{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29906/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29906","id":"gutenberg_29906","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29906","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics","Category: Art","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Painting"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Marius Borror and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's notes: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they\nare listed at the end of the text.\n\nChapter headings were originally constructed as side-notes. They were\nplaced here at the head of their respective paragraphs, and moved to\nparagraph's start where given at paragraph's middle. See HTML version\nfor the original headers placement.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: LANDSCAPE FROM A PAINTING BY J. M. W. TURNER]\n\n\n Library Edition\n\n THE COMPLETE WORKS\n\n OF\n\n JOHN RUSKIN\n\n\n MODERN PAINTERS\n VOLUME II--OF TRUTH AND THEORETIC\n FACULTIES\n _Volume III_--OF MANY THINGS\n\n\n NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION\n NEW YORK CHICAGO\n\n\n\n\n MODERN PAINTERS.\n\n VOLUME II.,\n\n CONTAINING\n\n PART III.,\n\n SECTIONS I. AND II.\n\n OF THE IMAGINATIVE AND THEORETIC FACULTIES.\n\n\n\n\n SYNOPSIS OF CONTENTS.\n\n PART III.\n\n OF IDEAS OF BEAUTY.\n\n\n\n SECTION I.\n\n OF THE THEORETIC FACULTY.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.--Of the Rank and Relations of the Theoretic Faculty.\n PAGE\n Sec. 1. With what care the subject is to be approached. 1\n Sec. 2. And of what importance considered. 2\n Sec. 3. The doubtful force of the term \"utility\". 3\n Sec. 4. Its proper sense. 4\n Sec. 5. How falsely applied in these times. 4\n Sec. 6. The evil consequences of such interpretation. How connected\n with national power. 5\n Sec. 7. How to be averted. 6\n Sec. 8. Division of the pursuits of men into subservient and objective. 8\n Sec. 9. Their relative dignities. 10\n Sec. 10. How reversed through erring notions of the contemplative\n and imaginative faculties. 10\n Sec. 11. Object of the present section. 11\n\n\nCHAPTER II.--Of the Theoretic Faculty as concerned with Pleasures of\n Sense.\n\n Sec. 1. Explanation of the term \"theoretic\". 12\n Sec. 2. Of the differences of rank in pleasures of sense. 12\n Sec. 3. Use of the terms Temperate and Intemperate. 13\n Sec. 4. Right use of the term \"intemperate\". 13\n Sec. 5. Grounds of inferiority in the pleasures which are subjects of\n intemperance. 14\n Sec. 6. Evidence of higher rank in pleasures of sight and hearing. 15\n Sec. 7. How the lower pleasures may be elevated in rank. 16\n Sec. 8. Ideas of beauty how essentially moral. 17\n Sec. 9. How degraded by heartless reception. 17\n Sec. 10. How exalted by affection. 18\n\n\nCHAPTER III.--Of Accuracy and Inaccuracy in Impressions of Sense.\n\n Sec. 1. By what test is the health of the perceptive faculty to be\n determined? 19\n Sec. 2. And in what sense may the terms Right and Wrong be attached\n to its conclusions? 20\n Sec. 3. What power we have over impressions of sense. 21\n Sec. 4. Depends on acuteness of attention. 21\n Sec. 5. Ultimate conclusions universal. 22\n Sec. 6. What duty is attached to this power over impressions of sense. 22\n Sec. 7. How rewarded. 23\n Sec. 8. Especially with respect to ideas of beauty. 23\n Sec. 9. Errors induced by the power of habit. 24\n Sec. 10. The necessity of submission in early stages of judgment. 24\n Sec. 11. The large scope of matured judgment. 25\n Sec. 12. How distinguishable from false taste. 25\n Sec. 13. The danger of a spirit of choice. 26\n Sec. 14. And criminality. 27\n Sec. 15. How certain conclusions respecting beauty are by reason\n demonstrable. 27\n Sec. 16. With what liabilities to error. 28\n Sec. 17. The term \"beauty\" how limitable in the outset. Divided\n into typical and vital. 28\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.--Of False Opinions held concerning Beauty.\n\n Sec. 1. Of the false opinion that truth is beauty, and vice versa. 30\n Sec. 2. Of the false opinion that beauty is usefulness. Compare\n Chap. xii. Sec. 5. 31\n Sec. 3. Of the false opinion that beauty results from custom. Compare\n Chap. vi. Sec. 1. 31\n Sec. 4. The twofold operation of custom. It deadens sensation, but\n confirms affection. 31\n Sec. 5. But never either creates or destroys the essence of beauty. 32\n Sec. 6. Instances. 32\n Sec. 7. Of the false opinion that beauty depends on the association of\n ideas. 33\n Sec. 8. Association. Is, 1st, rational. It is of no efficiency as a\n cause of beauty. 33\n Sec. 9. Association accidental. The extent of its influence. 34\n Sec. 10. The dignity of its function. 35\n Sec. 11. How it is connected with impressions of beauty. 36\n Sec. 12. And what caution it renders necessary in the examination of\n them. 36\n\n\nCHAPTER V.--Of Typical Beauty:--First, of Infinity, or the Type of\n Divine Incomprehensibility.\n\n Sec. 1. Impossibility of adequately treating the subject. 38\n Sec. 2. With what simplicity of feeling to be approached. 38\n Sec. 3. The child instinct respecting space. 39\n Sec. 4. Continued in after life. 40\n Sec. 5. Whereto this instinct is traceable. 40\n Sec. 6. Infinity how necessary in art. 41\n Sec. 7. Conditions of its necessity. 42\n Sec. 8. And connected analogies. 42\n Sec. 9. How the dignity of treatment is proportioned to the expression\n of infinity. 43\n Sec. 10. Examples among the Southern schools. 44\n Sec. 11. Among the Venetians. 44\n Sec. 12. Among the painters of landscape. 45\n Sec. 13. Other modes in which the power of infinity is felt. 45\n Sec. 14. The beauty of curvature. 46\n Sec. 15. How constant in external nature. 46\n Sec. 16. The beauty of gradation. 47\n Sec. 17. How found in nature. 47\n Sec. 18. How necessary in Art. 48\n Sec. 19. Infinity not rightly implied by vastness. 49\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.--Of Unity, or the Type of the Divine Comprehensiveness.\n\n Sec. 1. The general conception of divine Unity. 50\n Sec. 2. The glory of all things is their Unity. 50\n Sec. 3. The several kinds of unity. Subjectional. Original. Of\n sequence, and of membership. 51\n Sec. 4 Unity of membership. How secured. 52\n Sec. 5. Variety. Why required. 53\n Sec. 6. Change, and its influence on beauty. 54\n Sec. 7. The love of change. How morbid and evil. 55\n Sec. 8. The conducing of variety towards unity of subjection. 55\n Sec. 9. And towards unity of sequence. 57\n Sec. 10. The nature of proportion. 1st, of apparent proportion. 57\n Sec. 11. The value of apparent proportion in curvature. 60\n Sec. 12. How by nature obtained. 61\n Sec. 13. Apparent proportion in melodies of line. 61\n Sec. 14. Error of Burke in this matter. 62\n Sec. 15. Constructive proportion. Its influence in plants. 63\n Sec. 16. And animals. 64\n Sec. 17. Summary. 64\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.--Of Repose, or the Type of Divine Permanence.\n\n Sec. 1. Universal feeling respecting the necessity of repose in art.\n Its sources. 65\n Sec. 2. Repose how expressed in matter. 66\n Sec. 3. The necessity to repose of an implied energy. 66\n Sec. 4. Mental repose, how noble. 67\n Sec. 5. Its universal value as a test of art. 68\n Sec. 6. Instances in the Laocoon and Theseus. 69\n Sec. 7. And in altar tombs. 70\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.--Of Symmetry, or the Type of Divine Justice.\n\n Sec. 1. Symmetry, what and how found in organic nature. 72\n Sec. 2. How necessary in art. 72\n Sec. 3. To what its agreeableness is referable. Various instances. 73\n Sec. 4. Especially in religious art. 73\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.--Of Purity, or the Type of Divine Energy.\n\n Sec. 1. The influence of light as a sacred symbol. 75\n Sec. 2. The idea of purity connected with it. 75\n Sec. 3. Originally derived from conditions of matter. 76\n Sec. 4. Associated ideas adding to the power of the impression.\n Influence of clearness. 76\n Sec. 5. Perfect beauty of surface, in what consisting. 77\n Sec. 6. Purity only metaphorically a type of sinlessness. 78\n Sec. 7. Energy, how expressed by purity of matter. 79\n Sec. 8. And of color. 79\n Sec. 9. Spirituality, how so expressed. 79\n\n\nCHAPTER X.--Of Moderation, or the Type of Government by Law.\n\n Sec. 1. Meaning of the terms Chasteness and Refinement. 81\n Sec. 2. How referable to temporary fashions. 81\n Sec. 3. How to the perception of completion. 81\n Sec. 4. Finish, by great masters esteemed essential. 82\n Sec. 5. Moderation, its nature and value. 84\n Sec. 6. It is the girdle of beauty. 84\n Sec. 7. How found in natural curves and colors. 84\n Sec. 8. How difficult of attainment, yet essential to all good. 85\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.--General Inferences respecting Typical Beauty.\n\n Sec. 1. The subject incompletely treated, yet admitting of general\n conclusions. 86\n Sec. 2. Typical beauty not created for man's sake. 87\n Sec. 3. But degrees of it for his sake admitted. 87\n Sec. 4. What encouragement hence to be received. 87\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.--Of Vital Beauty:--First, as Relative.\n\n Sec. 1. Transition from typical to vital Beauty. 89\n Sec. 2. The perfection of the theoretic faculty as concerned with\n vital beauty, is charity. 90\n Sec. 3. Only with respect to plants, less affection than sympathy. 91\n Sec. 4. Which is proportioned to the appearance of energy in the\n plants. 92\n Sec. 5. This sympathy is unselfish, and does not regard utility. 93\n Sec. 6. Especially with respect to animals. 94\n Sec. 7. And it is destroyed by evidences of mechanism. 95\n Sec. 8. The second perfection of the theoretic faculty as concerned\n with life is justice of moral judgment. 96\n Sec. 9. How impeded. 97\n Sec. 10. The influence of moral signs in expression. 97\n Sec. 11. As also in plants. 99\n Sec. 12. Recapitulation. 100\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.--Of Vital Beauty:--Secondly, as Generic.\n\n Sec. 1. The beauty of fulfilment of appointed function in every\n animal. 101\n Sec. 2. The two senses of the word \"ideal.\" Either it refers to\n action of the imagination. 102\n Sec. 3. Or to perfection of type. 103\n Sec. 4. This last sense how inaccurate, yet to be retained. 103\n Sec. 5. Of Ideal form. First, in the lower animals. 104\n Sec. 6. In what consistent. 104\n Sec. 7. Ideal form in vegetables. 105\n Sec. 8. The difference of position between plants and animals. 105\n Sec. 9. Admits of variety in the ideal of the former. 106\n Sec. 10. Ideal form in vegetables destroyed by cultivation. 107\n Sec. 11. Instance in the Soldanella and Ranunculus. 108\n Sec. 12. The beauty of repose and felicity, how consistent with such\n ideal. 108\n Sec. 13. The ideality of Art. 109\n Sec. 14. How connected with the imaginative faculties. 109\n Sec. 15. Ideality, how belonging to ages and conditions. 110\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.--Of Vital Beauty:--Thirdly, in Man.\n\n Sec. 1. Condition of the human creature entirely different from that\n of the lower animals. 111\n Sec. 2. What room here for idealization. 111\n Sec. 3. How the conception of the bodily ideal is reached. 112\n Sec. 4. Modifications of the bodily ideal owing to influence of mind.\n First, of intellect. 113\n Sec. 5. Secondly, of the moral feelings. 113\n Sec. 6. What beauty is bestowed by them. 115\n Sec. 7. How the soul culture interferes harmfully with the bodily\n ideal. 115\n Sec. 8. The inconsistency among the effects of the mental virtues on\n the form. 116\n Sec. 9. Is a sign of God's kind purpose towards the race. 116\n Sec. 10. Consequent separation and difference of ideals. 117\n Sec. 11. The _effects_ of the Adamite curse are to be\n distinguished from signs of its immediate activity. 118\n Sec. 12. Which latter only are to be banished from ideal form. 118\n Sec. 13. Ideal form is only to be obtained by portraiture. 119\n Sec. 14. Instances among the greater of the ideal Masters. 119\n Sec. 15. Evil results of opposite practice in modern times. 120\n Sec. 16. The right use of the model. 121\n Sec. 17. Ideal form to be reached only by love. 121\n Sec. 18. Practical principles deducible. 122\n Sec. 19. Expressions chiefly destructive of ideal character. 1st,\n Pride. 122\n Sec. 20. Portraiture ancient and modern. 123\n Sec. 21. Secondly, Sensuality. 123\n Sec. 22. How connected with impurity of color. 124\n Sec. 23. And prevented by its splendor. 124\n Sec. 24. Or by severity of drawing. 125\n Sec. 25. Degrees of descent in this respect: Rubens, Correggio, and\n Guido. 125\n Sec. 26. And modern art. 126\n Sec. 27. Thirdly, ferocity and fear. The latter how to be distinguished\n from awe. 126\n Sec. 28. Holy fear, how distinct from human terror. 127\n Sec. 29. Ferocity is joined always with fear. Its unpardonableness. 127\n Sec. 30. Such expressions how sought by painters powerless and impious. 128\n Sec. 31. Of passion generally. 129\n Sec. 32. It is never to be for itself exhibited--at least on the face. 130\n Sec. 33. Recapitulation. 131\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.--General Conclusions respecting the Theoretic Faculty.\n\n Sec. 1. There are no sources of the emotion of beauty more than those\n found in things visible. 133\n Sec. 2. What imperfection exists in visible things. How in a sort by\n imagination removable. 134\n Sec. 3. Which however affects not our present conclusions. 134\n Sec. 4. The four sources from which the pleasure of beauty is derived\n are all divine. 134\n Sec. 5. What objections may be made to this conclusion. 135\n Sec. 6. Typical beauty may be aesthetically pursued. Instances. 135\n Sec. 7. How interrupted by false feeling. 136\n Sec. 8. Greatness and truth are sometimes by the Deity sustained and\n spoken in and through evil men. 137\n Sec. 9. The second objection arising from the coldness of Christian\n men to external beauty. 138\n Sec. 10. Reasons for this coldness in the anxieties of the world. These\n anxieties overwrought and criminal. 139\n Sec. 11. Evil consequences of such coldness. 140\n Sec. 12. Theoria the service of Heaven. 140\n\n\n\n\n SECTION II.\n\n OF THE IMAGINATIVE FACULTY.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.--Of the Three Forms of Imagination.\n\n Sec. 1. A partial examination only of the imagination is to be\n attempted. 142\n Sec. 2. The works of the metaphysicians how nugatory with respect\n to this faculty. 143\n Sec. 3. The definition of D. Stewart, how inadequate. 143\n Sec. 4. This instance nugatory. 144\n Sec. 5. Various instances. 145\n Sec. 6. The three operations of the imagination. Penetrative,\n associative, contemplative. 146\n\n\nCHAPTER II.--Of Imagination Associative.\n\n Sec. 1. Of simple conception. 147\n Sec. 2. How connected with verbal knowledge. 148\n Sec. 3. How used in composition. 148\n Sec. 4. Characteristics of composition. 149\n Sec. 5. What powers are implied by it. The first of the three\n functions of fancy. 150\n Sec. 6. Imagination not yet manifested. 150\n Sec. 7. Imagination is the correlative conception of imperfect\n component parts. 151\n Sec. 8. Material analogy with imagination. 151\n Sec. 9. The grasp and dignity of imagination. 152\n Sec. 10. Its limits. 153\n Sec. 11. How manifested in treatment of uncertain relations. Its\n deficiency illustrated. 154\n Sec. 12. Laws of art, the safeguard of the unimaginative. 155\n Sec. 13. Are by the imaginative painter despised. Tests of imagination. 155\n Sec. 14. The monotony of unimaginative treatment. 156\n Sec. 15. Imagination never repeats itself. 157\n Sec. 16. Relation of the imaginative faculty to the theoretic. 157\n Sec. 17. Modification of its manifestation. 158\n Sec. 18. Instances of absence of imagination.--Claude, Gaspar Poussin. 158\n Sec. 19. Its presence.--Salvator, Nicolo Poussin, Titian, Tintoret. 159\n Sec. 20. And Turner. 160\n Sec. 21. The due function of Associative imagination with respect to\n nature. 161\n Sec. 22. The sign of imaginative work is its appearance of absolute\n truth. 161\n\n\nCHAPTER III.--Of Imagination Penetrative.\n\n Sec. 1. Imagination penetrative is concerned not with the combining\n but apprehending of things. 163\n Sec. 2. Milton's and Dante's description of flame. 163\n Sec. 3. The imagination seizes always by the innermost point. 164\n Sec. 4. It acts intuitively and without reasoning. 165\n Sec. 5. Signs of it in language. 165\n Sec. 6. Absence of imagination, how shown. 166\n Sec. 7. Distinction between imagination and fancy. 166\n Sec. 8. Fancy how involved with imagination. 168\n Sec. 9. Fancy is never serious. 169\n Sec. 10. Want of seriousness the bar to high art at the present time. 169\n Sec. 11. Imagination is quiet; fancy, restless. 170\n Sec. 12. The detailing operation of fancy. 170\n Sec. 13. And suggestive, of the imagination. 171\n Sec. 14. This suggestiveness how opposed to vacancy. 172\n Sec. 15. Imagination addresses itself to imagination. 173\n Instances from the works of Tintoret. 173\n Sec. 16. The entombment. 174\n Sec. 17. The Annunciation. 174\n Sec. 18. The Baptism of Christ. Its treatment by various painters. 176\n Sec. 19. By Tintoret. 177\n Sec. 20. The Crucifixion. 178\n Sec. 21. The Massacre of innocents. 179\n Sec. 22. Various works in the Scuola di San Rocco. 181\n Sec. 23. The Last Judgment. How treated by various painters. 181\n Sec. 24. By Tintoret. 182\n Sec. 25. The imaginative verity, how distinguished from realism. 183\n Sec. 26. The imagination how manifested in sculpture. 184\n Sec. 27. Bandinelli, Canova, Mino da Fiesole. 184\n Sec. 28. Michael Angelo. 185\n Sec. 29. Recapitulation. The perfect function of the imagination is\n the intuitive perception of ultimate truth. 188\n Sec. 30. Imagination how vulgarly understood. 190\n Sec. 31. How its cultivation is dependent on the moral feelings. 190\n Sec. 32. On independence of mind. 191\n Sec. 33. And on habitual reference to nature. 191\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.--Of Imagination Contemplative.\n\n Sec. 1. Imagination contemplative is not part of the essence, but only\n a habit or mode of the faculty. 192\n Sec. 2. The ambiguity of conception. 192\n Sec. 3. Is not in itself capable of adding to the charm of fair\n things. 193\n Sec. 4. But gives to the imagination its regardant power over them. 194\n Sec. 5. The third office of fancy distinguished from imagination\n contemplative. 195\n Sec. 6. Various instances. 197\n Sec. 7. Morbid or nervous fancy. 200\n Sec. 8. The action of contemplative imagination is not to be expressed\n by art. 201\n Sec. 9. Except under narrow limits.--1st. Abstract rendering of\n form without color. 201\n Sec. 10. Of color without form. 202\n Sec. 11. Or of both without texture. 202\n Sec. 12. Abstraction or typical representation of animal form. 203\n Sec. 13. Either when it is symbolically used. 204\n Sec. 14. Or in architectural decoration. 205\n Sec. 15. Exception in delicate and superimposed ornament. 206\n Sec. 16. Abstraction necessary from imperfection of materials. 206\n Sec. 17. Abstractions of things capable of varied accident are not\n imaginative. 207\n Sec. 18. Yet sometimes valuable. 207\n Sec. 19. Exaggeration. Its laws and limits. First, in scale of\n representation. 208\n Sec. 20. Secondly, of things capable of variety of scale. 209\n Sec. 21. Thirdly, necessary in expression of characteristic features on\n diminished scale. 210\n Sec. 22. Recapitulation. 211\n\n\nCHAPTER V.--Of the Superhuman Ideal.\n\n Sec. 1. The subject is not to be here treated in detail. 212\n Sec. 2. The conceivable modes of manifestation of Spiritual Beings\n are four. 212\n Sec. 3. And these are in or through creature forms familiar to us. 213\n Sec. 4. Supernatural character may be impressed on these either by\n phenomena inconsistent with their common nature (compare\n Chap. iv. Sec. 16). 213\n Sec. 5. Or by inherent Dignity. 213\n Sec. 6. 1st. Of the expression of inspiration. 214\n Sec. 7. No representation of that which is more than creature is\n possible. 215\n Sec. 8. Supernatural character expressed by modification of\n accessories. 216\n Sec. 9. Landscape of the religious painters. Its character is\n eminently symmetrical. 217\n Sec. 10. Landscape of Benozzo Gozzoli. 217\n Sec. 11. Landscape of Perugino and Raffaelle. 218\n Sec. 12. Such Landscape is not to be imitated. 218\n Sec. 13. Color, and Decoration. Their use in representations of the\n Supernatural. 219\n Sec. 14. Decoration so used must be generic. 220\n Sec. 15. And color pure. 220\n Sec. 16. Ideal form of the body itself, of what variety susceptible. 221\n Sec. 17. Anatomical development how far admissible. 221\n Sec. 18. Symmetry. How valuable. 221\n Sec. 19. The influence of Greek art, how dangerous. 222\n Sec. 20. Its scope, how limited. 223\n Sec. 21. Conclusion. 224\n\n\nADDENDA. 225\n\n\n\n\n LIST OF PLATES TO VOLUME II.\n\n\n\n _Page._\n\n Court of the Ducal Palace, Venice 10\n From a drawing by Ruskin.\n\n Tomb of the Ilaria di Caretto, Lucca 72\n From a photograph.\n\n The Adoration of the Magi 158\n From a painting by Ruskin, after Tintoret.\n\n Study of Stone Pine, at Sestri 198\n From a drawing by Ruskin.\n\n\n\n\n PART III.\n\n OF IDEAS OF BEAUTY.\n\n SECTION I.\n\n OF THE THEORETIC FACULTY.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER I.\n\n OF THE RANK AND RELATIONS OF THE THEORETIC FACULTY.\n\n\nSec. 1. With what care the subject is to be approached.\n\nAlthough the hasty execution and controversial tone of the former\nportions of this essay have been subjects of frequent regret to the\nwriter, yet the one was in some measure excusable in a work referred to\na temporary end, and the other unavoidable, in one directed against\nparticular opinions. Nor are either of any necessary detriment to its\navailableness as a foundation for more careful and extended survey, in\nso far as its province was confined to the assertion of obvious and\nvisible facts, the verification of which could in no degree be dependent\neither on the care with which they might be classed, or the temper in\nwhich they were regarded. Not so with respect to the investigation now\nbefore us, which, being not of things outward, and sensibly\ndemonstrable, but of the value and meaning of mental impressions, must\nbe entered upon with a modesty and cautiousness proportioned to the\ndifficulty of determining the likeness, or community of such\nimpressions, as they are received by different men, and with seriousness\nproportioned to the importance of rightly regarding those faculties over\nwhich we have moral power, and therefore in relation to which we\nassuredly incur a moral responsibility. There is not the thing left to\nthe choice of man to do or not to do, but there is some sort of degree\nof duty involved in his determination; and by how much the more,\ntherefore, our subject becomes embarrassed by the cross influences of\nvariously admitted passion, administered discipline, or encouraged\naffection, upon the minds of men, by so much the more it becomes matter\nof weight and import to observe by what laws we should be guided, and of\nwhat responsibilities regardful, in all that we admit, administer, or\nencourage.\n\n\nSec. 2. And of what importance considered.\n\nNor indeed have I ever, even in the preceding sections, spoken with\nlevity, though sometimes perhaps with rashness. I have never treated the\nsubject as other than demanding heedful and serious examination, and\ntaking high place among those which justify as they reward our utmost\nardor and earnestness of pursuit. That it justifies them must be my\npresent task to prove; that it demands them has never been doubted. Art,\nproperly so called, is no recreation; it cannot be learned at spare\nmoments, nor pursued when we have nothing better to do. It is no\nhandiwork for drawing-room tables; no relief of the ennui of boudoirs;\nit must be understood and undertaken seriously or not at all. To advance\nit men's lives must be given, and to receive it their hearts. \"Le\npeintre Rubens s'amuse a etre ambassadeur,\" said one with whom, but for\nhis own words, we might have thought that effort had been absorbed in\npower, and the labor of his art in its felicity.--\"E faticoso lo studio\ndella pittura, et sempre si fa il mare maggiore,\" said he, who of all\nmen was least likely to have left us discouraging report of anything\nthat majesty of intellect could grasp, or continuity of labor\novercome.[1] But that this labor, the necessity of which in all ages has\nbeen most frankly admitted by the greatest men, is justifiable in a\nmoral point of view, that it is not the pouring out of men's lives upon\nthe ground, that it has functions of usefulness addressed to the\nweightiest of human interests, and that the objects of it have calls\nupon us which it is inconsistent alike with our human dignity and our\nheavenward duty to disobey--has never been boldly asserted nor fairly\nadmitted; least of all is it likely to be so in these days of dispatch\nand display, where vanity, on the one side, supplies the place of that\nlove of art which is the only effective patronage, and on the other, of\nthe incorruptible and earnest pride which no applause, no reprobation,\ncan blind to its shortcomings nor beguile of its hope.\n\nAnd yet it is in the expectation of obtaining at least a partial\nacknowledgment of this, as a truth influential both of aim and conduct,\nthat I enter upon the second division of my subject. The time I have\nalready devoted to the task I should have considered altogether\ninordinate, and that which I fear may be yet required for its completion\nwould have been cause to me of utter discouragement, but that the object\nI propose to myself is of no partial nor accidental importance. It is\nnot now to distinguish between disputed degrees of ability in\nindividuals, or agreeableness in canvases, it is not now to expose the\nignorance or defend the principles of party or person. It is to summon\nthe moral energies of the nation to a forgotten duty, to display the\nuse, force, and function of a great body of neglected sympathies and\ndesires, and to elevate to its healthy and beneficial operation that art\nwhich, being altogether addressed to them, rises or falls with their\nvariableness of vigor,--now leading them with Tyrtaean fire, now singing\nthem to sleep with baby murmurings.\n\n\nSec. 3. The doubtful force of the term \"utility.\"\n\nOnly as I fear that with many of us the recommendation of our own\nfavorite pursuits is rooted more in conceit of ourselves, than affection\ntowards others, so that sometimes in our very pointing of the way, we\nhad rather that the intricacy of it should be admired than unfolded,\nwhence a natural distrust of such recommendation may well have place in\nthe minds of those who have not yet perceived any value in the thing\npraised, and because also, men in the present century understand the\nword Useful in a strange way, or at least (for the word has been often\nso accepted from the beginning of time) since in these days, they act\nits more limited meaning farther out, and give to it more practical\nweight and authority, it will be well in the outset that I define\nexactly what kind of utility I mean to attribute to art, and especially\nto that branch of it which is concerned with those impressions of\nexternal beauty whose nature it is our present object to discover.\n\n\nSec. 4. Its proper sense.\n\nThat is to everything created, pre-eminently useful, which enables it\nrightly and fully to perform the functions appointed to it by its\nCreator. Therefore, that we may determine what is chiefly useful to man,\nit is necessary first to determine the use of man himself.\n\nMan's use and function (and let him who will not grant me this follow me\nno farther, for this I purpose always to assume) is to be the witness of\nthe glory of God, and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience\nand resultant happiness.\n\nWhatever enables us to fulfil this function, is in the pure and first\nsense of the word useful to us. Pre-eminently therefore whatever sets\nthe glory of God more brightly before us. But things that only help us\nto exist, are in a secondary and mean sense, useful, or rather, if they\nbe looked for alone, they are useless and worse, for it would be better\nthat we should not exist, than that we should guiltily disappoint the\npurposes of existence.\n\n\nSec. 5. How falsely applied in these times.\n\nAnd yet people speak in this working age, when they speak from their\nhearts, as if houses, and lands, and food, and raiment were alone\nuseful, and as if sight, thought, and admiration,[2] were all\nprofitless, so that men insolently call themselves Utilitarians, who\nwould turn, if they had their way, themselves and their race into\nvegetables; men who think, as far as such can be said to think, that the\nmeat is more than the life, and the raiment than the body, who look to\nthe earth as a stable, and to its fruit as fodder; vinedressers and\nhusbandmen, who love the corn they grind, and the grapes they crush,\nbetter than the gardens of the angels upon the slopes of Eden; hewers of\nwood and drawers of water, who think that the wood they hew and the\nwater they draw, are better than the pine-forests that cover the\nmountains like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers that move\nlike his eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the preacher, that\nthough God \"hath made everything beautiful in his time, also he hath set\nthe world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God\nmaketh from the beginning to the end.\"\n\n\nSec. 6. The evil consequences of such interpretation. How connected with\n national power.\n\nThis Nebuchadnezzar curse, that sends us to grass like oxen, seems to\nfollow but too closely on the excess or continuance of national power\nand peace. In the perplexities of nations, in their struggles for\nexistence, in their infancy, their impotence, or even their\ndisorganization, they have higher hopes and nobler passions. Out of the\nsuffering comes the serious mind; out of the salvation, the grateful\nheart; out of the endurance, the fortitude; out of the deliverance, the\nfaith; but now when they have learned to live under providence of laws,\nand with decency and justice of regard for each other; and when they\nhave done away with violent and external sources of suffering, worse\nevils seem arising out of their rest, evils that vex less and mortify\nmore, that suck the blood though they do not shed it, and ossify the\nheart though they do not torture it. And deep though the causes of\nthankfulness must be to every people at peace with others and at unity\nin itself, there are causes of fear also, a fear greater than of sword\nand sedition; that dependence on God may be forgotten because the bread\nis given and the water is sure, that gratitude to him may cease because\nhis constancy of protection has taken the semblance of a natural law,\nthat heavenly hope may grow faint amidst the full fruition of the world,\nthat selfishness may take place of undemanded devotion, compassion be\nlost in vain-glory, and love in dissimulation,[3] that enervation may\nsucceed to strength, apathy to patience, and the noise of jesting words\nand foulness of dark thoughts, to the earnest purity of the girded loins\nand the burning lamp. About the river of human life there is a wintry\nwind, though a heavenly sunshine; the iris colors its agitation, the\nfrost fixes upon its repose. Let us beware that our rest become not the\nrest of stones, which so long as they are torrent-tossed, and\nthunder-stricken, maintain their majesty, but when the stream is silent,\nand the storm passed, suffer the grass to cover them and the lichen to\nfeed on them, and are ploughed down into dust.\n\n\nSec. 7. How to be averted.\n\nAnd though I believe that we have salt enough of ardent and holy mind\namongst us to keep us in some measure from this moral decay, yet the\nsigns of it must be watched with anxiety, in all matter however trivial,\nin all directions however distant. And at this time, when the iron roads\nare tearing up the surface of Europe, as grapeshot do the sea, when\ntheir great sagene is drawing and twitching the ancient frame and\nstrength of England together, contracting all its various life, its\nrocky arms and rural heart, into a narrow, finite, calculating\nmetropolis of manufactures, when there is not a monument throughout the\ncities of Europe, that speaks of old years and mighty people, but it is\nbeing swept away to build cafes and gaming-houses;[4] when the honor of\nGod is thought to consist in the poverty of his temple, and the column\nis shortened, and the pinnacle shattered, the color denied to the\ncasement, and the marble to the altar, while exchequers are exhausted in\nluxury of boudoirs, and pride of reception-rooms; when we ravage without\na pause all the loveliness of creation which God in giving pronounced\ngood, and destroy without a thought all those labors which men have\ngiven their lives, and their sons' sons' lives to complete, and have\nleft for a legacy to all their kind, a legacy of more than their hearts'\nblood, for it is of their souls' travail, there is need, bitter need, to\nbring back, if we may, into men's minds, that to live is nothing,\nunless to live be to know Him by whom we live, and that he is not to be\nknown by marring his fair works, and blotting out the evidence of his\ninfluences upon his creatures, not amid the hurry of crowds and crash of\ninnovation, but in solitary places, and out of the glowing intelligences\nwhich he gave to men of old. He did not teach them how to build for\nglory and for beauty, he did not give them the fearless, faithful,\ninherited energies that worked on and down from death to death,\ngeneration after generation, that we, foul and sensual as we are, might\ngive the carved work of their poured-out spirit to the axe and the\nhammer; he has not cloven the earth with rivers, that their white wild\nwaves might turn wheels and push paddles, nor turned it up under as it\nwere fire, that it might heat wells and cure diseases; he brings not up\nhis quails by the east wind, only to let them fall in flesh about the\ncamp of men: he has not heaped the rocks of the mountain only for the\nquarry, nor clothed the grass of the field only for the oven.\n\n\nSec. 8. Division of the pursuits of men into subservient and objective.\n\nAll science and all art may be divided into that which is subservient to\nlife, and which is the object of it. As subservient to life, or\npractical, their results are, in the common sense of the word, useful.\nAs the object of life or theoretic, they are, in the common sense,\nuseless; and yet the step between practical and theoretic science is the\nstep between the miner and the geologist, the apothecary and the\nchemist; and the step between practical and theoretic art is that\nbetween the bricklayer and the architect, between the plumber and the\nartist, and this is a step allowed on all hands to be from less to\ngreater; so that the so-called useless part of each profession does by\nthe authoritative and right instinct of mankind assume the superior and\nmore noble place, even though books be sometimes written, and that by\nwriters of no ordinary mind, which assume that a chemist is rewarded for\nthe years of toil which have traced the greater part of the combinations\nof matter to their ultimate atoms, by discovering a cheap way of\nrefining sugar, and date the eminence of the philosopher, whose life has\nbeen spent in the investigation of the laws of light, from the time of\nhis inventing an improvement in spectacles.\n\nBut the common consent of men proves and accepts the proposition, that\nwhatever part of any pursuit ministers to the bodily comforts, and\nadmits of material uses, is ignoble, and whatsoever part is addressed to\nthe mind only, is noble; and that geology does better in reclothing dry\nbones and revealing lost creations, than in tracing veins of lead and\nbeds of iron; astronomy better in opening to us the houses of heaven\nthan in teaching navigation; botany better in displaying structure than\nin expressing juices; surgery better in investigating organization than\nin setting limbs; only it is ordained that, for our encouragement, every\nstep we make in the more exalted range of science adds something also to\nits practical applicabilities; that all the great phenomena of nature,\nthe knowledge of which is desired by the angels only, by us partly, as\nit reveals to farther vision the being and the glory of Him in whom they\nrejoice and we live, dispense yet such kind influences and so much of\nmaterial blessing as to be joyfully felt by all inferior creatures, and\nto be desired by them with such single desire as the imperfection of\ntheir nature may admit;[5] that the strong torrents which, in their own\ngladness fill the hills with hollow thunder and the vales with winding\nlight, have yet their bounden charge of field to feed and barge to bear;\nthat the fierce flames to which the Alp owes its upheaval and the\nvolcano its terror, temper for us the metal vein and quickening spring;\nand that for our incitement, I say not our reward, for knowledge is its\nown reward, herbs have their healing, stones their preciousness, and\nstars their times.\n\n\nSec. 9. Their relative dignities.\n\nSec. 10. How reversed through erring notions of the contemplative and\n imaginative faculties.\n\nIt would appear, therefore, that those pursuits which are altogether\ntheoretic, whose results are desirable or admirable in themselves and\nfor their own sake, and in which no farther end to which their\nproductions or discoveries are referred, can interrupt the contemplation\nof things as they are, by the endeavor to discover of what selfish uses\nthey are capable (and of this order are painting and sculpture), ought\nto take rank above all pursuits which have any taint in them of\nsubserviency to life, in so far as all such tendency is the sign of less\neternal and less holy function.[6] And such rank these two sublime arts\nwould indeed assume in the minds of nations, and become objects of\ncorresponding efforts, but for two fatal and widespread errors\nrespecting the great faculties of mind concerned in them.\n\nThe first of these, or the theoretic faculty, is concerned with the\nmoral perception and appreciation of ideas of beauty. And the error\nrespecting it is the considering and calling it aesthetic, degrading it\nto a mere operation of sense, or perhaps worse, of custom, so that the\narts which appeal to it sink into a mere amusement, ministers to morbid\nsensibilities, ticklers and fanners of the soul's sleep.\n\nThe second great faculty is the imaginative, which the mind exercises in\na certain mode of regarding or combining the ideas it has received from\nexternal nature, and the operations of which become in their turn\nobjects of the theoretic faculty to other minds.\n\n[Illustration: COURT OF THE DUCAL PALACE, VENICE. From a drawing by\nRuskin.]\n\nAnd the error respecting this faculty is, that its function is one of\nfalsehood, that its operation is to exhibit things as they are _not_,\nand that in so doing it mends the works of God.\n\n\nSec. 11. Object of the present section.\n\nNow, as these are the two faculties to which I shall have occasion\nconstantly to refer during that examination of the ideas of beauty and\nrelation on which we are now entering, because it is only as received\nand treated by these, that those ideas become exalted and profitable, it\nbecomes necessary for me, in the outset, to explain their power and\ndefine their sphere, and to vindicate, in the system of our nature,\ntheir true place for the intellectual lens and moral retina by which and\non which our informing thoughts are concentrated and represented.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [1] Tintoret. (Ridolfi. Vita.)\n\n [2] We live by admiration, hope, and love. (Excursion, Book IV.)\n\n [3] Rom. xii. 9.\n\n [4] The extent of ravage among works of art, or of historical\n interest, continually committing throughout the continent may,\n perhaps, be in some measure estimated from the following facts, to\n which the experience of every traveller may add indefinitely:\n\n At Beauvois--The magnificent old houses supported on columns of\n workmanship (so far as I recollect) unique in the north of France,\n at the corner of the market-place, have recently been destroyed for\n the enlarging of some ironmongery and grocery warehouses. The arch\n across the street leading to the cathedral has been destroyed also,\n for what purpose, I know not.\n\n At Rouen--The last of the characteristic houses on the quay is now\n disappearing. When I was last there, I witnessed the destruction of\n the noble gothic portal of the church of St. Nicholas, whose\n position interfered with the courtyard of an hotel; the greater part\n of the ancient churches are used as smithies, or warehouses for\n goods. So also at Tours (St. Julien). One of the most interesting\n and superb pieces of middle-age domestic architecture in Europe,\n opposite the west front of the cathedral, is occupied as a cafe, and\n its lower story concealed by painted wainscotings; representing, if\n I recollect right, twopenny rolls surrounded by circles of admiring\n cherubs.\n\n At Geneva--The wooden projections or loggias which were once the\n characteristic feature of the city, have been entirely removed\n within the last ten years.\n\n At Pisa--The old Baptistery is at this present time in process of\n being \"restored,\" that is, dashed to pieces, and common stone\n painted black and varnished, substituted for its black marble. In\n the Campo Santo, the invaluable frescoes, which might be protected\n by merely glazing the arcades, are left exposed to wind and weather.\n While I was there last year I saw a monument put up against the\n lower part of the wall, to some private person; the bricklayers\n knocked out a large space of the lower brickwork, with what\n beneficial effect to the loose and blistered stucco on which the\n frescoes are painted above, I leave the reader to imagine; inserted\n the tablet, and then plastered over the marks of the insertion,\n destroying a portion of the border of one of the paintings. The\n greater part of Giotto's \"Satan before God,\" has been destroyed by\n the recent insertion of one of the beams of the roof.\n\n The tomb of Antonio Puccinello, which was the last actually put up\n against the frescoes, and which destroyed the terminal subject of\n the Giotto series, bears date 1808.\n\n It has been proposed (or at least it is so reported) that the church\n of La Spina should be destroyed in order to widen the quay.\n\n At Florence--One of its most important and characteristic streets,\n that in which stands the church of Or San Michele, has been within\n the last five years entirely destroyed and rebuilt in the French\n style; consisting now almost exclusively of shops of bijouterie and\n parfumerie. Owing to this direction of public funds, the fronts of\n the Duomo, Santa Croce, St. Lorenzo, and half the others in Florence\n remain in their original bricks.\n\n The old refectory of Santa Croce, containing an invaluable Cenacolo,\n if not by Giotto, at least one of the finest works of his school, is\n used as a carpet manufactory. In order to see the fresco, I had to\n get on the top of a loom. The _cenacolo_ (of Raffaelle?) recently\n discovered, I saw when the refectory it adorns was used as a\n coach-house. The fresco, which gave Raffaelle the idea of the Christ\n of the Transfiguration, is in an old wood shed at San Miniato,\n concealed behind a heap of faggots. In June, last year, I saw\n Gentile da Fabriano's picture of the Adoration of the Magi,\n belonging to the Academy of Florence, put face upmost in a shower of\n rain in an open cart; on my suggesting the possibility of the rain\n hurting it, an old piece of matting was thrown over its face, and it\n was wheeled away \"per essere pulita.\" What fate this signified, is\n best to be discovered from the large Perugino in the Academy; whose\n divine distant landscape is now almost concealed by the mass of\n French ultramarine, painted over it apparently with a common house\n brush, by the picture cleaner.\n\n Not to detain the reader by going through the cities of Italy, I\n will only further mention, that at Padua, the rain beats through the\n west window of the Arena chapel, and runs down _over_ the frescoes.\n That at Venice, in September last, I saw three buckets set in the\n scuola di San Rocco to catch the rain which came _through_ the\n _canvases_ of Tintoret on the roof; and that while the old works of\n art are left thus unprotected, the palaces are being restored in the\n following modes. The English residents knock out bow windows to see\n up and down the canal. The Italians paint all the _marble_ white or\n cream color, stucco the fronts, and paint them in blue and white\n stripes to imitate alabaster. (This has been done with Danieli's\n hotel, with the north angle of the church of St. Mark, there\n replacing the real alabasters which have been torn down, with a\n noble old house in St. Mark's place, and with several in the narrow\n canals.) The marbles of St. Mark's, and carvings, are being\n _scraped_ down to make them look bright--the lower arcade of the\n Doge's palace is whitewashed--the entrance porch is being\n restored--the operation having already proceeded so far as the\n knocking off of the heads of the old statues--an iron railing\n painted black and yellow has been put round the court. Faded\n tapestries, and lottery tickets (the latter for the benefit of\n charitable institutions) are exposed for sale in the council\n chambers.\n\n [5] Hooker, Eccl. Pol. Book I. chap. ii. Sec. 2.\n\n [6] I do not assert that the accidental utility of a theoretic\n pursuit, as of botany for instance, in any way degrades it, though\n it cannot be considered as elevating it. But essential utility, a\n purpose to which the pursuit is in some measure referred, as in\n architecture, invariably degrades, because then the theoretic part\n of the art is comparatively lost sight of; and thus architecture\n takes a level below that of sculpture or painting, even when the\n powers of mind developed in it are of the same high order.\n\n When we pronounce the name of Giotto, our venerant thoughts are at\n Assisi and Padua, before they climb the Campanile of Santa Maria del\n Fiore. And he who would raise the ghost of Michael Angelo, must\n haunt the Sistine and St. Lorenzo, not St. Peter's.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER II.\n\n OF THE THEORETIC FACULTY AS CONCERNED WITH PLEASURES OF SENSE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Explanation of the term \"theoretic.\"\n\nI proceed therefore first, to examine the nature of what I have called\nthe Theoretic faculty, and to justify my substitution of the term\n\"theoretic\" for aesthetic, which is the one commonly employed with\nreference to it.\n\nNow the term \"aesthesis\" properly signifies mere sensual perception of\nthe outward qualities and necessary effects of bodies, in which sense\nonly, if we would arrive at any accurate conclusions on this difficult\nsubject, it should always be used. But I wholly deny that the\nimpressions of beauty are in any way sensual,--they are neither sensual\nnor intellectual, but moral, and for the faculty receiving them, whose\ndifference from mere perception I shall immediately endeavor to explain,\nno term can be more accurate or convenient than that employed by the\nGreeks, \"theoretic,\" which I pray permission, therefore, always to use,\nand to call the operation of the faculty itself, Theoria.\n\n\nSec. 2. Of the differences of rank in pleasures of sense.\n\nLet us begin at the lowest point, and observe, first, what differences\nof dignity may exist between different kinds of aesthetic or sensual\npleasure, properly so called.\n\nNow it is evident that the being common to brutes, or peculiar to man,\ncan alone be no rational test of inferiority, or dignity in pleasures.\nWe must not assume that man is the nobler animal, and then deduce the\nnobleness of his delights; but we must prove the nobleness of the\ndelights, and thence the nobleness of the animal. The dignity of\naffection is no way lessened because a large measure of it may be found\nin lower animals, neither is the vileness of gluttony and lust abated\nbecause they are common to men. It is clear, therefore, that there is a\nstandard of dignity in the pleasures and passions themselves, by which\nwe also class the creatures capable of, or suffering them.\n\n\nSec. 3. Use of the terms Temperate and Intemperate.\n\nThe first great distinction, we observe, is that noted of Aristotle,\nthat men are called temperate and intemperate with regard to some, and\nnot so with respect to others, and that those, with respect to which\nthey are so called, are, by common consent, held to be the vilest. But\nAristotle, though exquisitely subtle in his notation of facts, does not\nfrequently give us satisfactory account of, or reason for them. Content\nwith stating the fact of these pleasures being held the lowest, he shows\nnot why this estimation of them is just, and confuses the reader by\nobserving casually respecting the higher pleasures, what is indeed true,\nbut appears at first opposed to his own position, namely, that \"men may\nbe conceived, as also in these taking pleasure, either rightly, or more\nor less than is right.\"[7] Which being so, and evident capability of\nexcess or defect existing in pleasures of this higher order, we ought to\nhave been told how it happens that men are not called intemperate when\nthey indulge in excess of this kind, and what is that difference in the\nnature of the pleasure which diminishes the criminality of its excess.\nThis let us attempt to ascertain.\n\n\nSec. 4. Right use of the term \"intemperate.\"\n\nMen are held intemperate ([Greek: akolastoi]) only when their desires\novercome or prevent the action of their reason, and they are indeed\nintemperate in the exact degree in which such prevention or interference\ntakes place, and so are actually [Greek: akolastoi], in many instances,\nand with respect to many resolves, which lower not the world's\nestimation of their temperance. For so long as it can be supposed that\nthe reason has acted imperfectly owing to its own imperfection, or to\nthe imperfection of the premises submitted to it, (as when men give an\ninordinate preference to their own pursuits, because they cannot, in the\nnature of things, have sufficiently experienced the goodness and benefit\nof others,) and so long as it may be presumed that men have referred to\nreason in what they do, and have not suffered its orders to be disobeyed\nthrough mere impulse and desire, (though those orders may be full of\nerror owing to the reason's own feebleness,) so long men are not held\nintemperate. But when it is palpably evident that the reason cannot have\nerred but that its voice has been deadened or disobeyed, and that the\nreasonable creature has been dragged dead round the walls of his own\ncitadel by mere passion and impulse,--then, and then only, men are of\nall held intemperate. And this is evidently the case with respect to\ninordinate indulgence in pleasures of touch and taste, for these, being\ndestructive in their continuance not only of all other pleasures, but\nof the very sensibilities by which they themselves are received, and as\nthis penalty is actually known and experienced by those indulging in\nthem, so that the reason cannot but pronounce right respecting their\nperilousness, there is no palliation of the wrong choice; and the man,\nas utterly incapable of will,[8] is called intemperate, or [Greek:\nakolastos].\n\nIt would be well if the reader would for himself follow out this\nsubject, which it would be irrelevant here to pursue farther, observing\nhow a certain degree of intemperance is suspected and attributed to men\nwith respect to higher impulses; as, for instance, in the case of anger,\nor any other passion criminally indulged, and yet is not so attributed,\nas in the case of sensual pleasures; because in anger the reason is\nsupposed not to have had time to operate, and to be itself affected by\nthe presence of the passion, which seizes the man involuntarily and\nbefore he is aware; whereas, in the case of the sensual pleasures, the\nact is deliberate, and determined on beforehand, in direct defiance of\nreason. Nevertheless, if no precaution be taken against immoderate\nanger, and the passions gain upon the man, so as to be evidently wilful\nand unrestrained, and admitted contrary to all reason, we begin to look\nupon him as, in the real sense of the word, intemperate, or [Greek:\nakolastos], and assign to him, in consequence, his place among the\nbeasts, as definitely as if he had yielded to the pleasurable\ntemptations of touch or taste.\n\n\nSec. 5. Grounds of inferiority in the pleasures which are subjects of\n intemperance.\n\nWe see, then, that the primal ground of inferiority in these pleasures\nis that which _proves_ their indulgence to be contrary to reason; namely\ntheir destructiveness upon prolongation, and their incapability of\nco-existing continually with other delights or perfections of the\nsystem.\n\nAnd this incapability of continuance directs us to the second cause of\ntheir inferiority; namely, that they are given to us as subservient to\nlife, as instruments of our preservation--compelling us to seek the\nthings necessary to our being, and that, therefore, when this their\nfunction is fully performed, they ought to have an end; and can be only\nartificially, and under high penalty, prolonged. But the pleasures of\nsight and hearing are given as gifts. They answer not any purposes of\nmere existence, for the distinction of all that is useful or dangerous\nto us might be made, and often is made, by the eye, without its\nreceiving the slightest pleasure of sight. We might have learned to\ndistinguish fruits and grain from flowers, without having any superior\npleasure in the aspect of the latter. And the ear might have learned to\ndistinguish the sounds that communicate ideas, or to recognize\nintimations of elemental danger without perceiving either music in the\nvoice, or majesty in the thunder. And as these pleasures have no\nfunction to perform, so there is no limit to their continuance in the\naccomplishment of their end, for they are an end in themselves, and so\nmay be perpetual with all of us--being in no way destructive, but rather\nincreasing in exquisiteness by repetition.\n\n\nSec. 6. Evidence of higher rank in pleasures of sight and hearing.\n\nHerein, then, we find very sufficient ground for the higher estimation\nof these delights, first, in their being eternal and inexhaustible, and\nsecondly, in their being evidently no means or instrument of life, but\nan object of life. Now in whatever is an object of life, in whatever may\nbe infinitely and for itself desired, we may be sure there is something\nof divine, for God will not make anything an object of life to his\ncreatures which does not point to, or partake of, Himself. And so,\nthough we were to regard the pleasures of sight merely as the highest of\nsensual pleasures, and though they were of rare occurrence, and, when\noccurring, isolated and imperfect, there would still be a supernatural\ncharacter about them, owing to their permanence and self-sufficiency,\nwhere no other sensual pleasures are permanent or self-sufficient. But\nwhen, instead of being scattered, interrupted, or chance-distributed,\nthey are gathered together, and so arranged to enhance each other as by\nchance they could not be, there is caused by them not only a feeling of\nstrong affection towards the object in which they exist, but a\nperception of purpose and adaptation of it to our desires; a perception,\ntherefore, of the immediate operation of the Intelligence which so\nformed us, and so feeds us.\n\nOut of which perception arise joy, admiration, and gratitude.\n\nNow the mere animal consciousness of the pleasantness I call aesthesis;\nbut the exulting, reverent, and grateful perception of it I call\ntheoria. For this, and this only, is the full comprehension and\ncontemplation of the beautiful as a gift of God, a gift not necessary to\nour being, but added to, and elevating it, and twofold, first of the\ndesire, and secondly of the thing desired.\n\n\nSec. 7. How the lower pleasures may be elevated in rank.\n\nAnd that this joyfulness and reverence are a necessary part of theoretic\npleasure is very evident when we consider that, by the presence of these\nfeelings, even the lower and more sensual pleasures may be rendered\ntheoretic. Thus Aristotle has subtly noted, that \"we call not men\nintemperate so much with respect to the scents of roses or herb-perfumes\nas of ointments and of condiments,\" (though the reason that he gives for\nthis be futile enough.) For the fact is, that of scents artificially\nprepared the extreme desire is intemperance, but of natural and\nGod-given scents, which take their part in the harmony and pleasantness\nof creation, there can hardly be intemperance; not that there is any\nabsolute difference between the two kinds, but that these are likely to\nbe received with gratitude and joyfulness rather than those, so that we\ndespise the seeking of essences and unguents, but not the sowing of\nviolets along our garden banks. But all things may be elevated by\naffection, as the spikenard of Mary, and in the Song of Solomon, the\nmyrrh upon the handles of the lock, and that of Isaac concerning his\nson. And the general law for all these pleasures is, that when sought in\nthe abstract and ardently, they are foul things, but when received with\nthankfulness and with reference to God's glory, they become theoretic;\nand so I can find something divine in the sweetness of wild fruits, as\nwell as in the pleasantness of the pure air, and the tenderness of its\nnatural perfumes that come and go as they list.\n\n\nSec. 8. Ideas of beauty how essentially moral.\n\nIt will be understood why I formerly said in the chapter respecting\nideas of beauty, that those ideas were the subject of moral and not of\nintellectual, nor altogether of sensual perception; and why I spoke of\nthe pleasures connected with them as derived from \"those material\nsources which are agreeable to our moral nature in its purity and\nperfection.\" For, as it is necessary to the existence of an idea of\nbeauty, that the sensual pleasure which may be its basis, should be\naccompanied first with joy, then with love of the object, then with the\nperception of kindness in a superior Intelligence, finally with\nthankfulness and veneration towards that Intelligence itself, and as no\nidea can be at all considered as in any way an idea of beauty, until it\nbe made up of these emotions, any more than we can be said to have an\nidea of a letter of which we perceive the perfume and the fair writing,\nwithout understanding the contents of it, or intent of it; and as these\nemotions are in no way resultant from, nor obtainable by, any operation\nof the intellect, it is evident that the sensation of beauty is not\nsensual on the one hand, nor is it intellectual on the other, but is\ndependent on a pure, right, and open state of the heart, both for its\ntruth and for its intensity, insomuch that even the right after action\nof the intellect upon facts of beauty so apprehended, is dependent on\nthe acuteness of the heart feeling about them; and thus the Apostolic\nwords come true, in this minor respect as in all others, that men are\nalienated from the life of God, through the ignorance that is in them,\nhaving the understanding darkened because of the hardness of their\nhearts, and so being past feeling, give themselves up to lasciviousness;\nfor we do indeed see constantly that men having naturally acute\nperceptions of the beautiful, yet not receiving it with a pure heart,\nnor into their hearts at all, never comprehend it, nor receive good from\nit, but make it a mere minister to their desires, and accompaniment and\nseasoning of lower sensual pleasures, until all their emotions take the\nsame earthly stamp, and the sense of beauty sinks into the servant of\nlust.\n\n\nSec. 9. How degraded by heartless reception.\n\nSec. 10. How exalted by affection.\n\nNor is what the world commonly understands by the cultivation of taste,\nanything more or better than this, at least in times of corrupt and\nover-pampered civilization, when men build palaces and plant groves and\ngather luxuries, that they and their devices may hang in the corners of\nthe world like fine-spun cobwebs, with greedy, puffed-up, spider-like\nlusts in the middle. And this, which in Christian times is the abuse and\ncorruption of the sense of beauty, was in that Pagan life of which St.\nPaul speaks, little less than the essence of it, and the best they had;\nfor I know not that of the expressions of affection towards external\nnature to be found among Heathen writers, there are any of which the\nbalance and leading thought cleaves not towards the sensual parts of\nher. Her beneficence they sought, and her power they shunned, her\nteaching through both, they understood never. The pleasant influences of\nsoft winds and ringing streamlets, and shady coverts; of the violet\ncouch, and plane-tree shade,[9] they received, perhaps, in a more noble\nway than we, but they found not anything except fear, upon the bare\nmountain, or in the ghostly glen. The Hybla heather they loved more for\nits sweet hives than its purple hues. But the Christian theoria seeks\nnot, though it accepts, and touches with its own purity, what the\nEpicurean sought, but finds its food and the objects of its love\neverywhere, in what is harsh and fearful, as well as what is kind, nay,\neven in all that seems coarse and commonplace; seizing that which is\ngood, and delighting more sometimes at finding its table spread in\nstrange places, and in the presence of its enemies, and its honey coming\nout of the rock, than if all were harmonized into a less wondrous\npleasure; hating only what is self-sighted and insolent of men's work,\ndespising all that is not of God, unless reminding it of God, yet able\nto find evidence of him still, where all seems forgetful of him, and to\nturn that into a witness of his working which was meant to obscure it,\nand so with clear and unoffended sight beholding him forever, according\nto the written promise,--Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall\nsee God.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [7] [Greek: hos dei, kai kath' hyperbolen kai elleipsin.]\n\n [8] Comp. Hooker, Eccl. Pol. Book i. chap. 8.\n\n [9] Plato, Phaedrus, Sec. 9.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER III.\n\n OF ACCURACY AND INACCURACY IN IMPRESSIONS OF SENSE.\n\n\nSec. 1. By what test is the health of the perceptive faculty to be\n determined?\n\nHitherto we have observed only the distinctions of dignity among\npleasures of sense, considered merely as such, and the way in which any\nof them may become theoretic in being received with right feeling.\n\nBut as we go farther, and examine the distinctive nature of ideas of\nbeauty, we shall, I believe, perceive something in them besides aesthetic\npleasure, which attests a more important function belonging to them than\nattaches to other sensual ideas, and exhibits a more exalted character\nin the faculty by which they are received. And this was what I alluded\nto, when I said in the chapter already referred to (Sec. 1), that \"we may\nindeed perceive, as far as we are acquainted with the nature of God,\nthat we have been so constructed as in a healthy state of mind to derive\npleasure from whatever things are illustrative of that nature.\"\n\nThis point it is necessary now farther to develop.\n\nOur first inquiry must evidently be, how we are authorized to affirm of\nany man's mind, respecting impressions of sight, that it is in a healthy\nstate or otherwise. What canon or test is there by which we may\ndetermine of these impressions that they are or are not _rightly_\nesteemed beautiful? To what authority, when men are at variance with\neach other on this subject, shall it be deputed to judge which is right?\nor is there any such authority or canon at all?\n\nFor it does not at first appear easy to prove that men ought to like one\nthing rather than another, and although this is granted generally by\nmen's speaking of bad or good taste, it is frequently denied when we\npass to particulars, by the assertion of each individual that he has a\nright to his opinion--a right which is sometimes claimed even in moral\nmatters, though then palpably without foundation, but which does not\nappear altogether irrational in matters aesthetic, wherein little\noperation of voluntary choice is supposed possible. It would appear\nstrange, for instance, to assert, respecting a particular person who\npreferred the scent of violets to roses, that he had no right to do so.\nAnd yet, while I have said that the sensation of beauty is intuitive and\nnecessary, as men derive pleasure from the scent of a rose, I have\nassumed that there are some sources from which it is rightly derived,\nand others from which it is wrongly derived, in other words that men\nhave no right to think some things beautiful, and no right to remain\napathetic with regard to others.\n\n\nSec. 2. And in what sense may the terms Right and Wrong be attached to its\n conclusions?\n\nHence then arise two questions, according to the sense in which the word\nright is taken; the first, in what way an impression of sense may be\ndeceptive, and therefore a conclusion respecting it untrue; and the\nsecond, in what way an impression of sense, or the preference of one,\nmay be a subject of will, and therefore of moral duty or delinquency.