' YALE n CENTER . for _ Art SECOND SERIES. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE LITERATURE OF THE FINE ARTS SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE, F.R.S., D.C.L., &c. LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY", AND DIRECTOR OF THE NATIONAL GALLERY. WITH A MEMOIR COMPILED BY LADY EASTLAKE. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1870. LONDON I BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. E 3 113 70 (LO) CONTENTS. MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES EASTLAKE. CHAPTEE I. PASE Analysis of character. — Birth, family, and education. — Plympton Grammar School. — The Charter House. — Haydon. — Resolution to be an historical painter. — First Studies at Royal Academy. — Sir Charles Bell. — Mr. Jeremiah Harman. — -First commission for a picture. — Turner. — History of John Bastlake. ... I CHAPTER II. Severe winter. — Expedition to Calais. — Louis the Eighteenth and Duchesse d'Angouleme. — Return to London. — Visit to Paris. — Copying in the Louvre. — The splendours of the Louvre Gallery in 1815. — Remarks on principal pictures. — Admiration of Titian. — - Leaves Paris on return of Napoleon. — The Bellerophon in Ply mouth Sound. — Portrait of Napoleon, — Journey to Eome. . . 38 CHAPTER III. First impressions of Rome. — Mr. Cockerell. — Dr. Bunsen. — English Society. — Naples. — Tivoli. — Enthusiasm for Italian landscape. — Starts for Greece. — Corfu. — Zante. — Patras. — Delphi. — Corinth. — Khemil Bey. — The Plague. — Athens. — Sicily. — Return to Rome. . 61 CHAPTER IV. Captain and Mrs. Graham. — Sir Thomas Lawence in Rome. — Opinions on his Works. — Poli, and the Banditti. — Contributions to " London Magazine." — Death of his Father. — Visit to England.— Return to CONTENTS. Rome.— Thoughts on Art, and on Painters.— Reputation as a Landscape Painter.— Death of his Mother.— Venetian Art.— Titian and Claude.— Illness in Naples.— Lessing.— Rev. Hugh Rose.— Isadas. — Pagan Art. — Elected Associate of Royal Academy. — " Pilgrims in Sight of Rome."—" Byron's Dream."—" Haidee." . 92 CHAPTER V. Visit to England.— Reception at Royal Academy. —Bruges. — Antwerp and Rubens. — The Hague and Rembrandt. — Cologne and Meister Stephan. — Reflections from Ehrenbreitstein. — Frankfort. — Leipsic. — Berlin. — German Society. — Dr. Waagen. — Dresden and Correg gio. — Munich and Cornelius. — Verona, Mantua and Giulio Romano. — Venice. — Venetian Art and Architecture. — Florence and Fra Angelico. — Rome. — Turner. — Rev. Hugh Rose. —Election as R.A. — Leaves Rome. — Copies pictures at Venice. — The Country of Giorgione, Bassano, and Titian. — Settles in London. . . .117 CHAPTER VI. Principal Works. — Changes in patronage of Art. — Society, and thoughts upon it. — Schemes for promotion of Art.— The Lawrence Drawings. — The National Gallery. — Fitzwilliam Museum. — Life of Raphael. — Gothe's Theory of Colours. — Kugler's Italian Painters. — Conver sation.— Sydney Smith. — Macaulay. — Nassau Senior. — Mrs. Jame son. — Mr. and Mrs. Grote. — Earl of Essex. — Sir Robert Peel. — Cornelius. — Fine Arts Commission. — Appointment as Secretary to Fine Arts Commission. . ... . . 145 CHAPTER VII. First Meeting of Commission, March, 1842. — The Prince Consort. — Exhibitions in Westminster Hall. — Arduous labours. — Division of time. — Sources of happiness.— Fete at Campden Hill. — The Summer House. — Her Majesty.— Visit to Drayton. — Characteristics of Sir CONTENTS. v PAGE Robert Peel.— Death, of his brother William.— " Materials."— Letter from Mr. Leslie, R.A.— Elected President of Royal Aca demy. — Commission of 1851. — Prince Consort at Academy Dinner. — Director of National Gallery.— Illness. — Death .... 170 LIST OF WORKS EXECUTED BY SIR C. L. EASTLAKE . 193 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE LITERATURE OF THE FINE ARTS. "HOW TO OBSERVE."— Chapter 1 199 „ „ Chapter II . . 210 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LANGUAGE AND ART— THE BEAU TIFUL AND THE SUBLIME.— REPRESENTATIONS OF THE SAVIOUR, &c 301 DISCOURSE ON THE CHARACTERISTIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE FORMATIVE ARTS AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY 331 MEMOIE SIE CHAELES LOCK EASTLAKE. CHAPTEE I. Analysis of character.— Birth, family, and education.— Plympton Grammar School. — The Charter House. — Haydon. — Resolution to be an his? torical painter.— First studies at Royal Academy.— Sir Charles Bell.— Mr. Jeremiah Harman. — First commission for a picture. — Turner.— History of John Eastlake. In perusing the life of a Painter the reader is reminded at the outset that it is the man rather than the artist who invites attention. The annals of a Painter's works may be comprised within a brief catalogue of subjects, dates, and patrons ; — the critical estimate of them, as on most works of art which convey their own interpretation, may be given in comparatively few words ; — the events in the life of a laborious and successful painter are generally scanty. It follows, therefore, that if the mind which underlies the art should not have found expression in forms of more general interest, there remain hut slender materials for a memoir. Nor is it safe to infer that a Painter's mind may in great measure be read through his works ; — his mode of viewing Nature, his feeling for Art are seen in them ; but the force or the refinement which they display are not invariably recognisable in the individual who gave them birth. It is a mistake to expect that we shall find the man always in har- 2 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. mony with his creations ; and this will be found to hold true in opposite senses. For if the powers of certain minds would seem to have been adapted by Nature to flow through the channel of the arts, and through that only, — leaving some times the rest of the man apparently the drier — there are, on the other hand, instances where the force of character and energy of will which assisted the painter's career would have ensured excellence in any path of intelligence ; — where the art, however attractive, presents but a portipn of its author's mind, and where a true estimate of the man can only be gathered from evidence beyond that which his works can supply. Sir Charles Eastlake, it may be asserted, was one of those painters whose art, however in unison with his mind, by no means conveys a just measure of it. He possessed a combination of quahties adequate to conduct him to success not only in pursuits congenial to the culture of art, but in those commonly held to he alien from it. He may be said to have been singularly endowed in this respect, that his strength lay in the union of two natures, rarely compatible ; — the accurate and judicial mind with the refined and ardent aesthetic sense. Whilst remark able from early youth for the eager pursuit of learning, for indomitable resolution, acute judgment, and fine memory, he devoted all these faculties to the enthusiastic cultivation of a pencil the chief characteristics of which are delicacy of taste and refinement of feeling. And while in later years known for powers of organisation, capacity for business, and all that is supposed to belong to practical common sense, he combined these habits with the most sensitive type of the artist nature. Yet, with all this enumeration of qualities, — rather in struments for good than good in themselves— small justice would be done to the object of this memoir unless the moral keynote to which the whole mental scale harmo niously responded were also given. It was here that the real Ch. L] CLEARNESS OF MIND. 3 strength lay, for the deepest and sincerest moral convictions ever went hand in hand with his keenest intellectual purposes — giving them fresh meaning and dignity. While, happily, the analytical character of his mind never tempted him to doubts or speculations on those mysteries, which appeal to a higher sense, he held all that came within what he felt to be the legitimate sphere of human reason with no weak or credulous grasp. In all conclusions and definitions which he arrived at, and in the processes which led to them, his mind was eminently clear; — so clear indeed that he could well afford to be temperate in maintaining them. And thus in the discussion of questions, whether of passing or permanent interest, he possessed the double advantage of firmness of position and moderation of manner. This systematic clearness of mental habit — the fruit as much of conscientious feeling as of intellect — lent itself equally to the transactions of every day life and to the patient search after those laws which govern even the perplexing problems of art. These problems are of so subtle a nature that if the writings of Sir Charles Eastlake on the deeper philosophy of art present difficulties to the unpractised reader, the cause may be ascribed rather to the nature of the subjects treated than to any defect in his method. For he was truly an expositor with whom few came even in passing contact without acknowledging a master artist in the arrangement of thoughts, and in quiet lucidity of expression. This was an impression which I venture to say he rarely failed to create, though in other respects his modesty and reserve, a certain anxiety of temperament, and a constant delicacy of health, tended rather to conceal than to display the range and abundance of his gifts. The following brief memoir has been chiefly extracted from a collection of letters addressed to his parents and brothers, beginning from an early date. Little more has been left to me than the privilege of selecting such as tend B 2 4 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. to show the gradual development of a remarkable mind, as well as the sure success which attends unrelaxing industry. Charles Lock Eastlake — so named after his mother's step father, the Rev. Charles Lock — was born at Plymouth, the 17th November, 1793. His father was Mr. George East- lake, Admiralty Law Agent * in that town. George Eastlake was a man of energy and wit, and of liberal education, and played an important part in the improvement of his native city. The mother of Charles Eastlake was Mary Pierce, daughter of Samuel Pierce, of an old family settled for several generations in Exeter. She was a woman of very refined and gentle nature. Her son derived his features and expression from her. Charles was the youngest of four sons ; the others being William, born in 1779, George, in 1785, and John, in 1791. All were men of more than average ability, especially John, of whom more will be said. The standard both of education and instruction was high in this family. Industry, application, and self-denial were strenuously taught and practised among them; and the habitual tone in conversation and letters between father, sons, and brothers, was scholarlike, cultivated, and accurate in thought and in expression. Charles was well quali fied by nature to maintain the family standard ; and a strong stimulus was early applied to the conscientious, painstaking, and highly ambitious disposition of the young boy, for his eldest brother William, fourteen years older than himself, and also a scholar and student of no mean class, took an almost fatherly interest and pride in his advancement. His early studies were conducted at the Grammar School at Plymouth, under the Rev. Mr. Bidlake. Charles also was one of the first pupils of Prout, the well- known water-colour artist, a native of Plymouth. He * This office has been for three generations in the Eastlake family, and is now worthily held by Mr. William Eastlake, eldest surviving nephew of Sir Charles. Ch. I.] BOYHOOD'S TASTES. 5 copied Prout's drawings, and, with other pupils, used to accompany Prout into the country and draw from nature. He also had lessons in French from a Monsieur Lelong ; and a schoolfellow and fellow-townsman still remembers the parts which Charles Eastlake and he took in the acting of a French play, called "Julius Caesar" — Charles playing Brutus — which was given in the Old Assembly Rooms of Plymouth. Charles was then about ten years of age. This laid the foundation for the pure and perfectly pro nounced French spoken by him in later times ; and both the drawing and French lessons show the liberal standard of education laid out for him by his father. He was first intended, and I believe by his own choice, for the profession of an architect, and there is no doubt that the various acquirements requisite for a thorough knowledge of archi tecture held out peculiar attractions for him. At the same time, and in corroboration of the summary I have endeavoured to give of the many and varied gifts with which he was endowed by nature, I may observe here that the love of drawing does not seem, as in most painters, to have taken the lead of other pursuits in his youth. He could indeed hardly pursue it more ardently than he did all he undertook. What may be said to have been more strictly his voluntary delight and recreation was the art of Poetry. He committed much to memory, and composed many a rhyme. Of these early effusions a few survive which there is no occasion to notice further than as proofs of remarkable refinement of thought and propriety of imagery in one so young. He was also an enthusiast for music, had an ear of singular correctness, and was not devoid of mechanical power on more than one instrument. At the same time, though remembered as " always a quiet and a studious boy, " and determined to do well whatever he undertook," he partook ardently of boy's sports, was a skilful bird's-nester and a " dab at marbles." 6 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. Mr. George Eastlake had a small country home called St. Mary's Hill, in the beautiful village of Ridgway, in the parish of Plympton, five miles from Plymouth. Here, for a short time, Charles attended the old grammar school where Reynolds had studied before him. When he was fourteen years old, his father and eldest brother decided that his abilities warranted the supposed advantage of education at a large public school, and seem to have wavered in their choice between Eton and the Charter House. Finally the Charter House was selected. The boy was becoming by this time very impatient to distinguish himself. He writes from Plympton — where he felt he was not making sufficient progress — in May, 1808, to his ever dear and kind brother William, with an ardour not destined to evaporate with boyhood : — " In your answer to my former ' letter you seemed to think that I under- valued Latin and ' Greek. If I did make use of any expressions that might ' lead you to think so, it was only through my impatience ' of pursuing my professional studies, which I am sorry to ' say (though it is not my fault) have not been so hard ' this last year that I have been at Plympton as I could ' wish. After all the sanguine expectations that have been ' formed of me, if I should not answer them through want ' of study, the pain I should feel would infinitely exceed ' the disappointment of my friends. I know not whether ' this fear is pusillanimous or not, but in my present ' situation every month of retarded improvement seems ' a year." These few words are an indication of that fervent eagerness for knowledge which inspired him, and which subsequently, when entirely his own master, was pursued too ardently for his physical powers. In the autumn of that year, 1808, Charles Eastlake was placed at the Charter House under the roof of the Rev. Mr. Watkinson — the Head-Master at that time being Dr. Raine. On the 15th October, 1808, the boy writes to his mother Ch. I.] THE CHARTER HOUSE. 7 his first letter from the Charter House : — " The regu- " lations of the place, all of which I am hardly yet " acquainted with, are for the most part very disagreeable. " Mr. Watkinson, without any examination, more than " asking me what hooks I had learnt, &c, put me in the " ' SheU,' but I find that the boys from the ' Shell ' down- " wards are fags to the upper boys,- and I am unfortunately " included in the number. So disagreeable, indeed, is my " position at present that I have written to William " (his brother was then in London) "to speak to Mr. Watkinson " to put me into the fourth form, where they are exempt " from fagging ; for though the work is much harder there, " yet I would rather fag day and night at my books than be " constantly employed for the whims of boys, precluding " the possibility of studying, for this is really the case. At " times I look forward to melancholy prospects, but I " daresay I shall soon be. comfortable. The thing is, I am " now undergoing a change from what you called the " Mathematician and Philosopher to the school-boy . . . " I have a very good bed, and find everything comfortable " except the unprivacy of the place we sit in* There are " about sixty of us in a little room about 16 feet by 9. " . . . The boys are so thick about me that I cover " over every line as I write, so I suppose I have made a " pretty scrawl." . . . The young gentleman, how ever, appears to have had no lack of liberty and to have turned it to abundant use. In this same letter he gays .,—« I have seen the Panorama of St. Petersburg, and " went to the Opera House. It was the only thing in " London which exceeded my expectations, except St. " Paul's. The streets, &c, were very nearly just what I " thought they would be. The first day I came here I " walked to St. Paul's and Cheapside by myself, and the " next morning went from the Gloucester Coffee House " down to Westminster, over the bridge, from thence to the 8 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " Obelisk, then home over Blackfriars, and did it in less " than an hour. Tell Mr. Jope I have been through Dyot " Street" (a place noted for thieves) "after night, but it " was by accident and with William. I also know all " the intricacies of the Seven Dials, and in short am quite " a cockney. Give my love to John, and tell him he can't " crow over me any more about his knowledge of town " life, and that everything he has told me is exaggerated' " beyond measure." I purposely give extracts from these youthful letters — for no boy was ever more truly father of the subsequent man. Affectionate as was the spirit of his home, Charles was no petted child. He had enjoyed no indulgence under the paternal roof, except the love of his mother, and the facili ties for his unlimited ardour for study. He had run the educating gauntlet of elder brothers' persecutions — loving and excellent as they were — himself more refined and timid, hut also as manly as any of them. There was, as I have endeavoured to show, a curious cross between the resolute will, inflexible principles, and contempt for labour, with the sensitive mind and delicate organisation ; and it is in the harmony of these opposing forces that the true key to the comprehension of his character is to be found. The next letter to his mother is equally characteristic. " Oct. 24, 1808.— Next Sunday I am. asked with William " to dine at Mr. Jones', where we are to meet Friend the " Astronomer. (You recollect ' Friend's Evening Amuse- " ments.') Though you may think I am very comfortable " in going out so often, yet I am one who cannot enjoy the " present for the remembrance of the future. I allude to " when William returns home. However, can I succeed " in getting into the fourth form, I shall be comfortable " enough, but my present situation is most painful, as " I am in the agonies of suspense We have " a library here, to which I have subscribed a guinea. Ch. I.] DETERMINATION TO BE A PAINTER. 9 "' There are a great many valuable books ; among them is " the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica,' ' Carey's Maps,' &c. " These two works, however, I have not the privilege of '.' perusing, being an under boy. . . . We may always " go out with a note of invitation ; and, while an under boy, " a man always attends me to the- door of the house I " go to. This gives rise to innumerable impositions, which " the boys call ' fudging out.' They write a note to them- " selves, get a day-scholar to put it in the post, and then, " when the man goes with them, call at a friend's house, and " walk about the town the rest of the day." The Charter House episode was very short. Instead of getting into the fourth form, the boy's determination and his father's liberal sympathy soon removed him from school altogether. Haydon the painter was a fellow-townsman of Charles Eastlake. He was nearly eight years older, and just then in the first flush of temporary success. The latent feeling for art, in all its forms, in the young mind needed less eloquence than Haydon possessed to call 'it into life. A sense of the power and charm of pictorial art as com bining accuracy of hand and eye, with refinement of taste and abundant erudition, burst at once upon him, and im petuously, and almost impatiently, declared itself in a resolution to be an historical painter. But this cluster of attractions may be better described in his own mode of reasoning — for he reasoned on all he did. (June, 1809). " I was always particularly attached to " Poetry, and latterly used to regret that it was not " more substantial, so that I could make a profession " of it. But I have now entered upon that which, as it " were, embodies Poetry, and can safely say that in Paint- " ing not only the feeling of the Poet is required, but " a mind, that can submit to be fettered by the most " unalterable rules of the deepest theories, though still 10 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " joined with feeling, and at the same time combined with " the hardest mechanical labour." His letter to his' father, announcing the determination he had formed, shows a union of cool reasoning and intense ardour very remark-' able, however boyishly expressed in some respects, in a lad just turned fifteen. He had found the real purpose of his life, and pleaded for it with all the persistence compatible with unwavering filial piety. And in perusing this and following letters it must be remembered that while Charles Eastlake — boy and man— had a sense of duty towards parents and superiors which is Only too • rare, yet the pecu liarity of his home education had practised and developed in him a power of argument wliich virtually put its possessor on a temporary equality with all towards whom it was used. " Gloucester Stheet [his brother William's lodgings], 21 Dec, 1808. " My dead, Father, " You will at first be doubtless greatly surprised " at the contents of this letter, but I hope that you will " both peruse it and judge of it seriously. " In the first place, it is necessary to inform you that my " profession is unalterably fixed — it is that of an historical " Painter. My enthusiastic propensity for it, my ardent " desire to begin my studies, and my future reputation as " a Painter, require that I should leave the Charter House " immediately. Though as to leaving it literally imme- " diately, I myself do not wish it, as (were I to come away " this vacation) I should have a quarter to pay and receive " no benefit from it in the classical way, but at the end of " these holidays I would give notice of quitting at Easter. " To this there are, I know, objections. First, that I " should sacrifice all improvement in the classics — that " I should lose the chance of forming connections that " would be afterwards serviceable to me in life — that I " should not have been there long enough to derive any Ch. I.] DETERMINATION TO BE A PAINTER. 11 " advantage from the noise and bustle of a public school- — " and lastly, that I should have paid eight guineas entrance " for so short a time. I answer thus. The improvement I " have made in the classics at the Charter House this last " quarter has certainly been something, but the improve- " ment I have made under Mr. Jones now in three days, " for an hour a day, is as much as I should there make in " three weeks, and William is satisfied by Mr. Jones' argu- " ments that I should learn twice as much by myself as " I should at such a school. As to connections, if there " are any worth forming, and there are very few if any, it " would be among the Gown boys, and they live in a " separate house; so that it is next to impossible to be " intimate with them. " As to gaining a knowledge of the world from the noise " and bustle of a pubhc school, the Academy is the place " for that, and Haydon, in his impetuous way, has offered " to introduce me there directly, — but all in good time. " Then as to the last objection" (the eight guineas entrance) " I am under no apprehension that my dear father will " think that the least obstacle to my quitting the school,. " and the object I am in pursuit of would be more than " a sufficient excuse to the masters for my so doing. . . . " William thinks I should first come down and study the " sciences at Plymouth ; but whatever are my studies in " addition to painting, London (to use William's own " words) is the field for action " Under these considerations I should hope my dear " Father will not hesitate in making me happy. George " has only told you the tricks, WiUiam will teU you the " vices of the school I am at ; and if he does not regret " sending me there, he confesses that it wiU be a miracle if " during my stay I get into no scrapes. I am persuaded " you think me proof against the various depravities I " allude to, but to use your own memorable expression, 12 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. 1 Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi, sed saepe cadendo.' The vices I daUy witness are more than Guttas, and perhaps I am not equal to a 'Lapidem.'* But why should I endeavour to influence your mind thus ? I have one argument stronger than any, which is that the happiness of your youngest son (whom I am persuaded you love) is called in question, I am sure you will not check the ardour of my mind — indeed, I never knew what it was to like a profession till now. " I need only add that WUliam acquiesces in your decision, whatever it may be, or, in other words, that I only wait for your answer to ratify and confirm my fate. Recollect, my dear Father, that my happiness or misery now depends upon you I wish I could think on anything stronger to convey to your mind an idea of the anguish (for it is more than solicitude) I feel while expecting your answer. But when I consider your kind ness I fondly anticipate the result. Above all I must remind you that this is not the effect of the mere ebullitions of a fervent . imagination — it is an irresistible propensity which wiU remain (if not untimely nipt) for ever. And when I cease to be a painter I almost cease to Uve. "Your affectionate and dutiful son, " C. Eastlake." The father formed a just measure of his son's character, and took him, at whatever personal sacrifice, from the Charter House forthwith, placing him under Haydon's care. By January, 1809, the young aspirant was estabhshed at 3, Broad Street, — where Haydon had formerly lodged. He writes to his father at that date : — " I shall make it the " business of my life to attend strictly to the kind admoni- * These remarks, penned more than sixty years ago, will be taken for what they are worth. They are only retained as characteristic of the young writer. Ch. I.] FIRST STUDIES IN ART. 13 ' tions contained in your letter. I shaU set apart two ' hours every day for the exclusive study of the classics. ' Mr. Jones says that if I give up an hour every day, that in ' a year I shall be able to read any Greek author. What I ' principally want is to be able to read Homer without a ' Lexicon, and I shall set about it forthwith. But all my ' studies must be subservient to the grand one of Painting. ' Fuseli, for instance, is an exceUent classical scholar, and ' has pubhshed two editions of Homer, but he knows ' nothing of the mechanical part of the art ' Haydon is very kind to me indeed. He mentions me ' always as his ' FeUow-in-arms and comrade of the War.' ' . . . . He has taken me twice to Lord Elgin's, and ' introduced me there to Mr. HamUton, a friend of Lord ' Elgin's, who has been at Athens. I have seen and ' touched those very friezes which I admired so much in ' Nicholson's 'Architecture ;' and those little figures which ' are actuaUy half as large as hfe are the triumph of ' Sculpture, though their beauties could never have been ' seen from the ground, and they were intended merely as ' ornaments to the cornice." On February 17th, he reports having obtained from Mr. Northcote a ticket for Mr. Carhsle's lectures on anatomy (at the Royal Academy) — that he was drawing from the Hercules to qualify for admission as probationer at the Academy, and that he was impatient "to attend BeU's " (Sir Charles Bell's anatomical School). " I shaU, I suppose, finish the theory of anatomy " this evening, so that I am nearly prepared for the " practice. If you were to put Painting, Sculpture, and " Architecture out of the question, I think I would rather " be a Surgeon than anything else." At this time, 24th February, 1809, at midnight, Drury Lane Theatre took fire and was burnt down. Charles Eastlake spent the night in the street, climbed the railing into the portico of Inigo Jones' Church, " but was forced to 14 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " retire behind the pUlars every minute, the heat was so " excessive," and writes home a letter fall of little sketches of the scene, which he also commemorated by a poem. On March 19th he announces to his brother WUham that he had gained admission into the antique School of the Royal Academy by a drawing of the back view of the Disco bolus. " Haydon gave me a very handsome letter of intro- " duction to Fuseh, who was very kind, and said he should " take pleasure in giving me any instruction whUe in the " Academy. Since I have been there I have done two " heads, and the front view of the Discobolus, by which I " might have got my ticket, and become a regular Student, " but as there was a httle risk, and I am in no hurry, " I chose rather to wait until after the vacation. The " Academy closed yesterday and will not open again tiU " July. On Friday night, Monro, Dr. Monro's son — a " great friend of mine — proposed to me to have a model " in the vacation so many times per week to draw from. " This spreading about, sixteen students agreed to sub- " scribe, and we all left the Academy and repaired to the " HaU; and after a great deal of speechifying, clapping, &c, " Monro and another were appointed to find out some con- " venient room for the students and model to sit in and " draw We shall meet again and nominate a Presi- " dent, Treasurer, and Secretary. It wiU not cost more " than two shillings a week. We shaU draw every night from "6 to 8, or from 5 to 7. My time has been weU employed " at the Academy. I rise early, and sometimes draw before " breakfast, &c, &c, in my own rooms. At half-past 9 "I go to the Academy and draw tiU 5 — from 5 to 6 dine " and take a walk, and from 6 to 8 am at the Academy " again. Then, from 8 to 12, Latin, Greek, and Drawing."* We look in vain in these youthful letters for the signs * In these early Academy days his fellow students used to banter him on his age. " Well, Sir ! are you fifteen yet ? " Ch,.L] EARLY PRINCIPLES. 15 of the boy, and equally in vain for that precocious cox combry wliich generaUy takes its place. The only signs of the age are its ardour and its openness, and yet these always expressed in language beyond his years, with a keen argument, an inflexible principle, and a steady pur pose. Charles's natural logical powers, as I have already observed, had been early practised in the usual word-fencing with elder brothers. He was their pride and dehght— nevertheless he had lived the defensive hfe of a junior member. In the AprU of this year, 1809, (still only 15,) a check upon his expenditure, in which he was supposed to be becoming too profuse, took place ; and openness and argu ment (and happy the father and elder brother who have no worse confessions to hear) "as to the cause of this sudden " bankruptcy " accordingly foUow. He owns first, (this letter was to his brother WUliam,) to laying out " a pretty large sum " in plates and casts," and then to having instituted a prac tice of paying his lodgings per month, instead of per week, by which so fictitious a sense of riches was created that " I " astonished my friends with another influx of plates and " casts." Then come statements of very smaU debts, and a confidential explanation that Haydon had told him that before finishing his first picture he owed £70. " As I do not " wish to let my fate depend on my first picture, as he " owns he did, as to money matters, I take this early " opportunity of mentioning the danger as soon as I " perceive it : and though it is as irksome for me to teU as " for you to be made acquainted with this evU, I am con- " fident it prevents a greater — viz. : that of being involved " in debt without my father's knowledge The " sum of aU that I have been saying is that I request you " to aUow me £8 per month. However, should this not " meet with your approbation, I need not teU you that I am " ready to die for my profession, which I hke ten times " better than ever. Had I now just left the Charter 16 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " House my ardour would have been damped ten degrees, " whereas it is now rising (teU John) in geometrical rather " than arithmetical proportion." He also owns to two more expenses " which I have not been able to resist, " viz. : buying Sir William Jones' Institutes of Menu, and " going to see the Panorama of Great Cairo ;" and finaUy he confesses to having subscribed two guineas for a seat in Fitzroy Chapel, which was attended by Haydon and Wilkie, where two pictures by West still hang, and where at that time Sydney Smith preached. This letter is not necessary to prove the radical difference between Haydon and his pupU, as much in their views of life as in the character of their art. No two men were ever more opposed in these respects. Poor Haydon made no ex ception to his habits in favour of the young lad, and money borrowed and never repaid soon caused a coolness between them. At the same time it would be most unjust and un grateful not to own that Haydon' s great inteUectual quali ties and powers of appreciation were highly congenial and favourable to his pupU. A reference to Haydon's biography wiU show how often he quoted the judgment of his young pupil when dealing with the higher phUosophy of art. It may be stated here that the principles laid down by Charles Eastlake as a lad of fifteen were never departed from. That intensity of conscientiousness — that truly religious horror of defrauding the labourer of his hire — which in after years made him anxious to pay his servants their wages on the morning rather than the afternoon of the quarter day, never diminished. However generous in benevolence, however profuse in aU that concerned his advance or his pleasure in art, he never owed a pound that he could not command the immediate power of paying. During the month of April, 1809, Charles Eastlake paid the necessary premium Qf five pounds — which had been in some jeopardy during the late embarrassments — for Ch. L] INDUSTRY. 17 admission into Sir Charles BeU's School of Anatomy, and began to draw the bones separately. His remark on being first introduced to the great anatomist, and one of no con temptible weight even from the inexperienced lad, was — " He " is the most gentlemanly man I ever saw." He was now, as he tells his father, " working as hard as " my strength can reasonably aUow " — and even, it is to be feared, beyond it — for every fresh opportunity only induced corresponding extra exertion. Speaking of the approaching celebration of the Jubilee (the completion of the 50th year of George the Third's reign) he says, " If " there is an Ulumination I shall draw aU night." He also reports that he could read Virgil without requiring the lexicon, and had made great progress towards a simUar fami liarity with Homer. At the same time there grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength a most just and dear discrimination of the nature and object of art ; — :what is oftener felt than defined by the juvenile student, and of which the outside world have rather vague notions. Brother William had got a Uttle out of his depth in this way, and is thus satisfactorUy answered by the accurate young phUo- sopher of fifteen. "September, 1809. — I find that there is a " misunderstanding between us with respect to my beginning " to paint, inasmuch as you think that I want to transfer my " ideas to canvas, whereas I only want to learn the mechanical " part of painting by copying from nature. I must learn " the language of art before I can express ideas. This is " at once an answer to your queries ; and what may tend " to enforce it not a Uttle is that Sir Joshua Reynolds " used to think the mechanical part of painting of more " consequence to be attained than drawing itself— though " in this I myself by no means agree with him. In the " beginning of your letter you say that the motto ' Infelix " qui pauca,' &c.,* is apphcable to me in general matters, * " Infelix qui pauca sapit, spernitque doceri." o 18 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " though you joyfuUy bow down to me on subjects con- " nected with art ; but at that rate there is no occasion for " quoting the motto at aU, as art was the subject discussed. '' Of the two parts of painting, the mechanical and the " intellectual, I certainly agree with you that the latter is " the most difficult — indeed, so difficult that it cannot be " acquired (in a certain sense) at all. Mr. Charles BeU has " gone as far as it is possible in the doctrine of expression, " and that doctrine any one now can learn ; but the com- " binations are effected by the artist's feeling. As to " attempting to discover the cause why certain muscles of " the face are put in a certain action when a particular " feeling is excited in the mind, this is beyond human " comprehension and ever wUl be. I firmly beUeve myself " that the wUl is conveyed along the nerves to every limb " before it can move (except in involuntary motion) ; but " all these ideas are merely hypothetical, since in these " things it is impossible to discover the secrets of nature." His determination to master the difficulties of drawing was in accordance with the thoroughness of his character, which tolerated no carelessness in the foundations of any study or structure. "Nothing is stronger than its weakest " part " was ever his favourite maxim. When he had appUed himself to drawing for about six months, he sent some specimens home to his famUy with these observations : — " My friends here aU think that I have got on very weU " considering the time ; but I have not yet got that specious, " masterly dexterity of handling the chalk which among " superficial observers passes for the greatest excellence of " the drawing, whereas it is only the ornament. If, therefore, " the drawings you have seen and wUl see do not answer " your expectations in this particular, it is because, to use " the words of Sir Joshua Reynolds, ' I do not prefer splendid " neghgence to painful and humiliating exactness.' " In December, 1809, he obtained admission into the Life Ch. I.] FIRST PICTURE. 19 Academy by a drawing of Cupid and Psyche ; and in April, 1810, the sUver medal at the Adelphi by one of a bas-relief. Some of his designs at this time were seen by Mr. Jeremiah Harman, the weU-known banker, whe possessed a fine coUection of pictures by the old masters. This gentle man, who subsequently became his most kind and Uberal friend, immediately proposed that Charles should execute a picture for him. He suggested the subject of the Man possessed with demons coming out of the tombs, but a classical subject attracted the young lad more. One, accordingly, was chosen by him from which he expected great results, and which entaUed much reading up of autho rities and even buying of books. Pausanias — a quarto edition in French: — Macrobius, &c, were purchased, and his brother WUliam appealed to, as if Ufe and death hung on it, for any authorities regarding the Panathenaic festivals. The letter winds up with this practical apphcation by the youth of sixteen : " Such a work as painting an historical " picture may be divided into two parts — the conception of " the subject, and the execution. The conception of the " subject must be assisted by all possible information " respecting it: that information is contained in books; " these books cost money. The execution of the subject is " assisted by oU, paint, and brushes ; and these things also " cost money. Now comes the Q. E. D. of my proposi- " tion," and a financial difficulty was stated. What was to be done with such a young reasoner ? It is but fair to both parties to state that money was UberaUy given and carefully spent ; but there was one error on the part of his famUy which the recipient had no difficulty in expressing in the clearest language. "Nothing disturbs plans of economy " more than irregularity in the receipt of money. I know " that I am very UberaUy supported both with reference to " your means and my wants ; but there is a lamentable " want of economy and system in the method of affording it, 0 2 20 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " so that what is in itsetf Uberal, very Uberal, is rendered, " by want of management, paltry and insufficient." They faUed to send him the promised sum at the stated times. Delays in remittances caused anxiety, and led to what he terms " almost monastic privations," which meant pinching of everything but his art, and to borrowings, however smaU in scale. And then the logical consequences were stated ; " and if I borrow I must lend." Nevertheless, in July, 1810, he was rapidly progressing with this his first essay in oil and composition, when he discovered by further classical researches that the subject he had chosen was one not desirable in aU respects to record. After much heartbreaking, therefore, at the loss of time incurred, the subject was abandoned, and that of the Raising of Jairus' daughter, by the concurrence of Mr. Har man, chosen in its stead and painted on the same canvas. At this time intense apphcation and the late disappoint ment seem to have told upon his health, or rather to have inspired his affectionate brother WiUiam with anxiety which showed itself in urgency for his return for a time to the paternal mansion. The occasion would not be worth mentioning except as eUciting one of those ebullitions of ardour of expression and intensity of purpose, when engaged on what he felt to be duty as weU as pleasure, which distin guished the lad.—" 2Brd April, 1811 " I consulted a surgeon (and a physician, an intimate " friend of Mr. BeU's) last November about the blood- " spitting, and he said it came from the throat, and that " there was not the least occasion for me to be alarmed. . . " Now, I most solemnly declare, I am as weU as I ever have " been. Besides, if it be aUowed that health accompanies " happiness, I am now the happiest of mortals, and any- " where else, and doing anything else, I should be the most " miserable. I have but just begun my picture, and how " ridiculous it would look if I were to desert my post before Ch- I-] FIRMNESS OF CHARACTER. 21 " I had given any proof to others of ability, and when even " my own expectations are fluctuating between hopes and " fears. It would perhaps be different if my picture were in " a very forward state, but I see no end to it yet. I look at " its completion with a sort of awe — the gulf has yet to be " passed, and can I stand loitering on the brink till my " powers are dissipated by delay ? My dear brother writes " under the influence of one motive only, that of fraternal " soUcitude ; but there are other things to be considered. " He should remember that I am not my own master. " What would Mr. Harman say if, on calling to see. how " I get on, he was to be informed that instead of attending " to his commission I was gone into the country to enjoy " the summer months. It would Ul become me (having " been so fortunate as to have a picture bespoke) to trifle " with my success, and to set at naught an engagement " which any other person would think it the business of " his life to fulfil. Again, if I have any regard for my " reputation, or any respect for my conscience, shaU I not, " do I not, burn to make up for time lost, irrevocably lost ? " The agony occasioned by this reflection is only relieved " by actual employment on what has been so long delayed. " The contemplation of the future being consequently sad- " deiied by the remembrance of the past, ah that remains "is to make this future, present, knowing that nothing is " denied to weU-directed industry. Why then would you " seek to delay my approach to that happiness which has " been so long a stranger to me ? All these arguments wUl " be, however, unnecessary ; for as you only wish me to come " down because you think I am unwell, I most solemnly " assure you again that I am not unweU. This, I hope, wUl " be alone considered a knock-me-down argument. Should, " however, mypUghted honour and all the arguments I have " used be insufficient to convince you of the truth, I now " proceed to declare by aU that is sacred that. I will not 22 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. ' come down — no — not if you were to come up with aU the ' town of Plymouth in your rear, not if you refuse to send ' me one farthing more during your Ufe. As your letter is ' peremptory, it is necessary mine should be so too. I am ' by no means insensible to your kindness (of which your ' letter is a sufficient proof), and I hope one day to repay it ' aU substantiaUy, but 'your zeal becomes importunate' . . . " P.S. I am sorry postage has cost you so much in this ' affair ; however, here there is now an end to it. I think a ' journey to town would do you good, and I should be truly ' glad to see you, but you may be sure you wiU return 1 without me." In the composition of Jairus' daughter the young painter threw himseU, as he had done before with his attempted classical subject, into the lore and archaeology of the period represented. Costumes were ascertained with aU the accuracy authority could supply, and accessories were matters of the intensest anxiety and research. There was the lustral basin of a reddish marble with a bunch of myrtle ; the book of the law,— a roU of parchment. There was the vase containing flowers, "because among the Jews "a corpse was washed with water in which roses and " camomile had been boiled." (He had extracted the funeral rites of the Jews from a Latin work in 34 volumes at the Royal Institution.) There were the cedar columns twisted round with palm leaves, and the burning candles in curious candlesticks. In all this was seen the natural pro pensity of a scholar, not sufficiently versed in his adopted art to know how comparatively unimportant is such historical accuracy. And of course such portions of the picture were more successful in execution than the figures themselves,. though these also show the germ of the refinement and expression which became his characteristics — wlnle in colour and breadth of light there is already more than a promise. Not that the anxious finish of detail at this time — natural Ch. I.] ESTIMATE OF TURNER. 23 to the conscientious painter, and always the right end at which to start in the career of art — impUed any absence of the just estimate of the quahties to be desired. On the contrary, far from being misled by any enthusiasm for the wrong thing, there is a most striking proof, in these early letters, of admiration for a painter whose art, to this day, is a Shibboleth to the uneducated or half educated. At seventeen years of age (July, 1811,) he writes to his father, introducing to his notice Turner the painter, who was on his way to Plymouth : — " What he wants is to go on "board some large ship, and I daresay George wUl be very " happy to take him on board the Salvadore, and perhaps " into the Dockyard, &c. He is the first landscape painter " now in the world, and before he dies wUl perhaps be the " greatest the world ever produced. I hope aU at Plymouth " wiU be attentive to him, as it is really an honour to be " acquainted with him. He is much higher in his branch " of the art than West and Fuseli are in theirs. I say aU " this because you may never have heard of him — if you " have it is unnecessary." Turner afterwards became one of Sir Charles' sincere friends. It may be noticed that there is an absence in these letters of a recital of the youthful difficulties and dawning ideas in the path of art. So far as this exists it arose from the nature of the mind, — always somewhat deficient in hope — to shrink from communicating equaUy those ardours and despairs, — especiaUy the former, — which mark the artist's progress. There are hearts which do not speak by the mouth from their • abundance. It was thus, in great measure, with Charles Eastlake as regarded his profes sion. He looked, as he has said, on the completion of a picture " with a sort of awe ;" and this was the case not only with his first work but with every work he executed. In the course of this memoir, however, no want of communi cativeness wiU be found as to his growing experience, 24 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. During the progress of this first picture, on which so much ardent enthusiasm was spent, Charles had been joined in London by his brother John — two years older than him self — (born 1791.) This brother was so remarkable in power and gifts that the unknown sister-in-law, writing almost sixty years after his death, wUl be excused for insert ing his too short biography here. John received his educa tion, first at the Exeter Grammar School, and afterward at the Reading School, under Dr. Valpy. He was equally as ardent as Charles in the study of the classics, and also showed extraordinary aptitude for mathematics, which he studied under Mr. Harvey, the well-known mathematician at Ply mouth. He was still more enthusiastic in expression and equally determined in purpose, was of a stronger physical frame, and, lacking the love of art, of a less complex character than his younger brother. A portrait of him by Charles, painted in 1811, shows a young man of broad forehead, black brows, and strong jaw, and with the expression of a resolution which one would not willingly have contested. But his character had its tender side, and the affection for and faith in his brother Charles, which runs through his letters, shows a fondness oftener found in a sister than in a brother. John's character displayed itself strongly in his early years. He is stiU remembered for his nobleness, courage, and indifference to pain. An old school-feUow, Dr. Cook- worthy of Plymouth,* has given me the foUowing anecdote of him. " On the night of a 5th of November, when " Exeter was more hostile to Popery 'than it is said to be " now, the boys of the Grammar School had a grand flare- " up in the school yard with skyrockets and fireworks of " various kinds ; and after the head master, Mr. Bartholo- " mew, had retired, a bonfire was made with the rocket " sticks and some old rabbit-hutches. Whilst dancing round * Dead, since this was penned 1 Ch. I.] JOHN EASTLAKE. 23 " the tiny blaze the beU for prayers was unheeded by the " boys, and Mr. Bartholomew, greatly displeased, inquired " with whom the fire had originated? Of course all were " sUent, and, on his saying if he were not told he would " flog the whole school, John Eastlake stepped out and " said, ' I began it.' Mr. Bartholomew then insisted on " his naming another, threatening to flog him severely if he " did not teU. The boys had been drawn up for this in- " terrogation in two long lines facing each other. My place " was immediately opposite to John Eastlake, and I shall " never forget his prompt and firm ' nevek.' He was " accordingly punished, and cared no more for it than if " the rod had descended on the bench." Jphn was intended for the Bar, and had begun the study of law in his father's office at Plymouth. His letters at the time show that he threw himself with ardour into the routine preparation for that profession ; indulging, by way of relaxa tion, in the study of Geometry and Algebra. Why he abandoned the course for which he had been destined does not appear; such, however, was the case, and before he was eighteen he addressed to his elder brother an appeal, which, for ardour, resolution, and dutiful feeling, may be placed by that of Charles', already given, to his father. The brother WUUam, always a sufferer from asthma, was then at Teignmouth for his health. John writes to him from Plymouth, May 29, 1809 :— " My dear " WUliam, — This sudden and unexpected apphcation to you " upon a subject, I may say, almost entirely novel, willpro- " bably be construed to be the unwarranted lucubrations of " a mind destitute of experience, or 'the hasty ebullitions of " ' a fervent imagination.' But I must entreat your serious " attention to the object of it, inasmuch as I consider it " (without any possible imputation of egotism) as materiaUy " affecting my future situation in Ufe and the commonwealth " of our family. 26 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " My object then is this. That should you see any ' impropriety in my enthusiasm to foUow the profession of ' a merchant, you wiU not hesitate to communicate your ' objections, that I may check the progress of my ardour ' while it is yet in my power to do so ; nor suffer it to take ' root in my heart, from whence no persuasion, however ' enticing, no arguments, however clear, nor threats, how- ' ever menacing, could possibly eradicate it. " To you then I appeal, as a father in a brother, to ' decide the fate of this new enterprize. It is useless ' for me to say more at present without knowing whether ' you approve of the principle of the Bill. I shall only ' add that this, is the first step I have taken in the ' business, not having communicated it to my father. ' Should you be tolerably well when this arrives, I hope ' you wUl answer it as soon as convenient, and free me ' from my present suspense." William's answer, which has been preserved, is wise and kind, and admirably adapted to meet the " aspiring mind." He explains that Credit is indispensable in commerce, but that "Credit in the commercial world apphes more "to the " circumstance of property (unde responsibility) than to that " of probity. In other professions, knowledge and integrity " are the stock in trade upon which a man may buUd up " a fortune. In commerce credit is the sine qua non." But John's wishes were not discouraged, though a year's interval took place, weU filled up with ardent study, and with the acquirement of modern languages, especially French, Portuguese, and Spanish. FinaUy, in the summer of 1810, Charles, then the lad of sixteen, thus writes to John, then the lad of eighteen, regarding a Mr. HuUet, a merchant whose house John ultimately entered. "He has " the highest opinion of your abUities, but says that the " modern languages wiU not be of such importance as " Commercial Arithmetic, Book-keeping, Accounts, &c. Ch. I.] JOHN EASTLAKE. 27 ' He hopes that it will not be long before your talents ' have full scope, but that before you have acquired ex- ' perience everything wUl be worth nothing. All there- ' fore which he expects you to begin with are a docUe ' disposition, activity of mind and body, and obedience. ' When you pack up your clothes, instead of ' shavings or paper, use rags, which mother wUl give you, ' as I am very much in want of some to clean palette, ' brushes, &c." In the summer of 1810 John came to London and entered the home of Mr. HuUet of Austin Friars. Within a very short time his energy and abilities were fully re cognised, for, in addition to being book-keeper, cash keeper, discount manager, Spanish correspondent ("and French and Portuguese ditto when required ") he became Mr. Hullet's private and law secretary, transacting the most confidential and intricate business before and after office hours, and evidently fiUing a place for which no one else was fitted. The two young brothers did not Uve together ; John's lodgings were in Old Bethlem, and Charles kept neces sarily in the region of studios. Each respected the life- purpose of the other too much to tempt to idleness ; but they often dined together at chop-houses, or sometimes with kind friends at StockweU and elsewhere. AU the anxieties and ambition of their ardent minds were then freely exchanged, and it must be owned that their good father and brother can have had no easy task in the perusal and answering of the letters which the combined young forces poured upon them. As for resisting them, that was in the long run impossible. Notice would be given of an impending " date obolum;" and then arguments were pUed, fast and furious, upon the paternal and fraternal hearts at Plymouth, supported by such a host of quotations in Greek, Latin, and EngUsh — Shakspeare and Bacon 28 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. being the favourite native authors — and all urged in language of so much acuteness and wit, as were weU worth the price they cost. For all common purposes of life, — r- costly as those days were — the supplies were suffi cient, but each of the youths had his special expenses connected with his special dawning career; and whUe they would sometimes dine for eightpence - halfpenny a-piece they were graduaUy and respectively coUecting Ubraries of no contemptible order or size ; and in Charles's case a large number of engravings from the old masters were added. John, as the elder, pleaded chiefly for Charles, proposing to give up a portion of his aUow- ance in favour of his brother " for the purpose of his " advancement in his divine art " (the good father must have smiled at the proposal), and adding, " Take Charles " all in aU, and you wiU find that none of your other sons " has similar merit." A'nd there is beautiful evidence of the part the good brother WiUiam (that " father in a brother ") ever played : Now the monitor and now the friend ; in turn attacked by the ardent couple, and in turn subduing them. " I have " heard you say," writes John, " that if I or Charles turned " out bad it would break your heart." And again, after a Uttle epistolary sparring, " There shah be no excuse on " my part for any disagreement between us— on your's " there cannot be, for it is impossible for any one but of " the most malicious disposition to be at variance with " you more than a quarter of an hour." Happy the parent or elder brother who have no extra vagance to check but such' as is described here, and in knowing that every faUing leaned to virtue's side. In August, 1812, Charles's clear and fair mind perceived the justice of the occasional home remonstrances, and, then eighteen, he thus writes to his father — "It would be wasting time to " attempt to defend these proceedings, though I could give Ch. I.] ADMIRATION OF GREEK ARCHITECTURE. 29 " a good account, if necessary, for the apparent extrava- " gance. It is evident from the above that I have spent " at different times what amounts to a large sum, and I " have only to inform you as to the manner in which this " has been laid out, and to show that it has been appUed, " without a single exception, to the furtherance of my art " and inteUectual improvement. I do not mean to urge " that the mode of the expenditure lessens the extrava- " gance. I aUow that I have been extravagant. I have " been too fond of considering myself an inteUectual " desperado — and, as such, too much in the habit of " thinking the acquisition of that lawful which the caprice " of the moment may have deemed necessary to rouse " emulation. I have, however, not practised this system to " the extent of some of my acquaintances. I contend, too, " that this species of extravagance is pardonable, inasmuch " as it arises less from want of principle than want of care. " The art of taking care of money is not to be learnt in a " day, and anything in the way of advice and example which " I have here received or witnessed has been in direct op- " position to true judgment, and calculated to inflame the " imagination of a painter aged fifteen — sixteen. If I had " had the frequent personal advice of my dear father and " brother, and if I had been always as ready to profit " by their experience as I am now, I should perhaps " have been spared the unpleasantness of acquainting " them so frequently with my own unconscious extrava- " gance." Charles Eastlake was enthusiastic in his admiration of the beauties of Greek architecture, the principles of which he thoroughly mastered. That this taste was greatly nourished by his classic predilections and associations is a fact which needs no comment. As a specimen of the ardour with which the sight of the remains of antiquity fired him, I give a few extracts from a letter, written in 30 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. 1812, to his brother WiUiam. The opening reference is to a previous communication. " Deae William, — I sent you a letter by Prout a few days since, for the contents of which some apology is neces sary. The fact is, that in bending his mind to different parts of his work, a painter is influenced by a variety of feelings, or sets of ideas. These ideas are excited in him by — no matter what ; but the worst of it is, that he fancies the same causes wiU produce the same effects (i.e. excite the same ideas) in others. The nonsense which I sent you was capable of working me up to a pitch for painting, but you see it (not having the associations which I annex to it) in its native absurdity. It was neverthe less paying you a sort of compliment to suppose that by a certain inteUigence of your oVn you could enter into my views, and catch a spark of that enthusiasm which was excited even by such flinty materials in me. " The feelings which actuate a Painter are regulated by the nature of his employment; at present, having just finished the architectural part of my picture, which is Roman, I am musing in idea among the ruins of the Campo Vaccino, or wandering in imagination along the banks of the Tiber. About a week ago I had a very imperfect idea of Rome. I can now tell the situation of the principal buildings, by whom they were erected, the inscriptions on them, their connection with ancient history, &c. This of itself is a delightful study, but it is particularly useful to me from its close aUiance with costume, and, in short, with classic taste It is to excite this feehng in my future works that I wish to throw my mind back as far as possible to the bright eras of Greece and Rome. With the former I am pretty weU acquainted through Pausanias and Anacharsis, and reaUy with regard to the places I think the present remains of Ch. I.] ENTHUSIASM. 31 " Rome capable of exciting stiU finer associations, perhaps " because it is celebrated as a modern as weU as an ancient " city. I forget where I have seen the following passage : — " ' It was on a fine Italian evening, when the barefooted " ' Franciscans were singing vespers, that Gibbon, seated " ' among the ruins of the Capitol, first thought of writing " ' the Decline and FaU of Rome.'* If this quotation does " not fire you with the same ardour that I feel, I don't " know what wiU ! . . . . " When the theatre at Plymouth is finished, in standing " under the portico you wUl be able to fancy yourself in the " Temple of the IUssian Muses, for the columns at " Plymouth are to be exactly like those at Athens. The " screen before Carlton House professes to imitate the " same proportions, ' but is not correct. Mr. Harman, in " his dining-room, has two columns from the Temple ofthe " Minerva Polias, very beautifully executed. I wish my " dear father, who takes great pleasure in buying books for " his sons, would make me a present of some work on the " antiquities of Rome, or any of the foUowing, if they are " to be met with; ' Archi TrionfaU,' by Bartoli, ' Colonna " ' Trajana,' ' Colonna Antonina,' ' Admiranda Roman- " ' orum; ' I beUeve aU by the same Bartoli. They consist " of etchings from the antique bas-rehefs. I could now "devour Gibbon's 'Rome,' but don't send it, because it " would be an interruption at present." He adds later : — " I content mysetf, at present, with abridging at intervals " the Roman History." Lest, however, such rigid though enthusiastic apphca tion to the choice of his Ufe should suggest too severe a picture, it may be added that he could occasionally in dulge in a Uttle dissipation, though even then not without a moral and a quotation. " May 12, 1812.— My dear " William, — In order to comply with your request for an * See Life of Gibbon, prefixed to " Decline and Fall, &c." Edition 1807. 32 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " entertaining letter, I had resolved to dedicate last evening " to you. But going up to Gandy's* between the Ughts to " ask him to come and sit for something to-day, I found " him and his brother and Jago taking wine together ; so, " without the least hesitation, I sat down and cracked a " bottle with them, and afterwards played cards tUl mid- " night (Aeii>?j be nXayyri yever'). I must finish this now " before breakfast : although I have been a Uttle put out of " the way by this raking, I am not at aU sorry for it, for " without making a toU of a pleasure, I made a duty of a " relaxation ; ' utUe dulce,' — that is, not joining business and " dissipation, but making a business of dissipation." He also writes to his mother : "I have been seen lately by " several Plymouth people at the Opera ; and, lest I should " be thought guUty of extravagance, it wUl be proper to tell " you that I get orders very often, and never go without " one. I only go on Saturdays, because then the labour of " the week is over." Though at this time showing great vigour of constitution, — for he mentions walking home from Gravesend with John and another, not having been in bed at all the night before, and being the least tired of the three, — yet there is no doubt that such proofs of strength tried him. -far too severely. He accordingly began to feel the evils of EngUsh winters, which afterwards became so trying to him. In November, 1812, he writes: "I can hardly write for the " cold. I have been thinking so long of Italy that I can " hardly fancy myself a native of this climate, and I think I " feel the cold more severely than others. Flights of " imagination on the Capitoline HUl are exchanged for " twinges of rheumatism in Broad Street, Carnaby Market. " However we may rival the Continent in talent duririg the * Mr. Edward Gandy— late of the Admiralty — a gentleman of con siderable attainments, and schoolfellow and life-long friend of Charles Eastlake. Ch. 1.] JOHN EASTLAKE. 33 " summer months, I am sure that a winter in England is " not very fostering to genius. But what I most complain " of is that it is even inimical to labour, for the httle fire that " a painter is able to preserve in his head seldom extends " itself to his fingers." Again, as displaying another vein of the rich nature, and one which lay too deep at the heart to come often to the surface, I quote a short passage to his' mother after receipt of a kind Christmas present from her, and from his always affectionate aunt, Miss Anne Pierce. " It is very seldom that I sit down at my ease to write a " letter, but I am now so overpowered by your and my " aunt's unbounded kindness, that I am determined to " devote a Uttle time, not to express my thanks, for that " would be impossible, but merely to impress you with the " conviction that I am sensible of your affection, and to " delight and recreate myself for a while in an imaginary " conversation with you Even a complaining letter " from my father is pleasant to me, I see his writing so " seldom." The real value of such letters from a young lad must be estimated by the use he made of his time ; only rare and spare minutes snatched from rest being given to such an indulgence. He writes later to brother WUUam : " I should as soon think of reading a novel in the middle " of the day as of writing a letter." But to return here to the brother John. Another change, and that of a more startling nature, was about to take place in his views. The first indication of a plan which only the most ardent spirit could have formed, is given in a very remarkable letter from Charles to the father — dateless, but obviously early in 1811 — prefacing the subject with those phUosophical and generalising reasonings which were congenial to his mind. " Mt dear Father, — A resolution to be great, in any " profession is generally accompanied by stern and un- " daunted modes and habits of thinking. ' He,' says 34 MEMOIR OF' SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. LOh. I. Foster, or nearly in these words, ' who has made up his ' mind to be great, must accustom himself to habits of ' thought and action that to common observers must ' appear like insanity.' In some professions, such as mine, this daring being entirely mental, the individual has no apprehensions of the cold, mistaken views of the world, for he is enabled to appear externaUy Uke the rest of mankind, from whom, however, he is essentiaUy different. In other professions, though the daring be not really greater, yet, as the hazards to wliich the individual exposes himself are external and visible, the world is influenced accordingly, and is apt to consider the enthu siasm with which he voluntarily encounters difficulties as something Uttle short of madness. . . . To be great, or perish in the attempt, is, of course, what I have long made up my mind about, without fear of being thought insane. This John has also, done, but I am afraid you wUl now think him mad, and, if he persists, I am sure I shaU think him so too. In short, to keep you no longer in suspense, he has determined to explore the interior of Africa ! He had been reading the proceedings of the African Association some time since, and I then laughed at the idea — but aU of a sudden, within the last two days, he has caUed on Mr. Macaulay, the secretary of the African Institution, who has referred him to the African Association. He has put himseU under Mr. Firmeyer (who, in Brewster's ' Encyclopaedia,' wrote ' Astronomy,') to learn the use of Hadley's Quadrant; he is studying Natural History ; he has talked to Mr. Jones about the study of Arabic ; he has written to Mr. Morton Pitt, who is one of the committee of the Association ; he has written to Dr. HamUton, another of the committee, and caUed on Lord Moira and Lord Hardwicke. Lord Moira received him very politely and referred him to Sir Joseph Banks. AU that I have said to dissuade him having been useless, Ch. I.] JOHN EASTLAKE. - 35 " or rather having served only as fuel to his flame, I can do "no more; but as affairs have taken the turn I have " described, I think it high time to write to you. I send " this merely that you may not be in the dark as to what "he is about, for it would be impossible to enter into a " detaU of his motives and intentions, even if I could com- " prehend them. I am afraid even you wUl not be able to " prevent his going." Whether the father tried to divert him from this sudden and extraordinary scheme does not appear. At all events, it progressed with aU the accumulating motive power which intensity of purpose, urged with singular enthusiasm and eloquence, could give it. John's special object was to explore the Niger, but his views embraced also the phUan- thropic, the commercial, and the scientific — the three great levers of human sympathy — and thus soon won over powerful friends in all these three departments. He dined with Mr. Wilberforce to discuss his plans. Sir Joseph Banks pronounced him to be the greatest enthusiast he had ever met with. The interest in him spread from the African Association to the Royal Society; and Govern ment, chiefly in the person of Lord Liverpool, then Colonial Secretary, at length took his plans under their protection. John Eastlake prepared himself inteUectuaUy in various ways, by acquiring, as already hinted, the use of the quadrant — by mastering more than the elements of botany and chemistry — by studying the language and cus toms of the Moors — by learning to play on several instru ments (he had lessons from Lindley), with a view to faci- Utating his intercourse with savage tribes, and finaUy by subjecting himself, for bodUy training, to extraordinary fatigues and privations. Such ardour soon made his name known in wider circles, and the newspapers of the day gave it a wider circulation stUl. An extract from the Herald of the 10th June, 1812, lies before me. " Mr. d 2 36 MEMOIR OF "SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. I. " Eastlake, whom we have before introduced to the notice " of our readers, wiU soon sail. That enterprising and " enthusiastic character, whose object it is to explore the " interior of Africa, and who has taken every precaution to " avoid the difficulties to which Mungo Parke was subjected, " has hkewise received the sanction of Government. He " is a young man of hberal education, considerable abUities, " and indefatigable perseverance, and we doubt not that he " wUl benefit the countries he means to explore, and bring " an accession to the resources of his native country." In June, 1812, at the age of twenty-one, John Eastlake started on his voyage in a Government packet ; saUed to Goree and Senegal, and thence to Sierra Leone, where he occupied the ostensible position of Paymaster of the Forces. But the dauntless energy and noble ambition were too soon to be quenched. Shortly after his arrival he was invited by the chief of a tribe to visit him, and did so, remaining for some time in the Mandingo country. Finding himself attacked with fever, he set out on his return -to Sierra Leone for medical advice, and descending a river in an open canoe, the damps aggravated his condition, and he reached Sierra Leone only to die. His death took place in January, 1813, just six months after his departure from England. AU such information as the family could obtain regarding John Eastlake's short residence at Sierra Leone was in keeping with the fervour and nobUity of his character. The Governor, Colonel Maxwell, had become much attached to him: aU who knew him there were deeply interested in him. He had progressed much in Arabic, "would speak nothing else," and was inuring himself graduaUy to the climate. John left valuable papers and effects, which, unhappily, never reached his famUy. They were dispatched to England by the " Amelia," Hon. Captain Irby, but the vessel encountered two French Ch. I.] DEATH OF JOHN EASTLAKE. 37 frigates ; many parcels were thrown overboard in the action, and John's effects are supposed to have been among them. The afflicting news of his brother's death reached Charles first through the newspapers. His depression was almost alarming, considering his youth ; but he had been suffering before with overwrought anxiety regarding his picture, and this early acquaintance with acute grief seemed to paralyse him. He soon, however, met the stroke with the courage that might have been expected. " I am trying " to get over the first shock by employment ; but you know " how we loved each other." This employment, in addition to his usual apphcation, consisted in drawing at Lord Elgin's gaUery the then neglected Marbles of the Parthenon, with his youthful friend, the afterwards weU-known Mr. WUham Brockedon, every morning from haU-past six to nine. After this, by the wish of his famUy, and especiaUy of his mother, Charles returned home, and there is a record of a portrait he painted of his old master, Mr. Bidlake, which was engraved. To this time belongs also a portrait of his dear mother in mourning for her noble son — a picture of great force — which shows the strong likeness between the sitter and the painter. He executed numerous portraits during his stay at Plymouth, for he alludes afterwards to improvement he had derived from " the months of portrait painting in " the country." 38 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. CHAPTER II. Severe Winter. — Expedition to Calais. — Louis the Eighteenth and Duchesse d'Angouleme. — Return to London. — Visit to Paris. — Copying in the Louvre. — The splendours of the Louvre Gallery in 1815. — Remarks on principal pictures. — ^Admiration of Titian. — Leaves Paris on return of Napoleon. — The Bellerophon in Plymouth Sound. — Portrait of Napo leon.— Journey to Rome. On the return of our young Painter to London in December, 1813, he took lodgings at 5, Woodstock Street, Bond Street. January, 1814, brought that severe cold and enormous faU of snow, which is stUl memorable in EngUsh annals. " The hackney-coaches," he writes, " here, are drawn by " four or five horses, and are more hke ploughs in their " motion than anytliing else. The snow is constantly con- " soUdating, and wherever the pipes burst there is a weU of " water down to the ground, which is very dangerous to " horses, and of course to passengers." He speaks of himself now as stronger, and more able to resist the depression of the atmosphere. One is "also glad to read of " seven country dances," and of a visit to see Kean in Richard. February 28, 1814, " I wish you (WUliam) " were here to partake the deUght I felt. It is different " from any acting you have ever seen. His ' Off with his " ' head, so much for Buckingham,' makes the pit toss up "their hats with, ecstacy; and when he dies (losing his " sword through faintness, and stabbing with his hand " alone, as if he stiU grasped his weapon, tUl his feet cease " to take root), every soul in the house stands up and Ch. II. ] EXPEDITION TO CALAIS. 39 " cheers. Before he retires to his tent, he is engaged for " a moment in drawing the plan of the next day's battle " upon the ground. Nothing can be finer. Everybody says " he is a second Garrick." In the April of this year (1814) an event occurred, great in the youthful annals of those days, On a sudden impulse Charles and a fellow-lodger, Mr. H., decided on crossing to Calais at the same time with Louis the Eighteenth, then returning to France. A sword-stick for each (his, borrowed from Kirkup,* a student friend) and " plenty of white cock ades " were the chief preparations. The maU coach for Dover took them up at six o'clock on AprU 23rd, St. George's day. " White flags were hoisted everywhere ; crowds were on the " road by 9 and 10 o'clock. Gravesend was hke a theatre. It " would be in vain to attempt to mention aU the modes iri " which loyalty and happiness were demonstrated through " aU Kent The Prince Regent passed us before we " reached Gravesend, in a very private manner .... The " whole road from London to Dover was fiUed with horse " soldiers passing and repassing, and lining the approaches " of every town. Soon after we had passed Rochester, the " guns of that place and of Chatham fired, and presently " the King of France passed us, unaccompanied by any " other carriage, but escorted by some mUitary." Rochester and Canterbury were in the same state of turmoU as Gravesend ; ahd Dover, which they reached in the evening, was briUiantly iUuminated. Here some anxiety about passports, which had occupied their minds, appears to have subsided, and the inference is that they required none. How to cross the channel was the next question. Plenty of boats were at hand, but no one would take the traveUers over that night under thirty guineas. The King's yacht, " gUt aU over," lay at the end of the pier, and his Majesty passed the night there. Various arrivals took * Mr. Seymour Kirkup, still alive, and resident in Florence. 40 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IL place that evening in Dover : among the rest that of Count Titsehagoff, the Russian Ambassador, himself an evidence of the late isolating wars, for he could not speak a word of Enghsh. The Count was about to saU, and was requested through his interpreter to aUow the young traveUers to form a part of his suite, but his Excellency" declined the honour. That night they rested a few hours at a miserable inn, with their swords under their pillows, and by six o'clock the next morning were on the top of the Shakspeare CUff. By ten o'clock the mUitary began to Une the streets and piers, and the houses and cliffs were crowded to witness the departure of the restored Bourbon. " At one o'clock the " King set saU. The Prince Regent stood at the pier-head " waving his hat, thousands around huzzaing, colours flying, " bands playing, sun shining for the first time, and cannon " roaring." Our young traveUers had meanwhile found a passage in a packet-boat, the " Lark," which took them for two guineas, and saUed ten minutes after Louis the " Eighteenth. They had a fair wind, and landed without interruption between six and seven o'clock. Charles thought of Hogarth as they passed through the gate of Calais. Then the young men, their number increased to three by a friend of Mr. H.'s, walked about the town, having ordered dinner at eight o'clock. The ramparts of Calais were in a ruinous state — the 36th regiment then in garrison. They also feU in with companies of the 24th and 55th regiments. All was novelty and excitement, and Charles showed that he could stUl be a boy when manly duties might be put away. " The women were more rejoiced than the men — the " women fuU of vivacity, the men of sang-froid. An " old lady at a shop where I bought gloves wept with " joy at the prospect of returning peace." The first im pressions of the natives were most favourable. " As French " politeness is proverbial it may appear needless to men- Ch. II. ] ADVENTURES IN CALAIS. 41 " tion it, but form what idea you please, I wUl answer for " your being surprised with more kindness, affabUity, and " good breeding in the very lowest ranks than you could " possibly expect. I was dehghted with aU, but especiaUy " with the women. But though dinner was ordered at " eight, nothing was ready in the hotel at half-past nine, " and we were glad to satisfy our hunger with some veal ¦" pies which I laid hands on in the kitchen. By way of " feeling ourselves in France we three had a bottle of " claret — five francs. Presently I heard some violins, and " following the sound went into a large room where French " and EngUshmen were smoking, and a girl of about twenty " with her brother, were playing duetts. He played ex- " quisitely, and she soon after sang in a way I shaU never " forget. Her hair was very nicely curled on each side " of her face. I observed in her and in other women that " it was stiffened by some means to prevent its uncurling. " The elderly women paint their eyebrows black. After " enjoying the girl's music and talk I went up stairs with " Finchette, the ' femme de chambre,' to see about beds. " She at last promised to make up some in a baU-room. " The town was Uluminated, and Finchette Uluminated the " baU-room too. This was about ten o'clock. Then we " paraded the streets, which were weU Ughted up — and on " an archway saw a transparency with these words — ' Frangais I Louis 18 ramene dans la France Le Commerce, la Paix, les Arts, la Libert^ ; Relevons les autels de la Reconnoissance Et ceux de la FideliteV " Then foUows a scene worthy of Don Quixote. " On " our return to the hotel there was quite a fracas about " beds. Finchette was foUowed about wherever she went " by dozens, wearying her with their entreaties for rest. " She herseU had not slept for two nights — this made the " third — and yet she was not once out of temper. It now 42 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK . EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. " appeared that people had got in and gone to bed with " the greatest sang-froid in rooms which belonged to others. " H. and I thought it prudent to guard our beds.