and in a love of pleasure. It is a heightening of the
energies of man, which embodies the dreams of the ima
gination, the development of the passions of the, living, not
the unnatural apparition of the dead.
Ariosto has exhibited in this poenij the most brilliant
imagination, and the most fertile invention. The stories
of his knights form a tissue of agreeable adventures which
awake curiosity and excite interest. In these are found
many dramatic subjects for succeeding poets. He also
greatly excels in powers of description. His management
of incidents, unraveling of plots, shifting of scenes, and

1 SiSmondi, 1, 260. ' Idem, 261 .

EUROPEAN ART. 351
arrangement of circumstances, all evince great tact and
skill. He represents a character better in act than in
speech. His versification is more distinguished for grace,1
sweetness, and elegance, than for strength. The language
he employs is perfectly harmonious. Every description is
a picture. He always sports with his subject, with his
readers, and with his style, rarely soaring, or attempting
that majestic flight which belongs to the epic muse.
Italy had now produced three great poets, and three
styles of poetry. Dante had developed the allegorical,
Petrarch the lyrical, and Ariosto the romantic or chivalric.
It still remained for Tasso to develop the epic. To this
species of poetry has been assigned the first rank. It is
styled the noblest of all harmonious creations. In the
epic, the directing all parts to one object serves to pro
duce in each the pleasure and perfection of the whole.
The combination of unity with variety can only be success
fully done,2 by grasping the single idea which rules the
most dissimilar actions and the most opposite interests.
This unity in combination is the essence of epic poetry.
Torquato Tasso was born eleven years after the death of
Ariosto, and in the year 1544. The Italian mind, in all
the freshness of its opening powers, was still absorbed in
the beauties of the romantic and chivalric poetry of
Ariosto. With this it was apparently satisfied without
making any higher demands. But Tasso, while yet
a young man of twenty-one years of age, fully im
pressed with the higher splendor and loftier beauties of
the epic, commenced his Jerusalem Delivered, which after
sixteen years' labor was given to the public. Its gifted
author illustrated in his own personal history the fact that
the world has little regard for those to whom it is the
most largely indebted. While repeated editions were
called for and issued, and the name of Tasso was on every
tongue and in every heart, the poor poet himself was
either immured in a dungeon, or a houseless, homeless

1 Sismondi, I, 263. ' Idem, 307.

352 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
wanderer, until worn out by the battle of life he finally
expired at Rome, at the age of fifty-one years. Whether
he purchased immortality at too great a price is perhaps a
problem incapable of solution.
This great poem was published in 1574. Its subject
illustrates the struggle between the Christians and Sara
cens during the wars of the Crusades. These wars were
based on the conflict of ideas and principles between those
who had attained the highest point of Arabian civilization,
and those yet barbarous, but possessed of the germs of
European civilization. It was the east, with its deeper
and broader learning, its more perfect arts, but its already
waning glory, resisting the west with its fresher spirit,
its chivalric enterprise, and its indomitable energy; all
inspired with the one animating principle of religious
faith, and the fixed determination to wrest from the do
minion of the infidel the sacred spot where the divine
founder suffered death and the mysteries of redemption
were accomplished.
The subject chosen was in all respects fortunate, and
one affording full scope to all the powers of the epic muse.
The period in Italian poetical history was that just suc
ceeding the life of Ariosto, and was, therefore, one in
which the chivalric and romantic spirit, although perhaps
of waning proportions, was yet possessed of great strength
and power. In this point of view the Jerusalem Delivered
was the great crowning poem of chivalry. In its loves,
and gallantry, and the high chivalrous bearing of its
knights and heroes, it carries us fully into the heroic ages.
From its commencement, sentiments the most tender are
combined with actions the most heroic, and a nobler part
has been assigned to love than has been given to it in any
other epic poem. This was its concession to the age of
chivalry; for love, enthusiastic, respectful and full of
homage, was an essential character of chivalry. It was
the source of action, and gave inspiration to its poetryJ
It is for this cause that so, much interest attaches to his
heroines, as these assimilate better with the chivalrous

EUROPEAN ART. 353
romance than with the epic. Hence the delight experi
enced in the coloring given to his Clorinda and Erminia,
and the terrible interest attached to the fatal combat be
tween the latter and her lover Tancred. True to the
spirit of romance and chivalry, Tasso loses no opportunity
of weaving the golden thread of love into that mighty web
made up of the daring deeds of the Christian and the
infidel. The episodes in which these frequently occur are
among the most beautiful parts of the poem.
The whole period of time covered by the poem will not ex
ceed forty days. It- is comprised in that part of the campaign
of the year 1099, in which the Crusaders assembling on the
plains of Tortosa, commenced their march towards Jeru
salem, arriving before that city at the beginning of July,
and taking it on the 15th after a siege of eight days. This
resulted in the founding of the kingdom of Jerusalem,
over which Godfrey of Bouillon ruled for about one year.
The review, the march, the siege, the terrible contests, the
numerous incidents arising, the final triumph, are all por
trayed with a master's hand.
The machinery evoked by the poet is such as the occasion
and the times seemed to demand. It is the deity that
calls the Crusaders to arms on the plains of Tortosa. Next
we are introduced to the councils of the powers of darkness,
and Satan assembles his sable bands to resist the conquests
of the Crusaders.1 In depicting the ruler of hell the pre
vailing superstition would have described him as mean and
despicable. Tasso, however, rises superior to this prejudice,
and in the portrait which he has drawn of him, inspires
terror rather than disgust. His speech to the infernal
spirits is of the same sombre eloquence assigned to him by
Milton. The hatred by which he is fired permits him to
consider only the means of revenge. The demons at his
command separate, taking their flight to different regions
of the earth, air, and water, to exercise their power over
the elements for the discomfiture of the Christian armies.

1 Sismondi, I, 288.
VII] 45

354 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
And here is brought to view another set of machinery,
employed by the subordinates of the arch-fiend, a resort
to which was not inappropriate to the period of the
Crusades. This consisted in sorcery and enchantments,
which gave to the imagination the exercise of the most
unlimited powers, as the subtle arts and operations of the
sorcerer were at a distant remove from the chain of causa
tion by which, in human experience, the events of the
world are linked together. The use, however, of these
powerful agencies was not limited to the powers of dark
ness. The Christian magician is also introduced to combat
by similar means the sorceries of the adversary ; and, when
fully enlisted, his enchantments are the most powerful, and
prevail. The enchantments of the forest, produced by the
power of Ismeno, interpose a terrible barrier to the pro
gress of the Christian in the siege, until they are subdued
by Rinaldo ; but unfortunately he has been transported by
the sorceress Armida far away from the scene of action.
"But the Christian magician proves more powerful than the
sorceress, and by his agency the return of Rinaldo is
effected, who overcomes the enchantments of the forest,
and the Christians are enabled ultimately to prevail.
The world has hitherto produced but five great epic
poems. These are the Iliad, the ^Eneid, the Jerusalem
Delivered, the Paradise Lost, and the Lusiad. Of these
the third place is given by many to Tasso's Jerusalem De
livered. It follows on in the track of the Iliad and the
JEneid, in going back to the heroic ages, and in seeking in
them the ideal of the succeeding ones. They are thus made
to serve as the model for those which come after. It is the
primary object of poetry to transport from the real into an
ideal world. " All the fine arts seek to retrace those pri
mitive forms of beauty which are not found in the visible
world,1 but the impression of which is fixed in our minds,
as the model by which to regulate our judgment." In this
process of retracing, the epic poet goes back to the heroic

1 Sismondi, 1, 309.

EUROPEAN ART. 355
-ages, which lying on the undefined margin between the
known and the unknown, occupying a region where the dim
light of tradition has not yet brightened into history, offers
to the imagination a wider field and a fitter opportunity
for supplying from its own stores what it may deem want
ing in the perfection of its models. Hence the romantic
form of Tasso's great epic harmonizes with the sentiments,
passions, and recollections of Europeans. Celebrating as it
does, heroes whose types exist in their hearts, a whole peo
ple cherish his memory, and in the nights of summer, the
mariners interchange the sorrows of Erminia and the
death of Clorinda.
Three centuries have now elapsed since the production
of the Jerusalem Delivered, but except in the dramatic
department, Italy has produced no great poet. In her
Dante,- Petrarch, Ariosto and Tasso she exhausted her
poetic capacity, and it may require centuries to come before
she can supply the material to furnish such another.

The Schools of Poetry in Germany.
The German nations occupy central Europe from the
Adriatic to the Baltic. These are one in race, although
split into a great number of different nationalities. They
were originally called Teutons, and were of the Indo-
European stock. Their languages consist of two branches :
the northern or Scandinavian, and the southern or German.
The latter again is subdivided into the eastern or Gothic,
the high German or German proper, and the low German,
which includes the Frisian, old Saxon, Anglo-Saxon, Dutch
and Flemish. The high German is the literary language
of Germany, and a language containing within itself vast
resources. No modern language equals it in its product-
tiveness and capacity. It borrows little or nothing from
the Lafin or Greek;~ibut''finds expressions for new com
binations of ideas in the development of its own resources,
more particularly by compositions of its own roots, words

356 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and particles. Unlike many other European languages, it
is homogeneous in its growth and character, and is their
superior in originality, flexibility, richness, and universality.
We have already glanced at the old Nibelungen Lied, .
and the lays of the Minnesingers. With the death of
Frederick I, set the star of the Swabian dynasty, and the
sweet sounds of the minnesingers, expired with the last
breath of Conradin on the scaffold at Naples, in 1268.
The downfall of the Hohenstauffen dynasty, and the. acces
sion of the house of Hapsburg in the person of Rodolph,
proved unfavorable to poetic development, as to every other
literary enterprise. From this period the German muse
slumbered for some centuries. While the Italian poets,
Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto and Tasso, were astonishing and
charming the world with the highest specimens of poetic
art evoked from the depths of the sublime, the beautiful,
the loving, the heroic, and the chivalric ; the Teutonic spirit
in its poetic relations, seemed locked in slumbers so pro-.
found that scarce a dream even disturbed its deep repose.
The popular song, it is true, never entirely died out in Ger
many. This species of poetry was of two kinds : the one
consisting of songs, the solitary fragments of the agfe of
heroism and chivalry, which had lived through many revo
lutions and changes in social life; the other the produc-.
tions of the vulgar themselves, this, latter being the most
striking division of the popular poetry of Germany.1 It
arose from the encouragement to versification given by
some of the inferior princes; but the prizes proposed were
of bo little value that the knights and nobles left the field
to inferior competitors. A rage for rhyming seemed to
prevail among all classes, chaplains, doctors, schoolmasters,
weavers, blacksmiths, and shoemakers. The muse was
easily courted and won, but with a corresponding diminu
tion in value. Finally in about the middle of the fourteenth
century, when the guild spirit was so thoroughly prevail
ing in the various departments of industry, it also invaded

s Lectures, n, 255.

EUROPEAN ART. 357
the domains of poetry, and the votaries of the muse sought
and obtained acts of incorporation for their singer guilds.
They had their master singers, being twelve of the most
distinguished poets of the guild, who met on certain days
to criticise each others productions. He who had the
fewest faults was entitled to the prize, and allowed to take
apprentices in the art. After serving the apprenticeship,
the poet was admitted to the corporation and declared a
master. Nuremberg was the chief seat of these singer
guilds, where, in 1650, was manufactured the "poetical
funnel, professing within six hours, to pour in the whole
essence of this difficult art into the most unfurnished head.1
The idea was that poetry could be taught and practiced
like any other handicraft, as the common people could not
understand why labor, which manufactured so many things,
could not also grind out poetry. These corporation guilds
must have contained within them a strong vital principle,
as they continued during the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth
and even feebly the seventeenth centuries, lasting even
through the thirty years' war. One of the most notable
of these guild singers was Hans Sachs, the son of a tailor,
who was himself a Bhoemaker, and who learned the poetic
art from a weaver. He flourished about the middle of the
sixteenth -century, and wrote no less than six thousand and
forty-eight poetical pieces, among which were included
two hundred and eight tragedies and comedies. His best
piece was the Shrovetide farce, where the doctor cures a
bloated and lethargic patient by cutting out half a dozen
fools from his interior.2 -
The thirty years' war, which desolated Germany from
1618 to 1648, followed by the conquests and conflagrations
of Louis XIV, had a most disastrous effect upon every
branch of German literature. In the very midst of it,
however, the first Silesian school of poetry arose undep its
founder, Martin Opitz, born in 1597, dying in 1639. His
immediate models were derived from Holland. He also

1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, i, 34, note. ' Idem, 35, note.

358 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
imitated the French and Italian, but in his works are found
true German songs, the tones of which remind us of the
old minnesingers.
It is not, however, until we get to the middle of the
eighteenth century that we find the German muse really
awaking from its profound slumbers into a state of con
scious existence. This brings us to the era of Klopstock
and Wieland, an era second to no other in importance in
the development of German poetry, except that which
immediately succeeds it, and to which belong 'the names
of Herder, Tieck, Schiller and Goethe.
Friedrick Gottlieb Klopstock was born in 1724, and
died in 1803. He has been called by some the father
of German poetry. . He has ever exhibited himself intensely
national, and transferred the true German feelings into his
poetry. He may be said to have established the doctrine
that Christianity on the one hand, and Gothic mythology
and antiquity on the other, must be the main elements of
all new European poetry and inspiration.1 He unwisely
sought to banish rhyme, but failed in that attempt, as
rhyme appears to be founded in the very nature of Teu
tonic, speech. His most successful poetry is that conceived
in the spirit of elegy. He appears almost equally at home
in every gradation, blending, and depth of elegiac feeling.
In his earlier odes he is admitted to have attained to the
true tone of bardic inspiration, to the simple sublimity of
Hebrew poetry,2 and to the genuine spirit of classical
antiquity. He does not lose himself in mazes of descrip
tion, nor does he cluster together that bewildering variety
of imagery, which usually constitutes the essence of an
English ode.3 " His feelings are strong, his images lofty,
his diction bold; and his thoughts stride as it were on
stilts, so as to elude for a time the detection of their start
ing place, without deviating, however, from their proper

'Schlegel's Lectures, n, 269. 'De Stael's Works, I, 211, note. s Taylor's
German Poetry, i, 246.

EUROPEAN ART. 359
path." His odes are his best productions, and constitute
his strongest claims on fame.1 Their form is unique, and
.without any parallel in modern literature.
He also wrote the Messiah, an epic poem of twenty bookSj
in hexameter verse. "With the Messiah," says Schlegel,
" the new literature of our country may be said to begin ;2
so immeasurable have been the benefits derived from it,
particularly in respect to style and expression, that the poem
is now admired principally upon trust, or has not at least
become a work of true power and living feeling in our
hands." One charge againstit is, that his rhetori&is verbose
and elaborate, so much so as often to destroy the effect of his
feeling. He has, however, the reputation of having known
best how to personify the spirituality of Christianity, by
situations and pictures the most analogous to its nature.
In Klopstock we have a representative of German
idealism. Poets derive their material from nature, from
art, or from idea. Observation gives them the first, read
ing the second, and reflection the third. The poet of
observation gives us the phenomena of his experience,3 the
one of reading, the treasures of his study, and the one of
reflection the creations of his fancy, the materials of which
have been drawn from his senses, his books, or the reflex
aetion of his own mental faculties. Klopstock is the poet
of reflection. He copies idea, drawing from the picture in
his own imagination. The result of that is that his sketches
want the solid, his scenery the touch of reality. He lives
in dreamland and looks within for his objects or at least the
coloring which he gives them. His mountains seem like
clouds, his groves empyreal palm, his cities the new Jeru
salem. He lacks the life and vividness of actual nature
transplanted into poetry.
Klopstock felt and seized only the two extreme points of ¦
German poetry : Christianity, and the feeling and mytho
logy of the north. Between these two, and extending

1 Taylor's German Poetry, i, 264. ' Schlegel, n, 264. ' Taylor's German
Poetry, I, 292.

360 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
from Attila to the peace of Westphalia, lies a middle age
of one thousand years or more.1 To this belongs all the
romantic and the chivalric, to which so much of the poetry
of modern times is indebted. All this was untouched by
Klopstock. This great blank, however, subsequent Ger
man poets have filled up, and among these, one, not the
least important, is :
Christopher Martin Wieland, born at Biberach, in 1733,"
and dying at the advanced age of eighty, in 1813. During
a long life he manifested a love of truth, exercised good
ness, and delineated beauty. He has the reputation of
furnishing models of didactic poetry, such as no "other
nation can exhibit. He also introduced the roman£i&-...
epopee, and has hitherto been unequaled by any imitator.
He has improved and polished the language, and " led the
graces into Gothic halls."
As in Klopstock was found a representative of German
idealism, so in Wieland we find one of German realism.
While the latter is more sensuous, rational, didactic, and
ruled by history and philosophy, the former is more super-
sensuous, sentimental, lyrical, and influenced by religion
and by music. Wieland gives a preference to the later
classics, to the French and Italian poets ; Klopstock to the
northern and English. While the former was gay, the
latter was earnest. In carrying out the principles of Ger
man realism, the characters of Wieland are said to be less
the creation of a plastic genius,2 than the mouldings of an
accomplished artist ; that " he does not animate his figures
like Prometheus, by putting fire within, but, like Pygma
lion, by external touches of the chisel." He, however,
imitates general, rather than individual nature.
Wieland occupies the middle age left vacant by Klop
stock. In this respect another strong contrast is afforded
between the two. The poetry of Wieland was entirely de
voted to the romantic. He loves to " detain the imagina- ^
'Schlsgel, u, 266. ' Taylor's German Poetry, n, 294.

EUROPEAN ART. , .361
tion beneath groves gay with a thousand flowers, peopled
with happy lovers sacrificing to Cupid, or haunted by
choirs of nymphs,1 whose thin drapery is the sport of the
zephyrs, and whose charms are the pursuit of fauns or the
prize of river-gods."
Wieland, equally with Klopstock, has tried his hand at
the epic, and has produced the Oberon, a poem extremely
popular in Germany, and which, during the author's life
time attained there all the honors of a sacred book. This
has been reckoned the masterpiece of Wieland, " the child
of his genius, in moments of its purest converse with the
all-beauteous forms of ideal excellence ; the darling of his
fancy, born in the sweetest of her excursions amid the am
brosial bowers of fairyland." This poem is founded on a
tale of French chivalry. The first main action consisting
in the adventure undertaken by the hero at the command
of Cbarlemagne is mostly derived from an old story book
of chivalry, which furnished to Shakespeare the name, but
not the character, of Oberon. The elves, the subjects of
.his empire, are mythological personages of Gothic origin.
The second main action, consisting in the adventures of
Huon and Rezia after their union, is in part borrowed
from the French romances; while the third main action
brings to view the machinery of the poem, and occurs
among its mythological personages, the principal of whom
are Oberon and Titania, whom a rash oath unwillingly
separates, until some mortal pair should set such an exam
ple of insuperable infidelity as Huon and Rezia at length
realize. Thus the powers and forces that constitute his
machinery are linked with the acts and movements of men ;
and hence the mechanism of their providence, while it
guides by an irresistible necessity the conduct of the hu
man agents, has still a motive for every interposition, and
never stoops from heaven either to inflict or to reward from
capricious tyranny or vague curiosity. To the elves are
ever preserved that " diminutive agency, powerful but lu-

1 Taylor's German Poetry, n, 237.
vn] • 46

362 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
dicrouS,1 that humorous and frolicsome controlment of
nature," and that care of chastity, which their received
character among the fathers of song required them to
sustain. The long life of Wieland stretched into the succeeding
and higher age of German poetry. He was the contempo
rary of the master spirits of that age. He even survived
Herder by the period of ten years.
John Gottfried Herder was born in Prussia, in 1741,
and died in 1803. He has given us Voices of the Nations,
Scattered Leaves, and Spirit of Hebrew Poets. Herder
possessed the gift of transporting himself into the Spirit and
poetry of every age and people. He directed his attention
to the original nature of the character of each nation, and .
to the deep poetical peculiarity visible in the idiosyncrasies. \
of nations. He looked upon the world as an organic
whole, and with him progress, evolution, was the element
of the universe. He regarded individuals and nations as
the matter,2 and circles and institutions of life as the form
in which that evolution is to be realized. In his Voices
of the Nations, he " mingles up the fairest and most cha
racteristic popular songs of all countries into one great '
minstrelsy of the human race."3
One distinguishing feature of his genius,4 was the per
ception and feeling of the poetical in the character, of
natural legends. He most delighted in the poetry Of the
Hebrews. He possessed great power of entering into all
the shapes and manifestations of fancy. His mind was cast
in so universal a mould as to enable him to attain almost
equal eminence either as a poet or a philosopher. He
has been characterized as the Plato of the Christian world.
Herder looked upon the legends in a serious and national
light; affirming the existence of a profound meaning in
the jocular and sportive fairy poetry.8 He claimed it to

'Taylor's German Poetry, n, 407. ' Menzel, in, 292. "Idem, 297.
1 ScMegel, n, 283. "Menzel, iv, 116.

EUROPEAN ART. 363
be of invaluable worth, as voices of the nations, as rem
nants of a wonderful past. It appears not as the artificial
work of man, but as a direct revelation of nature. These
ancient legends, coming from the minds and feelings of
the people, are directly connected with their history. They
are, therefore, an inexhaustible fountain of poetry.
A domestic tone was first introduced into this species
of poetry, by Ludwig Tieck, who was born in Berlin, in
1773. He thus linked the legends with what the Germans
esteem of priceless value,1 and drew from their silent
depths, what would make the most secret chords of feel
ing resound with affecting and long forgotten melodies.
He has thus built up a new and genuine German poetry
upon the foundation of the old. His poetry is intensely
German, and hence marks an era in the history of Ger
man poetry. The classic models had previously borne it
off into the realm of idealism,2 but Tieck has again rooted
it in the pure German peculiarities, so as to render its
products national creations. He has led the way back to
that unconscious innocence and luxuriance of power,
which characterized the early ages of Germany. He was
himself a product of the romantic reaction of the age.
He made himself master of the whole ancient magical
kingdom of the popular legends, and purifying it from
modern rubbish, has reproduced it in a higher and purer
form. The antagonism between it and the classic models
will undoubtedly continue, and perhaps ultimately unite
in the formation of a style of poetry that will be both
lofty and pure, and at the same time essentially German.
The two great lights of German poetry are Schiller and
Goethe. They were contemporaries, and intimate friends.
Frederich Schiller was born at Marbach, in 1759, and
died at Weimar in 1805. He has been called emphatically,
the poet of the young, as all his feelings seem fully to
correspond to the first aspirations of the youthful mind

1 Menzel, iv, 119. ' Idem, 121.

364 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
yet uncorrupted. Schiller's original destination was for
the medical profession. His first studies were in that
direction. But the internal workings of his spirit were
little in harmony with the theory or practice of medicine.
Carlyle remarks that " every poet, be his outward lot
what it may,1 finds himself born in the midst of prose; he
has to struggle from the littleness and obstruction of an
actual world, into the freedom and infinitude of an ideal."
This, however, notwithstanding its difficulties, was 'accom
plished by Schiller. At the early age of seventeen, lie
composed his tragedy of the Robbers, which he gave to
the world at the age of twenty-two. It electrified the ~
German mind. Its success in the German theatres was
Unparalleled. Schiller, was appointed poet to the theatre
at Manheim, and subsequently professor of history in the
University of Jena. The closing years of his life were
spent in Weimar in intimate association with Goethe.
Besides the Robbers, he wrote Fiesco, Cabal and Love;
Don Carlos, Wallenstein, Maid of Orleans, Wilhelm Tell,
Marie Stuart, the Bride of Messina, and the celebrated
ode called the Song of the Bell, which seeks successfully
to unite poetry with industry and the interests of daily
-life. He also wrote in addition many ballads, didactic
poems, and lyrical pieces.
Schiller distinguished himself the most as a dramatic au
thor, blithe has also experimented in almost every species of
poetry, the drama, the ode, the elegy, the narrative, the
didactic, in all which he has excelled. The egjcJr^ee^s
never to have attempted. With that singleremptpon>
"wherever the genius of his age was astir, we «atf the
flight of his wing and the print of his footsteps." Hi had
great depth of mind, and attained great breadth of culture.
He is distinguished from many other poets by firmness of
purpose, a philosophical aim, and a thoughtful conception.
One distinct mental characteristic was great earnestness,
and this was one of the secrets of his greatness. His
1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, 11, 271.

EUROPEAN ART. 365
mental faculties were well nigh equipoised, the reasoning
and imaginative being nicely adjusted to each other.
Hence philosophy claimed, equally with poetry, to guide
and control the movements of his mind. He did not,
therefore, sing as the bird sings, from any tuneful impulse,
but educated himself into the different styles of poetry,
selecting that as the form best fitted for the expression of
noble fancies and lofty thoughts. Thus his poetical ex
cellence grew out of his intellectual, and he reversed the
old maxim, " Poeta nascitur non fit." In accordance with
this his poetic faculty of expression and description is
found to ripen and become more perfect, as his powers of
intellect become stronger and more cultivated. Hence
the remark Of Carlyle that, " sometimes we suspect that
it is the very grandeur of his general powers which pre
vents us from exclusively admiring his poetic genius.
We are not lulled by the siren song of poetry, because
her melodies are blended with the clearer, manlier tones
of serious reason, and of honest, though exalted feeling."
Schiller's adoption of the drama as the vehicle of the
most of his poetic effusions, enabled him to speak in a va
riety of characters, and thus to exhibit all the diversity of
poetic talent that lay in his composition. In the represent
ation of man, he concentrated all his poetical energies. It
was not the vulgar man that he introduced on to the stage,
but man idealized; man full of moral beauty and subli
mity. In the ideals of Schiller " we meet with no dead'
mechanical law,1 no theory, no dry moral system ; but a
living organic nature, an active life of active men. This
genius alone can create." Schiller himself says :
The intellect can repeat what has already been ;
Thou alone, genius, can'st invent new forms.
His heroes are also distinguished by a certain nobleness
of nature. They are never found belying that pride and
dignity which are the mark of a higher nature, and all their

1 Menzel, TV, 100.

366 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
expressions are only the natural outgrowths of such a
nature. He has also infused into his characters the fire of noble
passions, without which neither life nor poetry can furnish
anything either great or ennobling. Every genius is inter
penetrated by this celestial spark, which animates and
energizes everything into which it enters. As a remarkable
instance, in illustration, has been cited the love which
Schiller felt and breathed into the souls of his lovers.
" From its softest charm, from the first mutual glance,
from the first gentle beating of the heart,1 to the tempest
of feeling which shakes the whole heart, to the awe-striking
heroic deed of virgin valor, to the sublime sacrifice of two"-
loving souls, love here unfolds before us the boundless rich
ness of its beauty, like a holy music, which rises gradually
from the softest tones to the full tempest of pealing chords."
The characters he introduces are also often the embodi
ments of great principles and great truths, and hence are
valuable as exhibiting Schiller's conceptions as to the form
under which they exhibit themselves, and their different
modes of display. He has had great influence over mod
ern schools, and not only the iambus, but also the style,2
euphony and peculiar phraseology which he introduced,
are become quite universal, and superabundant in German
tragedy. Johan Wolfgang von Goethe was born at Frankfort-on-
the-Maine, in 1749, and died at Wiemar in 1832, at the ad
vanced age of eighty-three years. While, therefore, Schiller
had the misfortune to be called away before he could fully
develop all his powers, or give birth to the wonderful crea
tions which his genius fully demonstrated its capacity to
produce, Goethe, by reaching a limit beyond fourscore years,
had the fullest opportunity to bring out all within, and to
round oft' his life and character in a manner complete and
satisfactory.

1 Menzel, iv, 107. ' Idem, 111.

EUROPEAN ART. 367
As a poet, Goethe is chiefly known by his domestic
epic, Herman and Dorothea, his lyrical and occasional
poems; and his dramas, Tasso, Iphigenia, Egmont, Faust,
etc. Although the first mentioned has in Germany at
tained the name of an epic poem, yet the personages and
events are of too little real importance to give it that
dignity. The characters, or actors in an epic, should
possess a dignity and importance corresponding with the
elevation and loftiness of the poetic vehicle, in and through
which their acts are made known. But in his elegies,
ballads, lyrical, and occasional poems, he stands unri
valled. His merits largely consist in his awakening the
the soul, by a few slight touches, impressions the most
profound and contemplative. He has also a most remark-,
able faculty of transporting himself to new climates and <
situations ; of imbuing himself with the spirit of different
peoples, and of singing the songs of different nations.
Thus while he appears pervaded with the melancholy and
meditation which seems to be the birthright of northern
poets, he exhibits also, many traces of character peculiar
to those of the south, and like them, awakes to the plea
sures of existence, and a lively enjoyment of nature.1 Th'us^
he shows that depth and vivacity are not inconsistent with
each other,- but that each may be exhibited in a different
phase of the same mind. He follows his imagination
wherever it leads him, and his occasional poems often
contain the germ of a fine fiction. He wishes his genius
to conduct him into an untrodden path, and almost always
disappoints the expectation that may be formed of him.
-His elegies composed at Rome do not describe Italy.
They portray the effect produced by Italy on his own
mind and soul. He possesses a singular faculty of com
pelling us to feel the mysterious power which may proceed
from the phenomena of nature.2 In this respect he proves
himself the true German poet. Like those peculiarly
sensitive persons who possess the power of discovering

1 De Stael, i, 228. ' Idem, 231.

368 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
springs hidden under the earth, by the nervous agitation
which they cause in them, the German poetry reveals a
miraculous sympathy between man and the elements.
" The German poet," it is said, " comprehends nature, not
only as a poet, but as a brother ; x and we might almost
say that the bonds of family union connect him with the
air, the water, flowers, trees, in short, with all the primary-
beauties of the creation." " The soul of nature," says
Madam De Stael, "discovers itself to us in every place,
and under a thousand different forms. The fruitful coun
try, and the unpeopled desert, the sea as well as the stars,
are all subject to the same laws;2 and man contains
within himself sensations and occult powers, which cor
respond with the day, with the night, and with the storm; >
it is this secret alliance of our being with the wonders of
the universe, which gives to poetry its true grandeur.
The poet knows how to restore the union between the
natural and the moral world. His imagination., forms a
connecting tie between the one and the other." As an
illustration of this, Goethe's ballad of the Fisherman is
made to express the increasing pleasure derived from the
contemplation of the pure waters of a flowing stream;
the measure of the rhythm and harmony being made to
imitate the motion of the waves, thus producing an analo
gous effect on the imagination.
Every poet is said to be the revelation of some peculiar
sesthetical power, and that which peculiarly characterizes
Goethe is alleged to be talent, understanding by this the
faculty of poetical representation in general.3 The exercise "
of it does not depend upon any poetry in the object,
because it can cover with a poetical garb things that are
essentially unpoetical. It takes as its motto, " The beautir
ful is the result of a fortunate treatment." A musician
claimed that everything, even a handbill, could be set to •
music ; so the poet by his talent, or power of representation
can evoke from every object the spirit of poetry. The ex-
1 De Stael, i, 231 . ' Idem, 232. 8 Menzel, in, 327.

EUROPEAN ART! 369
tent to which this peculiar talent is possessed measures the
poetical capacity of every poet. Its workings are ever
revealing glimpses of the unseen but not unreal world, and
endeavoring so to modify the relations between the actual
and, the ideal, as to unite them together.1
Goethe attained great mastery as to all matters relating
to his art. His intellect was singularly emblematic, his
tendency ever being to give life and shape to the ideas and
feelings with which he became possessed. This may be
regarded as the natural endowment of the poet. With him
everything has form and visual existence.2 His imagination
in its own living action, bodies forth the forms of things
unseen, clothing them with shapes to suit its own purposes.
Another characteristic of the mind of Goethe was its
great variety and universality. He has ever enjoyed the
reputation of being many sided. His great talent enabled
him to recommend every object, whether pleasing or the
reverse, by a pleasing form, and to adorn to the utmost
everything he touched. No poet ever had more command
over the charms of language; and he possessed in the high
est degree the talent of making hia reader his accomplice,
and of imparting to him a sympathetic feeling.
Goethe was the great poet of his age. He might per
haps be styled a reflex, or embodiment of his age. He
bridged over the whole period in German literature from
the time of Lessing down to his own demise. In early
life he rose almost at a bound into the highest reputa
tion over all Europe. Thus he continued during half
a century to reign almost supreme in the hearts of his
countrymen over the world of letters. The moral and
religious results, however, of his teachings have been
severely questioned. It may besides be doubted whether
he has not placed the beautiful above the true, instead of
making it subservient to the great ends of the latter. He
was ever an intense worshiper at the shrine of beauty.
He had a wonderful faculty in detecting significancies in

1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, i, 231. " Idem, 271, 272.
Vii] 47

370 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
common things, and in so developing, and bringing them
home as to excite a lively interest in the reader.
The poem which stands at the head of all Goethe's pro
ductions,1 in which his deepest feelings, as well as his views
of the world, are the most comprehensively expressed, is
his Faust. This is a poem in a dramatic form, but not .
written for representation. It is founded upon the old and
popular legend of Faust, the magician. Tradition says of
him that, for the more effectual exercise of his magical \
powers, and to give him a greater control over spirits, he'
entered into a contract with the devil for twenty-four years,
and that a spirit, called Mephistopheles, was given him
as a servant, with whom he traveled about, enjoying life
in all its forms, and surprising many people by working
wonders. Goethe has infused into Faust an ever active
and urgent thirst for knowledge, but presumptuous and
ungovernable, and reckless of the means of obtaining it,
or of the results of its exercise when obtained. Having
spent years of abstruse study in mastering the sciences,
and found them empty and illusory, he is about putting an
end to his existence, when Mephistopheles persuades him
to abandon philosophy, and give himself up to the pleasures
of the world. This he does, and after many adventures,
finally ends his career in crime and misery.
The poem depicts the yearnings of the human heart, and
the career of mere intellect unregulated by principle.
Faust quits the ways of common men, but without light
to guide him on a better way. He sees the great vulgar
herd of mankind happy, but only so in their baseness and
degradation. He feels himself to be with them, but not of
them; to be peculiar, and the victim of a strange, incompre-
hensive destiny. One, and perhaps the principal source of
his misery is that he is cut off from all companionship with
his fellow men. All the sources of sympathy are dried up.2
He stands alone, and to all doubts and " questionings
of destiny " cannot make answer, " others do and suffer

1 Menzell, in, 304. " Carlyle's Miscellanies, i, 177.

EUROPEAN ART. 371
the like." Regarding himself alone, he is not merely a rid
dle, but a terror to himself. While pride and self-love are
the mainsprings of his conduct, a ravenous hunger for
enjoyment everywhere haunts him ; regarding the stinted
allotments of this life as a bitter mockery ; chafing at every
environment, and rebelling against the iron law of force ;
feeling within himself the buddings of the infinite, and yet
bound to the finite by a resistless power ; struggling with all
his energies towards infinitude, and yet hopeless of reaching
it ; a stranger to that law of self-denial, by which alone
man's narrow destiny may become enlarged ; and finally,
abandoning all hope, and under the sole promptings of
unmitigated despair, he unites himself with the fiend, as
with a stronger, although a more wicked agency ; and in
his companionship, reckless of all issues, seeks to unravel,
or at least to forget, the dark secret of destiny. Such is
Goethe's Faust, commencing with the conflicting union of
the higher nature of the soul with the lower elements of
human life ; exhibiting the son, orginally of light and free
will, in conflict with the influences of doubt, denial, and
obstruction ; finally sealing up all human sympathies, ally
ing himself to the spirit of evil, and seeking to find the
greatest good in knowledge and physical enjoyment, to
drown doubt in disbelief, and to silence forever those songs
of the soul, which, properly attuned, might unite their
choral symphonies with those ever arising around the,
throne of the eternal. It was a high and mighty problem,
fitting for the first of German poets to present and illus
trate, but one which no mere poet can ever solve. He has
thus raised a spirit which he cannot lay, introduced mys
teries which he cannot explain, shadowed forth a destiny
which he cannot unravel. Even the tomb of Goethe fur
nishes no clue towards solving the problem of Faust. Th e
solution of that problem lies in a sphere beyond that of
the poet, and which, although accessible to common men,
it is to be feared Goethe never entered.
The German poetry can look for its proper appreciation
only in the German mind. That mind has its own pecu-

372 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
liarities. It has produced a peculiar philosophy, the critical,
and those other systems which are its outgrowth. Its view
-of art in poetry is thus expressed by one of its own poets :
As all nature's thousand changes
But one changeless God proclahn,
So in arts' wide kingdoms ranges
One sole meaning, still the same.
This is truth, eternal reason,
Which from beauty takes its dress,
And, serene, through time and season,
Stands for aye in loveliness. .
The German muse of modern times seems never to have
aimed at creating or dwelling in a purely ideal world apart
from the real. It has neither gone back to the antique
fairyland, nor to the mythologies of ancient days, nor to
^witchcraft or magic nor even to the periods of chivalry. It
has not imported its heroes from remote oriental climes.1
It has rather preferred to make its home in the' real,
and to assume that as the basis, the foundation of every
thing else. It has chosen to delineate sharply the actual
aspects of life, and to find its embodiments in the forms
among which men live and move. Its object has been
to seize upon the significancies of real things, to invest
them with all • that poetic art can furnish, and thus to
lead forth the spirit of the age embodied in fair imagina^
tions. The spirit of their criticism from Lessing down
ward is peculiar. According to it, poetic beauty is not
derived from anything external, or of merely intellec
tual origin, nor from association, nor any reflex or reminis
cence of mere sensations.2 On the contrary, it is assumed
as underived, as being born and dwelling in the inmost
spirit of man, as being there nurtured and strengthened-
upon principles peculiar to itself, and as lending a charm
1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, I, 71. 'Idem, 60.

EUROPEAN ART. 373
to all those intellectual creations from which according to
the critics of other nations, it derives its origin. Thus the
German muse differs in its starting point from that of
other nations. How the progressive development of its
full powers through the coming centuries will compare
with that of other nations, it will be the business of time to
make known.

The Schools of Poetry in France.
We have before had occasion to remark on the difference
and distinctness in respect of language, perceivable between
that part of France lying north and that on the south of the
Loire. Each seems to have had its own peculiar mission.
That on the south culminated in the song of the trouba
dour, and subsequently dwindled into a dialect. That on
the north finally matured into the French language.
If we exclude the drama we shall be compelled to admit
that the French mind has fallen below the Italian, German
and English in the development of almost everything that
goes to constitute the true poetic element. While these
nations have produced poets, the French have, with few
exceptions, produced only versifiers. It has been remarked
of Voltaire, the great French poet of the eighteenth century,
that his view of poetry was radically different from that
entertained by the English. " That with him a tragedy;
a poem, is not to be a manifestation of man's reason
in forms suitable to his sense ; but rather a highly complex
egg-dance, to be danced before the king to a given tune
and without breaking a single egg." x This, however, will
only exhibit one phase of it, but that the French muse has
never yet sounded all the depths of the poetic element can
admit of little doubt.
The age of Francis I is remarkable as giving new
powers to thought, and lending new charms to many of

1 Carlyle's Miscellanies, ir, 65.

374 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the arts. There were many versifiers of this age. Some
rose to the height of satirizing the vices of mankind, while
others, in little songs, expressed their ideal love with more
of conventional gallantry than of passion or tenderness.
French poetry at this period was distinguished by a style
of lightness and gracefulness, a style which has ever been
its strong characteristic.1 Of the poets of this~ period
Clement Marot ranks the highest. His peculiar excellence
consisted in a naivete, or pretended simplicity, in which
respect he was the model of La Fontaine. This style of
humor, sprightly and diverting, seems to have been indige- >
nous in French poetry.
The last half of the sixteenth century has-been called the
age of verse in France. A change in the character of
French poetry occurred about the commencement of this
period. The allegorical personifications, whieh distin
guished the Romance of the Rose, gave place to an inunda
tion of mythology and classical allusion. This rendered
the opening up of new resources necessary, and, accordingly,
all antiquity was ransacked for analogies, and images
common place and far fetched were hunted up. Among
those the most conspicuous in the introduction of this
change was Pierre Rousard, the first of seven coutempora:
ries in song under Henry H, then denominated the French
Pleiad. He was capable of conceiving strongly, and of
presenting his conceptions in a clear and forcible light, but
his allusions are pedantic, and his style cumbered with
Latin and Greek derivatives.2 These faults are less in
tolerable in his odes than in his amatory sonnets. This
style afterwards gave place to that of Malherbe, and the
purer correctness of the age of Louis XIV. This last
named poet, who belongs to the first half of the seventeenth
century, is celebrated as giving a polish and a grace to the
lyric poetry of France. His versification was accurate and
regular; his style was purer; he was less mythological,
less affected, and less given to frigid hyperboles than his

' Hallam's Introduction, etc., i, 332. 'Idem, n, 182.

EUROPEAN ART. 375
predecessors. The poet of kings and courtiers, he displays
some felicity and skill in his panegyrical odes.
In satire Regnier ranks as the old Juvenal of France.
He belongs to the age of Henry IV. His tone is vehement
and somewhat rugged and coarse. But the rude, though
somewhat animated, versification of the older poets could not
be endured by the taste of that more highly cultivated
nobility who formed the court of Louis XHI. Voiture
with apparent ease and grace, and with a style artificial
and elaborate, exercised considerable influence over
French taste.
In the middle of the seventeenth century flourished La
Fontaine and Boileau, the former born in 1621, and the lat
ter in 1636. La Fontaine was slow in maturing. He did
not develop any poetical faculties until he was more than
twenty-two years of age. On hearing read an ode of Mal-
herbe his sense of the poetic sprang into life with all the
power and vividness of a new r-evelation. He turned his
attention to fables, which had come to be regarded as be
neath poetry, but to which he gave an importance and
significancy n ever before realized. He commenced by con
fining himself to the brevity of -^Esop and Pbsedrus, but
ultimately gave more scope to his own genius, which was
attended with greater success. His fables have a charm in
them which at once adapt them to the people, and also to
persons of refined taste. He exhibits playfulness, felicity
and artlessness, instructing while he sports, persuading men
to virtue through the tongues of beasts, and exalting the.
most trifling subjects to the sublime. Death overtook him
while applying bis poetical powers to the hymns of the
chur6h. He died at the age of seventy-three. Boileau
began with satires, the first seven of which appeared in
1666. They mark the earliest poetry in the French
language where the mechanism of its verse was fully
understood, where the style was always pure and elegant,
and where the ear was uniformly gratified. His Lutrin
is the most popular of his poems. He lived to the age of
seventy-five.

376 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
In the seventeenth century, language, in France, like
everything else, came under the yoke of authority. It was
reduced to the terms and turns necessary to express the
ideas peculiar to the civilization of the period.1 It became
the language of the court. It was the language of polite*;
ness. It borrowed but few terms from the different spheres
of human life. The literature the most prevalent during
the century was the drama, and eloquence.
The connecting link in French poetry and literature be
tween the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was Fon?
tenelle, born in 1657, and who, although so weak at birth
that his survival was unexpected, yet attained the full
period of one hundred years, and in his last moments when
asked what he felt, answered, " I feel only the difficulty of
existing." Living through the last half of the seventeenth,
and the first half of the eighteenth century, he formed the
point of transition,2 and the continuity of these two periods,
of each of which he was the representative to the ^ other.
His poetic representation is of the seventeenth century, for
his poetry was all written within that century. His writings
in the eighteenth are on scientific and philosophical subjects.
He wrote some fugitive pieces of which the most agree
able is the sonnet on Daphne. He also composed operas.
He wrote pastorals. He even composed tragedies, but none
that had any great success. He brought to all his poetic
efforts that which in France is so essential to render any
and everything admissable, viz : wit. It has been asserted
as one of the errors of the French mind that it mistakes wit
for talent and sometimes even for eloquence.3 It was by
force of this same wit that Fontenelle was able to succeed, in
appearance at least, in various kinds of writing which were
quite distinct and remote from each other.
The France of the eighteenth century presents us with
Voltaire. This personification of his century was born in
1694, and he was continued in existence down to his eighty-
fourth year. The literary activity of Voltaire was immense.^

'Vinet, 10. 'Idem, 132. "Idem, 138.

EUROPEAN ART. 377
The collection of his works forms not a book, but a library ;
and long the only library of a great number of men. His
life has been divided into two parts, or periods ; the first
reaching to the year 1746 ; and the second extending from
that time. to the year 1778. The first is the poetical period.
Most of his great masterpieces in poetry are crowded into
it. The second is prosaic, philosophical, controversial.
Voltaire commenced with poetry, and by means of it
laid the foundation of his fame. He was almost the only
poet of his time. The seventeenth century had bequeathed
to him a poetry particularly social, that is, that which at
taches itself to man such as society has made him. The
more this tendency exists in poetry, the more man's views
are turned from the depths of his being, and from the
greatness of his destiny. In becoming more social it comes
to possess less of human nature, and especially less of those
peculiar connectives that link man's being and destiny with
a higher and mightier power. Hence Voltaire always
appears a stranger to the greatness and vastness of the
infinite, and ignorant of the mysteries of existence, in which
are to be found the highest possible conditions of poetry.1
He was not, however, deficient in the sentiment of nature, .
and in that lies much of the power he exercised. Again,
his strength was largely derived from his entire conformity
to the age in which he lived ; from the fact that his views,
ideas, opinions, all found their warrant in those of the age
upon which his utterances fell. In the reciprocal relations
established between each he found the great source of the
power he was enabled to exercise.
Voltaire has tried his hand at almost every species of
poetry. His excellence in all is chiefly intellectual, rarely
if ever descending to the depths of feeling, or the ideal.
Everything is well calculated for a given end.2 There is
in all things the utmost logical" fitness of sentiment, of
incident, and of general contrivance. He has written
many tragedies, and .-manifests a clear fellow feeling for

1 Vinet, 257. ' Carlyle's Miscellanies, n, 62.
vn] 48

378 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
the personages he introduces upon the stage. He has a
happy faculty of taking some hue from every object, and
of at least plausibly enacting it if he cannot become the
object itself. He is the most intelligible of writers, has a
clear, quick vision, seizes intuitively upon those bearings
of a subject that are the most exposed to observation, and
evolves them in accordance with an order or method which
the reader easily and readily appreciates. This order is
not beauty. It can assert no higher claim than regularity.
Everything is precise and rightly adjusted. There is always
a much stronger manifestation of wit than of wisdom, and
is wanting in pathos, loftiness and earnest eloquence. The.
deeper portion of the soul sits silent and unmoved. It
recognizes in the poetry of Voltaire no universal everlasting.
beauty,1 but only a modish elegance, which it looks upon
as less the work of poetical creation than a process of the
toilette. It is, therefore, far from satisfying the deeper
poetical wants of the Anglo-Saxon.
There is a resemblance between Voltaire and Horace.2
Their philosophy is the same, a mitigated epicurism. They
resemble each other also in manner. Both have a grace
ful and witty carelessness, and a negligence which, how
ever, rarely descends to trifling. Of the two Voltaire is
the most brilliant, and has more the charm of an expansive
sensibility. Voltaire always appears most at home in satire. His
great instrument is ridicule. This he ever treats as if it
were the test of truth. He has attempted comedy, but this
first of satirists is the last of comedians.3 He sinks comedy
into the grotesque. The genius of comedy and of satire
seem to be inconsistent with each other. Neither has
Voltaire been successful in the ode. He has neither the
principle nor the form of this style of writing. He never
rises to enthusiasm. His poetry is altogether objective.
It is to be found in the object not in the subject. It is
merely talent, and this in Voltaire runs in the satiric vein

1 Carlyle's Miscellanies; n, 62. a Vinet, 286. 'Idem, 278.

EUROPEAN ART. 379
which is quite opposed to lyric poetry. Besides lyric poetry
in form is more inflexible, and requires a sustained perfec
tion, which was not one of Voltaire's merits. His poetic
graces reveled in negligence and perfect liberty.
Voltaire, to justify his claim to universal genius, could
hardly repose in quiet without attempting the epic. Hence
the Henriade, the League, or Henry the Great. But the
execution of such a work was beyond the highest powers of
Voltaire.1 The epic poem must be essentially religious.
It must contain lessons as well as stories. In 'the comme
moration of a great event it must consecrate a great truth.
It presents history idealized, and is insignificant without
the intervention of the deity. It must also be animated
by some great fact referring to human nature. Voltaire
possessed no enthusiasm, no religion, no sense of the connect
ing links between the seen and the unseen, none of those
deeper, profounder elements that are essential to compose
the great masters of epic song. Hence his Henriade, as an
epic, could not be otherwise than a failure. The higher
essentials of the epic are entirely wanting.2 It wants even
precision. It has a defective arrangement, and the parts
are not well connected. There is no real unity, either
historical or poetical. There are in it no well drawn
characters. They, like the entire poem, lack something to
render them complete.
The Henriade has been called not so much a poem as a
series of little poems, some of which are very charming.
There are also in it a great number of fine verses which
gem the surface of the poem, and which if taken up singly,
produce a very pretty effect.3 Voltaire excels in the writing
of fine verses, those which contain a beautiful thought, set
off by the general turn of the phrase, or by the elegance of
the expression. In all these his coloring was poetical, his
versification harmonious, his touch bold and easy, his com
parisons admirable. They are always new, striking
ingenious, and set off by a good execution.

1 Vinet, 268. 'Idem, 265. 'Idem, 267.

380 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
A great number of Voltaire's productions are compre-~
hended under his philosophic poetry. These include many
of his fugitive pieces.1 His great poetical excellence mainly
consisted in throwing out, with the happiest negligence, a
number of natural, judicious, accessible, and agreeable
thoughts, clothed in a very striking and easy style, which
engraves them indelibly on the memory. This species of
poetry seems to be his peculiar gift, in which he is rarely
if ever excelled. It seems to have been conceded that into
the fugitive poetry he put more poetry and more thought
than any of those who preceded him.
Voltaire, with all his merits and demerits, was a French
poet. He wrote for Frenchmen, and the kind of poetry
which they of that age required. In any judgment passed
upon him it should not be forgotten that French poetry
has, in general, had a different aim from the English ; that
it has possessed a splendor ; but to the Anglo-Saxon eye a
dead artificial one, and one that rather resembles a cold
statue than a living reality.
The French poet of the nineteenth century is Victor
Hugo, who, in his Legend of the Ages, has produced a very
wonderful poem. Commencing with biblical history and
traditions, and steering clear of the Orient and the Brah-
manic legends, he travels through Rome in its downfall,
through the superstitions of Islamism, through the Carlo-
vingian period, until he reaches and revels in the dark legends
of the middle ages. He is the poet of horrors, dealing with
the huge and shapeless, and dashing his strokes of color
through the mighty creations of his imagination. A
sample of this may be found in his piece on the Parricide.
Canute was accessory to the death of his father, and after
wards, by a long and prosperous reign, secured the highest
opinions among men who accounted him a saint. But.
death at last overtook him, and he was followed to the
tomb. At night he is represented as wandering forth,
wrapped in his white shroud, and traversing the northern

1 Vernet, 278.

EUROPEAN ART. 381
countries in pursuit of forgiveness for his crime. Suddenly
he is made to start as a drop of blood falls upon his white
shroud. He is chilled with horror, and taking a turn
another drop falls, and then another, and thus at every
turn, fall the crimson drops upon his shroud of snowy
whiteness. And thus he is made to wander solitary and
cheerless througlra longrayless night, the unbroken silence
only interrupted by the pitiless blood drops as they fall
thicker and faster upon his shroud. He is seeking the
deity for forgiveness, but when he has reached the threshold,
and the gleams of a mysterious light strike upon his
vision, his shroud upon which the dripping blood had so
long descended, becomes one sheet of crimson, and is such
fearful testimony against him that he dares not enter to
ask for pardon. " Therefore it is that Canute has remained
in the darkness, unable to regain his primitive purity, and
feeling, at every step he takes towards the light, a drop of
blood raining upon his hand, he roams forever under a
huge black sky." This is certainly a doom sufficiently
awful, and a picture presented with all the vividness of
coloring of which Victor Hugo is so successful a master.
This poet, however, is something more than a versifier.
He possesses in some respects the elements of greatness as
a poet, and he may perhaps contribute to the opening of
deeper and richer veins in which the future poets of France
may feel and exhibit those deeper revealings which belong
to a higher and a purer poetry than any that has yet
inspired the Gallic muse.

The Schools of Poetry in England.
It is to the poetry and eloquence of a people that the
perfection of its language is mainly owing. It is these
two that most effectually search out all the hidden trea
sures of a language, that test its strength, that explore its
possibilities, and bring out all its beauties. The language,
however, must possess originally, capacities for poetry

382 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
and eloquence. The first germs of romantic poetry came
from the Normans. They found the Saxon language
prevailing in England, and they brought to it a wealth
and compass of expression which otherwise it might have
never possessed. The influence of the Norman conquest
upon the language of England has been beautifully des
cribed as like that of a " great inundation,1 which at first
buries the face of the landscape under its waters, but
which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements of
new beauty and fertility." Thus the old Saxon frame
work was still allowed to remain, while the Norman
brought to it those accessions which, without detracting
from its strength, rendered it flexible, and gave to it anew
power of development.
From the fusion of the Saxon and Norman, including,
of course, those elements that were derived from the
Celtic of the early Briton, and the Latin of the Roman.
came out, in process of time, the English language. It
was amidst the early growth of her commerce, literature,
and civilization, that this language was born, and started
on its career of progress. In the region of poetry, more
especially, the Norman muse was the first to display its
powers. According to some it is to that muse that we
are indebted for the use of rhyme,2 and for most or all
the forms of our versification. The earliest versifiers were
employed in transplanting, and naturalizing in the Eng
lish language, the fictions of the Norman school.
We perceive on the distant boundary of English litera
ture, so remote that were it not for the light of his own
creation he would remain imperceptible, old Geoffrey
Chaucer, born in 1328, and expiring with the first year of
the fifteenth century. His appearance in our language has
been compared to a " premature day in an English spring,3
after which the gloom of winter returns, and the buds and
blossoms, which have been called forth by a transient sun
shine, are nipped by frosts and scattered by storms."

,1. "Idem, 9. "Idem, 34.

EUROPEAN ART. 383
The principal works of Chaucer were the Flower and
Leaf, Troilus and Cresseide, the House of Fame, and the
Canterbury Tales. These last were the crowning work of
Chaucer's genius. A company of twenty-nine pilgrims
meet together at the Tabard Inn, Southwark, all bent on
a pilgrimage to the shrine of Thomas a Becket at Canter
bury. These pilgrims possess almost every variety of cha
racter, and the plan of the poem, in making each tell his
story, brings out in strong relief, all those different varie
ties. Chaucer's great excellence consisted in his power of
describing. His men and women are not paste-board
figures, but rise before us " minutely traced, profusely varied,
and strongly discriminated." He links their casual man
ners with their moral characters. English life in the four
teenth century stands before us in its bold reality, not as
revealed in the " cold light" of antiquarian research. He
lived in a picturesque age, one admirably adapted to the
poet. It was one " in which the differences of rank and
profession were strongly distinguished, and in which the
broken masses of society gave out their deepest shadows
and strongest coloring by the morning light of civilization." 1
"He has," say sthe poet Campbell, " a double claim to rank
as the founder of English poetry, derived from his having
been the first to make it the vehicle of spirited representa
tions of life and native manners, and also from having been
the first great architect of our versification." His verse is,
almost without exception, the ten-syllabled couplet, the
same kind of verse in which a large proportion of English
poetry has since been written. It has hence been the best
adapted to the character of English speech. He has given
to the English language the foundations of "its still endur
ing constitution, and has infused into English poetry much
of its peculiar and characteristic spirit." Few have sur
passed him in the entire assemblage of the qualities that
make the great poet. He has been described as possessing
the sportive fancy, " the keen, observant, matter of fact spirit

1 Campbell, 133.

384 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
that looks through whatever it glances at ; " " the soaring
and creative imagination ; " " the unrivalled tenderness ahd
pathos ; " and " the wisdom and the wit," that so largely
enter into the composition of the great poet.1 His
genius was fed from many different sources. "The
Provencal troubadours, the Norman romancers, the bright
array of the stars of the young poetry of Italy, were all
sought out by him, and made to yield light to his golden
urn." 2 Accordingly, "no writer has taken a wider range in
respect of subject and manner, or has evinced a more tri
umphant mastery over the whole compass of the lyre. His
Canterbury Tales alone include nearly every variety of gay
and serious poetry. In this crowning work his matured
genius revels in the luxuriance of its strength,3 and seems
to rejoice in multiplying proofs of its command over all the_
resources of its art."
Old Geoffrey Chaucer, like other great geniuses, was
greatly in advance of his age. He was scarcely appreciated
by, his countrymen in that early morning of English poetry.
It required the style and character of mind produced by a
new era of civilization to come fully up to his lofty stand
point. It required, accordingly, the lapse of two hundred
years before his mantle could fall upon a proper successor.
That successor at last appeared in the person of Edmund
Spenser, who was born about the middle and died in the
last year of the sixteenth century. He belongs therefore to
the Elizabethan era, the great era of English poetry, litera
ture, industry, and arts. It was an era of loyalty, adven
ture, and generous emulation. The age of chivalry was
yet lingering among men, and could not gracefully depart
until its last homage had been paid to a lady sovereign. Its
mission being now fully completed, it made its retiring bow
to the lady ruler. Its influence is seen in the romantic
fancy still lingering in the manners and superstitions of the
people. It originated adventure, but of a more practical
character than former epochs. It gave rise to the allegori-

1 Pictorial History of England, i, 822. " Idem, 822. s Idem, 822.

EUROPEAN ART. " 385
cal in poetry, and the visionary in philosophy ; to " high
thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy." l Classic literature
now revived, foreign books were imported, translations
multiplied, romance came with its warming power from
the south, and the growth of poetry became profuse and
luxuriant, but irregular.
Among those who presented strongly an embodiment of
the spirit of the age, was the poet Spenser. His smaller
poems were the Tears of the Muses, Mother Hubbard's
Tale, Daphnaida, Elegy of Astrophel, etc. ; but the great
work which gave his name to posterity was the Faery Queen,
of which he completed the first and second parts, but only
fragments of the remaining six books. This work stands out
as one of the great landmarks of English poetry, having as
its predecessor, the Canterbury Tales, and as its successor,
the Paradise Lost. It has been styled the " most poetical of
all poetry," 2 although not entitling its author to rank as the
greatest of all poets. It proclaims the most fully, the won
der workings of the imaginative faculty, presenting " vision
unrolled after ' vision, to the sound of endlessly varying
music." Taking the fable of his great poem from the
style of the Gothic romance, he pervaded it with the deep
sense of beauty derived from classic origin, and diffused.
through it a strong religious feeling. He proves himself
at once the most luxuriant and melodious of English
descriptive poets. " His lofty rhyme has a swell and
cadence, and a continuous sweetness, that can nowhere
else be found." He is almost the equal of Shakespeare in
richness of fancy and invention. While there are links.
that obviously connect himi with the great Italian poets,
Ariosto and Tasso, we are still indebted to him alone for
" his great moral design;" for "the conception of his
allegorical characters ; " for " his exuberance of language
and illustration ; " and " for that original structure of
verse, powerful and harmonious, which he was the first

1 Campbell, 50. " Pictorial History, n, 809.
vn] 49

386 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION..
to adopt," and which has ever since been termed the
Spenserian. His intellect was both ingenious and subtle,
and while he pours along the stream of his allegory, and
delineates his personified passions sometimes with a tedious
minuteness, he is ever " sowing dark meanings and ob
scure allusions," along the whole course of its track. One
great difficulty with the poem is that the " shaping spirit
of the imagination " has been so all prevailing that the
interest of real life is greatly wanting. The world in
which Spenser moves, and over which he pours his lofty
song, is purely an ideal one of his own creation. It is-one,
however, which, although remote and abstract, yet affords
in its multiplied scenes, scope for those noble feelings and
heroic virtues, which, in their extreme of idealization, hardly
belong to human nature, and yet serve greatly to elevate
and ennoble it. It is thus that Spenser, standing on the
confines of a poetic region which was to open up in the
future with greater idealizations of life and the practical/
invokes from the wonders of his own fairyland one
strong gush of those spirit-stirring influences to carry
along the whole track of that future their powers of control
and modification. The coming generations were indebted
to him for the pathos and richness of his strains :
Hither as to their fountain, other stars
Repair, and in their urns drew golden light.
The Elizabethan era covers the last quarter of the six
teenth and first quarter of the seventeenth century, extend
ing into the reign of her successor. This was the great
period of the English drama, and distinguished by the
advent of Shakespeare. The poems of Shakespeare are not
so generally known, and have been variously estimated.
The most considerable of these are his Venus and Adonis,
his Tarquin and Lucrece, his Passionate Pilgrim, and seve
ral minor poems. They seem to be the utterance of a
spirit of high invention and sweet song, before it had found
its more appropriate place in the drama. Aside from the
drama and the poems of Spenser there is no great English

EUROPEAN ART. 387-
poet that distinguishes this era. Its spirit possessed a
romantic character, its style was unshackled, and its genius^
fresh and fertile.
The poetry of this period, and also that of the first, and
second of the Stuarts has been divided into two schools :
the classical, and the metaphysical.1 In the former are
included Denham, Waller, and Carew, all of whom culti
vated melody in numbers, correctness of imagery, together
with polish and elegance of expression. In the latter we
find Donne, Herrick, and Cowley, who were more loose
and rugged in their versification, with less appropriate and
judiciously selected imagery.2 The poetry of this era ex-
. hibits a good deal of false wit, or a disposition to substitute
strange and unexpected connections of sound, or of thought,.
for real humor, .and even for the effusions of the stronger
passions. This may, perhaps, have come down from the
court in which it was conceived necessary to adopt forms
of expression and systems of manner differing from those
¦ of -the common people.
/ About the middle of the seventeenth century, perhaps
"the outgrowth of the revolution, appeared two great poets,
and also a third great in his particular line. These were
John Milton, born in 1608, and dying in 1674 ; John Dry-
den, born in 1632, dying in the first year of the eighteenth
century; and Samuel Butler, born in 1612, dying in 1680.
Of these three, the most prominent name, and one which
in some respects is the most exalted in English literature,
is that of John Milton.
A very .general impression prevails that a poet requires,
and generally possesses, no other education , than that
which he derives from the study of nature and the work
ings of the human heart. But it was far otherwise with
Milton. He was a man of thorough culture. Whatever
the University of Cambridge could give -of learning, of
science, or of discipline in logic or philosophy, he possessed.
He was also a proficient in the ancient and modern lan-

1 Campbell, 95, 96. " Chambers's Encyclopaedia, i, 309.

388 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
guages and literatures. Nature had endowed him with
that most exquisite of her gifts, the ear and the passion for
harmony. He early studied music and practiced it as an
art. He also perfected himself by foreign travel, and in
Italy familiarized himself with the works and minds of the
great masters. He was one of those who early felt the
consciousness of power, and of his leaning towards the
poetic, for at a very early period he says, " whether aught
was imposed upon me by my masters and teachers that had
the overlooking, or betaken to of mine own choice, in Eng
lish or other tongue,1 prosing or versing, but chiefly this.
latter, the style, by certain vital signs it had, was likely to
live." Thus indicating that before his three and twentieth
year, he knew himself to be a_poet.
The literary life of Milton had three periods : the first
extending from his seventeenth to his thirty-fourth year,
in which his literary exercises were chiefly in poetry.
The second extended from his thirty-fourth to his fifty-
second year, in which his labors were as a controversialist
and prose writer, producing little in poetry except a few
sonnets. The third extends from his fifty-second to his
sixty-sixth year, the time of his death, in which he returned
again to the poetic and produced those greater poems,
the Paradise Lost, the Paradise Regained, and the Sam
son Agonistes, which he meant as his great bequests to
>the literature of England. The earlier poems, the Hymn
on the. Nativity, the Arcades, Comus, Lycidus, L' Allegro,
II Penseroso and others, are written in a style modeled
upon classic forms of thought, and everywhere displaying
extreme sweetness and musical charm of expression.
They have been beautifully described as resembling "the
precious gum of certain forest trees,2 small and exquisite
in production rather than impressive "by reason of intel
lectual quantity, and yet they are the gum precisely of
one of these great forest trees, elaborated out of its whole
substance, leaf, trunk, bark, and root."