\n\nTo the first of these questions, I answer that we cannot speak of the\nimmediate impression of sense as false, nor of its preference to others\nas mistaken, for no one can be deceived respecting the actual sensation\nhe perceives or prefers. But falsity may attach to his assertion or\nsupposition, either that what he himself perceives is from the same\nobject perceived by others, or is always to be by himself perceived, or\nis always to be by himself preferred; and when we speak of a man as\nwrong in his impressions of sense, we either mean that he feels\ndifferently from all, or a majority, respecting a certain object, or\nthat he prefers at present those of his impressions, which ultimately he\nwill not prefer.\n\nTo the second I answer, that over immediate impressions and immediate\npreferences we have no power, but over ultimate impressions, and\nespecially ultimate preferences we have; and that, though we can neither\nat once choose whether we shall see an object, red, green, or blue, nor\ndetermine to like the red better than the blue, or the blue better than\nthe red, yet we can, if we choose, make ourselves ultimately susceptible\nof such impressions in other degrees, and capable of pleasures in them\nin different measure; and because, wherever power of any kind is given,\nthere is responsibility attached, it is the duty of men to prefer\ncertain impressions of sense to others, because they have the power of\ndoing so, this being precisely analogous to the law of the moral world,\nwhereby men are supposed not only capable of governing their likes and\ndislikes, but the whole culpability or propriety of actions is dependent\nupon this capability, so that men are guilty or otherwise, not for what\nthey do, but for what they desire, the command being not, thou shalt\nobey, but thou shalt love, the Lord thy God, which, if men were not\ncapable of governing and directing their affections, would be the\ncommand of an impossibility.\n\n\nSec. 3. What power we have over impressions of sense.\n\nI assert, therefore, that even with respect to impressions of sense, we\nhave a power of preference, and a corresponding duty, and I shall show\nfirst the nature of the power, and afterwards the nature of the duty.\n\nLet us take an instance from one of the lowest of the senses, and\nobserve the kind of power we have over the impressions of lingual taste.\nOn the first offering of two different things to the palate, it is not\nin our power to prevent or command the instinctive preference. One will\nbe unavoidably and helplessly preferred to the other. But if the same\ntwo things be submitted to judgment frequently and attentively, it will\nbe often found that their relations change. The palate, which at first\nperceived only the coarse and violent qualities of either, will, as it\nbecomes more experienced, acquire greater subtilty and delicacy of\ndiscrimination, perceiving in both agreeable or disagreeable qualities\nat first unnoticed, which on continued experience will probably become\nmore influential than the first impressions; and whatever this final\nverdict may be, it is felt by the person who gives it, and received by\nothers as a more correct one than the first.\n\n\nSec. 4. Depends on acuteness of attention.\n\nSo, then, the power we have over the preference of impressions of taste\nis not actual nor immediate, but only a power of testing and comparing\nthem frequently and carefully, until that which is the more permanent,\nthe more consistently agreeable, be determined. But when the instrument\nof taste is thus in some degree perfected and rendered subtile, by its\nbeing practised upon a single object, its conclusions will be more rapid\nwith respect to others, and it will be able to distinguish more quickly\nin other things, and even to prefer at once, those qualities which are\ncalculated finally to give it most pleasure, though more capable with\nrespect to those on which it is more frequently exercised; whence\npeople are called judges with respect to this or that particular object\nof taste.\n\n\nSec. 5. Ultimate conclusions universal.\n\nNow that verdicts of this kind are received as authoritative by others,\nproves another and more important fact, namely, that not only changes of\nopinion take place in consequence of experience, but that those changes\nare from variation of opinion to unity of opinion; and that whatever may\nbe the differences of estimate among unpractised or uncultivated tastes,\nthere will be unity of taste among the experienced. And that therefore\nthe operation of repeated trial and experience is to arrive at\nprinciples of preference in some sort common to all, and which are a\npart of our nature.\n\nI have selected the sense of taste for an instance, because it is the\nleast favorable to the position I hold, since there is more latitude\nallowed, and more actual variety of verdict in the case of this sense\nthan of any other; and yet, however susceptible of variety even the\nultimate approximations of its preferences may be, the authority of\njudges is distinctly allowed, and we hear every day the admission, by\nthose of unpractised palate, that they are, or may be wrong in their\nopinions respecting the real pleasurableness of things either to\nthemselves, or to others.\n\n\nSec. 6. What duty is attached to this power over impressions of sense.\n\nThe sense, however, in which they thus use the word \"wrong\" is merely\nthat of falseness or inaccuracy in conclusion, not of moral delinquency.\nBut there is, as I have stated, a duty, more or less imperative,\nattached to every power we possess, and therefore to this power over the\nlower senses as well as to all others.\n\nAnd this duty is evidently to bring every sense into that state of\ncultivation, in which it shall both form the truest conclusions\nrespecting all that is submitted to it, and procure us the greatest\namount of pleasure consistent with its due relation to other senses and\nfunctions. Which three constituents of perfection in sense, true\njudgment, maximum sensibility, and right relation to others, are\ninvariably co-existent and involved one by the other, for the true\njudgment is the result of the high sensibility, and the high sensibility\nof the right relation. Thus, for instance, with respect to pleasures of\ntaste, it is our duty not to devote such inordinate attention to the\ndiscrimination of them as must be inconsistent with our pursuit, and\ndestructive of our capacity of higher and preferable pleasures, but to\ncultivate the sense of them in that way which is consistent with all\nother good, by temperance, namely, and by such attention as the mind at\ncertain resting moments may fitly pay even to so ignoble a source of\npleasure as this, by which discipline we shall bring the faculty of\ntaste itself to its real maximum of sensibility; for it may not be\ndoubted but that health, hunger, and such general refinement of bodily\nhabits as shall make the body a perfect and fine instrument in all\nrespects, are better promoters of actual sensual enjoyment of taste,\nthan the sickened, sluggish, hard-stimulated fastidiousness of\nEpicurism.\n\n\nSec. 7. How rewarded.\n\nSo also it will certainly be found with all the senses, that they\nindividually receive the greatest and purest pleasure when they are in\nright condition and degree of subordination to all the rest; and that by\nthe over cultivation of any one, (for morbid sources of pleasure and\ncorrespondent temptations to irrational indulgence, confessedly are\nattached to all,) we shall add more to their power as instruments of\npunishment than of pleasure.\n\nWe see then, in this example of the lowest sense, that the power we have\nover sensations and preferences depends mainly on the exercise of\nattention through certain prolonged periods, and that by this exercise,\nwe arrive at ultimate, constant, and common sources of agreeableness,\ncasting off those which are external, accidental, and individual.\n\n\nSec. 8. Especially with respect to ideas of beauty.\n\nThat then which is required in order to the attainment of accurate\nconclusions respecting the essence of the beautiful, is nothing more\nthan earnest, loving, and unselfish attention to our impressions of it,\nby which those which are shallow, false, or peculiar to times and\ntemperaments, may be distinguished from those that are eternal. And this\ndwelling upon, and fond contemplation of them, (the anschauung of the\nGermans,) is perhaps as much as was meant by the Greek theoria; and it\nis indeed a very noble exercise of the souls of men, and one by which\nthey are peculiarly distinguished from the anima of lower creatures,\nwhich cannot, I think, be proved to have any capacity of contemplation\nat all, but only a restless vividness of perception and conception, the\n\"fancy\" of Hooker (Eccl. Pol. Book i. Chap. vi. 2). And yet this\ndwelling upon them comes not up to that which I wish to express by the\nword theoria, unless it be accompanied by full perception of their being\na gift from and manifestation of God, and by all those other nobler\nemotions before described, since not until so felt is their essential\nnature comprehended.\n\n\nSec. 9. Errors induced by the power of habit.\n\nBut two very important points are to be observed respecting the\ndirection and discipline of the attention in the early stages of\njudgment. The first, that, for many beneficent purposes, the nature of\nman has been made reconcilable by custom to many things naturally\npainful to it, and even improper for it, and that therefore, though by\ncontinued experience, united with thought, we may discover that which is\nbest of several, yet if we submit ourselves to authority or fashion, and\nclose our eyes, we may be by custom made to tolerate, and even to love\nand long for, that which is naturally painful and pernicious to us,\nwhence arise incalculable embarrassments on the subject of art.\n\n\nSec. 10. The necessity of submission in early stages of judgment.\n\nThe second, that, in order to the discovery of that which is best of two\nthings, it is necessary that both should be equally submitted to the\nattention; and therefore that we should have so much faith in authority\nas shall make us repeatedly observe and attend to that which is said to\nbe right, even though at present we may not feel it so. And in the right\nmingling of this faith with the openness of heart, which proves all\nthings, lies the great difficulty of the cultivation of the taste, as\nfar as the spirit of the scholar is concerned, though even when he has\nthis spirit, he may be long retarded by having evil examples submitted\nto him by ignorant masters.\n\nThe temper, therefore, by which right taste is formed, is first,\npatient. It dwells upon what is submitted to it, it does not trample\nupon it lest it should be pearls, even though it look like husks, it is\na good ground, soft, penetrable, retentive, it does not send up thorns\nof unkind thoughts, to choke the weak seed, it is hungry and thirsty\ntoo, and drinks all the dew that falls on it, it is an honest and good\nheart, that shows no too ready springing before the sun be up, but fails\nnot afterwards; it is distrustful of itself, so as to be ready to\nbelieve and to try all things, and yet so trustful of itself, that it\nwill neither quit what it has tried, nor take anything without trying.\nAnd that pleasure which it has in things that it finds true and good, is\nso great that it cannot possibly be led aside by any tricks of fashion,\nnor diseases of vanity, it cannot be cramped in its conclusions by\npartialities and hypocrisies, its visions and its delights are too\npenetrating, too living, for any whitewashed object or shallow fountain\nlong to endure or supply. It clasps all that it loves so hard, that it\ncrushes it if it be hollow.\n\n\nSec. 11. The large scope of matured judgment.\n\nNow, the conclusions of this disposition are sure to be eventually\nright, more and more right according to the general maturity of all the\npowers, but it is sure to come right at last, because its operation is\nin analogy to, and in harmony with, the whole spirit of the Christian\nmoral system, and that which it will ultimately love and rest in, are\ngreat sources of happiness common to all the human race, and based on\nthe relations they hold to their Creator.\n\nThese common and general sources of pleasure are, I believe, a certain\nseal, or impress of divine work and character, upon whatever God has\nwrought in all the world; only, it being necessary for the perception of\nthem, that their contraries should also be set before us, these divine\nqualities, though inseparable from all divine works, are yet suffered to\nexist in such varieties of degree, that their most limited manifestation\nshall, in opposition to their most abundant, act as a foil or contrary,\njust as we conceive of cold as contrary to heat, though the most extreme\ncold we can produce or conceive is not inconsistent with an unknown\namount of heat in the body.\n\n\nSec. 12. How distinguishable from false taste.\n\nOur purity of taste, therefore, is best tested by its universality, for\nif we can only admire this thing or that, we may be sure that our cause\nfor liking is of a finite and false nature. But if we can perceive\nbeauty in everything of God's doing, we may argue that we have reached\nthe true perception of its universal laws. Hence, false taste may be\nknown by its fastidiousness, by its demands of pomp, splendor, and\nunusual combination, by its enjoyment only of particular styles and\nmodes of things, and by its pride also, for it is forever meddling,\nmending, accumulating, and self-exulting, its eye is always upon itself,\nand it tests all things around it by the way they fit it. But true\ntaste is forever growing, learning, reading, worshipping, laying its\nhand upon its mouth because it is astonished, casting its shoes from off\nits feet because it finds all ground holy, lamenting over itself and\ntesting itself by the way that it fits things. And it finds whereof to\nfeed, and whereby to grow, in all things, and therefore the complaint so\noften made by young artists that they have not within their reach\nmaterials, or subjects enough for their fancy, is utterly groundless,\nand the sign only of their own blindness and inefficiency; for there is\nthat to be seen in every street and lane of every city, that to be felt\nand found in every human heart and countenance, that to be loved in\nevery road-side weed and moss-grown wall, which in the hands of faithful\nmen, may convey emotions of glory and sublimity continual and exalted.\n\n\nSec. 13. The danger of a spirit of choice.\n\nLet therefore the young artist beware of the spirit of choice,[10] it is\nan insolent spirit at the best and commonly a base and blind one too,\nchecking all progress and blasting all power, encouraging weaknesses,\npampering partialities, and teaching us to look to accidents of nature\nfor the help and the joy which should come from our own hearts. He draws\nnothing well who thirsts not to draw _every_thing; when a good painter\nshrinks, it is because he is humbled, not fastidious, when he stops, it\nis because he is surfeited, and not because he thinks nature has given\nhim unkindly food, or that he fears famine.[11] I have seen a man of\ntrue taste pause for a quarter of an hour to look at the channellings\nthat recent rain had traced in a heap of cinders.\n\n\nSec. 14. And criminality.\n\nAnd here is evident another reason of that duty which we owe respecting\nimpressions of sight, namely, to discipline ourselves to the enjoyment\nof those which are eternal in their nature, not only because these are\nthe most acute, but because they are the most easily, constantly, and\nunselfishly attainable. For had it been ordained by the Almighty that\nthe highest pleasures of sight should be those of most difficult\nattainment, and that to arrive at them it should be necessary to\naccumulate gilded palaces tower over tower, and pile artificial\nmountains around insinuated lakes, there would have been a direct\ncontradiction between the unselfish duties and inherent desires of every\nindividual. But no such contradiction exists in the system of Divine\nProvidence, which, leaving it open to us, if we will, as creatures in\nprobation, to abuse this sense like every other, and pamper it with\nselfish and thoughtless vanities as we pamper the palate with deadly\nmeats, until the appetite of tasteful cruelty is lost in its sickened\nsatiety, incapable of pleasure unless, Caligula like, it concentrate the\nlabor of a million of lives into the sensation of an hour, leaves it\nalso open to us, by humble and loving ways, to make ourselves\nsusceptible of deep delight from the meanest objects of creation, and of\na delight which shall not separate us from our fellows, nor require the\nsacrifice of any duty or occupation, but which shall bind us closer to\nmen and to God, and be with us always, harmonized with every action,\nconsistent with every claim, unchanging and eternal.\n\n\nSec. 15. How certain conclusions respecting beauty are by reason\n demonstrable.\n\nSeeing then that these qualities of material objects which are\ncalculated to give us this universal pleasure, are demonstrably constant\nin their address to human nature, they must belong in some measure to\nwhatever has been esteemed beautiful throughout successive ages of the\nworld (and they are also by their definition common to all the works of\nGod). Therefore it is evident that it must be possible to reason them\nout, as well as to feel them out; possible to divest every object of\nthat which makes it accidentally or temporarily pleasant, and to strip\nit bare of distinctive qualities, until we arrive at those which it has\nin common with all other beautiful things, which we may then safely\naffirm to be the cause of its ultimate and true delightfulness.\n\n\nSec. 16. With what liabilities to error.\n\nNow this process of reasoning will be that which I shall endeavor to\nemploy in the succeeding investigations, a process perfectly safe, so\nlong as we are quite sure that we are reasoning concerning objects which\nproduce in us one and the same sensation, but not safe if the sensation\nproduced be of a different nature, though it may be equally agreeable;\nfor what produces a different sensation must be a different cause. And\nthe difficulty of reasoning respecting beauty arises chiefly from the\nambiguity of the word, which stands in different people's minds for\ntotally different sensations, for which there can be no common cause.\n\nWhen, for instance, Mr. Alison endeavors to support his position that\n\"no man is sensible to beauty in those objects with regard to which he\nhas not previous ideas,\" by the remark that \"the beauty of a theory, or\nof a relic of antiquity, is unintelligible to a peasant,\" we see at once\nthat it is hopeless to argue with a man who, under his general term\nbeauty, may, for anything we know, be sometimes speaking of mathematical\ndemonstrability and sometimes of historical interest; while even if we\ncould succeed in limiting the term to the sense of external\nattractiveness, there would be still room for many phases of error; for\nthough the beauty of a snowy mountain and of a human cheek or forehead,\nso far as both are considered as mere matter, is the same, and traceable\nto certain qualities of color and line, common to both, and by reason\nextricable, yet the flush of the cheek and moulding of the brow, as they\nexpress modesty, affection, or intellect, possess sources of\nagreeableness which are not common to the snowy mountain, and the\ninterference of whose influence we must be cautious to prevent in our\nexamination of those which are material and universal.[12]\n\n\nSec. 17. The term \"beauty\" how limitable in the outset. Divided into\n typical and vital.\n\nThe first thing, then, that we have to do, is accurately to discriminate\nand define those appearances from which we are about to reason as\nbelonging to beauty, properly so called, and to clear the ground of all\nthe confused ideas and erroneous theories with which the misapprehension\nor metaphorical use of the term has encumbered it.\n\nBy the term beauty, then, properly are signified two things. First, that\nexternal quality of bodies already so often spoken of, and which,\nwhether it occur in a stone, flower, beast, or in man, is absolutely\nidentical, which, as I have already asserted, may be shown to be in\nsome sort typical of the Divine attributes, and which, therefore, I\nshall, for distinction's sake, call typical beauty; and, secondarily,\nthe appearance of felicitous fulfilment of function in living things,\nmore especially of the joyful and right exertion of perfect life in man.\nAnd this kind of beauty I shall call vital beauty.\n\nAny application of the word beautiful to other appearances or qualities\nthan these, is either false or metaphorical, as, for instance, to the\nsplendor of a discovery, the fitness of a proportion, the coherence of a\nchain of reasoning, or the power of bestowing pleasure which objects\nreceive from association, a power confessedly great, and interfering, as\nwe shall presently find, in a most embarrassing way with the\nattractiveness of inherent beauty.\n\nBut in order that the mind of the reader may not be biassed at the\noutset by that which he may happen to have received of current theories\nrespecting beauty, founded on the above metaphorical uses of the word,\n(theories which are less to be reprobated as accounting falsely for the\nsensations of which they treat, than as confusing two or more\npleasurable sensations together,) I shall briefly glance at the four\nerroneous positions most frequently held upon this subject, before\nproceeding to examine those typical and vital properties of things, to\nwhich I conceive that all our original conceptions of beauty may be\ntraced.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n [10] \"Nothing comes amiss,--\n A good digestion turneth all to health.\"--G. HERBERT.\n\n [11] Yet note the difference between the choice that comes of pride,\n and the choice that comes of love, and compare Chap. xv. Sec. 6.\n\n [12] Compare Spenser. (Hymn to Beauty.)\n\n \"But ah, believe me, there is more than so,\n That works such wonders in the minds of men.\"\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER IV.\n\n OF FALSE OPINIONS HELD CONCERNING BEAUTY.\n\n\nSec. 1. Of the false opinion that truth is beauty, and vice versa.\n\nI purpose at present to speak only of four of the more current opinions\nrespecting beauty, for of the errors connected with the pleasurableness\nof proportion, and of the expression of right feelings in the\ncountenance, I shall have opportunity to treat in the succeeding\nchapters; (compare Ch. VI. Ch. XVI.)\n\nThose erring or inconsistent positions which I would at once dismiss\nare, the first, that the beautiful is the true, the second, that the\nbeautiful is the useful, the third, that it is dependent on custom, and\nthe fourth, that it is dependent on the association of ideas.\n\nTo assert that the beautiful is the true, appears, at first, like\nasserting that propositions are matter, and matter propositions. But\ngiving the best and most rational interpretation we can, and supposing\nthe holders of this strange position to mean only that things are\nbeautiful which appear what they indeed are, and ugly which appear what\nthey are not, we find them instantly contradicted by each and every\nconclusion of experience. A stone looks as truly a stone as a rose looks\na rose, and yet is not so beautiful; a cloud may look more like a castle\nthan a cloud, and be the more beautiful on that account. The mirage of\nthe desert is fairer than its sands; the false image of the under heaven\nfairer than the sea. I am at a loss to know how any so untenable a\nposition could ever have been advanced; but it may, perhaps, have arisen\nfrom some confusion of the beauty of art with the beauty of nature, and\nfrom an illogical expansion of the very certain truth, that nothing is\nbeautiful in art, which, professing to be an imitation, or a statement,\nis not as such in some sort true.\n\n\nSec. 2. Of the false opinion that beauty is usefulness. Compare Chap. xii.\n Sec. 5.\n\nThat the beautiful is the useful, is an assertion evidently based on\nthat limited and false sense of the latter term which I have already\ndeprecated. As it is the most degrading and dangerous supposition which\ncan be advanced on the subject, so, fortunately, it is the most\npalpably absurd. It is to confound admiration with hunger, love with\nlust, and life with sensation; it is to assert that the human creature\nhas no ideas and no feelings, except those ultimately referable to its\nbrutal appetites. It has not a single fact nor appearance of fact to\nsupport it, and needs no combating, at least until its advocates have\nobtained the consent of the majority of mankind, that the most beautiful\nproductions of nature are seeds and roots; and of art, spades and\nmillstones.\n\n\nSec. 3. Of the false opinion that beauty results from custom. Compare Chap.\n vi. Sec. 1.\n\nSomewhat more rational grounds appear for the assertion that the sense\nof the beautiful arises from familiarity with the object, though even\nthis could not long be maintained by a thinking person. For all that can\nbe alleged in defence of such a supposition is, that familiarity\ndeprives some objects which at first appeared ugly, of much of their\nrepulsiveness, whence it is as rational to conclude that familiarity is\nthe cause of beauty, as it would be to argue that because it is possible\nto acquire a taste for olives, therefore custom is the cause of\nlusciousness in grapes. Nevertheless, there are some phenomena resulting\nfrom the tendency of our nature to be influenced by habit of which it\nmay be well to observe the limits.\n\n\nSec. 4. The twofold operation of custom. It deadens sensation, but confirms\n affection.\n\nSec. 5. But never either creates or destroys the essence of beauty.\n\nCustom has a twofold operation: the one to deaden the frequency and\nforce of repeated impressions, the other to endear the familiar object\nto the affections. Commonly, where the mind is vigorous, and the power\nof sensation very perfect, it has rather the last operation than the\nfirst; with meaner minds, the first takes place in the higher degree, so\nthat they are commonly characterized by a desire of excitement, and the\nwant of the loving, fixed, theoretic power. But both take place in some\ndegree with all men, so that as life advances, impressions of all kinds\nbecome less rapturous owing to their repetition. It is however\nbeneficently ordained that repulsiveness shall be diminished by custom\nin a far greater degree than the sensation of beauty, so that the\nanatomist in a little time loses all sense of horror in the torn flesh,\nand carous bone, while the sculptor ceases not to feel to the close of\nhis life, the deliciousness of every line of the outward frame. So then\nas in that with which we are made familiar, the repulsiveness is\nconstantly diminishing, and such claims as it may be able to put forth\non the affections are daily becoming stronger, while in what is\nsubmitted to us of new or strange, that which may be repulsive is felt\nin its full force, while no hold is as yet laid on the affections, there\nis a very strong preference induced in most minds for that to which they\nare not accustomed over that they know not, and this is strongest in\nthose which are least open to sensations of positive beauty. But however\nfar this operation may be carried, its utmost effect is but the\ndeadening and approximating the sensations of beauty and ugliness. It\nnever mixes nor crosses, nor in any way alters them; it has not the\nslightest connection with nor power over their nature. By tasting two\nwines alternately, we may deaden our perception of their flavor; nay, we\nmay even do more than can ever be done in the case of sight, we may\nconfound the two flavors together. But it will hardly be argued\ntherefore that custom is the cause of either flavor. And so, though by\nhabit we may deaden the effect of ugliness or beauty, it is not for that\nreason to be affirmed that habit is the cause of either sensation. We\nmay keep a skull beside us as long as we please, we may overcome its\nrepulsiveness, we may render ourselves capable of perceiving many\nqualities of beauty about its lines, we may contemplate it for years\ntogether if we will, it and nothing else, but we shall not get ourselves\nto think as well of it as of a child's fair face.\n\n\nSec. 6. Instances.\n\nIt would be easy to pursue the subject farther, but I believe that every\nthoughtful reader will be perfectly well able to supply farther\nillustrations, and sweep away the sandy foundations of the opposite\ntheory, unassisted. Let it, however, be observed, that in spite of all\ncustom, an Englishman instantly acknowledges, and at first sight, the\nsuperiority of the turban to the hat, or of the plaid to the coat, that\nwhatever the dictates of immediate fashion may compel, the superior\ngracefulness of the Greek or middle age costumes is invariably felt, and\nthat, respecting what has been asserted of negro nations looking with\ndisgust on the white face, no importance whatever is to be attached to\nthe opinions of races who have never received any ideas of beauty\nwhatsoever, (these ideas being only received by minds under some\ncertain degree of cultivation,) and whose disgust arises naturally from\nwhat they may suppose to be a sign of weakness or ill health. It would\nbe futile to proceed into farther detail. I pass to the last and most\nweighty theory, that the agreeableness in objects which we call beauty\nis the result of the association with them of agreeable or interesting\nideas.\n\n\nSec. 7. Of the false opinion that beauty depends on the association of\n ideas.\n\nFrequent has been the support, and wide the acceptance of this\nsupposition, and yet I suppose that no two consecutive sentences were\never written in defence of it, without involving either a contradiction\nor a confusion of terms. Thus Alison, \"There are scenes undoubtedly more\nbeautiful than Runnymede, yet to those who recollect the great event\nthat passed there, there is no scene perhaps which so strongly seizes on\nthe imagination.\" Here we are wonder-struck at the audacious obtuseness\nwhich would prove the power of imagination by its overcoming that very\nother power (of inherent beauty) whose existence the arguer denies. For\nthe only logical conclusion which can possibly be drawn from the above\nsentence is, that imagination is _not_ the source of beauty, for\nalthough no scene seizes so strongly on the imagination, yet there are\nscenes \"more beautiful than Runnymede.\" And though instances of\nself-contradiction as laconic and complete as this are to be found in\nfew writers except Alison, yet if the arguments on the subject be fairly\nsifted from the mass of confused language with which they are always\nencumbered and placed in logical form, they will be found invariably to\ninvolve one of these two syllogisms, either, association gives pleasure,\nand beauty gives pleasure, therefore association is beauty. Or, the\npower of association is stronger than the power of beauty, therefore the\npower of association _is_ the power of beauty.\n\n\nSec. 8. Association. Is, 1st, rational. It is of no efficiency as a cause\n of beauty.\n\nNevertheless it is necessary for us to observe the real value and\nauthority of association in the moral system, and how ideas of actual\nbeauty may be affected by it, otherwise we shall be liable to\nembarrassment throughout the whole of the succeeding argument.\n\nAssociation is of two kinds. Rational and accidental. By rational\nassociation I understand the interest which any object may bear\nhistorically as having been in some way connected with the affairs or\naffections of men; an interest shared in the minds of all who are aware\nof such connection: which to call beauty is mere and gross confusion of\nterms, it is no theory to be confuted, but a misuse of language to be\nset aside, a misuse involving the positions that in uninhabited\ncountries the vegetation has no grace, the rock no dignity, the cloud no\ncolor, and that the snowy summits of the Alps receive no loveliness from\nthe sunset light, because they have not been polluted by the wrath,\nravage, and misery of men.\n\n\nSec. 9. Association accidental. The extent of its influence.\n\nBy accidental association, I understand the accidental connection of\nideas and memories with material things, owing to which those material\nthings are regarded as agreeable or otherwise, according to the nature\nof the feelings or recollections they summon; the association being\ncommonly involuntary and oftentimes so vague as that no distinct image\nis suggested by the object, but we feel a painfulness in it or pleasure\nfrom it, without knowing wherefore. Of this operation of the mind (which\nis that of which I spoke as causing inextricable embarrassments on the\nsubject of beauty) the experience is constant, so that its more\nenergetic manifestations require no illustration. But I do not think\nthat the minor degrees and shades of this great influence have been\nsufficiently appreciated. Not only all vivid emotions and all\ncircumstances of exciting interest leave their light and shadow on the\nsenseless things and instruments among which or through whose agency\nthey have been felt or learned, but I believe that the eye cannot rest\non a material form, in a moment of depression or exultation, without\ncommunicating to that form a spirit and a life, a life which will make\nit afterwards in some degree loved or feared, a charm or a painfulness\nfor which we shall be unable to account even to ourselves, which will\nnot indeed be perceptible, except by its delicate influence on our\njudgment in cases of complicated beauty. Let the eye but rest on a rough\npiece of branch of curious form during a conversation with a friend,\nrest, however, unconsciously, and though the conversation be forgotten,\nthough every circumstance connected with it be as utterly lost to the\nmemory as though it had not been, yet the eye will, through the whole\nlife after, take a certain pleasure in such boughs which it had not\nbefore, a pleasure so slight, a trace of feeling so delicate as to\nleave us utterly unconscious of its peculiar power, but undestroyable by\nany reasoning, a part, thenceforward, of our constitution, destroyable\nonly by the same arbitrary process of association by which it was\ncreated. Reason has no effect upon it whatsoever. And there is probably\nno one opinion which is formed by any of us, in matters of taste, which\nis not in some degree influenced by unconscious association of this\nkind. In many who have no definite rules of judgment, preference is\ndecided by little else, and thus, unfortunately, its operations are\nmistaken for, or rather substituted for, those of inherent beauty, and\nits real position and value in the moral system is in a great measure\noverlooked.\n\n\nSec. 10. The dignity of its function.\n\nFor I believe that mere pleasure and pain have less associative power\nthan duty performed or omitted, and that the great use of the\nassociative faculty is not to add beauty to material things, but to add\nforce to the conscience. But for this external and all-powerful witness,\nthe voice of the inward guide might be lost in each particular instance,\nalmost as soon as disobeyed; the echo of it in after time, whereby,\nthough perhaps feeble as warning, it becomes powerful as punishment,\nmight be silenced, and the strength of the protection pass away in the\nlightness of the lash. Therefore it has received the power of enlisting\nexternal and unmeaning things in its aid, and transmitting to all that\nis indifferent, its own authority to reprove or reward, so that, as we\ntravel the way of life, we have the choice, according to our working, of\nturning all the voices of nature into one song of rejoicing, and all her\nlifeless creatures into a glad company, whereof the meanest shall be\nbeautiful in our eyes, by its kind message, or of withering and\nquenching her sympathy into a fearful, withdrawn, silence of\ncondemnation, or into a crying out of her stones, and a shaking of her\ndust against us. Nor is it any marvel that the theoretic faculty should\nbe overpowered by this momentous operation, and the indifferent appeals\nand inherent glories of external things in the end overlooked, when the\nperfection of God's works is felt only as the sweetness of his promises,\nand their admirableness only as the threatenings of his power.\n\n\nSec. 11. How it is connected with impressions of beauty.\n\nBut it is evident that the full exercise of this noble function of the\nassociative faculty is inconsistent with absolute and incontrovertible\nconclusions on subjects of theoretic preference. For it is quite\nimpossible for any individual to distinguish in himself the unconscious\nunderworking of indefinite association, peculiar to him individually,\nfrom those great laws of choice under which he is comprehended with all\nhis race. And it is well for us that it is so, the harmony of God's good\nwork is not in us interrupted by this mingling of universal and peculiar\nprinciples; for by these such difference is secured in the feelings as\nshall make fellowship itself more delightful, by its inter-communicate\ncharacter, and such variety of feeling also in each of us separately as\nshall make us capable of enjoying scenes of different kinds and orders,\ninstead of morbidly seeking for some perfect epitome of the beautiful in\none; and also that deadening by custom of theoretic impressions to which\nI have above alluded, is counterbalanced by the pleasantness of acquired\nassociation; and the loss of the intense feeling of the youth, which\n\"had no need of a remoter charm, by thought supplied, or any interest,\nunborrowed from the eye,\" is replaced by the gladness of conscience, and\nthe vigor of the reflecting and imaginative faculties, as they take\ntheir wide and aged grasp of the great relations between the earth and\nits dead people.\n\n\nSec. 12. And what caution it renders necessary in the examination of them.\n\nIn proportion therefore to the value, constancy, and efficiency of this\ninfluence, we must be modest and cautious in the pronouncing of positive\nopinions on the subject of beauty. For every one of us has peculiar\nsources of enjoyment necessarily opened to him in certain scenes and\nthings, sources which are sealed to others, and we must be wary on the\none hand, of confounding these in ourselves with ultimate conclusions of\ntaste, and so forcing them upon all as authoritative, and on the other\nof supposing that the enjoyments of others which we cannot share are\nshallow or unwarrantable, because incommunicable. I fear, for instance,\nthat in the former portion of this work I may have attributed too much\ncommunity and authority to certain affections of my own for scenery\ninducing emotions of wild, impetuous, and enthusiastic characters, and\ntoo little to those which I perceive in others for things peaceful,\nhumble, meditative, and solemn. So also between youth and age there will\nbe found differences of seeking, which are not wrong, nor of false\nchoice in either, but of different temperament, the youth sympathizing\nmore with the gladness, fulness, and magnificence of things, and the\ngray hairs with their completion, sufficiency and repose. And so,\nneither condemning the delights of others, nor altogether distrustful of\nour own, we must advance, as we live on, from what is brilliant to what\nis pure, and from what is promised to what is fulfilled, and from what\nis our strength to what is our crown, only observing in all things how\nthat which is indeed wrong, and to be cut up from the root, is dislike,\nand not affection. For by the very nature of these beautiful qualities,\nwhich I have defined to be the signature of God upon his works, it is\nevident that in whatever we altogether dislike, we see not all; that the\nkeenness of our vision is to be tested by the expansiveness of our love,\nand that as far as the influence of association has voice in the\nquestion, though it is indeed possible that the inevitable painfulness\nof an object, for which we can render no sufficient reason, may be owing\nto its recalling of a sorrow, it is more probably dependent on its\naccusation of a crime.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER V.\n\n OF TYPICAL BEAUTY:--FIRST, OF INFINITY, OR THE TYPE OF DIVINE\n INCOMPREHENSIBILITY.\n\n\nSec. 1. Impossibility of adequately treating the subject.\n\nThe subject being now in some measure cleared of embarrassment, let us\nbriefly distinguish those qualities or types on whose combination is\ndependent the power of mere material loveliness. I pretend neither to\nenumerate nor perceive them all, for it may be generally observed that\nwhatever good there may be, desirable by man, more especially good\nbelonging to his moral nature, there will be a corresponding\nagreeableness in whatever external object reminds him of such good,\nwhether it remind him by arbitrary association or by typical\nresemblance, and that the infinite ways, whether by reason or experience\ndiscoverable, by which matter in some sort may remind us of moral\nperfections, are hardly within any reasonable limits to be explained, if\neven by any single mind they might all be traced. Yet certain palpable\nand powerful modes there are, by observing which, we may come at such\ngeneral conclusions on the subject as may be practically useful, and\nmore than these I shall not attempt to obtain.\n\n\nSec. 2. With what simplicity of feeling to be approached.\n\nAnd first, I would ask of the reader to enter upon the subject with me,\nas far as may be, as a little child, ridding himself of all conventional\nand authoritative thoughts, and especially of such associations as arise\nfrom his respect for Pagan art, or which are in any way traceable to\nclassical readings. I recollect that Mr. Alison traces his first\nperceptions of beauty in external nature to this most corrupt source,\nthus betraying so total and singular a want of natural sensibility as\nmay well excuse the deficiencies of his following arguments. For there\nwas never yet the child of any promise (so far as the theoretic\nfaculties are concerned) but awaked to the sense of beauty with the\nfirst gleam of reason; and I suppose there are few, among those who love\nnature otherwise than by profession and at second-hand, who look not\nback to their youngest and least-learned days as those of the most\nintense, superstitious, insatiable, and beatific perception of her\nsplendors. And the bitter decline of this glorious feeling, though many\nnote it not, partly owing to the cares and weight of manhood, which\nleave them not the time nor the liberty to look for their lost treasure,\nand partly to the human and divine affections which are appointed to\ntake its place, yet has formed the subject not indeed of lamentation,\nbut of holy thankfulness for the witness it bears to the immortal origin\nand end of our nature, to one whose authority is almost without appeal\nin all questions relating to the influence of external things upon the\npure human soul.\n\n \"Heaven lies about us in our infancy,--\n Shades of the prison-house begin to close\n Upon the growing boy.\n But he beholds the light, and whence it flows\n He sees it in his joy.\n The youth, who daily farther from the east\n Must travel, still is nature's priest,\n And by the vision splendid\n Is on his way attended.\n At length the Man perceives it die away\n And fade into the light of common day.\"\n\nAnd if it were possible for us to recollect all the unaccountable and\nhappy instincts of the careless time, and to reason upon them with the\nmaturer judgment, we might arrive at more rapid and right results than\neither the philosophy or the sophisticated practice of art have yet\nattained. But we lose the perceptions before we are capable of\nmethodizing or comparing them.\n\n\nSec. 3. The child instinct respecting space.\n\nSec. 4. Continued in after life.\n\nOne, however, of these child instincts, I believe that few forget; the\nemotion, namely, caused by all open ground, or lines of any spacious\nkind against the sky, behind which there might be conceived the sea. It\nis an emotion more pure than that caused by the sea itself, for I\nrecollect distinctly running down behind the banks of a high beach to\nget their land line cutting against the sky, and receiving a more\nstrange delight from this than from the sight of the ocean: I am not\nsure that this feeling is common to all children, (or would be common if\nthey were all in circumstances admitting it), but I have ascertained it\nto be frequent among those who possess the most vivid sensibilities for\nnature; and I am certain that the modification of it, which belongs to\nour after years, is common to all, the love, namely, of a light\ndistance appearing over a comparatively dark horizon. This I have tested\ntoo frequently to be mistaken, by offering to indifferent spectators\nforms of equal abstract beauty in half tint, relieved, the one against\ndark sky, the other against a bright distance. The preference is\ninvariably given to the latter, and it is very certain that this\npreference arises not from any supposition of there being greater truth\nin this than the other, for the same preference is unhesitatingly\naccorded to the same effect in nature herself. Whatever beauty there may\nresult from effects of light on foreground objects, from the dew of the\ngrass, the flash of the cascade, the glitter of the birch trunk, or the\nfair daylight hues of darker things, (and joyfulness there is in all of\nthem), there is yet a light which the eye invariably seeks with a deeper\nfeeling of the beautiful, the light of the declining or breaking day,\nand the flakes of scarlet cloud burning like watch-fires in the green\nsky of the horizon; a deeper feeling, I say, not perhaps more acute, but\nhaving more of spiritual hope and longing, less of animal and present\nlife, more manifest, invariably, in those of more serious and determined\nmind, (I use the word serious, not as being opposed to cheerful, but to\ntrivial and volatile;) but, I think, marked and unfailing even in those\nof the least thoughtful dispositions. I am willing to let it rest on the\ndetermination of every reader, whether the pleasure which he has\nreceived from these effects of calm and luminous distance be not the\nmost singular and memorable of which he has been conscious, whether all\nthat is dazzling in color, perfect in form, gladdening in expression, be\nnot of evanescent and shallow appealing, when compared with the still\nsmall voice of the level twilight behind purple hills, or the scarlet\narch of dawn over the dark, troublous-edged sea.\n\n\nSec. 5. Whereto this instinct is traceable.\n\nLet us try to discover that which effects of this kind possess or\nsuggest, peculiar to themselves, and which other effects of light and\ncolor possess not. There _must_ be something in them of a peculiar\ncharacter, and that, whatever it be, must be one of the primal and most\nearnest motives of beauty to human sensation.\n\nDo they show finer characters of form than can be developed by the\nbroader daylight? Not so; for their power is almost independent of the\nforms they assume or display; it matters little whether the bright\nclouds be simple or manifold, whether the mountain line be subdued or\nmajestic, the fairer forms of earthly things are by them subdued and\ndisguised, the round and muscular growth of the forest trunks is sunk\ninto skeleton lines of quiet shade, the purple clefts of the hill-side\nare labyrinthed in the darkness, the orbed spring and whirling wave of\nthe torrent have given place to a white, ghastly, interrupted gleaming.\nHave they more perfection or fulness of color? Not so; for their effect\nis oftentimes deeper when their hues are dim, than when they are\nblazoned with crimson and pale gold; and assuredly, in the blue of the\nrainy sky, in the many tints of morning flowers, in the sunlight on\nsummer foliage and field, there are more sources of mere sensual\ncolor-pleasure than in the single streak of wan and dying light. It is\nnot then by nobler form, it is not by positiveness of hue, it is not by\nintensity of light, (for the sun itself at noonday is effectless upon\nthe feelings,) that this strange distant space possesses its attractive\npower. But there is one thing that it has, or suggests, which no other\nobject of sight suggests in equal degree, and that is,--Infinity. It is\nof all visible things the least material, the least finite, the farthest\nwithdrawn from the earth prison-house, the most typical of the nature of\nGod, the most suggestive of the glory of his dwelling-place. For the sky\nof night, though we may know it boundless, is dark, it is a studded\nvault, a roof that seems to shut us in and down, but the bright distance\nhas no limit, we feel its infinity, as we rejoice in its purity of\nlight.\n\n\nSec. 6. Infinity how necessary in art.\n\nNow not only is this expression of infinity in distance most precious\nwherever we find it, however solitary it may be, and however unassisted\nby other forms and kinds of beauty, but it is of that value that no such\nother forms will altogether recompense us for its loss; and much as I\ndread the enunciation of anything that may seem like a conventional\nrule, I have no hesitation in asserting, that no work of any art, in\nwhich this expression of infinity is possible, can be perfect, or\nsupremely elevated without it, and that in proportion to its presence,\nit will exalt and render impressive even the most tame and trivial\nthemes. And I think if there be any one grand division, by which it is\nat all possible to set the productions of painting, so far as their\nmere plan or system is concerned, on our right and left hands, it is\nthis of light and dark background, of heaven light or of object light.\nFor I know not any truly great painter of any time, who manifests not\nthe most intense pleasure in the luminous space of his backgrounds, or\nwho ever sacrifices this pleasure where the nature of his subject admits\nof its attainment, as on the other hand I know not that the habitual use\nof dark backgrounds can be shown as having ever been co-existent with\npure or high feeling, and, except in the case of Rembrandt, (and then\nunder peculiar circumstances only,) with any high power of intellect. It\nis however necessary carefully to observe the following modifications of\nthis broad principle.\n\n\nSec. 7. Conditions of its necessity.\n\nThe absolute necessity, for such indeed I consider it, is of no more\nthan such a mere luminous distant point as may give to the feelings a\nspecies of escape from all the finite objects about them. There is a\nspectral etching of Rembrandt, a presentation of Christ in the temple,\nwhere the figure of a robed priest stands glaring by its gems out of the\ngloom, holding a crosier. Behind it there is a subdued window light seen\nin the opening between two columns, without which the impressiveness of\nthe whole subject would, I think, be incalculably brought down. I cannot\ntell whether I am at present allowing too much weight to my own fancies\nand predilections, but without so much escape into the outer air and\nopen heaven as this, I can take permanent pleasure in no picture.\n\n\nSec. 8. And connected analogies.\n\nAnd I think I am supported in this feeling by the unanimous practice, if\nnot the confessed opinion, of all artists. The painter of portrait is\nunhappy without his conventional white stroke under the sleeve, or\nbeside the arm-chair; the painter of interiors feels like a caged bird,\nunless he can throw a window open, or set the door ajar; the landscapist\ndares not lose himself in forest without a gleam of light under its\nfarthest branches, nor ventures out in rain, unless he may somewhere\npierce to a better promise in the distance, or cling to some closing gap\nof variable blue above;--escape, hope, infinity, by whatever\nconventionalism sought, the desire is the same in all, the instinct\nconstant, it is no mere point of light that is wanted in the etching of\nRembrandt above instanced, a gleam of armor or fold of temple curtain\nwould have been utterly valueless, neither is it liberty, for though we\ncut down hedges and level hills, and give what waste and plain we\nchoose, on the right hand and the left, it is all comfortless and\nundesired, so long as we cleave not a way of escape forward; and however\nnarrow and thorny and difficult the nearer path, it matters not, so only\nthat the clouds open for us at its close. Neither will any amount of\nbeauty in nearer form, make us content to stay with it, so long as we\nare shut down to that alone, nor is any form so cold or so hurtful but\nthat we may look upon it with kindness, so only that it rise against the\ninfinite hope of light beyond. The reader can follow out the analogies\nof this unassisted.\n\n\nSec. 9. How the dignity of treatment is proportioned to the expression of\n infinity.\n\nBut although this narrow portal of escape be all that is absolutely\nnecessary, I think that the dignity of the painting increases with the\nextent and amount of the expression. With the earlier and mightier\npainters of Italy, the practice is commonly to leave their distance of\npure and open sky, of such simplicity, that it in nowise shall interfere\nwith or draw the attention from the interest of the figures, and of such\npurity, that especially towards the horizon, it shall be in the highest\ndegree expressive of the infinite space of heaven. I do not mean to say\nthat they did this with any occult or metaphysical motives. They did it,\nI think, with the child-like, unpretending simplicity of all earnest\nmen; they did what they loved and felt; they sought what the heart\nnaturally seeks, and gave what it most gratefully receives; and I look\nto them as in all points of principle (not, observe, of knowledge or\nempirical attainment) as the most irrefragable authorities, precisely on\naccount of the child-like innocence, which never deemed itself\nauthoritative, but acted upon desire, and not upon dicta, and sought for\nsympathy, not for admiration.\n\n\nSec. 10. Examples among the Southern schools.\n\nAnd so we find the same simple and sweet treatment, the open sky, the\ntender, unpretending, horizontal white clouds, the far winding and\nabundant landscape, in Giotto, Taddeo Gaddi, Laurati, Angelico, Benozzo,\nGhirlandajo, Francia, Perogino, and the young Raffaelle, the first\nsymptom of conventionality appearing in Perugino, who, though with\nintense feeling of light and color he carried the glory of his luminous\ndistance far beyond all his predecessors, began at the same time to use\na somewhat morbid relief of his figures against the upper sky. Thus in\nthe Assumption of the Florentine Academy, in that of l'Annunziata; and\nof the Gallery of Bologna, in all which pictures the lower portions are\nincomparably the finest, owing to the light distance behind the heads.\nRaffaelle, in his fall, betrayed the faith he had received from his\nfather and his master, and substituted for the radiant sky of the\nMadonna del Cardellino, the chamber-wall of the Madonna della\nSediola--and the brown wainscot of the Baldacchino. Yet it is curious to\nobserve how much of the dignity even of his later pictures, depends on\nsuch portions as the green light of the lake, and sky behind the rocks,\nin the St. John of the tribune, and how the repainted distortion of the\nMadonna dell' Impannata, is redeemed into something like elevated\ncharacter, merely by the light of the linen window from which it takes\nits name.\n\n\nSec. 11. Among the Venetians.\n\nThat which by the Florentines was done in pure simplicity of heart, was\ndone by the Venetians with intense love of the color and splendor of the\nsky itself, even to the frequent sacrificing of their subject to the\npassion of its distance. In Carpaccio, John Bellini, Giorgione, Titian,\nVeronese, and Tintoret, the preciousness of the luminous sky, so far as\nit might be at all consistent with their subject, is nearly constant;\nabandoned altogether in portraiture only, seldom even there, and never\nwith advantage. Titian and Veronese, who had less exalted feeling than\nthe others, affording a few instances of exception, the latter\noverpowering his silvery distances with foreground splendor, the other\nsometimes sacrificing them to a luscious fulness of color, as in the\nFlagellation in the Louvre, by a comparison of which with the unequalled\nmajesty of the Entombment opposite, the whole power and applicability of\nthe general principle may at once be tested.\n\n\nSec. 12. Among the painters of landscape.\n\nBut of the value of this mode of treatment there is a farther and more\nconvincing proof than its adoption either by the innocence of the\nFlorentine or the ardor of the Venetian, namely, that when retained or\nimitated from them by the landscape painters of the seventeenth\ncentury, when appearing in isolation from all other good, among the\nweaknesses and paltrinesses of Claude, the mannerisms of Gaspar, and the\ncaricatures and brutalities of Salvator, it yet redeems and upholds all\nthree, conquers all foulness by its purity, vindicates all folly by its\ndignity, and puts an uncomprehended power of permanent address to the\nhuman heart, upon the lips of the senseless and the profane.[13]\n\n\nSec. 13. Other modes in which the power of infinity is felt.\n\nSec. 14. The beauty of curvature.\n\nNow, although I doubt not that the general value of this treatment will\nbe acknowledged by all lovers of art, it is not certain that the point\nto prove which I have brought it forward, will be as readily conceded,\nnamely, the inherent power of all representations of infinity over the\nhuman heart; for there are, indeed, countless associations of pure and\nreligious kind, which combine with each other to enhance the impression,\nwhen presented in this particular form, whose power I neither deny nor\nam careful to distinguish, seeing that they all tend to the same Divine\npoint, and have reference to heavenly hopes; delights they are in seeing\nthe narrow, black, miserable earth fairly compared with the bright\nfirmament, reachings forward unto the things that are before, and\njoyfulness in the apparent though unreachable nearness and promise of\nthem. But there are other modes in which infinity may be represented,\nwhich are confused by no associations of the kind, and which would, as\nbeing in mere matter, appear trivial and mean, but for their\nincalculable influence on the forms of all that we feel to be beautiful.\nThe first of these is the curvature of lines and surfaces, wherein it at\nfirst appears futile to insist upon any resemblance or suggestion of\ninfinity, since there is certainly in our ordinary contemplation of it,\nno sensation of the kind. But I have repeated again and again that the\nideas of beauty are instinctive, and that it is only upon consideration,\nand even then in doubtful and disputable way, that they appear in their\ntypical character; neither do I intend at all to insist upon the\nparticular meaning which they appear to myself to bear, but merely on\ntheir actual and demonstrable agreeableness, so that, in the present\ncase, while I assert positively, and have no fear of being able to\nprove, that a curve of any kind is more beautiful than a right line, I\nleave it to the reader to accept or not, as he pleases, that reason of\nits agreeableness, which is the only one that I can at all trace,\nnamely, that every curve divides itself infinitely by its changes of\ndirection.\n\n\nSec. 15. How constant in external nature.\n\nThat all forms of acknowledged beauty are composed exclusively of curves\nwill, I believe, be at once allowed; but that which there will be need\nmore especially to prove, is the subtilty and constancy of curvature in\nall natural forms whatsoever. I believe that, except in crystals, in\ncertain mountain forms admitted for the sake of sublimity or contrast,\n(as in the slope of debris,) in rays of light, in the levels of calm\nwater and alluvial land, and in some few organic developments, there are\nno lines nor surfaces of nature without curvature, though as we before\nsaw in clouds, more especially in their under lines towards the horizon,\nand in vast and extended plains, right lines are often suggested which\nare not actual. Without these we could not be sensible of the value of\nthe contrasting curves, and while, therefore, for the most part, the eye\nis fed in natural forms with a grace of curvature which no hand nor\ninstrument can follow, other means are provided to give beauty to those\nsurfaces which are admitted for contrast, as in water by its reflection\nof the gradations which it possesses not itself. In freshly-broken\nground, which nature has not yet had time to model, in quarries and\npits which are none of her cutting, in those convulsions and evidences\nof convulsion, of whose influence on ideal landscape I shall presently\nhave occasion to speak, and generally in all ruin and disease, and\ninterference of one order of being with another, (as in the cattle line\nof park trees,) the curves vanish, and violently opposed or broken and\nunmeaning lines take their place.\n\n\nSec. 16. The beauty of gradation.\n\nWhat curvature is to lines, gradation is to shades and colors. It is\n_there_ infinity, and divides them into an infinite number of degrees.\nAbsolutely, without gradation no natural surface can possibly be, except\nunder circumstances of so rare conjunction as to amount to a lusus\nnaturae; for we have seen that few surfaces are without curvature, and\nevery curved surface must be gradated by the nature of light, which is\nmost intense when it impinges at the highest angle, and for the\ngradation of the few plane surfaces that exist, means are provided in\nlocal color, aerial perspective, reflected lights, etc., from which it\nis but barely conceivable that they should ever escape. Hence for\ninstances of the complete absence of gradation we must look to man's\nwork, or to his disease and decrepitude. Compare the gradated colors of\nthe rainbow with the stripes of a target, and the gradual concentration\nof the youthful blood in the cheek with an abrupt patch of rouge, or\nwith the sharply drawn veining of old age.\n\n\nSec. 17. How found in Nature.\n\nGradation is so inseparable a quality of all natural shade and color\nthat the eye refuses in art to understand anything as either, which\nappears without it, while on the other hand nearly all the gradations of\nnature are so subtile and between degrees of tint so slightly separated,\nthat no human hand can in any wise equal, or do anything more than\nsuggest the idea of them. In proportion to the space over which\ngradation extends, and to its invisible subtilty, is its grandeur, and\nin proportion to its narrow limits and violent degrees, its vulgarity.\nIn Correggio, it is morbid and vulgar in spite of its refinement of\nexecution, because the eye is drawn to it, and it is made the most\nobservable and characteristic part of the picture; whereas natural\ngradation is forever escaping observation to that degree that the\ngreater part of artists in working from nature see it not, (except in\ncertain of its marked developments,) but either lay down such\ncontinuous lines and colors, as are both disagreeable and impossible,\nor, receiving the necessity of gradation as a principle instead of a\nfact, use it in violently exaggerated measure, and so lose both the\ndignity of their own work, and by the constant dwelling of their eyes\nupon exaggerations, their sensibility to that of the natural forms. So\nthat we find the majority of painters divided between the two evil\nextremes of insufficiency and affectation, and only a few of the\ngreatest men capable of making gradation constant and yet extended over\nenormous spaces and within degrees of narrow difference, as in the body\nof a high light.\n\n\nSec. 18. How necessary in Art.\n\nFrom the necessity of gradation results what is commonly given as a rule\nof art, though its authority as a rule obtains only from its being a\nfact of nature, that the extremes of high light and pure color, can\nexist only in points. The common rules respecting sixths and eighths,\nheld concerning light and shade, are entirely absurd and conventional;\naccording to the subject and the effect of light, the greater part of\nthe picture will be or ought to be light or dark; but that principle\nwhich is not conventional, is that of all light, however high, there is\nsome part that is higher than the rest, and that of all color, however\npure, there is some part that is purer than the rest, and that generally\nof all shade, however deep, there is some part deeper than the rest,\nthough this last fact is frequently sacrificed in art, owing to the\nnarrowness of its means. But on the right gradation or focussing of\nlight and color depends in great measure, the value of both. Of this, I\nhave spoken sufficiently in pointing out the singular constancy of it in\nthe works of Turner. Part II. Sect. II. Chap. II. Sec. 17. And it is\ngenerally to be observed that even raw and valueless color, if rightly\nand subtilely gradated will in some measure stand for light, and that\nthe most transparent and perfect hue will be in some measure\nunsatisfactory, if entirely unvaried. I believe the early skies of\nRaffaelle owe their luminousness more to their untraceable and subtile\ngradation than to inherent quality of hue.