- The " French hotels are very spacious ; this had a courtyard " inside and a suite of rooms aU round it. Here, then, " there was plenty of room to race about. Finchette never " moved without some twenty about her. WhUe she was " wrangling with them, H. stole a warming-pan and we " both aired our beds. He was by this time very sleepy " and could not enter into aU the fun (not understanding " French) which I witnessed. He accordingly went to " bed, first stealing aU the blankets from another bed in " the room which was bespoken by an old EngUshman. " After I was tired with laughing at seeing one room after " another broke open, I left Finchette to her persecutors " and went to bed too. Presently the old EngUshman came " in — grumbled much on missing his blankets — and got " into bed without undressing. He had locked both doors, " the room being a thoroughfare, but in a few minutes " a crowd was clamorous for admittance. We made the " EngUshman get up and open the door because he was " dressed* This he did over and over again, tUl he would " do it no more, and, leaving the doors unlocked, the ball- " room was soon the principal rendezvous. Suddenly a " door in the room which had escaped observation was " espied. It was instantly bombarded ; behind it appeared " some tapestry — this was dragged aside, and half-a-dozen " Ughts flared upon the slumbers of some poor feUows who " were beginning to enjoy their ' prima quies.' This door, " it appears, was never opened, and was not the right way " into the room, the unfortunate inmates of which had " been disturbed often enough by the regular entrance. " I now put out aU the Ughts, except a few near the " Enghshman's bed, and aU was quiet for a minute or two; " when, thinking on all that had passed, I gave way to Ch. II. ] ADVENTURES IN CALAIS. 43 ' my feelings in a loud laugh. H. joined, when the ' EngUshman said, ' if either of you young gentlemen have ' ' taken my blankets it is a deuced shabby trick.' I as- ' sured him I was not thinking of the blankets, but his ' suspicions being now aroused, he appealed to Finchette, ' who entered, in a torrent of plaintive EngUsh, of which ' she did not understand one word. I interpreted — she ' took the injured man's part, — and both of them attacked ' H.'s bed. I was laughing too heartUy to assist either ' party. The people in the room behind the tapestry, ' hearing the noise, peeped in and joined in the laugh. ' H. was worsted at last, and finaUy aU was quiet— except ' that various parties still scoured our room from time to ' time, examining each bed and its inmate with their ' candles. After this we slept tiU six." That day the wind still blew from the north-west, un favourable to return, with some rain, " but we were always " sure of amusement." They ascended the tower of the Hotel de VUle for a sou each — then came down and watched the women catching shrimps — then made their way to where the Lancers were parading. '" Their captain, a very ' fine young man, addressed them nearly in these words : — ' ' Lanciers ! Je suis charge de vous dire que vos officiers ' ' et votre general ont eu l'honneur de diner avec le roi ' ' hier, et sa Maj este a eu la bonte de vous agreer comme ' ' sa garde d'honneur jusqu'a Boulogne. Vive le Roi ! ' ' upon which they aU shouted ' Vive le Roi ! ' I after- ' wards understood that they were examined man by man, ' and only one refused to acknowledge anything but the ' French Nation and Liberty, and he was put in prison." Then our traveUers stroUed into a convent and hospital, where the nuns were dressing up the door "with laurel and " white." And the nuns invited them into their chapel, where they looked at the pictures, and a " Sceur Ehzabeth" was caUed ' qui aime les Anglais,' " and who made many 44 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. " inquiries about EngUsh names and famiUes I had never " heard of." Soon getting tired of these ladies, they made their way back to Calais, and Charles, the spokesman, talked to every soldier and woman they met, and gathered information about "les gardes de cote," and the "Pom- " piers," and heard Buonaparte caUed a " Casse-cou," and nearly got into a scrape by praising his head on a Napoleon, and by asking some soldiers if they were " de la Garde " Imperiale," who retorted vehemently, " Non — non — de " la Garde Royale." And they ascertained that eggs were only two sous per dozen, and meat infinitely cheaper than in England, and, in short, were amused with anytliing and everything, from the postillion's horn, to the women who acted as barbers, shaving the men, and the dogs who took no notice of " poor feUow, poor feUow ! " Then foUowed the novelty of the table d'hote, and the singing girl again. But the principal event was reserved for the next day. The traveUers had set their hearts on seeing Louis the Eighteenth, who remained two nights in Calais. They accordingly went to the hotel where his Majesty lodged, passed aU guards without remonstrance, and, joined by Sir WUUam Curtis, stood where they could see into a room where the royal famUy were at breakfast. FinaUy they succeeded in entering a kind of audience chamber where the King and the Duchesse d'Angouleme soon made their appearance. " The room instantly echoed with ' Vive le Roi,' " 'Vive la Duchesse d'Angouleme,' 'Vivele bon Louis,' " " in which we of course joined. The King seated himself (he " walked very badly with the gout). Meanwhile our friends " the Nuns, with some Priests, had marched in through a " private door. A kind of Master of the Ceremonies stood at " the King's right hand, and said : ' Que les Religieuses " ' s'approchent." They did so, and knelt round the King. " Their Superior said something which I did not hear, nor " the King's reply. When these had retired, the same man Ch. II. ] LOUIS THE EIGHTEENTH. 45 " said in EngUsh, ' Let the EngUsh officers come and be " ' presented to the King.' There were several naval " officers, but not above a dozen English in the room " altogether. Officers, or not, we were aU introduced. The " Master ofthe Ceremonies took me bythe hand, I told him " my name, it was repeated to the. King, and His Majesty " bowed. The EngUsh now stood in a body before him, and " he said, 'You are witnesses of the . first, moments of my " ' feUcity.' This was answered by shouts on our part of " ' Long Uve King Louis the Eighteenth ! ' The scene " already began to be affecting. I felt my eyes swimming, " and, looking round for support, saw H. hi the same situa- " tion, and an Enghsh captain with tears trickling down his " cheeks. The Mayor of Calais now delivered an oration in " an impassioned French manner ; assured the King of the " fidelity of the Citizens, and hoped in return for ' un peu, " ' un petit peu' of His Majesty's affection. The King was " affected and answered kindly. The Mayor then knelt " down and kissed his hand eagerly twice. This was what " we had been waiting for. AU the English were now at his " feet in an instant, and H. and I both succeeded in kissing " his hand. The Master of the Ceremonies repeatedly cried, " ' Prenez garde au pied droit.' All this whUe the poor " Duchesse d'Angouleme was crying like a child. French " generals, EngUsh officers, Archbishops and Prefects were " alike affected. At this time the band began to play " ' Vive Henri Quatre.' The King now retired, and within " five minutes got into his carriage, with six horses of the " most wretched sort, and ropes for harness." The young men would have gone on to Paris', but for the " res angustae." They now left Calais by the same vessel,. the " Lark," that had taken them over, and reached Dover by half-past eight that evening. Charles' immediate occupation in London was prompted by the rejoicings of the time — being a design for a trans- 46 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. parency at the Bank of England. During the summer and autumn of 1814 he remained in London, working very hard indeed at a picture of Brutus ; having a model at one time at half-past five in the morning, and occasionaUy taking a portrait. At the same time he continued to cultivate the French language with which he was quite enamoured; — dined at a French restaurant, took French lessons, and also subscribed for a French newspaper ; pursuing a plan for which few would have had the patience — that is, he per severed in reading the paper entirely through; a practice which he found of great service in mastering the language. MeanwhUe a plan of going to Paris to study the Louvre, stiU teeming with Buonaparte's spoliations, was gradually matured. Brother WiUiam, thinking only of Charles' health, counseUed delay, whereupon there foUowed one of those precise definitions in which the young philosopher exceUed. " You talk of my deferring my tour for reasons to " which might be added a hundred others if I was a young " Nobleman about to travel for my amusement — whereas I " am an artist, going — no matter where, to see — a great " matter what — viz. : the finest pictures in the world, which " every one is afraid wUl be dispersed ere long. Besides, I " am arrived at that precise period of study when copying " from fine things can do me good — two years hence the " contrary would be the case." The picture of Brutus was finished by the last days of the year, and, assisted by Mr. Harman's very Uberal and judicious kindness, the preparations for a sojourn in Paris were made. This assistance was not confined only to the "sinews of war" but extended to introductions in no com mon tone to persons of no common order — bearing witness to the estimation in which the bearer was held — viz. : to Visconti, Denon, and Count de Laborde. On the 1st of January, 1815, Charles Eastlake arrived in Paris. The first impressions of the French capital fuUy reaUsed Ch. II. ] IMPRESSIONS OF PARIS. 47 aU the expectations of the young traveUer. The TuUeries and the Louvre, even unfinished as the last-named palace was then, caUed forth aU his enthusiasm. " The buUdings of " London in general are barns compared with this exquisite " architecture, aU peopled with marble statues, and glit- " tering with brass ornaments. The arch ofthe TuUeries " (Carrousel) " would turn your brain. WeU might Dryden " translate Ovid by saying of Jove's Palace — ' This place, as far as Earth with Heaven may vie, I dare to call the Louvre of the sky.' " No royal palace on earth can be like it. I never saw " anything near it but the designs of poetical architects. " It is possible that it strikes me more from the imposing " and merely ornamental look which the French seem to " deUght in. Ovals of variegated marbles, surrounded with " festoons, are let into the walls, and the splendour of the " contrast of a figure entirely gUt, upon or near pure white " marble, produces an effect which I thought beyond the " powers of architecture. It is odd, that my painting " friends who have been here should not have said a word " upon what has struck me so much. To prove, however, " that my opinion is not singular, Reynolds has said that " the facade of the Louvre is Perrault's masterpiece, and " Voltaire pronounced it one of the most august monuments " of architecture in the world." Charles Eastlake lost no time in dehvering his letters of introduction; and to Baron Denon, and to a M. de la VaUee, secretary " de 1' Administration des Musees," he presented himself first, these gentlemen being best quaUfied to assist his object of copying in the Louvre. " Denon is all poUteness and La VaUee surly, jusqu'a " l'Anglaise, but the moroseness ofthe latter was well worth " the ' unprofitable gaiety ' of the other. Denon, however, " asked me to come and see him when I pleased. He is, I 48 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IL " suppose, more than seventy years old — the very picture of " what one conceives of an old, elegant, fashionable French- " man." Some private interest was needed at that time, for part of the gallery of the Louvre was unhung to accommo date the modern exhibition.. M. de la VaUee gave him per mission to select any smaU picture by an old master thus displaced, and allowed him the use of a private room in the Louvre, where other artists — two French women among them* — were also painting. Charles selected a picture, a copy of which he thought would be acceptable to Mr. Harman — the Vision of St. Paul, by Poussin. His introductions also gave him a Uttle insight into French society; he attended a few conversaziones and a ball or two. The former were very " precieuses " — some of the company reading their own poems. "Among the " circumstances in which this kind of meeting differs from " those in England may be mentioned the absence of every - " thing in the eating and drinking way." At this time — the middle of January — the cold was very severe, the Seine being frozen as far as the daUy careful breaking of the ice permitted. He remarks that he sees no women with muffs, but plenty, of men. "It is not an " uncommon sight to see old beaux going out to dine " towards the evening, dressed entirely in velvet, with a " muff, but with their hats under their arm, shivering along " bareheaded for fear of discomposing their powdered " wigs." But whUe pursuing his copy of the Poussin with his usual industry, he did not neglect the glories of the GaUery itseU; his impressions of which form a very interesting portion of his letters to Mr. Harman. By the middle of February he writes : — " I have now had time to get acquainted with the " principal pictures; which indeed requires time. In such a * Charles Eastlake at that time mentions that a large number of French women earned their bread by their proficiency in the Arts. Ch. II] THE LOUVRE GALLERY IN 1815. 49 " vast assemblage of fine works it is not to be wondered at " that one passes at first with indifference what in a private " coUection would be the choice specimen. One has some " difficulty at first in reconciling abundance with exceUence; " the usual characteristic of which is rarity. I ought not to " wonder at Reynolds not having been much struck with " the Vatican, whUe I could pass many of the finest works " in the Louvre without feeling half the impressions they " ought to excite. I remember, in particular, that Titian's " Martyrdom of S. Lorenzo, than which a finer picture does " not perhaps exist, hardly excited a passing glance on my " first walking through the GaUery. I have since atoned for " this by unbounded admiration." The admiration of Titian, always the painter of painters in his estimation, was first imbibed here : — " It has been " observed that the Roman style (distinct blues and yeUows) " resembles and affects one like martial music. I confess I " never was impressed in this way in looking at an in- " harmonious picture. But Titian often excites feeUngs of " this sort. In the Pietro Martire the intense blue sky — " the sparkling white of the clouds — the taU trees dark " against the distance — the evening gleam on the horizon — " the assassination which is going forward— and lastly, the " majestic though natural action of the escaping friar — all " seem to have this connection with grand music, or rather " with the sound of a trumpet. If ever a picture was " uniformly grand, this is." He speaks again of the Peter Martyr, and all upon it from his pen is the more interesting now that it has perished :* — " Reynolds in one of his discourses censures " Count Algarotti for describing this picture in a manner " (according to him) injurious, to Titian's reputation, by " saying that the trees and the weeds in the foreground wiU * It perished by fire in the sacristy of S. Giovanni e Paolo, Venice, in 1866 ; shortly after the cession of that city to the Italians. E 50 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. " bear the inspection of a botanist. Mr. Payne Knight, in " his criticism on Barry's Life (in the Edinburgh Review) " contends that Algarotti is right, and refers his reader to " the picture itseU. Accordingly, although Doctors dis- " agree on this point, a mere inspection of this famous " work settles the question at once; for, though the fore- " ground has been retouched, enough of the master remains " to show that it was exquisitely and even minutely painted. " But this is not the only instance of Titian's care in this " respect. In Lord ICinnaird's Bacchus and Ariadne,* the " flowers and plants were executed with a beautiful accuracy, " and evidently from his hand." Correggio also excited his fuU enthusiasm, and remarks of the utmost nicety and discernment foUow, which, I think, he would not have been reluctant to endorse in later years. Young or old, Charles Eastlake was never lavish of such terms as " exquisite " and " divine." After describing the Madonna deUa ScodeUa, he adds : — " The old man Joseph, " without having anything repulsive hi his appearance, and " with a head and expression sufficiently agreeable, is, how- " ever, far from being happy in the tout ensemble. There is " something unpleasant in his dress and in the arrangement " of his drapery, and certainly a want of dignity " The young Christ is sweetly drawn, and the head very " pleasing. The Virgin, without being decidedly beautiful, " has a most exquisite expression. The boy Angel, who " pours out water, though his head is partly hid, and the " other, who ties the ass, have astonishing grace and beauty. " These four heads — viz. : The two boy angels, the Virgin, " and the young Christ — are extraordinary specimens of ex- " pression, and create that deUght which perfection alone " can communicate. AU that can be said of these heads " belongs also to the beautiful St. Sebastian, St. Catherine, " and the Virgin in the Marriage of St. Catherine (II * Now in the National Gallery. Ch. II. ] THE LOUVRE GALLERY IN 1815. 51 " Giorno). As I already know your sentiments about that " picture I suppose I shall not act contrary to your wishes " in beginning a copy of it as soon as circumstances wUl " permit. It is doubtful whether Correggio knew anything " of the fine antiques : if one may judge from these and his " other pictures, I am incUned to think he did not. What " is most to be admired in him is certainly entirely his own. " I mean his wonderful, feeling for expression which is often " in him (as in nature), independent of beauty of form. " There is an unaccountable mystery about this painter " which interests one stUl more for him. The best account " is that by Mengs, and it is an account fuU of doubts and " conjectures. . . . I do not find or yet feel that extra- ' ' ordinary harmony of effect and colour in these works for " which he is so celebrated, though there is always a sUvery " brightness about his flesh which has a sweet effect, and in " pomt of colouring (in the flesh) he leaves httle to be " wished for. But his prodigious exceUence seems to me " to consist in expression^ the more' astonishing as it seems " to flow from his own mind unassisted by any other means " than a most divine taste." Charles Eastlake had far too much modesty and sincerity to descant much upon Raphael during this first early visit to Paris. He knew, as he has impUed, that Sir Joshua passed the great painter at first unnoticed in the Vatican. He stood even somewhat puzzled , before the Madonna deUa Sedia, though before long he felt the head of the Virgin to be " one of the finest in the GaUery." Of the Transfiguration, he writes, "It is said to have been " much restored, and I dare say has been, but there "is a strength of Ught and shade hi it which I did " not at aU expect." He paid due homage to the more easUy appreciated qualities of Andrea del Sarto, Fra Bartolommeo and Paul Veronese, and was immediately struck by "the astonishing resemblance," then not so e 2 52 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. inteUigently acknowledged, between the works of Bernardino Luini and Andrea Solario, and those of Leonardo da Vinci. " I suppose they were both pupils of Da Vinci ; a head by " Solario seems to be a disputed point, and I am quite sure " his master never did anything finer." His catholicity of taste, the true test of a real lover of art for its own sake, immediately asserted itself in presence of the varied exceUences which shone in this great hemi sphere. Rubens and Vandyck, Teniers and Ostade, aU received unfeigned worship in their turn, and discriminating praise and criticism, as weU ; and hi the ardour of his non- exclusiveness, he adds, " I could sit down with pleasure " to copy almost any picture here, from Teniers to the " Transfiguration." But the picture which may be said to have fascinated him par excellence was one, which, knowing the classical bent of his mind then, and the ultimate character of his own art, especiaUy proves how alive he was to aU exceUence, to aU truth of Nature. This was Paul Potter's BuU. " I " have been longing to speak of a picture which I could not " well mention together with Raphael and Correggio ; it is a " Cattle Piece by Paul Potter, the animals as large as hfe. " If this performance is not absolute perfection of its kind, " it is, at least, the nearest approach that wiU ever be made " to it. I cannot describe the delight and admiration I felt " at first seeing it. The perfect imitation of the animals, " the unaffected style of execution, the unquestionable day- " light and air which exist on the canvas, are wonders of " art. I am not at all afraid of your seeing it after my " having thus spoken of it." The event which once more plunged Europe in war was now, however, imminent. Napoleon had left Elba and passed Lyons, and the painter had to turn from thoughts of art to those of personal safety. "March 12, 1815. (To " Mr. Harman). I am not afraid of any personal danger, Ch. ii.] Approach of napoleon. 53 " though the behaviour of the people here- is manifestly less " respectful to the EngUsh, seven hundred of whom are " said to have left Paris yesterday. All my French friends, " at least aU who speak to me sincerely on the matter, " advise me by all means to quit. They don't busy them- " selves, however, much about the EngUsh, for, as they " very justly say, ' How can we advise you, when we don't " ' know what wUl become of ourselves ? ' I have the "strongest hopes of being able to stay, though these are " founded principaUy on the consciousness of what I enjoy " here. But, whatever my regret at being possibly obhged " to leave this Paradise for painters, I have the consolation " of knowing that the impressions I have aUeady received " from these master works wUl influence my taste for ever. " I feel my mind opened in the art in a manner which I " hope to express otherwise than by words. Another regret " is stiU more poignant, it is that of being deprived of the " best and only means in my power of returning your kind- " nesses to me. . . . My acquaintance with Visconti " had completed the sum of my dehghts here, and I was " likely to gain everything useful to a classical artist from " such an advantage, which again I owe to you. Eustace " could not quit Rome with half the regret with which I " shah leave this place, to whose usuaUy boasted, attractions " I am, however, a stranger." Charles Eastlake lingered tiU the evening of Sunday, the 19th of March, the same evening on winch Louis the Eighteenth left the TuUeries. The last line of his last letter from Paris was characteristic, " Heaven preserve the " pictures in case of an insurrection here." He and another EngUshman reached Rouen the next morning at eleven, and stayed there that day, partly to see the place, and partly from reluctance to go farther from Paris. " But the next mornmg, Tuesday, our doubts were cleared " up ; the post came in with tricoloured ribbons flying, and 54 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. " the conducteur cracked his whip with ' Vive l'Empereur.' " Napoleon had reached Paris on the intervening Monday afternoon. " No sooner was the news spread about Rouen " than we could perceive a sensible difference in the " behaviour of the people towards us. Two or three shouts " from some soldiers of ' a bas les Anglais,' rather annoyed " me. A scuffle took place between some of these feUows " and the volunteers (Royahsts), in which the latter were " victorious. We were not sorry to get into the diligence. " Our postillion had thought proper to tie blue and red " ribbons round his hat, which attracted cries, some- " times for the Emperor, sometimes against the postillion, " and always against the EngUsh." They made then- way safely, but with delays and difficulties, to Dieppe, and crossed to Newhaven. Our painter now proceeded at once to Plymouth, and there found plenty of demand for portraits, never a favourite occupation with him, though he- turned it into a means of practical improvement. And here again, within a few short and pubhcly eventful weeks, his occupations were affected by those changes which affected the whole civUised world. The ' hundred days ' had run their course, and Buonaparte reached Plymouth Sound on board the BeUerophon at the latter end of July. Although the vessel was anchored four and a half mUes off Plymouth, the young painter daily took boat and hovered round, watching for every glimpse of the great captive with the keenest attention, and taking rapid sketches. His assiduity attracted the notice of Buonaparte, who, occasionaUy, by keeping in one position, gave the painter reason to beheve that he lent himseH to his object. He generaUy made his appear ance at the gangway on the starboard side about six in the evening, when he bowed to the spectators assembled by thousands in the boats around. " When I was nearest " him he stood for about a quarter of an hour or more, Ch. II. ] PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON. 55 " and seemed to be amused by examining the extent of " the crowd below him with an opera-glass. At first he " appeared with his hat on, but, since he has contrived " to assemble his visitors at a certain time, and the regu- " larity of the thing has assumed more the appearance of " a levee, he remains with his hat off while he exhibits " himself at whole length. A suppressed cheer has more " than once greeted him on retiring, but, it was, I suppose, " intended as an answer to the very civU manner in which " he takes leave of the company. ... I hope, but for " the object I have had in view (that of getting a likeness of " him) I should not have paid him that respect wliich more " than one visit implies ; and, notwithstanding his dignified " appearance, I can see him yet reeking with the Enghsh " blood that has been lately shed." These sketches resulted in a small, fuU-length portrait of the Emperor,* standing on the gangway of the BeUe- rophon, leaning on a bulkhead with his right arm, and holding an opera glass. He is evidently looking at the crowd below. As the uniform and decorations worn by Napoleon on these occasions were sent on shore by his authority for the service of the Painter, a descrip tion of them as seen in the picture may be permitted. He is dressed in the uniform of a Colonel of Chasseurs, dark green, with red coUar and cuffs,, and a red edging to the lappels ; under his coat, on the left side, is seen part of the broad red watered ribbon of the Cordon of the Legion of Honour, and he wears the large star of that order. Three smaU decorations hang from the left lappel of his coat, viz. : — the smaU Cross of the Legion of Honour, suspended by a red ribbon; the Order of the Re-union by a blue ; and that of the Iron Crown by an orange one. His smallclothes are of white kerseymere, with gold buckles at the knee ; and white silk stockings, * Now in Lady Eastlake's possession. 56 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. with shoes and gold buckles, complete one of the most unbecoming costumes that a short, ungainly figure could wear. Nevertheless, from the interest of the subject, and the exceUence of the likeness, this picture attracted a perfect fever of enthusiasm at the time. AU who had come into contact with Napoleon were unanimous in their appro bation — aU who had not seen the man were eager to see this. It was also taken on board the Eurotas, whither most of his suite had been removed, and there received the warmest eulogies.. The success of this portrait, one of unmistakeable indi- viduahty and great deUcacy of execution, led Mr. Eastlake to undertake another of the Emperor on a larger scale from it. This was executed on a canvas eight feet high by six feet wide. It represented Napoleon, the size of Ufe, in the same position and dress as that already described, but with other figures. Behind him, on the left, is the Grand Marshal, Count Bertrand, uncovered ; behind, on the right, also uncovered, an adjutant. A marine is on guard on the left, and a saUor below is getting towards, the main chains, where he always remained until Napoleon retired. The letter S, on the hammock casings, indicates the starboard side. This large picture was purchased by five Plymouth gentlemen, who combined for that purpose. It was pubUcly exhibited in London and in the provinces, attracting great attention, and the painter received altogether and ulti mately 1000Z. for his labour. The subsequent fate of this picture is unknown to me. Having thus obtained comparative independence, Mr. Eastlake began to prepare for the accompUshment of his highest wish, viz. : a journey to Italy, and a residence of a year at Rome. His classical reading had been long directed to that view, and now he further quahfied himself by the acquisition of the ItaUan language. He writes to Mr. Harman : — " I find that the qualifications are without Ch. II. ] JOURNEY TO PARIS. 57 " end that would enable me to make the most of such " a trip But I must remember that I travel " as a painter, and not as an antiquary." With a mind so stored with classic lore this was no unnecessary reflection. He started at the end of September, 1816, crossing the Channel from Plymouth to Roscoff, in Brittany, where he landed. Thence he took a long and circuitous route, but, it appears, the only one then feasible, first on horseback to Morlais, and thence by diligence to St. Brieux, by Rennes, Nantes, Angers, Saumur, Tours, Vendome, RambouiUet,Ver- saiUes, and so to Paris. He observed and heard all that oppor tunity afforded on the way ; the English look of the spires and hedges in Brittany — wolves not uncommon — twenty-five francs given for a wolf's head at Rennes — wild boars also a great terror — stories of the Vendean war stUl current. He passed the height of St. Florent le Vieux. " Was it here," I asked of the conducteur, "that the battle took place?" " Le massacre," said he, correcting me. He was struck with a sign of the ancien regime in the waU enclosing the forest of Rambouillet— seven miles in circumference, so that the diligence had to make a detour ; also with the preservation of game ; partridges walking about in the fields near RambouiUet like barn-door fowls. When finaUy, after nine days' hard travelhng, he entered Paris at four o'clock in the afternoon by the Champs Elysees, " the Place Louis " Quinze, the trees, the statues, the fountains, and the " palace, seemed almost hke Fairyland." At Paris he again attended some of those supperless conversaziones which he had mentioned before. They pre sented rather curious social features. " I was present at " the lecture of part of a new opera, Virginie. It was not " bad, but disputes got so high that I wished the author " good night soon after the first act. It is singular how " impassioned these people become without losing them- " selves utterly, or giving offence. They had no mercy. 58 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. " One man would have it that Virginia, when she finds " herself in Appius' palace, instead of saying ' Ou suis je ?' " should cry 'Laissez-moi sortir." A musician insisted " that ' ton epoux t' attend' was ' un mauvais vers lyrique ;' " but when somebody hinted that the interest was not " enough excited at the end of the first act, a friend of the " author's ingeniously proved the contrary by observing " that Madame was impatient for the second. Such a noise " I never heard. I hope MoUere and his friends were " a little quieter at ' Ninon de l'Enclos.' " He also made acquaintance with some of the private collections in. Paris, and speaks of one belonging "to a " M. Sommariva, an Italian gentleman, who seems deter- " mined to encourage the Arts a tort et a travers, for he has " hung the most detestable French things by the side of " Titian and Vandyck — employs French artists to copy his " whole gaUery in enamel, and ItaUan ones to transform " his pictures into cameos and bas-reliefs. His patronage " of one Frenchman I cannot wonder at, for if any one of " them has merit he has — I mean Prudhon. The matter " for astonishment is, that his colouring is chaste and " natural, and his expression and Ught and shade very very " hke Correggio. A crying defect in aU French painters, " though perhaps not so much their fault as their country's, " is that ' gout Ubre' which is such a terrible abuse of the " art, and which our countrymen are happily free from, with " one or two exceptions." These few days in Paris, however, secured a chief object of his ambition, viz. : the renewal of the acquaintance with Visconti, and letters from that distinguished man to friends in Rome ; letters which showed that he had taken a just measure of the remarkable young Englishman. In Paris he heard so much of the chances of detention at that season of the year (October) in the Mediterranean, that he resolved to cross the Mount Cenis " in spite of the brigands," and Ch. II. ] JOURNEY TO ROME. 59 to travel to Rome entirely by land. He left Paris October 16, 1816, and by aU the EngUsh he encountered was at first taken for a Frenchman; this was from his command of the language, or, as he amusingly says, " because I wore " a brass buckle in my hat and ate fish after meat." At the time that peace had restored the Uberty of travelling, few EngUshmen possessed the power of speaking French. He took the road by Geneva and crossed the Jura, which gave him the first sight of "Alps which one may " see but not describe. I descended most of the Jura on " foot, and wore out my shoes by taking short cuts to " meet the coach." From Geneva, next day, the young traveUer, then in the highest spirits, joined with a fellow passenger in taking a "char a cote" for Lausanne. " Ur- " quhart had the honour of driving out of town, but as "the horse did not understand 'come up' and so on, " I took him in hand with 'en route,' ' sacre,' and those " kind of expressions which are known to be persuasive to " French horses — vide Tristram Shandy — and astonished " the natives of the Canton de Vaud with a specimen of " superior driving." Arriving at Lausanne, he found out with difficulty Gibbon's house, made a sketch of it, and another of Coppet on returning ; but the superior driving ended hi an overturn, which did no one any harm, but occasioned expense and delay. At Chambery he took a vetturino through to Rome, there being no regular conveyances. " The horses went " step by step, and I of course walked a great deal ; and, " unless I was sketching, I was sure to arrive at any town " long before my driver." But few and shght memoranda of the journey are left. Turin, MUan, and Piacenza were passed through rapidly. At Parma, Marie Louise had coUected the pictures from the churches, with those returned from Paris, into the Academy, and the Madonna della ScodeUa and the St. 60 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. II. Jerome were already in that inner room where they have remained ever since. At Bologna, where the Academy was also already estabhshed in the same way, he speaks of the want of care too observable towards the pictures there and elsewhere. The Marescalchi GaUery at Bologna was then in its glory — " the Judgment of Solomon,* an unfinished " picture by Giorgione, is very curious for an artist." At Florence the sculpture, antique and cinque-cento, seems to have especially engaged his Umited time. Siena is also passingly mentioned. A day or two before entering Rome he was joined by a young Dr. Bunsen, then unknown to fame. The two young men entered Rome together on foot on the 24th November, 1816. * Now at Kingston Lacy, the seat of Mr. Bankes. Ch. Ill] FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME. 61 CHAPTER III. First impressions of Rome.— Mr. Cockerell.— Dr. Bunsen.— English Society. — Naples. — Tivoli. — Enthusiasm for Italian Landscape. — Starts for Greece. — Corfu. — Zante. — Patras. — Delphi. — Corinth. — Khemil Bey. — The Plague. — Athens. — Sicily. — Return to Rome. The young Painter was soon settled, in No. 1, Via de' Cappuccini, " the people, a woman and her daughter, very " kind — and I am upon the whole better off than I ever " was in London." Letters of introduction were then deUvered, and his French recommendations immediately opened the VUla Medici (French Academy) under M. The- venin, to him, where he drew every evening and attended conversaziones every Wednesday. He also drew from the antique sculpture in the Vatican, then, with the help of the British Government, restored to the Pope. PhUlip and Alexander Visconti, brothers to the antiquary at Paris, were also very kind to him. Charles Eastlake immediately condemned the style of modern painting at Rome, remark ing that the modern sculpture was far superior. " There " is, however, a French taste about Canova ; — a Dane, " called Torwalzen, is very celebrated, and firmer and " purer." Gibson had not yet come. In Rome now as a young man, as in London when a boy, he began by active explorations on foot, and soon mastered its topography. He also soon reported himself as having been "in the baU of St. Peter's," which meant all over it. " But, whether from accident or an unconscious " impulse, I visited the ancient ruins before St. Peter's." 62 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. He knew these so well from Piranesi's engravings, and from other sources, that the Arch of Severus, quite cleared instead of half buried, took him by surprise. He enters carefully into a description of the excavations made by the French, and then making by the Pope and the Duchess of Devonshire, which led to signs of original diversities of surface difficult to reconcUe with the level of the Arch of Severus. On the exterior of St. Peter's he was, as might be expected, critical. The disproportion between the means employed and the effect obtained was a direct inversion of his principles of art. " This is one " of the greatest faults I have to find — every means seems " to have been made use of to produce a deception on " the wrong side," that is, to make objects appear small which reaUy are large. " To mention one of the com- " monest; — in the inscription on the frieze of the whole " front, ' Paulus Burghesius Romanus, &c.,' the letters are " about as high as a man, and you read them with ease " at any distance. Under this you see what appear to be " but moderately large columns, but when you stand at " the base of one of them, though they are not on pedes- " tals, you cannot reach the lowest moulding. The sense " of the real size is the same in the end, but produced by an " effort of the reason, by having ascertained the truth, — but " the imagination is the legitimate field for the arts." He then passes on to a description of the Stanze of the Vatican. " Two circumstances have contributed to pre- " serve Raphael's works here — his pecuUar practice, which " led him to excel rather in firm outline than in soft " effect — and to prefer hard distinctness to rich confusion ; " and also the process of fresco painting, where it is " necessary to dig the outline into the wall. The fading " of colours mostly affects the draperies, which seem to " have suffered more than the extremities, where, the parts " being smaU, there was consequently more line. Here Ch. Ill] FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME. 63 " and there are some cracks in the wall — this does no " great harm — what is worse is the ignorant folly of some " who have scraped Ughts in the eyes, &c." He was then making drawings from some of the heads in the Stanza of the School of Athens and Dispute of the Sacrament. ' There has been no possibility yet of working in the ' Capella Sistina, so that I have not seen so much of it as ' I could wish. I was first struck on entering with a ' tremendous depth of effect, both in the ceiUng and the ' Last Judgment, for which I was not prepared .... In ' the summer the chiU which pervades the rooms of the ' Vatican renders it . dangerous to work there, and then I ' hope I shall do something in the landscape way. This ' is a magnificent place for all that has to do with a ' classic picture. Pines and cypresses present their dark ' masses against the buUdings and blue Apennines. Would ' to Heaven you (Mr. Harman) were here ! The finest ' Nature and the finest Art never were more completely 'blended."' Again, to his sister-in-law — the excellent wife of his brother George — " February, 1817 ; this Spring is said " to be particularly fine. A Roman Spring ! You can " conceive nothing too dehghtful for it. The sun and " the Fine Arts are the sources of most of the impres- " sions one receives. I have no longer any doubt about " the effect of climate ; and everything one sees in " the streets — even the hand biUs — have something to " do with art. By night too, suppose me now on the " Trinita de' Monti, on my way home from the Academy. " There is the city sleeping below, with its domes and " columns; and, that nothing maybe wanting in the pic - " ture, a single pine or cypress tree is seen among the " architecture ; — higher, on the right, is the VUla Medici, " like a fairy palace, surrounded with evergreen oaks, " through which a fountain sparkles — nothing is heard 64 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " beside its murmurs but a flute or a guitar, and over- " head is the moon without a cloud. And who does one " know in this fairy city ! Who are to me its inhabitants ! " the learned, the tasteful, the pohte, and the beautiful. "Ought I not to be happy!" These were the bright impressions at twenty-three years of age, which as regards the outer world of Italy never wore off. To his mother, at the same time, after describing the grand function at St. Peter's on Christmas Day, he adds, " Priests and artists are the great men here — 'tis a most " singular state of things — no commerce. I have only " to do with the outside of Rome, and nothing can be " more beautiful." He next describes some of the young men — feUow countrymen and foreign— with whom he associated. " Of " all the artists who are here, CockereU, the architect, is " one of the cleverest. He is the man who — in company " with Linck and Stackelberg, Germans — discovered the " Phigaleian and Egina marbles. He has brought a most " valuable portfolio of drawings from Greece. I heard of " him as soon as I arrived, and afterwards met bim at " the Duchess' (Devonshire). Mazois, the author of the " 'Antiquities of Pompen,' is also here. The first volume, " which is finished, he very kindly lent me, and wUl let " me examine everything as fast as it is printed. He is " the only architect who has been allowed to measure and " draw the ruins thoroughly. Dr. Bunsen is the young " German with whom I got acquainted on the road. He " traveUed with an EngUshman caUed Cathcart. I break- " fasted with them one day — took up a huge quarto and " found it a Latin treatise — took up another book, and " found it a Persian MS. This young man is now " employed in translating the oldest Persian poem, which " he has found in the Vatican. Sir WUliam Jones, he says, " intended to have done it, but died without accomplishing Ch. III.] DEPARTURE FOR NAPLES. 65 " his wish. Dr. Bunsen takes me to-night to a Mrs. " Waddington, an EngUsh lady, who has three daughters. " I dined on Saturday with M. Thevenin, at the ViUa " Medici, for the second time — met CockereU, Linck, " Mazois — a man who had travelled in Asia, — and two " Frenchmen. We met to look over the grand work on " Egypt, pubhshed by the French.Government ; — immensely " interesting. Linck and I are going to look it through " again, and have fixed a day for the purpose. He is an " architect and an antiquary, and I shaU learn more than " if I studied it alone." At the same time the EngUsh society at Rome, headed by the Duchess of Devonshire and the Countess of West morland, who assumed to be leaders of art as weU as of fashion, admitted our young painter to their soirees and dinners, which, though not long to his taste, were profitable in- opportunities of meeting the chief savans and artists. The Duchess of Devonshire was the first who gave him a commission, if such it could be caUed. She was engaged in preparing an edition of Horace's Journey from Rome to Brundusium, with iUustrations, and requested Mr. East- lake to execute two of the designs. He selected the subject of Horace's departure from Rome and another, and his drawings were pronounced by Canova and others to be of a higher classical character than any that had been done. These he presented to her Grace. He after wards painted a smaU picture of Marius among the ruins of Carthage, hi which he introduced the palm, the aloe, and the acanthus, and painted the architecture ; also a picture of Cicero reading in his villa at PuteoU. These were both intended for the Duchess. In the month of April, 1817, he started with his friend Mr. Seymour Kirkup — one of the young artists studying at Rome — for Naples. At first the young men had proposed to walk there and back, but finding a vessel in the Tiber 66 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. bound for Naples they took their passage on board of her. VirgU was in Charles Eastlake's memory and Addison in his hand as they left their moorings under Mount Aventine, and floated down the river — the Campagna on either hand, — " foundations of buUdings, chiefly of reticulated work, in " and near the river. No living creature to be seen but wUd " buffaloes. The trees have certainly been cut down since " Virgil's time. There are two mouths to the river — " one by Fiumicino navigable — that by Ostia not. The " modern Ostia is not very striking, but the actual mouth " ofthe river — with a large tower, some picturesque buUd- " ings, a lock bridge, and masts of ships against an Itahan " evening sky — the Tiber glassy and golden, and the sea " meeting it suddenly, stormy and blue, — was a singular and " picturesque scene. We slept upon the deck under a saU. " The next morning, 8th AprU," (1817) "the whole of Latium " lay before us. Circe's promontory is so high as to be seen " from Ostia on one side and Ischia on the other." The course of the voyage did not run smooth. They passed the ruins of Antium ; wind contrary and provisions short. Got some bread at S. FeUce on Circe's Cape. On the 10th they were beating off Terracina. The captain tried to run into a smaU river near Terracina, and struck his vessel on a bar two hundred yards from shore. " The wind was blowing " very strong to the land, the saUs set. I looked upon an " upset as certam. The sea broke with violence upon us to " windward and the ship fell more and more on her side. " One of the sailors tore off his clothes, and I saw Kirkup " turn pale as he began to do the same. The souls in " purgatory and the Madonna del Mercato — a famous one " at Naples — were invoked audibly. They succeeded in " getting down the sails, and a boat came off and towed us off " the bank and into the river, where the only sound we heard " was the croaking of frogs. Next morning we bathed for " the first time in the Mediterranean, and then walked to Ch. III.] NAPLES AND POMPEII. 67 " Terracina, a most enchanting place, but one surrounded " by cutthroats. This is the ' ScopuUs late candentibus " ' Anxur! SaUed again that night, passed Gaeta, doubled " the Cape of Misenum, left Ischia and Procida behind, " ghded by the Bay of Pozzuoli, Nisida, and the Cape of '.' PosUippo, and the sun set as Naples rose before us, and " the red flame of Vesuvius began to brighten as the night " advanced. We sketched the whole coast between us. . . . " We got Vasi's description of Naples, and being delayed " for two days by passports, we occupied ourselves in first " seeing the town. You find in the buildings first such " general resemblance to ancient taste as is seen in most " Itahan cities. Next you find a particular resemblance to " the haU Greek style of decoration which characterises " PompeU and Herculaneum. Then you find the roofs of " the churches partly coloured by tUes — to aU intents " painted. This is Moorish; for I make another division for " a certain Spanish or haU Moorish taste, the natural " consequence of the connection of the two Kingdoms. " This last influence affects more than the edifices. Peter " of Toledo, Viceroy in the sixteenth century, seems to " have been one of the famous Spanish Governors. The " principal street is caUed from him the Strada Toledo. " Where River Gods are introduced the Ebro and the " Tagus are preferred to the Garigliano and the Vulturno. " You meet with Spanish inscriptions — the Guitar is " Spanish — the country people dance with castanets. If " you ask a Roman to explain to you twenty-four o'clock " according to our method, he says, ' 7 di Francia,' if you " ask a Neapolitan, he says, ' 7 di Spagna.' " To Mr. Harman he writes of some impressions derived from Pompeii. " August, 1817. — The painting of the " architecture which is introduced even on the outside of " buUdings and on the capitals of columns I was glad to " meet with, because I had long had an idea that it was p 2 68 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " practised, and the last researches in Greece and Egypt " prove that it was universal. It is also certain that the " ancients painted their statues " . . . . ' Versicoloribus alis In morem pictiit stabat amor pharetraV See a Uttle epigram ascribed to VirgU. I am of opinion that these facts may be made useful in art by increasing the means of diffusing certain colours. For when a painter can introduce positive colour in his architecture (I don't think I should be incUned to paint statues) he need not resort to the various tricks in use to torture a picture into harmony." Returned to Rome he writes, " I have been making a study — early in. the morning, before I begin to paint, — of the remains of the Forum of Nerva* — a most picturesque ruin ; and as I have surprised some architects by it I mean to go on with the sort of subject, and hope to bring home some things that you wUl hke. I may add that it wiU be, and has also been, one of my objects here to make a coUection of classic trees. This is one of the things Poussin excelled in, and, to say nothing of the look of antiquity, there is a manifest absurdity in putting English shrubs under an ItaUan sun. At Terracina you see a hiU crowned with a picturesque convent — the sides clothed with aloe and cactus. On one side towers a palm, on the other waves a grey grove of ohves. If we are to paint Romans in a city let us have their glorious archi tecture — if in the country let such a scene as this be spread around them — " ' Know ye the land where citrons scent the gale, Where glows the orange in the golden vale, Where softer breezes fan the azure skies, Where myrtles spring and prouder laurels rise. ' * Water colour drawing in Lady Eastlake's possession. Ch. III.] THE DELIGHTS OF TIVOLI. 69 " This is the great good of visiting their country. If I do not " feel that I am in the ' Saturnia teUus ' now, I can never " have more indications of it. The sun burns me into a " fever every day, but, far from enfeebling me, I never felt " more inclined to work. My passion for architecture and " classic scenery is such that I had almost made up my " mind to join two Enghsh architects who are going to " Athens in three weeks. Two reasons detain me- — the " ' res angustae ' and my reluctance to quit Rome before I " have done more hi it. I long to devote myself to this " glorious Nature." This language was in keeping with his behef that another year would be the utmost he could give to Rome — where he ultimately resided for fourteen years — at aU events he needed no additional stimulus to industry. He adds, a few weeks later, " There is so much to be done here ! If a man " works hard, and studies in Italy, he cannot stay too long. " FuseU used to talk of an indolence and an indifference " acquired by too long a residence here, but if a man were " to work Uke a slave for six years he would carry home " but a very smaU portion of the region of taste with which " he is surrounded." He now writes a letter to his mother from TivoU, a place which the fine scenery, the classic associations, the light spirits and the earnest work combined to render an earthly paradise to him,; He walked from Rome thither — in October, ,1817 — with his manservant, a tall stout model (he sketches the master and man in his letter) carrying drawing materials on his head. " You are told that it is " death to cross the Campagna after the rains, &c, &c, " How I could sweU the Ust of horrors ! but depend upon " it they are aU imaginary, except the brigands, and they " seldom attack artists. The bad air, as far as I know, is a " complete hoax, and I think I have been in every situation " where it is said to prevaU, I have not had a moment's 70 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. ' Ulness yet, thank God. I drew in the open air in August ' without an umbrella, whence the painters call me ' the ' ' Salamander.' In the court-yard of the inn where I am ' staying (at. TivoU) is the Temple of Vesta. Here one ' loiters about in the evenmg, and hence you look down an ' unfathomable guU into which two cascades tumble. The ' night here, says a French writer, has no sUence. I wiU ' teU you how we live here. We go out as soon as it is ' Ught to paint and draw ; then, at twelve, you see aU the ' painters, true as the dial to the sun, returning — some from ' Mount Catillus, some from the villas of Maecenas, D'Este, ' the Temple of Venus, &c, to dinner. If they are ' Germans or ItaUans they sleep an hour after ; if French ' or English they are out again immediately until dark, ' when a supper is prepared, and when we EngUsh dine ' together ; and, having a flute and a guitar among us, the ' labours of the day generaUy finish with the song and the ' waltz. You may suppose that after six weeks' study from ' nature in the most glorious scenery in the world, I know ' a little more of landscape than I did." He contrived to bring thirty oU studies, besides sketches, from Tivoli. These were the first fruits of his passion and his power as a landscape painter, in which character he has been too Uttle known in his own country. In this Une of art his refined taste and perfect command of the brush became the special admiration of aU landscape painters settled at Rome, and gave, as I am assured at this day, a higher impulse and standard to their efforts. On his return from TivoU, a very fine model, " exquisite " in form and colour," tempted him to begin a picture of a classic subject. He chose Paris, with Mercury giving bim the apple, figures the size of life, with the goddesses in the distance.* In November, 1817, he is shocked by the tidings of the death of Princess Charlotte. " It has quite alarmed all * Sir Charles lost all trace of this early picture. Ch. Ill] LEARNING MODERN GREEK. 71 " the EngUsh here. They wear mourning, and go to no " very gay meetings. Sorrow is universal." WhUe this picture was in progress, he was preparing him self for a trip to Greece, which had been more dehberately decided upon. On this subject, his kind brother WiUiam, a Ufe-long invaUd, of course felt some alarm, and no wonder. The young painter met it with more banter than argument. "The anxiety expressed in William's letter about my " intended trip is very natural for you to feel in Frankfort " Street ; and the proposed journey must seem as much " more formidable than that from Plymouth to Ridgeway" (five miles) " as the passage of the Adriatic is longer than " that of the Flying Bridge. The only thing that can " make foreign travelling unpleasant is an ignorance of the " language. This I am akeady taking care of. I have met " with a Greek priest to whom I go every day from four " tUl dark. I have had about twelve lessons, and can talk a " Uttle already. Of course the Uttle I know of old Greek " is of great use, perhaps of greater use than a deeper " knowledge would be ; for I should then have too much to " forget. There is no such thing as a modern Greek " grammar. I make a grammar as I go on. My master is " teaching the hereditary Prince of Bavaria,f who is going " to ransack Greece for antiquities, but he says the VasUefs " (pao-iXeiis) does not get on very fast. My picture and my " Greek are as much as I am fit for in a day (my model " comes at sunrise), so that in the evening I frequently visit " some ItaUan famiUes. I am now strong enough in the " language to be one of them .... After all, the " Continent has long ceased to feel foreign to me, though " I can enter as much into our home habits as when I left " England. 'T is true I cannot here see the necessity of eating " before twelve at noon, and then prefer a bason of soup to " tea ; and in the evening can dine as well upon frogs, fried * The late King Ludwig. 72 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " artichokes, wild boar, and cuttle fish, as upon roast beef. " The cUmate is all one can wish. This is February, almost " over (1818); but from the first week the weather has been " Uke our finest May — the trees in blossom before they are " in leaf, the air refreshing, but the sun eternaUy unclouded, " and the moon the same ; and such a city ! The more to " be admired, the more one sees of it." Mr. Eastlake's journey to Greece was again the fulfilment of an ardent wish, and this also, Uke his first visit to Paris, was encouraged by Mr. Harman's refined taste and en- Ughtened views, and facilitated by his generosity. The means for this undertaking were advanced by this exceUent friend. Charles received from him altogether -£300, and repaid Mr. Harman by presenting him with the pictorial fruits of his tour. He started for Greece in the last week of March, 1818. His companions were Mr. Barry, an architect (afterwards the well-known Sir Charles Barry), Mr. Kinnard, also an architect, and Mr. Johnson, subsequently professor at HaUeybury CoUege. " Luggage small — mine consists chiefly of materials for " drawing and painting, for nothing is to be had there, — and " a mattrass for each, which is indispensable; and we take " Pausanias, Anacharsis, and maps between us. I have no " other object than the picturesque, and shall consider " myself at liberty to put the mosque and the temple in " the same picture, and to pay the same attention to the " Turk's beard and turban, as to the bas-reUef he sits on." He adds to Mr. Harman a superfluous postscript, "Depend " upon my industry." Our travellers proceeded to Naples, and thence crossed the peninsula to Barletta in four days. This is no familiar route even now. He describes the road over the Apennines, however, as being better than that then between Bologna and Florence, though the inns so bad Ch. III.] DEPARTURE FOR GREECE. 73 that the Vetturino did not attempt to provide repasts on the way for his traveUers. AvelUno was the first day's journey, with an old town-haU, which they tried to sketch, but were surrounded by a large crowd, whose troublesome astonishment at such a novel proceeding im peded their operations. The next day they reached Ariano, the highest point on the road. Then they travelled safely through the Pass of Ponte Bovino, " a vaUey ten miles long, " and the worst for brigands in Italy ; a number of soldiers " stationed in different parts, forts buUt, and the heads of " the dead robbers exposed. Nothing moves without a " strong escort. About mid-day we saw some twenty men " on a hiU near, but, as they did not attack us, never sus- " pected them. We soon met a party of soldiers convoying " some mules laden with corn. Nothing could exceed their " terror when they heard of the company we had passed, " We have since heard of an engagement." Foggia was their next resting place, and then they crossed the river Ofanto, and reached Barletta. " The Ofanto marks the " field of Cannae : in this battle the Romans crossed " the river and attacked, and were afterwards beaten back " and perished in it and in its marshes. The bed of the river " is large, the opposite bank to the Romans — that is, the " south side— much higher than the other, so that they " must have attacked under every disadvantage." At Bar letta no vessel for Corfu was to be had on reasonable terms, and they pushed on to Bari next day, passing several picturesque towns. " Talking of the Appian Way, at " Corignola, between Foggia and Bari, I found one of the " mUe-stones in its place, and have a sketch of it. After " giving Trajan's titles, the inscription ends with ' Viam a " Benevento Brundusium pecun : sua fecit.' " They saUed from Bari, and the next morning saw at once the west coast of Italy and the mountains of Albania. " At the distance ,-" of twelve or fifteen miles, I saw from the end of Italy, or 74 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " what we caU the heel of Italy, as far as Lecci, with " Otranto between. This was precisely what the Trojans " first saw of Italy, and not only from the same place, but " at the same time. " ' Jamgue rubescebat stellis Aurora fugatis, Cum procul obscuros colles humilemque videmus Italiam.' " The epithet ' humUem ' is strUdngly correct, and ' colles ' " instead of ' montes.' The opposite coast, seen at this " distance, was of a very grandly mountainous character. " Fano appeared first, then Corfu. A gale came on in the " night, but we consoled ourselves with the idea that we " were where Ulysses had been." I now take up a species of journal which he sent to his family after his safe return to Rome. The word ' safe ' is no conventional term here. A journey Uke this, performed half a century ago, with such apphances only as a country afforded where there was no such thing as a post, even from the capital, was very different to what we now caU " roughing it." In the place of inns, steamers, handbooks, and photographs, there were perUs of a very positive nature by sea and by land, which taxed to the utmost, (though rather indicated than told here), the health and nerve of the strongest and most enterprising; whUe in the case of the traveUer we are following, there was always the perU of an overstrong sense of duty which had no mercy on his physical powers. But it is something to read a journal in Greece before Byron's " Don Juan " could be quoted. " You know my travels up to Corfu. I will begin there. " I was there a week, and regretted quitting it so soon. " It abounds in enchanting scenes. There are plenty of " Albanians on the island, the remnant of a regiment " organised by the French. Corcyra is the Phceacia of " Homer (Odyssey). The medals have the gardens of " Alcinous on one side. The Corcyraean antiquaries have Ch. III.] THE ISLES OF GREECE. 75 " found this spot, and also where Ulysses met Nausicaa. " There are some remains of the city of Crysopolis among " the olive groves. On the 19th of April (1818) we sailed, " under an Ottoman flag, in a Polacca brig, — ships' cbm- " pany Greeks, — for Patras, to touch at Zante. Some of " the Zante deputies to the Ionian Parhament were in the " ship, and a showman and his wife with their beasts and " birds. No part of the vessel endurable. We slept on " deck, and did not envy the Zante deputies the cabin. " Passed Paxu, and then Anti-Paxu, an uninhabited island, " where some of the party went on shore. Previsa, scene of " the battle of Actium, at agreat distance. On the 21st, " after passing Sappho's promontory by moonlight, we " were becalmed off Ithaca. Land aU round. Cephalonia " and mountains of Patras in distance. Pindus covered " with snow. The wild beast man observed that the " Greeks were much faUen, for that ' originaUy we had " ' rope-dancing ahd aU other Olympic games from them.' " A Corinthian, dressed hke a Turk, wanted me to do his " portrait (eCs rr\v (friKeiav), but the ship was not the place. " Porpoises appeared, sign of the wind which came on and " took us into Zante that night. The bay of Zante is a " Uttle Uke Naples in miniature. Behind the town are clay " cliffs, the hiU is crowned with a fort, and, when I was " there, had the additional ornament of three men hung in " chains. Above the town are some oUve groves, a few " small palms, orange and lemon trees, these laden with " last year's fruit. Sweet lemons are more deUcious in " smeU than in taste. Indian fig of an immense size, &c. " I walked to the top of the hiU and saw the whole of the " island, an immense plain bounded east and west by " mountains, Uke one vast garden. Here grow the famous " currants; aU the islands furnish some, and Patras too. " The pitch wells are also still productive. SaUed again ; on " the evening of the 23rd were off Chiarenza in the Morea, 76 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. the wind failed, got into boat at stern and bathed without thinking of sharks. On the 24th, at daybreak, woke by the Grecian cocks crowing, and anchored at Patras. Here we found there was nothing Uke an inn, and Mr. Green, the English Consul, kindly insisted on our staying with him. He accompanied us with one of his Janissaries round the town. Its antiquities consist chiefly of a Corinthian capital, an altar, a mosaic pavement, and foundations > of a temple of Ceres, and some fine fragments of statues wailed into an old fort. There was one scene in Patras which we sat down to draw. The Turkish waywode was seated on a carpet under a plane tree near, smoking, with two of his attendants. He caUed one of our party to him, and examined him strictly as to his object in making a sketch; concluding by asking if he was a 'Milordos,' — so this word has found its way into the language of Plato. " The wind not being fair to go up and across the gulf to Salona, we tried to get horses and proceed on to Vostizza. But this was the Easter of the Greeks, who reckon in the old style, and they refused to work for a week. The Consul, therefore, got us a boat to row us to the Darda nelles of Lepanto ; we left him on the evening of the 25th. We had now a Janissary, — one AbdaUah, — and a servant who could cook. The mountains were finely lighted by the setting sun as we approached Lepanto. Our crew were Greeks; with long flowing hair, or curled like the antique statues. The Janissary, in an Albanian dress, sat sUently at the end of the boat, evidently looking down upon us aU. Monday the 26th we were in the Gulf of Corinth, Lepanto behind us, Vostizza on the ' starboard bow.' The heat was intolerable, and we made very Uttle way. In the evenmg, a contrary wind springing up, we aU puUed by turns, and got to Scala di Salona early on the 27th. This is where Anacharsis Ch. III.] JOURNEY TO DELPHI. 77 " lands when he pays a visit to Delphi. (The bay of " Salona is the gulf of Orissa). This place consists of " one building, the Custom House ; it was empty when " we arrived. The Janissary went to Orissa, and returned " with the necessary number of mules and horses — three for " luggage and one a-piece to ride. The drivers were afraid " to go straight to Delphi (Castri), as no one had surveyed " us at the Custom House. We were therefore obhged to " go first to Salona. We were now in Phocis, a country of " mountains and oUve groves. Everything appeared silent " and deserted, and the heat made it appear more so. The " first human being, and almost the only one we saw during " our journey, was an Albanian shepherd boy, piping to his " flock. Salona, according to Spon and Wheler, is " Amphissa. The sun was scorching ; we aU made use of " our sketching umbreUas, but they frightened the horses, " and we had some droll adventures in consequence. The " sort of road we passed over would surprise you, but the " horses never tumbled — they left that to us to do. " Thus we wound along the foot of Parnassus, our " caravan looking hke the procession in Bluebeard. When " we approached Salona, which has five minarets and a " fortress on a rock, we saw a company of Greeks dancing " in a circle round an oUve tree. After aU, the Custom " house officers at Salona did not visit us. Distances in " Greece are always reckoned by hours. From Scala to " Salona three and a half hours, from Salona to Castri " rather more. As I have rather surprised people by aU I " managed to do in Greece, I can afford to confess that this " first day, though I passed through the grandest country, " and the most exciting to one bitten with classic enthu- " siasm, it was the most impossible thing in the world not " only to draw, but, I may almost say, to lift up my eyes. " Yet, at this moment, the recollection of those Greeks •" dancing in the grove before the Turkish town of Salona, 78 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " with a gigantic mountain behind it, is enough to make me " wish to return and draw the scene. I knew at the time I " should feel so afterwards, but the heat unmanned us all. " No sooner arrived at Salona than I drank a quantity of " water and dropped asleep. In our afternoon journey we " sent a mile out of our way for water during our march. "At Athens afterwards, in the hottest months, I never " experienced any lassitude or indisposition to work, and " yet I know it was a vast deal hotter. " We now ascended Parnassus, arriving in the evening at " Delphi. The two rocks of Parnassus are fine as such, " but the mud [town situated at their foot has nothing to " recommend it. It forms, like the old town, an amphi- " theatre, which was once sustained by terraces of " Cyclopaean walls, some of which remain; but for want of " others the ground is one rapid descent of rocks and sand " from the town to a vast valley mUes below, once watered " by the PUstus, which still flows through it in winter. " At present its dry bed is discernible among the oUves " that fill the plain of Crissa. The bases of some of the " terraces, with some traces of the Stadium, and a few " tombs hewn in the rocks, are absolutely aU that remain of " Delphi. The Castahan fountain exists ; it is a Uttle " stream that issues from between the two rocks. A httle " chapel is there, with Lord Byron's name in it. On the " site ofthe Gymnasium is a convent. " The town is wretched ; it contains but two Turks ; " all the rest are Greeks, who seem very contented. " Whether it was on account of their festival or a constant " practice, they danced every evening. The Albanian " dance, as well as the Romaika, is practised by them. " Their music was a sort of smaU guitar with a long handle, " — a tabor, and now and then a violin of a guitar-like make " with three strings and as many notes. The long-necked " instrument was sometimes carried and played by the Ch. Ill] CUSTOMS OF DELPHI. 79 " leader of the dance, who had then a handkerchief tied " to his girdle by which the next held on. The others aU " joined hands. They sing a long song with the music. " The verse is Z&ypcufre, ottov e£coypa.. " ' Painter who has painted Constantine the Great, paint me " ' my love and I wUl give you a thousand florins.' This I was " always greeted with when I made my appearance among " them. The inhabitants are very fond of shooting, and "never move a mUe from the village without a musket; " but in the evening, if two or three happened to meet on " the brow of a hiU, they regularly laid down their weapon " and began to dance. " At Castri (Delphi) the custom of crying the hours from " the minarets could hardly be practised, for there are no " minarets, and only two behevers in the Prophet. Instead " of this, however, a sort of town crier mounted the roof of " a house at night-faU and informed the vUlage and the " echoes of Parnassus of whatever was going on in trade. " This crier having offered his services to us, we made him " teU the inhabitants of Castri to bring us anytliing they " had to seU. They did so, and Kinnard bought a gold " coin of Delphi for eight crowns, which has proved to be " unique and very valuable. I made no purchases. The " Superior of the 0°nvent was absent when we arrived, and " we could not be received there. We therefore fared iU in " a wretched hovel aU the time — eleven days — we were at " Castri. Without any associations even, this is a romantic " and poetical place: you need not look at the print in " Anacharsis for an idea, for that is totally unlike. There " are no trees or verdure ; the miserable town and fine " mountain are equaUy bare. " There is a plane tree before the CastaUan Spring, and " plenty of olives towards the vaUey and round the convent, " but Castri itself has nothing to assist its deformity. The 80 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " mountain, however, and the tremendous depth and dis- " tanpe, gradual as they are, which youl'ook down upon, form " a scene of the sublimest kind. The people talk very intel- " ligible Greek — a little purer, I think, than the common " Athenian. The usual salutation on the road was " ' aSpa nakri eras,' UteraUy, 'happy hour to you.' I have " marked it as pronounced. When I could not understand " them I found them very inteUigent in explaining them- " selves by signs, though often accompanied by a loud bawl, " intended to enforce the thing. One of our party went up " the mountain to the Corcyran Cave (mentioned in Ana- " charsis and Wheler) with Tewpy ios, our host. He found " some tombs hewn in the rock, and seeming to doubt at " first what they were intended for, Teoapyws lay down in " one, shut his eyes, and pointed up to Heaven. " Parnassus abounds in vultures. Lord Byron erro- " neously caUs them eagles. One of our party offered a " reward through the medium of the town crier for one of " these birds. A large bird was shot, but very different " from those we had seen sailing about the mountain. The " doUar reward was therefore withheld. At last a regular " vulture was brought, with the naked throat. Its wings " measured nine feet from tip to tip. These birds rarely " came near the ground, and never moved their wings in " flying, but their rapidity was such that when they passed " overhead it was hke the roar of a hurricane. " We found many inscriptions here ; the most conside- " rable we were afraid to attack; it covered in very smaU " characters the whole of an antique wall which forms the " inside and back of a dark stable. It is probably inedited, " as may be some others which we did copy. " In mentioning the peculiar fondness of this people for " dancing, I should not forget to teU you that always after " mass, which was sufficiently often, the whole congregation " danced and sung in the way I have described — the priest Ch. Ill] VOSTIZZA AND CORINTH. 81 " with a long beard leading the measure, solemnly, but " actively. The resemblance to the Pagan customs is " evident. " We intended to have gone on by way of Livadia and " Thebes to Athens, but news arrived that the plague had " found its way from the Negropont to Thebes. Afraid " that the gates of Athens should be shut against us, if we " escaped that danger at Thebes, we retraced our steps (I " walked) to the Scala di Salona, and sent the Janissary " to Galaxidi to find a boat. We slept on our mattresses " in the Custom House, and were woke in the night by the " shock of an earthquake ; but this is common in Greece. " We started by boat next morning, but contrary wind " obUged us to go to Galaxidi — vUe place ! The wind con- " tinuing contrary for Corinth, we crossed the gulf to " Vostizza, which was ruined last year by an earthquake. " On the shore at Vostizza is a large and venerable plane " tree, which, it is pretended, Pausanias mentions. Here " we got horses — I and another of the party walking — and " set out for Corinth. The first afternoon we reached a " Priest's house, where we slept in an open kiosk; the " next evenmg we reached a khan, where we were accommo- " dated with a hayloft. The foUowing afternoon we arrived " at Corinth, where we put up at the house of a physician, " dressed a la Turque, who speaks Italian. The whole " road from Vostizza to Corinth borders the sea : a smaU " plain between the sea and the mountains is most general, " but sometimes the mountain ends abruptly in the sea : in " either case the scenery is Uke that of a park hi England, " except that the choicest trees here grow wild. We were " rather short of provisions in this march. The second day " we halted at noon hi a fine meadow. We were melted by " the heat, but refreshed by the sight of the snows of " Helicon on the other side of the gulf. After picking our " last bone, we drank some muddy water — the only pool we 82 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " found — but it was nectar. We got very Uttle at the khan, " and the next day we lived upon lemons. " Corinth is a beautiful specimen of a Turkish town —the " bazaars sheltered by vines — groups of smokers in the " streets about the coffee-houses— Turks in richest dresses " gaUoping about on fiery horses ; Bey's Palace, SeragUo, " mosque and fountain, enriched with cypresses, and a black " muezzin shouting from the minaret. The greatest man " at Corinth is Khemil Bey, the most opulent Turk in the " Morea: He happened to be out of the way, but we paid " our respects to a relation of his who presided at his " Palace. Our object was to be aUowed to draw the house " — a very picturesque one ; this was readily granted by " Ibrahim Golubeis, who pohtely forced us to smoke pipes " twice as long as ourselves with him, and gave us coffee a " la Turque — that is, sugarless, and almost sohd with " grounds. His manner of boasting of the riches of KhemU " Bey was rather amusing. We were aU ranged opposite to " him, rather lower than himself, aU cross-legged. A " secretary sat at his feet, an interpreter on one side ; " armed Janissaries were at the door. After taking a whiff " or two, he would say to the interpreter, without moving " his head, ' Tell them seven hundred families in the " Morea depend upon Khemil Bey for their daUy bread.' " Another whiff. ' TeU them so many bushels of corn (a " vast quantity) are consumed in this palace daUy.' Then " foUowed the number of horses always ready, the black " slaves — not a word about the SeragUo — ending by saying " that guests had stayed one, two, and three years in the " house, and had not only been always welcome, but had " been supphed with horses and money on leaving the " munificent Khemil. " When the architects went to examine the house, they " must needs measure it, which Ibrahim not understanding, " ordered further operations to be suspended. I had been Ch. Ill] THE PLAGUE. 83 " sketching a mosque near, and wishing to see the turban " stones, went into the court, and thence was going among " the graves, when a black woman spied me, and rushing to " the door of the cemetery, spread out her arms with the " most horrible shrieks to prevent my entering. " The antiquities at Corinth are the columns — an amphi- " theatre sunk in the rock, traces of Cyclopaean waUs and " Roman works — aU very ruined. The Acro-Corintho, a very " high rock above the town Uke the Acropohs at Athens, is " said to contain some antiquities, but, as it is the fortress, " no Franks are admitted. We were between four and five " days at Corinth. The Physician with whom we lodged " received accounts that the plague was in Athens. This " was soon confirmed, and a boat, arrived thence on the " other side of the Isthmus, was put in quarantine. A " Frenchman suffered so much from the barbarity of the " Turks that, as we afterwards heard, he saUed round the " Morea before the quarantine expired, unable to endure it " any longer. I soon made up my mind to go on to Athens, " and was presently foUowed in this determination by two of " my companions, and at last by aU. The Physician almost " went down on his knees to beg us not to venture. We " walked across the Isthmus (not six mUes), and learnt " the truth from the Frenchman. The plague was expected at " Athens, but the only deaths there had been hi quarantine. " We saUed at night, and landed next day on a Pirate's " island (aU the uninhabited islands are said to be the " resort of pirates). This I did not suspect, but wandering " over the place to find a spot to bathe, I came to a little " creek, hemmed round with rocks, where lay a sohtary boat. " Not a soul was to be seen, and I was not curious to " examine further. In the afternoon we got between " Salamis and Egina — hi the evening passed between " Salamis and the mainland — just the spot of the battle. " The setting sun lit Xerxes' throne (there is a rock stiU so G 2 84 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. named).* In one of these sUent bays there was another boat at anchor, and our boatmen, without consulting us, stopped and anchored near it. We had seen Athens at a distance and were anxious to get on — and at aU events not to remain where we were. The moon was up, and as there was no wind we agreed to row by turns, for the boatmen refused to go on. We got up the anchor; a row foUowed, pistols were produced, and one man knocked down. We pulled away, and in the morning passed by the tomb of Themistocles, and anchored hi the Piraeus. " I should have told you that at Corinth our Janissary left us, for he was afraid of the plague. We despatched a letter to the EngUsh Consul at Athens — Signor Logotheti — to have his opinion about the plague. His answer advised us not on any account to enter Athens, but to go elsewhere for the present; — upon which we walked into the City. There are only five or six houses at the Piraeus, perhaps not so many. The road to Athens — five mUes — is the site of the long waUs. Mounts Hymettus, Anchesmus, Parnes, CorydaUus, bound an immense plain, and on the side nearest Hymettus rises the Acropolis and Athens — the plain quite barren, and not even green next the city— but at the distance of one or two miles the oUve groves begin, and end at the foot of the mountain. We took up our abode in the house of one Demetrius Zo- grapho; the names of his children are Themistocles, Alcibiades, and Pericles. There was once a MUtiades, and there is lately an Aspasia. It was towards the end of May that we entered Athens (1818). People were as tonished at our boldness in coming at such a time. The bodies of those who had died had been burnt, with aU that belonged to them. But a horrible sort of suspense * This phrase was written, as already said, before Lord Byron's " The Isles of Greece" had appeared. Ch. III.] THE ONLY ENGLISHMAN IN ATHENS. 