1 Eclectic, January and April, 1852, 436. " Idem, 443.

EUROPEAN ART. 389
The great poem upon which his fame rests, is the Para
dise Lost, one of the world's great epics, and the only one
to which the English language has given birth. The idea
seems to have been long floating in the mind of Milton,
that he was to give to the world an immortal work. The
first thing was to get a subject ; and in his search after
this, he went back gradually through the ages, weighing
the claims of one heroic epoch after another, until he
reached that primeval point of time where history stood
ready to commence its record, and coming events were
garnered up in the creative acts of God, and the volitions
and acts of the first pair. His first resolve was to cast it
in the form of a drama, and he even made some progress
in carrying out that purpose. But he fortunately made
the discovery that the dramatic faculty of depicting men
and women individually, peculiar and distinct, was not his.
His selection of subject in this respect, was fortunate ; as
there were at that early period but two human beings that
could be objects of description, and these the representa
tives of the race, and the embodiments of what belonged
to it. They could be represented simply as man and
woman, and not as distinctive from others of the same '
species. The character of the poetry varies somewhat from the
products of his earlier muse. There is more generally
wanting those " labyrinthine windings," those " delays of
sensuous imagery," those " bouts of linked sweetness,"
which afforded so many early proofs of his poetical genius:
But other themes now engaged his attention. The rebellion
in heaven, the fall of the rebel hosts, the origin of evil in
our world involved in the loss of paradise, demanded the
full organ-blow of sound in the portrayal of mighty events.
Pictures of unrivaled splendor and magnificence are pre
sented to the eye of the mind. The following have been
aptly presented as some of the most striking : " Satan rear
ing aloft his mighty stature from the rolling billows of the
lake of fire ; l the mustering of the infernal squadrons, at

'Eclectic Magazine, September and December, 1853, 369.

390 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION
the call of their commander, and the unfurling of their
ten thousand meteor banners ; the rising like an exhala
tion of the Temple of Pandemonium, with its Doric
pillars and golden architraves ; the speeches of the princes
of hell in their council hall, so eloquent and grand, that
every demon seemed more than a Demosthenes ; the gryph
on-like flight of the master-fiend through the wild abyss
of ehaos and ancient night ; the glorious apparition of
Uriel standing in the sun ; Satan's sublime address to that
luminary on the top of Niphate's mount; the descriptions
of Eden, with its palmy hills, and crisped brooks; of
Adam, with his hyacinthine locks, and Eve with her
dishevelled tresses ; the morning hymn of our first parents
in their innocence, and swelling up at intervals over all
the hallelujah chorus of heaven ; the flight of the faithful
and dreadless Abdiel from the ranks of the rebels to the
mount of God ; the terrible avatar of the avenging Son, in
his chariot of careering fire ; the uprising of the world
from the un apparent deep, and the song of acclamation
that concluded the creation -work, and followed the tri
umphal ascent of the Son ; the^aspect of the infernal ser
pent, with his crested head and neck of verdant gold rising
above the maze of surging spires ; and Michael, from the
mountain top, unfolding to Adam, in successive magnifi
cent pictures, the future history of the world, and all our
woe." It is scenes and sights like these that burst upon
the inner sense of Milton, while his outer rayless orbs
turned unavailingly towards the light.
Milton deals in remote associations. He acts upon the
mind not so much by what is expressed as by what is sug
gested.1 It is therefore a necessity that the mind of the
reader should cooperate with that of the writer. While
the latter strikes the key note, it is for the former to make
out the melody. While the one starts new forms of beauty
into existence, to the other they become so many visions
of creative power calling upon all the burial places of
the memory to give up their dead.

1 Macaulay's Miscellanies, I, 26.

EUROPEAN ART. * 391
The character of Milton's devils have been much dwelt
upon, as also the great contrasts between hell and paradise.
There is a terrible harmony between hell and its awful
ruler. The flames without are nothing to the raging fires
that burn unceasingly in the demon's soul. There are
found revenge, hate, consuming wrath, pride humbled and
yet unconquered, each in the extreme, so that hell itself is
made to yield to the spirit it imprisons.1 The intensity of
its fires serves only to reveal the intenser passions of its
terrible inmates. The fallen archangel, with a spirit un
broken, a will unsubdued coveting a diadem which scorches
the brow it rests upon, presents a spectacle of most terrible
sublimity. His legions are " mighty and melancholy.
forms, their materialism shaded off" and sublimized into a
spiritual structure, while the boldness of their bearing in
opposition to omnipotence clothes them with a garment of
grandeur." The lingering remnants of the lost state, the
occasional touches of better feelings that are thrown in to
fringe the dark picture, only serve to add to the intensity
of the anguish as the arch-fiend utters the cry :
To be thus, having been better.
In Milton, paradise strongly contrasts with hell. Its
loveliness with that of the new beings that adorn it in all
their innocence and mutual love ere :
Earth felt the wound, and nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe,
That all was lost,
With their occupations and modes of life, are beautifully
depicted in the pages of this glowing epic. And although
his descriptions occur at a time of life when images of
beauty and tenderness are apt to fade from the memory,
yet he has adorned them with all that is most lovely and
delightful in the physical ami in the moral world. While

1 Ghanning'* Discourses, 15.

392 .HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
he has invested the ruggedness of Alpine scenery with the
embosomed nooks and dells of fairyland, " his conception
of love unites all the voluptuousness of the oriental harem,
and all the gallantry of the chivalric tournament, with all
the pure and quiet affection of an English fireside." This
great poem was so far in advance of its age that it was
little appreciated, or even read, by his contemporaries. «,
Another remarkable writer, a little later than Milton, ~
but occupying nearly the same age, and who is said to
occupy the first place in the second rank of English poets,
was John Dryden. He was educated at Cambridge, and
devoted a long life to literature. He wrote plays, satires,
translations, didactic poems, fables and odes. His earlier
productions, down to 1678, more especially his rhyming
tragedies, would never have given him a permanent reputa
tion. He was one in whom the period of imagination
follows, rather than precedes, that of observation and
reflection. In Dryden the course and current of English poetry
experienced a change. The great English poets, including
Milton, had derived principally from the middle ages the
spirit and character of their poetry.1 Gothic manners and
feelings had entered largely into it. The imagination was
the great predominating faculty. It shadowed forth its
conceptions by images. It was the era of symbols, when
moral and spiritual ideas sought to find their lodgment in
the hearts of men through such forms of matter as were
supposed to embody their essence. Thus the lion was the
symbol of courage, the fox of cunning, the cross of re
demption. This obviously belongs to an early era in .
poetry, one in which the unseen seeks to render itself
known through the things that are seen. The entire
physical creation is laid under contribution to enable mind
to convey adequate conceptions of the moral and spiritual
powers. For this purpose it assumes that a knowledge of
the physical universe is sufficiently possessed. All the

1 English Pictorial History, in, 852.

EUROPEAN ART. 393
powers, processes and agencies of nature, already known,
are seized hold of by the imagination, and while they are
made the agents to adumbrate an unseen power, are them
selves enlarged, or otherwise so modified by it, as to pro
perly symbolize what they are designed to represent.
But in the progress of mind and of man, these powers,
processes and agencies are found to possess a value beyond
that of mere symbols. They were ascertained to contain
within themselves elements essential to man's enjoyment
and progress, and hence became, on their own account,
objects of attention, study and research. What had pre
viously been borne to the mind on the wings of the
imagination, and was thus imperfectly comprehended, now
commenced gaining access to it through observation, study,
experiment, and analysis. The Baconian philosophy had
inaugurated a new order of things, and the process of in
duction was producing its legitimate fruits in a more
thorough knowledge of the physical world.
This great fact could not but work its appropriate change
in the domain of poetry. Indeed, its work in its highest
sphere may, perhaps, be said to be finished. That splendid
symbolization by which the forces and energies of the
.unseen world were proclaimed through the powers and
processes of a nature itself heightened and colored by
imagination, had received its death-blow. Symbols, instead
of being employed to convey images, became of so much
importance as to be substituted for them. Men awoke to
the conviction that the realities of the present life were to
be found among the -things of time and of sense, and hence
the resources of the spiritual world, and all the moral
powers were called into requisition the more fully to de
velop and illustrate the powers and processes of nature.
This gave rise to the critical school of poetry, which from
its classical dress and allusions has been sometimes termed
the classical school. This school found its highest repre
sentative in Dryden. In him wit, sense, science, and judg
ment controlled the imagination. The latter in him has
vii] 50

394 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
been compared to the wings of an ostrich, enabling him
to run, although not to soar.
Dryden was thus eminently qualified to found, or success
fully to carry forward;, a good critical school of poetry. He
even went too far for his age. Under his skillful manage
ment the scientific vocabulary fell into natural and pleasing
verse. He possessed in a preeminent degree, the power
of reasoning in verse, and on points of criticism he always
reasons ingeniously. He harnessed his muse into the
work of treating theological and political questions, and
although his arguments are far from being conclusive, yet
his manner of stating them is admirable. His style is
cl,ear and transparent, the topics following each other in a
natural order. In him strong judgment gave force, as
well as direction to a flexible fancy, and his harmony is
generally the echo of solid thoughts. He had no intense
or lpfty sensibility, and could give no deep or varied deli
neations of the passions. He was far less the poet of the
heart than of the head.
Dryden possessed in rather an eminent degree the power
of satire. In 1681 appeared the satire of Absalom and
Achitophel which was applicable to the Duke of Monmouth,
and the. Earl of Shaftesbury. It was a bold political satire,
vigorous and, elastic, with a varied and beautiful versifica
tion ; and has been styled the noblest portrait gallery in
poetry. The attacks of rival poets only served to develop
new energies. His keen trenchant blade never makes a
thrust in vain, and never strikes but at a vulnerable point.
Dryden also developed excellence in the lyric style of
poetry. His ode to St. Cecilia, commonly called Alex
ander's Feast, with one exception, was his last great work,
and the loftiest and most imaginative of all his compositions.
It is- reckoned the masterpiece of the second class of poetry.
Later still, and in his sixty-eighth year, he published his
Fables, imitations of Boccacio and Chaucer, which affords
the finest specimens of his happy versification. In these his
fancy appears brighter and more prolific than ever. It
has been compared to a brilliant sunset, or a river that

EUROPEAN ART. 395
expands in breadth, and fertilizes a wider tract of country
ere it is finally engulphed in the ocean.
The third poet, great in his particular line, an outgrowth
of the revolution, was Samuel Butler, the renowned author
of Hudibras. His individual history is little known beyond
a few leading points. He first became an author after
having passed his fiftieth year, and at first under the most
favorable circumstances, and with the most brilliant pro
spects. His one great work, Hudibras, was the reaction
during the first years of the restoration against the excesses
of puritanical fanaticism. The first part it of was given to
the world in 1663, the second in 1664, and the third not
until fourteen years afterwards, and near the close of the
poet's life.
Butler was the direct opposite of Milton. While the
latter was transcendental in his character, moving in the
loftiest idea], the former takes his stand upon the hard
fact of things, undervaluing whatever is high, extreme, and
unusual, either in thought or action. Such was Butler.
Reared up amidst the hardships of adverse fortune, with a
pride that scorned to ask for favors, and a temper and
disposition that led him to sympathize little with his kind,
he was inclined to look for defects rather than virtues, and
thus to becOme a satirist of the severest character. His
- Hudibras is accounted the best burlesque poem in the
English language. In it we have learning, wit, shrewd
ness, ingenious and deep thought, felicitous illustration, and
irresistible drollery. The original idea of the knight, Sir
Hudibras, and his squire, Rulphb, starting out on their
adventures, was undoubtedly taken from the Don Quixote
of Cervantes. But the filling up is entirely different. His
object was to ridicule the English puritans, and to debase
them by low and vulgar associations. He seized UpOn the
salient and peculiar points of their character, and with his
inimitable powers of burlesque and ridicule gibbeted them
up to the curious gaze and laughter of all succeeding
generations. Their higher qualities, their indomitable
courage and lofty zeal, which carried the English name

396 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and fame over every land and every sea, were entirely
overlooked. It was the mere cropping out of those founda
tion stones of English greatness, which by their unseemly
projections, wounded the delicate feet of the English
royalists, that he seized hold of and held up to his merciless
ridicule. It was this that rendered the work so im
mensely popular. A presbyterian justice with his clerk
or squire sallies out to redress superstition and correct
abuses.1 The adventures of these notable parties are
served up in the finest style of wit and pasquinade. The
dialogues held between them are highly witty and ludi
crous, while the adventures that befel them, such as their
attack on the bear and the fiddler ; theii imprisonment in
the stocks ; the flagellation to which the knight was to
submit as the condition of his winning the hand of the
widow whom he was courting for her money ; the reason
ings to which this gave rise between the knight and squire ;
the Skimmington procession attacked by the knight -
and squire as a heathenish show; the discomfiture from
rotten eggs ; the consultation with the Rosicrucian astro
loger ; and the lusty fight consequent thereupon ; are so
many ridiculous exhibitions, which, seasoned as they are,
with the highest style of wit, could not fail to affect deeply
a generation of men in whose memory floated the proto
types of the ludicrous pictures so ridiculously presented.
And yet the interest has not died out with that generation.
So felicitous was the versification, so keen the ridicule, so
intense the wit, that this poem still retains its place
amongst the classic productions of the English muse.
We now arrive at the opening of the eighteenth century,
and the first half of it has been regarded as the Augustan
age of English literature. The reign of Queen Anne,
extending from 1702 to 1714, has been regarded as the
central point of that age. This is the period of Pope,
Swift, Gay, Parnell and Ramsay. It is the period when

1 Chambers's Encyclopaedia, 1, 347.

EUROPEAN ART. 39T
the critical school of poetry may be said to have attained
its highest degree of development. The poets and literary
men of this period shone with a lustre they had never
before attained. They were everywhere regarded with
a respect bordering on reverence. The fashionable world
were proud of their acquaintance, and felt honored by
their attention. Their works were no longer confined
to the libraries of the studious, but found their way to
the tables of the great. Their names were in everybody's
mouth, and their smart sayings were found leaping from
every tongue. Their books were everywhere in demand,
the patronage from being private became public ; in the
place of the aristocracy there came the republic of letters.
Literature became a passport to honors and distinctions.
The poets felt their importance and emerged from their
garrets into the light of day. They even became wealthy.
by their vocation, and the waters of Helicon were found
flowing over golden sands. The greater the number
of readers, the more numerous became the critics; the
greater the variety of tastes to satisfy, the more active,
refined,' and discriminating the public mind ; and all this
furnished new stimulus to effort, and led to a stronger
competition among the aspirants to public favor.
Amidst the galaxy of poets that adorned this period,
Alexander Pope, born in 1688, and dying in 1744, shines
as the most central and conspicuous light. He mainly
educated himself in winds or forest, reading books for
their thoughts and taking them as models for his imita
tion. Among the moderns, Dryden undoubtedly contri
buted the most to the formation of Pope's mind. He was
deformed in body, had many peculiarities, and his whole
life was called a continuing disease. He possessed in
early life about equal proclivities towards poetry and paint
ing, but finally decided on the former. He always believed
himself a genius, and ever acting undoubtingly and per
sistently upon that belief, finally brought the world to
entertain the same opinion. There was a precocity in his
genius. His pastorals were written at the age of sixteen,

398 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
arid at twenty appears to have been written, although not
published until some years afterwards, his Essay on Criti
cism, which has been pronounced the finest piece of argu
mentative and reasoning poetry in the English language.
"It exhibits every mode of excellence that can embellish
or dignify didactic composition, selection of matter, novelty
of arrangement, justness of precept, splendor of illustra
tion, and propriety of digression." It is one of the marvels
of literature that he produced this piece at twenty, and in
that style of writing never afterwards excelled it. His
style of versification he modeled upon Dryden, but gave the
heroic couplet a peculiar terseness, correctness, and melody.
Next followed the Rape of the Lock, the stealing of a
lock of hair from the head of a celebrated beauty by her
lover, in which he has blended the most delicate satire
with the most lively fancy, and produced the finest and
most brilliant mock-heroic poem in the world. Next fol
lowed the Temple of Fame, the Elegy on an Unfortunate
Lady, and Windsor Forest. He next conceived the idea
of introducing Homer to the modern world in an English
dress. For his translation of the Iliad he realized $26,600,
but his Homeric labors upon that and the Odyssey occupied
a period of twelve years, from 1713 to 1725. It was the
Iliad that enabled him to build his villa at Twickenham,
the first home of genius erected by the independent sup
port of the English nation. He came there a self-taught,
study-worn, crooked-bodied, sickly man of thirty, and made
it during the remainder of his life the literary centre of
England, whither resorted all who were noted either for
wit, valor, or even beauty. His remaining works of the
most importance are the Epistle from Eloise to Abelard,
the Essay on Man, the Miscellanies, and the Dunciad.
The first of these has been much celebrated for the deli
cacy evinced in veiling the circumstances of the story, for
the beauty of his imagery and descriptions, and the exqui
site melody of his versification. This and the Elegy on
an Unfortunate Lady have been referred to as evidence
that Pope possessed something besides satire and critical

EUROPEAN ART. 399
acumen ; that he could display the richest hues of imagina
tion, and did experience the higher impulses of the human
mind. The Essay on Man, although it has been extensively
read, and parts of it have been ever since floating in many
minds, r is nevertheless little more than the Leibnitzian
philosophy clothed in most beautifully flowing numbers.
It is read, however, far more for its poetry than its philoso
phy ; and its splendid passages, striking incidents, and
glowing numbers, exert a far wider and deeper influence
than its metaphysics.
, It is a humiliating fact, and one which may be perhaps
cited in demonstration, that the influence of the world and
of life upon the sensitive .nature of a poet is unfortunate in
its tendencies, that quite a number of the last years of
Pope's life were devoted to satire. In 1727, in conjunction
with Swift, he published three volumes of Miscellanies.
These were of such a character, and touched to the quick
so many sensitive minds that they drew down upon their
authors a torrent of invective, lampoons and libels. These
called forth from Pope the Dunciad, a most spirited satire^
drawing its length through four books, and displaying
throughout great fertility of invention, variety in illustra
tion, and unrivaled force and facility of diction. But a
Critic has added that " this is now read with a feeling more
allied to pity than admiration — pity that one so highly
gifted should have allowed himself to descend to things so
mean, and devote the end of a, great literary life to the in
fliction of retributory pain on every humble aspirant in the
world of letters." It may perhaps have been from his
close intimacy and connection with Swift that the last years
of his life was so much given up to unsparing satire, the
vindictive personality of which must be deemed the fault
rather of the man than the poet.
The merits of Pope as a poet have been variously esti
mated. He cannot rank with the great masters of the
lyre. The deep things of nature, the sublimities of crea
tion, the master passions that hold sway over human move
ments, failed to awake in him a power adequate to reach

400 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and portray them. And yet he was not deficient in a
certain species of originality and power. s He has enriched
the language with many new and original terms of speech.
His discrimination lay in the lights and shades of human
manners. He was a nice observer, and an accurate
describer of the phenomena of the mind, and of all the
varying shades and gradations of vice and virtue. He
was a poet of the school of those who rely for their success
on the practice of correct elegance. Scarcely an elegant
turn is to be found in our language, which may not be
somewhere found in his writings, and many such he has ¦
naturalized from foreign authors. It would be, perhaps,
difficult to name the poet of modern time who has been
more extensively read, or who has contributed more to
mould the mind of the young in its poetical aspects in Eng
land and America, than Alexander Pope.
Among the contemporaries and particular friends of
Pope, was Jonathan Swift, who was born in Dublin, in 1667,
and died in 1745. He excelled the most as a prose writer,
and as a political controversialist, wielded a powerful pen.
He was admirably adapted to party warfare, as he carried
along with him, irresistible and unscrupulous satire, steady
hate, and a dauntless spirit. As a poet, he certainly de
veloped no power in the higher forms of poetry. His muse
trod a very prosaic path, aiming no higher than to express
plain English in rhyme. His vein was satirical, and his
muse was commissioned to lash the frivolities of the age,
and to depict its absurdities. He draws characters with
great truth and vividness. His verses upon his own death •
afford the finest specimen of his own peculiar poetic vein.
They consist in describing what his friends will say when
informed of his illness and death, and how they will dis
pose of his reputation. The style and topics are varied to
suit each one of the parties. The versification is in his
usual easy and flowing style, the expressions being the
most familiar and common place. There are occasional
touches of homely pathos, and a profound knowledge of

EUROPEAN ART. 401
human nature everywhere displayed through it. It is
the best poetical production of the celebrated Dean Swift.
The most easy, artless and best beloved of all the Pope
and Swift circle of wits and poets was John Gay, born in
1688, and dying in 1732. His first work was entitled Rural
Sports, published in his twenty-third year. Next followed
his Shepherd's Week, in six pastorals, containing much
genuine comic humor, and many entertaining pictures of
country life. From the country he turned to the city,1
and produced his Trivia, or the Art of walking the Streets ,
of London, which was executed in mock heroic style, and
enumerates graphically the dangers and impediments then
to be encountered in traversing the thoroughfares of the
metropolis. City life in its lower aspects is vividly and
forcibly drawn. He also tried his hand at the drama, pro
ducing the Wife of Bath, Three Hours after Marriage, the
Captives, and the Beggar's Opera, some of which met with
considerable success. He also wrote Fables, the best we
possess, the subjects being light and pleasing, and the
versification smooth and correct.
Thomas Parnell, born in 1679, and dying in 1718, also
the friend of Pope and Swift, was considered by Goldsmith
as the last of that great school of poets that had modeled
itselfupon the ancients. His works are principally transla
tions, songs, hymns, and epistles. His piece, entitled the
Hermit, is that which renders him most familiar to modern
readers, recommending itself by its sweetness of diction and,
picturesque solemnity of style.
It was at this same period that the Scottish muse awoke
to a consciousness of life in the person of Allan Ramsay,
born in 1686, and dying in 1757. He is the very impersona
tion of Scottish scenery and manners. His poetical works
are quite various, being of a character serious, elegiac,

1 Chamber's Encyclopaedia, i, 571.
vn] 51

402 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
comic, satiric, epigrammatical, pastoral, lyric, epistolary,
fables and tales. , He is the well-spring of Scottish song,
and some of his effusions are conceived in that fine strain
that a century later shone forth so bright and beautiful in
the poetry of Burns. Such for instance as
How joyfully my spirits rise,
When dancing she moves finely, 0;
I guess what heaven is by her eyes,
Which sparkle so divinely, 0.
His great work by which he has become best known to
posterity is the Gentle Shepherd, a pastoral drama which
appeared in 1725, and which takes rank as one of the finest
of the kind ever written. It is a genuine picture of
Scottish life as developed in simple rural employments. If
has few features in common with the general pastoral
poetry of modern Europe, having no satyrs, nor featureless
simpletons, nor dull, drowsy landscapes. It deals in life
and amusing incidents. The secret of his art lay in the
careful and judicious selection of his materials, and in the
grouping together of his well defined characters. His plot
is both romantic and natural. Every speech and auxiliary
incident is appropriate to the main design. He delineates
manners rather than passions, and contrives to heighten
the display of rustic character without giving it vulgarity ;
and to refine the view of peasant life by exhibiting it in
situations of sweetness and tenderness without departing
from its simplicity. Thus rural nature and rural life in
Scotland found a tongue in Allan Ramsay, who withal
was a very prudent Scotchman, for he tells us " he gave
over poetry before the coolness of fancy that attends ad
vanced years should make me risk the reputation I had
acquired." There were also other poets of distinction besides those
enumerated, who flourished during this era. But they,
for the most part, belonged to other schools of poetry.

EUROPEAN ART. 403
Among these was James Thomson, born the first year of
the eighteenth century, and dying in 1748, four years only
after Alexander Pope. Hie principal works are the Sea
sons, the Castle of Indolence, and Liberty. Although
living contemporaneously with Pope and his associates,
yet he did not belong to the critical school, but chose
rather to revive the spirit of the elder muse by calling man
back to nature, and asserting the dignity of genuine inspi
ration. It has been thought singular that the world should
have waited till the eighteenth century for a poet of the
seasons; that no ancient lover of nature should have made
these his theme. It may be that the power of landscape
painting must first present on canvass those scenes which
are appropriate to the seasons before the muse can be pre
pared to present them to the mind's eye bathed in all the
varied hues of the imagination. A Claude Lorraine may
haverbeen necessarily a precursor of Thomson. Even
with the poet of the Seasons himself the idea was not born
at once. When he penned his Winter, it never occurred to
him that there was also a summer and a spring.
I Thomson presents one exception to many other poets,
and that is the improvement manifested in the succeeding
editions of his poem. If poetry proceed frOm inspiration,
the poem as first conceived, moulded, formed, and finally
completed under its all guiding power, would not be likely
to be benefited, in anything that constitutes it poetry, by
subsequent emendation. Accordingly, where radical
changes have been introduced into later editions by the
author, as in Jerusalem Delivered by Tasso, and the Plea-
ures of the Imagination by Akenside, they have turned
out to be failures. This does not seem to have occurred
in the case of Thomson. He continued to improve his
Seasons by the introduction of many alterations for the
period of sixteen years, and to so great an extent were
these carried, that so far as his act is concerned, the last
corrected edition is a new work. <
Thomson regarded the creation with an eye of unquali
fied pleasure and ecstacy, and carries our associations

404 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
through a wide circuit of speculation and sympathy. The
life of the year is made by his muse to give to the casual
phenomena of nature a beautiful harmony of succession.
There is in his style great exuberance and fullness of de
scription. " It is the flowing vesture of the Druid." The
Castle of Indolence was his last work, and, more fully than
any other, evidenced the perfection of his art. Deriving
the materials originally from Tasso, he framed and shaped
them in the spirit of the Faery Queen of Spenser.
William Collins, born in 1720, and dying a lunatic in
1856. Although a vast amount of misery was crowded
into his brief life of thirty-six years, yet of him it is asserted
"that he partook of the credulity and enthusiasm of Tasso,
the magic wildness of Shakespeare, the sublimity of Mil
ton, and the pathos of Ossian." "Like Milton, he leads
us into the haunted ground of imagination ; like him, he
has the rich economy of expression haloed with thought,
which by single or few words often hints entire pictures to
the imagination."
His Oriental Eclogues were his first published poetical
productions. " They charm by their figurative language
and descriptions, the simplicity and beauty of their dia
logues and sentiments, and their musical versification."
The only other species of poetry which he attempted was
the ode, and in this he attained a high degree of excellence.
The Ode to the Passions is the most celebrated, and has
been termed " a magnificent gallery of allegorical paint
ings," while the poetical diction is equally rich with the
conception. His power in personification, and in the use
of the metaphor, has been exceeded by no other poet.
" He carried sensibility and tenderness into the highest
regions of abstracted thought. His enthusiasm spreads a
glow even amongst the ' shadowy tribes of mind,' and his alle
gory is as sensible to the heart as it is visible to the fancy."
Edward Young, born in 1681, and dying in 1765, exhibits
many anomalies, if not contradictions in his life and poetry.

EUROPEAN ART. 405
He commenced with a satire on Love of Fame the Universal
Passion, which preceded the satires of Pope, and made a
very near approach to them. In his youth he was gay and
dissipated, entered the church when upwards of fifty, and
was during his whole life a courtier. In his poetry he is a
severe moralist and ascetic divine. The work which has
rendered him the most universally known is his Night
Thoughts, which, although defective in producing a collec
tive effect, and in keeping up a progressive interest, never
theless exhibits throughout short, vivid, and broken
gleams of genius. There are in it " many and exquisite
touches of sublime expression, of profound reflection, and
of striking imagery." His apostrophe to night rises almost
to the loftiest strain of Milton. He works out individual
passages " which philosophy might make her texts and ex
perience select for her mottoes." His figures are some
times very impressive as
When final ruin fiercely drives
Her ploughshare o'er creation.
But the complaint of the critic is that he so frequently
slides off into " oblique associations; " that he often encir
cles the most awful truths " with innumerable sinuosities
of fancy ; " and that he everywhere manifests too strong a
desire to say witty and smart things, and to load his picture
with supernumerary horrors. Nevertheless his startling
denunciations of death and judgment, his solemn appeals,
his piety and his epigram, have worked an effect upon the
human mind of which it is hardly possible now to calculate
the extent.
Thomas Gray, born in 1716, and dying in 1771, is
another poet whose productions, although not numerous,
have, nevertheless, exerted a very salutary influence upon
the human mind. His poetry is all comprised in a very
few pages, and is either lyrical or elegiac. His two great
odes, the Progress of Poesy, and the Bard, are the most

406 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
splendid compositions we possess in the Pindaric style
and measure. They excel in fire and energy, in boldness
of imagination, and in condensed and brilliant expression.-
His stanzas, notwithstanding their varied and complicated
versification, flow with lyrical ease, and perfect harmony,
each ' presenting rich personifications, striking thoughts,
or happy imagery. His lyrical pieces have been com
pared to paintings on glass, which must be placed in a
strong light to give out the perfect radiance of their color
ing. He is claimed to have been the inventor of a new
lyrical metre, in his own tongue, the peculiar formation
of his strophe, antistrophe, and epode, having been un
known before him.
But the corner-stone of his glory is his Elegy Written in
a Country Church-yard. His lyrical productions have
occasioned different opinions as to their merits ; but " his
Elegy," says one, "pleased instantly and eternally." The
sweetness and the beauty of this immortal production will
render its popularity coextensive with the English language.
Another English poet, whose reputation rests upon a
single poem, is Mark Akenside, born in 1721, and dying
in 1770. He was a physician of some distinction, and as a
poet, first wrote his Hymn to Science, and afterwards, his
Hymn to the Naiads ; but his great work, which has ren
dered him known to posterity, is entitled, the Pleasures
of the Imagination. His object in this work, was " to
trace the various pleasures which we receive from nature
and art, to their respective principles in the human imagin
ation, and to show the connection of those principles with
the moral dignity of man, and the final purposes of his
creation." His aim, was, therefore, rather philosophical
than poetical, and hence his leading speculative ideas
were mostly derived from the philosophers. His blank
verse is free and well modulated, and so distinctive, that
it may be claimed as his own. His highest flights have
a flow and energy of expression, with appropriate imagery,
which mark the great poet. His style, while chaste, is

EUROPEAN ART. 407
also elevated and musical. " The sweetness which we
miss," says Mr. Campbell, " in Akenside, is that which
should arise from the direct representations of life, and its
warm realities and affections. We seem to pass, in his
poem, through a gallery of pictured abstractions, rather
than of pictured things." Poetry, he contends, should
rather : make us feel over again, than contemplate exist
ence; and that the functions of the true poet, are rather to
renovate, than to explain emotions. >
He undertook in maturer life to remodel or recast his-
poem, feeling that there was too much leaf for the fruit.
But in lopping off these luxuriances, he sacrificed some of
the finest blossoms, rendered the whole more dry and scho
lastic, so that this last effort of his maturer life has been
almost wholly disregarded by posterity.
We now come to Oliver Goldsmith, born in Ireland in
1728, and ending his days in London in 1774. He was
also bred a physician, but never did much in the practice,
making literature his chief occupation. There is much
about the individual history of Goldsmith, taking into con
sideration his travels and adventures, his waywardness, his
seemingly persistent efforts in balking all the kind acts of
his friends to get him established in business, his finally
-dying $10,000 in debt. Was ever poet, says Dr. Johnson,
so trusted before ? that is of interest to the general readeri
Goldsmith was a voluminous writer especially in prose,
being a historian, novelist, poet and dramatic writer, and
what is more remarkable excelling in each. His poems
are the least numerous, consisting of the Traveler, the.
Deserted Village and a few fugitive pieces, and yet their
popularity continues unabated and probably always will.
There is nothing in his poetry that is great or gigantic,
nothing that astonishes, electrifies, or strikes one by its
grandeur or sublimity. It is the pure outgushing of nature
in her simplicity. "He is refined without false delicacy,
and correct without insipidity." His numbers flow like
the perennial stream, gladdening the vale through which it

408 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION,'
runs, sparkling in the sunbeam, refreshing the atmosphere
around it with its coolness, and furnishing to the flowers
upon its banks the aliment of their growth and beauty. It
is thus that when the fountains of his own poetic nature
were unsealed, there issued forth those refreshing streams
that forever delight and brighten and gladden the succes
sive generations of mind. It is true there was not much
variety to his poetical character, and he appears to have
made no effort to attain it. The great, the sublime, the
varied were not among the things he sought for. He has no
redundant thoughts, or false transports, but appears always
to have weighed carefully the impulse to which he surren
dered himself. " His whole manner has a still depth of
feeling and reflection, which gives back the image of --
nature unruffled and minutely." He may well challenge
for himself a high place among England's gifted poets.
Another holding a high rank among English poets is
William Cowper, born in 1731, and dying in the first year
of the nineteenth century. Descended on both sides from the
English arristocracy, he is nevertheless preeminently the
poet of common life and common things. His personal
history offers little variety, and yet the record of his mind
in its occasional aberrations, its depths of depression, its
scintillations of wit, its Platonic attachments, and its fine
views of common things as developed in his poetry, affords
much to instruct and interest. He turned poet at fifty,
and during the little more than ten years of mental life
that remained to him developed to a wonderful extent the
poetic element.
His great original poem, the Task, was undertaken at
the suggestion of a lady. In this the public recognized
the true voice of poetry and of nature, and in its rural
descriptions and fireside scenes, they caught the features
of English scenery and domestic life as they were there
faithfully delineated. His graphic touches have been
considered more close and minute than those of Thomson.
Looking at life through his theological glasses he saw its

EUROPEAN ART. 409
great and little things standing on the same level, and
.regarded all " in the light of toys spread on the lap of
nature for the childhood of our immortal being." Hence
his contentment and fellowship with humble things.
English poetry under the lead of Pope and his school had
become fastidious, timid, and limited as to models and
treatment. A refined taste, while it polished, had weakened
. the force of genius. Cowper looked to nature rather than
to poets for his themes and subjects of imitation, and he
regarded everything that God had made as worthy the'
attention of the poet. Passing, therefore, the charmed
circle which poetry had drawn around her domain, he
called man back to real life and simple nature, and giving
to these a tongue, enabled them to develop his own earnest
feelings in behalf of moral and religious truth. His habit of
viewing all created things upon the same level, enabled
him to bring together and easily to associate in his own
mind, those of a trivial and solemn nature, and hence
resulted the nice art of passing, by the most delicate transi
tion, from one class of subjects to another with which they
would seem little if at all allied. He everywhere discloses
the true poet " in the clearness, sweetness, and fidelity of
his scenic draughts,1 in his power of giving novelty to
what is common, and in the high relish, the exquisite
enjoyment of rural sights and sounds which he communi
cates to the spirit."
Born the same year with Cowper, and living two years
longer, was the celebrated Dr. Erasmus Darwin, aphysician,
who, alsoj at the age of fifty, published the first part of his
Botanic Garden, adopting the Rosicrucian doctrine of
gnomes, sylphs, nymphs, and salamanders, as affording a
proper machinery for a botanic poem, and the novelty and
ingenuity of which attracted much attention, and, for a
time, rendered him highly popular. Eight years later fol
lowed the second part, the Loves of the Plants, and shortly

1 Campbell, 425.
vn] 52

410 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
after his death, in 1802, appeared the Temple of Nature.
His attempt to wed poetry and science was a bold experi
ment, and at first was apparently successful. But this
success was of short continuance, being as transient almost
" as the plants and flowers that formed the subject of his
verse." His example illustrates a law in poetry thus ex
pressed by Sir Walter Scott : " There is a fashion in poetry
which, without increasing or diminishing the real value
of the materials moulded upon it, does wonders in facili
tating its currency while it has novelty, and is often found
to impede its reception when the mode has passed away."
Thus the muse of Darwin, although failing to render him
immortal, has nevertheless, by its failure, served to give to
a law or principle the coveted immortality.
George Crabbe, characterized by Byron as "nature's
sternest painter," was of humble origin, born at Aldbo-
rough in Suffolk in 1754, and died in 1832. His principal
poems are the Village, Parish Register, the Borough, and
Tales in Verse. Crabbe is a great painter of English
scenery, and delineator of English life. His power of
observation was unrivaled, and his descriptions so forcible
and true to nature that they appear more like transcripts.
than imitations. His pictures have all the force of dra
matic representation ; or even like models from which the
painter or sculptor works from. They are even too true,
for nature in her roughest forms wants softening and ideal
izing to be acceptable. His own early experiences of life
were of a sad and painful character, and hence when he
brings before the mind's eye the Village, the Borough, or
the Parish, his mind naturally returns to Aldborough, and
its early unpleasant associations " to the parish workhouse,
where the wheel hummed doleful through the day, to
erring damsels and luckless swains, the prey of overseers
or justices, or to the haunts of desperate poachers and
smugglers, gipsies and gamblers, where vice and misery
stalked undisguised in their darkest forms." The very
dregs of human society are thus worked up, and all their

EUROPEAN ART. 411
blackness and deformity exhibited in poetry. His anatomy
of character and passion is done with great skill, and is
exquisite and searching, and is accompanied with occasional
touches of tenderness and of the pathetic, that mingle
strangely with the minute and humble of his details.
A poet belonging to an entirely different class, style, and
school, is Samuel Rogers, born only a few years later in
1762, and diffusing the benefits, and carrying on the bur
dens of life until he had attained his ninety-third year;
thus forming the connecting link between the poets and
literary men of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
He led the unpoetical life of a banker, was wealthy, and
hence his poetry was the outgrowth of his taste, and not of
his necessities, the practice of his leisure, and not his stern
life employment. His principal productions are Pleasures
of Memory, Voyage of Columbus, Human Life, and Italy.
His is the poetry of taste, which is relished more especially
by the intellect. It is everywhere classic, everywhere full
of graceful beauty. Pictures of soft and mellow lustre are
ever present to the eye. With no forcible or original in
vention, " no deep pathos that thrills the soul, and no
kindling energy that fires the imagination," his trains of
thought and association are such as conduct the mind by
easy transitions through an agreeable succession, of scenes
which delight more by their steady beauty than by their
startling sublimity. Polish and power, felicity and force,
are seldom found in intimate companionship.
Intermediate in birth between Crabbe and Rogers, and
also belonging to a different school is Robert Burns, " the
Shakespeare of Scotland," born in 1759, and dying in 1.796,
at the early age of thirty-seven years. His birth was hum
ble. His aids in education were of the most slender kind.
He listened to old ballads sang by his mother at her wheel.
An ancient woman in the neighborhood instructed him in
the lore of spirits and witches. " His inspiration grew up
like the flower, which owes to heaven, in a barren soil, a
natural beauty, and wildness of fragrance that would be

412 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
spoiled by artificial culture."1 In 1786,~while in his twenty-
seventh year, his first volume of poems issued from the
obscure press of Kilmarnock. Although unheralded, and
unaided by friendly critics, or other adventitious means,
yet his strains fell upon the ear of Scotland with tremen
dous effect, and the heart of Auld Scotia beat in hearty
response to their delightful music. His poetry became'
instantaneously and universally popular. A new realm
seemed to be added to the domains of poesy ; a new crea
tion to arise fresh from the hand of nature. •
The poetry of Burns, both in his earlier and maturer
years, is characterized by a spontaneity rarely ever wit
nessed in any other poet. He has thrown off more than
two hundred songs, which embraced poetry of all kinds.
with little or no technical knowledge of music, his soul
was full of the finest harmony. His sympathies were genial,
and the good and beautiful in nature ever awoke in him
the sweetest strains of lyrical melody. He never attempted
any great work or poem. His genius was not fitted for it.
His was not the steady inspiration, but the fitful transport
of genius; not the regular stream, but the sudden jet d'eau.
His Tarn O'Shanter, Cotter's Saturday Night, Mountain
Daisy, Mouse's Nest, Address to the Deil, and Jolly Beg
gars, will scarcely find their equals for truth, nature, beauty
and sly humor in any language. His command of lan
guage and imagery is always appropriate, musical, and
graceful. "He brings back old Scotland with all her
homefelt endearments, her simple customs, her festivities,
her sturdy prejudices, and her orthodox zeal, with a power
that excites, alternately, the most tender and mirthful
sensations." Twenty years later, or 1779, bring us to the birth of the
great poet of Irish melodies, Thomas Moore, whose life
continued till 18S2. His first appearance was as an ama
tory poet under the name of Thomas Little. Next he

1 Campbell, 387.

EUROPEAN ART. 413
became a satirist, lively, pungent, humorous and witty,
giving us his Twopenny Post Bag, the Fudge Family in
Paris, Fables for the Holy Alliance, etc. In 1813 appear his
Irish Melodies and as early as 1817 his Lalla Rookh, an
oriental romance, the poetry of which is brilliant and gor
geous, rich with excess of imagery and ornament, and
whose sunny eastern scenes, so accurately described as to
be welcomed in India as "native to its clime," were
called up by the imagination of the poet while living soli
tary in a lone cottage among the fields,1 amidst the snows
of two or three Derbyshire winters. To do all this required
that concentration of thought which solitude and retire
ment can only give.
It is his Irish melodies, those beautiful lyrics for the
ancient music of his native country, that will carry his
name to posterity. These are full of true feeling and deli
cacy. They are to Ireland what the songs of Burns are to
Scotland.. The old airs were consecrated to recollections
of the ancient glories, the valor, beauty, or sufferings of
Ireland, and became inseparably connected with such associ
ations. He was led, however, to the composition of these
melodies by a different road from that taken by Burns.
The latter was no musician, and hence derived little or
no aid from music. Moore was an accomplished musician,
and was first led to the composition of the melodies by
attempting to translate into language the emotions and pas
sions which music appeared to him to express. Thus he
says "I have always felt, in adapting words to an expres
sive air, that I was bestowing upon it the gift of articula
tion, and thus enabling it to speak to others all that was
conveyed, in its wordless eloquence, to myself." Hence
these melodies are " musical almost beyond parellel in words,
graceful in thought and sentiment, often tender, pathetic^
and heroic,2 blending poetical and romantic feelings with
the objects and sympathies of' common life in language
chastened and refined, yet apparently so simple that every
trace of art has disappeared."

Chambers Encyclopaedia, ii, 365. 'Idem, 366.

414 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
In 1770, was born William Wordsworth, the greatest of
metaphysical poets, and head of the Lake school of poetry,
who bore up under the burden of life for eighty years.
He has made poetry the main business of his life. He
started with the theory that the poet's function is limited to
an exact representation of the real and the natural, and
that hence the fine fabric of poetic diction must be de
stroyed, and the language of humble and rustic life, arising
out of common experience and regular feelings must be
substituted in its place. His first essays under this theory
were unfortunate, and drew down upon him the lash of the
- critics. It was, however, soon perceived that he possessed
a vein of pure and exalted description and meditation, by
whatever theory he proposed to be guided. His influence
upon the poetry of his age has been both extensive and
beneficial. The great fact that appears to underlie all the
efforts of his muse is the influence exerted by nature upon
man. This led him to an ennobling and impressive wor
ship of nature, and a no less earnest inquiry into the modes
by which it acts upon and influences the human mind and
heart. The peculiar bent of his genius is more especially
perceptible in that beautiful ode entitled Intimations of
Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. One
of his most extended and noblest productions is the Excur
sion, which contains passages of sentiment, description and
pure eloquence, rarely excelled by any poet. His works
are very numerous. Among these may be mentioned
Laodamia, Dion^ the White Doe of Rylstone, Sonnets on
the River Duddon, Peter Bell, The Waggoner, Ecclesiasti
cal Sketches, Yarrow Revisited, and Lines on Tintern
Abbey. Hia own idea was that his poems should be read in
a certain continuous order, to give full effect to his system.
Hence he has arranged them according to their respective
subjects, as those referring to the period of childhood ; those
founded on the affections; those of the fancy; those of
the imagination, etc.
The influence of Wordsworth upon the poetic world
has ever been a growing one. He is eminently a poetical

EUROPEAN ART. 415
philosopher, and viewing man, as he does in connection
with external nature, and thus blending his metaphysics
with pictures of life and scenery, he is thus the better ena
bled to build up and strengthen the powers of the mind,
in contrast to the operations of sense. In his view the
intellect should be- nourished by the feelings, and these
latter are like so many strings in a well toned musical
instrument, which being touched by the powers of nature,
either as exhibited in her scenery, or as felt in her pheno
mena, give forth through the medium of the former, the
sweetest and the most varied music. Hence the impas
sioned love of nature which is so thoroughly interfused
through his entire system of thought ; which fills up all its
interstices, penetrates all its recesses, colors all its media,
supports, associates, and gives coherency and mutual
relevancy to it in all its parts.
Two years after the birth of Wordsworth came Samuel
Taylor Coleridge, whose life was much more varied, and
whose death occurred earlier in 1834 at the age of sixty-two.
He was the intimate friend of Wordsworth and also of
Southey, with whom and another he early in life resolved
on emigrating to America, and there, amidst the wilds of
the Susquehanna, of founding a pantisocrasy, or state of
society in which all things should be in common. This
idea was rendered inconvenient of realization by the want
of funds. Another small circumstance may have had
some practical effect in modifying their notions of com
munity, and that was, they all three got married, marrying
three sisters.
The poetical works of Coleridge exhibit quite a variety,
embracing ode, tragedy, and epigram, love poems, and
strains of patriotism and superstition. Of these the most
celebrated are his Genevieve, Ode on the Departing Tear,
Tears in Solitude, France, Frost at Midnight, Christabel,
and the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. His odes are
highly passionate and elevated in conception. His Gene
vieve is a gem of beauty, a pure and exquisite love poem.

416 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION -
His Christabel, which was left unfinished, is filled with
the wildest imagery, and the most remarkable modulation
of verse. In regard to the latter it is founded on the
counting in each line the number of accentuated words,
and not the number of syllables, resulting in the produc
tion of irregular harmony. This he called a new principle
in versification, but it seems to have been in use by Chau
cer and Shakespeare. The most original and striking of
his productions is the Ancient Mariner. It is written in
the style of the old ballads with an irregular versification,,
and while a vein of the supernatural runs through the
whole narration and tinges every part of it, yet the poem
is full of vivid and original imagination, replete with
touches of exquisite tenderness and energetic description.
A sea of wonder and mystery flows around the sensitive
reader, keeping him spell-bound, and yet the sounds and
touches of earth so often intermingle as to keep him mind
ful of man and the things of nature that surround him.
The works of Coleridge, all that remains of him, serve
rather to impress one with the idea that he was fragment
ary, or rather that he has left us nothing but fragments ;
that his brightest gems are only so many brilliant scintilla
tions flashing out from the great mass of his being. That
he contemplated much greater things is well known, and
also that he came to view all he had done, in his own lan
guage, to be But flowers
Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier,
In the same coffin, for the self-same grave.
Two years later still, in 1774, was born Robert Southey,
who devoted his entire life to literature, and died in 1843.
His works are very numerous, both in poetry and prose,
commencing with Wat Tyler and going through Joan of
Arc, Thalaba the Destroyer, an Arabian fiction of great
beauty and magnificence, Metrical Tales, Madoc, an epie
poem, founded on a Welsh story, until in 1810 appeared
the greatest of his poetical works, the Curse of Kehama,

EUROPEAN ART. 417
a poem in rhyme, the story of which is founded upon the
Hindoo mythology. In it Kehama, a Hindoo rajah, obtains
and sports with supernatural power. We are carried by
it to the land of the east, and treated to the manners, senti
ments, scenery, and costume of the Hindoos. It is a
wonderful display of imagination and invention. After
wards appeared his Roderick, the Last of the Goths, and
some other productions, such as his Carmen Triumphale,
and the Vision of Judgment, the last of which brought
him under the scourge of Lord Byron, whose witty and
merciless castigation of him in his Vision of Judgment, has
of itself given him a species of immortality.
Southey's poetry, although made up of magnificent crea
tions, yet seems to want the elements of permanent life.
His fictions, although splendid, are yet too wild and
supernatural to take any lasting hold on the human affec
tions. They belong rather to the region of shadows, being
too remote and fanciful ever to claim kindred with realities.
Hence all attempts to render him popular among the pub
lic at large have ever failed of success.
Three years previously to the birth of Southey, and in
1771, was born at Edinburgh, Scotland, Walter Scott,
whose death occurred at Abbotsford in 1832. He was
destined for the law, but circumstances led him into the
walks of literature. The earlier portion of his literary
career was given to poetry, the latter to novel writing.
In 1802, appeared his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border ;
and in 1805, in his thirty-fourth year, the Lay of the Last
Minstrel, which placed him almost instantaneously among
the greatest of living poets. This gave evidence of the
possession of great descriptive powers, was full of legend
ary lore, and also abounded in the chivalrous and super
natural. The success of this poem determined him to
prefer literature to law. In 1808, appeared the mos't
magnificent of his chivalrous tales, Marmion, and in 1810,
the Lady of the Lake, which was still more popular:
vn] 53

418 HISTORY .OF CIVILIZATION.
Then followed in 1811, the Vision of Don Roderick ; in
1813, Rokeby, and the Bridal of Triermain ; in 1814, the
Lord of the Isles ; in 1815, the Field of Waterloo ; and
in 1817, Harold the Dauntless. It had, however, come tO
be apparent either that his later works were inferior to
his earlier ones, or that the reading public familiarized .
with his style, and attracted by a new star, Byron, were
less attentive to his works, and then commenced that long
and wonderful series of prose fictions, known as the Wa-
verly Novels which were poured forth for seventeen years,
from 1814 to 1831, almost unceasingly.
¦• Scott really formed by himself and his imitators a school
of poetry. His style was novel and original ; no one
since Spenser and Chaucer had so well succeeded in the
delineation of antique manners and institutions. With un-
eqiialed powers of description ; great picturesqueness,
~ fancy and invention ; fertile in incident; fascinating in nar
rative; and all in a style clear and transparent, it can
surprise no one that he attained so mighty a sway over
the public mind, particularly the Scottish. Scott had no
great power of portraying the passions, except as their
effects were contrasted with different situations where his
powers of description were called into requisition. His
great strength lay " in the prolific richness of his fancy,
and the abundant stores of his memory, that could create,
collect, and arrange such a multitude of scenes and ad^
ventures; that could find materials for stirring . and ro
mantic poetry, in the most minute and barren antiquarian
details ; and that could reanimate the past, and paint the
present, in scenery and manners with a vividness and
energy unknown since the period of Homer." l ,
The peculiar versification of Scott added to his power.
He adopted the wild rhythm and harmony of Coleridge,
as developed in his Christabel, joining to it some of the
abruptness and irregularity of the old ballad metre. He
made it both a powerful and a flexible instrument, both for

1 Chambers's Encyclopaedia, n, 381.

EUROPEAN ART. 419
light narrative and pure description, as well as for the
portrayal of scenes of tragic wildness and terror.
Another Scotch poet of great distinction, is found in
Thomas Campbell, born at Glasgow, in 1777, and living
until 1844. He, also, was originally destined for the law, '
but fortunately was diverted into the fields of literature,
where he gathered many laurels. In 1799, in the twenty-
first year of his age, he published his Pleasures of Hope,
which, by its varying and exquisite melody, its polished
diction, and its lofty sentiment, immediately captivated
all readers. His pieces are some of them short, but of
exquisite beauty. Among the much admired of his pro
ductions, are Gertrude of Wyoming, Lochiel's Warning,
the Last Man, Exile of Erin, Pilgrim of Glencoe, Ye
Mariners of England, On Visiting a Scene in Argyleshire,
and the Battle of Hohenlihden. He is one of the few
poets who has caused the expression of universal regret
that he had not written more.
Campbell is not boldly original or inventive. " The
general tone of his verse is calm, uniform, and mellifluous,
a stream of mild harmony and delicious fancy flowing
through the busy scenes of life; with images scattered
separately, like flowers, on its surface, and beauties of
expression interwoven with it, certain words and phrases
of magical powers, which never quit the memory." His
style varies with his subject, rising at times to the highest
flights, and then subsiding into a more equable and regu
lated harmony. He sympathized deeply and extensively
with nature, to which he was, perhaps, in part indebted
to an early residence in the Highlands. But his sympa
thies were not less warmly enlisted with human affairs,
and the hopes and prospects of society. He displays
great delicacy and purity of sentiment, and a vivid percep
tion of beauty and ideal loveliness ; also great sweetness
and gentleness of pathos. His war songs are every
where the chant of patriotism, and constitute one of the
richest offerings ever made by poetry at its shrine.

420 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
A poet of singular fortunes, and whose life was included
within three decades of years, was Percy Bysshe Shelley,
the son and heir of a wealthy English baronet, and who
was born at Field Place, in Sussex, England, in 1792. He
was drowned in the bay of Spezzia in 1822. In his youth
he was about equally inclined to poetry and metaphysics,
and seems to have effected a compromise between them by
uniting them together. While one of the most harmless
and benevolent of men, he entertained opinions subversive
of all religious belief, and not at all in harmony with sub
mission to established authority. He was a visionary, and
was led to entertain schemes of high intellectual excellence
and supremacy. The cardinal point in his system is a
belief that man could be so perfectionized as to be able to
expel evil from his own nature, and from the greater part
of the creation, and hence the most agreeable subject was
the image of one warring with the evil principle, and ulti
mately accomplishing a hard earned triumph.1
Shelley commenced the writing of poetry early. At
eighteen he produced his Queen Mab, a poem wild and full
of atheism, but abounding in passages of great power and
melody. Next came his Master, or the Spirit of Solitude,
which excels in description, picturesqueness of language,
and in boldness in imagination. Next his Revolt of Islam,
in which the allegorical features and peculiarities of thought
and style are such as pretty effectually to remove all ade
quate comprehension of the poem beyond the stoutest
efforts of the common class of readers. Then follows his
classic drama of Prometheus Unbound, which is also of the
same mystical, metaphysical and skeptical character.
Afterwards came the Cenci, Hellas, the Witch of Atlas,
Adonais, Rosalind and Helen, and a great number and
variety of other shorter productions.

1 Chambers's Encyclopaedia, n, 396.

EUROPEAN ART. 421
Shelley was a very remarkable man. Possessing a spirit
within him So divinely wrought,
That you might almost say his body thought.
His poetry, especially in his larger pieces, is so extremely
abstract, and partakes so largely of his mystic idealism, as
to awaken few sympathies in the human heart. His
smaller pieces are more universally read and much more
popular than his larger ones. " He has single thoughts of
great depth and force, single images of rare beauty, de
tached passages of extreme tenderness, and in his smaller
pieces, where he has attempted little, he has done most."
In these minor pieces he is free from the entanglement of
his.system, and at liberty to speak the genuine feelings of
nature. His Address to a Skylark is one of the most lovely
poetic gems in the English language.
Another, the great bard of the nineteenth century, Lord
Byron, was born at London in 1788, and died in Greece in
1824, at the early age of thirty-six. Lord Byron's life ex
periences, and inner history so far as outwardly developed,
were probably more varied and extraordinary than those
of any other in the century. These have largely entered
into, and essentially qualified the effusions of his muse.
At the age of nineteen he commenced poet publishing his
Hours of Idleness, which being severely criticized in the
Edinburgh Review, drew forth from him a severe satire in
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. In 1812, at twenty-
four commenced the appearance of his Childe Harold, and
for the ten succeeding years his poetry flowed forth as from
an exhaustless mine. His Giaour, Bride of Abydos, Cor
sair, Lara, Siege of Corinth, Parasina, Prisoner of Chillon
Manfred, Lament of Tasso, Beppo, Mazeppa, Vision of
Judgment, Don Juan, besides several dramas, and many
smaller pieces, astonished, and almost electrified the
Anglo-Saxon world. Never had poet so large an audience.

422 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
He was read and admired on the banks of the Thames,
the Ganges, the St. Lawrence and the Mississippi. His
name and fame followed the "English drum-beat" as it
" encircled the globe daily with the martial airs of
England." One thing is particularly noticeable in Byron, viz: the
pains taken, and care exercised, in the collection of ;his
materials. For these he never drew on his imagination.
Before he would venture to pen a shipwreck he would con
sult the narratives of actual occurrences. His Grecian
pictures, feasts, dresses, and holiday pastimes, are literal
transcripts from life. His grand descriptions of Greek
statues at Florence and Rome, all he describes in Greece
and Italy are transcripts of what he saw in those cradles of
ancient and modern art. Amid the ruins of the Palatine
and the Coliseum his dreams of love and beauty, of intel
lectual power and majesty, were fully realized, and the
lustre of the classic age seems reflected back in his glowing
pages. We cannot well avoid feeling that " in his intense
appreciation of ideal beauty and sculptured grace, in pas
sionate energy and ecstasy, he outstrips all his contempo
raries." Byron's command of the English language was not
exceeded, or probably equaled by that of any other poet.
At his skillful touch it would warble its sweet notes as in
the Hebrew Melodies, exhibit all its playful antics as in
Beppo -and Don Juan, or sink to its deep-toned organ
swell when, as in Childe Harold, he " laid his hand upon
the ocean's mane." Whether he desired to touch the
human heart by his tenderness, or probe to the quick
human sensibilities by his satire and irony, or summon the
depths of the ideal to a new sense of beauty or sublimity,
or kindle in the human soul new passions or desires, hopes,
fears, or horrors, he knew exactly what chord would vibrate
to his own wonder-working touch. And, with the excep
tion of his Manfred, he deals very little with the mysterious
or the supernatural, or with things that are not of earth.

EUROPEAN ART. 423
The Childe Harold and Don Juan are the greatest poeti
cal works of the present century. While the former
exhibits the greatness of his genius, the latter proclaims
its rich and almost infinite variety. A more brilliantly
resplendent garland perhaps never encircled a poet's brow,
and yet the fadeless flowers of hope and virtue are fatally
wanting. Unfortunately his knowledge is more of evil
than of good. In his Childe Harold he traverses the fair
est portions of the earth in a spirit of bitterness and deso
lation, dealing out his scorn and defiance of man and his
pursuits. In his Don Juan, his epicurean philosophy is
mixed up with wit, humor, the keenest penetration, the
almost infinite variety of expression, as it opens up scenes
and passions in human life and society, disclosing their
most . secret workings, and stripping them of all conven
tional allurements and disguises. In his wonderful moral
anatomy he exhibits and dissects generous emotions and
moral feelings, and then seasons them with a dash of bur
lesque humor, wild profanity, and uproarious merriment.
Having in his own mind broken down the barriers between
virtue and vice, he leads others all the more easily into
- those seductive regions, where, having once entered, return
is among the most difficult things of life. It may be the
highest in intellect, the most brilliant in wit, the most
lively in imagination, the most idealized in beauty and
sublimity, but it cannot be the purest in morals, that wor
ship at the shine of Byron.

We here close our brief notice of the development of
the poetic element in modern Europe. Its importance re
quired even a brief notice to be somewhat extended.
Poets have been termed "the hierophants of an unappre
hended inspiration ; x the mirrors of the gigantic shadows
which futurity casts upon the present; the words which
express what they understand not; the trumpets which

' Chambers's Encyclopaedia, n, 256.

424 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire ; the influence
which is not, but moves." The question may here be asked
whether the poetic element is developed in accordance
with certain fixed laws ; or whether like its sister, fiction,
" it travels on lighter wings,1 scattering the seeds of its
wild flowers imperceptibly over the world, till they surprise
us by springing up with similarity in regions the most
remotely divided." Some contend that poetry is destined
to complete a certain cycle, or great revolution, accompany
ing and dependent on a correspondent cycle of the feelings
as well as of the manners of society. But whether" this
be so or not, it may well be doubted whether the experi
ence of the race thus far has been sufficient to warrant a
clear deduction of the laws presiding over such a develop
ment, even if the existence of such laws were conceded.