\n\n\nSec. 19. Infinity not rightly implied by vastness.\n\nSuch are the expressions of infinity which we find in creation, of which\nthe importance is to be estimated, rather by their frequency than their\ndistinctness. Let, however, the reader bear constantly in mind that I\ninsist not on his accepting any interpretation of mine, but only on his\ndwelling so long on those objects, which he perceives to be beautiful,\nas to determine whether the qualities to which I trace their beauty, be\nnecessarily there or no. Farther expressions of infinity there are in\nthe mystery of nature, and in some measure in her vastness, but these\nare dependent on our own imperfections, and therefore, though they\nproduce sublimity, they are unconnected with beauty. For that which we\nfoolishly call vastness is, rightly considered, not more wonderful, not\nmore impressive, than that which we insolently call littleness, and the\ninfinity of God is not mysterious, it is only unfathomable, not\nconcealed, but incomprehensible: it is a clear infinity, the darkness of\nthe pure unsearchable sea.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [13] In one of the smaller rooms of the Pitti palace, over the door,\n is a temptation of St. Anthony, by Salvator, wherein such power as\n the artist possessed is fully manifested, with little,\n comparatively, that is offensive. It is a vigorous and ghastly\n thought, in that kind of horror which is dependent on scenic effect,\n perhaps unrivalled, and I shall have occasion to refer to it again\n in speaking of the powers of imagination. I allude to it here,\n because the sky of the distance affords a remarkable instance of the\n power of light at present under discussion. It is formed of flakes\n of black cloud, with rents and openings of intense and lurid green,\n and at least half of the impressiveness of the picture depends on\n these openings. Close them, make the sky one mass of gloom, and the\n spectre will be awful no longer. It owes to the light of the\n distance both its size and its spirituality. The time would fail me\n if I were to name the tenth part of the pictures which occur to me,\n whose vulgarity is redeemed by this circumstance alone, and yet let\n not the artist trust to such morbid and conventional use of it as\n may be seen in the common blue and yellow effectism of the present\n day. Of the value of moderation and simplicity in the use of this,\n as of all other sources of pleasurable emotion, I shall presently\n have occasion to speak farther.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VI.\n\n OF UNITY, OR THE TYPE OF THE DIVINE COMPREHENSIVENESS.\n\n\nSec. 1. The general conception of divine Unity.\n\n\"All things,\" says Hooker, \"(God only excepted,) besides the nature\nwhich they have in themselves, receive externally some perfection from\nother things.\" Hence the appearance of separation or isolation in\nanything, and of self-dependence, is an appearance of imperfection: and\nall appearances of connection and brotherhood are pleasant and right,\nboth as significative of perfection in the things united, and as typical\nof that Unity which we attribute to God, and of which our true\nconception is rightly explained and limited by Dr. Brown in his XCII.\nlecture; that Unity which consists not in his own singleness or\nseparation, but in the necessity of his inherence in all things that be,\nwithout which no creature of any kind could hold existence for a moment.\nWhich necessity of Divine essence I think it better to speak of as\ncomprehensiveness, than as unity, because unity is often understood in\nthe sense of oneness or singleness, instead of universality, whereas the\nonly Unity which by any means can become grateful or an object of hope\nto men, and whose types therefore in material things can be beautiful,\nis that on which turned the last words and prayer of Christ before his\ncrossing of the Kidron brook. \"Neither pray I for these alone, but for\nthem also which shall believe on me through their word. That they all\nmay be one, as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee.\"\n\n\nSec. 2. The glory of all things is their Unity.\n\nAnd so there is not any matter, nor any spirit, nor any creature, but it\nis capable of an unity of some kind with other creatures, and in that\nunity is its perfection and theirs, and a pleasure also for the\nbeholding of all other creatures that can behold. So the unity of\nspirits is partly in their sympathy, and partly in their giving and\ntaking, and always in their love; and these are their delight and their\nstrength, for their strength is in their co-working and army fellowship,\nand their delight is in the giving and receiving of alternate and\nperpetual currents of good, their inseparable dependency on each other's\nbeing, and their essential and perfect depending on their Creator's: and\nso the unity of earthly creatures is their power and their peace, not\nlike the dead and cold peace of undisturbed stones and solitary\nmountains, but the living peace of trust, and the living power of\nsupport, of hands that hold each other and are still: and so the unity\nof matter is, in its noblest form, the organization of it which builds\nit up into temples for the spirit, and in its lower form, the sweet and\nstrange affinity, which gives to it the glory of its orderly elements,\nand the fair variety of change and assimilation that turns the dust into\nthe crystal, and separates the waters that be above the firmament from\nthe waters that be beneath, and in its lowest form; it is the working\nand walking and clinging together that gives their power to the winds,\nand its syllables and soundings to the air, and their weight to the\nwaves, and their burning to the sunbeams, and their stability to the\nmountains, and to every creature whatsoever operation is for its glory\nand for others good.\n\nNow of that which is thus necessary to the perfection of all things, all\nappearance, sign, type, or suggestion must be beautiful, in whatever\nmatter it may appear. And so to the perfection of beauty in lines, or\ncolors, or forms, or masses, or multitudes, the appearance of some\nspecies of unity is in the most determined sense of the word essential.\n\n\nSec. 3. The several kinds of unity. Subjectional. Original. Of sequence,\n and of membership.\n\nBut of the appearances of unity, as of unity itself, there are several\nkinds which it will be found hereafter convenient to consider\nseparately. Thus there is the unity of different and separate things,\nsubjected to one and the same influence, which may be called\nsubjectional unity, and this is the unity of the clouds, as they are\ndriven by the parallel winds, or as they are ordered by the electric\ncurrents, and this the unity of the sea waves, and this of the bending\nand undulation of the forest masses, and in creatures capable of will it\nis the unity of will or of inspiration. And there is unity of origin,\nwhich we may call original unity, which is of things arising from one\nspring and source, and speaking always of this their brotherhood, and\nthis in matter is the unity of the branches of the trees, and of the\npetals and starry rays of flowers, and of the beams of light, and in\nspiritual creatures it is their filial relation to Him from whom they\nhave their being. And there is unity of sequence, which is that of\nthings that form links in chains, and steps in ascent, and stages in\njourneys, and this, in matter, is the unity of communicable forces in\ntheir continuance from one thing to another, and it is the passing\nupwards and downwards of beneficent effects among all things, and it is\nthe melody of sounds, and the beauty of continuous lines, and the\norderly succession of motions and times. And in spiritual creatures it\nis their own constant building up by true knowledge and continuous\nreasoning to higher perfection, and the singleness and\nstraight-forwardness of their tendencies to more complete communion with\nGod. And there is the unity of membership, which we may call essential\nunity, which is the unity of things separately imperfect into a perfect\nwhole, and this is the great unity of which other unities are but parts\nand means, it is in matter the harmony of sounds and consistency of\nbodies, and among spiritual creatures, their love and happiness and very\nlife in God.\n\n\nSec. 4. Unity of membership. How secured.\n\nNow of the nature of this last kind of unity, the most important whether\nin moral or in those material things with which we are at present\nconcerned, there is this necessary to be observed, that it cannot exist\nbetween things similar to each other. Two or more equal and like things\ncannot be members one of another, nor can they form one, or a whole\nthing. Two they must remain, both in nature and in our conception, so\nlong as they remain alike, unless they are united by a third different\nfrom both. Thus the arms, which are like each other, remain two arms in\nour conception. They could not be united by a third arm, they must be\nunited by something which is not an arm, and which, imperfect without\nthem as they without it, shall form one perfect body; nor is unity even\nthus accomplished, without a difference and opposition of direction in\nthe setting on of the like members. Therefore among all things which are\nto have unity of membership one with another, there must be difference\nor variety; and though it is possible that many like things may be made\nmembers of one body, yet it is remarkable that this structure appears\ncharacteristic of the lower creatures, rather than the higher, as the\nmany legs of the caterpillar, and the many arms and suckers of the\nradiata, and that, as we rise in order of being, the number of similar\nmembers becomes less, and their structure commonly seems based on the\nprinciple of the unity of two things by a third, as Plato has it in the\nTimaeus, Sec. II.\n\n\nSec. 5. Variety. Why required.\n\nHence, out of the necessity of unity, arises that of variety, a\nnecessity often more vividly, though never so deeply felt, because lying\nat the surfaces of things, and assisted by an influential principle of\nour nature, the love of change, and the power of contrast. But it is a\nmistake which has led to many unfortunate results, in matters respecting\nart, to insist on any inherent agreeableness of variety, without\nreference to a farther end. For it is not even true that variety as\nsuch, and in its highest degree, is beautiful. A patched garment of many\ncolors is by no means so agreeable as one of a single and continuous\nhue; the splendid colors of many birds are eminently painful from their\nviolent separation and inordinate variety, while the pure and colorless\nswan is, under certain circumstances, the most beautiful of all\nfeathered creatures.[14] A forest of all manner of trees is poor, if not\ndisagreeable in effect,[15] a mass of one species of tree is sublime. It\nis therefore only harmonious and chordal variety, that variety which is\nnecessary to secure and extend unity, (for the greater the number of\nobjects, which by their differences become members of one another, the\nmore extended and sublime is their unity,) which is rightly agreeable,\nand so I name not variety as essential to beauty, because it is only so\nin a secondary and casual sense.[16]\n\n\nSec. 6. Change, and its influence on beauty.\n\nSec. 7. The love of change. How morbid and evil.\n\nOf the love of change as a principle of human nature, and the\npleasantness of variety resulting from it, something has already been\nsaid, (Ch. IV. Sec. 4,) only as there I was opposing the idea that our\nbeing familiar with objects was the cause of our delight in them, so\nhere, I have to oppose the contrary position, that their strangeness is\nthe cause of it. For neither familiarity nor strangeness have more\noperation on, or connection with, impressions of one sense than of\nanother, and they have less power over the impressions of sense\ngenerally, than over the intellect in its joyful accepting of fresh\nknowledge, and dull contemplation of that it has long possessed. Only in\ntheir operation on the senses they act contrarily at different times, as\nfor instance the newness of a dress or of some kind of unaccustomed food\nmay make it for a time delightful, but as the novelty passes away, so\nalso may the delight, yielding to disgust or indifference, which in\ntheir turn, as custom begins to operate, may pass into affection and\ncraving, and that which was first a luxury, and then a matter of\nindifference, becomes a necessity:[17] whereas in subjects of the\nintellect, the chief delight they convey is dependent upon their being\nnewly and vividly comprehended, and as they become subjects of\ncontemplation they lose their value, and become tasteless and\nunregarded, except as instruments for the reaching of others, only that\nthough they sink down into the shadowy, effectless, heap of things\nindifferent, which we pack, and crush down, and stand upon, to reach\nthings new, they sparkle afresh at intervals as we stir them by throwing\na new stone into the heap, and letting the newly admitted lights play\nupon them. And both in subjects of the intellect and the senses it is to\nbe remembered, that the love of change is a weakness and imperfection of\nour nature, and implies in it the state of probation, and that it is to\nteach us that things about us here are not meant for our continual\npossession or satisfaction, that ever such passion of change was put in\nus as that \"custom lies upon us with a weight, heavy as frost, and deep\nalmost as life,\" and only such weak back and baby grasp given to our\nintellect as that \"the best things we do are painful, and the exercise\nof them grievous, being continued without intermission, so as in those\nvery actions whereby we are especially perfected in this life we are not\nable to persist.\" And so it will be found that they are the\nweakest-minded and the hardest-hearted men that most love variety and\nchange, for the weakest-minded are those who both wonder most at things\nnew, and digest worst things old, in so far that everything they have\nlies rusty, and loses lustre for want of use; neither do they make any\nstir among their possessions, nor look over them to see what may be made\nof them, nor keep any great store, nor are householders with storehouses\nof things new and old, but they catch at the new-fashioned garments, and\nlet the moth and thief look after the rest; and the hardest-hearted men\nare those that least feel the endearing and binding power of custom, and\nhold on by no cords of affection to any shore, but drive with the waves\nthat cast up mire and dirt. And certainly it is not to be held that the\nperception of beauty and desire of it, are greatest in the hardest heart\nand weakest brain; but the love of variety is so, and therefore variety\ncan be no cause of the beautiful, except, as I have said, when it is\nnecessary for the perception of unity, neither is there any better test\nof that which is indeed beautiful than its surviving or annihilating the\nlove of change; and this is a test which the best judges of art have\nneed frequently to use; and the wisest of them will use it always, for\nthere is much in art that surprises by its brilliancy, or attracts by\nits singularity, that can hardly but by course of time, though assuredly\nit will by course of time, be winnowed away from the right and real\nbeauty whose retentive power is forever on the increase, a bread of the\nsoul for which the hunger is continual.\n\n\nSec. 8. The conducting of variety towards unity of subjection.\n\nReceiving, therefore, variety only as that which accomplishes unity, or\nmakes it perceived, its operation is found to be very precious, both in\nthat which I have called unity of subjection, and unity of sequence, as\nwell as in unity of membership; for although things in all respects the\nsame may, indeed, be subjected to one influence, yet the power of the\ninfluence, and their obedience to it, is best seen by varied operation\nof it on their individual differences, as in clouds and waves there is a\nglorious unity of rolling, wrought out by the wild and wonderful\ndifferences of their absolute forms, which, if taken away, would leave\nin them only multitudinous and petty repetition, instead of the majestic\noneness of shared passion. And so in the waves and clouds of human\nmultitude when they are filled with one thought, as we find frequently\nin the works of the early Italian men of earnest purpose, who despising,\nor happily ignorant of, the sophistications of theories, and the\nproprieties of composition, indicated by perfect similarity of action\nand gesture on the one hand, and by the infinite and truthful variation\nof expression on the other, the most sublime strength because the most\nabsorbing unity, of multitudinous passion that ever human heart\nconceived. Hence, in the cloister of St. Mark's, the intense, fixed,\nstatue-like silence of ineffable adoration upon the spirits in prison at\nthe feet of Christ, side by side, the hands lifted, and the knees bowed,\nand the lips trembling together;[18] and in St. Domenico of Fiesole,[19]\nthat whirlwind rush of the Angels and the redeemed souls round about him\nat his resurrection, so that we hear the blast of the horizontal\ntrumpets mixed with the dying clangor of their ingathered wings. The\nsame great feeling occurs throughout the works of the serious men,\nthough most intensely in Angelico, and it is well to compare with it the\nvileness and falseness of all that succeeded, when men had begun to\nbring to the cross foot their systems instead of their sorrow. Take as\nthe most marked and degraded instance, perhaps, to be anywhere found,\nBronzino's treatment of the same subject (Christ visiting the spirits in\nprison,) in the picture now in the Tuscan room of the Uffizii, which,\nvile as it is in color, vacant in invention, void in light and shade, a\nheap of cumbrous nothingnesses, and sickening offensivenesses, is of all\nits voids most void in this, that the academy models therein huddled\ntogether at the bottom, show not so much unity or community of attention\nto the academy model with the flag in its hand above, as a street crowd\nwould be to a fresh-staged charlatan. Some _point_ to the God who has\nburst the gates of death, as if the rest were incapable of\ndistinguishing him for themselves, and others turn their backs upon him,\nto show their unagitated faces to the spectator.\n\n\nSec. 9. And towards unity of sequence.\n\nIn unity of sequence, the effect of variety is best exemplified by the\nmelodies of music, wherein by the differences of the notes, they are\nconnected with each other in certain pleasant relations. This connection\ntaking place in quantities is proportion, respecting which certain\ngeneral principles must be noted, as the subject is one open to many\nerrors, and obscurely treated of by writers on art.\n\n\nSec. 10. The nature of proportion. 1st, of apparent proportion.\n\nProportion is of two distinct kinds. Apparent: when it takes place\nbetween qualities for the sake of connection only, without any ultimate\nobject or casual necessity; and constructive: when it has reference to\nsome function to be discharged by the quantities, depending on their\nproportion. From the confusion of these two kinds of proportion have\narisen the greater part of the erroneous conceptions of the influence of\neither.\n\nApparent proportion, or the sensible relation of quantities, is one of\nthe most important means of obtaining unity between things which\notherwise must have remained distinct in similarity, and as it may\nconsist with every other kind of unity, and persist when every other\nmeans of it fails, it may be considered as lying at the root of most of\nour impressions of the beautiful. There is no sense of rightness, or\nwrongness connected with it, no sense of utility, propriety, or\nexpediency. These ideas enter only where the proportion of quantities\nhas reference to some function to be performed by them. It cannot be\nasserted that it is right or that it is wrong that A should be to B, as\nB to C; unless A, B, and C have some desirable operation dependent on\nthat relation. But nevertheless it may be highly agreeable to the eye\nthat A, B, and C, if visible things, should have visible connection of\nratio, even though nothing be accomplished by such connection. On the\nother hand, constructive proportion, or the adaptation of quantities to\nfunctions, is agreeable not to the eye, but to the mind, which is\ncognizant of the function to be performed. Thus the pleasantness or\nrightness of the proportions of a column depends not on the mere\nrelation of diameter and height, (which is not proportion at all, for\nproportion is between three terms at least,) but on three other involved\nterms, the strength of materials, the weight to be borne, and the scale\nof the building. The proportions of a wooden column are wrong in a stone\none, and of a small building wrong in a large one,[20] and this owing\nsolely to mechanical considerations, which have no more to do with\nideas of beauty, than the relation between the arms of a lever, adapted\nto the raising of a given weight; and yet it is highly agreeable to\nperceive that such constructive proportion has been duly observed, as\nit is agreeable to see that anything is fit for its purpose or for ours,\nand also that it has been the result of intelligence in the workman of\nit, so that we sometimes feel a pleasure in apparent non-adaptation, if\nit be a sign of ingenuity; as in the unnatural and seemingly impossible\nlightness of Gothic spires and roofs.\n\nNow, the errors against which I would caution the reader in this matter\nare three. The first, is the overlooking or denial of the power of\napparent proportion, of which power neither Burke nor any other writer\nwhose works I have met with, take cognizance. The second, is the\nattribution of _beauty_ to the appearances of constructive proportion.\nThe third, the denial with Burke of _any_ value or agreeableness in\nconstructive proportion.\n\n\nSec. 11. The value of apparent proportion in curvature.\n\nNow, the full proof of the influence of apparent proportion, I must\nreserve for illustration by diagram; one or two instances however may be\ngiven at present for the better understanding of its nature.\n\nWe have already asserted that all curves are more beautiful than right\nlines. All curves, however, are not equally beautiful, and their\ndifferences of beauty depend on the different proportions borne to each\nother by those infinitely small right lines of which they may be\nconceived as composed.\n\nWhen these lines are equal and contain equal angles, there can be no\nconnection or unity of sequence in them. The resulting curve, the\ncircle, is therefore the least beautiful of all curves.\n\nWhen the lines bear to each other some certain proportion; or when, the\nlines remaining equal, the angles vary; or when by any means whatsoever,\nand in whatever complicated modes, such differences as shall imply\nconnection are established between the infinitely small segments, the\nresulting curves become beautiful. The simplest of the beautiful curves\nare the conic, and the various spirals; but it is as rash as it is\ndifficult to endeavor to trace any ground of superiority or inferiority\namong the infinite numbers of the higher curves. I believe that almost\nall are beautiful in their own nature, and that their comparative beauty\ndepends on the constant quantities involved in their equations. Of this\npoint I shall speak hereafter at greater length.\n\n\nSec. 12. How by nature obtained.\n\nThe universal forces of nature, and the individual energies of the\nmatter submitted to them, are so appointed and balanced, that they are\ncontinually bringing out curves of this kind in all visible forms, and\nthat circular lines become nearly impossible under any circumstances.\nThe gradual acceleration, for instance, of velocity, in streams that\ndescend from hill-sides, as it gradually increases their power of\nerosion increases in the same gradual degree the rate of curvature in\nthe descent of the slope, until at a certain degree of steepness this\ndescent meets, and is concealed by the right line of the detritus. The\njunction of this right line with the plain is again modified by the\nfarther bounding of the larger blocks, and by the successively\ndiminishing proportion of landslips caused by erosion at the bottom, so\nthat the whole line of the hill is one of curvature, first, gradually\nincreasing in rapidity to the maximum steepness of which the particular\nrock is capable, and then decreasing in a decreasing ratio, until it\narrives at the plain level. This type of form, modified of course more\nor less by the original boldness of the mountain, and dependent both on\nits age, its constituent rock, and the circumstances of its exposure, is\nyet in its general formula applicable to all. So the curves of all\nthings in motion, and of all organic forms, most rudely and simply in\nthe shell spirals, and in their most complicated development in the\nmuscular lines of the higher animals.\n\nThis influence of apparent proportion, a proportion, be it observed,\nwhich has no reference to ultimate ends, but which is itself, seemingly,\nthe end and object of operation in many of the forces of nature, is\ntherefore at the root of all our delight in any beautiful form\nwhatsoever. For no form can be beautiful which is not composed of curves\nwhose unity is secured by relations of this kind.\n\n\nSec. 13. Apparent proportion in melodies of line.\n\nNot only however in curvature, but in all associations of lines\nwhatsoever, it is desirable that there should be reciprocal relation,\nand the eye is unhappy without perception of it. It is utterly vain to\nendeavor to reduce this proportion to finite rules, for it is as various\nas musical melody, and the laws to which it is subject are of the same\ngeneral kind, so that the determination of right or wrong proportion is\nas much a matter of feeling and experience as the appreciation of good\nmusical composition; not but that there is a science of both, and\nprinciples which may not be infringed, but that within these limits the\nliberty of invention is infinite, and the degrees of excellence infinite\nalso, whence the curious error of Burke in imagining that because he\ncould not fix upon some one given proportion of lines as better than any\nother, therefore proportion had no value nor influence at all, which is\nthe same as to conclude that there is no such thing as melody in music,\nbecause there are melodies more than one.\n\n\nSec. 14. Error of Burke in this matter.\n\nThe argument of Burke on this subject is summed up in the following\nwords:--\"Examine the head of a beautiful horse, find what proportion\nthat bears to his body and to his limbs, and what relations these have\nto each other, and when you have settled these proportions, as a\nstandard of beauty, then take a dog or cat, or any other animal, and\nexamine how far the same proportions between their heads and their\nnecks, between those and the body, and so on, are found to hold; I think\nwe may safely say, that they differ in every species, yet that there are\nindividuals found in a great many species, so differing, that have a\nvery striking beauty. Now if it be allowed that very different, and even\ncontrary forms and dispositions, are consistent with beauty, it amounts,\nI believe, to a concession, that no certain measures operating from a\nnatural principle are necessary to produce it, at least so far as the\nbrute species is concerned.\"\n\nIn this argument there are three very palpable fallacies: the first is\nthe rough application of measurement to the heads, necks, and limbs,\nwithout observing the subtile differences of proportion and position of\nparts in the members themselves, for it would be strange if the\ndifferent adjustment of the ears and brow in the dog and horse, did not\nrequire a harmonizing difference of adjustment in the head and neck. The\nsecond fallacy is that above specified, the supposition that proportion\ncannot be beautiful if susceptible of variation, whereas the whole\nmeaning of the term has reference to the adjustment and functional\ncorrespondence of infinitely variable quantities. And the third error is\nthe oversight of the very important fact, that, although \"different and\neven contrary forms and dispositions are consistent with beauty,\" they\nare by no means consistent with equal _degrees_ of beauty, so that,\nwhile we find in all the presence of such proportion and harmony of\nform, as gifts them with positive agreeableness consistent with the\nstation and dignity of each, we perceive, also, such superiority of\nproportion in some (as the horse, eagle, lion, and man for instance) as\nmay best be in harmony with the nobler functions and more exalted powers\nof the animals.\n\n\nSec. 15. Constructive proportion. Its influence in plants.\n\nAnd this allowed superiority of some animal forms to others is, in\nitself argument against the second error above named, that of\nattributing the sensation of beauty to the perception of expedient or\nconstructive proportion. For everything that God has made is equally\nwell constructed with reference to its intended functions. But all\nthings are not equally beautiful. The megatherium is absolutely as well\nproportioned, with the view of adaptation of parts to purposes, as the\nhorse or the swan; but by no means so handsome as either. The fact is,\nthat the perception of expediency of proportion can but rarely affect\nour estimates of beauty, for it implies a knowledge which we very rarely\nand imperfectly possess, and the want of which we tacitly acknowledge.\n\nLet us consider that instance of the proportion of the stalk of a plant\nto its head, given by Burke. In order to judge of the expediency of this\nproportion, we must know, First, the scale of the plant (for the smaller\nthe scale, the longer the stem may safely be). Secondly, the toughness\nof the materials of the stem and the mode of their mechanical structure.\nThirdly, the specific gravity of the head. Fourthly, the position of the\nhead which the nature of fructification requires. Fifthly, the accidents\nand influences to which the situation for which the plant was created is\nexposed. Until we know all this, we cannot say that proportion or\ndisproportion exists, and because we cannot know all this, the idea of\nexpedient proportion enters but slightly into our impression of\nvegetable beauty, but rather, since the existence of the plant proves\nthat these proportions have been observed, and we know that nothing but\nour own ignorance prevents us from perceiving them, we take the\nproportion on credit, and are delighted by the variety of results which\nthe Divine intelligence has attained in the various involutions of these\nquantities, and perhaps most when, to outward appearance, such\nproportions have been violated; more by the slenderness of the campanula\nthan the security of the pine.\n\n\nSec. 16. And animals.\n\nWhat is obscure in plants, is utterly incomprehensible in animals, owing\nto the greater number of means employed and functions performed. To\njudge of expedient proportion in them, we must know all that each member\nhas to do, all its bones, all its muscles, and the amount of nervous\nenergy communicable to them; and yet, forasmuch as we have more\nexperience and instinctive sense of the strength of muscles than of\nwood, and more practical knowledge of the use of a head or a foot than\nof a flower or a stem, we are much more likely to presume upon our\njudgment respecting proportions here, we are very apt to assert that the\nplesiosaurus and camelopard have necks too long, that the turnspit has\nlegs too short, and the elephant a body too ponderous.\n\nBut the painfulness arising from the idea of this being the case is\noccasioned partly by our sympathy with the animal, partly by our false\napprehension of incompletion in the Divine work,[21] nor in either case\nhas it any connection with impressions of that typical beauty of which\nwe are at present speaking; though some, perhaps, with that vital beauty\nwhich will hereafter come under discussion.\n\n\nSec. 17. Summary.\n\nI wish therefore the reader to hold, respecting proportion generally.\nFirst, That apparent proportion, or the melodious connection of\nquantities, is a cause of unity, and therefore one of the sources of all\nbeautiful form. Secondly, That constructive proportion is agreeable to\nthe mind when it is known or supposed, and that its seeming absence is\npainful in a like degree, but that this pleasure and pain have nothing\nin common with those dependent on ideas of beauty.\n\nFarther illustrations of the value of unity I shall reserve for our\ndetailed examination, as the bringing them forward here would interfere\nwith the general idea of the subject-matter of the theoretic faculty\nwhich I wish succinctly to convey.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [14] Compare Chap. ix. Sec. 5, note.\n\n [15] Spenser's various forest is the Forest of Error.\n\n [16] It must be matter of no small wonderment to practical men to\n observe how grossly the nature and connection of unity and variety\n have been misunderstood and misstated, by those writers upon taste,\n who have been guided by no experience of art; most singularly\n perhaps by Mr. Alison, who, confounding unity with uniformity, and\n leading his readers through thirty pages of discussion respecting\n uniformity and variety, the intelligibility of which is not by any\n means increased by his supposing uniformity to be capable of\n existence in single things; at last substitutes for these two terms,\n sufficiently contradictory already, those of similarity and\n dissimilarity, the reconciliation of which opposites in one thing we\n must, I believe, leave Mr. Alison to accomplish.\n\n [17] [Greek: Kai to tauta prattein pollakis hedy;--to gar synethes\n hedy en; kai to metaballein hedy; eis physin gar gignetai\n metaballein.]--Arist. Rhet. I. II. 20.\n\n [18] Fra Angelico's fresco, in a cell of the upper cloister. He\n treated the subject frequently. Another characteristic example\n occurs in the Vita di Christo of the Academy, a series now\n unfortunately destroyed by the picture cleaners. Simon Memmi in\n Santa Maria Novella (Chapelle des Espagnols) has given another very\n beautiful instance. In Giotto the principle is universal, though his\n multitudes are somewhat more dramatically and powerfully varied in\n gesture than Angelico's. In Mino da Fiesole's altar-piece in the\n church of St. Ambrogiot at Florence, close by Cosimo Rosselli's\n fresco, there is a beautiful example in marble.\n\n [19] The Predella of the picture behind the altar.\n\n [20] It seems never to have been rightly understood, even by the\n more intelligent among our architects, that proportion is in any way\n connected with positive size; it seems to be held among them that a\n small building may be expanded to a large one merely by\n proportionally expanding all its parts: and that the harmony will be\n equally agreeable on whatever scale it be rendered. Now this is true\n of apparent proportion, but utterly false of constructive; and, as\n much of the value of architectural proportion is constructive, the\n error is often productive of the most painful results. It may be\n best illustrated by observing the conditions of proportion in\n animals. Many persons have thoughtlessly claimed admiration for the\n strength--supposed gigantic--of insects and smaller animals; because\n capable of lifting weights, leaping distances, and surmounting\n obstacles, of proportion apparently overwhelming. Thus the Formica\n Herculanea will lift in its mouth, and brandish like a baton, sticks\n thicker than itself and six times its length, all the while\n scrambling over crags of about the proportionate height of the\n Cliffs of Dover, three or four in a minute. There is nothing\n extraordinary in this, nor any exertion of strength necessarily\n greater than human, in proportion to the size of the body. For it is\n evident that if the size and strength of any creature be expanded or\n diminished in proportion to each other, the distance through which\n it can leap, the time it can maintain exertion, or any other third\n term resultant, remains constant; that is, diminish weight of powder\n and of ball proportionately, and the distance carried is constant or\n nearly so. Thus, a grasshopper, a man, and a giant 100 feet high,\n supposing their muscular strength equally proportioned to their\n size, can or could all leap, not proportionate distance, but the\n same or nearly the same distance--say, four feet the grasshopper, or\n forty-eight times his length; six feet the man or his length\n exactly; ten feet the giant or the tenth of his length. Hence all\n small animals can, _coeteris paribus_, perform feats of strength\n and agility, exactly so much greater than those to be executed by\n large ones, as the animals themselves are smaller; and to enable an\n elephant to leap like a grasshopper, he must be endowed with\n strength a million times greater in _proportion_ to his size. Now\n the consequence of this general mechanical law is, that as we\n increase the scale of animals, their means of power, whether muscles\n of motion or bones of support, must be increased in a more than\n proportionate degree, or they become utterly unwieldy, and incapable\n of motion;--and there is a limit to this increase of strength. If\n the elephant had legs as long as a spider's, no combination of\n animal matter that could be hide-bound would have strength enough to\n move them: to support the megatherium, we must have a humerus a foot\n in diameter, though perhaps not more than two feet long, and that in\n a vertical position under him, while the gnat can hang on the window\n frame, and poise himself to sting, in the middle of crooked stilts\n like threads; stretched out to ten times the breadth of his body on\n each side. Increase the size of the megatherium a little more, and\n no phosphate of lime will bear him; he would crush his own legs to\n powder. (Compare Sir Charles Bell, \"Bridgewater Treatise on the\n Hand,\" p. 296, and the note.) Hence there is not only a limit to the\n size of animals, in the conditions of matter, but to their activity\n also, the largest being always least capable of exertion; and this\n would be the case to a far greater extent, but that nature\n beneficently alters her proportions as she increases her scale;\n giving, as we have seen, long legs and enormous wings to the smaller\n tribes, and short and thick proportion to the larger. So in\n vegetables--compare the stalk of an ear of oat, and the trunk of a\n pine, the mechanical relations being in both the same. So also in\n waves, of which the large never can be mere exaggerations of the\n small, but have different slopes and curvatures: so in mountains and\n all things else, necessarily, and from ordinary mechanical laws.\n Whence in architecture, according to the scale of the building, its\n proportions must be altered; and I have no hesitation in calling\n that unmeaning exaggeration of parts in St. Peter's, of flutings,\n volutes, friezes, etc., in the proportions of a smaller building, a\n vulgar blunder, and one that destroys all the majesty that the\n building ought to have had--and still more I should so call all\n imitations and adaptations of large buildings on a small scale. The\n true test of right proportion is that it shall itself inform us of\n the scale of the building, and be such that even in a drawing it\n shall instantly induce the conception of the actual size, or size\n intended. I know not what Fuseli means by that aphorism of his:--\n\n \"Disproportion of parts is the element of hugeness--proportion, of\n grandeur. All Gothic styles of Architecture are huge. The Greek\n alone is grand.\" When a building _is_ vast, it ought to look so; and\n the proportion is right which exhibits its vastness. Nature loses no\n size by her proportion; her buttressed mountains have more of Gothic\n than of Greek in them.\n\n [21] For the just and severe reproof of which, compare Sir Charles\n Bell, (on the hand,) pp. 31, 32.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VII.\n\n OF REPOSE, OR THE TYPE OF DIVINE PERMANENCE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Universal feeling respecting the necessity of repose in art. Its\n sources.\n\nThere is probably no necessity more imperatively felt by the artist, no\ntest more unfailing of the greatness of artistical treatment, than that\nof the appearance of repose, and yet there is no quality whose semblance\nin mere matter is more difficult to define or illustrate. Nevertheless,\nI believe that our instinctive love of it, as well as the cause to which\nI attribute that love, (although here also, as in the former cases, I\ncontend not for the interpretation, but for the fact,) will be readily\nallowed by the reader. As opposed to passion, changefulness, or\nlaborious exertion, repose is the especial and separating characteristic\nof the eternal mind and power; it is the \"I am\" of the Creator opposed\nto the \"I become\" of all creatures; it is the sign alike of the supreme\nknowledge which is incapable of surprise, the supreme power which is\nincapable of labor, the supreme volition which is incapable of change;\nit is the stillness of the beams of the eternal chambers laid upon the\nvariable waters of ministering creatures; and as we saw before that the\ninfinity which was a type of the Divine nature on the one hand, became\nyet more desirable on the other from its peculiar address to our prison\nhopes, and to the expectations of an unsatisfied and unaccomplished\nexistence, so the types of this third attribute of the Deity might seem\nto have been rendered farther attractive to mortal instinct, through the\ninfliction upon the fallen creature of a curse necessitating a labor\nonce unnatural and still most painful, so that the desire of rest\nplanted in the heart is no sensual nor unworthy one, but a longing for\nrenovation and for escape from a state whose every phase is mere\npreparation for another equally transitory, to one in which permanence\nshall have become possible through perfection. Hence the great call of\nChrist to men, that call on which St. Augustine fixed essential\nexpression of Christian hope, is accompanied by the promise of rest;[22]\nand the death bequest of Christ to men is peace.\n\n\nSec. 2. Repose how expressed in matter.\n\nRepose, as it is expressed in material things, is either a simple\nappearance of permanence and quietness, as in the massy forms of a\nmountain or rock, accompanied by the lulling effect of all mighty sight\nand sound, which all feel and none define, (it would be less sacred if\nmore explicable,) [Greek: heudousin dioreon koruphai te kai pharanges],\nor else it is repose proper, the rest of things in which there is\nvitality or capability of motion actual or imagined; and with respect to\nthese the expression of repose is greater in proportion to the amount\nand sublimity of the action which is not taking place, as well as to the\nintensity of the negation of it. Thus we speak not of repose in a stone,\nbecause the motion of a stone has nothing in it of energy nor vitality,\nneither its repose of stability. But having once seen a great rock come\ndown a mountain side, we have a noble sensation of its rest, now bedded\nimmovably among the under fern, because the power and fearfulness of its\nmotion were great, and its stability and negation of motion are now\ngreat in proportion. Hence the imagination, which delights in nothing\nmore than the enhancing of the characters of repose, effects this\nusually by either attributing to things visibly energetic an ideal\nstability, or to things visibly stable an ideal activity or vitality.\nHence Wordsworth, of the cloud, which in itself having too much of\nchangefulness for his purpose, is spoken of as one \"that heareth not the\nloud winds when they call, and moveth altogether, if it move at all.\"\nAnd again of children, which, that it may remove from them the child\nrestlessness, the imagination conceives as rooted flowers \"Beneath an\nold gray oak, as violets, lie.\" On the other hand, the scattered rocks,\nwhich have not, as such, vitality enough for rest, are gifted with it by\nthe living image: they \"lie couched around us like a flock of sheep.\"\n\n\nSec. 3. The necessity to repose of an implied energy.\n\nThus, as we saw that unity demanded for its expression what at first\nmight have seemed its contrary (variety) so repose demands for its\nexpression the implied capability of its opposite, energy, and this even\nin its lower manifestations, in rocks and stones and trees. By comparing\nthe modes in which the mind is disposed to regard the boughs of a fair\nand vigorous tree, motionless in the summer air, with the effect\nproduced by one of these same boughs hewn square and used for threshold\nor lintel, the reader will at once perceive the connection of vitality\nwith repose, and the part they both bear in beauty.\n\n\nSec. 4. Mental repose, how noble.\n\nBut that which in lifeless things ennobles them by seeming to indicate\nlife, ennobles higher creatures by indicating the exaltation of their\nearthly vitality into a Divine vitality; and raising the life of sense\ninto the life of faith--faith, whether we receive it in the sense of\nadherence to resolution, obedience to law, regardfulness of promise, in\nwhich from all time it has been the test as the shield of the true being\nand life of man, or in the still higher sense of trustfulness in the\npresence, kindness, and word of God; in which form it has been exhibited\nunder the Christian dispensation. For whether in one or other form,\nwhether the faithfulness of men whose path is chosen and portion fixed,\nin the following and receiving of that path and portion, as in the\nThermopylae camp; or the happier faithfulness of children in the good\ngiving of their Father, and of subjects in the conduct of their king, as\nin the \"Stand still and see the salvation of God\" of the Red Sea shore,\nthere is rest and peacefulness, the \"standing still\" in both, the\nquietness of action determined, of spirit unalarmed, of expectation\nunimpatient: beautiful, even when based only as of old, on the\nself-command and self-possession, the persistent dignity or the\nuncalculating love of the creature,[23] but more beautiful yet when the\nrest is one of humility instead of pride, and the trust no more in the\nresolution we have taken, but in the hand we hold.\n\n\nSec. 5. Its universal value as a test of art.\n\nHence I think that there is no desire more intense or more exalted than\nthat which exists in all rightly disciplined minds for the evidences of\nrepose in external signs, and what I cautiously said respecting\ninfinity, I say fearlessly respecting repose, that no work of art can be\ngreat without it, and that all art is great in proportion to the\nappearance of it. It is the most unfailing test of beauty, whether of\nmatter or of motion, nothing can be ignoble that possesses it, nothing\nright that has it not, and in strict proportion to its appearance in the\nwork is the majesty of mind to be inferred in the artificer. Without\nregard to other qualities, we may look to this for our evidence, and by\nthe search for this alone we may be led to the rejection of all that is\nbase, and the accepting of all that is good and great, for the paths of\nwisdom are all peace. We shall see by this light three colossal images\nstanding up side by side, looming in their great rest of spirituality\nabove the whole world horizon, Phidias, Michael Angelo, and Dante; and\nthen, separated from their great religious thrones only by less fulness\nand earnestness of Faith, Homer, and Shakspeare; and from these we may\ngo down step by step among the mighty men of every age, securely and\ncertainly observant of diminished lustre in every appearance of\nrestlessness and effort, until the last trace of true inspiration\nvanishes in the tottering affectations or the tortured insanities of\nmodern times. There is no art, no pursuit, whatsoever, but its results\nmay be classed by this test alone; everything of evil is betrayed and\nwinnowed away by it, glitter and confusion and glare of color,\ninconsistency or absence of thought, forced expression, evil choice of\nsubject, over accumulation of materials, whether in painting or\nliterature, the shallow and unreflecting nothingness of the English\nschools of art, the strained and disgusting horrors of the French, the\ndistorted feverishness of the German:--pretence, over decoration, over\ndivision of parts in architecture, and again in music, in acting, in\ndancing, in whatsoever art, great or mean, there are yet degrees of\ngreatness or meanness entirely dependent on this single quality of\nrepose.\n\n\nSec. 6. Instances in the Laocoon and Theseus.\n\nParticular instances are at present both needless and cannot but be\ninadequate; needless, because I suppose that every reader, however\nlimited his experience of art, can supply many for himself, and\ninadequate, because no number of them could illustrate the full extent\nof the influence of the expression. I believe, however, that by\ncomparing the disgusting convulsions of the Laocoon, with the Elgin\nTheseus, we may obtain a general idea of the effect of the influence, as\nshown by its absence in one, and presence in the other, of two works\nwhich, as far as artistical merit is concerned, are in some measure\nparallel, not that I believe, even in this respect, the Laocoon\njustifiably comparable with the Theseus. I suppose that no group has\nexercised so pernicious an influence on art as this, a subject ill\nchosen, meanly conceived and unnaturally treated, recommended to\nimitation by subtleties of execution and accumulation of technical\nknowledge.[24]\n\n\nSec. 7. And in altar tombs.\n\nIn Christian art, it would be well to compare the feeling of the finer\namong the altar tombs of the middle ages, with any monumental works\nafter Michael Angelo, perhaps more especially with works of Roubilliac\nor Canova.\n\nIn the Cathedral of Lucca, near the entrance door of the north transept,\nthere is a monument of Jacopo della Quercia's to Ilaria di Caretto, the\nwife of Paolo Guinigi. I name it not as more beautiful or perfect than\nother examples of the same period, but as furnishing an instance of the\nexact and right mean between the rigidity and rudeness of the earlier\nmonumental effigies, and the morbid imitation of life, sleep, or death,\nof which the fashion has taken place in modern times.[25] She is lying\non a simple couch, with a hound at her feet, not on the side, but with\nthe head laid straight and simply on the hard pillow, in which, let it\nbe observed, there is no effort at deceptive imitation of pressure. It\nis understood as a pillow, but not mistaken for one. The hair is bound\nin a flat braid over the fair brow, the sweet and arched eyes are\nclosed, the tenderness of the loving lips is set and quiet, there is\nthat about them which forbids breath, something which is not death nor\nsleep, but the pure image of both. The hands are not lifted in prayer,\nneither folded, but the arms are laid at length upon the body, and the\nhands cross as they fall. The feet are hidden by the drapery, and the\nforms of the limbs concealed, but not their tenderness.\n\nIf any of us, after staying for a time beside this tomb, could see\nthrough his tears, one of the vain and unkind encumbrances of the grave,\nwhich, in these hollow and heartless days, feigned sorrow builds to\nfoolish pride, he would, I believe, receive such a lesson of love as no\ncoldness could refuse, no fatuity forget, and no insolence disobey.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [22] Matt. xi. 28.\n\n [23] \"The universal instinct of repose,\n The longing for confirmed tranquillity\n Inward and outward, humble, yet sublime.\n The life where hope and memory are as one.\n Earth quiet and unchanged; the human soul\n Consistent in self-rule; and heaven revealed\n To meditation, in that quietness.\"\n\n WORDSWORTH. Excursion, Book iii.\n\n But compare carefully (for this is put into the mouth of one\n diseased in thought and erring in seeking) the opening of the ninth\n book; and observe the difference between the mildew of\n inaction,--the slumber of Death; and the Patience of the Saints--the\n Rest of the Sabbath Eternal. (Rev. xiv. 13.)\n\n Compare also, Chap. I. Sec. 6.\n\n [24] I would also have the reader compare with the meagre lines and\n contemptible tortures of the Laocoon, the awfulness and quietness of\n M. Angelo's treatment of a subject in most respects similar, (the\n plague of the Fiery Serpents,) but of which the choice was justified\n both by the place which the event holds in the typical system he had\n to arrange, and by the grandeur of the plague itself, in its\n multitudinous grasp, and its mystical salvation; sources of\n sublimity entirely wanting to the slaughter of the Dardan priest. It\n is good to see how his gigantic intellect reaches after repose, and\n truthfully finds it, in the falling hand of the near figure, and in\n the deathful decline of that whose hands are held up even in their\n venom coldness to the cross; and though irrelevant to our present\n purpose, it is well also to note how the grandeur of this treatment\n results, not merely from choice, but from a greater knowledge and\n more faithful rendering of truth. For whatever knowledge of the\n human frame there may be in the Laocoon, there is certainly none of\n the habits of serpents. The fixing of the snake's head in the side\n of the principal figure is as false to nature, as it is poor in\n composition of line. A large serpent never wants to bite, it wants\n to hold, it seizes therefore always where it can hold best, by the\n extremities, or throat, it seizes once and forever, and that before\n it coils, following up the seizure with the twist of its body round\n the victim, as invisibly swift as the twist of a whip lash round any\n hard object it may strike, and then it holds fast, never moving the\n jaws or the body, if its prey has any power of struggling left, it\n throws round another coil, without quitting the hold with the jaws;\n if Laocoon had had to do with real serpents, instead of pieces of\n tape with heads to them, he would have been held still, and not\n allowed to throw his arms or legs about. It is most instructive to\n observe the accuracy of Michael Angelo in the rendering of these\n circumstances; the binding of the arms to the body, and the knotting\n of the whole mass of agony together, until we hear the crashing of\n the bones beneath the grisly sliding of the engine folds. Note also\n the expression in all the figures of another circumstance, the\n torpor and cold numbness of the limbs induced by the serpent venom,\n which, though justifiably overlooked by the sculptor of the Laocoon,\n as well as by Virgil--in consideration of the rapidity of the death\n by crushing, adds infinitely to the power of the Florentine's\n conception, and would have been better hinted by Virgil, than that\n sickening distribution of venom on the garlands. In fact, Virgil has\n missed both of truth and impressiveness every way--the \"morsu\n depascitur\" is unnatural butchery--the \"perfusus veneno\" gratuitous\n foulness--the \"clamores horrendos,\" impossible degradation; compare\n carefully the remarks on this statue in Sir Charles Bell's Essay on\n Expression, (third edition, p. 192) where he has most wisely and\n uncontrovertibly deprived the statue of all claim to expression of\n energy and fortitude of mind, and shown its common and coarse intent\n of mere bodily exertion and agony, while he has confirmed Payne\n Knight's just condemnation of the passage in Virgil.\n\n If the reader wishes to see the opposite or imaginative view of the\n subject, let him compare Winkelmann; and Schiller, Letters on\n Aesthetic Culture.\n\n [25] Whenever, in monumental work, the sculptor reaches a deceptive\n appearance of life or death, or of concomitant details, he has gone\n too far. The statue should be felt for such, not look like a dead or\n sleeping body; it should not convey the impression of a corpse, nor\n of sick and outwearied flesh, but it should be the marble _image_ of\n death or weariness. So the concomitants should be distinctly marble,\n severe and monumental in their lines, not shroud, not bedclothes,\n not actual armor nor brocade, not a real soft pillow, not a\n downright hard stuffed mattress, but the mere type and suggestion of\n these: a certain rudeness and incompletion of finish is very noble\n in all. Not that they are to be unnatural, such lines as are given\n should be pure and true, and clear of the hardness and mannered\n rigidity of the strictly Gothic types, but lines so few and grand as\n to appeal to the imagination only, and always to stop short of\n realization. There is a monument put up lately by a modern Italian\n sculptor in one of the side chapels of Santa Croce, the face fine\n and the execution dexterous. But it looks as if the person had been\n restless all night, and the artist admitted to a faithful study of\n the disturbed bedclothes in the morning.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII.\n\n OF SYMMETRY, OR THE TYPE OF DIVINE JUSTICE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Symmetry, what and how found in organic nature.\n\nSec. 2. How necessary in art.\n\nWe shall not be long detained by the consideration of this, the fourth\nconstituent of beauty, as its nature is universally felt and understood.\nIn all perfectly beautiful objects, there is found the opposition of one\npart to another and a reciprocal balance obtained; in animals the\nbalance being commonly between opposite sides, (note the\ndisagreeableness occasioned by the exception in flat fish, having the\neyes on one side of the head,) but in vegetables the opposition is less\ndistinct, as in the boughs on opposite sides of trees, and the leaves\nand sprays on each side of the boughs, and in dead matter less perfect\nstill, often amounting only to a certain tendency towards a balance, as\nin the opposite sides of valleys and alternate windings of streams. In\nthings in which perfect symmetry is from their nature impossible or\nimproper, a balance must be at least in some measure expressed before\nthey can be beheld with pleasure. Hence the necessity of what artists\nrequire as opposing lines or masses in composition, the propriety of\nwhich, as well as their value, depends chiefly on their inartificial and\nnatural invention. Absolute equality is not required, still less\nabsolute similarity. A mass of subdued color may be balanced by a point\nof a powerful one, and a long and latent line overpowered by a short and\nconspicuous one. The only error against which it is necessary to guard\nthe reader with respect to symmetry, is the confounding it with\nproportion, though it seems strange that the two terms could ever have\nbeen used as synonymous. Symmetry is the _opposition_ of _equal_\nquantities to each other. Proportion the _connection_ of _unequal_\nquantities with each other. The property of a tree in sending out equal\nboughs on opposite sides is symmetrical. Its sending out shorter and\nsmaller towards the top, proportional. In the human face its balance\nof opposite sides is symmetry, its division upwards, proportion.\n\n[Illustration: TOMB OF THE ILARIA DI CARETTO, LUCCA. From a photograph.]\n\n\nSec. 3. To what its agreeableness is referable. Various instances.\n\nSec. 4. Especially in religious art.\n\nWhether the agreeableness of symmetry be in any way referable to its\nexpression of the Aristotelian [Greek: isotes], that is to say of\nabstract justice, I leave the reader to determine; I only assert\nrespecting it, that it is necessary to the dignity of every form, and\nthat by the removal of it we shall render the other elements of beauty\ncomparatively ineffectual: though, on the other hand, it is to be\nobserved that it is rather a mode of arrangement of qualities than a\nquality itself; and hence symmetry has little power over the mind,\nunless all the other constituents of beauty be found together with it. A\nform may be symmetrical and ugly, as many Elizabethan ornaments, and yet\nnot so ugly as it had been if unsymmetrical, but bettered always by\nincreasing degrees of symmetry; as in star figures, wherein there is a\ncircular symmetry of many like members, whence their frequent use for\nthe plan and ground of ornamental designs; so also it is observable that\nfoliage in which the leaves are concentrically grouped, as in the\nchestnuts, and many shrubs--rhododendrons for instance--(whence the\nperfect beauty of the Alpine rose)--is far nobler in its effect than any\nother, so that the sweet chestnut of all trees most fondly and\nfrequently occurs in the landscape of Tintoret and Titian, beside which\nall other landscape grandeur vanishes: and even in the meanest things\nthe rule holds, as in the kaleidoscope, wherein agreeableness is given\nto forms altogether accidental merely by their repetition and reciprocal\nopposition; which orderly balance and arrangement are essential to the\nperfect operation of the more earnest and solemn qualities of the\nbeautiful, as being heavenly in their nature, and contrary to the\nviolence and disorganization of sin, so that the seeking of them and\nsubmission to them is always marked in minds that have been subjected to\nhigh moral discipline, constant in all the great religious painters, to\nthe degree of being an offence and a scorn to men of less tuned and\ntranquil feeling. Equal ranks of saints are placed on each side of the\npicture, if there be a kneeling figure on one side, there is a\ncorresponding one on the other, the attendant angels beneath and above\nare arranged in like order. The Raffaelle at Blenheim, the Madonna di\nSt. Sisto, the St. Cicilia, and all the works of Perugino, Francia, and\nJohn Bellini present some such form, and the balance at least is\npreserved even in pictures of action necessitating variety of grouping,\nas always by Giotto; and by Ghirlandajo in the introduction of his\nchorus-like side figures, and by Tintoret most eminently in his noblest\nwork, the Crucifixion, where not only the grouping but the arrangement\nof light is absolutely symmetrical. Where there is no symmetry, the\neffects of passion and violence are increased, and many very sublime\npictures derive their sublimity from the want of it, but they lose\nproportionally in the diviner quality of beauty. In landscape the same\nsense of symmetry is preserved, as we shall presently see, even to\nartificialness, by the greatest men, and it is one of the principal\nsources of deficient feeling in the landscapes of the present day, that\nthe symmetry of nature is sacrificed to irregular picturesqueness. Of\nthis, however, hereafter.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER IX.\n\n OF PURITY, OR THE TYPE OF DIVINE ENERGY.\n\n\nSec. 1. The influence of light as a sacred symbol.\n\nIt may at first appear strange that I have not in my enumeration of the\ntypes of Divine attributes, included that which is certainly the most\nvisible and evident of all, as well as the most distinctly expressed in\nScripture; God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. But I could\nnot logically class the presence of an actual substance or motion with\nmere conditions and modes of being, neither could I logically separate\nfrom any of these, that which is evidently necessary to the perception\nof all. And it is also to be observed, that though the love of light is\nmore instinctive in the human heart than any other of the desires\nconnected with beauty, we can hardly separate its agreeableness in its\nown nature from the sense of its necessity and value for the purposes of\nlife, neither the abstract painfulness of darkness from the sense of\ndanger and incapacity connected with it; and note also that it is not\n_all_ light, but light possessing the universal qualities of beauty,\ndiffused or infinite rather than in points, tranquil, not startling and\nvariable, pure, not sullied or oppressed, which is indeed pleasant and\nperfectly typical of the Divine nature.\n\n\nSec. 2. The idea of purity connected with it.\n\nObserve, however, that there is one quality, the idea of which had been\njust introduced in connection with light, which might have escaped us in\nthe consideration of mere matter, namely purity, and yet I think that\nthe original notion of this quality is altogether material, and has only\nbeen attributed to color when such color is suggestive of the condition\nof matter from which we originally received the idea. For I see not in\nthe abstract how one color should be considered purer than another,\nexcept as more or less compounded, whereas there is certainly a sense of\npurity or impurity in the most compound and neutral colors, as well as\nin the simplest, a quality difficult to define, and which the reader\nwill probably be surprised by my calling the type of energy, with which\nit has certainly little traceable connection in the mind.\n\n\nSec. 3. Originally derived from conditions of matter.\n\nSec. 4. Associated ideas adding to the power of the impression. Influence\n of clearness.\n\nSec. 5. Perfect beauty of surface, in what consisting.