85 " reigned over the city. I cannot account for my being " indifferent to it — perhaps it was fatigue... Some of my " companions were very nervous, but when once we saw the " Parthenon and the Temple of Theseus, the plague was no " longer thought of. Admittance to the Acropolis was " purchased by a present of three or four doUars to the " Disda-Aga, a very civU old man. The Greeks never go " there, so that we drew there in perfect tranquilUty. " Athens quite came up to my expectations as a pictur- " esque place, and exceeded them as a civilized one. The " Turks are reaUy friendly. Among the Franks resident " at Athens are M. Fauvel, the French Consul; Gropius, " the Austrian Consul ; and Lusieri, Lord Elgin's draughts- " man, &c. These three, whose characters you wUl find " very Ulnaturedly drawn in the notes to Lord . Byron's " ' ChUde Harold,' were very civU. I bore the heat well, " and worked under an umbreUa from morning to night. " The ' Satellite ' arrived shortly after our entry, and my " three companions could not resist the temptation of a " passage to Constantinople. They tried to persuade me " to go too, but I resisted them, and remained behind, the " only Enghshman in Athens. From the day I first sat " down to draw, my Ufe in Athens was every day alike, so " that the only journal I kept was not in black and white, " but in blue, red, and yellow." Charles Eastlake continued for many weeks the only EngUshman in Athens. He mentions a number of travellers who subsequently arrived by EngUsh vessels of war. Among them were Lord and Lady Ruthven, Lord Balgonie, Lord RosehUl, Mr. WUliamson, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Basevi, the architect,, and others. With Mr. Basevi he went to Egina, about four hours' sail with a good wind. " The Temple " of Jupiter PanheUenius is beautifuUy situated in this " island, but situation seems always to have been an " essential consideration with the Greek architects. As 86 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. " there is no house near, we slept two nights under the " temple, and the wind and the sun together took the skin " off our faces. The voyage from the Piraeus to Cape " Sunium we performed in a night. There we stayed three " days, lodging in the temple as before, for no house is " near. I made a most perilous journey of a quarter of a utile " over some rocks at the foot of a cliff to get a good point " for the ruin and the Cape. Here my ultramarine blew " overboard — there never was such a windy country as " Attica — but not before I had painted the darkest blue " sea that I suppose ever was painted, and yet not dark " enough for what I saw ; for here ' the ocean is deepest in " ' dye.' This sketch, which I was afraid would not be " liked for the excessive depth of its tone, is one that takes " most." Coming back from Cape Sunium he slept upon some damp sand at the bottom of the boat, and caught a slight fever or ague which laid him up a few days at Athens. He also rode to Eleusis and back again in the day, but he did not visit Marathon. " I was of course always more " intent on doing than seeing." Lord Balgonie had arrived in a gun-boat. In this boat was a saUor of the name of Magee, whose professional remarks on the Parthenon amused the English party. " Mr. Magee " rode up to the AcropoUs on an ass, and having inspected " the Parthenon, &c, he was of opinion that the place " might be taken with twenty men." Under the auspices of Lord and Lady Ruthven Athens became rather gay, and two balls were given, chiefly to bring out the " Maid of Athens " and her sisters. " They " are not remarkably beautiful, but interesting and lady- " Uke." After remaining in Athens three and a half months the arrival of the " Spry " from Smyrna — Captain White, twenty guns — gave an opportunity for leaving ; and Mr. Eastlake thankfuUy accepted a berth in the cabin with the Ch. HI.] DEPARTURE FROM ATHENS. 87 amiable Lord Balgonie (the late Earl of Leven and Melville), whUe Messrs WUson and Basevi were lodged in the gun-room. " We rode down again by the site of the " long waUs, and when we saw the ' Spry ' lying at anchor " WUson said with great effect, ' There are our long waUs.' " The two EUiotts " (of Brighton), " who had come from " Smyrna to Athens in the ' Spry ' (both feUows of Trinity, " and since gone to Egypt and Palestine) dined on board, " as did Mr. Wrench, the Constantinople Chaplain, who " had been Uving with me, and Mr. Hamilton CampbeU, " Lady Ruthven's brother. Never were there a happier " party. The getting into that ship was almost the same " as going to England." They were a fortnight, owing to calms and contrary winds, in getting to Malta (on the 7th of October), where Charles Eastlake was not idle, as testified by an oU sketch of the weU-known Caravaggio — The Beheading of the Baptist. Sir Thomas Maitland was then Governor of Malta. Through his interest a schooner, ' The Regent,' was placed at the service of Lord Balgonie, who, with our painter, had formed a plan for visitmg SicUy. " Our first " departure was rather unfortunate. Sir Thomas Maitland " saUed at the same time for Corfu in the ' Glasgow.' It " was found that he had left his papers and despatches " behind bim ; whereupon they were consigned to the " ' Regent ' with directions to pursue the frigate. This " was done with success (I observed by the bye among the " despatches a good deal of music !). After which a gale of " wind came on and we put back again to Malta. Next " day we saUed again with a Colonel LleweUyn, and in a " night and day crossed the stormy channel of Malta, and " anchored at Augusta in SicUy. The schooner being a " vessel of war, our quarantine was, by management, " reduced to one day, so that we soon found ourselves in 88 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. Ill " Catania. The Bay of Catania is the ' Megarosque Sinus' " described among the other Sicilian ports at the end of " the Third Book of the ' iEneid.' Catania is supposed to " be one of the finest cities in Europe. I made a sketch of " the principal street, which reaches to the foot of Etna. I " did not go up the mountain, being otherwise employed. " My feUow-travellers attempted it without success. A Mr. " Cholmondeley joined us here. There are no antiquities " in Catania of any importance, but a curious private " museum exists. To Syracuse was one day, travelling, as " in Greece, upon mules. Here, there are some interesting " antiquities — a Temple of Minerva, turned into a church; " some columns of the Forum ; tombs ; the antique quar- " ries ; the Ear of Dionysius ; the fountains of Cyano and " Arethusa, and Mount Hybla in the distance. SicUy has " one great advantage over Greece, and independent of the "classic associations, namely the beauty of the country, " which is of the most striking kind. In Greece you have " frequently nothing but the name. The next place of note " was Girgenti, 'arduus hinc Acragas' (aU at the end of " the third book). Here are the ruins of four temples in " a Une — that of Concord nearly perfect — columns of " Jupiter Olympius eighteen feet in diameter^ — the flutes, as " Diodorus Siculus observes, large enough to admit a man. " AU that remains here is Doric. Selinonte — ' Palmosa " ' SeUnus ' — is three days' journey from Girgenti. That " word ' palmosa ' made me hunt far and near for a palm " tree, but there are none nearer than seven mUes. These " temples, five or six in number, are the most superb ruins " I have seen at aU, but they are quite overthrown. From " Castel Vetrano we went to Trapani where Anchises died, " and the departure whence opens the iEneid. I went twice " up Mount Eryx and found some remains of the Temple " of Venus Erycina. The Temple of Segeste, near " Alcamo, was the last piece of antiquity we visited. From Ch. III.] RETURN TO ROME. 89 " Alcamo to Palermo there are thirty mUes of the most " Arcadian country imaginable. The temple at Segeste " and the mountains about it are aU that Poussin could " wish. This corner of SicUy is weU worth a journey " from England to visit. I declared and declare stiU " that I never saw scenery before. Palermo itself is " enchanting. I went into the mountains for a week " to make a panorama of the town and vaUey, but " not one hour would it cease to rain, and I painted " the skeleton chamber of a Capuchin convent " From Palermo a day and two nights brought us to " Naples." He was back to Rome by the 20th of December (1818) bringing with him ninety oil sketches, many of them comparatively finished oU pictures — all interesting works of art.* Charles Eastlake was now just twenty-five years of age, and may be said to have anticipated a rare maturity of mind and experience, and that at the expense of no better thing, unless of health. He had already learned, seen, and done more than is often accomphshed in the course of a long Ufe. To these, in great measure self-attained, advantages he now added that of mixing in what might perhaps, not unjustly, claim to be the best society in the world. Rome was at this time the annual resort of much that was distinguished in Enghsh talent. For beside the mere brilliant crowd of title, fashion, and beauty, there were such people as Lord Spencer, Sir H. and Lady Davy, Sir Thos. Lawrence, Moore the Poet, Mr. Rogers, Turner, Chantrey, Jackson, the Miss Berrys, the truly accom phshed Miss Catherine Fanshawe, and others; aU coming and going, and leavening a mass, which, otherwise, by a natural law, tended even in Rome to degenerate into * A few of these are in Lady Eastlake's possession. 90 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. III. frivolity, pedantry, and gossip. There was, no doubt, a higher tone in Rome half a century ago than there is or can be now. The magical city was more difficult of ac cess, wealth was more exclusively in the hands of the better bred and educated, and people went for a longer time and with a more definite purpose. If, therefore, the Anglo-Roman aristocrats prided themselves on an ex- clusiveness which is now of the past, they admitted, in self-interest, the acknowledged votaries of letters and art within the circle. And, generaUy speaking, all were seen to advantage in a city where learning, taste, and enthusiasm were the order of the day : where the blase found perpetual novelty, the intelligent perpetual interest, and where a glorious chmate shed health and good humour upon aU. Into this society it was natural for Charles Eastlake, with his varied acquirements and perfect refinement of mind and manner, to have ready admission ; natural, too, that he in turn should greatly rehsh its manifold attractions. At the same time he was not the man long to enjoy or indulge in anything, however dehghtful, which interfered with a prin ciple or a purpose. At this period, however, aU this had for him the zest of novelty as weU as of appreciation, and was enjoyed with the ardour of an unvitiated youth. He had returned to Rome with a renewed sense of its beauties and dehghts, and with some thing of the feeling of a victor, if such a name may be attached to one so modest, come to enjoy his laurels. His reputation was made at once by his Greek sketches, which were the admiration of initiated and uninitiated alike, and the wonder especiaUy of the former. For aU persons con versant with the practical difficulties of art and chmate had declared the impossibility of sketching from nature in oU under a Greek summer sky. Indeed, no one had been more positive on that point than Lusieri, Lord Elgin's draughtsman, in Athens itself. Here, however, was the Ch. III.] GREEK SKETCHES. 91 unmistakeable harvest of an energy and endurance greater than had been brought into that field before by any oil painter, aU bearmg internal evidence of an accuracy and feeUng valuable and fascinating alike to scholar and artist. 92 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. CHAPTER IV. Captain and Mrs. Graham.— Sir Thomas Lawrence in Rome. — Opinions on his Works. — Poli, and the Banditti. — Contributions to "London Magazine." — Death of his Father. — Visit to England. — Return to Rome. — Thoughts on Art, and on Painters. — Reputation as a Landscape Painter.— Death of his Mother. — Venetian Art. — Titian and Claude. — Illness in Naples.— Lessing. — Rev. Hugh Rose. — Isadas. — Pagan Art. — Elected Associate of Royal Academy. — "Pilgrims in Sight of Rome." — " Byron's Dream." — " Haidee." He was now beset with commissions, not only for repe titions of Greek scenes, but for sketches of localities in and around Rome, and before long declared that he needed ten hands instead of one to get through his work. In this occupation, however, he took great dehght; not only was he surrounded with scenes which ministered to his refined and classic taste, but, as he writes to his brother : " I have acquired a desperate fondness for nature, and " have added much to my happiness by foUowing landscape " painting." The year 1819 was very happy and industrious. To the pleasures and flatteries of society he added the comforts of real friendship. Lord Balgonie was sincerely attached to him, and respected his character and his learning with a generous simphcity ; while Captain and Mrs. Graham, who had come to lodge in the same house, cared for him with aU the solicitude and interest of relatives. In this year he had moved into the house which he ever after occupied, No. 12, Piazza Mignanelli,* where the Grahams * He vacated these apartments in 1830 in favour of his friend Mr. Penry Williams, who still occupies them. Ch. IV.] SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE. 93 admitted him into their famUy Ufe, and made themselves responsible to his dear mother for care of health which he too recklessly neglected. This was the lady, weU known then and afterwards for her works on India and the BrazUs, who later became the wife of Sir Augustus Callcott.. At this time Sir Thomas Lawrence was in Rome, quartered at the Quirinal (Monte CavaUo) Palace, having several fine portraits with him, male and female, and en gaged in painting the Pope and others. Charles Eastlake gives a curious description, of the impression which these works made on the foreign painters, chiefly Frenchmen, which must be measured more perhaps by what foreign portrait painters were then, than by the present estimate of Sir Thomas Lawrence. "I went yesterday with the " President of the French Academy (M. Thevenin), a suf- " ficiently bad painter but a very good critic, with the " best Landscape painter here, and with two or three " Frenchmen, an Itahan, and a Russian, — aU artists. " Their admiration was unbounded. They said it was " 'l'ecole de Vandyck ' which had formed that of Eng- " land. They were very much struck with the vivacity of " the execution, and with the science displayed in effect, " and not a little surprised to see them united with fine. " drawing. The cleverest Frenchman there was silent for " some time, and when pressed for his opinion, said, in the " tone of a man who gives a thing up, ' Oh ! c'est la la " ' maniere de faire les Portraits — c'est fini.' The manner of " painting gold, &c, so exceUent, but so different from the " French, they were very much struck with, and thought " it the best kind of high finish. (It is, as we aU know, " anything but what is commonly caUed high finish.) ' Lors- " ' qu'on regarde,' said one, ' ces diamants a quelque distance " ' l'effet en est admirable ; vu de pres ca parait indechif- " ' frable ; il y a tout le cric-crac de la Nature.' In short, they " have conceived a high idea of English art; still they will 94 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. " not give up David as the head of drawing, and Lawrence " himseU says he was very much struck with his power in " that respect at Paris." Sir Thomas, then in the zenith of his power and fame, formed for Mr. Eastlake a sincere friendship, which he showed by much kindness at Rome, and many interesting subsequent letters. Lawrence was much impressed by his studies of landscape and architecture, and openly declared them worthy of Poussin. He also gave him a proof of regard, which those who knew Sir Thomas wUl understand how to value, by presenting bim with a sketch of a lady's head by his hand, and aUowing him to be present whUe he painted it. Charles, in return, gave him sketches of certain locahties in and near Rome. The head was that of Mrs. Graham, a very remarkable specimen of two hours' work, which Sir Charles never parted with. The studio, his own, where the lady sate, was large, with a fine Ught. He placed it shortly after at the service of Jackson whUe engaged in taking a portrait of Tom Moore, and thus, as he expresses himseH to Mr. Harman, " I saw the Painter " work, and heard the Poet talk." During the summer of 1819, which was intensely hot, he spent a short time at TivoU, and also joined the Grahams at PoU, near Palestrina. From these two trips he brought back sixty sketches. At PoU, the banditti who infested the neighbourhood completely blockaded them, and Charles Eastlake went out with the peasantry to give them chase. The scene of a poor girl lamenting over the body of her murdered brother made an impression upon him which he afterwards transferred to canvas. From this short stay at PoU may be dated the interest he took in banditti subjects, which afforded in every sense fitting foregrounds for his fine landscape studies, and for which a person in Rome furnished aU necessary costume and materials. Nor did oral information fail. In a picture of a woman, in the Ch. IV.] THE BRIGANDS. 95 costume of Sonnino, giving bread to an old man seated beside one of the Uttle Madonna chapels near Subiaco, which Mr. Eastlake gave to Mrs. Harman, the model was ' a bandit's wife, who had been a frequent sitter to me. ' Her first husband was put to death — her present one is ' in the gaUeys for fifteen years. I hope the act of charity ' she is performing in your picture may destroy these ' associations. She may at least be suffered to do good ' in a picture. Even in nature the most contradictory ' mixture of good and bad qualities is one of the pecuhari- ' ties of these people. The men robbers are generous and ' cruel by turns, and the women watch over their safety ' and hazard their hves for them in circumstances very fit ' for picturesque representation. This has accordingly ' given me a hint for several pictures which I have done." It is curious to think of the lawless elements only divided by a few mUes from the highly artificial and luxurious society of Rome. " The Romans are quite im- " prisoned, owing to their own fears and the daring activity " of these brigands." On occasion of a visit to Lady Westmorland and Lord St. Asaph, — who had asserted their independence by taking a vUla at ArsoU, in the wUdest nook of the Apennines, about twenty mUes beyond TivoU, on the borders of the kingdom of Naples, — the banditti hovered so persistently around them, that the Lady and young- Lord, who had carried with them aU the luxuries and habits of the capital, were obUged to return in a week. Charles Eastlake seems to have trusted to the beUef that they let painters alone (not always verified), for he was out sketching from daybreak to noon, and found the scenery so glorious that he outstaid his hostess. WhUe his hand was thus busy, his mind was equaUy active. Mr. Scott, author of " Visit to Paris," &c, had been in Rome foraging for contributors for the " London Magazine," a literary periodical started in January, 1820. 96 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. In the course of 1819, Mr. Eastlake furnished him with six articles. 1. On the Excavation of the Tiber. 2. On the Arts of Rome. 3. On a passage in Dante. 4. On finding Cicero's MS. in the Vatican (copied into GaUgnani, AprU 14, 1820). 5. On an ItaUan treatise on Moral PhUo sophy. 6. On Italian Music. At the same time he devoted his evenings to learning German, and mastered the language for purposes of speaking as well as of reading. A few months later he translated Bertholdi's work on the Secret Societies of Italy (the Carbonari). The penalty of all this spendthrift industry was now, how ever, becoming due, and took a form in which the offender could least afford to pay it. He began to suffer from an induration of the glands of the eyehds, brought on by over exposure to strong hght, which produced swelling and inflammation.. His general health also gave way, and though ten days at Civita Vecchia, with sea-bathing, rested and restored him, yet from this time he may be said to have been always more or less weaker than his task, how ever unrelentingly towards himseU that task might be pur sued and achieved. WhUe unweU, his thoughts dwelt on a return to England; but, as he raUied, his numerous com missions and the pictorial charms of Rome again riveted bim to the spot. This was subsequent £o the departure of the Grahams, whose society he not only greatly missed, but whose tender care over his health was more than ever needed. In December, 1820, the inteUigence of his excellent father's death reached him, and, yearning for his afflicted mother, he immediately started for England. Arrived in Plymouth he began a portrait of his mother in her deep mourning, which shows how finely he could treat this branch of art. It is evident that the question of his setthng in London was now mooted by his famUy and friends — the Grahams being at that time also in London ; — but, if he left England with any immediate intention of Ch. IV.] HISTORY AND LANDSCAPE. 97 returning, it quickly evaporated, equaUy Before the con sideration of the hazardous conditions of a painter's Ufe in England, and the irresistible attractions, picturesquely speaking, of Italy. As regards a painter's Ufe in England, it must be remembered that Art in those days, unless we except portrait painting, — to the practice of which Mr. Eastlake was never, disposed, — was no smooth or lucrative profes sion. And though our painter was indifferent to the small prices which his works obtained, yet he was anything but indifferent to the means then sometimes necessary to obtain patronage. " I doubt," he says, in a letter to his dearest mother, ".the possibility of my getting on in London ' without resorting to more quackery than is consistent ' either with my feehngs or profession. Here, I need no ' incitements to work, for the place itseU is inspiring, and ' the difficulties of tiving not great. I feel Italy and my ' own pursuit very differently of late. In short, I Uke both ' much more than ever, and am determined to lead the ' quiet but industrious Ufe of a mere painter. Indeed it ' now seems to me that I never felt Italy before. When ' I thought of portrait painting in London, it was not that ' I preferred this branch of the art — quite the contrary; ' indeed the style, of -aU others, I should like would be ' a union of History and Landscape, which is not, I think, ' dividing the attention, as it teaches one to look at a whole, ' I have considered that, on the whole, this would be as ' profitable a pursuit as any, without the unspeakable ' annoyance of portrait painting, under which I am sure ' I should sink before long. Historical painting, merely, is ' too hazardous, for when a young man has made himself ' a bankrupt in strenuously aiming to produce something ' tolerable, to be at the mercy of such ignorant puppies as ' the .... (naming an EngUsh paper), &c, is not to ' be borne." 98 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. When Charles Eastlake spoke of being determined to lead the industrious Ufe of a mere painter, he, as usual with him, fuUy meant what he said. Accordingly he immediately formed and adhered to the plan of refusing all dinner en gagements, except on a Sunday, on which day he also re solved not to work. This order of things gave opportunity for more expression of his thoughts regarding Art, in which he indulged to Mr. Harman. " It is the fairest mode of criticism to enter into every man's particular feeling, and to give him credit for that — without condemning Poussin for want of colour, or Teniers for vulgar form. A character is always more respectable than a great deal of excellence without one ; if exceUence indeed be at aU attainable without it I have made up my mind that poetry more exclusively belongs to landscape than to figures, and I shaU always hope to make that principle, viz., a poetical feehng, the rule of composition, colouring, Ught and shade, and aU. I have followed the art long ¦enough to find out what my own feeling is, and it is only by following that that I can hope to make others feel." Again, as to the deeper things of a Painter's phUosophy, I venture to transcribe the following extract from a letter to Mr. Harman, August 6, 1821 : — " Every man, at some ' period of his Ufe, naturaUy asks himself whether the ' profession he is engaged in is worthy, or may be made ' worthy, of a gentleman and a Christian. The conviction ' that the one I have the happiness to foUow is worthy ' of both not a Uttle increases my love for it and desire ' to excel in it. Whether what Reynolds says be true, ' that 'what begins in Taste wUl conclude in Virtue,' I ' know not ; but I sometimes hope that at some distant ' time it may prove so in my case. This does not fail ' to attach me the more to what I have learnt to con- ' sider the possible means of attaining it. But such an ' arduous profession as Painting will not bear too close Ch. IV.] THOUGHTS ON PAINTERS. - 99 examination with reference to moral duties. Reynolds ventured to say, that he would never be a painter who looks forward to Sunday as an idle day. Opie went still further, and recommending industry with enthusiasm, says, a painter must give up body and soul to aiming at perfection in his art. In my own particular case I am sure I have done more since I have ceased to work on Sundays. But when I said that Painting will not wholly bear the test of reference to moral duties, I meant and mean that such an absorbing pursuit, even if it does not prevent the artist's fulfilling, in an imperfect way, his duties to God and himseU, yet interferes materiaUy with his attention to the rest of the world, his neighbour. Are Painters, then, unprofitable labourers ? or rather do they toU only for their own aggrandisement ? I answer this by supposing that the contemplation of works of art must produce in a proportionate degree in the beholder the same effect which the practice sometimes produces on the painter. Although it has been doubted whether Painting ever produces a moral effect, its abuse is very capable of an immoral one ; and the first step to make it of use should be to shun its abuse. The subject (of a painting) has also much to do with its possible good effect, and most of aU the exceUence of the work, so that the most moral pamter has the strongest motives to aim at perfection in the art itseU. While I think that a painter's only chance of success is to foUow his own bent, I sometimes regret that mine is decidedly a heathen taste, for I see more to allure me in the beauty and simpUcity of a classical dream than in the less plastic and less picturesque materials of my own faith — the very exceUence of which is that it does not appeal to the senses. I have thought, indeed, that the two might be united in sacred landscape, for the scenery of the East has always been fine, but I cannot help thinking, H 2 100 -MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. " with respect to History painting that all the machinery "of the art — the picturesque — has Uttle to do with " Christianity, the purity of which is better expressed by " the early Italian painters and present German painters, " than by Venice, France, or England. Painting and " Sculpture, which were always excluded bythe Jews, seem, "to be ill-adapted for a reUgion which was planted among " them, and which confirmed instead of changing their " laws. The reason why the arts were not sanctioned " among God's people is obvious, for the Greeks owe " their idolatry to their artists and their poets — till at last " every benign or sinister appearance in nature was looked " upon as a Deity. But what a beautiful system for a " painter even now ! What I have said has- nothing to " object against the arts now, for the world is changed " and enlightened, and a Christian may make an image " without adoring it." Mr. Eastlake was one of the few who ventured to remain in Rome during the heats of the summer — he did so in 1821 and 1822. At these periods of the year Rome was deserted, and he worked almost entirely without interruption. "I " find the summer is the time when I work hardest and " improve most, and I have enjoyed this last the more " from economising my time and strength in the Italian " way — viz., by sleeping during the hot hours (le ore calde), " from one to three. From three to dusk is then a fresh " day, and in the morning of course one is the stronger " for it, from not requiring so much sleep. But the prin- " cipal reason for my bearing up so well this year is my " plan of bathing in the river every evening at twUight. " I swim in consequence better than ever I did — though " that is not saying much — in short I swam across the " Tiber and back in a wide part without the waUs, and " the rapid current makes this a long operation. I shaU " not repeat this because it is sometimes dangerous." Ch. IV.] REPUTATION AS LANDSCAPE PAINTER. 101 These were his summer plans. In winter he was ac customed to rise at dawn, " meeting the sun upon the " upland lawn," and " seeing it gUd St. Peter's." Returning one morning he met Mr. Rogers, then going out, and who, priding himseU on his own early habits, asked bim if he Uved in the country. In the evening he regularly drew at the Academy — one raised by subscriptions among the EngUsh painters. No wonder he gained the reputation of being the most industrious artist in Rome. Hitherto his works in Italy, between the years 1816 and 1820-21, had been confined to numerous sketches from ItaUan nature, and in Greece and SicUy — and to a number of pictures of scenes in and about Rome and of the ruins ¦in Greece, further embodying the fruits of his studies there. His first reputation was thus acquired as a land scape painter — a character in which he is comparatively unknown in his own country. And there are those stiU living who bear witness, as I have hinted, that the poetic view he took of Italian landscape created such an im pression on all landscape painters — foreign and EngUsh — then at Rome, as considerably to raise the standard of that artr The development of his fine feeling for colour may be traced and was by himself attributed to the study of Italian landscape. " I am quite convinced that there are certain " principles in art which can only be acquired in Italy." On the other hand, the refinement of taste through which he viewed aU things and by which all he touched is most surely identified, may be claimed exclusively as his own. From 1821 to 1823 was the period when he was led to treat a number of Banditti subjects. These served as a further occasion for indulging his love of landscape, and at the same time gave a romance of a quasi-historical character to his scenes, which appealed to a larger pubUc. Several of these were exhibited at the British Institution in London in the spring of 1823, when the novelty of the 102 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. rich colouring, as weU as of the subjects, made a great impression. Their moderate size rendered them the more desirable, and in the words of the Secretary (Mr. Young) he had " continued offers for them at the Private View, at " almost any price, and could have sold them fifty times " over." These were, however, aU commissions received in Rome from EngUsh visitors. As to Sir Thomas Law rence, though proverbiaUy the politest of men, yet we need not donbt his sincerity in the generously kind letter he wrote on this occasion. " You prove that the air you have " chosen to breathe is at least not enervating to the genius, " but to that salutary, as it is delicious." At this time another and a severer loss befeU him. His beloved mother died in July, 1823. He remained in Rome, drawing nearer than ever in affectionate correspondence to his brother WUUam, but feeUng more and more that his sphere of happiness was restricted to his art. In this respect he had more ambitious hopes than any Banditti subjects could fulfil. The principles of Venetian colouring now began to occupy his mind. He remarks on the change that graduaUy takes place in a painter's eye who long resides in Italy. At first he had felt the cloudless sky an evU, as giving no opportunity for those accidents of hght and shade on which Enghsh art mainly and justly depends. "It is strange that I never dwelt on the system of the " Venetian school till I had myself discovered the way in " which Nature herseU atones, if I may so say, for this " want of light and shade in hot countries. In short the " character of Nature here, and in the works of Titian " and others, is to produce hght and dark by colour — the " noblest and most general system of imitation. In Greece, " the sea and sky are sometimes the darkest parts of the " general picture. The monotony of a sandy ground is " relieved on one side by the sparkle of marble, and on " the other by the depth of the cypress and evergreen Ch. IV.] THE VENETIAN SYSTEM. 103 " oak. So much for inanimate nature, but we find the " deep rich tones of men and animals, ahd even the dresses " of the first, all combine to make amends for the want " of that shadow which the northern chmates have without " colour. The Venetians, therefore, formed their style from " the study of ItaUan nature." Again, in a letter to Sir Thomas Lawrence ; * " In such a climate as this, where Nature is Constantly " seen by the general Ught ofthe sky, and nothing destroys " the integrity of colour, it is impossible not to feel the " truth and largeness of the Venetian system^ In the " general (and therefore beautiful) effects of Nature here, " the office of shade is only to display form. In a darker " ctimate, and in interior effects, it often conceals both form " and colour. Whenever these last-mentioned effects are " common, they wUl be considered beautiful, for our ideas " of external perfection can only depend on our experience " of nature. And it becomes a question whether this " general character of ItaUan colour can be reUshed, or " fairly judged, on the other side of the Alps — for such " effects, in England at least, are not common enough to be " recognised as true." Then later, he says (September 4, 1823), "In aU the " pictures I have now sent to England I have put in " practice the system I endeavoured to describe to you. " There is very Uttle Ught and shade (except in the land- " scape) and a great deal of deep colour. In a hand, for " instance, by the time the haU Ughts and shadows are " done (both differing from the colour of the light) the " mass of flesh colour is lost. In the Venetian pictures " and in nature looked at largely, the local colour ends " only with the outline ; and to give the utmost quantity " the Venetians make . the outline also warm. This, I * Extracted, by kind permission, from the correspondence of Sir Thomas Lawrence, in the possession of Mr. Keightley, Charter House. 104 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. " consider, forms a considerable part (appUed to every- " thing) ofthe breadth of colour so admired in Titian." Again, " The simple question, what is the general cha- " racter of the object to be represented, explains the style " of Titian, for he always penetrated it. Many appearances " in nature have more than one general characteristic by " which they are universally recognised. Thus, whUe " Titian aimed at the quaUty of depth in the sky, Claude " seems to have loved another of its attributes, and, re- " fleeting that the sky was the source of Ught, he seems " to have determined that brightness was its universal " character .... Titian again, Uke Homer, characterises " the sea by its colour; Claude loved to express its motion. " ' The deep blue sea,' and ' the moving waters,' would " both be considered characteristic epithets in Poetry, and " both would be universally recognised. Again, Claude " seems to have copied the forms of trees in a relative point " of view — their forms assist his composition, and their " tone gives brightness to his sky ; but Titian always ex- " pressed the universal character of a tree — viz., growth. " It is always bursting with the efforts of vegetation. The " forms are hence often pecuUar, and at first one would say " that Claude is more general in his choice of trees; but " what appears accident in Titian's case is reaUy the "character. Thomson applies the epithet 'irregular' to " trees, and it is more universal than any other that could " be quoted." With such feelings fresh upon him, Mr. Eastlake executed a picture with half figures, Ufe size, called " The Champion," representing a Norman- SicUian knight in armour, chaUenged by a Saracen, and preparing to foUow the herald, while he receives a scarf from a lady. This gave him the oppor tunity of painting armour, of which he always felt the picturesque capacities. The picture was exhibited in the British Institution, and brought a letter from Haydon, who, Ch. IV.] THOUGHTS UPON ART. 105 with the discrimination in art which never failed him when criticising the works of others, dwelt on its " Titianesque " simpUcity."It was after the completion of this picture- that his eyes again gave him trouble and anxiety. The EngUsh medical men in Rome knew Uttle of this particular complaint, and in March, 1824, he proceeded to Naples to consult an eminent ItaUan oculist. Dr. Quadri treated the suffering eyelids severely, and the inflammation that ensued was as serious as tedious. But his nature was one that rose to any trying occasion: he wrote subsequently, " The possibility of losing " my sight altogether at some future time, instead of " making me despond, has determined me to make the " most of it always and only for things that are worth " studying." After two months of almost sohtary confine ment, he hoped to have been able to snatch a few sketches of " this enchanting scenery. The mountains on the eastern side of the bay are precisely what I want for my Greek landscape (Byron's Dream), and the sea at their base is the same in aU respects as that which I remember in Greece. The colour of that sea, opposed to uninhabited land, gives a sohtary and desolate character to the Greek coast, but here the palaces along the shore, always bright from the purity of the air, produce a contrast to the eye of a gem-like character, and is such as I have nowhere else seen. The colour of Vesuvius is also very fine — it is a brownish purple even now when every thing is too green." But he adds what, to those who knew his pecuhar feeUng for glowing colour, has a mournful sound, " I dare not look at sunny objects yet." Eventually he left Naples without any addition to his stock of sketches. He devoted this time of soUtude and confinement to maturing those thoughts upon art which form the basis of some of his pubhshed essays, and which are also scattered through his correspondence. It was shortly after 106 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. this, as I have reason to beUeve, — namely, in the spring of 1825, — that he first feU in with Lessing's " Laocoon," which he ever regarded and cited as a canon of true reasoning. In this remarkable work he found the con firmation of that system of definition, as respects the principles of art, to which his own mind naturally tended, and from it again he struck out new and sound ideas pecu Uarly his own. No one ever conversed with him on the phUosophy of the Fine Arts without being impressed with the clearness and precision of thought and definition which he ever brought to bear on these subjects, so opposed to those vague generahties which generaUy embarrass them. At the same time he freely acknowledged the difficulty of accurate definitions in matters of taste ; and deduced, indeed, a certain advantage to the artist from that very fact. In a letter to Sir Thomas Lawrence, December, 1824, he thus touches on this subject. " The principles of " art are so difficult to arrest by words that the natural " differences of tastes and opinions are greatly augmented " by the ambiguity of terms. The consequence is a distaste " for all theoretical communications on a subject where " real excellence is only to be attained by unremitting " labour. And art perhaps rather gains than loses by " this inclination to repress truth itself for the sake of " avoiding disputes that would rather tend to make critics " than professors." It was also about this time that he made the acquaintance of a gentleman of great originahty and cultivation of mind, who has left a name stiU remembered and honoured among those who had opportunities of appreciating his merits. I aUude to the Rev. Hugh Rose of Horsham, known as a theological writer of abUity. He was in Rome in the winter of 1824-25. Mr. Eastlake writes, " I have made " one very agreeable acquaintance here this winter — Mr. " Rose, a clergyman — he is a man of the finest mind Ch. IV.]' DESCRIPTION OF PICTURE. 107 " and wholesomest judgment I have met with for long. " He is, I hear, considered one of the best Grecians in " England. He preaches at the EngUsh Church, in a way " I have seldom heard. He is here with his wife and " brother, and a young man to whom he is tutor. Of " all the men I have known in Rome, his ideas on the " phUosophy of the arts are nearest what I believe to be " right. I used to think a man of taste an easy thing to " meet with, but I have been now long convinced that " the principles of true taste are connected with much " higher elements than many are aware of; and there is " no other way of explaining the perfection to which the " ancients carried all the arts. I was in doubt whether my " dreams on the subject would be inteUigible to any one " else, but I find he understands and agrees with me " so readily that I may possibly pubhsh something some " time hence." * It was at the beginning of 1825 that Mr. Eastlake began a historical picture for the Duke of Devonshire. Return ing to his classical predUections, he chose the subject of Isadas the young Spartan, who was taken for a divinity in battle — from Plutarch's Life of AgesUaus. He thus de scribes it himself : — " The Thebans had crossed the " Eurotas and attacked Sparta, a city without waUs, and " undefended by nature, except in some elevated place " where the sacred buUdings stood. It was thus in immi- " nent danger of being taken, when Isadas, son of " Phoebidas, rushed naked from a bath into the battle, " armed only with a sword and spear. His youth and * It would be difficult, within the limits of this memoir, to name all those to whom Mr. Eastlake was indebted for kindness during his residence at Rome. Among those who came and went, Mr. Etty and Mr. Uwins, both subsequently members of the Royal Academy, may be gratefully recalled. Nor can I omit the name of Mr. Erskine, of Linlathen, still surviving, who exerted an influence over many admitted to his society, which,, happily for them, was of no evanescent kind. 108 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. " beauty, added to his being entirely without defensive " arms, inspired both assailants and defenders with the idea " that he was some guardian Deity — perhaps Castor. His " courage completed the Ulusion ; he struck down a man at " every blow, and, though everywhere engaged where the " danger was most pressing, he received not a single " wound." While convinced, in his own words, " that Painting is " greatest when it interests without the aid of words; and " whUe I have endeavoured, and always shall endeavour to " work on this principle, yet I, have added quite learning " enough to please the bookworms." He accordingly adds an explanation of the learning displayed in the picture, which, as it is probably not preserved else where, I venture to insert here : — " The Eurotas winds "in the distant landscape; the buUdings are remarkable " in the history of Sparta, particularly the Portico of " the Persians — a trophy of victor y over that people. " The buUding is mentioned by Vitruvius as weU as " Pausanias, and was the only one in Greece, besides that " supported by Caryatides annexed to the Erectheum at " Athens, where figures were used instead of columns. The " large Ionic temple in the distance may be that of Minerva " Chalcicecus (the house of bronze), though I have not " found it convenient to show any bronze, excepting the " bronze statue of Minerva (before the steps ofthe Temple) " round which the women are clinging. The drapery is " either real cloth, or bronze painted red — red being the " colour of the DU Maj ores when their statues were painted. " Her helmet is gold. . . . She holds two spears, as was " usual for an armed hero or goddess. She is chained to " the pedestal, by which precaution they hoped to secure " the presence and protection ofthe gods. When Alexander " took Tyre he found the statue of Hercules loaded with " chains, for the greater the danger the more they were Ch. IV.] DESCRIPTION OF PICTURE. 109 " fettered. The fillet round the pedestal consecrated a " statue during the performance of sacred rites. The " architecture, at least the Portico of the Persians, is par- " tially painted. The altar smoking in front of the great " Temple occupies the place where the sacred rites were " generally performed. The Spartans, being a hardy race, " are distinguished by iron helmets— ^the Thebans have " them of yeUow metal. The Thebans are also distinguished " by the well-known form of the Theban shield, with two " indentations on each edge ; painted shields were common. " The serpent on three of the shields aUudes to the Dragon " origin of the Thebans. " I need not teU you that a God-like figure to a Greek " meant a pre-eminently beautiful human being, and " although my figure is in rapid action, and looks fit to " destroy, yet his beauty of form is what is most dwelt on " as being that most likely to make him pass for a god. " The strongest of the enemy are immediately opposed to " his young and comparatively delicate form. One is " already struck, and falls headlong over the waU; another " is vanquished abeady by his fears; another adores; and a " fourth is in doubt whether to resist or fly." He thus vindicates this attention to the classic niceties of costume: — "The Enghsh colourists generaUy despise cos- " tume, or wiU not take the trouble to make the necessary " researches : but if it can be showed that costume can be " contrived to aid rather than counteract the harmonious " effect of a picture, it is surely worth attending to. I should " be the first to neglect it if I were not persuaded that it " may increase the materials of effect and colour." To one who remarked on his choice of a Pagan subject, he answers : — " Every work of art which exhibits beauty in " any form is at once heathen, whatever time or names it " may belong to. The general impression of nature in " which beauty resides (which is the soul of art) is the same 110 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. " thing as the reUgion of the ancients. The reason why " they attained such exceUence, and why the moderns can- " not hope to rival them, is that their devotion and their " taste were one and the same interpretation of nature. . . . " The power of genius has done less in modern times " than the docility and discretion with which the ancients " interpreted nature. The business of the artist is only to " define the intention and general principle of nature. This "is taste. He is next to define the appointed means of " attaining this end (representing this intention), and this " is style. . . . This is no fancy. I beUeve in the existence " of an innate and involuntary approbation of aU that is " consistent with the intention of nature; and we can define " beauty in no other way. The principles of natural " reUgion are by no means so certain as this, for it would " have been impossible for the human mind to have arrived " at a true system of morals without the aid of revelation. " But the Christian, whose first principle is the suppression " of human caprice as opposed to the Divine wUl, is less " teachable than the heathen in aU that relates to pride of " inteUect." " The simpticity and docility" (this letter was to Sir Thomas Lawrence) " with which the ancient artists inter- " preted nature are directly opposed to the modern omni- " potence of genius. Character, both in mind and matter, " was the direct object of their imitation, and the fame of " the great modern masters rests on the same basis. The " mind of the workman is thus supposed to be, in a great " measure, passive. He has only to define the nature of " things ; he must never create. The just imitation of " the general impressions of nature must please ; and " wherever a work of art, professedly conducted on such " principles, faUs to please, either the artist's definition " of what is truly nature, or his mode of expressing it, are " wrong." Ch. IV.] ISADAS. Ill Again, he says, — in words which may be quoted, although they partiy repeat what has gone before,— on giving advice regarding the education of his brother George's chUdren : — " As the intention of nature opposed to mere human caprice " is the great principle of taste, so the Divine WUl, as " opposed to that of man (naturaUy contrary to it), is the " great principle of morals. Docility of mind, and a sense " of our creaturely relation, are the great requisites, and it " is much more possible to put young minds in the right " track than to turn old ones from the wrong." This picture (Isadas) created an extraordinary sensation in Rome, and he for once adopted the Roman custom of throwing open his studio to the public, when above a thousand people flocked to see it. Rome was the place for its archaeology to be appreciated as well as its drawing and colour. Isadas pleased the artists of every school. Two Dutch gentlemen expressed the curiosity they had felt to see a work of art which aU factions and parties agreed in eulogising. M. Guerin, then the Director of the French Academy, said he had never seen a work " avec une physio- " nomie plus antique et classique." It is interesting to know whom the painter himself most desired to please : — " Sir Joshua recommends an artist to " work himself into a behef that his performance is to be " seen and criticised by the greatest in the style he aims at. " I laboured for Flaxman's approbation among artists, and " I need hardly tell you for yours (Mr. Harman's) among " connoisseurs. That great genius is no more ; but it would " be pleasing to me, could those who understood his tastes " think my work might have gratified him as an effort " towards his own world of beauty." The picture was exhibited in Somerset House in 1827. Sir Thomas Lawrence welcomed it with enthusiasm, and provided for the framing and varnishing stiU necessary,, as if it had been one of his own. Its merits, however novel in 112 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. the school of the day, were warmly acknowledged. It brought him a characteristic letter from his friend Mr. Etty, from which I give an extract : — i, Buckingham Steeet, Stband, Awg. 25, 1827. " Dear Eastlake, — I at last have taken up my pen to " let you know that I am stiU yet in existence, and yet think " of you ; — indeed how could I do otherwise when you have " sent such a splendid reminiscence as the one in the last " Exhibition? I write you this to congratulate you on it. " I write also to teU you that I have taken the Uberty of " putting down your name among those who are desirous of " becoming Associates of the Academy. If I have done "wrong, you must scold me. But, joking apart, I hope " they wUl elect you. It is with men, Uke you, of genius " and classic erudition, that its front ranks ought to be " filled. ... " I should be so glad of a sheet full of news from classic " ground, when you have nothing better to do. And say " does the sun shine, untired, as beautiful and golden as "ever. Of Venezia, cara Venezia ! I often think; her "Gondolas — her Palazzos — her Lagunas ; and last, not " least, her tones — her unrivaUed colour ! Have you drank " at her enchanted fountain ? ' Drink deep, or taste not ' — " as of the Castahan spring : that you have drank of; your " works avow it" ... . Etty's expectations were reahsed. Mr. Eastlake was elected an associate in the foUowing November ; the first man ever admitted to membership, whUe an absentee.* Sir Thomas Lawrence, ever kind to him, anticipated the Secretary's official announcement by a day, and as his letter reflects equal honour on the writer and the Academy as on him to whom it was addressed, I give it here : — * Mr. Gibson, the sculptor, was the second member so elected, and was also the last. Ch. IV.] ASSOCIATE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 113 " Russell Square, Nov. 6, 1827. " My dear Sir, — I have the sincerest pleasure in ac- " quainting you that you were last night elected an " Associate of the Royal Academy. Your fine picture for " the Duke of Devonshire presented so happy an example " of the union of Academical study with fine composition " and classical research, as very greatly added to the former " impression of your talents ; and fuUy confirmed the hope " (or rather confident expectation) which had been formed " on the obvious improvement in your recent labours. You " were elected by a very large majority, and I have never " witnessed in the Academy a more general satisfaction " than when the result of the BaUot was made known. " Your competitor was a gentleman of acknowledged talent, " and whose immediate connections have a just interest " from age and high respectability in the Academy. The " question of numbers (though I have aUuded to them) is " often matter of chance, and even in your case wUl not be " estimated (I am sure by you) as the true scale of com- " parative abUity. But I would not conceal the fact, " because it shows you the jealous attention paid by the " Royal Academy to the claims of genius and character, " however separated from them by absence, and unsup- " ported by those means of influence which the friendships " of the Candidate, when present, so naturaUy create." To his friend Mr. Harman he expressed his sense of the honour done him in characteristic words. " I am glad of " any inducement to labour more and to aim higher, and " I Uke the responsibility which accompanies any degree of " pubUc and unequivocal distinction." Another testimony to the attainments and character of Mr. Eastlake may be here mentioned which had reached him two years before, namely his election as one of the original seven hundred members of the Athenaeum Club. I have no intention to describe aU his pictures as they 114 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. follow in time — a complete chronological Ust of their subjects and dates is given at the end of this short memoir; but I may be aUowed to allude to the next picture he executed, as the one from which his peculiar and almost pathetic refine ment of expression may be said to date. Here we first trace that enchanting type of female heads, the pecuhar sweetness and purity of which, however helped by reference to models, was supplied from his own standard of feeling. The Duke of Bedford had expressed the desire to have a work by him " relating to the manners of the South." Mr. Eastlake proposed " PUgrims arriving insight of St. Peter's " at Rome." The Duke in answer remarked that he did not perceive it to be a subject of great interest, though leaving him entirely free ; fortunately the painter pursued his own idea. He writes of it to Mr. Harman : "I am ' considerably advanced with a smaU picture for the Duke ' of Bedford — subject, PUgrims arriving in sight of St. ' Peter's. It has cost me, as every picture does now, much ' trouble — more than the result would indicate — perhaps ' so better. I feel more than ever the importance of ' graceful arrangement, and never can come up to my ' wishes on this point. The imitation of nature, however ' refined, is tolerably safe and secure work in comparison ' with the arrangement of the masses and lines of a compo- ' sition. No part of the art, I am convinced, requires more ' taste than this : it is where a painter can be helped least, ' and where he must draw most on his own powers. It is, ' in short, the most creative part of the art, more so than ' even the expression of the passions ; because for these we ' have a native and common feehng to guide us, and nature [in ' detaU to look at. But the elements of Beauty, apphed to ' the conduct of a picture so as to produce that effect which ' attracts and enchants the spectator at the first glance, ' require more of the artist than any other branch of the art. " Flaxman, who now only lives in his works, was great Ch. IV] HAIDEE. 115 " in composition, and seems to have been thoroughly " imbued with the spirit of the Greeks. That spirit is, I " have no doubt, applicable to every part of the art. It is " more easUy attainable where the practice of nature is to " be interpreted — but where her principles (the causes of " beauty) are the sole ground, the difficulty of arriving at a " satisfactory result is far greater. Yet the Greeks consulted " the principles of Nature only in aU those parts of art which " are not strictly imitative — such as architecture, furniture, " vases, ornamental fohage, &c. It is precisely because they " never faUed altogether, but are nearly equal in aU their " arts, that they must have had some clear principle." WhUe this picture was in hand, and indeed for long before, the beautiful landscape known as " Byron's Dream " had been gradually maturing under his hands. This was for his friend Lord Leven and Melville. These two important works saw their termination about the same period — the end of 1827. At the same time he transmitted the head of a Greek girl, called Haidee, which he requested Mr. Harman to accept. He writes, " It may be called Haidee — ' Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, Which sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair. In her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land ; Her eyes were black, her cheeks' pure dye Like twilight glowiiig still with the set sun.' " Instead of glowing the word is rosy in the poem : I " venture to alter it for the picture. I would rather have " found a quotation from a more respectable poem than " ' Don Juan,' but it suits the picture so perfectly that it " would be impossible to come nearer to its impression. " I wUl beg the favour of your exhibiting this head, in the " British GaUery this winter. She would not do in " Somerset House, among ' the pale unripened beauties of " ' the North ' — who, by-the-bye, are much paler and whiter i 2 116 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. IV. ' in EngUsh pictures than in nature.* This was not the ' taste of Reynolds. Some French author says, ' La chaleur ' ' est le cachet du coloriste ' — it is at least one of the essen- ' 'tials." Later he says to Mr. Harman, "From aU I can ' hear, I am considered quite distinct from the estabhshed ' mode of Painting in England, although they do me quite ' as much justice as I can desire. I think it would be easier ' for me to abandon the art than to be a white painter." * Haidee was eventually exhibited in the Royal Academy in 1831. The Duke of Wellington, after having looked round the rooms, was heard to say, pointing to Haidee, "There, that's the best picture in the Exhibition." Ch. V.] VISIT TO ENGLAND. 117 CHAPTER V. Visit to England. — Reception at Royal Academy. — Bruges. — Antwerp and Rubens. — The Hague and Rembrandt. — Cologne and Meister Stephan. — Reflections from Ehrenbreitstein. — Frankfort.— Leipsic— Berlin. — German Society. — Dr. Waagen. — Dresden and Correggio. — Munich and Cornelius. — Verona, Mantua and Giulio Romano. — Venice. — Venetian Art and Architecture. — Florence and Fra Angelico. — Rome. — Turner. — Rev. Hugh Rose. — Election as R.A. — Leaves Rome. — Copies pictures at Venice. — The Country of Giorgione, Bassano, and. Titian. — Settles in London. It was in March, 1828, that Mr. Eastlake left Rome for a visit to England, taking Lausanne and Berne on his way. He was enchanted with the Swiss scenery. Thence by Neuf- chatel, Pontarher, and Besancon to Paris, where the modern Exhibition was stUl open — " a great treat. I saw the old GaUery too by special permission." Arriving in London, he was welcomed by his exceUent friend, Mr. Harman, who, after so long a separation, did not recognize him. He now entered upon the privUeges of his new membership, and was officiaUy received by the President and CouncU with a most complimentary address from Sir Thomas. He attended at the varnishing days and saw his picture of the PUgrims exceUently hung. A visit to his brothers at Plymouth, and to his aunt Pierce, still Uving, engrossed most of the time. Returning to London only for a week he breakfasted with Mr. Rogers — was introduced at HoUand House, and found many Anglo-Roman friends solicitous for his society. But his heart was set upon visiting the chief gaUeries of HoUand and Germany and he quitted London and its many attractions towards, the 118 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. close of June. His route was determined by Sir Joshua's tour through Flanders and HoUand, and he made it a point to foUow in his steps and verify as far as possible his descriptions. At Bruges he began that careful examination of pictures, accompanied with copious notes, and copies of monograms and ciphers, which not only greatly enlarged his connoisseurship but laid the foundation of his especial study of the materials for a History of OU Painting. With all his peculiar refinement of taste he was too large and sound in his feeling for art to exclude or undervalue any form of exceUence. And we must remember that this true catholicity was a thing unheard of then, when- the world stiU partook of the ignorant exclusiveness which had prompted the weU-known saying of Louis the Fourteenth. From this onesidedness even Sir Joshua had not been free. Charles Eastlake in this respect was greatly before his time, and some of the ensuing remarks by him, though now no longer novel, are added to show how far he outstripped the then prevalent tone of criticism. The Van Eycks and MemUngs at Bruges immediately enlisted his most just enthusiasm. " These pictures at " Bruges, by the early Flemish Masters were the first " of the kind I had seen. Their richness and depth " astonished me ; hard and minute as they are in many " respects, these masters have the last richness and power " of oil or varnish." The Van Eyck, too, stiU remain ing at St. Bavon — ' The Adoration of the Lamb '¦ — was perused with a kind of astonishment. " It is a marveUous " work, hke the labour of a Ufe ; such a style must have " made painting appear more of a wonder than it is now." Antwerp, Brussels, and MechUn gave him aU the glories of Rubens and Vandyck ; and Rubens especiaUy — always an object of his deepest homage — was carefully analysed and described. At Antwerp the great master's chair stood at the end of the Museum under a glass case, as it does Ch. V.] REMBRANDT. 119 stUl. It had then a garland upon it, a remnant of a fete shortly before given to Rubens' memory. " There could " have been small matter for merriment. The spirit of " the glorious painter has entirely left those who pretend " to honour him." These words are happily not so un reservedly appropriate now as they were forty years ago. From Antwerp he passed by steamer to Rotterdam, where he could not hear of a single coUection. Thence by Delft to the Hague. Here he luxuriated in the Museum and in several private collections, and Teniers, Jan Steen, Jor daens, Hobbema, Ruysdael, with aU the smaller celebrities of Dutch Nature and Art unadorned/*received each their due and discriminate tribute. At Amsterdam the greatest of Dutch painters, of whom he was one of the most ardent worshippers, engrossed his attention. " Sir Joshua seems " to think Ughtly of the great picture by Rembrandt, with " portraits of the Arquebusiers (' The Night Watch '). I " confess I prefer it to aU the Van der Heists, fine as they " are. Nothing can be more sunny than this picture. The " portraits of five citizens of Amsterdam are more praised by " Sir Joshua ; both pictures are in his roughest, most fear- " less manner, yet highly and truly finished in their effect. " The shadows are not transparent, or rather not left, for he " seems to have made a clear ground and used it when he " wanted one. The shadows of middle darkness are, how- " ever, often heavy — when Ughter again, as in the girl's " head carrying the fowl, they are beautiful — gemmy and " transparent. This head, with the hair, is of the softest " and richest (sfumato) kind, and impasted fearlessly and " diversely, as if he had not succeeded at first." Of " The School of Anatomy," then belonging to M. Roos, and about to be sold, he says : " It has been cleaned " too much ; the glazing is gone from some of the heads, " and from the dead body. The Ughts on it are cool. " Nothing, as Sir Joshua says, can be finer and truer than 120 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " its colour. It is a much smoother and more finished " picture than those now hi the Museum." . . . . " AU " the exceUencies of Painting — the specific style of Painting " — are to be found in these schools. What cause can be " assigned for the superior genius of these nations ? They " are now sunk ; but we have never risen so high ; for " Reynolds, Gainsborough, WUson, Hogarth, and a few " more, cannot match the hosts of Flanders and HoUand." Later he says, " I began by seeing Flanders and HoUand " from Brussels to Amsterdam, and I cannot now admit " that Rubens and Rembrandt are inferior to any " painters." * Nor was it only the picture gaUeries which attracted him. The bookseUers' shops divided his affections, in some mea sure, with the pictures. HoUand is rich in old art- Uterature, and various additions to his valuable art Ubrary were made which found their way to Rome. From Amsterdam he proceeded by Arnheim and Nime- guen to Cologne, where, hke Albert Durer, three centuries before him, he procured the opening of the altar picture by Stephen of Cologne in the Cathedral. " The colour of these " pictures is not good, nor are the characters so fuU of " nature as those of Van Eyck and Memling. They are " most interesting for the costume ; there are specimens of " armour (more plate than chain), arms, head-dresses, &c. " One of the Three Kings kneeUng and praying is fine and " earnest in expression." In the old Museum at Cologne, he was struck with the figure of the Angel, in an early picture of the Agony in the Garden. " The angel, who appears in the air, is counting " three with his fingers (a beautiful outUne in the Journal " accompanies this), and this explains the action of Michael " Angelo's Jonas. The angel reminds Christ of his certain " resurrection in three days, and ' the sign of the Prophet " Jonas' has its meaning in the same number." Ch. V.] IMPRESSIONS OF NATURE. 121 Arriving at Coblentz in the evening, he went up Ehren- breitstein : the view thence overlooked suggested some re flections on the treatment of landscape which are worthy of careful consideration in our own day. Admiring the scene of river, bridges, and town, stretched out before bim, he writes : " And yet a vulgar or unskUful artist might " faU altogether in meeting the impression made upon the " mind. A Uteral imitation of many things which were " visible, and even somewhat prominent, would have de- " stroyed the charm of the scene. This truth, common as " it is, is connected with some very important principles of " art which are not so generaUy recognised. In represen- " tations which depart altogether from Nature, and belong " to the regions of Poetry, those detaUs are suppressed " which would betray the convention of the idea. In very " abstract representations of Nature, also, all circumstances " which would diminish the grandeur of the impression " are omitted. There is evidently, then, a necessity for " generalising in every branch of art; — there is always much "to be omitted, and the omission of useless or pernicious " detaU only makes the whole — the ruling idea — more " impressive and distinct. In the imitation, therefore, of " Nature, the great question is — what is the general cha- " racter of the impression received ? and next, what are its " chief causes ? If these are duly ascertained, the opposite " circumstances which counteract the impression are easUy " detected and suppressed, or only hinted at. It is not " uncommon to find persons who have the truest feeling " for the poetry of a scene (and even artists are among " them), who in imitating the same scene on paper or " canvas, make such things prominent as destroy the very " feeling they experienced. The translation of a feehng " into picturesque analogous representation is thus an art " of itsetf." . . . . " There can be no doubt that our " memory of nature is composed entirely of general ideas, 122 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " and art must be generahsed to meet this idea of beauty. " The mere copying of Nature in detail is not only objec- " tionable because it does not correspond with our im- " pression of her, but it immediately suggests the feehng " of its inferiority to Nature, and the more so the closer " it is. Thus an imitation so close as to produce tilu- " sion to the eye, would be precisely that which would be " considered defective, because whatever remains unac- " complished, — sound, motion, &c, — would be- felt to be " wanting." I may here mention his favourite aphorism : " The de- " finition of a pure style is that it should suggest no want." From Coblentz to Mayence, and thence, by hiring a cabriolet, to Frankfort, where Dannecker's Ariadne was seen and criticised. " Not weU composed or extraordinary " hi any way." Then to the Museum, where he notes some fine Ruysdaels, and some remarkable early German pictures, but without names. " I remarked that they uniformly give " black its abstract force, with Uttle or no Ught. The " attention to the character of the colours is often their " only exceUence." After Frankfort, by Gelnhausen and Hanau to Gotha and Weimar, which were quickly seen. Schiller was recently • dead, Gothe absent ; the last romantic whim of the Grand Duke, to be buried between them, was then the small town talk. Thence to Liitzen, and so to Leipzic, where the battle was still the topic, and where he found the Elster " not so broad as the Plym." Here Baron Speck's fine coUection of pictures, which he revisited thirty-five years after, was inspected. He now approached Berhn, and traveUed with a man "who was an author and " Doctor of Theology, although he smoked, talked nonsense, " and worse, and was very hard upon an old Jew with " whom he occasionally spoke in Hebrew. The Germans, at least many of them, acquire their immense knowledge Ch. V.] THEORIES ON THE LAOCOON. 123 " as some men in England acquire money — it is merely for " itself, and does not make them better or happier." At Berhn he feU into society which gave him characteristic impressions of the phUosophy and infidelity of this " over- " thinking people, who make the perception of beauty an " innate faculty, but, by a singular contradiction, consider " notions of virtue, and even of the being of a God, the effect " of prejudice not admitting of proof." Among these ac quaintances, was Schopenhauer, the so-caUed phUosopher, the son of Joanna Schopenhauer. With this German he held discussions upon his favourite theme of the Laocoon. " Among the many opinions on the expression of the Lao- " coon, and the reasons why he was not represented crying " out, was one lately noticed in a periodical as the worst, if ' ' the most original ; namely, that with the action of the " arms the figure would appear to yawn. Schopenhauer " told me that Hirt (a writer on art) and Gothe in different " ways maintained that when the stomach is' so drawn in as " that of Laocoon is, from the bite of the serpent in his " side, it is impossible to cry out. Winckelmann, on the " other hand, we know, says that the mind of Laocoon was " too great to give way to physical suffering. Lessing " himself urges that the sacrifice of the Uteral truth was " made for the sake of beauty. (This is his judicious " and careful mode of applying his theory : the difference " between sculpture and poetry was what was uppermost " in his mind.) Before Schopenhauer gave me his own " opinion, I thought I would try the application of my " theory, viz., that it was a sufficient objection that the " sight of an open mouth in marble would make one feel " that sound was wanting. He stared at me, and said " it was his very idea — that he objected to the open mouth " because it would exhibit the means of doing what was "not done (namely, the uttering sound). In my own " humble opinion, the revealing a want is the great objec- 124 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " tion, and it is the consistency of imitation which makes " the Greeks so perfect." At that time the Giustiniani GaUery had been acquired in Berlin. It contained Uttle that our traveller considered genuine. " But the picture of pictures, one which has been " added to the original Giustiniani collection, is a smaU " scene in a courtyard by De Hooghe. A man in a black " short coat and hat, with some red about his legs, sitting " at a table in the open air with another man; a woman " standing, and a chUd seated at the passage door through " which you look into the street. The Ught is so general " thatthe shades are almost imperceptible, and the colours, " particularly the black, red, and white, teU finely. The " shadows are everywhere transparent, and the hght sUvery " and magical. It is not a highly finished picture, but its " truth is perfectly astonishing, and no stronger proof can " be produced of the superior effect of powerful local colour " and imperceptible Ught and shade. I would take this " picture before any other in the gallery. ... In the " old palace there is an immense collection of pictures ; a " thousand that cannot be hung, and perhaps as many that " might be unhung." The taste of the King was exem plified in his treatment of two EngUsh portraits, one of the Emperor Alexander, by Dawe, a most wretched per formance, which was hung in a place of honour ; and the other a fine portrait of the King, by Lawrence, which was put out of the way : and that not from any modesty, (for plenty of his portraits by very indifferent German per formers hung about,) but because his Prussian Majesty did not understand how a king should have any shadow under his nose. Mr. Eastlake, however, succeeded in seeing the SoUy coUection, which forms the staple of the present fine Berlin Gallery, of which he gives fuU notes. The remaining com partments of the famous Van Eyck, of which he had seen Ch. V.] DRESDEN -CORREGGIO. 125 the centre at Ghent, were also seen and admired. The late Dr. Waagen, subsequently one of our most esteemed and attached friends, showed him this coUection by favour, for it was then only preparing for the gaUery, and the gaUery for it; Dr. Waagen being occupied in compiUng his admirable catalogue. The next gaUery was Dresden, where he chiefly de voted himself to the analysis of Correggio's quahties. I again transcribe some of his notes. After remarks of a technical kind, interesting only to painters, on the pecu- Uarities and perfections of the great master's execution, he says : " But some of the expressions are not wonderful : the " Madonna is Uke a hundred others, and the bystanders " have nothing remarkable. It is in the angels where " Correggio's genius appears ; one or two of the heads and " actions are exquisite. In composition this pamter is not " so pure as Raphael ; his expression, too, does not (so " much) grow out of his subject. It is always the same " — -arch, smiling, gay, — but the contrast of this and his " fantastic, graceful actions, with solemn, slumbrous, " mysterious chiaroscuro, concur to make up an impression " ofthe voluptuous. In sacred subjects, again, where such " a feeling is counteracted and balanced, the pleasing vague " impression experienced is very pecuhar, and belongs to " this painter alone. The action of the heads in some " of the lower figures is quite hke him, but affected and " unmeaning. " There is one great difference between the softness of " Correggio and that of Murillo, Rembrandt, Reynolds, and " others. Correggio carried the softness of gradation to " the utmost extreme in his flesh, and in any one thing " compared with itself; but the figures often detach with the " most iron hardness from what is different from them. In " the St. George, and in the St. Sebastian, the Madonna is " reheved, almost to inlaying, on a Ught sky, and the out- 126 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " lines of limbs in other figures, coming on objects totally " different from them, are very defined. The degree of " relief seems proportioned either to the real difference of " things, or to their importance in the picture. It happens " that the Madonna hi both these pictures is the principal " figure, and the abrupt effect of her hard, dark outhne on " the hght sky is useful in attracting the attention first. " The contrast, again, of this extreme hardness with the " imperceptible blendings of the hght and shade on aU the " flesh, has the happiest effect. The separation of things " reaUy different in their nature, and the increased union of " that which is reaUy one, is always agreeable, because " characteristic ; but the degree of hardness — the quantity " of cutting outline — is the point where schools differ." From Dresden he visited Nuremberg and Augsburg. At this latter place he began to see the Swiss and Tyrolese mountains, and felt " inexpressible dehght at being so near " Italy." Then on to Munich, where he made acquaintance with Cornehus, and passed a pecuUarly fair judgment on that so-caUed " German Michael Angelo." " Cornehus' " works have a grand conception and a sort of con- " densation of the spirit of his subject, but still, some- " thing which tells better in words than in painting. I " have observed that Germans and Italians are always " glad to harangue and describe their pictures, and their " works naturaUy look better and more interesting while " this commentary is going on. It would be wiser if they " calculated what effect these pictures would have when " they are left to teU their own story, which they must do " sooner or later. This is an important consideration for " an artist. The colour in these frescoes is absolutely " below criticism, the expressions vulgar and exaggerated, " and the forms by no means pure. A grand com- " position and grand general conception are the chief " merits — the only merits. The fallen state of criticism Ch. V.] MUNICH -CORNELIUS. 127 " and knowledge of art here is very perceptible. The " painter is lauded by his brother artists (with some few " exceptions), and, of course, the connoisseurs and the " pubhc follow. The truth wUl only be known fifty years " hence. Amidst such a world of error in aU these modern " schools it is absolutely necessary to define the end and " means of art, and to follow them conscientiously, fear- " lessly. . . . Cornehus has departed from nature "without rising to a general idea: manner, caprice, vul- " garity, and ugliness are often the consequence. His " designs for the Loggie of the Pinacoteca are very profound " and fuU of meaning, even to the smaUest ornaments ; but " who wiU ever see this ? SmaU paintings, overhead, in an " open passage — surely a waste of thought ! The agreeable " impression on the eye should be the main thing. Mean- " whUe this depth of thought excites admiration among " those who judge of paintings by their descriptions." I wiU not dweU on his notes on the contents of the Gallery of the then Schleissheim coUection, and on that of the Duke de Leuchtenberg. The large and important Memhngs, then at Schleissheim, made a deep impression on him. " In the famous picture, called the Seven Joys of " the Virgin, the whole history of the travels of the Wise " Men from the East are given. On the left, where the " Nativity is represented, the two figures kneeling and " praying outside — one in black, the other, younger, in " green — are among the most beautiful things in painting." From Munich he passed on by the beautiful WeUer See, and so by Botzen, and descended into his beloved Italy on the 21st of August ; though immediately paying the penalty of the mal-government then aU over that " rich and royal" land, for he had to hurry to reach Verona before sunset, on account of the dangerous state of the neighbourhood. Here the grand amphitheatre and the glorious works by Paul Veronese divided his attention. " The amphitheatre 128 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " is very grand ; the immense unbroken circle of steps and " some figures (which I happened to see) at top, breaking " this beautiful Une, had a most striking effect, such as one " cannot see in the Cohseum which is ruined." At Mantua he is very outspoken about Giulio Romano. " Most of GiuUo Romano here is decidedly bad, particularly " the room of the Giants, which are Ul- drawn monsters. " Even the rocks are unnatural. The . side opposite the " windows is the best, the figures are more distinct. But " the room before this, where the great Polyphemus is " (a noble figure), is fuU of fine things. But I could not " help regretting here that ceiting painting should have " been so misunderstood as to attempt deception by fore- " shortening. If reaUy well done such figures can never " look like human beings, whom we never see in such " attitudes. And if we imagine a God we never see him " foreshprtened, but exhibiting the best of nature. The " ApoUo in the smaU room, showing the sun rising and the " moon setting, is disagreeable, and uselessly indecorous. " AU that should be concealed is displayed, ' et preterea " ' nihil.' " Diana is draped, but it is a shapeless mass, and " you have the pleasure of looking under horses' bellies to " have poetical visions awakened. Nor is the colour of a " nature to do away with other objections, and in the room " of Polyphemus, however poetical the subject overhead, the " colour is black and most unpleasant, and the foreshorten- " ings so violent that the only feehng excited is that of " wonder at the skiU of the artist in this poor and object- " less particular." Passing through Vicenza and Padua, seeing and noting aU, he at length reached that spot on earth, which, next to Rome, interested him most. He was now in Venice. " It " surpassed aU my expectations. But for the people and " the absence of aU gaiety, riches, and activity, the place " itseU is exactly what it might have been four centuries Ch. V.] VENICE, AND VENETIAN PAINTERS. 