ELOQUENCE.
We have before, and while on the subject of Grecian
eloquence, had occasion to ascertain the elements that
enter its composition. Our first inquiry here is, what
should enter into the composition of the orator ? His first
quality should be earnestness. He must himself feel deeply
the truths he seeks to enforce. Otherwise it would be
only the pomp and parade of eloquence without its force,
the " nodosities of the oak without its strength, the contor
tions of the sybil without the inspiration."
He must in the second place have clearness, the power
of stating. This embraces not only the stating of facts
in a lucid manner, but also in a natural order in accord
ance with the logical tendencies of the mind. It is said
of Lord Mansfield, that " when he had stated a case he
had half decided it."

1 Campbell, 13.

EUROPEAN ART. 425
In the third place this clearness must also be accompanied
with logic. Little of progress can be made in persuasion
unless based on previous conviction. This requires logic,
the use of which is rendered effective in virtue of that con
secutive character that is ever impressed upon all the great
movements of mind.
A fourth quality of almost or quite equal importance is
imagination. This is important because : 1. It interests,
and thus enlists other minds, or induces their surrender to
that of the speaker. 2. It ranges into the regions of the
ideal, and culls there the flowers of beauty, which are ever
yielding a new delight. 3. It furnishes all the illustrations
which are so necessary in bringing great general truths
home to the apprehension of the hearers.
As a fifth, and perhaps mostimportant quality, we would
name persuasiveness, as eloquence has been sometimes
termed the art of persuasion. Its great end is to induce
action, to move masses of men in obedience to the impulse
Of the speaker.
There were two fields among the ancients for the dis
play of eloquence, and three among the moderns. The
two first referred to, were the court of justice and the
popular assembly ; and the three last, the pulpit, the court of
justice, and the popular assembly. The last is susceptible
of a subdivision info the senate and the assembly of the
people; and the court of justice, into the jury and the
court. These divisions, however, would only be rendered
necessary where it was proposed to give to the subject a
minute consideration,
Notwithstanding the additional field of the pulpit which
eloquence is privileged with occupying in modern times, it
seems generally conceded that it rose to a more daring
height, and exercised more extensive powers in ancient
than in modern times. Neither the mantle of Cicero nor
Demosthenes seems ever to have fallen upon the shoulders
of any modern. Why is this ? It must be conceded that
the mind in modern times has made vast advances upon
the ancients. In everything that relates to knowledge
vn] • 54

426 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
whether of mind or matter, the moderns are greatly'in the
advance. In regard.to matters of science generally there
can be no comparison ; and even in the walks of literature,
especially of criticism, the moderns are greatly in advance.,
Why is it that the advance of knowledge clips the wings
of eloquence ? Is it not for the same reason that the risings
of the luminary of day reveals in perfect certainty those
things that lay enveloped in shadows behind the blushes of
Aurora ? Light annihilates shadows, and knowledge dis
penses with all those enlivening efforts to banish the ob
scure that cluster around the unknown. Eloquence seeks
by enlightening to convince, and then to persuade. Per
fection of knowledge not only renders the former a more
easy task, but also exposes all the machinery by which the
latter in ancient times was sought to be effected.
Eloquence, however, may be said rather to have changed
its character than to have suffered a diminution in its
power. An effective speaker is still required to be ear
nest, clear, logical, imaginative, so far as illustration is con
cerned, and persuasive. He may enter the realm of the
ideal, and enrobe himself in beauty. He may even assume
to himself the wonders and terrors of the sublime, provided
he do it cautiously, and within such limits that the light
of knowledge will not render its machinery ridiculous.
But the higher flights, the loftier soarings, the bold and
extravagant figures of the ancient orators, cannot be em
ployed by the modern without sinking the sublime into the
ridiculous. No one, for instance, could now venture upon
such an apostrophe as that made use of by Demosthenes.
when justifying the unsuccessful battle of Chseronea, he
breaks out : " No, my fellow citizens. No : You have
not erred. I swear by the manes of those heroes, who
fought for the same cause in the plains of Marathon
and Platsea." So also of the bold and figurative lan
guage employed by Cicero after describing the cruci
fixion of a Roman citizen : " Should I paint the horrors of
this scene, not to Roman citizens, not to the allies of our
state, not to those who have ever heard of the Roman name,

EUROPEAN ART. 427
not even to men, but to brute creatures ; or, to go further,
should I lift up my voice in the most desolate .solitude, to
the rocks and mountains, yet should I surely see those
rude and inanimate parts of nature moved with horror and
indignation at the recital of so enormous an action."
These remarks apply more particularly to the eloquence
of popular assemblies. That of the bar was also called
into requisition as well among the ancients as the moderns,
but under different circumstances. The object, however,
was the same in both, the dispensation of justice. But in
the ancient tribunals, as in the areopagus of Athens and
the judices selecti of Rome, the number of judges was
much greater than in those of the moderns, thus giving to
the former many of the qualities of the popular assembly,
and rendering them more exposed to the arts of eloquence.
Another very wide difference between the two is found in
the fact that the laws of ancient times were few, simple,
and very general in their character, leaving very much to
the equity and common sense of the judges. The study of
the advocate was not so much the law as the method of
pleading it successfully. Hence all the arts of eloquence
came into full play, and the advocate at the bar was also
usually the orator before the people, the same kind of
eloquence answering both purposes.
With the greater advancement of the moderns in all the
elements of civilization, their systems of jurisprudence
have become more extended, varied, complicated, and.
complete. The ultimate decision, instead of reposing on
reasoning and argument, has sought the shelter of prece
dent. The maxim, stare decisis, embodies doctrine the
most favored by the law. It is, therefore, learning, the
results of severe research and investigation, that prevails
- with courts Tather than eloquence. As a natural result of
this we have seldom in fhodern times seen the mere lawyer
whose habits have been formed in his practice at the bar
to succeed well in the popular assembly. He may succeed
in the senate, but his eloquence very seldom possesses
happy adaptations to the assemblies of the people. A

428 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
man's mental habits impose upon him fetters extremely
difficult to be overcome. .
The pulpit has furnished a new theatre for eloquence
unknown to the ancient world, and one that would appear
well adapted to call into exercise some of its highest powers.
It proffers to the tongue of the. eloquent the machinery of
three worlds to assist in its reasonings and to aid in its
appeals. It furnishes an exuberance of illustration, and
comes home with a strength of motive, elsewhere rarely
furnished. Many of its great topics, it is true* are so far
removed from the things of time and of sense, and lead so
far into the depths of the spiritual world, as to be of diffi
cult apprehension to those whose feelings, thoughts, and
experiences are all bound up in this world. Besides, it
deals more in abstract qualities, such as virtues and vices,
and less with persons. The great effort of the preacher
is to realize the abstract in the concrete.
The direction which the style of pulpit eloquence has
taken has varied with the character of the religion it has
sought to promulgate and enforce. There is in this respect
a very wide difference between, the catholic and protestant
forms of faith. In the catholic it is well known that every
point of doctrine is an article of faith. The church itself
prescribes what shall be believed, and hence precludes all
reasoning upon such subjects.. Catholics are simply believ
ers, never reasoners. Whatever of eloquence is embraced
in argumentation has no place in their pulpit performances.
The protestant has also canons to which his faith must
conform, but these are to be found only in the scriptures.
And who or what shall interpret, or establish as the infal
lible canon where it admits of difference of opinion ? With
the catholic it is the church. With the protestant, it is
human reason. This is appealed to as an umpire to decide.
Every one is responsible for exercising his reason aright
in the formation of his own opinions. The protestant
pulpit must, therefore, necessarily be much occupied in
the exposition and elucidation of the scriptures. For these
purposes reasoning and argument are to be employed.

EUROPEAN ART. 429
The two different styles are well exemplified in the
French and English modes of preaching, although a new
element is to be found here in the different character of the
Anglican and Anglo-Saxon mind. A French sermon is a
warm, animated exhortation, and as such addressed chiefly
to the imagination and passions. An English one is a
piece of cool, instructive reasoning, addressed almost en
tirely to the understanding. A French audience is to be
moved, an English to be convinced. In accomplishing the
first all the reasonable arts of eloquence are appropriately
employed. In that of the last, earnestness, clearness, and
logic are the most essential qualities called into requisition.
The most celebrated pulpit orators of France were of
the era of Louis XIV. The two most celebrated of these
were Bourdaloue and Massillon, whose excellencies have
divided between them the French critics. While to the
former has been attributed more solidity, to the latter has
been generally conceded more grace, mOre sentiment, and
more genius. He had more knowledge of the world and
of the human heart; exhibits more of the pathetic and
persuasive; and has been called the most eloquent preacher
of modern times. He understood well how to give eloquent
utterance to a great sentiment on a great occasion. Louis
XIV, the Grand Monarque, whose reign created an era in
European history, had descended to the tomb. The flower
of the French aristocracy had convened at his funeral ob
sequies. In the midst of that bowed assembly, and in the
presence of all that remained of that monarch whom death
alone could conquer, Massillon arose, and as he extended
his arms and eyes towards heaven slowly gave utterance .to
the sentiment, " God alone is great." The occasion, the as
semblage, the sentiment, were all in harmony. The effect
may be better conceived than described.
Another instance of a very eminent French protestant
divine is found in Saurin, of an era a little later than the
two preceding, whose sermons are very much in the
French style of eloquence. He lived during the period of
the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and rises almost to

430 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the level of Demosthenes, when he speaks of the emigra-"
tion of the protestants, and when he thunders against
Louis XIV. His utterances are sometimes singularly
figurative and bold. Thus in his sermon entitled God's
Controversy with Israel, he introduces a dialogue between
God and his auditory : " My people," saith the Most High,
' " My people, what have I done unto thee ? " "Ah, Lord !
how many things hast thou done unto us ! Draw near
ye mourning ways of Zion, ye desolate gates of Jerusalem^
ye sighing priests, ye afflicted virgins, ye deserts peopled
with captives. * * * Answer, and
bear witness here against the Eternal." There was here
a longer enumeration of the afflictions of the protestants
than that above given, which precedes these last words,
giving them an energy which causes one to tremble at the
very moment when Saurin pauses, in order to vindicate
the ways of providence.
The English "style of sermonizing has in it little of ani
mation, or passion, or indeed of almost anything which
is included under the term eloquence. It seldom rises
beyond the strain of correct or dry reasoning. The ser
mon in its composition is accurate and rational, addressed
entirely to the understanding, and designed to fasten con
viction upon the minds of the hearers. Each style thus
appears to contain just what the other wants, and thus
becomes its complement. Could both be united, a very
perfect style would be the result. The warm, animated,
passionate eloquence of the French, delivered with a
corresponding vigor and life, would then find a solid
foundation in the calmer, firmer, more deliberate, and
well considered style of the English, seeking first tho
roughly to convince the mind of the great truths which
were sought to be enforced. And so, also the latter, after
first dealing with intellection, and establishing its strong
foundations by reason and argument, would render itself
much more complete by enlisting the imaginative and
persuasive, and thus to induce a corresponding action as a
realization of the fruits of conviction.

EUROPEAN ART. 431
The eloquence of the senate and the popular assembly,
has, at almost all periods of the world's history, wherever
free governments have been in existence, commanded
respectful attention, and enlisted the strongest efforts to
secure its attainment. This species of eloquence is limited
to governments actually free, or that are making the
effort to become so. The senate possessing the power to
deliberate and decree, and the popular assembly can only
exist in such a government. The establishment of this
fact renders it apparent that there are few countries in
modern Europe, which have as yet been privileged to
furnish a field for this species of eloquence. France and
Great Britain are the only ones worthy of any extended
notice, and the former only during the reign of the national
assembly and the national convention. It was in these,
more especially, that the peculiar eloquence which cha
racterizes the French mind, found a full and perfect op
portunity for its display. As the embodiments of these
assemblies during the remarkable period in which they
sat, we shall take Mirabeau, Vergniaud, Danton, and
Robespierre. The great orator of the national assembly was Mirabeau.
In his appearance he presented a massive figure, a broad,
prominent forehead, arched eyebrows, an eagle eye, cheeks
flat and flabby, features full of pock holes and blotches, an
enormous mass of hair, a lion-like face, and a voice of .thun
der.1 His previous history had eminently fitted him for the
position he was to occupy. Born a noble, but expelled
from the ranks of the nobility, living a life of study, and of
suffering in exile and in prisons, he now stepped upon the
stage to lead to battle the tiers-ttat against the nobility,
announcing in his opening speech, the great truth, " that
privileges must have an end, but the people is eternal."
The forum presented by the national assembly partook.
more of an assembly of the people than of a senate. The
whole Parisian population mingled in the discussion. Tens

' Orators of France, 2.

432 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of thousands of citizens filled the Tuileries, the Place Ven-
dome, the adjacent streets ; and copied bulletins were passed
from hand to hand, circulated, thrown among the crowd,
containing the occurrences of each moment of the debate.1
All were in expectation of great events, and every moment
brought with it a terrible fullness of interest. It may be
true that reckoning life by events and expectations, the men
of Paris lived its ordinary length notwithstanding the
guillotine. Mirabeau usually premeditated his discourses. In such
case his eloquence has been thus described : " His manner
as an orator is that of the great masters of antiquity, with
an admirable energy of gesture and a vehemence of diction
which perhaps they had never reached.2 He is strong,
because he does not diffuse himself; he is natural, because
he uses no ornaments ; he is eloquent, because he is simple ;
he does not imitate others, because he needs but to be him
self; he does not surcharge his discourse with a baggage of
epithets, because they would retard it ; he does not run into
digressions, for fear of wandering from the question. His
exordiums are sometimes abrupt, sometimes majestic, as it
comports with the subject. His narration of facts is clear.
His statement of the question is precise and positive. His
ample and sonorous phraseology much resembles the
spoken phraseology of Cicero. He unrolls, with a solemn
slowness, the folds of his discourse. He does not accumu
late his enumerations as ornaments but as proofs. He
seeks not the harmony of words, but the concatenation of
ideas. He does not exhaust a subject to the dregs, he takes
but the flower. Would he dazzle, the most brilliant images
spring up beneath his steps; would he touch, he abounds
in raptures of emotion, in tender persuasions, in oratorical
transports, which do not conflict with, but sustain, which
are never confounded with, but follow, each other;
which seem to produce one another successively, and
flow with a happy disorder from that fine and prolific

1 Orators of France, 8. ' Idem, 14, 15.

EUROPEAN ART. 433 '
nature. When he comes to the point in debate, when he
enters the heart of the question, he is substantial, nervous,
logical as Demosthenes. He advances in a serried and
impenetrable order. He reviews his proofs, disposes the
plan of attack, and arrays them in order of battle. Mailed
in the armor of dialectics, he sounds the charge, rushes
upon the adversaries, seizes and prostrates them, nor does
he loose his hold till he compels them, knee on neck, to
avow themselves vanquished. If they retreat, he pursues,
attacks them front and rear, presses upon them, drives
them, and brings them inevitably within the imperial cir
cle which he had designated for their destruction; like
those who upon the deck of a narrow vessel, captured
by boarding her, place a hopeless enemy between their
sword and the ocean."
Such was Mirabeau in his premeditated flights. In his
extemporaneous effusions, his improvisations, he did not
repress his natural vehemence. These were brief but ter
rible. His breast would dilate, his face become contorted,
his eyes shoot forth flame. He would roar, stamp, shake
the fierce mass of his hair, and tread the tribune with the
air of a master.1 Now he would deal in measured notes of
declamation, grave and solemn, then go off in broken
exclamatiods, tones of thunder, and accents of heart
rending and terrible pathos. And yet while apparently
abandoning himself to the torrent of his eloquence, while
transporting the assembly, he would not wander from his
course, nor would he, for a single moment, lose his own
self-control. He would sometimes throw a whole volume of meaning
into a single sentence, as when he described France as " an
unconstituted aggregation of disunited people." He was
quick and extremely felicitous in the repartee, and would
sometimes dispose of a matter by suddenly calling up
some vivid scene from the past, as when the assembly was

'Orators of France, 19.
vn] 55

434 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
about to plunge imprudently into religious quarrels, he cut
short the matter by saying : " Recollect that from this
place, from the very tribune where I now speak, I can see
the window of thepalace through which factious miscreants,
uniting temporal interests with the most sacred interests of
religion, had fired by the hand of a king of the French the
fatal gun, which was to be the signal of the massacre of
the Huguenots."
Of all the orators of modern times Mirabeau most resem
bled the elder Pitt, Earl of Chatham. He accomplished less
by long set speeches than by sudden bursts, seeming like
inspiration. " Short sentences which came like lightning,1
dazzling, burning, striking down everything before them ;
sentences which, spoken at critical moments, decide the
fate of great questions ; sentences which at once become
proverbs ; sentences which every body still knows by heart ;
in'these chiefly lay the oratorical power both Chatham and
of Mirabeau."
Mirabeau perished suddenly by an unknown malady,
inquiring what epitaph should be inscribed on his tomb.
Poor man, that body of* his that all Paris by the light of a
thousand torches bore in sadness to the Pantheon, only
two years afterwards was removed to the cemetery of Cla-
mart, the place of interment for persons who' have been
executed, among whom the undistinguishable remains of
the great orator lie mixed and confounded.2
Mirabeau was the orator of the national assembly..
That was succeeded by the national convention, and here
we meet with the terrible contests between the Girondists
under Gaudet and Vergniaud, and the Mountain under Dan-
ton and Robespierre. The former were the moderate party,
who sighed for the return of ancient republicanism. . The
latter were Jacobins, whose trade was revolution. Of the
two leaders of the former, Guadet was the boldest, and
perhaps the more generally recognized as leader ; but Verg
niaud had most of the spirit of eloquence.

J Macaulay's Miscellanies, n, 155, 156. 'Idem, 34, note.

EUROPEAN ART; 435
. He was a man of great flexibility and compass of intel
lect, a very sincere patriot, and possessed of much oratori*
cal power. But the style of his eloquence was very
different from that of Mirabeau. It was not the eloquence
of force but of beauty. He presented, in fact, a strong con
trast with the vehement speakers of that stormy period.
He did not excel in solidity or power of argument, or in
the exercise of that force which sways popular assemblies.
He had in his composition far less of logic than of rhetoric.
His great excellence consisted in the use of appropriate
and beautiful imagery. . " If," said he, "our principles are
propagated but slowly in foreign nations, it is that their
splendor is obscured by anarchical sophistries, by disorderly
movements,1 and above all by a blood-stained crape.
When the peoples of the earth fell prostrate for the first
time before the sun, was it, think you, while he was veiled
with those destructive vapors which engender the tempests ?
No, doubtless, it was when, in the full effulgence of his
glory, he was advancing through the immensity of space,
and shedding on the universe fertility, life and light."
On one occasion he made use of this apostrophe : " Take
care that, in the midst of your triumphs, France do not
resemble those Egyptian monuments which have withstood
the ravages of time. The stranger, as he passes, is aston
ished at their grandeur. But if he would enter them,
what does he find ? Heaps of inanimate ashes, and the
silence of the grave."
The first conspiracy of the Jacobins a gainst the Giron
dists was defeated, and in his memorable speech on that
occasion he gave utterance to the following pregnant
apothegm: "The revolution is like Saturn, it devours its
own children," a saying that proved too fearfully true in
his own case, for he also, with the last of the Girondists,
fell a prey to the guillotine. On the night preceding their
execution their friends furnished them, while in prison,
with a splendid entertainment, and on that, last night of

1 Orators of France, 51.

436 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
liis life he addressed his fellow prisoners on the sad fate
of the French republic. Never before or since did the
gloomy walls of a prison ring with such thrilling words.
He poured forth such strains of impassioned eloquence
that they all fell in tears into each others arms.
The destruction of the Girondists left the Mountain alone
in its terrible grandeur. Looming upon its awful brow
appear two forms that stand forth in fearful distinctness,
and who are soon destined to illustrate still further the
great truth announced by Vergniaud that the revolution
was to devour its own children. These were Danton and
Robespierre, the great Jacobin leaders, whose eloquence
was rather that of demons than of men.
Danton reminds one much of Mirabeau, but with far
less of intellectual power. Like him he had a sallow com
plexion, sunken features, a wrinkled forehead, and a repul
sive ugliness in the details of the countenance. He was a
head taller than all the other members of the convention.
He came from the ranks of the people,, understood their
character, was thoroughly imbued with their passions. He
was coarse in his manners, impetuous in his gestures,
enthusiastic in his feelings, terrible in his denunciations,
with a thundering voice, and often colossal in the imagery
introduced into his discourses. He was governed by his
impulses, and these were in the main honest, and intended
for the public good. He made no set speeches nor long
harangues. He gave himself up to the inspiration of the
moment, kindled as he went by the force of his own voice
and gesture, and scattered hyperboles through his speeches.
He proceeded forward, not by regular steps, but by bounds
and gambols, being fiery and petulant in his exordiums,
presumptuous in every bound of his progress, and generally
ending with some rhetorical flourishes, but without coming
to any conclusion. No other man reflected so thoroughly
the wants, wishes, waywardness, versatility, and passions
of the people. His motto was, " boldness, boldness, bold
ness," and this, with his severity, was the great secret of
his strength. He never stopped to calculate, or hesitated

EUROPEAN ART. 437
in his course. He was the chief orator of the reign of
terror, and the principal in originating the committee of
public safety, the dread revolutionary tribunal, which finally
brought his own head to the block.
Very little remains to us of the eloquence of Danton.
" What we need," says he, " in order to conquer, is, auda
city, again audacity, always audacity." And again a
figure quite striking : " A nation in a state of revolution
is like the brass which simmers and sublimates itself in
the crucible. The statue of liberty is not yet east, but the
metal is boiling." Again, " Marseilles has declared itself
the mountain of the republic. That mountain will expand
its proportions; it will roll down the loosened rocks of
liberty, and crush beneath them the enemies of freedom."
And again this apothegm, so true, and so well illustrated
by the French people themselves : " When a people passes
from a monarchical to a republican form of government, it
is carried beyond the end by the projectile force which it
has given itself."1 And this menace; "It is' by cannon
balls that the convention must be made known to our
enemies." Danton on his way to execution passed the residence of
Robespierre, and turning about as he did so, exclaimed in
a voice of thunder : " Robespierre, I summon thee to appear
within three months upon the scaffold." The summons
was substantially obeyed. The revolution did devour its
own children.
Robespierre, the great leader of the Jacobins, presents
a marked contrast to Danton. He was ever cool and
calculating, never impulsive. Patient, taciturn, dissem
bling, full of himself and his own doings, he never lost his
own self-control, never the mastery, of the subject under
discussion. As an orator he possessed considerable fluency,
and became well practiced in the harangues of the clubs
and the contests of the tribune^ His speeches were gene
rally written and recited. He seldom extemporized except

1 Orators of France, 63, 64.

438 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
in his replies. He was a singularity, if not a monstrosity.
He had in a higher degree than his colleagues the views
of the statesman. He was a man of more study and labor,
and favoured unity and strength in the executive arm.
His speeches and reports were often in very bad taste,
stuffed up with illusions to the heroes of Greece and Rome,
and full of denunciations against serpents, demons, hydras,
monsters, tyrants, and aristocrats. He would often stop
suddenly in the midst of his discourse and interrogate the
people as if they were present before him. He would run
off into long tirades about virtue, patriotism, and sacrifices
for the public good. His images, however, would occasion
ally be clothed in much eloquence of form. " Do we,"
says he, " calumniate the luminary which gives life to
nature, because of the light clouds that glide over its efful
gent face? And again, " Man's reason still resembles the
globe he inhabits. One-half of it is plunged in darkness,
when the other is illuminated."
French liberty ran riot, degenerated into license, and
order was compelled to seek a shelter under, the empire of
Napoleon. The eloquence of the popular assembly in
France may be said to have died with the national con
vention. Little display of it was found under the direc
tory, and still less under the empire. The restoration
brought back the Bourbon, and the old order of things,
which continued until July, 1830, when the Orleans dy
nasty was inaugurated in the person of Louis Philippe,
During the eighteen years of his reign, the French parlia
ment has been more under the guidance of the politician
than of the orator. GuizOt and Thiers have, occupied the
the most prominent place in the public eye, but they have
governed more by management, and the strategy of par
liaments,- than by the exercise of eloquence. The revolu
tion of 1848 threw for a brief period to the surface, the
brilliant Lamartine, Odillon, Barrot, and a few others, but
everything again became hushed under the iron sway of
Louis Napoleon.

EUROPEAN ART. 439
British eloquence differs from the French, as much in
the senate and popular assembly as in the pulpit. The
vehemence, power, force and energy of gesture, as well as
the antitheses, sudden transitions, strong condensations of
thought into single sentences, terrible denunciations, words
that blister where they strike, and imagery that stands out
to the view with all the distinctness that marks the practiced
art of the painter; all these characterize the French much
more strongly than the English style of eloquence. The
Anglo-Saxon mind seems cast in an entirely different
mould from the Gallic. Slower and more cautious in its
movements, mastering, fortifying, and garrisoning every
important position as it advances, looking at all its aids,
appliances, and exhibitions through utilitarian glasses,
regarding all reconnaissance and skirmishing as of no im
portance in themselves, and as only aiding in a safer and
steadier progress, and finally, having reference alone to the
great results sought to be attained, and to the means the
best calculated to secure such attainment, it marches on,
husbanding its resources, submitting its activities to the
guidance rather of logic than of rhetoric, caring little for
the high wrought figure, the pungent apothegm, the sudden
flash of its powers, or dash of its forces, and heeding little
the effect produced, provided it can succeed in attaining the
great objects had in view at the commencement, and never
lost sight of during its progress. The eloquence, therefore,
that characterizes its exhibitions is not of a flashing, dash
ing, high wrought, or dazzling character. Its exhibitions
are always manly and energetic, and whether it attempts
to carry by the sudden storm, or the more protracted siege,
its efforts are well sustained, and well adapted to success.
As a result of this it is curious to remark with what steadi
ness and persistency the great principles that lie at the
foundation of national prosperity have been adhered to and
carried out in British history. Revolutions, instead of
Overturning and destroying, leaving only a waste and deso
lation, have always stopped short, or if they have momen
tarily surged beyond, have receded until they reached the

440 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
great barriers of truth, right, and justice. Beyond these
they could make no permanent lodgment, and, their effect
has always been to weed out and destroy those principles
that had become effete and useless, or positively noxious,
and to originate and engraft in their place those which are
new, and adapted to meet the demands of a slow but never
permanently receding progress in all things that pertain to
civilization. No greater, more permanent, or more splendid theatre
has ever been presented for the display of eloquence than
the British parliament. The house of commons, the popu
lar branch of parliament, has, for more than two centuries,
presented assemblages of men very numerous, very varied,
with large privileges of debate, and discussion, all but un
limited in its range, theoretically and practically devolving
the action of the government upon the result of measures
there discussed and decided, and thus offering, it would
seem, the highest prizes to successful competitors in public
speaking. And yet no Cicero or Demosthenes has ever
appeared there. England has had its revolutions, its times
of high excitement, its period when its parliament ruled
the realm as the national assembly and convention ruled
France on the fall of the Bourbons, and yet no Mirabeau
or Danton was thrown up from its centre to its surface, to
fill the world for the moment with wonder, amazement,
and awe. We shall not be surprised at this when we re
flect that the orator must adapt himself to his audience ;
that, to a large extent, it is the qualities of mind in the au
dience that' call out the powers of the orator, and thus
contribute largely to make him what he really is. Mirabeau
in the British house of commons, and in the midst of one of
his high impassioned speeches ! ! It is surmised that
neither he nor the house would ever desire a reunion. It
would probably be impossible for a succession of Mirabeaus
to tone the house up to such a key as to render that spe
cies of eloquence appreciable.
There have been, however, great speakers in the British
parliament. As the majority there decides the fate of mea-

EUROPEAN ART 441
sures, and consequently that of administrations, it is of the
first importance to know how votes are to be secured.
Three modes have been employed for this purpose, viz : '
1. Management. 2. Purchase. 3. Eloquence. We shall
not discuss the relative importance of these respectively.
It is enough for our purpose that eloquence is presented as
one of the means, and hence may be ranked as one of the
elements of success. The British ministry must always
have its leader in debate in the house, and the opposition
those whom they look to as leaders'. The latter are ever
keenly on the watch for opportunities in which they can
make war successfully on the measures of the adminis
tration, and by obtaining, a majority of the votes compel
the ministers to resign, and the appointment of themselves
or their friends to occupy their places. The mode of ob
taining votes both by management, and by purchase,
more especially by the latter, is more resorted to by the
administration, or party in power, as the government is
under its control, and hence the means and appliances are
with it much more extensive and varied. The opposition,
although relying considerably on management,- has also al
ways placed great reliance upon eloquence, and among its
ranks and in its school, the great parliamentary orators
have been reared.
The term eloquence, however, as applied to the British
parliament, has a different meaning from what it has when
applied to the French national assembly, or convention, or.
to the Roman senate, or to the assemblies of the people at
Athens. It is rarely high wrought or impassioned. Its
play of imagination, figures, and creations of imagery, are
all subsidiary to the main design, which is that of convinc
ing the understanding, and not of inflaming the passions.
The earliest and the greatest of parliamentary orators,
and one who has been called the greatest orator of
modern times, was the elder Pitt, the Earl of Chatham.
Born in 1708, and living to reach his seventieth year,
he passed through stirring periods of modern European
history. He was an orator by nature. With a figure
vn] 56

442 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
tall and erect, an attitude imposing, with gestures ener
getic, yet tempered with dignity and grace, he possessed
a power of eye that, by a single glance of scorn and con
tempt, would strike with withering effect upon antagonist
in the midst of his speech. His countenance would glow
with animation, and would reflect with peculiar force all
the strong emotions of the soul. His voice is spoken of
as possessing peculiar charms.1 " His lowest whisper was
distinctly heard ; his middle hotes were sweet and beauti
fully varied ; and, when he elevated his voice to its highest
pitch, the house was completely filled with the volume of
sound. The effect was awful, except when he wished to
cheer or animate ; then he had spirit-stirring notes which
were perfectly irresistible. The prevailing character of
his delivery was majesty and force."
Never was so distinguished an orator less indebted to
culture, education and industry. He had very little learn
ing, little even of political knowledge, but his great aim
seems to have been to acquire a thorough knowledge of
the English language. With this view he twice went
through the folio dictionary of Bailey,2 examining the most
important words, their peculiar import and modes of con
struction. He read and reread the sermons of Dr. Bar
row, and familiarized himself with Spenser's Faery Queen.
He thus attained to a thorough mastery of the English
language, so that it required little effort to clothe his ideas,
jn their appropriate words.
Lord Chatham's style and power of oratory was a larger
embodiment of what in the common estimation is covered.
by the term eloquence than occurs in any other parliamentary
speaker. He proceeded most upon the Demosthenean
model, but his speeches lacked the elaboration of the
Athenian orator. His thoroughly prepared discourses
were few, and most generally were failures. In his great
speeches his preparation was limited to the general sub
ject. The main ideas, the great leading topics alone

1 British Eloquence, 71. "Idem, 52.

EUROPEAN ART. 443
possessed his mind. The matter to be brought forward was
thoroughly matured, but the arrangement seems to have
been little studied, and the language, imagery, and illustra
tions still less. The bones he brought along with him,
but their arrangement, the muscles and tissues with which
they were clothed, and still more the breath of life that
gave them a living power, were left to the inspiration of
the hour.
And Well and faithfully did that inspiration serve him in
his time of need. "A bold, brief, 'and pointed mode of
expressing daring truths, sometimes by metaphor, and
sometimes by antithesis, is the characteristic of his most
stirring appeals. He put what he had to say into the
strongest words the English tongue would afford, and,
possessing a spirit as dauntless as his language, the attempt
to check him invariably drew from him an indignant and
defiant repetition of the offense. Hence he was a terrible
antagonist, who awed his opponents by the fierceness and
courage of his invectives,1 and on popular questions roused
enthusiasm by the short and vehement sentences in which
he embodied the feverish passions of his hearers. It re
quired the utmost energy of style to sustain the command
ing tone he assumed, and he would have been ridiculous
if he had not been sublime. Of his manner we can with
difficulty form an idea from the descriptions that have
come down to us, but all are agreed that every art of
elocution and action aided his imposing figure and his
eagle eye."
He has been accused of speaking without arguing, a
thing very unusual in the British parliament. The charge
is, in some respects, true. His speeches do lack the usual
styles of argument, and yet they may not fail to carry con
viction to the minds of the hearer. He did not move
forward encumbered with the trammels of formal reason
ing.2 He presented- his conclusions rather as intuitive
truths than the results of logical deduction. He. reached

'Electic, May, August, 1858, 319. 'British Eloquence, 73, 74.

444 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
his point at a single bound, and could place the subject at
once under such aspects and relations, as to. carry its own
evidence along with.it. He struck on the results of an
argument like a bomb-shell, that explodes when it strikes,
scattering destruction around it, although no one has seen
its course through the air.
This species of unpremeditated eloquence possesses
obvious advantages over every other. It renders the orator-
armed at all points, and enables him to meet any contin
gency that may arise. Some of the most celebrated bursts
of Lord Chatham's eloquence were called forth by an
unguarded word, a laugh or a cheer. He could turn upon
his adversary with the most sparkling . ridicule, or burning
invective, or withering sarcasm. Sometimes his wit and
humor would accomplish his purpose. When the subject
of the excise bill, that carried with it the right of search,
was up in parliament, Mr. Pitt strongly opposed it. Mr.
George Grenville on the other side claimed that the tax
was unavoidable ; and, looking directly atMr. Pitt, " Why,"
^said he, "does, he not tell us where we can lay another in
its stead. Tell me," and rising into a still higher strain,
' ' tell me where you can lay another tax ! Tell me where ! "
Mr. Pitt immediately answered him by quoting from a
popular song of the day, " Gentle shepherd tell me where."
The effect was irresistible, and the house baptized Mr.
Grenville the Gentle Shepherd amidst the most uproar-
ous peals of laughter that continued for several minutes.
In his discussion on the same bill Mr. Pitt gave utterance
to the following eloquent language : " The poorest man
"in his cottage may bid defiance to all the forces of the
, crown. It may be frail, its roof may shake ; the wind
may blow through it; the storm- may enter it! but the
king of England cannot enter it! All his power dares not
cross the threshold of that ruined tenement."
To sustain this species of eloquence, so spontaneous, and
at the same time high toned in its character, two things at
least are necessary, both which existed in the case of Lord
Chatham. One was great depth and power of feeling in ¦

EUROPEAN ART. 445
himself. His eloquence floated upon the surface of those
intense feelings that came welling up from the very depths
of his soul. Their sources were exhaustless, and as long
as their intense action continued, the tongue could not
refuse its noble utterances. The other was found in the
ascendancy which he acquired over the minds of his country
men. " There was a fascination for all hearts in his lofty
bearing ; his generous sentiments ; his comprehensive
• policy ; his grand conceptions of the height to which Eng
land might be raised as arbiter of Europe ; his preference
of her honor over all inferior material interests."
The eloquence of Lord Chatham burst out with peculiar
splendor towards the close of his life ; when the " great
commoner," as he was called in Europe, appears in the
house of lords an old man, weak, decrepit, gouty, bowed
down by years and infirmities, with a body worn out by the
unceasing activities of his soul, and yet battling at the very
height of his power against that narrow minded British
policy that would commit the egregious error and wrong
of taxing the American colonies without their consent.
His brave words : " I rejoice that America has resisted,"
although they fell upon leaden ears in the British parlia
ment, yet rang through the valleys of the new world and
found their echoes in the heart of a young people. The
proposition to let loose the savages with the scalping knife
upon the North American colonists called forth from old
Chatham such a burst of fervid eloquence as can hardly be
equaled in the English language ; and finally, it was on a
question deeply affecting England and America that the
old man made his last speech, falling in the field of his
fame, his light shining bright at the moment of its final
extinction. The last quarter of the eighteenth century was signalized
by the efforts of three giant minds in the British parliament.
These were Edmund Burke, born in 1730, dying in 1797 ;
Charles James Fox, born 1749, dying in 1806; and. William
Pitt, born in 1759, dying also in 1806. These three were
rival statesmen and orators, and their destinies were for-

446 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
tunately cast in one of the most stirring eras in the world's"
history, that which was convulsed by the French revolu
tion, and the rise of the first Napoleon. Of these three^
each had a mental character, and a style of eloquence
peculiar to himself.
Edmund Burke was the earlier, and when considered
in every point of view, the greater, of this illustrious trio.
The whole east of his mind was eminently philosqphical.
He was a deep and profound scholar in everything relating
to government and general law. His stores of learning
were immense, and yet of all he seemed to have the most
perfect command. In debate, he could pass the most
rapidly from one exercise of his powers to another. He
possessed the power of readily and happily transferring
the results of the most laborious research, to the most_
familiar and popular topics. His mind was " many-sided "
in its composition, and in the variety and extent of his
powers, he is claimed by his admirers, to have been the
greatest orator in ancient or modern times. Says one : x
" No one ever poured forth such a flood of thought; so
many original combinations of inventive genius ; so much
knowledge of man, and the working of political systems;
so many just remarks on the relation of government to
the manners, the spirit, and even the prejudices of a
people; so many wise maxims as to a change in constitu
tion and laws; so many beautiful effusions of lofty and
generous sentiment ; such exuberant stores of illustration,
ornament, and apt allusion ; all intermingled with the
liveliest sallies of wit, or the boldest flights of a sublime
imagination." The following was his own idea of a
truly fine sentence : " It consists," said he, " in a union
of thought, feeling, and imagery; of a striking truth, and
a corresponding sentiment, rendered doubly striking by
the force and beauty of figurative language." Thus he
would draw something from the intellectual, moral, and
aesthetic natures, and blend what he derived from each

'British Eloquence, 237.

EUROPEAN ART. 447
into a harmonious whole. His pages afford many in
stances of such sentences. His style was very different
of description, and even of apprehension, so subtle and
evasive were its elements, and so strange the compound
in it of matter of fact, speculation, and poetic eloquence.
The pure, clear intellection of the philosopher, and the
strong, exuberant, but generally chaste imagination of the
poet, formed together its two main elements. To the
largest comprehensiveness of intellect, bringing within the
ken .of its vision everything relating to man, and his inte
rests, he united a subtlety so quick and delicate, that
he could traverse the most complicated relations, following
out the finest thread of thought through their most per
plexing intricacies. The relations of agreement in things
appear to have been more open to his mind, than those
of difference. The great object of his life seems to have
been to unfold the relations of man as a creature of society ;
to trace out the working of political institutions ; to esta
blish the principles of wise legislation, and to lay open
the sources of national security and advancement. In
the midst of debates on temporary subjects, he never
altogether lost sight of his high calling, as " an orator of
the human race." His great powers of generalization
were derived from the amplitude, and philosophical cha
racter of his intellect. The brilliancy of his imagination,
and the ceaseless play of his ingenuity, were such as some
times to conceal the solid depth and practical bearings of
his wisdom. Men, it has been said, are apt to doubt the
solidity of a structure which is covered all over with
flowers. Of Burke's style, Mr. Fox said : " Reduce his
language,1 withdraw his images, and you will find that
he is more wise than eloquent ; you will have your full
weight of metal, though you melt down the chasing." In
some instances his imagery stands out in too bold relief, the
primary idea being lost sight of in the image ; but many
of his figures are so finely wrought into the texture of his

'British Eloquence, 240.

448 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
style, that they hardly appear as fi ^ures at all. In his
reasonings he did not generally play the dialectician, but
in most instances presented a full and complete enumera
tion and clear display of all the facts and principles, the
analogies, relations, or tendencies, which were applicable
to the case, and were adapted to settle it on the immutable
basis of the nature and constitution of things.
Burke himself always claimed that he was indebted to
industry rather than talent, and it is quite possible that
his industry was so steadily and persistently applied, that
it came finally to supply the place of talent. By this inces
sant labor he was at last enabled to soar at any moment
to his highest elevation, as though it had been his natural
level. "His very answers," says Horace Walpole, "that
had sprung from what had fallen from others, were so pointed
and artfully arranged that they wore the appearance of
study." His conversational powers are said to have been
very great and varied, which, taken in connection with his
impromptu speeches, would appear to furnish evidence
that he had weighed and digested his thoughts, and pre
pared and adjusted his language on all subjects, at the
same time that impulse and excitement were ever ready to
sprinkle splendid impromptus upon the stream of his speech.
It seems, however, that Burke produced a greater effect
upon the readers than the hearers of his speeches. Erski ne
it is said, crept under the benches to escape a speech of
his, which, when published he thumbed to rags ; and Pitt
and Grenville decided not to answer another, which when
published they regarded as one of his noblest efforts. This
arose from several causes. His gestures were awkward :
his countenance, though intellectual, was severe ; his enun
ciation was vehement and rapid ; his accent was decidedly
Irish; his- voice in his calmer moods was harsh, but when
he became excited so hoarse as to be hardly intelligible.
He pursued a mode of treating subjects entirely different
from the ordinary one.1 A speaker ordinarily unfolds his

' Electie Magazine, August, 1858, 319.

EUROPEAN ART. 449
ideas and opinions in the same manner in which he himself
arrived at them and enforces upon others the same argu
ments which were convincing to his own understanding.
But Burke drew his conclusions from a wide survey of
history and human nature, from enlarged principles which
looked beyond the expedients and the passions of the
hour. Upon bases like these he founded his views of pre
sent policy. His hearers, wholly absorbed in the passing
events, naturally disliked anything so out of harmony
with their own habits of thought.
This deficiency, if it may be called so, in the oratory of
Edmund Burke, was entirely supplied by that of his great
rival, Charles James Fox. He was the second son of the
first Lord Holland, and in his training for public life his
father aimed to make him a leader in fashionable dissipa
tion, and also an orator and a statesman, and, surprising as
it may be, succeeded very well in both.
Of all the orators of modern times who have raised
their voices in the British parliament, Fox was the most
thoroughly English. Nothing of the classical entered into
his composition. His make was English; thick set, broad
shoulders, capacious chest, bushy hair and eyebrows, and
. dark countenance, every lineament of which could work
with emotion. His intellect was English in all its work
ings. It was plain, practical, dealing in facts as its great
staples ; moving with prodigious force towards certain
definite ends and objects. To that strong common sense
view which was the work of his intellect, he added the
genuine emotions of a heart capable of infinite tenderness.
His countenance could lighten up with more than mortal
ardor and goodness, and his voice be suffocated with tears.
His feeling, says one, was all intellect, and his intellect was
all feeling. He had thus strong bonds of sympathy with
his fellow men.
His style of eloquence grew out of the elements of his
character. It was plain, simple, direct, strong, bold, and
severe. His words were the homely Saxon, but they were
words of power. He seldom resorted to the labor of
vn] 57

450 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
devising a method, or prearranging his thoughts, having
made himself familiar with the topics which he was to
discuss. He had mastered his facts, he had studied his
arguments, and was at home in his subject; but every
thing appeared like the instantaneous outpouring of his
mind. His opening speeches were almost always bad.
He hesitated and stammered until he got warmed with
his subject. His style always lacked polish and exact
ness, but never vigor or power. When fairly launched,
he appeared forgetful of himself and everything around
him. He imparted to his audience a portion of the
energy which himself possessed, There is a rough vigor
and animation in his phraseology, a force or plausibility
in his reasoning, and a fertility in his counter arguments,
which would be very effective during the raging of the
contest. He spoke to partisans for present effect, and
rarely failed in producing it. He was very fortunate in
hits, or abrupt and startling turns of thought, which serve
to electrify an audience. He also dealt with great effect
side blows, consisting in dashes made at his antagonist
while passing. He had also a habit at times of enlivening
his oratory by exercising a dramatic faculty, personating
the character of his opponents, and then carrying on a
dialogue between them.
He dealt much less in the abstract than Burke. His
great force lay in the concrete. His discussion of princi
ples was always in direct connection with the matters then
before the house. He went directly to the point at issue.
No circumlocution, no feints or skirmishing. He struck at
the heart of his subject at once, fully aware that if the
citadel surrendered the out- posts would inevitably follow.
He had not the teeming knowledge, the enlarged views,
the prophetic vision, the exuberant imagination, or the
lofty eloquence of Burke ; but he surpassed him as a party
leader, or rather as a party debater.1 He originated no
grand strategic movements ; his fights were hand to hand

'Eclectic Magazine, August, 1858, 32.

EUROPEAN ART. 451
with his opponents, and hence the interest which attached
to them at the time, and the gradual failure of it since.
He had a habit of returning again and again to the strong
points of his ease. He was deemed the most formidable
in reply, his habit being to state one by one the argu
ments of the opposition, and this he would do with such
clearness,, and place them in such an advantageous light,
that his friends were often alarmed lesthe should fail to
answer them.
In almost every respeetthe antipode of Fox was his1 great
antagonist, William Pitt, sometimes called the younger Pitt,
to distinguish him from his father, the " great commoner,"
afterwards Earl of Chatham. He was carefully educated
by his father, and early became master of the Greek and
Latin tongues. These languages, together with the his
torical, poetical, and oratorical treasures they contain,
became early his favorite study. He attributed his readi
ness of speech to the practice enjoined on him by his father
of reading a book in some foreign language, turning it into
English as he went along, and pausing when he was at a
loss for a fitting word until the right expression came. He
had to stop' often at first, but acquired fluency by degrees ;
so that finally when he entered public life he seldom or
never hesitated in the choice of a word.
The younger Pitt was bred an orator. He early practiced
himself in debate ; was, when a boy, an attentive listener to
the debates in parliament, and when he' entered the arena
in earnest, he was immediately hailed as a champion. His
first triumph came with his first speech. In appearance
he was very different from Fox. He was tall and slender,
with features somewhat harsh,, but lighted up with intelli
gence by the flashes of an eye which with him was an in
strument of great power. His gestures were animated but
devoid of grace. His articulation was remarkably full and
clear, filling the house with the volume of sound.
Mr. Pitt's great reputation,, that for which he is princi
pally known, rests upon a foundation entirely different
from that either of Burke or Fox. It is upon his ministe-

452 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
rial course. He entered the ministry at the early age of
twenty-three, and his influence there continued to be felt
during the whole of his after life. During quite a portion
of it he presided at the helm, and the ship of state was
under his guidance. His financial policy inaugurated a
new era in European politics. It might, perhaps, not
be" too much to say that the commencement and prosecu
tion of that policy saved Europe from being submerged.
beneath the surging outbursts of the French revolution,
as subsequently guided and directed by the first Napoleon.
True, it has left entailed upon the British empire a na
tional debt of such gigantic proportion as to render its
ultimate payment a problem of difficult solution. But
even that may have some advantage in consolidating and
binding together more indissolubly, the different interests
of that great empire.
We have, however, to do with Pitt only as an orator, and
here he was quite the reverse of Fox, and differing very
considerably from Burke. Instead of losing himself in
the vehement action of his own powers, he was cold,
formal, artificial, and always fully self-possessed. In his
speeches there are no sallies of passion, no vehement
apostrophies. His very simplicity was studied, and his
energy was an educated one. He supplied the place of
repetition, so frequently practiced by Fox, by a redundancy
in his style. ' Unlike Burke he presented few images, and
scattered few flowers of rhetoric through his speeches.
They were, however, always animated, elegant and clas
sical. He lacked the brilliancy and occasional flashes of
eloquence of old Chatham, but his speeches were logical
and argumentative. His style was well regulated, firm,
and reasonable. When he desired to be explicit he un
folded his statements with perfect lucidness and distinct
ness. He never indulged in the colloquial manner of Fox,
and deemed the fanciful imagery of Burke unsuited to the
business of debate. He did occasionally indulge in the
sportiveness of irony, but usually sought no other, aid
than such as could be derived from a well arranged and

EUROPEAN ART. 453
extensive knowledge of his subject. With an understand
ing bold and comprehensive, his eloquence, occasionally
rapid, electric and vehement, was always chaste, winning
and persuasive.
Contemporary with these three was Richard Brinsley
Sheridan, who was superior to Pitt in the comedy of de
bate. > He had many accomplishments. The ridiculous,
pathetic, and sublime, each reached a climax in him. But
his powers of mind exceeded his acquisitions. He had a
great reputation for wit, yet no one ever arrived at it more
laboriously. He never attained the parliamentary influ
ence exercised either by Burke, Fox or Pitt ; but his speech
on the impeachment of Warren Hastings is one of great
eloquence and power.
Coming down to a period more recent in the history of
British eloquence, we encounter George Canning and Lord.
Brougham. These two have been contrasted with each
other in the following beautiful and forcible manner :
" Canning was airy, open, and prepossessing j1 Brough-
ham seemed stern, hard, lowering, and almost repulsive.
Canning's features were handsome, and his eye, though
deeply ensconced under his eyebrows, was full of sparkle
and gayety ; the features of Brougham were harsh in the
extreme. While his forehead shot up to a great elevation,
his chin was long and square ; his mouth, nose and eyes
seemed huddled together in the centre of his face, the eyes
absolutely lost amid folds and corrugations ; and while he
sat listening, they seemed to retire iuward, or to be vailed
by a filmy curtain, which not only concealed the appalling
glare which shot from them when he was aroused, but
rendered his mind and his purpose a sealed book to the
keenest scrutiny of man. Canning's passions appeared
upon the open campaign of his face, drawn up in ready
array, and moved to and fro at every turn of his own
oration, and every retort in that of his antagonist. Those.
of Brougham remained within, as in a citadel which no

'British Eloquence, 888, 889.

454 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
artillery could batter and no mine blow up y and even
when he was putting forth all the power of his eloquence,
when every ear was tingling at what he said, and while
the immediate object of his invective was writhing in help
less and indescribable agony, his visage retained its cold
and brassy hue ;. and he triumphed over the passions of
other men by seeming to be without passion himself.
When Canning rose to> speak, he elevated bis countenance,
and seemed to look round for applause as a thing dear to
his feelings ¦; while-Brougham stood coiled and comcentrated,
reckless of all but the: power that was within himself.
" From Canning there was expected the glitter of wit and
the glow of spirit — something showy and elegant; Brougham
stood up as a being whose powers and intentions were all a
mystery, whose aim and effect no living man could divine.
You bent forward to- catch the first sentence of the one,
and-felt human nature elevated, in the specimen before you;
you crouched and shrunk back from the ether, and dreams
of ruin and annihilation darted across your mind. The one
seemed to dwell among men, to join in their joys, and to
live upon their praise ; the other appeared a son of the
desert, who had deigned to visit the human race merely to
make it tremble at, his strength.
" The style of their eloquence, and the structure of their
orations were just as different. Canning arranged his
words like- one who could play skillfully upon that sweetest
of all instruments, the human voice; Brougham proceeded
like a master of every power of reasoning and the under
standing. The modes and allusions of the one were always
quadrupled by the classical formula; those of the other
could be squared only by the higher analysis of the mind;
and they soared, and ran and pealed, and swelled on and
on, till a single sentence was often a complete oration
within itself; but still so- clear was the logic, and so close
the connection, that -every member carried the weight of
all that went before, and opened the way for all that was to
follow after. The style of Canning was like the convex
mirror, which scatters every ray of light that falls upon it,

EUROPEAN ART. 455
and shines and sparkles in whatever position it is viewed;
that of Brougham was like the concave speculum, scatter
ing no indiscriminate radiance, but having its light concen
trated into one intense and tremendous focus. Canning
marched forward in a straight and clear track ; every para
graph was perfect in itself, and every corruscation of wit
and of genius was brilliant and delightful ; it waB all-, felt,
and it was felt all at once. Brougham twined round and
round in a spiral, sweeping the contents of a vast circum
ference before him, and uniting and pouring them onward
to the main point of attack.
" Such were the rival orators who sat glancing hostility
and defiance at each other during the session of eighteen
hundred and twenty-three. Brougham, as if wishing to
overthrow the secretary by a sweeping accusation of having
abandoned all principle for the sake of office ; and the
secretary ready to parry the charge and attack in his turn.
An opportunity at length offered. Upon that occasion the
oration of Brougham was disjointed and ragged, and.
apparently without aim or application. He careered over
the whole annals of the world, and collected every instance
in which genius had prostituted itself at the footstool of
power, or principle had been sacrificed for the vanity or
the lucre of place : but still there was no allusion to Can
ning; and no connection, that ordinary men could discover,
with the business before the house. When, however, he
had collected every material which suited his purpose,
when the mass had become big and black, he bound it
about and about with the cords of illustration and argu
ment ; when its union was secure, he swung it round and
rQund with the strength of a giant, and the rapidity of a
whirlwind, in order that its impetus and its effects might
be the more tremendous ; and while doing this, he ever
and anon glared his eye, and pointed his finger, to make
the aim and the direction sure. Canning was the first that
seemed to be aware, where and how terrible was to be the
collision ; and he kept writhing his body in agony and
rolling his eye in fear, as if anxious to find some shelter

456 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
from the impending bolt. The house soon caught the
impression, and every man in it was glancing fearfully,
first toward the orator, and then toward the secretary.
There was, save the voice of Brougham, which growled in
that undertone of muttered thunder which is so fearfully
audible, and of which no speaker of the day was fully
master but himself, a silence as if the angel of retribution
had been flaring in the faces of all parties the scroll of
their personal and political sins. The stiffness of Brough
am's figure had vanished; his features seemed concen
trated almost to a point ; he glanced toward every part of ^
the house in succession ; and, sounding the death knell of
the secretary's forbearance and prudence with both his
clinched hands upon the table, he hurled at him an accu
sation more dreadful in its gall, and more torturing in its
effects, than had ever been hurled at mortal man within
the same walls. The result was instantaneous, was elec
tric. It was as when the thunder cloud descends upon the
giant peak ; one flash, one peal ; the sublimity vanished,
and all that remained was a small and cold pattering of
rain. Canning started to his feet, and was able only to
utter the unguarded words, ' It is false ! ' to which followed
a dull chapter of apologies."
The British bar would probably present Thomas Erskine
as its ablest and most eloquent representative. Lord
Campbell holds him as an advocate in the forum to be with
out an equal in ancient or modern times. He had about
equal power with the court and with the jury. It was said
"he had invented a machine by the secret use of which, in
court, he could make the head of a judge nod assent to his
propositions ; whereas his rivals, who tried to pirate it, always
made the same head move from side to side." " He always
grasped a cause so firmly, that he never forgot a principle
or a decision, an analogy or a fact which made for his client,
while he showed infinite dexterity in avoiding the difficulties
of his case, and turning to his own advantage the unex
pected disclosures which sometimes came out in the pro
gress of the trial." His speeches in the case of the " Dean

EUROPEAN ART. 457
of St. Asaph," of Stockdale," and in the case "of Hadfield," x
may be referred to as being in the highest and best styles
of forensic eloquence. He did not succeed equally well as
lord chancellor, or in the British parliament.
There are three Irish orators of distinguished note, besides
those like Burke of Irish descent, but whose forum of effort
was England. These were Henry Grattan, born in 1746,
and dying in 1820 ; John Philpot Curran, born in 1750, and
dying in 1817 ; and Daniel O'Connell of our own day. The
eloquence of each one of these had its own peculiar forum.
That of Henry Grattan. was the senate, the Irish and
British parliament. While a boy he listened to the elo
quence of Lord Chatham, which charmed his mind, deter
mined his destiny. In personal appearance he was short
and unprepossessing, his arms disproportionately long, and-
his person having a pendulum-like swing. But his speeches
give evidence of a powerful intellect, and an original genius.
His mind gave birth to its own creations, exhibiting both
condensation and rapidity of thought. His reasoning was
strong, forcible and striking. It has been termed " logic on
fire," and his eloquence characterized as a "combination
of cloud, whirlwind and flame." His style abounds in
metaphors, and is full of antitheses, which give it great
point and brilliancy. It presents the following excellencies.
His language is select, terse, and expressive. His periods
easy and fluent, made up of short clauses, having few
qualifications all uniting in the expression of some one lead
ing thought, while his rhythmus is often uncommonly fine.
Curran was a most wonderful man. He was short,
swarthy, with a countenance singularly expressive, ges
tures bold and impassioned, articulation distinct and deli
berate, voice of varied power of modulation, and " an eye
that glowed like a live coal."2 He was a natural orator.
"In splendor of imagination, richness of fancy, and
. creative power ; in exuberant humor, melting pathos,

'British Eloquence, 634. 'Eclectic Magazine, September, December, 1857,
•43. VII] 58

458 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
caustic irony, cutting sarcasm, and brilliant wit; in exqui
site perception of character, and deep knowledge of human
nature, in the witchery of his manner, and absolute mastery
over the varied passions of the human heart ; in capability
of adapting himself to the capacity of his audience, and
command over their attention ; in promptitude, dexterity
and force; in the variety,, versatility, and extent of his
powers, he excelled all his contemporaries, Grattan not ex
cepted." He greatly distinguished himself in the Irish
parliament, but the bar witnessed the highest and noblest
efforts of his oratory. There his pleadings were called
forth by times of great excitement. Rebellion was in arms.
Society seemed falling in fragments around him. He de
fended the criminals in the great state trials of that period.
He went to dungeons for his' instructions from his clients.
In his pleadings he stood on the threshold of the scaf
fold. His batteries were unmasked in the very jaws of
death. In his defense of Rowan his burst of eloquence
upon universal emancipation has no superior in the Eng
lish language. That, and other bursts upon like occasions,
will bear the name of Curran down to a late posterity.
It may not be out of place to remark here that Ireland
is the favored land of eloquence. The Irish parliament,.
and bar, and popular assembly, stand next to the bema at
Athens and the rostrum of Rome. The warm impulses,
easily excited feelings, and glowing thoughts of the Irish
people lead very naturally to this result.
This, brings us to the great agitator, the tribune of
the people, Daniel O'Connell, the man of our own times,
who is not indebted to tradition for his splendor, but to
the broad daylight of our own vision. He has achieved
great distinction in the British parliament, but it is in the
vast assemblages of the Irish people, when he stands forth
the impersonation of that people, with an action, and an
eloquence, and a power, all Irish in its character, and
overarched by the skies of his own beloved Erin, that he
reveals the elements of a power never before witnessed in
the Emerald isle. Greater than the old Irish kings from

EUROPEAN ART. 459
whom he derived his descent, carrying about with him
not even the semblance of any authority, we have seen him
wielding a power over the people of Ireland, greater than
any monarch or legislative assembly ever exercised.
Keeping himself strictly within the limits of the law,
appealing solely to moral force doctrine, which asserts the
subordination of the physical and brutal to the spiritual
and rational in human nature, he has left behind him no
blood-stained record, but one which eminently entitles him
to the gratitude of posterity.
If the question is asked why modern eloquence has not
come up to the ancient, why no Athenian bema, and no
Roman rostrum has been upreared in modern times, it
may perhaps be replied that no occasion for them has
really existed. The eloquence which is great and over
powering has proceeded from the disasters of society.
The light which it sheds is upon society in terrible com
motion if not in incipient dissolution. No Demosthenes
ever trod the bema of Athens, until the corruscations of
his eloquence were required to shed their light upon the
liberties of Greece, just upon the point of utter ahd hope
less extinction. No Cicero ever mounted the Roman K
rostrum, until his eloquent accents could mingle with the
wail that went up on the extinction of Roman virtue, and
Roman liberty. When Great Britain shall have performed
the mission assigned to her in history ; when her people
shall have become steeped in a corruption deeper than
that which has sometimes tainted her rulers ; when the
pillars of her social and.her political edifice are giving way
under the weight that oppresses them, and her rights and
liberties, of which she now so proudly boasts, are becoming
the prey of the spoiler ; then may we expect an eloquence
more fervid and glowing than that of Demosthenes, more
• beautiful and flowing than that of Cicero, to pour one
beam of unclouded reason, to emit one gleam of undying
radiance upon the struggles that precede the extinction of
life in the state and the people.

460 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION

MIXED ARTS.

THE DKAMATIC AKT.
Of the two mixed arts the first is the art dramatic,
which appeals both to the eye and the ear. To the former
by its scenic representations, and the arts of itB living
personages, with their costumes, masks, and mimicry; to
the latter by the sentiments they utter, and the characters
they are made to assume. This is strictly not only a mixed,
but a double art; the one part of it relating to the construc
tion and development of the drama, which is the work of
the, poet; the other to the scenic arrangements, and the
faithful impersonation of character involved in style and
manner of utterance and gesture, which is the work of the
actor. Both are developments of the art principle. Our
attention will be confined to the former, dismissing the
latter with the single remark, that its perfection consists
in the complete exercise of the imitative faculty combined
with the power of mentally transforming themselves into
the very characters they are endeavoring to represent.
The drama is the outgrowth of social life as developed
in large cities. The wants and necessities of society there
call it into existence, and exert great and even controlling
influence over its direction and development. In that view
it constitutes a very correct barometer, by which the social
progress of a people in some points may be very readily
ascertained. It is, therefore, only in the metropoles of
great nations, and those continuing such for some period .
of time, that the drama may be expected to arrive at its
higher stages of development. It is for this reason that
the theatres of Madrid, Paris, and London, revelled' in a
full century of splendor; arriving each in its own way to

EUROPEAN ART. 461
perfection, long before those of Italy or Germany had
achieved much distinction. In those great cities was found
the aliment so necessary so call out the drama with all its
necessary accompaniments. The scenic arrangements re
quire both money and taste. The full power of the drama
can only be exerted where the influence and results of the
most advanced civilization are the most strongly felt.
This has always occurred in large cities, the capitals of
great kingdoms or empires.
The origin and development of the drama in modern
Europe, have constantly brought to view two systems of
ideas which have been designated as the classical and the
romantic.1 The former has, by common consent, been
bestowed upon every literary production belonging to the
Roman or the Grecian school. The Grecian drama served
as a foundation for the Roman. The overthrow of the
political power of Rome did not destroy the arts which
had grown up under its protection. These commanded
the respect and reverence, and served as models of imitation
for the barbarians. In the drama they took such firm
hold of the Italian and French mind, as seemingly to
acquire a perpetuity in the literature of each. The laws
prescribed to the drama by Aristotle, more especially the
three unities of time, place, and action, have ever since
maintained their sway in the theatres of Italy and France.
The term classical conveys the idea of great purity and
perfection of taste. So far has this been carried by the
French critics more especially, that such purity and per
fection have only been conceded within their own canons,
rules, and laws.
The romantic is a term derived from the Romance lan
guage, the language of the troubadours, that, which the
civilization of the Romance nations first appropriated as
the organ through which to make their utterances known
to the world. These nations, deeply imbued with the
ideas and the feelings of the middle ages, chose rather to

'Sismondi, n, 235.