\n\nI believe however if we carefully analyze the nature of our ideas of\nimpurity in general, we shall find them refer especially to conditions\nof matter in which its various elements are placed in a relation\nincapable of healthy or proper operation; and most distinctly to\nconditions in which the negation of vital or energetic action is most\nevident, as in corruption and decay of all kinds, wherein particles\nwhich once, by their operation on each other, produced a living and\nenergetic whole, are reduced to a condition of perfect passiveness, in\nwhich they are seized upon and appropriated, one by one, piecemeal, by\nwhatever has need of them, without any power of resistance or energy of\ntheir own. And thus there is a peculiar painfulness attached to any\nassociations of inorganic with organic matter, such as appear to involve\nthe inactivity and feebleness of the latter, so that things which are\nnot felt to be foul in their own nature, yet become so in association\nwith things of greater inherent energy; as dust or earth, which in a\nmass excites no painful sensation, excites a most disagreeable one when\nstrewing or staining an animal's skin, because it implies a decline and\ndeadening of the vital and healthy power of the skin. But all reasoning\nabout this impression is rendered difficult, by the host of associated\nideas connected with it; for the ocular sense of impurity connected with\ncorruption is infinitely enhanced by the offending of other senses and\nby the grief and horror of it in its own nature, as the special\npunishment and evidence of sin, and on the other hand, the ocular\ndelight in purity is mingled, as I before observed, with the love of the\nmere element of light, as a type of wisdom and of truth; whence it seems\nto me that we admire the transparency of bodies, though probably it is\nstill rather owing to our sense of more perfect order and arrangement of\nparticles, and not to our love of light, that we look upon a piece of\nrock crystal as purer than a piece of marble, and on the marble as purer\nthan a piece of chalk. And let it be observed also that the most lovely\nobjects in nature are only partially transparent. I suppose the utmost\npossible sense of beauty is conveyed by a feebly translucent, smooth,\nbut not lustrous surface of white, and pale warm red, subdued by the\nmost pure and delicate grays, as in the finer portions of the human\nframe; in wreaths of snow, and in white plumage under rose light,[26] so\nViola of Olivia in Twelfth Night, and Homer of Atrides wounded.[27] And\nI think that transparency and lustre, both beautiful in themselves, are\nincompatible with the highest beauty because they destroy form, on the\nfull perception of which more of the divinely character of the object\ndepends than upon its color. Hence, in the beauty of snow and of flesh,\nso much translucency is allowed as is consistent with the full\nexplanation of the forms, while we are suffered to receive more intense\nimpressions of light and transparency from other objects which,\nnevertheless, owing to their necessarily unperceived form, are not\nperfectly nor affectingly beautiful. A fair forehead outshines its\ndiamond diadem. The sparkle of the cascade withdraws not our eyes from\nthe snowy summits in their evening silence.\n\n\nSec. 6. Purity only metaphorically a type of sinlessness.\n\nIt may seem strange to many readers that I have not spoken of purity in\nthat sense in which it is most frequently used, as a type of\nsinlessness. I do not deny that the frequent metaphorical use of it in\nScripture may have and ought to have much influence on the sympathies\nwith which we regard it, and that probably the immediate agreeableness\nof it to most minds arises far more from this source than from that to\nwhich I have chosen to attribute it. But, in the first place, if it be\nindeed in the signs of Divine and not of human attributes that beauty\nconsists, I see not how the idea of sin can be formed with respect to\nthe Deity, for it is an idea of a relation borne by us to Him, and not\nin any way to be attached to his abstract nature. And if the idea of sin\nis incapable of being formed with respect to Him, so also is its\nnegative, for we cannot form an idea of negation, where we cannot form\nan idea of presence. If for instance one could conceive of taste or\nflavor in a proposition of Euclid, so also might we of insipidity, but\nif not of the one, then not of the other. So that, in speaking of the\ngoodness of God, it cannot be that we mean anything more than his Love,\nMercifulness, and Justice, and these attributes I have shown to be\nexpressed by other qualities of beauty, and I cannot trace any rational\nconnection between them and the idea of spotlessness in matter. Neither\ncan I trace any more distinct relation between this idea, and any of the\nvirtues which make up the righteousness of man, except perhaps those of\ntruth and openness, of which I have already spoken as more expressed by\nthe transparency than the mere purity of matter. So that I conceive the\nwhole use of the terms purity, spotlessness, etc., in moral subjects, to\nbe merely metaphorical, and that it is rather that we illustrate these\nvirtues by the desirableness of material purity, than that we desire\nmaterial purity because it is illustrative of these virtues.\n\n\nSec. 7. Energy, how expressed by purity of matter.\n\nI repeat, then, that the only idea which I think can be legitimately\nconnected with purity of matter, is this of vital and energetic\nconnection among its particles, and that the idea of foulness is\nessentially connected with dissolution and death. Thus the purity of the\nrock, contrasted with the foulness of dust or mould, is expressed by the\nepithet \"living,\" very singularly given in the rock, in almost all\nlanguages; singularly I say, because life is almost the last attribute\none would ascribe to stone, but for this visible energy and connection\nof its particles: and so of water as opposed to stagnancy. And I do not\nthink that, however pure a powder or dust may be, the idea of beauty is\never connected with it, for it is not the mere purity, but the _active_\ncondition of the substance which is desired, so that as soon as it\nshoots into crystals, or gathers into efflorescence, a sensation of\n_active_ or real purity is received which was not felt in the calcined\ncaput mortuum.\n\n\nSec. 8. And of color.\n\nSec. 9. Spirituality, how so expressed.\n\nAnd again in color. I imagine that the quality of it which we term\npurity is dependent on the full energizing of the rays that compose it,\nwhereof if in compound hues any are overpowered and killed by the rest,\nso as to be of no value nor operation, foulness is the consequence;\nwhile so long as all act together, whether side by side, or from\npigments seen one through the other, so that all the coloring matter\nemployed comes into play in the harmony desired, and none be quenched\nnor killed, purity results. And so in all cases I suppose that pureness\nis made to us desirable, because expressive of the constant presence and\nenergizing of the Deity in matter, through which all things live and\nmove, and have their being, and that foulness is painful as the\naccompaniment of disorder and decay, and always indicative of the\nwithdrawal of Divine support. And the practical analogies of life, the\ninvariable connection of outward foulness with mental sloth and\ndegradation, as well as with bodily lethargy and disease, together with\nthe contrary indications of freshness and purity belonging to every\nhealthy and active organic frame, (singularly seen in the effort of the\nyoung leaves when first their inward energy prevails over the earth,\npierces its corruption, and shakes its dust away from their own white\npurity of life,) all these circumstances strengthen the instinct by\nassociations countless and irresistible. And then, finally, with the\nidea of purity comes that of spirituality, for the essential\ncharacteristic of matter is its inertia, whence, by adding to it purity\nor energy, we may in some measure spiritualize even matter itself. Thus\nin the descriptions of the Apocalypse it is its purity that fits it for\nits place in heaven; the river of the water of life, that proceeds out\nof the throne of the Lamb, is clear as crystal, and the pavement of the\ncity is pure gold, like unto clear glass.[28]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [26] The reader will observe that I am speaking at present of mere\n material qualities. If he would obtain perfect ideas respecting\n loveliness of luminous surface, let him closely observe a swan with\n its wings expanded in full light five minutes before sunset. The\n human cheek or the rose leaf are perhaps hardly so pure, and the\n forms of snow, though individually as beautiful, are less\n exquisitely combined.\n\n [27] [Greek: hos d' ote tis t' elephanta gyne phoiniki miene\n Meonis.]\n\n So Spenser of Shamefacedness, an exquisite piece of glowing\n color--and sweetly of Belphoebe--(so the roses and lilies of all\n poets.) Compare the making of the image of Florimell.\n\n \"The substance whereof she the body made\n Was purest snow, in massy mould congealed,\n Which she had gathered in a shady glade\n Of the Riphoean hills.\n The same she tempered with fine mercury,\n And mingled them with perfect vermily.\"\n\n With Una he perhaps overdoes the white a little. She is two degrees\n of comparison above snow. Compare his questioning in the Hymn to\n Beauty, about that mixture made of colors fair; and goodly\n temperament, of pure complexion.\n\n \"Hath white and red in it such wondrous power\n That it can pierce through the eyes into the heart?\"\n\n Where the distinction between typical and vital beauty is very\n gloriously carried out.\n\n [28] I have not spoken here of any of the associations connected\n with warmth or coolness of color, they are partly connected with\n vital beauty, compare Chap. xiv. Sec. 22, 23, and partly with\n impressions of the sublime, the discussion of which is foreign to\n the present subject; purity, however, it is which gives value to\n both, for neither warm nor cool color, can be beautiful, if impure.\n\n Neither have I spoken of any questions relating to melodies of\n color, a subject of separate science--whose general principle has\n been already stated in the seventh chapter respecting unity of\n sequence. Those qualities only are here noted which give absolute\n beauty, whether to separate color or to melodies of it--for all\n melodies are not beautiful, but only those which are expressive of\n certain pleasant or solemn emotions; and the rest startling, or\n curious, or cheerful, or exciting, or sublime, but not beautiful,\n (and so in music.) And all questions relating to this grandeur,\n cheerfulness, or other characteristic impression of color must be\n considered under the head of ideas of relation.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER X.\n\n OF MODERATION, OR THE TYPE OF GOVERNMENT BY LAW.\n\n\nSec. 1. Meaning of the terms Chasteness and Refinement.\n\nOf objects which, in respect of the qualities hitherto considered,\nappear to have equal claims to regard, we find, nevertheless, that\ncertain are preferred to others in consequence of an attractive power,\nusually expressed by the terms \"chasteness, refinement, or elegance,\"\nand it appears also that things which in other respects have little in\nthem of natural beauty, and are of forms altogether simple and adapted\nto simple uses, are capable of much distinction and desirableness in\nconsequence of these qualities only. It is of importance to discover the\nreal nature of the ideas thus expressed.\n\n\nSec. 2. How referable to temporary fashions.\n\nSomething of the peculiar meaning of the words is referable to the\nauthority of fashion and the exclusiveness of pride, owing to which that\nwhich is the mode of a particular time is submissively esteemed, and\nthat which by its costliness or its rarity is of difficult attainment,\nor in any way appears to have been chosen as the best of many things,\n(which is the original sense of the words elegant and exquisite,) is\nesteemed for the witness it bears to the dignity of the chooser.\n\nBut neither of these ideas are in any way connected with eternal beauty,\nneither do they at all account for that agreeableness of color and form\nwhich is especially termed chasteness, and which it would seem to be a\ncharacteristic of rightly trained mind in all things to prefer, and of\ncommon minds to reject.\n\n\nSec. 3. How to the perception of completion.\n\nSec. 4. Finish, by great masters esteemed essential.\n\nThere is however another character of artificial productions, to which\nthese terms have partial reference, which it is of some importance to\nnote, that of finish, exactness, or refinement, which are commonly\ndesired in the works of men, owing both to their difficulty of\naccomplishment and consequent expression of care and power (compare\nChapter on Ideas of Power, Part I. Sect, i.,) and from their greater\nresemblance to the working of God, whose \"absolute exactness,\" says\nHooker, \"all things imitate, by tending to that which is most exquisite\nin every particular.\" And there is not a greater sign of the\nimperfection of general taste, than its capability of contentment with\nforms and things which, professing completion, are yet not exact nor\ncomplete, as in the vulgar with wax and clay and china figures, and in\nbad sculptors with an unfinished and clay-like modelling of surface, and\ncurves and angles of no precision or delicacy; and in general, in all\ncommon and unthinking persons with an imperfect rendering of that which\nmight be pure and fine, as church-wardens are content to lose the sharp\nlines of stone carving under clogging obliterations of whitewash, and as\nthe modern Italians scrape away and polish white all the sharpness and\nglory of the carvings on their old churches, as most miserably and\npitifully on St. Mark's at Venice, and the Baptisteries of Pistoja and\nPisa, and many others; so also the delight of vulgar painters in coarse\nand slurred painting, merely for the sake of its coarseness,[29] as of\nSpagnoletto, Salvator, or Murillo, opposed to the divine finish which\nthe greatest and mightiest of men disdained not, but rather wrought out\nwith painfulness and life spending; as Leonardo and Michael Angelo, (for\nthe latter, however many things he left unfinished, did finish, if at\nall, with a refinement that the eye cannot follow, but the feeling only,\nas in the Pieta of Genoa,) and Perugino always, even to the gilding of\nsingle hairs among his angel tresses, and the young Raffaelle, when he\nwas heaven taught, and Angelico, and Pinturicchio, and John Bellini, and\nall other such serious and loving men. Only it is to be observed that\nthis finish is not a part or constituent of beauty, but the full and\nultimate rendering of it, so that it is an idea only connected with the\nworks of men, for all the works of the Deity are finished with the same,\nthat is, infinite care and completion: and so what degrees of beauty\nexist among them can in no way be dependent upon this source, inasmuch\nas there are between them no degrees of care. And therefore, as there\ncertainly is admitted a difference of degree in what we call chasteness,\neven in Divine work, (compare the hollyhock or the sunflower with the\nvale lily,) we must seek for it some other explanation and source than\nthis.\n\n\nSec. 5. Moderation, its nature and value\n\nAnd if, bringing down our ideas of it from complicated objects to simple\nlines and colors, we analyze and regard them carefully, I think we shall\nbe able to trace them to an under-current of constantly agreeable\nfeeling, excited by the appearance in material things of a\nself-restrained liberty, that is to say, by the image of that acting of\nGod with regard to all his creation, wherein, though free to operate in\nwhatever arbitrary, sudden, violent, or inconstant ways he will, he yet,\nif we may reverently so speak, restrains in himself this his omnipotent\nliberty, and works always in consistent modes, called by us laws. And\nthis restraint or moderation, according to the words of Hooker, (\"that\nwhich doth moderate the force and power, that which doth appoint the\nform and measure of working, the same we term a law,\") is in the Deity\nnot restraint, such as it is said of creatures, but, as again says\nHooker, \"the very being of God is a law to his working,\" so that every\nappearance of painfulness or want of power and freedom in material\nthings is wrong and ugly; for the right restraint, the image of Divine\noperation, is both in them, and in men, a willing and not painful\nstopping short of the utmost degree to which their power might reach,\nand the appearance of fettering or confinement is the cause of ugliness\nin the one, as the slightest painfulness or effort in restraint is a\nsign of sin in the other.\n\n\nSec. 6. It is the girdle of beauty.\n\nSec. 7. How found in natural curves and colors.\n\nSec. 8. How difficult of attainment, yet essential to all good.\n\nI have put this attribute of beauty last, because I consider it the\ngirdle and safeguard of all the rest, and in this respect the most\nessential of all, for it is possible that a certain degree of beauty may\nbe attained even in the absence of one of its other constituents, as\nsometimes in some measure without symmetry or without unity. But the\nleast appearance of violence or extravagance, of the want of moderation\nand restraint, is, I think, destructive of all beauty whatsoever in\neverything, color, form, motion, language, or thought, giving rise to\nthat which in color we call glaring, in form inelegant, in motion\nungraceful, in language coarse, in thought undisciplined, in all\nunchastened; which qualities are in everything most painful, because the\nsigns of disobedient and irregular operation. And herein we at last find\nthe reason of that which has been so often noted respecting the subtilty\nand almost invisibility of natural curves and colors, and why it is that\nwe look on those lines as least beautiful which fall into wide and far\nlicense of curvature, and as most beautiful which approach nearest (so\nthat the curvilinear character be distinctly asserted) to the government\nof the right line, as in the pure and severe curves of the draperies of\nthe religious painters; and thus in color it is not red, but rose-color\nwhich is most beautiful, neither such actual green as we find in summer\nfoliage partly, and in our painting of it constantly; but such gray\ngreen as that into which nature modifies her distant tints, or such pale\ngreen and uncertain as we see in sunset sky, and in the clefts of the\nglacier and the chrysoprase, and the sea-foam; and so of all colors, not\nthat they may not sometimes be deep and full, but that there is a solemn\nmoderation even in their very fulness, and a holy reference beyond and\nout of their own nature to great harmonies by which they are governed,\nand in obedience to which is their glory. Whereof the ignorance is shown\nin all evil colorists by the violence and positiveness of their hues,\nand by dulness and discordance consequent, for the very brilliancy and\nreal power of all color is dependent on the chastening of it, as of a\nvoice on its gentleness, and as of action on its calmness, and as all\nmoral vigor on self-command. And therefore as that virtue which men\nlast, and with most difficulty attain unto, and which many attain not at\nall, and yet that which is essential to the conduct and almost to the\nbeing of all other virtues, since neither imagination, nor invention,\nnor industry, nor sensibility, nor energy, nor any other good having, is\nof full avail without this of self-command, whereby works truly\nmasculine and mighty are produced, and by the signs of which they are\nseparated from that lower host of things brilliant, magnificent and\nredundant, and farther yet from that of the loose, the lawless, the\nexaggerated, the insolent, and the profane, I would have the necessity\nof it foremost among all our inculcating, and the name of it largest\namong all our inscribing, in so far that, over the doors of every school\nof Art, I would have this one word, relieved out in deep letters of pure\ngold,--Moderation.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [29] It is to be carefully noted that when rude execution is\n evidently not the result of imperfect feeling and desire (as in\n these men above named, it is) but of thought; either impatient,\n which there was necessity to note swiftly, or impetuous, which it\n was well to note in mighty manner, as pre-eminently and in both\n kinds the case with Tintoret, and often with Michael Angelo, and in\n lower and more degraded modes with Rubens, and generally in the\n sketches and first thoughts of great masters; there is received a\n very noble pleasure, connected both with ideas of power (compare\n again Part I. Sect. ii. Chap. I.) and with certain actions of the\n imagination of which we shall speak presently. But this pleasure is\n not received from the beauty of the work, for nothing can be\n perfectly beautiful unless complete, but from its simplicity and\n sufficiency to its immediate purpose, where the purpose is not of\n beauty at all, as often in things rough-hewn, pre-eminently for\n instance in the stones of the foundations of the Pitti and Strozzi\n palaces, whose noble rudeness is to be opposed both to the useless\n polish, and the barbarous rustications of modern times, (although\n indeed this instance is not without exception to be received, for\n the majesty of these rocky buildings depends also in some measure\n upon the real beauty and finish of the natural curvilinear\n fractures, opposed to the coarseness of human chiselling,) and\n again, as it respects works of higher art, the pleasure of their\n hasty or imperfect execution is not indicative of their beauty, but\n of their majesty and fulness of thought and vastness of power. Shade\n is only beautiful when it magnifies and sets forth the forms of fair\n things, so negligence is only noble when it is, as Fuseli hath it,\n \"the shadow of energy.\" Which that it may be, secure the substance\n and the shade will follow, but let the artist beware of stealing the\n manner of giant intellects when he has not their intention, and of\n assuming large modes of treatment when he has little thoughts to\n treat. There is large difference between indolent impatience of\n labor and intellectual impatience of delay, large difference between\n leaving things unfinished because we have more to do, or because we\n are satisfied with what we have done. Tintoret, who prayed hard, and\n hardly obtained, that he might be permitted, the charge of his\n colors only being borne, to paint a new built house from base to\n battlement, was not one to shun labor, it is the pouring in upon him\n of glorious thoughts in inexpressible multitude that his sweeping\n hand follows so fast. It is as easy to know the slightness of\n earnest haste from the slightness of blunt feeling, indolence, or\n affectation, as it is to know the dust of a race, from the dust of\n dissolution.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XI.\n\n GENERAL INFERENCES RESPECTING TYPICAL BEAUTY.\n\n\nSec. 1. The subject incompletely treated, yet admitting of general\n conclusions.\n\nI have now enumerated, and in some measure explained those\ncharacteristics of mere matter by which I conceive it becomes agreeable\nto the theoretic faculty, under whatever form, dead, organized, or\nanimated, it may present itself. It will be our task in the succeeding\nvolume to examine, and illustrate by examples, the mode in which these\ncharacteristics appear in every division of creation, in stones,\nmountains, waves, clouds, and all organic bodies; beginning with\nvegetables, and then taking instances in the range of animals from the\nmollusc to man; examining how one animal form is nobler than another, by\nthe more manifest presence of these attributes, and chiefly endeavoring\nto show how much there is of admirable and lovely, even in what is\ncommonly despised. At present I have only to mark the conclusions at\nwhich we have as yet arrived respecting the rank of the theoretic\nfaculty, and then to pursue the inquiry farther into the nature of vital\nbeauty.\n\nAs I before said, I pretend not to have enumerated all the sources of\nmaterial beauty, nor the analogies connected with them; it is probable\nthat others may occur to many readers, or to myself as I proceed into\nmore particular inquiry, but I am not careful to collect all conceivable\nevidence on the subject. I desire only to assert and prove some certain\nprinciples, and by means of these to show, in some measure, the inherent\nworthiness and glory of God's works and something of the relations they\nbear to each other and to us, leaving the subject to be fully pursued,\nas it only can be, by the ardor and affection of those whom it may\ninterest.\n\n\nSec. 2. Typical beauty not created for man's sake.\n\nSec. 3. But degrees of it for his sake admitted.\n\nSec. 4. What encouragement hence to be received.\n\nThe qualities above enumerated are not to be considered as stamped upon\nmatter for our teaching or enjoyment only, but as the necessary\nconsequence of the perfection of God's working, and the inevitable stamp\nof his image on what he creates. For it would be inconsistent with his\nInfinite perfection to work imperfectly in any place, or in any matter;\nwherefore we do not find that flowers and fair trees, and kindly skies,\nare given only where man may see them and be fed by them, but the Spirit\nof God works everywhere alike, where there is no eye to see, covering\nall lonely places with an equal glory, using the same pencil and\noutpouring the same splendor, in the caves of the waters where the\nsea-snakes swim, and in the desert where the satyrs dance, among the\nfir-trees of the stork, and the rocks of the conies, as among those\nhigher creatures whom he has made capable witnesses of his working.\nNevertheless, I think that the admission of different degrees of this\nglory and image of himself upon creation, has the look of something\nmeant especially for us; for although, in pursuance of the appointed\nsystem of government by universal laws, these same degrees exist where\nwe cannot witness them, yet the existence of degrees at all seems at\nfirst unlikely in Divine work, and I cannot see reason for it unless\nthat palpable one of increasing in us the understanding of the sacred\ncharacters by showing us the results of their comparative absence. For I\nknow not that if all things had been equally beautiful, we could have\nreceived the idea of beauty at all, or if we had, certainly it had\nbecome a matter of indifference to us, and of little thought, whereas\nthrough the beneficent ordaining of degrees in its manifestation, the\nhearts of men are stirred by its occasional occurrence in its noblest\nform, and all their energies are awakened in the pursuit of it, and\nendeavor to arrest it or recreate it for themselves. But whatever doubt\nthere may be respecting the exact amount of modification of created\nthings admitted reference to us, there can be none respecting the\ndignity of that faculty by which we receive the mysterious evidence of\ntheir divine origin. The fact of our deriving constant pleasure from\nwhatever is a type or semblance of Divine attributes, and from nothing\nbut that which is so, is the most glorious of all that can be\ndemonstrated of human nature; it not only sets a great gulf of specific\nseparation between us and the lower animals, but it seems a promise of a\ncommunion ultimately deep, close, and conscious, with the Being whose\ndarkened manifestations we here feebly and unthinkingly delight in.\nProbably to every order of intelligence more of his image becomes\npalpable in all around them, and the glorified spirits and the angels\nhave perceptions as much more full and rapturous than ours, as ours than\nthose of beasts and creeping things. And receiving it, as we must, for\nan universal axiom that \"no natural desire can be entirely frustrate,\"\nand seeing that these desires are indeed so unfailing in us that they\nhave escaped not the reasoners of any time, but were held divine of old,\nand in even heathen countries,[30] it cannot be but that there is in\nthese visionary pleasures, lightly as we now regard them, cause for\nthankfulness, ground for hope, anchor for faith, more than in all the\nother manifold gifts and guidances, wherewith God crowns the years, and\nhedges the paths of men.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [30] [Greek: He de teleia eudaimonia theoretike tis eotin henergeia.\n * * tois men gar theois apas ho bios makarios, tois d anthropois,\n eph hoson homoioma ti tes toiantes henergeias huparchei. ton d\n hallon zoon ouden eudaimonei. hepeide oudame koinonei\n theorias.]--Arist. Eth. Lib. 10th. The concluding book of the Ethics\n should be carefully read. It is all most valuable.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XII.\n\n OF VITAL BEAUTY. FIRST, AS RELATIVE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Transition from typical to vital Beauty.\n\nI proceed more particularly to examine the nature of that second kind of\nbeauty of which I spoke in the third chapter, as consisting in \"the\nappearance of felicitous fulfilment of function in living things.\" I\nhave already noticed the example of very pure and high typical beauty\nwhich is to be found in the lines and gradations of unsullied snow: if,\npassing to the edge of a sheet of it, upon the lower Alps, early in May,\nwe find, as we are nearly sure to find, two or three little round\nopenings pierced in it, and through these emergent, a slender, pensive,\nfragile flower[31] whose small dark, purple-fringed bell hangs down and\nshudders over the icy cleft that it has cloven, as if partly wondering\nat its own recent grave, and partly dying of very fatigue after its hard\nwon victory; we shall be, or we ought to be, moved by a totally\ndifferent impression of loveliness from that which we receive among the\ndead ice and the idle clouds. There is now uttered to us a call for\nsympathy, now offered to us an image of moral purpose and achievement,\nwhich, however unconscious or senseless the creature may indeed be that\nso seems to call, cannot be heard without affection, nor contemplated\nwithout worship, by any of us whose heart is rightly tuned, or whose\nmind is clearly and surely sighted.\n\nThroughout the whole of the organic creation every being in a perfect\nstate exhibits certain appearances, or evidences, of happiness, and\nbesides is in its nature, its desires, its modes of nourishment,\nhabitation, and death, illustrative or expressive of certain moral\ndispositions or principles. Now, first, in the keenness of the sympathy\nwhich we feel in the happiness, real or apparent, of all organic beings,\nand which, as we shall presently see, invariably prompts us, from the\njoy we have in it, to look upon those as most lovely which are most\nhappy; and secondly, in the justness of the moral sense which rightly\nreads the lesson they are all intended to teach, and classes them in\norders of worthiness and beauty according to the rank and nature of that\nlesson, whether it be of warning or example, of those that wallow or of\nthose that soar, of the fiend-hunted swine by the Gennesaret lake, or of\nthe dove returning to its ark of rest; in our right accepting and\nreading of all this, consists, I say, the ultimately perfect condition\nof that noble theoretic faculty, whose place in the system of our nature\nI have already partly vindicated with respect to typical, but which can\nonly fully be established with respect to vital beauty.\n\n\nSec. 2. The perfection of the theoretic faculty as concerned with vital\n beauty, is charity.\n\nIts first perfection, therefore, relating to vital beauty, is the\nkindness and unselfish fulness of heart, which receives the utmost\namount of pleasure from the happiness of all things. Of which in high\ndegree the heart of man is incapable, neither what intense enjoyment the\nangels may have in all that they see of things that move and live, and\nin the part they take in the shedding of God's kindness upon them, can\nwe know or conceive: only in proportion as we draw near to God, and are\nmade in measure like unto him, can we increase this our possession of\ncharity, of which the entire essence is in God only.\n\nWherefore it is evident that even the ordinary exercise of this faculty\nimplies a condition of the whole moral being in some measure right and\nhealthy, and that to the entire exercise of it there is necessary the\nentire perfection of the Christian character, for he who loves not God,\nnor his brother, cannot love the grass beneath his feet and the\ncreatures that fill those spaces in the universe which he needs not, and\nwhich live not for his uses; nay, he has seldom grace to be grateful\neven to those that love him and serve him, while, on the other hand,\nnone can love God nor his human brother without loving all things which\nhis Father loves, nor without looking upon them every one as in that\nrespect his brethren also, and perhaps worthier than he, if in the under\nconcords they have to fill, their part is touched more truly. Wherefore\nit is good to read of that kindness and humbleness of St. Francis of\nAssisi, who spoke never to bird nor to cicala, nor even to wolf and\nbeast of prey, but as his brother; and so we find are moved the minds of\nall good and mighty men, as in the lesson that we have from the Mariner\nof Coleridge, and yet more truly and rightly taught in the Heartleap\nwell,\n\n \"Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride,\n With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels,\"\n\nand again in the White Doe of Rylstone, with the added teaching of that\ngift, which we have from things beneath us, in thanks for the love they\ncannot equally return; that anguish of our own,\n\n \"Is tempered and allayed by sympathies,\n Aloft ascending and descending deep,\n Even to the inferior kinds,\"\n\nso that I know not of anything more destructive of the whole theoretic\nfaculty, not to say of the Christian character and human intellect, than\nthose accursed sports in which man makes of himself, cat, tiger,\nserpent, chaetodon, and alligator in one, and gathers into one\ncontinuance of cruelty for his amusement all the devices that brutes\nsparingly and at intervals use against each other for their\nnecessities.[32]\n\n\nSec. 3. Only with respect to plants, less affection than sympathy.\n\nAs we pass from those beings of whose happiness and pain we are certain\nto those in which it is doubtful or only seeming, as possibly in\nplants, (though I would fain hold, if I might, \"the faith that every\nflower, enjoys the air it breathes,\" neither do I ever crush or gather\none without some pain,) yet our feeling for them has in it more of\nsympathy than of actual love, as receiving from them in delight far more\nthan we can give; for love, I think, chiefly grows in giving, at least\nits essence is the desire of doing good, or giving happiness, and we\ncannot feel the desire of that which we cannot conceive, so that if we\nconceive not of a plant as capable of pleasure, we cannot desire to give\nit pleasure, that is, we cannot love it in the entire sense of the term.\n\nNevertheless, the sympathy of very lofty and sensitive minds usually\nreaches so far as to the conception of life in the plant, and so to\nlove, as with Shelley, of the sensitive plant, and Shakspeare always, as\nhe has taught us in the sweet voices of Ophelia and Perdita, and\nWordsworth always, as of the daffodils, and the celandine.\n\n \"It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold.\n This neither is its courage, nor its choice,\n But its necessity in being old,\"--\n\nand so all other great poets (that is to say, great seers;[33]) nor do I\nbelieve that any mind, however rude, is without some slight perception\nor acknowledgment of joyfulness in breathless things, as most certainly\nthere are none but feel instinctive delight in the appearances of such\nenjoyment.\n\n\nSec. 4. Which is proportioned to the appearance of energy in the plants.\n\nFor it is matter of easy demonstration, that setting the characters of\ntypical beauty aside, the pleasure afforded by every organic form is in\nproportion to its appearance of healthy vital energy; as in a rose-bush,\nsetting aside all considerations of gradated flushing of color and fair\nfolding of line, which it shares with the cloud or the snow-wreath, we\nfind in and through all this, certain signs pleasant and acceptable as\nsigns of life and enjoyment in the particular individual plant itself.\nEvery leaf and stalk is seen to have a function, to be constantly\nexercising that function, and as it seems _solely_ for the good and\nenjoyment of the plant. It is true that reflection will show us that the\nplant is not living for itself alone, that its life is one of\nbenefaction, that it gives as well as receives, but no sense of this\nwhatsoever mingles with our perception of physical beauty in its forms.\nThose forms which appear to be necessary to its health, the symmetry of\nits leaflets, the smoothness of its stalks, the vivid green of its\nshoots, are looked upon by us as signs of the plant's own happiness and\nperfection; they are useless to us, except as they give us pleasure in\nour sympathizing with that of the plant, and if we see a leaf withered\nor shrunk or worm-eaten, we say it is ugly, and feel it to be most\npainful, not because it hurts _us_, but because it seems to hurt the\nplant, and conveys to us an idea of pain and disease and failure of life\nin _it_.\n\nThat the amount of pleasure we receive is in exact proportion to the\nappearance of vigor and sensibility in the plant, is easily proved by\nobserving the effect of those which show the evidences of it in the\nleast degree, as, for instance, any of the cacti not in flower. Their\nmasses are heavy and simple, their growth slow, their various parts\njointed on one to another, as if they were buckled or pinned together\ninstead of growing out of each other, (note the singular imposition in\nmany of them, the prickly pear for instance, of the fruit upon the body\nof the plant, so that it looks like a swelling or disease,) and often\nfarther opposed by harsh truncation of line as in the cactus\ntruncatophylla. All these circumstances so concur to deprive the plant\nof vital evidences, that we receive from it more sense of pain than of\nbeauty; and yet even here, the sharpness of the angles, the symmetrical\norder and strength of the spines, the fresh and even color of the body,\nare looked for earnestly as signs of healthy condition, our pain is\nincreased by their absence, and indefinitely increased if blotches, and\nother appearances of bruise and decay interfere with that little life\nwhich the plant seems to possess.\n\nThe same singular characters belong in animals to the crustacea, as to\nthe lobster, crab, scorpion, etc., and in great measure deprive them of\nthe beauty which we find in higher orders, so that we are reduced to\nlook for their beauty to single parts and joints, and not to the whole\nanimal.\n\n\nSec. 5. This sympathy is unselfish, and does not regard utility.\n\nNow I wish particularly to impress upon the reader that all these\nsensations of beauty in the plant arise from our unselfish sympathy with\nits happiness, and not from any view of the qualities in it which may\nbring good to us, nor even from our acknowledgment in it of any moral\ncondition beyond that of mere felicity; for such an acknowledgment,\nbelongs to the second operation of the theoretic faculty (compare Sec. 2,)\nand not to the sympathetic part which we are at present examining; so\nthat we even find that in this respect, the moment we begin to look upon\nany creature as subordinate to some purpose out of itself, some of the\nsense of organic beauty is lost. Thus, when we are told that the leaves\nof a plant are occupied in decomposing carbonic acid, and preparing\noxygen for us, we begin to look upon it with some such indifference as\nupon a gasometer. It has become a machine; some of our sense of its\nhappiness is gone; its emanation of inherent life is no longer pure. The\nbending trunk, waving to and fro in the wind above the waterfall, is\nbeautiful because it is happy, though it is perfectly useless to us. The\nsame trunk, hewn down and thrown across the stream, has lost its beauty.\nIt serves as a bridge,--it has become useful; it lives not for itself,\nand its beauty is gone, or what it retains is purely typical, dependent\non its lines and colors, not on its functions. Saw it into planks, and\nthough now adapted to become permanently useful, its whole beauty is\nlost forever, or to be regained only in part when decay and ruin shall\nhave withdrawn it again from use, and left it to receive from the hand\nof nature the velvet moss and varied lichen, which may again suggest\nideas of inherent happiness, and tint its mouldering sides with hues of\nlife.\n\nThere is something, I think, peculiarly beautiful and instructive in\nthis unselfishness of the theoretic faculty, and in its abhorrence of\nall utility which is based on the pain or destruction of any creature,\nfor in such ministering to each other as is consistent with the essence\nand energy of both, it takes delight, as in the clothing of the rock by\nthe herbage, and the feeding of the herbage by the stream.\n\n\nSec. 6. Especially with respect to animals.\n\nSec. 7. And it is destroyed by evidences of mechanism.\n\nBut still more distinct evidence of its being indeed the expression of\nhappiness to which we look for our first pleasure in organic form, is\nto be found in the way in which we regard the bodily frame of animals:\nof which it is to be noted first, that there is not anything which\ncauses so intense and tormenting a sense of ugliness as any scar, wound,\nmonstrosity, or imperfection which seems inconsistent with the animal's\nease and health; and that although in vegetables, where there is no\nimmediate sense of pain, we are comparatively little hurt by\nexcrescences and irregularities, but are sometimes even delighted with\nthem, and fond of them, as children of the oak-apple, and sometimes look\nupon them as more interesting than the uninjured conditions, as in the\ngnarled and knotted trunks of trees; yet the slightest approach to\nanything of the kind in animal form is regarded with intense horror,\nmerely from the sense of pain it conveys. And, in the second place, it\nis to be noted that whenever we dissect the animal frame, or conceive it\nas dissected, and substitute in our ideas the neatness of mechanical\ncontrivance for the pleasure of the animal; the moment we reduce\nenjoyment to ingenuity, and volition to leverage, that instant all sense\nof beauty disappears. Take, for instance, the action of the limb of the\nostrich, which is beautiful so long as we see it in its swift uplifting\nalong the desert sands, and trace in the tread of it her scorn of the\nhorse and his rider, but would infinitely lose of its impressiveness, if\nwe could see the spring ligament playing backwards and forwards in\nalternate jerks over the tubercle at the hock joint. Take again the\naction of the dorsal fin of the shark tribe. So long as we observe the\nuniform energy of motion in the whole frame, the lash of the tail, bound\nof body, and instantaneous lowering of the dorsal, to avoid the\nresistance of the water as it turns, there is high sense of organic\npower and beauty. But when we dissect the dorsal, and find that its\nsuperior ray is supported in its position by a peg in a notch at its\nbase, and that when the fin is to be lowered, the peg has to be taken\nout, and when it is raised put in again; although we are filled with\nwonder at the ingenuity of the mechanical contrivance, all our sense of\nbeauty is gone, and not to be recovered until we again see the fin\nplaying on the animal's body, apparently by its own will alone, with the\nlife running along its rays. It is by a beautiful ordinance of the\nCreator that all these mechanisms are concealed from sight, though open\nto investigation, and that in all which is outwardly manifested we seem\nto see his presence rather than his workmanship, and the mysterious\nbreath of life, rather than the manipulation of matter.\n\nAs, therefore, it appears from all evidence that it is the sense of\nfelicity which we first desire in organic form, it is evident from\nreason, as demonstrable by experience, that those forms will be the most\nbeautiful (always, observe, leaving typical beauty out of the question)\nwhich exhibit most of power, and seem capable of most quick and joyous\nsensation. Hence we find gradations of beauty from the apparent\nimpenetrableness of hide and slow motion of the elephant and rhinoceros,\nfrom the foul occupation of the vulture, from the earthy struggling of\nthe worm, to the brilliancy of the butterfly, the buoyancy of the lark,\nthe swiftness of the fawn and the horse, the fair and kingly sensibility\nof man.\n\n\nSec. 8. The second perfection of the theoretic faculty as concerned with\n life is justice of moral judgment.\n\nThus far then, the theoretic faculty is concerned with the happiness of\nanimals, and its exercise depends on the cultivation of the affections\nonly. Let us next observe how it is concerned with the moral functions\nof animals, and therefore how it is dependent on the cultivation of\nevery moral sense. There is not any organic creature, but in its history\nand habits it shall exemplify or illustrate to us some moral excellence\nor deficiency, or some point of God's providential government, which it\nis necessary for us to know. Thus the functions and the fates of animals\nare distributed to them, with a variety which exhibits to us the dignity\nand results of almost every passion and kind of conduct, some filthy and\nslothful, pining and unhappy; some rapacious, restless, and cruel; some\never earnest and laborious, and, I think, unhappy in their endless\nlabor, creatures, like the bee, that heap up riches and cannot tell who\nshall gather them, and others employed like angels in endless offices of\nlove and praise. Of which when, in right condition of mind, we esteem\nthose most beautiful, whose functions are the most noble, whether as\nsome, in mere energy, or as others, in moral honor, so that we look with\nhate on the foulness of the sloth, and the subtlety of the adder, and\nthe rage of the hyena: with the honor due to their earthly wisdom we\ninvest the earnest ant and unwearied bee; but we look with full\nperception of sacred function to the tribes of burning plumage and\nchoral voice.[34] And so what lesson we might receive for our earthly\nconduct from the creeping and laborious things, was taught us by that\nearthly king who made silver to be in Jerusalem as stones (yet\nthereafter was less rich towards God). But from the lips of an heavenly\nKing, who had not where to lay his head, we were taught what lesson we\nhave to learn from those higher creatures who sow not, nor reap, nor\ngather into barns, for their Heavenly Father feedeth them.\n\n\nSec. 9. How impeded.\n\nSec. 10. The influence of moral signs in expression.\n\nThere is much difficulty in the way of our looking with this rightly\nbalanced judgment on the moral functions of the animal tribes, owing to\nthe independent and often opposing characters of typical beauty, which\nare among them, as it seems, arbitrarily distributed, so that the most\nfierce and cruel are often clothed in the liveliest colors, and\nstrengthened by the noblest forms, with this only exception, that so far\nas I know, there is no high beauty in any slothful animal, but even\namong those of prey, its characters exist in exalted measure upon those\nthat range and pursue, and are in equal degree withdrawn from those that\nlie subtly and silently in the covert of the reed and fens. But that\nmind only is fully disciplined in its theoretic power, which can, when\nit chooses, throwing off the sympathies and repugnancies with which the\nideas of destructiveness or of innocence accustom us to regard the\nanimal tribes, as well as those meaner likes and dislikes which arise, I\nthink, from the greater or less resemblance of animal powers to our own,\ncan pursue the pleasures of typical beauty down to the scales of the\nalligator, the coils of the serpent, and the joints of the beetle; and\nagain, on the other hand, regardless of the impressions of typical\nbeauty, accept from each creature, great or small, the more important\nlessons taught by its position in creation as sufferer or chastiser, as\nlowly or having dominion, as of foul habit or lofty aspiration, and from\nthe several perfections which all illustrate or possess, courage,\nperseverance, industry, or intelligence, or, higher yet, of love and\npatience, and fidelity and rejoicing, and never wearied praise. Which\nmoral perfections that they indeed are productive, in proportion to\ntheir expression, of instant beauty instinctively felt, is best proved\nby comparing those parts of animals in which they are definitely\nexpressed, as for instance the eye, of which we shall find those ugliest\nwhich have in them no expression nor life whatever, but a corpse-like\nstare, or an indefinite meaningless glaring, as in some lights, those of\nowls and cats, and mostly of insects and of all creatures in which the\neye seems rather an external, optical instrument than a bodily member\nthrough which emotion and virtue of soul may be expressed, (as\npre-eminently in the chameleon,) because the seeming want of sensibility\nand vitality in a living creature is the most painful of all wants. And\nnext to these in ugliness come the eyes that gain vitality indeed, but\nonly by means of the expression of intense malignity, as in the serpent\nand alligator; and next to these, to whose malignity is added the virtue\nof subtlety and keenness, as of the lynx and hawk; and then, by\ndiminishing the malignity and increasing the expressions of\ncomprehensiveness and determination, we arrive at those of the lion and\neagle, and at last, by destroying malignity altogether, at the fair eye\nof the herbivorous tribes, wherein the superioity of beauty consists\nalways in the greater or less sweetness and gentleness primarily, as in\nthe gazelle, camel, and ox, and in the greater or less intellect,\nsecondarily, as in the horse and dog, and finally, in gentleness and\nintellect both in man. And again, taking the mouth, another source of\nexpression, we find it ugliest where it has none, as mostly in fish, or\nperhaps where without gaining much in expression of any kind, it becomes\na formidable destructive instrument, as again in the alligator, and\nthen, by some increase of expression, we arrive at birds' beaks, wherein\nthere is more obtained by the different ways of setting on the mandibles\nthan is commonly supposed, (compare the bills of the duck and the\neagle,) and thence we reach the finely developed lips of the carnivora,\nwhich nevertheless lose that beauty they have, in the actions of\nsnarling and biting, and from these we pass to the nobler because\ngentler and more sensible, of the horse, camel, and fawn, and so again\nup to man, only there is less traceableness of the principle in the\nmouths of the lower animals, because they are in slight measure only\ncapable of expression, and chiefly used as instruments, and that of low\nfunction, whereas in man the mouth is given most definitely as a means\nof expression, beyond and above its lower functions. Compare the remarks\nof Sir Charles Bell on this subject in his Essay on Expression, and\ncompare the mouth of the negro head given by him (p. 28, third edition)\nwith that of Raffaelle's St. Catherine. I shall illustrate the subject\nfarther hereafter by giving the mouth of one of the demons of Orcagna's\nInferno, with projecting incisors, and that of a fish and a swine, in\nopposition to pure graminivorous and human forms; but at present it is\nsufficient for my purpose to insist on the single great principle, that,\nwherever expression is possible, and uninterfered with by characters of\ntypical beauty, which confuse the subject exceedingly as regards the\nmouth, (for the typical beauty of the carnivorous lips is on a grand\nscale, while it exists in very low degree in the beaks of birds,)\nwherever, I say, these considerations do not interfere, the beauty of\nthe animal form is in exact proportion to the amount of moral or\nintellectual virtue expressed by it; and wherever beauty exists at all,\nthere is some kind of virtue to which it is owing, as the majesty of the\nlion's eye is owing not to its ferocity, but to its seriousness and\nseeming intellect, and of the lion's mouth to its strength and\nsensibility, and not its gnashing of teeth, nor wrinkling in its wrath;\nand farther be it noted, that of the intellectual or moral virtues, the\nmoral are those which are attended with most beauty, so that the gentle\neye of the gazelle is fairer to look upon than the more keen glance of\nmen, if it be unkind.\n\n\nSec. 11. As also in plants.\n\nOf the parallel effects of expression upon plants there is little to be\nnoted, as the mere naming of the subject cannot but bring countless\nillustrations to the mind of every reader: only this, that, as we saw\nthey were less susceptible of our sympathetic love, owing to the absence\nin them of capability of enjoyment, so they are less open to the\naffections based upon the expression of moral virtue, owing to their\nwant of volition; so that even on those of them which are deadly and\nunkind we look not without pleasure, the more because this their evil\noperation cannot be by them outwardly expressed, but only by us\nempirically known; so that of the outward seemings and expressions of\nplants, there are few but are in some way good and therefore beautiful,\nas of humility, and modesty, and love of places and things, in the\nreaching out of their arms, and clasping of their tendrils; and energy\nof resistance, and patience of suffering, and beneficence one towards\nanother in shade and protection, and to us also in scents and fruits\n(for of their healing virtues, however important to us, there is no more\noutward sense nor seeming than of their properties mortal or dangerous).\n\n\nSec. 12 Recapitulation.\n\nWhence, in fine, looking to the whole kingdom of organic nature, we find\nthat our full receiving of its beauty depends first on the sensibility\nand then on the accuracy and touchstone faithfulness of the heart in its\nmoral judgments, so that it is necessary that we should not only love\nall creatures well, but esteem them in that order which is according to\nGod's laws and not according to our own human passions and\npredilections, not looking for swiftness, and strength, and cunning,\nrather than for patience and kindness, still less delighting in their\nanimosity and cruelty one towards another, neither, if it may be\navoided, interfering with the working of nature in any way, nor, when we\ninterfere to obtain service, judging from the morbid conditions of the\nanimal or vegetable so induced; for we see every day the theoretic\nfaculty entirely destroyed in those who are interested in particular\nanimals, by their delight in the results of their own teaching, and by\nthe vain straining of curiosity for new forms such as nature never\nintended, as the disgusting types for instance, which we see earnestly\nsought for by the fanciers of rabbits and pigeons, and constantly in\nhorses, substituting for the true and balanced beauty of the free\ncreature some morbid development of a single power, as of swiftness in\nthe racer, at the expense, in certain measure, of the animal's healthy\nconstitution and fineness of form; and so the delight of horticulturists\nin the spoiling of plants; so that in all cases we are to beware of such\nopinions as seem in any way referable to human pride, or even to the\ngrateful or pernicious influence of things upon ourselves, and to cast\nthe mind free, and out of ourselves, humbly, and yet always in that\nnoble position of pause above the other visible creatures, nearer God\nthan they, which we authoritatively hold, thence looking down upon them,\nand testing the clearness of our moral vision by the extent, and\nfulness, and constancy of our pleasure in the light of God's love as it\nembraces them, and the harmony of his holy laws, that forever bring\nmercy out of rapine, and religion out of wrath.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [31] Soldanella Alpina.\n\n [32] I would have Mr. Landseer, before he gives us any more writhing\n otters, or yelping packs, reflect whether that which is best worthy\n of contemplation in a hound be its ferocity, or in an otter its\n agony, or in a human being its victory, hardly achieved even with\n the aid of its more sagacious brutal allies over a poor little\n fish-catching creature, a foot long.\n\n [33] Compare Milton.\n\n \"They at her coming sprung\n And touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew\"\n\n [34] \"Type of the wise--who soar, but never roam,\n True to the kindred points of heaven and home.\"\n (WORDSWORTH.--To the Skylark.)\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII.\n\n OF VITAL BEAUTY.--SECONDLY AS GENERIC.\n\n\nSec. 1. The beauty of fulfilment of appointed function in every animal.\n\nHitherto we have observed the conclusions of the theoretic faculty with\nrespect to the relations of happiness, and of more or less exalted\nfunction existing between different orders of organic being. But we must\npursue the inquiry farther yet, and observe what impressions of beauty\nare connected with more or less perfect fulfilment of the appointed\nfunction by different individuals of the same species. We are now no\nlonger called to pronounce upon worthiness of occupation or dignity of\ndisposition; but both employment and capacity being known, and the\nanimal's position and duty fixed, we have to regard it in that respect\nalone, comparing it with other individuals of its species, and to\ndetermine how far it worthily executes its office; whether, if scorpion,\nit hath poison enough, or if tiger, strength enough, or if dove,\ninnocence enough, to sustain rightly its place in creation, and come up\nto the perfect idea of dove, tiger, or scorpion.\n\nIn the first or sympathetic operation of the theoretic faculty, it will\nbe remembered, we receive pleasure from the signs of mere happiness in\nliving things. In the second theoretic operation of comparing and\njudging, we constituted ourselves such judges of the lower creatures as\nAdam was made by God when they were brought to him to be named, and we\nallowed of beauty in them as they reached, more or less, to that\nstandard of moral perfection by which we test ourselves. But, in the\nthird place, we are to come down again from the judgment seat, and\ntaking it for granted that every creature of God is in some way good,\nand has a duty and specific operation providentially accessory to the\nwell-being of all, we are to look in this faith to that employment and\nnature of each, and to derive pleasure from their entire perfection and\nfitness for the duty they have to do, and in their entire fulfilment of\nit: and so we are to take pleasure and find beauty in the magnificent\nbinding together of the jaws of the ichthyosaurus for catching and\nholding, and in the adaptation of the lion for springing, and of the\nlocust for destroying, and of the lark for singing, and in every\ncreature for the doing of that which God has made it to do. Which\nfaithful pleasure in the perception of the perfect operation of lower\ncreatures I have placed last among the perfections of the theoretic\nfaculty concerning them, because it is commonly last acquired, both\nowing to the humbleness and trustfulness of heart which it demands, and\nbecause it implies a knowledge of the habits and structure of every\ncreature, such as we can but imperfectly possess.\n\n\nSec. 2. The two senses of the word \"ideal.\" Either it refers to action of\n the imagination.\n\nThe perfect _idea_ of the form and condition in which all the properties\nof the species are fully developed, is called the ideal of the species.\nThe question of the nature of ideal conception of species, and of the\nmode in which the mind arrives at it, has been the subject of so much\ndiscussion, and source of so much embarrassment, chiefly owing to that\nunfortunate distinction between idealism and realism which leads most\npeople to imagine the ideal opposed to the real, and therefore _false_,\nthat I think it necessary to request the reader's most careful attention\nto the following positions.\n\nAny work of art which represents, not a material object, but the mental\nconception of a material object, is, in the primary sense of the word\nideal; that is to say, it represents an idea, and not a thing. Any work\nof art which represents or realizes a material object, is, in the\nprimary sense of the term, unideal.\n\nIdeal works of art, therefore, in this first sense, represent the result\nof an act of imagination, and are good or bad in proportion to the\nhealthy condition and general power of the imagination, whose acts they\nrepresent.\n\nUnideal works of art (the studious production of which is termed\nrealism) represent actual existing things, and are good or bad in\nproportion to the perfection of the representation.\n\nAll entirely bad works of art may be divided into those which,\nprofessing to be imaginative, bear no stamp of imagination, and are\ntherefore false, and those which, professing to be representative of\nmatter, miss of the representation and are therefore nugatory.\n\nIt is the habit of most observers to regard art as representative of\nmatter, and to look only for the entireness of representation; and it\nwas to this view of art that I limited the arguments of the former\nsections of the present work, wherein having to oppose the conclusions\nof a criticism entirely based upon the realist system, I was compelled\nto meet that criticism on its own grounds. But the greater part of works\nof art, more especially those devoted to the expression of ideas of\nbeauty, are the results of the agency of imagination, their worthiness\ndepending, as above stated, on the healthy condition of the imagination.\n\nHence it is necessary for us, in order to arrive at conclusions\nrespecting the worthiness of such works, to define and examine the\nnature of the imaginative faculty, and to determine first what are the\nsigns or conditions of its existence at all; and secondly, what are the\nevidences of its healthy and efficient existence, upon which examination\nI shall enter in the second section of the present part.\n\n\nSec. 3. Or to perfection of type.\n\nBut there is another sense of the word ideal besides this, and it is\nthat with which we are here concerned. It is evident that, so long as we\nuse the word to signify that art which represents ideas and not things,\nwe may use it as truly of the art which represents an idea of Caliban,\nand not real Caliban, as of the art which represents an idea of\nAntinous, and not real Antinous. For that is as much imagination which\nconceives the monster as which conceives the man. If, however, Caliban\nand Antinous be creatures of the same species, and the form of the one\ncontain not the fully developed types or characters of the species,\nwhile the form of the other presents the greater part of them, then the\nlatter is said to be a form more ideal than the other, as a nearer\napproximation to the general idea or conception of the species.\n\n\nSec. 4. This last sense how inaccurate, yet to be retained.\n\nNow it is evident that this use of the word ideal is much less accurate\nthan the other, from which it is derived, for it rests on the assumption\nthat the assemblage of all the characters of a species in their perfect\ndevelopment cannot exist but in the imagination. For if it can actually\nand in reality exist, it is not right to call it ideal or imaginary; it\nwould be better to call it characteristic or general, and to reserve the\nword ideal for the results of the operation of the imagination, either\non the perfect or imperfect forms.\n\nNevertheless, the word ideal has been so long and universally accepted\nin this sense, that I think it better to continue the use of it, so only\nthat the reader will be careful to observe the distinction in the sense,\naccording to the subject matter under discussion. At present then, using\nit as expressive of the noble generic form which indicates the full\nperfection of the creature in all its functions, I wish to examine how\nfar this perception exists or may exist in nature, and if not in nature,\nhow it is by us discoverable or imaginable.\n\n\nSec. 5. Of Ideal form. First, in the lower animals.\n\nNow it is better, when we wish to arrive at truth, always to take\nfamiliar instances, wherein the mind is not likely to be biassed by any\nelevated associations or favorite theories. Let us ask therefore, first,\nwhat kind of ideal form may be attributed to a limpet or an oyster, that\nis to say, whether all oysters do or do not come up to the entire notion\nor idea of an oyster. I apprehend that, although in respect of size,\nage, and kind of feeding, there may be some difference between them, yet\nof those which are of full size and healthy condition there will be\nfound many which fulfil the conditions of an oyster in every respect,\nand that so perfectly, that we could not, by combining the features of\ntwo or more together, produce a more perfect oyster than any that we\nsee. I suppose also, that, out of a number of healthy fish, birds, or\nbeasts of the same species, it would not be easy to select an individual\nas superior to _all_ the rest; neither by comparing two or more of the\nnobler examples together, to arrive at the conception of a form superior\nto that of either; but that, though the accidents of more abundant food\nor more fitting habitation may induce among them some varieties of size,\nstrength, and color, yet the entire generic form would be presented by\nmany, neither would any art be able to add to or diminish from it.