129 " ago. St. Mark's looks older than aU history, and has an " uncouth mixture of Gothic, Roman, and Arabian taste — " ugly, chivalrous, and mysterious. The impression made " on the mind by St. Mark's, the Ducal Palace, the tower, " the square, and all the weU-known buUdings, is most " pecuhar, and not to be experienced elsewhere in Europe, " The half barbarous splendour and solemn remote " character of the two first must be seen to be felt. But " the principal canal, with its palaces, and with its varieties " of buUdings, from the earhest Gothic to the Palladian, " is Uke enchantment. Every evenmg I went the whole " length of this canal in a gondola, and never shaU I forget " the effect of those exquisitely coloured buUdings under " the last soft light ofthe Alpine sunset." Venice and Venetian painters were too intimately con nected in his mind and eye for him not to perceive how each told the other's tale. He saw Titian and Giorgione in Venice, and Venice in them, in a manner pecuhar to himself, and formed a theory upon the more hidden springs of Venetian art, which he often aUuded to in our frequent visits to the City of Waters. He first remarked that the daUy spectacle of the summer sun, setting behind the FriuU mountains, accounted "for the golden and mel- " low horizons behind blue mountains, which are so eom- " mon a feature in the distances of Venetian pictures. This " is first seen in the very early painters, and is also a proof " of their looking at nature, as fit for imitation, most in " the evening; when shadows are soft, when local colours; " are hence not destroyed by violent opposition of Ught " and shade (which may make two distinct dolours, of an " object that is really one), when aU is warmed by the glow " of the sky and atmosphere., and when, which is also an " important consideration, the observer of nature is most " likely to be at liberty, after the labour of the day, to lqoli " at her appearances." 130 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. Further, watching the effects around him with his ever- reasoning eyes, he felt that there was something too in the very mode of locomotion, which was in itself an advantage, and pecuhar to Venice ; — namely, that an individual borne along on a smooth surface of stiU waters in the tranquUUty and isolation of a gondola, was more able and disposed to observe the advancing and receding effects of objects around, than if engaged in the more usual acts of walking, driving, or riding; — that the figures passing before him, instead of increasing the bustle of ordinary move ment, were seen under the same placid conditions (or, if rowing, in a uniform motion) which also gave opportunity of watching the same figure at different distances. " I am quite convinced that one main cause of the excellence of the Venetians, in a large imitation of nature, was the simple circumstance of their being able to make use of their eyes without even the trouble of walking about. This advantage is very great, and to be met with nowhere else. Added to which, the backgrounds and accompaniments to figures thus observed are of a nature to exhibit their characteristic colour in the most forcible manner. In the great canal a glowing gondoUer is seen in his white shirt-sleeves against cool, neutral architec ture, and with the greenish water around bim — contrasts, aU tending to light up his sunburnt limbs and face to a fiery depth ; — but this mtense glow is not seen in its largest and truest appearance tUl the figure is at a considerable distance. This effect is undoubtedly the truest idea of a colour, whatever the colour may be, because it is that which the memory most retains. Titian and Giorgione went aU lengths in imitating this general effect, not only in sunburnt figures, but in fairer ones. The ruins of the frescoes on the Fondaco de' Tedeschi, — although perhaps even the ruins are vestiges of retouched figures — deep and flaming as they are, are not more so Ch. V.] ARCHITECTURE OF VENICE. 131 " than figures sometimes appear with- due contrasts as " described above. . . . Titian used the same exaggerated " scale in large altar pieces, which were to be seen at good " distances. The Assumption, Peter Martyr, and the " Frari picture, are aU of this class ; and the St. Sebastian " at Rome; but Giorgione was the great inventor of this " noble violence, or rather first carried it to perfection." Also, as regards the architecture of Venice, he remarks that it is not its ancient and very extraordinary character which is perpetuated in Venetian pictures, but rather that of the later PaUadian taste. "Paul Veronese saw the " motives of his architectural backgrounds in Venice, but " it was precisely in his time that some of the more " modern, more ItaUan, and less Gothic of these buUdings " were designed. His own pictures are indeed enough to " show what was the taste of the Sansovinos of the day, " and doubtless many of their designs were executed only " in the magnificent backgrounds of this pamter. . . . " It must be confessed a more elegant style of architecture , " could not be selected than these PaUadian porticoes, most " fit for ItaUan, and exactly expressive of a modernized Roman " feeling ; Uke the spirit of antiquity waking after its subjec- " tion and suppression, and throwing off Gothic influence in " taste — some would say unfortunately — and regaining its " own, just as much as the nation regained itseU; that is, " very imperfectly ; but yet so modified and adapted to its " new self, as to have a decided character. The Painters " of the highest era of art in Venice are strictly ItaUan; " The Germans had a marked influence on the sculpture " and architecture of Italy, at Pisa, Assisi, amd elsewhere ; " but here, where the neighbourhood of Germany would " seem to involve dependence on its taste, the Venetians ".seem never to have been much influenced. The East " is visible in St. Mark's, in the grand and flowing ,r robes. of the old Venetian nobUity, and in the gorgeous k 2 132 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. " attire of their women. The first Venetian painters, the " Vivarini, Carpaccio, Cima da Coneghano, &c, are Uke " their ItaUan cotemporaries ; and Giovanni BeUini is so " great in his finest works as to bear a comparison with " any of the precursors of the Augustan age of painting in " Rome or Florence." " The costume of the women in Venice is the same as " far as regards the white mantle for the head as it was " centuries ago. Their faces have depth, richness and soft " shade from it. Many of the veUed heads of the Madonna " in Venetian pictures have precisely the shade, the colour, " and the distant breadth of these heads as one remarks " them when details are no longer perceptible. One con- " sequence of looking at tins distant, largest effect of " nature is that expression is lost by it, although the " general air of beauty is improved; and as expression and " nicety of form are qualities only to be appreciated near, " so they have less to do with the essentials of beauty, " which reside in general proportion and general colour. " Correggio and Raphael are perhaps the painters who best " succeeded in uniting what can only be seen near with " what can only be seen at a distance." While making these general observations Charles East- lake threaded his way about Venice, by water and land, in a way few have done. With Zanetti in hand here, as with Sir Joshua in the Low Countries, he did not overlook a palace or a church among the legion of both in Venice, and every picture they contained was carefully noted. It was here his eyes were first opened to the charms of Gio. Bellini. He writes to Mr. Harman, " Sir Joshua speaks " of him, as compared with Titian, with too much con- " tempt, because he was a high finisher. But Gio. BeUini " was a great painter ; with beauty, expression, often fine " arrangement, and a glowing colour, which, it is said, he *' latterly increased from seeing what his scholars dared. Ch. V.] CATHOLICITY OF TASTE. 133 " • ¦ • . Perhaps the imperfection of immaturity is " always more pleasing than the imperfection of decline." After Venice — his notes on which would alone form a volume — he moved on to Ferrara, and so by Bologna to Florence. I must not detain him here, except to observe that, as in Flanders, his largeness of feehng, and devout, unprejudiced purity of taste enabled him to do-justice to masters on whom few then bestowed a glance, or remark. He had found out the fine action and expression of some of the Giottos at the Arena Chapel at Padua, and here he fastened on a painter previously so Uttle cared for, that the fine specimens of him levied (and it is difficult to see why) by Napoleon's agents from Florence, had neither been deemed worthy to be exhibited in the Louvre,, nor to be reclaimed by the Italians. This despised painter was Fra AngeUco, " the most interesting to me of the " early painters, and whom I would place above Giotto. "In a series of subjects from the New Testament, and, " above aU, in the Last Judgment, there are beauties not to " be found elsewhere, and equal to the purest feehng ofthe " Van Eycks and Memlings." He writes later from Venice (1830) with significant foresight, "I am afraid there is too " httle interest in England for early pictures which throw " often so much Ught on the leading characteristics of " schools of art. A most valuable coUection was formed " by an Englishman some years since in Italy (the Solly " Collection), and since sold to the King of Prussia. I saw " the pictures at Berhn, and very curious and interesting " they are. I hope the historical view of art wUl not be " ultimately overlooked in our National Gallery. I think " much of the essence of Venetian art is to be understood " by tracing it from the beginning." He reached Rome in the middle of September, and was shortly after joined by Mr. Turner the landscape painter, who resided with him for several weeks, working in the same 134 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. studio. Mr. Eastlake was soon engaged on several pictures — one of them, which is engraved and has become a popular composition, he thus describes and comments on. "It is " a Banditti subject, with larger figures than I have yet "used for such subjects. A Contadina family, prisoners " with Banditti ; reUef coming, unseen by the party, in the " distance. I mention this picture to you (Mr. Harman) " because I have painted the landscape after my own feeling, " however Uttle up to it. I wish you to see if you Uke the " style, for it is what I consider, with deference, the sort of " landscape that accords with elevated subjects. It is here " merely an accessory, and simple in composition, but it " may serve as a specimen." Those who know the picture, or even the engraving, wUl remember how fine the landscape in this instance is. " Mr. Turner used to laugh at me for " my fastidiousness (he began several pictures and finished " three, long before I had done one), but hi these things " men are differently made. I have by this time found out " what my taste in art is, and the degree of finish and other " quahties which, to my feeUngs are indispensable. . . . " I distinguish, to my own-conscience, between a sincere pur- " suit of truth, and the attacking the opinions and feeUngs of " others, as Haydon did. By degrees I am arriving at my own " convictions on the style of art I profess, and I shaU not " be satisfied tUl I feel that I am free from the influence of " the age and its taste. I do not condemn them, but I have " a longing desire to be free from prejudice ; and I feel a " sincere aiming at truth to be so pleasing in itself that " even success (although most likely to follow from it) is a " secondary consideration It is thus a real " pleasure to me to arrive in my own way at the conclusion " that the EngUsh school of painting is the most rational " now going; and however the EngUsh artists at home may " differ from each other in their style, yet, as they aU come "under a general character, I am not afraid of being too Ch. V] REV. HUGH ROSE. 135 " unlike what is in fashion." This opinion had been formed by his recent visit to England. He adds in another letter : "lam disposed now to think that the excellences which " belong to and characterize Painting are more understood " in England by a few men than anywhere else. Of these " it is my opinion that Turner is the first — without going " the length of admiring aU his extravagancies^though his " very exaggerations have opened my eyes to his real merits." At this time he kept up a correspondence with his friend Mr. Rose, who in the interim had become a fellow of Trinity CoUege, Cambridge. By his encouragement Mr. Eastlake had embodied his ideas on the philosophy of the Arts in a paper destined for the " Quarterly Review," which Mr. Rose undertook to correct for the press. Mr. Lockhart, then the editor — than whom a more enhghtened critic on art did not exist — cordially approved of it, and expressed his desire to receive further contributions of the kind. Mr. Rose writes from Cambridge, May 23, 1829 : — " It is a most " adnhrable paper. I have aUowed one of our first people " (Professor WheweU) here to read it, and he quite agrees " with me." It was aUeady in type, when the fastidious writer forbade its pubUcation. He embodied parts of it in his various Reports of the Fine Arts Commission, which, in their turn, were also partiaUy embodied in the volume of Essays edited by Mr. BeUenden Ker.* To return to Mr. Rose; this gentleman adds, "You wiU afterwards be " able to coUect and correct your essays, and gain the " reputation you deserve by publishing them with your own " name. I hope hereafter to Uve to see and hear you in " Reynolds' chair, deUvering to the students instructions " which wUl, I think, unite to his beautiful feeling and " refined taste more phUosophical depth and truth." * " Contributions to the Literature of the Fine Arts." The only paper by Sir Charles in the " Quarterly Review " is a " Review of the Life of Raphael." 136 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. On the 10th February, 1830, Mr. Eastlake was elected full Member of the Royal Academy. His " PUgrims in sight of Rome " may be said to have given the last impulse to the choice of the Academy. He now felt it an obhgation to return and reside in London. It was indeed high time that the move should be made, for his health suffered greatly from the climate of Rome, or rather from the cUmate under the conditions of indefatigable labour and rigorous seclusion to which he condemned himseU. No man ever put a lower estimate on his own merits and powers. No man was ever (as far as an inflexible self-respect permitted) more genuinely, more touchingly humble. It never occurred to his single-hearted and over-anxious nature that he pos sessed excellence of any kind. He never tasted the sweets of an elate feeling ; he needed another to be proud of him and elate in him ; to presume to speak the praiseful and happy truth, aU wrapped up in so tender and reverential an affection that he could as little doubt the praise as the love, and to speak it thus over and over again. It was with great unwUlingness that he turned his thoughts towards England. Not that a foreign residence had unanglicized him — quite the reverse ; but he had a dread of the difficulties and conditions of a London professional life— a dread owing chiefly to his entire diffidence of himself. He now writes to Mr. Harman. " When I sent home what " I fancied would be my last Banditti picture, I looked " forward to following the art as I wished, and to soon " becoming more strictly an historical painter. I have " now to make the experiment of living in England, and " how my historical or poetical dreams can be realized " there I know not Long ago I never thought " I should get attached to Italy for any other reasons " than what made it attractive to Poussin — that is, for its " antiquities and classic materials. I have since loved it ' ' more for its landscape and modern costume ; and I have Ch. V.] ' DEPARTURE FROM ROME. 137 " lastly loved it most for its being the country of Titian, " and stUl containing what we admire in his pictures, not " forgetting landscape. ..... I hope now soon " to move off to Venice and take another, but I hope " not a last look at the part of Italy that interests me " most." After finishing his Diploma picture — his first version of Hagar and Ishmael — he unrooted himseU from Rome, after a residence there of fourteen years, and reached Venice at the end of July. Here, with his esteemed friends, Miss Leach and her brother, Dr. Leach, and Signor Incoronati, a Roman gentleman of the highest character and acquire ments, since then a resident in England, he occupied the apartments in the Mocenigo Palace, formerly hired by Lord Byron. Having on his former visit, two years before, com pletely mastered aU the sights of Veniee, he now devoted his time to making small studies from various pictures by Titian, Giorgione, Paul Veronese, &c. Some of these are in oil, others in water-colour ; the latter chiefly from' the Manfrini coUection, where he could only execute these". studies — perfect as they are — in his sketch-book, standing. Two copies from the now destroyed Peter Martyr by Titian — one in oU, the other in water-colour — are perhaps the most faithful records and adequate witnesses now existing of that great work. He remained in Venice above two months, and then started on an exploring trip into the country of Giorgione and Bassano — with the works of Ticozzi and Maniago in his hand — of which he has left a careful journal. He began at Treviso, where the grand altar picture in the Cathedral by Fra Marco Pensabene — the history of which is still shrouded in mystery — attracted his unquahfied admiration. He de scribes it at length, and characterizes it as " a very noble performance.1' He also examined the so-called Giorgione, the Dead Christ. in the Tomb with boy angels, in the Monte 138 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. di Pieta — now ascribed, principaUy by himself, to Annibale Carracci. It was in a wretched condition; and that fact and the violent foreshortening " rather astonishing " (where successful) than pleasing," made him reticent in praise; He then proceeded to Castelfranco, of which he remarks : "In the more southern parts of Italy, the name of any town or vUlage with the adjunct of Castello, at once impUes an elevated site ; and it is with some disappointment that one discovers that Castelfranco is in a very flat plain, with no other elevation than the ramparts of a square fortification, from which it takes its name." He here visited the altar-piece, known as the one indubitable work by Giorgione, of which the S. Liberale in armour is said to be the painter's own portrait.* He mentions here a painter comparatively unknown to fame, Ponchini, (caUed Bozzato) " by whom a fine picture behind the altar — " The Descent into Limbus — was executed : an artist who " might have rivaUed Giorgione and Titian, but who, having " lost his wife, as the story goes, retired into a monastery." He also traced the vicissitudes of the old Barbarelti mansion through various possessors to the famUy of Rainati, in whose hands it remained in 1830. "But the " Rainati house has nothing now of former days about it ; " the southern front is modern Itahan ; and there is a snug " garden round it, bounded on two sides by the shattered " brick waUs of the old fortress, to whose ruins and ivy the " eye turns with pleasure. If anything can influence the " taste of a painter (after he has practised his art) it must " be the scenery by which he was surrounded in early Ufe. " Giorgione Uved at a distance from mountains, and saw " them mingle with the sky. The plains to the south and " west towards Vicenza and Bassano, bounded by distant * The small study for this figure by Giorgione — but with the helmet in the hand instead of on the head — was left by Mr. Rogers to the National Gallery. Ch. V.] LOCAL INFLUENCES ON ART. 139 " and not very bold hiUs, remind one of the broad vague " backgrounds which accompany his figures, as in the altar- " piece in the church here : whereas, in Titian's distances " the forms and detaUs of the mountains show that he was " accustomed to see them near On approaching " Bassano, which is separated by the Brenta from a waU " of mountains, the sun sank suddenly behind this natural -" rampart, leaving a considerable tract of the country in " premature twilight, while the plains towards Vicenza and " Padua were stUl warmed by the more gradual decline of " day. To one who looks for the physical causes of a " painter's style, this long soft twilight and the depth ofthe " vaUey of the Brenta cannot but seem connected with the " solemn, dark, but sparkling and clear manner observable " in the best pictures of Giacomo da Ponte. There is " another particular in which this painter may be more " clearly traced, although a trifle. Bassano has ever " been, and is stUl, fiUed with manufactures of copper " vessels. The metal comes in a prepared state from " Venice, but it is beaten at Bassano, and the principal " street contains several such workshops, with abundant " specimens before the doors Although there "is no defending the pamter for introducing these uten- " sUs on almost aU occasions, it must be confessed their " colour and their sparkle are singularly picturesque, and " in so dark a style as Giacomo's, some such svegUarino " was absolutely necessary. To find sparkle and warmth " together was too great a temptation — in short, it is only to " be regretted that copper vessels are so vulgar — their colour "is, in some situations, more beautiful than gold. In " Giacomo da Ponte they unite the beauties of the metal " and the gem." .... " The road from Bassano to Belluno, through Feltre, " begins to be picturesque at the latter place, which is " within the mountains. The road is nearly flat as far as 140 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. Asolo, five miles from Possagna, Canova's birth-place, and where his church is. Feltre is beautifuUy situated ; and from thence to Belluno the road lies again in a wide rich plain between the mountains. Belluno is on the Piave, whose gravelly bed is sometimes half a mUe broad, which in winter is entirely fiUed with the moun tain torrent. There is always water enough to float down various articles of commerce from the mountains to Venice, where of course the raft is broken up and sold. Among the things thus supphed to Venice from these mountains above Belluno are turpentine, ragia," (resin) and olio di abezzo ; and it happens that the materials used by the Venetian painters not only abound in the mountains near, but particularly near the country of Titian. And, besides these gums, it is worth noting that in addition to the fir and the larch on the higher grounds in the district of Cadore, the only tree which is at all common in the neighbourhood of the villages, and in the warmer vaUeys, is the walnut-tree- — the oU produced from that nut, as weU as that from linseed, are both common articles of commerce throughout the mountains. The road from BeUuno to Pieve di Cadore foUows closely the course of the Piave : a few mUes past BeUuno the mountains shut in, and there is room only for the river and the road, and now and then for some villages. It is only in the immediate neighbour hood of Pieve, which stands very high, that the houses begin to take the German instead of the ItaUan form in the roofs. In all the compositions of landscape by Titian, those, for instance, engraved by Le Fevre, pro bably from drawings, the houses have the German form, and hence doubtless indicate Alpine" scenes — the very rugged outhnes of the mountains indeed prove the same. At Cadore and in the neighbourhood the mountains correspond in form with the boldest introduced in Ch. V.] TITIAN'S BACKGROUNDS. 141 " Titian's pictures ; and the castle of Pieve di Cadore " (which was destroyed so lately as 1796) now in ruins, " finely placed on a rocky eminence, is undoubtedly the " original of the background" (believed to be by Titian) "in the picture of the Bacchanals by BeUini in Rome.* " The point of view is the first appearance of the rock " coming from PeraroUo to Pieve ; or in the same line " nearer the village called 'sotto Castello,' whose walnut trees " would form the foreground, and almost complete the scene. " There is, however, one great Uberty taken by Titian, " and by aU the Venetian painters in their landscape, " and the German painters who may be considered the " masters in that respect of the Venetians (as they were " particularly of Titian) may be included. They unite the " most rugged and romantic forms of the higher Alps, as a " distance, with the richness of the foliage of the plains. " But where these mountains appear so distinctly as those " masters represent them, the fir-tree is the prmcipal " clothing even of the foreground ; and a fir-tree is never " introduced — wisely enough — for its form is too pecuhar. " There is a wood engraving by Boldrini of a composition " by Titian of a naked Venus and Cupid, and fir-trees " appear behind. This is the only instance I remember, " The conoscenti of Pieve are certam that Titian must " have come by BeUuno to Pieve in his almost annual visit " to his birth-place ; but certainly the landscapes in Le " Fevre's coUection do not correspond with any scene in " that road, nor with the scenery for many mUes round " Pieve. The forms of the houses in these prints corre- " spond with those in the higher district, where the winter " snow renders acute roofs necessary; but the scenes are " richer in trees, and they probably belong either to Friuli "or to a mountain road from Maniago to Pieve, now " scarcely practicable, it is said, on horseback. . . . * Now at Alnwick Castle. 142 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. After inspecting the wrecks of Titianesque pictures, at Zoppe, Domegge, Calalzo, Rizzuos, VaUgeUa, Tai, Vodo, Vinigo, S. Vito, PosaU, &c. ; — maltreated specimens, pos sibly once valuable; "for the changes which fine pictures may undergo from time and repainting are incalculable," — he adds ; " In*this wUd mountain district, where the inhabitants " seem to Uve miserably, it is interesting to find so many " memorials, bad and ruined as they are, of the name and " taste of Titian. Nor was he the first painter who sprang up " in these ungenial scenes. A gigantic St. Christopher out- " side the church at Domegge, tolerably weU drawn, belongs " to an earlier period, and Tolmezzo beyond Auronzo, in a " stiU wilder country, gives its name to an early painter of " the FriuU school. It has been already stated that there " seems to be no resemblance between the taste of Titian in " landscape and the real scenes of his native place, except "the bold mountains, the Alpine roofs, and perhaps the " walnut-tree, whose solid and massy foUage recaUs the " dense manner of the master in trees.' The demand for " the decoration of the churches, without, as weU as within, " must have been the chief cause of the existence of the arts " here ; and, in the Friulese school, as Maniago observes, " the largeness of manner which is the chief characteristic, " arose from the broad and necessarUy rapid practice of " fresco painting. These vUlages are aU very inconside- " rable. Pieve itseU has not more than 500 inhabitants, " but in most, even in those least accessible, there are men " of talent and learning. Not long ago a very fine Ubrary " was bought at Borca (beyond Vodo) from the famUy " ' di Luca ' by the Abbate Zelotti of the Barbarigo Palace, "Venice." These extracts are sufficient to show the nature of. his' wanderings in these wild parts. Few, perhaps none, even in these easy times have so closely explored these regions, Ch. V.] ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. 143 in which painting once flourished more Uke a flower of the field than of the garden. ConegUano, Pordenone, Udine, Cividale, S. Daniele, and the beautiful Gemona, were now successively visited ; after which he crossed the barrier into Carinthia, and made his way to Salzburg and so to Munich. Here he resolved to devote what he felt would be his last opportunity of freedom to visiting Vienna, where, foUowing his usual system, he compUed a thorough guide book of aU the pictures worth noting in the various Viennese gaUeries. He arrived in England in time for the distribution of prizes ; and for the lecture at the Royal Academy on the 10th December, on which occasion he went through the forms of admission as full member, and was immediately appointed one of the in-coming councU. He then took a convenient house in Fitzroy Street, reahsed the privUeges and convenience of the Athenaeum, and, welcomed and appreciated by friends, old and new, soon felt himself no longer a stranger in his native country. Thus far I have endeavoured to trace, and chiefly by means of his own modest and undesigning testimony, the life and character of my distinguished husband — distin guished not more by the class, range, and ever-diUgent development of his fine powers, than by the purity and uprightness of his Ufe. He was now just thirty-seven years of age as he finally made his home in London. What has been told sufficiently shows how entirely he was qualified — how conscientiously, however unconsciously, he had gradu ated — for -the high offices connected with art, which he had subsequently the honour to fill ; also how richly he merited the personal deference and respee^with which he was regarded by aU good and just men. I say this advisedly, because the pubUc are weU aware that he suffered at one time from that injustice from which aU finer spirits are seldom entirely exempt. This injustice simply regarded those matters of opinion on art on which there is no fixed 144 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. V. code; but on which, ultimately, his own knowledge and opinion came to be regarded as the decisive authority of an absolute master of the subject. On higher points, - even malevolence found nothing to assaU in him. I have aUuded to this passage in his history in order that my further sUence respecting it may not be misinterpreted. To use his own words, " Defences are often as bad as attacks." With this period, though his more active and pubUc career begins, yet its very pubUcity leaves me less occasion to dweU largely upon it. It has been my object, as first stated, to give a record of a mind of an analytical and logical character, rarely accompanying a passion for art ; a mind which would have left its mark on any form of inteUigence to which he might have apphed his powers. My task is therefore nearly completed, for the rest of his Ufe, though comprising those years which were the whole of Ufe to me, neither furnishes the same materials nor requires the same exposition. It is the first half of a man's career which teUs what the second half wUl be, however diverse the two in outer cir cumstances. Ch, VL] PRINCIPAL WORKS. 145 CHAPTEE VI. Principal Works. — Changes in patronage of Art. — Society, and thoughts upon it. — Schemes for promotion of Art. — The Lawrence Drawings. — The National Gallery. — Fitzwilliam Museum. — Life of Raphael. — Gbthe's Theory of Colours.— Kugler's Italian Painters. — Conversa tion. — Sydney Smith.- — Macaulay. — Nassau Senior.— Mrs. Jameson.-n Mr. and Mrs. Grote.— Earl of Essex.— Sir Robert Peel. — Cornelius. — Fine Arts Commission Appointment as Secretary to Fine Arts Com- Thebe was Uttle personaUy eventful in Mr. Eastlake's Ufe during the first ten years after his return to England ; though one occurrence deserves mention, which may be said to have inaugurated him in a civic scene, which was the presentation to him of the freedom of his native city in January 1832. This period, however, from 1830 to 1840, was the most productive in works of note by his hand. A picture com menced in Rome, but not exhibited till 1831, "Peasants returning from labour," life-sized half-length figures of an Italian Contadino, his wife, and infant, shows the ripening effect of his visits to Venice, and, from the subsequent raUy in colour made by the English school, would probably excite even more admiration now than it did then. In 1833, the subject of " The Greek Fugitives," was exhibited ; in 1834, the "Escape of Francesco Carrara;" in 1835, another version of "Pilgrims in Sight of Rome;" in 1836, two narrow, long pictures ofthe same subject; in 1837, " Greek Captives.;" in 1838, "Gaston de Foix before the Battle of Ravenna; "in 1839, " Christ blessing little Children;" in 1840, the "Salutation of the aged Friar." These were 146 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. pictures which occupied centres on the Exhibition waUs. They were accompanied at the same time by many works of less importance. All the portraits he executed belong to this time ; some, like that of Sir Stephen (then Mr.) Hammick, being treated with an unadorned dignity which places them high as examples of simple nature ; wlhle in certam portraits of ladies, where the subject permitted, he gratified himself, as well as the fair sitters, by attiring them in a fancy costume. In this way, Mrs. Bellenden Ker appeared as an ItaUan Contadina, with a basket of grapes;* Miss Bury, with long hair and a white lily; Miss Johnstone (niece of the Dowager Countess of Essex), also as an Itahan peasant. These "fancy portraits," as they were caUed, were greatly admired, and would have fiUed his hands with this class of occupation, had he not pertinaciously refused to devote himseU to portraiture. With these also appeared smaller subjects, such as " La Svegliarina," " The Martyr," (St. Sebastian), &c, and now and then a single head, like that which had attracted the Duke of Wellington's admiration. One circumstance which, though a tribute to bis art, has detracted somewhat from the full honour due to it, was the demand for repetitions of the same subject. Thus there exist five pictures of " PUgrims in sight of Rome," namely, 1st, executed for Duke of Bed ford ; 2nd, for Earl Grey ; t 3rd and 4th, for Marquis of Lansdowne ; 5th, for Mr. George Vivian. A 6th of the subject is a bond fide copy from the picture belonging to Lord Grey, made for Mr. (now Sir Francis) Moon, the prmtseUer, for the purpose of engraving. These five pic tures include two, in every respect, distinct compositions : the original of the one being that executed for the Duke of * I am permitted to say that Mr. Bellenden Ker has bequeathed this picture to the nation. t In Lord Grey's picture one of his own grandsons — a son of Lady Eliza beth Bulteel — served as the model for a boy in the foreground. Ch. VI.] FANCY PORTRAITS. 147 Bedford — of the other, that belonging to Earl Grey. In the first, the Pilgrims are advancing from the left ; in the second from the right ; whUe the repUcas of each composi tion display varieties in colour, arrangement, and back ground, sufficient to constitute originaUty. So far indeed from these replicas being repetitions, they afford remarkable examples of the impossibiUty inherent in the true painter to repeat himseU. A change which has proved of great importance to British art dates from these years. The patronage which had been almost exclusively the privUege of the nobUity and higher gentry, was now shared (to be subsequently almost en grossed) by a wealthy and inteUigent class, chiefly enriched by commerce and trade; the note-book ofthe painter, while it exhibited lowher names, showing henceforth higher prices. To this gradual transfer of patronage another advantage very important to the painter was owing ; namely, that coUections, entirely of modern and sometimes only of Uving artists, began to be formed. For one sign of the good sense of the nouveau riche consisted in a con sciousness of his ignorance upon matters of connoisseur- ship. This led him to seek an article fresh from the painter's loom, in preference to any hazardous attempts at the discrimination of older fabrics. Thus such gentlemen as Mr. Sheepshanks and Mr. Vernon, who were the first founders of this class of coUections, contended, and often with success, for the possession of fine modern pictures, with patrons of rank and distinction. The many apphcations for Mr. Eastlake's pictures, made as soon as they appeared on the Exhibition walls* showed the increasing demand for works of this class. One inquiry which he records with peculiar gratification, was addressed to him for his picture of " Christ blessing Little ChUdren," from a locaUty not redolent of patronage of art — namely, from Thames Street. A reference to the catalogue at the L 2 148 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. end will show how this class of competitors took the lead in patronage as time went on. Occupied as he was with increasing commissions, executed with increasing fastidiousness, he was yet, during these years, drawn largely into society ; renewing many pleasing ties which had commenced at Rome, and forming others which were of great value to him. Among those with whom he was most intimate may be reckoned Mr. Harman, his early patron and friend, and his exceUent wife ; Mr. Rogers, and his sister Miss Rogers ; Mr. and Mrs. BeUen- den Ker; and the venerable Earl of Essex; aU of whom showed the genuine nature of their regard for the object of this memoir, by soUciting the pleasant society of his brother WiUiam, whenever he visited Fitzroy Street. Nor may I omit Mr. Charles Jones, of Gower Street, Sohcitor to the Admiralty, and long connected with the Plymouth Eastlakes in Admiralty business, at whose hospitable table there was always a cover for him; or Mr. Brockedon, "the immortal Brockedon," as Leslie calls him, with the noblest of hearts, and the grandest of persons, who never faUed a friend in any emergency or trouble. To these may be added those whom in later times he called " my kind and constant friends, the Carrick Moores, and Homers," with other representatives of talent and worth, always ready to appreciate kindred qualities in all new-comers. At the same time he found it very difficult to combine the habits of social Ufe with that standard of industry which alone satisfied him. From time to time he gave it out among the circle who kindly sought him, that he intended " to turn hermit for three months." He did so in as strict a sense of the word as the interruptions of London admitted. The deUcac'y of his health, and the sensitiveness of what he caUed " the finer fibres," rendered it the more necessary to provide against hurry or anxiety in fulfiUihg commissions ; and yet no one estimated the advantages of mixing with the world Ch. VI.] THE POMPEIAN ROOM. 149 more justly. He reasoned thus to his brother ¦ WUham. " I go into society as much as I do, often against my wiU, " because I know from experience that it is good for my " moral health. If I could unite this medicine (as some " people do) with habits of apphcation and industry in the " day to the extent I wish, I should be in an enviable situa- " tion. A certain tranquillity always results from inter- " course with pohshed people ; all painful and humiliating " feeUngs are banished from their circle; their world is beau- " tiful and happy; but internal quiet is derived from the con- " sciousness of duties fulfilled. Those who unite the two " must be, I think, the happiest of human beings. The fact " is, the union of the two requires greater energy than soU- " tary study, In my own case, if I find that I am unequal to " it, and knowing, as I do, that my profession is my chief ob- " ject, I must relapse into the duU student I have often been." Mr. BeUenden Ker, especiaUy eager for the advance of art, and not less for that of his friend, and energetic in aU he took in hand, was foremost in the genial apprecia tion of his brush, his pen, and his society. For this gentle-r man Mr. Eastlake decorated a room in a house near the Regent's Park, in the Pompeian style,* as a specimen of the ornamentation compatible even with smaU EngUsh interiors. The waUs were prepared white in flat oU, and the materials used in painting were flat transparent oU. This room attracted much notice, and, considermg the bad reputation of the atmosphere hi which it has existed for nearly thirty- five years, it remains wonderfully unimpaired. In these years society rang with the subject of Reform, and, after his secluded hfe at Rome, the ardours of poUtics and strife of parties were watched with quiet amusement as weU as deep interest by one as unused' to such themes as * No. 27, Park Road. The work was entirely executed by Mr. Eastlake, with the exception of the animals forming part of the design, which were by the hand of Mr. Harvey, the animal painter. 150 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. he was unprejudiced. Yet whUe he writes to his brother, " I am only a Whig because you and George are," and " politics in general do not interest me further than as " they affect your welfare," it would be unjust not to own that his predUections were of a Uberal kind. These pre valent ideas of Reform and Progress were not confined to pohtics. The Fine Arts shared in the general stirring tendency, and it is curious to observe how soon he was fixed upon as the right person to promote and direct such movements. A proposition to] found a professor ship of art at the London University, seems to have been contingent on his acceptance of the post, for, on his decUn- ing it on two distinct occasions, in 1833 and 1836, the scheme fell to the ground. A request to give a series of lectures on the principles of art, at the Royal Institution, he was also unable to comply with. Mr. Ewart's motion for the establishment of Schools of Design for the improve ment of manufactures, was the first pubhc step taken to assist the development of a certam class of art. In this scheme Mr. Eastlake took great interest ; and a plan sug gested by him, and communicated to the Committee by Mr. BeUenden Ker, himself on the Committee, was approved and adopted; but when invited by Government to undertake the direction of the then new scheme, with a salary, he re mained firm to his conviction that no painter had time to spare, for duties of this character, from the exercise of his art. He subsequently, in 1836, consented to be one of the CouncU (unpaid) appointed by the Board of Trade for the new Schools, but he took no other part in the movement. Meanwhile he had been induced to become a member of the Useful Knowledge Society, founded in 1833, by Lord Brougham, then ChanceUor, by whom, and by Mr. Bellen den Ker, he was proposed. He joined the board on the understanding that he was only to be referred to, in Mr. B. Ker's words, " when any great Gordian knot of art was to be Ch. VI.] THE LAWRENCE DRAWINGS. 151 " severed." Whereupon he was immediately consulted and set to work regarding the design for a seal and the purport of a motto, best calculated to represent the character of the Society ! He retained this supposed sinecure seat at the board for a twelvemonth, during which time he contributed articles on the Fine Arts, on the Bolognese School, and on Basso-reUevo, to the Penny Cyclopaedia, one of the Society's pubUcations. He had already written the hves of Leonardo da Vinci, Correggio, MuriUo, Canova, and Reynolds, for a work called the Portrait GaUery, pubUshed by Mr. Charles Knight. It was owing to his connection with this Society, and chiefly to the fact that a principal member of the Cabinet was at the head of it, that Mr. Eastlake was at first encou raged in the arduous but fruitless attempts to convince the Government of the poUcy as weU as duty of securing SU* Thomas Lawrence's coUection of drawings by the. old masters. This is a chapter of sufficient importance in the history of art to deserve a detaUed notice here. By the wUl of the late President, dated June, 1828 (Sir Thomas died in January, 1830), directions were given that his col lection of drawings by the old masters should be offered to George IV. — to the Trustees of the British Museum — to SU Robert Peel — and to other known coUectors and patrons, for the sum of 18,000Z. If not purchased by any of the above-named, the coUection was to be pur- chaseable as a whole for 20,000Z. ; SU Thomas having, as he calculated, spent about 40,000Z. in its acquisi tion. AU negotiations with the parties specified having failed, and no private purchaser coming forward, a pro posal to raise the requisite funds by subscription, and to keep the coUection entire, was mooted. On this occasion, the Royal Academy, in January, 1831, voted a contri bution of one thousand pounds, on the condition that the coUection should be placed either in the British 152 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. Museum or National GaUery, and made accessible to artists and the pubhc. Sir John Soane is reported to have followed the example of the Royal Academy by the promise of another thousand pounds ; whUe Mr. Eastlake, in his private capacity, pledged himself to contribute a hundred pounds. This project also faUed, and finaUy the Messrs. Woodburn, through whom SU Thomas. had principally formed the coUection, became its purchasers. We trace part of the history of this affaU in Mr. East- lake's letters, which first notice it in March, 1834, and thus perceive the early date at which he, in some respects, origi nated views which have since been commonly adopted. " I have lately been examining (of course only at night) " the Lawrence drawings ; — Keightley, the managing exe- " cutor, being, as I once told you, an old school-feUow of " the Charter House, and having given me fuU opportunity " to see them. I gave some facts relating to the history of " theU coUection to Brockedon, lately, to send to some " paper, and the article appeared in the Morning Herald. " Woodburn, the person who first coUected and sold most " of them to Lawrence, has, within these few days, offered " 16,000Z. for the coUection. He means, tf he gets the " drawings, to offer them stUl to the nation for 20,000L, " and if obUged to seU them piecemeal, he says he will " make 30,000Z. of them. . I am very anxious that this col- " lection should be preserved and pubhcly seen, and the plan " would be to have a hundred frames in the National GaUery, " and change the drawings occasionally. Among them are " the original studies by Michael Angelo and others for " figures m pictures hi the National GaUery itsetf.* I saw " SU John Soane about this a few days ago, and wrote to " Mr. Morrison," (then an active M.P., and a coUector of * Among the Michael Angelos were several sketches for the figure of Lazarus in the " Raising of Lazarus " by Seb. del Piombo ; also of the figure in M. Angelo's Dream. Ch. VI.] THE LAWRENCE DRAWINGS. 153 pictures) " who has just been here, and having come from " Lord Althorp, he was not exactly in a humour to think " favourably on the subject, and says that Lord Althorp " would laugh at it. Lord Althorp, however, sets his face " against the arts altogether, and said once that if he had " his way he would seU the National GaUery, and have no- " thing of the kind. Fortunately there are not many who " agree with him. I have told Mr. Morrison that tf the " drawings were in the National GaUery it would at once " compete with the Continental coUections, for there is no- " thing Uke them in number and exceUence elsewhere. He " thinks Lord Sandon " (now Earl of Harrowby) " would be " a proper person to bring the subject before ParUament, or " SU Mathew Ridley; to both of whom I wUl speak. Ker, " of course, is at work. He has asked me if a Committee " is moved for and obtamed, whether I should have any ob jection to be examined in the House of Commons on the " subject. I said no; but I fear, for the sake of the draw- " ings, that it wiU hardly come to so promising a state of " things. . . . Returning to the Lawrence drawings, I " begged Morrison to use his influence, and to mention " them to any members who could bear the subject. I said " there was no objection against the purchase of this collec- " tion, that was not equaUy as good an argument against " the existence of the National GaUery at aU." Shortly after the date of this letter Mr. BeUenden Ker caUed the attention of Lord Brougham to the subject, who declared his wish to inspect a selection of the drawings tf the executor would entrust a portfoho to him, and tf Mr. East- lake would describe them. " I attended therefore on Good " Friday (March, 1834,) at two o'clock at the ChanceUor's " new residence in Great Stanhope Street. Lord Lansdowne " and his daughter, Prince TaUeyrand, Lady Sefton, Lord " Moncrieff, and several others were present. The best " place for seeing the drawings was given to TaUeyrand ; 154 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. " and the conversation was conducted in French on his " account. I had more to say of course than anybody, as " I was asked questions about every drawing; and even " whUe talking with the ChanceUor the conversation was " stiU hi French (and at least I beat him there) which was " amusing enough. After having seen aU the selection, " TaUeyrand said: '-Si vous n'achetez pas ces choses la, " 'vous etes des barbares,' in which the two Cabinet " ministers agreed." This agreement, however, of the powers that were, led to no result. The next steps taken were by the Messrs. Woodburn — steps equaUy calculated to forward the wishes of SU Thomas Lawrence, and to promote the private sales which theU own interests required. They opened ten successive exhibitions, each lasting a month, and each con- taming one hundred specimens of a particular master or masters. These continued during two seasons.* The Rembrandt drawings were immediately sold in a lump, and thus the integrity of the collection was first broken up ; and by the close of the tenth exhibition the Claudes, Titians, Albert Durers, the three Carracci, and Juho Romano were aU disposed of in unbroken sets. StiU, there remained a splendid coUection, which included the Raphaels and the M. Angelos.t To these Mr. Eastlake aUudes in October, 1836, * In May, 1835, One hundred by Rubens. July, 1835, ii tt Vandyke and Rembrandt. August, 1835, >i a Claude and Poussin. January, 1836, it ti Parmegianino and Correggio. February 1836, tt it Leonardo da Vinci, Julio Romano, Primaticcio, and Perino del Vaga. March, 1836, tt JI The three Carracci. April, 1836, it » Fra Bartolommeo, Andrea del Sarto, Zucchero, and Pol, da Carravaggio. May, 1836, H » Albert Durer and Titian. June, 1836, a it Raphael. July, 1836, it it Michael Angelo. + Previous to the exhibition of the Raphaels hopes had been entertained Ch. VI.] THE LAWRENCE DRAWINGS. 155 when he says, " You are perhaps aware that some months " ago the Treasury nominated five Commissioners to fix " the value of the Lawrence drawings — namely, Howard, " Hilton, WeUesley, Jose of the British Museum, and " myself. This I heard of at the time, but have heard no " more since, and now Woodburn, the possessor of the " drawings, is so tUed that he is at last determined to seU " them'piecemeal. I beUeve he gives Spring Rice " (then ChanceUor of the Exchequer) " but a week more to decide. " Woodburn himself has nominated five Commissioners — " of whom Lord Vernon, EsdaUe, and Richard Ford are " three — the latter is a great connoisseur." In 1838 the Messrs. Woodburn opened another series of exhibitions from theU almost inexhaustible stores — first of Rubens and Vandyke, and then of Raphael agam — and now they fulfilled theU resolution to offer the drawings piece meal for sale. A large portion accordingly passed into the possession of the King of HoUand, and of the chief private coUectors in England and the Low Countries. StUl there remained a considerable number even of the Raphaels and M. Angelos, with other masters, and to these Mr. Eastlake that the Trustees of the National Gallery would have recommended, at all events, the purchase of that master. They declined to do so, unless for a price based on that named in Sir Thomas's will. It was in vain, how ever, to suppose that such favourable conditions could be maintained by mercantile owners, and this after the lapse of a considerable time. The price now demanded by the Messrs. Woodburn for 180 drawings by Raphael was fixed by a committee of gentlemen, to whom allusion is made above, at 12,0001. Meanwhile the leading journals vied with each other, at every fresh exhibition, in urging this opportunity of enriching the national stores of art. Finally, after the tenth exhibition — that of M. Angelo— a memorial from professors and amateurs of the fine arts was addressed to the Lords of the Treasury, entreating that the Raphaels and Michael Angelos might be secured. Among the arguments used was one which might have been deemed irrefutable — viz., the example of the purchase of the Elgin marbles — once so stoutly opposed, but since recognised as a signal honour and advantage to the country. This memorial was signed by nearly 400 individuals, including names highly distinguished for know ledge and taste. 156 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. refers in July, 1840 : " On Saturday last I was at an evening ' party at Lord Monteagle's and spoke to him, Mr. Rogers, ' and Lord Lansdowne again about the purchase of the ' Lawrence drawings for the nation. (They are aU Trustees ' for the National GaUery.) The only excuse for renewing ' this business, the negotiations respecting which have ' repeatedly faUed, is that the Messrs. Woodburn have ' come down very much in theU demand. In consequence ' of suggestions from Lords Monteagle and Lansdowne, I ' have induced the Woodburns to address a letter to Mr. ' WeUesley, Mr. Jose, and mysetf, with thetf reduced price. ' The trio, of which I am one, were appointed by Govern- ' ment some time ago to give an opinion as to the value of ' the drawings. This is the excuse for addressing us, and, ' having received theU apphcation, we have this week ' addressed the Treasury once more, enclosing Woodburn's ' new proposition. These papers wtfl be handed over by ' the Treasury to the Trustees of the National GaUery, ' who meet on Monday next. I think the two noblemen ' and Mr. Rogers, to whom I have spoken, wUl be ' favourable." The finale to this rather melancholy story is, that the Treasury remained inexorable, and that such of the Raphaels and Michael Angelos as remained were finaUy purchased by the University of Oxford in 1845 for 7000Z.* It is easy now to wonder at what appears the shortsight edness of Government, pubhc bodies, and even of private individuals, as displayed hi the history of this remark able coUection. For there can be Uttle doubt that had a few wealthy persons combined for its purchase, they might, as with the Orleans GaUery, have retained the choicest portions and repaid themselves with the sale of the residue. But whUe choice and in most mstances indubitable works were thus pertinaciously declined, an mstance, on the other * 40COZ. of this 7000Z. was contributed by the late Earl of Eldon. Ch. VI.] THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 157 hand, may be quoted of an over-readiness on the part of the Trustees of the National GaUery to lay out the pubhc money, without what would now be deemed the commonest precautions. At that time, it must be remembered, there was an almost entUe absence of connoisseurship in this country. Fine pictures by the old masters, of aU schools, were purchased and highly valued by the English nobUity and gentry, but these were usually so attested by their previous history that no niceties of knowledge were requUed respecting them. The purchasers and eliminators, for mstance, of the Orleans GaUery, just referred to, suffered no qualms of doubt as to whether real Raphaels and Titians had faUen to their share. The contents of that gallery needed Uttle guarantee beyond the fact that they were such: This very certainty may even in some measure be said to have retarded the progress of true connoisseurship, for works admitting of no question invited no analysis. Mr. Rogers was a singular instance of a man who thought and felt for himself in matters of art, and though he had smaU pretensions to those subtleties of knowledge only obtainable by long experience — the acquUement of which, whUe it must be always rare, is indispensable now — yet his taste was so fine that he made few mistakes in his private selection, and, as a Trustee of the National GaUery his vote was always in harmony with the true interests of the pubhc. The Trustees also, though endowed with unquestionable autho rity to purchase pictures, had but rare opportunities of exercising those powers, while such acquisitions as they did make — that, for example, of the two grand Correggios in 1834 — though of the highest value, needed no real discrimi nation on theU parts. But the time was now approaching when only knowledge could decide as to the genumeness of a picture, and when no consciousness of ignorance had as yet suggested any diffidence in such, matters. The foUowing transaction reflects too much credit on the admirable sense 158 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. of SU Robert Peel, as well as on the knowledge of the history of art possessed by Mr. Eastlake, to be omitted here. Mr. Eastlake writes, May 3, 1841 : " I mentioned that the Trustees of the National GaUery invited me to give an opinion on a soi-disant Raphael which they have some idea of purchasing. The proposition to consult artists before making these purchases was made at the last meeting of the Trustees for the first time, and it was made (so SU Martin Shee teUs me, who was present) by SU Robert Peel. The President of the Royal Academy, Howard, Etty, CaUcott, and myself were named. To-day the Trustees meet, and having only seen the picture the day before yesterday, it was only yesterday that I sent in my report. I am afraid it wiU be rather humihating to them (entre nous), but at least it wUl show that SU Robert Peel was right. I have been able to give the whole history of the pic ture, for it is described in more than one work, and this kind of lore (with the help of the artistic Ubrary which I have by degrees coUected) I have, as you know, at my fingers' ends. I have given them my own opinion, confirmed by a mass of evidence, dates, &c, which I think must show them that they need a little en- Ughtening on these matters. On Saturday I so far let out my own opinion that I observed to at the Academy dinner that the picture was certainly not by Raphael. ' Not by Raphael ! ' he exclaimed. ' Bless ' me, we never had any doubt about that ! the only ' question was what it was worth, and we wished you to ' say whether it would be an acquisition as a specimen of ' the pamter.' They had beheved some spurious story about Raphael's having painted the picture at a certam time and place. I have given the clearest proof that all this is unfounded — in short, my only fear is that I have given them too strong a dose. I have, however, Ch. VI.] THE NATIONAL GALLERY. 159 ' said, without pretending to judge of the price, that it ' would be an acquisition to the GaUery as the work of the ' painter to whom I attribute it (on grounds amounting ' to proof). When SU Robert Peel made his proposi- ' tion, . . . . , who piques himself on being a judge ' of ItaUan art, said he thought it would be imposing too ' much trouble on the members of the Academy to consult ' them. SU Martin Shee, with his usual readiness, said ' the very object of the Academy was to promote the ' interests of the arts. There might be many cases of ' doubtful pictures on which I could not have pronounced ; ' and, above all, hi wbich I might not havg had docu- ' mentary evidence at command. It is particularly for- ' tunate in support of Sir Robert Peel that I have been ' able to furnish the information I have sent. What the ' other painters have done I don't know, and of course I ' have not communicated with them, but I am very certam ' that none are in possession of the historical facts I have ' adduced. This letter is full of boasting, but it is true ; ' and as I have sometimes been thought to have wasted ' time in acquUing this kind of knowledge and, I may add, ' spending a good deal of money gradually hi coUecting ' materials, it is a satisfaction to know that aU this teUs ' at last." An official letter from the Secretary (Col. Thwaites) acknowledged the information suppUed, and the picture was not bought.* It was not long before this that he went to see ' a Titian ' which had been mentioned to him, and which was about to be raffled for at 6000Z. After a careful inspection he pronounced it to be " a faU copy, not even done by a Venetian painter." Mr. Seguier afterwards confirmed his * The work in question was an unfinished Holy Family by Fra Barto lommeo — purchased several years later by Mr. Thomas Baring, and now in his gallery. 160 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. judgment. The instances in which he stood between spurious pictures and would-be purchasers were innumer able. These are only mentioned to show how rare was such knowledge out of the mere dealer class at that time. It may be safely said that, though Mr. Eastlake as yet occupied no responsible position, yet the sense that he was an authority in various departments of the arts very widely prevailed. In 1837 he was requested to give assistance in a matter where a painter is not generaUy invoked — namely, in the design for the sculpture to occupy the pediment of the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge ; a buUding then in course of erection by his friend Mr. Basevi. He accord ingly supphed the design of the figures of the Muses, super intended theU execution by Mr. NichoU, and finaUy (in June, 1840) theU erection. Before this he had been included in a meeting at the British Museum, " caUed by ' the Architects' Institute to ascertain whether the Elgin ' marbles were painted or not. Faraday, who was present, ' has I think proved that the brown stains on the marble ' never could have been paint. It had been asserted that ' the columns and aU in the Parthenon were painted." In June, 1840, an article by him entitled the " Life of " Raphael," appeared in the Quarterly Review. The now weU known work by Passavant, on the life and works of the great painter, gave occasion to this paper, which is a faU specimen of the writer's variety and thoroughness of- know ledge, and of the manner in which he turned it to account. Viewing Raphael as the central figure, at a period un paralleled for historical and antiquarian interest and artistic fertility, there is hardly a name in art or hterature which led up to the great master — a sovereign, a locality, or a form of art connected with him — to which he does not impart fresh interest. Seldom have the life and works of one man been treated within the compass of an essay Ch. VI.] GOTHE'S THEORY OF COLOURS. 161 with such fullness — with what a painter would caU " such a " sense of a whole." The article attracted notice, and many compUments in the society in which he moved, for it was generaUy assumed to be his; but the praise which gratified him the most was that of the late Earl of Aberdeen, for whose work on the Principles of Grecian Architecture he entertained great respect. In 1840 also his translation of Gothe's Theory of Colours was published. He had intended at first "to make a " selection of such of the experiments as seemed more " (Urectly applicable to the theory and practice of Painting." Indeed, he was anxious to have it understood that it was rather for this than for the sake of Gothe's theory that he undertook this translation. In his own words, to his brother, 27th May, 1840, " the theory, right or wrong, was the theory ' of the Italians at the revival of letters, and is closely ' connected with the practice of the ItaUan painters. This is what I have endeavoured to show in my notes.* If it ' is asked whether it was necessary to give aU the work to ' prove what I undertook to "prove, I answer that it is less ' responsible for a translator to give the work entUe, — it is ' also more just to the author." This translation was dedi cated to Mr. Harman. It was reviewed in the Edinburgh Review of October, 1840, by Lord Brougham, in a manner sufficiently complimentary ; though at the same time, he sought to expose errors which the translator had repudiated. and faUed to perceive the specific object he had in view. ' Mr. Eastlake was now tempted to turn his attention to Kugler's Handbook of ItaUan Painters, October 1840 : " I " mentioned sometime since that I had declined to edit a " translation from a German work on art. I have, however, " since consented, as the translation was very defective; and " I feel it a duty to lend my assistance in putting good " and historically correct things before the pubhc. This * These notes have been published in the " Contributions." 162 MEMOIR. OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. " now takes up aU my spare time." The work was pub hshed in the foUowing year, and no book has been more popular or more serviceable for the purposes of mstruction to traveUers in Italy. The preface to it by Mr. Eastlake is rich in learning and philosophic thought, and has been included among the " Contributions." By this time our painter had been elected a FeUow of the Royal Society, which he entered before the death of its President, the Duke of Sussex ; and he soon became a member of the Stirling Club, — tne Literary Club — The Club, — and others. He also visited Woburn, Bowood, Cashiobury, and Drayton Manor. In his letters to his brother William, a runhmg commentary is kept on the chief charac ters and events of the day — such as might serve to beguUe the lonely hours of an invalid, himseU weU competent to take part in what was going forward. This commentary is of too private a nature to lay before the pubhc except in such an instance as the following, and where those men tioned are favourite pubhc property: — " Novr. 7, 1837. ' Sydney Smith was fuU of his clever hits the day I met ' him. I could not help thinking that there could hardly ' have been a match for him in the golden days you ' aUuded to. It is not the greatest names that make the ' most brUUant society. In the Unes ' Smith how to ' 'think, Burke how to speak, and Beauclerk to converse,' ' of the whole catalogue there is but the last who, it seems, ' was an agreeable talker. SU Joshua himseU was as deaf ' as a post In the instance of the ' celebrated society you alluded to — Garrick, Reynolds, ' Johnson, &c. — I have no doubt we are deceived by the ' greatness of the names into a notion that the con- ' versation was always sustained and brilliant. Johnson ' could not be an agreeable companion, though, Uke ' Coleridge, he was privileged as a lecturer ; and at the ' famous dinners at Sir Joshua's there was as much Ch. VI.] CONVERSATION.— SYDNEY SMITH. 163 " nonsense, bad puns, and loose talk as elsewhere. " Such a man as Sydney Smith would, I thmk, have " eclipsed most of them. He is the specimen of a " jovial wit I Would select from those I have seem As a " pohshed wit and hel esprit perhaps LuttreU has seldom " been surpassed, and his manners are perfect. Then " for knowledge in matters of taste, universal anecdote " and wit, with the greatest tranquillity of manner, whUe " he keeps your attention always ahve, there is no one like " Rogers. Rogers and LuttreU are of course rivals, but " some months since, when Rogers had the Duke of Wel- " lington and other very distinguished people to dine with " him, he selected LuttreU as fittest to help to entertain " them. Sydney Smith often reminds me of my father, and " I often wish two such persons could have met. Sydney " Smith is also about the same bulk, and shakes with " laughter in the midst of his own bon mots. The other ' ' day he had some business at the Mansion House, and while " talking, without knowing who the people all were, some " person handed a paper to him, on which was written, " ' The gentleman you are speaking to is the Lord Mayor " ' Elect.' He said he instantly thought of the Roman " ambassador to Carthage who was suddenly shown an " elephant, and, to the disappointment of all, betrayed no " emotion. Talking of the absurdity of continuing the; " service about the Gunpowder Treason, Lord John Russell "happened to say, 'not that I approve of Guy Fawkes,' " upon which Sydney Smith kept the table in a roar for " some minutes by praising ' such candour.' " Macaulay's powers of conversation also obtain a page of a letter. Mr. Eastlake had been dining at The Club, where the members are supposed to consist of the best conversers of the day : " Macaulay, though always worth listening to,' " is such an indefatigable talker that few of the rest could " say much. He is never long on one subject, but goes off' M 2 164 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. " on the shghtest hint or association, especially if suggested " by another. The effect is curious — if you turn to a neigh- " bour to make or listen to a remark, and then return to " Macaulay, expecting to recover the thread of his obser- " vations, he is on a totaUy different subject. The Dying " Gladiator— the Mogul EmpUe — the Nesera of TibuUus — " the last Travels in America — Mathematics — the style " of Ovid — the date of VUgil's death, and innumerable " other subjects, interspersed with quotations, foUow each " other without pause." It is agreeable to record his impressions of a few other notabilities — including some happily with us still. Mr. Nassau Senior he met for the first time at Bowood, in 1837 : " He adds the qualities of plainness and affabiUty " to the profoundest learning and the most agreeable con- " versation. The conversation somehow turned on Homer. " On my speaking of the accuracy with which Shakspeare " had drawn the Homeric characters hi TroUus and " Cressida, Senior said with his usual plainness that he " was hardly acquainted with that play ; but, on my " aUuding to various incidents and expressions hi Homer, " to my astonishment he, in every case, quoted the- original " lines." A mention of Mrs. Jameson in 1840, on first making her acquaintance, wUl be welcome to the many who remember her with affection and respect : " Mrs. Jameson is writing " an account of aU the picture gaUeries in London. She "is a very pleasing person, and with aU her cleverness, "is as much a woman as she ought to be. I go to her " occasionaUy at Notting HUl, and while I take care not to " interfere with her opinions" (on painters), "I now and " then assist her with facts. I was to have gone to her " last Thursday week, but she was then staying with " Mrs. Grote, and instead of Mrs. Jameson's going home " to receive me, Mrs. Grote invited me. Mr. and Mrs. Ch. VI.] COUNTRY LIFE. 165 " Grote Uve close by Belgrave Square. Both she and her " husband are, as far as I have seen, extremely clever, " eloquent people, and very fine in person; both tall, weU " developed human beings, with minds corresponding." It may be mferred that the mind here attempted to be pourtrayed was characterised by a gentle respect for women, which won for him in turn the mixture of deference and confidence due to a true knight. Speaking of LesUe's Life of Constable, wbich interested him deeply, he says, " The letters of Miss Bicknell are models of good sense " and good taste. How much exceUence Ues hidden in " women ! " And again later, " Women are sooner reason- " able than men, and if they have less reason they have " more taste and good sense." While he reflected thus on society and recorded facts belonging to the busy hum of cities, he was also feeUngly aUve to scenes of a very opposite kind, more connected with his brother WiUiam' s Ufe than with his own. Shortly after the introduction of the penny stamp he writes : " I have "received all your letters — that from St. Mary's HiU, " written, it appears, with mind, but not quite with frame " at ease, was. particularly interesting. No letters are so " agreeable as those which are written as a substitute for " conversation. This could hardly happen when postage " was so dear. It was not worth while to sit down and " write flying thoughts at sixpence a page. Some philo- " sopher, a few years hence, wUl date a change hi the style " of correspondence (at least among the classes who never " enjoyed franks) from the reduction of postage. " I saw the cloudless sky, the garden, the sycamore tree " and seat, and, alas ! you yourself ' labouring against the " easterly wind' without your having taken any particular " trouble to describe aU this., It must be good for you " sometimes to sit and muse in the country when wind " and weather are propitious. In a note borrowed from 166 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VI. " Dr. Young in Mant's Bible (beginning of Genesis) the " tranquillity of a garden is pronounced to be favourable " to reflection and peace. I believe most people wiU con- " fess under, such circumstances a secret consciousness, not " felt in rooms or towns (solitude even supposed), of a " spmtual influence. The Past and Future appear with a " pleasing solemnity — -the memory of the Dead and the " absent returns without pain— the evidence of the never- " failing care of Providence over Nature consoles, and the " individual, mite as he is, amid the vastness of heaven " and earth, feels that he too is seen and remem- " bered." It is a pleasing duty to record the exceeding kindness of an aged nobleman, whom I may reckon among Mr. East- lake's intimate friends. It was in the hospitable house of the late Earl of Essex, in Belgrave Square — where the frank, ready dUected for his brother WUUam, always awaited him — that Mr. Eastlake met distinguished mem bers of both Houses and of the Government of the day. It was there that he attracted the notice of Sir Robert Peel, whose estimate of his character and attainments brought him subsequently into public employment. I find, in memoranda, signs of Sir Robert's personal regard for him early in 1840. At this time the New Palace at Westminster was so far in course of erection (com menced in 1837) that the consideration of its internal decorations began to occupy a few minds. The, first aUu- sion to the subject is in a letter dated February, 1841 : " Government, or rather Mr. Labouchere" (then President of the Board of Trade), " wishes to have a smaU grant "made for some experiments in fresco painting; and I " am told he wants to propose that some room or hall " in a pubhc place should be decorated by way of trial. "I am also informed that he wishes me to have the dUec- " tion of it. I have said that, much as the plan interests Ch. VI ] CORNELIUS. 167 " me, my engagements" (commissions for pictures) " are " such that I cannot soon take an active part in it." The first pubUc step which eventually led to the appoint ment of a Commission for the Decoration of the Houses of Parhament — called the Fine Arts Commission — was a motion brought before Parliament by Sir Benjamin (then Mr.) Hawes, " For enquiring into the means of promoting the Arts in this Country." A committee was immediately appointed to receive evidence, and Mr. Eastlake was among those examined before it. His evidence was felt (as ex pressed by the chaUman, Mr. Hawes) to have been of pecuhar value — a private letter addressed by him to Mr. Hawes was also considered of importance, and appended to the Report of the Committee. There is no doubt that, whUe anxious not to be drawn into any position of labour or responsibiUty which should interrupt the pursuit of his art, and the conscientious discharge of his commissions, he yet thus, and in other ways, had shown himseU un- mistakeably to be the right person to fill a part hitherto unrepresented — in which a practical and theoretical know ledge of the arts was equally requUed. In October, 1841, he was consulted whether he would consent to be upon the new Commission. This he dechned, for the obvious reason that the Commissioners would have to select the artists fittest for employment. In the autumn of 1841, Peter Cornehus, the weU-known German historical painter, came to London, and, what ever might be, as we have seen, Mr. Eastlake's opmion of his art, there was no doubt that he possessed experience in the practice of fresco. Mr. Eastlake's knowledge of German, and even of the technical terms of art in that language, enabled him to obtain from Cornehus much technical information, wliich he determined to publish, in case Government decided to use this form of decoration. He had hardly arranged his notes - when a letter from 168 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VL SU Robert Peel, who was aware of CorneUus's presence in London, suggested that which he had already done — ¦ an example of the foresight and attention to details which distinguished that great Statesman. In answer to this suggestion, Mr. Eastlake forwarded to SU Robert a Report under eight heads, regarding the proposed decorations of the Houses of ParUament : namely, 1. Situation. 2. Style of Architecture. 3. Fresco, as com pared with oil painting. 4. Time necessary for the execution of works in fresco. 5. Practice of fresco painting. 6. Pre paration of the waUs. 7. Process of Painting, 8. Colours and implements. This Report, though founded on the statements of Cornehus, yet teemed with knowledge, ancient and modern, of a scope and variety of which the venerable German was guiltless. With SU Robert's universaUy culti vated mind, and with his love for the arts, the thought may be permitted that this document opened to him a vista of interest in paths which, however fuU of charm, are but httle trod by statesmen in general. To this Report Mr. Eastlake soon added a paper on the methods of fresco painting, as described by writers on art; in which every authority, fur nished by bis complete and constantly used library, from Vitruvius, Pliny and Palladio, to Sir Humphry Davy, Agri- cola, and Merrimee, and theU bearings on the subject in question, were placed in the clearest order.* A few days after the reception of these papers, Sir Robert Peel re quested Mr. Eastlake to caU on him, and after telling him that the Commission was now formaUy nominated, he handed him the official Instrument to read, which terminated with his own appointment as Secretary. This interview is thus described to the ever sympathising brother, 10th November, 1841. " Sir Robert watched me in " silence while I read it, and as soon as I had ended, said * These two documents were printed in the Appendix of the First Report of the Fine Arts Commission. Ch. VI.] APPOINTMENT TO FINE ARTS COMMISSION. 169 ' he wished to conceal nothing from me connected with ' my appointment, at the same time showing me his letter ' (a copy, but hi his own handwriting) to Prince Albert, ' proposing my nomination. Sir Robert's recommendation ' was expressed in the strongest terms — it would have ' gratified you and George very much, as much as it dis- ' tressed me. I cannot remember it aU, but the points ' dwelt on were .professional talent, knowledge of the sub- ' ject, and character. He then showed me H.R.H.'s ' answer. It was by no means a letter of form, nor a ' repetition of Sir Robert's expressions, but an acquiescence ' apparently founded on his own observations and en- ' qitiries. The Prince added that it would reqitire the ' utmost zeal and disinterestedness on my part. The hand- ' writing was large, plain, and careful. It was now time to ' say yes or no ; but after the matter had gone thus far it ' was evidently impossible to recede, and useless to consult ' me. I did not forget to thank SU Robert Peel, but I re- ' minded him that the prominent position I had taken in ' this enquUy hitherto was quite accidental, that my letter ' to Mr. Hawes was at first a private communication, and ' that my happening to know Cornehus was also the sole ' cause of my having been commissioned by himself to ' consult him. He assured me that he had fixed on me to ' fill this office (it being impossible under the cUcumstances ' to plaee an artist on the Commission) before Cornehus ' came to this country ; that he had consulted the Duke of Sutherland and others, who had all agreed with him. Lastly, he said that he had consulted Chantrey, and that Chantrey had said he could not have fixed on a better person." 170 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. CHAPTER VII. First Meeting of Commission, March, 1842. — The Prince Consort. —Exhibi tions in Westminster Hall. — Arduous labours. — Division of time. — Sources of happiness. — Fgte at Campden Hill.— The Summer House. — Her Majesty. — Visit to Drayton. — Characteristics of Sir Robert Peel. — Death of brother William. — " Materials." — Letter from Mr. Leslie, R.A. — Elected President of Royal Academy. — Commission of 1851. — Prince Consort at Academy Dinner. — Director of National Gallery. — Illness. — Death. It is bejTond the scope of this memoU to attempt to follow the workings of The Fine Arts Commission, or its results as respects its influence on the pubhc taste. It is unneces sary also to dwell further on Mr. Eastlake's fitness for the appointment he had just received, or on the labours which it entaUed during above twenty years of his Ufe. Abstractedly, it was the last position desUed by one of whom I have said little to purpose, unless to show that his painting room and his library bounded his desires and ambition. But there is a Destiny that shapes our ends, and in the stimulus thus apphed to his sensitive but powerful nature, in this responsible and honourable office, energies and capacities latent in him were developed, of which he had himsetf been unconscious. The Commission found, that in addition to a Secretary furnished with unusual stores of learning, they had obtained the services of one endowed with a singular aptitude and patience for that accurate and multi farious work called "business." A resume of his labours will be found in the appendices to the various Reports he drew up for the Commission ; selections from which have been published in the Volume of " Contributions." At the first meeting of the Commission, when all present Ch. VIL] FINE ARTS COMMISSION. 