462 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
seek in their own antiquities for what should constitute
their drama, than to go to those, of Greece or Rome. We
include within these the Teutonic nations, and thus
Spain, England, and Germany have invoked each its own
old popular traditions, formed its own style of chivalric
poetry, and enacted in its own dramas those representa
tions which were dearest to the popular heart, in accord
ance with those rules, canons, and laws, which met the'
approval of the popular taste.
The earliest dramatic exhibitions proceeding from the
romantic system of ideas were those termed mysteries, or
miracle plays. These were especially under the manage
ment of the clergy, and are supposed to have had their
origin in the representations given by the pilgrims on their
return from the Holy Land. The subjects taken for these
representations were mostly taken from the Bible, and
were the principal supernatural events of the Old and New
Testaments, and of the history of the saints. These repre
sentations were performed in the open street as early as
the twelfth or thirteenth century. Finally they were re
presented in a theatre composed of an elevated scaffold,1
divided into three parts, heaven, hell, and the earth which
was located between them. Jerusalem was sometimes
represented in this central portion, whither angels were
made to descend or devils to ascend, according to the parts
they were respectively called upon to perform. The higher
and lower parts of the theatre were given respectively to
the deity and Lucifer for their separate performances.
Among the most celebrated of these mysteries was the
Passion of our Saviour,2 which was the most ancient dra
matic work of modern Europe, and comprehended the
whole history of our Lord from his baptism to his death.
It was continued from day to day, the labors or the re^-
presentations of each being comprised in one journee,
which term continued to retain its place in the Spanish
language after its abandonment in France. In this mys-

i,i, 184. 'Idem, 177.

EUROPEAN ART. 463
tery appeared no less than eighty-seven characters, among
whom were the three persons of the trinity, six angels,
or archangels, the twelve apostles, six devils, Herod and
his whole court, and a host of other personages. Many of
the scenes were recited to music. Choruses seem also to
have been present, and no doubt the grand and the impos
ing were largely exhibited in this terrible drama. Out of
" it issued both the tragedy and the comedy.1 The latter
was derived more especially from the dialogues of the
devils, who were made to fill all the comic parts of the
drama. The pungency with which these latter give
each other a wipe always largely excited the laughter of
the assembly.
The mystery of the passion was followed by that of the
conception, that of the nativity, and of the resurrection.
Then follow the legends of the saints also dramatized and
prepared for the theatre, so that in its turn almost all the
Old and New Testaments were brought upon the stage. In
dramatizing the legends of the saints the most ample scope
was given for gratifying the strong desires of the men and
women of that era in witnessing the endurance of pain.
Various styles of martyrdom were exhibited on the stage.
The art of the machinist was also called into requisition.
An immense dragon, with eyes of polished steel, in a mys
tery exhibited at Metz in 1437, sprung out from hell, and
spread his wings so near the spectators as to create among
them the greatest consternation.2 One of the English mys
teries called " the harrowing of hell" has been termed " the
most ancient production in a dramatic form in our Ian- ,
guage," and is referred to as early a period as the reign of Ed
ward III.3 No less personages than the Lord, Satan, Adam,
Eve, etc., figure in it. The Chester mysteries have been
referred to the year 1327. These have not much dramatic
merit, some of them being in the lowest style of buffoonery.
Next to the mysteries or miracle plays, came the
moralities. These originated with the clerks of the

1 Sismondi, 1, 182. a Hallam's Literature, i, 170. s Idem, 169.

464 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATIONr
revels, an incorporated society in Paris, who, being
charged with the duty of regulating the .public festivities,
resolved to amuse the people with dramatic representations.
as the fraternity of the passion had previously received the
royal license to represent mysteries, and the clerks were,
therefore, compelled to refrain from that kind of exhi
bition,1 they set to work and invented the. moralities,
which were also borrowed from the historical parts, or the
parables of the Bible. In these, persons representing
sentiments and abstract ideas, such as mercy, justice,
truth, were introduced upon the stage, and chiefly or
wholly composed the dramatis personse. These endea
vored to convey sound moral lessons, and at the same
time they gave occasion to poetical and dramatic ingenuity,
in fhe getting up of appropriate characters, and assigning
to each the proper action and speech. These in England
fall within the period of Henry VLU, and the following are
the names of some of the plays, viz : The Cradle of Secu
rity r Hit the Nail on the Head, Impatient Poverty, Mar
riage of Wisdom and Wit. Acting about this time first
became a distinct profession,2 clergymen, school-boys, and
members of trading corporations, having previously been
the performers.
These clerks were also the inventors of comedy. They
were not ecclesiastics, and they did not, like the fraternity
of the passion, consider themselves limited to the exhibi
tion of matters serious and solemn. They, therefore,
mingled with their moralities, farces,3 having it for their
sole object to excite the laughter of the spectators. The
versification of these was managed with great care, and
one of them, the Avocat Pathelin, first represented in 1480,
is still regarded as a model of French gayety and comic
powers. With some remodeling it is represented at the
present day.
The moralities were deemed an improvement upon the
mysteries, but these latter could not long maintain their

' Sismondi, i, 185. " Chambers's Encyclopaedia, i, 163. * Sismondi, i, 185.

EUROPEAN ART. 465
interest. As the actors represented mere notions of the
mind, it was soon found that although they might be val
uable vehicles for the conveyance of moral truth, yet they
failed to awaken the sympathies, and keep alive the atten
tion of an audience. To do this required a real human
being, with a human name, and the conviction of this
truth once thoroughly entertained, led to a new era in the
history of the stage, and to the origin and devolopment of
the different kinds of drama. We shall now briefly con
sider the development of the dramatic art among the
different peoples and nations of Europe, viz :
1. Among the Italians.
2. Among the Spaniards.
3. In France,
4. In Germany.
5. In England.

The Italian Drama.
The ruins of the Roman empire kept the arts entombed
until the beginning of the twelfth century. The dramatic
art was still later in starting into existence, but for quite a
long period the mysteries or moralities, performed either
by the clergy or under their direction, were the only exhi
bitions of this art with which the people were indulged.
The father of Italian tragedy was Trissino, who was born
at Vicenza in 1478, and died in 1550. His Sofonisba, pub
lished in 1524, is considered as the first regular tragedy
since the revival of letters. Trissino had thoroughly im
bibed the spirit of the Greek drama, and this work while
it marks the point of revival of the dramatic art, may also
be regarded as the last of the tragedies of antiquity. It
was formed upon the Greek model ; not divided into acts
and scenes; but the chorus, who constantly occupy the.
stage, and mingle in the dialogue, sing when left alone,
odes and lyric stanzas, which, by dividing the action, give
repose to the piece. He has even preserved the variety of,
vn] 59

466 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the Greek metres, "the usual language of his heroes is in
verso sciotto, blank verse; but according to the passions
which he wishes to express, he soars to the most varied
forms of the ode, or canzone, and by this more poetical
language, he proves that the pleasure of the drama consists
not wholly in the imitation of nature,1 but also in the ideal
beauty of that poetic world, which the author substitutes
for it." This tragedy crossed the Alps and found its way
into France, and from it the French learned to practice the
rules of dramatic art. Contemporaneously with this tra
gedy appears the Rosmunda of Rucellai, a tragedy in the
Italian language, and also constructed on the ancient model.
After these first tragic lispings of the Italian, muse, a
long period seems to have intervened in which the dramatic
art scarcely made itself felt in the Italian peninsula. The
r ules of Aristotle were strictly observed, and the tragical
abortions are described "as distorted, complicated, im
probable plots, misconception of scenic regulations, useless
personages, double actions, inconsistency of character,
gigantic or childish thoughts,2 feeble verses, affected phrases,
the total absence of harmonious and natural poetry ; and all
this decked out with ill-timed descriptions and similes, or
idle, philosophical and political disquisitions, in every scene .
some silly amour with all the trite insipidity of common
place gallantly, of tragic strength, of the conflict of pas
sions, of overpowering threatrical catastrophes, not the
smallest trace."
The Italian comedy originated nearly at the same time
with its tragedy. Two of these were written by Ariosto as
early as 1495, which were also in imitation of the ancients.
The one of them, the Gli Intrichi d'A more crowds so large
a number of events within the narrow limit of five acts,
that one incident is made to tread closely upon the heels
of another without the least development, which gives an
extreme degree of hardness to the whole.3 About the

1 Sismondi, I, 326. ' Schligel's Dramatic Literature, I, 300. s Lectures on
Dramatic Literature, i, 315.

EUROPEAN ART. 467
same time Machiavelli, the illustrious Florentine, produced
three comedies, which by th& novelty of the plot,1 by the
strength and vivacity of the dialogues, and by their admi
rable delineation of character, have equaled if not surpassed
anything Italy has produced in the comic line. A little
later Aretino, although a man of infamous character, yet
possessed the power of infusing into his comedies a genuine
dramatic talent, an originality, and often a gayety; rarely
met with in the early dramatic writers of Italy.2 His great
merit lies in depicting human nature just as he saw it,
With all its vices and all its deformity as displayed in a
corrupted age.
Machiavelli and Aretino wrought a change in comedy.
Abandoning the rules which critics pretended to deduce
from the ancients, and following the promptings of their
own genius, they delineated modern manners and vices,
and thus gave a new impulse to comic exhibitions.3
To Maffei born at Verona in 1675, Metastasio born at
Rome in 1698 and to Goldoni born at Venice in
.1707, the dramatic art in Italy is largely indebted for
its development. The first is the most celebrated for
his Merope, a tragedy composed in blank verse, and
written without a syllable of love, and without adopting
the romantic taste which prevailed in the drama of France.4
He creates and sustains throughout a lively interest, by the
danger to which a mother exposes her only son, under the
the idea that she is about to avenge him.
Metastasio was not strictly a tragedian. He was the
poet of the opera. He possessed a vivid imagination, and
united great refinement of feeling with every charm of
versification and expression. He composed twenty-eight
grand operas,6 borrowing his subjects almost indiscrimi
nately from mythology or history, and bringing upon the
stage most of the different people and different countries,
belonging' to the ancient world. He attained among
Italians the celebrity of a classic by the great purity, clear-

:, i, 343. ' Idem, 345. 3 Idem, 347. 4 Idem, 410. 6 Idem, 384.

468 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
ness, elegance, and sweetness of his language, and more
especially by the softness of his melody and the loveliness of
his songs.1 The songs with which his characters make their
exit are almost always the purest musical extract of their
state of mind which can possibly be given.2 He is musical
throughout, possessing, however, only that part of music
termed melody, without any knowledge of harmony, or
the effects of counterpoint. His melodies are light and
pleasant, and repeated with small variation. He rendered
himself, the delight of his contemporaries by a certain
melting effeminacy in feeling and expression. He seldom
has choruses, and his airs are almost always for a single
voice. The emotions be wished to excite were all in refer
ence to music, and were never intended to leave violent
or painful impressions on the mind. His dramas open with
imposing effect, and are full of magnificence and attrac
tions. Goldoni brings us back to Italian comedy of which he
- appeared as a reformer, He found two styles of comedy
occupying the Italian theatre, viz : the classical and the art
comedies. The former were the productions of the closet,
and were Constructed upon Aristotelian rules. The latter
were produced by the comedians, and were chiefly extem
porary, or had presented originally a very slight outline,
which the actor himself was intended to fill up at his
pleasure.3 This could be traced back to the sixteenth cen
tury, and from being at first only an extempore dialogue
between a quack and his fellow, assumed by degrees the
form of a comedy. The pieces were not written before
hand, but a certain character was assigned to each actor.
This gave rise to the invention of the masks of pantaloon,
the doctor, and harlequin, and columbine,4 who, as they
always preserved the same characters, found them all the
more easy to support. An actor who was always a pantaloon
or a harlequin, was habitually prepared to play his part, so

1 Dramatic Literature, Schlegel, 304. 'Idem, 304. 'Sismondi, i, 348.
lIdem, 414, 415,

EUROPEAN ART. 469
that a mere sketch, a bare outline, was all he required,
with the liberty of putting a finish to his natural humor ,
in his own way. These outline performances prevailed
during the whole of the seventeenth, and the greatest part
of the eighteenth century, and were carried from Italy into
France. The reform introduced by Goldoni consisted in substi
tuting his own written productions in the place of the
extempore performances of the actors, but at the same
time contriving to approach as near to the comedies of art
as he possibly could.1 He retained in many of his plays
all the masks of Italian comedy, leaving each in the pos
session of the character assigned to him by tradition.
The Italians regard him as having carried the dramatic
art in Italy to its highest point of perfection. He remained
almost exclusively in possession of the comic stage. He
had sufficient fertility of invention to supply him with sub
jects for his comic muse, and also great facility of compo
sition. His dialogue was animated, earnest, and full of
meaning. He possessed a very complete knowledge of
the national manners, and the rare faculty of giving a
lively representation of them on the stage. His pictures
of manners, although true, are not much elevated above
the range of every day life. He had also an exquisite
relish of Italian humor, which delights in amusing pictures
"of absurdity, and in the genius of the buffoon.
Other comedians subsequently appeared in Italy, but
none whom it seems necessary to mention. The tragic
muse that had scarcely taken a step in advance since the
Merope of Maffei, at length found in Alfieri a person
worthy of her full inspiration. This remarkable man Wrote
from the impulse of his own soul. His vivid emotions
flowed from his feelings not from his imagination. He did
not substitute himself in the place of his hero, and then
write and act in accordance with the various impressions
by which he felt himself impressed. On the contrary, he

i, i, 416.

470 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
remains always himself, and hence has less variety of inci
dent, and often degenerates into monotony.
He has, nevertheless, done a great work for Italian
tragedy. He found the Italian drama inferior to thaf of
any other European nation. He invoked the spirit of the
great French tragedians, and seizing upon the properties
of the French drama, art, unity, singleness of subject, and
probability, he united them to the sublimity of situation
and character,1 and the important events of the Greek
theatre, and to the profound thought and sentiment of the
English stage. Rescuing tragedy from the saloons of
courts, he aimed to give it perfect freedom in the develop
ment of all its hidden resources. He regarded the gallantry
of romances,2 the effeminacy of pastorals, the point of
honor of chivalry, as so many masks imposed upon nature,
which concealed from view, all true feelings and passions.
These masks he tore away, and has attempted to exhibit
man on the stage in his real greatness and true relations.
He also rejected most of the machinery that had found
employment upon the stage, such as departed spirits, thun
der and lightning, celestial interference, love letters, crosses,
funeral , piles, locks of hair,3 and other things of a similar
character, that had so often appeared upon the stage. He
introduced the action by lively and passionate dialogue,
and, where it was possible, placed the catastrophe under the
eyes of the spectator, terminating the action on the stage.
His tragedies are monotonous, characters of the same class
being mingled together, and many times those of different
classes bearing a strong resemblance to each other. This
could not easily be avoided, as every character was a trans
cript of his own mind. His method of explaining events
and the passions and views of bis characters, was by solilo
quies, which afford us an insight into the hearts of the
personages. One great feature observable about all his tragedies was
uniformity. The structure of one afforded a specimen of

' Sismondi, I, 456. "Idem, 457. » Idem, 461.

EUROPEAN ART. 471
that of all, as they all appear to be formed upon the same
model, which he seems to have had constantly before his
eyes. He observed generally the unity of place, and al
ways that of action with the most scrupulous rigor.
He differed from all his predecessors in his style. In
stead of being harmonious, soft, and flexible ; abounding in
ornament and brilliant images, his was characterized by
harshness, hardness and abruptness. He avoided orna
ment and figurative expression ; was sententious and la
conic ; the most close and concise of poets, never admitting
an inefficient line. His style, however, was not uniform
throughout. His dramas have been distributed into three
classes, distinguished by the period of their publication, as
also by the various alterations made to suit the successive
changes in his system.
Alfieri effected a great change in the Italian drama.
Before his time the theatre in Italy had long been consi
dered the school of intrigue, of languor, of effeminacy, and
of servility. It was too much like the French drama
under Louis XIV. " Superficial splendor without depth ;
prosaic sentiments and thoughts decked out with a choice
poetical language ; a courtly moderation in everything,
in the display of passion,1 and in the exhibition of misfor
tune and crime ; the pomp of noble sentiments closely fol
lowed by traits of baseness, perpetrated with levity." The
sudden appearance of Alfieri awoke the Italian mind to. the
consciousness of a higher life. He attempted to throw off
the yoke under which the human intellect had labored, and
every high minded Italian felt united to him by the bonds
of mutual sympathy. He inspired a taste for the noblest
species of tragedy,2 and mingled with it the love of glory-
and liberty. He struck a chord in the Italian heart, and
its response was cheering. The first Italians now regarded
the theatre as the muse of mental vigor, honor and public
virtue. They united in applauding the elevation, nobleness

1 Lectures on Dramatic Literature, I, 306. ' Sismondi, n, 5.

472 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
and energy of Alfieri's sentiments, and opinions burst forth
like the long suppressed voice of public feeling.

The Spanish Drama.
The riches of the Spanish drama contrasts strongly with
the poverty of the Italian. Spain, however, could boast a
capital city, a class of nobility and at one period a national
prestige second to no other in Europe. It was not until
the sixteenth century, the reign -of Charles V, that the
Spanish drama began to flourish.1 In the beginning of
that century appears Torres Naharro, the inventor of the
Spanish comedy. He wrote in the romance style, and en
deavored to establish the dramatic interest on an ingenious
combination of intrigues, without much reference to the
development of character, or the moral tendency of the
story. He first divided plays into three acts, called jornadas,
being regarded as three days' labor in the dramatic field.
The Spanish national drama not only derived from him its
commencement, but also traveled onward in the direction
which he gave it until its culmination in the works of
Calderon. There was in the Spanish drama no servile imitation
of the ancients. A new course in dramatic literature was
struck out.2 What particularly distinguished the Spanish
drama was invention, grace, ingenious arrangement, and
a certain art of involving and unraveling the plot. To
satisfy the popular taste was required the most varied mix
ture of the serious and the comic, of intrigues, sallies of
the imagination and ingenious thoughts, of surprises and
animated situations. But the taste of the grave Spaniard
demanded nothing of moral effect from their drama.3 Why
was this ? Because the ecclesiastical fetters which bound
down the conscience, afforded so little freedom to the mind,
that he could not endure moral reflection on the stage.

1 Bouterwek, I, 277, 285. 'Idem, 291. 'Idem, 295.

EUROPEAN ART. 473
As a good catholic Christian, he could submit implicitly
his understanding to the doctrines and mandates of the
church ; but as a man, he longed for amusements in which
his heart might revel u'nconfined, with no moral thought
to remind him of the inquisition.
It may be owing to this strong reaction and protest of
the human mind against the slavery thus imposed upon it,
that everything in the way of amusement, whether it be
a bull fight or a theatrical performance, has been so greedily
seized upon by the Spaniard. Possessed of an ardent and
enthusiastic temperament, which a genial climate was ever
constantly increasing, he was always eager to partake of
pleasures which no king or grand inquisitor could disturb.
Hence he demanded a dramatic entertainment in which
the wildest revels of the imagination and a succession of
joyous and luxuriant forms could agitate and interest the
mind,1 and free it from all the fetters of maxims and rules
of art. He sought in the theatre a variegated ideal world,
a diversified picture of romantic existence, and one in ,
which the sterner realities of the life he was leading had
very little, if anything, to do.
The first advances of the dramatic art in Spain were
made in the last half of the sixteenth century ; and it
ceased to flourish with the end of the seventeenth. The
various epochs Of formation and development of the Span
ish drama may be designated from the names of three
Spanish writers, Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and Calderon.
The first mentioned of these, more celebrated as the
author of Don Quixote, was born in poverty and obscurity
in 1549. He had witnessed in his youth the commence
ment of the dramatic art in Spain ; its poverty and want
of theatrical decorations. Before giving to the world his
Don Quixote he wrote several plays from twenty to thirty
in number, of which his Numantia and Life in Algiers
are the principal. The conception of the former is in the
style of the boldest pathos, while the execution is vigorous

'Bouterwek, I, 296.
vii] 60

474 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION. >
and dignified. In the fall of Numantia he sought to unite"
the tragic with the marvelous. He formed his idea of
tragedy upon the models of the ancients, but he felt no
inclination to imitate the Greek forms. Accordingly, the
Numantia is written in conformity with no rules except
those which he prescribed to himself.1 It is divided into
four acts, and is without the introduction of a chorus.
The dialogue is in tersets, redondillas, and octaves, and
the tragic interest is gradually heightened to the close of
the piece.
Cervantes claims to have been the first to represent the
phantoms of the imagination,2 and the hidden thoughts of
the soul, by introducing figures of them upon the stage.
These allegorical personages were intended by him as. a
substitute for the chorus of the ancients, and like it were
designed to represent the course of providence or fate, as
linked with human actions. Thus famine and . sickness
appear in the Numantia, and occasion or necessity in the
Life in Algiers. These allegorical figures, being mere
metaphysical abstractions, are entirely contrary to the
taste of the present day, as they destroy at once the illu
sion, vivacity, and interest of the drama ; but he sought
by means of giving them the most elevated language, and
by the magic of lyrical poetry,3 and the employment of the
boldest figures, to give us an idea of the corresponding
progress of the universe, and of the designs of providence.
A little later than the birth of Cervantes, and in 1562,
was born at Madrid, Lope de Vega. The former had
originated the idea of a grand and severe style of tragedy,4
but after the appearance of the latter, neither tragedy nor
comedy, properly speaking, were to be found. Their
place on the Spanish stage was usurped by novels and
romances. A Spanish comedy is properly a dramatic
novel. Its interest may be either of a tragic, comic, or
historical nature, or it may be purely poetical. While the
spirit of the Italian drama was conventional, that of the

' Bouterwek, i, 353. ' Sismondi, n, 184. 'Idem, 204. 4 Idem, 256.

EUROPEAN ART. ' 475
Spanish was intensely national. As the liberty which the
Spaniard had once enjoyed was lost, he invoked chivalry in
its place, and became romantic when it was no longer in
his power to be heroic. Hence the point of honor came
to supply the place of patriotism, and romance that of
reality. Although the Spanish comedy was not created by Lope
de Vega, yet his inexhaustible fancy and the fascinating
ease of his animated composition gave to it that character
by which it was long distinguished. He fixed for a century
and a half the spirit and style of the different varieties of
the Spanish drama,1 his successors merely improving on
the models which he had created. The Spanish taste re
quired something constantly exciting to keep up an interest.
Hence the dramatic works of Lope de Vega exhibit in the
first place a character of great changeability.2 In them,
stories of country and city life are clothed in romantic
poetic colors, and blended with the interesting inventions
of a bold and irregular fancy, without any distinction be
tween the gay and the serious, or the comic and the tragic.
His writings are divided into heroic and historical comedies
which were mostly taken from the annals and traditions
of Spain, his spiritual plays, and his comedies of real life,
or as they were called " of the cloak and the sword." It is
in these last that we find a second peculiarity by which he
was enabled to satisfy the Spanish taste. Being selected
from the sphere of fashionable life, they exhibited the
manners of the age, and were performed in the costume of
the times.- What peculiarly distinguishes them is great
complication of plot, and a spirit of intrigue which tho
roughly pervades them. The different scenes are made to
succeed each other in rapid succession,3 with very little
reference to their probability. Ingenious complication is
with him the central point in the interest of his situations.
He seems to set himself afloat upon a sea of intrigue, with
out having in advance unraveled all the intricacies of his

1 Bouterwek, I, 364. * Idem, 365. s Idem, 375.

476 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
plot, and trusting to the resources of his ingenuity to carry
it satisfactorily through. Accordingly intrigues are twisted
and entwined together, until, to bring his piece to a con
clusion, he is often obliged, without ceremony, to cut the
knot which he is totally unable to untie. In the end he
usually brings as many couples together as he can by any
possible contrivance match. The Spanish maxim then was
that " love excuses everything," and hence the intrigues
into which his heroes and heroines are made to plunge;
allow free scope to be given to the basest artifice and
perfidy. His characters in this class are generally the
same, the old man, the lover, the young lady, with a suita
ble number of servants and waiting women, are the stand
ing characters which are constantly introduced with no
variety, except in the situations. But they are always
drawn in such animated colors as to keep alive the interest.
The Widow of Valencia is cited as an instance in illustra^
tion. His spiritual comedies afford a picture of the religious
notions of the Spaniard in the age in which he lived. -In
these the purest piety, according to catholic ideas, is
widely blended with the most contradictory chimeras, and
all ennobled by the boldest flights of imagination. In
these, miracles keep alive the interest, and supply the place
of intrigue in his comedies of real life. His lives of the
saints are the most irregular. Here are allegorical charac
ters, buffoons, saints, peasants, students, kings, God, the
infant Jesus, the devil, and all the most heterogeneous
beings that the wildest imagination could bring together.
The scenes in the drama of Lope de Vega are always
opened by some imposing events,1 which forcibly attracts
and captivates the attention of the spectator. His perform
ers proceed to action immediately on their entering the
stage, and he discloses their characters more fully by their
conduct than by a recital of anterior occurrences. Our
curiosity is awakened and kept up by the rapidity of action;

1 Sismondi, n, 259.

EUROPEAN ART. 477
the muliplicity of events, the increasing confusion, and by
the utter impossibility of foreseeing the development. His
historical dramas do not resemble those of Shakespeare.
They are not selections from the great events of the state
so as to form a political drama ; but romantic intrigues are
connected with the most glorious occurrences in the records
of Spain, and in them romance is so interwoven with his
tory that eulogies on the heroes of his nation become an
essential and inseparable part of his poems.
In his pictures of Spanish manners, two things are ob
servable : The one is the extreme susceptibility of Spanish
honor.1 The slightest coquetry of mistress, wife, or sister,
can only be obliterated by blood. This extreme of jealousy
was of eastern origin, and derived through the Moors.
The other is the consecration of their lives to gallantry.
Every individidual is enamoured of some woman who is
not in his power, and is ever entering into the most indeli
cate intrigues to gratify his passions. The age of chivalry
has not passed away. The most virtuous heroines made
assignations in the night-time, at their chamber windows ;
they receive and write billets, and go out masked to meet
their lovers in the house of a third person. His plays dis-"
cover in the national character a disregard for the life of
others, and a criminal indifference for evil, since it can be
so easily expiated by the church.
The age of Lope de Vega seems specially devoted to the
rise and progress of dramatic art. It was during this pe
riod (1562-1635) that the only dramatic attempts of which
Italy has reason, to boast before those of Alfieri,2 appeared.
In France appeared Gamier, and in 1606 the great Cor-
neille. In England, Shakespeare was born two years after
Lope de Vega, and died nineteen years before him.
Another great name in the dramatic art of Spain is that
of Calderon, who was born in 1600, thirty-five years before
the death of Lope de Vega, whom he survived more than
half a century,3 laying down the burden of life in his eighty-

1 Sismondi, n 260. ' Idem, 262. ' Bouterwek, i, 502.

478 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
seventh year. He was not behind his great competitor ia
the invention of new combinatious of intrigue,1 ingenious
complexities of plot, and interesting situations. Although
the invention of Lope may be bolder, yet that of Calderon
was more refined both in conception and execution. He
gave the last polish to the Spanish drama with delicate.
art without changing its nature.
The dramas of Calderon have been divided into four1
classes, viz : pictures Of social life and manners ; historical
pieces; mythological, or drawn from some poetical source;
and representations of sacred history, from scripture or
legends. In those of the first class, especially those of the
"cloak and the sword," the plots are usually of a very compli
cated nature, rendering it extremely difficult to follow the
various threads of the intrigue, by the artful entanglement
of which the principal characters of the piece are repeat
edly plunged from one unexpected embarrassment into
another.2 He particularly excelled in the accumulation of
surprises, in connecting one difficult situtation with another,
and in maintaining undiminished the strongly excited inte
rest to the close of the piece. He appears to have estimated
the merits of his dramas of intrigue by the effect produced
by the situations, and hence he was the more an inventor
the less he introduced variety into his characters. The
motives on which he makes the plot to turn are a licentious
gallantry, in which no moral interest is permitted to mix,
and a point of honor which gives rise to incessant contests. .
The latter in all these dramas is very delicate, and supplies
the place of morality.
Calderon undoubtedly should be placed among the poets
of the richest and most original fancy,3 and of the most-
attractive and brilliant style. He was, however, the true
poet of the inquisition, and too often disfigures Christianity
by assigning to it ferocious passions and corrupt morals.
He lived to see a mannerism predominate in the arts and
a prosaic direction given to literature.4 He reached the

'Bouterwek, i, 503. 'Idem, 505. ' Sismondi, n, 328. 'Idem, 321.

EUROPEAN ART. 479
highest pinnacle of romantic poetry, but " seems affected
with that malady of genius which forms an epoch in every
literature on the extinction of good taste, an epoch which
.commenced in Rome with Lucan,1 in Italy with the poets
of the sixteenth century; which distinguished in France
the Hotel de Rambouillet, which prevailed in England.
under the reign of Charles H, and which all persons have
agreed to condemn as a perversion of taste."
With Calderon expires the progress of the Spanish
drama. Other dramatic writers appeared and wrote'plays
for performance at the theatre. But in a brief sketch they
are undeserving of notice. When in the commencement
of the eighteenth century the power and the arts of Louis
33V imposed a Bourbon upon the Spanish throne in the
person of Philip V, the French drama furnished models
for the Spanish, and the old national spirit died out in the
efforts made by the Spanish theatre to equal, as far as
possible, the foreign models.

The French Drama.
The period at which the French theatre attained its
highest point of culmination, was that of Louis XIV, in
the last half of the seventeenth century. There are four
great names upon which the character and fame of the
French drama principally repose, viz : Corn eille, Racine,
Voltaire, and Moliere. The three first have developed the
tragic, and the last the comic features of that drama.
Pierre Corneille was born at Rouen in 1606, and in
1635, appeared his first tragedy, Medea, in which a
single passage of intense power and simple expression,
" announced the advent of Corneille." The year follow
ing appeared the Cid, which constituted an era in the
dramatic history of France, and established forever the
reputation of Corneille. Several others, as Horace, Cinna,

1 Sismondi, n, 323,

480 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Polyeuete, followed in rapid succession, and carried the
fame of Corneille to its highest pinnacle. He has been
called the father of the French drama, and has been as
signed the same position in France that Shakespeare occu
pies in England. He excelled not so much in tenderness,
in dramatic construction, or in the art Of moving the
passions. But he surpassed in grandeur, in distinct iden
tity of character, and in compressing a vast amount of
matter into a very few words. His reputation rests exclu
sively on his tragedies, and in these he is quite unequal,
suffering more, it has been said, by comparison with him
self, than when viewed in conjunction with any other
writer. Of his thirty-two dramas, not more than four or
five retain possession of the stage.
The tragic muse in France next found an embodiment
in Jean Racine, who was born in 1639, and whose glory
commenced with his Andromache, in 1667. This showed
that he had great skill in the management of a plot, as
also in the display of emotion, and in the exercise of power
over the sympathy of the spectator. Next appeared his
Britannicus, in 1669, in which the twin sisters of tragedy,
terror and pity, are invoked, to contribute their aid to
the outpouring of the tragic muse.1 It is to these that
Aristotle has assigned the great moral office of purifying
the passions. Then follows Berenice, Mithridates, Iphi-
genia, and some others, until, after a temporary retire
ment from the drama, he reappeared in 1691, with "his
Athalie, which, by general consent, exceeds all his other
tragedies in the grandeur, simplicity, and interest of the
fable, in dramatic terror, in theatrical effect, in clear and
judicious management, in bold and forcible, rather than
in subtle delineation of character, and in sublime sentiment
and imagery.2
Racine gave the greatest beauty to his female characters.
He endowed them with the ideal grace and harmony of
ancient sculpture. In his Andromache, Monimia, and

1 Hallam, in, 259. ' Idem, 263.

EUROPEAN ART. 481
Iphigenia,1 are exhibited the ennobling and purifying of
human passions. They are clothed with the highest forms
of excellence.
While the strength, power, and impetuosity of Corneille
have distinguished him as the Homer of France, the
accuracy and serene majesty of Racine have secured to
him the appellation of the French Virgil. In refinement,
in delineating the passion of love truthfully, and in har
mony of versification, Racine is unequaled. It is said
that no one has enriched the language with a greater
number of turns of phrase, that no one is bold with more
felicity and discretion, or figurative, with more grace and
propriety.2 That no one has better understood delicacy of
style, or better managed the variety of cadence, the re
sources of rhythm, and the association and deduction of
ideas. After Corneille and Racine the theatre had remained
vacant. At length appears the last of the great tragic
writers, Voltaire. Born in 1694, he put forth his first
tragedy GMipus at the age of twenty-four, which brought
forth the exclamation from La Morte, that " Corneille and
Racine had found a successor." Afterwards followed
Brutus, the Death of Csesar, Zaire, Alzire, Mahomet,
Merope, and several others.
Voltaire is unequal to Corneille in dramatic invention
and sublimity,3 and inferior to Racine in the judicious
management of the action, in justness of thought, and in
perfect execution. He follows the maxim of striking
vigorously rather than justly, and endeavors to comprehend
everything in emotion. Instead of entering into his cha
racters, like Corneille and Racine, he substitutes himself
for them. He does not excel in truly representing man
ners.4 His diction wants purity of thought. His style
is often inflated, but it is admirable for its copiousness,
freedom, and easy and noble manner. Its rhythm is not
skillful, and its harmony little studied, but his fancy is

'Hallam, m, 264.. 'Idem, 265. 'Vernet, 270. 'Idem, 472.
Vii] 61

482 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
brilliant, his progress easy and rapid, and coloring pos
sesses magical charms. His ease has been termed the'
" grace of genius." J He has a free and flowing eloquence,
and a pathos which penetrates the heart, and is painful even
to the feelings. He draws from its greatest depths the
feeling of pity. He succeeds well in inspiring sympathy
for his characters. Although, as we shall presently see,
he introduced many changes which may be claimed as
improvements in the French theatre, yet he is now neg
lected and unknown, his laurels having withered, while
those of Racine are still fresh and green. ,
An important inquiry here arises in relation to the system
of tragic art followed by these great tragedians, and the
sway which it has exercised over the French drama. This
system is derived essentially from the ancients. The
French commenced the imitation of the ancients at a very
early period, and adopted the principle that in order to
succeed, they must observe the strictest outward regularity
of form, and this form they derived more from Aristotle,
and from Seneca, than from the Greek models themselves.
In this the far-famed three unities, of action, time,~ and
place, were required to be strictly observed. Corneille,
however, both knew and loved the Spanish theatre, and
borrowed from it the subject of one of his best tragedies,
the Cid. This is not only animated throughout by the
spirit of chivalrous love and honor, but it violates con
siderably the unity of place, if not also that of time. But
his contemporaries were very uniformly of the opinion that
a tragedy must be framed accurately according to the rules
of Aristotle. These rules embodying the three unities
have always been adhered to by the French tragedians, and
have proved a bed of Procrustes to French tragedy. The
unity of action has always been admitted, but the difficulty
has been to settle upon its meaning.2 Action in its higher
proper signification means an activity dependent on the
will of man. " Its unity will consist in the direction to-

1 Vernet, 273. 'Schlegel, i, 338.

EUROPEAN ART. 483
wards one sole aim ; and to its completion belongs all that .
lies between the first determination, and the execution of
the deed." x Thus Corneille assumed that this unity con
sists " in comedy, in the unity of the intrigue, or the
obstacle to the views of the principal persons; and in
tragedy, in the unity of the danger, whether the hero sinks
under or extricates himself from it." He maintained that
several dangers in tragedy, and several intrigues or
obstacles in comedy, may be allowable when necessarily
connected with each other. There is another 'deeper
and more comprehensive idea of unity, viz : that all
the separate parts of a tragedy, like the mechanical
unity of a watch, or the organical unity of a "plant, are
subservient to one common aim, namely to produce a joint
impression on the mind.2 Thus by means of comprehen
sive generalizations the unity of action is very little
restrictive in its influence upon dramatic genius.
, The unities of time and place were more difficult to com
ply with. Aristotle intimates with respect to the former,
that it seeks as far as possible to circumscribe itself within
one revolution of the sun, or to exceed it very little. That
appears to have been the limit of the Greek tragedians.
Corneille finding the rule inconvenient was for extending
the duration of the action to thirty hours. Others have
insisted that the representation of the action,3 and the time
of its actual performance should be identical. This is on
the supposition that it is necesary to create an illusion on
the part of the hearer, thus confounding the representa
tion with the reality. But in that case the terrors of
tragedy would be a torture which the hearer could not
endure. The ancients generally had a continuous course of action
in the constant presence of the chorus. When in modern
times the chorus was excluded, the division into acts,
usually five in number, was adopted. In the modern tragedy
the lyrical part,4 which created a pause in the action was

:,i, 342. "Idem, 344. 'Idem, 347. l Idem, 358.

484 HISTORY. OF CIVILIZATION.
also omitted. The gaps arising from the leaving out of
the lyrical parts must now be filled up by intrigue. With
the Greeks the action rolls on without interruption to its
determination, but the Frfench are obliged to introduce
secondary characters, whose opposite views may give rise
to a multitude of impeding incidents, in order that our
attention may be kept up to the close. As intrigues are
in their nature expeditious, the chances of failure being
' increased by their continuance, their use was well calcu
lated to effect the short duration of an important action.
But it is obvious that in adhering to the unity of time, the
French tragedians must renounce all those effects which pro^- ;
ceed from the gradually accelerated growth of any object
in the mind, or in the external world, through the course
of time. The stow developments of history but ill accord
with the rapidity with which events must succeed each-
other on the French stage. Hence the historical element
so largely entering into the composition of the British
drama is almost, or entirely, excluded from the French.
The unity of place is very unsatisfactorily observed by
the French tragedians, as well as by all who follow the same
system of rules.1 The scene, it is true, is not changed, but
things follow one another which do not usually happen in
the same place.
Corneille and Racine flourished during the reign of
Louis XIV. In his time "the traditionary belief respecting
the most important concerns of humanity remained undis
turbed ; and in poetry, the object was not so much to enrich
the mind, as to form it by means of a 'free and noble
entertainment."2 But the demand for novelty presses
strongly on the French- mind, and hence the advent of .
Voltaire. His first appearance 011 the theatre in his early
youth, followed close upon the age of Louis XTV, and
heralds a new epoch in French tragedy. His predecessors,
Corneille and Racine, had thrown their whole soul into
dramatic poetry. Their specialty was the drama. Voltaire

:, i, 367. ' Idem, n, 2.

EUROPEAN ART. 485
laid claim to universality of talent. He was not alone a
dramatist, but also a philosopher, historian, rhetorician,
sophist, wit and buffoon. This universality of his genius,
while it may have increased his resources, at the same time
rendered him more superficial. He was perpetually making
experiments in the dramatic art, and at different times
availed himself of totally different means for effect.
Voltaire introduced upon the French stage some real
improvements.1 He extended the domain of the tragic
affections. Previous to his time, ambition and love almost
solely occupied the stage. He introduced the experiment
of composing tragedies without love, such as Merope, and
the Death of Caesar.
Another one of his merits is that he extended the field
of ideas peculiar to tragedy. His predecessors, Corneille
and Racine, had had no higher beau ideal than the court.
With them the highest style of man was reared and nurtured
amid the gay circles of the Grand Monarque. Voltaire was
a philosopher, and viewed man from a different stand point.
He regarded him as man, as being above the prince, above
society, as being, in fact, the author of both. He introduced
into tragedy the idea of humanity, and in that respect did
an essential service to the drama.
Another change introduced by him was to consecrate
the tragic stage to national remembrances. Corneille has
made a favorable commencement in selecting the Cid as
• the subject of his first tragedy. But both he and Racine
had very universally gone back to classic lands both for
their rules and subjects. Voltaire brought to the stage
the middle age and France. He introduced subjects never
before attempted, as in his Zaire, Alzire, Mahomet, Semi-
ramus, and Tancred.2 And on these his fame as a dramatic
poet principally rests. He could not, however, proclaim
Ms independence of the unities, nor could he escape from
the sustained pomp of language, nor the theatrical man
ners so effectually domiciled upon the French stage.

1 Vinet, 270. 'Schlegel, n, 32.

486 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
While the French appear to have considered their tra
gedy as the most brilliant part of their literature, it is
remarkable that few of their numerous tragical attempts
have succeeded. While about a thousand tragedies have
been acted or printed since the death of Racine,1 about
thirty only, besides those of Voltaire, have kept possession
of the theatre.
The French have one great comedian to present in the
person of Moliere, who was born in 1620, and died in.
1673. He was the ornament of the reign of Louis XTV,
in whom he found an unfailing friend and protector from
the many assaults of his bitter enemies.. Born and edu
cated in an inferior rank, he enjoyed early opportunities
of learning the modes of life and expression among the
common people, while his later experiences in the service
of Louis XIV, enabled him to observe narrowly those of
the court.
One of the great objects of comedy is to expose vice
and folly by means of ridicule. Its perfection does not
consist so much in the mere reproduction of the scenes of
common life as in the selection of the ludicrous traits so
as to develop, with the greatest effect, either a character
or a plot. The ridiculous, which is the material of comedy,
has existed more or less in all ages, and Moliere in his
time found it in great abundance. He possessed great
acuteness of observation and power of discrimination, with
a knowledge of the human heart, and great accuracy in-
painting it. He had also a fund of good sense, and an
exquisite perception of the ridiculous. In Le Tartuffe,
which is generally considered his masterpiece, he depicts
in more brilliant colors than ever before, the oily, sancti
monious, sensual hypocrite, the consummate villain under
the disguise of religion. His Les Precieuses Ridicules
was leveled at a coterie of women of rank, who were in
the habit of meeting daily or nightly at the Hotel de Ram-
bouillet, and from thence to issue those bulletins which

' Schlegel, n, 5.

EUROPEAN ART. 487
were to guide all those who made any pretensions to bon
ton. They spoke unlike others in a way extremely af
fected, and presented so many ridiculous points, that
Moliere was enabled to set all Paris laughing at them.
The great excellence of Moliere lay in the delineation
of character rather than in the expression of passion, and
this it was that contributed to give him his superiority
in the comic department of the drama. Of the characters
he introduces, those are the best which make the least
departure from native simplicity. Love is an agent the
most universally introduced in his plays, sometimes pure
and unmixed, at other times superinduced upon some
other passion, but almost always the ruling one. He does
not appear to devote much study to the probability of occur
rences, and in this respect shows himself a true comedian,
for the drama has been called a " fairy land where we
willingly submit to the wand of the enchanter, rather
expecting what is wonderful, than requiring what is true."
Moliere has furnished admirable portraits of the men
and women of the age of Louis XIV. It is true his art
reached no further than to furnish admirable delineations
of the characters of those by whom he was surrounded.
He presented things as they really were, but he was want
ing in that creative ideality " which bodies forth the forms
of things unknown." He not only painted truthfully in
dividual character, but he also grouped it on the canvas
with great dramatic effect. He ranks secon d only to Aristo
phanes and Shakespeare in the comic literature of the
stage. As Voltaire was the last great French tragedian so was
Moliere the first and last great comedian. Either from
the fact that the French drama has been so hedged round
by rules, or so fettered by restrictions, as to prevent its
free ahd natural development, or from other causes, neither
its tragic nor its comic part has found any illustrious name
under whom it could flourish, since the period of Voltaire
and Moliere.

488 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.

The German Drama.

The German theatre in all that properly constitutes the
drama, is the youngest of any in Europe. It is true there
were rude beginnings of the drama in Germany as in other
parts of Europe, and the works of Hans Sachs, printed as
early as 1578, and reprinted in 1606, contain one hundred
and ninety-seven dramas. These were both tragedies and
comedies, the latter being mostly coarse satires on the
. times. The want of originality in the German muse led
to translations from the French, and also, to some extent,
from the Damsh of Holberg. These, with a few German
imitations of a feeble nature, constituted the dramatic
literature of Germany, until the appearance of Lessing,
Goethe, and Schiller. These are the three great names-
contributed by Germany to dramatic art. Of these three,
Lessing was born in 1729, Goethe in 1749, and Schiller
in 1759. But Goethe enjoyed much the longest lease of
life, continuing until his eighty-third year.
- Lessing was largely instrumental in diminishing the
French influence, and in giving to his countrymen a national
theatre. This he accomplished more by his criticism than
by his dramatic writings. In the year 1767, he commenced
the publication of a journal entitled Dramaturgie, which
was devoted to theatrical criticism, and in which he exa
mined most'of the pieces translated from the French, which
were then acted in Germany. This afforded him an oppor
tunity of entering more closely into the consideration of
the theatre. He displayed great wit and acuteness in his
criticisms, and so bold and successful were his attacks upon
the French taste in the tragical department, that shortly
after its publication commenced, the translations of French
tragedies, and the German tragedies modeled after them,
disappeared from the stage. He was acquainted with the
works of Shakespeare, and recommended them to his
countrymen. He believed that the strict regularity of the

, - EUROPEAN ART. 489
French tragedies was an obstacle to the adoption of a great
many simple and affecting subjects, and that new dramas,
constructed more upon the principles of Shakespeare,
must be invented to admit them.
Lessing did not profess to be a poet, and produced but
few dramatic works. In those produced he shows the ori
ginality of his character. The form was not essentially
variant from previous dramas, although he troubled him
self little about the unity of time and place. The Minna
Von Barnhelm in point of form holds a middle place be
tween the French and English manner, while the spirit
of the invention, and the social tone portrayed in it, are
peculiarly German.1 There have been observed in the
principal characters of his dramas a certain family likeness,
thus creating the impression that instead of entering into
his characters and painting them, he has painted himself.
The drama which is in form more free and comprehen
sive than any other of the works of Lessing, and one of the
most nearly approaching the drama of Shakespeare, is that
entitled Nathan the Wise. He wrote it with a view to
laugh at theologists, and the principles of religious tolera
tion are distinctly and strongly set forth.
Lessing seems unacquainted with the rights of poetical
imitation, and wished in dialogue, as well as everything
else, a naked copy of nature.2 He failed to discover the
principle in the theory of dramatic art, that the more
nearly the forms of imitation employed by the poet
approach to real life, the milder should be the distress,
and the more probable the incidents.3 " It is only," says,
one, " when verse or recitative is employed for the dia
logue, when the heroes or divinities of remote ages and
countries are introduced as interlocutors ; when the subli
mities of poetry are omnipresent; that deeds of a bold enor
mity, and atrocities at which madness would shudder, can
be securely copied. That in proportion as the means of
imitation intercept illusion may be the force of the emo-

1 Schlegel, n, 374. ' Idem, 374. ' Taylor's German Poetry, i, 389.
vn] 62.

490 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
tions portrayed. For want of this precaution, Lessing has
adapted violent situations to ordinary manners, and disap
points sympathy by the very means intended to push it to
the utmOst."
Schiller and Goethe have been so fully considered while
on the subject of German poetry, that, but little is required
to be said in this connection. Of these two Goethe, was
the earlier, and his works and influence probably had an
effect upon the mind of Schiller. The former at a very
early period wrote and published his Gotz Von Berlichin-
gen, in which he practiced Lessing's principles of nature
and broke away from all the restraints of arbitrary rules1
by which dramatic poetry had previously been governed.
It was nOt so much an imitation of Shakespeare as it was
the outgrowth of an inspiration excited in a kindred mind
by a creative genius. He never seems to have had the
representation on the stage in his eye. He wished to have
no circumlocution, but to exhibit the very thing itself.
He thus brings to our ear the tone of a remote age in a
manner which carries with it a sufficient degree of illusion.
He brings strongly before our minds the old German cor
diality, and in a few powerful strokes, represents the conflict
between a departing and a commencing age; between that
of rude but powerful independence, and the succeeding
one of political tameness.
It would seem to have been the great object of Goethe
to give new poetical animation to his age, and in doing
this, he was indifferent as to the form, although he has
generally signified his preference for the dramatic.2 At a
subsequent period he endeavored to effect a reconciliation
between his views of art and the common dramatic forms.
In his Iphigenia he expressed the spirit of the antique
tragedy, more especially with relation to repose, perspi
cuity, and ideality. In his Tasso he applied a historical
anecdote to mark the general signification of the contrast
between a court and a poetical life. His Egmont is a

* Schlegel, n, 380. " Idem, 381, 382.

EUROPEAN ART. 491
romantic and historical drama, the style of which steers a
middle course between his first manner in Gotz, and the
form of Shakespeare. His Triumph of Sentimentality is -
a very ingenious satire upon his own imitators. Goethe's
Faust has been already mentioned.1
Goethe is admitted to have possessed the dramatic talent
in a high degree, but the theatrical in a much less degree.
He was more successful in effecting his object by tender
development than by rapid external motion. His delight
was in the play of those internal forces that instinctively
shun the public gaze, rather than in those powerful passions
that seek the largest theatre of exhibition. Hence he was
dramatic without being theatrical. "The strongest and
most overpowering pathos is to be found in Egmont, but
the conclusion of this tragedy is altogether removed from
the external world into the province of an ideal music of.
the soul."2
Before the advent of Goethe, familiar comedies, melo
dramas, and grand spectacles were represented in Germany,
which were filled with horses and knights. Goethe seems
to have been desirous of bringing back literature to the
severity of ancient times, and his Iphigenia may well be
regarded as the chef-d'oeuvre of the classical style of drama
among the Germans.3 " This tragedy recalls the sort of
impression which we receive in contemplating Grecian sta
tues ; the action of it is so commanding, and yet so tran
quil, that even when the situation of the personages is
changed, there is always in them a sort of dignity which
fixes the recollection of every moment on the memory."
Almost all the works of Goethe are alleged to have been
composed on different systems.4 Sometimes he abandons
himself wholly to passion, as in Werther and Count Eg
mont ; at other times his fugitive poetry sets all the chords
of imagination in vibration ; again he gives as historical facts
with the most scrupulous truth, as in Goetz Von Berlich-
ingen ; at another time he has all the simplicity of ancient

'Schlegel, n, 383. ' Idem, 386. s De Stael's Germany, n, 351. * Idem, 360.

492 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
times, as in Herman and Dorothea. In fine, he plunges
himself with Faust into the stormy whirlwinds of life ; then,
all at once, in Tasso, the Natural Daughter, and even in
Iphigenia, he considers the dramatic art as a monument
erected among tombs. His works have then the fine forms,
the splendor and dazzling whiteness of marble, but like it,
they are also cold and inanimate."
Schiller was possessed of qualities enabling him at once
to produce a strong effect on the multitude, and on minds
of a nobler description. His earliest works were composed
while he was yet young and unacquainted with the world.
While bold and daring he was influenced by the models of
Lessing, and by the earlier labors of Goethe and Shake
speare. These early works were the Robbers, Cabal and
Love, and Fiesco. These are all three works which the
principles of art as well as those of morality may condemn'.
The first mentioned first appeared on the stage at Man-
heim, and the sensation produced by it was immense. It
embodied a fiery rebellion of thought which became more
startling and animated by the art of the greatest actors of
the time, and hailed by the enthusiasm of spectators in
whose breasts stirred the revolutionary spirit of the period.
. It was in 1782. The head of youthful enthusiasts were
turned by it.
Fiesco is an improvement on the Robbers, although
there is much that is distorted and exaggerated. The lan
guage is chaster and more severe, the descriptive passages
lack only the rhythm to invest them with the charm of
poetry. The characters move in a higher atmosphere.
The men are drawn on the scale of heroes. Cabal and
Love has an excess of sentimentality, but affords promise
of real and permanent excellence. The idealization of
common life can never be effected except by him who is
familiar with truths that lie in the highest realms of poetry.
One other drama still belongs to the earlier period in the
life of Schiller, viz : that of Don Carlos ; but this marks
the era of transition between his earlier and his later life.
This, in part, exhibits a great depth in the delineation of

: EUROPEAN ART. 493
•character, and yet the old and tumid extravagance was not
altogether lost, but is clothed with choicer forms. "The
situations have a great deal of pathetic power, the plot is
complicated even to epigrammatic subtlety ; x but his dear-
won thoughts on human nature and social institutions
were of such value in his eyes, that he exhibited them
with circumstantial fullness, instead of expressing them by
the progress of the action, and made his characters philo
sophize more or less on the subject of themselves and
others, by which means his work swelled to a size alto
gether incompatible with the prescribed limits of the thea
tre." It has been made as a general allegation against
Schiller that he failed to animate his characters with the
life and the sentiments specially belonging to them ; that
he could not transfer himself into them and lose his own
• individuality by assuming theirs ; but that he was con
stantly placing in their mouths the ideas and sentiments
he was himself desirous of enforcing upon the world.
The composition of his later tragedies was preceded by
historical and philosophical studies, which enlarged and
enriched his mind with various knowledge, and enlightened
him with respect to his objects and means. He was thus
enabled to return to his art with a riper mind, and with
-larger stores of thought. He now applied himself wholly
to historical tragedy, and endeavored, by divesting himself
of his personality to rise to truly objective exhibitions.
Historical subjects exercise the genius in a different manner
from that in which it is exercised by subjects of invention.
History requires to be combined in an artistic manner, in
order to produce its effect on the stage, and we must have
at Once united in tragedy, the talent of painting the truth,"
and that of rendering it poetical. The Germans seem to
prefer those historical tragedies in which art displays itself
" like the prophet of the past."
Schiller,, in investigating and writing the history of the
thirty years' war, conceived the idea of introducing a part

'Schlegel, n, 388, 389.

494 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of it upon the stage. This resulted in the production of
Wallenstein, which is divided into three distinct plays the
Camp of Wallenstein, which represents the effects of war
on the mass of the people, and of the army ; the Piceolomini,
which displays the political causes which led to- the dissen
sions between the chiefs j1 and the death of Wallenstein,
which resulted from the enthusiasm and envy which his
reputation had excited. In these plays Schiller conscien
tiously endeavored to adhere to historical truth, so much
so that he found great difficulty in becoming master of his
materials.' In forms he follows closely upon Shakespeare,
but endeavors to confine the change of place and time within
narrower limits. He also ties himself down to a more
sustained tragical dignity, bringing forward no persons of
mean condition, or at least not allowing them to speak in
their natural tone.
Lessing in censuring the French taste had gone to the
other extreme in his manner of conceiving dramatic art,
had banished poetry from the theatre, leaving nothing
there but romances in dialogue, which were little more
than a continuation of ordinary life. Schiller brought
back poetry upon the stage, and the beauty of the verses
in his Wallenstein, together with the grandeur of the sub
jects, rendered it the most national tragedy ever repre
sented on the German stage. " This work," says Tieck,
" at once rich and profound, is a monument for all times
of which Germany may be proud ; and a national feeling,
a native sentiment is reflected from this pure mirror teach
ing ub a greater sense of what we are, and what we were."
After Wallenstein follows Mary Stuart, which is planned
and executed, with great skill in art, and also with great
solidity ; the Maid of Orleans, in which the plot is looser
and greater liberties are taken ; the Bride of Messina ; and
last of all, Wilhelm Tell, in which he returns wholly to the
poetry of history, and which in the opinion of many is the
best of his works.

'De Stael, i, 280.

EUROPEAN ART. 495
A writer remarks that " in glancing over the riper per
formances of Schiller, his grandest in point of intellect is
Wallenstein ; in point of verbal poetry, the music and the
expression, the Bride of Messina is the loveliest ; in point
of feeling and conception, the Maid of Orleans most en
grosses the heart, and enlists the fancy. But the one in
which Schiller, with the fullest success, emancipates his art
from himself, in which his own individuality the least
moulds and influences his creations, is his Wilhelm Tell.
His characters are, for the most part, embodiments of great
principles and great truths, rather than the flexile and
multiform representations of human nature, which, while
idealized into poetry, still render the creations of Shake
speare so living and distinct." 1

The English Drama.
The miracles and moralities appear to have had their
early run in England as well as in other European
countries. In the first were representations of the principal
supernatural events of the Old and New Testaments, and
of the history of the saints. In the second, allegorical
characters, persons representing abstract ideas, such as
mercy, justice, truth, appeared upon the stage, each
uttering speeches in its appropriate character, and convey
ing sound, moral lessons. These representations were
brought upon the English stage as early as the reign of
Henry VI. The intervening space between these and the
modern drama was bridged over by the interludes of John-
Heywood who flourished during the reign of Henry VIH.
He excelled in representing some ludicrous familiar incident
in a style of the broadest and coarsest farce, and yet with a
considerable amount of skill and talent. Thus the Four
P's turns on a dispute between a Palmer, a Pardoner, a

'Schiller's Works, i, 43.

496 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Poticary, and a Pedlar, as to which shall tell the grossest
falsehood ; and one happening to say he never saw a woman
out of patience in his life, all chimed in at once with the
unanimous declaration that it was the greatest lie they ever
heard. In these early rude entertainments may be found both
the elements of tragedy and comedy, but the latter seems
to be the earlier of the two. It was an improvement upon
the interludes, and may be traced through them to the more
ludicrous parts of the moral plays. The two earliest come
dies appear about the middle of the sixteenth century.1
The one is styled Ralph Royster Doyster by Nicholas
TTdall, and the other Gammer Gurton's Needle by John
Still, which turns entirely upon the loss and recovery of a
needle ; both of which are written in long and irregularly
. measured rhyme.
The English drama has two periods in its history. The
first commences with the ascension of Elizabeth, in 1558,
and closes with the reign of Charles I. Then occurred
the ascendancy of the puritans, through whose influence
the theatres were closed for the space of six years. The
second begins with the restoration of Charles H, and in
cludes the subsequent history of the stage. The second
period bears the impress of a great change which had
taken place in the manners and modes of thinking of the
people, and is also characterized by the influence of French
literature which was very flourishing at the time of the
restoration. This gave a different character to the plays .-
subsequently written.
The first period possesses much the greatest interest
with the student of the drama. It is the only period
that is worth much attentive study, and to that we shall
principally confine our attention. The great monarchs of
the drama are found here and here only.
It seems to be a law of development, as deduced from
-the history of the English drama, that there are periods

1 Chambers's, Encyclopaedia, i, 164.

EUROPEAN ART. 497
when the human mind makes all at once gigantic strides
in an art previously almost unknown. It would seem as
if the preceding quiescent state had been like the period
of sleep, in which the mind had been gathering its ener
gies, and collecting its strength, with a view to such an
effort. In the English drama the period of Elizabeth is
that which affords the most remarkable instance of rapid
advance in all that constitutes its greatest elements.1 This
queen during her long reign of forty-five years, from 1558
to 1603, witnessed the first infantine attempts of the Eng
lish theatre, and also the time when it had advanced to
its higher glory. It bridges over the period which inter
venes between Sackville and Shakespeare, and closes
when the star of the latter was in the ascendant. Shake
speare himself seems to have had a perception of this
rapidity of development, as in one of his minor poems he
calls his age, these time-bettering days.
The reign of Elizabeth and the first James would fairly
include the most brilliant period of the British drama.
Within this period no less than seventeen playhouses were
built or fitted up in London, whereas the capital of the pre
sent day with five times the population is satisfied with two.
In the earlier history of the English theatre a few feeble
attempts were made to introduce the form of the antique
tragedy, together with the choruses and other incidents.
This was even attempted in the third year of the reign of
Elizabeth in a play entitled Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex,
the joint work of Thomas Sackville, afterwards Earl of
Dorset, and Thomas Norton. It is written in regular
blank verse, consists of five acts, and observes many of the
rules of the classic drama of antiquity. All that happens
is previously announced in consultations, or subsequently
stated in narratives.
In the year 1546, was established the office of master
of the revels, in whose province it lay to regulate, among

'I, ii, 273.
vn] 63

498 , HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
other amusements of the court, the dramatic representa
tions.1 These were performed both in the royal palace and
in the inns of court. In 1574, a patent was granted to the
Earl of Leicester's servants to act plays in any part of Eng
land, and in 1576, they erected the first public theatre in
Blackfriars. Among the precursors of Shakespeare, were Marlowe,
Peele, Greene, Lily, Lodge, Kyd, and Nash. These have
been ranked among the founders of English drama. Of
these, Christopher Marlowe ranks the highest, as he first
imparted consistent character and energy to the stage, in
connection with a finely modulated and varied blank verse.
His principal plays were Tamberlaine the Great, Life and
Death of Dr. Faustus, and Life of Edward the Second.
Neither Marlowe, nor either of the others, have been suc
cessful m transmitting a living memorial of their works
to posterity. They introduce us through the porch into
the inner temple, and there leave us with th& great masters
of the drama. These were the following : William Shake
speare, born 1564, died 1616, aged 52 ; Ben Jonson, born
1574, died 1637, aged 63 ; John Fletcher, born 1576, died
1625, aged 49; Francis Beaumont, born 1585, died 1615,
aged 30 ; Philip Massinger, born 1584, died 1639, aged 55.
Thus it will be seen that these great dramatists, who
have carried the English drama seemingly to its highest
point of possible attainment, were all contemporaries with
each other. The four last mentioned, however, were the
younger contemporaries and competitors of Shakespeare ;
and two of these, Beaumont and Fletcher, in their literary
character, make but one person. These, it will be per
ceived, were all born and died within the same three-
quarters of a century, and their average of life reached not
quite fifty years. They all flourished within the last two
decades of the sixteenth, and the four first of the seven
teenth century, the brightest period being perhaps the
first quarter of the latter century. The effect each one of

'Hallam, n, 230.