\n\n\nSec. 6. In what consistent.\n\nIt is, therefore, hardly right to use the word ideal of the generic\nforms of these creatures, of which we see actual examples; but if we are\nto use it, then be it distinctly understood that their ideality consists\nin the full development of all the powers and properties of the creature\nas such, and is inconsistent with accidental or imperfect developments,\nand even with great variation from average size, the ideal size being\nneither gigantic nor diminutive, but the utmost grandeur and entireness\nof proportion at a certain point above the mean size; for as more\nindividuals always fall short of generic size than rise above it, the\ngeneric is above the average or mean size. And this perfection of the\ncreature invariably involves the utmost possible degree of all those\nproperties of beauty, both typical and vital, which it is appointed to\npossess.\n\n\nSec. 7. Ideal form in vegetables.\n\nLet us next observe the conditions of ideality in vegetables. Out of a\nlarge number of primroses or violets, I apprehend that, although one or\ntwo might be larger than all the rest, the greater part would be very\nsufficient primroses and violets. And that we could, by no study nor\ncombination of violets, conceive of a better violet than many in the\nbed. And so generally of the blossoms and separate members of all\nvegetables.\n\nBut among the entire forms of the complex vegetables, as of oak-trees,\nfor instance, there exists very large and constant difference, some\nbeing what we hold to be fine oaks, as in parks, and places where they\nare taken care of, and have their own way, and some are but poor and\nmean oaks, which have had no one to take care of them, but have been\nobliged to maintain themselves.\n\nThat which we have to determine is, whether ideality be predicable of\nthe fine oaks only, or whether the poor and mean oaks also may be\nconsidered as ideal, that is, coming up to the conditions of oak, and\nthe general notion of oak.\n\n\nSec. 8. The difference of position between plants and animals.\n\nNow there is this difference between the positions held in creation by\nanimals and plants, and thence in the dispositions with which we regard\nthem; that the animals, being for the most part locomotive, are capable\nboth of living where they choose, and of obtaining what food they want,\nand of fulfilling all the conditions necessary to their health and\nperfection. For which reason they are answerable for such health and\nperfection, and we should be displeased and hurt if we did not find it\nin one individual as well as another.\n\n\nSec. 9. Admits of variety in the ideal of the former.\n\nBut the case is evidently different with plants. They are intended\nfixedly to occupy many places comparatively unfit for them, and to fill\nup all the spaces where greenness, and coolness, and ornament, and\noxygen are wanted, and that with very little reference to their comfort\nor convenience. Now it would be hard upon the plant if, after being tied\nto a particular spot, where it is indeed much wanted, and is a great\nblessing, but where it has enough to do to live, whence it cannot move\nto obtain what it wants or likes, but must stretch its unfortunate arms\nhere and there for bare breath and light, and split its way among rocks,\nand grope for sustenance in unkindly soil; it would be hard upon the\nplant, I say, if under all these disadvantages, it were made answerable\nfor its appearance, and found fault with because it was not a fine plant\nof the kind. And so we find it ordained that in order that no unkind\ncomparisons may be drawn between one and another, there are not\nappointed to plants the fixed number, position, and proportion of\nmembers which are ordained in animals, (and any variation from which in\nthese is unpardonable,) but a continually varying number and position,\neven among the more freely growing examples, admitting therefore all\nkinds of license to those which have enemies to contend with, and that\nwithout in any way detracting from their dignity and perfection.\n\nSo then there is in trees no perfect form which can be fixed upon or\nreasoned out as ideal; but that is always an ideal oak which, however\npoverty-stricken, or hunger-pinched, or tempest-tortured, is yet seen to\nhave done, under its appointed circumstances, all that could be expected\nof oak.\n\nThe ideal, therefore, of the park oak is that to which I alluded in the\nconclusion of the former part of this work, full size, united terminal\ncurve, equal and symmetrical range of branches on each side. The ideal\nof the mountain oak may be anything, twisting, and leaning, and\nshattered, and rock-encumbered, so only that amidst all its misfortunes,\nit maintain the dignity of oak; and, indeed, I look upon this kind of\ntree as more ideal than the other, in so far as by its efforts and\nstruggles, more of its nature, enduring power, patience in waiting for,\nand ingenuity in obtaining what it wants, is brought out, and so more of\nthe essence of oak exhibited, than under more fortunate conditions.\n\n\nSec. 10. Ideal form in vegetables destroyed by cultivation.\n\nAnd herein, then, we at last find the cause of that fact which we have\ntwice already noted, that the exalted or seemingly improved condition,\nwhether of plant or animal, induced by human interference, is not the\ntrue and artistical ideal of it.[35] It has been well shown by Dr.\nHerbert,[36] that many plants are found alone on a certain soil or\nsubsoil in a wild state, not because such soil is favorable to them, but\nbecause they alone are capable of existing on it, and because all\ndangerous rivals are by its inhospitality removed. Now if we withdraw\nthe plant from this position, which it hardly endures, and supply it\nwith the earth, and maintain about it the temperature that it delights\nin; withdrawing from it at the same time all rivals which, in such\nconditions nature would have thrust upon it, we shall indeed obtain a\nmagnificently developed example of the plant, colossal in size, and\nsplendid in organization, but we shall utterly lose in it that moral\nideal which is dependent on its right fulfilment of its appointed\nfunctions. It was intended and created by the Deity for the covering of\nthose lonely spots where no other plant could live; it has been thereto\nendowed with courage, and strength, and capacities of endurance\nunequalled; its character and glory are not therefore in the gluttonous\nand idle feeling of its own over luxuriance, at the expense of other\ncreatures utterly destroyed and rooted out for its good alone, but in\nits right doing of its hard duty; and forward climbing into those spots\nof forlorn hope where it alone can bear witness to the kindness and\npresence of the Spirit that cutteth out rivers among the rocks, as it\ncovers the valleys with corn: and there, in its vanward place, and only\nthere, where nothing is withdrawn for it, nor hurt by it, and where\nnothing can take part of its honor, nor usurp its throne, are its\nstrength, and fairness, and price, and goodness in the sight of God, to\nbe truly esteemed.\n\n\nSec. 11. Instance in the Soldanella and Ranunculus.\n\nThe first time that I saw the soldanella alpina, before spoken of, it\nwas growing, of magnificent size, on a sunny Alpine pasture, among\nbleating of sheep and lowing of cattle, associated with a profusion of\ngeum montanum, and ranunculus pyrenaeus. I noticed it only because new to\nme, nor perceived any peculiar beauty in its cloven flower. Some days\nafter, I found it alone, among the rack of the higher clouds, and\nhowling of glacier winds, and, as I described it, piercing through an\nedge of avalanche, which in its retiring had left the new ground brown\nand lifeless, and as if burned by recent fire; the plant was poor and\nfeeble, and seemingly exhausted with its efforts, but it was then that I\ncomprehended its ideal character, and saw its noble function and order\nof glory among the constellations of the earth.\n\nThe ranunculus glacialis might perhaps, by cultivation, be blanched from\nits wan and corpse-like paleness to purer white, and won to more\nbranched and lofty development of its ragged leaves. But the ideal of\nthe plant is to be found only in the last, loose stones of the moraine,\nalone there; wet with the cold, unkindly drip of the glacier water, and\ntrembling as the loose and steep dust to which it clings yields ever and\nanon, and shudders and crumbles away from about its root.\n\n\nSec. 12. The beauty of repose and felicity, how consistent with such ideal.\n\nAnd if it be asked how this conception of the utmost beauty of ideal\nform is consistent with what we formerly argued respecting the\npleasantness of the appearance of felicity in the creature, let it be\nobserved, and forever held, that the right and true happiness of every\ncreature, is in this very discharge of its function, and in those\nefforts by which its strength and inherent energy are developed: and\nthat the repose of which we also spoke as necessary to all beauty, is,\nas was then stated, repose not of inanition, nor of luxury, nor of\nirresolution, but the repose of magnificent energy and being; in action,\nthe calmness of trust and determination; in rest, the consciousness of\nduty accomplished and of victory won, and this repose and this felicity\ncan take place as well in the midst of trial and tempest, as beside the\nwaters of comfort; they perish only when the creature is either\nunfaithful to itself, or is afflicted by circumstances unnatural and\nmalignant to its being, and for the contending with which it was neither\nfitted nor ordained. Hence that rest which is indeed glorious is of the\nchamois couched breathless on his granite bed, not of the stalled ox\nover his fodder, and that happiness which is indeed beautiful is in the\nbearing of those trial tests which are appointed for the proving of\nevery creature, whether it be good, or whether it be evil; and in the\nfulfilment to the uttermost of every command it has received, and the\nout-carrying to the uttermost of every power and gift it has gotten from\nits God.\n\n\nSec. 13. The ideality of Art.\n\nTherefore the task of the painter in his pursuit of ideal form is to\nattain accurate knowledge, so far as may be in his power, of the\ncharacter, habits, and peculiar virtues and duties of every species of\nbeing; down even to the stone, for there is an ideality of stones\naccording to their kind, an ideality of granite and slate and marble,\nand it is in the utmost and most exalted exhibition of such individual\ncharacter, order, and use, that all ideality of art consists. The more\ncautious he is in assigning the right species of moss to its favorite\ntrunk, and the right kind of weed to its necessary stone, in marking the\ndefinite and characteristic leaf, blossom, seed, fracture, color, and\ninward anatomy of everything, the more truly ideal his work becomes. All\nconfusion of species, all careless rendering of character, all unnatural\nand arbitrary association, is vulgar and unideal in proportion to its\ndegree.\n\n\nSec. 14. How connected with the imaginative faculties.\n\nIt is to be noted, however, that nature sometimes in a measure herself\nconceals these generic differences, and that when she displays them it\nis commonly on a scale too small for human hand to follow.\n\nThe pursuit and seizure of the generic differences in their concealment,\nand the display of them on a larger and more palpable scale, is one of\nthe wholesome and healthy operations of the imagination of which we are\npresently to speak.[37]\n\nGeneric differences being commonly exhibited by art in different manner\nand way from that of their natural occurrence, are in this respect more\nstrictly and truly ideal in art than in reality.\n\n\nSec. 15. Ideality, how belonging to ages and conditions.\n\nThis only remains to be noted, that, of all creatures whose existence\ninvolves birth, progress, and dissolution, ideality is predicable all\nthrough their existence, so that they be perfect with reference to their\nsupposed period of being. Thus there is an ideal of infancy, of youth,\nof old age, of death, and of decay. But when the ideal form of the\nspecies is spoken of or conceived in general terms, the form is\nunderstood to be of that period when the generic attributes are\nperfectly developed, and previous to the commencement of their decline.\nAt which period all the characters of vital and typical beauty are\ncommonly most concentrated in them, though the arrangement and\nproportion of these characters varies at different periods, youth having\nmore of the vigorous beauty, and age of the reposing; youth of typical\noutward fairness, and age of expanded and etherealized moral expression;\nthe babe, again, in some measure atoning in gracefulness for its want of\nstrength, so that the balanced glory of the creature continues in solemn\ninterchange, perhaps even\n\n \"Filling more and more with crystal light,\n As pensive evening deepens into night.\"\n\nHitherto, however, we have confined ourselves to the examination of\nideal form in the lower animals, and we have found that, to arrive at\nit, no combination of forms nor exertion of fancy is required, but only\nsimple choice among those naturally presented, together with careful\ninvestigation and anatomizing of the habits of the creatures. I fear we\nshall arrive at a very different conclusion, in considering the ideal\nform of man.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [35] I speak not here of those conditions of vegetation which have\n especial reference to man, as of seeds and fruits, whose sweetness\n and farina seem in great measure given, not for the plant's sake,\n but for his, and to which therefore the interruption in the harmony\n of creation of which he was the cause is extended, and their\n sweetness and larger measure of good to be obtained only by his\n redeeming labor. His curse has fallen on the corn and the vine, and\n the wild barley misses of its fulness, that he may eat bread by the\n sweat of his brow.\n\n [36] Journal of the Horticultural Society. Part I.\n\n [37] Compare Sect. II. Chap. IV.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV.\n\n OF VITAL BEAUTY.--THIRDLY, IN MAN.\n\n\nSec. 1. Condition of the human creature entirely different from that of the\n lower animals.\n\nHaving thus passed gradually through all the orders and fields of\ncreation, and traversed that goodly line of God's happy creatures who\n\"leap not, but express a feast, where all the guests sit close, and\nnothing wants,\" without finding any deficiency which human invention\nmight supply, nor any harm which human interference might mend, we come\nat last to set ourselves face to face with ourselves, expecting that in\ncreatures made after the image of God we are to find comeliness and\ncompletion more exquisite than in the fowls of the air and the things\nthat pass through the paths of the sea.\n\nBut behold now a sudden change from all former experience. No longer\namong the individuals of the race is there equality or likeness, a\ndistributed fairness and fixed type visible in each, but evil diversity,\nand terrible stamp of various degradation; features seamed with\nsickness, dimmed by sensuality, convulsed by passion, pinched by\npoverty, shadowed by sorrow, branded with remorse; bodies consumed with\nsloth, broken down by labor, tortured by disease, dishonored in foul\nuses; intellects without power, hearts without hope, minds earthly and\ndevilish; our bones full of the sin of our youth, the heaven revealing\nour iniquity, the earth rising up against us, the roots dried up\nbeneath, and the branch cut off above; well for us only, if, after\nbeholding this our natural face in a glass, we desire not straightway to\nforget what manner of men we be.\n\n\nSec. 2. What room here for idealization.\n\nHerein there is at last something, and too much, for that short stopping\nintelligence and dull perception of ours to accomplish, whether in\nearnest fact, or in the seeking for the outward image of beauty:--to\nundo the devil's work, to restore to the body the grace and the power\nwhich inherited disease has destroyed, to return to the spirit the\npurity, and to the intellect the grasp that they had in Paradise. Now,\nfirst of all, this work, be it observed is in no respect a work of\nimagination. Wrecked we are, and nearly all to pieces; but that little\ngood by which we are to redeem ourselves is to be got out of the old\nwreck, beaten about and full of sand though it be; and not out of that\ndesert island of pride on which the devils split first, and we after\nthem: and so the only restoration of the body that we can reach is not\nto be coined out of our fancies, but to be collected out of such\nuninjured and bright vestiges of the old seal as we can find and set\ntogether, and so the ideal of the features, as the good and perfect soul\nis seen in them, is not to be reached by imagination, but by the seeing\nand reaching forth of the better part of the soul to that of which it\nmust first know the sweetness and goodness in itself, before it can much\ndesire, or rightly find, the signs of it in others.\n\nI say much desire and rightly find, because there is not any soul so\nsunk but that it shall in some measure feel the impression of mental\nbeauty in the human features, and detest in others its own likeness, and\nin itself despise that which of itself it has made.\n\n\nSec. 3. How the conception of the bodily ideal is reached.\n\nNow, of the ordinary process by which the realization of ideal bodily\nform is reached, there is explanation enough in all treatises on art,\nand it is so far well comprehended that I need not stay long to consider\nit. So far as the sight and knowledge of the human form, of the purest\nrace, exercised from infancy constantly, but not excessively in all\nexercises of dignity, not in twists and straining dexterities, but in\nnatural exercises of running, casting, or riding; practised in\nendurance, not of extraordinary hardship, for that hardens and degrades\nthe body, but of natural hardship, vicissitudes of winter and summer,\nand cold and heat, yet in a climate where none of these are severe;\nsurrounded also by a certain degree of right luxury, so as to soften and\nrefine the forms of strength; so far as the sight of all this could\nrender the mental intelligence of what is right in human form so acute\nas to be able to abstract and combine from the best examples so\nproduced, that which was most perfect in each, so far the Greek\nconceived and attained the ideal of bodily form: and on the Greek modes\nof attaining it, as well as on what he produced, as a perfect example of\nit, chiefly dwell those writers whose opinions on this subject I have\ncollected; wholly losing sight of what seems to me the most important\nbranch of the inquiry, namely, the influence for good or evil of the\nmind upon the bodily shape, the wreck of the mind itself, and the modes\nby which we may conceive of its restoration.\n\n\nSec. 4. Modifications of the bodily ideal owing to influence of mind.\n First, of intellect.\n\nNow, the operation of the mind upon the body, and evidence of it\nthereon, may be considered under the following three general heads.\n\nFirst, the operation of the intellectual powers upon the features, in\nthe fine cutting and chiselling of them, and removal from them of signs\nof sensuality and sloth, by which they are blunted and deadened, and\nsubstitution of energy and intensity for vacancy and insipidity, (by\nwhich wants alone the faces of many fair women are utterly spoiled and\nrendered valueless,) and by the keenness given to the eye and fine\nmoulding and development to the brow, of which effects Sir Charles Bell\nhas well noted the desirableness and opposition to brutal types, (p. 59,\nthird edition;) only this he has not sufficiently observed, that there\nare certain virtues of the intellect in measure inconsistent with each\nother, as perhaps great subtlety with great comprehensiveness, and high\nanalytical with high imaginative power, or that at least, if consistent\nand compatible, their signs upon the features are not the same, so that\nthe outward form cannot express both, without in a measure expressing\nneither; and so there are certain separate virtues of the outward form\ncorrespondent with the more constant employment or more prevailing\ncapacity of the brain, as the piercing keenness, or open and reflective\ncomprehensiveness of the eye and forehead, and that all these virtues of\nform are ideal, only those the most so which are the signs of the\nworthiest powers of intellect, though which these be, we will not at\npresent stay to inquire.\n\n\nSec. 5. Secondly, of the moral feelings.\n\nSec. 6. What beauty is bestowed by them\n\nThe second point to be considered in the influence of mind upon body, is\nthe mode of operation and conjunction of the moral feelings on and with\nthe intellectual powers, and then their conjoint influence on the bodily\nform. Now, the operation of the right moral feelings on the intellect is\nalways for the good of the latter, for it is not possible that\nselfishness should reason rightly in any respect, but must be blind in\nits estimation of the worthiness of all things, neither anger, for that\noverpowers the reason or outcries it, neither sensuality, for that\novergrows and chokes it, neither agitation, for that has no time to\ncompare things together, neither enmity, for that must be unjust,\nneither fear, for that exaggerates all things, neither cunning and\ndeceit, for that which is voluntarily untrue will soon be unwittingly\nso: but the great reasoners are self-command, and trust unagitated, and\ndeep-looking Love, and Faith, which as she is above Reason, so she best\nholds the reins of it from her high seat: so that they err grossly who\nthink of the right development even of the intellectual type as\npossible, unless we look to higher sources of beauty first.\nNevertheless, though in their operation _upon_ them the moral feelings\nare thus elevatory of the mental faculties, yet in their conjunction\n_with_ them they seem to occupy, in their own fulness, such room as to\nabsorb and overshadow all else, so that the simultaneous exercise of\nboth is in a sort impossible; for which cause we occasionally find the\nmoral part in full development and action, without corresponding\nexpanding of the intellect (though never without healthy condition of\nit,) as in that of Wordsworth,\n\n \"In such high hour\n Of visitation from the Living God,\n Thought was not;\"\n\nonly I think that if we look far enough, we shall find that it is not\nintelligence itself, but the immediate act and effort of a laborious,\nstruggling, and imperfect intellectual faculty, with which high moral\nemotion is inconsistent; and that though we cannot, while we feel\ndeeply, reason shrewdly, yet I doubt if, _except_ when we feel deeply,\nwe can ever comprehend fully; so that it is only the climbing and\nmole-like piercing, and not the sitting upon their central throne, nor\nemergence into light, of the intellectual faculties which the full heart\nfeeling allows not. Hence, therefore, in the indications of the\ncountenance, they are only the hard cut lines, and rigid settings, and\nwasted hollows, that speak of past effort and painfulness of mental\napplication, which are inconsistent with expression of moral feeling,\nfor all these are of infelicitous augury; but not the full and serene\ndevelopment of habitual command in the look, and solemn thought in the\nbrow, only these, in their unison with the signs of emotion, become\nsoftened and gradually confounded with a serenity and authority of\nnobler origin. But of the sweetness which that higher serenity (of\nhappiness,) and the dignity which that higher authority (of Divine law,\nand not human reason,) can and must stamp on the features, it would be\nfutile to speak here at length, for I suppose that both are acknowledged\non all hands, and that there is not any beauty but theirs to which men\npay long obedience: at all events, if not by sympathy discovered, it is\nnot in words explicable with what divine lines and lights the exercise\nof godliness and charity will mould and gild the hardest and coldest\ncountenance, neither to what darkness their departure will consign the\nloveliest. For there is not any virtue the exercise of which, even\nmomentarily, will not impress a new fairness upon the features, neither\non them only, but on the whole body, both the intelligence and the moral\nfaculties have operation, for even all the movement and gestures,\nhowever slight, are different in their modes according to the mind that\ngoverns them, and on the gentleness and decision of just feeling there\nfollows a grace of action, and through continuance of this a grace of\nform, which by no discipline may be taught or attained.\n\n\nSec. 7. How the soul culture interferes harmfully with the bodily ideal.\n\nThe third point to be considered with respect to the corporeal\nexpression of mental character is, that there is a certain period of the\nsoul culture when it begins to interfere with some of the characters of\ntypical beauty belonging to the bodily frame, the stirring of the\nintellect wearing down the flesh, and the moral enthusiasm burning its\nway out to heaven, through the emaciation of the earthen vessel; and\nthat there is, in this indication of subduing of the mortal by the\nimmortal part, an ideal glory of perhaps a purer and higher range than\nthat of the more perfect material form. We conceive, I think, more nobly\nof the weak presence of Paul, than of the fair and ruddy countenance of\nDaniel.\n\n\nSec. 8. The inconsistency among the effects of the mental virtues on the\n form.\n\nSec. 9. Is a sign of God's kind purpose towards the race.\n\nSec. 10. Consequent separation and difference of ideals.\n\nNow, be it observed that in our consideration of these three directions\nof mental influence, we have several times been compelled to stop short\nof definite conclusions owing to the apparent inconsistency of certain\nexcellences and beauties to which they tend, as, first, of different\nkinds of intellect with each other; and secondly, of the moral faculties\nwith the intellectual, (and if we had separately examined the moral\nemotions, we should have found certain inconsistencies among them also,)\nand again of the soul culture generally with the bodily perfections.\nSuch inconsistencies we should find in the perfections of no other\nanimal. The strength or swiftness of the dog are not inconsistent with\nhis sagacity, nor is bodily labor in the ant or bee destructive of their\nacuteness of instinct. And this peculiarity of relation among the\nperfections of man is no result of his fall or sinfulness, but an\nevidence of his greater nobility, and of the goodness of God towards\nhim. For the individuals of each race of lower animals, being not\nintended to hold among each other those relations of charity which are\nthe privilege of humanity, are not adapted to each other's assistance,\nadmiration, or support, by differences of power and function. But the\nlove of the human race is increased by their individual differences, and\nthe unity of the creature, as before we saw of all unity, made perfect\nby each having something to bestow and to receive, bound to the rest by\na thousand various necessities and various gratitudes, humility in each\nrejoicing to admire in his fellow that which he finds not in himself,\nand each being in some respect the complement of his race. Therefore, in\ninvestigating the signs of the ideal or perfect type of humanity, we\nmust not presume on the singleness of that type, and yet, on the other\nhand, we must cautiously distinguish between differences conceivably\nexisting in a perfect state, and differences resulting from immediate\nand present operation of the Adamite curse. Of which the former are\ndifferences that bind, and the latter that separate. For although we can\nsuppose the ideal or perfect human heart, and the perfect human\nintelligence, equally adapted to receive every right sensation and\npursue every order of truth, yet as it is appointed for some to be in\nauthority and others in obedience, some in solitary functions and others\nin relative ones, some to receive and others to give, some to teach and\nsome to discover; and as all these varieties of office are not only\nconceivable as existing in a perfect state of man, but seem almost to be\nimplied by it, and at any rate cannot be done away with but by a total\nchange of his constitution and dependencies, of which the imagination\ncan take no hold; so there are habits and capacities of expression\ninduced by these various offices, which admit of many separate ideals of\nequal perfection, according to the functions of the creatures, so that\nthere is an ideal of authority, of judgment, of affection, of reason,\nand of faith; neither can any combination of these ideals be attained,\nnot that the just judge is to be supposed incapable of affection, nor\nthe king incapable of obedience, but as it is impossible that any\nessence short of the Divine should at the same instant be equally\nreceptive of all emotions, those emotions which, by right and order,\nhave the most usual victory, both leave the stamp of their habitual\npresence on the body, and render the individual more and more\nsusceptible of them in proportion to the frequency of their prevalent\nrecurrence; added to which causes of distinctive character are to be\ntaken into account the differences of age and sex, which, though\nseemingly of more finite influence, cannot be banished from any human\nconception. David, ruddy and of a fair countenance, with the brook stone\nof deliverance in his hand, is not more ideal than David leaning on the\nold age of Barzillai, returning chastened to his kingly home. And they\nwho are as the angels of God in heaven, yet cannot be conceived as so\nassimilated that their different experiences and affections upon earth\nshall then be forgotten and effectless: the child taken early to his\nplace cannot be imagined to wear there such a body, nor to have such\nthoughts, as the glorified apostle who has finished his course and kept\nthe faith on earth. And so whatever perfections and likeness of love we\nmay attribute to either the tried or the crowned creatures, there is the\ndifference of the stars in glory among them yet; differences of original\ngifts, though not of occupying till their Lord come, different\ndispensations of trial and of trust, of sorrow and support, both in\ntheir own inward, variable hearts, and in their positions of exposure or\nof peace, of the gourd shadow and the smiting sun, of calling at heat of\nday or eleventh hour, of the house unroofed by faith, and the clouds\nopened by revelation: differences in warning, in mercies, in sicknesses,\nin signs, in time of calling to account; like only they all are by that\nwhich is not of them, but the gift of God's unchangeable mercy. \"I will\ngive unto this last even as unto thee.\"\n\n\nSec. 11. The _effects_ of the Adamite curse are to be distinguished from\n signs of its immediate activity.\n\nSec. 12. Which latter only are to be banished from ideal form.\n\nHence, then, be it observed, that what we must determinedly banish from\nthe human form and countenance in our seeking of its ideal, is not\neverything which can be ultimately traced to the Adamite fall for its\ncause, but only the immediate operation and presence of the degrading\npower or sin. For there is not any part of our feeling of nature, nor\ncan there be through eternity, which shall not be in some way influenced\nand affected by the fall, and that not in any way of degradation, for\nthe renewing in the divinity of Christ is a nobler condition than ever\nthat of Paradise, and yet throughout eternity it must imply and refer to\nthe disobedience, and the corrupt state of sin and death, and the\nsuffering of Christ himself, which can we conceive of any redeemed soul\nas for an instant forgetting, or as remembering without sorrow? Neither\nare the alternations of joy and such sorrow as by us is inconceivable,\nbeing only as it were a softness and silence in the pulse of an infinite\nfelicity, inconsistent with the state even of the unfallen, for the\nangels who rejoice over repentance cannot but feel an uncomprehended\npain as they try and try again in vain, whether they may not warm hard\nhearts with the brooding of their kind wings. So that we have not to\nbanish from the ideal countenance the evidences of sorrow, nor of past\nsuffering, nor even of past and conquered sin, but only the immediate\noperation of any evil, or the immediate coldness and hollowness of any\ngood emotion. And hence in that contest before noted, between the body\nand the soul, we may often have to indicate the body as far conquered\nand outworn, and with signs of hard struggle and bitter pain upon it,\nand yet without ever diminishing the purity of its ideal; and because it\nis not in the power of any human imagination to reason out or conceive\nthe countless modifications of experience, suffering, and separated\nfeeling, which have modelled and written their indelible images in\nvarious order upon every human countenance, so no right ideal can be\nreached by any combination of feature nor by any moulding and melting of\nindividual beauties together, and still less without model or example\nconceived; but there is a perfect ideal to be wrought out of _every_\nface around us that has on its forehead the writing and the seal of the\nangel ascending from the East,[38] by the earnest study and penetration\nof the written history thereupon, and the banishing of the blots and\nstains, wherein we still see in all that is human, the visible and\ninstant operation of unconquered sin.\n\n\nSec. 13. Ideal form is only to be obtained by portraiture.\n\nNow I see not how any of the steps of the argument by which we have\narrived at this conclusion can be evaded, and yet it would be difficult\nto state anything more directly opposite to the usual teaching and\npractice of artists. It is usual to hear portraiture opposed to the\npursuit of ideality, and yet we find that no face can be ideal which is\nnot a portrait. Of this general principle, however, there are certain\nmodifications which we must presently state; let us first, however,\npursue it a little farther, and deduce its practical consequences.\n\n\nSec. 14. Instances among the greater of the ideal Masters.\n\nThese are, first, that the pursuit of idealism in humanity, as of\nidealism in lower nature, can be successful only when followed through\nthe most constant, patient, and humble rendering of actual models,\naccompanied with that earnest mental as well as ocular study of each,\nwhich can interpret all that is written upon it, disentangle the\nhieroglyphics of its sacred history, rend the veil of the bodily temple,\nand rightly measure the relations of good and evil contending within it\nfor mastery,[39] that everything done without such study must be shallow\nand contemptible, that generalization or combination of individual\ncharacter will end less in the mending than the losing of it, and,\nexcept in certain instances of which we shall presently take note, is\nvalueless and vapid, even if it escape being painful from its want of\ntruth, which in these days it often in some measure does, for we indeed\nfind faces about us with want enough of life or wholesome character in\nthem to justify anything. And that habit of the old and great painters\nof introducing portrait into all their highest works, I look to, not as\nerror in them, but as the very source and root of their superiority in\nall things, for they were too great and too humble not to see in every\nface about them that which was above them, and which no fancies of\ntheirs could match nor take place of, wherefore we find the custom of\nportraiture constant with them, both portraiture of study and for\npurposes of analysis, as with Leonardo; and actual, professed,\nserviceable, hardworking portraiture of the men of their time, as with\nRaffaelle, and Titian, and Tintoret; and portraiture of Love, as with\nFra Bartolomeo of Savonarola, and Simon Memmi of Petrarch, and Giotto of\nDante, and Gentile Bellini of a beloved imagination of Dandolo, and with\nRaffaelle constantly; and portraiture in real downright necessity of\nmodels, even in their noblest works, as was the practice of Ghirlandajo\nperpetually, and Masaccio and Raffaelle, and manifestly of the men of\nhighest and purest ideal purpose, as again, Giotto, and in his\ncharacteristic monkish heads, Angelico, and John Bellini, (note\nespecially the St. Christopher at the side of that mighty picture of St.\nJerome, at Venice,) and so of all: which practice had indeed a perilous\ntendency for men of debased mind, who used models such as and where they\nought not, as Lippi and the corrupted Raffaelle; and is found often at\nexceeding disadvantage among men who looked not at their models with\nintellectual or loving penetration, but took the outside of them, or\nperhaps took the evil and left the good, as Titian in that Academy study\nat Venice which is called a St. John, and all workers whatsoever that I\nknow of, after Raffaelle's time, as Guido and the Caracci, and such\nothers: but it is nevertheless the necessary and sterling basis of all\nideal art, neither has any great man ever been able to do without it,\nnor dreamed of doing without it even to the close of his days.\n\n\nSec. 15. Evil results of opposite practice in modern times.\n\nAnd therefore there is not any greater sign of the utter want of\nvitality and hopefulness in the schools of the present day than that\nunhappy prettiness and sameness under which they mask, or rather for\nwhich they barter, in their lentile thirst, all the birthright and power\nof nature, which prettiness, wrought out and spun fine in the study, out\nof empty heads, till it hardly betters the blocks on which dresses and\nhair are tried in barbers' windows and milliners' books, cannot but be\nrevolting to any man who has his eyes, even in a measure, open to the\ndivinity of the immortal seal on the common features that he meets in\nthe highways and hedges hourly and momentarily, outreaching all efforts\nof conception as all power of realization, were it Raffaelle's three\ntimes over, even when the glory of the wedding garment is not there.\n\n\nSec. 16. The right use of the model.\n\nSo far, then, of the use of the model and the preciousness of it in all\nart, from the highest to the lowest. But the use of the model is not\nall. It must be used in a certain way, and on this choice of right or\nwrong way all our ends are at stake, for the art, which is of no power\nwithout the model, is of pernicious and evil power if the model be\nwrongly used. What the right use is, has been at least established, if\nnot fully explained, in the argument by which we arrived at the general\nprinciple.\n\nThe right ideal is to be reached, we have asserted, only by the\nbanishment of the immediate signs of sin upon the countenance and body.\nHow, therefore, are the signs of sin to be known and separated?\n\n\nSec. 17. Ideal form to be reached only by love.\n\nNo intellectual operation is here of any avail. There is not any\nreasoning by which the evidences of depravity are to be traced in\nmovements of muscle or forms of feature; there is not any knowledge, nor\nexperience, nor diligence of comparison that can be of avail. Here, as\nthroughout the operation of the theoretic faculty, the perception is\naltogether moral, an instinctive love and clinging to the lines of\nlight. Nothing but love can read the letters, nothing but sympathy catch\nthe sound, there is no pure passion that can be understood or painted\nexcept by pureness of heart; the foul or blunt feeling will see itself\nin everything, and set down blasphemies; it will see Beelzebub in the\ncasting out of devils, it will find its god of flies in every alabaster\nbox of precious ointment. The indignation of zeal towards God (nemesis)\nit will take for anger against man, faith and veneration it will miss\nof, as not comprehending, charity it will turn into lust, compassion\ninto pride, every virtue it will go over against, like Shimei, casting\ndust. But the right Christian mind will in like manner find its own\nimage wherever it exists, it will seek for what it loves, and draw it\nout of all dens and caves, and it will believe in its being, often when\nit cannot see it, and always turn away its eyes from beholding vanity;\nand so it will lie lovingly over all the faults and rough places of the\nhuman heart, as the snow from heaven does over the hard, and black, and\nbroken mountain rocks, following their forms truly, and yet catching\nlight for them to make them fair, and that must be a steep and unkindly\ncrag indeed which it cannot cover.\n\n\nSec. 18. Practical principles deducible.\n\nNow of this spirit there will always be little enough in the world, and\nit cannot be given nor taught by men, and so it is of little use to\ninsist on it farther, only I may note some practical points respecting\nthe ideal treatment of human form, which may be of use in these\nthoughtless days. There is not the face, I have said, which the painter\nmay not make ideal if he choose, but that subtile feeling which shall\nfind out all of good that there is in any given countenance is not,\nexcept by concern for other things than art, to be acquired. But certain\nbroad indications of evil there are which the bluntest feeling may\nperceive, and which the habit of distinguishing and casting out would\nboth ennoble the schools of art, and lead in time to greater acuteness\nof perception with respect to the less explicable characters of soul\nbeauty.\n\n\nSec. 19. Expressions chiefly destructive of ideal character. 1st. Pride.\n\nThose signs of evil which are commonly most manifest on the human\nfeatures are roughly divisible into these four kinds, the signs of\npride, of sensuality, of fear, and of cruelty. Any one of which will\ndestroy the ideal character of the countenance and body.\n\n\nSec. 20. Portraiture ancient and modern.\n\nNow of these, the first, pride, is perhaps the most destructive of all\nthe four, seeing it is the undermost and original story of all sin; and\nit is base also from the necessary foolishness of it, because at its\nbest, that is when grounded on a just estimation of our own elevation\nor superiority above certain others, it cannot but imply that our eyes\nlook downward only, and have never been raised above our own measure,\nfor there is not the man so lofty in his standing nor capacity but he\nmust be humble in thinking of the cloud habitation and far sight of the\nangelic intelligences above him, and in perceiving what infinity there\nis of things he cannot know nor even reach unto, as it stands compared\nwith that little body of things he can reach, and of which nevertheless\nhe can altogether understand not one; not to speak of that wicked and\nfond attributing of such excellency as he may have to himself, and\nthinking of it as his own getting, which is the real essence and\ncriminality of pride, nor of those viler forms of it, founded on false\nestimation of things beneath us and irrational contemning of them: but\ntaken at its best, it is still base to that degree that there is no\ngrandeur of feature which it cannot destroy and make despicable, so that\nthe first step towards the ennobling of any face is the ridding it of\nits vanity; to which aim there cannot be anything more contrary than\nthat principle of portraiture which prevails with us in these days,\nwhose end seems to be the expression of vanity throughout, in face and\nin all circumstances of accompaniment, tending constantly to insolence\nof attitude, and levity and haughtiness of expression, and worked out\nfarther in mean accompaniments of worldly splendor and possession,\ntogether with hints or proclamations of what the person has done or\nsupposes himself to have done, which, if known, it is gratuitous in the\nportrait to exhibit, and if unknown, it is insolent in the portrait to\nproclaim; whence has arisen such a school of portraiture as must make\nthe people of the nineteenth century the shame of their descendants, and\nthe butt of all time. To which practices are to be opposed both the\nglorious severity of Holbein, and the mighty and simple modesty of\nRaffaelle, Titian, Giorgione, and Tintoret, with whom armor does not\nconstitute the warrior, neither silk the dame. And from what feeling the\ndignity of that portraiture arose is best traceable at Venice, where we\nfind their victorious doges painted neither in the toil of battle nor\nthe triumph of return, nor set forth with thrones and curtains of state,\nbut kneeling always crownless, and returning thanks to God for his help,\nor as priests, interceding for the nation in its affliction. Which\nfeeling and its results have been so well traced out by Rio,[40] that I\nneed not speak of it farther.\n\n\nSec. 21. Secondly, Sensuality.\n\nSec. 22. How connected with impurity of color.\n\nSec. 23. And prevented by its splendor.\n\nSec. 24. Or by severity of drawing.\n\nThat second destroyer of ideal form, the appearance of sensual\ncharacter, though not less fatal in its operation on modern art, is more\ndifficult to trace, owing to its peculiar subtlety. For it is not\npossible to say by what minute differences the right conception of the\nhuman form is separated from that which is luscious and foul: for the\nroot of all is in the love and seeking of the painter, who, if of impure\nand feeble mind, will cover all that he touches with clay staining, as\nBandinelli puts a foul scent of human flesh about his marble Christ, and\nas many whom I will not here name, among moderns; but if of mighty mind\nor pure, may pass through all places of foulness, and none will stay\nupon him, as Michael Angelo, or he will baptize all things and wash them\nwith pure water, as our own Stothard. Now, so far as this power is\ndependent on the seeking of the artist, and is only to be seen in the\nwork of good and spiritually-minded men, it is vain to attempt to teach\nor illustrate it, neither is it here the place to take note of the way\nin which it belongs to the representation of the mental image of things,\ninstead of things themselves, of which we are to speak in treating of\nthe imagination; but thus much may here be noted of broad, practical\nprinciple, that the purity of flesh painting depends in very\nconsiderable measure on the intensity and warmth of its color. For if it\nbe opaque, and clay cold, and colorless, and devoid of all the radiance\nand value of flesh, the lines of its true beauty, being severe and firm,\nwill become so hard in the loss of the glow and gradation by which\nnature illustrates them, that the painter will be compelled to sacrifice\nthem for a luscious fulness and roundness, in order to give the\nconception of flesh; which, being done, destroys ideality of form as of\ncolor, and gives all over to lasciviousness of surface; showing also\nthat the painter sought for this, and this only, since otherwise he had\nnot taken a subject in which he knew himself compelled to surrender all\nsources of dignity. Whereas, right splendor of color both bears out a\nnobler severity of form, and is in itself purifying and cleansing, like\nfire, furnishing also to the painter an excuse for the choice of his\nsubject, seeing that he may be supposed as not having painted it but in\nthe admiration of its abstract glory of color and form, and with no\nunworthy seeking. But the mere power of perfect and glowing color will\nin some sort redeem even a debased tendency of mind itself, as eminently\nthe case with Titian, who, though of little feeling, and often treating\nbase subjects, or elevated subjects basely, as in the disgusting\nMagdalen of the Pitti palace, and that of the Barberigo at Venice, yet\nredeems all by his glory of hue, so that he cannot paint altogether\ncoarsely; and with Giorgione, who had nobler and more serious intellect,\nthe sense of nudity is utterly lost, and there is no need nor desire of\nconcealment any more, but his naked figures move among the trees like\nfiery pillars, and lie on the grass like flakes of sunshine.[41] With\nthe religious painters on the other hand, such nudity as they were\ncompelled to treat is redeemed as much by severity of form and hardness\nof line as by color, so that generally their draped figures are\npreferable, as in the Francia of our own gallery. But these, with\nMichael Angelo and the Venetians, except Titian, form a great group,\npure in sight and aim, between which and all other schools by which the\nnude has been treated, there is a gulf fixed, and all the rest, compared\nwith them, seem striving how best to illustrate that of Spenser.\n\n \"Of all God's works, which doe this worlde adorn,\n There is no one more faire, and excellent\n Than is man's body both for power and forme\n Whiles it is kept in sober government.\n But none than it more foul and indecent\n Distempered through misrule and passions bace.\"\n\n\nSec. 25. Degrees of descent in this respect: Rubens, Correggio, and Guido.\n\nSec. 26. And modern art.\n\nOf these last, however, with whom ideality is lost, there are some\nworthier than others, according to that measure of color they reach, and\npower they possess, whence much may be forgiven to Rubens, (as to our\nown Etty,) less, as I think, to Correggio, who with less apparent and\nevident coarseness has more of inherent sensuality, wrought out with\nattractive and luscious refinement, and that alike in all subjects, as\nin the Madonna of the Incoronazione, over the high altar of San Giovanni\nat Parma, of which the head and upper portion of the figure, now\npreserved in the library, might serve as a model of attitude and\nexpression to a ballet figurante:[42] and again in the lascivious St.\nCatherine of the Giorno, and in the Charioted Diana, (both at Parma,)\nnot to name any of his works of aim more definitely evil. Beneath which\nagain will fall the works devoid alike of art and decency, as that\nSusannah of Guido, in our own gallery, and so we may descend to the\nabsolute clay of the moderns, only noticing in all how much of what is\nevil and base in subject or tendency, is redeemed by what is pure and\nright in hue, so that I do not assert that the purpose and object of\nmany of the grander painters of the nude, as Titian for instance, was\nalways elevated, but only that we, who cannot paint the lamp of fire\nwithin the earthen pitcher, must take other weapons in our left hands.\nAnd it is to be noted, also, that in climates where the body can be more\nopenly and frequently visited by sun and weather, the nude both comes to\nbe regarded in a way more grand and pure, as necessarily awakening no\nideas of base kind, (as pre-eminently with the Greeks,) and also from\nthat exposure receives a firmness and sunny elasticity very different\nfrom the silky softness of the clothed nations of the north, where every\nmodel necessarily looks as if accidentally undressed; and hence from the\nvery fear and doubt with which we approach the nude, it becomes\nexpressive of evil, and for that daring frankness of the old men, which\nseldom missed of human grandeur, even when it failed of holy feeling, we\nhave substituted a mean, carpeted, gauze-veiled, mincing sensuality of\ncurls and crisping pins, out of which I believe nothing can come but\nmoral enervation and mental paralysis.\n\n\nSec. 27. Thirdly, ferocity and fear. The latter how to be distinguished\n from awe.\n\nSec. 28. Holy fear, how distinct from human terror.\n\nSec. 29. Ferocity is joined always with fear. Its unpardonableness.\n\nRespecting those two other vices of the human face, the expressions of\nfear and ferocity, there is less to be noted, as they only occasionally\nenter into the conception of character; only it is most necessary to\nmake careful distinction between the conception of power,\ndestructiveness, or majesty, in matter, influence, or agent, and the\nactual fear of any of these, for it is possible to conceive of\nterribleness, without being in a position obnoxious to the danger of it,\nand so without fear, and the feeling arising from this contemplation of\ndreadfulness, ourselves being in safety, as of a stormy sea from the\nshore, is properly termed awe, and is a most noble passion; whereas fear\nmortal and extreme, may be felt respecting things ignoble, as the\nfalling from a window, and without any conception of terribleness or\nmajesty in the thing, or the accident dreaded; and even when fear is\nfelt respecting things sublime, as thunder, or storm of battle, yet the\ntendency of it is to destroy all power of contemplation of their\nmajesty, and to freeze and shrink all the intellect into a shaking heap\nof clay, for absolute acute fear is of the same unworthiness and\ncontempt from whatever source it arise, and degrades the mind and the\noutward bearing of the body alike, even though it be among hail of\nheaven and fire running along the ground. And so among the children of\nGod, while there is always that fearful and bowed apprehension of his\nmajesty, and that sacred dread of all offence to him, which is called\nthe fear of God, yet of real and essential fear there is not any but\nclinging of confidence to him, as their Rock, Fortress, and Deliverer,\nand perfect love, and casting out of fear, so that it is not possible\nthat while the mind is rightly bent on him, there should be dread of\nanything either earthly or supernatural, and the more dreadful seems the\nheight of his majesty, the less fear they feel that dwell in the shadow\nof it, (\"Of whom shall I be afraid?\") so that they are as David was,\ndevoted to his fear; whereas, on the other hand, those who, if they may\nhelp it, never conceive of God, but thrust away all thought and memory\nof him, and in his real terribleness and omnipresence fear him not nor\nknow him, yet are of real, acute, piercing, and ignoble fear, haunted\nfor evermore; fear inconceiving and desperate that calls to the rocks,\nand hides in the dust; and hence the peculiar baseness of the expression\nof terror, a baseness attributed to it in all times, and among all\nnations, as of a passion atheistical, brutal, and profane. So also, it\nis always joined with ferocity, which is of all passions the least\nhuman; for of sensual desires there is license to men, as necessity; and\nof vanity there is intellectual cause, so that when seen in a brute it\nis pleasant and a sign of good wit; and of fear there is at times\nnecessity and excuse, as being allowed for prevention of harm; but of\nferocity there is no excuse nor palliation, but it is pure essence of\ntiger and demon, and it casts on the human face the paleness alike of\nthe horse of Death, and the ashes of hell.\n\n\nSec. 30. Such expressions how sought by painters powerless and impious.\n\nWherefore, of all subjects that can be admitted to sight, the\nexpressions of fear and ferocity are the most foul and detestable, and\nso there is in them I know not what sympathetic attractiveness for minds\ncowardly and base, as the vulgar of most nations, and forasmuch as they\nare easily rendered by men who can render nothing else, they are often\ntrusted in by the herd of painters incapable and profane, as in that\nmonstrous abortion of the first room of the Louvre, called the Deluge,\nwhose subject is pure, acute, mortal fear; and so generally the\nsenseless horrors of the modern French schools, spawn of the guillotine:\nalso there is not a greater test of grandeur or meanness of mind than\nthe expressions it will seek for and develop in the features and forms\nof men in fierce strife, whether determination and devotion, and all the\nother attributes of that unselfishness which constitutes heroism, as in\nthe warrior of Agasias; and distress not agitated nor unworthy, though\nmortal, as in the Dying Gladiator, or brutal ferocity and butchered\nagony, of which the lowest and least palliated examples are those\nbattles of Salvator Rosa, which none but a man, base-born and\nthief-bred, could have dwelt upon for an instant without sickening, of\nwhich I will only name that example in the Pitti palace, wherein the\nchief figure in the foreground is a man with his arm cut off at the\nshoulder, run through the other hand into the breast with a lance.[43]\nAnd manifold instances of the same feeling are to be found in the\nrepainting of the various representations of the Inferno, so common\nthrough Italy, more especially that of Orcagna's in the Campo Santo,\nwherein the few figures near the top that yet remain untouched are grand\nin their severe drawing and expressions of enduring despair, while those\nbelow, repainted by Solazzino, depend for their expressiveness upon\ntorrents of blood; so in the Inferno of Santa Maria Novella, and of the\nArena chapel, not to speak of the horrible images of the Passion, by\nwhich vulgar Romanism has always striven to excite the languid\nsympathies of its untaught flocks. Of which foulness let us reason no\nfarther, the very image and memory of them being pollution, only\nnoticing this, that there has always been a morbid tendency in Romanism\ntowards the contemplation of bodily pain, owing to the attribution of\nsaving power to it, which, like every other moral error, has been of\nfatal effect in art, leaving not altogether without the stain and blame\nof it, even the highest of the pure Romanist painters; as Fra Angelico,\nfor instance, who, in his Passion subjects, always insists weakly on the\nbodily torture, and is unsparing of blood; and Giotto, though his\ntreatment is usually grander, as in that Crucifixion over the door of\nthe Convent of St. Mark's, where the blood is hardly actual, but issues\nfrom the feet in a typical and conventional form, and becomes a crimson\ncord which is twined strangely beneath about a skull; only that which\nthese holy men did to enhance, even though in their means mistaken, the\nimpression and power of the sufferings of Christ, or of his saints, is\nalways in a measure noble, and to be distinguished with all reverence\nfrom the abominations of the irreligious painters following, as of\nCamillo Procaccini, in one of his martyrdoms in the Gallery of the\nBrera, at Milan, and other such, whose names may be well spared to the\nreader.\n\n\nSec. 31. Of passion generally.\n\nSec. 32. It is never to be for itself exhibited--at least on the face.\n\nThese, then, are the four passions whose presence in any degree on the\nhuman face is degradation. But of all passion it is to be generally\nobserved, that it becomes ignoble either when entertained respecting\nunworthy objects, and therefore shallow or unjustifiable, or when of\nimpious violence, and so destructive of human dignity. Thus grief is\nnoble or the reverse, according to the dignity and worthiness of the\nobject lamented, and the grandeur of the mind enduring it. The sorrow of\nmortified vanity or avarice is simply disgusting, even that of bereaved\naffection may be base if selfish and unrestrained. All grief that\nconvulses the features is ignoble, because it is commonly shallow and\ncertainly temporary, as in children, though in the shock and shiver of a\nstrong man's features under sudden and violent grief there may be\nsomething of sublime. The grief of Guercino's Hagar, in the Brera\ngallery at Milan, is partly despicable, partly disgusting, partly\nridiculous; it is not the grief of the injured Egyptian, driven forth\ninto the desert with the destiny of a nation in her heart, but of a\nservant of all work, turned away for stealing tea and sugar. Common\npainters forget that passion is not absolutely and in itself great or\nviolent, but only in proportion to the weakness of the mind it has to\ndeal with; and that in exaggerating its outward signs, they are not\nexalting the passion, but evaporating the hero.[44] They think too much\nof passions as always the same in their nature, forgetting that the love\nof Achilles is different from the love of Paris, and of Alcestis from\nthat of Laodamia. The use and value of passion is not as a subject in\ncontemplation in itself, but as it breaks up the fountains of the great\ndeep of the human mind, or displays its mightiness and ribbed majesty,\nas mountains are seen in their stability best among the coil of clouds;\nwhence, in fine, I think it is to be held that all passion which attains\noverwhelming power, so that it is not as resisting, but as conquered,\nthat the creature is contemplated, is unfit for high art, and\ndestructive of the ideal character of the countenance: and in this\nrespect, I cannot but hold Raffaelle to have erred in his endeavor to\nexpress passion of such acuteness in the human face; as in the fragment\nof the Massacre of the Innocents in our own gallery, (wherein, repainted\nthough it be, I suppose the purpose of the master is yet to be\nunderstood,) for if such subjects are to be represented at all, their\nentire expression may be given without degrading the face, as we shall\npresently see done with unspeakable power by Tintoret,[45] and I think\nthat all subjects of the kind, all human misery, slaughter, famine,\nplague, peril, and crime, are better in the main avoided, as of\nunprofitable and hardening influence, unless so far as out of the\nsuffering, hinted rather than expressed, we may raise into nobler relief\nthe eternal enduring of fortitude and affection, of mercy and\nself-devotion, or when, as by the threshing-floor of Ornan, and by the\ncave of Lazarus, the angel of the Lord is to be seen in the\nchastisement, and his love to be manifested to the despair of men.\n\n\nSec. 33. Recapitulation\n\nThus, then, we have in some sort enumerated those evil signs which are\nmost necessary to be shunned in the seeking of ideal beauty,[46] though\nit is not the knowledge of them, but the dread and hatred of them, which\nwill effectually aid the painter; as on the other hand it is not by mere\nadmission of the loveliness of good and holy expression that its subtile\ncharacters are to be traced. Raffaelle himself, questioned on this\nsubject, made doubtful answer; he probably could not trace through what\nearly teaching, or by what dies of emotion the image had been sealed\nupon his heart. Our own Bacon, who well saw the impossibility of\nreaching it by the combination of many separate beauties, yet explains\nnot the nature of that \"kind of felicity\" to which he attributes\nsuccess. I suppose those who have conceived and wrought the loveliest\nthings, have done so by no theorizing, but in simple labor of love, and\ncould not, if put to a bar of rationalism, defend all points of what\nthey had done, but painted it in their own delight, and to the delight\nof all besides, only always with that respect of conscience and \"fear of\nswerving from that which is right, which maketh diligent observers of\ncircumstances the loose regard whereof is the nurse of vulgar folly, no\nless than Solomon's attention thereunto was of natural furtherances the\nmost effectual to make him eminent above others, for he gave good heed,\nand pierced everything to the very ground.\"[47]\n\nWith which good heed, and watching of the instants when men feel warmly\nand rightly, as the Indians do for the diamond in their washing of sand,\nand that with the desire and hope of finding true good in men, and not\nwith the ready vanity that sets itself to fiction instantly, and carries\nits potter's wheel about with it always, (off which there will come only\nclay vessels of regular shape after all,) instead of the pure\nmirror that can show the seraph standing by the human body--standing as\nsignal to the heavenly land:[48] with this heed and this charity, there\nare none of us that may not bring down that lamp upon his path of which\nSpenser sang:--\n\n \"That beauty is not, as fond men misdeem\n An outward show of things, that only seem;\n But that fair lamp, from whose celestial ray\n That light proceeds, which kindleth lover's fire,\n Shall never be extinguished nor decay.\n But when the vital spirits do expire,\n Unto her native planet shall retire,\n For it is heavenly born and cannot die,\n Being a parcel of the purest sky.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [38] Rev. vii. 2.\n\n [39] Compare Part II. Sec. I. Chap. III Sec. 6.\n\n [40] De la Poesie Chretienne. Forme de l'Art. Chap. VIII.\n\n [41] As in the noble Louvre picture.\n\n [42] The Madonna turns her back to Christ, and bends her head over\n her shoulder to receive the crown, the arms being folded with\n studied grace over the bosom.\n\n [43] Compare Michelet, (Du Pretre, de la Femme, de la Famille,)\n Chap. III. note. He uses language too violent to be quoted; but\n excuses Salvator by reference to the savage character of the Thirty\n Years' War. That this excuse has no validity may be proved by\n comparing the painter's treatment of other subjects. See Sec. II.\n Chap. III. Sec. 19, note.\n\n [44] \"The fire, that mounts the liquor, till it run o'er\n In seeming to augment it, wastes it.\"\n\n HENRY VIII.\n\n [45] Sect. II. Chap. III. Sec. 22.