171 were more or less untried in the discussion of the class of subjects before them, SU Robert Peel observed the new Secretary, somewhat, perhaps, with the anxious feeUngs of a veteran watching a novice, as he gave the ChaUman and members what he caUed "a lecture;" illustrating it with specimens, drawings by fresco painters, &c, including the fragment of a real fresco by Paul Veronese ; and showing the self-possession, in the presence of auditors of no com mon class, of one who felt secure of his subject. But more interesting than subject or Secretary was the youthful and royal Chairman, then, I beheve I may add, brought for the first time into the transaction of public business in the country of his adoption — whose untiring and inteUigent zeal in the service of this Commission, at once gave a mea sure of those indefatigable labours for loftier objects to which his short and glorious Ufe was devoted. No artist employed in the works of the Commission, ever approached the Prince without recognising a clearness of perception, regarding the purposes and principles of art, which con trasted curiously and refreshingly with the vague, and often false conventionalties to which the votary of art is generally doomed to be a listener. This first meeting laid the founda tion of that which redounded to the credit of aU — namely, of the deference which throughout was shown to the Secretary, when, as he modestly expresses himseU, " on my " own ground." Previous to this first meeting, the Prince had desired Mr. Eastlake to wait on him at Buckingham Palace. It was the first time Mr. Eastlake had seen H.R.H., and as a painter, he may be excused for a painter's remark — namely, that " the Prince stood in a strong Ught, which showed his " beautiful face to great advantage." On this occasion the Prince discussed the objects and plan of the Commission; Mr. Eastlake unreservedly making objections where he thought them necessary. " Two or three times I quite for- 172 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. " got who he was — he talked so naturally and argued so faUly." This conversation convinced Mr. Eastlake that certain rumours which had prevaUed regarding the Prince's inten tion to employ German artists, were whoUy unfounded. The Prince did not sanction the employment of German workmen even for subordinate labours, and expressed his conviction that in all that belonged to practical dexterity, the Enghshman took the lead of the foreigner. One of the first measures determined on by the Commis sioners (mentioned here, because leading to an important exhibition), was to invite a competition of Cartoons, ot designs calculated for fresco; the subjects to be selected from British History, or from the works of Spenser, Shakspeare, or Milton. This competition was opened to all artists, and a twelvemonth was aUowed for preparation. The result brought to hght an unexpectedly large number of fine works, which were exhibited in Westminster HaU. So auspicious a beginning especiaUy deUghted the Prince. On the 1st July, 1843, Her Majesty visited this interesting and novel display, accompanied by the King and Queen of the Belgians. The Prince immediately presented Mr. Eastlake to the Queen, but acted himseU as cicerone, taking Her Majesty from one side to the other with eager interest. As the first occasion, foUowed by others more memorable, on which the Queen inaugurated an Exhibition presided over by her lamented husband, — and one on which the youthful paU gave public evidence of that union of taste and interest which resulted from a higher bond — this Exhibition of the Cartoons, now well-nigh forgotten, has a mournful signifi cance. The Cartoons were 141 hi number. Three pre miums of 300Z. each, three of 200Z., and five of 100Z., had been offered, but were not found equal to the number of the approved specimens, and ten more at 100Z. each were added. The eclat given to the occasion by Her Majesty's visit, by Oh. VII.] CARTOON EXHIBITION. 173 the Prince's participation, and by its intrinsicaUy novel and interesting character, rendered this exhibition, opened at first for a shilling, a very fashionable resort. At the expUation of a fortnight, the pubhc were admitted gratis, except on Saturdays, when the attendance exceeded aU ex pectations both Ui numbers and inteUigence. " July 22nd, " 1843. The daUy throng is immense ; the pubUc takes great " interest, and the strongest proof is thus given of the love of " the lower orders for pictures, when they represent an event. " I abridged the catalogue to a penny size for the mUlion, " but many of the most wretchedly dressed people prefer " the sixpenny one with the quotations, and it is a very " gratifying sight to witness the attention and earnest- " ness with which they foUow the subjects with the " books Ui theU hands. Ten thousand of the sixpenny " catalogues have been sold." (It had then been open to the pubhc for a week.) " The higher classes com- " plained that the Exhibition was not open ionger for a " shilling, but the Commissioners have wisely determined " to let it remain for the pubhc as at present, and for " several weeks to come. Clerks of counting-houses have " petitioned to be let in on Sundays, but this cannot be " granted. The gates are closed from time to time when " the Hall is full, and the people are let out through the " Law Courts. Meanwhile the new comers coUect in " crowds, waiting for admission, and carriages draw up, " subject to the same necessary delay. No possible arrange- " ment, and no number of hands, could regulate the deUvery " of umbreUas and sticks, and the unclaimed ones have " accumulated in consequence. I have therefore dUected " the doorkeepers to use theU discretion, and let in many " with theU umbreUas. The question of dress I have " settled, of course, without any Une of demarcation ; only " children are not let hi under a certam apparent age. " They are nevertheless carried in with the throng, and as 174 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. " the pohcemen collect them they are walked out agam in " droves, and packed up for a time in the vestibule till " there is room to get out. All the workmen from the " Houses of Parhament go in, but chiefly in the evenmg, " because, being as white as miUers (the masons), they have " the discretion to time theU visits. " You will see by the Catalogue that the references and " quotations are good of theU kind, being indeed from the " highest sources. I stated to the Commissioners yesterday, " in reporting about the Exhibition, that the Catalogues in " the hands of so many thousands, would be the first intro- " duction of many to an acquaintance with our best poets " and writers." Between twenty and thUty thousand a day visited this Exhibition, which was kept open for two months. It was succeeded in AprU, 1844, by an Exhibition of Specimens of Decorative Works of Art, in Crockford's Bazaar, St. James' ; in July, 1844, by one of Specimens of Fresco and Sculpture, accompanied by more Cartoons, in Westminster HaU; in June, 1845, by a mixed Exhibition of Cartoons, Frescoes, Coloured Sketches, and Sculpture ; and finaUy in June, 1847, by one of Paintings in oU ; both these last being in Westminster Hall. In aU these mstances premiums were awarded to the most successful works. The amount of labour attending these occasions, and the fact that every subordinate department of art connected with the internal decorations and completion of the Palace — the carved work, parquete work, metal work, stained glass, arabesque decorations, encaustic tUes, &c. — came also under the inspection and decision of the Commissioners, shows how conscientiously they addressed themselves to the task they had undertaken ; also how multifarious and unceasing were the labours of the Secretary. Into aU this he entered with the feehng of a pamter, and also with the patient in vestigation of a man of science, asking for no help, and Ch. VII.] LABOURS AS SECRETARY. 175 leaving nothing to others to do. And he knew that his brother William's kindred spUit would sympathize fully with him when he said, " We are too conscientious and anxious " to do anything by deputy." He might well add when en gaged on a picture of deep feehng, with aU this sea of inter ruption breaking in upon him, " if ever I drew the arrow to " the head it must be now." This was doubtless the busiest period of bis hfe, though, from the more active and social nature of his official occupation, it was not so trying to his health as his later Roman residence had been. He suffered, however, every winter from dehcacy of chest and lungs, so as to be often disabled. It is no wonder that Mr. Eastlake's note-book shows fewer entries of pictures from 1840 to 1850, yet his Hagar and Ishmael, Heloise, Visit to the Nun, Helena, &c, bear evi dence that the inspUations of beauty were not fading from his mental sight. His kind brothers remonstrated gently on this undue devotion of the years of his prime for what they conceived was inadequate compensation — his salary was 700Z. a year — and suggested the possibility of a position in which the duties would be Ughter. He rephed to them, December, 1844 : " I prefer a situation in which I can influence the " arts of the country to a private sinecure." These words are a clue to further duties which he undertook. There is no doubt, also, that the exercise of those faculties for business and organisation which had hitherto been undeveloped was pleasing to him as the sense of a new power. In AprU, 1842, Mr. Eastlake accepted the office of. Librarian to the Royal Academy, which he held for two years, and I beUeve I am justified in saying that he left the mark of his supervision upon the Catalogue of that Library. In November, 1843, he undertook the office of Secretary to the National GaUery, vacant by the death of Mr. Seguier, and flatteringly pressed upon him by SU Robert Peel. This he held till 1847. About this time he laughingly 176 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. complains that people seemed to consider him the only person quaUfied to give help and advice in matters of art : — he was requested to accept the Curatorship of the pictures belonging to Greenwich Hospital; he was proposed to be sent out as DUector of a contemplated English Academy at Rome ; he was again requested to undertake the super intendence of the Schools of Design ; and he was con sulted equaUy whether a picture was for purchase or for sale, by many who had not the shghtest claim upon his time. Order and punctuality were, it is needless to say, the secrets of his successful industry, aided by a memory which embraced the smallest as well as the most important, the driest as weU as the most interesting matters. The painting time was usuaUy restricted to the season least fitted for it ; namely, to the winter, when Exhibitions and Fine Arts Meetings were suspended. Though his eyeUds had suffered in Italy, yet his sight continued good. At aU events, he did not spare it. In January, 1844, he mentions working five and six hours by lamphght. " I dine at 6, and from 7 o'clock " till 12 or 1, or even later, my lamp is burning. I break- " fast at haU-past 8 notwithstanding my late hours. Every " position has its advantages, the difficulty is to turn them " to account. Lytton Bulwer has a pithy German motto to " one of his novels. The burthen of it is that ' Here hi " this hampered, despised actual, here or nowhere is your " Ideal — work it out therefrom.' When a pamter has a " crabbed subject to deal with, as I have now (from Comus), " he should try to make it interesting. Wilkie once, walking " round the Exhibition with me, compared the pictures of " two artists, and said that of aU the definitions of Genius " the most inteUigible and attainable was ' the power of " ' making use of your materials.' As George heard Mrs. " Jordan say, ' Many a character one has to perform is in " ' itself insipid, it all depends on what you can put into it.' Ch. VII.] SOURCES OF HAPPINESS. 177 " Every profession, every place, and every occasion has " its Ideal, and tf the word is not quite the right one it is " because the judgment has more to do with the use of cir- " cumstances than the imagination. . . . Perhaps in all " cases the surest road to happiness is labour. A fuUer " definition would be 'intensity of wUl in anything that the " ' conscience approves.' The degree of happiness would " then be according to the thing laboured for. The most " exalted motives are rare, and fortunately unnecessary for " tolerable peace of mind ; but an mstance of intensity of " wiUin what the conscience highly approves might be found " in Howard visitmg prisons. Intensity of wUl, even in " things mdifferent, is a source of happmess. Some finely " constituted natures cannot do or say anything without " putting theU soul mto it; theU faculties are always active " and earnest; they Uve thrice the Ufe of ordinary vegetating " people, and communicate theU energy more or less to " those about them. But this, an habitual virtue (at least " in society), is not to be confounded with intensity of wiU " in the performance of real duties. That I beUeve is the " secret of happmess of the best Idnd. Lastly, intensity of " wUl Ui anything bad, and which the conscience disap- " proves, so as to produce mental satisfaction, would be " Satanic, and is the key to MUton's character of Satan." Again, on the same subject. " In my last letter I was " led to make some observations the train of which was, I " beUeve, suggested by some remarks of yours" (his brother WUliam's). " I observed that intensity of wUl in the pro- ',' secution of a good object is a tolerably good definition of " happmess. VoUtion leads to action, but where action is " in a great measure denied, as in your case, the activity of " thought may be a source of happiness. (Aristotle says it " is the only happmess of the gods.) The perfection of " the moral being, a perfection unattainable in this world, " must consist in the identity of the human will with the 178 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. "Divine WUl, 'as it is hi heaven.' The study of the " Divine WUl is what the Apostles never cease to recom- " mend." With aU the business that occupied hun, pleasure (or relaxation) was happUy not quite given up, A dejeuner at the Duchess of Bedford's at Campden HUl, gives a pleasmg gUmpse of some he knew, and whom many have known. " I met at the same moment Col. Gascoyne and Lord " Leven, with both of whom I travelled in SicUy. Lord " Leven presented his daughter to me, now grown up. . . . " The children of aU the visitors who had any were there, " and Punch (the puppet-show) was in a corner of the " beautiful lawn to amuse them. It was pleasant to see " them in front with theU attentive faces, whUe the grown - " up idlers sauntered about. There were plenty of straw- " berries and cream for aU ages, and a cow was tied to a " tree to be milked when requUed. Lady Morley re- " marked that the lowings were periodical, and main- " tamed that they pinched its tail to make it aU rural. It " was observed that two grown-up visitors were as intent on " Punch as the children, viz., Lord Glenelg and Miss Fox. " Lord HoUand, her late brother, might have been as much " amused, and would have owned it as readUy. I walked " away, intending to get into an omnibus at Kensington, " but had not gone far before I heard my name caUed from " a carriage that drove by me and stopped. It was Lord " Leven and his daughter. They made me get in, and I " left them in Arlington Street. A boy came out of the " house as we were standing talking together. Lord L. " said, ' Here's Balgonie, bearing the same name I bore " 'when I first knew you.' Pleasant encounters! but aU cal- " culated to make one feel somewhat old." MeanwhUe the position he occupied, though it diverted the course of the true pamter, had great compensating privileges ; foremost among which were the occasions of Ch. VII.] THE PRINCE CONSORT. 179 easy communication with one who stood equaUy pre-eminent as a Prince and as a man. The Prince Consort was then in aU the first ardour of youth — as yet comparatively unfettered in leisure, and unworn by work. He may be said to have first won his spurs, as regarded pubUc business, in the conduct of the Fine Arts Commission, for, after the Secretary, none thought so much or toUed so unremittingly on its behalf. The Prince took particular interest in the art of fresco, hoping that the impulse given to its development by the Fine Arts Commission would elevate the EngUsh school and the public taste, and lead to decorations of a monumental character within the country houses of the EngUsh nobUity. While competitions were invited, as related, of specimens of fresco, he formed a plan by which the chief painters of the EngUsh school could make private essay of the art within the precincts of Buckingham Palace. A Summer- house, or PaviUon, had been recently erected on an elevated portion of the grounds originaUy formed during the excava tion of the lake. It was of an octagonal form, tastefully painted within with arabesque decorations; and eight lunette- shaped compartments remained, fitted to receive designs in fresco* The subject of Comus was chosen, and eight of the principal painters agreed each to undertake a compartment.* Mr. Eastlake was among the number, selecting for himself the least favourable compartment — that over the fireplace — where he stood to paint in his own Ught. His period of leisure only aUowed him to undertake this commission during the winter — January and February of 1844 — when he was constantly a witness of the great interest Her Majesty as weU as the Prince took in the progress of the work — being hindered by no weather, even with snow on the ground, from theU early visits to the Summer House. It would be * The order in which the painters follow each other in the small space is as follows: Stanfield, Uwins, Leslie, Sir William Ross, Eastlake, Maclise, Landseer, Etty. N 2 180 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. unbecoming to give anecdotes, however respectful, of these exalted personages thus seen in theU private Ufe, and on occasions of gracious condescension towards the object of this memoU ; but a few lines may be quoted embodying Mr. Eastlake's first impressions of Her Majesty; impres sions which his own refined taste as weU as the un designed nature of the admUation render the more inte resting. " The perfection with which my imagination soon " endowed Her Majesty was a most agreeable voice, and " a pronunciation of EngUsh fit to be an example for " aU her subjects. If you were to hear it without seeing " the speaker, you would associate with it a musical ear " and a consummate education, but combining with the "impression of feminine taste that of the consciousness " of power." Another very highly valued result of the position now occupied by Mr. Eastlake was the friendship entertained for him by SU Robert Peel. His visits to Drayton — and on one occasion he was the only guest — opened scenes of domestic English life of pecuUar attraction to him. He here saw the great statesman hi aU the variety of character that belonged to him ; — the country gentleman — the ardent farmer — the kind neighbour — the plnlanthropist — the man of letters — the patron of art — and the centre of happiness in his own family ; while occasionaUy he touched on those larger and profounder topics to which his Ufe was mainly devoted. The subjects of art and artists and the best mode of pro moting and benefitting each took of course the lead in the tete-a-tete walks on the noble terrace, interspersed with plans for obtaining more space for the National GaUery, and for enlarging the sculpture-room at the Royal Academy. And while Mr. Eastlake wondered how his distinguished host could give his mind to so many topics — and to aU with thoroughness — it was with no little surprise that he dis- overed that SU Robert had read and mastered the Handbook Ch. VII.] . SIR ROBERT PEEL. 181 of ItaUan Painting, by Kugler, lately edited by himsetf. At Drayton, too, he met the leading men of every class and country, who offered points of contact with SU Robert Peel's extended interests and duties. Dignitaries of the church, men of science, authors, members of the Govern ment, foreign ministers — including his old acquaintance, Chevaher Bunsen, &c. — wltile he quietly records a feat of no small import to those who know his adversary, namely, that he beat Baron Brunow in a game of bilUards. A tribute to SU Robert Peel's character . and habits, however superfluous, can never be out of place from the pen of one deeply indebted to him. " The exceUence of SU ' Robert Peel's administration, in which he is imitated by ' his subalterns is, that while able and ready to grapple ' with the largest and most difficult questions, he thinks ' nothing really connected with business too insignificant ' for his attention. He probably, in early Ufe, began with ' accurate habits, which make such an attention to detaUs ' always easy, and which are the best foundation for ' enlarged experience. A shp-slop workman is good for ' neither ; he can neither be a plodder nor a philosopher. ' Without attention to the business of the moment there ' can be no accuracy, without accuracy and industry (the ' evidence of zeal) there can be no extensive knowledge of ' facts and details, which are the pabulum of judgment, and ' the only true groundwork of theory." In 1845 Mr. Eastlake experienced the great loss of the brother WUUam so often mentioned in these pages. There are frequent records, in his letters to his only re maining and also highly valued brother George, of the gap thus left in his hfe. By this death he became the possessor of the small country seatj at Plympton, caUed St. Mary's HUl, which had belonged to his father. In the midst of aU his official labours he found time to pay minute attention to alterations and additions tending to improve 182 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. and ornament the place ; and some ItaUan features remain which bear witness to the hand that designed them. Even the garden engaged him deeply ; one of his standing orders was " plant more holyhocks." But chiefly he found fresh sources of interest in some of the younger members of his brother's famUy ; aU his nephews and nieces hi turn being the objects of his constant attention and advice in his letters to their father. By his urgent recommendation and assist ance one of his nephews, — his namesake, — whose memory gratefuUy endorses these sUght aUusions,* was placed at Westminster CoUege School. Every Saturday tiU Monday the Uttle feUow was welcomed by the kind uncle, who laid aside his cares and work, and devoted himsetf to be his " help," — a term used in that school, — reporting to his brother the pleasure he took in the juvenile student. " As to " his progress, nothing can be more satisfactory. We work " hard together when he comes to me, and we shaU continue " to do so till we have gone as far as his Fitzroy Square t " master can teach him. ... It is of great importance " that he should come to me on Saturdays as often as " he can, as I can always solve some of his difficulties. " Whether it is that I am unaccustomed to the society of " chUdren, or, which I rather beUeve, that there is some- " thing peculiarly pleasmg about this unsophisticated Uttle " feUow, as he now is, I know not, but his presence is "as a beam of sunshine, infusing feeUngs that make me " acknowledge the force of that injunction that we shonld " in singleness and purity of mind become as chUdren. " Last Monday evening, to please CharUe, who wishes to " be thought able, and is able, to take care of himself, I " walked with him to an omnibus which was going as far * Mr. Charles Lock Eastlake, the architect ; Secretary of the Institute of British Architects. f Sir Charles purchased the house, No. 7, Fitzroy Square, which he subse quently occupied, in 1842. Ch. VII.] "MATERIALS." 183 " as Charing Cross, and left him to his fate. But the " next morning I was not easy till I had sent down to " Westminster to know tf he was safe. Tucker* saw him " playing on the Green." These trivial facts are only given as helping to show the fullness of a character on which I dweU with sad dehght. One more aspect of it yet remained to be developed ; this was called into Ufe by our marriage in 1849. On the happiness of that tie, and on the poignancy of its earthly severance, I must forbear to dtiate. It was in 1847 that the first volume of his work, entitled " Materials for a History of OU Painting," was given to the public. This was originaUy commenced in the form of a treatise intended for insertion in the appendices to Reports of the Fine Arts Commission. The subject en larged so much, however, under the thoroughness of his research, as to be too bulky for its destination; also, it may be added, too valuable to be comparatively buried in a Government Report. The Prince, to whom he submitted the question, entUely approved of the separate pubhcation of this work. The volume, though appeahng to a very limited pubUc, was received by the periodical press with great respect. It has been translated into Italian, and is now in process of translation into German. But though, in this instance, his labours became more generally known, yet he continued, on other subjects, to fill the Fine Arts Commission Reports unstintingly with the fruits of a life of study. Not that these were whoUy lost to the pubhc even in this shape, for the attention drawn to them by the profession raised a partial demand for these docu ments.! A letter from his friend, the late Mr. Uwins, R.A., * Sir Charles' faithful man servant. f A selection of these essays, with other writings by his pen, were in corporated in the volume entitled " Contributions to the Literature of the Fine Arts," edited by Mr. Bellenden Ker, in 1848. 184 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. gives a grateful tribute to the indefatigable labourer hi the cause of Art. " February 26, 1846. — I have read " your 5th Report, and read it with no small attention " and interest. You are certainly an extraordinary person. " While others are malting a parade of books and lectures, " merely to announce a few unconnected truisms and " commonplaces of very ordinary practice, you are opening " up the whole phUosophy of the Art to aU who have heads " to understand; — aU,. forsooth, under the humble title of " Reports of the Fine Arts Commission. Time wiU come " when these modestly put forth papers wiU be quoted as " the highest authority on the several subjects on which " they treat." The time was now approaching when the office which invested him with most honour, and by which he is best known to the world, was about to be conferred. During the latter years of SU Martin A. Shee's life, when failing health entirely withdrew him from the duties of his office — conscientiously performed in the interim by the Keeper of the Royal Academy, the late Mr. George Jones — the idea gradually obtained in the artist world that Mr. Eastlake was destined to succeed to the Presidentship. This surmise fre quently reached him, and from quarters best justified in bringing it before him. His reserved habits, modest self esti mate, love of his art, and interest in the duties of the Fine Arts Commission, led him to shrink unequivocaUy from such a prospect- Nevertheless, there could be no doubt in the minds of some who looked on, that his scruples would ultimately be overborne. The subject had been introduced to him by Her Majesty with gracious condescension, and by SU Robert Peel with cordial friendship. On both these occasions the desire had been expressed that, in case of the honour being offered, he should accept it ; and also the conviction that its acceptance would be compatible with the continued exercise of his duties as Secretary to Ch. VII. ] LETTER FROM MR. LESLIE, R.A. 185 the Fine Arts Commission.* On the other hand, on the part of some of the members of the Royal Academy, the desire that he would eventuaUy occupy the chair was con veyed to him in terms at once generous and comphmentary. As early even as the period of Howard's resignation of the Secretaryship of the Royal Academy — in 1846 — a letter reached him from his friend Mr. Leslie, the pamter, — a man as much esteemed by his feUow artists as distinguished in his profession, — which I need not apologise for inserting here. " November 18, 1846. " My dear Eastlake : " There is, of course, as you know, a stU in " the Academy in consequence of the probability of " Howard's resignation. Several of my friends have asked " me to offer myself as a candidate, which, for several " reasons, with which I wUl not waste your time, I shall " certainly not do. My object in writing to you is to " entreat you to offer yourself the moment the vacancy " occurs. I do hope, for the sake of the Academy, you " will. I suggested this last night to Uwins, who said " what I beUeve most of us know, that you are looked to " as our future President. Very possibly you yourself are " the only person in the Academy not looking forward to " such an event. Be that as it may, I stated to Uwins " that your acceptance of the Secretaryship could not * Of interest in another sense of the word there was little at that time to attach him to this office. Desirous of securing more leisure for the practice of his art, he asked permission to depute some of the less responsible labour of the Secretaryship to his friend Mr. Aubrey Bezzi : and in order to induce the members of the Commission the more readily to accede to this proposal, he surprised them by the unusual and over honour able request that his salary might be reduced from 700Z. to 500Z. a year. Out of this oOOl. he paid Mr. Bezzi 2001. a year. He thus gave his own services, in which I need not say he never relaxed, for very small compensation. Subsequently, the salary was restored. 186 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. " possibly interfere with your being chosen President, as " I have no doubt you wiU be whenever the time for such " choice arrives. I know you better than to suppose this " explanation can have any weight with you one way or " other. I merely state it as my own view of the case ; " and you must aUow me to repeat my earnest wish that " you wUl become a candidate for the Secretaryship. I " wish (as the Irishman said) you could be ' two gentlemen " ' at once,' for the very character of the Academy may be " said to be in the hands of the President and Secretary. " Excuse aU this, from yours very truly, " C. R. Leslie." In August, 1850, the death of SU M. A. Shee took place, and in the foUowing November Mr. Eastlake was elected by the members of the Royal Academy to the office of President. TheU choice was confirmed, and the usual honour of Knighthood conferred, shortly after by the Queen. However unwiUing in anticipation to accept a position involving responsibility of so prominent a cha racter, I shall be beUeved when I say, that none of his predecessors undertook this office with a higher conception of its duties — a more just estimate of its distinction — or a more grateful feeling personaUy, towards aU his brethren of the Royal Academy. With a desUe, hardly acknowledged to himself, to avoid rather than attract the suffrages of the members, he had of late years withdrawn from aU but absolutely necessary participation in the business of the Academy. He now threw himself into it with ardour — with aU his equity of feehng and amenity of manner — exciting in many, to whom he had been scarcely known, a pleasmg self-gratulation in finding theU expecta tions surpassed in the object of theU choice, whUe his friends rejoiced in the fulfilment of their generous con fidence. It was thus that Mr. CockereU, the valued friend Ch. VII.] PRESIDENT OF ROYAL ACADEMY. 187 of his youth, and of our maturer time, expressed himself in a letter not written to meet our eyes, from which I may be permitted to give an extract : " Eastlake is always ad- " ntirable, through good and evU report. His Presidency is " invaluable — earnest, steady, most judicious, business-like, " kind, fuU of tact, consideration, and even poUcy — but of " an honest and wholly unselfish pohcy, and, when need be, " bold, as backed by honesty." The first year of his Presidentship was that of the Great Exhibition of 1851. As early as 1849 SU Charles Eastlake had been appohited one of the twenty-six Commissioners ; and his subsequent elevation to the chaU of Reynolds lent a further propriety to the part he filled in the great undertaking. The presence of the Prince Consort at the Royal Academy dinner of 1851 — the first anniversary on which Sir Charles presided — was the occasion of a speech which by its admUable sense and perfect sympathy excited the enthusiasm of aU present, and added another to that series of admUable addresses on widely differing topics which the lamented Prince has bequeathed to the country. The presence of His Royal Highness was the more flattering to the Royal Academy from the cUcumstances which at that time drew upon him the attention of the civiUsed world — for the Great Exhibition had just been opened — and this presence, as the Prince amiably stated, was due to his personal regard for the new President. Although these addresses have been rendered accessible to all, I venture to transcribe the words in which the Prince expressed himself on this day : "I have on this occasion made it a " point to attend the dinner in order to assist at what may " be considered the inauguration festival of your newly "elected President — at whose election I have heartUy " rejoiced, not only on account of my high estimate of " his quahties, but also on account of my feeUngs of " regard for him personaUy. It would be presumptuous 188 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. ' of me to speak to you of his talent as an artist, for ' that is weU known to you, and of it you are the ' best judges — or of his merits as an author, for you ' are aU fantiUar with his books, or, at least, ought to ' be so — or of his amiable character as a man, for that ' also you must have had opportunities to estimate — but ' my connection with him for more than nine years on ' Her Majesty's Commission for the Promotion of the ' Fine Arts, has enabled me to know what you can know ' less, and what is of the greatest value in a President ' of the Royal Academy ; — I mean that kindness of heart ' and refinement of feehng which have guided him in all ' his communications, often most difficult and deUcate, ' with the different artists whom he had to invite to com- ' petition; whose works we had to criticize, whom we ' had to employ or reject." As he thus spoke the Prince laid his hand kindly on SU Charles' shoulder. It is not Urelevant here to remark, on looking back on the biography we have been tracing, that this appointment seemed to grow naturaUy out of the previous conditions of his hfe. He had, it may be said, been throughout his course in training for the position which he had attained — a, training matured equally as regarded the practice, the means, the aims, and the history of art ; and of late years completed by those dealings with his feUow artists to which the Prince referred. The period at which the Royal Academy had now arrived was a crisis both in art and its affairs. Old styles of art were disappearing, and new styles starting up ; and there was scarcely a period when the vigi lant inculcation of sound practice and doctrine was more urgently requUed. How far the stimulus and employment given to artists of all classes by the labours of the Com mission had borne beneficial fruits to art itself, it would be difficult to trace. In SU Charles' own words in a speech at an Acadenry dinner, on referring to these labours^-to Ch. VII.] PRESIDENT OF ROYAL ACADEMY. 189 the increased interest in art evinced by the public — to the favour of Her Majesty, and to the energy of the Prince — " such results are not always traced to theU most important " causes — indeed an example is the more successful in pro- " portion as it is foUowed unconsciously." At this time the idea of dignified ease usuaUy attached to the position of President of the Royal Academy, was temporarUy, if not finally dispelled. The Institution was exposed to a storm of criticism and enquUy ; and the highest personal qualities hi its presiding head, for the maintenance of confidence from witbin and without, were never more in dispensable in the interests of the Academy. However. favourable therefore the cUcumstances under which he com menced office, however respectful, faithful, and helpful the support of the leading members, I am quite sure that none stiU surviving, who sate under him, wUl gainsay the asser tion, that the course of the Academy, during the fifteen years of his Presidency, entaUed no common amount of labour and anxiety on the conscientious Steersman. It is not for me to attempt to catalogue the measures which he supported or brought forward. They may be summed up in general as abrogations of privileges to the Body, and as additional advantages to the schools, or, in other words, to the arts generaUy ; his master principle bemg ever kept in view, that the true object of the Royal Academy, its only source of invulnerability, was to pro mote the good of the PubUc, before that of its individual members. Subordinate hi importance to internal reforms and im provements, and yet temporarily more instrumental in gaining popularity, both to the Institution and the Presi dent, may be mentioned the greater pubUcity, as well as higher character given to that yearly dinner by which the Royal Academy inaugurates each successive Exhibition. The presence of the Prince, and his remarkable speech, led, 190 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. for the first time, to the introduction of reporters, and the pubhc journals have since made known to the world those annual speeches, in which, while Statesmen have relaxed in playful encounter, SU Charles never fatfed to enunciate — UicidentaUy or dUectly — some principle of art, some testimony to enUghtened taste, or some tribute to the departed artist.* According to estabhshed custom, he deUvered a lecture bienniaUy to the students of the Academy. These, while dUected to subjects of technical practice and phUosophy, yet appeal to general principles in which most cultivated minds would find interest. My task now draws to a conclusion. The aspUations of his youth, — the training of his mind — the development of his character, I have endeavoured, and chiefly in his own words, to lay before the reader ; the more public part of the career, as I before observed, has needed briefer notice. In 1855, in addition to his other occupations, Sir Charles accepted the office of DUector to the National Gallery. In this position, the most interesting and deUghtful at that time which the painter, the connoisseur, and the man of taste could hold, though one of no exemption from toil, he found employment of a pecuUarly congenial nature, and reaped the choicer fruits of his Ufe of labour. While finally banishing him from his painting-room, the confinement, and — with his ever increasing fastidiousness * Much more might be said — perhaps ought to be said— on the character of Sir Charles' speeches on these occasions. They are vividly remembered as unique of their kind by many whose admiration is a high tribute. Year after year their grace, propriety, and perfect adaptation to the special purpose were welcomed with keener attention and renewed interest ; while not a few of the distinguished guests listened with mingled pleasure and surprise, who were familiar with the difficulty of infusing variety into ever recurring topics. The excellence of these addresses may in some measure be defined as the result of a cultivation of mind and purity of taste which equally interdicted redundancy or display. Ch. VII.] DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL GALLERY. 191 — the anxiety of which were very trying to his health, this office gave him back that which holds at aU events the second best place in a painter's heart, — the constant society of fine works of art. Abstaining therefore from further creations of his own hand, he found a painter's interests and dehghts — if also something of his labours — in the closest study of those old masters to whom he had ever given reverential aUegiance. The fortunate necessity of traveUing in quest of pictures was the best restorative for mind and body, after the fatigues of a London official Ufe. Year after year the happy tour was made, always to Italy, once to Spain, and frequently on fruitful errands besides to France, Belgium, HoUand, and Germany. And all the charms of travel were enhanced by a purpose, honourable and responsible, which kept up those habits of thought and industry, without which pleasure would have been none to him. No fatigues or discomforts deterred him from visitmg the remotest parts of Italy : wherever the prospect was held out of securing (and in most cases it was rescuing) a work of interest, he patiently made his way ; and before every picture, whether in church, convent, or private house, worthy of his investigation, accurate notes were taken, and every evening carefully transcribed.* Wherever he became known, respect and confidence followed him, and, tf hi a few instances his thorough experience and judgment frustrated attempts at imposition, they far oftener developed a gene rous and honourable recognition from the nobler side of the Itahan character. WhUe conscious that these foreign duties eventuaUy entailed cUcumstances, which, humanly speaking, are beUeved to have shortened his precious life, it is a consolation to me to remember how often he re turned from these journeys reinvigorated in spUits and * A large collection of notes remains in my possession, which have been copied and catalogued alphabetically, and put at the service of the present Director of the National Gallery. 192 MEMOIR OF SIR CHARLES LOCK EASTLAKE. [Ch. VII. health, and how greatly they contributed to enrich the National Gallery.* He left England on the 3rd August, 1865, exceedingly unwell. This condition had too often occurred for us not to press forward to that desired land, the soft aU of which had so often restored him. On my part, however, there were, on this last occasion, more than usual misgivings. On crossing the Simplon, and reachmg Domo d'Ossola, he immediately felt reUeved, but the next day, which took us through the beautiful scenery which leads to Baveno on the Lago Maggiore, was the last day of health to him. At Milan, which was soon reached, twelve sad weeks — though broken by intervals of partially returning strength and hope — were passed. They were succeeded by five weeks, sadder stUl, at Pisa. He died there on the 24th of December, t * 139 pictures were purchased for the National Gallery by Sir Charles Eastlake ; 29 pictures were presented and bequeathed in his time. f Sir Charles Eastlake was buried first in the English cemetery at Florence, on the 27th December. The wishes of the Royal Academy which reached me later, and certain doubts entertained of the permanent inviola bility of the cemetery at Florence, led me to permit his removal to this country. He received a public funeral from the Academy, and was buried in Kensal Green on January 18th, 1866. I declined a public funeral in St. Paul's Cathedral, as not consonant with his wishes. WORKS EXECUTED BY SIR C. L. EASTLAKE. SUBJECT. Raising of Jairus' Daughter . . . Brutus haranguing the Romans on the death of Lucretia .... Buonaparte on board the Bellerophon . Cicero in his Villa at Pozzuoli Marius in Carthage Two drawings to illustrate Horace Forum of Nerva (water-colour drawing) View of Arco de' Pantani . Paris and Mercury (figures life size) View of Coliseum from English College Garden View of St. Peter's fromPamfili Gardens View of Temple of Antoninus and Faustina Scene in Maecenas's ViUa, Tivoli . . Scene in Convent near Coliseum . Scene in Colonnade of St. Peter's . . Scene on Palatine Hill Scene in Villa Albani . . . . View of Temple of Erectheus, Athens . Temple of Vesta at Tivoli . Scene in Colonnade of St. Peter's . . Scene in Villa Albani .... Scene on Palatine Hill . . . . Portrait of Mr. Abercrombie Copy of portrait of Lord Morley . . A Brigand A Contadina A Contadina View of Temple of Theseus, Athens View of Bridge and Castle of St. Angelo View of Coliseum from Temple of Peace View of St. Peter's from Monte Mario . Temple of Erectheus at Athens . Temple of Theseus with Battle . . View of Coliseum from Temple of Peace View of Coliseum from English College Garden FOK WHOM PAINTED. WHEN- FINISHED. Mr. Jeremiah Hwmcm . 1812 Lost or destroyed . 1814 Five Pwohasers . . . 1815 Ducliess of Devonshire . 1818 Lost or destroyed . . . 1818 Duchess of Devonshire . 1818 1818 Duchess of Devonshire . . . 1820 Lost or destroyed . 1820 Earl of Caledon . . 1820 1820 The same . 1820 The same .... 1820 The sarnie . 1820 1820 The same . 1820 1820 Ea?-l of Guildford . 1820 Earl Gower 1820 The same . 1820 1820 The same . 1820 Son. Mrs. Abercrombie . . 1820 Earl of Morley . 1820 Mr. Cholmondeley . . 1820 The same . 1820 Mr. Dyson . 1820 Ewrl of Guildford . 1821 Lord George Quin . . 1821 Tlie same . 1821 Mr. Devon . . 1821 1821 1821 Mr. Scrope . 1821 194 WORKS EXECUTED BY SIR C. L. EASTLAKE. A Sonnino Woman .... View of the Trajan Forum . . . The same, smaller .... Scene at Arsoli Sonnino Woman and Wounded Brigand A Sonnino Woman and Brigand . . A Sonnino Woman and Brigand . A Beggar and Contadina . . . . A Beggar and Contadina A Sonnino Woman, and Brigand View of Coliseum from English College Garden View of Coliseum from Maronite Con vent A Brigand Wounded, and other figures Goatherds in the Campagna of Rome- . Scene on Palatine Hill .... Another Scene on Palatine Hill Another Scene on ditto Another Scene on ditto A Contadina and Children . A Brigand .... A Brigand's Wife A Classical Landscape The Champion (large, half figures) A Roman Head A Brigand in Concealment . A Girl of Albano and Blind Woman, (half figures) A Contadina and Children . A Young Woman of Poli . . . . Isadas — Plutarch's Life of Agesilaus . View on the Tiber .... View of the Temple of Erectheus . . An Abruzzi Girl Pilgrims Arriving in Sight of Rome . Head of a Greek Girl (Haidee) . . . Head of a Girl of L'Aricia . A Landscape, from Byron's " Dream " . Head of a Country Girl The Cave of Despair Peasants Returning from Labour (half figures, life-size) .... Contadina Family, Prisoners with Banditti WHEN POE WHOM PAINTED. FIHISHED. Mr. Scrope 3821 Miss Catherine Fanshawe. 1821 Mr. Boileau . . ¦ ¦ 1821 Countess of Westmorland . . 1821 Sir George Beawmont 1821 Mr. Mills 1822 Sir Moore Disney 1822 Lord George Quin . . . 1822 Mrs. Barman .... Mr. Hvtchinson . . . . 1822 1822 The same .... 1822 Mr. Hutchinson 1823 Sir Moore Disney . 1823 Mr. Greville Howard 1823 The same 1823 The same .... 1823 The same .... 1823 Mr. Sheepshanks 1823 Mr. Earle .... 1823 Tlie same .... 1823 Earl of Orford 1823 Mr. Hutchinson 1824 Mr. Ducane .... . 1824 Sir W. W. Wynne . . 1824 Mr. D. BaAVAe 1824 Mr. Phillips 1825 Mr. Ellames .... 1825 Duke of Devonshire . 1826 Mr. Ha/rden .... 1826 Mr. D. Baillie . 1827 Mr. Ellames 1827 Duke qf Bedford 1827 Mr. Harman 1827 Dr. Jenks .... . 1827 Earl of Leven and Melville . . 1828 Dr. Nott .... . 1828 Sir Jolvn Soane . 1829 Mr. Harman . 1830 Mr. Bankes . 1830 WORKS EXECUTED BY SIR C. L. EASTLAKE. 195 SUBJECT. and Ishmael. FOB WHOM PAINTED. Deposit picture at WHEN FINISHED. Head of a Peasant Girl .... Peasant WomanJFainting from Bite of Serpent Head of an Italian Peasant Girl . Portrait of Mrs. Semper . ... A Number of Greek and Italian Sketches Portrait of Mr. Hammick . . . Greek Fugitives Portrait of Miss Johnstone . . . Escape of Francesco Carrara. Head of an Italian Peasant (begun in Italy) The Martyr (St. Sebastian) (begun in Italy) Portrait of Miss Bury .... Pilgrims coming in Sight of Rome, in opposite direction to before-men tioned picture Portrait of Mr. Wingfield (half-length) Portrait of Mr, Pattison Portrait of Mrs. Wickham . . . Portrait of Mrs. Bellenden Ker . Two Long Pictures of Pilgrims . . Repetition of Pilgrims in Sight of Rome Pompeian Room , Sketch of a Child's Head .... Sketch of a Turk (begun in Greece) . The same . Portrait of Miss C. Minshull . Portrait of Miss F. Minshull . . . Portrait of Earl of Essex iEacus and Hesperie (begun in Italy) . Greek Captives . . . . ; . Portrait of Rt. Hon. Charles Wood Portrait of Dr. Hammick . . . . Portrait of Miss M. Minshull Portrait of Miss Minshull . . . Gaston de Foix, before the Battle of Ravenna Portrait of Countess of Essex . . . Christ Blessing Little Children . La Svegliarina Second Portrait of Miss Bury Portrait of Mr. C. Wingfield . . . Mr. Hyett Mr. Sheepslw/nks . Sir Matthew Ridley . Mr. Harmon . Mr. Wm. Eastlake Sir Matthew Ridley Ewrl of Essex . Mr. Morrison . 1830 . 1831 . 1831 . 1831 1831 in 1819 retouched im, 1832 . 1832 , 1833 , 1833 1834 Dr. Nott . Lord Tankerville . Lady Charlotte Bury Ea/rl Grey . Mr. Wickham Mr. Bellenden Ker . Margwis of Lamsdomne Mr. Moon . Mr. Bellenden Ker Lord Vernon Sir Charles BeU . Mr. Bellenden Ker . Earl of Essex Mr. Papworth . Mr. H. McConnel . Mr. Vernon Ea/rl qf Essex Mr. Wells Mr. Moon Lady Charlotte Bury Mr. 1834 18341834 18351835183518351835 1836 1836 18361836 1836 1836 1836 1836 183618371837 1837183718371837183818381839 1839 18391839 o 2 196 WORKS EXECUTED BY SIR C. L. EASTLAKE. The Salutation of the Aged Friar. Portrait of Miss Wickham Pilgrims Approaching Rome Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem The Sisters .... Repetition .... A Repetition, larger Hagar and Ishmael . Hagar and Ishmael, a repetition Sisters, a repetition . Subject from Comus, Fresco . Infant Genii .... Heloise Subject from Comus (small oil sketch) -. The Visit to the Nun .... Subject from Comus, repetition in oil of Fresco subject Contadina Family Prisoners, with Ban ditti, a repetition .... Portion of subject from Comus (a draw ing) • • ' Sisters, drawing, a repetition . . . Helena Sisters, repetition Escape of Francesco Carrara, repetition , The Good Samaritan .... Ippolita Torelli Violante Boaz and Ruth Irene Beatrice FOR WHOM PAINTED. Mr. Moon Mr. Wickham . Mr. George Vivian Mr. Smith Child ¦ Mr. Fonnereau Mr. Vernon Mr. MarshaU The same . Mr. Carey, America Her Majesty H. R. H. Prince Albert The same Lord Crewe Mr. Wethered Her Majesty Mr. Hippisley Mr. Bicknell . Mr. Gibbons The Duke of Northumberland Mr. Frederick Robinson Miss Rogers Executors qf Mr. Vernon H. M. H. Prince Albert Mr. Bellenden Ker Alderman Salomons . Mr. E. BuUock . Mr. Gambart , Tlie same when . finished. 1840 1840 18411841 184118421843 1843 1843 1844 1844 1844 1844 18441845 18461848 1848 1848 1849 184918491850 1851 1852 18531854 1855 EARLY PORTRAITS, CHIEFLY TAKEN IN PLYMOUTH. Mr. Cunningham. Mr. Prideaux (two portraits). Mr. Broughton. Mrs. Broughton. Mr. Arthur. Dr. Bidlake. Mr. W. Fox. Mr. Hingston. Mr. Lampen. Mrs. Lampen. His Mother. His Father. His Mother (unfinished) Mr. S. Fuge. Mr. Collier (two portraits). Mr. S. B. Martin (half-length). Mr. Childs (two portraits). Old Mr. Fox. Mr. Tanner. ESSAYS. a HOW TO OBSERVE." * (AN ESSAY INTENDED TO ASSIST THE INTELLIGENT OBSERVATION OF WORKS OF ART.) FIRST CHAPTER. Before we endeavour to assist the inteltigent inquUer "how to observe" in the Fine Arts, it wUl be desUable, consistently with the elementary plan proposed in these Essays, to consider the general nature of the arts, and to distinguish theU essential and proper characteristics from theU subordinate appUcations. Undoubtedly, the most strictly and literaUy useful employment of the arts is to be sought in theU appUcations, and hence it is not surprising that some well-meaning writers should have dwelt on such utiUties as the chief ground &i recommendation. Such a mistake may be pointed out without necessarily undervaluing the useful capabilities hi question ; for we find that the arts have been at aU times employed to the greatest advantage for the mere purposes of humble decoration, precisely when theU highest powers have been most complete, and when, consequently, there would be least danger of theU not main taining theU dignity. In separating these widely different claims to consideration, it wUl be, therefore, so much the more just to pay due respect to the merely useful department of the arts, inasmuch as they have generally been indications of the corresponding culture of their more refined attributes. * The two following Chapters, thus entitled, were written in 1835. 200 HOW TO OBSERVE. [Ch. I. But among the chief appUcations of the arts to merely useful purposes, and one to which they were appUed hi the earUest times, may be mentioned the transmission of facts by representations which may be assumed to be addressed merely to the understanding, and not to the faculty of taste. Dr. Johnson is reported to have said that formative art could illustrate but could not inform. Yet a hundred instances might be adduced hi which knowledge gathered from ancient works of art is obtamed for the first time, and from them alone, which is the natural consequence of theU speaking a language which aU can understand. For whUe the arbitrary symbols of which written language is composed are totally without meaning untU education has taught us to connect with them the ideas they represent, the plastic arts are immediately intelligible, and it is theU universal language which sometimes enables us to verify the history of nations whose inscriptions have been preserved to us in vain. This immediate perspicuity or natural eloquence is, besides, one of their higher distinguislhng characteristics, for, considered apart from the limited utility to which it may be applied, it could be easUy proved that imitation, as such, is generaUy intelligible in proportion to its exceUence. Had Dr. Johnson said that it is the lowest province of art to inform, and that it would be more consonant with its juster purpose — that of appealing to our higher sympathies — to abandon the inferior office of supplying the province of words, he would have been nearer the truth. He would also have found his notion entUely borne out by the progress of the art among the Greeks, as distinguished from the Egyp tians and Asiatics, which nations, by endeavouring to inform, often confounded imitation with written language, instead of addressing the feelings and the imagination by the exhibition of character and beauty with an effect which language can never approach. The independent power of the arts to convey informa- Ch. I.] INFORMATION CONVEYED BY THE ARTS. 201 tion would be best attested by the antiquary. His chief interest, even in works of taste, is derived from the facts they communicate or estabUsh ; and so long as this is ac knowledged to be a secondary interest it is no more to be quarrelled with than the useful researches of those who peruse an ancient poet for information respecting costume, geography, or any other cUcumstances with which to illus trate history. The use of the arts in corroborating or even, for the first time, suggesting explanations of passages in the classic writers of antiquity has long been appreciated, and has often been resorted to with the happiest effect. The taste for such comparisons was most rife hi this country in Addison's time, and the monument of the abuse of such research is Spence's Polymetis. The search after paraUel images in classic poetry and sculpture led this writer graduaUy to confound the characteristics of the two arts ; and to forget that the end he had in view might be equaUy answered by works that have no pretensions to merit. His misapprehensions are ably and indulgently exposed by Lessing, who does justice to the more successful conjectures; but Lessing himseU, with all. his acuteness, was signaUy un fortunate in attempting to explain the statue caUed the Fighting Gladiator by a passage in CorneUus Nepos. All this, however, need not bring discredit on those means of elucidation which ancient authors and antique works of art mutuaUy provide, hi which respect much remains to be done ; and indeed it may be observed that an acquaintance with the sculpture and monuments of antiquity is almost essential to the student of the classics. In this way a taste for the finest examples of art might be gradually imbibed ; but, it must not be forgotten, that for the mere purposes of information the most ordinary performance is on a level with the finest — the commonest cast with the original marble. As handmaids to Science the arts were hmited at first by the state of Science : stiU, the proof that such an applica- 202 HOW TO OBSERVE. [Ch. I. tion was not considered unworthy of the highest talent may be sufficiently apparent from the drawings of machinery by Leonardo da Vinci, by what we read of the researches of Pietro deUa Francesca, and by the varied labours of Albert Durer. Whether Titian furnished the designs for VesaUus' anatomy or not, Raphael disdained not to make topo graphical sketches of Rome, of which many are extant. The assistance which the arts have rendered to general knowledge, particularly hi modern times, by the delineation of objects of Natural History and other branches of science, is perhaps the only form of imitation with which some persons are familiar ; yet instances are not wanting hi the Dutch school hi which accurate transcripts from nature are accompanied by all that is exquisite in art. It may faUly be supposed that many of those works, representing not only flowers, but insects and reptUes, as in the pictures by De Heem, Van Kessel, and others, although entitled to be ranked among works of taste from theU employing aU the machinery of effect, were more especiaUy interesting to the naturalist, and probably were at first chiefly encouraged by such amateurs. The connection in HoUand of this branch of art with Science is indeed apparent from various cUcumstances. Without staying to give Houbraken's description of the curious menagerie of the MarceUis, it wUl be sufficient to mention the ardour of Maria SybiUa Merian, who undertook the voyage to Surinam expressly to design the insects of the country. The volumes which she pubhshed on her return have been classed among the finest works of theU land. In another branch of art, that of landscape painting, it must be admitted that it has been reserved entUely for modern times to cultivate its useful appUcations, without endangering its more tasteful pretensions. The topographical department of landscape painting, to give it the humblest name that has been appUed to it, can hardly be traced beyond Ch. L] ITALIAN LANDSCAPE PAINTERS. 203 the early part of the last century. Not only the great land scape painters, but even the earUest ItaUan and Flemish artists, with all theU timidity and accuracy, seem studiously to have avoided the representation of real scenes, and some times appear to have been Uttle anxious even to preserve an aU of probabUity : this is seen in the backgrounds to some of Leonardo da Vinci's works, — borrowed perhaps from simUar inventions of the cotemporaries of Memling and Van Eyck, — and in the later extravagant combinations of the Paul BrU and Breughel school. It may be here remarked as a singular fact that the style of landscape painting in Italy was, to a comparatively late period, if not from first to last, derived from the Northern Schools. The account given by Titian's biographers of his having taken certain German landscape painters into his house, to learn theU style, is confirmed by the fact that the forms of his common buildings are always German, and such as are not to be met with hi the ItaUan Alps. Again, Denis Calvert, a Fleming, was the founder or reviver of that style of landscape which was practised by the Carracci and Domenichino. It would be digress ing too much at present to trace the styles even of Poussin, Claude, and Salvator Rosa dUectly or indUectly to a Northern education or influence, but it wiU sufficiently corroborate what has been said, to remember that the land scapes of Claude, remarkable as they are for the aU of general truth and probabUity, scarcely ever pretend to be real views : we find hi them the rums of Rome transported to the sea-shore, and the features of Leghorn and Genoa blended with those of TivoU. The Dutch imitators of Claude assumed a simUar Ucense, and the introduction hi theU pictures of weU-known monuments betrays the Uberties taken with the local accompaniments. These imitations soon ceased to be satisfactory, and, as usual, novelty in any shape was eagerly welcomed. Instead of sun, space 204 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. I. and aU; instead of the "breezy caU" of morning, or the still evening glow — the forms and circumstances of a par ticular spot — representations whose interest only began when the name was known — were graduaUy introduced. This new dUection of an important branch of art was no doubt greatly owing to the taste for antiquarian researches which was carried to a sort of mania in Italy about the middle of the last century. At a time when Winckelmann dUected the attention of the world to the remains of Greek sculpture, and expatiated in the language of enthusiasm on the highest efforts in art, the kindred inspUation which is the soul of landscape painting in common with aU other efforts of art, seemed to be threatened with extinction. The common sense of the view-painters addressed itsetf, however, to many ; and with no other recommendation than a scrupulous accuracy of forms the art was considered to occupy a useful place as an appendage to geography and history. But this mere fidehty of delineation which the explorer of classic locahties especiaUy requUed, unfor tunately long continued to be the hmit of the artist's aim : it was perhaps carried to its absurdest extreme, at least occasionally, by Hendrick van Lint, who is mentioned by SU Joshua Reynolds, his contemporary hi Rome, as having acquired the name of " Studio " by copying every leaf on a tree. Even the best of the foreign landscape painters, who visited Italy, hke the Prussian Hackert, graduaUy sunk mto mechanical copyists of scenes which could indeed only be degraded by this merely topographical taste. It is necessary to remember this tendency of Con tinental art at the period hi question, to be aware of the great value of such styles as those of WUson and Gains borough — the auspicious harbingers of EngUsh land scape : and it is but a just and merited comphment to this country to say that in the hands of our landscape painters the useful capabilities of art, however extensively cultivated, Ch. I.] MODERN LANDSCAPE PAINTERS. 205 have never been suffered to supersede its more tasteful attributes. On the other hand it must be faUly admitted that when Titian painted the grandest landscapes the world has seen, and when the uses of engraving had been fully appreciated, there were no views of Greece, Egypt, or India to instruct and deUght the enquUer after knowledge. Raphael, we are told, sent artists to Greece to make drawings from the remains of antiquity, but the aspect of the country was never thought of, and an idea of the trash that was produced in the way of topographical iUus- tration, may be gathered from the bUd's eye views of cities which are painted in fresco in the upper Loggia of the Vatican. The information which the arts now communicate, from the humblest engraving, to the Panorama which places us in scenes which no description could so weU convey, will hardly be disputed by the most zealous advocate of the taste of the sixteenth century. In general, that taste was Taste as distinguished from Utility; its humbler appUca tions were only humbler decoration. The arabesques of the Roman viUas — the frescoes hi the extensive buUdings of Florence — the paintings on the Urbino earthenware — the frescoes hi the open aU hi FriuU, were aU graceful re dundancies of the arts of elegance ; in landscape, however, it was reserved for modern times to attempt to satisfy the naturaUst and botanist without departing from the grand or deUcious impressions of general nature. It is weU known that, with the exception of an occasional pine tree, the trees of Claude are scarcely distinguishable in theU species ; the same remark applies stiU more to -Poussin, and to the Bolognese painters ; arid if Salvator Rosa loved the broad leaves and masses of the chesnut tree it was more because it suited his touch, than from any particular attention to sylvan accuracy. It would be difficult to call any other tree of his by a name. In short, the varieties of the grove 206 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. 1. in some ItaUan and Italo-German landscapes of the last century may be considered altogether a modern invention. Had we had no other evidence of the cypress and oUve, the fig-tree and vine, than such as the finest specimens of landscape painting that ever were produced give us, we could never have guessed how they abounded in Italy. But that the landscapes of Titian and Claude are the finest the world has known has been confirmed by the verdict of aU who seek in a picture not a mere catalogue of Nature's productions, but a reflection of her larger im pressions and pervading charm — impressions and charm which the memory retains, and in which the detaUs more fitted for verbal description are merged. The Uteral imita tion by the painter of many things which, strictly speaking, were not only visible but prominent, would destroy the spell of a remembered scene. For there can be no doubt that our memory of Nature is composed of general ideas, — of a sense of a whole,- — and art must be generaUsed to meet these ideas. It would be hi vain for one who had felt the influence of the freshness of morning, the stillness of noon, or the glow of evening, in some enchanting scene, to hope to renew his dehght by inspecting an accurate transcript of all the trees and plants indigenous to the spot, or such a portrait of rocks and soU as would satisfy the geologist. And if such a representation would be uninteresting (not withstanding its special merit as an aid to Science) because it faUed to reaUze the remembered sources of dehght, so any treatment away from the desUed impression would only proportionaUy weaken that impression. For it is not any particular feature of Nature but a ruling and master quaUty which appeals to the imagination, and the accumu lation even of exceUence which does not minister to that quaUty is only so much deducted from the pleasure of the imagination. And it is scarcely necessary to say that this ruling and master quaUty varies not only with the character Ch.L] PORTRAIT PAINTING. 207 of the scene, but with the feeUngs of the individual artist. Titian, as a landscape painter, aimed, above aU at integrity of local colour ; Claude is the very type of the serene Itahan atmosphere; with Nicolas Poussin grandeur of form and composition was the leading aim ; with Salvator Rosa "ideas of desolation, soUtude, and danger;" — with Rembrandt the magic mystery of chiaroscuro. Each of these may be said to meet the taste of a class of beholders, and that beholder wUl have imbibed most of Nature's highest teaching who looks to these great masters for a leading and central inspUation, and not for the mforma tion which mere accuracy of detaU can impart. But where this accuracy is introduced, without any sacrifice of the painter's prmcipal object, he wiU not faU to do it homage. It may here be asked how the view hitherto taken affects the claims of another important branch of art — viz. : that of portrait painting. It may perhaps be urged that the value of the work in this case is mainly owing to the mformation it gives as to the personal appearance and physiognomy, it may be, of a celebrated individual, or to the stronger but less extensive Interest attached to the representation of one endeared to the spectator by more famitiar associations. In both cases, however, these ends might be answered by varying degrees of merit in aU that relates to the essentials of the art. But without the stamp of exceUence, as con cerns the means, the historical portrait would be merely an historical illustration ; whtie, in the, case of the more con fined and less enduring interest of private feeling, a portrait would cease to have value in any eyes when those of affec* tion could no longer contemplate it. On the. other hand, if once invested with the perfections of the art, the portrait for ever asserts its dignity ; and this claim is found to supersede the loftiest pretensions as to name or history. The portrait of an unknown and even Ul-favoured individual from the hand of Titian, Vandyck, or Reynolds, is more valued than 208 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. I. a work, recommended by no matter what historical interest, which is deficient in the attainable excellences of the art. And it was precisely because beauty of form and agreeable accessories were seldom at command, that the greatest masters in this department seem to have felt the necessity of more than common attention in the points which de pended upon theU own skiU. The more unpromising the forms the more these painters seem, as in the mstance of Rembrandt, to have aimed at redeeming them, and making up the sum of beauty and interest by the refinements of colour, chiaroscuro and expression. These, it must be re membered, are essential and proper exceUences of Painting, and thus the art is raised by raising its characteristic attributes. It may be dangerous in a school where correctness of drawing is said to be not enough appreciated, to venture to assert that the abstract beauty of form which is impossible in a portrait is Ul adapted to the art of painting gene raUy. But when it is remembered that this perfect con formation is precisely the exceUence which belongs to Sculpture, it must be evident that it cannot constitute the strength of the rival art. In fact the charm of physiognomy and expression begins with the accidents of form, and was therefore of necessity inadmissible hi those higher regions of beauty which the Greek sculptors justly placed above the atmosphere of the passions. Again, were a high degree of beauty of form excluded from Sculpture, that art would have no other beauty left to it, except that of its material. Whereas in Painting, whUe the touching reahties of cha racter may be safely employed to address the feeUngs, the fascinations of gradation and contrast, and the general treatment of chiaroscuro and colour, which attract the general eye of Taste, stUl remain hi reserve to win the imagination. It is hi these last attributes that the beauty which painting contemplates chiefly resides ; and it is Ch. L] QUALITIES OF ART. 209 important to recoUect that they are compatible with every subject. Even when a dignified end has not been kept in view, the perfection of the means has never faUed to secure lasting approbation. Examples in the Flemish and Dutch schools wtil readily occur to every one, where the most ordinary forms and cUcumstances are recommended by a charm of colour, a skUl in composition, and a management of light and shade, which are at once true to the style of the art and to the largest idea of nature ; and which are sometimes sufficient, as in the works of Cuyp and Rem brandt, to excite the most pleasmg and even the grandest impressions. 210 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. "HOW TO OBSERVE." SECOND CHAPTER. If in the preceding chapter the highest claims of the Fine Arts have been shown to be distinct from any subserviency to the objects of Science, it must be remembered that in the opposite case, where Science is subservient to Art, the con nection of the two. is desUable and indispensable. Knowledge of various kinds is in fact essential to the artist, the connoisseur, and the general spectator, for the practice, the criticism, and the enjoyment of works of art. It is perhaps even more ostensibly the groundwork of interest in the case of the two last, than a source of any professed claim to approbation in the artist. For aU Science which relates to the practice of the arts is supposed to be concealed in its result; that result bemg an intelligible and impressive imitation of nature. A thorough acquaint ance, for instance, with anatomy is calculated to enable the artist to make his figures more inteUigible ; and whenever it is so ostentatiously displayed as to have a contrary effect (for this is quite possible) it is obviously misappUed. The office of Perspective, agam, is to render forms and relative distances correctly, and hence, when successfully employed, it is least Ukely to attract attention for itseU, stUl less to present appearances which are unUke nature. It is the same with every department of art which may be in any Ch. IL] CONNECTION OF SCIENCE AND ART. 211 way regulated by a ctirecting theory ; for not only sciences like those just named, which are more simple and certain in theU laws, but those vaguer principles which relate to com position and grouping, to the management of Ught and dark, and the arrangement of colours, are aU calculated to assist the fuU and effective imitation of nature, and can never be admitted to be judiciously employed unless they serve that end. It is justly remarked by Sir Joshua Reynolds, aUuding to Du Fresnoy's rules, that no rules can make any pretension towards improving nature, or going contrary to her work; theU tendency is merely to show what is truly nature. But in addition to the theory which is founded on nature, and which, of course, is common to aU the arts, there are principles which have reference to the methods of each art for itseU, and which dictate the modes in which it can best and most successfuUy accompUsh its object. Many practical contrivances are derived from the requUements of the material, and from the unavoidable con ditions of the particular art ; to say nothing of the modifi cations of treatment from situation, Ught, dimensions, or any pecuhar apphcation. The translation which Nature of necessity undergoes more or less in imitation generaUy, and in each art according to its means, wUl be considered hereafter. A scientific acquaintance with the materials with a view to securing the beauty or permanency of the work is undoubtedly of importance. The sculptor stUl finds it necessary to attend to the most accurate chemical details in the composition of his bronze ; and, in the infancy of oU painting, the same kind of knowledge was a part of the painter's studies. In more modern- times the profession is generaUy content to leave these researches to others ; but it sometimes happens that an aphorism of Lord Bacon's is unconsciously put in practice with the happiest results. " It is absurd to suppose," says the philosopher, " that P 2 212 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. things which have never yet been done can be accompUshed except by means not yet tried." Whoever compares the extraordinary experiments of SU Joshua Reynolds, recorded by himseU, with the frequent indications throughout his Discourses of an Ultimate acquaintance with the Baconian phUosophy, wiU be convinced that the above maxim was uppermost in his mind. The connoisseur, as the name impUes, is he who more especiaUy professes to know. The designation perhaps indicates an acquaintance with facts rather than truths, with appearances and results rather than with theU causes. In its general acceptation it comprehends a familiarity with the characteristics of epochs, schools, and individual masters, together with that nicer discrimination which detects imita tions from original works. The chief distinction between the connoisseur and the amateur is that the knowledge of the first assists the exercise of the judgment, whUe that of the latter tends to kindle the imagination. The studies of the connoisseur may, however, take a higher range, and be directed not only to recognise exceUence in works of art, but to investigate the nature and principles of that excellence ; in short, in addition to a practical and habitual acquamtance with specimens, and a discrimination of theU relative claims, to penetrate the causes of the world's admi ration. On the whole, therefore, he may be said to combine the views of the phUosophical artist with an erudition to which the artist seldom aspires. Indeed the enthusiastic lover of nature and of the poetry of art, whether pro fessor or amateur, would shrink from the dry and unin viting researches on which a just and accurate decision on these matters sometimes depends. Yet their importance is unquestionable, as a few examples may show. In periods of the highest development of art it has been found that the more antiquated methods have stUl been persevered in by many opposed to innovation, and hence a Ch. IL] CONDITIONS OF A CONNOISSEUR. 213 great diversity of styles, as if belonging to distinct epochs, may reaUy have existed together. The merely tasteful critic, best skilled to decide from the evidence of the work itself, would in such a case pronounce an erroneous judgment. Thus the grander style of Venetian colourmg may be said to have been carried to perfection by Giorgione, who died young in 1511, but there exist pictures in Venice by Carpaccio and others, with aU the indications of a style a century earUer, which were done some years after Gior- gione's death; one of these adherents to the older style, GUolamo di Santa Croce, painted as late as 1548. Again, the sculptures of the Parthenon were undoubtedly aU executed at the same period ; yet, if some of the metopes, formerly in its frieze and now in the British Museum, had been found separately, and could be proved not to have belonged to the Temple, they would never have been assigned to one and the same time. Again, the inscriptions on statues in many cases fix the date with more certainty than the style of the work ; thus, assuming that the inscription on the celebrated Torso of Hercules is genuine (and it has never been ques tioned) it follows that the Sculptor Apollonius lived after the age of Alexander, because the form used for the omega (co for 12) appears first on the medals of the Kings of Syria. The material of statues, again, is sometimes an unanswer able evidence which may be opposed to opinions of theU style. If Dolomieu be right in asserting that the Belvedere ApoUo is wrought in Carrara marble, it proves that the statue was done in Italy, and at a comparatively late period; this mineralogical fact was at first questioned by Visconti, but afterwards when the statue was examined at Paris, he no longer disputed it. The style of the haU and drapery led Flaxman to agree with Visconti hi conjecturing that the statue was a copy from one in bronze. Ih 214 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. venturing to particularise the original from which it was taken — viz., an ApoUo Alexikakos (avertor of Evil) by Calamis — Visconti was probably mistaken, not only because the attributes were different, but because many classic authorities agree in stathig that Calamis — an early Athenian sculptor— was proverbiaUy rigid in his style, and hence not likely to be the author of a work such as the ApoUo. The same consideration of the material assists the con noisseur in gems, for, whatever appearance of classic style or antique character an intagUo might have, it would be contradicted at once by the fact of its being engraved on a material unknown or never used by the ancients. The sheU (Cyprsea), so commonly and so successfully used by the moderns for cameos, was perhaps never so employed by the artists of antiquity ; in hke manner an intagUo on a Bohemian ruby, would be thus betrayed to be modern. So the connoisseur in coins also has certam indications from the composition of the metal, and the inscription; sometimes of more importance even than the style of the design. The above are instances where the consideration of facts which we assume to be indisputable, must affect decisions dictated by the mere consideration of the style and merit of the work; the instances of the opposite kind, where apparent facts are overborne by the evidence of the work itself, and by the opinions of those sltilled in this more difficult pomt, are quite as common. Pliny, speaking of the sculptor Phidias, says that he rarely worked in marble, but that he was reported to be the author of a marble Venus of exquisite beauty, which adorned the portico of Octavia in Rome. In the account given by Santi Bartoli, it is stated that the Venus de' Medici was dug up hi the Pescaria (the Portico of Octavia). This singular coincidence might make it probable that the celebrated Venus is the work of Ch. II. ] TESTS OF A CONNOISSEUR. 215 Phidias, especially as Gori * says that the actual inscrip tion which ascribes it to an unknown artist, Cleomenes, is false. To all this the work itseK is a sufficient answer, for, beautiful as it is, it differs essentially in its style from the accredited works of Phidias. The circumstance, however, of the Amorini on the support of the statue being an indi cation of a comparatively modern epoch (because Amor was first represented as an infant in later times), might be answered by supposing that these were executed at a different time, as they appear to be by an inferior hand. Agam, Vasari states that Raphael left a picture, (supposed to be a Madonna), which he had begun in Florence, un finished, and that the blue drapery, which was wanting, was painted by RidoUo GhUlandajo. Many a copy of more than one Madonna, with a due want of harmony in the blue dra pery, has, from time to time, been brought forward in vain ; its pretensions on the score of the historical coincidence bemg uniformly set aside for want of the seal of Raphael's genius. There is no end to the disposition to resort to proofs of this kind, which are expressly calculated to deceive the unwary coUector. The connoisseurs of Venice never faU to point out the texture and joinings of the cloth t on which the works of theU countrymen were executed, and even the wood of the stretching frames^ — "U nostro abete" — those of Venice (unlike the rest of Italy) being uniformly of deal ; but these indications of originaUty are imitated, as well as every appearance of age, with most successful exactness ; and numerous frauds prove that the quaUty of the art itseU is the safest ground on wliich the connoisseur can form his judgment. The Venetian restorers of pictures in the last century took * Museum Floreutinum. f The finer kinds of cloth used in Titian's time, appear to have been woven in very small portions, so -that seams frequently appear which would now be considered a defect, and which are pointed out as a proof of originality/ 216 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. extraordinary pains, in mending damaged portions of old paintings, to preserve the indications of the texture of the cloth, and an account of the mode by which they effected this wUl be found hi Goethe's Works.