EUROPEAN ART. 499
these had upon the others, in stimulating to intellectual
exertion, and in striving to meet the constantly increasing
demands of the public, rendered every day more impera
tive, as each made a more rapid advancement, cannot
well be over estimated. Leaving Shakespeare for the
present, we commence with him who lies buried in
Westminster Abbey under the terse and well known
epitaph : 0, rare Ben Jonson !
He was a large man, massive and unshapely ; solid, but
slow of performance ; his countenance " rocky," or harsh
and rugged ; his intellect strong, aggressive, and capacious,
and stored with a vast variety of learning.1 He came to
the drama while it was it its formative state, and when
the mass of the plays were equally regardless of scenic pro
prieties, as of place and time. Rules derived from classical
models were little known or heeded. Each followed the
bent of his own taste, and the suggestions of his own
genius. He was thoroughly versed in the ancient drama,
and its critical rules. He adapted them to modern condi
tions, and made it the business of his art to construct
well proportioned plays, and to manifest skill and judg
ment in arrangement of scene, and in choice of fable,
action, and language. He had a peculiar manner of
introducing into many of his plays, a special set of per
sonages, who should appear in the intervals of his acts, and
discuss what had gone before. Thus he invented critics
of his own to appear on the stage, and rebuke and inform
those in the body of the theatre. These formed a sort of
modern chorus, not uncommon in the plays of the time,
and used generally for the explication of the story ; but
by him devoted to his own vindication and glorification.
It is in his later plays more especially, that he uses his
prologues to anticipate judgment, and assert a scornful
independence of his audience.

'Eclectic Magazine, August, 1850, 2.

500 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Jon son's masterpieces are proclaimed by the following
distich : The Fox, the Alchymist, and Silent Woman,
Done by Ben Jonson, and outdone by no man.
All his plays evidence great constructive power. His
plots are generally good, well knit and skillfully developed.
In the three plays named in the distich, the denouement is
concealed until the last scene, and then bursts upon us
with singular sharpness and clearness. The unities are
observed with considerable strictness, but still he departs,
as he sees occasion, from the ancient rules, and many of
his plays are models of careful and ingenious construction.
One scene supports another; each speech forwards the
action, and the folds of the plot are complicated without,
confusion, and smoothed without force.
His constructive talent enabled him to write masques,
and his power of scenic display, as also his ingenuity and
fertility in getting up devices, were all made available in
that direction. His mind was not naturally inclined
to poetry, but was powerful and energetic, and rich
in the resources accumulated by a vast memory and an
unflagging industry. He wrote his poetry by first setting
down his ideas in prose, and then translating them into
verse. His language is copious and discriminating with
out being very felicitious; his imagination is subject to his
will, and when he creates a character or a situation he
exhausts all the elements of satire and ridicule that can
be found in it. His excellence lies in comedy, his strength
in wit, and it is difficult to say in what department of the
latter he excelled the most. The fox is said to be the
most witty, the Silent Woman the most humorous, and
the Alchymist the most grotesque of his plays. He de
velops largely that element of the ridiculous which lies
either in the native disproportion, or in the voluntary dis
tortion of real things. .His works present numerous
instances of his unbounded power of imagining ludicrous
situations. He dealt not so much with men as with what

EUROPEAN ART. 501
i
he calls the " humors " of men. Every character he
creates he endows with some special humor, and arranges
all his situations and actions with a view to show off this
humor the most advantageously. He has been described
" as a mere sponge ; nothing but humors and observation ;
he goes up and down sucking from every society, and
when he comes home squeezes himself dry again." In
some of his plays the eccentricities he introduces are united
to a body of personal character, but in others they are pre
sented as mere bundles of oddities. Nature made him a
satirist, and he has, through the agency of comedy, held
up to ridicule the manners of his age. He had more keen
and accurate observation than power of invention, and is
called one of the best and eompletest authorities we have for
ascertaining the manners of the court and city in the time
of James I. The free and powerful use of satire demands
something of vulgarity of mind and recklessness of temper,
as it is a matter of extreme difficulty to strike hard, and
at the same time to strike with discrimination. The more
profound and comprehensive the knowledge of the complex
intertangling of good and evil, the more cautious and
timid will be the blow aimed exclusively at the latter.
Jonson took a mechanical view of art, and his characters
are mostly drawn with sense and judgment. When one
was once conceived by him in its leading idea, hepossessed
so methodical and consecutive a mind, that he followed it
out with the utmost strictness. His characterization is
better suited to serious satire than playful ridicule. He
could not " play on the edge of his subject, and pursue it
along the infinite threads which unite it with other things,"
_ but his excellence lay more in concentration, and in isolat
ing his character from every other. He has nowhere de
picted the passion of love with nature or delicacy, and has
nowhere drawn a female character that can inspire another
with interest. He marches on with great stateliness of
style, his rhythm like his matter, having a lumbering ele
phantine motion, full of stops and sudden changes. His
wit, however, is keen and incisive, and keeps up a constant

502 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION
play amidst even his most stately exhibitions. His pieces
are defective in point of intrigue, and his means of con
ducting a plot, and disentangling it from its complications,
are often improbable and constrained.
Jonson has the reputation of having founded a style of
regular English comedy, massive, well compacted, and fit
ting to endure, yet not the most attractive in its materials. ;
His works, altogether, consists of about fifty dramatic pieces,
but the greater part of them are masques and interludes.
To Jonson has by many been conceded the second name in
the dramatic literature of this period, but others have
claimed that honor for
Beaumont and Fletcher, the Dioscuri of the drama. An
instance is here presented, and the only one of so perma
nent a character on record, of a literary partnership formed
between two young men of high genius, good birth and
connections, and which continued for ten years until the
death of Beaumont. During this period they wrote
together a series tof dramas, passionate, romantic and
comic, thus blending together their genius and their fame
in indissoluble connection. Something more than fifty
plays have been published under the joint names of Beau
mont and Fletcher, but the publishers not having distin-
quished the share which belonged to each, it is now
impossible to make any distinction, although from the fact
that Fletcher survived his partner for almost ten years, the
presumption is that half of them may be considered as the
wOrk of Fletcher alone. We have even little information
respecting the diversity of their talents. Some have attri
buted boldness of imagination to Fletcher, and a mature
judgment to Beaumont, the former furnishing the inven
tive talent, and the latter directing the channel into which it
should run. But all speculation on that subject seems now
to be useless, and it is observed that all the pieces ascribed
to them, whether they proceed from one alone or from
both, are composed in the same spirit, and in the same
manner. It may have been, therefore, the great resem-

EUROPEAN ART. 503
blance of their way of thinking, rather than supplying the
deficiencies of each other, which led to their continuing so
long and so inseparably connected with each other. They
were young men of distinguished talents, and commenced
their course when the genius of Shakespeare was in its
meridian splendor, and their works show clearly the effect
of his influence. They had to choose, in the form of their
plays, between those of Shakespeare, and the principles of
Ben Jonson and the imitation of the ancients, and they
wisely preferred the former. They also followed the ex
ample of Shakespeare in obtaining the materials of their
plays mostly from novels and romances, and in the mixing
up of pathetic and burlesque scenes with each other, endea
voring by concatenation of the* incidents, to excite the
impression of the extraordinary and the wonderful.
Beaumont and Fletcher are the proper founders of the
comedy of intrigue which prevailed through the seven
teenth century. The sources of their humorous plays are
some of them historical, while much is derived from the
Spanish stage of Lope de Vega and his contemporaries.
They also founded a new school in comedy, the vestiges
of which still remain, which is marked by the regard to
dramatic effect which influenced the writer's imagination,
While their incidents are numerous and striking, the cha
racters are often slightly sketched, taking their hue rather
from the course and current events, and not like those of
Jonson, drawn from a preconceived design. They exhibit
not much variety of character. A few types, such as an
old general, a voluptuous and arbitrary king, a supple
courtier, a high spirited youth, a lady fierce, and not
always excessively modest, are constantly returning upon
us, and form the usual pictures for their canvas. Super
added to these in the lighter comedy are an amorous old
man, and a gay young spendthrift. The best of their
characters are female, as a much larger sweep of reflection
and experience is required for the greater diversity of the
other sex.

504 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
The tragedies of Beaumont and Fletcher are not numer
ous, and have never contributed much to their reputation
as dramatic writers. The reason assigned for this is, that
their feeling is not sufficiently drawn from the depths of
human nature, and their bestowal of too little attention on
the general consideration of human destinies. They em
ploy their whole strength in depicting passion, and yet
fail in producing a secret history of the heart. The rea
son assigned for this is, that they pass over the first emo
tions and the gradual heightening of a feeling, only to
seize it in its highest gradations, and then to develop its
symptoms with an exaggerated strength and fullness. Thus
everything good and excellent has the appearance of arising
more from transient ebullition than fixed principle. The
mere selfish impulses and instincts are too nearly akin to
the virtues. They viewed human nature too much on the
vulgar side, throwing no veil over some of its coarsest
exhibitions. They open to the full view of the spectator
all that more noble minds endeavor to hide, even from
themselves. This licentiousness in the language, in the
scene, in the plot, in the idea, might commend them to
that period, and also to a later, that of "Charles II; but
they furnished to the puritans and independents under the
sway of Cromwell the most unanswerable arguments
against the continuance Of the theatre with its corruptions.
Thus they lowered themselves to the taste of the public,
rather than to endeavor to elevate the public to their own
standard. There was also another difficulty in the way of their ar
riving at the highest perfection. " Poetry was not for them
an inward devotion of the feeling and imagination, but a
means to obtain brilliant results." Their great, object was
to produce effects, and in that they expended all their
force and energy. Besides they lacked both seriousness
and depth, and the regulating judgment which prescribes
the due limits in every part of composition. The titles of
some of their playB are the Two Noble Kinsmen, Rule a

EUROPEAN ART. 505
Wife and have a Wife, the Faithful Shepherdess and the
Knight of the Burning Pestle.
Philip Massinger was the greatest tragic poet produced
during the reign of James I. His life was spent in obscu
rity and poverty. He died almost unknown, and was
buried with no other inscription than the note in the parish
register : " Philip Massinger, a stranger." And yet as a
tragic writer he has been ranked by Hallam as second only
to Shakespeare, and in the higher comedy not inferior to
Jonson. But in wit and sprightly dialogue, as also in the
knowledge and treatment of theatrical effect he falls much
below Beaumont and Fletcher. He is, however, far more
intelligible than the last named dramatists,1 his text having
been less corrupted, and his general style fully as conspicu
ous as in any of the dramatic poets of that age.
Massinger's most striking excellence consists in his con
ception of character, in which he was placed above Beau
mont, and Fletcher, and even Jonson. He has neither the
hard outline of the latter, nor the negligent looseness of
the former. He has no great variety, and often repeats,
with slight modifications, the type of his first design. The
subjects chosen by him are sometimes historical, while
others appear to have been taken from French or Italian
novels ; the latter having been a frequent practice with the
early English dramatists. So fully is this in some instances
apparent in their dramas that they are little other than
novels in action, the models being but little varied from
except in the introduction of lower and lighter episodes.
Several of the plays of Massinger are said to have per
ished in manuscript, and only about sixteen have been
preserved to us. Five out of this number are tragedies,
and of the rest no one belongs to the class of mere comedy.
Their general elevation of style, and depth of interest sus
tained throughout, rank them with the serious drama* or
what is called tragi-comedy.

' Hallam, m,350.
vn] 64

506 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
A shade Of melancholy tinges the writings of Massinger/
and every one is struck with the peculiar, beauty of his
language. A charm is felt in the harmonious swell of his
numbers, and in his pure and genuine idiom. His poetical
talents were very considerable, his taste superior to that
of his contemporaries; the coloring of his imagery, al
though possessing great fullness, is rarely overcharged.'
His comic powers are not on a level with his serious; he
is rather apt to aim at exciting ridicule by caricature, and
his dialogue wants the sparkling wit of Shakespeare and
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Among his tragedies the Duke of Milan is generally
preferred, and among his tragi-comedies, the Picture, the
Bondman, and a Very Woman. There are two others,
however, which are more English that the rest, and to
which the common voice has assigned a superiority.
These are a New Way to Pay Old Debts, and the City
Madam. In the former appears the character of Sir Giles
Overreach, which, though darkly wicked, is not beyond
the province of the higher comedy, and which gives to the
play a striking originality and an impressive vigor. That
is the only one of the plays of Massinger which still retains
a place on the stage.
The great dramatist of all time is William Shakespeare.
Greene, Peele and Marlow were his precursors. They
had acheived for the drama a permanent place in the ,
national literature. They had introduced a greater variety
of character and action, with deep passion, and true poetry.
They had familiarized the public ear to the use of blank
verse, and thus had accomplished much in relieving the
drama from the fetters of rhyme. This form of verse
unites rhythmical harmony with the utmost freedom,
grace, and flexibility. Thus had the genius of the drama
made every reasonable preparation for the advent of her
favorite son, " who was to extend her empire over limits
not yet recognized, and invest it with a splendor which
the world had never seen before." And yet it does not

EUROPEAN ART~ 507
appear that either in his own age or the next succeeding
one, he was accounted a dramatist of such remarkable
power. During the reign of Charles H his works were
either not acted, or if they were, it was only after they had
been very much disfigured. He was probably so far in
advance that neither his own age nor the succeeding one
could fully appreciate him. His shadow has only length
ened as the sun of each generation or century has slowly
descended from its meridian.
The personal history of Shakespeare is very little known,
and much controversy has been elicited in regard .to the
kind and extent of his learning. He must have been an
attentive observer of nature ; have had an accurate acquaint
ance with all the popular usages, opinions, and traditions
which could be available in poetry; and while he was poor
in dead learning, he possessed a fullness of living and
applicable knowledge, and had the wonderful power of
exhibiting a visible image of the living and moving of an
age full of distinguished deeds. The period during which
he flourished was the last half of the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, and the first half of that of James I. He has
obviously reflected; and deeply so, on character and passion,
on the human constitution, on all the things and relations
of the world, and on the progress of events, and human
destinies. He has been called the master of the human heart ; not
only thoroughly comprehending the mainsprings of action,
but also the nicer involuntary demonstrations of the
mind, being able to express with certainty the meaning
of their signs, and to draw conclusions from them, and to
arrange his separate observations in a connected manner,
according to the grounds of probability upon which they
rested. He could transport himself so completely into •
every situation, even the most unusual, as to be enabled
.to act and speak in the name of every individual. He
could endow the creatures of his imagination with such
self-existent energy, as to enable them to act in each con
juncture, according to nature's general laws. Goetha.

508 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
compared- his characters to watches with" crystalline plates
and cases, which, while they point out the hours as cor
rectly as other watches, enable us at the same time to
perceive the inward springs, by means of which all this is
accomplished. He did not occupy himself in analyzing;
dissecting, or enumerating all the motives by which the
man is determined to act, but in actually exhibiting the
results of his observation and reflection. He everywhere
observes the unity of feeling which is so necessary in a
perfect dramatic performance. In Romeo and Juliet, for
instance, " all is youth and spring; youth with its follies*
its virtues, its precipitancies; spring with its odojs, its
flowers, and its transiency ; it is one and the same feeling
that commences, goes through, and ends the play." This
unity of feeling and of action is like that proclaimed from
a natural landscape, in which rocks, and heaths, and
forests, and waterfalls, are all made conducive to one
grand result, because each is modified by a single energy.
This is made clear by the statement of Schlegel,1 that he
had in an essay gone through the whole of the scenes of
Romeo and Juliet, in their order, and demonstrated the
inward necessity of each, with reference to the whole,
showing why such a particular circle of characters and.
relations, was placed around the two lovers ; explaining the
signification of the mirth here and there scattered, and
justifying the use of the occasional heightening given to
the poetic colors. From all whieh it appeared to him, that,
with slight exception, nothing could be taken away, nothing
added, nothing otherwise arranged, without mutilating
and disfiguring the perfect work. And that he would be
willing to undertake the same thing in all the pieces of
Shakespeare produced in his maturer years.
The accomplished dramatist must possess the power of
two kinds of characterization, the one of person, the other
of passion. Both these were possessed in an eminent
degree by Shakespeare. In reference to the former, his

'•Schlegel, n, 131.

EUROPEAN ART. 509
talent grasps the diversities of rank, sex, and age, includ
ing all the gradations between first and second infancy.
Under his animating influence, the king and the beggar,
the hero and the pickpocket, the sage, and the clown are
. made to speak and act each in his own tongue, and with
equal truth. He brings upon the stage the ancient Roman,
the modern Frenchman, the southern European, the cul
tivated man, and the barbarian, putting into the mouth of
each what is appropriate to his own character. He stops
not with realities, but enters the world of fancy, summons
from the shades the ghost of the once king of Denmark,
exhibits before us his witches amidst their unhallowed
mysteries, and peoples the air with sportive fairies and
sylphs. Even when he conjures up a monster like Cali
ban, he forces on us the conviction, that if such a creation
could exist, he would speak and act precisely as he does.
But individual characterization is not his chief excel
lence. He so combines and contrasts his characters with
each other that they bring each other out -.with great dis
tinctness -and power. He makes each of his principal
characters a mirror in which the others are reflected, and
in which we- are enabled to discover what could not be
immediately revealed to us. What in others lies very" pro
found, in him appears on the surface. He has painted the
facility of self-deception, the half self-conscious' hypocrisy
towards ourselves, with which even minds that are truly
noble sometimes attempt to disguise the almost inevitable
influence of selfish motives upon their own conduct.
His characterization of passion is equally admirable,
including under this term every mental condition, every
tone from the carelessness of indifference or familiar mirth
to the wildest rage and despair. " He gives us the history
of minds ; he lays open to us, in a single word, a whole .
series of preceding conditions. His passions do not at
first stand displayed to us in all their height, as is the case
with so many tragic poets, who, as Lessing says, are tho
rough masters of the legal style of love. He paints, in a
most inimitable manner,, the gradual progress from the

510 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
first origin. He gives, as Lessing says, a living picture of
all the most minute and secret artifices by which a feeling.
steals into our souls, of all the imperceptible advantages
which it there gains, of all the stratagems by which every
other passion is made subservient to it,1 till it becomes the
sole tyrant of our desires and our aversions. Of all poets,
perhaps, he alone has portrayed the mental diseaseSj melan
choly, delirium, lunacy, with such inexpressible, and, in
every respect, definite truth, that the physician may enrich
himself from them in the same manner as from real cases."
He makes energetic and very powerful passions electrify
the whole of the mental powers, and in highly favored
natures, to express themselves in an ingenious and figura
tive manner.
He seems ever to have had in view the highest moral
purposes. He has never clothed wild and blood-thirsty
passions with a pleasing exterior. He has never varnished
over crime and want of principle with a false show of
greatness of soul. With him vice shows its own hideous
deformity, and meets its own appropriate reward. The deep
dyed villainy of Richard the Third, and lago, instead of
furnishing anything attractive, or that can excite admira
tion, thrills the soul with horrors at the terrible enormity
of vice and sin, and utter abandonment logically and con
sistently Carried out. " And this tragical Titan," says
Schlegel,2 "who storms the heavens and threatens to tear
the world from off its hinges, who, more fruitful than
^Eschylus, makes our hair to stand on end, and congeals
our blood with horror, possessed at the same time, . the
insinuating loveliness of the sweetest poetry; he plays with
love like a child, and his songs are breathed out like melt
ing sighs. He unites in his existence the utmost elevation
and the utmost depth; and the most foreign, and even
apparently irreconcileable properties subsist in him peace
ably together. The world of spirits and nature have laid
all their treasures at his feet; in strength a demi-god, in

!, n, 136, 2137. a Idem, 142, 143.

EUROPEAN ART. 511
profundity of view a prophet in all-seeing wisdom a pro
tecting spirit of a higher order, he lowers himself to mortals
as if unconscious of his superiority, and is as open and
unassuming as a child."
His comic talent is about equally wonderful with his
tragic and pathetic. He invents comic situations and
motives with the greatest ease and facility, and his comic
characterization is equally true, various, and profound^
with his serious. He has not only given a perfect delinea
tion of many kinds of folly, but he has also exhibited mere
stupidity in a most diverting and entertaining manner. It
was an ancient custom for princes, and great men, to keep
court fools, who could, when necessary, play the buffoon, and
whose occasional witty remarks would agreeably diversify the
insipidity and wearisomeness of ordinary life. This custom
embraced the period at which Shakespeare lived and wrote ;
and hence the clown is made to appear in several comedies,
but in only one of the tragedies, that of King Lear. He
generally appears to exercise his wit in conversation with
the principal persons, and is very seldom incorporated with
the action. These clowns or fools have generally a great
deal of humor, and also quite a superabundance of intellect.
Although Shakespeare must have been acquainted with,
the earlier English poets, yet he drew his language imme
diately from life, and he has blended the dialogical element
with the highest poetical elevation. The poetical element
of that day had a full feeling of its strength, and in its
diction would occasionally run out into extravagance.
Shakespeare's style yet remains the best model, both in
the vigorous and sublime, and the pleasing and tender.
His images and figures are original and appropriate, and
have often a sweetness altogether peculiar. His verse is
generally a rhymeless iambic, alternating sometimes with
rhymes, but more frequently with prose. In the use of
verse and prose he makes distinctions according to the
ranks of the speakers, but still more according to their
characters and disposition of mind. His tradesmen, pea
sants, soldiers, sailors, fools, and clowns, are all made to

512 HISTORY. OF CIVILIZATION.
speak in the tone of their actual life. His iambics are at
times full of harmony and lofty sound; always varied and
adapted to the subject, as distinguished at one time for
ease and rapidity, as at another for moving along with
ponderous energy. He is expressive in his irregularities
of versification, " a broken off verse, or a sudden change
of rhythm us, is in unison with the pause in the progress of
the thought, or the entrance of another disposition of mind."
All his transitions, where not intended to be otherwise, are
easy: All changes of forms are introduced imperceptibly.
" Each of his compositions is like a world of itself, which
moves in its own sphere. They are works of art, finished-
in the most consummate style, in which the freedom and
judicious choice of their author are revealed."
The plays of Shakespeare are properly divided into com
edies, tragedies, and historical dramas. The subjects of
the comedies are generally taken from novels and romances,
others from legendary tales, and some from older plays.
In his Roman subjects he followed Plutarch's Lives. His
English historical plays are chiefly taken, from Holinshed's
Chronicles. From the latter he also derived the plot of
Macbeth. No attempt can be made to particularize the plays of
Shakespeare. His Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, and Mer
chant of Venice, are, perhaps, the best known, and, to7
, gether with King Lear, the most widely esteemed. The
character in which his comic invention has realized its
acme, and which he has continued through three of his
plays, is Sir John Falstaff. In his Hamlet and Macbeth
he opens to our view the spirit world, and out of its hidden
abysses produces his ghosts and witches.
In regard to theatres, or places of performance, the stages
of the ancient mysteries, called pageant houses, consisted
of large and high frame carriages, mounted on six wheels,
and formed like dwellings containing two stories. In the
lowest of these the performers dressed, and played upon
the upper, which was either surmounted by arches, battle
ments, vanes, etc., or left open at the top. The stage was

EUROPEAN ART. 513
strewed with rushes, and the lower room enclosed with
cloths, which are supposed to have been painted with the
subject, or emblems, of the performance. These theatres
were drawn from one street to another in appointed order,
as each piece was concluded, and thus the whole was in
performance at the same time, which divided the crowd,
and gave all an opportunity of seeing the entire series.
The time of action was about six in the morning and nine
-separate pageants were exhibited in one day.
The Globe theatre of the time of Shakespeare, and of
which he was manager, is thus described : " It was a mas
sive structure destitute of architectural ornaments, and
almost without windows in the outward walls.1 The pit
was open to the sky, and they acted by day-light. The
scene had no other decoration than wrought tapestry, which
hung at some distance from the walls, and left room for
several entrances. In the back-ground there was a stage
raised above the first, a sort of balcony, which served for
various purposes, and was obliged to signify all manner of
things according to circumstances. The players generally
appeared in the dress of their time. The chief means of
disguise were false hair and beards, and occasionally even
masks. The female parts were played by boys so long as
their voices allowed them. It was not customary to have
music between the acts, but in the pieces themselves were
introduced, on proper occasions, marches, dances, solo
songs, etc. In the more early time it was usual to repre
sent the action before it was spoken, in dumb show between
„ each act, allegorically or even without any disguise. This
was to give a definite direction to the expectation." Thus
it will be seen that the theatre of Shakespeare was very
meagre and plain in all its appointments, the want of at
tractions of an accessory nature, thus rendering it the more
necessary to be all the more careful in regard to essentials.
The second period of the English drama, commencing
with the reopening of the theatres on the downfall of the

¦I, n, 275.
vn] 65

514 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
puritans, and continuing to the present time, can no more
occupy the attention of the student of civilization than the
subject of painting in Italy subsequent to the lives and
labors of the great masters, Raphael, Michael Angelo, Titian
and Correggio. The plays of Shakespeare are not only the
highest examples of the English drama, but they may
almost be said to constitute, in themselves alone, the begin
ning, fulfillment, and end of an art. There was nothing
like them before; and whatever has been like them since,
has owed its resemblance to imitation, not to related vitality.

In reviewing generally the history of the drama, as
developed in modern Europe, two or three ideas cannot
fail to present themselves. One is that the only real
national dramas, those which flow from, and are developed
by, the national spirit, and which, therefore, fitly represent
the people with all their peculiarities of thought and feeling
upon the stage, are the Spanish and English. The Italian
and French are more bound down by the rules of Aris
totle, and hence have had much less freedom in their
development. Shakespeare constantly deviated from the
dramatic unities of time, place and action, laid down by
the ancients, and adopted by the French theatre. In his
tragedies, he amply fulfills what Aristotle admits to be the
end and object of all tragedy, viz : to excite admiration,
terror, or sympathy. But in doing this, he does not follow
the rules of Aristotle, but mixes comic with tragic scenes,
thus blending together opposite qualities and characters in
a manner which is accordant with the actual experience
and vicissitudes of life. That.he spoke out from the depth
of English being is evident from the manner in which they
have cherished his memory.
There is another marked difference between the French
and English stage aside from the observance and disregard
of the rules of Aristotle. This relates to the different
manner of bringing tragical events before the audience.
In the French mode of representation there is no killing

EUROPEAN ART. 515
occurs upon the stage. A French audience is never
shocked with violent death scenes. All these occur out
of view, behind the scenes. They are brought to the
knowledge of the audience through the narration of the
actors. On the English stage everything is acted out in
the-presence of the audience. Fights and tragical deaths
there occur in full view of all the spectators. The ques
tion may very well arise whether this has not had an
adverse effect upon the progress of English civilization.
In Rome it is beyond question that the horrid scenes of
the amphitheatre, the contests of wild beasts, and the
terrible fights of the gladiators,
Butchered to make a Roman holyday,
Had their effect upon the Roman character and heart,
rendering the one brutal and the other callous to every
sentiment of humanity. It is true the stage representation
must fall far short of the reality ; and yet even that cannot
be without its influence.
The history of the European drama discloses the fact
that, among its different nations, the great dramatic writers
were contemporary with each other. In Italy, we have
Trissino and Ariosto, and Maffei and Metastasio ; in Spain,
Cervantes, Lope de Vega and Calderon; in England,
Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and Mas
singer; in France, Corneille, Moliere, Racine and Vol
taire ; and in Germany, Lessing, Goethe and Schiller. Is
there not much in the mutual influence which great minds
exercise upon each other, and the mutual stimulus by
which each pushes on the other to constantly renewed
effort until the remotest limit of the capacity of each is
. reached ?
Another fact we observe, and that is that, with the excep
tion of Italy, each one of these nations has had but one pe
riod, which has marked the highest development of the
drama. In Italy, there are three, viz : that of Trissino and
Ariosto, of Maffei and Metastasio, and of Goldoni and Al-

516 \ HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
fieri. The first fell within the first half of the sixteenth
century,- the second within the first half of the eighteenth,
and the last within the last half of the same century. The
highest development in Spain falls within the last half of
the sixteenth, and first half of the seventeenth centuries ;
that Of England within the same period ; that of France
covered a little more than the last half of the seventeenth
century, and, with the exception of Voltaire, did not extend
beyond that century ; while in Germany it extended over
the last half of the eighteenth century, and with the ex
ception of Goethe was almost entirely limited to that cen
tury. Whether the drama has its appointed cycles to run
in the history of its development, it is not, perhaps, possi
ble, at the present stage of the world's history, to determine.

THE MILITARY ART.
The second of the mixed arts is the art military, which
during the entire course of European history has received
a constantly increasing development. War has been
termed a "great drama, in which a thousand physical or
moral causes operate more or less powerfully, and which
cannot be reduced to mathematical calculations." Of the
causes of war, and of its kinds, whether offensive or defen
sive ; whether of convenience or of intervention ; whether
of invasion or of opinion ; whether civil, religious, or poli
tical ; whether national, or party, or sectional ; we propose
to say nothing. Nor have anything to do with the re
sources of nations, or their ability to carry on any species
of warfare. Neither is it the science of war any further
than it has become available, and has passed into realiza
tion under some of the forms of art, that we propose to
speak. But while the causes of war have always existed,
and have ever been substantially the same, the history qf
modern Europe has developed one, which although not en-

EUROPEAN ART. 517
tirely new, yet has been vastly more influential in modern
than in ancient times. This is the idea of the balance of
power; which, although dimly foreshadowed in the his
tory of the struggles of the Grecian republics, was never
theless reserved to outline its more complete development.
in the war policy pursued by the states pf modern Europe,.
and which has never been lost sight of either in the prose
cution of that policy, or in the negotiations and terms of
peace which have formed its agreeable interludes. This
idea has lain at the foundation, and been one of the causes
exerting a strong influence upon modern warfare.
Again, another feature which has been deeply inwrought
into the policy of modern states is the creation, and keeping
-on foot, of large standing armies in times of peace. This,
also, as a political institution, and a measure of policy, as
well as in its more perfect organization, is a work of modern
times. Rome, it is true, always had her armies in the field,
but they were mainly, if not entirely, supported by the
plunder derived from the enemy. But Rome, for centuries,
had no time of peace. Hence the idea of standing armies
in time of peace had, to her, no application. By means of
these standing armies, war, in modern times, has become
a trade, a calling, a profession, and hence its elements as
a science, and its practice as an art, has been more
thoroughly studied, and better understood. What we have
to say on this subject will be included under the following
heads: I. Arms and weapons both of attack and defense.
H. Fortified places and means of attack and defense.
IH. Armies, their composition, subsistence, and means
of movement.
IV. Strategy, with its maxims and their illustrations.
V. Tactics, with its maxims and their illustrations.
VI. The art considered in its progress and different
stages.
- VTJ. Naval warfare.

518 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.

Arms and Weapons both of Attack and Defense.
History fully verifies the fact that it is not so much
numbers that have controlled the fortunes of the battle
field as superiority in arms and weapons,.and superior skill,
discipline, and dexterity in those who use them. The
offensive weapons the earliest made use of were the bow
and arrows, the battle-axe, and the sword. In England
the use of the bow was once carried to a high degree of
perfection. The Norman conquest introduced it as a
military weapon. Under Edward HI, the glory of the
English long-bow was at its zenith. The success of the
English on the fields of Cressy and Poictiers was chiefly
ascribed to the English archers.1 The same, also, won the
battles of Homildon hill against the Scots in 1402, and that
of Agincourt against the French in 1417. Its use was
fostered by legislation. A royal ordinance of Edward IV,
required every Englishman to have a bow of his own
height made of yew, wych-hazel, ash or auburne, and
arrows half the length of the bow.2 The extreme range of
an English bow was said to be about six hundred yards.
The long-bow continued in use long after the invention of
gunpowder, and the employment of artillery.
The cross-bow, or arbalest, is more modern than the long
bow, but has been known more than seven centuries.8 It
was probably introduced into France by the first Crusaders,
and although less esteemed by the English than their long
bow was much employed by other nations. It was of
various kinds, but the largest was the stirrup cross-bow,
used for defending forts or walls. The bows were usually
made of steel, though sometimes of wood or horn, and the
missiles discharged from them were either bullets, stones,
arrows, or short darts. Ordinarily, this species of bow
would kill at about sixty yards.4 The battle-axe was

- Wilkinson, 16. " Idem, 17. 'Idem, 23. * Iconographic, ni, 21.

EUROPEAN ART. 519
bladed only on one side, and was wielded with both hands.
When the handle was long, it had two edges and was
called an halberd.1
The sword was various in form and dimensions.2 It was
often short and crooked in the manner of a scimitar. But
sometimes very long swords were made use of, more
especially by the Cimbri. They were also very keen, and
frequently inscribed with mysterious characters. There
were also other weapons, as javelins, slings, and clubs stuck
round with points.
When we arrive at the age of chivalry, we find the lance
the chief offensive weapon of the knight. Its staff was
commonly formed from the ash tree,3 having on it a
sharpened iron head. The foe was transfixed by the lance.
The weapons wielded by the knight in a close encounter,
were the battle-axe, and the martel, or maule, which was
a ponderous steel or iron hammer, dealing death by the
weight of their fall, or the sharpness of their edge. The
sword was also much relied on in the hand to -hand fight.
The defensive armor of the earlier European nations,
reached its culminating point in the knight of the age of
chivalry. It is curious to note the extent to which human
ingenuity has carried the power of protecting the body
against the assaults of all weapons at that time in use.
Here we have :
1. The shield ; in shape oblong or triangular,4 wide at
the top for the protection of the body, and tapering to the
bottom. 2. The body harness ; having three general divisions :
mail, plate and mixed mail, plate mail entirely. The
first defenses consisted of rows of iron rings, sown on the
dress, and when additional defense was required, a row of
larger rings was laid over the first. When the improve
ment in the art of destruction had rendered the chain
mail an inadequate protection,5 small iron plates were

'Mallet, 166. "Idem, 165. "History of Chivalry, i, 66. *Idem, 77.
"Mill's History of Chivalry, i, 79, 99.

520 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
added, which lapped over each other, and hence gave to
this variety, the name of scale mail. All this variety was
sown on an under garment of leather or cloth, or some
other material, which was called a hauberk. The lower
members were defended by chausses, which, when joined
to the mailed frock, was called the haubergeon.
The addition of these plates of steel, thus creating^ a
mixed harness, failed to render the body invulnerable.
New plates continually were added,1 the pectoral protect
ing the breast ; the cuisses, the thighs ; the brassarts, the
arms; the ailettes, the shoulders ; the gorget, the throat ;-
and the gauntlet, the hand. The cuirass was the defense
that protected both the breast and the back. This con
tinued to gain ground until the knight became encumbered
with nearly a double covering of mail and plate, when
the plate being found a perfect defense, the mail was
gradually thrown aside, and the warrior appeared clad en
tirely in steel plates. The head was at first protected by a
mailed hood alone. Then followed the helmet, of varied
shape, conical or cylindrical, having cheek-pieces of bars,
placed horizontally or perpendicularly, as a defense for
the face,2 which latter, finally gave place to the aventaile,
or iron mask, joined to the helmet, with apertures for the
eyes and mouth. This was at first fixed and immovable,
but subsequently, by means of pivots, the plates or grating
before the face, called the vizor, could be raised or
depressed. Plates were subsequently brought up from
the chin, called the beaver, which rendered the casing com
plete. The only accessible part to the lance was the
small holes in the vizor ; and these were seldom exposed,
as the knight, when he charged, was accustomed to bend
his face almost to the saddle-bow. As the knight, however,
generally fought on horseback, there was danger in the
shock of his being unhorsed, and even then, there arose a
difficulty in killing a human being cased in steel, until a thin

'Mill's History of Chivalry, 88. 'Idem, 88, 89.

EUROPEAN ART. 521
dagger was invented, called the dagger of mercy, which
could be inserted between the plates.
The defensive armor was not confined to the knight.
His war steed was also armed or barded, very much on the
plan of the harness of the knight himself, and was defended
by mail or plate according to the fashion of the age.
But at length the ingenuity of mau discovered in the
explosive force of gunpowder an agent that could give such
velocity and power to a projectile as would render the
most perfect steel casing a very slight defense.
The first application of a military character which was
made of gunpowder was in the construction of cannon,1
the earliest use of which was by Edward HI, in his
campaign against the Scots in 1327. They were used by
the English in the battle of Cressy in 1346. Bolts and
carrels were first shot from cannons, afterwards stones.
The cannon employed by Mahomet II, in the siege of Con
stantinople in 1453, were formed of bars of iron,2 hooped
together lengthwise by iron rings, and were made use of
to throw immense masses of stone, some of which weighed
twelve hundred pounds. They were discharged only three
or four times in a day. They were so reduced in size as to
admit of being cast in iron and bronze ; and to receive iron
bullets in 1550. The length of some of them about this
period was immense. One taken at the siege of Dieu in
1546, was twenty feet seven inches in length,3 six feet three
inches in diameter in the middle, and threw a ball of one
hundred pounds weight.
The materials composing cannon have usually been
metals ; but wood, leather and rope have been occasionally
employed. They were slow in being perfected. In France,
the use and practice of artillery had not advanced beyond
its infancy in the reign of Henry III, in 1574. Bombs
were first used at sea by the French in the bombardment
of Algiers in 1681. The largest cannon known in modern

1 Wilkinson, 45. " Idem, 47. * Idem, 49.
vn] 66

522 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
times was the monster mortar recently cast at Liege,
and used at the siege of Antwerp in 1832. It was only
discharged fourteen times, ahd finally burst. . Various im
provements have been made in cannon recently, among
which the most important may be stated that of converting
the smooth into the rifled bore, thus giving the ball the'
same spiral direction as that given to the bullet by the rifle.
The hand-gun, or fire-arm, has had at least five different
stages of progress independent of the change from the
smooth bore to the rifle. The first was known as early as
1471. It had no lock whatever, but was fired like a can
non by applying a lighted match. In the second stage of
improvement they were reduced in weight, and had a
match lock, so that they could be discharged from the
shoulder without rests. The third improvement bring us
to the pyrites wheel lock, which was introduced about the
reign Of Henry VIII. The fourth was the flint lock,
which recently has given way to the percussion lock now
in use. The conversion of the smooth bore into the rifle
is also a change of great importance in modern warfare.
Great improvements have been made also in the ball, the"
most recent, the minie ball, being the most destructive.
The rifling of cannon and fire-arms has had a prodigious
effect in enabling them to carry, with great velocity, to
great distances, and with a deadly aim. And these im
provements have been recent. Half a century ago when
General Moreau was struck by a cannon ball at two thou
sand yards distance, it was thought an extraordinary cir
cumstance. But at the present day, cannon instead of
carrying one mile will carry five. The rifle of the foot
soldier will now carry as far as a field piece of old times,
and with far greater accuracy.
The pistol derives its origin from Pistoja, a city of
Etruria, where they were manufactured previous to 1544,
in the reign of Francis I. The barrels were about one
foot in length, and fired by the wheel lock. Their intro
duction into England was about the middle of the sixteenth
century.

EUROPEAN ART. 523
Another important change in modern times has been
the substitution of the. bayonet for the pike. The latter
had a shaft from ten to fourteen feet in length, with a flat
pointed steel, head called a spear. This was in use until
the beginning of the eighteenth century, the first charge
of infantry with the fixed bayonet having been made at
the battle of Spires in 1703. From that time until the
wars of the French revolution the bayonet was little used.
Since then the bayonet charge has been among the most im
portant of modern movements in effecting sudden changes on
the battle-field, in arresting a victorious movement, and
sometimes in changing almost a defeat into a victory. Its
instrumentality has been perhaps the most felt in its ability
to withstand cavalry charges. Since its more perfect organ
ization, the mounted cavalry have ceased to be so great a
, terror to the foot soldier. A compact body of infantry,
with their fixed bayonets, present an ugly barrier for the
cavalry to attempt to pass.

Fortified Places, and Means of Attack and Defense.
The object of fortification is to dispose the ground in
such a manner as to enable a small number of troops to
resist a larger army the longest possible period of time. It
is of two kinds : field or temporary, and permanent. The
former are resorted to, to strengthen positions temporarily
occupied, or which constitute the base of the army's opera
tions. These localities are not selected and fortified in
advance of the campaign, as they must necessarily be
determined by the position of the hostile forces. Their
character and position must, therefore, shift with the vary
ing fortunes of the war. The latter, on the contrary, consist
of forts, fortresses, and walled towns or cities, the localities
of which are selected after due deliberation, and with
reference to the natural facilities they present for fortifica
tion, and their strategic importance in the defense of the
country. Here the selection is usually made in time of

524 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
peade, and all the resources of art are exhausted in render
ing the position impregnable.
Fortification in the middle ages varied very little from
that of antiquity. It was the castles of the feudal barons
that were protected by all that was then known of fortifi
cation, while the cities, in which the burgher class resided,
remained open, or were protected only by a simple wall.
Fortifications, during these ages, consisted usually of a
ditch surrounding the whole place, of a closed circumscrib
ing wall, and a place of retreat, in which the garrison
could defend themselves even when the wall was in pos
session of the enemy. In all the walled cities there was a
citadel for this purpose, and in the feudal castles a tower
much stronger than the rest, and independent of the other
parts of the fortification.1 Thus the engineers of that
period understood the problem of so arranging their works
that they should mutually defend each other. Hence the
interior works must command the exterior. The fortifica
tions of the castle of the middle ages, aside from its walls,
were to be found in its ditches, bridges, outworks, gates,
towers, battlements, and turrets.
The art of fortification has, in modern times, made very
great advances. The discovery of gunpowder, and the
employment of cannon in the attack of fortified places, led
to a change in the manner of fortifying. TEe thin walls of
the ancient works were no longer sufficient, and hence the
necessity of erecting earthen ramparts behind them. The
walls themselves were ultimately replaced with parapets of
earth. The ancient towers were changed into bastions.2
Several distinguished engineers in Holland, Germany
and France, during the first half of the seventeenth century,
by their writings and the works they constructed, contri
buted the most largely to the improvements in fortifica
tions. The most remarkable of these was Vauban, of the
age of Louis XTV, who forms a connecting link between

' Iconographic, in, 144. " HallecJc, 328.

EUROPEAN ART. 525
the earlier systems of engineering, and the more perfect form
which the art has since assumed.
The elements constituting a permanent fortification are v
i 1. The rampart, consisting of a mound of earth and en
closing the space fortified. This is the chief part of every
fortification. 2. The parapet which surmounts the rampart, and is
designed to protect the men and guns from the projectiles
of the enemy. It varies in thickness with the kind of pro
jectile the ground permits the enemy to use. If cannon
can be used it must be from six to ten feet thick.
3. The scarp wall, which is designed to sustain the pres
sure of the earth of the rampart and parapet, and by the
sharpness of its slope to present an insurmountable obsta
cle to an assault by storm.
4. The ditch, or fosse, wide and deep, surrounding the
works, which serves the double purpose of furnishing earth
for the construction of the rampart and parapet, and also
for preventing the near approach of the enemy.
5. The counterscarp wall, which is the outer boundary
of the ditch, which sustains the earth on its exterior, and
in permanent fortification is revetted with masonry to ren
der the ditch as steep as possible.
6. The covered way, which is the space between the
counterscarp and the crest of the glacis, over which the
garrison can pass without being seen by the enemy.
7. The glacis, a mound of earth, thrown up a few yards
in front of the ditch to cover the scarp of the main work.
8. The enceinte is the body of the place, or the first belt
of ramparts and parapets that enclose the place.
Then there are the outworks constructed between the en
ceinte and the glacis, the advanced works, constructed
beyond the covered way and the glacis, but within range
of the musketry of the main works, and detached works,
or those constructed beyond the range of such musketry.
The bastion is a work of two faces and two flanks, all the
angles being salient, the demilune, composed of two faces
forming a salient angle towards the country, and con-

526 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
structed to cover the curtain, or that part of the rampart
lying between two bastions. The demilune serves to cover
the main entrance to the work, and to place the adjacent
bastions in strong reenterings. The tenaile is a low work
constructed in the main ditch, upon the lines of defense,
between the bastions, before the curtain, composed of two
faces, and sometimes of two flanks and a small curtain.
There are also places of arms, reentering places of. arms,
salient places of arms, redoubts placed within the demilune,
and reentering places of arms; caponniers constructed to
cover the passage of the ditch from the tenaile to the
gorge of the demilune, and from the demilune to the
covered way ; posterns, or underground communications ;
sortie passages, or narrow openings made through the crest
of the glacis. The traverses are small works erected on
the covered way to intercept the fire of the besieger's bat
teries. The scarp and counterscarp galleries, arranged
with loop holes, are sometimes constructed for the defense
of the ditch. Embrasures are sometimes made in the scarp
wall for the fire of artillery, while the whole is protected
from shells by a bomb-proof covering overhead, termed a
casemate. Temporary fortification, belonging to field engineering,
is resorted to for the purpose of strengthening positions
designed to be occupied only for short periods, and are
usually made of earth thrown up by the troops within a
brief period of time. The principles upon which they are
constructed are similar to those which preside over per
manent fortifications, although much greater latitude is
allowed in their application. These are generally termed
intrenchments, and the object of their erection is to impede
the march of the enemy, and to shelter the defensive troops.
They may consist either of lines of works made to cover
extended positions, or of detached works designed simply
for the defense of the ground they occupy. As_ simple
entrenchments we have the polygon, the redan, the lunette,
the mitre, star-fort and bastion.

EUROPEAN ART., 527
The redoubts are generally constructed square or poly
gonal, on account of their greater ease of construction in
that form. The redan is a small work with two faces
terminating in a salient angle, and is used to cover a camp,
the front of a battle-field, advanced posts, avenues of a
village, or other localities which it is desirable to protect.
The lunette is a redan having flanks parallel to its capitals.
The bastion fort is usually composed of four or five fronts,
but it may be applied to a polygon of any number of sides.
All artificial obstacles, such as hedges, walls, houses,
stone fences, etc., are availed of in the laying out of
field-works. The abatis are tops and large limbs of trees
arranged along the glacis of a work, the ends of the
branches being lopped off and sharpened. Palisades are
stakes eight or ten feet long, one end made sharp while
the other is fastened in the ground. When placed in juxta
position they are connected together by horizontal riband
pieces. When the timbers are large ahd the work intended
as a part of a primary defense, it is called a stockade.
Mines are sometimes excavated, and charged with powder
for the purpose of producing an explosion. In the earlier
periods, they were only used to open breaches and de
molish masses of masonry, but in later times they have
been employed as important elements in the attack and
defense of places.
Having learnt the essential parts of field and permanent
fortifications, we will next briefly advert to the subject of
attack and defense. The successful or unsuccessful pro
secution of the arts here employed, tests the sufficiency
or insufficiency of the fortifications. The attack and
defense of the larger class of field-works are so similar to
that of permanent fortifications that it is unnecessary here
to make any distinction.
In the attack and defense of a regular, permanent forti
fication the skill of the engineer is more especially required.
In the regular siege it is indispensable. The assault upon
a fortified fortress, or city, requires a much greater pro
portion of force in the assaulting party. It should be

528 history of civilization.
composed of troops divided into two portions, each equal
. in strength to three-fourths of the garrison attacked. One
of these should be the attacking, the other the supporting
party. It is usual for each column of the attacking party
to assault the salient points of the works, and least de
fended portions. As each column moves on, points of
security should be taken up, such as the reverse, or the
exterior slope of the works, building, walls, as well as
gorges and flanks. The assault, however, under circum
stances the most favorable, is usually attended with an
immense sacrifice of human life. This has rendered the
siege the more generally resorted to, and the great faci
lities which the science and skill of modern times have
afforded to its prompt, vigorous, and successful prosecution,
have made the assault of much less frequent occurrence.
At the siege of Ypres, the French general getting impa
tient, advised an assault before the breaches were ready.
" You will gain a day by the assault," said Vauban to the
king, Louis XTV, " but you will lose a thousand men."
The regular works were continued, and the day following
the place was taken with a very trifling loss.
The first operation of the besieging army is to invest the
fortress, which is done by occupying positions on every
side so as to cut off all communication with the adjacent
country, and confine the garrison entirely to their own
resources. All the positions thus taken are strengthened
by field-works, and an unobstructed communication is
kept up between them. When the investment is com
plete, parks of artillery are placed in secure localities,
behind the slopes of hills, or in ravines, beyond the gene
ral range of the guns of the fortress, but with a ready
access to the trenches and batteries of attack, for the use
of which they are formed.
The besiegers have three objects in view : 1. By their
artillery fire to dismount the guns and thus silence all the
artillery fire of the place. 2. To construct a secure and
covered road by which their forces may march to assault
the defensive works, as soon as they are sufficiently impaired

EUROPEAN ART. 529
to justify the attempt. 3. To breach or batter down the
escarp revetments of the fortress in certain spots, causing
the fall of the rampart and parapet supported by them,
and thus exposing the interior of the place to the assaultr
ing forces. The progress of a regular siege presents three
distinct periods: 1. The operations preliminary to the
opening of the trenches. 2. Those intervening between
the opening of the trenches, and the establishment of the
third parallel. 3. From the completion of the third paral
lel, to the reduction of the place.
The preliminary operations eonsist of the investment
already mentioned, the securing and fortifying all the
favorable positions ; the establishment of posts and sen
tinels, called the daily cordon, at such a distance as to be
beyond the reach of the guns of the fortress ; and the
nearer approach of the troops during the night, which
constitutes the nightly cordon. Before any of the objects
heretofore mentioned can be fully attained, it is necessary
to resort to some means of protection against the fire and
sorties from the garrison. With this view the trenches are
opened, and the lines of countervallation and circumvalla-
tion are established. The first consists of works between
the camp of the besieging army and the fortress. The
last is exterior to the camp, and designed to protect
the besieging army from being in its turn attacked or
besieged. In 1640, Prince Thomas of Savoy, and the Spaniards,
held the city of Turin, while the citadel was defended by
a French garrison. In May, the Count d'Harcourt set
himself down before the place, but that was scarcely done
before the Marquis de Lenages arrived with heavy forces to
blockade him in his lines. Thus the citadel was besieged
by the city, the latter by a French army, and that, in its
turn, surrounded by a Spanish. In this position Prince
Thomas corresponded with Lenages by means of shells in
which letters were enclosed, and by the same means salt"
and medicine, in small quantities, were introduced into
the city. Count d'Harcourt was obliged to protect him-
vn] 67

530 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
self by strong lines on both sides, and after four and a
half months forced the city to capitulate.
„ The exterior, or lines of circumvallation, are now fre
quently dispensed" with by employing a force called the
army of observation sufficient to hold in check any succor
ing army.
The parallels are usually three in number, and are long
lines of trench formed around the whole of the fronts
attacked, the first being more and more distant as the
range of fire-arms becomes increased. While formerly it
was only between six and seven hundred yards, in the
recent siege of Sebastopol it was twelve hundred. The
first parallel is formed in the night by a body of men,
some carrying intrenching tools, and others armed, and
called guards of the trenches. These latter are in advance
of the workmen, and lie down to keep themselves con
cealed from the fire of the fortress. They protect the
workmen while the latter are digging a trench in the
ground parallel to the fortifications to be attacked, and
with the earth excavated from the trench raising a bank
on the side next the enemy. This trench is afterwards
widened and deepened, and the bank of earth raised till it
forms a covered road, which constitutes the parallel, em
bracing all the fortifications to be attacked ; so that along
this road, guns, wagons, and men may move securely, and
be sheltered from the fire of the garrison. They are
arranged with banquettes for musketry, which are steps of
earth within the trench so high as to enable the defenders,
when standing upon them, to fire over the crest of the
bank. From this parallel run boyaux, or small trenches
in a zigzag direction along the capitals of the front of
attack, and also to the magazines, which have no ban
quettes, and are intended exclusively for the circulation of
the troops. The first parallel is constructed by what is
called the simple sap, and on its completion the guards
instead of advancing in front of the work, are placed in
the trenches. So also the engineers select positions for the
batteries to silence the defensive artillery. These batteries

EUROPEAN ART. 531
are constructed a little in advance of this parallel, and in
such positions that their guns enfilade, or sweep the whole
length of the faces of the works attacked.
From the first parallel commence the approaches, which
are trenches dug in the ground in the direction of the fort
ress. As these may be exposed to grape the flying sap is
employed in their construction. The approaches are made
not in a straight line directly towards the salients of the
besieged fortress, because then they would be subject to an
enfilading fire from one end to the other, but in a zigzag
direction, alternately to the right and to the left, in
such a manner that their prolongations fall clear of the
fortress, and the possibility of being enfiladed is entirely
removed. Any sorties from the garrison are met and re
pulsed by the guard of the trenches.
When these approaches have advanced about half way
between the first parallel and the covered way of the fort
ress, a second parallel is established more especially to
protect the guard of the trenches, and to prevent their
being swept off by cavalry issuing from the covered way of
the fortress.
From the second parallel approaches are again pushed
forward much in the manner before stated, until they reach
nearly the crest of the covered way. The besiegers being
here greatly exposed to the fire of musketry the trenches are
constructed by the full sap. This brings us to the third
parallel, which is a trench of greater width than the two
preceding, and in it batteries of heavy guns are constructed
to silence the remaining artillery of the defense, and also ^
to breach in certain selected spots the escarp revetment
wall, thus destroying the formidable obstacle to assault pre
sented by the high perpendicular sides of the ditches of the
fortress. The second parallel is now appropriated to the
reserve, while the first becomes the depot of materials.
Demi-parallels are also frequently established between the
second and third, to be occupied by detachments of guards.
During these advances of the besiegers, the defense have
not been inactive. Their object has been to harass the

532 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
work men in the trenches, and retard the advance of the
works of attack. With this view garrison pieces of long
range and large howitzers have been brought forward on the
salients, or projecting angles of the bastions and demilunes
of attack, so as to fire in ricochet along the capitals on
which the boyaux must be pushed. This ricochet fire is
with a small charge, and at a low elevation, so that the ball
may merely clear the parapet, and thence bound along a
rampart. As soon as darkness has settled upon the earth,
light and fire-balls were thrown out to light up the ground
occupied by the besiegers, thus exposing them to the fire of
the garrison, and to the attacks of the sortie parties. These
parties are the most effective when the besiegers com
mence the second parallel, as the guards who are then in
the first are not so immediately at hand toprotectthe work
men. These sorties are often frequently repeated, and
tend very much to prolong the siege. Defensive mines
are also sometimes resorted to, to prolong the defense, and
they often force the besieger to make works that require
much time in their preparation. This leads to the slow
and tedious operations of subterranean warfare. A fourth
trench is then required to be formed in front of the third
parallel, into which shafts are sunk about six yards apart
for establishing overcharged mines. As soon as the gal
leries of the besieged are destroyed by the explosion of
these mines, the covered way may be attacked by storm,.
Other mines are established on the terre-plein, or level plain
of the covered way to destroy the entrance to the galleries,
and thus deprive the besieged of the use of their mines.
After the completion of the third parallel an assault is
often made on the fortress. In the front of it stone mortar
batteries are established, which, on a given signal, open
their fire in concert with all the enfilading and mortar bat
teries. When this fire has produced its effect in clearing
the outwork, a select body of troops sally forth and carry
the covered way with the bayonet, sheltering themselves
behind the traverses "until the sappers throw up a trench
some four or five yards from the crest of the glacis, high ¦

EUROPEAN ART. 533
enough to protect the troops from the fire of the besieged.
It may afterwards be connected with the third parallel by
boyaux. -The assault, on account of the loss of life with which it
may be attended, is not always resorted to after the com
pletion of the third parallel. Regular approaches may
still continue to be made by pushing a double-sap or trench
with parapets on each side forward from the third parallel
to within thirty yards of , the salient of the covered way;
the trench is then extended some fifteen or twenty yards
to the right or left, and the earth thrown up high enough-
to enable the besiegers to obtain a plunging fire into the-
covered way, and thus prevent the enemy from occupying
it. This mound of earth is termed a trench cavalier.
Boyaux are now pushed forward to the crowning of the
covered way and the establishing qf breach batteries. De
scents are then constructed into the ditches, and when
these batteries have made a breach into the walls of the bas
tions and outworks, the boyaux are pushed across the
ditches and lodgments effected in the breaches. The demi
lune is first carried, next the demilune redoubt and bastion,
and lastly, the interior retrenchment, and citadel. The
retrenchment is an inner defensible line, either constructed
in the original design, or executed on the spur of the occa
sion, to cut off a breach, or other weak point, so that the
capture of the latter shall not involve that of the retrenched
post. In some cases the breaches are carried by assault,
but this again is always at the expense of human life.
As to the relative strength of the opposing forces, it has
been estimated that if the fortress has been properly con
structed, the garrison will be able to resist a besieging
army which is six times as numerous as itself.

Armies, their Composition, Subsistence, and Means of
Movement.
The army is the grand aggregate *of a nation's military
force. The military art organizes and combines its ele-

534 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION,
ments ; divides it into different arms ; assembles it upon
the theatre of war ; links it to a base by means of a line
of operations ; rests upon it fortresses or intrenched camps ;
marches it in combined columns or columns in masses ;
distributes it into "army corps, divisions, brigades; and
battalions ; and on the day of battle assembles it between
an advanced and rear-guard, and flanking parties.
The army is composed of four arms, viz : infantry, ca
valry, artillery, and engineers. Each one of these is neces
sary, and no army can be complete without them all.
1. As to infantry or foot soldiers, most of the nations
of Europe make a nominal division of infantry of the line,
and light infantry, although they are usually armed and
equipped alike, and receive the same organization and in
struction. The infantry of the line acts in masses, and
constitutes the principal fighting force ; while the light
infantry is more usually employed to protect the flanks of
the army, to secure outposts, reconnoitre the ground, se
cure avenues of approach, and deceive the enemy. They
usually begin the battle, and afterwards take their place in
the line. The infantry was formerly armed with the pike,
but in the reign of Louis XIV, through the influence of
Vauban the pike was suppressed, and the musket and bayo
net, substituted in its place.
Napoleon called infantry the arm of battles and the sinews
of the army. It has also been called the soul as well as
the sinew of armies. It is at home on every species of
ground, level as well as broken, finishes operations begun
by artillery; crowns heights which horses and pieces of
artillery cannot reach ; and often decides the fate of battles
with the aid of cavalry, and sometimes alone. It costs little,
occupies but little ground, is active, readily renewed, easily
subsisted, and has always changed its tactics at the same
time with its arms. The formation in lines has fitted it for
action on all kinds of ground, and the invention of massing,
condensation of ranks,- and the formations by size, have
given it a perfect ensemble. By the simplification of
evolutions, the resort to guides, and turning upon pivots,

EUROPEAN ART. 535
it has gained great rapidity in its march. Its susceptibility
to rapid change of direction ; its ready formation in order
of battle, and alternate ployments and deployments, enable
it to act skillfully in the affairs of plains and outposts. Its
depth of formation has progressively diminished since the
centre and wings have been armed alike. The introduc- ,
tion of the improved rifle musket has given it great power,
and that, together with the bayonet, fits it alike for close
or distant combat.
In all properly organized armies the infantry constitutes
from three-fourths to four-fifths of the entire active force
in the field, and about seven-tenths of the entire military
establishment ; and although it may well be regarded as
the first instrument of victory, yet it finds a powerful sup
port in the cavalry, artillery, and engineers, without which
its operations would necessarily be comparatively very
much limited.
2. Cavalry, armed soldiers on horseback, have always
played a conspicuous part in armies. In some they have
constituted the main, if not the only feature. Some
nations have been horsemen. The savage Huns, who
scourged Europe so severely under Attila, were such a
nation. During the middle ages the knights fought on
horseback. Under Pepin and Charlemagne, the two arms
of infantry and cavalry were about equal, while under
Charles the Bald armies were composed almost entirely of
cavalry. The introduction of artillery at first diminished
the employment of cavalry, but this arm was partially
restored in modern warfare by Gustavus Adolphus, and
finally perfected by Seidlitz under the great Frederick.
Cavalry have been divided into light and heavy, and a
mixed class called dragoons. The heavy cavalry, divided
into carbineers, cuirassiers, and sometimes lancers, acted in
heavy masses, moved in united ranks, and made the de
cisive charges on the field of battle. Its perfect type may
be found in the mailed chivalry of the middle ages. The
light cavalry consisted of chasseurs, or troopers, hussars,
and lancers, composed of smaller men and smaller horses

536 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
than those of the heavy; The dragoons were formerly a
mixed body of horse and foot, but finally came to be a
mixed kind of cavalry between the heavy and the light.
Sinee the use of rifles, and the more improved styles of
fire-arms, the heavy cavalry have been less and less em
ployed. When the heavy masses of cavalry could take a
position in safety up to within four hundred yards of the
infantry, they might hope, by increasing their trot to a
gallop, and then to the highest possible speed, to be suc
cessful in their charge. But since the rifle can empty a
saddle at the distance of a thousand yards, it would be
quite a desperate undertaking for heavy cavalry, under
ordinary circumstances to make a charge upon infantry.
A well organized column of the latter, first by its fire, and
second by its bayonet, would present a very effectual
barrier. Hence in a fair fight between well armed, and
well disposed infantry and cavalry, the former will now be
successful. Thus in the battle of Auerstadt, in 1806, the
assaults of the Prussian cavalry, led on by Blueher, in re
peated and impetuous charges, made no impression upon
the front of iron presented by the French infantry, formed
into squares for the purpose of receiving them. The same
superiority was evidenced at the battles of Krasnoe and
Molwitz. But when the infantry on one side are already
engaged with the infantry on the other, an unexpected
charge of cavalry, made at the right time and in the right
direction, is very likely to prove successful, and sometimes
to decide the fate of the battle, as at Rosbach, Zrondorf,
Wurtzburg, Marengo, Eylau, etc.
The principal merit of cavalry lies in its rapidity, its
mobility, its promptness and audacity in action. Its prin
cipal object is to prepare or to finish the victory, to render
it complete by taking prisoners or trophies, by pursuing
the enemy, by rapidly carrying succor to a menaced point,
by breaking the shaken infantry or by covering the retreat
of the infantry and the artillery.1 An army wanting in

'Jomini, 306.