\n\n [46] Let it be observed that it is always of beauty, not of human\n character in its lower and criminal modifications, that we have been\n speaking. That variety of character, therefore, which we have\n affirmed to be necessary, is the variety of Giotto and Angelico, not\n of Hogarth. Works concerned with the exhibition of general\n character, are to be spoken of in the consideration of Ideas of\n Relation.\n\n [47] Hooker, Book V. Chap. I. Sec. 2.\n\n [48] \"Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,\n And by the holy rood,\n A man all light, a seraph man\n By every corse there stood.\n This seraph band, each waved his hand,\n It was a heavenly sight;\n They stood as signals to the land,\n Each one a lovely light.\"\n\n ANCIENT MARINER\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER XV.\n\n GENERAL CONCLUSIONS RESPECTING THE THEORETIC FACULTY.\n\n\nSec. 1. There are no sources of the emotion of beauty more than those found\n in things visible.\n\nSec. 2. What imperfection exists in visible things. How in a sort by\n imagination removable.\n\nSec. 3. Which however affects not our present conclusions.\n\nOf the sources of beauty open to us in the visible world, we have now\nobtained a view which, though most feeble in its grasp and scanty in its\ndetail, is yet general in its range. Of no other sources than these\nvisible can we, by any effort in our present condition of existence,\nconceive. For what revelations have been made to humanity inspired, or\ncaught up to heaven of things to the heavenly region belonging, have\nbeen either by unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to\nutter, or else by their very nature incommunicable, except in types and\nshadows; and ineffable by words belonging to earth, for of things\ndifferent from the visible, words appropriated to the visible can convey\nno image. How different from earthly gold that clear pavement of the\ncity might have seemed to the eyes of St. John, we of unreceived sight\ncannot know; neither of that strange jasper and sardine can we conceive\nthe likeness which he assumed that sat on the throne above the crystal\nsea; neither what seeming that was of slaying that the Root of David\nbore in the midst of the elders; neither what change it was upon the\nform of the fourth of them that walked in the furnace of Dura, that even\nthe wrath of idolatry knew for the likeness of the Son of God. The\nknowing that is here permitted to us is either of things outward only,\nas in those it is whose eyes faith never opened, or else of that dark\npart that her glass shows feebly, of things supernatural, that gleaming\nof the Divine form among the mortal crowd, which all may catch if they\nwill climb the sycamore and wait; nor how much of God's abiding at the\nhouse may be granted to those that so seek, and how much more may be\nopened to them in the breaking of bread, cannot be said; but of that\nonly we can reason which is in a measure revealed to all, of that which\nis by constancy and purity of affection to be found in the things and\nthe beings around us upon earth. Now among all those things whose beauty\nwe have hitherto examined, there has been a measure of imperfection.\nEither inferiority of kind, as the beauty of the lower animals, or\nresulting from degradation, as in man himself; and although in\nconsidering the beauty of human form, we arrived at some conception of\nrestoration, yet we found that even the restoration must be in some\nrespect imperfect, as incapable of embracing all qualities, moral and\nintellectual, at once, neither to be freed from all signs of former evil\ndone or suffered. Consummate beauty, therefore, is not to be found on\nearth, though often such intense measure of it as shall drown all\ncapacity of receiving; neither is it to be respecting humanity\nlegitimately conceived. But by certain operations of the imagination\nupon ideas of beauty received from things around us, it is possible to\nconceive respecting superhuman creatures (of that which is more than\ncreature, no creature ever conceived) a beauty in some sort greater than\nwe see. Of this beauty, however, it is impossible to determine anything\nuntil we have traced the imaginative operations to which it owes its\nbeing, of which operations this much may be prematurely said, that they\nare not creative, that no new ideas are elicited by them, and that their\nwhole function is only a certain dealing with, concentrating or mode of\nregarding the impressions received from external things, that therefore,\nin the beauty to which they will conduct us, there will be found no new\nelement, but only a peculiar combination or phase of those elements that\nwe now know, and that therefore we may at present draw all the\nconclusions with respect to the rank of the theoretic faculty, which the\nknowledge of its subject matter can warrant.\n\n\nSec. 4. The four sources from which the pleasure of beauty is derived are\n all divine.\n\nWe have seen that this subject matter is referable to four general\nheads. It is either the record of conscience, printed in things\nexternal, or it is a symbolizing of Divine attributes in matter, or it\nis the felicity of living things, or the perfect fulfilment of their\nduties and functions. In all cases it is something Divine, either the\napproving voice of God, the glorious symbol of him, the evidence of his\nkind presence, or the obedience to his will by him induced and\nsupported.\n\nAll these subjects of contemplation are such as we may suppose will\nremain sources of pleasure to the perfected spirit throughout eternity.\nDivine in their nature, they are addressed to the immortal part of men.\n\n\nSec. 5. What objections may be made to this conclusion.\n\nThere remain, however, two points to be noticed before I can hope that\nthis conclusion will be frankly accepted by the reader. If it be the\nmoral part of us to which beauty addresses itself, how does it happen,\nit will be asked, that it is ever found in the works of impious men, and\nhow is it possible for such to desire or conceive it?\n\nOn the other hand, how does it happen that men in high state of moral\nculture are often insensible to the influence of material beauty, and\ninsist feebly upon it as an instrument of soul culture.\n\nThese two objections I shall endeavor briefly to answer, not that they\ncan be satisfactorily treated without that detailed examination of the\nwhole body of great works of art, on which I purpose to enter in the\nfollowing volume. For the right determination of these two questions is\nindeed the whole end and aim of my labor, (and if it could be here\naccomplished, I should bestow no effort farther,) namely, the proving\nthat no supreme power of art can be attained by impious men; and that\nthe neglect of art, as an interpreter of divine things, has been of evil\nconsequence to the Christian world.\n\nAt present, however, I would only meet such objections as must\nimmediately arise in the reader's mind.\n\n\nSec. 6. Typical beauty may be aesthetically pursued. Instances.\n\nSec. 7. How interrupted by false feeling.\n\nAnd first, it will be remembered that I have, throughout the examination\nof typical beauty, asserted its instinctive power, the moral meaning of\nit being only discoverable by faithful thought. Now this instinctive\nsense of it varies in intensity among men, being given, like the hearing\near of music, to some more than to others: and if those to whom it is\ngiven in large measure be unfortunately men of impious or unreflecting\nspirit, it is very possible that the perceptions of beauty should be by\nthem cultivated on principles merely aesthetic, and so lose their\nhallowing power; for though the good seed in them is altogether divine,\nyet, there being no blessing in the springing thereof, it brings forth\nwild grapes in the end. And yet these wild grapes are well discernible,\nlike the deadly gourds of Gilgal. There is in all works of such men a\ntaint and stain, and jarring discord, blacker and louder exactly in\nproportion to the moral deficiency, of which the best proof and measure\nis to be found in their treatment of the human form, (since in landscape\nit is nearly impossible to introduce definite expression of evil,) of\nwhich the highest beauty has been attained only once, and then by no\nsystem taught painter, but by a most holy Dominican monk of Fiesole; and\nbeneath him all stoop lower and lower in proportion to their inferior\nsanctity, though with more or less attainment of that which is noble,\naccording to their intellectual power and earnestness, as Raffaelle in\nhis St. Cecilia, (a mere study of a passionate, dark-eyed, large formed\nItalian model,) and even Perugino, in that there is about his noblest\nfaces a shortcoming, indefinable; an absence of the full outpouring of\nthe sacred spirit that there is in Angelico; traceable, I doubt not, to\nsome deficiencies and avaricious flaws of his heart, whose consequences\nin his conduct were such as to give Vasari hope that his lies might\nstick to him (for the contradiction of which in the main, if there be\nnot contradiction enough in every line that the hand of Perugino drew,\ncompare Rio, de la Poesie Chretienne, and note also what Rio has\nsingularly missed observing, that Perugino, in his portrait of himself\nin the Florence gallery, has put a scroll into the hand, with the words\n\"Timete Deum,\" thus surely indicating that which he considered his duty\nand message:) and so all other even of the sacred painters, not to speak\nof the lower body of men in whom, on the one hand, there is marked\nsensuality and impurity in all that they seek of beauty, as in\nCorreggio and Guido, or, on the other, a want in measure of the sense of\nbeauty itself, as in Rubens and Titian, showing itself in the adoption\nof coarse types of feature and form; sometimes also (of which I could\nfind instances in modern times,) in a want of evidence of delight in\nwhat they do; so that, after they have rendered some passage of\nexceeding beauty, they will suffer some discordant point to interfere\nwith it, and it will not hurt them, as if they had no pleasure in that\nwhich was best, but had done it in inspiration that was not profitable\nto them, as deaf men might touch an instrument with a feeling in their\nheart, which yet returns not outwardly upon them, and so know not when\nthey play false: and sometimes by total want of choice, for there is a\nchoice of love in all rightly tempered men, not that ignorant and\ninsolent choice which rejects half nature as empty of the right, but\nthat pure choice that fetches the right out of everything; and where\nthis is wanting, we may see men walking up and down in dry places,\nfinding no rest, ever and anon doing something noble, and yet not\nfollowing it up, but dwelling the next instant on something impure or\nprofitless with the same intensity and yet impatience, so that they are\never wondered at and never sympathized with, and while they dazzle all,\nthey lead none; and then, beneath these again, we find others on whose\nworks there are definite signs of evil mind, ill-repressed, and then\ninability to avoid, and at last perpetual seeking for and feeding upon\nhorror and ugliness, and filthiness of sin, as eminently in Salvator and\nCaravaggio, and the lower Dutch schools, only in these last less\npainfully as they lose the villanous in the brutal, and the horror of\ncrime in its idiocy.\n\n\nSec. 8. Greatness and truth are sometimes by the Deity sustained and spoken\n in and through evil men.\n\nBut secondly, it is to be noted that it is neither by us uncertainable\nwhat moments of pure feeling or aspiration may occur to men of minds\napparently cold and lost, nor by us to be pronounced through what\ninstruments, and in what strangely occurrent voices, God may choose to\ncommunicate good to men. It seems to me that much of what is great, and\nto all men beneficial, has been wrought by those who neither intended\nnor knew the good they did, and that many mighty harmonies have been\ndiscoursed by instruments that had been dumb or discordant, but that\nGod knew their stops. The Spirit of Prophecy consisted with the avarice\nof Balaam, and the disobedience of Saul. Could we spare from its page\nthat parable, which he said, who saw the vision of the Almighty, falling\ninto a trance, but having his eyes open, though we know that the sword\nof his punishment was then sharp in its sheath beneath him in the plains\nof Moab? or shall we not lament with David over the shield cast away on\nthe Gilboa mountains, of him to whom God gave _another heart_ that day\nwhen he turned his back to go from Samuel? It is not our part to look\nhardly, nor to look always, to the character or the deeds of men, but to\naccept from all of them, and to hold fast that which we can prove good,\nand feel to be ordained for us. We know that whatever good there is in\nthem is itself divine, and wherever we see the virtue of ardent labor\nand self-surrendering to a single purpose, wherever we find constant\nreference made to the written scripture of natural beauty, this at least\nwe know is great and good, this we know is not granted by the counsel of\nGod, without purpose, nor maintained without result: Their\ninterpretation we may accept, into their labor we may enter, but they\nthemselves must look to it, if what they do has no intent of good, nor\nany reference to the Giver of all gifts. Selfish in their industry,\nunchastened in their wills, ungrateful for the Spirit that is upon them,\nthey may yet be helmed by that Spirit whithersoever the Governor\nlisteth; involuntary instruments they may become of others' good;\nunwillingly they may bless Israel, doubtingly discomfit Amalek, but\nshortcoming there will be of their glory, and sure, of their punishment.\n\n\nSec. 9. The second objection arising from the coldness of Christian men to\n external beauty.\n\nI believe I shall be able, incidentally, in succeeding investigations,\nto prove this shortcoming, and to examine the sources of it, not\nabsolutely indeed, (seeing that all reasoning on the characters of men\nmust be treacherous, our knowledge on this head being as corrupt as it\nis scanty, while even in living with them it is impossible to trace the\nworking, or estimate the errors of great and self-secreted minds,) but\nat least enough to establish the general principle upon such grounds of\nfact as may satisfy those who demand the practical proof (often in a\nmeasure impossible) of things which can hardly be doubted in their\nrational consequence. At present, it would be useless to enter on an\nexamination for which we have no materials; and I proceed, therefore, to\nnotice that other and opposite error of Christian men in thinking that\nthere is little use or value in the operation of the theoretic faculty,\nnot that I at present either feel myself capable, or that this is the\nplace for the discussion of that vast question of the operation of taste\n(as it is called) on the minds of men, and the national value of its\nteaching, but I wish shortly to reply to that objection which might be\nurged to the real moral dignity of the faculty, that many Christian men\nseem to be in themselves without it, and even to discountenance it in\nothers.\n\nIt has been said by Schiller, in his letters on aesthetic culture, that\nthe sense of beauty never farthered the performance of a single duty.\n\n\nSec. 10. Reasons for this coldness in the anxieties of the world. These\n anxieties overwrought and criminal.\n\nSec. 11. Evil consequences of such coldness.\n\nSec. 12. Theoria the service of Heaven.\n\nAlthough this gross and inconceivable falsity will hardly be accepted by\nany one in so many terms, seeing that there are few so utterly lost but\nthat they receive, and know that they receive, at certain moments,\nstrength of some kind, or rebuke from the appealings of outward things;\nand that it is not possible for a Christian man to walk across so much\nas a rood of the natural earth, with mind unagitated and rightly poised,\nwithout receiving strength and hope from some stone, flower, leaf, or\nsound, nor without a sense of a dew falling upon him out of the sky;\nthough, I say, this falsity is not wholly and in terms admitted, yet it\nseems to be partly and practically so in much of the doing and teaching\neven of holy men, who in the recommending of the love of God to us,\nrefer but seldom to those things in which it is most abundantly and\nimmediately shown; though they insist much on his giving of bread, and\nraiment, and health, (which he gives to all inferior creatures,) they\nrequire us not to thank him for that glory of his works which he has\npermitted us alone to perceive: they tell us often to meditate in the\ncloset, but they send us not, like Isaac, into the fields at even, they\ndwell on the duty of self-denial, but they exhibit not the duty of\ndelight. Now there are reasons for this, manifold, in the toil and\nwarfare of an earnest mind, which, in its efforts at the raising of men\nfrom utter loss and misery, has often but little time or disposition to\ntake heed of anything more than the bare life, and of those so occupied\nit is not for us to judge, but I think, that, of the weaknesses,\ndistresses, vanities, schisms, and sins, which often even in the holiest\nmen, diminish their usefulness, and mar their happiness, there would be\nfewer if, in their struggle with nature fallen, they sought for more aid\nfrom nature undestroyed. It seems to me that the real sources of\nbluntness in the feelings towards the splendor of the grass and glory of\nthe flower, are less to be found in ardor of occupation, in seriousness\nof compassion, or heavenliness of desire, than in the turning of the eye\nat intervals of rest too selfishly within; the want of power to shake\noff the anxieties of actual and near interest, and to leave results in\nGod's hands; the scorn of all that does not seem immediately apt for our\npurposes, or open to our understanding, and perhaps something of pride,\nwhich desires rather to investigate than to feel. I believe that the\nroot of almost every schism and heresy from which the Christian church\nhas ever suffered, has been the effort of men to earn, rather than to\nreceive, their salvation; and that the reason that preaching is so\ncommonly ineffectual is, that it calls on men oftener to work for God,\nthan to behold God working for them. If, for every rebuke that we utter\nof men's vices, we put forth a claim upon their hearts; if for every\nassertion of God's demands from them, we could substitute a display of\nhis kindness to them; if side by side with every warning of death, we\ncould exhibit proofs and promises of immortality; if, in fine, instead\nof assuming the being of an awful Deity, which men, though they cannot\nand dare not deny, are always unwilling, sometimes unable, to conceive,\nwe were to show them a near, visible, inevitable, but all beneficent\nDeity, whose presence makes the earth itself a heaven, I think there\nwould be fewer deaf children sitting in the market-place. At all events,\nwhatever may be the inability in this present life to mingle the full\nenjoyment of the Divine works with the full discharge of every practical\nduty, and confessedly in many cases this must be, let us not attribute\nthe inconsistency to any indignity of the faculty of contemplation, but\nto the sin and the suffering of the fallen state, and the change of\norder from the keeping of the garden to the tilling of the ground. We\ncannot say how far it is right or agreeable with God's will, while men\nare perishing round about us, while grief, and pain, and wrath, and\nimpiety, and death, and all the powers of the air, are working wildly\nand evermore, and the cry of blood going up to heaven, that any of us\nshould take hand from the plough; but this we know, that there will come\na time when the service of God shall be the beholding of him; and\nthough in these stormy seas, where we are now driven up and down, his\nSpirit is dimly seen on the face of the waters, and we are left to cast\nanchors out of the stern, and wish for the day, that day will come,\nwhen, with the evangelists on the crystal and stable sea, all the\ncreatures of God shall be full of eyes within, and there shall be \"no\nmore curse, but his servants shall serve him, and shall see his face.\"\n\n\n\n\n SECTION II.\n\n OF THE IMAGINATIVE FACULTY.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER I.\n\n OF THE THREE FORMS OF IMAGINATION.\n\n\nSec. 1. A partial examination only of the imagination is to be attempted.\n\nWe have hitherto been exclusively occupied with those sources of\npleasure which exist in the external creation, and which in any faithful\ncopy of it must to a certain extent exist also.\n\nThese sources of beauty, however, are not presented by any very great\nwork of art in a form of pure transcript. They invariably receive the\nreflection of the mind under whose shadow they have passed, and are\nmodified or colored by its image.\n\nThis modification is the Work of Imagination.\n\nAs, in the course of our succeeding investigation, we shall be called\nupon constantly to compare sources of beauty existing in nature with the\nimages of them presented by the human mind, it is very necessary for us\nshortly to review the conditions and limits of the imaginative faculty,\nand to ascertain by what tests we may distinguish its sane, healthy, and\nprofitable operation, from that which is erratic, diseased, and\ndangerous.\n\nIt is neither desirable nor possible here to examine or illustrate in\nfull the essence of this mighty faculty. Such an examination would\nrequire a review of the whole field of literature, and would alone\ndemand a volume. Our present task is not to explain or exhibit full\nportraiture of this function of the mind in all its relations, but only\nto obtain some certain tests by which we may determine whether it be\nvery imagination or no, and unmask all impersonations of it, and this\nchiefly with respect to art, for in literature the faculty takes a\nthousand forms, according to the matter it has to treat, and becomes\nlike the princess of the Arabian tale, sword, eagle, or fire, according\nto the war it wages, sometimes piercing, sometimes soaring, sometimes\nillumining, retaining no image of itself, except its supernatural power,\nso that I shall content myself with tracing that particular form of it,\nand unveiling those imitations of it only, which are to be found, or\nfeared, in painting, referring to other creations of mind only for\nillustration.\n\n\nSec. 2. The works of the metaphysicians how nugatory with respect to this\n faculty.\n\nUnfortunately, the works of metaphysicians will afford us in this most\ninteresting inquiry no aid whatsoever. They who are constantly\nendeavoring to fathom and explain the essence of the faculties of mind,\nare sure in the end to lose sight of all that cannot be explained,\n(though it may be defined and felt,) and because, as I shall presently\nshow, the essence of the imaginative faculty is utterly mysterious and\ninexplicable, and to be recognized in its results only, or in the\nnegative results of its absence, the metaphysicians, as far as I am\nacquainted with their works, miss it altogether, and never reach higher\nthan a definition of fancy by a false name.\n\nWhat I understand by fancy will presently appear, not that I contend for\nnomenclature, but only for distinction between two mental faculties, by\nwhatever name they be called, one the source of all that is great in the\npoetic arts; the other merely decorative and entertaining, but which are\noften confounded together, and which have so much in common as to render\nstrict definition of either difficult.\n\n\nSec. 3. The definition of D. Stewart, how inadequate.\n\nDugald Stewart's meagre definition may serve us for a starting point.\n\"Imagination,\" he says, \"includes conception or simple apprehension,\nwhich enables us to form a notion of those former objects of perception\nor of knowledge, out of which we are to make a selection; abstraction,\nwhich separates the selected materials from the qualities and\ncircumstances which are connected with them in nature; and judgment or\ntaste, which selects the materials and directs their combination. To\nthese powers we may add that particular habit of association to which I\nformerly gave the name of fancy, as it is this which presents to our\nchoice all the different materials which are subservient to the efforts\nof imagination, and which may therefore be considered as forming the\nground-work of poetical genius.\"\n\n(By fancy in this passage, we find on referring to the chapter treating\nof it, that nothing more is meant than the rapid occurrence of ideas of\nsense to the mind.)\n\nNow, in this definition, the very point and purpose of all the inquiry\nis missed. We are told that judgment or taste \"directs the combination.\"\nIn order that anything may be directed, an end must be previously\ndetermined: What is the faculty that determines this end? and of what\nframe and make, how boned and fleshed, how conceived or seen, is the end\nitself? Bare judgment, or taste, cannot approve of what has no\nexistence; and yet by Dugald Stewart's definition we are left to their\ncatering among a host of conceptions, to produce a combination which, as\nthey work for, they must see and approve before it exists. This power of\nprophecy is the very essence of the whole matter, and it is just that\ninexplicable part which the metaphysician misses.\n\n\nSec. 4. This instance nugatory.\n\nAs might be expected from his misunderstanding of the faculty, he has\ngiven an instance entirely nugatory.[49] It would be difficult to find\nin Milton a passage in which less power of imagination was shown, than\nthe description of Eden, if, as I suppose, this be the passage meant, at\nthe beginning of the fourth book, in which I can find three expressions\nonly in which this power is shown, the \"_burnished_ with golden rind,\nhung amiable\" of the Hesperian fruit, the \"_lays forth_ her purple\ngrape\" of the vine and the \"_fringed_ bank with myrtle crowned,\" of the\nlake, and these are not what Stewart meant, but only that accumulation\nof bowers, groves, lawns, and hillocks, which is not imagination at all,\nbut composition, and that of the commonest kind. Hence, if we take any\npassage in which there is real imagination, we shall find Stewart's\nhypothesis not only inefficient and obscure, but utterly inapplicable.\n\n\nSec. 5. Various instances.\n\nTake one or two at random.\n\n \"On the other side,\n Incensed with indignation, Satan stood\n Unterrified, and like a comet burned\n That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge\n In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair\n Shakes pestilence and war.\"\n\n(Note that the word incensed is to be taken in its literal and material\nsense, set on fire.) What taste or judgment was it that directed this\ncombination? or is there nothing more than taste or judgment here?\n\n \"Ten paces huge\n He back recoiled; the tenth on bended knee\n His massy spear upstaid, as if on earth\n Winds under ground, or waters forcing way\n _Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat\n Half-sunk with all his pines._\n\n \"Together both ere the high lawns appeared\n _Under the opening eyelids_ of the morn,\n We drove a field, and both together heard\n What time the gray-fly winds her _sultry_ horn.\n\n \"Missing thee, I walk unseen\n On the dry smooth shaven green.\n To behold the wandering moon\n Riding near her highest noon,\n _Like one that had been led astray_,\n Through the heavens' wide pathless way,\n And oft _as if her head she bowed_\n Stooping through a fleecy cloud.\"\n\nIt is evident that Stewart's explanation utterly fails in all these\ninstances, for there is in them no \"combination\" whatsoever, but a\nparticular mode of regarding the qualities or appearances of a single\nthing, illustrated and conveyed to us by the image of another; and the\nact of imagination, observe, is not the selection of this image, but the\nmode of regarding the object.\n\nBut the metaphysician's definition fails yet more utterly, when we look\nat the imagination neither as regarding, nor combining, but as\npenetrating.\n\n \"My gracious Silence, Hail:\n Wouldst thou have laughed, had I come coffin'd home\n That weep'st to see me triumph. Ah! my dear,\n Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,\n And mothers that lack sons.\"\n\nHow did Shakspeare _know_ that Virgilia could not speak?\n\nThis knowledge, this intuitive and penetrative perception, is still one\nof the forms, the highest, of imagination, but there is no combination\nof images here.\n\n\nSec. 6. The three operations of the imagination. Penetrative, associative,\n contemplative.\n\nWe find, then, that the imagination has three totally distinct\nfunctions. It combines, and by combination creates new forms; but the\nsecret principle of this combination has not been shown by the analysts.\nAgain, it treats or regards both the simple images and its own\ncombinations in peculiar ways; and, thirdly, it penetrates, analyzes,\nand reaches truths by no other faculty discoverable. These its three\nfunctions, I shall endeavor to illustrate, but not in this order: the\nmost logical mode of treatment would be to follow the order in which\ncommonly the mind works; that is, penetrating first, combining next, and\ntreating or regarding, finally; but this arrangement would be\ninconvenient, because the acts of penetration and of regard are so\nclosely connected, and so like in their relations to other mental acts,\nthat I wish to examine them consecutively, and the rather, because they\nhave to do with higher subject matter than the mere act of combination,\nwhose distinctive nature, that property which makes it imagination and\nnot composition, it will I think be best to explain at setting out, as\nwe easily may, in subjects familiar and material. I shall therefore\nexamine the imaginative faculty in these three forms; first, as\ncombining or associative; secondly, as analytic or penetrative; thirdly,\nas regardant or contemplative.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [49] He continues thus, \"To illustrate these observations, let us\n consider the steps by which Milton must have proceeded, in creating\n his imaginary garden of Eden. When he first proposed to himself that\n subject of description, it is reasonable to suppose that a variety\n of the most striking scenes which he had seen, crowded into his\n mind. The association of ideas suggested them and the power of\n conception placed each of them before him with all its beauties and\n imperfections. In every natural scene, if we destine it for any\n particular purpose, there are defects and redundancies, which art\n may sometimes, but cannot always correct. But the power of\n imagination is unlimited. She can create and annihilate, and dispose\n at pleasure her woods, her rocks, and her rivers. Milton,\n accordingly, would not copy his Eden from any one scene, but would\n select from each the features which were most eminently beautiful.\n The power of abstraction enabled him to make the separation, and\n taste directed him in the selection.\"\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER II.\n\n OF IMAGINATION ASSOCIATIVE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Of simple conception.\n\nIn order to render our inquiry as easy as possible, we shall consider\nthe dealing of the associative imagination with the simplest possible\nmatter, that is,--with conceptions of material things. First, therefore,\nwe must define the nature of these conceptions themselves.\n\nAfter beholding and examining any material object, our knowledge\nrespecting it exists in two different forms. Some facts exist in the\nbrain in a verbal form, as known, but not conceived, as, for instance,\nthat it was heavy or light, that it was eight inches and a quarter long,\netc., of which length we cannot have accurate conception, but only such\na conception as might attach to a length of seven inches or nine; and\nwhich fact we may recollect without any conception of the object at all.\nOther facts respecting it exist in the brain in a visible form, not\nalways visible, but voluntarily visible, as its being white, or having\nsuch and such a complicated shape, as the form of a rose-bud, for\ninstance, which it would be difficult to express verbally, neither is it\nretained by the brain in a verbal form, but a visible one, that is, when\nwe wish for knowledge of its form for immediate use, we summon up a\nvision or image of the thing; we do not remember it in words, as we\nremember the fact that it took so many days to blow, or that it was\ngathered at such and such a time.\n\nThe knowledge of things retained in this visible form is called\nconception by the metaphysicians, which term I shall retain; it is\ninaccurately called imagination by Taylor, in the passage quoted by\nWordsworth in the preface to his poems, not but that the term\nimagination is etymologically and rightly expressive of it, but we want\nthat term for a higher faculty.\n\n\nSec. 2. How connected with verbal knowledge.\n\nThere are many questions respecting this faculty of conception of very\ngreat interest, such as the exact amount of aid that verbal knowledge\nrenders so visible, (as, for instance, the verbal knowledge that a\nflower has five, or seven, or ten petals, or that a muscle is inserted\nat such and such a point of the bone, aids the conception of the flower\nor the limb;) and again, what amount of aid the visible knowledge\nrenders to the verbal, as for instance, whether any one, being asked a\nquestion about some animal or thing, which instantly and from verbal\nknowledge he cannot answer, may have such power of summoning up the\nimage of the animal or thing as to ascertain the fact, by actual\nbeholding, (which I do not assert, but can conceive to be possible;) and\nagain, what is that indefinite and subtile character of the conception\nitself in most men, which admits not of being by themselves traced or\nrealized, and yet is a sure test of likeness in any representation of\nthe thing; like an intaglio, with a front light on it, whose lines\ncannot be seen, and yet they will fit one definite form only, and that\naccurately; these and many other questions it is irrelevant at present\nto determine,[50] since to forward our present purpose, it will be well\nto suppose the conception, aided by verbal knowledge, to be absolutely\nperfect, and we will suppose a man to retain such clear image of a large\nnumber of the material things he has seen, as to be able to set down any\nof them on paper with perfect fidelity and absolute memory[51] of their\nmost minute features.\n\nIn thus setting them down on paper, he works, I suppose, exactly as he\nwould work from nature, only copying the remembered image in his mind,\ninstead of the real thing. He is, therefore, still nothing more than a\ncopyist. There is no exercise of imagination in this whatsoever.\n\n\nSec. 3. How used in composition.\n\nBut over these images, vivid and distinct as nature herself, he has a\ncommand which over nature he has not. He can summon any that he chooses,\nand if, therefore, any group of them which he received from nature be\nnot altogether to his mind, he is at liberty to remove some of the\ncomponent images, add others foreign, and re-arrange the whole.\n\nLet us suppose, for instance, that he has perfect knowledge of the forms\nof the Aiguilles Verte and Argentiere, and of the great glacier between\nthem at the upper extremity of the valley of Chamonix. The forms of the\nmountains please him, but the presence of the glacier suits not his\npurpose. He removes the glacier, sets the mountains farther apart, and\nintroduces between them part of the valley of the Rhone.\n\nThis is composition, and is what Dugald Stewart mistook for imagination,\nin the kingdom of which noble faculty it has no part nor lot.\n\n\nSec. 4. Characteristics of composition.\n\nThe essential characters of composition, properly so called, are these.\nThe mind which desires the new feature summons up before it those images\nwhich it supposes to be of the kind wanted, of these it takes the one\nwhich it supposes to be fittest, and tries it: if it will not answer, it\ntries another, until it has obtained such an association as pleases it.\n\nIn this operation, if it be of little sensibility, it regards only the\nabsolute beauty or value of the images brought before it; and takes that\nor those which it thinks fairest or most interesting, without any regard\nto their sympathy with those for whose company they are destined. Of\nthis kind is all vulgar composition; the \"Mulino\" of Claude, described\nin the preface to the first part, being a characteristic example.\n\nIf the mind be of higher feeling, it will look to the sympathy or\ncontrast of the features, to their likeness or dissimilarity; it will\ntake, as it thinks best, features resembling or discordant, and if when\nit has put them together, it be not satisfied, it will repeat the\nprocess on the features themselves, cutting away one part and putting in\nanother, so working more and more delicately down to the lowest details,\nuntil by dint of experiment, of repeated trials and shiftings, and\nconstant reference to principles, (as that two lines must not mimic one\nanother, that one mass must not be equal to another,) etc., it has\nmorticed together a satisfactory result.\n\n\nSec. 5. What powers are implied by it. The first of the three functions of\n fancy.\n\nThis process will be more and more rapid and effective, in proportion to\nthe artist's powers of conception and association, these in their turn\ndepending on his knowledge and experience. The distinctness of his\npowers of conception will give value, point, and truth to every fragment\nthat he draws from memory. His powers of association, and his knowledge\nof nature will pour out before him in greater or less number and\nappositeness the images from which to choose. His experience guides him\nto quick discernment in the combination, when made, of the parts that\nare offensive and require change.\n\nThe most elevated power of mind of all these, is that of association, by\nwhich images apposite or resemblant, or of whatever kind wanted, are\ncalled up quickly and in multitudes. When this power is very brilliant,\nit is called fancy, not that this is the only meaning of the word fancy,\nbut it is the meaning of it in relation to that function of the\nimagination which we are here considering; for fancy has three\nfunctions; one subordinate to each of the three functions of the\nimagination.\n\nGreat differences of power are manifested among artists in this respect,\nsome having hosts of distinct images always at their command, and\nrapidly discerning resemblance or contrast; others having few images,\nand obscure, at their disposal, nor readily governing those they have.\n\nWhere the powers of fancy are very brilliant, the picture becomes highly\ninteresting; if her images are systematically and rightly combined, and\ntruthfully rendered, it will become even impressive and instructive; if\nwittily and curiously combined, it will be captivating and entertaining.\n\n\nSec. 6. Imagination not yet manifested.\n\nBut all this time the imagination has not once shown itself. All this\n(except the gift of fancy) may be taught, all this is easily\ncomprehended and analyzed; but imagination is neither to be taught, nor\nby any efforts to be attained, nor by any acuteness of discernment\ndissected or analyzed.\n\nWe have seen that in composition the mind can only take cognizance of\nlikeness or dissimilarity, or of abstract beauty among the ideas it\nbrings together. But neither likeness nor dissimilarity secures harmony.\nWe saw in the chapter on unity that likeness destroyed harmony or unity\nof membership, and that difference did not necessarily secure it, but\nonly that particular imperfection in each of the harmonizing parts which\ncan only be supplied by its fellow part. If, therefore, the combination\nmade is to be harmonious, the artist must induce in each of its\ncomponent parts (suppose two only, for simplicity's sake,) such\nimperfection as that the other shall put it right. If one of them be\nperfect by itself, the other will be an excrescence. Both must be faulty\nwhen separate, and each corrected by the presence of the other. If he\ncan accomplish this, the result will be beautiful; it will be a whole,\nan organized body with dependent members;--he is an inventor. If not,\nlet his separate features be as beautiful, as apposite, or as resemblant\nas they may, they form no whole. They are two members glued together. He\nis only a carpenter and joiner.\n\n\nSec. 7. Imagination is the correlative conception of imperfect component\n parts.\n\nNow, the conceivable imperfections of any single feature are infinite.\nIt is impossible, therefore, to fix upon a form of imperfection in the\none, and try with this all the forms of imperfection of the other until\none fits; but the two imperfections must be corelatively and\nsimultaneously conceived.\n\nThis is imagination, properly so called, imagination associative, the\ngrandest mechanical power that the human intelligence possesses, and one\nwhich will appear more and more marvellous the longer we consider it. By\nits operation, two ideas are chosen out of an infinite mass, (for it\nevidently matters not whether the imperfections be conceived out of the\ninfinite number conceivable, or selected out of a number recollected,)\ntwo ideas which are separately wrong, which together shall be right, and\nof whose unity, therefore, the idea must be formed at the instant they\nare seized, as it is only in that unity that either are good, and\ntherefore only the _conception of that unity can prompt the preference_.\nNow, what is that prophetic action of mind, which, out of an infinite\nmass of things that cannot be tried together, seizes, at the same\ninstant two that are fit for each other, together right; yet each\ndisagreeable alone.\n\n\nSec. 8. Material analogy with imagination.\n\nThis operation of mind, so far as I can see, is absolutely\ninexplicable, but there is something like it in chemistry.\n\n\"The action of sulphuric acid on metallic zinc affords an instance of\nwhat was once called disposing affinity. Zinc decomposes pure water at\ncommon temperatures with extreme slowness; but as soon as sulphuric acid\nis added, decomposition of the water takes place rapidly, though the\nacid merely unites with oxide of zinc. The former explanation was, that\nthe affinity of the acid for oxide of zinc disposed the metal to unite\nwith oxygen, and thus enabled it to decompose water; that is, the oxide\nof zinc was supposed to produce an effect previous to its existence. The\nobscurity of this explanation arises from regarding changes as\nconsecutive, which are in reality simultaneous. There is no succession\nin the process, the oxide of zinc is not formed previously to its\ncombination with the acid, but at the same instant. There is, as it\nwere, but one chemical change, which consists in the combination at one\nand the same moment of zinc with oxygen, and of oxide of zinc with the\nacid; and this change occurs because these two affinities, acting\ntogether, overcome the attraction of oxygen and hydrogen for one\nanother.\"[52]\n\nNow, if the imaginative artist will permit us, with all deference, to\nrepresent his combining intelligence under the figure of sulphuric acid;\nand if we suppose the fragment of zinc to be embarrassed among\ninfinitely numerous fragments of diverse metals, and the oxygen\ndispersed and mingled among gases countless and indistinguishable, we\nshall have an excellent type in material things of the action of the\nimagination on the immaterial. Both actions are, I think, inexplicable,\nfor however simultaneous the chemical changes may be, yet the causing\npower is the affinity of the acid for what has no existence. It is\nneither to be explained how that affinity operates on atoms uncombined,\nnor how the artist's desire for an unconceived whole prompts him to the\nselection of necessary divisions.\n\n\nSec. 9. The grasp and dignity of imagination.\n\nNow, this operation would be wonderful enough, if it were concerned with\ntwo ideas only. But a powerfully imaginative mind seizes and combines\nat the same instant, not only two, but all the important ideas of its\npoem or picture, and while it works with any one of them, it is at the\nsame instant working with and modifying all in their relations to it,\nnever losing sight of their bearings on each other; as the motion of a\nsnake's body goes through all parts at once, and its volition acts at\nthe same instant in coils that go contrary ways.\n\nThis faculty is indeed something that looks as if man were made after\nthe image of God. It is inconceivable, admirable, altogether divine; and\nyet wonderful as it may seem, it is palpably evident that no less an\noperation is necessary for the production of any great work, for, by the\ndefinition of unity of membership, (the essential characteristic of\ngreatness,) not only certain couples or groups of parts, but _all_ the\nparts of a noble work must be separately imperfect; each must imply, and\nask for all the rest, and the glory of every one of them must consist in\nits relation to the rest, neither while so much as one is wanting can\nany be right. And it is evidently impossible to conceive in each\nseparate feature, a certain want or wrongness which can only be\ncorrected by the other features of the picture, (not by one or two\nmerely, but by all,) unless together with the want, we conceive also of\nwhat is wanted, that is of all the rest of the work or picture. Hence\nFuseli:--\n\n\"Second thoughts are admissible in painting and poetry only as dressers\nof the first conception; no great idea was ever formed in fragments.\"\n\n\"He alone can conceive and compose who sees the whole at once before\nhim.\"\n\n\nSec. 10. Its limits.\n\nThere is, however, a limit to the power of all human imagination. When\nthe relations to be observed are absolutely necessary, and highly\ncomplicated, the mind cannot grasp them, and the result is a total\ndeprivation of all power of imagination associative in such matter. For\nthis reason, no human mind has ever conceived a new animal. For as it is\nevident that in an animal, every part implies all the rest; that is, the\nform of the eye involves the form of the brow and nose, these the form\nof the forehead and lip, these of the head and chin, and so on, so that\nit is physically impossible to conceive of any one of these members,\nunless we conceive the relation it bears to the whole animal; and as\nthis relation is necessary, certain, and complicated, allowing of no\nlicense or inaccuracy, the intellect utterly fails under the load, and\nis reduced to mere composition, putting the bird's wing on men's\nshoulders, or half the human body to half the horse's, in doing which\nthere is no action of imagination, but only of fancy; though in the\ntreatment and contemplation of the compound form there may be much\nimagination, as we shall presently see. (Chap. III. Sec. 30.)\n\n\nSec. 11. How manifested in treatment of uncertain relations. Its deficiency\n illustrated.\n\nThe matter, therefore, in which associative imagination can be shown is\nthat which admits of great license and variety of arrangements, and in\nwhich a certain amount of relation only is required; as especially in\nthe elements of landscape painting, in which best it may be illustrated.\n\nWhen an unimaginative painter is about to draw a tree, (and we will\nsuppose him, for better illustration of the point in question, to have\ngood feeling and correct knowledge of the nature of trees,) he probably\nlays on his paper such a general form as he knows to be characteristic\nof the tree to be drawn, and such as he believes will fall in agreeably\nwith the other masses of his picture, which we will suppose partly\nprepared. When this form is set down, he assuredly finds it has done\nsomething he did not intend it to do. It has mimicked some prominent\nline, or overpowered some necessary mass. He begins pruning and\nchanging, and after several experiments, succeeds in obtaining a form\nwhich does no material mischief to any other. To this form he proceeds\nto attach a trunk, and having probably a received notion or rule (for\nthe unimaginative painter never works without a principle) that tree\ntrunks ought to lean first one way and then the other as they go up, and\nought not to stand under the middle of the tree, he sketches a\nserpentine form of requisite propriety; when it has gone up far enough,\nthat is till it begins to look disagreeably long, he will begin to\nramify it, and if there be another tree in the picture with two large\nbranches, he knows that this, by all laws of composition, ought to have\nthree or four, or some different number; one because he knows that if\nthree or four branches start from the same point they will look formal,\ntherefore he makes them start from points one above another, and because\nequal distances are improper, therefore they shall start at unequal\ndistances. When they are fairly started, he knows they must undulate or\ngo backwards and forwards, which accordingly he makes them do at random;\nand because he knows that all forms ought to be contrasted, therefore he\nmakes one bend down while the other three go up. The three that go up he\nknows must not go up without interfering with each other, and so he\nmakes two of them cross. He thinks it also proper that there should be\nvariety of character in them, so he makes the one that bends down\ngraceful and flexible, and of the two that cross, he splinters one and\nmakes a stump of it. He repeats the process among the more complicated\nminor boughs, until coming to the smallest, he thinks farther care\nunnecessary, but draws them freely, and by chance. Having to put on the\nfoliage, he will make it flow properly in the direction of the tree's\ngrowth, he will make all the extremities graceful, but will be\ngrievously plagued by finding them come all alike, and at last will be\nobliged to spoil a number of them altogether, in order to obtain\nopposition. They will not, however, be united in this their spoliation,\nbut will remain uncomfortably separate and individually ill-tempered. He\nconsoles himself by the reflection that it is unnatural for all of them\nto be equally perfect.\n\n\nSec. 12. Laws of art, the safeguard of the unimaginative.\n\nNow I suppose that through the whole of this process he has been able to\nrefer to his definite memory or conception of nature for every one of\nthe fragments he has successively added, that the details, color,\nfractures, insertions, etc., of his boughs, are all either actual\nrecollections or based on secure knowledge of the tree, (and herein I\nallow far more than is commonly the case with unimaginative painters.)\nBut as far as the process of combination is concerned, it is evident\nthat from beginning to end his laws have been his safety, and his plague\nhas been his liberty. He has been compelled to work at random, or under\nthe guidance of feeling only, whenever there was anything left to his\nown decision. He has never been decided in anything except in what he\n_must_ or _must not_ do. He has walked as a drunken man on a broad road,\nhis guides are the hedges; and between these limits, the broader the\nway, the worse he gets on.\n\n\nSec. 13. Are by the imaginative painter despised. Tests of imagination.\n\nThe advance of the imaginative artist is precisely the reverse of this.\nHe has no laws. He defies all restraint, and cuts down all hedges. There\nis nothing within the limits of natural possibility that he dares not\ndo, or that he allows the necessity of doing. The laws of nature he\nknows, are to him no restraint. They are his own nature. All other laws\nor limits he sets at utter defiance, his journey is over an untrodden\nand pathless plain. But he sees his end over the waste from the first,\nand goes straight at it, never losing sight of it, nor throwing away a\nstep. Nothing can stop him, nothing turn him aside; falcons and lynxes\nare of slow and uncertain sight compared with his. He saw his tree,\ntrunk, boughs, foliage and all, from the first moment; not only the tree\nbut the sky behind it; not only that tree or sky, but all the other\ngreat features of his picture: by what intense power of instantaneous\nselection and amalgamation cannot be explained, but by this it may be\nproved and tested, that if we examine the tree of the unimaginative\npainter, we shall find that on removing any part or parts of it, the\nrest will indeed suffer, as being deprived of the proper development of\na tree, and as involving a blank space that wants occupation; but the\nportions left are not made discordant or disagreeable. They are\nabsolutely and in themselves as valuable as they can be, every stem is a\nperfect stem, and every twig a graceful twig, or at least as perfect and\nas graceful as they were before the removal of the rest. But if we try\nthe same experiment on the imaginative painter's work, and break off the\nmerest stem or twig of it, it all goes to pieces like a Prince Rupert's\ndrop. There is not so much as a seed of it but it lies on the tree's\nlife, like the grain upon the tongue of Chaucer's sainted child. Take it\naway, and the boughs will sing to us no longer. All is dead and cold.\n\n\nSec. 14. The monotony of unimaginative treatment.\n\nThis then is the first sign of the presence of real imagination as\nopposed to composition. But here is another not less important.\n\n\nSec. 15. Imagination never repeats itself.\n\nWe have seen that as each part is selected and fitted by the\nunimaginative painter, he renders it, in itself, as beautiful as he is\nable. If it be ugly, it remains so, he is incapable of correcting it by\nthe addition of another ugliness, and therefore he chooses all his\nfeatures as fair as they may be (at least if his object be beauty.) But\na small proportion only of the ideas he has at his disposal will reach\nhis standard of absolute beauty. The others will be of no use to him,\nand among those which he permits himself to use, there will be so marked\na family likeness, that he will be more and more cramped, as his picture\nadvances, for want of material, and tormented by multiplying\nresemblances, unless disguised by some artifice of light and shade or\nother forced difference, and with all the differences he can imagine,\nhis tree will yet show a sameness and sickening repetition in all its\nparts, and all his trees will be like one another, except so far as one\nleans east and another west, one is broadest at the top and another at\nthe bottom, while through all this insipid repetition, the means by\nwhich he forces contrast, dark boughs opposed to light, rugged to\nsmooth, etc., will be painfully evident, to the utter destruction of all\ndignity and repose. The imaginative work is necessarily the absolute\nopposite of all this. As all its parts are imperfect, and as there is an\nunlimited supply of imperfection, (for the ways in which things may be\nwrong are infinite,) the imagination is never at a loss, nor ever likely\nto repeat itself; nothing comes amiss to it, but whatever rude matter it\nreceives, it instantly so arranges that it comes right; all things fall\ninto their place and appear in that place perfect, useful, and evidently\nnot to be spared, so that of its combinations there is endless variety,\nand every intractable and seemingly unavailable fragment that we give to\nit, is instantly turned to some brilliant use, and made the nucleus of a\nnew group of glory; however poor or common the gift, it will be thankful\nfor it, treasure it up, and pay in gold, and it has that life in it and\nfire, that wherever it passes, among the dead bones and dust of things,\nbehold a shaking, and the bones come together, bone to his bone.\n\n\nSec. 16. Relation of the imaginative faculty to the theoretic.\n\nAnd now we find what noble sympathy and unity there is between the\nimaginative and theoretic faculties. Both agree in this, that they\nreject nothing, and are thankful for all; but the theoretic faculty\ntakes out of everything that which is beautiful, while the imaginative\nfaculty takes hold of the very imperfections which the theoretic\nrejects, and by means of these angles and roughnesses, it joints and\nbolts the separate stones into a mighty temple, wherein the theoretic\nfaculty in its turn, does deepest homage. Thus sympathetic in their\ndesires, harmoniously diverse in their operation, each working for the\nother with what the other needs not, all things external to man are by\none or other turned to good.\n\n\nSec. 17. Modification of its manifestation.\n\nNow we have hitherto, for the sake of clearness, opposed the total\nabsence of imagination to the perfect presence of it, in order to make\nthe difference between composition and imagination thoroughly\nunderstood. But if we are to give examples of either the want or the\npresence of the power, it is necessary to note the circumstances by\nwhich both are modified. In the first place, few artists of any standing\nare totally devoid of this faculty, some small measure of it most of\nthem possess, though of all the forms of intellect, this, and its\nsister, penetrative imagination, are the rarest and most precious; but\nfew painters have reached eminence without some leaven of it, whether it\ncan be increased by practice I doubt. On the other hand, fewer still are\npossessed of it in very high degree, and even with the men of most\ngigantic power in this respect, of whom, I think, Tintoret stands far\nthe head, there are evident limits to its exercise, and portions to be\nfound in their works that have not been included in the original grasp\nof them, but have been suggested and incorporated during their progress,\nor added in decoration; and with the great mass of painters there are\nfrequent flaws and failures in the conception, so that, when they intend\nto produce a perfect work they throw their thought into different\nexperimental forms, and decorate it and discipline it long before\nrealizing it, so that there is a certain amount of mere composition in\nthe most imaginative works; and a grain or two of imagination commonly\nin the most artificial. And again, whatever portions of a picture are\ntaken honestly and without alteration from nature, have, so far as they\ngo, the look of imagination, because all that nature does is\nimaginative, that is, perfect as a whole, and made up of imperfect\nfeatures; so that the painter of the meanest imaginative power may yet\ndo grand things, if he will keep to strict portraiture, and it would be\nwell if all artists were to endeavor to do so, for if they have\nimagination, it will force its way in spite of them, and show itself in\ntheir every stroke, and if not, they will not get it by leaving nature,\nbut only sink into nothingness.\n\n\nSec. 18. Instances of absence of imagination.--Claude, Gaspar Poussin.\n\nKeeping these points in view, it is interesting to observe the different\ndegrees and relations of the imagination, as accompanied with more or\nless feeling or desire of harmony, vigor of conception, or constancy of\nreference to truth. Of men of name, perhaps Claude is the best instance\nof a want of imagination, nearly total, borne out by painful but\nuntaught study of nature, and much feeling for abstract beauty of form,\nwith none whatever for harmony of expression. In Gaspar Poussin, we have\nthe same want of imagination disguised by more masculine qualities of\nmind, and grander reachings after sympathy. Thus in the sacrifice of\nIsaac in our own gallery, the spirit of the composition is solemn and\nunbroken; it would have been a grand picture if the forms of the mass of\nfoliage on the right, and of the clouds in the centre, had not been\nhopelessly unimaginative. The stormy wind of the picture of Dido and\nEneas blows loudly through its leaves, but the total want of invention\nin the cloud forms bears it down beyond redemption. The foreground tree\nof the La Riccia (compare Part II. Sec. VI. Chap. I., Sec. 6.) is another\ncharacteristic instance of absolute nullity of imagination.\n\n[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. From a painting by Ruskin,\nafter Tintoret.]\n\n\nSec. 19. Its presence.--Salvator, Nicolo Poussin, Titian, Tintoret.\n\nIn Salvator, the imagination is vigorous, the composition dextrous and\nclever, as in the St. Jerome of the Brera Gallery, the Diogenes of the\nPitti, and the pictures of the Guadagni palace. All are rendered\nvalueless by coarseness of feeling and habitual non-reference to nature.\n\nAll the landscape of Nicolo Poussin is imaginative, but the development\nof the power in Tintoret and Titian is so unapproachably intense that\nthe mind unwillingly rests elsewhere. The four landscapes which occur to\nme as the most magnificently characteristic are, first, the Flight into\nEgypt, of the Scuola di San Rocco (Tintoret;) secondly, the Titian of\nthe Camuccini collection at Rome, with the figures by John Bellini;\nthirdly, Titian's St. Jerome, in the Brera Gallery at Milan; and\nfourthly, the St. Pietro Martire, which I name last, in spite of its\nimportance, because there is something unmeaning and unworthy of Titian\nabout the undulation of the trunks, and the upper part of it is\ndestroyed by the intrusion of some dramatic clouds of that species which\nI have enough described in our former examination of the central cloud\nregion, Sec. 13.\n\nI do not mean to set these four works above the rest of the landscape of\nthese masters; I name them only because the landscape is in them\nprominent and characteristic. It would be well to compare with them the\nother backgrounds of Tintoret in the Scuola, especially that of the\nTemptation and the Agony in the Garden, and the landscape of the two\nlarge pictures in the church of La Madonna dell' Orto.\n\n\nSec. 20. And Turner.\n\nBut for immediate and close illustration, it is perhaps best to refer to\na work more accessible, the Cephalus and Procris of Turner, in Liber\nStudiorum.\n\nI know of no landscape more purely or magnificently imaginative or\nbearing more distinct evidence of the relative and simultaneous\nconception of the parts. Let the reader first cover with his hand the\ntwo trunks that rise against the sky on the right, and ask himself how\nany termination of the central mass so _ugly_ as the straight trunk\nwhich he will then painfully see, could have been conceived or admitted\nwithout simultaneous conception of the trunks he has taken away on the\nright? Let him again conceal the whole central mass, and leave these two\nonly, and again ask himself whether anything so ugly as that bare trunk\nin the shape of a Y, could have been admitted without reference to the\ncentral mass? Then let him remove from this trunk its two arms, and try\nthe effect; let him again remove the single trunk on the extreme right;\nthen let him try the third trunk without the excrescence at the bottom\nof it; finally, let him conceal the fourth trunk from the right, with\nthe slender boughs at the top; he will find in each case that he has\ndestroyed a feature on which everything else depends, and if proof be\nrequired of the vital power of still smaller features, let him remove\nthe sunbeam that comes through beneath the faint mass of trees on the\nhill in the distance.[53]\n\nIt is useless to enter into farther particulars; the reader may be left\nto his own close examination of this and of the other works of Turner,\nin which he will always find the associative imagination developed in\nthe most profuse and marvellous modes, especially in the drawing of\nfoliage and skies, in both of which the presence or absence of the\nassociative power may best be tested in all artists. I have, however,\nconfined my present illustrations chiefly to foliage, because other\noperations of the imagination besides the associative, interfere\nextensively in the treatment of sky.\n\n\nSec. 21. The due function of Associative Imagination with respect to\n nature.\n\nThere remains but one question to be determined relating to this\nfaculty, what operation, namely, supposing it possessed in high degree,\nit has or ought to have in the artist's treatment of natural scenery.\n\nI have just said that nature is always imaginative, but it does not\nfollow that her imagination is always of high subject, or that the\nimagination of all the parts is of a like and sympathetic kind; the\nboughs of every bramble bush are imaginatively arranged, so are those of\nevery oak and cedar; but it does not follow that there is imaginative\nsympathy between bramble and cedar. There are few natural scenes whose\nharmonies are not conceivably improvable either by banishment of some\ndiscordant point, or by addition of some sympathetic one; it constantly\nhappens that there is a profuseness too great to be comprehended, or an\ninequality in the pitch, meaning, and intensity of different parts. The\nimagination will banish all that is extraneous, it will seize out of the\nmany threads of different feeling which nature has suffered to become\nentangled, one only, and where that seems thin and likely to break, it\nwill spin it stouter, and in doing this, it never knots, but weaves in\nthe new thread, so that all its work looks as pure and true as nature\nitself, and cannot be guessed from it but by its exceeding simplicity,\n(_known_ from it, it cannot be,) so that herein we find another test of\nthe imaginative work, that it looks always as if it had been gathered\nstraight from nature, whereas the unimaginative shows its joints and\nknots, and is visibly composition.