* We turn from the consideration of such uninviting detaUs to that of the more pleasing province of the amateur, the sources of whose interest are to be sought in the imagina tion and feeling. There can be no enjoyment of works of art, nor of nature herseU without association; but it is important to distinguish the different modes in which that faculty pro duces its results. Associations may be peculiar, and hence may be confined to a few, nay even to one individual ; or they may be owing to that general cultivation and ex perience which are common to many. To a traveUer on his way to Venice, aUve to the first indications of his near approach to " the City of the Sea," no object is more likely to waken a tram of reflections, connected both with the grave and gay attributes of the place, than a gondola, with its light form, fit only for quiet waves, its antique rostrum, and its roofed and curtained stern. Yet the following associations were excited by this character istic object in the mind of a Poet and PhUosopher. " As the first Gondola approached, I remembered an early plaything of my chUdhood, which I had not thought of for perhaps twenty years. My father had a pretty model of a Gondola which he had brought with him from Venice — he valued it much, and it was a great treat for me to be aUowed to play with it. The first rostrum of pohshed Uon — the black, covered part of the Gondola — aU greeted me as an old acquaintance. I enjoyed a long-forgotten pleasant im pression of early life." AUnost every biography contains instances of this kind ; such accidental associations, hke much that belongs to * Vol. xxxix. Ch. II. ] ASSOCIATIONS. 217 individual feeling, are often mcommunicable, but where they are general enough to be understood, they are some times capable of awakening the UveUest sympathy. The distinction above alluded to is observable in the impres sions produced by works of art ; and, however powerful the more peculiar associations may be, they are not to be confounded with analogies essentially belonging to the object, and to which aU observers may be more or less alive. The foUowing is an instance where the effect of association must have been confined to the narrator. "Among other pictures I stUl remember with emotion a surpassingly well painted figure of St. Sebastian, bound naked to a tree. An angel draws the arrow out of his breast, and another angel brings him a crown of flowers for his head. Even now I can hardly bring the picture strongly to my recoUection without tears." In this case it is true the subject ancl expression of the picture itself were originally the cause of the emotion it excited, but the subsequent interest was owing to the memory of this im pression. As a specimen of a more generaUy UiteUigible and communicable kind of interest, Cowper's lines on seeing his deceased mother's portrait may be referred to. Such associations, as the result of mere experience, may obviously be felt as strongly by the unlettered as by the best instructed, and happily, in the enjoyment of nature, experience is often sufficient, without any other condition than leisure, to induce the train of reflection which is both the cause and effect of Taste. But it is not to be taken for granted that this kind of enjoyment can always be experienced by the same class of spectators in contem plating the imitative powers of art. That it may sometimes be the case, as for instance, in the landscapes of Claude, hi the expression of the human coiuitenance as rendered by Raphael, and in the familiar incidents of the Dutch and other schools, seems quite possible, but in works where the 218 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. art itseU has not so entUely concealed its means, a certain acquaintance with its conventions is necessary : where also the scene or the incidents of the subject are not familiar the spectator wUl naturally find his interest increase with his general knowledge. This is equally apparent in the contemplation of the external world, in cases where tradition or history supply or heighten the impression. Two celebrated descriptions Ui this spirit wUl occur to the classical reader — the reflections of Poggio Bracciolini on viewing the remains of ancient Rome from the ruins of the Capitol ; ancl those of Servius when he tries to console Cicero for the loss of his daughter by aUudrng to the destruction of the flourishing cities of Greece. And who, in contemplating the monuments of ancient art, does not feel how greatly their interest is increased by the thought of what they have survived ? Who is not wUUng to yield to the influence of imagination in reflect ing that some of the very statues, bas-reliefs, and even engraved gems and mosaics, described by ancient writers, have been recovered after many centuries, ancl often from the bosom of the earth. A bas-relief in the purest Greek style, representing a philosopher reading, was dug up from the ruins of Cicero's Tusculum viUa ; and in many of Ms letters to Atticus, we find him desUing his friend to spare no expense in coUecting ancl sending him such monuments of Greek art as were fit, from their subject and dimensions, to adorn a " philosopher's Library." The foUowing passage is extracted from a letter of Francesco di San Gallo, (son of Giuliano the architect) in which mention is made of the first discovery of the group of the Laocoon. " When I was first in Rome, being then very young, mformation was brought to the Pope that certain exceUent statues had been found in a vineyard near S. Maria Maggiore, Tlie Pope commanded a groom to tell GiuUano Ch.. II. ] ASSOCIATIONS. 219 di San GaUo, to go instantly and see them. My father accordingly went, and as Michael Angelo Buonarroti was always at hand (being then employed on the Pope's monu ment, &c.) he was invited to accompany us. We aU went together, for I rode on the crupper behind my father. I descended to the place where the statues were — my father immediately said, ' This is the Laocoon of which PUny speaks.' February 28, 1567." * Even with those who are skilled to judge of technical merits the interest excited by associations connected with the history of the work, or its author, often rivals the impression produced by the subject or the treatment. Thus, however disposed the artist or the connoisseur may be to dwell on the merits of the picture of the Raising of Lazarus in the National Gallery, part of the interest with which even they regard it springs from an association equaUy * accessible to the general spectator — the fact, viz., that it was painted in competition with Raphael's Trans figuration, and under the partial direction of M. Angelo. An anecdote related by Vasari has always given addi tional interest to the picture by Raphael, of Christ bearing his Cross, usually caUed " Lo Spasimo " (now in Madrid). It was painted originaUy for Palermo ; the vessel which bore it was wrecked, and men and cargo were lost ;- — the picture alone, being painted on wood, floated on the ;jyaves, and was at' last recovered uninjured in the harbour of Genoa. It was ultimately placed in the church of S. Maria deUo Spasimo at Palermo, " where," adds Vasari, " it has more fame and reputation than Mount iEtna." Incidents of this kind are by no means without their influence even on those who are most alive to intrinsic merits, while with the orcti" nary observer they have the important effect of winning the attention till the merits are discovered. The appetite fof associations of any kind must have been often observed in * Miscellanea, dell' Awocato Carlo Fea, vol. i. p.- 329. 220 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. those who visit picture gaUeries, and is as generally met and ministered to by the descriptions of guides and guide books. Nothing is more common in the absence of worthier grounds of curiosity than to dweU on some exaggerated incident connected with the execution, or the vicissitudes of the work ; or on some story proving the vast estimation in which it has been held; as for instance the offer of a wealthy admUer to purchase the picture by covering it with gold com. Even such associations which are only dwelt on for want of better are sufficient to awaken wonder and extort an empty admiration. The classes of association hitherto aUuded to may be traced dUectly or indirectly to Experience — an acquaintance with facts observed by ourselves, or assumed or recorded by others. There is1 another class which powerfully in fluences our impressions, viz., Authority — the experienced of recorded opinions of others. A grand or beautiful scene in nature may be mvested with new charms by the recoUection not only of the events that occurred in it or the names that consecrate it, but by calling to mind the opinions of men of taste respecting it. Whether it be Tivoli, praised by Horace ; or the Lago di Garda by Catullus ; or Chitra or Terni by Byron, we cannot help admiring the more because such men have admired before us. In Uke «nanner no artist, or man of taste, however sktiled to judge, or even disposed to criticise, ever looked at the bronze doors of the Baptistery at Florence without bemg influenced as he recoUected the reported exclamation of M. Angelo that they were worthy to be the Gates of Paradise. Yet no single authority, however imposing, can be so safe or so convincing as that of many ; nor has even this concurrence its utmost weight tUl it is ratified by Time. This last kind of authority has perhaps the nearest approach to truth which many questions relating to Taste admit of. Ch. IL] MENTAL PREPARATION. 221 In reviewing the foregoing distinctions— and examples to iUustrate them might be multiplied without end — it wtil easUy be seen that the associations of individual experience appeal chiefly to the feelings — the associations derived from Tradition and History kindle the imagina tion, and those founded on authority bias the judgement. AU undoubtedly produce theU influence in the first instance through the imagination, though the provinces of each are frequently found to be interchanged and blended. Thus without Umiting the degrees of knowledge which may add to the interest capable of being derived from works of art, it is quite clear that some mental preparation is necessary in addition to the exercise of the eye. The interest of the ordinary spectator is in short especially dependent on associations, and it is desUable that these should be analogous to the nature and character of the object. For such an observer, therefore, a knowledge of the history of the art, and of its criticism, the connexion of its epochs and styles with general history, and of course a sufficient famUiarity with the subjects of representation may be pronounced to be indispensable. Again, we have aUeady seen that without some acquaint ance with the general nature of the art itseU, and with the aim of the particular school and even of the individual artist, both the mode of the imitation and the treatment of the subject must often disappoint the merely lettered amateur. It is as weU first to point out the more attainable means by which the ordinary spectator may acquUe or improve a habit of observation, for it is the habit of observation which can alone lead to a sincere reUsh and eventuaUy to a just discrimination of the efforts of art. The curiosity and interest of the general observer are chiefly excited by the subject, and this bemg the case it would be well if he were to select for his attention those works where the treatment of the subject has been con- 222 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. sidered the important aim of the art. A Scripture subject by Raphael or Poussin, by Bassano or Teniers, are very different things. The first corresponds with the general impression which everyone receives from reading the passage ; — the second introduces us to particular cir cumstances, true (we wUl suppose) to the time and place in which the event occurred, but unknown to many. The last engraft the story on the particular circumstances belonging to theU own time. Raphael meets the vague, but neces sarily dignified conception of the reader by distinct, adequate representation. The information which Poussin gives us of the manners of the ancients supersedes by a new aim the great end of producing by representation an effect equivalent to the description. Bassano ancl Teniers, however, by introducing modern instead of antique cir cumstances and manners, not only differ, Uke Poussin, from the vagueness of the reader's impression, but, besides this, sacrifice aU dignity, and approach the mean or the ludicrous. So great a mistake must seem unaccountable to the judicious observer, and the estimation in which such pictures are held will be equally unintelligible, tUl he discovers that in these cases the aim of the painter was quite independent of the story ; that, having been a vehicle only for the display of exquisite skUl in the art. For, as might be expected, these painters who are so careless about the treatment of the subject seldom faU to excel in the attractions of the art. But the observer should be on his guard to detect this ten dency when less pronounced, for, in contemplating works the fame of which rests on technical merits, and which may be deservedly admired, it would be a great mistake to extend that admiration to the treatment of the subject, as is very commonly the case. The question what and why we should admUe in the works of a given pamter is therefore most essential. For the present we assume therefore a class of Ch. II. ] RAPHAEL'S CARTOONS. 223 works where the consideration and treatment of the subject are not neglected, but, on the contrary, considered as para mount m importance. Such works, particularly where the incidents are taken from weU known History, or from Scrip ture, address themselves quite intelUgibly to the attentive spectator, and, Uke Nature herseU, need nothing but obser vation and reflection to comprehend and rehsh them. The Cartoons of Raphael have been often and well described. Yet there has been scarcely anytliing written, which the ordinary observer, however unacquainted with art, might not have discovered for himseU. This is not said by any means to undervalue the descriptions in question, but only to show that it is a mistake to suppose that any other conditions than attention and common sagacity are requisite to enter fully, as far as the subject is concerned, into the merits of these works. We take as an example the cartoon of Paul and Barnabas at Lystra, with a description founded on that by FuseU. " The sacrificer is arrested in the action of smiting the buU by the gesture of the young man who observes Paul rending his garment in horror of the idola trous ceremony his mUacle occasioned. The mUacle itseH is present, for the man who had been so lately a cripple rushes in with eyes fixed on the Apostle, and with hands clasped in grateful adoration ; whUe it is further evidenced by a person of gravity and rank who Ufts up part of the man's garment to examine his restored hmb, and by this act attests him to have been the bearer of those useless crutches thrown on the pavement before him." * The object of Raphael being always to meet and fuUy satisfy the expecta tion of the beholder, it would obviously be contrary to such an aim to enter Into the detaUs of the dress, architecture, and manners of the place and period, for, in general, none of these things are uppermost in the mind of the reader. But where an ancient ceremony is a prominent part of the * Fuseli's Works, Lecture V. 224 » HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. subject, as it is here, the attention is then forcibly directed to it, even though some of its details may be new and strange to the spectator. The ceremonies of the sacrifice here represented (taken as is weU known from an ancient has reUef ) are therefore unusuaUy exact. Many painters have thought to improve on the general principle just aUuded to by seeking, in such subjects, to represent every circumstance, as far as possible, with learned correctness. The consequence, however, is that the spectator is struck with these circumstances, and not with the event itseU, and whatever moral or sesthetic effect the subject is capable of producing is thus weakened or superseded. When, agam, as is often the case with Niccolo Poussm, the aU of classical antiquity which he infuses into his works deserves to supersede the subject or its treatment, it is valued as the best effort the Painter can give us, and hi his case as the highest example of such a taste. This distinction should not be forgotten, for the great aim of Raphael to embody and satisfy the vague impression which the imagination retains involves the necessity of the highest effort at grandeur, dignity, or beauty, and this regulates the treat ment even of the minor cUcumstances above aUuded to. For, if our natural feeling demands that the figure of an Apostle should be clothed with dignity, the endeavour to satisfy this feehng becomes paramount to any wish to inform us of the Uteral truth in these matters, even sup posing it attainable. The great principle of the art to which all this is referred is its proposing to satisfy the imagination of the mass of spectators by adequate representation, and aU aims, apart or distinct from this simple but difficult one, may be sus pected to arise from the temptation to take refuge in more easUy attainable qualities. But U the grandeur of the original impression is generaUy owing to the vagueness which necessarily excludes aU particular cUcumstances, it Ch. II. ] INVENTION. 225 follows that of aU such detaUs, the mean, the trivial, and the ludicrous, such as are frequently introduced in Venetian and Dutch Scripture and History pieces, are the most incongruous. In general, famUiar incidents are seldom aUied to grandeur, yet it is safer to condemn them on account of any positive defects, than because they are famihar ; for both the Greeks and ItaUans were in the habit of representing, in a modified way, the appearances with which they were surrounded when recommended by qualities fit for representation. Again, when the object is rather to address the feeUngs than the imagination, famitiar incidents, individuaUty of character, the charm of physiog nomy, and judiciously selected details, are essential re quisites ; and that all this may be kept quite distinct from the trivial or the ludicrous, the early Flemish Scripture pieces abundantly prove. In the description above quoted of the Cartoon of Bar nabas and Paul at Lystra, a stress is laid on the age, dignity, and rank of the individual who examines the restored Umb ; and it wtil be remembered that this cUcum- stance, which gives vahdity to the character of the witness who thus attests the mUacle, is not in the sacred story. The observer who discovers such strokes of genius shares as it were the judicious invention of the painter. Any man might have been introduced examining the Umb, for it is evident, from the crutches being dropped, and from the man's action of gratitude, that he is cured ; but to select a witness so Uttle likely to suffer himself to be deceived was worthy of a great master. This example wUl explain what is meant by the term Invention in the arts, and may be taken as a specimen of the original means which the pamter resorts to, to meet the fulness of the description ; for even where it is necessary to adhere closely to the story (as is always desUable in Scripture subjects) it wUl easUy be seen that great latitude remains for the pamter, and that his representation is not a Q 226 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. tame transcript but a translation of the words into his own very different language. The foUowing account of Paul preaching at Athens rests more on learning than on the general sagacity before alluded to, and though the enumeration and distinction of the phUosophers is highly probable, the intention of the picture is less strikingly evident than in the case just men tioned. " Simphcity of attitude invests the speaker with subUmity; the paralleUsm of his action invigorates his energy ; situation gives him command over the whole ; the light in which he is placed attracts the first glance ; he appears the organ of a superior Power. The assembly, though selected with characteristic art for the purpose, are the natural offspring of place and moment. The involved meditation of the Stoic, the Cynic's Uonical sneer, the incredulous smile of the elegant Epicurean, the eager dis putants of the Academy, the elevated attention of Plato's school, the rankling maUce of the Rabbi, the Magician's mysterious glance, repeat hi louder or in lower tones the novel doctrine ; but whUst curiosity and meditation, loud debate and fixed prejudice teU, ponder on, repeat, reject, dis cuss it, the animated gesture of conviction hi Dionysius and Damaris announce the power of its tenets, and, what the artist chiefly aimed at, — the estabhshed behef of immortality."* Although this kind of learning is not so generally aimed at by Raphael on points admitting of more universal acqui escence and sympathy, it should be remembered that such circumstances are worthier of a great pamter than an attention to particulars relating to costume and locahties, because they suggest and afford scope for the varieties of human character. The supposition that Paul is dwelling, at the moment chosen by the painter, on the doctrine of the Resurrection, is more than probable, because that was the point in his discourse which most excited the doubts of * Fuseli's Works, Lecture III. Ch. II. ] ALLUSIONS IN ART. 227* his audience. " When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked : and others said, We wiU hear thee agam of this matter. Howbeit certain men clave unto him, and beheved : among the which was Dionysius the Areopagite, and a woman named Damaris, and others with them." If the above supposition be correct it accounts for the action of Paul, for we may suppose that his hands have been raised together, with the words " the dead shall rise,' and the action of Dionysius expresses not merely surprise but sympathy with the action of the speaker. Such specu lations sometimes, as in this case, only highly probable, at other times leading to the fullest conviction and a thorough comprehension of the painter's aim, open an ample field for observation, reflection, and enjoyment. It was assumed that it is quite possible for a painter to* be less sohcitous to affect the spectator by the event he pourtrays, than to represent the costume, manners, and locahties which belong to such an event. The inferiority of such an aim to that of Raphael has been already pointed out, but, this being taken for granted, it must in fairness be observed that the spectator who is alive to aU the aUusions with which such works abound, wtil. find a pleasure in tracing them proportioned to the extent of the associations they awaken. The instance of Niccolo Poussin is the most remarkable of this kind that can be quoted; and although he addresses himself, when dweUing on the points in question, only to a few, and less to the feeUngs than to the erudition of those few, he is placed at the head of his class because the general and poetical aU of antiquity he gives to his works is stUl more remarkable than his Uteral fidelity to every cUcumstance. So evidently was this spUit of antiquity, rather than its mere facts, his object, that in strictly historical subjects belonging to the Pagan world, he never scruples to mtroduce River Gods and similar personifications. The mode in which he con- Q 2 228 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. trives to reconcile the imitation of nature with these super natural appearances, so that they do not shock by their absurdity, or appear incongruous, is one of his pecuhar merits. The greater part of Poussin' s works contain some circumstances which mark an antique period, or allude to an antique rite, and all may be said to have an antique aU, whatever period they represent. As such aUusions are addressed only to the erudition of the spectator, they are reactily discovered in works of art by those who take an interest in them. To such persons the works of Poussm, GiuUo Romano, Primaticcio, and others, open aU the sources of classic associations, and in spite often of unattractive colour wtil always be contemplated with pleasure. There are two distinct classes of works in which historical and especiaUy Scripture subjects are engrafted on modem locaUties, manners and costume — the early Flemish School on the one hand, and the Venetian, Flemish, and Dutch Schools on the other. In the early Flemish paintings the great object bemg to interest the feelings, the familiar incidents introduced are far from interfering with such an impression; on the contrary the simphcity of so unam bitious a treatment quite accords with the pious and sincere character and expressions of the figures. The imagination is not addressed except in the department of colour, which, by its breadth and beauty, atones hi a great measure for the too frequent meagreness of the forms. In the Venetian and Dutch Schools, unlike the early Flemish, there is no moral aim whatever — -the prmcipal object is to display those attrac tions of the art which especially appeal to the eye, and hence any materials which could answer such a purpose are in discriminately employed. The dehght which the apprecia tion of this technical perfection is capable of affording can only be gradually experienced. Here again the defects in costume and even in more important matters are not for a moment defended, but such defects being taken for granted, - # Ch. II.] CHARACTER OF THE AGE. 229 the works hi question may be interesting even to the general spectator ; not indeed for what they are caUed, but for what they reaUy are. Many historical and Scripture pieces by Paul Veronese and others of his school, independently of theU more ostensible merits, are not uninteresting pictures of Venetian manners, so that by suffering the association to depend not on a preconceived standard but on the admitted aim of the painter, no school can be altogether devoid of interest ; and when the subject is greatly neglected the real object to which it was considered subordinate, wtil graduaUy interest the spectator as it did the artist himself. Next to the associations connected with the subject, it is quite natural that the history of the Pamter should be upper most in the minds of those who contemplate his productions. The personal history of any great master cannot fail to add a new interest to his works, for by these means the modifica tions of individual character are traced in what profess to be illustrations of history or imitations of nature. StUl stronger, in most cases, than the character of the hidividual, is the character of his age ; and this is apparent not only in the dUection which the art itseU takes, but in the impres sion which it receives from reUgion, from poUtics, from Uterature, and from manners. „ To this must be added the influence of Place as weU as that of Time ; nor should even the history and the vicissitudes of the work itseU, its original destination, its various possessors, its rarity, acknowledged exceUence, and actual value be forgotten. The accumulated associations thus afforded can inform a tifeless work of art with far-reaching thought ; and although such knowledge is quite distinct in itseU from the critical discrimination of technical exceUence, which the habit of observation must chiefly teach, it wUl undoubtedly lead to this, and be found to assist the acquisition of an independent judgment. The first influence on the character of the formative arts which it is important to consider, especially at the time of 230 « HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. theU revival and perfection, was that of Religion. It wtil not be necessary here to enter into the consideration of the mutual assistance which the arts and the CathoUc Religion afforded each other ; whatever may be the opinion as to the extent in which even the Reformed Religion may be bene fitted by this alliance it is quite certain that art, if less exclusively dUected to Beauty, must be at least ennobled and purified by such an apphcation. In the early ages of ItaUan and Flemish art the expression of a soul-felt piety was the ruling aim and characteristic of the artist and his productions. Monks and ecclesiastics, among whom the name of Fra Angehco wUl first occur to the reader, were among the most devoted professors, dividing theU time between the duties of their calUng, and the outpourings of theU enthusiastic feeUngs hi the elaboration of altar pieces and sintilar works representing subjects from legendary as weU as Scriptural sources. The effect on others of such sincere attempts to do justice at least to theU own feelings cannot be doubted, and the doctie piety of the age was met and exalted by such effusions. Among the chief causes of this very general spUit, about and after the time of the revival of Art, was the impulse given to the more self-abasing doctrines of Christianity by the rise of new and severe rehgious Orders. The character of the early school of painters in Umbria, which had ultimately more or less influence on the schools of Rome, Florence, and Bologna, may be traced to the influence of the doctrines of St. Francis ; but even at a later period, in the lifetime of Fra AngeUco, the tendency of the age to the same enthusiasm must have been very decided, for we find that a number of ultimately beatified and sainted persons Uved at or near the same time. The earlier works which are remarkable for the impres sion aUuded to, are imperfect in the extreme as productions of art, and, but for the interest connected with the above Ch. II.] ART FOR ITS OWN SAKE. 231 fact, would often be passed over without a second glance. On nearer inspection, however, and with due aUowances for the technical imperfections of the age, the feeUngs of the human beings of that time will stUl be apparent in spite of the defects of the work. Malvasia relates that the celebrated. pamter Guido, so remarkable for the dehcacy of his taste, and of ati men the most likely, from the masterly freedom of his pencU, to despise the tame and defective efforts of the early painters, was seen to contemplate with deep attention a Madonna by Lippo Dahnasio, and at last expressed his opinion that none of the then living painters could infuse into a countenance such an expression of hohness.* Instances were not wanting, even from the earhest periods of the revival of art, of painters who were intent on the dis play of the art for its own sake ; and as imitation graduaUy approached its highest perfection an ulterior object was naturaUy less and less kept hi view. With the character of the art the spUit of the age had changed, and it would perhaps be universally admitted that at and immediately before the period of the Reformation the examples of enthusiastic piety were less frequent in the CathoUc Church than they had been a century earlier.. But there was another important cause which gave a new bias to the style of the arts, a bias which has lasted very generally to the present time. This was the increasing taste for classic Uterature, and the discovery of, and growing admtiation for, the antique statues. To this subject we shaU hereafter return. Thus Raphael appears to be the point immediately pre ceding a remarkable change in taste, and this would appear to be true in other respects ; for whUe, owing to his education under Pietro Perugino, to his early associations and his own feelings, he never abandoned the moral aim of the older painters, he suppUed their technical deficiencies by the * Felsina Pittrice. Vita de' Pittori Bolognese, vol. i. p. 26. 232 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. gradual attainment of a perfect style of imitation, and even infused the breadth and beauty of the antique into his works without losing sight of the quahties that touch the heart. But the spUit of early Christian art was not only in danger of being annihilated or superseded by the influence of this classical taste, but also by the perfection of the art itseU. When we consider the pecuhar education of the mind as weU as that of the eye and hand which are necessary to produce anything approaching exceUence hi art, it is not to be wondered at that its high attainment should be considered in and for itseU a sufficient aim for human ambition. And this wtil appear the more admis sible when it is remembered that, as an imitation of nature in her largest impressions, the art is capable of conveying in a condensed and abstract form aU those otherwise inex pressible and uncommunicable feelings which the con templation of the visible world excites. It is quite natural then, that, when perfectly accomphshed, this form of Poetry (distinct from Poetry properly so called) should no longer be considered as a means, but as possessed of independent claims and qualities. If Nature herseU, it may be urged, has no distinct method of mstruction, but only exalts the feelings by a language which no other language can ap proach, why should not the colourmg of Titian or the forms of the ApoUo be permitted to exercise theU own eloquence without being made subservient to any ulterior purpose? Language, it may be added, can touch the feel ings not only to a greater extent but much in tUe. same manner as the formative arts, by an attention, namely, to interesting particulars ; but the power of arresting the Uidistinct images of grandeur or beauty which every imagination gathers from nature belongs to the arts of design alone. Thus employed they appeal chiefly to the imagination, and hi the very vagueness and generalisation which this imphes, abandon as an inferior ti not incom- Ch. IL] RAPHAEL'S SUPERIORITY. 233 patible aim the comparatively humble office of touching the feelings. Such is the view or the tacit impression which may ex plain the production of those works that exemphfy the exclusive triumph of the art, and which gradually led to the subordination of aU aims to that of its own display. The departments of art which were carried to perfection in Italy varied in different places, and in different hands, though aU coincided in time. Form was the favourite study of the Florentines and of M. Angelo— colour was carried to per fection Ul Venice by Titian — gradation of Ught and shade in Parma by Correggio. It is not to be supposed that the general tendency of this technical perfection excluded hi every case the attempt to appeal to the feeUngs as weU as to the imagination ; yet, in the accompUshed productions of M. Angelo, Titian, and Correggio, grandeur or beauty are the predominant characteristics, and the style of their works is the more striking precisely because it is more partial and exclusive than Raphael's. On the other hand, in com paring the great pamter last named with the early Flemish masters, his superiority wtil appear to consist precisely in the greater beauty and grandeur of his designs, and in his having attained these high quahties without losmg himself in unmeaning generaUsation (the very possible tendency of such an aim). The union of physiognomy with beauty or dignity, of the truth of nature with imagination, of a sufficient attention to particulars with grandeur, constitute one of the chief and unrivaUed elements of Raphael's fame. It is true the early Flemish painters unite beauty and breadth of colour with individuatity of form, and where these forms and detaUs are not repulsively defective and minute, as is too frequently the case, this union may be granted sufficient to maintain the independence of the art ; but the mode in wliich Raphael accomphshes the same end is far more satisfactory and complete, especiaUy where, as 234 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. hi some of the frescoes of the Vatican, the colouring is on a level with his other excellencies. The religion of Europe in the earher epochs of Christian art affected not only the general spUit of that art, but its particular inventions and customary treatment. Private families in dedicating altar pieces had the triple object of paying homage first to the Madonna, who may be considered in some of these cases to represent the Church, then to their patron Saints, and lastly of confessing the faith in theU own persons by the introduction of theU portraits in the same picture. Again, such pictures were offered to acknowledge particular benefits, escapes from danger, disease, or death ; the presiding Madonna, the Saints who protected or interceded, and the living and grateful objects of their care thus appear together, and the "'grace received " is indicated either by a specific allusion or by the attri butes of the particular Saints introduced. A very sUght acquaintance with this practice wiU soon accustom the admUer of art to allow for the anachronisms of these votive pictures, and he wtil graduaUy be smitten with the simple sincerity of such representations. The portraits of the donors always appear drawn with strict fidelity, even to their clothing. It wUl be seen too that this anachronism, by which the painter's contemporaries were introduced, as it were, mto the society of beatified personages, led by an easy transition to the representation of Scripture subjects without altering the modern costume. The effect of this in an enthusiastic point of view must have been great, for the mass of beholders contemplated the high examples here depicted more as reaUties, and were thus invited to mingle in idea with the saints of old. To return to the votive pictures, properly so caUed ; in many instances the patron Saint presents the famUy to the Madonna, as in Titian's picture, called the Madonna de' Frari. Sometimes the Saint even points out of the picture Ch. II. ] ARRANGEMENT OF COMPOSITION. 235 as ti interceding for the spectator ; this seems to be the action of St. Francis in Raphael's Madonna di Fohgno, and it is so, beyond a doubt, in that of St. Sixtus in the Madonna at Dresden by the same pamter. In this last mstance, the Saint's intercession for the spectator seems the more natural because there are no votaries in the picture. The compo sition of the group in the eartier altar pieces, whether ' ' ex voto " or not, was always semi- circular, as if to mix up the spectator with the divine or sainted personages represented, and to make him feel himself to be in their presence. This arrangement was never abandoned by Raphael in devotional subjects : in mere historical or dramatic compositions, in which the spectator might be Interested but not a party con cerned, Raphael adopted the more picturesque arrangement of disposing the nearest figures with theU backs turned to the front of the picture, thus approaching the cUcular in stead of the semi-cUcular form. The two modes may be seen occasionally in the same picture, where the lower part represents an ordinary action or story, and the upper part a vision, as wtil appear by comparing the scene of the Transfiguration in Raphael's picture of that subject with the group below. Again, in his Theology, commonly caUed the Dispute of the Sacrament, the figures in the human group are arranged in the more picturesque method, whUe the Synod above is semi-circular. The succeeding painters,, who were on aU occasions intent chiefly on the exceUence of the art as such, frequently adopted the picturesque form even in devotional subjects. It is to be remembered that the attachment to particular Saints naturally varied with time and place, and the in fluence of this on the practice of the art is worthy of attention by those who trace its styles.. The nude, or only partiaUy draped figure, abounded most among the rural and local saints belonging to the Venetian territory ; where, for instance, St. Sebastian, St. Roch, and St. Christopher 236 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. protected men and cattle from wounds, disease, and lassi tude, or renewed theU strength when overcome with labour. The study of the colour of flesh was thus early practised on a large scale by the Venetian painters. The extent of the influence of St. Francis round Assisi, — the centre of his spiritual dominion, and the place of his death, — is defined less by actual distance than by the faciUty of communication as regards the Apennines. FoUgno, Perugia, Urbino, and Bologna belonged in the time of Raphael's youth to a school of art especiaUy accustomed to represent the local Saint, and a facility hi the treatment of thick and ample drapery may have been the consequence. Another class of anachronisms may be mentioned in such pictures as Raphael's HeUodorus, in which, though the story is taken from the Book of Maccabees, Pope Julius the Second, with his attendants, is introduced. Many of the subjects in the Stanze of the Vatican, although some times taken from Scripture, and generaUy intended to ex hibit the protection of Heaven extended to the Church, are contrived to afford aUusions to incidents hi the Ufe of the reigning Pontiff. Thus the detiverance of Peter from prison aUudes to the escape of Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, sub sequently Leo X., after he was taken prisoner at the battle of Ravenna. Again, the wars in which Julius engaged had so exhausted his treasure that his alties, in order to secure theti promised subsidies, threatened to strip the churches, and even St. Peter's itseU. This suggested the subject of HeUodorus; and the Head of the Church is introduced witnessing the infliction of divine vengeance on the sacri legious invaders. The influence of religion on the spUit and style of art itself is a very different consideration from the mode in which it may affect the employment of artists ; yet as the nature of that employment may be reckoned among the causes which led to the exceUence of the great Italian Ch. II. ] POLITICAL INFLUENCES. 237 Painters, it would be an omission not to aUude to the check which the arts of our own country received by the Reformation. This subject has been weU handled by Flax- man Ui one of his lectures,* and although what he states has more reference to Sculpture than to Painting, there can be no doubt from the proofs he adduces that, at the period in question, this country bade fair to compete in art with the great schools of the Continent. The extinction of this promise was the immediate consequence of the Reformation, wliich had the effect of excluding pictures from churches, and the prejudice was revived and enforced by the Puritans a century later. We aUude for the present briefly to the influence of the Greek mythology on the arts — an influence the most dUect and harmonious. The consideration of this subject is in dispensable in order to comprehend not merely the aUusions and mysteries of the mythologic personifications, which have been handed down to us in the monuments of ancient taste and devotion, but the principles which were common to the definitions of the artist and to a reUgion which sprung from, and may be resolved into, the abstract ideas of nature. This examination wtil more fitly accompany the portion wliich wtil be devoted to Sculpture.! The impression which the character of the art receives from causes connected with poUtical relations wtil open new and interesting sources of inquiry to the cultivated observer. The personal history of the Pontiffs was illustrated, as we have seen, by incidents from the canonical or apocryphal books of Scripture. In Venice the "potent, grave, and reverend" Senate, the martial achievements of the RepubUc, and the opulence that resulted from a thriving commerce, appear alternately or altogether to vie with rehgion in im pressing theU character on the productions of the pencil. * Lecture I. English Sculpture. ¦f See " Contributions," Essay VI. Sculpture. 238 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Such influences as we have thus slightly touched on are not confined to the choice or dictation of a subject, nor to the introduction of contemporary persons or events, but pervade directly or indirectly the style and aim of the art itseU — the materials of which have in a great degree always determmed its character. The age of armour, while it invited attention to certam technical merits, and was favourable to picturesque effect, may have had the effect of accustoming the eye, as in the works of the early Flemish painters, to rigidity of outline both in the figures and drapery, and, on the other hand, may have gradually opened the resources of chiaroscuro to correct this. The repubhcan equahty of Venice was symbotised by and perhaps confined to the unpretending black dresses .of the Senators, but the introduction of these dresses in pictures once supposed, a rich and glowmg scale of colour was likely to accompany it. Again, it may be said of the style of Sculpture in HoUand, that owing to the necessity of representing the cUcumstances of modern warfare and the temptation to compete with the fuller means of Painting, the monuments to national valour (there almost aU restricted to naval heroes) abound with various defects in style ; for the rigging of ships, the sea, fire, and smoke are often vainly attempted hi marble. Among the consequences of the French revolution also we not only find subjects representing classical examples of valour and patriotism, in accordance with the ostensible principles of the day, but the admUation of the rigid severity of Roman or Spartan vUtue involved a close imitation of the antique Sculpture, and is to be recognised in extreme correctness of form and costume, with little else to recommend it. The change to a military despotism had the effect of forcing this classical hardness to invest itself with aU the accidents and detaUs of modern mihtary circumstances. Thus the accu racy which had been the result of the antique mimicry Ch. II. ] POLITICAL INFLUENCES. 239 was agam lost. The new subjects, on the other hand, rarely lent themselves to the agreeable display of the art, and it was not till they ceased so exclusively to demand the labours of the pencti that taste by degrees returned to a healthier state. It may not invariably be possible to trace a dUect poUtical influence where events have been less pronounced, but the change in the character of a state may be said to be always accompanied with its corresponding indica tions in the productions of art, especially where they are employed in a public form. The "senatorial dignity" of Titian is indeed always opposed to the Ught, festive cha racter of Paul Veronese ; but in making every aUowance for the diversity of individual feeling, it is evident that both are in harmony with theU respective times. The heroic age in any nation is always found to precede the development of art, and so it was in Venice, but at the time when Titian attained that perfection which had been nurtured in the simpticity and solemnity of the early school, the government of Venice was at its acme of poUtical in fluence. Half a century later the opulence of the State had reached the pomt from which it ever after declined, — a period marked by the ostentatious display rather than the thrifty employment of wealth. The evidence of this state of things is to be seen in the luxurious gaiety of Paul Veronese's style. The stient working of causes similar to those just aUuded to may always be traced, assuming a sufficient knowledge of facts ; and even the occasional misconceptions of writers of authority should not deter the observer from indulging ¦ in such reflections. Madame de Stael ventures to assert that the expression of grief was never given to a Greek statue — in short, did not exist hi Greek art — before the time of Phitip of Macedon ; and explains it by supposing that the representation of a state of suffering was unworthy of artists 210 « HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Uving in an age of freedom. The assertion is erroneous, and the conclusion absurdly so ; but it is not without reluc tance that the necessity of checking the exuberance of phtiosophic speculation is pointed out, for it is precisely the species of inquiry which is fitted for the lettered amateur, and which Ui his mind may frequently supply the place of that interest which the professor and connoisseur derive from the mere work of art. The change in Raphael's style, when he removed from the influence of the more ascetic school of Umbria to the cheerful intercourse of the citizen Ufe at Florence, has been dwelt on with his accustomed acuteness by Rumohr ; the meek, serious, and almost suffering expres sion of some of the great painter's earlier works disappears in the smtiing Madonnas painted by him after some resi dence in the Tuscan capital. A new source of interest is open to the amateur in the consideration of the influence of Uterature on the arts. In what degree this influence has been salutary or otherwise it is not necessary here to pronounce ; but the mere existence of such a connection supposes materials for consideration and inqutiy worthy of every enhghtened observer. In ac cordance with the restricted plan hitherto foUowed, a few only of the leading examples wtil be pointed out, and these wtil for the present be confined to modern art. The first great impulse, independent even of the invention of printing, though doubtless accelerated by it, was the re vived taste for the writings of antiquity. The study of the classics long preceded the appreciation of ancient sculpture. The enthusiasm and zeal of Petrarch and Boccaccio in ac- qutiing and imparting a knowledge of the Greek and Latin authors can hardly be said to have become diffused ttil a century after their time — viz., ttil 1450 ; — when the desUe to coUect specimens of ancient art was beginning to produce its lasting effects. These specimens were naturaUy sought for in the first instance as illustrating ancient history Ch. II.] INFLUENCE OF CLASSIC LITERATURE. 241 and poetry. Petrarch himself collected antique medals, and in a later age the renewed study of the classics led to a simUar result. Poggio BraccioUni, born 1380, first coUected busts ; the interest he attached to them probably hi some cases depending on associations. But by degrees he acquUed a reUsh for the art itseU, and sighed to possess entire figures. Thus the admUation of the antique did not originate with the artists ; the apphcation of the monuments of ancient genius to the purposes of modern art was only an ultimate consequence of general cultivation. The admis sion of this classic influence was not sudden ; many artists remained true to the Christian types long after their brethren had been carried along with the general mania, whUe, on the other hand, some few anticipated the gene ral march of taste towards Paganism. Not to mention a classic votary so ardent as Mantegna, it is known that Cosmo de' Medici, in forming his museum, found no prompter more zealous than the sculptor DonateUo„ Lorenzo the Magnificent needed no prompter ; thoroughly imbued with the phUosophy as well as the poetry of Paganism, he not only continued to add to the treasures his father had left, but conceived the idea of educating the artists of his time to imitate and rival them, by opening the garden in which his marbles were distributed as a place of study. It was here that, among others, M. Angelo resorted, when a youth. The extent of the Medicean coUection of antiques was undoubtedly greater than that of any other formed in the same age ; the place itseU where they were deposited may be said to have been surrounded by an atmosphere of classic learning, for there the greatest scholars of the time were ready to impart instruction to the admUers of Homer and the votaries of Plato.. Yet this was not the only asylum which Attic taste and the Muses of classic poetry and art had found ; in the latter part of the fifteenth century there was scarcely a State in Italy which failed to acquire its share of 242 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II praise for the endowment of universities, the encouragement of Greek and Latin professors, and the formation of Gal leries of art. Of the princes who emulated each other in this course, none, next to the Medici, are more deserving of notice than the Dukes of Urbino — Frederigo da Montefeltro, and his son Guidobaldo. And they are selected the more readtiy, not only because some of the best artists of the age were born in or resorted to theU capital, but because the extent of theU influence is unaccountably overlooked by the historians of art. The accomphshed Baldassare CastigUone was for many years of his Ufe attached to the fortunes of the Montefeltri : his Cortegiano, a book weU known to every lover of ItaUan literature, professes to give the model of a pohshed education as drawn from the " Accademie " or soirees ofthe court of Urbino in Guidobaldo 's time. In intro ducing the reader to the society of great and accomphshed men who met in the apartments of the Duchess, he describes the classic decorations ofthe Palace, and its " antique statues of marble and bronze." But the most remarkable record is a long manuscript poem on the acts of Frederigo, by Giovanni Sanzio, the father of Raphael,* in which the description of the castle seems to justify the poet in conferring on Urbino the title of " the Athens of Umbria." t * This poem was written either before Raphael was born, or in his infancy. f Tiraboschi (vol. vi. p. 78) gives (perhaps as a literary curiosity,) a, dedication of a book to the Duke Frederigo. The author, or editor, Piero Perotti, tries to imagine what the sensations of his volume will be when permitted to enter the precincts of the Ducal Library ; " Al vedere ch' esso f ara ivi ogni cosa risplendente di marmo, d' argento e d' oro, all' entrare in cotesta tua magnifica biblioteca, benche mutolo e senza vita, parra nondimeno che si rallegri ed esulti." " Vedra quanto onori i professori d' eloquenza, con quanta degnazione accogli gli uomini dotti ; talche sembra che gli studj delle belle arti, esuli prima e raminghi abbian per te solo ricuperata e la vita e la patria.'' Lastly, we learn from the same source that Frederigo not only was a hero, but looked like one : " stupira al vedere la tua quasi sovrumana grandezza di corpo, la robustezza delle membre, la dignita del sembiante, &c." Ch. II. ] COURT OF URBINO. 243 All this, it may be observed in passing, sufficiently proves how Uttle ground there is for asserting that Raphael in his early youth was without the materials or the precepts necessary to form an accomphshed artist; for, with the exception of Florence, no court of Italy, not even that of Rome, was so well furnished with both as Urbino. Never theless, whatever influence the specimens of the antique sculptures there preserved, may have had on him, whatever dUection his taste may have received from the works of Luca SignoreUi, Pietro della Francesca, and other skilful artists to which he had access, it is quite true that aU was superseded by his devotedness to the spiritual aim of Pietro Perugino,* and the Umbrian painters. That this was the result of a deep moral conviction rather than the mere blind force of example is proved by its being uneffaced by the examples of talents far more splendid ; — in a word, if Raphael could afterwards Uve in Florence untainted by the classical taste which prevaUed there, it is quite easy to" conceive that aU which Urbino contained of a similar nature might have sunk m his estimation ti found to be incompatible with the aspUations of a Christian painter. Both Florence and Urbino preceded Rome in the forma tion of GaUeries of antiquities. Petrarch had indeed long before tried to awaken an interest for the ancient monu ments, and Rienzi shared his zeal, but a long indifference succeeded, and when Poggio described the state of Rome in one of his most interesting compositions, f he could only enumerate five marble statues and one of bronze. It was reserved for Leo X. to excite a permanent interest for the sculptured relics of antiquity. The discovery of the group of the Laocoon was soon foUowed by others of equal importance, whUe the munificent rewards which the Pope * According to the well grounded argument of Rumohr, Raphael must have been nearly 20 years of age when he began to study under Perugino. t De Varietate Fortune. a 2 244 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. offered stimulated a passion which requUes no education. " The production," says Roscoe, " of a genuine specimen of antiquity secured to the fortunate possessor a competency for Ufe, and the acquisition of a fine statue was almost equivalent to that of a bishopric." The taste of the Pontiff was shared by many who had imbibed it from the same sources — viz., from the courts of Florence and Urbino. Casti- gUone, the friend and adviser of Raphael, himseti coUected " antique busts and cameos of the best workmanship."* Many of the Cardinals expended theU treasures in similar objects, but the individual who formed the most extensive and various coUection was Antonio Colocci. His villa, near the remains of that of Sallust, might be compared with ihe garden of Lorenzo de' Medici at Florence, and, Uke that, was probably open to the students of antiquity and art. Thus, it is evident that this taste began in Rome, as in Florence, with the men of letters. The court of Leo X., from the time of his elevation, had become the resort of the accomphshed and learned men of Italy. To the names of Vida, Beroaldo, Bembo, Sadoleti, and Bernardo Accolti might be added a long Ust equaUy ernment whether hi the ranks of poetry or phUosophy. The revival of the language, and the happiest imitation of the style of the Roman poets is, of itself, a sufficient evidence of the taste of the day. The elegant hexameters of Sadoleti on the Laocoon, of CastigUone on the so-caUed Cleopatra, and the iambics of Leo himseU on a statue called Lucretia, not to mention the more copious works of Vida and others, all tend to show how closely theU adntiration of ancient art was connected with theU classic associations and studies ; while many a scholar partook of the antiquarian ardour of the age without being, for a time at least, at aU aUve to the technical merits of the works that were brought to light. * See Life, prefixed to the Cortegiano. Ch. II. ] PAGAN TENDENCIES IN ART. 245 The first symptom of a classic tendency in art is thus explained by the mere influence of this taste in the hterary world ; but, by degrees, the admUation of the more inde pendent professor was attracted by the sktil, the beauty, and the poetic fancy displayed in the antique sculptures. The mere copying of classic detaUs in costume and archi tecture was, as may be supposed, the earliest evidence of the love of the antique. Filippo Lippi, Sandro BotticeUi, and, above aU, Mantegna, are instances in various degrees of this first tendency. Owing, however, to the sttil universal demand for sacred subjects, the opportunities of treating a composition so entUely Pagan as Mantegna' s Triumphs* were not frequent. But the engravers were not so restricted; theU works were not for the chapel or the cloister ; they could minister to the elegant or corrupt taste of the votary of classic poetry as they pleased, and the introduction of Pagan subjects may be said to date its rise from them. In 1452 the first known engravmg by the inventor of the art, Maso Finiguerra, ap peared in Florence, and it is to be remarked that the eartiest essays were not reproductions of known compositions, but original designs. These subjects soon became very gene raUy classical. Lorenzo de' Medici suggested the Labours of Hercules to Pollajuolo, the History of Vulcan to Ghir landajo, the Gods and Goddesses to Luca Signorelli. The contemporary examples of simtiar subjects hi Painting are very rare, but, towards the close of the 15th century, the private taste of the more wealthy partisans of the spUit of Paganism began to invite the labours of the painter ; and, before 1520, the classic influence had so spread that the independent and vital character of Christian art may be said to have been entirely superseded by it. The first complete specimen of a painter who united high * Designs for Tap'estries at Hampton Court. Fuseli calls these Triumphss '• a copious inventory of classic lumber." 246 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. exceUence in art with an exclusive passion for classic sub jects, was Giuho Romano, the chief scholar of Raphael. He may be considered the great head of the classic school, and the more marked indications . of this tendency in the subordinate works of Raphael, — the execution of which, owing to theU extent, was entrusted latterly very much to his scholars, — may be attributed to the suggestion or the hand of this painter. His taste was kindled and fed by Baldassare Castiglione, and when that accompUshed scholar and statesman returned in 1524 to Mantua, his native place, Giulio Romano accompanied him. The labours of the artist there, both in architecture and painting, were various, but the classic frescoes of the Palace formed an epoch in the taste of modern art, Primaticcio, who for some years was one of the numerous subordinate associates of Giutio at Mantua, imported the style mto France at the invita tion of Francis I., and decorated the palace of Fontaine bleau with subjects from the Odyssey. The classic taste in France dates its permanent estabhshment from this period, for the same pamter was employed by Francis to collect antique sculptures Ut Italy; the result was the importation of more than a hundred specimens, together with casts from the treasures of celebrated GaUeries. The arts in France may thus be. said to have been nurtured in the classic school, and it is not surprising that the taste should have afterwards attained its acme in a French painter — viz. : Niccolo Poussin. The original influence of GiuUo Romano is, however, sufficiently acknowledged by the marked homage paid to him in the didactic poem of du Fresnoy.* * To Mason's translation of this poem, Sir Joshua Reynolds, as is well known, appended notes. The passage in question is as follows : " Leam how, at Julio's birth, the MuBes smiled, And in their mystic caverns nursed the child, How, by the Aonian powers their smile bestowed, His pencil with poetic fervour glow'd. Ch. II. J A PAINTER'S MOTIVES. 247 In these cases the spirit and genius of the ancient mythology was followed for its own sake, and is directly appreciable, perhaps most appreciable, by the classic scholar and poet. But while aU the artists who yielded to the taste of the day must be admitted to agree in one particular — viz. ; a dereUction of the insptiing principle of Christian art — -it is to be observed that the Itahan painters, with the single exception of Giutio Romano, seem to have had an ulterior object in selecting these subjects. The Vene tians were smitten with an admiration of colour as a main element of beauty, and justly considered the colour of the nude the worthiest object of imitation. Hence, while they cared httle for classic associations, they were readily tempted by the opportunities (such as the fable of Bacchus and Ariadne painted by Titian) which the characters and incidents of the mythology afforded, for giving fuU scope to their powers. The excellence of Titian, it must be admitted, is never more apparent than when he exhibits in aU its splendour, the most beautiful, yet the most negative hue in nature. Again, the speU of Correggio's chiaroscuro, so nearly alhed to the voluptuous, led him to select analogous subjects from classic fable ; whUe the Florentines, and, at a later period, Annibale Carracci, with the purer zeal of anatomical designers, eagerly seized every excuse for displaying the naked figure. The Venetians, who might have been expected to be most fascinated with this class of subjects, are certainly not to be charged so much as the other schools with having abused them. The designs of Giutio Romano and Annibale Carracci, the los and Ledas of Correggio and When faintly verse Apollo's charms conveyed, He op'd the shrine, and all the God displayed ; His triumphs more than mortal pomp adorns, With more than mortal rage his battle burns ; His heroes, happy heirs of fav'ring fame, More from his art than from their actions claim." 248 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. M. Angelo, cannot fortunately be paraUeled by any Vene tian work. From the death of GiuUo Romano — 1546 — to the rise of the Carracci — about 1580 — the subjects for extensive spaces were of the same kind as those of Mantua. The Odyssey was selected by Tibaldi to decorate the walls and ceiling of the Institute of Bologna, much about the time that Prima ticcio, assisted by Niccolo deU' Abate, painted subjects from the poems of Homer, together with the Acts of Alexander, at Fontainebleau. These three painters are extoUed hi the well-known sonnet of Agostino Carracci. The subjects of the frescoes of the Palazzo Fava in Bologna (the first work that estabhshed the fame of the Carracci) are taken from the iEneid; — those of the Magnani Palace represent the history of Romulus ; — the Farnese Palace in Rome is filled with mythologic subjects that appear to have little apparent connexion.* Speaking of this work FuseU says that Anni bale Carracci, " with the CapeUa Sistina and the Vatican before his eyes, filled the mansion of religious austerity (?) and episcopal dignity with a chaotic series of trite fable and bacchanahan revelry." Much allowance is to be made for the spirit of the age ; scarce half a century earher we find the painters of what has been caUed the ornamental school (the Venetian) decorating the exterior of warehouses with Scripture subjects. The Doges, in the pubhc works of Titian, and even of Paul Veronese, are always in the presence of St. Mark, the Virgin, or the Redeemer ; and Tintoret's " Paradise" adorns the Ducal Library. The scholars and contemporaries of the Carracci, such as Guido, Guercino, and Albano, continued, with more or less natural incUnation, to treat classical subjects ; and the Aurora of Guido may be cited as the favourite of it's class. Poussin, Domenichino, Lanfranco and others, by adding * See the explanation in Bellori — " Le Vite de' Pittori, Scultori ed Architetti modemi." Ch. II. ] POETIC SUBJECTS. 249 Tasso and Ariosto to the classical sources, only ministered to the universal taste for what is caUed profane, as opposed to sacred subjects. It wtil be even remembered that in such a poem as Tasso, the graver subjects were avoided ; it was the garden of Armida, and the attractions of Clorinda and Erminia that were preferred to the pious Goffredo, and to the mam incidents of the Epic. Before the close of the 16th century the classic or profane taste had spread over Europe, with the single exception of Spam, where, either from the bigotry of the priests or the ignorance of the nobUity, it never pre vailed. Cean Bermudez remarks that neither Roelas, Castillo, nor Murtilo ever painted an historical, much less a mythological subject. Whatever Italian and Flemish art lost, therefore, by the introduction of a classical taste, it ought not to be forgotten that the Spanish school gained nothing by rejecting it ; and, had not the SevilUan painters under the auspices of Velasquez and Murtilo broken through the monkish influence by treating familiar Ufe and portrait, the school might have continued to be what it was in the hands of the artists of Toledo, a dry imitation of Itahan altarpieces. In reviewing the gradual introduction of mythological and poetical subjects in Italy, there is one remarkable fact which cannot but excite our wonder. The poems of Dante, so closely altied, in many respects, to the original rehgious aim of the Itahan painters, and appearing to offer a fit transition from serious subjects to poetic fictions in general, never seem to have been considered legitimate sources of insptiation by the ItaUan artists. That Orgagna, M. Angelo, and others, gave evidence in theU Last Judgment of having been inspUed by Dante, is weU known ; but the subject itself was sttil the Last Judgment. The engravings by Baldini and others it is scarcely necessary to say were intended to accompany the early editions ; but we look in 250 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. IT. vam for a series of frescoes from any one of Dante's poems in lieu of the ever -recurring classics. To explain this, from the nature of some of his descriptions, is hardly possible, for, even omitting these, there are incidents in abundance which invite the invention of the artist. It is rather to be referred to a prejudice against taking a poetical subject from modern authority, and this view is confirmed by other cUcumstances. WhUe the Venetian artists, for instance, frequently painted conversations, musical parties, &c, it does not appear that they ever thought of so popular a writer as Boccaccio. Again, although Ariosto's acquaintance with Titian is supposed with great reason to have influenced the descriptions of the poet, there is no evidence that Titian ever returned the comphment by treating a subject from the Orlando Furioso. As to Tasso, the Gerusalemme, when onee adopted by the painters, may be said to have been the favourite ; and the predilection for incidents of this story seems to have been most strongly recommended, if not first Uitroduced, by Niccolo Poussin. These facts, (the general truth of which would not be invalidated even if a few exceptions should be discovered) may tend to show how much the force of what is caUed the spUit of the age has ever had to do with the choice of subjects ;" for, without pretending to assign a cause, it almost appears as if the Itahan artists had no objection to modern associations and hicidents provided they were real, but that they preferred deriving their poetical subjects from a classic authority. Ariosto, who modernised so many antique fables, might easily be con founded with more ancient sources. Ruggiero and Angelica embody the same subject as Perseus and Andromeda ; and the escape of Oreo from the Den, by Lanfranco — in the Borghese Palace, Rome — is always taken at the first glance for Polyphemus and Ulysses. The classic taste has ever found an uncongenial atmo- Ch. II. ] GERMAN PAINTERS NOT CLASSIC IN TASTE. 251 sphere in Germany. There, the labours of the learned in iUustrating the writings of antiquity, have been rather of the nature of research than the effect or the cause of taste ; and when in the last century the aesthetic and antiquarian requisites were united in Winckelmann, Lessing, Heyne, and others, the result was perhaps more apparent in every part of Europe than in theU own country. The mania which infected Italy from the close of the 15th century, seems never to have so spread beyond the Alps as to produce a lasting impression on art. The very few early instances of Flemish painters who turned theU attention to pagan subjects are to be traced to an ItaUan influence, and not to the operation of a naturalized paganism. A single instance of a mythological subject occurs in the pro ductions of Van Eyck, if " the Bath" wliich a Sovereign of Urbino commissioned him to paint may be so caUed — for nothing but its name is known. By Memling no pagan subject is recorded. Lucas van Leyden also availed himseK but indirectly of the privtiege of the engravers, his classic subjects being very few ; — a PaUas, the last engraving he did, was probably an imitation of one of the many Itahan works of the kind. Of the succeeding painters perhaps Lucas Cranach was more smitten with antique subjects than any of his con temporaries, from the opportunities they afforded of dis playing his ungainly taste in the nude. Albert Durer, however, with a fondness for anatomy which might have led him to adopt subjects from the ancient poets, remained true to the Scriptures and to the legends, and preferred Adam and Eve to the Lucretias of Cranach. The painters of the latter part of the 16th century, who returned from the study of the ItaUan master-works, such as Bernard Van Orley, Frank Floris, De Vos, and others, imported some times the subjects as weU as something of the manner of their models ; but even when the old rehgious exclusiveness 252 « HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. had relaxed in favour of historical and poetical subjects ; when Henry Goltzius (a name synonymous with the falsest "exaggeration) in affecting to shun the meagreness of his early predecessors, preferred the mythology as a vehicle for Her culean or redundant forms ; when, lastly, Rubens in his exuberant versatihty aUowed ancient history and poetry to have equal claims with the altar piece : — from first to last we do not find the slightest approach to the characteristics of a classic taste. But hi another species of invention, aUied to the abstract personifications of the ancients, the nations on the north of the Alps emulated to the fuUest extent the practice of the ItaUans, viz., in the use of the Allegory. This transition from the literal to the figurative sense might indeed be traced with some appearance of plausibtiity from the examples of pagan art, but the nature of the human mind is of itself sufficient at all times, to account for its employment, and even where very Uttle culture is supposed. It is only where the practice has reached an absurd excess, as was the case at the close of the 16th and beginning of the 17th centuries, that it is forced on our attention ; and it appears that the influence of Uterature was at this period again the leading cause. A hidden purpose in writings wtil be most prevalent in times when the truth cannot be spoken openly. The Itahan writers from the 14th century abound in concealed or ulterior meanings; — tiie secret opposition to the Pope, or to the Emperor — the hostility and mutual distrust of the petty Itahan sovereigns, were the origin of many a pubUcation in which a poUtical object has been veiled under the garb of poetry or narrative. It may be fatiiy presumed that the necessity or the habit of this dissimulation in the great writers of the 14th century, and of those who succeeded them, may have been adopted by later authors when the same motives no longer existed; a decided bias once given, the mere Ch. II.] ALLEGORY IN ART. 253 force of example as usual soon hurried it to exaggeration. It is to be remembered that it is the excess only of this tendency which is remarkable: aU moral and didactic poetry has of necessity a hidden aim, but the mode in which this may be attained may be more or less adroit. The result is perhaps never more successful than when the desUed effect is produced without any suspicion of the " pious fraud." This was the first purpose of Tasso ; but the evidence of an ulterior meaning was then so indis pensable that he thought it advisable to remodel his poem with a view to a theological aUegory. Ariosto's aUegories are more obvious, but they are rather introduced as epi sodes. Without staying, however, to trace the progress of this taste in Itahan poetry or its subsequent influence on northern writers, its acme may be at once instanced in our Spenser's Faery Queen, three parts of which were pub hshed in 1590. The flrst effects of this taste on the arts of imitation may be traced in the engraved illustrations of the symbols by which moral writers conveyed theU lessons. The emblems of Alciatus* who hved in the time of Leo X. were celebrated. Pierio Valeriano, who was selected by the same pontiff to superintend the education of his nephews, pubhshed fifty-eight books of Hieroglyphicks. Of the learned men, immediately attached to Leo's court, Paolo Giovio produced a book on devices and mottoes, and Gregorio Geraldi pubtished an " Explanation of the enigmas of the ancients and of the Pythagorean symbols." It appears however, that the antique types were at this time Uttle known, and even when they were, the Emblem- * " Celebri ancora per le moltissime edizioni e versioni e oommenti sono gli Emblemi dell' Alciati, ne' quali egli, sotto figure simboliche, spiegate poi con eleganti epigrammi, descrive le virtil e i vizi — opera avuta, e non senza ragione, un gran pregio fin che furono alia moda gli emblemi, ma ora, insieme, con essi, dimenticata." — Tiraboschi, " Litteratura Italiana," vol. vii., p. 1068. 254 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. atists of the 16th and 17th centuries continued to invent after their own fashion. The twelve VUtues by Raphael derived theU symboUcal attributes from the authorities above quoted, and have nothing in common with the system of the ancients except theU number and theU names. In the aUegories of our own writers we recognise similar sources as distinguished from the antique Iconology. The Fame covered with tongues, introduced by Shakspeare (in the Prologue to the Second Part of Henry the Fourth), is an instance of this, and Spenser's personifica tions, when not his own invention, are quite distinct from the classic type. The "Iconologia" of Cesare Ripa, the great authority of painters, was pubhshed the same year with the first portion of the Faery Queen, but a number of books of the same class had preceded it ; one of these is by a painter of Vicenza, Battista Pittori; his designs are accompanied by the epigrams of Ludovico Dolce, and one of them, on the merit of Titian, may be taken as a specimen of the far-fetched aUusions which were in vogue. The device is a bear ticking its cub, with the motto "Natura potentior ars." Books of the same class were rapidly multiplied beyond the Alps. It wtil be sufficient to mention the symbols of Typotius pubUshed at Frankfort in 1602, and those of Otho Venius, the master of Rubens, in 1607. In one class of these pubhcations the designs were merely intended to accompany and explain the poetry or moral lessons ap pended to them ; but such authors as Cesare Ripa, Boudard, and others, professed to furnish materials for painters. A thUd class invented or coUected the emblems and devices illustrative of the history of particular times and persons ; of these, Fabricio, on the Ufe and actions of Gregory XIII., and Menestrier on Louis XIV., are examples. The con nexion of historical devices with the armorial bearings of chivalrous times and romances is obvious. Ch. II. ] ALLEGORY IN ART. 255 The aUegories, even of the great painters, are not always so clear and intelUgible as could be wished, but it appears that an acquaintance with emblems was almost a branch of education, and many things which are now strange to us were tolerated and even adntired by the wits of the time. Correggio sometimes painted professed aUegories, as for instance, " The sensual man fettered by Habit and tormented by Conscience," and its pendant, " Heroic VUtue, overcoming Vice, and crowned by Glory." The subject would scarcely be guessed from the pictures themselves without the titles : — the condemnation of unsuccessful allegory ties in the mere fact that the description conveys the idea better than the representation. In Raphael's Virtues, before aUuded to, the attributes are now totaUy unin telligible without consulting the Iconologists. In his per sonifications of Philosophy, Poetry, Theology, and Justice, he has foUowed in a great degree ancl where he could, the antique types ; and it is remarkable that neither Paolo Giovio nor Gregorio Geraldi were at that time to be con sulted, for they came to Rome some years later. The VUtues, on the other hand, were among his last designs. Of Michael Angelo's taste in AUegory an idea may be formed by the bas-retief belonging to the Royal Academy — the subject is Lorenzo de' Medici raising the drooping city of Florence, expelling the enemies of Order, and introducing the arts of Peace : — a short title, but far more comprehensive in addressing the imagination than the work itself, characteristic as it is in other respects. His Day and Night, Dawn and Twilight, on the tombs of the Medici at Florence, are whoUy unintelligible as ideas. But the great age of aUegory was only beginning in art when it was ripe in letters ; as soon, however, as it was found to be an easy passport to the approbation of the learned, many a painter of modest pretensions sought to recommend himself by the depth and wit of his aUusions. 256 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Vasari,* Zuccaro, and theti foUowers, aimed especiaUy at this kind of merit. The former gives his own description of his frescoes in the Ducal Palace at Florence, in a dialogue between a Prince of the House of Medici (Don Francesco) and himseti; under' the famUiar abbreviations of G. & P. — Giorgio (Vasari) and Principe. He begins with the Sala degl' Elementi, and, in the midst of disquisitions in which the heathen Cosmogony and modern astrology are mixed with his own attempts at personifications, he makes the Prince occasionaUy exclaim, " Oh ! quanto mi piace questa storia " — " certamente che questo e un intessuto molto bello e molto bene imaginato." Giorgio proceeds, " that long stone on which all the figures before mentioned rest, is sup posed to be the FUmament ; I could not represent it more plainly ; it is the ninth power of Heaven." In answer to some other profound information, the Prince says with great truth, " you teU me things, Giorgio, to-day that I never suspected were signified under these colours and forms." A female figure that flits before the Moon is explained to be her daughter " Dew." A man with a globe and an hour-glass is " Day." To represent Justice he disdains the ancient and intelligible sword and scales, but arms her head and not her breast, decorates her helmet with white, red, and green feathers, for Faith, Charity, and Hope, gives her a shield with Medusa's head, and places in her hand a sceptre ornamented with a hippopotamus at one end and a stork at the other. His ingenuity seems most put to the test in applymg the antique fables to the fortunes of the Medici, but even here he acquits himseU with ingenuity. In the historical or family aUusions the dialogue often resembles the descriptions of the visions in Ariosto, where Bradamante, Ruggiero, and others, have the fortunes of the house of Este revealed to them. The letters of Vasari en lighten us sttil further, for we find that even in portraits the * The edition of Vasari referred to is that of Florence, 1832 — 8. 