EUROPEAN ART. 537
cavalry rarely obtains great successes, and its retreats are
always difficult.
Marshal Saxe termed the cavalry the arme du moment
for the reason that in almost all battles there are moments
when a. decisive charge of cavalry will secure the victory,
but if not made at the instant it may be too late. Thus
in- the campaign of Napoleon in Egypt, Murat, Leclerc,
and La Salle, cavalry generals, presented themselves to the
Mamelukes in several lines. When the latter were upon
the point of out-fronting the first line, the second came to
its assistance on the right and left ; the Mamelukes then
stopped, and wheeled, to turn the wings of this new line.
This was the moment seized for charging them, and they
were always broken.1
It is the shock that constitutes the principal effect pro
duced by this arm; and this effect will always be the
greater in proportion to the velocity with which the charge
is made, providing the troops can be kept in mass. The
greater the speed with which the charge is made the more
likely will . the mass be broken, and the result be ren
dered ineffective. But although this arm is so effectual in
producing a shock, yet it is unable of itself to resist a shock,
and hence should never wait to receive the charge of
another body of cavalry. Hence the injunctions of the
Great Frederick to his cavalry officers always were never
to receive a charge, but always to meet the attacking
force half way. That this was the only mode to prevent
a defeat. Cavalry is always required to be sustained, and that im
mediately either by infantry or other bodies of horse.
This arises from the fact that as soon as the charge is made,
the whole strength of this arm is expended in it, and hence
if immediately attacked, defeat becomes inevitable. At
Waterloo, the attack by the French cavalry lacked the
proper support, and disastrous consequences were the ne
cessary result.

1 Halleck, 268.
vii] 68

538 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Cavalry is invaluable after a victory, for the purpose of
pursuing a flying enemy. Where the rout is complete,
large bodies of cavalry can almost effect the annihilation
of the defeated army. Thus the Prussian army in 1806,1
after the battle of Jena, and Napoleon's army in 1815, at
Waterloo, were completely cut to pieces by the skillful use
of cavalry.
In a well organized army, the cavalry arm should be
from one-fourth to one-sixth of the infantry, according to
the nature of the war, and also according to the nature of
the country, a smaller number being required in moun
tainous than in level regions.
3. The third arm is the artillery, the material of which,
as employed in modern warfare, is divided into two gene
ral classes. These are :
First. Siege artillery ; composed of mortars, large howit
zers, paixhan guns, or columbiads, and all cannon of a large
calibre. All these, with the exception of the smaller mor
tars, are made of cast iron.
Second. Field artillery is composed of the smaller guns
'and howitzers. The projectiles thrown by artillery are :
1. Solid shot, made of cast iron formed in moulds of sand
or iron. This is the only one which is effective against
the stone walls of forts. Hot shot are used against ship
ping and wooden structures of every description. 2.
Hollow shot and shells, called bombs, howitzers, grenades,
etc. These are made of cast iron, and are usually spheri
cal, the cavity in the interior being concentric with the
exterior surface. A fuse so regulated, that the explosion
shall take place at the desired moment, communicates fire-
to the combustible matter within the shell. 3. The strap
shot, which consists of a round ball attached to a sabot of
the same calibre, by two strips of tin passing over the shot
at right angles, and fastened to a third, which is soldered
around the sabot. While one end of the sabot is arranged
for attaching it to the cartridge, the other is hollowed out to

'Halleck, 272.

EUROPEAN ART, 539
receive the shot. 4. The case, or canister shot, is prepared
by filling a tin canister with grape shot or musket balls, and
attaching it to the cartridge by means of a sabot. This is
quite effective against lines of infantry and cavalry at short
ranges. 5. The grape shot consists of small balls arranged
round an upright pin, which is attached to a plate of
wood or iron. The balls are covered with canvas, and
confined by a quilting of small twine. The use of this is
for the same purpose as the canister. There are also
light and fire, or incendiary balls and carcasses, employed
to light up the works or approaches of the enemy, and
also to set on fire the wooden structures with which they
may come in contact.
As an arm of service, artillery is divided into: 1. Field
artillery, which is intended for field service. 2. Siege
artillery, which is employed for the attack and defense of
places. The former when employed in the service of a
campaign, is divided into : 1. Foot artillery. 2. Horse
artillery. Artillery of any description was slow in coming
into general use. Its great importance was seen by Gus-
tavus Adolphus, who rendered it an effectual arm of service
in the thirty years' war. *So a great improvement was
made by Conde, Turenne, and Prince Eugene of Savoy.
Frederick the Great was the first to introduce horse artil
lery which, from the promptness and rapidity of its move
ments, was enabled to act with other troops without
embarrassing them.
Artillery always acts by batteries and not by regiments.
This term is used to mean a permanent organization of a
certain number of cannon, with the men and other acces
sories required to serve them. A battery is ordinarily
composed of six pieces, two of them being howitzers. In
some services there are eight instead of six. Some are six,
some twelve-pounders, the latter the more usually forming
the reserve.
Artillery admits of three formations: 1. In column, in
which it ordinarily mOves by sections of two pieces, each
piece being followed or preceded by its caisson. 2. In

540 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
battle, in which the pieces are drawn up in line, their cais
sons forming a second line, at the distance of a few paces.
3.- In battery, in which the pieces are formed in the same-
way as for battle, except that the guns are directed towards
the enemy and prepared for firing.
Artillery has generally been discussed under two heads:
1. As an arm of preparation. 2. As an arm of succor.
In the first it is often employed in the commencement
of an action, signaling the approach of the hostile armies
towards each other. The advancing army more especially
employs it to feel its way through woods or other conceal
ments, and to ascertain the positions of the enemy. This
artillery warfare, engaged in, often while the armies are at
considerable distances from each other, causes frequently
much waste of powder and projectiles.
When within range this arm of service serves : " 1st, to
protect the deploying of the other troops ; 1 2d, to disor
ganize the enemy's masses, and to facilitate the action of
infantry and cavalry, by weakening the intended points of
attack; 3d, to force an enemy to evacuate a position by
overthrowing obstacles with which he has covered himself;
4th, to keep up the action till the other troops can be pre
pared to strike the decisive blow."
As an arm of succor the artillery serves: "1st, to give
impulsive force to the attacking columns; 2d, to assist in
arresting or retarding the offensive movements of the
enemy;2 3d, to protect the avenues of approach, and to
defend obstacles that cover a position ; 4th, to cover a
retrogade movement."
The foot artillery, like infantry, is better calculated to
defend, or to make a steady, slow advance, while the
horse artillery, like cavalry, is the most effective in attack.
The utility of every species of artillery is largely depend
ent upon the rapidity and accuracy of its fire. Those who
direct it must not only possess science, patience, and skill,
but also valor, coolness, and uninterrupted self-possession.

1 Halleck, 290. " Idem, 292.

EUROPEAN ART. 541
In such hands the batteries become truly powerful instru
ments of attack and defense. Their power of throwing
shot and shell, and even canister and grape to great dis-.
tances, secures to them under ordinary circumstances, an
immunity from capture by any attack of infantry. Before
they could reach the battery the men would be killed,.
wounded or dispersed.
Artillery is not alone useful in feeling the way for an
advancing army. Where a retreat is rendered necessary;
the horse artillery and cavalry may serve as a valuable
protection in the rear. The retiring column may be
well protected by placing in echelon the squadrons of horse,
and the light batteries. The batteries may continue firing
while the retreat is in progress. Thus, in the battle of
Albuera, in 1811, the French artillery on the left wing
held in check the right and centre of the Anglo-Spaniards
till the army effected its retreat,1 when the artillery retired
in echelons, by batteries and fractions of batteries, under
the protection of the cavalry. By echelon is meant an
arrangement of battalions, so that each has a line of battle
in -advance, or in rear of its neighboring battalion.

Echelon.

The number of artillery in all well regulated army organ
izations,2 should equal about two-thirds of the cavalry, and
one-seventh of the infantry.
4. The fourth arm- is the engineers, which received its
greatest development under Louis XIV, and has ever since
constituted an important part of the army organization.
As compared with the artillery their numbers are about as
two to three. They are divided into staffs, guards, or fort
keepers, artificers and troops ; their general duties are to
plan, construct and repair all fortifications and defensive
works, to prepare military materials, to direct and superin-

1 Halleck, 293. " Idem, 295.

542 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
tend the attack and defense of military works, and to lay
out and construct field defenses, redoubts, and intrench
ments. Their place is in the vanguard of an advancing,
and rear guard of a retreating army.
In the division of engineer troops are to be found the
sappers and pioneers, the miners and the pontoniers.
This division only obtains where the military art has ad--
vanced to a high degree of perfection. Its organization is the
, most perfect in France, where it owes its existence to Vau-
ban in 1670. Previously, there, as now in this country,
infantry troops were detailed as sappers, and instructed by
engineers. The agency of the engineer department is
essential in the movements of armies.
Next to the .composition of armies follows their subsist
ence, and means of movement. These are both included
under one term, viz : logisties, a word derived from the
Latin logista^ the administrator or intendant of the Roman
armies. The principle upon which armies have been subsisted
have varied at different periods of time, with different cir
cumstances, and somewhat with the different advances that
have been made in civilization. The only possible modes
of doing this are derived from two principles, and from
their modifications by each other. The one of these is to
support the army entirely at the expense of the country'
passed over, and the other to establish regular magazines to
which the means of subsistence are transported, and from ,
which the supplies are taken for distribution as circum
stances may require.
The first has been the more generally resorted to. It
was a maxim with Caesar that war should be made to sup
port war; and when armies have been traveling entirely
through the enemy's country, and that country a rich one,
that maxim has strongly prevailed almost ever since. The
wars of Louis XIV, and Frederick II, were carried on
mostly on their own frontiers, and hence led to the adop
tion of a system of regular depots and supplies. Several
of the European wars, however, have been carried on upon

EUROPEAN ART. 543
a different principle. In the famous thirty years' war,
Wallenstein stipulated with the emperor Ferdinand to raise
fifty thousand men, and to arm, equip, and feed them at
his own expense. He raised them to an hundred thousand,
and by levying heavy contributions upon the lower Ger
man provinces, was enabled to subsist his army, although
in the same proportion as that prospered, the country
through which it passed withered. Even at the period of
the French revolution her armies made war without
magazines, subsisting, sometimes on the inhabitants, and
at others by forced requisitions levied on the country passed
over, and at others still by pillaging and marauding
expeditions. In the practical operation of this principle there is much
to be considered in the ability of the country in reference
to its productiveness, to support an invading army.
While Italy, Suabia, and the basins of the Rhine and the
Danube could in this manner furnish supplies for an invad
ing army of one hundred thousand men, some of the pro
vinces of Poland, and especially the bleak regions of
Russia, could do but little towards satisfying the demands
of such an army.
Not unfrequently questions of policy are mingled up
with the .resort to one of these principles. Thus in the
war with the Spanish peninsula Napoleon had to choOse
between regular operations, with provisions either carried
in the train of his army, or purchased and paid for of the
inhabitants which would require drafts of three or four
millions of francs upon the French treasury, or to subsist
his army by irregular warfare, and with forced requisitions,
thus creating a perpetual hostility between himself and the
people of Spain whom it was his policy to conciliate. He
finally decided upon the adoption of a middle course of
supporting out of the country his active masses, and of
employing the regular system of magazines for his reserves
who are designed for the occupation and pacification of
the conquered provinces.

544 HISTORY "OF CIVILIZATION.
The principle that would seem to commend itself, for
general adoption would be that regular magazines should
be formed, so far as is practicable for the subsistence of
the army, and that the levying of requisitions should be
limited to cases where the nature of the war, and the rapid
ity of marches render a resort to them absolutely neces
sary ; and also that with a view to safety, depots should be
formed in places strengthened by nature or art, defended by
troops or garrisons and situated in positions least liable to
attack. "All depots of provisions and other supplies
are called magazines, which are divided into principal,
secondary, and provisional. The first are usually found on
the base of operations ; the second on the line of opera
tions ; and the last in the immediate vicinity of the troops,
and contain supplies for a few days only." x All the great
depots are placed on navigable rivers which communicate
with the line of operations,2 so as to afford easy and rapid
means of transportation as the army advances on this line.
The efficiency of armies lies largely in their capacity of
prompt and rapid movement. Marches are of two kinds :
1. Route marches. 2. Marches within reach of the enemy.
The first are within the empire of strategy, the last within
that of tactics. But so far as concerns the means of exe
cuting either, there is an intimate connection with logistics. .
The rule in moving an army on a line of operations is to
move it in as many columns as the facility of subsistence,
celerity of movement, nature of the roads, etc., will per
mit. Small columns are more readily subsisted, and can
move with greater rapidity than large ones.- But when an
army reaches within striking distance of the enemy the
most important thing is concentration of the forces, which
must be kept in mass, or at least within supporting dis
tances of each other.
The advance of an army on the route march is always at
tended with no inconsiderable difficulties. Besides the clear
ing away of obstructions, there occurs usually in long marches.

'Halleck, 90. 'Idem, 93.

EUROPEAN ART. 545
the necessity of crossing streams and rivers, and of castra-
metation or the bivouac. The first must frequently be
accomplished in the absence of bridges, which either have
never been constructed, or have been torn away by the
enemy. These are supplied by that division in the engi
neer department termed pontoniers. Upon these it. de
volves to make the pontoon bridges, which are composed
of vulcanized india rubber, and when on hand are con
structed with great rapidity, so as to afford a safe passage
for the army. The sufficiency of these pontoons for the
purpose has been amply tested by experience, but the diffi
culty has been in the having a sufficient number at the
right place in the right time. The failure to do this has
not unfrequently saved or lost armies. These have oc
curred the most frequently in the wars of Napoleon. In
his passage of the Po, he writes : " If I had had a good pon
toon equipage, the fate of the enemy's army had been
sealed ; but the necessity of passing the river by successive
embarkations saved it." In the winter of 1813-14 he
writes to his minister of war'; "If I had had pontoons, I
should have already annihilated the army of Schwartzen-
berg, and closed the war ; I should have taken from him
eight or ten thousand wagons, and his entire army in
detail; but for want of the proper means I could not pass
the Seine." And again on the 2d of March he wrote : " If I
had had a bridge equipage this morning, Blucher's army
had been lost." And yet with all these drawbacks, the-
facility with which Napoleon crossed rivers, and made
forced marches, has had no parallel in history. In 1809
his army crossed the Inn, the Salza, the Traun, and reached
Vienna with such wonderful rapidity that the Austrians
could not prepare for its defense. And then he crowned
all by a passage of the Danube, which considering the
depth and width of the river, the positions of the enemy,
and his preparations to oppose a passage, has been pro
nounced one of the most hazardous and difficult of all the
operations of the war.
vn] 69

546 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
Castramefation is the art of laying out and disposing to
advantage the several parts of the camp of an army. The
importance to be attached to the exercise of this art varies
with the length of time the encampment is to continue.
Where it is to continue for some time, and more especially
if the presence of the enemy is expected, the art of fixing
a camp is much the same as taking up a line of battle on
the same position. It should be in such a position as to 'be
neither commanded, out-fronted, nor surrounded; but if
possible, to command and out-front the enemy's position.1
There may be several modes of arranging an encampment
in the same position, requiring great experience and genius
in making the right selection.
The choice of position is governed by several considera
tions, such as the nature of the ground, whether moist or
dry, its proximity to good roads, canals, or navigable
streams, to woods and to water ; its being beyond long can
non range ; and if bordering on a river or stream, there
must be space enough between them to form in order of
battle. The cantonment for winter quarters requires still
greater care in the selection.
The bivouac is a simple kind of camp, consisting merely
of lines of fires and huts for the officers and soldiers. It is
only a temporary encampment.
To ensure safety the camp must be carefully guarded.
This is done by the camp guard, and also by detachments
of infantry and cavalry, denominated piquets, which are
thrown out in front and on the flanks, and which in con
nection with the guard preserve order and discipline around
the camp, prevent desertions, intercept reconnoitering par
ties, and give immediate notice of the approach of the
enemy. Beyond these the grand guards are posted, occupy
ing as outposts the surrounding villages, farm-houses, or
small field-works, from which they can conveniently watch
the movements of the enemy, and detach patrols and sen
tries to furnish timely notice of danger.

'Halleck, 111.

EUROPEAN ART. 547
Another matter of great importance connected with army
movements relates to the necessity of ascertaining, by
some means, the strength and purposes of the enemy.
There are commonly reckoned four different modes by
which this may be sought to be accomplished. The first is
by a system of espionage well organized and liberally paid ;
the second by reconnaissances made by skillful officers ahd
light troops ; the third consists in the information obtained
from prisoners of war, and the fourth is that of establishing
with one's self the hypothesis which may be the most pro
bable from two or more different bases.1 Some include
a fifth mode, that of signals to indicate the presence of the
enemy. Of these the fourth mode requires some explana
tion. It can only be based upon the most profound know
ledge of military operations. It has been observed that an
army being able to operate only upon the centre or upon
one of the extremities of its front of operations, there are
scarcely ever more than three or four possible chances to
foresee.2 It will, therefore, only remain for a mind the
most thoroughly penetrated with military truths to estimate
in advance the most probable chances. Jomini gives the
following as an illustration :
When in 1806 the" war with Prussia was not yet decided
upon by the French emperor, in a memoir made by him
upon the probabilities of the war, he established the three
following hypotheses :
" First : the Prussians will await Napoleon behind the
Elbe, and will make defensive war to the Oder, in order
to await the concurrence of Russia and Austria. Second :
in the contrary case, they will advance upon the Saale,
resting their left upon the frontier of Bohemia, and de
fending the outlets from the mountains of Franconia.
Third : or else, expecting the French by the grand route
of Mayence, they will advance imprudently to Erfurt. * .
* * * Those three hypotheses being laid down, if
it were asked the course which best suited Napoleon to

' ' Jomini, 275, 276. ' Idem, 277.

548 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
adopt, was it not easy to conclude that the weight of the
French army, being already assembled in Bavaria, it was
necessary to throw it upon the left of the Prussians by
Gera and Hoff, for whatever hypothesis they should adopt,
there was the Gordian knot of the whole campaign. Did
they advance upon Erfurt ? By falling upon Gera, they
were cut off irom their line of retreat, and thrown back
upon the lower Elbe, to the North sea. Did they rest
upon the Saale ? By attacking their left by Hoff and
Gera, they were partially overwhelmed, and could yet be
anticipated by Leipsie at Berlin. If they remained finally
behind the Elbe, it was always in the direction of Gera
and Hoff, that it was necessary to seek them. Hence
what importance was it to know the details of their move
ments, since the interest was always the same ? Thus well
convinced of these truths, I did not hesitate to announce
a month before the war, that it would be what Napoleon
would undertake, and that if the Prussians passed the
Saale, it would be at Jena, and at Naumburg that they
would fight."
In regard to what may be obtained by the aid of signals,
there are several kinds of them, the most important of which.
is the modern telegraph. It was to this that Napoleon
owed his success at Ratisbon, in 1809. He was yet at Paris
when the Austrian army passed the Inn, at Braunau,1 for
invading Bavaria, and piercing his cantonments. : Informed
in twenty-four hours of what passed at two hundred and
fifty leagues from him, he threw himself instantly into his
carriage, and eight days afterwards was the conqueror in
two battles under the walls of Ratisbon ; when, without
the telegraph, the campaign would have been lost. This
refers to the signal telegraph, and not to the more recent
<¦ transmission of intelligence by means of the electric fluid.
The ascent of balloons has also been resorted to, for the
purpose of obtaining a knowledge of the position and num
ber of the enemy.

'Jomini, 280, 281.

EUROPEAN ART. 549 ,
In proportion as the army advances and becomes further
removed from its base,1 there arises the necessity of or
ganizing the line of operations and staple lines, Which should
serve as a bond between the army and this base. The
marches of an army are often preceded by a general ad- ,
vanced guard, or what is more frequent in the modern
system, the main body and each of the wings have their
particular advanced guard.
On the certainty and precision of army movements are
of vital importance to secure the success of a campaign. No
man ever understood so perfectly the principles upon
which these movements reposed, or the art of effecting
them so perfectly as Napoleon Bonaparte. He best knew
how to collect together, with an admirable precision, upon
the decisive point of the zone of operations, his columns
which had departed from the most divergent points. One
of the most remarkable instances of this is found in the
almost miraculous assembling of the French army in the
plains of Gera in 1806. He had first to make choice of
the decisive point, and then to calculate the army move
ments that would reach it. For this purpose he was
found " leaning over and sometimes lying down upon his
map,2 where the positions of his army corps and the pre
sumed positions of the enemy were marked with pins of -
different colors, he ordered his movements with an assur
ance of which it would be difficult to form a just idea.
Moving his compass with vivacity upon this map, he
judged in the twinkling of an eye of the number of
marches necessary to each of his corps for arriving at the
_ point where he wished to have it at a given day, then
placing his pins in those new positions, and combining
the rapidity of the march which it would be necessary to
assign to each of the columns with the possible epoch of
their departure, he dictated those instructions which of
themselves alone would be a title to glory."

1 Jomini, 268, 269. a Idem, 271.

550 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
The results of all this were : " that Ney, coming from the
borders of Lake Constance, Lannes from Upper Suabia,
Soult and Davoust from Bavaria, and the Palatinate, Ber-
nadotte and Angereau from Franconia, and the imperial
guard arriving from Paris, were found in line upon three pa
rallel routes debouching at the same time between Saalfeld,
Gera and Plauen, when no person in the army, nor in Ger
many, conceived anything of those movements in appear
ance so complicated."

Strategy, its Maxims and Illustrations.
We have already seen how armies are constituted, sub
sisted, and moved from one point to another. We now
come to inquire of the purpose of movement, the plan of a
campaign, and this brings us within the empire of strategy,
which is defined to be the art of conducting armies upon
the most important point of the theatre of war, or of a
zone of operations.1 It covers the principle or motive of
movement of all armies when not in immediate conflict
with each other. It has nothing to do with the dispositions^
with a view to a battle, or to the movements, change's, or
operations of the battle-field. It is content simply with
leading armies upon the decisive points of the zone of ope
rations, prepares the chances of battle, and influences in ad
vance its results. It includes in its operations, and may
have to do in the prosecution of its designs, with the whole"
theatre of war, which embraces not only the domain of the
belligerent powers, but also that of their respective allies,.
This is contradistinguished from the theatre of operations,
which is limited to the grounds upon which the attack or
defense may have to be conducted. -
The first thing that strategy sets about doing is to select
a base of operations. By this must be understood that
secure line of frontier or fortresses occupied by troops, from

ini, 326,.

' EUROPEAN ART. 551
which forward movements are made, supplies furnished,
and upon which troops may retreat, if necessary. An
army either of invasion or defense may have successive
bases of operations. Thus in a war between France and
Germany, a French army may have three bases, viz : the
Rhine, the Moselle, and the Seine, each one of which may
form a successive line of advance or retreat. The most
favorable base is a large and rapid river which is com
manded by fortresses situated on its banks. As the lines
of operations are taken from the base, it is important to
select and establish the one in reference to the other. It
has been insisted upon by some that a base should be
parallel with -that of the adversary, but there is high
authority for selecting bases perpendicular to those of the
enemy,1 and more especially those which are oblique, pre
senting two faces nearly perpendicular, the one to the
other, and forming a reentrant angle, by means of which
a double base might be insured at need, which would
control two sides of the strategic field, thus procuring two
lines of retreat distant from each other, and facilitating
every change of the line of operations which any unexpected
turn of the chances of war might render necessary. The
two faces need not be occupied in force. The one may
have a few fortified points, with a small corps of observa
tion, while the great mass of forces may be carried on the
other face. In the campaign of 1806, Napoleon had the
double base of the Main and the Rhine, forming almost a
reentrant angle, but while he left a small force upon the
Lthine he massed his forces upon the Main,2 and gaining
the extremity of the perpendicular face, and thus antici
pated the Prussians at Gera and at Naumburg, on their
line of retreat. The great leading principle always is for
the general " to seek his base upon the points where he can
be sustained by all his means of war, and find, at the
same time, a certain refuge." 3

1 Jomini, 89, 90. " Idem, 94. s Idem, 95.

552 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
Along with the establishment of the base of operations
must be also the strategical points and lines, the decisive
points, and objectives of operations. These latter are
correlatives with the former, and each should be selected
with reference to the other. While every point of the
theatre of war should have a military importance, some are
called strategic from the fact of their situation, their im
portance on the field of operations. These are geographical.
Others derive their importance from their relations with
the position of the hostile forces, and with enterprises that
may be formed against them. These are strategic points
of manoeuvre. Again there are others that are of immense
and incessant importance.1 These are the decisive strategic
points. These latter must be capable of exercising a pro
digious influence either upon the whole campaign, or upon
a single enterprise. They may be either :
1. Geographical or permanent, deriving their importance
from the configuration of the theatre of war.2 They are
those which control the junction of several valleys, and the
centre of the great communications which intersect a
country. So also in mountainous countries, they are those
controlling the defiles, which present the only practicable
issues for an army.
2. Political, as the capital of the enemy, and not only
on account of its being the capital, but also because in
virtue of its being such, it is the central point towards
which all the routes of a country converge. The strategic
points of manoeuvre are upon that one of the extremities
of the enemy from whence he could be the more easily sepa
rated from his base and from his secondary armies, without
exposing one's self to running the same risk. In case the
hostile army is extended over a long line, the decisive
point will be the centre, as by penetrating there and divid
ing the forces, each division may be overcome in detail.
In regard to the objective point that is determined by '
the object of the campaign. In a war of invasion the pos-

' Jomini, 96. " Idem, 98.

EUROPEAN ART. 553
session of the- capital is generally the objective point.
Next to the capital will rank any front of operations which
might serve as first base to the enemy,1 and where are
to be found important places commanding the territory
around them, as if France were to invade Italy in a- war
.against Austria, its first objective might be to attain the
line of the Ticino and of the Po, the second Mantua and
the line of the Adige, and the third the Noric Alps.
If a nation is acting on the defensive, the objective point
would be that which it would seek to cover. This would
generally be first the capital or the first front and the first
base of operations.
Not unfrequently the first objective point for an invading
army is to seek an engagement with that of the enemy.
- The same may also occur to a nation acting on the defen
sive. This first seeking the army of the enemy was the
policy of Napoleon. After making himself thoroughly ac
quainted with the position and forces of the enemy, his
habit was " to burst with the rapidity of lightning 2 upon
the centre of the enemy's army, if it be divided, or upon
that one of the two extremities which should conduct the
most directly upon its communications, to out-flank it, to
cut it off, to break it up, to pursue it to the utmost, forcing
it in divergent directions ; finally, quitting it only after
having annihilated or dispersed it." This he carried out
quite successfully in all his early compaigns. But he at
last found himself mistaken in attempting to apply these
principles to the conducting of the Russian campaign.
Next to strategical points and lines, and decisive and
objective points come up for consideration zones and lines
of operations. By the first is understood a certain fraction
of the general theatre of war, which should be passed over
by an army with a determinate aim. Thus in the cam
paign of 1796, Italy was to "the French armies,3 the zone of
operations of the right ; Bavaria, that of the army of the
centre ; and Franconia, of the army of the left.

1 Jomini, 100. "Idem, 101. 'Idem, 111.
VH] 70

554 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
While zones of operations are used to designate a great
fraction of the general theatre of war^ it is left to lines of
operations to designate the part of that grand fraction
which an army will embrace in its enterprises, whether it
follow several routes, or but one. The term, lines of
communications, is used to designate the different prac
ticable routes which should be found in the extent of the
zone of operations. Thus in 1813, in the great coalition
against Napoleon, and when three allied armies were to
invade Saxony, another Bavaria, and another Italy, Sax
ony formed then the zone of operations of the principal
mass. The objective point was Leipsic, and the zone had
three lines Of operations conducting to it, viz: the first
was 'that of the army of Bohemia, leading from the moun
tains of Erzgebirg^ by Dresden andChemhitz j1 the second,
that of the army of Silesia, going frOm Breslau by Dres
den or by Wittemberg and thus upon Leipsic; while the
third was that of thfe Prince of' Sweden's army, departing
from Berlin to go by Dessau to the same objective point.
There are' also lines of defense, which may be strategical
or tactical. The first are permanent, as fortified frontier
lines, while the latter are temporary, referring merely to
the transient position where an army is found. The first
the more generally occurs when such lines present a mix
ture of natural and artificial obstacles, such as chains of
mountains, great rivers and fortresses, forming between
each other a well connected system. Thus between Pied
mont and France is the barrier of the Alps, and between
France and Spain that of the Pyrenees. So also the Rhine,
the Oder and the Elbe may be considered as permanent
lines of defense by reason of the important places which
cover them.
. As to the temporary or eventual lines of defense they
may be found in every considerable river, every mountain
chain, and every great defile which presents a few tem
porary intrenchments, • as they serve to suspend, for some

, 'Jomini, 113.

EUROPEAN ART. 555
days the march of an enemy, and often compel him to
deviate from his direct route to seek a less difficult passage.
By pursuing out lines of- operation from their base will
ultimately be reached the front of operations,1 by which is
meant the extent of a line which an army occupies in
advance of its base, and in the sphere of which it acts
momentarily, whether in an enemy's country, or its own.
Fronts of operations and lines of defense ofteni mean the
same thing, and in both it is equally important to have
'sure communications with the different points of the line of
operations. So also in each it is equally advantageous to
have upon the flanks, the same as upon the front, great
natural or artificial obstacles which may serve as points of
support. These are sometimes called pivots of operations,
. being partial bases for a given time. As in the campaign.of
1796, Verona was the pivot, of operations for all thei enter
prises which Napoleon undertook around Mantua during
eight entire months.
Where the front of Operations is identical with the line
of defense, it is obvious that the least extended it is,2 the
more easily will an army cover it, if thrown back upon the
defensive. But a too great front of operations would leave
some parts less strongly defended, and hence , give to, the
enemy spaces vast enough for escaping the results of a
well combined strategic manoeuvre ; as the operations Of
Marengo, Him and Jena could not have had such results
upon a theatre as extended as that of the war with Russia
in 1812. .
The direction given to a front of operations is by no
means a matter of indifference. In general, it should be
parallel to the primitive base, but there are circumstances
in which it should be perpendicular to the general base
and parallel to the principal line of operations. In such
case this, direction might form a kind of new temporary
base, as in the operations of Napoleon adopted in his. march
upon Eylau, making of the Vistula a kind of temporary

'Jomini, 105. " Idem, 107.

556 . HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
base, while his pivots of operations were at Warsaw and
at Thorn.
Armies are sometimes required to have double fronts of
operations arising the more generally from the configura
tion of certain theatres of war, as would occur in Turkey
and in Spain, to armies wishing to cross the Balkan or the
Ebro,1 the first for facing the valley of the Danube, and
the last for showing front to forces coming from Saragossa
or from Leon.
There are also strategical as well as tactical positions of
armies. Such are those taken for a given time with the
view of embracing a larger front of operations than is
necessary for combat. Instances : all positions taken be
hind a river, or on a line of defense of which the divisions
should be at a certain distance asunder. The conditions
essential to every such position are, that it be more con
centrated than the hostile forces to which it should be
opposed, and that the communications between all parts
of the army be such as to enable them to unite notwith
standing any opposition of the enemy ; and with that view
all central or interior positions are preferable to exterior
ones. Thus it will result that " the front of operations is the
space embraced by the enterprises of an army, on the side
where the enemy is found ; that the line of defense is the
part of that front where the bulk of the forces should be
united when reduced to the defensive ; 2 and finally, that
strategic positions designate the provisory distribution of
the forces of an army, whether upon the line of defense, or
upon the front of operations."
Very much in strategy is made to depend upon the
lines of operations of an army. We have several lines of
operations as :
1. The general line of operations, meaning that which
the bulk of the army will follow, and on which are its

'Jomini, 138. "Idem, 111.

EUROPEAN ART. 557
depots and magazines. Its line of retreat, if necessary, will
be the same.
2. There may be simple or double lines of operations,
according as one army is acting in the same direction from
a frontier, or two armies independent of each other, are
forming upon the same frontier.
3. Interior lines of operations are those which an army
would form to oppose several hostile masses, but the direc
tion to the different corps should be such as to draw them
towards each other, so as to have their movements con
nected before the enemy could oppose to them a greater
mass. 4. Exterior lines are the opposite, being those which an
army will form at the same time upon the two extremities
of one or several hostile lines.
5. Concentric lines of operations are lines departing from
distant points to arrive on the same point, in front or in
rear of their base.
6. Divergent lines express those which a single mass
will take, departing from a given point, and dividing in
order to move upon several divergent points.
7. Deep lines are those which, departing from their
base, pass over a great extent of ground to arrive at their
end. 8. Secondary lines designate the relations between
two armies, when they act upon the same development of
frontiers. 9. Accidental lines occur where unforeseen events
change the primitive plan of the campaign, and give a
new direction to the operations.
Almost everything depends upon the choice and direc
tion given to lines of operations. That direction must be
governed by the geographical situation of the theatre of
operations, and by the position of the hostile forces upon
that strategic field.1 As a general rule, however, it could
only be given upon the centre, or upon one of the extremi-

' Jomini, 125.

558 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
ties. , It would only be possible, to act upon the front and
extremities at the same time, where there are greatly
superior forces. The manoeuvre fine is best-directed upon
the centre of : the enemy, provided his forces are divided
upon a too extended front; otherwise the direction; should
be given upon one of the extremities, and from thence
upon the rear of the hostile line of defense or front, of
operations. ,-
Except in cases of great coalitions, or when immense
forces are at command, it is reckoned unwise to form two
independent armies upon the same frontier. With equal
forces, a simple line of operations on the same frontier
will be much, preferable to a .double* : The latter, howeyer,
may' become necessary, on account either of the cOnfigurar
tion of the theatre of war, or. because the enemy may have
formed one himself. In case of such necessity, the inte
rior or central line will be preferable to the exterior one^
because the army having the former will be able to bring
each of its fractions into cooperation in a plan combined
between them, and thus get the start of the enemy; in
assembling together the mass of its forces. By means of
such combination and skillful movement, the disunited
forces of the enemy may possibly be separately attacked
and dispersed.
It is a maxim having high authority, that the line of
operation should not be abandoned; but circumstances
may render a change in its direction necessary. Hence
accidental lines of operations. These are seldom resorted
to, except to extricate an army from an embarrassing
situation. It is one of the most skillful manoeuvres in war
to know how successfully to make this change;, and
when so done, it may deceive the enemy, who , becomes
ignorant where to look . for its rear, or upon what weak
points it is assailable. This was done by Frederick II, and
was several times projected by NapoleOn.; As the general
configuration of the bases greatly influences the direction
to be given to the lines of operations, the great art of
directing these properly is so to combine their relations

EUROPEAN ART. 559
with the bases and with the movements of the army, as to
be able to seize upon the communications of the enemy,
without being liable to lose our own.
| It has been recommended "to act offensively upon the
most important point with the major part of your forces,1
remaining at secondary points on the defensive, in strong
positions, or behind a river, until the decisive blow being
struck, and the operation terminated by the total defeat
of an essential part of the hostile army, you find yourself
at liberty to direct your efforts upon one of the other
menaced points." Eccentric operations are recommended
when a mass is to depart from a given centre, and to act
in a divergent direction to divide and separately to* defeat
two hostile fractions which form two exterior lines, as was
done by Frederick n, in the campaign of 1767,2 and which
resulted in the splendid battles of Rosbach and Leuthen.
But concentric operations are much preferable, either
when they tend to concentrate a divided army, on a
point where it would be sure to arrive before the enemy;
or when they tend to make act, towards a common end,
two armies which could not be anticipated and overthrown
separately, by any more concentrated enemy.
' Strategic lines are all the communications which lead by
the most direct or the mOst advantageous way from one
important point to another,3 as also from the front of ope
rations of the army to all the objective points which it may
be desirable to attain. Those lines must be concentric
when the object is to prepare for a decisive shock, and after
a victory eccentric. In making choice of those which are
momentary it is important to avoid wholly uncovering the
line of operations, and exposing it to the enemy. This
may be done where a desirable object justifies the risk run.
As in the line followed by Blucher from Gembloux by
Wavre upon Mont St. Jean,4 which was a strategic line of
manoeuvre, and a central or interior one, leaving uncovered

1 Jomini, 136. "Idem, 140. s Idem, 143. * Idem, 145.

560 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
his natural line of operations in order to seek safety in the im
portant junction of the two combined armies.
When an enemy's country is offensively penetrated, there
should be formed eventual bases, which can be used as
temporary bases without being as strong or as sure as those
of the frontiers of the invading army.1 These are often a
line of river with tetes de ponts, or field intrenchments
covering abridge, with one or two large cities secure from a
coup de main, for covering the grand depots of the army,
and to serve for the union of the troops of reserve.

Tactics, with its Maxims and Illustrations.
Strategy brings armies into the neighborhood of each
other, and there leaves them. The lines of operations of
the two armies are then suspended to await the arbitrament
of battle. This brings them within the empire of tactics,
which teaches the employment of forces in battle, or more
definitely, the drawing an army up in order of battle, and
all the movements of the two armies during the continu
ance of the engagement. It has been divided into two
parts : 1st. Grand tactics, or the tactics of battle. 2d, Ele
mentary tactics, or tactics of instruction. It is with the
former only that we have now to do. By grand tactics is
to be understood the art of well combining and well
conducting battles.2 The great guiding principle which
presides over the combinations of tactics is the same as
that of strategy, viz : the carrying the weight of our forces
upon a part only of the hostile army, and upon the point
which promises the greatest results.
There are three kinds of battles : 1. Defensive, or those
in which an army while in an advantageous position awaits
the enemy. 2. Offensive, where the array attacks the
enemy in his chosen position. 3. Unexpected, where
battles are delivered by the two parties on the march. . .

1 Jomini, 147. " Idem, 201.

EUROPEAN ART. 561
Gircumstances may concur to enable an army to choose
its own position. An invading army may be under the
necessity of defeating and dispersing an opposing army in
order to make any further progress in the invasion. Such
army is the head of the opposition. It must, therefore, be
sought out, and either defeated or rendered victorious*
To give up such a contest would be equivalent to giving
up the invasion. This allows the army of the invaded
country, within certain limitations, to select its own posi
tion in which to receive battle. The limitations are found
principally in the strategic necessities, which no army can
with safety disregard. The position selected is the one
which is most in harmony with the object proposed in
• taking it, and which offers the greatest possible advantages
to the kind of troops which constitutes the principal
strength of the army. , Thus Wellington, whose whole
strength consisted in his weight of fire, chose well the
position of Waterloo, all the avenues of which he could
sweep with his tremendous fire.
The following are the maxims that are here laid down for
observation : " 1st. To have outlets more easy for falling
upon the enemy when the moment is judged favorable,
than the latter would have for approaching the line of
battle. 2d. To assure the artillery all its defensive effect.
3d. To have a ground advantageous for concealing the
movements that might be made,1 from one wing to the
other, with a view of directing masses upon the point
judged suitable. 4th. To be able on the contrary, to dis
cover easily the movements of the enemy. 5th. To have
an easy retreat. 6th. To have the flanks well supported, in
order to render an attack upon the extremities impossible,
and to reduce the enemy to an attack upon the centre, or
at least upon the front."
Crotchets in the rear will sometimes remedy a defect of
support for the flanks, but they are dangerous as they conr
strain the movements, and the enemy, by planting a battery

'Jomini, 204.
vii] 71

562 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
upon the angle of the two lines might cause in them very_
destructive ravages.1 The same object might be accom
plished by a double reserve placed in deep order behind
the wing which it is desirable to secure from insult.
It is undoubtedly true that the army taking the initial
tive, and commencing the attack, will, under ordinary
circumstances, reap the double benefit ; first, of the moral
advantage of being the assailant ; and second of directing
his masses,2 and of striking just where he deemed it most
effectual, while the army waiting in position is everywhere
anticipated, and often taken by surprise, being always
forced to subject his movements to those of his. adversary.
But as a compensating benefit, he also marches upon the
enemy, has against him all the disadvantages resulting
from obstacles of the ground which he has to Overcome, in
order to approach "the line of his adversary. These may
be inequalities in the ground, little ravines, forests, hedges,
farm-houses and villages. Besides, there are batteries
to transport, and a distance to travel under exposure to
fire of musketry and artillery. And this last since the
vast improvements made in fire-arms^ and the great dis
tances achieved by the rifle, is a matter of great considera
tion. Notwithstanding all this the general who limits his
ideas in the selecting of his position simply to the defen
sive will stand a great chance of being beaten. He should
have in view the taking of the offensive whenever the for
tunes of the battle would permit, and if after thus realizing
all the benefits of the defensive, and after having thinned
the ranks of his enemy by his shot and shell, he can
suddenly assume the offensive, and thus in turn realize all
the benefits resulting from the attack, he will be very
likely to remain master of the field. In transferring his
army from the defensive to the offensive he should apply
the same general principles that would have presided over
his order of battle, if he had commenced by being the
aggressor.

'Jomini, 205. 'Idem, 206.

EUROPEAN ART. 663
In the offensive battles it may be difficult to begin with
any settled plan on account of ignorance of the exact posi
tion of the enemy. It is recommended, however, to be
impressed with the idea that there is in each battle one de
cisive point which procures the victory better than others,
and that every faculty must be fully alive to reach the ap
prehension of that point.1 This may be sought for in the
configuration of the ground, in the combination of the
localities with the strategic end that any army proposes to
itself, or in the position of the respective forces. The pri
mary object in an offensive battle is to dislodge and break
the enemy, and that may be accomplished either by over
throwing his line upon some point of his front, or by out
flanking it, in order to take it in flank or in reverse, or in
making the two means concur at the same time, that is to
attack in front at the same time that an acting wing should
double and turn the line.
The first thing the commander of an attacking army is
called upon to do, is, after having obtained all the informa
tion possible of the position of the enemy, to choose and
arrange his order of battle. There are twelve kinds of
orders of battle. These are :
1. The simple parallel order which is the simplest, evi
dences the least ingenuity, and is the worst, there being
no skill in causing the two parties to fight 'with equal
chances, battalion against battalion. Skill can have little
to do with such a contest.
' 2. The parallel order with the defensive or offensive
crotchet. This is taken most ordinarily in a defensive
position, but may be the result of an offensive combina
tion. In such case it will be found in advance of the line,
whilst in the defensive it is in the rear. At Waterloo,
Wellington formed the parallel order with the retired
crotchet on the right flank.
3. The parallel order reenforced on one or both wings.

'Jomini, 208.

564 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
4. The parallel order reenforced upon the centre, the
object of both being the same, viz : to pierce the enemy's
line. This evinces a higher tactical knowledge than either
one of the preceding, but it is attended with this difficulty,
that with an equality in the forces that part of the line
which must be weakened in order to reenforce the other,
may be compromised if placed in battle parallelly to the
enemy. 5. The. simple oblique order, which best suits an inferior
army attacking a superior one, as it offers the advantage
of carrying the mass of the forces upon a single point of
the enemy's line. This has been, under some circum
stances, a favorite mode of attack. It was employed by
Epaminondas at the battles of Leuctra and Mantinea. It
was rendered forever memorable by being employed by
Frederick the Great at the battle of Leuthen.
. 6 & 7. The order perpendicular upon one or both wingsr
This projecting of the whole army upon a single wing, or
half upon each, or the whole upon the centre, although a
theoretical form to indicate the practical direction, can
never be long maintained after the commencement of a
battle. It soon subsides into, and takes the direction of
oblique lines. So the carrying a single division of the
assailing army perpendicularly upon the enemy's flank,
whilst the remainder approaches the other extremity to
disquiet it, finally results in attaining an oblique disposi
tion. An attack at the same time upon both wings can
only be made when the attacking force is vastly superior.
At Eylau, Napoleon made a perpendicular attack upon
one wing at the same time that he sought to pierce the
enemy's centre.
8. The concave order. This is seldom taken in advance
except against an enemy who should himself be formed in
a convex order; the reason being that the enemy, instead
of throwing himself upon the centre, and thus allowing
himself to be enclosed by the two wings, would only have.
to fall upon the wings which would of themselves present
their extremities, and would be thus in the same situation

EUROPEAN ART. 565
as if they were found assailed upon a flank. This forma
tion is not so much a semicircle as a broken line reentrant
towards the centre, such as the English formed on the
fields of Agincourt and Cressy, and the Austrians at
Essling. After the attack, and while the enemy is pressing
upon and pushing the centre, this form may very advan
tageously be assumed in order to envelop him by the
wings. At the battle of Essling, however, Napoleon
attacked the Austrian centre, but he had the Danube at
his back, and was circumscribed in his liberty of manceuver-
ing. 9. The convex order salient at the centre. This is the
reverse of the last mentioned, and may be formed when its
object is to arrest an enemy who forms a concave line,1 or
when fighting defensively backed against a river, or im
mediately after the passage of a river, in order to rest on
it and cover the bridges. In such case there are three
points exposed to attack, viz: the salient, and the two
extremities; and if the enemy direct his attack upon the
first or either one of the others, it might result in disaster
and defeat. A false attack in order to hold the centre,
while the grand effort is made upon a single extremity, is
accounted the most favorable mode against such a convex
line. The French took this order at the battle of Fleurus
in 1794, but the Prince of Coburg instead of limiting his
attacks upon the salient centre, or a single extremity,
divided his efforts upon five or six divergent rays, and
especially upon the two wings at the same time.
10. The order by echelon upon one or both wings. This
varies little in principle from the perpendicular order.
11. The order by echelon upon the centre. This might
be successfully employed against an army whose line was
broken and too much extended, because if it could be thus
cut in two, leaving the. two wings to be overcome sepa
rately, it would probably be destroyed.

1 Jomini, 212.

566 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
12i The combined order of attack upon the centre and
one wing at the same time. This may, perhaps, be said to
be the most rational of all the orders of battle. It divides
the attention of the enemy, and leaves him in great uncer
tainty in what manner to dispose of his forces to meet both.
It gave Napoleon the victory at Wagram and at Ligny,
and was attempted by him at Borodino. It was also
employed by him at Bautzen, and would have been entirely
successful but for a single incident.
These orders, exhibited through geometrical figures, pro
claim rather the ideal than the real actual modes of dis
posing forces for battles. All that is claimed for them is
that they approximate so near to the actual fact, as to
render them fair representations of tactical dispositions
made upon the battle-field. The greatest difficulty is
experienced in such a simultaneous movement of different
parts as will bring about the execution of the capital
manoeuvre which, according to the primitive plan, should
result in the desired success. In order to its successful
accomplishment two points may be assumed as true : first,
that the more simple a decisive manoeuvre shall be, the
more certain will be its success; and second, that the
seasonableness of sudden dispositions, taken during the
combat, is of more probable success than the effect of
manoeuvres combined in advance.
But laying aside geometrical figures as indicating orders
of battle, certain great facts .must be everywhere true, as
that the object of the offensive order of battle is to dis
lodge the enemy from his position by every rational means,
that the manoeuvres proper for this purpose may be to
overwhelm a wing only, or else the centre and a wing at
the same time. So also the wing may be outflanked and
turned. That to attack the centre and two wings at the
same time would be unsafe without very superior forces.
That the oblique order is only a disposition tending to
unite the half at least of one's forces in order to overwhelm
a wing, keeping the other fraction out of the reach of the
enemy, either by echelons, or by the inclined direction of

EUROPEAN ART. 567
the line. That the various formations, convex, concave,
perpendicular, etc., all present the same combination of
attacks parallel or reenforced, upon a portion only of the
hostile line. That the employment of material force upon
the front, seconded by a turning manoeuvre, both at the
same time, will be more likely to succeed than to employ
them separately. And that to break the hostile line and
compel a retreat there should be first employed a superior
artillery fire, then a well directed and timely cavalry
charge, succeeded by masses of infantry preceded by skir
mishes and flanked by a few squadrons. Skirmishers only
can march and fire at the same time. This cannot be
expected of regular masses of infantry.
The tactical movements upon the battle-field are always
delicate, difficult, and dangerous. More especially so is
every such movement which is sufficiently extended to give
the enemy time to beat separately half of the army whilst
it is being performed. The general rule laid down is to
hold the weight of the forces in hand in order to cause
them to act at the opportune moment, but without falling
into the contrary excess of too much accumulating them.
The composition of the troops composing the line, and
the posting them in the order of battle are matters of pri
mary importance. In these respects a great change has
taken place since the outbreak of the French revolution.
Previously all the infantry, formed by regiments and bri
gades were united into a single battle corps, subdivided
into first and second lines, each having their right and left
wings. The cavalry was placed on the* two Wings, and
the artillery distributed upon the front of each line.
This unity in the old formation was utterly broken by
the system of divisions introduced by the French revolu
tion, which gave fractions capable of moving on their own
account upon all kinds of ground. They were composed
ordinarily of infantry, artillery and cavalry, which manoeu-
vered and fought separately. The danger of this was that
the mass of the enemy's army might attack and defeat each
separately. Bonaparte sought to remedy this as far as possi-

568 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
ble by the mobility and rapidity of his manoeuvres, and thus
by uniting the bulk of his divisions upon the point where the
decisive blow was to be directed. He ultimately organized
permanent army cOrps under marshals, each forming a little
army by itself. The heavy cavalry was united into a strong
reserye, and finally into corps of three divisions to give
more unity to its increasing masses. The grand army qf
the emperor, which served as the model for all other Euro
pean armies, was ultimately composed of four fractions,
viz : two wings, a centre, and a reserve, the composition
varying according to the strength of the army. To main
tain it, however, a certain number of divisions must be
¦< secured out of the line to furnish the necessary detach
ments. , Those divisions, while detached, could form a
second body of reserve, to reenforce either one of the frac
tions which circumstances rendered necessary.
The disposition of the three arms, the infantry, cavalry, ^
and artillery, in the order of battle, is a matter of great im
portance. The general principle is that each should be so
disposed as to aid and support each other in the best and
most effective manner. How far this may be subject to
rules and to what extent it is necessarily dependent upon
localities and the contingencies of the hour, may be matters
in which all may fail to harmonize.
In regard to infantry there are reckoned five modes of
formation for combat. They may be employed either : 1.
As skirmishers. 2. In deployed lines, either continuous or
checker-wise. 3. In lines of battalions ployed upon the
centre of each battalion. 4. In deep masses. 5. In small
squares.1 These together form either: 1. The shallow
order, or the one deployed into three ranks. 2. The half
deep order, formed of a line of battalions in columns of
attack upon the centre, or of squares by battalions. 3. The
mixed order, where the regiments should be in part de
ployed, and partly in columns. 4. The deep order,
composed of heavy columns of battalions, deployed the one

1 Jomini, 295.

EUROPEAN ART. 569
behind the other. Of these, the one last mentioned is
deemed the most objectionable, as such masses are exposed
to the ravages of artillery, and are possessed of less mo
bility and impulsion without adding any strength. This
is alleged as one of the causes of the small success of the
French at Waterloo. The formation in squares is good in
plains and against an enemy superior in cavalry, that by
regiment being considered best for the defensive, and that
by battalion for the offensive. - The long squares have
often been preferred as presenting a greater front.
The first mentioned, or shallow order, is objectionable as
it can only move slowly, because if it attempts rapid move
ments it often breaks, and could be early penetrated by
troops of a deeper order. The mixed order has sometimes
been employed with success.1 It was used by Napoleon' at
Tagliamento, and by the Russians at Eylau. It is generally
admitted that for the offensive it is necessary to employ a
mode which should unite mobility, solidity and impulsion,
and for the defensive, solidity united to the greatest possi
ble fire.
The general conclusion seems to be :
" 1. That the very shallow as well as the very deep forma
tion is objectionable under ordinary circumstances, and can
seldom be employed with safety.
" 2. That the attack by battalions in columns by division
is the best for carrying a position,2 diminishing the column
in depth as much as possible with a view to increasing its
own fire and diminishing its exposure to that of its enemy.
" 3. That the mixed formation of the first line deployed
and the second in columns of battalion by division is the
best for defense.
"4. That either of the last two may be employed in the
offensive or defensive, according to the nature of the
ground, the character of the general, and the character and
position of the troops. Squares are always good against
cavalry."

'Halleck, 122. ' Idem, 125.
vn] 72

570 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION/
With the exception of columns of too great a depth, the
mode of formation is ranked of less importance in achiev
ing a victory than the well combined . employment of the
different arms. In such employment it is important for an
army, whether it assails or acts on the defensive, to avail
itself of every means of protection within its power. Thus
villages which are upon the front are generally the scenes'
of bloody encounters,1 each army seeking to carry them,
both as evidence of progress upon the field, and as afford
ing some means of protection. So also is it useful to'oc-
cupy clumps of trees or copses, as a means of protection
and support. They serve to shelter the troops, conceal
their movements, protect those of the cavalry, and hinder
that of the enemy from acting in their proximity.
The efficiency of cavalry as an arm of service in battle -
depends something upon the habits of the nation in using-
horses, and -also in the abundance and quality of horses.
Its 'principal merit lies, in its mobility, its impetuosity, and
the rapidity of its movements. An army wanting in ca-
valry rarely obtains great victories,, or follows them up suc
cessfully, or effects a retreat without considerable loss. Its
-great- use, however, does not consist in defending a posi-
tion, but in carrying succor to a menaced point, in breaking .
a shaken line of infantry, in pursuing the enemy, and ren
dering', the victory complete by taking prisoners and
trophies, and in covering the retreats of the infantry and
the artillery.
The mode and moment in the use of cavalry are of vast
importance. To urge them on to the attack of a line in
good order is never recommended unless sustained by in
fantry and artillery. The French at Waterloo and
Frederick II at Kunersdorf suffered from a violation of
this rule. It may be found advantageous for them to charge
upon a line of infantry already engaged with adverse in
fantry, as in Marengo, Eylau, etc. So a charge upon
infantry may be successful when the latter are deprived of

1 Jomini, 304.

EUROPEAN ART. , 571
the use of their arms by a beating rain or snow, or when
the line has already been shaken by the fire of artillery,
as by the Prussian cavalry at Hohenfriedberg, in 1745.
Although the cavalry charges against unbroken squares of
good infantry will generally fail, yet they may succeed in
carrying batteries, if well sustained and supported by
infantry. But the support must be immediate, as the:
cavalry charge is but an instantaneous effect, and cavalry, if
unsupported, are driven back disunited. So also general,
charges may be made against the enemy's cavalry. While
. infantry are engaged with, in front, cavalry charges of each
upon the other may be made in flank or in reverse. If
repulsed it is easy for this arm to rally and return again to
the charge. So its fleetness may enable it to charge, in ,
the rear of the enemy without much hazard of being cut
off.. As concerns the defensive, if an adversary is shaken and •
disunited by its first successes, a charge of cavalry may
reestablish affairs, and totally disperse the enemy, as the
English'at Waterloo. So also charges may be made either
for favoring an attadk, or profiting from a false movement
of the enemy, or to finish his defeat in a retrograde move
ment. There are four modes in which cavalry may charge, viz :
1. In columns at a distance. 2. In lines on a trot. 3.
In lines on a gallop. 4. At a helter skelter. In regard
to weapons, the charge in line may be done by the. lance,
in the melee by the sabre, and while the first rank may be
armed with the former to break, the second may be armed
with the latter to finish by partial struggles. The pistol
and the carbine are only for occasional use. The fast trot is
the best gait for charging in line, as that admits of steadi
ness, order and compactness, which the gallop does not.
The latter may be useful in charges against artillery^
where celerity of movement is more important than order.
Where it is possible, a cavalry charge should be spurred
upon the enemy's flank at the moment his line is assailed
in front. The same orders as to shallow, half deep, mixed,

572 - HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
and deep order prevail in cavalry as in infantry with some
modifications. In combats of cavalry "against cavalry two maxims may
be stated : one, that the first line after making its charge
should be led back ; as even if successful, the enemy, by
opposing fresh squadrons, will ultimately force it to rally
behind the second line.1 The other, that the victory will
remain to him who shall have the last squadrons in reserve,
and who shall know how to launch them at the proper
moment upon the flanks of the hostile line, already en
gaged with his. The helter-skelter, or irregular charge,
may be a powerful auxiliary in the daily rencounters of
cavalry, and a useful accessory in decisive shocks^ but in
other respects is but little depended on.
, Artillery, as an arm of service, is employed both offen
sively and defensively. In the former, it is employed to
"crush a hostile line, shake it, and thus better enable the
troops that attack, to break it. In the latter, it doubles
the strength of a position, both by the moral effect it
produces upon the enemy at a distance, and by its local
defense when within grape-shot range. The fire should
be directed on that . part of the enemy's line which it is
designed to pierce, with the view, not alone of weakening
this point, but also to aid the attack of the cavalry and
infantry upon the same point. In the defense, the usual
mode of distribution is throughout the whole line,2 on
ground favorable for its fire. But although thus extended,
batteries should know how to direct their attention upon
the point where the enemy would find more advantages
and facilities to penetrate. The character of the ground,
whether level or uneven of surface, would affect the use
of artillery. Level ground, or declivities slightly inclined
in front, is the most favorable to direct or ricochet firing.
Concentric fire is the most effective when employed against
the enemy's columns of attack. This was illustrated by
the position of the English artillery on the field of Water-

' Jomini, 312. ' Halleck, 128.

EUROPEAN ART. 573
loo. It is not, however, possible to subject the position
of artillery to any fixed rule. In the battle at Wagram,
Napoleon threw in a battery of a hundred pieces, in the
gap occasioned in his line by the departure of the corps of
Massena, and thus was enabled to hold in check all the
efforts of the Austrian centre, and yet it would be dangerous
to elevate such an employment of artillery into a maxim.
The use of artillery is by no means limited to replying
to the batteries of the enemy. Its object is also to
batter the troops of the enemy. If the latter advance in
deployed lines, the batteries should cross their fires in order
to take those lines obliquely. If they advance in columns,
they can be battered in front, that is in their depth, also
obliquely, and in flank and in reverse. The moral effect
is the greatest in the two last modes of charge. The move
ment of Ney in the battle of Bautzen was arrested, and he
was obliged to change his direction in consequence of the
opening of a battery upon the flank of his columns.
Batteries should be constantly sustained by infantry or
cavalry. When by the former, the protection is best
afforded by forming in squares, and when the infantry is in
the rear of the pieces, the squares are elongated in propor
tion to the extent of the front of the battery.
" To place," says Jomini, " the different arms according
to the ground,1 according to the object which is proposed,
and that which maybe supposed of the enemy, to combine
their simultaneous action according to the characteristic
qualities of each, this is all that the art can advise."
It is asserted that strategy is more dependent upon fixed
principles, more clearly reducible to rule than tactics ; that
in the latter more is really dependent on genius, than on
the observance of any fixed rules. The difference between
the mere tactician, and the man of genius is well exhibited
by Victor Hugo where, in his Cozette, he characterizes
Wellington and Napoleon as they stand before us on the
field of Waterloo. " Never," he says, " has God, who takes

' Jomini,324.

574 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
pleasure in antithesis, made a more striking contrast and
a more extraordinary meeting. On one side (that of
Wellington), precision, foresight, geometry, prudence, re-~
treat assured, reserves economized, obstinate composure,1"
imperturbable method, strategy to profit by the ground,
tactics to balance battalions, carnage drawn to the line,
war directed watch in hand, nothing left voluntarily to
chance, ancient classic courage, absolute correctness ; on
the other, intuition, inspiration, a military marvel, a super
human instinct, a flashing glance, a mysterious something
which gazes like the eagle and strikes like the thunderbolt,
prodigious art in disdainful impgtuosity, all the mysteries;
of a deep soul, intimacy with destiny ; river, plain, forest,-
fiill commanded, and in some sort forced to obey, the despot
going even so far as to tyrannize over the battle-field ; faith
in a star joined to strategic science, increasing it, but dis
turbing it. Wellington was the Barreme of war, Napoleon
was its Michael Angelo, and this time genius was van
quished by calculation."
This is perhaps defining a little too rigidly, and present
ing an outline of two representative characters, more
Btronglythan the exact truth will warrant. Neither. should
the mere tactician triumph over the genius. Nor in fact
could it be said to be so. It was the arrival of Blucher,
and the non-arrival of Grouchy that decided the fate of
Waterloo. If is genius working by tactical rules and prh>
ciples that makes the great captain.

Different Stages of Progress in the Art.
.During the middle ages there was little art in warfare.
Previously to those ages there was none worthy of notice,
The middle ages present us with the armed knight, the
Crusade, the reign of chivalry. Two general facts here
present themselves :

'Cozette, 32, 33.

EUROPEAN ART. 575
1. The casing in steel armor, which, when carried to
its highest perfection, did afford very gOod protection
against the arms then in use. But while it protected, it
-at the same time, disabled. The immunity from wounds
was purchased at the expense of a deprivation, to a large
extent, of the power of inflicting them. The more effectu
ally the limbs were encased the less perfectly could they
obey their owner's will in the effective use of offensive
weapons. The mania for armor continued on the increase
until it finally reached its height during the Crusades and
remained undiminished during the rest of the middle ages,
and did not cease at once even on the introduction of fire
arms. Even then, it was only gradually and reluctantly
discontinued. 2. The contests, although a number might be engaged
in them, were really individual contests. It was man to
man, and not army to army, that fought. It was this all-
pervading idea that resulted in rendering the individual i
armor so perfect as( to be invulnerable, and that placed
-the knight on a horse, also armed for the battle. Tactics
had, therefore, little to do, and strategy still less, with the
battles of that period. Armies, instead of being regarded
as organized bodies, as having in them a living principle
pervading the mass, and as capable of intelligent move
ments in the way of attack and defense on the battle-field,
were rather looked upon as an aggregation of individuals,
who were only to play their separate parts when the
masses to which they belonged joined in battle.
The introduction of infantry in the place of cavalry first
led to the idea of an organized force, of merging the indi-
vidual in the organized body. This was done by the Swiss
about the end of the fourteenth century,1 who first
attempted the formation of regular infantry armed with
pikes, and resembling the phalanx in its organization.
This example was gradually followed by other nations.