\n\n\nSec. 22. The sign of imaginative work is its appearance of absolute truth.\n\nAnd here then we arrive at an important conclusion (though one somewhat\ncontrary to the positions commonly held on the subject,) namely, that if\nanything looks unnatural, there can be no imagination in it (at least\nnot associative.) We frequently hear works that have no truth in them,\njustified or elevated on the score of being imaginative. Let it be\nunderstood once for all, that imagination never designs to touch\nanything but truth, and though it does not follow that where there is\nthe appearance of truth, there has been imaginative operation, of this\nwe may be assured, that where there is appearance of falsehood, the\nimagination has had no hand.[54]\n\nFor instance, the landscape above mentioned of Titian's St. Jerome may,\nfor aught I know, be a pure transcript of a rocky slope covered with\nchestnuts among his native mountains. It has all the look of a sketch\nfrom nature; if it be not, the imagination developed in it is of the\nhighest order; if it be, the imagination has only acted in the\nsuggestion of the dark sky, of the shape of the flakes of solemn cloud,\nand of the gleam of russet light along the distant ground.[55]\n\nAgain, it is impossible to tell whether the two nearest trunks of the\nAesacus and Hesperie of the Liber Studiorum, especially the large one on\nthe right with the ivy, have been invented, or taken straight from\nnature, they have all the look of accurate portraiture. I can hardly\nimagine anything so perfect to have been obtained except from the real\nthing; but we know that the imagination must have begun to operate\nsomewhere, we cannot tell where, since the multitudinous harmonies of\nthe rest of the picture could hardly in any real scene have continued so\ninviolately sweet.\n\nThe final tests, therefore, of the work of associative imagination are\nits intense simplicity, its perfect harmony, and its absolute truth. It\nmay be a harmony, majestic, or humble, abrupt, or prolonged, but it is\nalways a governed and perfect whole, evidencing in all its relations the\nweight, prevalence, and universal dominion of an awful, inexplicable\nPower; a chastising, animating, and disposing Mind.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [50] Compare Chapter IV. of this Section.\n\n [51] On the distinction rightly made by the metaphysicians between\n conception absolute and conception accompanied by reference to past\n time, (or memory,) it is of no necessity here to insist.\n\n [52] Elements of Chemistry, by the late Edward Turner, M.D. Part II.\n Sec. IV.\n\n [53] This ray of light, however, has an imaginative power of another\n kind presently to be spoken of. Compare Chap. IV. Sec. 18.\n\n [54] Compare Chap. III. Sec.30.\n\n [55] It is said at Venice that Titian took the trees of the St.\n Pietro Martiere out of his garden opposite Murano. I think this\n unlikely; there is something about the lower trunks that has a taint\n of composition: the thought of the whole, however, is thoroughly\n fine. The backgrounds of the frescoes at Padua are also very\n characteristic, and the well-known woodcut of St. Francis receiving\n the stigmata, one of the mightiest of existing landscape thoughts;\n and yet it is pure portraiture of pine and Spanish chestnut.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER III.\n\n OF IMAGINATION PENETRATIVE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Imagination penetrative is concerned not with the combining but\n apprehending of things.\n\nThus far we have been defining that combining operation of the\nimagination, which appears to be in a sort mechanical, yet takes place\nin the same inexplicable modes, whatever be the order of conception\nsubmitted to it, though I chose to illustrate it by its dealings with\nmere matter before taking cognizance of any nobler subjects of imagery.\nWe must now examine the dealing of the imagination with its separate\nconceptions, and endeavor to understand not only its principles of\nselection, but its modes of apprehension with respect to what it\nselects.\n\n\nSec. 2. Milton's and Dante's description of flame.\n\nWhen Milton's Satan first \"rears from off the pool, his mighty stature,\"\nthe image of Leviathan before suggested not being yet abandoned, the\neffect on the fire-wave is described as of the upheaved monster on the\nocean stream.\n\n \"On each hand the flames,\n Driven backwards, slope their pointing spires,\n and rolled\n In billows, leave in the midst a horrid vale.\"\n\nAnd then follows a fiercely restless piece of volcanic imagery.\n\n \"As when the force\n Of subterranean wind transports a hill\n Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side\n Of thundering Aetna, whose combustible\n And fuell'd entrails thence conceiving fire,\n Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,\n And leave a singed bottom, all involved\n With stench and smoke; such resting found the sole\n Of unblest feet.\"\n\nYet I think all this is too far detailed, and deals too much with\nexternals; we feel rather the form of the fire-waves than their fury, we\nwalk upon them too securely, and the fuel, sublimation, smoke, and\nsingeing, seem to me images only of partial combustion; they vary and\nextend the conception, but they lower the thermometer. Look back, if you\nwill, and add to the description the glimmering of the livid flames; the\nsulphurous hail and red lightning; yet altogether, however they\noverwhelm us with horror, fail of making us thoroughly, unendurably hot.\nThe intense essence of flame has not been given. Now hear Dante:--\n\n \"Feriami 'l Sole in su l'omero destro\n Che gia raggiando tutto l'Occidente\n _Mutava in bianco aspetto di eilestro.\n Ed io_ facea _con l'ombra piu rovente\n Parer la flamma_.\"\n\nThat is a slight touch; he has not gone to Aetna nor Pelorus for fuel;\nbut we shall not soon recover from it--he has taken our breath away and\nleaves us gasping. No smoke nor cinders there. Pure, white, hurtling,\nformless flame; very fire crystal, we cannot make spires nor waves of\nit, nor divide it, nor walk on it, there is no question about singeing\nsoles of feet. It is lambent annihilation.\n\n\nSec. 3. The imagination seizes always by the innermost point.\n\nSuch is always the mode in which the highest imaginative faculty seizes\nits materials. It never stops at crusts or ashes, or outward images of\nany kind, it ploughs them all aside, and plunges into the very central\nfiery heart, nothing else will content its spirituality, whatever\nsemblances and various outward shows and phases its subject may possess,\ngo for nothing, it gets within all fence, cuts down to the root, and\ndrinks the very vital sap of that it deals with: once there it is at\nliberty to throw up what new shoots it will, so always that the true\njuice and sap be in them, and to prune and twist them at its pleasure,\nand bring them to fairer fruit than grew on the old tree; but all this\npruning and twisting is work that it likes not, and often does ill; its\nfunction and gift are the getting at the root, its nature and dignity\ndepend on its holding things always by the heart. Take its hand from off\nthe beating of that, and it will prophesy no longer; it looks not in the\neyes, it judges not by the voice, it describes not by outward features,\nall that it affirms, judges, or describes, it affirms from within.\n\n\nSec. 4. It acts intuitively and without reasoning.\n\nIt may seem to the reader that I am incorrect in calling this\npenetrating, possession-taking faculty, imagination. Be it so, the name\nis of little consequence; the faculty itself, called by what name we\nwill, I insist upon as the highest intellectual power of man. There is\nno reasoning in it, it works not by algebra, nor by integral calculus,\nit is a piercing, Pholas-like mind's tongue that works and tastes into\nthe very rock heart, no matter what be the subject submitted to it,\nsubstance or spirit, all is alike, divided asunder, joint and marrow,\nwhatever utmost truth, life, principle, it has, laid bare, and that\nwhich has no truth, life, nor principle, dissipated into its original\nsmoke at a touch. The whispers at men's ears it lifts into visible\nangels. Vials that have lain sealed in the deep sea a thousand years it\nunseals, and brings out of them Genii.\n\nEvery great conception of poet or painter is held and treated by this\nfaculty. Every character that is so much as touched by men like\nAeschylus, Homer, Dante, or Shakspeare, is by them held by the heart; and\nevery circumstance or sentence of their being, speaking, or seeming, is\nseized by process from within, and is referred to that inner secret\nspring of which the hold is never lost for an instant; so that every\nsentence, as it has been thought out from the heart, opens for us a way\ndown to the heart, leads us to the centre, and then leaves us to gather\nwhat more we may; it is the open sesame of a huge, obscure, endless\ncave, with inexhaustible treasure of pure gold scattered in it: the\nwandering about and gathering the pieces may be left to any of us, all\ncan accomplish that; but the first opening of that invisible door in the\nrock is of the imagination only.\n\n\nSec. 5. Signs of it in language.\n\nHence there is in every word set down by the imaginative mind an awful\nunder-current of meaning, and evidence and shadow upon it of the deep\nplaces out of which it has come. It is often obscure, often half told,\nfor he who wrote it, in his clear seeing of the things beneath, may have\nbeen impatient of detailed interpretation, but if we choose to dwell\nupon it and trace it, it will lead us always securely back to that\nmetropolis of the soul's dominion from which we may follow out all the\nways and tracks to its farthest coasts.\n\nI think the \"Quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avante\" of Francesca di\nRimini, and the \"He has no children\" of Macduff are as fine instances as\ncan be given, but the sign and mark of it are visible on every line of\nthe four great men above instanced.\n\n\nSec. 6. Absence of imagination, how shown.\n\nThe imaginative writer, on the other hand, as he has never pierced to\nthe heart, so he can never touch it: if he has to paint a passion, he\nremembers the external signs of it, he collects expressions of it from\nother writers, he searches for similes, he composes, exaggerates, heaps\nterm on term, figure on figure, till we groan beneath the cold,\ndisjointed heap; but it is all faggot and no fire, the life breath is\nnot in it, his passion has the form of the Leviathan, but it never makes\nthe deep boil, he fastens us all at anchor in the scaly rind of it, our\nsympathies remain as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.\n\nAnd that virtue of originality that men so strain after, is not newness,\nas they vainly think, (there is nothing new,) it is only genuineness; it\nall depends on this single glorious faculty of getting to the spring of\nthings and working out from that; it is the coolness, and clearness, and\ndeliciousness of the water fresh from the fountain head, opposed to the\nthick, hot, unrefreshing drainage from other men's meadows.\n\n\nSec. 7. Distinction between imagination and fancy.\n\nThis freshness, however, is not to be taken for an infallible sign of\nimagination, inasmuch as it results also from a vivid operation of\nfancy, whose parallel function to this division of the imaginative\nfaculty it is here necessary to distinguish.\n\nI believe it will be found that the entirely unimaginative mind _sees_\nnothing of the object it has to dwell upon or describe, and is therefore\nutterly unable, as it is blind itself, to set anything before the eyes\nof the reader.[56]\n\nThe fancy sees the outside, and is able to give a portrait of the\noutside, clear, brilliant, and full of detail.[57]\n\nThe imagination sees the heart and inner nature, and makes them felt,\nbut is often obscure, mysterious, and interrupted, in its giving of\nouter detail.\n\nTake an instance. A writer with neither imagination nor fancy,\ndescribing a fair lip, does not see it, but thinks about it, and about\nwhat is said of it, and calls it well-turned, or rosy, or delicate, or\nlovely, or afflicts us with some other quenching and chilling epithet.\nNow hear fancy speak,--\n\n \"Her lips were red, and one was thin,\n Compared with that was next her chin,\n Some bee had stung it newly.\"[58]\n\nThe real, red, bright being of the lip is there in a moment But it is\nall outside; no expression yet, no mind. Let us go a step farther with\nWarner, of fair Rosamond struck by Eleanor.\n\n \"With that she dashed her on the lips\n So dyed double red;\n Hard was the heart that gave the blow,\n Soft were those lips that bled.\"\n\nThe tenderness of mind begins to mingle with the outside color, the\nimagination is seen in its awakening. Next Shelley,--\n\n \"Lamp of life, thy lips are burning\n Through the veil that seems to hide them,\n As the radiant lines of morning\n Through thin clouds, ere they divide them.\"\n\nThere dawns the entire soul in that morning; yet we may stop if we\nchoose at the image still external, at the crimson clouds. The\nimagination is contemplative rather than penetrative. Last, hear\nHamlet,--\n\n\"Here hung those lips that I have kissed, I know not how oft. Where be\nyour gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that\nwere wont to set the table on a roar?\"\n\nThere is the essence of lip, and the full power of the imagination.\n\nAgain, compare Milton's flowers in Lycidas with Perdita's. In Milton it\nhappens, I think, generally, and in the case before us most certainly,\nthat the imagination is mixed and broken with fancy, and so the strength\nof the imagery is part of iron and part of clay.\n\n \"Bring the rathe primrose, that forsaken dies (Imagination)\n The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, (Nugatory)\n The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,-- (Fancy)\n The glowing violet, (Imagination)\n The musk rose, and the well-attired woodbine, (Fancy, vulgar)\n With cowslips wan, that hang the pensive head, (Imagination)\n And every flower that sad embroidery wears.\" (Mixed)\n\nThen hear Perdita:--\n\n \"O, Proserpina,\n For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall\n From Dis's wagon. Daffodils\n That come before the swallow dares, and take\n The winds of March with beauty. Violets, dim,\n But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes\n Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses\n That die unmarried, ere they can behold\n Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady\n Most incident to maids.\"\n\nObserve how the imagination in these last lines goes into the very\ninmost soul of every flower, after having touched them all at first with\nthat heavenly timidness, the shadow of Proserpine's; and gilded them\nwith celestial gathering, and never stops on their spots, or their\nbodily shape, while Milton sticks in the stains upon them, and puts us\noff with that unhappy freak of jet in the very flower that without this\nbit of paper-staining would have been the most precious to us of all.\n\"There is pansies, that's for thoughts.\"\n\n\nSec. 8. Fancy how involved with imagination.\n\nSo I believe it will be found throughout the operation of the fancy,\nthat it has to do with the outsides of things, and is content therewith:\nof this there can be no doubt in such passage as that description of\nMab, so often given as an illustration of it, and many other instances\nwill be found in Leigh Hunt's work already referred to. Only some\nembarrassment is caused by passages in which fancy is seizing the\noutward signs of emotion, understanding them as such, and yet, in\npursuance of her proper function, taking for her share, and for that\nwhich she chooses to dwell upon, the outside sign rather than the\nemotion. Note in Macbeth that brilliant instance.\n\n \"Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky\n And fan our people cold.\"\n\nThe outward shiver and coldness of fear is seized on, and irregularly\nbut admirably attributed by the fancy to the drift of the banners.\nCompare Solomon's Song where the imagination stays not at the outside,\nbut dwells on the fearful emotion itself?\n\n \"Who is she that looketh forth as the morning; fair as the moon, clear\n as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?\"\n\n\nSec. 9. Fancy is never serious\n\nNow, if this be the prevailing characteristic of the two faculties, it\nis evident that certain other collateral differences will result from\nit. Fancy, as she stays at the externals, can never feel. She is one of\nthe hardest hearted of the intellectual faculties, or rather one of the\nmost purely and simply intellectual. She cannot be made serious,[59] no\nedge-tools but she will play with; whereas the imagination is in all\nthings the reverse. She cannot be but serious; she sees too far, too\ndarkly, too solemnly, too earnestly, ever to smile. There is something\nin the heart of everything, if we can reach it, that we shall not be\ninclined to laugh at. The [Greek: anerithmon gelasma] of the sea is on\nits surface, not in the deep.\n\n\nSec. 10. Want of seriousness the bar to high art at the present time.\n\nAnd thus there is reciprocal action between the intensity of moral\nfeeling and the power of imagination; for, on the one hand, those who\nhave keenest sympathy are those who look closest and pierce deepest, and\nhold securest; and, on the other, those who have so pierced and seen the\nmelancholy deeps of things, are filled with the most intense passion and\ngentleness of sympathy. Hence, I suppose that the powers of the\nimagination may always be tested by accompanying tenderness of emotion,\nand thus, (as Byron said,) there is no tenderness like Dante's, neither\nany intensity nor seriousness like his, such seriousness that it is\nincapable of perceiving that which is commonplace or ridiculous, but\nfuses all down into its white-hot fire; and, on the other hand, I\nsuppose the chief bar to the action of imagination, and stop to all\ngreatness in this present age of ours, is its mean and shallow love of\njest and jeer, so that if there be in any good and lofty work a flaw or\nfailing, or undipped vulnerable part where sarcasm may stick or stay, it\nis caught at, and pointed at, and buzzed about, and fixed upon, and\nstung into, as a recent wound is by flies, and nothing is ever taken\nseriously nor as it was meant, but always, if it may be, turned the\nwrong way, and misunderstood; and while this is so, there is not, nor\ncannot be any hope of achievement of high things; men dare not open\ntheir hearts to us, if we are to broil them on a thorn-fire.\n\n\nSec. 11. Imagination is quiet; fancy, restless.\n\nThis, then, is one essential difference between imagination and fancy,\nand another is like it and resultant from it, that the imagination being\nat the heart of things, poises herself there, and is still, quiet, and\nbrooding; comprehending all around her with her fixed look, but the\nfancy staying at the outside of things, cannot see them all at once, but\nruns hither and thither, and round and about to see more and more,\nbounding merrily from point to point, and glittering here and there, but\nnecessarily always settling, if she settle at all, on a point only,\nnever embracing the whole. And from these single points she can strike\nout analogies and catch resemblances, which, so far as the point she\nlooks at is concerned, are true, but would be false, if she could see\nthrough to the other side. This, however, she cares not to do, the point\nof contact is enough for her, and even if there be a gap left between\nthe two things and they do not quite touch, she will spring from one to\nthe other like an electric spark, and be seen brightest in her leaping.\n\n\nSec. 12. The detailing operation of fancy.\n\nNow these differences between the imagination and the fancy hold, not\nonly in the way they lay hold of separate conceptions, but even in the\npoints they occupy of time, for the fancy loves to run hither and\nthither in time, and to follow long chains of circumstances from link to\nlink; but the imagination, if it may, gets holds of a moment or link in\nthe middle that implies all the rest, and fastens there. Hence Fuseli's\naphorism, \"Invention never suffers the action to expire, nor the\nspectator's fancy to consume itself in preparation, or stagnate into\nrepose. It neither begins from the egg, nor coldly gathers the remains.\"\n\nIn Retsch's illustrations to Schiller's Kampf mit dem Drachen, we have\nan instance, miserably feeble indeed, but characteristic, and suited to\nour present purpose, of the detailing, finishing action of the fancy.\nThe dragon is drawn from head to tail, vulture eyes, serpent teeth,\nforked tongue, fiery crest, armor, claws and coils as grisly as may be;\nhis den is drawn, and all the dead bones in it, and all the savage\nforest-country about it far and wide; we have him from the beginning of\nhis career to the end, devouring, rampant, victorious over whole armies,\ngorged with death; we are present at all the preparations for his\nattack, see him receive his death-wound, and our anxieties are finally\nbecalmed by seeing him lie peaceably dead on his back.\n\n\nSec. 13. And suggestive, of the imagination.\n\nAll the time we have never got into the dragon heart, we have never once\nfelt real pervading horror, nor sense of the creature's being; it is\nthroughout nothing but an ugly composition of claw and scale. Now take\nup Turner's Jason, Liber Studiorum, and observe how the imagination can\nconcentrate all this, and infinitely more, into one moment. No far\nforest country, no secret paths, nor cloven hills, nothing but a gleam\nof pale horizontal sky, that broods over pleasant places far away, and\nsends in, through the wild overgrowth of the thicket, a ray of broken\ndaylight into the hopeless pit. No flaunting plumes nor brandished\nlances, but stern purpose in the turn of the crestless helmet, visible\nvictory in the drawing back of the prepared right arm behind the steady\npoint. No more claws, nor teeth, nor manes, nor stinging tails. We have\nthe dragon, like everything else, by the middle. We need see no more of\nhim. All his horror is in that fearful, slow, grinding upheaval of the\nsingle coil. Spark after spark of it, ring after ring, is sliding into\nthe light, the slow glitter steals along him step by step, broader and\nbroader, a lighting of funeral lamps one by one, quicker and quicker; a\nmoment more, and he is out upon us, all crash and blaze among those\nbroken trunks;--but he will be nothing then to what he is now.\n\n\nSec. 14. This suggestiveness how opposed to vacancy.\n\nNow, it is necessary here very carefully to distinguish between that\ncharacter of the work which depends on the imagination of the beholder,\nand that which results from the imagination of the artist, for a work is\noften called imaginative when it merely leaves room for the action of\nthe imagination; whereas though nearly all imaginative works do this,\nyet it may be done also by works that have in them no imagination at\nall. A few shapeless scratches or accidental stains on a wall; or the\nforms of clouds, or any other complicated accidents, will set the\nimagination to work to coin something out of them, and all paintings in\nwhich there is much gloom or mystery, possess therein a certain\nsublimity owing to the play given to the beholder's imagination,\nwithout, necessarily, being in the slightest degree imaginative\nthemselves. The vacancy of a truly imaginative work results not from\nabsence of ideas, or incapability of grasping and detailing them, but\nfrom the painter having told the whole pith and power of his subject and\ndisdaining to tell more, and the sign of this being the case is, that\nthe imagination of the beholder is forced to act in a certain mode, and\nfeels itself overpowered and borne away by that of the painter, and not\nable to defend itself, nor go which way it will, and the value of the\nwork depends on the truth, authority, and inevitability of this\nsuggestiveness, and on the absolute right choice of the critical moment.\nNow observe in this work of Turner's, that the whole value of it\ndepends on the character of curve assumed by the serpent's body; for had\nit been a mere semicircle, or gone down in a series of smaller coils, it\nwould have been in the first case, ridiculous, as false and unlike a\nserpent, and in the second, disgusting, nothing more than an exaggerated\nviper, but it is that _coming straight_ at the right hand which suggests\nthe drawing forth of an enormous weight, and gives the bent part its\nspringing look, that frightens us. Again, remove the light trunk[60] on\nthe left, and observe how useless all the gloom of the picture would\nhave been, if this trunk had not given it depth and _hollowness_.\nFinally and chiefly, observe that the painter is not satisfied even with\nall the suggestiveness thus obtained, but to make sure of us, and force\nus, whether we will or no, to walk his way, and not ours, the trunks of\nthe trees on the right are all cloven into yawning and writhing heads\nand bodies, and alive with dragon energy all about us, note especially\nthe nearest with its gaping jaws and claw-like branch at the seeming\nshoulder; a kind of suggestion which in itself is not imaginative, but\nmerely fanciful, (using the term fancy in that third sense not yet\nexplained, corresponding to the third office of imagination;) but it is\nimaginative in its present use and application, for the painter\naddresses thereby that morbid and fearful condition of mind which he has\nendeavored to excite in the spectator, and which in reality would have\nseen in every trunk and bough, as it penetrated into the deeper thicket,\nthe object of its terror.\n\n\nSec. 15. Imagination addresses itself to imagination.\n\nInstances from the works of Tintoret.\n\nIt is nevertheless evident, that however suggestive the work or picture\nmay be, it cannot have effect unless we are ourselves both watchful of\nits very hint, and capable of understanding and carrying it out, and\nalthough I think that this power of continuing or accepting the\ndirection of feeling given is less a peculiar gift, like that of the\noriginal seizing, than a faculty dependent on attention, and improvable\nby cultivation; yet, to a certain extent, the imaginative work will not,\nI think, be rightly esteemed except by a mind of some corresponding\npower; not but that there is an intense enjoyment in minds of feeble yet\nlight conception in the help and food they get from those of stronger\nthought; but a certain imaginative susceptibility is at any rate\nnecessary, and above all things, earnestness and feeling, so that\nassuredly a work of high conceptive dignity will be always\nincomprehensible and valueless except in those who go to it in earnest\nand give it time; and this is peculiarly the case when the imagination\nacts not merely on the immediate subject, nor in giving a fanciful and\npeculiar character to prominent objects, as we have just seen, but\nbusies itself throughout in expressing occult and far-sought sympathies\nin every minor detail, of which action the most sublime instances are\nfound in the works of Tintoret, whose intensity of imagination is such\nthat there is not the commonest subject to which he will not attach a\nrange of suggestiveness almost limitless, nor a stone, leaf, or shadow,\nnor anything so small, but he will give it meaning and oracular voice.\n\n\nSec. 16. The Entombment.\n\nIn the centre of the gallery at Parma, there is a canvas of Tintoret's,\nwhose sublimity of conception and grandeur of color are seen in the\nhighest perfection, by their opposition to the morbid and vulgar\nsentimentalism of Correggio. It is an Entombment of Christ, with a\nlandscape distance, of whose technical composition and details I shall\nhave much to say hereafter, at present I speak only of the thought it is\nintended to convey. An ordinary or unimaginative painter would have made\nprominent, among his objects of landscape, such as might naturally be\nsupposed to have been visible from the sepulchre, and shown with the\ncrosses of Calvary, some portion of Jerusalem, or of the Valley of\nJehoshaphat. But Tintoret has a far higher aim. Dwelling on the peculiar\nforce of the event before him, as the fulfilment of the final prophecy\nrespecting the passion, \"He made his grave with the wicked and with the\n_rich_ in his death,\" he desires to direct the mind of the spectator to\nthis receiving of the body of Christ, in its contrast with the houseless\nbirth and the desert life. And, therefore, behind the ghastly tomb-grass\nthat shakes its black and withered blades above the rocks of the\nsepulchre, there is seen, not the actual material distance of the spot\nitself, (though the crosses are shown faintly,) but that to which the\nthoughtful spirit would return in vision, a desert place, where the\nfoxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, and against the\nbarred twilight of the melancholy sky are seen the mouldering beams and\nshattered roofing of a ruined cattle-shed, the canopy of the nativity.\n\n\nSec. 17. The Annunciation.\n\nLet us take another instance. No subject has been more frequently or\nexquisitely treated by the religious painters than that of the\nAnnunciation, though as usual, the most perfect type of its pure ideal\nhas been given by Angelico, and by him with the most radiant\nconsummation (so far as I know) in a small reliquary in the sacristy of\nSt^a. Maria Novella. The background there, however, is altogether\ndecorative; but in the fresco of the corridor of St. Mark's, the\nconcomitant circumstances are of exceeding loveliness. The Virgin sits\nin an open loggia, resembling that of the Florentine church of\nL'Annunziata. Before her is a meadow of rich herbage, covered with\ndaisies. Behind her is seen through the door at the end of the loggia,\nher chamber with its single grated window, through which a star-like\nbeam of light falls into the silence. All is exquisite in feeling, but\nnot inventive nor imaginative. Severe would be the shock and painful the\ncontrast, if we could pass in an instant from that pure vision to the\nwild thought of Tintoret. For not in meek reception of the adoring\nmessenger, but startled by the rush of his horizontal and rattling\nwings, the virgin sits, not in the quiet loggia, not by the green\npasture of the restored soul, but houseless, under the shelter of a\npalace vestibule ruined and abandoned, with the noise of the axe and the\nhammer in her ears, and the tumult of a city round about her desolation.\nThe spectator turns away at first, revolted, from the central object of\nthe picture, forced painfully and coarsely forward, a mass of shattered\nbrickwork, with the plaster mildewed away from it, and the mortar\nmouldering from its seams; and if he look again, either at this or at\nthe carpenter's tools beneath it, will perhaps see in the one and the\nother, nothing more than such a study of scene as Tintoret could but too\neasily obtain among the ruins of his own Venice, chosen to give a coarse\nexplanation of the calling and the condition of the husband of Mary. But\nthere is more meant than this. When he looks at the composition of the\npicture, he will find the whole symmetry of it depending on a narrow\nline of light, the edge of a carpenter's square, which connects these\nunused tools with an object at the top of the brickwork, a white stone,\nfour square, the corner-stone of the old edifice, the base of its\nsupporting column. This, I think, sufficiently explains the typical\ncharacter of the whole. The ruined house is the Jewish dispensation,\nthat obscurely arising in the dawning of the sky is the Christian; but\nthe corner-stone of the old building remains, though the builder's tools\nlie idle beside it, and the stone which the builders refused is become\nthe Headstone of the corner.\n\n\nSec. 18. The Baptism of Christ. Its treatment by various painters.\n\nIn this picture, however, the force of the thought hardly atones for the\npainfulness of the scene and the turbulence of its feeling. The power of\nthe master is more strikingly shown in his treatment of a subject which,\nhowever important, and however deep in its meaning, supplies not to the\nordinary painter material enough ever to form a picture of high\ninterest; the Baptism of Christ. From the purity of Giotto to the\nintolerable, inconceivable brutality of Salvator,[61] every order of\nfeeling has been displayed in its treatment; but I am aware of no single\ncase, except this of which I am about to speak, in which it has formed\nan impressive picture.\n\nGiotto's, in the Academy of Florence, engraved in the series just\npublished, (Galleria delle belle Arti,) is one of the most touching I\nknow, especially in the reverent action of the attendant angels, and\nLeonardo's angel in that of Andrea del Verrocchio is very beautiful, but\nthe event is one whose character and importance are ineffable upon the\nfeatures: the descending dove hardly affects us, because its constant\nsymbolical occurrence hardens us, and makes us look on it as a mere type\nor letter, instead of the actual presence of the Spirit; and by all the\nsacred painters the power that might be put into the landscape is lost,\nfor though their use of foliage and distant sky or mountain is usually\nvery admirable, as we shall see in the fifth chapter, yet they cannot\ndeal with near water or rock, and the hexagonal and basaltic\nprotuberances of their river shore are I think too painful to be endured\neven by the most acceptant mind, as eminently in that of Angelico, in\nthe Vita di Christo, which, as far as I can judge, is a total failure in\naction, expression, and all else; and in general it is in this subject\nespecially, that the greatest painters show their weakness. For this\nreason, I suppose, and feeling the difficulty of it, Tintoret has thrown\ninto it his utmost strength, and it becomes noble in his hands by his\nmost singularly imaginative expression, not only of the immediate fact,\nbut of the whole train of thought of which it is suggestive; and by his\nconsidering the baptism not only as the submission of Christ to the\nfulfilment of all righteousness, but as the opening of the earthly\nstruggle with the prince of the powers of the air, which instantly\nbeginning in the temptation, ended only on the cross.\n\n\nSec. 19. By Tintoret.\n\nThe river flows fiercely under the shadow of a great rock. From its\nopposite shore, thickets of close, gloomy foliage rise against the\nrolling chasm of heaven, through which breaks the brightness of the\ndescending Spirit. Across these, dividing them asunder, is stretched a\nhorizontal floor of flaky cloud, on which stand the hosts of heaven.\nChrist kneels upon the water, and does not sink; the figure of St. John\nis indistinct, but close beside his raised right arm there is a spectre\nin the black shade; the fiend, harpy-shaped, hardly seen, glares down\nupon Christ with eyes of fire, waiting his time. Beneath this figure\nthere comes out of the mist a dark hand, the arm unseen, extended to a\nnet in the river, the spars of which are in the shape of a cross.\nBehinds this the roots and under stems of the trees are cut away by the\ncloud, and beneath it, and through them, is seen a vision of wild,\nmelancholy, boundless light, the sweep of the desert, and the figure of\nChrist is seen therein alone, with his arms lifted as in supplication or\necstacy, borne of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the\ndevil.\n\nThere are many circumstances which combine to give to this noble work a\nmore than usually imaginative character. The symbolical use of the net,\nwhich is the cross net still used constantly in the canals of Venice,\nand common throughout Italy, is of the same character as that of the\ncarpenter's tools in the Annunciation; but the introduction of the\nspectral figure is of bolder reach, and yet more, that vision of the\nafter temptation which is expressly indicated as a subject of thought\nrather than of sight, because it is in a part of the scene, which in\n_fact_ must have been occupied by the trunks of the trees whose tops are\nseen above; and another circumstance completes the mystic character of\nthe whole, that the flaky clouds which support the angelic hosts take on\nthe right, where the light first falls upon them, the shape of the head\nof a fish, the well-known type both of the baptismal sacrament, and of\nChrist.\n\n\nSec. 20. The Crucifixion.\n\nBut the most exquisite instance of this imaginative power occurs in an\nincident in the background of the Crucifixion. I will not insult this\nmarvellous picture by an effort at a verbal account of it. I would not\nwhitewash it with praise, and I refer to it only for the sake of two\nthoughts peculiarly illustrative of the intellectual faculty immediately\nunder discussion. In the common and most catholic treatment of the\nsubject, the mind is either painfully directed to the bodily agony,\ncoarsely expressed by outward anatomical signs, or else it is permitted\nto rest on that countenance inconceivable by man at any time, but\nchiefly so in this its consummated humiliation. In the first case, the\nrepresentation is revolting; in the second, inefficient, false, and\nsometimes blasphemous. None even of the greatest religious painters have\never, so far as I know, succeeded here; Giotto and Angelico were cramped\nby the traditional treatment, and the latter especially, as before\nobserved, is but too apt to indulge in those points of vitiated feeling\nwhich attained their worst development among the Byzantines: Perugino\nfails in his Christ in almost every instance (of other men than these\nafter them we need not speak.) But Tintoret here, as in all other cases,\npenetrating into the root and deep places of his subject, despising all\noutward and bodily appearances of pain, and seeking for some means of\nexpressing, not the rack of nerve or sinew, but the fainting of the\ndeserted Son of God before his Eloi cry, and yet feeling himself utterly\nunequal to the expression of this by the countenance, has on the one\nhand filled his picture with such various and impetuous muscular\nexertion that the body of the Crucified is, by comparison, in perfect\nrepose, and on the other has cast the countenance altogether into shade.\nBut the agony is told by this, and by this only, that though there yet\nremains a chasm of light on the mountain horizon where the earthquake\ndarkness closes upon the day, the broad and sunlike glory about the head\nof the Redeemer has become wan, and of the color of ashes.[62]\n\nBut the great painter felt he had something more to do yet. Not only\nthat agony of the Crucified, but the tumult of the people, that rage\nwhich invoked his blood upon them and their children. Not only the\nbrutality of the soldier, the apathy of the centurion, nor any other\nmerely instrumental cause of the Divine suffering, but the fury of his\nown people, the noise against him of those for whom he died, were to be\nset before the eye of the understanding, if the power of the picture was\nto be complete. This rage, be it remembered, was one of disappointed\npride; and the disappointment dated essentially from the time, when but\nfive days before, the King of Zion came, and was received with\nhosannahs, riding upon an ass, and a colt the foal of an ass. To this\ntime, then, it was necessary to direct the thoughts, for therein are\nfound both the cause and the character, the excitement of, and the\nwitness against, this madness of the people. In the shadow behind the\ncross, a man, riding on an ass colt, looks back to the multitude, while\nhe points with a rod to the Christ crucified. The ass is feeding on the\n_remnants_ of _withered palm-leaves_.\n\nWith this master-stroke I believe I may terminate all illustration of\nthe peculiar power of the imagination over the feelings of the\nspectator, by the elevation into dignity and meaning of the smallest\naccessory circumstances. But I have not yet sufficiently dwelt on the\nfact from which this power arises, the absolute truth of statement of\nthe central fact as it was, or must have been. Without this truth, this\nawful first moving principle, all direction of the feelings is useless.\nThat which we cannot excite, it is of no use to know how to govern.\n\n\nSec. 21. The Massacre of innocents.\n\nI have before alluded, Sect. I. Chap. XIV., to the painfulness of\nRaffaelle's treatment of the massacre of the innocents. Fuseli affirms\nof it that, \"in dramatic gradation he disclosed all the mother through\nevery image of pity and of terror.\" If this be so, I think the\nphilosophical spirit has prevailed over the imaginative. The imagination\nnever errs, it sees all that is, and all the relations and bearings of\nit, but it would not have confused the mortal frenzy of maternal terror\nwith various development of maternal character. Fear, rage, and agony,\nat their utmost pitch, sweep away all character: humanity itself would\nbe lost in maternity, the woman would become the mere personification of\nanimal fury or fear. For this reason all the ordinary representations of\nthis subject are, I think, false and cold: the artist has not heard the\nshrieks, nor mingled with the fugitives, he has sat down in his study to\ntwist features methodically, and philosophize over insanity. Not so\nTintoret. Knowing or feeling, that the expression of the human face was\nin such circumstances not to be rendered, and that the effort could only\nend in an ugly falsehood, he denies himself all aid from the features,\nhe feels that if he is to place himself or us in the midst of that\nmaddened multitude, there can be no time allowed for watching\nexpression. Still less does he depend on details of murder or\nghastliness of death; there is no blood, no stabbing or cutting, but\nthere is an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro. The scene is\nthe outer vestibule of a palace, the slippery marble floor is fearfully\nbarred across by sanguine shadows, so that our eyes seem to become\nbloodshot and strained with strange horror and deadly vision; a lake of\nlife before them, like the burning seen of the doomed Moabite on the\nwater that came by the way of Edom; a huge flight of stairs, without\nparapet, descends on the left; down this rush a crowd of women mixed\nwith the murderers; the child in the arms of one has been seized by the\nlimbs, she hurls herself over the edge, and falls head downmost,\ndragging the child out of the grasp by her weight;--she will be dashed\ndead in a second: two others are farther in flight, they reach the edge\nof a deep river,--the water is beat into a hollow by the force of their\nplunge;--close to us is the great struggle, a heap of the mothers\nentangled in one mortal writhe with each other and the swords, one of\nthe murderers dashed down and crushed beneath them, the sword of another\ncaught by the blade and dragged at by a woman's naked hand; the\nyoungest and fairest of the women, her child just torn away from a death\ngrasp and clasped to her breast with the grip of a steel vice, falls\nbackwards helplessly over the heap, right on the sword points; all knit\ntogether and hurled down in one hopeless, frenzied, furious abandonment\nof body and soul in the effort to save. Their shrieks ring in our ears\ntill the marble seems rending around us, but far back, at the bottom of\nthe stairs, there is something in the shadow like a heap of clothes. It\nis a woman, sitting quiet,--quite quiet--still as any stone, she looks\ndown steadfastly on her dead child, laid along on the floor before her,\nand her hand is pressed softly upon her brow.\n\n\nSec. 22. Various works in the Scuola di San Rocco.\n\nSec. 23. The Last Judgment. How treated by various painters.\n\nThis, to my mind, is the only imaginative; that is, the only true, real,\nheartfelt representation of the being and actuality of the subject in\nexistence.[63] I should exhaust the patience of the reader if I were to\ndwell at length on the various stupendous developments of the\nimagination of Tintoret in the Scuola di San Rocco alone. I would fain\njoin a while in that solemn pause of the journey into Egypt, where the\nsilver boughs of the shadowy trees lace with their tremulous lines the\nalternate folds of fair clouds, flushed by faint crimson light, and lie\nacross the streams of blue between those rosy islands, like the white\nwakes of wandering ships; or watch beside the sleep of the disciples\namong those massy leaves that lie so heavily on the dead of the night\nbeneath the descent of the angel of the agony, and toss fearfully above\nthe motion of the torches as the troop of the betrayer emerges out of\nthe hollows of the olives; or wait through the hour of accusing beside\nthe judgment seat of Pilate, where all is unseen, unfelt, except the one\nfigure that stands with its head bowed down, pale like a pillar of\nmoonlight, half bathed in the glory of the Godhead, half wrapt in the\nwhiteness of the shroud. Of these and all the other thoughts of\nindescribable power that are now fading from the walls of those\nneglected chambers, I may perhaps endeavor at some future time to\npreserve some image and shadow more faithfully than by words; but I\nshall at present terminate our series of illustrations by reference to a\nwork of less touching, but more tremendous appeal, the Last Judgment in\nthe Church of Santa Maria dell' Orto. In this subject, almost all\nrealizing or local statement had been carefully avoided by the most\npowerful painters, they judging it better to represent its chief\ncircumstances as generic thoughts, and present them to the mind in a\ntypical or abstract form. In the judgment of Angelico the treatment is\npurely typical, a long Campo santo, composed of two lines of graves,\nstretches away into the distance; on the left side of it rise the\ncondemned; on the right the just. With Giotto and Orcagna, the\nconception, though less rigid, is equally typical, no effort being made\nat the suggestion of space, and only so much ground represented as is\nabsolutely necessary to support the near figures and allow space for a\nfew graves. Michael Angelo in no respect differs in his treatment,\nexcept that his figures are less symmetrically grouped, and a greater\nconception of space is given by their various perspective. No interest\nis attached to his background in itself. Fra Bartolomeo, never able to\ngrapple with any species of sublimity except that of simple religious\nfeeling, fails most signally in this mighty theme.[64] His group of the\ndead, including not more than ten or twelve figures, occupies the\nforeground only, behind them a vacant plain extends to the foot of a\ncindery volcano, about whose mouth several little black devils like\nspiders are skipping and crawling. The judgment of quick and dead is\nthus expressed as taking place in about a rood square, and on a dozen of\npeople at a time; the whole of the space and horizon of the sky and land\nbeing left vacant, and the presence of the Judge of all the earth made\nmore finite than the sweep of a whirlwind or a thunder-storm.\n\n\nSec. 24. By Tintoret.\n\nBy Tintoret only has this unimaginable event been grappled with in its\nverity; not typically nor symbolically, but as they may see it who shall\nnot sleep, but be changed. Only one traditional circumstance he has\nreceived with Dante and Michael Angelo, the boat of the condemned; but\nthe impetuosity of his mind bursts out even in the adoption of this\nimage, he has not stopped at the scowling ferryman of the one, nor at\nthe sweeping blow and demon dragging of the other, but, seized\nHylas-like by the limbs, and tearing up the earth in his agony, the\nvictim is dashed into his destruction; nor is it the sluggish Lethe, nor\nthe fiery lake that bears the cursed vessel, but the oceans of the earth\nand the waters of the firmament gathered into one white, ghastly\ncataract, the river of the wrath of God, roaring down into the gulf\nwhere the world has melted with its fervent heat, choked with the ruin\nof nations, and the limbs of its corpses tossed out of its whirling,\nlike water-wheels. Bat like, out of the holes and caverns and shadows of\nthe earth, the bones gather, and the clay-heaps heave, rattling and\nadhering into half-kneaded anatomies, that crawl, and startle, and\nstruggle up among the putrid weeds, with the clay clinging to their\nclotted hair, and their heavy eyes sealed by the earth darkness yet,\nlike his of old who went his way unseeing to Siloam Pool; shaking off\none by one the dreams of the prison-house, hardly hearing the clangor of\nthe trumpets of the armies of God, blinded yet more, as they awake, by\nthe white light of the new Heaven, until the great vortex of the four\nwinds bears up their bodies to the judgment seat: the firmament is all\nfull of them, a very dust of human souls, that drifts, and floats, and\nfalls in the interminable, inevitable light; the bright clouds are\ndarkened with them as with thick snow, currents of atom life in the\narteries of heaven, now soaring up slowly, farther, and higher, and\nhigher still, till the eye and the thought can follow no farther, borne\nup, wingless, by their inward faith and by the angel powers invisible,\nnow hurled in countless drifts of horror before the breath of their\ncondemnation.\n\n\nSec. 25. The imaginative verity, how distinguished from realism.\n\nNow, I wish the reader particularly to observe throughout all these\nworks of Tintoret, the distinction of the imaginative verity from\nfalsehood on the one hand, and from realism on the other. The power of\nevery picture depends on the penetration of the imagination into the\nTRUE nature of the thing represented, and on the utter scorn of the\nimagination for all shackles and fetters of mere external fact that\nstand in the way of its suggestiveness. In the Baptism it cuts away the\ntrunks of trees as if they were so much cloud or vapor, that it may\nexhibit to the thought the completed sequency of the scene;[65] in the\nMassacre, it covers the marble floor with visionary light, that it may\nstrike terror into the spectator without condescending to butchery; it\ndefies the bare fact, but creates in him the fearful feeling; in the\nCrucifixion it annihilates locality, and brings the palm-leaves to\nCalvary, so only that it may bear the mind to the mount of Olives, as in\nthe entombment it brings the manger to Jerusalem, that it may take the\nheart to Bethlehem; and all this it does in the daring consciousness of\nits higher and spiritual verity, and in the entire knowledge of the fact\nand substance of all that it touches. The imaginary boat of the demon\nangel expands the rush of the visible river into the descent of\nirresistible condemnation; but to make that rush and roar felt by the\neye and heard by the ear, the rending of the pine branches above the\ncataract is taken directly from nature; it is an abstract of Alpine\nstorm. Hence while we are always placed face to face with whatever is to\nbe told, there is in and beyond its reality a voice supernatural; and\nthat which is doubtful in the vision has strength, sinew, and\nassuredness, built up in it by fact.\n\n\nSec. 26. The imagination how manifested in sculpture.\n\nLet us, however, still advance one step farther, and observe the\nimaginative power deprived of all aid from chiaroscuro, color, or any\nother means of concealing the frame-work of its thoughts.\n\nIt was said by Michael Angelo that \"non ha l'ottimo scultore alcun\nconcetto, Ch'un marmo solo in se non circoscriva,\" a sentence which,\nthough in the immediate sense intended by the writer it may remind us a\nlittle of the indignation of Boileau's Pluto, \"Il s'ensuit de la que\ntout ce qui se peut dire de beau, est dans les dictionnaires,--il n'y a\nque les paroles qui sont transposees,\" yet is valuable, because it shows\nus that Michael Angelo held the imagination to be entirely expressible\nin rock, and therefore altogether independent, in its own nature, of\nthose aids of color and shade by which it is recommended in Tintoret,\nthough the sphere of its operation is of course by these incalculably\nextended. But the presence of the imagination may be rendered in marble\nas deep, thrilling, and awful as in painting, so that the sculptor seek\nfor the soul and govern the body thereby.\n\n\nSec. 27. Bandinelli, Canova, Mino da Fiesole.\n\nSec. 28. Michael Angelo.\n\nOf unimaginative work, Bandinelli and Canova supply us with\ncharacteristic instances of every kind, the Hercules and Cacus of the\nformer, and its criticism by Cellini, will occur at once to every one;\nthe disgusting statue now placed so as to conceal Giotto's important\ntempera picture in Santa Croce is a better instance, but a still more\nimpressive lesson might be received by comparing the inanity of Canova's\ngarland grace, and ball-room sentiment with the intense truth,\ntenderness, and power of men like Mino da Fiesole, whose chisel leaves\nmany a hard edge, and despises down and dimple, but it seems to cut\nlight and carve breath, the marble burns beneath it, and becomes\ntransparent with very spirit. Yet Mino stopped at the human nature; he\nsaw the soul, but not the ghostly presences about it; it was reserved\nfor Michael Angelo to pierce deeper yet, and to see the indwelling\nangels. No man's soul is alone: Laocoon or Tobit, the serpent has it by\nthe heart or the angel by the hand, the light or the fear of the\nspiritual things that move beside it may be seen on the body; and that\nbodily form with Buonaroti, white, solid, distinct material, though it\nbe, is invariably felt as the instrument or the habitation of some\ninfinite, invisible power. The earth of the Sistine Adam that begins to\nburn; the woman embodied burst of adoration from his sleep; the twelve\ngreat torrents of the Spirit of God that pause above us there, urned in\ntheir vessels of clay; the waiting in the shadow of futurity of those\nthrough whom the promise and presence of God went down from the Eve to\nthe Mary, each still and fixed, fixed in his expectation, silent,\nforeseeing, faithful, seated each on his stony throne, the building\nstones of the word of God, building on and on, tier by tier, to the\nRefused one, the head of the corner; not only these, not only the troops\nof terror torn up from the earth by the four quartered winds of the\nJudgment, but every fragment and atom of stone that he ever touched\nbecame instantly inhabited by what makes the hair stand up and the words\nbe few; the St. Matthew, not yet disengaged from his sepulchre, bound\nhand and foot by his grave clothes, it is left for us to loose him; the\nstrange spectral wreath of the Florence Pieta, casting its pyramidal,\ndistorted shadow, full of pain and death, among the faint purple lights\nthat cross and perish under the obscure dome of St^a. Maria del Fiore,\nthe white lassitude of joyous limbs, panther like, yet passive, fainting\nwith their own delight, that gleam among the Pagan formalisms of the\nUffizii, far away, showing themselves in their lustrous lightness as the\nwaves of an Alpine torrent do by their dancing among the dead stones,\nthough the stones be as white as they:[66] and finally, and perhaps more\nthan all, those four ineffable types, not of darkness nor of day--not of\nmorning nor evening, but of the departure and the resurrection, the\ntwilight and the dawn of the souls of men--together with the spectre\nsitting in the shadow of the niche above them;[67] all these, and all\nelse that I could name of his forming, have borne, and in themselves\nretain and exercise the same inexplicable power--inexplicable because\nproceeding from an imaginative perception almost superhuman, which goes\nwhither we cannot follow, and is where we cannot come; throwing naked\nthe final, deepest root of the being of man, whereby he grows out of the\ninvisible, and holds on his God home.[68]\n\n\nSec. 29. Recapitulation. The perfect function of the imagination is the\n intuitive perception of ultimate truth.\n\nNow, in all these instances, let it be observed, for it is to that end\nalone that I have been arguing all along, that the virtue of the\nimagination is its reaching, by intuition and intensity of gaze, (not by\nreasoning, but by its authoritative opening and revealing power,) a\nmore essential truth than is seen at the surface of things. I repeat\nthat it matters not whether the reader is willing call this faculty\nimagination or no, I do not care about the name; but I would be\nunderstood when I speak of imagination hereafter, to mean this, the true\nfoundation of all art which exercises eternal authority over men's\nminds; (all other imagination than this is either secondary and\ncontemplative, or utterly spurious;) the base of whose authority and\nbeing is its perpetual thirst of truth and purpose to be true. It has no\nfood, no delight, no care, no perception, except of truth; it is forever\nlooking under masks, and burning up mists; no fairness of form, no\nmajesty of seeming will satisfy it; the first condition of its\nexistence is incapability of being deceived; and though it sometimes\ndwells upon and substantiates the fictions of fancy, yet its own\noperation is to trace to their farthest limit the true laws and\nlikelihoods even of the fictitious creation. This has been well\nexplained by Fuseli, in his allusion to the Centaur of Zeuxis; and there\nis not perhaps a greater exertion of imaginative power than may be\nmanifested in following out to their farthest limits the necessary\nconsequences of such arbitrary combination; but let not the jests of the\nfancy be confounded with that after serious work of the imagination\nwhich gives them all the nervous verity and substance of which they are\ncapable. Let not the monsters of Chinese earthenware be confounded with\nthe Faun, Satyr, or Centaur.\n\n\nSec. 30. Imagination now vulgarly understood.\n\nHow different this definition of the imagination may be from the idea of\nit commonly entertained among us, I can hardly say, because I have a\nvery indistinct idea of what is usually meant by the term. I hear modern\nworks constantly praised as being imaginative, in which I can trace no\nvirtue of any kind; but simple, slavish, unpalliated falsehood and\nexaggeration; I see not what merit there can be in pure, ugly, resolute\nfiction; it is surely easy enough to be wrong; there are many ways of\nbeing unlike nature. I understand not what virtue that is which entitles\none of these ways to be called imaginative, rather than another; and I\nam still farther embarrassed by hearing the portions of those works\ncalled especially imaginative in which there is the most effort at\nminute and mechanical statement of contemptible details, and in which\nthe artist would have been as actual and absolute in imitation as an\necho, if he had known how. Against convictions which I do not\nunderstand, I cannot argue; but I may warn the artist that imagination\nof this strange kind, is not capable of bearing the time test; nothing\nof its doing ever has continued its influence over men; and if he\ndesires to take place among the great men of older time, there is but\none way for it; and one kind of imagination that will stand the immortal\nlight: I know not how far it is by effort cultivable; but we have\nevidence enough before us to show in what direction that effort must be\nmade.\n\n\nSec. 31. How its cultivation is dependent on the moral feelings.\n\nWe have seen (Sec. 10) that the imagination is in no small degree\ndependent on acuteness of moral emotion; in fact, all moral truth can\nonly thus be apprehended--and it is observable, generally, that all true\nand deep emotion is imaginative, both in conception and expression; and\nthat the mental sight becomes sharper with every full beat of the heart;\nand, therefore, all egotism, and selfish care, or regard, are in\nproportion to their constancy, destructive of imagination; whose play\nand power depend altogether on our being able to forget ourselves and\nenter like possessing spirits into the bodies of things about us.\n\n\nSec. 32. On independence of mind.\n\nAgain, as the life of imagination is in the discovering of truth, it is\nclear it can have no respect for sayings or opinions: knowing in itself\nwhen it has invented truly--restless and tormented except when it has\nthis knowledge, its sense of success or failure is too acute to be\naffected by praise or blame. Sympathy it desires--but can do without; of\nopinions it is regardless, not in pride, but because it has no vanity,\nand is conscious of a rule of action and object of aim in which it\ncannot be mistaken; partly, also, in pure energy of desire and longing\nto do and to invent more and more, which suffer it not to suck the\nsweetness of praise--unless a little, with the end of the rod in its\nhand, and without pausing in its march. It goes straight forward up the\nhill; no voices nor mutterings can turn it back, nor petrify it from its\npurpose.[69]\n\n\nSec. 33. And on habitual reference to nature.\n\nFinally, it is evident, that like the theoretic faculty, the imagination\nmust be fed constantly by external nature--after the illustrations we\nhave given, this may seem mere truism, for it is clear that to the\nexercise of the penetrative faculty a subject of penetration is\nnecessary; but I note it because many painters of powerful mind have\nbeen lost to the world by their suffering the restless writhing of their\nimagination in its cage to take place of its healthy and exulting\nactivity in the fields of nature. The most imaginative men always study\nthe hardest, and are the most thirsty for new knowledge. Fancy plays\nlike a squirrel in its circular prison, and is happy; but imagination is\na pilgrim on the earth--and her home is in heaven. Shut her from the\nfields of the celestial mountains--bar her from breathing their lofty,\nsun-warmed air; and we may as well turn upon her the last bolt of the\ntower of famine, and give the keys to the keeping of the wildest surge\nthat washes Capraja and Gorgona.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [56] Compare Arist. Rhet. III. 11.\n\n [57] For the distinction between fancy and simple conception; see\n Chap. IV. Sec. 3.\n\n [58] I take this and the next instance from Leigh Hunt's admirable\n piece of criticism, \"Imagination and Fancy,\" which ought to be read\n with care, and to which, though somewhat loosely arranged, I may\n refer for all the filling up and illustration that the subject\n requires. With respect to what has just been said respecting want of\n imagination, compare his criticism of Addison's Cato, p. 28. I\n cannot, however, confirm his judgment, nor admit his selection of\n instances, among painters: he has looked to their manner only and\n habitual choice of subject, without feeling their power; and has\n given work to the coarseness, mindlessness, and eclecticism of Guido\n and the Carracci, which in its poetical demand of tenderness might\n have foiled Pinturicchio; of dignity, Leonardo; and of color,\n Giorgione.\n\n [59] Fancy, in her third function may, however, become serious, and\n gradually rise into imagination in doing so. Compare Chap. IV. Sec. 5.\n\n [60] I am describing from a proof: in bad impressions this trunk is\n darkened.\n\n [61] The picture is in the Guadagni palace. It is one of the most\n important landscapes Salvator ever painted. The figures are studied\n from street beggars. On the one side of the river, exactly opposite\n the point where the Baptism of Christ takes place, the painter, with\n a refinement of feeling peculiarly his own, has introduced some\n ruffians stripping off their shirts to bathe. He is fond of this\n incident. It occurs again in one of the marines of the Pitti palace,\n with the additional interest of a foreshortened figure, swimming on\n its back, feet foremost, exactly in the stream of light to which the\n eye is principally directed.\n\n [62] This circumstance, like most that lie not at the surface, has\n escaped Fuseli, though his remarks on the general tone of the\n picture are very good, as well as his opposition of it to the\n treatment of Rubens. (Lecture IX.)\n\n [63] Note the shallow and uncomprehending notice of this picture by\n Fuseli. His description of the treatment of it by other painters is\n however true, terse, and valuable.\n\n [64] Fresco in an out-house of the Ospedale St^a. Maria Nuova at\n Florence.\n\n [65] The same thing is done yet more boldly in the large composition\n of the ceiling; the plague of fiery serpents; a part of the host,\n and another sky horizon are seen through an opening in the ground.\n\n [66] The Bacchus. There is a small statue opposite it\n also--unfinished, but \"a spirit still.\"\n\n [67] I would have insisted more on the ghostly vitality of this\n dreadful statue; but the passage referring to it in Rogers's Italy\n supersedes all further description. I suppose most lovers of art\n know it by heart.\n\n \"Nor then forget that chamber of the dead,\n Where the gigantic shapes of Night and Day,\n Turned into stone, rest everlastingly;\n Yet still are breathing, and shed round at noon\n A twofold influence,--only to be felt--\n A light, a darkness, mingling each with each;\n Both, and yet neither. There, from age to age,\n Two ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres.\n That is the Duke Lorenzo. Mark him well.\n He meditates, his head upon his hand.\n What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls?\n Is it a face, or but an eyeless skull?\n 'Tis lost in shade; yet, like the basilisk,\n It fascinates, and is intolerable.