2 vols. Ch. IL] ALLEGORY IN ART. 257 costume and accessories may aU be made to allude to the history or exceUent qualities of the individual. The round stool on which Alessandro de' Medici sits indicates that his power is to have no end ; the legs of the stool, the colour of the drapery, the poUsh of the armour, all have theti meaning ; and all would certainly be little suspected of having any, with the exception of a helmet on fire on the ground, the unusual appearance of which might excite curiosity. It means eternal peace. The foUy of the painters was encouraged by the same absurd taste among their employers. Vasari, in another of his letters, speaking of a figure of Harpocrates on which he was employed, says, "I have made him with very great eyes and ears, wishing it to be inferred that he saw and heard much, &c. ; he has a crown of cherries and medlars on his head, the earhest and latest fruits, to represent judgment, which, mingled with sour (destiny?), becomes matured by time ; he is gtided with serpents, and places one hand on a goose, to indicate vigUance ; all this Pope Clement made me do as a type of our Cardinal (IppoUto de' Medici)." The inventions of Federigo Zuccaro, to judge from his didactic writings, must have been equaUy profound, but as he has left us but few descriptions of his works, his allusions cannot be so easily traced. An aUegorical satire which he painted hi Rome and exhibited pubhcly, compeUed him to quit that city for some years. * The ItaUan schools, which had sunk into mannerism and affectation in the hands of pedants such as these, agam revived, as it were by a common effort, towards the close of the 16th century. Many co operated in this, but the Carracci have the chief credit ofthe change. TheU efforts were chiefly dUected towards the im provement of the art itself, and hence AUegory was with them a secondary object. The fashion of the age, however, still proved to be Uresistible, and every artist, sooner or * He was in England after this at the court of Elizabeth. s 258 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. later, acknowledged its Uifluence. In Bologna the works of these painters embodied either classic stories or reUgious subjects, but when Annibale Carracci, assisted by his brother Agostino, undertook to paint the Farnese Palace in Rome, he selected various mythological subjects with a view to a hidden aUegory. BeUori, who explains the Farnese frescoes, does not even hint that any allegory was intended hi the Fava and Magnaiti palaces at Bologna, whence it may be inferred that Rome was sttil the head quarters of this taste. The explanations of BeUori do not come with the authority of Vasari, for that painter, describing his own works, leaves us in no doubt whatever as to his intentions. The foUowing passage from BeUori's account of the Judgment of Hercules — painted by Annibale Carracci in a room adjoinmg the great Farnese GaUery — if correct, gives but an mdifferent impression of the good taste of the painter. " The red mantle of Vtitue with the purple tunic are emblems of Divine Valour ; and the yeUow drapery with which Pleasure is adorned, reminds us that her grati fications soon wither and fade to straw colour." Among the circumstances which contributed to stimulate and keep aUve the love of AUegory and emblematical repre sentation, may be reckoned the Triumphs, Pageants, Masks, and Tournaments, so frequent in the 16th and 17th centuries. The mechanical powers of Leonardo da Vinci had produced wonders at a Pageant in honour of Francis I.; but, in later times, when Painters had learned to unite rapidity of execution with effect, the best talents were often in requisition to decorate the temporary arches and facades with inventions befitting the occasion. A great many of these works have been handed down to us by engravings, but they are oftener merely described; they, one and aU, exhibit the usual elaborate conceits, with the full complement of " Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers." Vasari in a Ch. II. ] TRIUMPHS AND PAGEANTS. 259 letter to Aretino gives a minute account of the paintings and decorations in Florence in honour of the arrival of Charles V. The description of a similar festival in Bologna, on the occasion of the visit of Clement VIII., 1598, is accompanied by the etchings of Guido. The same painter designed and etched the devices employed at the funeral obsequies of Agostino Carracci, in 1603. At the ceremony of the translation of the remains of Paul V. from St. Peter's to S. Maria Maggiore, Lanfranco invented the Allegories. Andrea Sacchi's designs on the occasion of a triumphal entry of some Prince into Rome also exist ; but none of these records are more interesting than the descrip tion of the decorations of Antwerp on the arrival of Prince Ferdinand of Austria as Governor of the Netherlands — it contains 45 designs by Rubens, engraved by Van Tulden. The cities of the Netherlands were famous for these pageants, and this is to be partly accounted for from the numbers of painters in distemper who resided in Flanders to design subordinate works for the Tapestry manufacturers. At Antwerp, on a similar occasion no less than 233 painters were employed. The head quarters of tournaments and masks was Ferrara, but Mantua, Milan, and other cities encouraged the same amusements.* It was probably at Ferrara tha the first ItaUan Comedy was represented. The Pageants there hi the Carnival of 1561, which celebrated the nuptials of the Duke Alfonso with an Austrian Princess, must almost have reahzed the romances then so much in favour. These Tournaments were generaUy part of a romantic alle gory, as may be gathered from the titles of some of the descriptions that have come down to us. " Love prisoner in Delos, a Tournament Ui Bologna." " The Tournament in Mantua, and the invention ancl allegory with which Signor * The mask of "Adam," at Milan, is supposed to have suggested materials to Milton. s 2 260 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Borso Bonacossi supported it." The classic taste of Florence too appears in a " Mask of the Genealogy of the Gods of the Gentiles," which last took place there in 1565. Again, a painter so smitten with the picturesque as Paul Veronese, was not slow to avail himself of the materials which Allegory offered. His works accordingly abound with emblematical figures, and his more decorative composi tions must have had a close relation with the pageants above alluded to. Thus, whUe hi sacred subjects the painters were at tiberty to people the earth and air with angeUc assistants, AUegory equaUy enlarged the machinery of the picturesque in profane subjects; so that earth and ati might always be peopled with the forms and hues that best served the ends of effect. These exhibitions, at least those of a chivaUous kind, were equaUy frequent in Germany and France. When, therefore, we consider that Rubens was, in the first place, early initiated in the science of Allegory by his master Otho Venius, and by the example of the painters of the day — that his intercourse with courts had familiarised him with such spectacles, to which also, it appears, he sometimes contributed — and lastly, that the minds of all, but especiaUy of the higher classes, were fully disposed to enter into these conceits, we shaU look on the frequent introduction of allegorical personages in his works as a natural consequence of the spUit ofthe age. And although we recognise in Rubens a fondness for these personifications, it must be admitted that Allegory was chiefly used by him as an important auxiliary, and that wherever he did resort to it the picture gained by it. It should be remembered too that in Rubens' time the antique types were better under stood, and the enigmas of the modern Iconologists were beginning to give way to them. The abstract personifica tions of Poussin were of course culled from the antique, or invented in its spirit. His vision of Rome and Fortune in Ch. II. ] LITERATURE OF CHIVALRY. 261 the picture of Coriolanus may be traced to classic sources ; but the personification of the Nile, with head hidden in the reeds, alluding to the undiscovered source, probably origi nated with him — valeat quantum. The idea has been often copied since, and has found more favour than it deserved. The symbohcal language of the ancients as appUed to art is not only the clearest, but has the recommendation of being more current than any other.* The evils which the abuse of this taste entailed on Painting were still further aggravated in sculpture. The figures of Falsehood, Heresy, InfideUty, which are so frequent Ui ItaUan monuments, were made as hideous and monstrous as possible, on a principle dUectly opposed to the nature and powers of the art ; but the aUegorical mania went still further. To represent Death without its terrors the sculptor of a Papal monument surmounted the whole with a gtided skeleton. In the Villa Mattei a marble Truth opens with both hands a gash in her breast, as if to bare her heart to the beholder. There was one Arery general and very decided taste in literature which had no influence on Art in Italy, and but little, if any, in Germany ; this was the passion for tales of chivaUy. Subjects from Boiardo ancl Ariosto. were, as we have seen, not often treated by Italian painters, and, when they were, it was without the stightest approach to what is now understood and felt by the term " romantic." To account for this it should be remembered that, besides the permanent objection to such subjects (from their substituting uncouth forms for the nude) the real age of armour was not past, and the knightly costume with aU the "pomp, pride, and circumstance " of chivatiy was perhaps too everyday an occurrence to produce the effect on the imagination then, which it produces now ; wlitie the enchantments so indis- * It has been collected and exhibited in a, series of engravings by Millin — a better manual than Cesare Ripa. 262 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. pensable in the machinery of these stories were beyond the powers of representation. The triumphs of Christian warriors over theti Paynim enemies, so prominent a source of interest in these books, ancl, as it would appear, so legi timate a subject for Cathotic pencils, seem never to have attracted artists. The few subjects of the kind that exist were purely historical, such as the defeat of the Saracens at Ostia, by Raphael, the expulsion of the Moors from Spain, by Velasquez, a few aUusions to Eastern victsries in Venetian altar-pieces, and the Battle of Lepanto on the ceihng of the Gallery in the Colonna palace at Rome by more modern hands. Before our own time no Spanish painter seems to have adopted a single subject from Don Quixote's Library ; no ItaUan or Frenchman cared to represent the deeds of the Paladins hi Boiardo and Ariosto ; and no German ever thought of the Niebe- lingen Lied. The " Knight" of Albert Durer was perhaps intended as a characteristic figure ; at all events it corre- sponds in many respects with the chivatious " ideal." Giorgione seems to have been somewhat smitten with this taste, as may be mferred from his selecting a fashion of armour a Uttle older than his own time. But the portraits and events of the period, though with aU the advantages of knightly costume, were faf too real for the chivatiy of the poets. The most remarkable work of this class was pro bably Titian's Battle of Cadore, in which the Imperial knights were represented charging across a narrow, bridge in an Alpine scene ancl during a storm. The picture was destroyed by fire, but a sketch of a portion of it is hi the Gallery at Florence, and there exists an old engraving of the entire composition.* Of the Saints who appeared in arms, St. George, St. Hubert, St. Martin, St. WUUam, and one or two others of * (See subsequent information on thiB subject, with plate of original design, in Gilbert's Cadore, p. 186.) Ch. IL] LITERATURE OF CHIVALRY. 263 less note — the first was most frequently painted, but perhaps never in a sptiit analogous to the chivaUous legends. The Church of S. Giorgio dei Schiavoni at Venice was once decorated with a series of subjects from the Ufe of the Saint, but it was Carpaccio who was the pamter, not Titian or Giorgione. Tintoret might be supposed to be fitily aUve to the romantic requisites, yet his picture of St. George and the Dragon in the National Gallery, whatever merit it may have, does not possess, to modem eyes, a chivaUous character, or the impression of a chivatious period. Paul Veronese, or his employers, preferred the martyrdom of the Saint to his heroic deeds, and Rubens, who has represented St. George more than once, had an object in view quite distinct from the poetry of Romance. The St. Hubert of Albert Durer, though not an armed knight, is sufficiently romantic, and, on the whole, the chivaUous taste seems to have had more votaries in Germany than elsewhere. We find even a fond ness there for the representation of armour in sculpture — a taste by no means to be defended. The tomb of Maxi milian at Innspruck surrounded by 28 bronze statues, is a curious instance. After all it may be affirmed that the chivaUous mania in hterature was never reaUy communi cated to the arts of design, and not a single pamter can be1 instanced who has acqutied a name for adequately embodying the characteristics of that species of poetry. The objections arising from the nature of the art have been aUeady aUttded to, but the picturesque and the romantic own xio such restraints. Although, therefore, it may be httle desti'able td revive such subjects now, yet when we reflect on the variety of ignoble materials which the attractions of art, ahd the' • powers of genius have recommended, it cannot but be mattef of surprise that the once extravagant fondness for these fables should never have been ministered to by the pencil. The pastoral taste found more favour with the Venetians; 264 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. probably because it offered a fair excuse for the intro duction of the naked figure — the aUowable accompaniment of a golden age — but such subjects, as treated by them, however ostensibly ideal or remote, are not to be con founded with antique IdyUs and Eclogues. It is even possible that they may have been altogether the r.esult of the picturesque ancl music-loving manners of the time and place, as the shepherdised creations of the French in the 17th century grew out of the theatre and the courtly masks and greenwood fetes. Yet there was a fondness in Venice for one pastoral writer, quite unequalled in any city of Italy. Nearly tltirty editions of the Arcadia of Sanna- zarius appeared in Venice in the 16th century. The first two, printed in 1501 — 1504, were so tinperfect that the author wrote a letter of complaint to a friend in Venice on the subject ; a thtid appeared before the first improved edition by Aldus in 1514. The Arcadia may therefore be said to have been in every hand before Giorgione died. And it is impossible not to attribute to this elegant work some degree of influence on a style of art, and a selection of subjects totaUy distinct from the classic Bacchanals of Giuho Romano, and strictly confined to Venice, untU imita tion spread it elsewhere. The consideration of the 'concurring influence of manners wiU be resumed in another place. The philosophical speculations of the Italians of the 15th and 16th centuries may be considered as the most important consequence of theti classic studies : the thirst for the writings of the ancients was marked indeed by no particular predilections — poets, orators, historians, ancl phUosophers were read with equal avidity; but philosophy was the subject that of itseU requtied the greatest attention, and involved the greatest discussion. The depth of the abstruser doctrines of Plato and Aristotle by degrees engaged the serious meditation and ultimately excited the wonder and reverence of the best intellects in Ch. II. ] THE STUDY OF PLATO. 263 Italy. It is not uncommon for modern historians to date the revival of letters from the attentive study of Plato at Florence. It was there the most learned Greeks had taken refuge, pleased to repay the hospitahty they received by elucidating the difficulties and extolling the matchless structure of theti language. And it was then that the garden of the Medici might be said in more than one respect to rival the Athenian academy. But notwithstanding the authority of the Fathers of the Church, who attest the sublimity, and almost the orthodoxy of Plato's doctrines, the pagan tendency of the study of his philosophy, mixed up, as it was, with classic researches of all kinds, was but too apparent ; and Florence was the first city in Italy to assume a character entUely opposed to that spirit bf the middle ages, which, after aU, had made her what she was. The alarm of the Church had already been excited, but it was lulled to security, at least for a time, as soon as Leo X. ascended the Papal throne ; — the classic Leo, who had been nurtured in the Platonist schools of his native city, and trained to emulate alike the taste and the philosophy of the ancients.* With him and the learned and accomphshed men who repaired to his court, the head quarters of Platonism may be said to have migrated to Rome. The classic mania had not, however, been suffered to prevati thus far without violent opposition, and while the attacks of such enthusiasts as Savonarola lasted, the parti sans of the ancients seem to have hushed their private differences of opmion, to make head against theti adver saries. But no sooner was the classic taste in a fati way of acqutiing the empire which it has ever since maintained, than the relative claims of the ancient writers among them selves began to be warmly discussed. A war, which had * Yet, in a few years, he was compelled to suggest or acquiesce iu a, decree of the Council of Lateran (1517) restricting the study of the heathen philosophy. ^66 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Oh. II. long been smouldering, now declared itself between the foUowers of Plato ancl Aristotle ; * and, perhaps by way of gaming friends among the anti-pagan party, it was affirmed by the admirers of Aristotle that his principles were even more reconcileable with the Christian dogmas than those of his rival. From whatever cause, Plato, in the end, lost ground, wltile the study of Aristotle acqutied a decided preponderance. The preference for Aristotle did not, how ever, become general till near the middle of the 16th century ; but, before the accession of Leo X. in 1513, which naturally caused a reaction in favour of Platonism, the credit of the Stagyrite was so far established that the less elevated or less dangerous nature of his speculations (the very cticumstance that made him more popular in the end) was the only point on which he was considered inferior. The evidence which works of art afford of the effect of such speculations ancl controversies cannot be supposed to be very apparent or very numerous, yet, as they occur chiefly in the works of Raphael it may not be uninteresting to trace them. The room in the Vatican where Raphael began to paintj caUed the Camera della Segnatura, is adorned with four subjects, one on each of the four waUs, viz. : — Theology, Philosophy, Ethics, ancl Poetry. The subject of Ethics consists only of three figures, viz. : Prudence* Fortitude} and Temperance. On the ceiling are four single figures^ personifications corresponding with the respective subjects, viz. : Theology, Philosophy, Justice^ and Poetry; The title of Jurisprudence has been generally given to the subject of Ethics, owing to a mistaken apprehension of the meanmg of the presiding Justice; Some of the commentators on the Ethics of Aristotle '' This wai- had commenced so early as the middle of the 15th century, out the prudence of Cardinal Bessarion, himself a Greek, had then recon ciled the adverse parties. Ch. IL] THE TWELVE VIRTUES. 267 have deduced twelve virtues from his system ; but, it must not be siipposed that the philosopher who ridiculed the Pythagoreans for attaching importance to numbers had any fancy on this subject. It is not quite clear that he distin guished twelve, and it is certain that different commentators have composed theti Ust differently, for all which dog matism Aristotle himseU is made to answer. If we consult the fountain head we ' find that this philosopher in his general division of VUtues considers some as inteUectual energies,, and others as presiding over the affections and passions, while Justice alone resides in the will. It may be gathered from his statement that Prudence is at the head of the intellectual vtitues ; that Temperance presides over the desires ; and that Fortitude may represent the defensive passions. Justice, Aristotle distinctly says, is the VUtue that gives efficacy to all the rest and is mixed up with each. The treatment of this subject by Raphael is clearly taken from this beautiful classification, which, it may be observed, the moderns have never improved on. Instead of four cardinal virtues he gives us three only : Prudence, Fortitude, and Temperance — these represent the whole twelve, but Justice presides over all, and is placed in the por tion of tile ceUing corresponding with these three figures. It would be difficult to find who first made the list of the twelve virtues, but the number is now conse crated, and the personages themselves have been painted again and again by ItaUan artists. Raphael has introduced them all in the Loggie, with the three Theological or Christian virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Alexander Piccolomini, an ItaUan philosophic writer of the 16th century- enumerated the twelve with laudable distinctness ; * and though it may be doubted whether Aristotle would i'atify the enumeration, it is certam that it agrees with the * Prudence, Magnificence, Fortitude, Meekness, Magnanimity, Tem perance, Liberality, Love of Honour, Affability, Truth, Friendship, Justice 268 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. personifications of Raphael. In the "Discourse of Civil Life," by Bryskett, a friend of Spenser, we find the foUow ing passage : " herein do I greatly envy the happiness of the Italians, who have in theti mother tongue late writers that have with a singular easy method taught all which Plato or Aristotle have confusedly or obscurely written, of which some I have begun to read with no small delight, as Alex ander Piccolomini, Gio. Battista Gtialdi, and Guazzo." There can be no doubt that Spenser was acquainted with these writers, perhaps had recommended them to Bryskett, ancl it may be presumed that he had studied Aristotle him self, yet his deviation from the system of the phUosopher, while he pretended to follow him, is one among the many proofs of the distortions which these doctrines underwent. In his letter to SU Walter Raleigh, Spenser says he intended to write twelve books, each exemphfying one of the twelve vtitues of Aristotle, and that Prince Arthur per sonifies Magnificence, which, Aristotle says, is the presiding vtitue without wliich none of the rest are perfect. We have seen that the Philosopher says this not of Magnificence but of Justice. Again, the first book is Holiness ; which of the Aristotelian vtitues is this ? It may be observed, with reference to what has been before said on the subject of AUegory and symboUcal figures, that Raphael has had the good sense to give his Justice the sword and scales ; attributes so universaUy known that this personage is one ofthe least objectionable in the Iconology: her head is crowned with a regal diadem, such as is seen on the heads of Juno, thus confirming the notion that she is the paramount Vtitue. In the subject of Philosophy, or, as it is commonly called, " The School of Athens," Plato and Aristotle appear with equal honours, surrounded by theti disciples. The figures and actions of the two philosophers express with justest discrimi nation the nature of theti respective studies and doctrines. Ch. II. ] PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. 269 Aristotle stretches his arm and wide spread hand before him as if he would grasp the surface of the world ; the book he holds in the other hand is inscribed with the title, ' the Ethics.' Plato points to Heaven, holding the dialogue entitled Timasus under his left arm. The researches of Aristotle in natural history are among the most prominent of his labours ; the then limited knowledge of nature, the ignorance of the microscope, and the imperfect notions of the heavenly bodies, aU opposed formidable obstacles to his investigations ; yet, notwithstanding the unavoidable errors he feU into, we may safely respect the testimony of Buffon, who says of him, " Aristotle, who is as great a phtiosopher as Plato, and a better physician, instead of wandering in the regions of theory, collects facts and speaks hi a language more intelligible." * With the por traitures of these phUosophers by Raphael any just de scription of theti views and aims would correspond. And accordingly we find an unintentional illustration of the great artist's conception in the foUowing passage from Goethe. After a masterly sketch of Plato and his doc trines, he adds ': " Plato stands in relation to the world as a blessed spUit who is pleased for a time to dwell in it. It is not so much his purpose to seek to know the world as to communicate to it what he brings, and what it [wants. He penetrates into depths, rather to inform them with his presence than to search into them. He seeks the elevated regions of thought, as if yearning to repossess his own. Everything he utters relates to an Eternal AU, Good, True, Beautiful ; the furtherance of which he strives to excite in every bosom. The detatis of earthly knowledge which he acquties are condensed, it may be even said evaporate in his method, in his communication. Aristotle, on the other hand, stands in relation to the world as a human being, a builder. Once for all he is here, and must work and act. * Vol. ii. p. 71. 270 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. The earth is a foundation for him, but its surface suffices ; from thence to the centre the rest is indifferent. He draws a vast area for the ground plan of his buUding, gathers materials from every side, arranges them, and rises upward by regular steps hke a Pyramid, while Plato seeks the heavens Uke an obelisk, Uke a pointed flame." The engraver Tomasmo, who retouched the first print of the School of Athens by Giorgio Mantovano, added diadems and the nimbus or glory to the heads of Plato and Aristotle. The revived or increased admtiation of Plato during the pontificate of Leo X. is not without its evidence hi the works of Raphael. Beroaldo, the Librarian of the Vatican, had pubhshed with a copious commentary the " Golden Ass " or " Metamorphoses " of Apuleius, a distin guished Platonist, whose character as a philosopher should not be judged by the tight production in question. Yet, as if everything from so learned a source must necessartiy have reference to recondite doctrines, Beroaldo does not hesitate to say that under a mystic veil the abstruser philosophy of Plato, and even of Pythagoras, might be discerned. This opinion relates to the whole work in which the story of Amor and Psyche is only an episode. The aUegory of that story had been explained by Fulgentius,* and its hidden doctrine is perhaps derived from Plato's two dialogues, caUed Phasdrus and Symposion. The subject of Amor and Psyche seems to have been confined to Raphael and Bal- dassare Peruzzi, but a simUar aUegory was often treated afterwards. It is the moral, according to BeUori, of Annibale Caracci's great work (atieady mentioned), and was suggested, in his case, perhaps by the proximity of the Farnese palace , to the vtila caUed the Farnesina, where Raphael painted the subject from Apuleius. Titian, and other painters, who treated the same land of general aUegory, probably all drew from the same source. * Enarrationis allegorica fabularum. Fulgentii Placiadis. Ch. II.] VASARI'S LIVES. 271 A more dtiect consequence of the influence of literature in matters of taste is to be sought in the effect of the various books on art which have succeeded each other from the 14th century to the present time. The credit of Vasari's work, " The Lives of the Painters," has had the effect of giving currency to many opinions and statements which are not always reconcUeable even with historical truth. In many particulars, mdeed, his errors and misstatements have been pointed out, since they were easily detected ; as, for instance, where he ventures to describe the frescoes of Raphael from the prints of Mantovano and Marc Antonio. These, having been either engraved from designs, or intentionally altered, differ in many respects from the frescoes themselves, so that Vasari's account of them is often quite inappticable. In such matters his assertions naturaUy have not become law ; but in others, hereafter to be noticed, where it was difficult to obtain other sources of information, he was long unanswered; thus even his partiatities acqutied a consecrated authority. Biography is always attractive; and, notwithstanding the more obvious blunders, such as that instanced above, with which Vasari's narratives abound, the entertaining character of his work, the purity of his Tuscan idiom, and the value of a profes sional testimony in aU practical matters, and where he describes what he had seen, have contributed to place this work at the head of its class. With respect to its general influence there can be no doubt that the Florentine artists and even M. Angelo himself have lost nothing in the esti mation of posterity by the eulogies of theti countryman. His depreciation of other schools and individuals, where he cannot but extol, or where he cannot altogether suppress the merit . of the artist, is to be detected in invidious aUusions to personal history. In most of these statements he has been successfully contradicted, as in the account of Raphael's and Francia's death, of Perugino's irreligion, &c. The 272 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. immediate neighbours of Florence are, as might be expected, the most unfairly treated; the early claims of Siena are passed over, and the Bolognese painters who succeeded Francia are treated with undissembled ridicule. Perhaps to this attack the valuable history of the Bolognese school by Malvasia may owe its orighi. Vasari finds fault with Raphael's drawing of the nude, and elsewhere observes that he who does not study the figure early (as the Florentines did) can hardly ever become perfect. He asserts that Raphael attempted in vain to rival the style of Leonardo da Vinci, but that he did profit by imitating that of M. Angelo.* He concludes his critical observations by regretting that the Transfiguration had turned black. The Venetian painters, with the greatest of whom, Titian, Vasari was personaUy acquainted, are criticised for not preparing cartoons as the Florentines did ;"f and Titian himself, when he visited Rome, is aUowed the palm of superior merit only in portraits. Of Correggio, whose merits are acknowledged with great brevity indeed, but in terms of high praise, he says that if he had quitted Lombardy and visited Rome he would have done wonders. In the same Life he observes that nature "not to be thought partial, had given some rare geniuses to other states, hke those who for many years had adorned Tuscany." It is, in short, for Florence, and above aU for M. Angelo, * The question whether Raphael altered his style from a secret inspec tion of the Capella Sistina, as has been too often repeated from Vasari's statement, is well examined in Quatremere de Quincy's Life of Raphael. Sir Joshua Reynolds improves even on Vasari, when he says, " It is to M. Angelo we owe even the existence of Raphael." + The three foreshortened pictures of Abraham and Isaac, David and Goliah, and Cain and Abel, were executed by Titian, because, says Vasari, he himself could not stay in Venice to complete them. The real cause is, however, hinted at, that Titian understood the art of foreshortening on ceilings. The pictures in the Salute are not originals. Speaking of a picture of the Presentation by Schiavone, Vasari says : " La quale e f atta con una certa pratica, che s'usa a Vinezia, di macchie owero bozze senza esser finita punto." — Vita di Batt. Franco, p. 909. Ch. II. ] BIOGRAPHIES OF PAINTERS. 273 that his chief adoration is reserved, and his account of that great artist far exceeds, even in extent, any of the other Lives. The short account of the Flemish painters which Vasari gives at the close of his biographies is sufficiently indulgent, but he derives his information, as he teUs us, from two Flemish artists in Florence. When he can judge for himseti, as in the case of Michael Coxis, Calcar, and others, he praises them for approaching the ItaUan manner. Thus foreigners are estimated by an Itahan standard, and the ItaUans by that of Florence. The popularity of this work cast aU others into the shade ; for it happened that no eulogist of any other school was so fortunate in recommending htinself as an author. The history and defence of the Bolognese (as atieady said) were undertaken by Malvasia. The names of the Carracci and theti contemporaries, whose fame Vasari did not Uve to witness, added weight to this performance, but it is very far from being so amusing or so criticaUy judicious as Vasari. BeUori, who wrote the Uves of Annibale and Agostino Carracci, and those of some of theti foUowers, describes the works of Raphael and exalts his fame without any aUusion to those of M. Angelo. His description of the frescoes of the Vatican has been the accredited hand-book on the subject ever since, and it may be observed that no such account of the CapeUa Sistina ever appeared. The exceUence of Correggio, as we have seen, was not disputed, though but briefly noticed by Vasari; had he been less honourably treated we might have had authentic accounts of him and his works by some indignant partisan earher ; for except an imperfect account by Mengs, there has been no Ufe of Correggio which could be depended on till that by Punge- leoni appeared. The merits and fuU reputation of Correggio were brought to light and established by some painters at the close of the 16th century. 274 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Boschini was the eloquent defender of the Venetian school, but, as he wrote his principal work, a poem, in the Venetian Dialect, it is but tittle known.* He places Titian * " La Carta del Navigar Pittoresco, Dialogo tra un Senator Venetian deletante, e un professor de Pitura soto nome d' Ecelenza e de Compare, Comparti in oto venti. Con i quali la Nave Venetiana vien conduta in 1' alto mar de la Pitura, come assoluta dominante de quelo a confusion de chi non intende el bossolo de la calamita. Opera di Marco Boschini, Academico Delfico, &c. In Venetia, 1660." Some idea of the quaintness and humour of this work may be formed from the following quotation from the preface, here literally translated : — " There -is no doubt' that he who wishes to build a ship must go to the forest for wood. But it is equally true that it is not enough to have dry and seasoned timber cut under a good moon, for, if it be not put to use by a skilful carpenter, there is risk of making, as the saying goes, out of a lance a thorn. " To tell the truth, when the thought came to me of building this my ship of painting (nave pitoresca), knowing myself to be a barren forest, although with a little unhewn timber, I found that my brains were 'tabula rasa.' I therefore had recourse for aid to the Venetian artificer Proto, the arch proto, Intendente, the arch intendente, indeed the Plenipotentiary of Painting, who has courteously helped me by giving me a number of master workmen, with all the materials ready at hand which are needful to my undertaking. And, moreover, he has also provided me with suitable building stocks, that is, Venice, on which Gian Bellini, with all care, has laid the first framework, having for assistants his brother Gentile and Vitor Carpaccio. Tintoretto has given the design, so that the ship may have a form that will enable her to stand any sea. Giorgione has put. on the rudder that she may be put to port and starboard as may be necessary. Pordenone has set himself to work to frame the timbers according to measurement, shortening and lengthening them for the better shape. Bassano has made the portholes to give light to the cabins and captain's chamber. Zelotti has fixed the mainmast straight and sound. Salviati the foresail. Paris Bordone has gilt the poop. Paul Veronese has adorned it with a lantern all bejewelled. Schiavone, » great calker, has caliked her seams. Palma Vecchio has sewn her sails that she may sail the faster. And, moreover, many other Pupils of the painters have done the more common work, such as placing the timbers on the ribs, joining them, tarring them, and everything else required to complete her. The most skilful Titian, true Admiral of Painting, assisting at all these operations." Boschini's other work, " Le ricche Minere della Pittura Veneziana. Venezia, 1674," is written in correct Italian. It gives short lives of the principal painters, and then conducts the reader to every picture then in Venice and in the surrounding islands. It is in the same style of enthu siastic laudation, and apostrophises Venetian art as the " twin of Nature." Ch. IL] VENETIAN PAINTERS. 275 at the head of ' aU painters, and repUes with becoming warmth to the attacks of Vasari on that painter, on Palma, Schiavone, and on the general practice of the school. He relates that when Liberi was in Rome studying the Last Judgment of M. Angelo, Giuseppe d'Arpino asked how he could waste bis time there, when he had Tintoret and Titian to look at at home. He adds that Velasquez, when at Rome, being asked by Salvator Rosa his opinion of Raphael, answered that he thought Venice the best school and Titian the greatest painter — that Rubens and Vandyck always maintained the same opmion — that Albano and Pietro di Cortona considered Tintoret second to none ; and that Guido placed Paul Veronese at the summit of the art. These and many other authorities, whose opinions of particular works are given, Boschini quotes chiefly from his own experience ; and the greater part of the anecdotes he relates, aU redounding to the honour of the Venetian painters, are interesting from the detaUs and even from the famtiiar style with which they are given.* ScanneUi, in the " Microcosmo della Pittura " + — pub lished 1657 — makes Raphael, Titian, and Correggio the great Triumvirate. He was perhaps the earhest writer who embodied the opinion, adopted since the time of the Carracci, that Correggio was in the first rank of ex- * Speaking of Gian Bellini (" Zambelin ") and his great merits, Boschini has the following stanza :— " Chi no vuol creder che sia cusi, Togia la pala di San Zacaria E a Roma in spala se la porta via. Che i vedera, che 1' 6 co digo mi." — Vento Primo, p. 31. Which may be thus translated : — " He who will not believe that this is so, Let him take the altar-piece of San Zaccaria, And carry it off on his shoulders to Rome, He will then see that it is as I say." t Libro 2, pp. 283, 284, &c. t 2 276 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. ceUence. He asserts the superiority of Raphael to M. Angelo and Leonardo da Vinci, and says that Vasari had no foundation for stating that he was the scholar of the two great Florentines " and did not reach theti perfection." An eartier writer, Lomazzo, in his " Tempio della Pittura " — 1590 — although he does not profess to combat Vasari, yet differs essentially from him, and may be under stood to give the highest honors to Titian. The "Dialogo suUa Pittura" by Ludovico Dolce, the friend of Titian, can hardly be considered polemical. In the " Discorso sul Merito di Tiziano," the Venetian painter is naturally placed at the head of the art. It is scarcely necessary to say that many works are passed over which are merely didactic. About the middle of the 17th century, two individuals, the one a Neapolitan pamter, the other a French amateur, ventured openly to attack the picture of the Last Judgment by M. Angelo. It does not appear that Salvator Rosa was stimulated to the severe criticism contained in his third satire by any disgust at Vasari's partiatity for his own countryman ; yet it is not impossible. For he might have had some reason to think the painters of his part of Italy neglected by an historian who professed to be universal. Roland Freart de Chantelon was the friend of Poussin, and of Errard, the first DUector of the French Academy in Rome; — his contemptuous censure of Vasari for blun dering Ui the description of the frescoes of the Vatican is scarcely warranted by its cause, and his strictures on M. Angelo are only equaUed in times nearer our own by those of d' Azara and MUizia. The French may have had some ground for pique against Vasari, for there seems no reason why, in the chapter which he devotes to ultra montane artists, in which he gives a place to painters on glass, he should not have included some of the French who Ch. IL] FRENCH WRITERS ON ART. 277 were really famous hi this department : nor was it likely that the name of Jean Cousin should have been utterly unknown in Italy.. But, from whatever cause, we find the French connoisseurs, from first to last, — De PUes, Feti- bien and Falconet, — Uttle disposed to acquiesce in the decisions of Vasari ; the painters who appeared before and during the age of Louis XIV. claimed a share of the same pre-eminence which France had attained among the nations of Europe, but the full expression of this inde pendence was reserved to a later period. The Marquis d'Argens, in his "Reflexions Critiques sur les differentes ecoles de la Peinture " (1751) asserts the superiority of tho French to the ItaUan School, and compares the best ItaUan names with equivalent or surpassing talents selected from among his own countrymen. Jean Cousin is the paraUel to Leonardo da Vinci ; Le Brun is confronted with Michael Angelo ; — Titian with Blanchard ; — Tintoret with Van Loo ; — Raphael with Le Sueur ; — Correggio with Mignard ; &c, &c. The Germans seem to have been content with Vasari's admission that ti A. Durer had been born tii Italy he would have equaUed the best painters of his time. The engravings of the great artist of Nuremberg excited, as weU they might, the unfeigned astonishment of the Florentine, and the friendly intercourse which subsisted between the artists of Germany and Italy naturaUy disposed Vasari to do aU the justice he could where a total difference of taste and interest obviated aU invidious comparisons. In the imitation of the Italian masters, which for some time characterised the German painters, an exaggeration of the manner of M. Angelo is very conspicuous, and if PeUegrino Tibaldi — a native of Modena — merited from the Bolognese the ap- peUation of the reformed M. Angelo, Spranger and Henry Goltzius might be caUed his caricatures. In our own country, where there could be no reluctance, 278 " HOW TO OBSERVE. [Ch. II. from the grounds of dissatisfaction before aUuded to, to adopt the opinions of Vasari, and every reason, during the last century, for taking the opposite side to the French, the homage to Michael Angelo was a characteristic tenet of the School. In SU Joshua Reynolds this admiration assuredly was quite independent of authority, but that he foUowed the statements of Vasari impUcitly, even when they are not borne out by facts, is evident from his asserting that " it is to Michael Angelo we owe even the existence of Raphael." The unfriendly feeling which existed between Mengs and Reynolds may also have had its influence. Mengs, Uke Scannelti, excludes M. Angelo from the highest honors, which are decreed to Raphael, Correggio, and Titian ; and d' Azara, the friend of Mengs, expressed a far less reserved opinion to the same effect. It was thus quite natural that Reynolds should distinctly and emphaticaUy declare his admtiation (the sincerity of which there seems no good reason to doubt) for so great a genius at a time when so many were disposed to underrate him. His acquiescence in Vasari's opinions is again appa rent in an instance where they were less worthy to be foUowed. The study of the Venetian masterworks had contributed to produce in one so gifted himseti by nature, a knowledge, a taste, and a dexterity in colour which often placed him on a level with the great painters in question. Yet, of aU the detractors of the Venetian School, (and there never were many) none can be said to approach the sweeping severity of Reynolds. The cause of this is partly explained by himself, for it appears that he thought it his duty, whtie the character of the Enghsh School was scarcely formed, to deter those whom he addressed from aiming at the perfections of colour, lest they should neglect the severer study of form. While respecting such a motive, it must ever be regretted that so exceUent a critic should underrate some of the greatest masters of art the Ch. IL] REYNOLDS ON VENETIAN ART. 279 world has seen : it is above aU of importance to observe that such extreme opinions were new in Europe. That they should have been thoughtlessly adopted since by many in our own country from such an authority is not to be wondered at, and it were to be wished that every portion of the exceUent discourses of Reynolds were as weU remem bered as this ungrateful attack upon the Venetians. It was not suffered to pass in silence : an answer appeared in Venice in 1783,* hi which the Enghsh President is accused not only of misrepresenting the quahties of the Venetian painters he aUudes to, but of suppressing the names of the earher masters — such as Bellini, Carpaccio, and Cima da Conegtiano, — who, from the rehgious gravity and severity of theti style, are altogether exempt from the dangers of that accompUshed facility which afterwards prevaUed. The adoption by Reynolds of Vasari's contemptuous expressions regarding some of the Venetian artists, particularly in the case of so great a painter as Tintoret, is treated as illiberal and uncandid, and the opinion that the Bolognese colour is superior to the Venetian is laughed to scorn. The testi mony of various writers and painters t are accumulated to prove the universaUy high estimation of Venetian art, and the avidity with which its specimens were sought after by the EngUsh (he might have added by Reynolds himseU) is fatily adduced as a test of theti secret admfration. In conclusion, after noticing some of the recent painters who had done honor to Venice, such as Tiepolo, Piazzetta, &c, the writer predicts the future fame of a young sculptor of two- and-twenty, who had just gone to practise his art in Rome : this was Canova, , * The dedication is dated 1782. The Italian translation of some of Reynolds' Discourses appeared in Florence in 1778. f Among other circumstances, the writer states that there is in the Corsini Library in Rome the first edition of Vasari, with marginal notes by Agostino Carracci, who, it seems, could not refrain from expressing his utter dissent from the Florentine historian respecting the Venetian painters. 280 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. Venice has, in very recent times, found enthusiastic advocates who have warmly defended not only the genius of her painters but even her government. Without further considering the perfection of the art itself in Venetian hands, it may be asserted that if ever a race of painters could be said to have been inspUed by reUgion and patriotism above aU other feeUngs, it is in the bright epochs of Venetian history that we must look for the highest examples. And without entering into the consideration of this remarkable State we may agree with the eloquent French writer* who traces the high character of its art to the above causes, and foUow him in quoting a simtiar expression of praise from an enhghtened countryman of our own.^ " Joy is mine That I have read and learnt thee as I ought, Not in the crude compiler's painted shell, But in thine own memorials of live stone, And in the pictures of thy kneeling princes, And in the lofty words on lofty tombs, And in the breath of ancient chroniclers, And in the music of the outer sea." This view of the opinions of Vasari is only intended to put those on their guard who have not leisure to consult other authorities, which, it must be admitted in general, are far less amusing. | As Reynolds has been foUowed by many of our own critics, so the Tuscan writers, from Borghini to Lanzi, have agreed with Vasari in giving the palm to Florence. We assume, at present, it is to be remembered, that * " C'est une verity historique incontestable que Venise, malgre tout ce qu'on a peut dire de ses tribunaux secrets, de ses courtisanes cfilebres, et de sa machiavelisme commercial, a 6te la plus chr&ienne des republiques." — De la Poisie chrUienne dans son principe, dans sa matiere, et dans ses formes. Par A. F. Rio, vol. ii., p. 528. f Richard Monckton Milnes, now Lord Houghton. % Among the opponents of Vasari, Boschini, as far as he goes, might bid fairest to rival him, but for the circumstance of his having written, as we have noticed, in the Venetian dialect. Ch. II. ] GERMAN WRITERS ON ART. 281 the Amateur cannot dispense with authority — that the opinions of others are among the inducements which win his attention to works of art, and teach him to exercise his observation. Insensibly his independent judgment is formed, which may or may not ratify the conclusions of others ; but it is quite just and natural, whtie he rests on authority, that he should suspect those opinions which are likely to be prejudiced, or are avowedly exaggerated. The partiahties of Vasari, after aU, agree more nearly with general opinion, than those of most other eulogists. Thus Ariosto in distributing the meed of praise and fame to the most distinguished painters, includes the two Dossi of Ferrara, because they were his feUow citizens. Lomazzo, a MUanese, enumerates seven great painters, whose statues of various materials grace his aUegorical Temple of Painting. Most of the names are of the best, but PoUdoro and Gaudenzio Ferrari are included, and both were from the territory of Mtian. Tassoni, the author of the " Secchia Rapita " in his " Pensieri diversi " institutes a paraUel between ancient and modern art, and chaUenges antiquity to rival eight painters whom he names. In so large a com parison it was likely he could be tolerably just, and he is so, for he includes Albert Durer with the best Italians, and the first on the whole Ust is Titian ; but Parmigianino is added to Correggio, and this is eastiy traced to the cticum- stance that Tassoni was a native of Modena. Having aUuded to the influence of writers on art so recent as Reynolds, we venture to approach sttil nearer to our own times in briefly describing a revolution in a great measure the effect of the opinions of hterary men, which has taken place in Germany since the time of Mengs. The immediate successors of that painter, however preferable in the opinion of many to theti more celebrated predecessor, can hardly be said to have proposed an object distinct from the imitation pf the ItaUan painters and 282 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. the antique statues. Various incidental causes concurred to produce the change in art of which we speak, but patriotism seems to have given the first and mightiest impulse. The destruction or spoliation of churches in the cities and townships of the Rhine during the wars immediately following the French Revolution, were the means of dis persing the examples they contained of early German and Flemish art ; and as those works had rarely attractions enough, maltreated as they were, to tempt the avarice of invaders, they were, in many cases, rescued or cheaply re deemed by those who understood or felt theti worth. Some were, by a timely precaution, removed or concealed, but, in most instances, they were ultimately sold to supply the losses which the devastations of war had occasioned to the reUgious communities. Such was the origin of those in teresting coUections of early national talent which were destined to produce so powerful an impression on a deeply sensitive people. The same pictures, in theti original places, while a part only of the impressive decorations of the churches and chapels, and obscured probably with dust and smoke, had awakened no other feeUngs than those connected with theti situation and reUgious pur pose, but when displayed for themselves as works of art, — after the injuries of time or violence had been repaired, — a crowd of emotions and associations overpowered the beholders. With feelings of patriotism intensely alive at a time when the defenders of the country were battling for existence, the eyes of all were suddenly opened to the forgotten or unheeded excellence of theti forefathers in the arts of peace — arts devoted to the service and embeUishment of reUgion. That these works should have been brought into notice at such a time and from such a cause, aroused, as may be easUy imagined, the most passionate predUection for the genius of their country, and whatever may have been Ch. II. ] EARLY GERMAN ART. 283 the effect in stimulating patriotic ardour during the conflicts that took place in sight of theti cathedrals, the admiration we speak of not only outlived the poUtical struggle, but laid the foundation of a total revolution in taste. With such feeUngs at such moments, nay, even with the loftier and more comprehensive asptiations to wliich they lead, there are few perhaps who would not sympathise. Who has not regretted that the young nations of the middle ages had not time to expand into free maturity before the revival of a classical influence hastened theti development at the expense of a characteristic physiognomy? Who has not asked what language, what habits, what principles of taste would Teu tons or Celts, — would Christians generally have arrived at if left to themselves ? That such a curiosity is natural and such speculations admissible wtil forcibly strike us in survey ing the beautiful examples of Gothic architecture. It is then we indulge the wish that aU that Christian races have thought and done could harmonize as completely with theti own con dition and bemg; for, although they might never have rivaUed the plastic genius of pagan antiquity, they would have infused the spirit of theti rehgion even into the arts by endeavouring to kindle or encourage the feeUngs which connect this world with another; above aU they would never have appUed what, in a given state of things, is beautiful and true, to other cU cumstances and habits with which they are incompatible. These ideas, which are but fond imaginations to most of us, if indulged at aU, to a German may easily assume plausibility and consistency. It is only in the German nation that the question as to the possibitity of aU inde pendence of classic trammels can be for a moment enter tained; for in language and art, as weU as in ReUgion they may be considered the natural antagonists of the classic ancients. At the period aUuded to this question was chiefly agitated with regard to the imitative arts : the propo sition was put whether the Germans should foUow up the 284 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. original character of their art, imperfect as it was aUowed to be, or whether they should continue to borrow from a foreign nation and a remote period. It is not our necessary purpose to foUow the exaggerations (if affected simpticity and dryness can be so caUed) to wbich these speculations led, nor to trace the expansion of this enthusiasm into more rational views and practice. The first effect on art was not produced without the co-operation and stimulus of sincere and eloquent writers. Friedrich Schlegel is generaUy al lowed to have been the first hi order ; his descriptions of the pictures above aUuded to, and his exhortations to men of letters and artists appeared in the " Europa," a periodical work pubtished at Vienna in the first years of the present century. Two productions of Tieck, or of Tieck and Wackenroder together, may be mentioned next. In one of these we are transported to the times of Albert Durer and Lucas Van Leyden ; the hero, Franz Sternbald, is Durer's scholar, and the introduction of artists of the time, the description of their occupation, habits, and opinions is mingled with the aspirations and misgivings of Sternbald himseU. The greater part of this composition, while the scene is hi Ger many, exhibits a passionate interest for the epoch of the actors it commemorates, but the latter part of the German pilgrimage and the whole ItaUan portion is very inferior, and betrays a different mind and hand. Another work at tributed to Tieck and Wackenroder, but probably the work chiefly of the latter, consists of Essays, or, rather, as it is caUed, " Outpourings of the heart," on various subjects connected with art. The homage to Albert Durer is here again a prominent sentiment, and it is to be remarked that this was the natural transition from Schlegel' s admiration of the still earUer German painters. The description by that writer of the altar-piece of the Cathedral at Cologne, painted about 1400, is a remarkable proof of the influ- Ch. II. ] WOOD ENGRAVING. 285 ence of enthusiasm ; and, in comparing the eulogium with its object, we are forcibly reminded of the weakness of language hi conveying a true idea of a work of art; for the same terms in which he describes a performance belonging to the infancy of art, might be appUed to an example of its most consummate perfection. Some of the Essays in the " Outpourings of the heart " are founded on Vasari's historical testimony ; the incidents are selected unfortunately, being unfounded in fact, such as the story of Francia's death. But among the more interesting and original fragments is a disquisition entitled " Two Lan guages," viz., Nature and Art — in which these two are not mutually contrasted, but are together opposed and compared with all other language, and shown to have theti independent, if not theti superior powers and influ ence. This is one of the notions and expositions which stamps the author as an accurate reasoner, and best exhibits the depth and refinement of his taste. It has afready been observed that after the discovery of engraving on copper many subjects were treated in that mode of representation which seldom appeared in painting. But the art of wood-engraving, from its early connection with the embeltishments of books, was still more universal. It is true these accompaniments were sometimes introduced as scientific explanations in works relating to anatomy, mechanics, &c, but they were quite as frequent as mere decorations. Printing, from the first, was naturaUy altied to an art so simUar in its preparation and process as wood-en graving, and hence the graphic ornaments of books by wood cuts may be said to be coeval with printed text. In missals and devotional books the representation of the Saints and other religious subjects were indispensable : people had long been accustomed to them in theti manuscript prayer books, and such aids to devotion were then considered as important as the orisons they accompanied. This apphcation of wood- 286 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. engraving naturaUy led the way to the embelhshment of books in general : the presses of Florence, Venice, and Lyons, vied with each other in this hterary luxury, and the specimens themselves throw additional Ught on the practice of the schools from which they spring. A curious gaUery of art might be formed from the embelhshed books of the 15th and 16th centuries, for the designs are always original, and, in theti compositions, seldom resemble any existing pictures. Many of them, again, exhibit the best qualities and powers of wood-engraving : as this art preceded en graving on copper, the first specimens of the latter have a close resemblance to wood-cuts, especiaUy hi the firmness of the outhne. In modern times, as is weU known, this Ui fluence has been reversed, for wood-cuts now attempt to give the richness of metal engraving. When books were the work of caUigraphists, and theti embeltishments drawn, coloured, and gtit by hand, the best artists often employed them selves in the illuminating department. In the early middle ages this was indeed the chief practice of the painters, and even after Painting had made considerable progress, and the demand for altar-pieces was general, such artists as Fra Angehco, Memling, and others, occasionaUy exercised theti talents in this way. But when wood-engraving was intro duced, the final execution and even the invention of the designs was seldom the work of the best artists. At least, this was the case in Italy ; in Germany, on the other hand, the finest talents were still employed in these productions, as the works of Holbein, Albert Durer, and others prove. StiU, the ItaUan embeltishments are strongly marked by the character of the school from which they spring, and often exhibit great beauty of composition, and great inteUigence of the figure. A powerful school of designers, under Pri maticcio, Nicolo deU' Abbate, and II Rosso, was, as we have seen, naturahsed in France in the first half of the 16th century, and the artists continued theti labours under Ch. II. ] WOOD ENGRAVING. 287 Francis I. and his successor. The embellishments of the books pubhshed in the presses of De Tornis, Rovitio, and others at Lyons during the 16th century, have the general character of the painters above mentioned, with a certain ItaUan mastery in treating the figure. The wood cuts from the designs of Venetian artists seldom faU to con vey an impression of colour; not indeed in the sense in which that power is frequently understood in modern en graving, but by giving an idea of transparency, by opposing great strength and sharpness in the outlines, markings, and clear shadows, to the reflections and Ughts, wliich have thus a sparkling effect, and resemble that internal hght which is the great excellence of the Venetian and indeed of aU weU coloured pictures. The same principle is observable in the wood-cuts of landscapes, which were more coarsely done in Venice than elsewhere. But when this quality was lost in Venetian wood-cuts it must be confessed that they have Uttle else to recommend them; whereas the designs of the other ItaUan Schools long con tinued to be respectable from the knowledge of form they displayed. But, hi spite of the pubhc demand, and the frequent intercourse with artists, the pubhshers of those days ap pear to have been far less enlightened than our modern editors. An early edition of Ariosto is remarkable not so much for the wood-cuts as for the preface in which they are described ; by which it appears that the grossest ignorance on the subject of painting was possible among these pub- Ushers of embellished books even at a time when the greatest triumphs of the art had been achieved. The writer in question observes that a great improvement in perspective wtil be perceived in the designs he recommends, for that many objects are introduced getting smaUef and smaUer up to the top of the picture. He admits that on the page of the book the figures he flat, but he mforms the spectator '288 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. that, notwithstanding this, they are, by an effort of the imagination, to be conceived as standing upright, &c* If such a passage as this were found in any classic author, we might hastily conclude that it indicated a period when the arts were sunk in the completest barbarism. The consideration of the influence of potitics on the arts, naturaUy leads to that of the habits and manners of a people ; effects connected more or less with the nature and operation of Government and laws. The fluctuations in aU that constitutes the external evidences of general opinion and taste belong as much to time as to place, for the same country, not only in the lapse of centuries, but sometimes in a much shorter interval, may undergo great alterations in character. In violent and temporary changes the arts wtil perhaps be a more faithful and lively record of public feehng than any other language, for it is to them permitted to be enthusiastic; the passionate expression of excite ment wliich is lost for the historian, Uves hi such effusions as the Marseillaise Chant. AU that belongs to the intenser, deeper, and vaguer affections, to the loftier imaginations of a people, whether the times be good or evti, wtil display itself best, if not exclusively, in the arts ; and they are then especially interesting when they express feeUngs which cannot be conveyed in any other form. But the impression of national character is to be traced where its indications are less pronounced ; and the habit of observing this will be found one of the most pleasing speculations to which the cultivated amateur can direct his attention. Even in the silent arts, the observer is again reminded, it is not necessary that the subject itself should be characteristic of a given moral state — though this has sometimes been the case — it is in the character and demeanour of the actors that the habits of thought and the * "Orlando Furioso," printed in Venice, 1566, by Valgrisi, edited by Girolamo Ruscelli. Ch. II. ] NATIONAL CHARACTER IN ART. 289 manners of the age are to be recognised. The dignity and almost solemnity of mien which are remarkable in aU the works of the early ItaUan painters is not entirely to be explained by the reUgious subjects they treated, nor by the possible inabtiity of the artists to give gayer and tighter expressions ; for we find the same sedateness very general in the highest development of art ; and it is remarkable that the first exceptions are not to be found in the schools which aimed at the fascinations of colour, n6r in festive subjects, but m the Holy Families of Florentine painter s. ' The general character of the productions of the 15th ahd begin ning of the 16th century, is grave and quiet : the grandeur of M. Angelo is perhaps truer to his own mind than to any tim'e or place ; but the apostles and phtiosophers of Raphael and the " dignified Senators " of Titian correctly, express the ItaUan manners which belong to' this age. This character is equaUy apparent hi the portraits by. those two great painters and by Sebastian del Piombo— these, uniting great tranquillity of mien with a look of inward* Ufe, are often true to the heroic age of Italy, and recaU'the Itahans whom Dante described — : c :t " Nel muover degli occhi onesta e tarda-— Ella non ci diceva alcuna cosa, - - ¦ . - - ' Ma lasciavane gir solo guardando ¦ ' I c J A guisa di leon quando si posa." , , . )T ., The manners of the noble ItaUans of about il500,'stiU partook of this character, and they -have I been- defined with sufficient minuteness by Baldassare CastigUone - in his Cortegiano. The scene, as aUuded to before, i is the pohshed Court of Urbino in the time 'of- the first Guid'ubaldo (Montefeltro), whose duchess'J EUsabetta Gon zaga, was celebrated7 even among » the noble - dames - of Italy for the perfection', of her : manners. The company which assembled daily- in her \ apartments, after 'the visit of JuUus II. in 1506, . was" composed of the most 290 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. distinguished cavatiers, and the most accompUshed Utterati of the time. All are represented as conforming them selves in the midst of thefr hilarity to the example of tranquil dignity (" d'una graziosa e grave maesta ") which was so remarkable in their high born hostess. In describ ing the manners of the ideal Cortegiano, one of the interlocutors instances the Cardinal Ippolito d'Este as the example worthiest of imitation ; observing that, even in the presence of older prelates, being young himself, that noble man had so dignified a mien, that he seemed fitter to teach others than to need mstruction. " In like manner," con tinues the speaker, "in conversing with men or women of whatever rank, even in jesting, in laughing, and in repartee, he maintains a certain calmness," &c. This tranquilUty of mien, however different from modern experience of the manners beyond the Alps, was more or less prevalent in Italy in CastigUone's time, and, as the acknowledged tone of refined society, may be supposed to have been more marked in Ferrara, Mantua, and Venice, in which places, as in Urbino, the example of the Court or higher orders would be more immediate. Rome, from the variety of its visitors, and Florence from the perpetual changes which preceded the established rule of the Medici, would be less certain representatives of the habits of the age. "It is pleasing," says Castighone, "to see a youth, espe- ciaUy if in the profession of arms, inclined to be grave and taciturn; self-possessed, without that restlessness which often accompanies early life. So coUected a manner (in a warrior) commands respect as proceeding less from anger than deliberation, and rather governed more by reason than impetus. Besides, it always bespeaks a magnanimous nature, and we recognise it even in those animals which surpass others in nobleness and force, as in the tion and the eagle." This imaginary picture exactly corresponds with that of many a pale-faced, determined, and thoughtful Ch. IL] CALMNESS OF EXPRESSION. 291 ItaUan, as exhibited in the portraits of the time ; for although Castiglione himself confesses that the glory of the ItaUan arms had decUned, the very confession is intended to excite the patriotism and knightly vtitues of his noble countrymen. The expression of calmness in danger, in works of art, is a remarkable test of national habits, or of the enthusiasm of particular periods. The characteristic of the ideal hero in ancient and modern times is the superiority of the wtil to external influence ; a calmness so lofty as to be above the atmosphere of the passions. In Greece this was extended in art, and perhaps, by the force of habit and example, in real life, to extreme cUcumstances of action and danger. The Greek hero or divinity is always self-possessed ; and not only in statues where there were other reasons for Umiting the violence of expression, but in other modes of representation, as in the paintings on vases, the features are in a great degree tranquil and the eye calm in the last emergencies. This never obtained in modern art in an equal degree, tUl adopted by the French school under Napoleon. The French hero then, on the stage, and in pictures, fought, ctied, or conquered with unruffled features, and with unkindled eye. Even now it would be considered a libel on the sangfroid of a French soldier to represent him, in whatever perti or however bent on revenge, with eyes flashing fire hke a wild animal. How far this is true to refined nature, so as to be under stood as its expression in imitation, we need not stay to examine, but merely remark that, of Italian painters, the Venetians seemed most to aim at this cahnness of expres sion in the representation of their heroes. Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Giulio Romano (especiaUy the first) seem to have given the natural expressions of rage and fear without restraint. The modern French taste is to be traced in a great measure to the imitation of the classic models of TT 2 292 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. art and to the Spartan virtues of the Revolution, for we should look in vain for the same quietness of expression in their pictures of battles executed two centuries ago, when the nation was quite as brave, and perhaps more refined. In observing the gradual development of the powers and dUection of the art, the change from the grave to the cheer ful, and ultimately to the ludicrous, may seem the natural consequence of a fuU acquaintance with the capabilities of imitation, coupled with the destie to do what had been previously untried. That such should be the mere result of time when sufficient tiberty of opinion exists is quite natural, but the moment of change is generaUy found to be owing to a corresponding modification of manners. In many countries sufficient Uberty of opmion did not and does not exist, as in ancient Egypt, and in modern India and China ; and so, in the Papal dominions, in Venice and the more arbitrary States in Italy, the influence of reUgion ancl laws rendered changes comparatively gradual and the opera tion of opinion slow : but in Florence there were two causes which tended for a time to encourage innovation and to undermine the influence of rehgion. These were the Democratic government, and the taste for classic hterature, • mythology, &c. At present we aUude only to the first. At a time when the arts, exclusively devoted to rehgion, were taught strictly to adhere to the forms and types, how ever rude, wliich custom and prescription had rendered venerable, even an unstable and disorderly freedom could have a salutary effect ; for there is no saying how long the rigid and traditional modes of representation might have lasted but for the capricious Uberty of opinion which characterised the Florentines, and which led them to break through estabhshed usage as readily as to expel their rulers. The first great innovator was Giotto ; and it may be sufficient here to observe that with a genius which opened up the sources of much that was accomplished hi the course Ch. II. ] THE MANNERS OF FLORENCE. 293 of two centuries later, he united an independence of opinion which presents a sudden and violent contrast to the prejudices and practice of his age. He Uved in the most turbulent and fickle times of Florence, and when Dante spoke of him, the poet, after having witnessed the expulsion of his own enemies, had been banished in his turn. The influence of the same Ucense was afterwards apparent where there was not the same genius to recom mend and justify it. WhUe the painters of the rest of Italy, and particularly of Umbria, Bologna, and Venice, bent their whole efforts to represent the sacred personages of the altar pieces with a heartfelt devotion which could not but be apparent in theti works, a class of Florentine artists, uninfluenced by any feeUngs for the sacred subjects on which they were employed, aimed at a species of reahty which scandalised the public. EspeciaUy was this the case when Fra Fitippo Lippi copied the features of his Inamorata for a Madonna, so as to be generaUy recognised. StUl, there were not wanting botli painters and preachers who from time to time attempted to stem these abuses, by reviving and encouraging a reUgious aim in devotional pictures : and hence two distinct aims in Florentine art — the one devoted to external imitation, the other to the expression of an enthusiastic feeling ; and there can be no doubt that theti mutual influence tended ultimately to the benefit of the art. The social manners of Florence under her democratic government, with probably much of the Ucense, Uad some thing of the cheerful ease and grace of independence; and although the influence of this state of things alto-, gether on art was far from beneficial with inferior talents and vulgar minds, it was in aU cases necessarily tem pered and modified when apphed to devotional purposes. The introduction of smiling expressions in sacred subjects by Leonardo da Vinci was a remarkable innovation in the 294 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. treatment of Italian altar pieces ; for there is no approach to this practice in any other school before his time. Im proving on the hints and attempts of a few Florentine painters, and of Verrocchio, his master, he carried this new grace to sudden perfection : it was diffused by Lorenzo di Credi and others in the Lombard schools, and attained the last degree of playfulness and beauty in Correggio. In this daring and pleasing novelty— daring and questionable as applied to reUgious subjects — we immediately recognise the effect of that fickleness of taste and contempt of precedent which distinguished Florence, at least for a time, from the other Itahan States. We may add that it was scarcely possible for the taste of an age to have a more powerful or more universal representative than Leonardo da Vinci ; for, with a capacity for aU that was esteemed worthy of attainment in his time, he may be said to have presented in his own person an epitome of the genius, the mental energies, the skUl, and the accomptishments of Florence. It was under the influence of the same habits and manners, ancl partly in aU probabUity from the example of Leonardo, that Raphael adopted the cheerful character which distin guishes the Holy Famihes he painted in Florence. His later works in Rome of this class were, for the most part, serious and dignified, while his earlier performances in Perugia were imbued with that meek, pensive, and almost suffering character which has been aUeady traced to a peculiar reUgious influence. The Venetian painters, always so agreeable, sometimes so cheerful in colour, and so remarkable for vivacity of execution, yet never indulged in the smtiing expressions of the Florentine and Lombard painters. The school which most aimed at fascinating the eye is always " grave and reverend" in expression; and this character is not confined to devotional pictures, it prevails equaUy til festive subjects. In these latter there is a quietness of Ch. IL] GRAVE MANNERS OF VENETIANS. 295 mien, and even a solemnity of look exciting associations which, in spite of the cheerful circumstances ostensibly con stituting the subject, border on the moral and pathetic. Giorgione's, Titian's, even Paul Veronese's musical groups are always serious. The expression of the two principal figures in Titian's picture caUed the " Four Ages," in the Stafford GaUery, is a pleasing example. The musical party and the Bacchus and Ariadne, by the same master, in the National GaUery, are of simUar character ; even the Bacchanals and dancing figures in the last-named picture are sedate, and form a singular contrast, the subject con sidered, with the smtiing gaiety of Correggio's Madonna and ChUd. To attribute this pecutiarity in the Venetian painters to want of power would be absurd : it might be accounted for in some degree by the predominant taste for breadth of local colour ; as if these artists were unwiUing to disturb the mass of the carnation by ruffling it with expression. But the chief cause is to be sought in the grave manners of the people. It was impossible for the Venetians at aU raised above the lowest ranks to encourage bodily activity. Few were the places in the city where a promenade for its own sake could be thought of, and a slow and measured step must have been fittest for a flowing ancl hati-oriental costume. Even theti manners on Terra firma went rather beyond those of the rest of Italy in gravity ; — the mode of riding caUed " aUa Veneziana " was criticised as being too stately. The rehgious ceremonies, and the solemnity of a mysterious government added a moral influence within a narrow circuit to the local pecuharities, and confirmed the sedate appear ance and quiet, tranquil manners of the Venetians. Theti chief amusement which, though not stient itseU is the cause of sUence in many, was music. A letter exists which gives an account of a "partie carree" in Titian's garden in August, about 1530. The party consisted of Titian, the writer Francesco Priscianese, Sansovino the sculptor, and Pietro 296 "HOW TO OBSERVE." ._. [Ch. II. Aretino. "Before the table was prepared, for the sun was sttil powerful though the place was shady, we passed the time in contemplating the exceUent paintings of which the house was full, and talked of the beauty of the garden, which is on the further side of Venice, next the sea, in fuU view of the island of Murano, and other pleasmg -scenes. No sooner was the sun set than this part of the sea was covered with a thousand gondolas, adorned with beautiful dames, while soft sounds of voices and instruments were wafted to us tiU midnight, when we were at supper." In this garden, the view from which was only bounded by the blue Friuli mountains, was the tree with round leaves wliich Titian had introduced in the picture of the Pietro Marttie. The instrumental accompaniments of the voice, above mentioned, were not Umited to the lute, as the modern reader would imagine, for we learn from the author of the Cortegiano that the violonceUo was esteemed the fittest instrument with the voice. Even four of these instruments, then a favourite concert, were stiU Unproved, he adds, by voices : the flute he disapproves of. The costume of the Cortegiano is directed to tend rather to the grave and sedate, than to the "vain." " It appears to me," says Castighone, "that black, or, if not black, the darker hues have a more becoming effect in dress than any other colours. But this I understand of the ordinary dress ; for over, and with armour, gay ancl lively colours without doubt are more appropriate. But even in these I should destie that repose which recommends the Spanish nation so much." And elsewhere, "the Spaniards approach more nearly to the Italian character than the French; for that sedateness and gravity which is pecuhar to the Spaniards appears to me more fitting for us than the ready vivacity which is so generally apparent Ui the French nation." " There are many ItaUans," he continues, " who endeavour to imitate that vivacity, shaking theti heads in talking,' Ch. II. ] ITALIAN PAINTERS' STANDARD OF BEAUTY. 297 making awkward bows while in motion, and walking so fast that a courier could hardly keep up with them — aU which never succeeds with them unless, indeed, they have been educated in France, and have adopted these habits from thefr childhood." From this it appears that the sedateness which is so general in the. ItaUan pictures in the eartier part of the 16th century, was the true representation of the national character at the time, and that the first exceptions in Florence were also analogous to the manners of her citizens. The ideas of beauty entertained by the Itahans during the period of the perfection of the arts, might be supposed to be derived without reserve from the tiving examples by which they were surrounded, but in some particulars, either from the conditions of art, or the influence of fashion, they seemed to have preferred a deviation from nature — a devia tion at least from their own immediate experience of nature. The preference which the poets have always shown for golden hati might pass for nothing, for, as we shaU else where endeavour to show, the descriptive department of poetry is generaUy rendered effective by means very different from the conditions and necessities of the formative arts, and hence a poetical description is no authority for the painter ; but in the present instance the poets and painters happen to agree, and black hati which is so common in Italy and so beautiful everywhere, being found in pictures to be only suited for very dark complexions, is hardly ever to be met with in the ItaUan paintings as the accompani ment of female beauty. The colour preferred by the Florentines ancl Lombards, and especiaUy by the Venetians, is undoubtedly the most harmonious that could be adopted for a meUow carnation — being in fact a darkened degree of the very same hue, (rather golden than red) which prevails in the flesh ; so that it is not uncommon, in unfinished Venetian pictures, to see the forms outlined with the same warm brown which is used for the hair. The taste was so universal 298 "HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. in art that it even seems to have led to the actual fashion for auburn and golden hati, to obtain which, tii Italy, artificial contrivances were necessary. Among the wood cuts of costumes by Cesare Vecelti, the cousin of Titian, there is a representation of a Venetian lady altering the colour of her hair with chemical applications. She sits on the house top, hi the hottest rays of the sun, her face being protected by a hat so contrived as to exclude her hati, and expose it to the light. Thus, there may have been a time in Venice when nature was made UteraUy to correspond with the taste of the painters, though at present dark tresses are as prevalent there as everywhere else in Italy. The taste of the Italian poets with regard to complexion is, however, widely different from the practice of the painters. Ludovico Dolce, who had frequent opportunities of conversing with Titian, and of ascertaining his opinions dtiectly as weU as through the medium of his works, observes that " extreme whiteness of tint is not so agree able as a richer hue, ancl that vermilion cheeks and coral lips are to be avoided, since they give to faces in pictures the effect of masks." He adds that Apelles preferred carna tions bordering on the browner, mellower hue ; and that when Propertius finds fault with his mistress for painting herself, the poet expresses a wish that she could exhibit in her face that simpticity of hue which ApeUes gave to his beauties. This was the taste of Titian and his followers, and is undoubtedly true to the general impression of ItaUan nature, although sufficient exceptions are met with to warrant the somewhat different treatment of Paul Veronese. But in that fascinating painter's works the pearliness and ruddiness of the carnation is often accom panied with the tightest golden hati, thus proving that it was a taste not literally derived from Italian nature, how ever true it might be to a chmate beyond the Alps. Ch. II. ] FASHIONS IN BEAUTY. 