1 Graham, 100.

576 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
It was not until the middle of the fifteenth century, in
the reign of Charles VH of France, that any well consi
dered attempt seems to have been made towards, the
restoration of the military art. The elements of a regular
system begin to appear. Authority and discipline are
introduced, and infantry armed with the pike present on
the field regular, concerted action.1
The first great name that appears on the foreground of
history to gather together the hitherto floating elements
of a higher military art, that had previously been cropping
out from the teachings of Prince Maurice of Nassau and
the Marquis Spinola, was that of Gustavus Adolphus, the
king of Sweden. The hero of the thirty years' war was
also one of the founders of the system of modern warfare.
His first point was the introduction of a strict and severe
discipline. Every regiment was ordered to form round its
chaplain for morning and evening prayers. Impiety,
theft, gambling, and dueling were expelled from his army.
The sobriety he enforced, and the perfect discipline he
introduced, gave him a perfect command over his army.
By these means he aimed at reducing his army to one
piece of machinery in the day of battle. And he so far
succeeded that the existence of a tactical element of an
invariable form and dimensions is more apparent in the
Swedish army of that time than in preceding organizations.
He introduced a larger proportion of fire-arms into his
army, and armed his infantry with muskets of a lighter
description, doing away with the encumbrance of the rest.
He relieved his pikemen of the cuirass, leaving them only
a headpiece. He was the first to clothe his men in uni
form. The more extended use of fire-arms required a larger
and more uniform supply of ammunition than had formerly
been required. This again rendered necessary the choice
and preservation of bases and lines of operation. These
were more thoroughly comprehended by him than by any

1 Graham, 104.

EUROPEAN ART. 577
preceding modern general. He reduced the unwieldy
squadrons of cavalry, and by breaking up the heavy
masses, increased the mobility of his troops, and diminished
the destructive effects of the enemy's fire. Still he allowed
the unity of force in his infantry to remain, retaining his
brigade of two thousand and sixteen men, which was
too large to be suitable for evolutions. He ranged the
different arms according to their intention, and thus es
tablished facility in manceuvering as well as their mutual
capacity to aid each other. He never seems to have com
prehended any other than the parallel order of battle ; his
order consisting, according to circumstances, in a formation
of two or three lines ranged parallel to each other, ^or in
echelons upon the wings, the cavalry behind the infantry
or upon its wings. The infantry was ranged in six ranks.
The cavalry fought in four, and was proportionably very
numerous. He had a large artillery force for that period
consisting of two hundred pieces, and his batteries were
massed and masked. His favorite military maxim was
that the grand science of war consisted in seizing incidents,
or keeping always in a state of preparation, though the
particular stroke may be unforeseen."
The innovation made by Gustavus into the unbroken
unity of an army was afterwards followed up by others.
The French general Rohan proposed to organize the infan
try in regiments of fourteen hundred and forty men, to be
composed of six hundred pikemen, six hundred musketeers,
and two hundred and forty men protected by a large shield
and armed with a sword.
The bayonet appeared for the first time in the Nether
lands in 1647, and gradually superseded the use of the
pike. It was at first very unhandy and difficult to use, as
it was necessary to take it from the musket before firing;
This, however, was remedied under Charles XH, and in
the Prussian army in 1732 the front rank was armed with
a bayonet during the fire. In 1740, at the battle of Molnitz,
the three ranks were thus provided.
vii] 73

578 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
From the death of Gustavus Adolphus to the era of
Frederick H, king of Prussia, better known as the Great
Frederick, no very marked advance was made in the
millitary art, so far as strategy or tactics in the fighting of
battles were concerned. In the arts of attack and defense
of cities and fortified places great advances have been made.
This includes the period which marks the greatest deve
lopment of those arts. It was the period of Vauban, the
great French engineer. The establishment of infantry as
the strong arm of battle, of the bayonet in the place of the
pike, and of the play of artillery upon all that opposed it
whether of unprotected lines or defenses, walls or ramparts
naturally led to the consideration of what defenses would
be the most available, and what kino's of attack and
defense would be the most probably successful.
There was no very regular system of attack previous to
the siege of Maestricht in 1673. Then it was that Vauban
developed the system of parallels, which has prevailed
down to the present time. The Turks, about six years
previously, had multiplied their trenches and places of arms
at the siege of Candia, on account of the great caution which
they were obliged to observe in their advances towards
the place. Improving upon this hint, Vauban developed
his system of parallels. At the siege of Valenciennes in
1677, he first brought his system of attack to perfection,
resting the ends of his parallels on two- inundations, by
which he prevented sorties and counter approaches. He
first tried the ricochet fire as a means of destroying places
at Philipsburg in 1688. This consists in firing with a
small charge, and from a low elevation, so that the projec
tile shall merely clear a parapet, and thence bound along ¦
a rampart, destroying gun carriages and whatever it may
find in its course.
He also introduced great improvements into the art of
defense, modifying the system of Pagan, which was no
longer suited to the range of the arms in use, and laying .
, the foundation of the existing bastion system. He first
conceived the tenaiUe, a low work constructed in the main

EUROPEAN ART. 579
ditch, upon the lines of defense, between the bastions ; also
the tower bastions. He enlarged the demilunes, and im
proved the covered way.
He endeavored so to construct that all the parts of the
fortification should give mutual support to each other ;
thatthe interior cannot be seen from adjoining heights ; that
the prolongations of the faces should fall in marshes, or places
covered with shallow water so as to protect the rampart
from the ricochet fire ; and that, if possible, the control of
water should be preserved or obtained to serve the purpose
of inundation before the glacis, or, if desirable, to fill the
ditches. So also he aimed at the higher art of so selecting
the sites of his fortresses along a^frontier, as to have refer
ence to strategy and the movements of armies both on the
offensive and defensive.
While the art of fortification was thus in the course of
development, the possession of fortresses ruled the opera
tions of war,1 and kept in fetters all the military talents of
the generals. Battles were fought not so much with the
view of defeating and dispersing opposing armies, as to
raise a blockade or siege ; or to prevent the enemy from
throwing supplies or reenforcements into the beleaguered
city. It is true there are exceptions, and Turenne and
Conde seem to have been the first to act upon the principle
that there are objects to be obtained by battles wholly un
connected with -fl^e capture or preservation of fortresses ;
that if armies are everywhere overthrown and dispersed,
the fortresses will make but a feeble resistance.
The century succeeding the death of Gustavus Adolphus
witnessed a great number of wars and battles. The re
mainder of the thirty years' war, and the long and violent
war of the Spanish succession afforded many splendid
opportunities for developing some of the higher principles
of strategy and tactics. The great names of Turenne,
Conde, Montecuculli, Marshal Luxemburg, Prince Eugene, -
the Duke of Marlborough, and Marshal Saxe, stand forth

* Grahamj 108.

580 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. v
as the most prominent of that period. The battle-fields of
Rocroy, Nordlingen, Entzheim, Turckheim, Fleurus,. Neer-
winde, Blenheim, Ramifies, Oudenarde, and Malplaquet,
are so many theatres upon which these great men had an
opportunity of displaying their military skill and art. And
yet it cannot, perhaps, be said that any new principle in
strategy or tactics has been reached, settled, and fully
applied during all that period. Armies continued to be
drawn up in two lines, sometimes with, occasionally with
out a reserve; infantry in the centre, cavalry on the wings; -
the usual distances between the lines three hundred yards;
the artillery placed in front of the infantry ; and the inter
vals between the battalions and squadrons ranged in line
varying apparently according to the orders of the general
in command.1 The column was always formed in front of
the line by making the subdivisions turn to the right or left.2'
So the line was reformed by inverting this process. The
division of a battalion into sections, companies, and grand
divisions, was not practiced,. The- front of a column of
infantry varied from eighteen to twenty-four files. The
subdivision distance was generally preserved in column, and
the march always made with open ranks.
The column must consist of troops of one arm only ;
the artillery was flanked on one side by the first line, and
on the other by the second, the lines being formed of a
greater or less number of columns according to circum
stances. Troops sometimes marched in four columns,
two of cavalry and two of infantry. A difficulty came to
be experienced as armies increased in size. In the time
of Turenne and Conde all fought, or could fight, and each
arm occupied the ground suited to it, contributing its share
in the contest. Subsequently armies increased greatly in
size without any corresponding advance being made in
taotical science. Consequently the power of movement
was deficient and imperfect.

1 Graham, 170. 'Idem, 172.

EUROPEAN ART. 581
Notwithstanding all this, however, we perceive the rudi
ments of progress made during this period. It may not
have been in pursuance of any systematic reasoning, or of
any soundness of conclusion, but a result rather of feeling
after the means and modes of developing military power
in -a manner hitherto unknown. Thus it is that almost
every art sends out its tentacula, in order to ascertain its
surroundings, before it can venture to take any decided
step in its onward progress. By substituting the bayonet
for the pike the inconvenience of different descriptions of
infantry was abolished, and the foundation laid of many
improvements increasing the effect of its fire.
The parallel order of battle was not in all cases adhered
to. Instances are not wanting of the oblique order being
resorted to. So the term column is made use of in refer
ence to the formation adopted by the allies to carry the
intrenchments of Malplaquet, it being pretty evident at that
time that such a formation would be eventually required.
But the method then adopted can only be considered intro
ductory to the column, being a formation of several regi
ments in line, one behind another. This deviation from
the deployed order, was consequent on the increase in the
strength of the armies employed, and the uniformity
which had been introduced in the armament of infantry.
Both the campaigns of Montecuculli and Turenne, as
also those of Etfgene and Marlborough, who proceeded on
the plan of taking fortresses on their flanks before advanc
ing, furnished evidence that they understood the system of
operating on a base, and on lines of operations.
The use and application of cavalry seems to have been
but little known. The manoeuvres prevalent,1 or generally
adopted, cannot be considered as a system of tactics based
on any fixed principles.
In approaching the middle of the eighteenth century we
reach a new era in the history of the military art. It is
that of Frederick II, king of Prussia, generally known as .'

¦ • Graham, 169,

582 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
the Great Frederick. The kingdom of Prussia was not
half a century old, but its situation was compact, its re
sources had been excellently husbanded, and it assumed
from the commencement a decidedly military character.
Frederick was its absolute master, and circumstances fa
vored the development of his extraordinary military genius.
He found war as an art very little improved by the
experience of the century that preceded him. Infantry, it
is true, had advanced to become by far the most important
arm, and the musket with its bayonet the most important
weapon. The cavalry was heavy and incapable of rapid
movement, and its weapons being pistols and carbines, it
had almost shrunk into the mere furniture of parades.
The order of battle being essentially limited to the parallel,
had degenerated into the merest formalism. There was a
great want of life, celerity, genius, power, and energy on
the battle-field.
Frederick's first attention was given to the arms of his
troops, and the perfecting of their discipline. He perfected
the musket which he found in general use. He fixed the
depth of infantry at three ranks, and thus originated the
deploying those long thin lines which later took with the
art Of moving them the denomination of tactics of lines.
The invention, by Prince Dessau, of the iron ramrod gave
an activity to the fire of infantry not previously known.
Instances of bayonet charges also occur in his campaigns.
He was the captain for field fights, and not for sieges.
His system of carrying on war differed essentially from
the cautious, timid system of his contemporaries. He is
even said to have been opposed to entrenchments; but
although he did not make them a primary object, yet he
did not disregard them.
He made important changes in his cavalry. He dis
covered that the slow trotting pace, and the charge by th e,
firing of pistols and carbines, could never produce the
desired effect upon the enemy. He changed the trot into
a gallop, and ordered his troopers to advance at the most
rapid rate amid the fire of the enemy's squadrons, and

EUROPEAN ART. 583
laying aside their pistols and carbines, to attack at once
with the sword. What his cavalry, therefore, studied, and
attained great proficiency in, was the use of the sword, and
the preservation of close order, and the alignment at the
gallop. They finally reached such perfection, that they
could go through all their manoeuvres in perfect order at
full gallop. A body of ten thousand horsemen could make
a charge, halt in perfect order after it was made, ready to
renew the charge on a fresh line of the enemy. And this
was possible with no other than the Prussian cavalry.
It was, however, obvious to Frederick, that by depriv-'
ing his cavalry of fire-arms, and by employing them in
large masses in their rapid advance upon the enemy, he
exposed them more than ever to the deadly effects of
artillery and infantry. To afford a remedy here, he or
ganized artillery to be specially attached to .cavalry, and
thus originated the horse artillery.
The military genius of Frederick found its highest point
of culmination on the battle-field. It was there that he
showed himself infinitely superior to all his adversaries.
But for that he could not have carried on a seven years'
war with three-fourths of all Europe, and in the end
have raised Prussia to a first class power. His armies
were always greatly inferior in number to those of his
enemies, but his discipline was perfect, and he was the
most thorough master of expedients. Thus at the battle
of Prague, while Marshal Schwerin was engaging and
capturing the Austrian batteries on his left flank, and the
Prussian cavalry was, at the same time, defeating the
Austrian, he brought forward his reserve, and by a sud
den dash, succeeded in penetrating the Austrian centre,
thus dividing the Austrian army into two disconnected
parts, and rendering certain its defeat.
That, however, for which Frederick is more especially
celebrated, is the introduction upon system, of the oblique
order of battle. In this respect the battle of Leuthen is
claimed to form an epoch in the history of military science,
as the theory of the oblique order received here an intelli-

584 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
gent practical application. This order had been used by
Turenne, but the manoeuvres by which it was effected
were executed slowly in presence d"f the enemy, thus giv
ing -them time to establish a parallel line, and to reinforce
at the same point; The order had never been applied in
a similar manner as employed by Frederick. He formed
his line of battle at an angle with the enemy's line. This
constituted the oblique order, which after its thorough
introduction constituted for a long time in Germany the
Basis on which the plan of most of the battles was formed.
For the purpose, however, of using the order with success,
the enemy must be deceived as to the intention to attempt
it, otherwise he may frustrate its execution by reinforcing
the menaced flank. Caution and dispatch are therefore
necessary1 in the preparation and execution of such a
manoeuvre. -
Frederick's system was. designed more for the offensive
than the defensive, and although it is generally admitted
that he was the first to comprehend clearly and distinctly
the true principles on which war should be- conducted, yet
it is denied that he was master of the strategical art.
Although he sometimes brought the greatest mass to the
decisive point, yet he never knew how to embrace his line
of operations so as to bring all the favorable chances On his
side. To reach this point, as well as many others in tac
tics, we are obliged to make a further advance which brings
us by the side of Napoleon.
The system of tactics developed by the French revolu-.
tion is in some respects peculiar. Before the occurrence
of this event the formation of infantry was by regiments -
and brigades,2 the whole united in a single body and drawn -
up in two lines. The artillery was distributed along the
entire line, and the cavalry placed on the two flanks ; so
that in moving by wings they formed four columns, two
of cavalry and two of infantry, while in moving by a flank
they formed only two very long columns. •

1 Graham, 139. " Halleck, 130.

EUROPEAN ART. 585
The French revolution quickened the latent energies of
every Frenchman, and threw into the French armies a
moral element to whic*h those of the rest of Europe were
strangers. The people of France had inaugurated a new
order of things, and every Frenchman felt himself pledged
to sustain it. The new order and the old could not coexist
on the same continent without a conflict. That conflict
- must take place between France and Europe combined.
Under ordinary circumstances the odds would be fearful,
and yet France threw down the gauntlet to Europe with a
will that manifested the determination to maintain the
issue. While the heads of the higher orders were daily
sleeping by scores in Paris, the spirit of a new born free
dom was running riot in the veins of every Frenchman.
This followed from declaring equality among men.
Two results followed from this. One by throwing open
the avenues to distinction to merit alone, led to the army
promotions of those only who were possessed of military
genius. The other threw into the ranks of the army men
burning for distinction, and animated by the full determi
nation of supporting France and French principles, policy,
and interests against the combined.armies of Europe.
This latter result greatly influences the new system of
tactics introduced into the revolutionary armies. This
system consists in a great measure of so recasting the plan
of organizing armies, as to allow individual effort to be
conspicuous in all their marches, manoeuvres, and battles.
Where every peasant's son could aspire to the baton of a
field marshal, it was necessary that each should have the
opportunity of signalizing himself in action. The heavy
tactics of long thin lines were, to a large extent, aban
doned. In the place of it the army was broken up into
smaller masses, thus rendering each more manageable,
and enabling individual effort to be more conspicuous.
While this gave greater freedom and facility to the move
ment of all the parts, it gave also the ability, where it was
vn] 74

586 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
necessary to break strength by strength, to reunite the
whole in masses, and thus hurl their united and concentrated
force upon the enemy. Out of this has grown two systems,
viz : the system of skirmishes and the system of masses.
With these two, the one to be first employed to feel the
position and the force of the enemy, the other to be hurled
against the lines of the opposing army in front, flank, or
rear, or altogether, the system of modern warfare has,
acquired a great advance since the era of Frederick.
The latent powers and energies that were thus slumber
ing in the revolutionary armies of France, only required
the touch of some great genius to give them activity and
direction. In virtue of that law that adapts things to each
other in producing the events of this world's history, that
genius was not long in making its appearance. Several
distinguished themselves during the earlier period, in the
wars growing out of the French revolution, especially Mo-
reau, but all were ultimately eclipsed, and lost in the more
brilliant display of military talents developed by Napoleon
Bonaparte. Little doubt can now remain but that in stra
tegy and grand tactics he must be allowed to stand at the
head of the world's great captains.
His first object was to perfect the recasting of the French
armies, to get them into a more manageable shape. Ac
cordingly the system of grand divisions, composed of the
four arms combined, was introduced. Each division could
move separately and independently of the other. He united ,
two or more of these divisions into a corps d'armee, which
formed a wing, the centre, or reserve of his grand army.
He had besides large reserves of cavalry and artillery, which
were employed as distinct and separate arms. This system
of reserves was carried so far that if the forces were to
act by grand divisions only, each had its separate reserve.
The citizen soldier of the French revolution supplied by
valor what he lacked in discipline. The first object,
therefore, was to introduce into the army a most thorough
system of discipline. This enabled him to move the

EUROPEAN ART. 587
masses at his pleasure. All that was, however, merely an
instrument or agent. A most powerful one to be sure,
but wanting still one thing further to render it effectual ;
and that was a perfect control over the minds of the sol
diers. This he succeeded in obtaining. His sharing with
them their hardships and dangers, his brief stirring
speeches, his masterly movements, and unbroken succes
sion of victories, rendered him the idol of the army, and
" like an organ player, who, with the light pressure of his
fingers, knows how to call forth the tide of sounds, and
blend them in majestic harmony, so Napoleon knew how
to bring into wondrous harmony all the movements of his
army." Strategy, as a military art or science, had received but
small development until the time of Napoleon. There had
never been until that time such vast armies massed toge
ther, wars of such prolonged duration, and campaigns and
battles requiring such extensive combinations. Europe
from the sunny regions of Calabria and Andalusia, to the
frozen clime of Moscow, was to witness a succession Of
battles, sieges, and campaigns, such as the world's previous
history could furnish no parallel. As the great Frederick
furnished to Europe the tactics of war, so Napoleon may be
said to be the maturer of strategy. He also placed tactics
on a broader and surer foundation. Had not the able
generals whose arms were lifted to defend against his at-'
tacks the ancient standards of Europe, learnt from him les
sons in these high arts he would probably have died an
emperor instead of an exile. No one know better Inan be
how to secure a good base, from which to draw supplies
and reenforcements, and how to establish new ones suc
cessively as an army advances or changes its line of opera
tions. No one better knew how to project from the base
his lines of operations, and to change them as circumstances
required ; having in view the' safety of his own army, and
the cutting off the retreat of his enemy from his own base of
operations, and thus compelling his destruction, dispersion,

588 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
or surrender. He dispensed with the old practice of forti
tying camps, and carrying along tents, rejecting every clo;
upon rapid movement, and adopting everything that woul(
impart mobility to his army.1
His genius was peculiarly adapted to offensive war. H<
always looked for the shortest way to the battle-fiel<
whether it was by single or double lines -of operation. Hi
knew when and how to pass from concentration to de
concentration, or the reverse, and that with the greates
rapidity, at the very moment, and at the very point wher<
the metamorphosis was desirable. " The great art," h(
says, " consists in knowing how to separate in order t<
subsist, and how to concentrate to fight." The lesson h(
taught was that the fate of battles, not the fall of fortresses
decided the fortunes of war. After the battle of Marengc
he dictated to the Austrian general the surrender of i
dozen fortresses.2 Another lesson he taught was the im
mense importance of a body of reserve. The old guard
was the glory of the army. On the field of Marengo he
called it " a pillar of granite." It finally disappeared or
the field of Waterloo. The reserve forms according tc
rule, from one-third to one-fifth of the army engaged, ahc
consists of each one of the three arms, infantry, artillery
and cavalry. It is the last argument of battle, the dernie]
resort, and everything depends upon its being called int(
action precisely at the right moment. When this occurs
must depend upon the intuitive perception, insight an(
tact of the commanding general. Napoleon had the mos
felicitous tact in this respect, and yet there are not wantinj
highly respectable military authorities who assert that i
he had summoned up his reserve at Waterloo a few minute
sooner, he might have gained the day and saved the em
pire.3 Napoleon's first campaign, that of Italy, in 1796, ests
blished on an inmovable foundation his reputation fo

'Szabad, 108. 'Idem, 129, 'Idem, -221.

EUROPEAN ART. 589
strategy and tactics. With an army of forty thousand
men, hardened by the passage of the Alps, he suddenly.
fell down upon Italy, and by a rapid and masterly succes
sion of movements and battles, defeated and destroyed
three Austrian armies successively sent against him, thus
temporarily relieving" that peninsula from the Austrian
sway. The ideas entertained of him by his enemies, may
be gathered from the reply made by an old Hungarian
officer who was taken prisoner, and being inquired of* how
affairs were going on, could not deny that they were not
in a very prosperous condition, but added : l " It is impos
sible to comprehend anything, now we have to deal with
a young general who is sometimes before us, sometimes
behind, and then suddenly on our flanks ; we do not know
how to place ourselves ; such a manner of making war is
intolerable, and violates all rule." And Napoleon may
be said to have made rule subservient to his great genius,
although generally he was a great observer of the princi
ples of war. And yet there were some singular viola
tions. In reference to single and double lines of operation,
he demonstrates the preference of the former, from the
fact that flanks are the weak points of every army, and
should be exposed as little as possible. This exposure
always increases with the multiplication of lines of opera
tion. Thus a single line will only expose two weak points ;
a double line, four ; and a triple fine, six, etc. And
yet in Italy, in 1796, we see him taking two lines of opera
tion on both sides of the Lake de Garda.2 So the victory
of Marengo was preceded by a march on both banks of
the Po. In all the dispositions of his armies he always
had an eye to their possible and practicable concentration ;
for, although operating on an extensive theatre, the sepa
rate corps followed interior and converging directions.
He held as a maxim : " that an army ought always to keep
all its columns connected,3 so that the enemy cannot intro-

' Graham, 209. ' Szabad, 192, 193. » Graham, 217.

590 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
duce himself between them ; and, if circumstances require
a deviation from this rule, those corps which are detached,
should be independent in their movements, and have
orders to unite at some fixed point, towards which they
march without hesitation, and without waiting for fresh
orders." He could exercise the art, always difficult, of directing
the masses on the decisive points ; and, when necessary ^ of
supplying the want of numbers by rapidity of movement.
His orders were always clear and precise, and his divisions,
although separated when the enemy was at a distance,
were always concentrated at the moment of his approach.
Although he always managed to be a move in advance of
his enemy, yet he always penetrated the intentions of the
enemy before acting. His army, disencumbered of all un
necessary material, far surpassed all those of his own, and
perhaps of still more modern times in its facility and ra
pidity of movement. In his operations in Switzerland he
revealed the relation between tactics and topography in a
new light, and changed the old maxims as to the defense
of states. It demonstrated that an enemy could no longer1
be stopped by lines of fortresses, when the Alps and the
Rhine could be turned and crossed at twenty different points.
Napoleon so constructed and arranged his armies as fully
to realize all that each arm could deliver on the battle-field.
His cavalry was employed to make a dash on the enemy's
infantry : to combat his cavalry ; to make charges in flank
and to attack the opposing artillery. The cavalry was a pro- '
jectile carried on by its own velocity ; its "charges under Mu-
rat were tremendous. It swept the ground like a hurricane.
The world perhaps has never witnessed charges on so
large a scale. It may be doubtful whether it ever will
again. The great perfection in fire-arms, in the minie and
enfield rifie, rendering it possible to empty saddles at such
great distances, will render cavalry charges less frequent
in the future, unless made under peculiarly favorable cir
cumstances as to protection,

EUROPEAN ART. 591
Napoleon was the first to introduce the mode of resist
ing cavalry charges by arranging his infantry into squares.
This was first tried in his Egyptian campaign, and the
trial was made against the famous Mameluke cavalry,
whOse horses, and horsemanship, and natural valor, were
probably unsurpassed. At the battle of the Pyramids the
French infantry were formed in squares flanking each
other. The cavalry and artillery had a position inside the
squares, thus presenting to the enemy angular walls six
ranks deep. The Mamelukes rushed on to the attack,
passed between the squares, and dashed on to the bristling
walls of bayonets with terrible force and intrepidity. But
it was only to find man and horse mingled together in
interminable confusion.
Napoleon's order of battle depended much upon circum
stances ; the lay of the land, the position of the enemy,
the arrangement of natural defenses, the facilities for ad
vancing and retreating. The policy of his attack and
defense was so various as to render it impossible to bring
it within any fixed rule. He often made feints upon par
ticular parts of the enemy's line, so as to draw their forces
in that direction, when all of a sudden, he would dart upon
some other part of the weakened line, penetrate it, follow
up by flank attacks, and thus succeed in disorganizing and
dispersing the enemy. His main object very frequently
was to decide upon what constituted the key of the enemy's,
position, and to avail himself of the first fair opportunity
to make a dash upon that, seize and hold it, and from it
effect the dispersion of the army. Thus at the celebrated
battle of Austerlitz the heights of Pratzen constituted the
key of the enemy's position. While Napoleon was engag
ing both wings, and the enemy's centre was drawn upon
to support them, he suddenly dispatched Marshal Soult,.
supported by Bernadotte, to climb up and take the plateau
of Pratzen. This being effected, Napoleon changed front
with two of the divisions, and moved on to take the ene-

592 HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.
my's left wing in the rear. The result was the complete
overthrow of the enemy.
Napoleon directed in person, as general-in-chief, fifteen
campaigns. His battles were innumerable, and he- was
only four times defeated. " He fell," says one, " from the
pinnacle of grandeur because he forgot that there are limits
to both the moral and physical powers of man, and that
the greater the masses put in motion the more is genius
trammelled by the imprescriptible laws of nature, and the
less can it control events." x
The arts of strategy and grand tactics have made no
advance since the age of Napoleon, but the construction of
fire-arms as instruments of war has been greatly improved.
While the minie rifle, and other improved fire-arms have
been coming into use, and supplanting the smooth-bore of
former times, the question has been asked will these im
proved weapons have any influence on tactics ? Will whole
armies be disposed in skirmishing order ? Or will it still
be necessary to keep up lines deployed, either of battalions
in column or in line ? Will battles become mere duels with .
the musket? To this question, Jomini expresses the
opinion, that notwithstanding these great improvements,
two armies wishing to engage in battle cannot thus fire at
each other from a distance throughout the day; 2 but that
one or other must advance and make the attack ; and that,
therefore, ultimate success will depend, as heretofore, on the
most skillful manceuvering, according to the great tactical
principle of bringing the preponderating mass on the deci
sive point at the decisive moment. The subsequent ex
periences in the Italian campaign, and in the great
American rebellion, seem to sustain this opinion of Jomini.

i Graham, 232. ' Idem, 253, 254.

EUROPEAN ART. 593

Naval Warfare.

Naval warfare, with the exception of the battle of Nava-
rino, has attracted very little attention in Europe during
the last half century. Even during the war era of Napoleon
the terrible contests in which nations were engaged, were
principally on land, a few of them, however, being upon
water. The reason of this is probably to be found in the
fact that for the last half century the supremacy of the
British navy has remained undisputed. In order, however,
to acquire that supremacy the ocean had, at times, been the
scene of terrible conflicts.
From the time when the Roman and the Carthaginian
• battled for the supremacy of the sea to that which was
signalized by the use of gunpowder and the invention of
cannon, naval warfare underwent but little variation.
These were first used by the Venetians against the Ge
noese in 1370. One of the earliest naval contests that
occurs after their introduction was the great battle of Le-
panto fought between the Venetian, papal and Spanish
fleets on one side and the Turkish on the other, in Sep
tember, 1571. The Christian fleet consisted of two hun
dred and fifty ships,. manned by fifty thousand men, while
the Turkish was still larger. This was a terrible battle ;
the ships grappled with each other ; the enemies fought
hand to -hand, sword to cimiter. Pikes, javelins and
arrows, cannons, match-locks, and arquebusses, aided the
fury of the combatants. At length the Turkish galley
slaves rose upon their masters, and in the end the Turks
were badly beaten, and their navy almost annihilated.
The Christian fleet was commanded by Don John of
Austria, a natural son of Charles V, which gave occa3ion
for the pope to exclaim, when the news reached Rome :
'-" There was a man sent of God whose name was John."
After this period an improvement took place in the
form and adaptation of ships of war, which at the same
vii] - 75

594 .HISTORY QF CIVILIZATION.
time progressively increased in force and size, until before
the close of the sixteenth century, Spanish and Portuguese
ships sometimes carried eighty or ninety guns. A vast
motive, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
stimulated the maritime powers of Europe to give the
greatest possible efficiency to their navies, and that was
the planting and sustaining of colonies in distant countries
with a view principally to the enlargement of their com
merce. This transportation of men, manners, and Euro
pean civilization, into the remote regions of Asia and
America, and the successful establishment of them there ,
required large naval facilities. The nations that went into
these themost extensively were the Spanish and Portuguese,
the Dutch, Danish, French, and English. These distant
colonies, during the early periods of their existence, pos
sessed little or no internal means of defense, and hence
afforded an easy prey to the invader. They looked for
their protection to the navy of , the mother country, and
hence those maritime nations having colonies felt the
necessity of possessing large naval resources. The sove- -
reignty of the seas, therefore, became a matter of most
desirable attainment, because it would carry with it the
~ power of wresting from its enemy all its colonial dependen
cies: Hence we have the key to the severe and terrible
ocean conflicts between the Spanish, Dutch, French, and
English navies, until the supremacy of the latter became-
established. The most severe and protracted of these
conflicts have been between the Dutch and the English
and the French and the English, that between the two
latter^ extending itself into some of the first years of the
present century.
It is not proposed to go into the history or peculiarities
of naval warfare. The record of battles will show that the
contests have been principally between the Dutch and the
English and the French and the English for the dominion
of the seas. The battle which was the most instrumental
in deciding the question as between the two latter was that

EUROPEAN ART. 595
off Trafalgar, which was fought on the 21st October, 1805.
The French and Spanish fleets together amounted to thirty-
three sail of the line, while that of the English numbered
twenty-seven. The former were superior in ships, guns
and men, but the crews of the latter made up their infer
iority in number by their discipline, the service they had
seen, and by their commander, Lord Nelson. The former
formed their line of battle on the larboard tack, the wind
being at south-west. The ships were drawn up in a
double line in close order, the intervals in the first line
being filled by the ships of the second with room to fire
between. This combined the advantage of a dense,
unassailable column, with a sufficient interval to obviate
the danger of contact among the ships. Nelson bore
down , also in a double line, himself leading the left of
fourteen ships in the Victory, and Collingwood in the
Royal Sovereign, the right line of thirteen ships. The
object was to break the line of the enemy in two points,
separating and overpowering them in sections inferior to
his own. From the mast-head of the Victory floated the
signal, " England expects every man to do his duty."
The action was a close and decisive one, and ended in the
complete triumph of the English fleet, twenty of the allied
vessels having surrendered. But the victory in one sense
was dearly purchased. Lord Nelson was among the slain.
Since that battle the superiority of the English navy may
be said to have remained undisputed.
The peculiarities of naval warfare relate more particu
larly to the vessels and the instruments, arms and methods
of using them. The vessels were of small size all through
the middle ages. And they were not enlarged until the
spirit of more adventurous commerce, and new discoveries^
longer voyages, and additional demands created the neces
sity of employing larger and better rigged vessels. The
origin of the English navy goes no further back than the
reign of Henry VII. The modem frigate was not gene
rally adopted in the English navy until about the middle

596 HISTORY OP CIVILIZATION.
of the seventeenth century. Towards the latter part of the
eighteenth century the carronade was invented, which
was a very short gun with a large calibre, much resem
bling a howitzer, but designed to throw solid shot, with
small charges, at short ranges. This produced fearful
effects upon the timber at close quarters. .This, during the
war of the French revolution, gave such power to the British
broadsides, that it helped to decide many an action when
fought at close quarters.
It was about the year 1820, that the celebrated paixhan
gun was invented by the French general, Paixhans. This
was a gun of large calibre, and having at the breech a
narrow chamber for the insertion of the powder, and
began to fire hollow shot, at low elevations. Thus the
shell, or projectile, that would burst after hitting, and
which could have given to it a horizontal range, became
generally introduced into all navies, and has ever since
maintained its position there.
Next, and very soon afterwards, came the first attempt
to substitute steam power in the place of the sail in the
propulsion of ships of war. This would render the ship
vastly more manageable, and hence bring naval engage
ments more directly within the control of those who em-
ba"rk in them. But the difficulty was that the engine and
paddle wheels together usurped the place whence the
broadsides should be discharged, and besides they were
directly exposed to the enemy's shot, and a single lucky
hit would entirely disable them. In addition to all this,
the engines, paddles and coal were too weighty for a
vessel which must carry heavy ordnance. The idea, there
fore, of using steam as a means of propelling ships of war
was abandoned.
At length came the invention of the screw propeller,
which was destined to revolutionize naval warfare. By
means of it all war vessels could be transformed into
steam vessels. It was first made use of by the French in
1849. The Napoleon was constructed into the first screw

v EUROPEAN ART. 597
line of battle ship, and in so doing the ship was allowed
to retain all the lines and rigging of a sailing vessel, and
to be moved either by steam alone, or by sails alone or by
both combined. The result has been that almost all ships
-now made are screw steamers, and that many of the old
strong built ships of the line have been newly fitted with a
screw and engines, so that almost all the European navies
have become transformed into steam fleets.
There are two more improvements that have crowned
the ingenuity of modern times. The first of these is the
mortar boat, or steam gun boat, which was of English con- ,
struction, and was designed to be used in the attack on
Cronstadt. It is a vessel armed with one or two heavy
long range guns, or a heavy mortar, which can be used in
a bombardment, from a long distance, of fortified naval
arsenals. Thus these mortar boats by hovering about the
coasts, and by running up rivers, can batter down towns
and fortified places, while they are themselves so small, and
at such a distance, as to be in little danger from any of the
enemy's projectiles. They are destined to play an import
ant part in all future warfare which offers facilties for their
use. The other improvement is the substitution of iron clads for
wooden vessels. The aim here is to invest all the assailable
parts of the vessel with plates of iron so thick as to be im
permeable to the heaviest and most forcible projectile that
can be hurled against them. This can be done more
effectually by constructing the vessel itself with a view to
this iron rig. In such construction, the most assailable
parts are made in a circular, or a slanting form so that the
projectiles may glance off from the point at which they
strike. In this way it has been sought to protect all the
parts above the water line so perfectly that the crews can
manage their guns, and keep up their fire upon the enemy.
without being themselves exposed to any serious hazard Of
loss. This is an experiment in naval warfare which, if
successful, must change its entire character. A whole fleet

598 history op Civilization.
-of wooden vessels would stand a poor chance of success
against a single iron clad, especially if in the form of a ram.
There are two difficulties in the way of the perfect success
of this experiment. The first is found in the fact that it is
possible to increase the force of projectiles and to arm them
with greater power than has ever yet been done. This
involves the necessity of thicker and heavier iron plating
to insure protection against them, and this latter in its
turn endangers the safety of the iron clad upon the watery
element. The recent sinking and loss of the iron boat
Monitor' in the American waters justifies the apprehen
sions 'entertained on this point. It will also be obvious
that as a counterpoise to the increasing the force and
power of projectiles, a heavier ordnance will be required, and
thus in addition to the weight of the iron plating, will be
the superadded weight Of the heavy ordnance and stores,
necessary to insure any prospect of success against other
similarly armed vessels. The contest now going on in the
United States is testing the feasibility of this experiment.
It may result in determining its success so far as relates to
the carrying on of war upOn the same continent. Whether
it will prove a perfect success here, and if it should do so,
whether it shall prove successful on a larger scale, and
whether fleets of iron cla'ds are to be seen ploughing the
ocean, encountering each other and striving for the mas
tery over its wide domain ; or crossing it, and pouring
their destructive broadsides into the cities of another con
tinent than that to which they belong, may well rank among
the unsolved problems of the future.

INDEX

Abatis, the, 527.
Accompanied madrigals, date of, 279.
Adam's- Ruins of Spalatro, influences
English architecture, 75.
Admiralty the, in Russia,described,68.
Akenside, Mark, dates, poems and
style of, 406.
Alaric captures Rome, .88.
Albani, characteristics, 200.
Alexander's Feast, by Dryden, 394.
Alfieri, dramatic genius of, 469 ; re
form effected by, 470.
Alhambra, the, elegance and magni
tude of, 32, 33.
Almogaver, Juan Boscan, influence
and poetry of, 337.
Alunno.Nicolo, characteristics of, 165.
Ambrosian chant, 270.
Anasto da Sienna, 94.
Andrea Pisano, carried art to Flo
rence, 94; founded the Tuscan
school, 94.
Andrea Orgagna, dates of, 153; genius
of, 153 ; great works of, 153.
Angelico, Fra, of Fiesole, dates of,
154; style of, 154; great works
of, 154 ; rank and position of in
the history of art, 153, 154.
Anne, Queen, literary character of the
reign of, 396.
Antonello da Messina, 162.
Approaches, 531.
Apse, the double, unfortunate effect
of in German churches, 30; in
Byzantine architecture, 15 ; made
a part of the church in Germany,
24.

Arabian or Saracenic architecture,
31 ; its richness its chief recom
mendation, 31 ; has the pointed
Gothic arch, 32 ; light and airy,
32 ; character of been in its
deades, 32 ; gothic features seen
in, 32 ; perfect specimen of in the
Alhambra, 32 ; relic of seen in the
tower of the Giraldo at Seville,
33 ; served as models of imitation,
33 ; seen in Sicily, 33 ; prevalent
in Palermo even during the
Norman rule, 33 ; not Gothic, but
a distinct style, 33, 34.
Arch, the, definition of, 10 ; known in
Egypt and Greece, but did not
enter into their architecture, 11 ;
foreshadowed. in the early Pelas
gian monuments, 11 ; style ar- '
chitecture growing from, 11 ;
employed first in Italy, 13 ; pre
dominant in Roman architecture,
13 ; destined to supplant the
entablature, 19 ; the round posi
tion of in architecture, 27 ; has
its appropriate ornamentation,
27 ; in harmony with its massive
pier, 27; characteristic of the
Romanesque, 28 ; contrasted
with the Gothic arch, 28 ; point
ed, originated by Mahometan
nations, 35 ; introduced into the
Gothic, 35 ; the four centered in
the later Gothic architecture,
45; Gothic, peculiar character
of, 48.
Architecture, schools of, see schools.

600

INDEX.

Architecture, 6 ; influenced by mate
rial most readily accessible, 6 ;
influenced by the face of the
country, 7; influenced by the
form of government and the ha
bits Of the people, 7 ; influenced
by the state of the country, 7 ;
influenced by climate, 8 ; influ
enced by national development,
8 ; reflects the degree of civiliza
tion, 8 ; different from the work
of the engineer, 9 ; styles of
whence derived, 10 ; horizontal
- style, 11 ; vertical style of, 11
in Egypt, 11 ; in Greece, 11, 12
among the ancient Druids, 12
orders of, in Greece, 12 ; per
fected in the age of Pericles,
12 ; Grecian, 12 ; Romans, 13 ;
among the ancient Etruscans,
13 ; of Modern Europe, where
seen, 14 ; great divisions of 14 ;
Byzantine, 14 - 18 ; early Ro
manesque, or Basilican style of,
21 ; ecclesiastical, circular form
of, in Italy, 21 ; new style of
Romanesque, 22 ; Lombard style,
22 ; German Romanesque, 23,
24 ; Norman, 25 ; Saxon, 25 ;
Saracenic, 31; Gothic, 34-52;
style of, during the period of the
renaissance, 52 - 59 ; Florentine
school of, 54 ; Roman school of,
52-57 ; Venetian school of, 57;
modern, 59-82; French, 60-
64; German, modern, 64-67;
in Russia, 68 ; modern in Spain,
69 ; polychrome, 76 ; reflections
upon, 79 ; modern in Great Bri
tain, 70 -82.
Aretino, comedies of, 467.
Ariosto, Ludovico, dates, character
and form of, 349 ; comedies, 466.
Armies, standing, in time of peace, a
modern policy, 517; their corn-

Armies, continued —
position, 534 ; subsistence of, 542 ;
how subsisted under Caesar,
542 ; b»w under Louis XIV, 542 ;
how under Frederick II, 542; how
under Napoleon, 543; general
principle of, 544 ; marches of, 544.
Armor, defensive, of the earlier
European nations, 519.
Arms and weapons, 518.
Army movements, certainty and pre
cision of, necessary, 549.
Arne, Dr., musical ability of, 292.
Art, definition of, 1 ; subject upon
which it operates, 2 ; motive for,
3 ; limit, 3 ; dependent upon re
ligion and government, 89 ; aim
of, 40 ; pagan cycle of, the most '
favorable to the development of,
140 ; pagan, culminated when,
140 ; pagan, when overthrown,
141 ; Christian, when commenc
ed, 141 ; three great eras of mo
dern, 141 ; early Christian, 142 ;
Byzantine, 143 ; revival of in
Italy, 145 ; lyric, prominent traits
of, 151 ; supplied the want of
books, 152 ; sources of its models,
156 ; under what political condi
tions most triumphant, 167 ; law
of its development, 208 ; in Eng
land, 240.
Artillery, use of in early times, 521 ;
general classes of, 538 ; siege,
538 ; field, 538 ; pieces and pro
jectiles used by, 538 ; division
of, 539 ; action of, 539 ; forma
tions of, 539 ; as an arm of pre
paration, 540; as an arm of
succor, 540 ; in case of retreat,
541 ; relative number of, 541 ;
how placed and used in battle,
512.
Arts, classification of, 4 ; objective,
4 ; subjective, 4 ; mixed, 5, 7 ;

INDEX.

601

Arts, continued —
most flourishing under a free
government, 90 ; revived by the
Crusades, 90 ; stimulated by the
Italian republics and free cities,
90 ; the fine, in Germany, 119 ;
the, kindred in character, 344.
Assembly, national, of Prance, great
orator of, 431.
Attack- upon fortifications, mode of,
527.
Attila scourges Italy, 89.
Augustino da Sienna, 94.

Bach, 287.
Bacon, English sculptor, 125.
Balance of power in Europe, influ
ence of, 517.
Banks, dates and power of modeling
of, 125.
Baptistery, form of in Italy, 21.
Barbarian invasion, dates and influ
ence of, 88, 89.
Bards, Celtic, occasions requiring the
songs of, 308 ; study and office
of, 309 ; aim of, 310 ; culmina
tion of, 311 ; of Germany, 320 ;
culmination of, 320.
Barry, James, dates, style and works
of, 244.
- Basilican style of architecture, cha
racter and defect of, 21.
Basilica^ form and description of, 19,
20 ; adapted to Christian wor
ship, 20 ; moral aspect of its
change into a church, 21.
. Bastion, the, 525.
Battle, line and order of, primary im
portance of, 567 ; order of, formed
by Frederick the Great, 583.
Battle-axe, the, 518.
Battles, kinds of, 560 ; offensive, diffi
culty of arranging a plan in, 563 ;
orders of, 563.
VII] 76

Bayonet, the, substituted for the
pike, 523 ; the, first used, 577.
Beaumont, Francis, dates of, 498;
dramatic genius of, 502 ; literary
partnership of, with Fletcher,
502.
Beethoven, Ludwig Von, dates, birth
place and early genius of,- 302 ;
mode of composition of, 303 ;
peculiar beauties of, 303 ; death
of, 303.
Befreing Shalle, in Bavaria, 67.
Bell tower, 23.
Bellini, Giovanni, dates of, 163 ; long
evity of, 163 ; character of the
paintings of, 163, 174.
Berlin, museum of, described, 66, 67.
Bernini, dates, aim, and works of,
106.
Besieged, the, operations of, 531.
Besiegers, the, operations of, 528.
Bivouac, the, 545.
Body-harness, the, 519.
Boiardo, Count, 349.
Boileau, dates and satire of, 375.
Bologna school of music, 284.
Bombs, when first used, 521.
Bduchardon, merit of, 116.
Bourdaloue, pulpit eloquence of, 492.
Bow, the, use of in England, 518 ;
introduced by the Norman ]con-
quest,]518. ,
Brabant school of painting, 216.
Bramante, founder of the Roman
school of architecture, 55, 56.
British eloquence, 439.
Bronze gates of the Baptistery at Flo
rence, beauty of, 95.
Brougham, Lord, eloquence of com
pared with that of Canning, 453 .
Brunelleschi, Philip, dates of, 53 ; in
troduced the renaissance style of
architecture into Italy, 53 ; the -
dome of Florence cathedral his
greatest work, 53.

602

INDEX.

Burke, Edmund, dates of, 445 ; elo
quence of, 446.
Burlington, Earl of, influence of upon
English architecture, 75.
Burns, Robert, dates, education, cha
racter and poems of, 411.
Butler, Samuel, dates of, 387 ; great
work of, 395 ; character and
genius of, 395.
•Byron, Lord, dates, forms and cha
racteristics of, 421.
- Byzantine architecture, 14, 18 ; in
vented in Constantinople, 14 ;
where found, 14, 15 ; periods of,
15 ; pure forms of, 15 ; main fea
ture of, 15 ; general appearance
of, 16 ; most perfect sample of,
17; greatest grandeur of, 17;
period of decline, 17 ; extinction
of, 17 ; influence of upon West
ern Europe, 18 ; art, 143 ; copied
by the Italian masters, 143;
head of Christ, 144 ; peculiarities
of, 144 ; mission of, 144.

Caesar, eloquence of, 426.
Cagliari, Paolo, 188 ; see Paul Vero
nese, 196.
Calderon, dates and dramatic genius
of, 477.
Camoens, author of Lusiad, dates,
life, etc., 340.
Camp, principles of the construction
of, 546 ; guarding of, 546.
Campanile or bell tower, introduced
by, 23; characteristic of Christ
ian worship, 23 ; description of,
23 ; changed and improved by
the German nations, 23.
Campbell, Thomas, dates, forms and
style of, 419.
' Campo Santo of Pisa, 152.

Canning, George, eloquence of com
pared with that of Lord Broug
ham, 453. - "
Cannon, the, employed by Mahomet
II at the siege of Constantino- ¦
pie, 521 ; metals composing, 521 ¦
largest known, 521 ; first use of,
521.
Canova, Antoni, birthplace, dates and
ancestry of, 107 ; early studies
of, 107; in Venice, 107; early
works of, 108 ; goes to Rome, 108 ;
aim of, 108 ; number of composi
tions of, 109 ; three classes of
his works, 109 ; great statues of,
109, 110 ; tombs chiseled by, 110,
111 ; genius of, 111 ; models
after the antique, 112 ; merits of,
112 ; style of, 113.
Canterbury Tales, 383.
Caravaggio, dates of, 201 ; aim and
characteristics of, 202 ; works, of,
202 ; scholars of, 202.
Carlo, Maderno, works upon St. Peter,
56.
Carracci, Agostino, 199; Annibale,
merits of, 199 ; Ludovico, dates
of, 199 ; schools of painting
founded by, 199.
Castrametation, principles of, 546.
Catacombs of Rome, art in, 142. .
Catharine de Medici, commences
the Tuileries, 61.
Catharine II of RuBsia, 68, 69.
Cathedral at Cologne, 77 ; of St. Denis,
77 ; of St. Peter, 78 ; at Cologne,
48 ; of Florence, dome of, 53; of,-
St. Mark, 18, 47 ; of Milan, 47 ;
of Seville, 47 ; of Toledo, 47 ; of
Burgos, 47; at Salamanca, 69.
Cavalry, early use of, 535 ; in the
middle ages, 535 ; under Gusta
vus Adolphus, 535 ; under Fre
derick +he Great', 535 ; division.

INDEX.

603

Cavalry, continued —
, of, 535 ; heavy, 535 ; light, 535 ;
dragoons, 536 ; at the battle of
Auerstadt, 536 ; principal merit
of, 535 ; under Napoleon, 537 ;
shock produced by, 537; must
be sustained by infantry, 537 ;
invaluable after a victory, 538 ;
relative number of, 538 ; how
formed for and used in battle,
570 ; how used by Frederick the
Great, 582.
Celtic remains,architectural character
of, 12 ; music, 273 ; poetry, 308 ;
bards, 398 ; culmination of, 311.
Celts, bards and instrumental music
among, 272,
Cervantes, dates and dramatic works
of, 473.
Chamber music, 278.
"•"Chambers, Sir Win., 75.
Chantrey, Sir Francis, genius and
works of, 126.
CharLemagne, obtains singers from
Italy) 272.
Charles I, 71 ; a lover of art, 240.
Charles V, 226.
Charles V of Spain, aim of, 338.
Charles VIII, influence of his wars
, upon Italian architecture, 60.
Chaucer, Geoffrey, dates, works and
V genius of, 382.
Chausse d'Antin, polychromy of, 77.
Chiaroscuro, derivation and use of,
134 ; effect of, how accomplished,
135 ; by whom discovered, 135,
188 ; importance of, in painting,
188 ; studied in Venice, 188 ;
developed by Correggio, 188.
Chivalry, influence of upon Proven
cal poetry, 325 ; influences poetry
in Italy, 349.
Christ, head of, as represented in the
Catacombs, 144 ; Byzantine head
of,' 144.

Christian art in architecture, 14;
worship demands a suitable ar
chitecture, 19; temples, earliest
not derived from the Basilica
found in Ireland, 24 ; description
of, 24 ; art, spiritual in its tone,'
89 ; subjects of, 89 ; first at
tempts and subjects of, 142,.
143.
Christianity, primitive, hostile to art,
89.
Christopher Wren, 71.
Church of St. Eustace at Paris, 60
of St. Michael at Dijon, 61 ; of
St. Peters at Caen, 61 ; St. So
phia, 17 ; of St. Vitalis, 18 ; form
of in Saxon architecture, 25
form of in Norman architecture
26 ; of St. Peter's at Rome, dimen
sions, expense, character of, 56.
57 ; of St. Mark, when begun.
57 ; of the Invalids, 61 ; of St
Genevieve or the Pantheon, in
» Paris, 62 ; of Santa Maria del
Fiore, 62 ; of St. Peter, 62 ; of St.
Paul, 62 ; of the Madeleine, in
Paris, 62 ; of Santa Engracia at
Saragossa, 69 ; of St. Paul in
London, 71, 72 ; of St. Stephen,
72 ; of St. Magnus, 72 ; of St.
Michael, 72; of the Madeleine,
77 ; music, species of, 278 ; in
France, 290.
Churches, greatest modern in Eu
rope, 62 ; forms of in Byzantine
architecture, 16.
Cid, poem of the, date, hero, and cha
racter of, 333.
Cimabue, representative of the , ear
liest stages of coloring, 138 ; the
father of Italian art, style of,
147; chief merit of, 147.
Circular form of ecclesiastical archi
tecture in Italy, 21.
Circumvallation, lines of, 530.

604

INDEX.

Civilization, degree of, reflected by
architecture, 8.
Claude Lorraine, dates of, 234 ; style
of, 235.
Clerestory, the, in the Gothic, 45.
Climate, influence of, upon architec
ture, 8.
Clouet, Francois, dates and style of,
234.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, dates,
friends and early aim of, 415 ;
works and genius, of, 415.
Collins, William, dates, works and
genius of, 404.
Cologne, cathedral of, the most per
fect specimen of Gothic architec
ture, 48 ; school of painting of,
how characterized, 205; poly
chrome architecture in, 77.
Color, effect of, dependent upon,
.138.
Coloring in painting, 136 ; grada
tions, 137; earliest stages and
representative of, 138; perfect
stages and representative of, 138 ;
in early Spanish schools, 225.
Comedies, earliest English, 496.
Comedy, in France, 486 ; Italian,
origin of, 466.
Commerce, influence of upon naval
warfare, 594. /
Communications, lines of, 554.
Composition of armies, 534.
Compromise effected in architecture
in France, 60 ; seen in the church
of St. Eustace, 60 ; St. Michael,
61 ; St. Peter at Caen, 61.
Conde, statue of, 116.
Convention, national, of France, great
orators of, 434.
Corneille, Pierre, dates and dramatic
genius of, 479.
Correggio, develops chiaroscuro, 188 ;
compared with Raphael, 189 ;
dates and birthplace of, 189 ; by

Correggio, continued —
whom influenced, 189; excel
lence of, 189 ; principal works of,
190.
Counterscarp wall, the, 525.
Cousin, Jean, the founder of the
French school of painting, 234.
Covered way, the, 525.
Cowper, William, dates, character
and forms of, 408.
Crabbe, George, duties, poems and
merit of, 410.
Cranach, Lucas, dates of, 213 ; cha
racteristics of, 213.
Creation, the, oratorio of, 298.
Critical school of poetry in England,
393.
Cross-bow. the, or arbalest, intro- '
duced into Prance, 518 ; con
struction and use of, 518.
Crusades, influence of upon sculpture '
in England, 123 ; influence of
upon the arts, 90.
Curran, John Philpot, dates, appear
ance and eloquence of, 457.

Daedalus and Icarus of Canova, 108.
Dagger of mercy, the, 520.
Dannecker, German sculptor, works
of, 118.
Dante, dates and life of, 343 ; subjects
of the poem of, 344 ; conception
of hell, 344 ; conception of purga
tory, 345 ; conception of paradise,
345 ; measure of the poem of,
346 ; peculiar genius of, 346.
D'Antin, Chausse, polychromy of, 77.
Danton, appearance, character and
eloquence of, 436.
Da Pisa, Giovanni, 94.
Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, dates and
poems of, 409.
Da Sienna, Anasto, 94.
Da Sienna, Augustino, 94.

INDEX.

605

David, Jean, of Prance, studies and
great statues of, 116 ; dates and
style of, 238.
De Brosse, erects Luxemburg palace,
61.
Defense, lines of, 554.
Deliverance Hall, on Mt. Michael,
description of, 67.
De l'Orme, architect of the Tuileries,
61.
Demosthenes, apostrophe of, 426.
Design, necessary to painting, 135 ;
elements of, 135.
Development period of music, 273.
Dioclesian, palace of, at Spalatio,
' peculiar architecture of, 19.
Ditch, or fosse, the, 525.
Divine comedy of Dante, 344.
Dome, the crowning ornament in By
zantine architecture, 15 ; how
sustained, 15 ; how constructed,
in Rome, 15.
Domenichino, excellencies of, 100;
-works of, 200.
Donatello, dates and works of, 96, 97.
Dow, Gerard, dates and style of,
223.
Drama, the, an outgrowth of social
life in large cities, 460 ; styles
of, 461 : classic, 461 ; romantic,
461 ; in Italy, 465 ; in Spain,
began to flourish, 472 ; character
of, 472; in Spain, period of its
success, 473 ; contributors to,
473 ; in France, culmination and
great lights of, 479 ; in England,
495 ; great masters of, 498 ;
what schools of really national,
514 ; concluding remarks upon,
514; great periods of, in Euro
pean countries, 515.
Dramatic art, the, 460 ; a mixed art,
' 460 ; exhibitions, earliest, 462 ;
in Italy, greatest contributors
to, 467; the period of its pro-

Dramatic art, continued —
sperity, 477; the, in France,
gradual character of, 482.
Dramatic music, arose from, 279;
early specimens of, 279 ; sym
phony, 281 ; in France, 290.
Dramatists, contemporary, 575.
Druidical bards, 272.
Dryden, John, education and early
. productions of, 392 ; founded
a critical school of poetry, 394 ;
duties of, 394; lyric poetry of,
394.
Duccio, of the school of Sienna, 151.
Duchess Marie of Orleans, statues
made by, 117.
Dunciad, by Pope, 399.
Durer, Albert, characteristics of, 209 ;
principles upon which he pro-
ceded, 209 ; marks a transition
period in German art, 210;
most celebrated works of, 211 ;
dates of, 207.

Early Gothic, the, character and
beauty of, 40, 41 ; the varieties
of windows in, 42, 43 ; Christian
music, 270.
Eclectic school of painting, 198.
Edda, the, of Saemund and Snorre
Sturleson, 316; compared with
the songs of Ossian, 319.
Egypt, architecture of, 11.
Eleanor, Queen, monuments of, 123.
Elizabethan age of poetry, charac
teristics and poets of, 384, 386.
Eloquence, 424; fields for the dis
play of, 425 ; ancient compared
with modern, 425 ; of the bar,
427 ; of the pulpit, 428 ; of the
senate and popular assembly,
431 ; in England and France,
431 ; in France^ 431-438 ; after
the revolution, 438 ; in the Bri-

606

INDEX.

. Eloquence, continued —
tish parliament, 439 ; great con
dition of its development, 459.
Embrasures., 526.
Enceinte, the, 525.
Enemy, the movements of, how as
certained in advance, 547.
Engineers, the, greatest development
of, 541 ; numbers of, 541 ; divi
sion and duties of, 541.
England, polychromy in, 77 ; sculp
ture in, 122 ; Italian origin of,
123 ; indebted to America for
her most celebrated historical
painter, 245 ; music in, 291 ;
great composer in, 291 ; poetry
and poets of, in the eighteenth
century, 396 ; poetry and poets
of, 381-424.
English architecture, begins to be
modeled after the Grecian style,
75 ; cause of, 75 ; modeled strict-
, ly after the Italian, 75 ; in the
present century, 76 ; school of
painting, 240 ; language, com
position of, 382 ; Augustan age
,of, 396; sermons, 429, 430;
drama, the, 495 ; early pharacter
of, 495 ; the, periods of, 496 ;
during the reign of Elizabeth,
496, 497 ; most brilliant period
of, 497 ; copies the antique, 497 ;
great masters of, 498 ; founders
of, 498 ; contrasted with the
French, 514; navy, origin of,
595.
Entablature, the, definition of, 10 ;
style of architecture growing
from, 11 ; principle of, seen in
the Celtic remains, 12 ; perfected
in Greece, 12.
Entrenchments, forms of, 526.
Epistle from Eloise to Abelard, by
Pope, 397.
Equestrian statues in France, 116.

Eras of modern art, 141.
Erskine, Thomas, eloquence of, 456.
Escurial, palace of the, dimensions
and architecture of, 69.
Essay on Man, by Pope, 399
Etruria, art revived in, 146.
European schools of music, 283.

Fables of Dryden, 394.
Facade, form of, 16.
Faery Queen, the, of Spenser, 385.
Farnese palace at Rome, by whom
designed and how built, 55.
Faust, by Goethe, character of, 370.
Ferdinand and Isabella, tomb of, 92.
Flamboyant style of Gothic archi
tecture, 46.
Flaxman, John, the greatest English
sculptor, 125 ; genius and great
statues of, 126.
Fletcher,. John, dates of, 498 ; dra
matic genius of, 502.
Florence, dome of the cathedral of,
53 ; bronze gates of the Baptist
ery at, 95 ; school of painting in,
147 ; character of the art of, 151.
Florentine school of architecture,
dates of, 54 ; seen more in palaces
than in churches, 54 ; character
of, 54.
Foliation, an important element in
Gothic decoration, 42.
Fontenelle, dates and poetry of, 376.
Foreshortening, art of, first ventured
upon, 150.
Form and color in painting, 138.
Formative period of music, 270.
Fortifications, object of, 523 ; kinds
of, 523 ; in the middle ages, 524 -;
improvements of in modern
times, 524 ; permanent, elements.
of, 525 ; terms of permanent de
fined, 525 ; temporary, 526 ; mode
of attacking, 527.-

INDEX.

607

Fortified placess and means of attack
and" defense, 523.
Four Seasons, the, oratorio of, 298.
Fox, Charles James, dates of, 449 ;
eloquence of, 449.
Pra Angelico, 154.
Prance, Italian architecture intro
duced into, 60 ; polychromy in,
77 ; poetry in, 373 ; sculpture in
troduced in, 114.
Francia, Francesca, excellencies of,
165.
Francis I, tomb of, 92 ; patron of the
arts, 60 ; influence of his wars
in introducing Italian architec
ture into France, 60 ; imported
into France Italian architects,
60 ; brings sculpture into France,
114 ; the first French monarch
who loved painting, 233 ; poetry
and poets in the reign of, 373.
Franco, gives rules to rhythm, 273.
Frederick the Great, military genius
of, 581, 582 ; statue of, 119 ; sys
tem of war of, 584.
Free institutions, how overthrown,
203.
French modern architecture, 60 - 64 ;
Palatine architecture celebrated,
•62 ; revolution, influence of upon
sculpture, 116 ; school of paint
ing, 232 ; art, great period of,
234 ; painters of the present cen
tury, 239 ; music, 289 ; school
of music, 288-291; sermons,
429 ; revolution, orators of, 431 ;
eloquence, 431 - 438 ; drama,
the, 479 ; culmination and great
lights of, 479 ; comedy, 486 ; revo
lution, moral element and results
of, 585 ; effect upon military tac
tics, 585.
Fresco painting, 129.
Fugitive pieces of chamber music,
variety of, 279.

Fuseli, Henry, dates, style and works
of, 252.

Gafforio, Fanchino, Practica Musica
of, 274.
Gainsborough, Thomas, dates and
characteristics of, 250.
Gamut, the, constructed, 273.
Gay, John, dates, works and genius
of, 401.
Genseric burns Rome, 89 ; persecutes
the Catholic Christians, 89.
Gentle Shepherd, the, by Allan Ram
say, 402.
Geometrical variety of windowsin
the early Gothic, 43, 44 ; how
distinguished from the lancet
style, 44. '
German nations, improve the bell-
tower and apse, 23, 24 ; Roman
esque architecture, 23, 24, 30 ;
modern architecture, 64, 69 ; ar
tists, culture and merits of, 119 ;
schools of painting, 203 ; schools
of music, 286, 288 ; early origin
of, 286 ; superiority of, in instru
mental music, 286, 287 ; great
composers in, 287 ; bards, 320 ;
poetry, great lights of, 363 ; poe
try, modern, 372 ; race, locality,
nationalities and languages of,
355 ; drama, the, 488 ; origin,
character and great names in,
488.
Germany, existing old houses in,
style of, 64 ; sought its models
of architecture in Greece, not in
Italy, 65 ; national monument
of, described, 66 ; polychromy in,
77 ; sculpture in, 117 ; sculptors
of, 118 ; its peculiarities as re
lated to art, 208; poetry in,
355.

608

INDEX.

Ghiberti, Lorenzo, executes the
bronze doors of the baptistery
at Florence, 95, 97.
Ghirlandajo, aim of, 160; character
istics of, 160 ; celebrated produc
tions of, where found, 161.
Gibbons, Grinling, English sculptor,
124.
Giorgiani, pupil of Bellini, 164.
Giotteschi, 150.
Giottian epoch, distinguished for,
150.
. Giotto, humble origin of, 147, 148 ;
wonderful genius of, 148 ; the
intimate friend of Dante, 148 ;
naturalistic in his tendencies,
148 ; dramatic character in the
paintings of, 149 ; heads of, 149 ;
cities containing the works of,
' 149 ; crucifixions of, 149 ; the
type .of a coming epoch, 150 ;
imitators of, 150 ; epoch of, how
marked, 150.
Giovanni da Pisa, 94.
: Girardon, French sculptor, style of,
115.
Girondists, destruction of, 435.
Glacis, the, 525.
Globe theatre of Shakespeare, con
struction and management of,
513.
Gluck, 281.
Goethe, John Wolfgang Von, dates,
works and genius of, 366; Faust
of, 370 ; dramatic genius of, 490.
Goldoni, dramatic genius of, 468.
Goldsmith, Oliver, dates, character
and works of, 407.
Gothic arch, peculiar character of,
48.
Gothic architecture contrasted with
the Romanesque, 27, 28, 29 ;
arch, development of, 28 ; archi-
/ tecture, 34, 52 ; the heritage of
the Teutonic race, 34 ; where it

Gothic architecture, continued : —
prevailed, 34 ; principle upon
which it is based, 34 ; carries out
the vertical principle, 35 ; charac
teristics of, 35 ; adopted the point
ed arch from the Mahometans,
35 ; system of decoration, of, 35 ;
clustered pillar essential to the
ideal perfection of, 36; mould
ings in, 36 ; does not consist
wholly of vertical lines, 37 ; high
roofs, spires, pinnacles and flying
buttresses of, 37 ; style of vault
ing in, 37 ; speculations as to its
origin, 38 ; is it Saracenic? 38 ;
may have been brought into
Europe by the Crusades, 38 ; re
semblance of to a forest, 39 ; su
premacy of not accomplished
without a struggle, 40 ; subdivi
sions of, 40 ; character and beauty
of the early, 40,41 ; character and
beauty of the later or continuous,
41 ; form of the tower -In, 43 :
spire in, 43 ; arcade in, 44 ; pillar
in, 44 ; triforium, 44 ; four
centered arch in the continuous
v Gothic, 56; clerestory in the
later or continuous, 45 ; fan
tracery vaulting in, 46 ; flam
boyant style of, 46 ; where
most found flourishing, 45 ;
never native or fully adopted in
Italy, 46 ; nearest resemblance
to it in Italy found in the cathe
dral of Milan, 47 ; Italian, 47 ;
in Spain, introduced, 47 ; bor
rows from the Saracenic, 47 ; -
specimens of, 47 ; in England,
France and Germany, adapted
to Christian worship, 47 ; most
perfect specimen of, 48 ; con
trasted with the Greek or classi
cal, 49, 54 ; the favorite style in
northern countries, 59; did not

INDEX.

609

Gothic architecture, continued —
easily yield 40 the renaissance,
59, 60 ; power of in France, 61 ;
declines in Germany.
Gothic poetry, 315.
Gougon, Jean, the first eminent sculp-
. tor in France, 115 ; dates, stu
dies and school of, 115.
Government, influence upon archi
tecture, 7; form of, influences
the arts, 89 ; best form for the
. arts, 90.
Grattan, Henry, dates, appearance,
and eloquence of, 457.
Graun, 287.
Gray, Thomas, dates, works, and ge
nius of, 405.
Great Britain, modern architecture,
in, 70, 82.
. Grecian architecture, 11, 12 ; art, ma
terialistic and sensual, 89 ; sub-
. v jects of, 89 ; not wholly destroyed,
93 ; revived in Italy, 93.
Greece,, perfects the entablature in
architecture, 12 ; developed sculp
ture to its highest degree, 88 ;
wonderful works of, 88; des-
- poiled by Rome, 88.
Greek churches, union of, contending
principles of architecture in, 17 ;
preserves the cross form, 17.
Greek, or classical architecture con
trasted with the Gothic, 49, 54.
Gregorian chant, 270 ; first intro
duced into England, 271 ; in Ger
many, 271 ; corrupted in France,
271.
Guido, a Benedictine, constructs the
gamut, 273.
Guido Reni, two styles of, 200 ; works
of, 200.
Guild singers in Germany, 356 ;.most
notable of, 357.
Gunpowder, first applied in warfare,
521 ; in naval warfare, 593.
VII] 77

Gustavus Adolphus, systematizes the
art of war, 376 ; efforts of, 576 ;
tactics of, 576.
Gutenburg's monument in Stras-^
burg, 116.

Handel, George Frederic, dates and
birthplace, and early life of, 292 ;
settled -in London, 293; great
oratorios of, 293 ; later life of,
293 ; organ performance of, 293 ;
effects of the music of, 294 ; per
fections of the musical art in,
294 ; choruses of, 295 ; influence
of upon England, 295.
Hand-gun, or fire-arm, the stages of
progress of, 522.
Hapsburg, house of, unfavorable to
poetry, 356.
Harmony, nature of, 263 ; of the do
minant, invented, 277.
Haydn, 287; Francis Joseph, dates,
birthplace and early life of, 296 ;
excellence of, 296 ; manner of
composition of, 296; highest
production of, 297 ; comic pieces
of, 297 ; in England, 297 ; slow
ness in composing of, . 298 ; the
Creation of, 298 ; the Four Sea
sons of, 298 ; peculiar excellence
of, 299.
Heathen temples not adapted for
"Christian worship, 19.
Helmet, the, 520.
Henriade, the, of Voltaire, 379.
Henry HI, architectural sculpture in
England during the reign of,
123.
Henry VII, tomb of, 92 ; chapel of,
124.
Henry VIII, destruction of works of
art during his reign, 124 ; influ
ence of, upon art, 240.
Hercules and Lyciusby Canova, 109.

61Q

INDEX.

Herder, John Gottfried, dates, works,
and genius of, 362.
Hermitage in Russia, 69.
Herrera, loftiest of the Spanish poets,
339.
Hey wood, John, dramatic genius of,
495.
Historical painting in Germany, pe
riod of, 221 ; in England, 243,
247.
Hogarth, as a historical painter, 243 ;
style of, 241.
Hohenstauffen, emperors of the house
of, encouraged the Minnisingers,
330.
Holbein, Hans, the younger, birth
place and dates of, 211 ; excel
lencies of, 211 ; aim of, 212 ; cha
racteristics of, 212.
Holland school of painting, 218.
Holy Families of Raphael, 183.
Horizontal style of architecture, 11.
Horse artillery, used by Frederick
the Great, 583.
Hudibras of Butler, character of, 395.
Hugo, Victor, genius of, 380 ; great
poem of, 380.
Humboldt, bust of, 116.
Hurtado, Don Diego de Mendoza,
character and classical poetry of,
337.

Iceland, discovery of, and coloniza
tion by, 315 ; destiny of, in refe
rence to poetry, 316 ; poetry of,
316.
Idealism in German poetry, 359.
Iliad, translation of by Pope, 398.
Infantry, position and duties of, 534 ;
relative number of, 535 ; arms
of, 534 ; how formed for and
used in battle, 568; first intro
duced, 595 ; how used by Fre
derick the Great, 582.

Influences that modify architecture,
6, 8.
Inigo Jones, date of, 71 ; planned the
palace at Whitehall, 71.
Instrumental music, 281.
Intervals in melody, 277. " ,
Ireland, style of early Romanesque
found in, 24; ancient buildings
found in, 25; round towers of,
25 ; the favored land of elo
quence, 458.
Iron clad vessels used in naval
warfare, 597.
Italian Gothic architecture, 47 ; ar
chitecture, best days of, 47 ; in
troduced into France, 60 ; how-
introduced into Germany, 65 ;
when introduced into England,
70. ,
Italian, mode of singing, 268 ; singers
introduced into Europe, 271 ;
schools of music, character of,
283, 286 ; superiority of execution
in, 285 ; decline of, 285 ; language-
derivation of, 342 ; poetry, great
styles and exponents of, 351 ;
drama, the, 465 ; tragedy, origin '
of, 465 ; comedy, origin of, 466.
Italian republics, the, influence of
upon the arts, 90 ; and free
cities, influence of upon art, 90,
93, 98 ; lose power, 105.
Italian schools of painting, 145; of
painting, in what direction and
by whom developed, 191.
Italy, not the home or seat of Gothic
architecture, 46 ; schools of archi
tecture in during the period of
the renaissance, 54.

James I, 71.
Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso, cele
brity, dates, subjects and charac
ter of, 351, 355.

INDEX.

611

Joanes Vincent, dates and style of,
226.
Jones, Inigo, date of, 71 ; planned the
palace at Whitehall, 71.
Jonson, Ben, dates of, 498 ; appear
ances, character and dramatic
genius of, 499, 502.
Julius II, the patron of Raphael, 179 ;
sells indulgences to meet the ex
penses of St. Peters, 57 ; statue
of, 102.

Kent, English architept, 75.
Keyser, the first German composer,
286.
Kleuse, Leo Von, great architect,
65 ; celebrated building of, 65.
Klopstock, Frederick Gottlieb, dates
and poetry of, 358; Messiah
- of, 359.
Knight, arms of, 519.
Knight, Death and the Devil by Al
bert Durer, 211.

La Fontaine, dates and fables of, 375.
Lance, the, 519.
Lancet, style of window in the early
Gothic, 42, 43 ; presents great
beauty and loveliness, 42.
Language of France in the seven
teenth century, 376 ; pronuncia
tion of, influences music, 268 ;
perfection of, attributable to
poetry and eloquence, 381.
Last Judgment, the, by Michael
Angelo, 175.
Last Supper, the, by Leonardo da
Vinci, 171.
Later or continuous Gothic, charac
ter and beauty of, 41, 45.
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, dates and
style of, 256.
Lay of the Nibelungen, 321.

Lebrun, Charles, dates of, 234 ; style
of, 237.
Legend of the Ages, by Victor Hugo,
character of, 380.
Leo X, 57.
Leon, Luis Ponce de, life and poetry
of, 339.
Leonardo da Vinci, discourses chia
roscuro, 135 ; dates of, 166 ;
genius of, 168 ; diverse talents
of, 169; aim of, 169; studied
character, 169, 170; portrait of
Mona Lisa, 171 ; Last Supper
by, 171 ; Struggle for the Stand
ard by, 172; compared with
Giotto, 172.
Lepanto, naval battle of, 593.
Lessing, dates, dramas and dramatic
genius of, 488.
Lesueur, Eustache, dates of, 234;
style of, 237.
Lippi, Filippo, the Carmelite, the
first notoriously profligate artist,
158 ; painted from nature, 158. .
Lombard style of architecture, by
whom and when introduced, 22 ;
character of, 22, 23; style of
architecture, description of a
church so built, 23 ; campanile
or bell tower, characteristic of,
23.
Lombards, the, influence of upon
architecture, 22 ; style introduced
by them, 22, 23.
Lombardy school of music, 284.
London, great fire in, 71.
Lorenzo the Magnificent, patron of
art, 99.
Lorraine, Claude, dates of, 234 ; style
of, 235 ; statue of, 101.
Louis Philippe, completes the archi
tectural monuments of Napoleon
1,64.
Louis XII, wars of, influence Italian
architecture, 60.

612

INDEX.

Louis XIV, 61, 115; art in the reign
of, 234 ; musical taste of, 289.
Louis XV, reign of, characterized by
improved taste in architecture
in Prance, 62.
Louis XVIII, 63.
Ludwig I, king of Bavaria, patron of
the arts, 65 ; most celebrated
structures erected during the
reign of, 65, 66, 67.
Lully, introduced Italian music into
France, 289.
Lusiad of Camoens, character, sub
jects and object of, 340.
Luxembourg palace, by whom built,
61 ; architect and architecture
of, 61 ; modeled after, 61.
Lyric comedy, 281.
Lyrical poetry in Spain, 335.

Maedowell, study of, 127.
Machiavelli, comedies of, 467.
McPherson's translation of the songs
of Ossian, 311.
Madeleine, church of, in Paris, 62 ;
design of, 63 ; architecture of,
63; polychromy of, 77.
Maderno, Carlo, works upon St. Pe
ter's, 56.
Madonnas of Raphael, 183.
Madrid school of painting, 227.
Madrigals, date of, 279.
Maestricht, siege of, 578.
Maffei, dates and tragedy of, 467.
Malherbe, age and poetry of, .374.
Mansard constructs the church of
the Invalids and the Palace of
Versailles, 61.
Mansions of the nobles in Germany,
style of after the decline of the
Gothic architecture, 64.
Mantegna, Andrea, style of, 161.
Marble Palace in Russia, by whom
built, 68.

Marcello, 281.
Marches of armies, kinds and diffi
culties of, 544.
Marie of Orleans, duchess of, statues
made by, 117.
Marlowe, Christopher, dramas and
genius of, 498.
Marot, Clement, excellence-of,'374.
Martel, or maule, the, 519.
Martini, Simone, style of, 152 ; great
frescoes of, 152.
Martyrdom of St. Peter the Domini- -
can, by Titian, 195.
Mary de Medici builds the Luxem
bourg palace, 61.
Masaccio, dates- of, 157 ; aim of in
painting, 157 ; style of, 157 ;
most celebrated works of, 158.
Masolino, 157.
Massillon, pulpit eloquence of, 429.
Massinger, Philip, dates of, 498 ;
dramatic genius and dramas of,
505.
Mazarin, imported Italian opera into
France, 190.
Medici, house of, patrons of art, 98,
99.
Melancholy, by Albert Durer, 211.
Melody, nature of, 263.
Meneling, Hans, characteristics of,
207.
Messiah, the, of Klopstock, 359.
Metastasio, dramatic genius of, 467.
Michael Angelo, character of, his
architecture, 56 ; some of his
works, 56 ; dates of, 99 ; brought
forward by Lorenzo de Medici,
99 ; a great student of anatomy,
99 ; a leading genius in all the
arts, 99 ; place and mission of in .
modern art, 100 ; manner of
working, 100 ; style of his pro
ductions, 101 ; his statue of Lo
renzo de Medici, 101 ; his Moses,
102 ; his Julius II, 102 ; charac-"

INDEX.

613

Michael Angelo, continued —
ter of his subjects, 102 ; differed
from other sculptors In, 103 ;
style and manner of, 102, 103 ;
most natural works of, 104 ; co
pied by every other artist, 104 ;
influence of, 104; art declines
after him, 105; as a painter,
173 ; paintings of, 173, 176.
Milan, cathedral of, nearest resem
blance to the Gothic style in
Italy, 57.
Military art, 515 ; its objects, 533.
Milton, John, dates and education
of, 387 ; periods of the literary
life of, 388; works of, 388; great
poem of, 389.
Mines, 527.
Minnesingers, the, country and period
of, 330 ; character of, 331 ; ceased,
332 ; period and decline of, 356.
Mino, of the school of Sienna, 151.
Mirabeau, appearance, character and
eloquence of, 431.
Miracle plays, or mysteries, origin and
character of, 462 ; most celebrat
ed, 462.
Miracles and moralities, the, in Eng
land, 495.
Modern architecture, 59, 82 ; in Great
Britain, 70, 82.
Moliere, dates and comedies of, 486.
Mona Lisa, by Leonardo da Vinci,
171.
Monasteries in England, influence of
their' suppression on architecture,
: 70.
Montemayor, George de, pastoral poe-
, .try of, 338.
Monteverd, invented the harmony of
--'"¦ ' the dominant, 277.
Monument, national, of Germany, de-
- scribed, 66. .
Moore, Thomas, dates, poems and ge
nius of, 412.

Moralities, the, origin and charac
ter of, 473.
Moses, statue of, by Michael Angelo,
102.
Mouldings in the Gothic architecture,
36.
Mozart, 287 ; dates, birthplace, and
early genius of, 299 ; celebrated
works of, 301 ; health of, 300 ; a
child in everything but music,
300 ; excellence of, 301 ; object qf
music according to, 301 ; last
work of, 302 ; circumstances of
the death of, 302.
Munich, art loving, 65 ; sculpture
and picture gallery in, 65 ; poly
chromy in, 77.
Murillo, Bartolomede, dates and early
life of, 229 ; style of, 229, 230 ; col
oring of, 230 ; great works of, 231.
Museum in Berlin described, 66.
Music, schools of, see schools ; nature
of the art of, 261 ; ,effect of, 262
conditions necessary to, 262
sources of, 264 ; curious mate
rials from which it has been
drawn, 265 ; instrumentalities
of, 265 ; ethnological in its cha
racter, 268; influenced by the
pronunciations of different lan
guages, 268; -peculiar style of,
in each country, 268 ; periods- of,
270; early Christian, 270; at
the close of the fifteenth cen
tury, 275; four principal styles
of, 278 ; in France, under Fran
cis I, 288 ; under Henry IV, 288 ;
under Louis XIII, 288; under
Louis XIV, 289.
Musical instruments, 266; earliest,
267 ; notation, earliest forms of,
267 ; progress of, 267 ; literature
of Germany, 288.
Musket, the, first style and improve
ments in, 522.

614

INDEX.

Naharro, Torres, the inventor of
Spanish comedy, 472.
Napoleon I, architectural works of,
in Paris, 63 ; his understanding
of the movements of an army,
549 ; seen in the campaign of
1806, 549 ; and Wellington com
pared, 573 ; first object of, 586 ;
military genius of, 586 ; first
campaign of, 588 ; infantry un
der, 590 ; cavalry under, 590 ;
order of battle of, 591.
Napoleon's war with Prussia in 1806,
547.
Naturalistic school of painting, 201 ;
chief representative of, 201.
Naval warfare, 593, '598 ; principal
nations by whom waged, 594;
peculiarities of, 595 ; in the
middle ages, 595 ; improvements
in, 595, 598 ; arms used in, 596 ;
steam introduced in, 596 ; iron
clad vessels introduced in, 597 ;
future problem of, 598.
Neapolitan school of music, 284.
Nibelungen Lied, subjects, character,
imagery, etc., of, 321, 324.
Nicolo, Pisano, dateB and merit of,
93 ; principal works of, 94 ;
school and followers of, 94 ; in
fluence of, upon early art, 151.
Night Thoughts, by Young, 405.
Nollekens, English sculptor, 125.
Norman architecture, 25 ; form of
-¦ pier in, 25 ; points toward the
Gothic, 26 ; a Romanesque deve
lopment, 26 ; type of church in,
26.
Normans, influence of, upon Roman
esque architecture, 26 ; Roman
esque, 30; distinct from the
German, 30; offers a point of
unity, 30 ; the most perfect and
fully developed of the Roman
esque style, 30 ; forms the point

Normans, continued —
of union between the waning
civilisation of Rome and the
rising power of the Teutonic
races, 31 ; conquest, influence of
upon the language of England,
382.

Oberon of Wieland, 361.
Oblique, order of battle, 583.
O'Connell, Daniel, eloquence of, 458.
Odin, religion of, overthrown in Scan- __
dinavia, 616.
Odoacer puts an end to the western
empire, 89.
Oil painting, 129.
Old Flemish school of painting,
characteristics of, 206, 207.
Opera, the origin of, 279 ; improve
ment in, 280 ; first brought out
in France, 290.
Operations, base of, how selected,
550 ; lines of, 553 ; in the cam
paign of, 1796, 553 ; base of, in
the campaign of, 1806, 551 ; lines
of, in the campaign of 1813,
554 ; pivots of, 555 ; in the cam
paign of, 1796, 555; direction
of 555 ; lines of enumerated,
556.
Opie, style of, 243.
Opitz, Martin, dates and poetry of,
357.
Orator, qualities of the, 424.
Oratorio, the, when, and by whom
. invented, 278.
Oratorios of Handel, 293 ; of Haydn,
* 298.
Orators of parliament in the 18th
century, 445.
Orgagna, Andrea, dates of, 153;
genius of, 153 ; great works of,
153.

INDEX.

615

Organ, the, introduced into Prance,
272.
Original constructive forms, 10.
Orlando Furioso, the, of Ariosto, ob
ject and character of, 349, 560.
Orpheus and Eurydice of Canova,
108.
Ossian, dates and poetry of, 311 ;
compared with Homer, 312;
works of, 312 ; subjects treated
of by, 312 ; great merits of, 313 ;
imagery of, 314 ; translation of,
311.

Paduan school of art, 161 ; by
whom originated, 171 ; charac
ter of, 161 ; chief representative
¦of, 161.
Pagan cycle of art, 140.
Painter, the, province of, 83, 88.
Painters, the great, in the 16th cen
tury, 166.
Painting, schools of, see schools;
kinds of in European art, 128;
in tempera, 128 ; in fresco, 129 ;
in oil, 129 ; processes employed
in, 130 ; invention in, 130 ; dra
matic, 131 ; historic, 131 ; test
of a, 132 ; subjects of, 132 ; ele
ments of, 132 ; art of commences
with design, 135 ; coloring in,
136 ; glaze feature of, 137 ; de
ception as a feature in, 137 ; two
great cycles of, 139 ; revived
first in Etruria, 146 ; earliest
schools of, 147 ; Italian, history
of dates from, 147 ; supplied the
want of books, 152 ; in the 14th
century, sources and objects of,
156 ; in the 15th century, cha
racteristics and representations
of, 156, 157 ; Italian, in the 16th
century, 166; great artists of,
166 ; character of the period,

Painting, continued —
167 ; Italian, when most perfect,
168 ; in Germany, first cycle of,
203, 214 ; imitates the Italian,
213 ; genre, period of its origin,
and character of, 221 ; distin
guished exponents of in Ger
many, 222 ; Spanish school of,
225 ; in France, how influenced,
232, 233.
Palaces of the Medici, the Pitti, and
the Strozzi in Florence, appear
ance of, 54.
Palermo, Saracenic character of its
architecture, 33 .
Palestina, musician, dates and works
of, 284.
Palisades, 527.
Palladio, the greatest architect of the
Venetian school, 58 ; style of, 58'
Pantheon, the, in Paris, architecture
of, 62.
Paolo Uccello, 157.
Paradise Lost, of Milton, review of,
389, 592.
ParaUels, the, 530.
Parapet, the, 525.
Paris, great churches in, 62-64.
Parliament, British eloquence in,
439.
Parnell, Thomas, dates, works and
genius of, 401.
Parthenon at Athens, 63.
Paul III, 175.
Paul IV, 175.
Paul Veronese, dates of, 196 ; charac
teristics of, 196, 197 ; most cele
brated work of, 197.
Pelasgian monuments show the
entablature, 11.
Penni, Gianfrancesco, a pupil of Ra
phael, 187.
Permanent fortifications, elements of
525.
Perseus of Canova, 109.

616

INDEX.

Perspective, principles of, first
.taught, 150.
Perugino, Pietro, dates of, 165 ; school
of at Perugia, 165 ; character
istics of, 165 ; great frescoes of,
165 ; teacher of Raphael, 166.
Petrarch, dates and character of the
poetry of, 346; glory and im
mortality of, 347 ; principal sub
ject of, 347 ; merit of, 348.
Philip II of Spain, 226 ; builds the
Escurial, 69.
Philip III, 226.
Philip IV, 226.
Pier, the, influence of, in the deve
lopment of the round arched
style, 18.
Pietro, della Francisca, taught per
spective, 150.
Pigal, French sculptor, merit of, 116.
Pike, the use of, 523.
-Pillar, the, borrowed from the Gre
cian style, 18 ; the clustered,
essential to the perfection of
Gothic architecture, 36 ; the cha
racter of, in Gothic architec
ture, 44.
Pisa, Campo Santo of.relation of, to art
in the fourteenth century, 152 ;
politics of the citizens of, 151.
Pisan school of art, 147.
Pisano, Andrea, carried art to Flo
rence, 94; founded the Tuscan
school, 94.
Pisano, Nicolo and Andrea, 93, 94.
Pisano Nicolo, dates and merit of,
93 ; principal works of, 94 ;
schools and followers of, 94;
influence of, upon early art, 151.
Pistol, the, origin and early style of,
522 ; first introduced into Eng
land, 522.
Pitt, the elder, Earl of Chatham,
dates, appearance and eloquence
of, 441.

Pitt, William, the younger, dates of,
445 ; education and appearance
of, 451 ; eloquence of, 452. ,
Poem of the Cid, 333.
Poems of the Provencals, 325.
Poetic art in Portugal, summed up,
in, 340.
Poetry, schools of, see schools,
304-308; definition of, 304;
affinity with painting, 304;
differs from the painter's art, 305 ;
mission, of, 306 ; inquiry concern--
ing the development of, in mo,
dern Europe, 307 ; of the Celtas;
308, 315 ; of the Goth or Teuton,
315, 324 ; of the troubadours, 324;
of the trouveres, 329 ; of the
Minnesingers, 330 ; schools of,
322 ; Provencal, 324, 332 ; change '
of in Spain, how accounted for,
338, 339 ; Italy as influenced by
chivalry, 349 ; elder, of Italy,
classes of, 348 ; in Germany,
great period and names of, 358 ;
French, age of, 374 ; change in
the character of, 374 ; romantic,
first germs of, 382 ; of the Eliza- "
bethan and the Stuart periods,
how divided 387 ; in England
change of, after Milton, 392 ;
critical school of, 393.
Poets and poetry of England in the -
18th century, 296.
Polychrome architecture, no warrant
for, 76 ; sought to be restored,
76 ; seen in Cologne cathedral,
- St. Denis cathedral, and Sainte
Chapelle, 77 ; found in France
and Germany, 77 ; churches seen
in, 77 ; introduced into England,
77 ; natural as seen in St. Petersl
78 ; nature of, 78.
Pontoon bridges, necessity and con
struction of, 545; Napoleon's ..
opinion of, 545.

INDEX.

617

Pope, Alexander, dates and genius
of, 397 ; precocity of, 397 ; great
works of, 398; satire of, 399;
merits of, 399.
Porta, 284.
Portrait painting in Germany, pe
riod of, 221.
Portraits by Raphael, 184.
. Portugal, great poem of, 340 ; mon
archy in, 380.
Position, choice of, how determined,
546.
; Poussin, Nicholas, dates and style of,
234.
Pre-Raphaelite school of painting,
character and aim of, 258.
Price, Sir Uvedale, 74.
Provencal school of poetry, 324-332 ;
influence of chivalry upon, 325 ;
no real power in, 326 ; in Spain,
, 327; in the north of Prance,
328 ; brought into notice in Eng
land, 328, 329.
Prussia, under Frederick the Great,
582.
Puget, French sculptor, school and
works of, 115.
, Pugilists, the, by Canova, 109.
Pulci, Luigi, 348.
Pulpit oratory, 429 ; orators, moBt
celebrated of France, 429 ; in
England, 430.
Purcell, Henry, musical ability of,
291.-
Puritanism in England opposed to
music, 291.

Racine, Jeane, dateB, works and dra
matic genius of, 480.
Raeburn, Sir Henry, dates of, 253 ;
style of, 255.
Rampart, thej 525.
Ramsay, Allan, dates and style of,
1 254 ; dates and poetry of, 401.
VII] 78

Rape of the Lock, the, by Pope, re
view of, 398.
Ranch, German sculptor, works of,
118.
Reaction of the mind in its historical
development, 257 ; in art, 258.
Realism in German poetry, 360.
Redoubts, construction of, 527.
Regnier, age and satire of, 375.
Reliefs, the first species of sculpture,
82 ; kinds of, 82.
Relievi in bronze, the sculptures of
the fourteenth century, 94.
Religion, influence of, upon the arts,
89.
Rembrandt, Paul, dates, and early
advantages of, 218; character
istics and aims of, 219 ; contrast
ed with Rubens, 219 ; coloring
of, 220 ; excelled in, 220 ; works
of, 220, 221 ; as a portrait painter,
221.
Renaissance, the, or attempt to return
to the classic architecture of
Greece and Rome, consequent
upon the revival of letters, 52, 59 ;
where originated, 52 ; transition
between it and the Gothic, 53 ; '
distinguishing feature of, 53 ;
introduced into Italy by Philip
Brunelleschi, 53 ; not adapted to
sacred edifices, 54 ; three schools
of in Italy, 54 ; grew out of, 59 ;
effectual in Italy, 59 ; opposed in
northern countries, 59 ; when in
troduced into England, 70;
Reni,' Guido, two styles of, 200 ;
works of, 200.
Revett's Antiquities of Ionia, influ
ence of, upon English architec
ture, 75.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 73 ; dateB,
theory, and excellence of, 241,
242 ; great portraits by, 243 ; as
a historical painter, 244.

618

INDEX.

Rhythm, nature of in music, 264 ;
modern, introduced, 273 ; divi
sions and nature of, 273.
Ribera, Jose, see Spagnoletto, 231.
Ricochet fire, first tried, 578.
Robert, Leopold, aim of, 260.
Robespierre, character and eloquence
of, 437.
Rogers, Samuel, dates, long life and
poems of, 411.
Roman architecture, 13 ; defects of,
13.
Roman school of architecture, date
and character of, 55 ; great
names in, 55 ; specimens of, 55 ;
school^of painting, greatest ex-
ponent^of, 187 ; art, influence of
in Central Europe, 204; school
of music, 270, 284.
Romanesque architecture, 18, 34 ;
early character of, 21 ; new
style, of, approaches the Gothic,
22 ; by whom and when intro
duced, 22 ; character of, 22, 29 ;
German, 23, 24 ; early, inter
esting style of found in Ireland,
24 ; appearance of, 24 ; resemble
the Pelasgic remains in Greece,
24, 25 ; special mission of, 27 ;
different from the Gothic, 28 ;
the development of the round
arched construction, 28; solid
appearance and character of, 29 ;
<i distinct form of Christian ar
chitecture, 29 ; inception of, 29 ;
progress of, 30 ; origin of, 34.
Romano, Guilio, pupil of Raphael,
187.
Rome despoils Greece of her statues,
88 ; is despoiled by the barbarian
hordes, 88.
Romney, style of, 243.
Rousard, Pierre, age and poetry of,
374.
Round towers of Ireland, 25.

Rubens, Peter Paul, dates of, 216;
studied in Italy, 216 ; character
istics of, 216; landscapes of,
217; most celebrated paintings
of, 217.
Runciman, Alexander, dates, style
and works of, 254.
Rusconi, Camilla, followed out the
teachings of Brunini, 106.
Russian architecture, 68 ; improve- -
ments in; 68 ; no original style,

Sachs, HanB, dramatic works of, 488 ;
dates and songs of, 357.
Saemund, Edda of, 316, 317.
Saint Chapelle, an example of poly
chromy, 77.
St. Denis, cathedral of, polychrome
architecture of, 77.
St. Eustace, church of, architecture,
60.
St. Genevieve, church of, in Paris,
62. " .
St. Mark, cathedral of, anomalous
appearance of, 18 ; oriental cha
racter of, 47.
St. Michael at Dijon, church of, ar
chitecture of, 61.
St. Paul, church of, in London, 62 ;
dimensions and architecture of, -
71, 72.
St Peter, at Caen, church of, archi
tecture of, 61.
St. Peter's church at Rome, 62 ; in
ception of, 56 ; actual com
mencement of, 56; by whom
begun, 56 ; original design of, '
56 ; plan changed by Michael.
Angelo, 56 ; plan changed again
by Carlo Maderno, 56 ; com- .
pleted, 56 ; number of years it
consumed, 56, 57; number of
popes reigning during its pro

INDEX.

610

St. Peter's church, continued —
gress, 57; great expense of, and
manner of meeting it, 57; di
mensions of, 57; character of,
57 ; natural polychromy of, 78.
St. Peter's church, natural polychro
my of, 78.
St. Petersburg, architecture of, 68.
St. Sophia, church, of, by whom built,
17 ; dimensions and architecture
of, 17;
St. Vitalis, church , of in Ravenna,
architecture of, 18.
Sallust, palace of. destroyed, 89.
Salvator Rosa, characteristics of, 202.
Sangallos; the, 55.
San.Micheli, the founder of the Ve
netian school of architecture, 58;
character of nis works, 58.
Santa Maria del Fiore, church of, in
. Florence, 62.
Sanzio, Raphael, dates of, 176 ; epochs
in the artistic life of, 177 ; in
.-.•- Umbria, 177 ; in Florence, 177 ;
y remarkable quality of mind of,
178 ; studies nature, 178 ; in
'if-" Rome, 179 ; frescoes of, in, the
Vatican,' 179 ; cartoons of, 181;
works of for princes,, 182 ; strik-
- ing characteristics of, 182, 183 ;
,.- Madonnas and Holy Families of,
183 ; celebrated portraits of, 184 ;
the transfiguration by, 184; as
a sculptor and architect, 185 ;
great merit of, as a painter,
185 ; pupils of, 186, 187 ; com-
\ pared with Correggio, 189.
Sanzio, Raphael Giovanni, style of,
,- 165. ¦¦
Saracenic architecture, see Arabian,
31.
Satires of Dryden, 394.
Saurin, pulpit eloquence of, 429.
Saxon architecture, employed wood,
-25 ; character of, 25 ; tower in, 25 ;

Saxon, continued —
relic of, 25 ; form of pier in, 25 ;
arch in, 26.
Scald, the, of Scandinavia, as related
to the Celtic bard, 316.
Scale, the, of music, took its present
form, 273.
Scarlatti, 284; improves the opera,
280.
Scarp wall, the, 525.
Schadow, German sculptor, works of,
118.
Schiller, Frederick, dates, early life,
and works of, 863, 364; poetic
genius of, 364 ; characters of,
365 ; heroes of, 365 ; dramatic
genius and dramas of, 490, 492.
Schinkel, architect, 66, 67.
School of Philosophy, by Raphael,
180.
Schools of architecture, in Italy, 54 j
in Florence, 54 ; in Rome, 55 ;
in Venice, 57.
Schools of music, Roman, 270, 284 ;
European, 283 ; Italian, 283 ; Bo
logna, 284 ; Venetian, 284 ; Lom
bardy, 284; Neapolitan, 284;
German, 286; French, 288;
English, 291.
Schools of painting in Florence, Pa
dua and Venice, characteristic of,
162 ; Byzantine, 143 ; Italian,
145 ; Tuscan, 146 ; Pisan, 147 ;
Sienna, 147, 151 ; Florentine,
147; of Giotto, 150; Paduan,
161; Venetian, 162, 192; Um
brian, 164 ; at Perugia,,165 ; of
Leonardo da Vinci, 166 ; of Mi
chael Angelo, 173 ; of Raphael
176 ; Roman, 187 ; of Correggio,
189 ; of Titian, 192 ; eclectic, 198
naturalistic, 201 ; German; 203
Cologne, 205 ; old Flemish, '206
in the Netherlands and Holland.
• 215 ; Brabant/ 216 ; Holland, 218

620

INDEX.

Schools of painting, continued —
Spanish, 225 ; Valentia, 226 ; Ma
drid, 227 ; Seville, 229 ; French,
232 ; English, 240.
Schools of poetry in Spain and Por
tugal, 332, 342 ; in Italy, 342,
355 ; Celtic, 308 ; Gothic, 315 ;
Scandinavian, 316 ; German,
320; Provencal, 324; trouba
dour, 324 ; trouvere, 329 ; Min
nesinger, 330 ; Spanish and
Portuguese, 332 ; Italian, 342 ;
Germany, 355 ; Silesian, 357 ;
French, 373 ; English, 381 ;
English critical, 393.
Schools of sculpture, of Nicolo Pisano,
94 ; Tuscan, 94 ; of Michael An
gelo, 103 ; of Canova, 107, 113 ;
of Puget, 115 ; of Thorwaldsen,
120 ; of France, 114 ; of Germany,
117; of England, 122.
Schools of the Netherlands and Hol
land, 215.
Schwanthaler, works of, 119.
Scotland, painting in, 254 ; poetry
in, 401 ; sculpture in, 124.
Scott, Walter, dates, poems and
genius of, 417-
Sculptor, the, province of, 83, 88.
Sculpture, school of, see schools, 82 ;
idea of first suggested, 82 ; first
species of, 82 ; and painting,
agreement of, and difference be
tween, 83 - 88 ; a higher art
than architecture, 88 ; reached
its highest development in
Greece, 88 ; in ancient Rome,
88 ; suffered by the inroads of
the barbarian hordes, 88 ; op
posed by the early Christians,
89 ; first received in Germany
and Italy, 90 ; the handmaid of
architecture then, 91 ; of an eccle
siastical character, 91 ; renewal
of, traced in sepulchral monu-

Sculpture, continued —
ments, 91, 92 ; in Italy, 93 ; in- .
fancy of, 96; cultivation of, ex
tended throughout Italy, 96;
character of, in the 15th century,
96 ; progress of, in the 16th cen-'
tury, 98 ; in the 17th century/
105 ; cycles of, 106 ; character
of the cycle of, ending with Mi
chael Angelo, 106 ; first cycle of -
112 ; second cycle of, 112 ; third
cycle of, 113; home of, after the'
downfall of Greece, 114; intro
duction and career of, in Eng
land, 122; introduced into France,
114 ; influence of the French re
volution upon, 116; in Ger
many, 117 ; among the Saxons,
122; influence of the Crusades.
upon, 123; in Scotland, 124;
influence qf upon painting in
the 15th century, 158, 159 ; of
the 14th century character of,
94.
Senate, the, eloquence of, 431.
Sepulchral chapel, form of in Italy,
21 ; monuments, the first works
of sculpture in Germany and
Italy, 91 ; excellence of, 91, 92 ;
of the first Crusaders, 91.
Serlio, 60.
Seville school of painting, 229.
Shakespeare, William, period of, 507 ;
personal history of, 507 ;the mas
ter of the heart, 507 ; his power of-'
characterizing persons, 508 ; cha
racterization of passion by, 509 ;
had in view the highest moral
purposes, 510 ; comic talent of,
511 ; language of, 511 ; plays of,1
how divided, 512 ; best plays of,
512 ; age and forms of, 386; pre
cursors of, 498.
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, dates, charac
ter and works, 420.

INDEX.

621

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, elo
quence of, 453.
Shield, the, 519.
Sicily, architecture of, 33.
: Siege, the, mode, of, 528 ; objects to
be kept in view, 528 ; periods in
, the progress of, 529 ; operations
preliminary to, 529; the opera
tions of the besiegers, 528 ; ope
rations of the besieged, 531 ;
" assault in, 532 ; numbers neces
sary to, 533.
Sienna school of art, 147 ; school of,
151 ; character of, 151 ; fathers
of, 151 ; great painters and works
of, 151, 155.
Signals, importance of, 548.
Signorelli, Luca, style of, 159 ; cele
brated works of, 159.
Silesian school of poetry, 357.
Singing guilds in Germany, 356 ; Ita
lian mode of, 268 ; English mode
of, 268.
Sistine chapel, frescoes of, 165 ; cha
pel frescoes in by Michael An
gelo, 174.
' Snorre Thurleson, prose Edda, 316.
_ Soldiers Bathing in the Arno, paint
ing by Michael Angelo, 173.
Songs, popular, in Germany, kinds
of, 356.
Souflot, 62.
Southey, Robert, dates and poems of,
416.
Spagnoletto, dates and characteris
tics of, 231 ; style of, 202.
Spanish modern architecture, 69 ;
school of painting, 225 ; penin
sula, character of art in, 225 ;
school of painting, culminating
point of, 226 ; schools of paint
ing, number of, 226 ; peninsula,
races, language, and literature
of, 332; ballads, 335; lyrical
paejry, 335 ; poetry, epochs of,

Spanish poetry, continued —
336 ; great change of, with the ,
reign of Charles V, 336 ; drama,
472 ; the, since the 17th century,
479.
Spenser, Edmund, great poems and
genius of, 385.
Squarcione, Francesca, 161.
Statues and works of Michael An
gelo, 101, 102, 104.
Steam introduced in naval, warfare,
596.
Steen, John, dates, characteristics
and works of, 222.
Steeples, a noble feature of the con
tinuous or later Gothic, 45.
Stefano dal Ponte, 150.
Strategic lines, 559 ; points, 552.
Strategy, objects and sphere of, 550 ;
its maxims and illustrations,
550; definition of, 550.
Stringed instruments in music, 266.
Stuart's Antiquities of Athens, influ
ence of upon English architec
ture, 75.
Suabian dynasty, poetry during the
of, 356.
Subjective art, meaning of, 261.
Substance of armies, 542.
Swift, Jonathan, dates and genius of,
400.
Sword, the early, 519.
Symbols in the early Christian art,
142, 143 ; early Christian prohi
bited, 143.

Tactical movements upon the battle
field, difficulty and danger of,
567.
Tactics, its maxims and illustrations,
560 ; sphere of, 560 ; division of,
560 ; maxims of, 561.
Tasso, Torquato, dates, study and
life of, 351.

622

INDEX.

Taylor, Sir Robert, extends the bank
. of England, 75.
Temporary fortifications, object and
style of, 526.
Tenniers, David, dates and style of,
222.
Terburg, Gerard, dates and style of,
223.
Teutonic spirit, the, originated the
Gothic architecture, 34; art, how
characterized, 204 ; mind, nature
of, 204 ; poetry, 315.
Teutons, divisions of the race of, 315.
Theatres, early, construction of, 512.;
Globe, 513 ; the first erected in
England, 498.
Theological era of art, 141, 142.
Theseus, by Canova, 109.
Thirty years' war, great captains of,
579 ; the effect of, upon litera
ture, 357.
Thompson, James, dates, principal
poems and genius of, 403.
Thorwaldsen, dates of, 120 ; career
of, 120, great works of, 120 ; style
of, 120, 121 ; merits and defects
of, 121 ; relievos of, 121.
Tieck, German sculptor, works of,
118 ; Ludwig, dates and poetry
of, 363.
Tintoretto, dates of, 196 ; aim and
merits of, 196.
Titian, perfected coloring, 138 ; the
ory of color of, 138 ; dates of,
192; compared with Correggio,
192; compared with Raphael,
192 ; periods in the style of, 192 ;
great merit of, 193 ; as a portrait
painter, 194 ; principles in his
coloring, 195 ; death of, 195 ;
works of, 195 ; pupil of Bellini,
164.
Tomb of Francis I, 92 ; of Ferdinand
and Isabella, 92 ; of Henry VII,

Tone, nature of, 262.
Tower, the, in' the Gothic architec
ture, 44.
Trafalgar, battle of, 504.
Tragedy, Italian, father of, 465.
Transfiguration, the, by Raphaer,
184.
Traverses, the, 526.
Triforium, the, 24 ; in the Gothic
architecture, 44.
Trissino, the father of Italian trage
dy, dates, works, and character
istics of, 465.
Troubadours, songs of, 275 ; country
of, 324 ; the, influence of during
the middle ages, 324 ; the, in
Spain, 327 ; in the north of
France, 328 ; in Sicily, 328 ; in .
England, 329 ; sameness in the
songs of, 226.
Trouveres, the, language used by,
329 ; character of, 329^ songs of,
329.
Tuileries, the, site of, 61 ; by whom
begun, 61 ; architect of, 61 ; ar
chitecture of, 61.
Turin, siege of, 529.
Turner, style of his works, 251.
Tuscan school at Florence, founder
of, 147.
Tuscan school of art, 94.
Tuscany, painting and great men in,
146.

Uccello, Paolo, 157.
Umbrian school of painting, 164.

Valenciennes, siege of, 578.
Valentia Bchool of painting, 226.
Valhalla, the, or national monument
of Germany, description of, 66.
Values in music, system of simplified,
276.

INDEX.

623

Van Eyck, Hubert and John, 206 ;
' John, 130.
Van Ostade, Adrian, dates and cha
racteristic, of, 222.
Vanbrugh, Sir John, architect in
England, 73 ; built mansions, not
churches, 73 ; massive style of,
73 ; epitaph of, 73 ; Sir Joshua
Reynolds's opinion of, 73 ; Sir
Uvedale Price's opinion of, 74 ;
merits of, 74.
Vandyke, Anthony, dates of, 217 ;
style of, 217 ; as a portrait
painter, 218.
Vatican, the, frescoes in, by Raphael,
179.
Vauban, improved fortifications, 524.
Vauban, military genius of, 578.
Vaulting, fan tracery, 46 ; in the
Gothic architecture, 37.
Vauxhall songs, 292.
Vega, Garcilasso de la, influence and
poetry of, 337.
Vega, Lope de, dates and dramatic
¦genius of, 474.
Velasquez de Silva, dates and man-
,ner of study of, 227; works in
Madrid, 227 ; goes to Italy, 227 ;
characteristics of, 228 ; as a por
trait painter, 228 ; as a landscape
painter, 229 ; works of, 229.
Venetian school of architecture, 57.
59 ; commenced, 58 ; chief mem
bers of, 58 ; characteristics of,
58 ; school of painting, especial
mission of, 162 ; school of paint
ing, coloring and character of,
162, 163 ; head of, 163 ; mission
- of, 191 ; great representation of,
192 ; school of music, 284.
Vergniaud, eloquence of, 434 ; last
speech of, 435.
Veronese, Paul, dates of, 196 ; charac
teristics of, 196, 197 ; most cele
brated work of, 197.

Versailles, palace of, 61.
Vertical principle, the basis of the
Gothic architecture, 35.
Vertical style of architecture, 11.
Viadan, invented fundamental bass,
277.
Vibrating plates and bars as musical
instruments, 266.
Vignola, 55, 60.
Vincent, Joanes, dates and style of,
226.
Voice, the, in music, 265.
Voiture, influence of, upon French
taste, 375.
Voltaire, dates, literary activity, and
poetry of, 377 ; compared with
Horace, 378 ; satire of, 378 ; as
an epic poet, 379 ; Henriade of,
379 ; philosophic poetry of, 380 ;
reforms in the drama effected by,
484 ; dates, dramatic works and
genius of, 481.
Von Gartner, architect, 67.
Vouet, Simon, dates and style of, 234.

War, art of, in the middle ages
574 ; different* stages in the art
of, 574 ; art of, began to assume
a system, 576 ; first great pro
moter of, 576 ; between Gusta-
vub Adolphus, and Frederick
the Great, 578; during the
French revolution, 585 ; upon
the water, 593.
Wars, the, in Italy, introduced a taste
for Italian architecture in France,
60.
Wellington and Napoleon compared;
573.
Wells, cathedral of, sculpture in, 123.
West, Benjamin, dates and early
life of, 245 ; period of, 245 ; great
paintings of, 245 ; characteristics
of, 246.

624

INDEX.

Westminster Abbey, chapel of Hen
ry VH attached to, statues in,
124.
Whitehall, royal palace of, archi
tectural beauties and defects
of, 71.
Wieland, Christopher Martin, dates,
character and poetry of, 360.
Wilkie, Sir David, style and works
of, 255.
Willaerst, 284.
Wilson, Richard, dates, and style of,
247.
Wind instruments, 267.
Windows in Gothic architecture, 42 ;
styles of, in the early Gothic, 42,
43.
Winter Palace, the, in Russia, 68.

Wood's ruins of Palmyra and Balbec
influences English architecture,
75.
Wordsworth/William, dates, poems
and genius of, 414.
Wren, Christopher, 71 ; Sir Christo
pher, date of, 71 ; mission of, 71 ;
crowning work of, 71 ; number of
churches designed by", 72 ; adapt
ed the Italian style of architect
ure to the Protestant worship,
72 ; architectural design of, 72 ;
epitaph of, 72.

Young, Edward, dates, character and
poetry of, 404.
Ypres, siege of, 528.

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Wilson, James A., 2d, Albany.
Winne, Miss C. M.,
Wolford, George, "
Wood, B. R.,
Woodward, John, Jr., "
Wooster, B. W., "
Young Men's Association, "
Young, W. A., "
' Ackert, A. T., New York.
Allen, Thomas S., Madison, Wis.
Ailing, Fred. D., Rochester.
Anderson, F. P., Nevada city, Mo.
Andrews, John O., Danville, 111.
Appleton, D. & Co., 6 copies, N. Y.
Armstrong, R. J., Lock Haven, Pa.
Arnold, E. C, Milwaukie.
Atwood, Samuel, A. C, Adel, Iowa
Barger, Thomas J., Philadelphia.
Bland, George, Roxborough, Pa.
Borden, Edward P., Philadelphia.
Brobson, William, "
Butler, Charles, New York.
Bissinger, Philip, " "
Bush, Stephen, Waterford
Barnett, Wm. E., Bridgeport, Conn.
Becker, S. A., Cohoes.
Bennett, Henry, Toledo, Ohio
Bennett, C. W., Chicago, 111.
Barrett, James, Woodstock, "Vt.
Batcheller, Geo. S., Saratoga Springs.
Bigelow, H., Galva, Henry Co., 111.
Butler, Horace P., Memphis, Tenn.
Ball, Farlin Q., Madison, Wis.
Bryant, Geo. E., " ".
Boltwood, Thos. K., Amherst, Mass.
Brevoort, J. Carson, Brooklyn.
Barnard, Samuel W., New York.
Brownell, S. B., 2 copies, " "
Brownell, J., 2 copies, " "
Botta, Mrs. A. C. L., " "
Bouton, J. W., " „
Ballard, H. C, Chicago, 111.
Brown, Stephen F., " "
Burt, Horace E., Detroit, Mich.
Backus, Charles K., " "

Brayton, Isaac, New York.
Bowman, J. B., Lexington, Ky.
Black, J. S., York, Penn.
Brown, Charles E., Buffalo. ,
Browne, J. W., Corning.
Bissell, L. Parsons, Clinton.
Bigelow, L. J., Watertown.
Baker, Geo. E., Washington, D. C.
Birge, Charles, Whitewater, Wis.
Berry, Gurdon S., Titusville, Penn.
Bull, J. W., Tipton, Cedar Co., Iowa.
Benedict, M., Denver, Colorado.
Beloit College Library, Beloit, Wis.
Browne, G. A., Nebraska City, Neb.
Barton, P. H., Danville, 111.
Baldwin, C. V.,
Beckwith, H. W., " "
Brumaghim, J. W*., San Francisco.
Billings, F., 2 copies, Woodstock, Vt!
Gary, Wm. B., New York.
Clark, George, " "
Custis, Geo. W. N., Camden, N. J.
Cruikshank, Jas., 2 copies, Brooklyn.
Carnahan, R. H., Danville, 111.
Coon, D. R., East Liberty, Pa.
Cornell, Ezra, Ithaca.
Cook, Edward E., Davenport, Iowa.
Capron, H., 2 copies, Uxbridge, Mass.
Cumming, S. J., Camden, Alabama.
Coulon, Charles, St. Louis, Mo.
Coonley, John C, Louisville, Ky.
Carpenter, S. H., Madison, Wis.
Craig, A. J., " "
Campbell, W. W., Cherry Valley.
Caswell, Obed, Marshalltown, Iowa.
Carr, Ezra S., San Francisco, Cal.
Coiton, David D., " " -'
Chaney, Henry, Detroit, Mich.
Congress Library ,2 cop.Washington.
Caldwell, S. S., Omaha, Nebraska.
Curtis, J. S., Green Bay, Wis.
Cawker, E. H., Milwaukie, Wis.
Carpenter, Hon. M. H. " ' "
Clarke, Robt. A. ,2 copies, OincinnatL
Chadbourne, P. A., Milwaukie, Wis.

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

629

Coleman, James, London, Eng.
Clarke, C. W., Chelsea, Vt.
Cloyd* J. C, New York.
Dorrance, G. M., Bristol, Pa.
Dill, Charles G., Middletown,
Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.
Davis, O. L., Danville, 111.
Dimmitt, Rev. J. P., "
Drury, J. Wilson, Davenport, Iowa.
Danforth, I. N., Chicago, 111.
Durborrow, J. R., Bedford, Pa.
Dawson, Bros., Montreal.
Draper, Lyman O, Madison, Wis.
Delavan, Edward C, Schenectady.
Eckels,- James S., Princeton, 111.
Eberly, Jacob, Lancaster, Pa.
Elder, J. G., Lewiston, Me.
Elmendorf, Eugene, New York.
Farnsworth, H. E., "
Forney, Wien, Harrisburgh, Pa.
Ford, J. C, Madison, Wis.
Fairchild, Lucius, " "
. Flower, J. M., " "
Fuller, M. E.,
Penton, John B. J., Newburgh.
Fisher, Robert J., York, Penn.
Fisher, Samuel W., Utica.
Flagg, John H., Bennington, Vt.
Pelton, J. B., San Francisco, Cal.
» Field, George W., Portsmouth, O.
Ferguson, J. A., Hanover, N. J.
Felt & Dillingham, Minneapolis, Min.
Gristock, C. F., Philadelphia.
Goodell, Jas. M., Corunna, Mich.
Glidden,H. A., Albion.
Gilbert, George, Carthage.
Gilmore, R. H., Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Griggs & Co., 6 copies Chicago, 111.
Hitchcock, B. D., New York.
Hastings, George S., " "
Hill, J. J., ....
EColcomb, J. W., " "
Hinman, Arthur P., '' "
Hovey, J. A., Ballston Spa.

Hoyt, J. N., Madison, Wis.
Hill, James L., " "
Hyatt, T. Hart, Jr., San Francisco;
Harrison, Ralph C, " "
Hoyle, Charles, St. Louis,' Mo.
Hilton, Mahetho, " " "
Hammond, P. D., Lafayette, Ind.
Hawes, M. D., Danville, 111.
Hannah, George, Brooklyn.
Haskell, Harriet N., Godfrey, 111.
Hippie, T. C, Lock Haven, Pa.
Hunt, Ward, Utica,
Hungerford, S. D., Adams.
Huntington, Henry P., Rochester.
Hollister, M. H.,
Hale & Barrows, Nebraska City.
Hill, R. C, Albany, Oregon.
Hastings, S. D., Jr., Green Bay, Wis.
Hancock, John, Oshkosh,Wis.
Jenkins, H. D., Joliet, 111.
Jarboe, John R., San Francisco, Gal.
Jones, G. Wheeler, Danville, 111.
Jones, Marvin M., Utica.>
Kirkpatrick, Edwin, Philadelphia.
Kelley, Wm., 2 copies, Rhinebeck.
Kip, William B.,
Kimball, M. G., Madison, Wis.
Keyes, E. W., "
Ketchum, Edgar, New York.
Ketchum, Alexander P., " "
Kapp, Priedrich, " t
Kshinka, R. G. P., Dushore, Penn.
Keating, John M., Memphis, Tenn.
Kidder, I. N., Boonesboro, Iowa.
Kumber, John A., Danville, 111.
Kinley, Isaac H., Brunswick, Mo.
Kelley, Prank R., Racine, Wis.
Library Company, Philadelphia.
Lodge, W. E., Jr., New York]
Lawrence, L. L., Burlington, Vt.
Longenecker, J. H., Bedford, Pa.
Lewis, Tayter, Schenectady.
Landt, S. V., Tipton, Iowal
Long Island Hist. Boa, Brooklyn.

630

LIST OP SUBSCRIBERS.

Ludlow, James M., New York.
Lippincott, J. B. & Co., 6 cop., Phila.
Latta, B. Prank, Clinton, Wis.
Martin, James S., Philadelphia.
Mercantile Library Co., "
Metz, Charles D. Lockport.
Molyneaux; Charles, "
Mack, C. Stacey, "
Minnesota Hist. Soc, St. Paul.
Mac Allister, James, Milwaukie, Wis.
Miller, B. K., '.'
Miller, B. F., New York.
Morrison, John A., St. Louis, Mo.
McLean, Ohas. D., Brockport.
Mann, Mrs. H., Cambridge, Mass.
Morse, N. B., Jr., Brooklyn.
Madison, University, Hamilton.
Mechling, John, Denver, Colorado.
Marchand, Norval, Leavenworth Ks.
McNeal, Robert L., Davenport, la.
Mercantile Library, New York.
Norris, Isaac, Jr., Philadelphia.
Nidell, George A., St. Louis, Mo.
Norton, J. H., Plainville.
Norris, Wm. H., Jr., Green Bay.
Newland, John, Saratoga Springs.
O'Brien, John, Philadelphia.
Ockershausen, George I., New York.
Ohio State Libary, Columbus, O.
Peterson, Jacob E., ' Philadelphia.
Proudfit, Andrew, Madison, Wis.
Pinney.-S. U.,
Peak, M. D., Green Bay, "
Peckham, Geo. W., Jr., Milwaukie.
Platto, J. V. N.,
Porter, Geo. A. Syracuse.
Pierce, V. A., Danville, 111.
Payton, Isaac N., "
Place, J. A., Oswego.
Price, R. W., Pittsburg, Pa.
Public Library, Boston, Mass.
Prior, I. R., -New York.
Paddock, L. H., Nebraska city.
, Paris, Daniel E., Troy.
Palmer, A. W., Amenia.

Perry, John L.,
Pickard. J. C, Madison, Wis.
Parks, T. W., North Bennington, Vt.
Parker, A. X., Potsdam.
Pond, Ashley, Detroit, Mich.
Preston, Geo. C, Jacksonville, Pla. •
Reid, Joseph H., New York.
Randall, C. D., Coldwater, Mich.
Rice, John Jay, New York.
Root.Elihu, " "
Rubier, Horace, Madison, Wis.
Rollins, J. A., Belvidere, 111.
Ryan, F. B., 2 copies, Rochester.
Rice, Victor M., Buffalo.
Russell, E. F., Albany, Oregon.
Robinson, Levi, Iowa, City. -
Russell, John A., 2 cop., New York.
Rossiter, S. B., Elizabethport, N. J.
Sell, Edw. H. M., 2 cop., New York.
Simon, J. K., 2 copies, Philadelphia.
Sanford, Robert, Poughkeepsie.
Stevens, A. J., Columbus, Nebraska.
Sowles, Edward A., St. Albans, Vt.
Sylvester, R. H., Memphis, Tenn.
Seymour, Horatio, Utica.
Seeley, J. P., Chicago, 111.
Sibley, S. P., Nebraska City, Neb.
Sheldon, A. C, Louisiana, Mo.
Steiger, E., 2 copies, New York.
Sage, Henry W., 2 cop., New York.
Stillwell, Edward P.,
Stillman, James W., Westerly, R. I. .
Strahan, John H., New York.
Sabin, J. & Sons, " "
Smith, George B., Madison, Wis.
Spooner, John C, " "
Smith, Wm. E.,
Spenser, R. C, Milwaukie, "
Salomon, Ed., " "
Sawin, T. Parsons,
Sulcerj A. A., - Danville, HI.
Short, J. 0., " " *
Steely, J. W., Albany, Ore-
Stone, E. B., "
Stevens, H. R., Newburgh.

LIST OP SUBSCRIBERS.

631

St. John, Daniel B., Newburgh.
Sheldon, Henry G. , Toledo, Ohio.
Selden, Henry R., Rochester.
Trotter, Charles W., Philadelphia.
Tredway, W. W., Madison, Wis.
Thompson, W. S., Marshfleld, Mo.
Townsend, Wood F., Danville, 111.
Terry, E. S.,
Terry, Stephen, Hartford, Conn.
Tompkins, H. B., Newport, R. I.
Tompkins, Henry, New York.
Teel, Wm. H., South Canaan, Conn.
Tuttle, S. J., Lewis, Cass Co., Iowa.
Taylor, H. H., Yonkers.
Tibbals, N. & Co., New York.
Thayer, Frank, - New York.
Toedteberg, Augustus, Brooklyn.
Terry, John H., St. Louis, Mo.
Tuthill, Wm. H., Tipton, Iowa,
Union College, Schenectady.
,Ullman, Frederick, Chicago.
University Library, Madison, Wis.
Vilas, Wm. P., Madison, Wis.
Vilas, Levi M., Eau Claire, Wis.
* Vickery, N., Adams.
Viele, Columbus J., Wolcott.
Van Ness, Edward, New York.
Vincent, W. B., Providence, R. I.
' Van Huysen, John, New York.
' Van Nostrarid, D., " "
Wycoff, E. S., Philadelphia.

Wallace, Wm., A., Clearfield, Pa.
Whitney, Asa, Philadelphia.
Williams, Edward H., Altoona, Pa.
Whitaker, J. Vernon, Philadelphia.
Williams, J. W., Newburgh.'
Wisconsin State Hist. Soc, Madison.
¦Whitchurch, Samuel, New York.
Whitcomb, C. B., Purdy's Station. "
Wilson, H. A., Saratoga Springs.
White, Andrew D., 2 copies, Ithaca.
Wilson, Peter, Buffalo.
Williams College, W'mstown, Mass.
Winslow, J. 0., Danville, 111.
Williams, J., Middletown, Conn.'
Whitney, J. J., Albany, Oregon.
Williams, 0. L., Madison, WiB.
Worthington, D., "
Watkinson Library, Hartford, Conn.
Wilson, S. M., San Francisco, Cal.
Wright, S. A., Nevada City, Mo;
Wood, Charles H., Onargo, 111.
Whitman, H. B., Providence, R. I.
Whitney, H. O., New York.
Wiley, J. & Son, 2 copies, "
Waters, Jas. S., Baltimore, Md.
Western News Co., Chicago, 111.
Wolcott, J. H., Corning.
Young, Thomas, Huntington, L. I.
Younglove, S. G., Crescent.
Y. M. Association, Milwaukie, Wis.
Young Men's Library, Detroit, Mich.