299 Indeed it is by no means impossible that the German taste, which, in colour at least, had always a powerful influence on Venice, may have had its share hi some of these predilections. The finely penctiled eyebrows and high foreheads of the Florentine Madonnas are to be traced also to the fashion for these pecuharities among the Itahan dames. We learn from a passage in the Cortegiano* that both were the effect of art, and in this case it may be pre sumed that the painters foUowed, rather than suggested the fashion. CastigUone, judiciously placing those recommen dations highest which do not admit of constant display, observes that beautiful teeth are an advantage in a lady " because they are seldom seen." This seems indeed a proof that the " temperance ancl smoothness " he recommends existed to a great extent ; but, unless the Itahans are totaUy changed, unless they could boast with Lord Chesterfield that, though often smiling, they were never seen to laugh, we must conclude that the Italian Aristarchus meant only to recommend this moderation, when he stated it to be so general among his countrywomen. Some other reason may therefore be assigned for the fact that none of the Florentine, Roman, or Venetian painters ventured to show the teeth ; and even Correggio can scarcely be said to be an exception, so rare and so httle conspicuous are the instances where he has done so. In very early works of art, always remarkable for general incorrectness and mis placed attention to detaU, it would be less difficult to find examples. JacobeUo del Fiore, an early Venetian, conscientiously painted St. Michael's teeth, and carefifliy finished the angel Gabriel's tongue. It wtil be admitted on aU hands that, in many cases, the modern painters have improved the sntile of beauty by exhibiting what the * " Quindi nasce l'acconciarsi la faccia con tanto studio e talor pena ; pelarsi le eiglia e la fronte.'' 300 " HOW TO OBSERVE." [Ch. II. taste of the age did not permit Leonardo da VUici, Raphael and Titian to attempt. Leonardo's Mona Lisa might have been more attractive stiU, if her dimples and laughing eyes had been accompanied by the mouth which Reynolds caught from Lady Hamilton. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LANGUAGE AND ART.— THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE SUBLIME. —REPRESENTATIONS OF THE SAVIOUR, &c. The arbitrary signs of which written language7 is com posed may embody the subtlest operations of thought, but these signs, which vary with time and place, are totaUy meaningless ttil we have learned to connect with them the ideas they symbohse. The Plastic arts, on the other hand, however cticumscribed in theti means of expression, are immediately intelligible, and it is through theti universal language that History is sometimes verified, whUe many a long preserved inscription refuses to give up its meaning. This immediate perspicuity or natural eloquence of the imitative arts is therefore one of their distinguishing cha racteristics, although the mere utitity to which it may be apphed is among the lowest as weU as the most Umited of theti attributes. And it is on this perspicuity that theti value and dignity wtil stUl be found to depend, even when employed on subjects of imagination ; for they can only be generaUy inteUigible in addressing the eye when they express what is familiar to the majority of mankind, or, in other words, when they represent the grander and more general characteristics of nature. If we seek to determine 302 LANGUAGE AND ART. more accurately the characteristics which principaUy aid us to recognise a class of objects, we shaU find that they consist in those which, being the more constantly present to our observation, are necessarily best remembered. They are then the most frequent, and may be therefore called the most permanent quahties of nature. It foUows that a representation professing to be as intelligible as possible, would exhibit aU the permanent quatities compatible with the general observation of nature, and sparingly admit those of a mutable kind. This would approach the highest style of art, for the idea of beauty itself resides in, or at least accompanies, the permanent, the general, and the remembered characteristics of nature. Thus the most inteUigible representation wtil also be nearest to the idea of beauty, and the means wtil be distinct in proportion to our wish to see our visions reahsed; that is, in proportion to their beauty. The principle of perspicuity in addressing the sense is, thus understood, one of the most essential hi art, and from its paramount necessity we find that the infancy and the perfection of imitation are more nearly altied in this respect than would at first be supposed. The first efforts at imita tion in aU nations are necessarUy marked by an anxious attention to the essential characteristics of the object imitated, in order that it may be easUy recognised ; and the same quahties (with many more such) are carefuUy dwelt on in the perfection of art, as the means of arresting the idea of beauty. Now the quahties by which we recognise a class of objects are precisely those on which their relative beauty depends. Hence it is we so frequently find in the rudest specimens of ancient art, and in the earhest after its modern revival, the germs of a pure and genuine imitation, — germs which were afterwards ripened to perfection, and which sttil surpass in interest, because in truth, the powerful but mistaken innovations of the decline of art, where this first PERMANENT CHARACTERISTICS OF NATURE. 303 and last requisite is wanting. The slow but ultimately unerring decision of mankind has condemned these later innovations, and has at aU times refused to consider that a genuine idea of beauty, in which the mutable accidents of nature are more apparent than the permanent charac teristics. The endeavour to speak clearly and inteUigibly to the eye thus laid the foundation of executive style and beauty, and the perfection of this language was attained when all the permanent and easUy recognised quaUties of the object were effectively expressed; and hence accident, as being least necessary for this purpose, was admitted latest in the course of Art. But if the infancy and the perfection of art thus neces sarily resembled each other in theti physical elements, from the influence of the obvious desire of perspicuity, there is a wide difference in their moral elements, and in the end they respectively contemplated ; for, however necessary it may be, as long as beauty is aimed at, that works of art should speak clearly to the eye, it is by no means destiable that they should compete with language by attempting to convey precisely the same ideas to aU. The perspicuity of panto mimic arrangement and connected action, so essential a requisite in the dramatic style of art, belong not to the end but to the means of imitation, and these, as we have seen, need to be clear ancl inteUigible ; but the highest powers of art have an aim beyond this, ancl are so distinct from the mere exhibition of an action, that they may be fuUy displayed even where no story is told. It has been justly observed that in Raphael the story is merely a means to show the actors — not vice versa. For if language can describe as accurately and more accurately than art the progress and cUcumstances of an event, it is evident that the power of telUng a story cannot be considered as the proper end and aim of Plastic representation. That power 304 LANGUAGE AND ART. is not in short a moral element of art. It is a vehicle only, and, as such, as producing an immediate and intelli gible impression on the sense, it is beyond the means of verbal description, inasmuch as successive detati is sur passed by simultaneous representation, and as inteUigible imitation surpasses the conventional symbols of language. But there is an ultimate object in art, beyond this vivid impression on the sense, wliich must be compared with the ultimate effect of language, and this wtil be found to consist in such impressions on the imagination as words cannot produce ; this ultimate object of art in short begins where the power of verbal description ceases. Almost every part of a work of art is susceptible of an indefinable charm which language can never convey, and this vague impression on the mind beyond the intelligible appeal to the eye is the moral element of art. The truth of these observations wtil be better tried by examining more accurately the nature of the Plastic arts as distinguished from the means and end of Poetry. It is supposed that the first attempts at writing were of the nature of the imitative arts. To write and to draw were at first synonymous ; but whtie, on the one hand, the exact and concise methods essential to written language soon dis tinguished it from the arts of design, the latter estabhshed a character of thefr own by appeahng to our more exalted sympathies, and thus graduaUy neglected the humble office of supplying, to a very smaU extent, the power of words. Hence it is one of the lowest offices of art to inform, and, on the other hand, those languages have least answered theti end which have attempted to express compticated ideas by combinations of imitative forms. The object of perfected written language is therefore to convey comparatively distmct ideas, by forms unmeaning in themselves ; the highest province of art is to meet indefinite ideas by distinct, imitative representation. Thus, POETRY. OF ART. SOS in language, whether written or spoken, the sign of the idea is less inteUigible (having, in fact, only, a conventional meaning) than the idea itseU; in the Plastic arts it is the reverse. In language, whether Prose or Poetry, the imagi nation may be said to be directly addressed, for the attention is so imperceptibly sohcited by the senses in reading or listening that we are scarcely conscious of thefr intervention ; the operation of the inteUect hi comprehending the meaning of words is, from long habit, effortless and instantaneous, while the meaning attached to each word is, or rather is intended to be, the same to aU minds. But, in contemplating a work of imitative art, although the inteUect undergoes, or should undergo, no effort, the sense is actively employed; and yet, however distinct and inteUigible the object represented may be, the ideas it excites may vary in different minds, according to various capacities and asso ciations. Thus the ideas excited by contemplating M. Angelo's Prophets and Sybtis, which are sufficiently definite in execution, are vague, vast, and poetical. The same may be said of the master works of sculpture, which, from the conditions of that art, are still more definite. In proportion as a work of art becomes more widely inteUigible by divesting nature of locaUties and accidents, so its idea addresses itself more and more to the imagination. The direct inspection of nature is necessarily an examination of detaUs of which the imagi nation retains the aggregate or average idea. The impres sion produced by a representation of this average idea wtil therefore be truer to the memory of the senses than to the sense itself, but the force of the impression wtil obviously depend on the clearness with which the representation is defined. The poetry of art then does not consist in the indistinct ness of the work itself, but in the vagueness of the impres sion produced by what it clearly represents. When the 306 LANGUAGE AND ART. work itself is indistinct the imagination may be said to be almost dfrectly addressed, inasmuch as it is less aided by the senses, and the style of the Plastic arts, as deduced from the above comparison with language, is thus obviously violated, unless there is a meanmg in concealment, as in mysterious or subtime subjects. These, it is true, approach the style of Poetry, but there are resources still in the power of Painting which can enable it to maintain its inde pendence, as wtil be attempted to be shown hereafter. In aiming at the Sublime the object of the artist is to excite the imagination ; in aiming at beauty he undertakes to satisfy it. Distinctness necessarily accompanies the latter attempt, or the imagination would sttil remain unsatisfied, and the imitative arts would refuse to do what they alone have power to do ; for the exhibition of beauty is theti exclusive privtiege. It may be observed that no distinctness would offend Ui art or in nature ti it did not disappoint, disgust, or terrify ; and when an object is unpleasant from being too defined, it wtil either be because such a definition is not true to the appearances of nature, or because it is not beautiful enough to warrant such a display. In the art of sculpture this hazardous definition must, from the positive nature of the material, be attempted, and, in the same proportion its representations are far removed from ordinary and acci dental nature, for the necessity of defining involves the necessity of beauty. It is then apparent that the means and the end of the Plastic arts are essentially different, and that ti it is the lowest end of the arts to inform, it is, nevertheless, the highest requisite of theti means. And the same quality which would be more or less degrading to theti moral elements is thus the very essence of their executive style. One of the highest efforts of art is to meet and reahse imaginations of which we are aUeady conscious— that general memory of nature in which the idea of beauty resides. Hence art does not so BEAUTY AND MYSTERY. 307 much inform us, as ratify to the eye what we know, for the abstract idea, although derived from nature, afready dweUs in the imagination. The degree, therefore, in which this dream of perfection is met and reaUsed will obviously depend on the clearness with which the representation can be adequately denned; so that distinctness wtil ever increase with beauty, and thus the more unreal the idea, always supposing it to be pleasing, the more definite wtil be its representation. The nature of the distinctness which Painting admits, the mode in which its representations are most inteUigible, and the means by which it endeavours to arrest the idea of beauty, are considerations naturaUy reserved to the exami nation of the style of that art. It may be, however, at once observed that the distinctness proper to Painting is very relative, even in the highest exhibition of beauty, where there would be least necessity for concealment ; but as the degree of beauty becomes less and less the necessity of con cealment or mystery increases, ttil the limits of ordinary effects are overpassed, and the representation becoming more and more uncommon or accidental assumes some new character, and may be capricious, solemn, or sublime. There is only one exception where the extremes which art can embrace meet, and where beauty is accompanied with mystery ; the impression thus produced is of the voluptuous kind. The nature of this principle and this union would be best examined in an attempt to define the style of Correggio.* Although it is true that' the representation of beauty is the quaUty of the imitative arts which is unattainable by Poetry, and that it must, therefore, chiefly constitute thefr style, yet it wtil easily be seen that other attractions are not excluded provided they do not usurp the place of beauty. For whtie deprecating aU attempts to make one art do the * See " Materials for History of Oil Painting," vol. ii. p. 301-3. X 2 308 LANGUAGE AND ART. work of another, yet absolute distinction and independence of style may be carried too far. Just as we find in the ItaUan opera the story is considered the mere vehicle for the attractions of the music ; the language, which was originally intended to be aided in its expression and not superseded by the music, being too often treated as scarcely worthy of attention. Thus it is evident that the appeal to the affections of the heart which can be made by words is much more powerful than the utmost efforts of imitative art to the same object. This does not, however, exclude the passions from Painting, nor even from Sculpture, but it teaches how theti effect can be made impressive, and how the independence of Plastic representation can be sustained by calling to its aid those quahties which are, on the other hand, beyond the power of language. The extremes of certain passions, such as anger, grief, fear, may be described in Poetry in aU theti vehemence, because the imagination alone is addressed and the senses are not shocked. In Painting (to take the art which admits most Ucense) these extremes are necessarUy modified, because they are immediately addressed to the eye; so that the necessity for beauty is ever in proportion to the appeal to the senses. Thus the poetical description would be one which could not be represented, and the impression pro duced by the visible representation would be so vague as not to admit of precise description* The expression in the statue of the Niobe is of this kind : the moment precedes the death of the chUdren, and consequently there is no intention to represent the subsequent metamor phosis ; her expression is the real grief of a tiving woman, but modified according to the conditions of sculpture and the beauty of the subject. Ovid, on the contrary, describes and dweUs upon aU her maternal agonies, at the same * Many expressions of Raphael and Correggio are of this description, although sufficiently distinct in execution. GRADATIONS OF DISTINCTNESS. 309 point of time, in the style suited to Poetry. The difference between the expression of the statue of Laocoon and Virgil's description has furnished the groundwork of an exceUent treatise on the different methods of Poetry and Sculpture.* Thus, whenever the arts address the feelings they still address the imagination more, and when expres sions are so positive as to leave no room for speculation, but convey precisely the same violently denned idea to aU, they depart from the style of the imitative arts, and depart equaUy from the idea of beauty. It is scarcely necessary to repeat that the indistinctness of the idea is not to be con founded with that of the representation of the idea, which, as we have aUeady seen, is, as a general principle, definite in proportion as the object is agreeable. On the other hand, when the work is necessarUy indistinct, as in certain subjects where impressions of terror are increased by mystery, the violence of expressions may be more fuUy hinted at because they are more dimly seen. The general principle is thus the same : the senses must never be shocked ; distinctness requires beauty, and unpleasant forms requtie to be partiaUy concealed. Agam, as there is a gradation in the outward appearance of the passions, considered separately, so there is a gradation in the distinctness and completeness with which they may be rendered in art. The expressions which harmonize with beauty, such as love, joy, benevolence, admit of fuU develop ment. The opposite feeUngs of hatred, anguish, revenge, and terror are necessarUy limited in thefr visible repre sentation, and so proportionaUy of intermediate passions. Hence the impossibtiity of mixing passions which requtie different methods of representation; and hence the absurdity of expecting the spectator to imagine characters of one des cription to be under the temporary influence, only, of other and opposite affections. What is exhibited to the senses is * Lessing's Laocoon. 310 LANGUAGE AND ART. exhibited once for aU. It is in vain we are told that what we see is not the constant character of the personage, or that his form does not correspond with his moral nature. Language can do this at once, because, to the imagination, things past or future are as vivid as things present ; where nothing is seen but by the mind's eye, aU is equaUy appa rent ; but Ui visible representation the imagination concludes only to the unseen from the seen; from this there is no appeal. A poet can teU us that his mistress is lovely even in her anger, which is easily conceived if we suppose sUght variations in her expression, and more than one moment of time ; but if meant of one moment only it would be the same as asserting that anger is lovely, wliich is absurd.* Yet such would be the absurdity if a painter or sculptor, when giving fuU development to the passion of anger, should ex pect his representation to exhibit an amiable expression. Furies are described in Poetry forgetting theti character and yielding to pleasmg sensations ; it is true a Fury in Painting, even with an amiable expression and exhibiting some beauty, would not be a very inviting object with " snakes uncurled" stiti shocking the sense ; but, supposing aU disagreeable im pressions removed, she would then no longer be a Fury, nor even with the addition of her dreadful attributes, as long as her expression differed from her customary character. A reflection of this kind perhaps induced the author of the " Laocoon " to assert that the ancient sculptors had never represented a Fury ; he was mistaken, but his principle is sttil true, for the necessity of defining obtiged the sculptors of antiquity to make Furies beautiful.t A mutable expres- * Statius and Valerius Flaccus have described an angry Venus, and Lessing smiles at the surprise of Spence that no examples of the kind exist in the arts. t The author of this admirable work is less judicious when he examines how far deformity can be admitted in the arts ; in fact he treats Painting and Sculpture as equal in power, forgetting that Painting has the power of concealing as well as of displaying. EXPRESSION AND BEAUTY. 311 sion is one of the extreme difficulties, of art ; the appearance of a moment is strictly trithin the power of representation, but the expressions of two moments, into which there is a danger of falling, would at once defeat the artist's object. An expression which constantly varies agrees with the suc cessive and continued power of language, and may therefore be said to be more poetical than picturesque ; but its changes are composed of separate moments, each of which will be much fitter for representation than for description ; for the only quaUty attainable by the description which art could not reach, would be the abstract one of mutability, or rather of actual change, It is apparent that the idea of abstract beauty which addresses itseU to the imagination and which we associate with the vague, and general impression of nature, is more or less opposed to thos,e Uvetier feeUngs of sympathy which are addressed to the heart. The mode then in which violence of expression may be reconctied with the aim at beauty is by the Uifluence of a principle in some respects of an opposite nature. We have seen that to be consistent with the style of the arts beauty should predominate, but in Painting the degree of beauty which is essential to the jtieashig impression of the work may be the result of large and harm0Iti°us cplpur, independent more or less of beauty of form ; and thus the causes of admtiation are in less danger of neutratising the causes of sympathy, inasmuch as they may be said to belong to different departments. Thus, there is greater latitude allowed to ex pression in Painting than tii Sculpture, although it sttil has the Umits which may be defined, as before shown, from the comparison with language. We immediately see that beauty in Sculpture depends on form alone, and that therefore in subjects of expression the two contra dictory principles (beauty and violent expression), abovemen- tioned, contend for mastery on the same ground. Beauty 312 LANGUAGE AND ART. necessarUy predominates, for if (in Sculpture) excluded from form, it exists no where else, and the art would give up aU pretensions to please. But if, as we have seen, the admiration of abstract beauty is so opposed to our sympathy with suffering, we are naturaUy led to inqutie how far Sculpture, consistently with its main object, has the power of affecting us at aU ; how far, in short, it can appeal to the heart as well as to the imagina tion. It wtil be found that it is only hi the representation of chUdhood, where beauty is not of an abstract character, that this power can be attained ; or united with impressions bordering on the pathetic. The exhibition of the weakness of old age is too remote from the idea of Ufe, or its hope, and therefore too remote from that of beauty to be fit for the fuU display of the powers of this art.* The exhibition of age without its weakness, that is, with a nearer approach to beauty, united with some appeal to our sympathy, wtil therefore be the next degree in which Sculpture can address the feeUngs. The union of the pathetic with adult beauty wtil be the least successful. The conventions and conditions of Sculpture are too far removed from famitiar nature to excite a Uvely feeling of compassion; we see suffering in marble with comparatively Uttle emotion, and this is stUl more the case where the imagination is addressed by the highest degree of beauty, as in adult forms, for that wtil usurp aU our attention. The approach to the pathetic in * In another of these essays (see " Contributions," Essay 13, p. 368), we have attempted to show that the idea of beauty is as the idea of life. If it be pleaded that death itself may be represented in the arts with effect, it is readily admitted ; but whenever death is pleasing, it is because it resembles life in repose — " Before decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers." The same noble poet, speaking of the shut eyelid, which might be taken for repose, adds, " Thought shrinks from all that lurks below." Death is therefore never agreeable as death ; it must be associated with beauty that is, with the attribute of perfect life, to be so. MEANS AND END IN SCULPTURE. 313 Sculpture wtil therefore be in proportion to the departure from the abstract idea of beauty ; and it is needless to repeat that such a departure is very Umited. In the Group of the Laocoon it is remarkable that the figures approach age and childhood as far as is compatible with a considerable degree of abstract beauty, — the first condition of the art. Yet even here we hardly consent to the emotions which the idea of the sufferings we witness should excite^ We feel that beauty is sttil the end, we admtie rather than weep, and merely consider the dreadful cUcumstances of the subject as a means to display the real strength of the art. If we ex perience any approach to a Uvely sympathy it is for the chUdren and especiaUy for the youngest. But if the exhibition of pain and distress hi Sculpture, wlhle sub ordinate to beauty, can never affect our feeUngs much, it becomes much less Umited than Painting in employing such subjects. The group caUed Arria and Pastus, a dying woman, and a man hi the act of stabbing himself, may be looked at not only without emotion, but with that degree of adntiration which its approach to beauty warrants. It is not that the illusion is destroyed, but that illusions of this-kind can never be produced except in the degrees and in the. cases abovementioned. The conclusion then is that we are not so much shocked by the exhibition of suffering in Sculpture as by the want of beauty. In Painting it is different ; for let us suppose the subject of the Laocoon painted — the serpents with aU theti terrific reality^-the victims in thefr deadly agonies — and no beauty of forms or colours would atone for the harrowing impression. But we should hardly give way to it, we should immediately sntile at the in judicious attempt to torture our feelings, and thus art would sustain its worst defeat.* * An examination of the theory of Architecture, which can only imitate the principles of Nature, would lead to an investigation of the causes of beauty itself — the qualities which always accompany it. This is the most 314 LANGUAGE AND ART. After having thus considered how far the imitative arts can most legitimately affect the imagination, and under what restrictions they may appeal to the feeUngs, it remains to be examined how and in what degree they may safely pretend to address the inteUect. It wtil at once be seen that this is the province of art in which language most surpasses it, and its efforts to this point wtil therefore be admissible in a less degree than Passion, and in a much less degree than Beauty. Of the various modes hi which the inteUect may be addressed in the arts, that, wtil be the most genuine which depends less on the erudition than on the sagacity of the spectator ; and that wtil be the lowest which absolutely informs him. Some attention is frequently necessary to comprehend the development of a story in Painting, and a sUght effort of the mind, if soon rewarded, is rather pleasing than not. Common consideration is generally sufficient to unravel any recondite ideas which need no previous learning to decypher them ; but, whether requiring learning or not, the spectator who discovers a profound meaning wtil always rather admtie than criticise the obscurity which his own discernment has penetrated. The aUusions to costume, to obscure facts of history, and to science generaUy are obviously addressed only to the, few, and therefore requtie to be sparingly introduced, but these may sometimes affect the imagination even when they are not understood, and if thus aiding the general impres sion of the work they may be considered genuine additions. It is enough, for instance, that the classic scenery and accompaniments which Poussin often introduces, give an impression of remote antiquity to his works ; and what we lose, from being unable to trace aU the scientific adaptation of these adjuncts to the cUcumstances and period of the subtle and difficult inquiry connected with the arts. It is here we should most admire the sagacious and docile spirit of the Greeks, and find how deeply they had penetrated the essence of beauty. LARGE IDEAS OF NATURE. 315 fact represented, is abundantly compensated by the effect produced on the imagination. Indeed, it may be observed that these accompaniments in Poussin are more in the sptiit than the letter of antiquity, for he is frequently incorrect in the mere scholarship of costume. But when such additions are so prominent as to excite curiosity, and thus remind the spectator of his own ignorance (unless mystery be the object) they are necessarUy to be condemned. The display of those sciences which are connected with the arts is for the same reason justly censurable. Ttiey are supposed, as has been aUeady explained, to aid the artist in rendering nature truly, and hence, when legitimately employed, are concealed in theti results. That exhibition of nature which, by representing the dress, habits, and objects of foreign countries and remote times, UteraUy mforms, ranks sufficiently low in the scale of art ; but whenever representations of this kind are accompanied by large, true and famtiiar ideas of nature, the art again regains its dignity. The portrait of an unknown Venetian nobleman by such a pamter as Titian would be interesting to some persons as giving mformation as to the dress of the period ; but, in spite of aU its local and foreign pecuharities it would interest the admtier of genuine art as being true to larger ideas than such as have merely reference to a par ticular time, place, and person. Thus the idea of beauty, or that large view of nature by which a work of art becomes generaUy interesting, is indispensably necessary in some shape or other to every style of genuine art. The pictures by Bassano, and by most of the Dutch masters, would never be esteemed if they exhibited nothing more than the habits and manners of theti respective countries. The mode in wliich theti effects are produced, and the idea of colour and Ught and shade which they exhibit, to say nothing of other quahties strictly constituting the style of Painting, are true to a much larger impression of nature than the 316 LANGUAGE AND ART. forms of theti dress and houses, and even of thefr figures. It must be admitted that the degree of beauty which they exhibit is not extended to the most interesting point, and hence the mental pleasure they produce is very Umited; but it is those larger quahties which give them the relative value they possess, and they are preferred to many works of art which profess to be in a higher taste, but which faU in the great requisites of Painting. An abstract representation of form, without a large idea of colour, is obviously destitute of style, and inferior to Sculpture. We are accustomed to consider the SubUme as entUely distmct in its nature from Beauty, and it is only in theti nearer limits where this distinction appears less palpable that we can, at first, hesitate to admit the general truth of the opinion ; but it wtil be found to be true altogether. The difficulty of analysing and separating these two ideas is no proof that they are ever reaUy identified, or that they can change theti nature ; and a discrimination of their doubtful Umits will. be.best arrived at by keeping in mind the nature of the impressions produced by thefr more positive degrees. As the idea of beauty is associated with the objects of natural hope, (hfe, health, vigour) so the Sublime is immediately or remotely connected with awe and fear. The first (Beauty) resides in the general and familiar ideas of nature, the latter (the SubUme) is always more or less extraordinary. The causes of natural fear, the facts which our senses, beyond certam Umits, shun, but which our imagination, within certain Umits, can contemplate with pleasmg dread, are associated with aU the gradations of evti — from that which disturbs the tranquillity of a moment, to that which threatens Ufe itsetf— and may thus vary in their effects from the overwhelming idea which annihUates resistance and extinguishes hope, to that undefined im pression of awe which scarcely produces a sense of in feriority. We next perceive that the causes of fear may IDEAS OF THE SUBLIME. 317 be divided into those which affect either ourselves or others — that we are either actors or spectators, and that the feeUngs we can thus experience arise either from the apprehension of evti or from the secure contemplation of it. The extreme degrees of such feeUngs would be absolute fear or horror ; and they, as we have seen, are beyond the limits of the imitative arts. The feelings .then, which the exhibition of danger or suffering as exhibited in art can legitimately excite are fortitude, or sympathy, or some modifications of them. But these feehngs are by no means both altied to subtimity in an equal degree ; it must be remembered that the idea of the subhme chiefly addresses itseU to the imagination ; for when compatible with distinctness , it is accompanied with beauty, and when terrific it is veiled in mystery, so that in both cases it either indirectly or dfrectly appeals to the imagination. But com passion, or sympathy, is an affection of the heart, and one of its softer affections ; and it would thus appear that some idea of danger to ourselves is sttil necessary to distinguish the sublime from the pathetic ; hence the only species of sympathy which is of itself altied to grandeur — or the Sublime — is where we are interested for fortitude itseti; thus reducing the feehng within us to which ideas of sublimity are addressed to fortitude or elevation of mind alone. The degree of fear, or rather of its causes, which are incompatible with definite representation are obviously beyond the powers of Sculpture. The effect of forms which offend the sense by their distinctness would only be terrible, if real, and even in nature we should remove them from our sight, at least by averting our eyes ; but in imita tive art, as before remarked, our imagination refuses to consent to the UTusion. Repulsive subjects, on this account, frequently defeat their aim, for the moment we cease to go along with the conventions of the arts, what we see is no 318 LANGUAGE AND ART. more than marble or canvas ; and it would be indeed " the eye of chUdhood that fears a painted devti." The business of the artist is to make us cherish the illusion ; in proportion then as the sentiment of fortitude is in clanger of giving way to terror, the remoteness, indistinctness, or mystery which Painting can command, again make our dread pleasing. The curiosity we now feel is the test that we sttil love the danger. The senses are thus no longer shocked, and what would be ridiculous, because unreal, if distinctly displayed, excites the imagination while only partiaUy seen. The impressions which are opposite to those insptied by the idea of beauty are therefore opposite in their mode of representation in art, and the principle is naturaUy appti- cable in the intermediate degrees ; what is most displayed wtil be most beautiful, what is least agreeable wtil be most concealed. The degrees of the sublime and even of the terrible which are attainable in Painting are thus almost unlimited, but it must sttil be remembered that, as long as the senses are addressed, beauty, in some shape, must be the means of attraction. A picture which addresses the imagination directly by concealing forms in mysterious chiaroscuro, or by concealment of any kind, without a pleasmg effect of colour, is an attempt at Poetry which is inferior to Poetry ; and a picture which addresses the eye directly by definite and beautiful forms without a large and true effect of colour is inferior, as has been said, to Sculpture, especiaUy if it is not extensive in its composition. The degree of fortitude or elevation of mind which can make danger pleasing, enables art to make that first approach to the sublime which admits of definite repre sentation, and which thus may be attained in Sculpture. The art reckons, as it were, on this temper in the beholder; it can conceal nothing, and hence proportions its most imposing effects to the lofty feeling which can meet and feel famUiar with theti grandeur. This elevation of mind in the IMPRESSIONS OF AWE. 319 spectator is at aU times necessary to the genuine effect of the subtime, and, as before observed, when it is in tin- mediate danger of degenerating to fear, the illusion is destroyed, and the art has betrayed its interests by attempt ing too much. The impressions of awe, veneration, and respect, produced by grandeur, dignity, and power are those middle qualities where the remote Uifluence of fear is less immediately perceived. Fear, indeed, may be entUely overcome and banished from our minds, but if veneration and respect are removed it is not that we have the power of reducing ideas of awe and grandeur, but that we are capable of raising ourselves to their level; instead of bestowing our respect on the object it thus returns upon ourselves, and we feel ennobled for daring to familiarise our minds with sentiments which once oppressed us with a sense of inferiority. Thus in the arts, if impressions of the above kind are so conveyed as to overcome aU that is oppressive in their effect, the spectator naturaUy rises to a level with the greatness he contemplates ; and what reaUy partakes of the SubUme assumes the character of exalted beauty, for such it is, as soon as it becomes an object of admtiation. The idea of Longinus on this subject, although he speaks of Poetry and Oratory only, seems to be analogous, and is considered by Botieau to be a genuine definition of the SubUme. " For naturaUy," he says, " our mind elevates itseU hi some sort from the grandeur of expressions, and catching the ardour of enthusiasm, becomes fiUed with dehght and complacency, „as if we ourselves had produced what we have heard." Now the very necessity of elevating our minds before we can fuUy admtie, shows that there is a sense of inferiority ; a remote principle of fear to be over come ; but it is no sooner overcome, the idea of greatness is no sooner made famUiar to ns, than we feel our superiority to our former selves, and we are conscious of being rather 320 LANGUAGE AND ART. entitled to respect than susceptible of it. In fact, if ever an awful idea is reaUy pleasmg to a human being, he must be, at least for the moment, possessed of exalted sentiments. The Prophets and Sybtis of M. Angelo produce this eleva tion in many minds, and the feeling they inspire is justly compared by SU Joshua Reynolds to what Bouchardon says he experienced on reading Homer; that his whole frame seemed to be enlarged. In these cases then it is not that the degree of sublimity is less ; the work of art is un changeable ; it is that our moral dignity and power are more. Our minds are therefore capable of converting sublimity into beauty by exchanging a remote degree of fear for admi ration, but it wiU obviously be an adntiration of an elevated kind proportioned to the change in our taste and sentiments. The truth of this wtil be at once perceived by reflecting on the possible and opposite perversions of feehng, if feehng it may be caUed, wbich often result from the habitual con templation of scenes repulsive in theti nature. A field of carnage may, from long acquaintance with its cUcum stances, be viewed first with indifference and at last with pleasure. The applauding multitudes of both sexes that fiUed the blood-stained amphitheatre, and which sttil crowd a bullfight hi Spain, prove that the sight of death and suffering may become agreeable. If the secure contem plation of the causes of our utmost fear may thus, by a morbid depravity of taste, become sources of gratification, it is obvious that the degrees of apprehension which are scarcely perceptible may, by a slight exertion of fortitude, be easUy converted to pleasurable sensations. There are gradations of taste which are thus greatly in our own power, by accustoming our eyes and minds to higher or lower views of art and nature. We may descend so low hi the scale as to admire imitations which have no pretensions to beauty, or we may elevate our minds so as to experience a sincere relish for the subUme. But, as before observed, whenever COLOSSAL SIZE IN SCULPTURE. 321 an idea of sublimity is regarded with the same admiration we pay to beauty, it assumes, for the time, the place of beauty in our minds ; and thus a work of imitative art of an awful or grand character, if exciting this admiration, may be definite in execution, and ti sublimity and distinctness are compatible, it is then, and then only, to be attained in Sculpture. The first and simplest means by which Sculpture can suc ceed in this high object is by colossal size. If we can over come the impression of inferiority in imagining ourselves in the presence of beings of supernatural power and stature, and this is always supposed, our minds naturaUy rise to a level with the conception ; and a moral grandeur of senti ment within ourselves keeps pace with the physical power offered to our senses. Such representations, however, sup pose manly beauty of form, together with power. The idea of the decline of Ufe, the extinction of natural hope, is naturaUy associated with serious and solemn impressions, and thus, if not accompanied with weakness, if exciting sentiments of respect, is a degree of the SubUme. But the diminution of Ufe is the diminution of the very idea and es sence of beauty, and hence needs considerable modifications ti represented in the art which is dedicated to visible perfec tion. The dignity, without the weakness or comparative deformity, of age, represented in a colossal size, would be the nearest approach to sublimity which Sculpture could make. The Jupiter of Phidias was accordingly the most sublime work antiquity had to boast ; the age of the God in other representations which have come down to us is by no means advanced, at least there is no appearance of decline. The idea of immortaUty, — of the God, — would be obviously destroyed by it. It is the redundant beard and extreme dignity of expression which alone convey the idea of ad vanced Ufe. Yet these representations at once reahse the Father of the Gods, and although he is without a wrinklej 322 LANGUAGE AND ART. we feel that we behold a venerable being. The variety of materials of which the statue of Phidias was composed might tend perhaps to diminish the grandeur of its effect, but the expressions of enthusiastic admtiation bestowed on it by aU the classic authors who have aUuded to it, leave no doubt of its bemg the master work of ancient art. The sublimest works in Painting of a colossal and definite execution are unquestionably the single figures of the CappeUa Sistina., The older figures in hke manner here exhibit the dignity without the weakness of age, but in a less abstract manner than would be admissible in Sculpture from the different conditions of the arts. It has just been said that the idea of sublimity results, tii Sculpture, from colossal size.* The figures of Monte CavaUo are an mstance of this, for their forms are such as to excite admtiation. A colossal Minerva or Juno pro duces the same effect, for the idea of weakness which is associated with the sex is forgotten in a martial or dignified appearance ; the association of divinity may be left, out of the account, for it could never confer sublimity on a colossal Venus. The abstract idea of mere beauty and the feeling it excites are at once incompatible with the remotest senti ment of awe ; gigantic stature would in this case only be sufficient to counteract a pleasmg impression, without in any degree approaching the subhme. Many female statues of what is caUed the heroic size have come down to us ; the distance or height at which they were seen probably * However grand the idea or subject may be, a statue less than nature can never be sublime. The reality of this art prevents our imagining the figure to be greater than it is. In Painting, unlimited space is often expressed by a skilful hand in the smallest dimensions ; in Sculpture, at least in the round, no stretch of imagination nor any nicely calculated scale of comparison with still smaller objects can ever produce this iUusion. In rilievo, where there is no longer any immediate comparison with the actual bulk of objects in nature, this illusion is more possible. A Hercules of half an inch high in a gem, giyes a greater idea of size than a modal ih the round of one or two feet high. REPRESENTATIONS OF THE DEITY. 323 reduced them to the size of nature, but this wtil hardly account for the enormous size of the Flora in the Naples coUection ; as it is now seen it is too gigantic to produce an agreeable impression, and too soft and feminine to be sub lime. The most valued of the statues of Venus are about the size of nature, and the Venus de' Medici is rather less. Lastly, Sculpture borders on the subUme when even in ordinary or only heroic dimensions it conveys the idea of uncommon dignity, courage, or energy. Beauty is always, we repeat, supposed the indispensable condition of the art ; a figure of the heroic kind which thus gives the impression of a rare and matchless physical organisation naturaUy excites elevated feeUngs, together with admiration. In malting such an idea familiar to our minds, we feel that we have to rise to a level with the conception, but when we are no longer conscious of this process, when no remote degree of awe or respect requties to be met by loftiness of mind, then the traces of the subhme no longer exist. The work can then only pretend to beauty, and can only excite admtiation. It may be here considered how far ideas of highest vene ration are compatible with definite representation, or with any representation. The person of the divine Founder of our reUgion is supposed to be a legitimate object of imita tive art, whereas the visible personification of the Supreme Bemg is generaUy considered a vain, if not an impious attempt. The union of the human with the divine nature in the first case, and the possibtiity of exhibiting what was once present to human senses, is the usual mode of defending the representations of our Saviour. Yet, how ever free from impiety, it may be questioned how far such representations can be successful, and how far they can be consistent with the style of the imitative arts. It is evident in the first, place that the idea is more impressive than any sign of the idea can be ; and the .superiority of v 2 324 LANGUAGE AND ART. this internal veneration once admitted, the representa tion becomes only a symbol, and cannot be expected to keep pace with, much less to be the cause of feeUngs of awe and devotion. That the beauty or dignity of the work of art has nothing to do in this case with a devotional feehng, is evident from the uncouth representations of the objects of worship which are so frequently to be met with in CathoUc countries ; where it wtil generaUy be found that those which receive most homage are the most un inviting to the senses and the imagination, as they are commonly the most ancient; dating from the infancy of art. In these instances then the object venerated is a symbol only ; it is of a conventional nature, and thus par takes rather of the style of language than of the imitative arts. A work of genuine art professes to meet and reatise our imaginations ; and were this possible in representing the person of the Redeemer, it would with many persons reaUy have the effect of inviting to adoration. This adequate representation is, however, fortunately impossible, not because sufficient beauty is not attainable, but because the idea does not at aU depend on beauty ; it dweUs rather in our hearts and minds than in our imaginations; hence it again becomes less fit for the imitative arts, and hence the difference between the finest and the meanest representa tions is a matter of Uttle consequence to those who adore such works as symbols, for symbols, it is obvious, they aU equaUy are. It must be admitted therefore that the attempt to excite many of the ideas which the contemplation of this subject generates, and, in particular, the utmost degree of venera tion, by the analogous impression of a work of art, is vam and impossible. The idea excited by the highest notion of moral perfection, which language itseU can scarcely reach, refuses to be presented to the eye in inteUigible forms. But, although our minds can never be met in theti high REPRESENTATIONS OF THE SAVIOUR. 325 abstractions on this theme by visible objects, our hearts may be touched by them with sentiments of affection and gratitude. Abstract . beauty is by no means an essential adjunct to produce such impressions ; on the contrary, such feeUngs are aUied to our near, everyday sympathies, not to that large view of nature which excites vague admtiation ; and one of the reasons why the representations of our Saviour are generaUy so insipid, is because they are addressed, or are attempted to be addressed, rather to the imagination than to the heart. But if the attempt to convey an adequate idea of a perfect mind in a human form is thus impossible, how much more vain does the attempt appear to render palpable ideas of perfection which were never associated with the conditions of human nature. The difference, however, is less great than at first appears ; it is enough that as regards the efforts of art both ideas are beyond its powers. In this respect, too, the difference between the powers of art and those of language is scarcely perceptible, and the means in which they best succeed in affecting us are the same. The mode in which the idea of the Divinity has been best rendered in art is by meeting feeUngs which are equally distinct from admfration and dread, from beauty and sublimity. The admiration or dread, the love or fear which a human being may feel towards his Creator, cannot be even remotely excited by any visible representation ; for if the mind fail to comprehend the nature of that Being, the attempt to embody that nature by an appeal to the eye is more manifestly vain. The feeUngs which remain to be appealed to are then those which our human sympathies may in some measure represent. The love, the veneration, the confidence, and the obedience which a father deserves and receives may be granted to resemble the relation in which the creature stands to his Maker and Benefactor. What has beauty to do with the 326 LANGUAGE AND ART. love we bear towards our parents ? what the profounder com prehension of the duties of such a relation ? The human semblance which can touch us with the best and most serious feelings we experience towards a father may thus alone be suffered to represent our God. It is thus that the Bible represents Him ; it descends to our sympathies. The Supreme Being is not there painted to our inteUect nor to our imagination. He grieves, He repents, He rejoices ; He has the visible forms and the ordinary speech of a human bemg. Who knows not that this is a condescending and conventional idea of the Deity, in order to reduce an abstract and incomprehensible notion to the moral wants and feelings of man ? * It is merely intended by the foregoing observations to point out the only mode in which the Deity can be repre sented. Most of the representations of the Supreme Being by Raphael and some of the earher ItaUan painters are addressed merely to our unlearned and plain feelings, and * Dante has made his celestial conductress explain the same idea, as follows : — " Thus needs, that ye may apprehend, we speak : Since from things sensible alone ye learn • That which, digested rightly, after turns To intellectual. For no other cause The Scripture, condescending graciously To your perception, hands and feet to God Attributes, nor so means : and holy church Doth represent with human countenance Gabriel and Michael," &c. — " Paradise," Canto iv. So Milton : — " What surmounts the reach Of human sense, I shall delineate so, By likening spiritual to corporeal forms, As shall express them best." — " Paradise Lost," Book v. " These passages," says Cary, " rightly understood, may tend to remove the scruples of some who are offended by any attempts at representing the Deity in pictures." REPRESENTATIONS OF THE SAVIOUR. 327 hence, by avoiding the attempt at an adequate representa tion of the idea, are the most admissible. • It may be added that the Umitations within which these ideas are to be rendered in Painting, exclude them still more from Sculpture. The representation even of the Saviour must necessarily faU in that art from the absolute necessity of beauty, and we have seen how little beauty has to do with the feelings requtied to be met. If then it be asked how the ancients were impressed with the represen tations of theti Gods, it is answered that they were no more than personifications of abstract qualities in nature, and were thus necessarUy addressed rather to the memory of the senses than to the heart or intellect. It was sufficient for a Pagan to admire his deity — the great object of his worship was Nature, and the representative image corre sponded with that general impression of nature, which is at once a definition of beauty. This at least was the con sistent idolatry ofthe Greeks.* The arts then dfrectly and adequately served the cause of reUgion with the heathens ; and in perceiving that they are inadequate to that office as regards the objects of a Christian's worship, we have encountered a truth which it needed not this analysis of art to enforce. For how should abstract ideas of nature— and Nature is Art's only reper tory — suffice to meet impressions which in thefr very elements are distinct from ancl above Nature ! * The Egyptians and other nations frequently addressed their personifi cations to the intellect. The attributes which can be comprehended, but which offer no attraction to the senses or imagination, were their cold allegories of Nature. The Ephesian Diana may be cited as a specimen. DISCOUESE. DISCOUESE ON THE CHARACTERISTIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE FORMATIVE ARTS AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. Delivered December 10, 1859. Gentlemen, In the remarks which I am about to offer I propose to resume a subject to which I have partiaUy adverted in a former Discourse. Recapitulating, by way of introduction, the elementary principle there affirmed, I remind you that in the observa tion of Nature and hi the exercise of the eye, the chief aid of the Artist is comparison. The distinguishing attributes of each form and colour can be apprehended by no other means. In Uke manner the distinctive exceUences of each Art can only be arrived at by an analogous process : the character of the Art wiU consist chiefly in those qualities in which it is found to differ from the other Arts. To exemptify this process of comparison and its results I propose, on the present occasion, to offer some observations on the distinctive character of Descriptive Poetry, and then to show that a similar method is applicable to every branch of the formative Arts. Two celebrated definitions have been deduced from the comparison of Poetry and Painting. The one, which is 332 DISCOURSE. classical and ancient, is specious but false ; the other, which is not older than the close of the last century, is only partly true ; but although at once too comprehensive and insufficient, it contains the clue to a right discrimi nation. The dictum ascribed, according to Fuseli, to Simonides, that "Painting is mute Poetry, and Poetry speaking Picture," is more honourable to our Art than to Poetry ; but it is strictly true of neither. Painting is not always " mute Poetry," and Poetry would be degraded indeed if it were restricted to " speaking Picture." The modern defi nition, which we gather from Lessing, is far more satis factory. " Painting deals with form in space, Poetry with action in time." * To render this definition somewhat more accurate, we might say : " The Plastic Arts represent objects in a quiescent or in an arrested state, in space ; Poetry, when confined to the description of visible objects, dwells on the changes of those objects in time." It is plain that comparisons can only lead to useful infer ences when the relations of the things compared are palpable and appreciable. Hence we never can do more than compare Painting with a part of Poetry. Description, — the only department in which Poetry is in danger of entering into injudicious competition with the formative Arts, — is but a smaU section of the poetic world. Epic story, dialogue, moral reflections, phUosophical arguments, and the whole range of thought, imagination, and aUusion, cannot be approached by the arts of representation so as in any way to endanger the independence of poetic expression. This being apparent, the truth contained in Lessing's definition above referred to, may take its place in due order, if we begin with the more comprehensive form before pro posed ; viz., that the excellence of any one of the Fine Arts * "Laokoon, 3tte Auflage," Berlin, 1805, §§ XVI. xvii. ; compare Anhang, § XMII. DISCOURSE. 333 wtil consist chiefly hi those quahties which are unattainable by the other Fine Arts. What then, foUowing this guide, are the characteristic differences between the formative Arts and descriptive Poetry ? for no other poetry can ever fear a rival in repre sentation. This question I now proceed to consider. First, with regard to the eye. When descriptive Poetry is UteraUy nothing more than " speaking Picture " (and mstances of such bad taste might be adduced), the descrip tion must be inferior to representation. A sufficient reason, among others, being that the visible impression is simul taneous and lasting, while each detail described in words is in some measure effaced by the succeeding image. I need hardly observe, that of aU dangerous undertakings for the Poet none can be more so than the description of visible beauty, precisely because this is the pomt in which repre sentation is, or can be, strong. I here use the word description in its Uteral sense : there are passages in some writers, professing to convey ideas of beauty, which are mere inventories, uninteresting alike to the understanding and to the fancy ; too inexact to inform, and too prosaic to excite the imagination. You are doubtless most of you aware, from Lessing's exceUent remarks, that Homer nowhere describes the beauty of Helen ; yet, avoiding aU ineffectual appeal to the eye, he contrives to convey the highest idea to the reader's mind. He teUs us that when the old men, seated on the ramparts of Troy, saw her approach, they said to each other, " No wonder that two nations should have endured a long war with aU its evtis for such a woman, for she equals the immortal goddesses in beauty." * So far is this from being inferior to representation that we can hardly conceive an equivalent representation. This is a weU-known example of the modes in which the Poet can successfuUy describe beautiful objects, even sup- * " Iliad," Book ill. 334 DISCOURSE. posing them to be in a quiescent state ; but when he renders forms or colours mutable he is altogether independent of the plastic arts. Although continuous action is impossible hi those arts, the action which is supposed to be arrested in a passing moment is one of their triumphs. If, therefore, Poetry undertakes to describe visible objects, as such, their change of appearance from one state to another, thefr continuous action, is suggested by the principle above pro posed. The Painter may represent figures or objects tii momentary (wbich means in arrested) action, or in absolute repose ; the Poet generally avoids the repose, and prefers the mutable appearances which take place, more or less rapidly, in time. The poetical descriptions which exemphfy this are in numerable. I select a passage from Dante, which not only indirectly tilustrates the principle, but amounts to a declara tion of the Poet's creed on this point. He speaks of a sleep which overpowered him whUe Ustening to angetic music, and says that if he could describe the sleep which closed the eyes of Argus, when luUed by soft sounds — " then, like painter, That with a model paints, I might design The manner of my falling into sleep. But feign who will the slumber cunningly, I pass it by to when 1 wak'd." * As if he had said : " quiescent appearances may be fit for painting, but the Poet requires the changes which indicate the lapse of time." The principle itseU is sound ; for the rest, the question whether sleeping figures are necessarUy motionless may be answered by Dryden : — " The fanning wind upon her bosom blows ; To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose, "f * Cary's Dante, " Purgatory," canto xxxn. t " Cymon and Iphigenia." DISCOURSE. 335 Thus, when we talk of a " graphic description "ma laudatory sense, we commonly mean a description of a moving picture — a description of successive appearances vividly and aptly represented by successive words ; — we mean, in short, anything but what is strictly graphic ; for a mere description of an immutable appearance would be unsatisfactory, because inferior to Painting. The description of works of Art, wliich are unavoidably quiescent, is, on this account, one of the tests of the Poet's sktil — at least as regards the more or less successful manner in which he transfers those appearances into the domain of his own art ; for I do not remember an mstance of a mere description of a statue or picture, as such, nor can I con ceive anything more unpoetical. Among the excellent modern examples of the kind may be mentioned Byron's, MUman's, and Shee's descriptions of celebrated statues. On turning to those passages, you wtil see how completely independent the poetry is, and yet how worthy of the subjects described. The most ancient instance, often com mented on, is Homer's description of the shield of AchiUes — a description which, as you know, is fuU of continuous action and of quatities unattainable by the formative Arts. One of the most daring examples of the translation, if I may so caU it, of a work of Art into poetic description, occurs in Dante. The Poet is speaking of some sculpture in bas-retief on the white marble base of a precipitous rock. After noticing other representations, he comes to the weU- known subject of Trajan and the widow, which he thus describes : — " There was storied on the rock * * * * Trajan the Emperor. A widow at his bridle stood, attir'd In tears and mourning. Round about them troop'd Full throng of knights j and overhead in gold The eagles floated, struggling with the wind. The wretch appear'd amid all these to say : 336 DISCOURSE. ' Grant vengeance, Sire 1 for, woe beshrew this heart, My son is murder'd.' He replying seem'd : ' Wait now till I return.' And she, as one Made hasty by her grief : ' 0 Sire ! if thou Dost not return ? ' " The dialogue continues : the Emperor teUs her that in that event his successor may avenge her cause. The importunate widow reminds him that it is for him to do right and not to delegate his acknowledged duty to another. The Emperor yields to her argument, saying : — " ' It beseemeth well My duty be perf orm'd ere I move hence : So justice wills, and pity bids me stay.' " The Poet explains the manifest inconsistency of this description of a work in marble, as foUows : — " He, whose ken nothing new surveys, produc'd This visible speaking, new to us and strange, The like not found on earth." * None wtil be disposed to question that fact ; and yet it may be conjectured that Dante had seen something which may at least have suggested this poetic flight. During and before his time, according to Vasari, the practice was adopted, and sometimes abused, of inserting speeches over the heads of painted figures, t The application of this to Sculpture in bas-rehef could be eastiy imagined. With regard to the legitimate poetical artifice of describ ing inanimate or motionless objects by the aid of com parison, it is to be observed that the simile, in such cases, is commonly fuller than the subject which suggested it. In the mere mention of Satan's spear, Milton conveys no image which can degrade the description to a competition with painted still-Ufe, and the Poet's simile removes it alto gether from any rivalry with representation ; — * Cary's Dante, "Purgatory," Canto x. t Vasari, " Vita di Buffalmacco." DISCOURSE. 337 " His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great ammiral, were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marie." * This mode of avoiding the titeral description of in animate objects is stUl more poetical when the simile involves an aUusion to distant time, and to important events : — " It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick, resembling much The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod." t Thus Dante, apropos of nothing but sand, calls up in the reader's mind the long and painful march of the Roman patriot across the desert from Cyrene to Utica. Such are some of the modes in which the description even of quiescent visible objects may be rendered poetical. I now proceed to the consideration of a wider range of resources by means of which Poetry, though still of the class caUed descriptive, may be entirely independent of the plastic arts ; and here Lessing's definition is no longer apphcable. The mode to which I now refer is by addressing the other senses rather than, or together with, the eye. Indeed, after some investigation, I am tempted to conclude, that the prevailing principle with Poets, is to address any sense rather than the eye. I give you some passages from Shakspeare : the foUowing two tines from the Midsummer Night's Dream are remarkable as illustrating much of this principle in a smaU compass : — " And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip'd by my side."J * " Paradise Lost," Book I. t Cary's Dante, " Inferno," Canto xiv. X Act II., Scene 2. 338 DISCOURSE. The " spiced Indian air " is redolent of perfume ; the gossiping is addressed to the ear; "by my side" implies the sense of touch ; "by night " that objects are indistinctly visible ; and " fuU often" indicates the lapse of time. In Shakspeare's descriptions of beauty, it wtil be seen how instinctively he adheres to the quahties which are the exclusive province of Poetry : — " Admir'd Miranda V, y, * * * * * * * Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard, and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear ; for several virtues Have I lik'd several women ; never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd And put it to the foil ; but you, O you So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best." * You will observe in these lines, first an idea of visible perfection without any attempt at the description of visible quahties; and next, a descriptive passage, addressed not to the eye but to another sense. Compare the following description of Desdemona : — " If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me : but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat, That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree, — 0 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword .! " f Here again a vague impression only of visible perfection is conveyed, while the more special idea is not addressed * "Tempest," Act in., Scene 1. f " Othello," Act v., Scene 2. DISCOURSE. 339 to the eye. In a preceding passage, indeed, when OtheUo says — " Yet I'll not shed her blood, Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow : " Sec, We have a visible image ; but that image is contrasted in imagination with another state, thus rendering the descrip tion more poetical. This power of aUuding to an altered appearance, not yet existing, of the object described, is finely illustrated in CampbeU's lines : — " On Linden when the sun was low, All bloodless lay.th' untrodden snow." Milton, in his description of the Garden of Eden, does not disdain the lowest sense, and reclaims the fruit " burnish'd with golden rind " from rivafry with Painting, by adding that it was " of dehcious taste." * It may be added, that the metaphors derived from this sense are numerous in Shakspeare. In accordance with this feehng for the distinctive style of their Art, we find that Poets, in descriptive passages, have frequently dwelt on sounds and perfumes, and on the sense of touch — even as susceptible of the freshness or warmth of the atmosphere— rather than on visible images ; at all events in preference to quiescent forms and appear ances. In the lines of Gray : — " The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-roof 'd shed.f In those of Byron : — " It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard, It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word, And gentle winds and waters near Make music to the lonely ear." J ' Paradise Lost," Book iv. f " Elegy." % Parisina. 340 DISCOURSE. In such passages we recognise the style of poetic de scription; nor less so when Thomson teUs of the leafy luxuriance " Where the birds sing concealed." * When Anacreon directs the "best of painters " to re present the undulating tresses of his fati one, Uke a true poet he requires impossibtiities : — " And if painting have the skill To make the spicy balm distil, Let ev'ry little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gale." f In the description of sounds, Poets are aUve to the charm of what musicians caU crescendo and diminuendo. Thus Scott :— " Some pipe of war Sends the bold pibroch from afar. ***** At first the sounds by distance tame, Mellow'd along the waters came ; And, ling'ring long by cape and bay, Wail'd ev'ry harsher note away. ***** Then bursting bolder on the ear The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear." J In the celebrated lines of Dante (for I pass from gay to grave) which translation cannot fitly render, the un limited duration of the awful sounds described adds to the grandeur of the idea : — " Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans, Resounded through the air pierced by no star, That e'en I wept at ent'ring. Various tongues, Horrible languages, outcries of woe, Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse, With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds, Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stained." § Spring. f Moore's " Anacreon," Ode xvi. J " Lady of the Lake," Canto II. § Cary's Dante, " Inferno," Canto in. DISCOURSE. 341 Dante's predilection for what may be caUed the poetic elements of description is apparent even when he seeks to convey an impression of a scene in Nature. Here is a landscape by him in this taste : — " Forthwith I left the bank ; Along the champain leisurely my way Pursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sides Delicious odour breath'd. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veer'd, Smote on my temples, gently, as a wind Of softest influence ; at which the sprays Obedient all, leaned tremblingly * * Tet were not so disorder'd, but that still Upon their top the feathered quiristers Applied their wonted art, and with full joy Welcom'd those hours of prime." * In most of these instances of the poetic style of descrip tion the sense of vision is not addressed at aU, and undoubtedly the poetry is more exclusively poetry on that account. But I have aUeady shown that the description of visible objects can be quite independent of any un favourable comparison with Painting by a due attention to those poetic conditions which remove it from the character of " speaking picture." I have thus endeavoured, by a reference to an important branch of Poetry, to illustrate the position — that the excel lence of any one of the Fine Arts wtil consist chiefly in those quahties which are unattainable by its rivals. I have dwelt the more on the department I have selected, knowing how much false criticism formerly prevaUed on that subject ; and I have been induced to iUustrate more fully what I beUeve to be the true principle, in order that the method of comparison which I recommend may be more clearly understood and consequently more easUy appUed in other cases. * "Purgatory," Canto xxviii. 342 DISCOURSE. I invite you to pursue this method in your own respec tive Arts. For this purpose you may find it convenient to express the principle in a stiU more comprehensive form : thus — " Things being compared together, theti character and relative exceUence wtil consist chiefly in those qualities which are exclusively thefr own." You wiU first bear in mind that comparisons need not be made between things totally dissimtiar. The point is to distinguish an appear ance or idea from those with which it is, or may be, in danger of being confounded. Thus, in expressing death in Painting or Sculpture, it is plain that what we have to avoid is the appearance of mere sleep. Characteristic plastic expression is one of the touchstones of an Artist's abtitiy, and successful examples become types of theti kind. We recognise the painter of genius in that figure of Ananias ;* the painful manner in which he has faUen on his contorted hand distinguishes the case from any ordi nary faU, and expresses a sudden visitation, even without the evidence of the acts and emotions of the surrounding figures. Turner, knowing the difficulty, as every Painter must, of clearly expressing an idea distinct from any other, was always ready to appreciate examples of success in this particular, whether in old or modern works of Art. He was even an observer of contrivances for the same end on the Stage. He had long maintained that it was not possible to express, on the stage, the bottom of the sea. On hearing that a new attempt of the kind had been made in some pantomime, he inquired particularly what were the means resorted to. Various incidents were enumerated, at which he shook his head. At last he was told that an anchor was lowered from above, by its cable, ttil it rested on the stage. He reflected for a few moments, and then said, "That's conclusive." * Raphael's Cartoon of the Death of Ananias. DISCOURSE. 343 AU ..who are conversant with works of Art, must have frequently noticed the ambiguities in representation which Painters sometimes unconsciously faU into. Nor is Sculp ture free from such possible oversights. The Student should therefore ask himself what the figures he has put together really express. He should divest himself of pre occupations derived from other conceptions of the text he proposes to iUustrate, and should even invite persons ignorant of the subject to say what the figures are doing. It would involve criticism on many works of Art, and would lead to a higher appreciation of others, ti such pro ductions could be described not by theti nominal subjects, but by what they reaUy express. We should sometimes find, on the one hand, that the personages represented were not only unworthy of their names, but that they were acting differently from what the story dictated : on the other hand, we should sometimes find a noble reaUzation, and a world of beauty appreciable by the eye alone, which no verbal eloquence could adequately define. The Poet exercises a power apparently unattainable by the Painter in conveying impressions of objects by means of simties. But let us look more closely into this seemingly exclusive attribute of Poetry. We find that if visible objects in Nature can suggest such' elevating comparisons, the same objects adequately represented in Art may suggest simUar ideas. The superior advantage of the Poet is that he can express the association as weU as the original image, or rather, as we have seen, more fuUy : but it is not the less true that a worthy representation of the original object may .kindle thoughts equivalent, and sometimes superior, to the Poet's similes. The Painter should therefore ask himself, not only what does his representation reaUy teU, but what is each depicted object reaUy like. The best general answer to the second question, in accordance with the doctrine I have endea- 344 DISCOURSE. voured to explain, would be — the object should be Uke its pro totype and like nothing else. But, not to mention that there are appearances in Nature so vague and mutable, that they may almost be said to have a Protean character — such as the forms of clouds and distant mountains which are some times so interchanged as to be agreeably ambiguous — not to dweU on these and such as these, including all the fairy transformations produced by atmosphere and light, we find that common incidents and objects, either under the in fluence of such effects, or in momentary states of beauty, may acqutie a character far beyond theti average reatity ; and when this passing charm is caught and expressed in Art, such appearances reaUy suggest poetic simties quite as much as the original phenomena, and with this addi tional recommendation, that the causes of the impressions are permanent. We aU know how readtiy finely coloured pictures are compared to the purity of the pearl, the bloom of flowers and fruits, and the sparkle of gems ; and we know that the imitation of the most common substances is sometimes felt to convey ideas of splendour, transparency, and harmony which suggest the most enthusiastic com parisons. We also know that in condemning false colour mg, we say it is tike clay, or brickdust, or mud. It is plain then that the world of simties is involuntarily resorted to in our judgment of depicted objects no less than in defining our impressions of Nature. It may at first appear a truism to assert that things totaUy dissimUar are in no danger of being confounded. The caution is indeed almost unnecessary with regard to forms, but less so with regard to effects of colour and Ught. Things very dissimUar in form may be so treated that theti consistence, texture, and superficial quahties may be more or less confounded. For want of this discrimination, we sometimes see flesh that resembles porcelain, metallic drapery, soft rocks, and woolly armour. I again except DISCOURSE. 345 those Protean appearances in Nature before noticed, the mutabtiity of wbich is in fact theti characteristic. If the foregoing positions are just, it may be inferred that the representations of Art should always be either equivalent or superior to the object or idea intended to be embodied : further, that the superiority of Art to average Nature cannot be attained by exaggeration, but by the selection of favourable and sometimes momentary states. The criterion thus proposed would, in its appUcation, apparently condemn many a celebrated work. We shall find, however, that it sufficiently accords with the verdict of time ; for no Pamter has achieved an enduring reputa tion who has not embodied truth in some sense — truth either ordinary or rare, either famtiiar or exquisite, or both — in some department of the Art. One of the uses of a comparison of the different Arts is to guard each against the undue influence of the rest. As regards Painting there seems, at present, to be Uttle necessity for any caution of this kind. Since the beginning of the century, when a Continental School was led into an exaggerated imitation of Sculpture, there has been a universal reaction, and the instances were rare of any of our own Artists being infected by the classic mania. The influence of Poetry has been more apparent, and at one time superinduced a vague and fantastic element which threatened the sotidity and independence of our School in an opposite way. At present there is no complaint to be made of a leaning to either excess. The pecuharities which exist in Painting vibrate, at aU events, withm the Umits of the Art, and are characterised by opposition to other modes of Painting, rather than by a questionable adaptation of the attributes of the other Arts. I observe, in conclusion, that the principle of distinctive character, as I have endeavoured to explain it, is not with out a personal, and, in some sense, a moral appUcation. A A 346 DISCOURSE. If the perfection of the Fine Arts depends on thefr de veloping, each for itself, the capabiUties which belong to it — tf nothing is gained, and if much may be lost by any one of them assuming the attributes of another; so the advanced Student, in aiming at distinction, should learn to be true to himself. For, if he seeks to be what he is not, to adopt the thoughts, the predilections, and the practice of others, without sometimes retiring mto himself and com muning with his own heart, his works wtil either be without character, or may be contaminated by affectation. 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