\n His mien is noble, most majestical!\n Then most so, when the distant choir is heard\n At morn or eve--nor fail thou to attend\n On that thrice-hallowed day, when all are there;\n When all, propitiating with solemn songs,\n Visit the Dead. Then wilt thou feel his power!\"\n\n It is strange that this should be the only written instance (as far\n as I recollect) of just and entire appreciation of Michael Angelo's\n spiritual power. It is perhaps owing to the very intensity of his\n imagination that he has been so little understood--for, as I before\n said, imagination can never be met by vanity, nor without\n earnestness. His Florentine followers saw in him an anatomist and\n posture-master--and art was finally destroyed by the influence over\n admiring idiocy of the greatest mind that art ever inspired.\n\n [68] I have not chosen to interrupt the argument respecting the\n essence of the imaginative faculty by any remarks on the execution\n of the imaginative hand; but we can hardly leave Tintoret and\n Michael Angelo without some notice of the pre-eminent power of\n execution exhibited by both of them, in consequence of their vigor\n and clearness of conception; nor without again warning the lower\n artist from confounding this velocity of decision and impatience\n with the velocity of affectation or indolence. Every result of real\n imagination we have seen to be a truth of some sort; and it is the\n characteristic of truth to be in some way tangible, seizable,\n distinguishable, and clear, as it is of falsehood to be obscure,\n confused, and confusing. Not but that many, if not most truths have\n a dark side, a side by which they are connected with mysteries too\n high for us,--nay, I think it is commonly but a poor and miserable\n truth which the human mind can walk all round, but at all events\n they have one side by which we can lay hold of them, and feel that\n they are downright adamant, and that their form, though lost in\n cloud here and there, is unalterable and real, and not less real and\n rocky because infinite, and joined on, St. Michael's mount-like to a\n far mainland. So then, whatever the real imagination lays hold of,\n as it is a truth, does not alter into anything else as the\n imaginative part works at it and feels over it and finds out more of\n it, but comes out more and more continually, all that is found out\n pointing to and indicating still more behind, and giving additional\n stability and reality to that which is discovered already. But if it\n be fancy or any other form of pseudo-imagination which is at work,\n then that which it gets hold of may not be a truth, but only an\n idea, which will keep giving way as soon as we try to take hold of\n it and turning into something else, so that as we go on copying it,\n every part will be inconsistent with all that has gone before, and\n at intervals it will vanish altogether, and leave blanks which must\n be filled up by any means at hand. And in these circumstances, the\n painter, unable to seize his thought, because it has not substance\n nor bone enough to bear grasping, is liable to catch at every line\n that he lays down, for help and suggestion, and to be led away by it\n to something else, which the first effort to realize dissipates in\n like manner, placing another phantom in its stead, until out of the\n fragments of these successive phantoms he has glued together a\n vague, mindless, involuntary whole, a mixture of all that was trite\n or common in each of the successive conceptions, for that is\n necessarily what is first caught a heap of things with the bloom off\n and the chill on, laborious, unnatural, inane, with its emptiness\n disguised by affectation, and its tastelessness salted by\n extravagance.\n\n Necessarily, from these modes of conception, three vices of\n execution must result; and these are necessarily found in all those\n parts of the work where any trust has been put in conception, and\n only to be avoided in portions of actual portraiture (for a\n thoroughly unimaginative painter can make no use of a study--all his\n studies are guesses and experiments, all are equally wrong, and so\n far felt to be wrong by himself, that he will not work by any of\n them, but will always endeavor to improve upon them in the picture,\n and so lose the use of them). These three vices of execution are\n then--first, feebleness of handling, owing to uncertainty of\n intention; secondly, intentional carelessness of handling, in the\n hope of getting by accident something more than was meant; and\n lastly, violence and haste of handling, in the effort to secure as\n much as possible of the obscure image of which the mind feels itself\n losing hold. (I am throughout, it will be observed, attributing\n right feeling to the unimaginative painter; if he lack this, his\n execution may be cool and determined, as he will set down falsehood\n without blushing, and ugliness without suffering.) Added to these\n various evidences of weakness, will be the various vices assumed for\n the sake of concealment; morbid refinements disguising\n feebleness--or insolence and coarseness to cover desperation. When\n the imagination is powerful, the resulting execution is of course\n the contrary of all this: its first steps will commonly be\n impetuous, in clearing its ground and getting at its first\n conception--as we know of Michael Angelo in his smiting his blocks\n into shape, (see the passage quoted by Sir Charles Clarke in the\n Essay on Expression, from Blaise de Vigenere,) and as it is visible\n in the handling of Tintoret always: as the work approaches\n completion, the stroke, while it remains certain and firm, because\n its end is always known, may frequently become slow and careful,\n both on account of the difficulty of following the pure lines of the\n conception, and because there is no fear felt of the conception's\n vanishing before it can be realized; but generally there is a\n certain degree of impetuosity visible in the works of all the men of\n high imagination, when they are not working from a study, showing\n itself in Michael Angelo by the number of blocks he left unfinished,\n and by some slight evidences in those he completed of his having\n worked painfully towards the close; so that, except the Duke\n Lorenzo, the Bacchus of the Florentine gallery, and the Pieta of\n Genoa, I know not any of his finished works in which his mind is as\n mightily expressed as in his marble sketches; only, it is always to\n be observed that impetuosity or rudeness of hand is not\n necessarily--and, if imaginative, is never--carelessness. In the two\n landscapes at the end of the Scuola di San Rocco, Tintoret has drawn\n several large tree trunks with two strokes of his brush--one for the\n dark, and another for the light side; and the large rock at the foot\n of the picture of the Temptation is painted with a few detached\n touches of gray over a flat brown ground; but the touches of the\n tree-trunks have been followed by the mind as they went down with\n the most painful intensity through their every undulation; and the\n few gray strokes on the stone are so considered that a better stone\n cone could not be painted if we took a month to it: and I suppose,\n generally, it would be utterly impossible to give an example of\n execution in which less was left to accident, or in which more care\n was concentrated in every stroke, than the seemingly regardless and\n impetuous handling of this painter.\n\n On the habit of both Tintoret and Michael Angelo to work straight\n forward from the block and on the canvas, without study or model, it\n is needless to insist; for though this is one of the most amazing\n proofs of their imaginative power, it is a dangerous precedent. No\n mode of execution ought ever to be taught to a young artist as\n better than another; he ought to understand the truth of what he has\n to do, felicitous execution will follow as a matter of course; and\n if he feels himself capable of getting at the right at once, he will\n naturally do so without reference to precedent. He ought to hold\n always that his duty is to attain the highest result he can,--but\n that no one has any business with the means or time he has taken. If\n it can be done quickly, let it be so done; if not, let it be done at\n any rate. For knowing his way he is answerable, and therefore must\n not walk _doubtingly_; but no one can blame him for walking\n _cautiously_, if the way be a narrow one, with a slip on each side.\n He may pause, but he must not hesitate,--and tremble, but must not\n vacillate.\n\n [69] That which we know of the lives of M. Angelo and Tintoret is\n eminently illustrative of this temper.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER IV.\n\n OF IMAGINATION CONTEMPLATIVE.\n\n\nSec. 1. Imagination contemplative is not part of the essence, but only a\n habit or mode of the faculty.\n\nWe have, in the two preceding chapters, arrived at definite conclusions\nrespecting the power and essence of the imaginative faculty. In these\ntwo acts of penetration and combination, its separating and\ncharacteristic attributes are entirely developed; it remains for us only\nto observe a certain habit or mode of operation in which it frequently\ndelights, and by which it addresses itself to our perceptions more\nforcibly, and asserts its presence more distinctly than in those mighty\nbut more secret workings wherein its life consists.\n\nIn our examination of the combining imagination, we chose to assume the\nfirst or simple conception to be as clear in the absence as in the\npresence of the object of it. This, I suppose, is in point of fact never\nthe case, nor is an approximation to such distinctness of conception\nalways a characteristic of the imaginative mind. Many persons have\nthorough and felicitous power of drawing from memory, yet never\noriginate a thought, nor excite an emotion.\n\n\nSec. 2. The ambiguity of conception.\n\nSec. 3. Is not in itself capable of adding to the charm of fair things.\n\nThe form in which conception actually occurs to ordinary minds appears\nto derive value and preciousness from that indefiniteness which we\nalluded to in the second chapter, (Sec. 2,) for there is an unfailing charm\nin the memory and anticipation of things beautiful, more sunny and\nspiritual than attaches to their presence; for with their presence it\nis possible to be sated, and even wearied, but with the imagination of\nthem never; in so far that it needs some self-discipline to prevent the\nmind from falling into a morbid condition of dissatisfaction with all\nthat it immediately possesses, and continual longing for things absent;\nand yet I think this charm is not justly to be attributed to the mere\nvagueness and uncertainty of the conception, except thus far, that of\nobjects whose substantial presence was ugly or painful the sublimity and\nimpressiveness, if there were any, is retained in the conception, while\nthe sensual offensiveness is withdrawn; thus circumstances of horror may\nbe safely touched in verbal description, and for a time dwelt upon by\nthe mind, as often by Homer and Spenser, (by the latter frequently with\ntoo much grossness, as in the description of the combat of the Red-Cross\nKnight with Errour,) which could not for a moment be regarded or\ntolerated in their reality, or on canvas; and besides this mellowing and\nsoftening operation on those it retains, the conceptive faculty has the\npower of letting go many of them altogether out of its groups of ideas,\nand retaining only those where the meminisse juvabit will apply; and in\nthis way the entire group of memories becomes altogether delightful; but\nof those parts of anything which are in themselves beautiful, I think\nthe indistinctness no benefit, but that the brighter they are the\nbetter; and that the peculiar charm we feel in conception results from\nits grasp and blending of ideas rather than from their obscurity, for we\ndo not usually recall, as we have seen, one part at a time only of a\npleasant scene, one moment only of a happy day; but together with each\nsingle object we summon up a kind of crowded and involved shadowing\nforth of all the other glories with which it was associated, and into\nevery moment we concentrate an epitome of the day; and it will happen\nfrequently that even when the visible objects or actual circumstances\nare not in numbers remembered; yet the feeling and joy of them is\nobtained we know not how or whence, and so with a kind of conceptive\nburning glass we bend the sunshine of all the day, and the fulness of\nall the scene upon every point that we successively seize; and this\ntogether with more vivid action of fancy, for I think that the wilful\nand playful seizure of the points that suit her purpose and help her\nspringing, whereby she is distinguished from simple conception, takes\nplace more easily and actively with the memory of things than in\npresence of them. But, however this be, and I confess that there is much\nthat I cannot satisfactorily to myself unravel with respect to the\nnature of simple conception; it is evident that this agreeableness,\nwhatever it be, is not by art attainable, for all art is in some sort\nrealization; it may be the realization of obscurity or indefiniteness,\nbut still it must differ from the mere conception of obscurity and\nindefiniteness; so that whatever emotions depend absolutely on\nimperfectness of conception, as the horror of Milton's Death, cannot be\nrendered by art, for art can only lay hold of things which have shape,\nand destroys by its touch the fearfulness or pleasurableness of those\nwhich shape have none.\n\n\nSec. 4. But gives to the imagination its regardant power over them.\n\nBut on this indistinctness of conception, itself comparatively valueless\nand unaffecting, is based the operation of the imaginative faculty with\nwhich we are at present concerned, and in which its glory is\nconsummated: whereby, depriving the subject of material and bodily\nshape, and regarding such of its qualities only as it chooses for\nparticular purpose, it forges these qualities together in such groups\nand forms as it desires, and gives to their abstract being consistency\nand reality, by striking them as it were with the die of an image\nbelonging to other matter, which stroke having once received, they pass\ncurrent at once in the peculiar conjunction and for the peculiar value\ndesired.\n\nThus, in the description of Satan quoted in the first chapter, \"And like\na comet burned,\" the bodily shape of the angel is destroyed, the\ninflaming of the formless spirit is alone regarded; and this, and his\npower of evil associated in one fearful and abstract conception are\nstamped to give them distinctness and permanence with the image of the\ncomet, \"that fires the length of Ophiuchus huge.\" Yet this could not be\ndone, but that the image of the comet itself is in a measure indistinct,\ncapable of awful expansion, and full of threatening and fear. Again, in\nhis fall, the imagination binds up the thunder, the resistance, the\nmassy prostration, separates them from the external form, and binds them\ntogether by the help of that image of the mountain half sunk; which\nagain would be unfit but for its own indistinctness, and for that\nglorious addition \"with all his pines,\" whereby a vitality and\nspear-like hostility are communicated to its falling form, and the fall\nis marked as not utter subversion, but sinking only, the pines remaining\nin their uprightness, and unity, and threatening of darkness upon the\ndescended precipice: and again in that yet more noble passage at the\nclose of the fourth book, where almost every operation of the\ncontemplative imagination is concentrated; the angelic squadron first\ngathered into one burning mass by the single expression \"sharpening in\nmooned horns,\" then told out in their unity and multitude and stooped\nhostility, by the image of the wind upon the corn; Satan endowed with\ngodlike strength and endurance in that mighty line, \"like Teneriffe or\nAtlas, unremoved,\" with infinitude of size the next instant, and with\nall the vagueness and terribleness of spiritual power, by the \"horror\nplumed,\" and the \"_what seemed_ both spear and shield.\"\n\n\nSec. 5. The third office of fancy distinguished from imagination\n contemplative.\n\nThe third function of fancy, already spoken of as subordinate to this of\nthe imagination, is the highest of which she is capable; like the\nimagination, she beholds in the things submitted to her treatment things\ndifferent from the actual; but the suggestions she follows are not in\ntheir nature essential in the object contemplated; and the images\nresulting, instead of illustrating, may lead the mind away from it, and\nchange the current of contemplative feeling; for as in her operation\nparallel to imagination penetrative, we saw her dwelling upon external\nfeatures, while the nobler sister, faculty, entered within, so now, when\nboth, from what they see and know in their immediate object, are\nconjuring up images illustrative or elevatory of it, the fancy\nnecessarily summons those of mere external relationship, and therefore\nof unaffecting influence; while the imagination, by every ghost she\nraises, tells tales about the prison-house, and therefore never loses\nher power over the heart, nor her unity of emotion. On the other hand,\nthe regardant or contemplative action of fancy is in this different\nfrom, and in this nobler, than that mere seizing and likeness-catching\noperation we saw in her before; that when contemplative, she verily\nbelieves in the truth of the vision she has summoned, loses sight of\nactuality, and beholds the new and spiritual image faithfully and even\nseriously; whereas before, she summoned no spiritual image, but merely\ncaught the vivid actuality, or the curious resemblance of the real\nobject; not that these two operations are separate, for the fancy passes\ngradually from mere vivid right of reality, and witty suggestion of\nlikeness, to a ghostly sight of what is unreal; and through this, in\nproportion as she begins to feel, she rises towards and partakes of\nimagination itself, for imagination and fancy are continually united,\nand it is necessary, when they are so, carefully to distinguish the\nfeelingless part which is fancy's, from the sentient part, which is\nimagination's. Let us take a few instances. Here is fancy, first, very\nbeautiful, in her simple capacity of likeness-catching:--\n\n \"To-day we purpose--aye, this hour we mount\n To spur three leagues towards the Apennine.\n Come down, we pray thee, ere the _hot sun count\n His dewy rosary_ on the eglantine.\"\n\nSeizing on the outside resemblances of bead form, and on the slipping\nfrom their threading bough one by one, the fancy is content to lose the\nheart of the thing, the solemnity of prayer: or perhaps I do the\nglorious poet wrong in saying this, for the sense of a sun worship and\norison in beginning its race, may have been in his mind; and so far as\nit was so, the passage is imaginative and not fanciful. But that which\nmost readers would accept from it, is the mere flash of the external\nimage, in whose truth the fancy herself does not yet believe and\ntherefore is not yet contemplative. Here, however, is fancy believing in\nthe images she creates:--\n\n \"It feeds the quick growth of the serpent-vine,\n And the dark linked ivy tangling wild\n And budding, blown, or odor faded blooms,\n Which _star the winds with points of colored light_\n As they rain through them; and _bright golden globes\n Of fruit suspended in their own green heaven_.\"\n\nIt is not, observe, a mere likeness that is caught here; but the flowers\nand fruit are entirely deprived by the fancy of their material\nexistence, and contemplated by her seriously and faithfully as stars and\nworlds; yet it is only external likeness that she catches; she forces\nthe resemblance, and lowers the dignity of the adopted image.\n\nNext take two delicious stanzas of fancy regardant, (believing in her\ncreations,) followed by one of heavenly imagination, from Wordsworth's\naddress to the daisy:--\n\n \"A Nun demure--of lowly port;\n Or sprightly maiden--of Love's court,\n In thy simplicity the sport\n Of all temptations.\n A Queen in crown of rubies drest,\n A starveling in a scanty vest,\n Are all as seems to suit thee best,--\n Thy appellations.\n\n I see thee glittering from afar,\n And then thou art a pretty star,--\n Not quite so fair as many are\n In heaven above thee.\n Yet like a star, with glittering crest,\n Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;--\n May peace come never to his nest\n Who shall reprove thee.\n\n Sweet flower--for by that name at last,\n When all my reveries are past,\n I call thee, and to that cleave fast.\n Sweet silent creature,\n That breath'st with me, in sun and air,\n Do thou, as thou art wont, repair\n My heart with gladness, and a share\n Of thy meek nature.\"\n\n\nSec. 6. Various instances.\n\nObserve how spiritual, yet how wandering and playful the fancy is in the\nfirst two stanzas, and how far she flies from the matter in hand, never\nstopping to brood on the character of any one of the images she summons,\nand yet for a moment truly seeing and believing in them all; while in\nthe last stanza the imagination returns with its deep feeling to the\nheart of the flower, and \"_cleaves fast_\" to that. Compare the operation\nof the imagination in Coleridge, on one of the most trifling objects\nthat could possibly have been submitted to its action.\n\n \"The thin blue flame\n Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not:\n Only that film which fluttered on the grate\n Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.\n Methinks its motion in this hush of nature\n Gives it dim sympathies with me, who live,\n Making it a companionable form,\n Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling spirit\n By its own moods interprets; everywhere,\n Echo or mirror seeking of itself,\n And makes a toy of thought.\"\n\nLastly, observe the sweet operation of fancy regardant, in the following\nwell-known passage from Scott, where both her beholding and transforming\npowers are seen in their simplicity.\n\n \"The rocky summits--split and rent,\n Formed turret, dome, or battlement.--\n Or seemed fantastically set\n With cupola or minaret.\n Nor were these earth-born castles bare,\n Nor lacked they many a banner fair,\n For from their shivered brows displayed,\n Far o'er th' unfathomable glade,\n All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen,\n The brier-rose fell, in streamers green,--\n And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes\n Waved in the west wind's summer sighs.\"\n\nLet the reader refer to this passage, with its pretty tremulous\nconclusion above the pine tree, \"where glistening streamers waved and\ndanced,\" and then compare with it the following, where the imagination\noperates on a scene nearly similar.\n\n \"Gray rocks did peep from the spare moss, and stemm'd\n The struggling brook; tall spires of windle strae\n Threw their thin shadows down the rugged slope,\n And nought but knarled roots of ancient pines,\n Branchless and blasted, clench'd with grasping roots\n Th' unwilling soil. . . .\n . . . . . . A gradual change was here,\n Yet ghastly. For, _as fast years flow away,\n The smooth brow gathers, and the hair grows thin\n And white; and where irradiate dewy eyes\n Had shone, gleam stony orbs; so from his steps\n Bright flowers departed, and the beautiful shade\n Of the green groves, with all their odorous winds\n And musical motions._ . . . .\n . . . . . . . . . . .\n . . . . . Where the pass extends\n Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks.\n And seems with its accumulated crags\n To overhang the world; for wide expand\n Beneath the wan stars, and descending moon,\n Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty streams,\n _Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous gloom\n Of leaden-colored even_, and _fiery hills\n Mingling their flames with twilight_ on the verge\n Of the remote horizon. The near scene\n In naked, and severe simplicity\n Made contrast with the universe. A pine\n Rock-rooted, stretch'd athwart the vacancy\n Its swinging boughs, to each _inconstant blast\n Yielding one only response at each pause_,\n In most familiar cadence, with the howl,\n The thunder, and the hiss of _homeless_ streams,\n Mingling its solemn song.\"\n\n[Illustration: STUDY OF STONE PINE, AT SESTRI. From a drawing by\nRuskin.]\n\nIn this last passage, the mind never departs from its solemn possession\nof the solitary scene, the imagination only giving weight, meaning, and\nstrange human sympathies to all its sights and sounds.\n\nIn that from Scott,[70]--the fancy, led away by the outside resemblance\nof floating form and hue to the banners, loses the feeling and\npossession of the scene, and places herself in circumstances of\ncharacter completely opposite to the quietness and grandeur of the\nnatural objects; this would have been unjustifiable, but that the\nresemblance occurs to the mind of the monarch, rather than to that of\nthe poet; and it is that, which of all others, would have been the most\nlikely to occur at the time; in this point of view it has high\nimaginative propriety. Of the same fanciful character is that\ntransformation of the tree trunks into dragons noticed before in\nTurner's Jason; and in the same way this becomes imaginative as it\nexhibits the effect of fear in disposing to morbid perception. Compare\nwith it the real and high action of the imagination on the same matter\nin Wordsworth's Yew trees (which I consider the most vigorous and solemn\nbit of forest landscape ever painted):--\n\n \"Each particular trunk a growth\n Of intertwisted fibres serpentine,\n Up coiling and inveterately convolved,\n _Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks\n That threaten the profane_.\"\n\nIt is too long to quote, but the reader should refer to it: let him note\nespecially, if painter, that pure touch of color, \"by sheddings from the\npining umbrage tinged.\"\n\nIn the same way, the blasted trunk on the left, in Turner's drawing of\nthe spot where Harold fell at the battle of Hastings, takes, where its\nboughs first separate, the shape of the head of an arrow; this, which is\nmere fancy in itself, is imagination as it supposes in the spectator an\nexcited condition of feeling dependent on the history of the spot.\n\n\nSec. 7. Morbid or nervous fancy.\n\nI have been led perhaps into too great detail in illustrating these\npoints; but I think it is of no small importance to prove how in all\ncases the imagination is based upon, and appeals to, a deep heart\nfeeling; and how faithful and earnest it is in contemplation of the\nsubject matter, never losing sight of it, or disguising it, but\ndepriving it of extraneous and material accidents, and regarding it in\nits disembodied essence. I have not, however, sufficiently noted in\nopposition to it, that diseased action of the fancy which depends more\non nervous temperament than intellectual power; and which, as in\ndreaming, fever, insanity, and other morbid conditions of mind is\nfrequently a source of daring and inventive conception; and so the\nvisionary appearances resulting from various disturbances of the frame\nby passion, and from the rapid tendency of the mind to invest with shape\nand intelligence the active influences about it, as in the various\ndemons, spirits, and fairies of all imaginative nations; which, however,\nI consider are no more to be ranked as right creations of fancy or\nimagination than things actually seen and heard; for the action of the\nnerves is I suppose the same, whether externally caused, or from within,\nalthough very grand imagination may be shown by the intellectual\nanticipation and realization of such impressions; as in that glorious\nvignette of Turner's to the voyage of Columbus. \"Slowly along the\nevening sky they went.\" Note especially therein, how admirably true to\nthe natural form, and yet how suggestive of the battlement he has\nrendered the level flake of evening cloud.\n\n\nSec. 8. The action of contemplative imagination is not to be expressed by\n art.\n\nI believe that it is unnecessary for me to enter into farther detail of\nillustration respecting these points; for fuller explanation of the\noperations of the contemplative faculty on things verbally expressible,\nthe reader may be referred to Wordsworth's preface to his poems; it only\nremains for us, here, to examine how far this imaginative or abstract\nconception is to be conveyed by the material art of the sculptor or the\npainter.\n\nNow, it is evident that the bold action of either the fancy or the\nimagination, dependent on a bodiless and spiritual image of the object,\nis not to be by lines or colors represented. We cannot, in the painting\nof Satan fallen, suggest any image of pines or crags,--neither can we\nassimilate the brier and the banner, nor give human sympathy to the\nmotion of the film, nor voice to the swinging of the pines.\n\n\nSec. 9. Except under narrow limits.--1st. Abstract rendering of form\n without color.\n\nYet certain powers there are, within due limits, of marking the thing\nrepresented with an ideal character; and it was to these powers that I\nalluded in defining the meaning of the term ideal, in the thirteenth\nchapter of the preceding section. For it is by this operation that the\nproductions of high art are separated from those of the realist.\n\nAnd, first, there is evidently capability of separating color and form,\nand considering either separately. Form we find abstractedly considered\nby the sculptor, how far it would be possible to advantage a statue by\nthe addition of color, I venture not to affirm; the question is too\nextensive to be here discussed. High authorities and ancient practice,\nare in favor of color; so the sculpture of the middle ages: the two\nstatues of Mino da Fiesole in the church of St^a. Caterina at Pisa\nhave been colored, the irises of the eyes painted dark, and the hair\ngilded, as also I think the Madonna in St^a. Maria della Spina; the\neyes have been painted in the sculptures of Orcagna in Or San Michele,\nbut it looks like a remnant of barbarism, (compare the pulpit of Guida\nda Como, in the church of San Bartolomeo at Pistoja,) and I have never\nseen color on any solid forms, that did not, to my mind, neutralize all\nother power; the porcelains of Luca della Robbia are painful examples,\nand in lower art, Florentine mosaic in relief; gilding is more\nadmissible, and tells sometimes sweetly upon figures of quaint design,\nas on the pulpit of St^a. Maria Novella, while it spoils the classical\nornaments of the mouldings. But the truest grandeur of sculpture I\nbelieve to be in the white form; something of this feeling may be owing\nto the difficulty, or rather the immediately, of obtaining truly noble\ncolor upon it, but if we could color the Elgin marbles with the flesh\ntint of Giorgione, I had rather not have it done.\n\n\nSec. 10. Of color without form.\n\nColor, without form, is less frequently obtainable, and it may be\ndoubted whether it be desirable: yet I think that to the full enjoyment\nof it, a certain abandonment of form is necessary; sometimes by reducing\nit to the shapeless glitter of the gem, as often Tintoret and Bassano;\nsometimes by loss of outline and blending of parts, as Turner; sometimes\nby flatness of mass, as often Giorgione and Titian. How far it is\npossible for the painter to represent those mountains of Shelley as the\npoet sees them, \"mingling _their flames_ with twilight,\" I cannot say;\nbut my impression is, that there is no true abstract mode of\nconsidering color; and that all the loss of form in the works of Titian\nor Turner, is not ideal, but the representation of the natural\nconditions under which bright color is seen; for form is always in a\nmeasure lost by nature herself when color is very vivid.\n\n\nSec. 11. Or of both without texture.\n\nAgain, there is capability of representing the essential character,\nform, and color of an object, without external texture. On this point\nmuch has been said by Reynolds and others, and it is, indeed, perhaps\nthe most unfailing characteristic of great manner in painting. Compare a\ndog of Edwin Landseer with a dog of Paul Veronese. In the first, the\noutward texture is wrought out with exquisite dexterity of handling, and\nminute attention to all the accidents of curl and gloss which can give\nappearance of reality, while the hue and power of the sunshine, and the\ntruth of the shadow on all these forms is necessarily neglected, and the\nlarge relations of the animal as a mass of color to the sky or ground,\nor other parts of the picture, utterly lost. This is realism at the\nexpense of ideality, it is treatment essentially unimaginative.[71] With\nVeronese, there is no curling nor crisping, no glossiness nor sparkle,\nhardly even hair, a mere type of hide, laid on with a few\nscene-painter's touches. But the essence of dog is there, the entire\nmagnificent, generic animal type, muscular and living, and with broad,\npure, sunny daylight upon him, and bearing his true and harmonious\nrelation of color to all color about him. This is ideal treatment.\n\nThe same treatment is found in the works of all the greatest men, they\nall paint the lion more than his mane, and the horse rather than his\nhide; and I think also they are more careful to obtain the right\nexpression of large and universal light and color, than local tints; for\nthe warmth of sunshine, and the force of sunlighted hue are always\nsublime on whatever subject they may be exhibited; and so also are light\nand shade, if grandly arranged, as may be well seen in an etching of\nRembrandt's of a spotted shell, which he has made altogether sublime by\nbroad truth and large ideality of light and shade; and so I have seen\nfrequent instances of very grand ideality in treatment of the most\ncommonplace still life, by our own Hunt, where the petty glosses and\ndelicacies, and minor forms, are all merged in a broad glow of suffused\ncolor; so also in pieces of the same kind by Etty, where, however,\nthough the richness and play of color are greater, and the arrangement\ngrander, there is less expression of light, neither is there anything in\nmodern art that can be set beside some choice passages of Hunt in this\nrespect.\n\n\nSec. 12. Abstraction or typical representation of animal form.\n\nAgain, it is possible to represent objects capable of various accidents\nin generic or symbolical form.\n\n\nSec. 13. Either when it is symbolically used.\n\nHow far this may be done with things having necessary form, as animals,\nI am not prepared to say. The lions of the Egyptian room in the British\nMuseum, and the fish beside Michael Angelo's Jonah, are instances; and\nthere is imaginative power about both which we find not in the more\nperfectly realized Florentine boar, nor in Raffaelle's fish of the\ndraught. And yet the propriety and nobility of these types depend on the\narchitectural use and character of the one, and on the typical meaning\nof the other: we should be grieved to see the forms of the Egyptian lion\nsubstituted for those of Raffaelle's in its struggle with Samson, nor\nwould the whale of Michael Angelo be tolerated in the nets of\nGennesaret. So that I think it is only when the figure of the creature\nstands not for any representation of vitality, but merely for a letter\nor type of certain symbolical meaning, or else is adopted as a grand\nform of decoration or support in architecture, that such generalization\nis allowable, and in such circumstances I think it necessary, always\nprovided it be based, as in the instances given I conceive it to be,\nupon thorough knowledge of the creature symbolized and wrought out by a\nmaster hand; and these conditions being observed, I believe it to be\nright and necessary in architecture to modify all animal forms by a\nsevere architectural stamp, and in symbolical use of them, to adopt a\ntypical form, to which practice the contrary, and its evil consequences\nare ludicrously exhibited in the St. Peter of Carlo Dolci in the Pitti\npalace, which owing to the prominent, glossy-plumed and crimson-combed\ncock, is liable to be taken for the portrait of a poulterer, only let it\nbe observed that the treatment of the animal form here is offensive, not\nonly from its realization, but from the pettiness and meanness of its\nrealization; for it might, in other hands but Carlo Dolci's, have been a\nsublime cock, though a real one, but in his, it is fit for nothing but\nthe spit. Compare as an example partly of symbolical treatment, partly\nof magnificent realization, that supernatural lion of Tintoret, in the\npicture of the Doge Loredano before the Madonna, with the plumes of his\nmighty wings clashed together in cloudlike repose, and the strength of\nthe sea winds shut within their folding. And note farther the difference\nbetween the typical use of the animal, as in this case, and that of the\nfish of Jonah, (and again the fish before mentioned whose form is\nindicated in the clouds of the baptism), and the actual occurrence of\nthe creature itself, with concealed meaning, as the ass colt of the\ncrucifixion, which it was necessary to paint as such, and not as an\nideal form.\n\n\nSec. 14. Or in architectural decoration.\n\nSec. 15. Exception in delicate and superimposed ornament.\n\nI cannot enter here into the question of the exact degree of severity\nand abstraction necessary in the forms of living things architecturally\nemployed; my own feeling on the subject is, though I dare not lay it\ndown as a principle, (with the Parthenon pediment standing against me\nlike the shield of Ajax,) that no perfect representation of animal form\nis right in architectural decoration. For my own part, I had much rather\nsee the metopes in the Elgin room of the British Museum, and the\nParthenon without them, than have them together, and I would not\nsurrender, in an architectural point of view, one mighty line of the\ncolossal, quiet, life-in-death statue mountains in Egypt with their\nnarrow fixed eyes and hands on their rocky limbs, nor one Romanesque\nfacade with its porphyry mosaic of indefinable monsters, nor one Gothic\nmoulding of rigid saints and grinning goblins, for ten Parthenons; and,\nI believe, I could show some rational ground for this seeming barbarity\nif this were the place to do so, but at present I can only ask the\nreader to compare the effect of the so-called barbarous ancient mosaics\non the front of St. Mark's, as they have been recorded, happily, by the\nfaithfulness of the good Gentile Bellini, in one of his pictures now in\nthe Venice gallery, with the veritably barbarous pictorial substitutions\nof the fifteenth century, (one only of the old mosaics remains, or did\nremain till lately, over the northern door, but it is probably by this\ntime torn down by some of the Venetian committees of taste,) and also I\nwould have the old portions of the interior ceiling, or of the mosaics\nof Murano and Torcello, and the glorious Cimabue mosaic of Pisa, and the\nroof of the Baptistery at Parma, (that of the Florence Baptistery is a\nbad example, owing to its crude whites and complicated mosaic of small\nforms,) all of which are as barbarous as they can well be, in a certain\nsense, but mighty in their barbarism, with any architectural decorations\nwhatsoever, consisting of professedly perfect animal forms, from the\nvile frescoes of Federigo Zuccaro at Florence to the ceiling of the\nSistine, and again compare the professedly perfect sculpture of Milan\nCathedral with the statues of the porches of Chartres; only be it always\nobserved that it is not rudeness and ignorance of art, but\nintellectually awful abstraction that I uphold, and also be it noted\nthat in all ornament, which takes place in the general effect merely as\nso much fretted stone, in capitals and other pieces of minute detail,\nthe forms may be, and perhaps ought to be, elaborately imitative; and in\nthis respect again the capitals of St. Mark's church, and of the Doge's\npalace at Venice may be an example to the architects of all the world,\nin their boundless inventiveness, unfailing elegance, and elaborate\nfinish; there is more mind poured out in turning a single angle of that\nchurch than would serve to build a modern cathedral;[72] and of the\ncareful finish of the work, this may serve for example, that one of the\ncapitals of the Doge's palace is formed of eight heads of different\nanimals, of which one is a bear's with a honeycomb in the mouth, whose\ncarved _cells_ are _hexagonal_.\n\n\nSec. 16. Abstraction necessary from imperfection of materials.\n\nSec. 17. Abstractions of things capable of varied accident are not\n imaginative.\n\nSec. 18. Yet sometimes valuable.\n\nSo far, then, of the abstraction proper to architecture, and to\nsymbolical uses, of which I shall have occasion to speak hereafter at\nlength, referring to it only at present as one of the operations of\nimagination contemplative; other abstractions there are which are\nnecessarily consequent on the imperfection of materials, as of the hair\nin sculpture, which is necessarily treated in masses that are in no sort\nimitative, but only stand for hair, and have the grace, flow, and\nfeeling of it without the texture or division, and other abstractions\nthere are in which the form of one thing is fancifully indicated in the\nmatter of another; as in phantoms and cloud shapes, the use of which, in\nmighty hands, is often most impressive, as in the cloudy charioted\nApollo of Nicolo Poussin in our own gallery, which the reader may oppose\nto the substantial Apollo, in Wilson's Niobe, and again the phantom\nvignette of Turner already noticed; only such operations of the\nimagination are to be held of lower kind and dangerous consequence, if\nfrequently trusted in, for those painters only have the right\nimaginative power who can set the supernatural form before us fleshed\nand boned like ourselves.[73] Other abstractions occur, frequently, of\nthings which have much accidental variety of form, as of waves, on Greek\nsculptures in successive volutes, and of clouds often in supporting\nvolumes in the sacred pictures; but these I do not look upon as results\nof imagination at all, but mere signs and letters; and whenever a very\nhighly imaginative mind touches them, it always realizes as far as may\nbe. Even Titian is content to use at the top of his St. Pietro Martiri,\nthe conventional, round, opaque cloud, which cuts his trees open like a\ngouge; but Tintoret, in his picture of the Golden Calf, though compelled\nto represent the Sinai under conventional form, in order that the\nreceiving of the tables might be seen at the top of it, yet so soon as\nit is possible to give more truth, he is ready with it; he takes a grand\nfold of horizontal cloud straight from the flanks of the Alps, and shows\nthe forests of the mountains through its misty volume, like sea-weed\nthrough deep sea.[74] Nevertheless, when the realization is impossible,\nbold symbolism is of the highest value, and in religious art, as we\nshall presently see, even necessary, as of the rays of light in the\nTitian woodcut of St. Francis before noticed; and sometimes the\nattention is directed by some such strange form to the meaning of the\nimage, which may be missed if it remains in its natural purity, (as, I\nsuppose, few in looking at the Cephalus and Procris of Turner, note the\nsympathy of those faint rays that are just drawing back and dying\nbetween the trunks of the far-off forest, with the ebbing life of the\nnymph; unless, indeed, they happen to recollect the same sympathy marked\nby Shelley in the Alastor;) but the imagination is not shown in any such\nmodifications; however, in some cases they may be valuable (in the\nCephalus they would be utterly destructive,) and I note them merely in\nconsequence of their peculiar use in religious art, presently to be\nexamined.\n\n\nSec. 19. Exaggeration. Its laws and limits. First, in scale of\n representation.\n\nThe last mode we have here to note in which the imagination regardant\nmay be expressed in art is exaggeration, of which, as it is the vice of\nall bad artists, may be constantly resorted to without any warrant of\nimagination, it is necessary to note strictly the admissible limits.\n\nIn the first place, a colossal statue is necessarily no more an\nexaggeration of what it represents than a miniature is a diminution, it\nneed not be a representation of a giant, but a representation, on a\nlarge scale, of a man; only it is to be observed, that as any plane\nintersecting the cone of rays between us and the object, must receive an\nimage smaller than the object; a small image is rationally and\ncompletely expressive of a larger one; but not a large of a small one.\nHence I think that all statues above the Elgin standard, or that of\nMichael Angelo's Night and Morning, are, in a measure, taken by the eye\nfor representations of giants, and I think them always disagreeable. The\namount of exaggeration admitted by Michael Angelo is valuable because it\nseparates the emblematic from the human form, and gives greater freedom\nto the grand lines of the frame; for notice of his scientific system of\nincrease of size I may refer the reader to Sir Charles Bell's remarks on\nthe statues of the Medici chapel; but there is one circumstance which\nSir Charles has not noticed, and in the interpretation of which,\ntherefore, it is likely I may be myself wrong; that the extremities are\nsingularly small in proportion to the limbs, by which means there is an\nexpression given of strength and activity greater than in the ordinary\nhuman type, which appears to me to be an allowance for that alteration\nin proportion necessitated by increase of size, of which we took note in\nChap. VI. of the first section, Sec. 10, note; not but that Michael Angelo\nalways makes the extremities comparatively small, but smallest,\ncomparatively, in his largest works; so I think, from the size of the\nhead, it may be conjectured respecting the Theseus of the Elgins. Such\nadaptations are not necessary when the exaggerated image is spectral;\nfor as the laws of matter in that case can have no operation, we may\nexpand the form as far as we choose, only let careful distinction be\nmade between the size of the thing represented, and the scale of the\nrepresentation. The canvas on which Fuseli has stretched his Satan in\nthe schools of the Royal Academy is a mere concession to inability. He\nmight have made him look more gigantic in one of a foot square.\n\n\nSec. 20. Secondly. Of things capable of variety of scale.\n\nAnother kind of exaggeration is of things whose size is variable to a\nsize or degree greater than that usual with them, as in waves and\nmountains; and there are hardly any limits to this exaggeration so long\nas the laws which nature observes in her increase be observed. Thus, for\ninstance: the form and polished surface of a breaking ripple three\ninches high, are not representation of either the form or the surface of\nthe surf of a storm, nodding ten feet above the beach; neither would the\ncutting ripple of a breeze upon a lake if simply exaggerated, represent\nthe forms of Atlantic surges; but as nature increases her bulk, she\ndiminishes the angles of ascent, and increases her divisions; and if we\nwould represent surges of size greater than ever existed, which it is\nlawful to do, we must carry out these operations to still greater\nextent. Thus, Turner, in his picture of the Slave Ship, divides the\nwhole sea into two masses of enormous swell, and conceals the horizon by\na gradual slope of only two or three degrees. This is intellectual\nexaggeration. In the Academy exhibition of 1843, there was, in one of\nthe smaller rooms, a black picture of a storm, in which there appeared\non the near sea, just about to be overwhelmed by an enormous breaker,\ncurling right over it, an object at first sight liable to be taken for a\nwalnut shell, but which, on close examination, proved to be a ship with\nmast and sail, with Christ and his twelve disciples in it. This is\nchildish exaggeration, because it is impossible, by the laws of matter\nand motion, that such a breaker should ever exist. Again in mountains,\nwe have repeatedly observed the necessary building up and multitudinous\ndivision of the higher peaks, and the smallness of the slopes by which\nthey usually rise. We may, therefore, build up the mountain as high as\nwe please, but we must do it in nature's way, and not in impossible\npeaks and precipices; not but that a daring feature is admissible here\nand there, as the Matterhorn is admitted by nature; but we must not\ncompose a picture out of such exceptions; we may use them, but they must\nbe as exceptions exhibited. I shall have much to say, when we come to\ntreat of the sublime, of the various modes of treating mountain form, so\nthat at present I shall only point to an unfortunate instance of\ninexcusable and effectless exaggeration in the distance of Turner's\nvignette to Milton, (the temptation on the mountain,) and desire the\nreader to compare it with legitimate exaggeration, in the vignette to\nthe second part of Jacqueline, in Rogers's poems.\n\n\nSec. 21. Thirdly, necessary in expression of characteristic features on\n diminished scale.\n\nAnother kind of exaggeration is necessary to retain the characteristic\nimpressions of nature on reduced scale, it is not possible, for\ninstance, to give the leafage of trees in its proper proportion, when\nthe trees represented are large, without entirely losing their grace of\nform and curvature; of this the best proof is found in the Calotype or\nDaguerreotype, which fail in foliage, not only because the green rays\nare ineffective, but because, on the small scale of the image, the\nreduced leaves lose their organization, and look like moss attached to\nsticks. In order to retain, therefore, the character of flexibility and\nbeauty of foliage, the painter is often compelled to increase the\nproportionate size of the leaves, and to arrange them in generic\nmasses. Of this treatment compare the grand examples throughout the\nLiber Studiorum. It is by such means only that the ideal character of\nobjects is to be preserved; as we before observed in the 13th chapter of\nthe first section. In all these cases exaggeration is only lawful as the\nsole means of arriving at truth of impression when strict fidelity is\nout of the question.\n\nOther modes of exaggeration there are, on which I shall not at present\nfarther insist, the proper place for their discussion being in treating\nof the sublime, and these which I have at present instanced are enough\nto establish the point at issue, respecting imaginative verity, inasmuch\nas we find that exaggeration itself, if imaginative, is referred to\nprinciples of truth, and of actual being.\n\n\nSec. 22. Recapitulation.\n\nWe have now, I think, reviewed the various modes in which imagination\ncontemplative may be exhibited in art, and arrived at all necessary\ncertainties respecting the essence of the faculty: which we have found\nin all its three functions, associative of truth, penetrative of truth,\nand contemplative of truth; and having no dealings nor relations with\nany kind of falsity. One task, however, remains to us, namely, to\nobserve the operation of the theoretic and imaginative faculties\ntogether, in the attempt at realization to the bodily sense of beauty\nsupernatural and divine.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [70] Let it not be supposed that I mean to compare the sickly\n dreaming of Shelley over clouds and waves with the masculine and\n magnificent grasp of men and things which we find in Scott; it only\n happens that these two passages are more illustrative, by the\n likeness of the scenery they treat, than any others I could have\n opposed; and that Shelley is peculiarly distinguished by the faculty\n of contemplative imagination. Scott's healthy and truthful feeling\n would not allow him to represent the benighted hunter provoked by\n loss of game, horse, and way at once, as indulging in any more\n exalted flights of imagination than those naturally consequent on\n the contrast between the night's lodging he expected, and that which\n befitted him.\n\n [71] I do not mean to withdraw the praise I have given, and shall\n always be willing to give such pictures as the Old Shepherd's Chief\n Mourner, and to all in which the character and inner life of animals\n are developed. But all lovers of art must regret to find Mr.\n Landseer wasting his energies on such inanities as the \"Shoeing,\"\n and sacrificing color, expression, and action, to an imitation of\n glossy hide.\n\n [72] I have not brought forward any instances of the imaginative\n power in architecture, as my object is not at present to exhibit its\n operation in all matter, but only to define its essence; but it may\n be well to note, in our own new houses of Parliament, how far a\n building approved by a committee of Taste, may proceed without\n manifestation either of imagination or composition; it remains to be\n seen how far the towers may redeem it; and I allude to it at present\n unwillingly, and only in the desire of influencing, so far as I may,\n those who have the power to prevent the adoption of a design for a\n bridge to take place of Westminster, which was exhibited in 1844 at\n the Royal Academy, professing to be in harmony with the new\n building, but which was fit only to carry a railroad over a canal.\n\n [73] Comp. Ch. V. Sec. 5.\n\n [74] All the clouds of Tintoret are sublime; the worst that I know\n in art are Correggio's, especially in the Madonna della Scudella,\n and Dome of Parma.\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER V.\n\n OF THE SUPERHUMAN IDEAL.\n\n\nSec. 1. The subject is not to be here treated in detail.\n\nIn our investigation in the first section of the laws of beauty, we\nconfined ourselves to the observation of lower nature, or of humanity.\nWe were prevented from proceeding to deduce conclusions respecting\ndivine ideality by our not having then established any principles\nrespecting the imaginative faculty, by which, under the discipline of\nthe theoretic, such ideality is conceived. I had purposed to conclude\nthe present section by a careful examination of this subject; but as\nthis is evidently foreign to the matter immediately under discussion,\nand involves questions of great intricacy respecting the development of\nmind among those pagan nations who are supposed to have produced high\nexamples of spiritual ideality, I believe it will be better to delay\nsuch inquiries until we have concluded our detailed observation of the\nbeauty of visible nature; and I shall therefore at present take notice\nonly of one or two broad principles, which were referred to, or implied,\nin the chapter respecting the human ideal, and without the enunciation\nof which, that chapter might lead to false conclusions.\n\n\nSec. 2. The conceivable modes of manifestation of Spiritual Beings are\n four.\n\nThere are four ways in which beings supernatural may be conceived as\nmanifesting themselves to human sense. The first, by external types,\nsigns, or influences; as God to Moses in the flames of the bush, and to\nElijah in the voice of Horeb.\n\nThe second, by the assuming of a form not properly belonging to them; as\nthe Holy Spirit of that of a Dove, the second person of the Trinity of\nthat of a Lamb; and so such manifestations, under angelic or other form,\nof the first person of the Trinity, as seem to have been made to\nAbraham, Moses, and Ezekiel.\n\nThe third, by the manifestation of a form properly belonging to them,\nbut not necessarily seen; as of the Risen Christ to his disciples when\nthe doors were shut. And the fourth, by their operation on the human\nform, which they influence or inspire, as in the shining of the face of\nMoses.\n\n\nSec. 3. And these are in or through creature forms familiar to us.\n\nIt is evident that in all these cases, wherever there is form at all, it\nis the form of some creature to us known. It is no new form peculiar to\nspirit nor can it be. We can conceive of none. Our inquiry is simply,\ntherefore, by what modifications those creature forms to us known, as of\na lamb, a bird, or a human creature, may be explained as signs or\nhabitations of Divinity, or of angelic essence, and not creatures such\nas they seem.\n\n\nSec. 4. Supernatural character may be impressed on these either by\n phenomena inconsistent with their common nature, (compare chap.\n 4, Sec. 16).\n\nThis may be done in two ways. First, by effecting some change in the\nappearance of the creature inconsistent with its actual nature, as by\ngiving it colossal size, or unnatural color, or material, as of gold, or\nsilver, or flame, instead of flesh, or by taking away its property of\nmatter altogether, and forming it of light or shade, or in an\nintermediate step, of cloud, or vapor; or explaining it by terrible\nconcomitant circumstances, as of wounds in the body, or strange lights\nand seemings round about it; or by joining of two bodies together as in\nangels' wings. Of all which means of attaining supernatural character\n(which though, in their nature ordinary and vulgar, are yet effective\nand very glorious in mighty hands) we have already seen the limits in\nspeaking of the imagination.\n\n\nSec. 5. Or by inherent Dignity.\n\nBut the second means of obtaining supernatural character is that with\nwhich we are now concerned, namely, retaining the actual form in its\nfull and material presence, and without aid from any external\ninterpretation whatsoever, to raise that form by mere inherent dignity\nto such a pitch of power and impressiveness as cannot but assert and\nstamp it for superhuman.\n\nOn the north side of the Campo Santo at Pisa, are a series of paintings\nfrom the Old Testament History by Benozzo Gozzoli. In the earlier of\nthese, angelic presences, mingled with human, occur frequently,\nillustrated by no awfulness of light, nor incorporeal tracing. Clear\nrevealed they move, in human forms, in the broad daylight and on the\nopen earth, side by side, and hand in hand with men. But they never miss\nof the angel.\n\nHe who can do this has reached the last pinnacle and utmost power of\nideal, or any other art. He stands in no need thenceforward, of cloud,\nnor lightning, nor tempest, nor terror of mystery. His sublime is\nindependent of the elements. It is of that which shall stand when they\nshall melt with fervent heat, and light the firmament when the sun is as\nsackcloth of hair.\n\n\nSec. 6. 1st. Of the expression of Inspiration.\n\nLet us consider by what means this has been effected, so far as they are\nby analysis traceable; and that is not far, for here, as always, we find\nthat the greater part of what has been rightly accomplished has been\ndone by faith and intense feeling, and cannot, by aid of any rules or\nteaching, be either tried, estimated, or imitated.\n\nAnd first, of the expression of supernatural influence on forms actually\nhuman, as of sibyl or prophet. It is evident that not only here is it\nunnecessary, but we are not altogether at liberty to trust for\nexpression to the utmost ennobling of the human form: for we cannot do\nmore than this, when that form is to be the actual representation, and\nnot the recipient of divine presence. Hence, in order to retain the\nactual humanity definitely, we must leave upon it such signs of the\noperation of sin and the liability to death as are consistent with\nhuman ideality, and often more than these, definite signs of immediate\nand active evil, when the prophetic spirit is to be expressed in men\nsuch as were Saul and Balaam; neither may we ever, with just\ndiscrimination, touch the utmost limits of beauty in human form when\ninspiration is to be expressed, and not angelic or divine being; of\nwhich reserve and subjection the most instructive instances are found in\nthe works of Angelico, who invariably uses inferior types for the\nfeatures of humanity, even glorified, (excepting always the Madonna,)\nnor ever exerts his full power of beauty either in feature or\nexpression, except in angels or in the Madonna or in Christ. Now the\nexpression of spiritual influence without supreme elevation of the\nbodily type we have seen to be a work of imagination penetrative, and we\nfound it accomplished by Michael Angelo; but I think by him only. I am\naware of no one else who, to my mind, has expressed the inspiration of\nprophet or sibyl; this, however, I affirm not, but shall leave to the\ndetermination of the reader, as the principles at present to be noted\nrefer entirely to that elevation of the creature form necessary when it\nis actually representative of a spiritual being.\n\nSec. 7. No representation of that which is more than creature is possible.\n\n\nI have affirmed in the conclusion of the first section that \"of that\nwhich is more than creature, no creature ever conceived.\" I think this\nalmost self-evident, for it is clear that the illimitableness of Divine\nattributes cannot be by matter represented, (though it may be typefied,)\nand I believe that all who are acquainted with the range of sacred art\nwill admit, not only that no representation of Christ has ever been even\npartially successful, but that the greatest painters fall therein below\ntheir accustomed level; Perugino and Fra Angelico especially; Leonardi\nhas I think done best, but perhaps the beauty of the fragment left at\nMilan, (for in spite of all that is said of repainting and destruction,\nthat Cenacolo is still the finest in existence) is as much dependent on\nthe very untraceableness resulting from injury as on its original\nperfection. Of more daring attempts at representation of Divinity we\nneed not speak; only this is to be noted respecting them, that though by\nthe ignorant Romanists many such efforts were made under the idea of\nactual representation, (note the way in which Cellini speaks of the seal\nmade for the Pope,) by the nobler among them I suppose they were\nintended, and by us at any rate they may always be received, as mere\nsymbols, the noblest that could be employed, but as much symbols still\nas a triangle, or the Alpha and Omega; nor do I think that the most\nscrupulous amongst Christians ought to desire to exchange the power\nobtained by the use of this symbol in Michael Angelo's creation of Adam\nand of Eve for the effect which would be produced by the substitution of\na triangle or any other sign in place of it. Of these efforts then we\nneed reason no farther, but may limit ourselves to considering the\npurest modes of giving a conception of superhuman but still creature\nform, as of angels; in equal rank with whom, perhaps, we may without\noffence place the mother of Christ: at least we must so regard the type\nof the Madonna in receiving it from Romanist painters.[75]\n\n\nSec. 8. Supernatural character expressed by modification of accessories.\n\nAnd first, much is to be done by right modification of accessory\ncircumstances, so as to express miraculous power exercised over them by\nthe spiritual creature. There is a beautiful instance of this in John\nBellini's picture of St. Jerome at Venice. The saint sits upon a rock,\nhis grand form defined against clear green open sky; he is reading, a\nnoble tree springs out of a cleft in the rock, bends itself suddenly\nback to form a rest for the volume, then shoots up into the sky. There\nis something very beautiful in this obedient ministry of the lower\ncreature; but be it observed that the sweet feeling of the whole depends\nupon the service being such as is consistent with its nature. It is not\nanimated, it does not _listen_ to the saint, nor bend itself towards him\nas if in affection, this would have been mere fancy, illegitimate and\neffectless. But the simple bend of the trunk to receive the book is\nmiraculous subjection of the true nature of the tree; it is therefore\nimaginative, and very touching.\n\n\nSec. 9. Landscape of the religious painters. Its character is eminently\n symmetrical.\n\nIt is not often however that the religious painters even go this length;\nthey content themselves usually with impressing on the landscape perfect\nsymmetry and order, such as may seem consistent with, or induced by the\nspiritual nature they would represent. All signs of decay, disturbance,\nand imperfection, are also banished; and in doing this it is evident\nthat some unnaturalness and singularity must result, inasmuch as there\nare no veritable forms of landscape but express or imply a state of\nprogression or of imperfection All mountain forms are seen to be\nproduced by convulsion and modelled by decay; the finer forms of cloud\nhave stories in them about storm; all forest grouping is wrought out\nwith varieties of strength and growth among its several members, and\nbears evidences of struggle with unkind influences. All such appearances\nare banished in the supernatural landscape; the trees grow straight,\nequally branched on each side, and of such slight and feathery frame as\nshows them never to have encountered blight or frost or tempest. The\nmountains stand up in fantastic pinnacles; there is on them no trace of\ntorrent, no scathe of lightning; no fallen fragments encumber their\nfoundations, no worn ravines divide their flanks; the seas are always\nwaveless, the skies always calm, crossed only by fair, horizontal,\nlightly wreathed, white clouds.\n\n\nSec. 10. Landscape of Benozzo Gozzoli.\n\nIn some cases these conditions result partly from feeling, partly from\nignorance of the facts of nature, or incapability of representing them,\nas in the first type of the treatment found in Giotto and his school; in\nothers they are observed on principle, as by Benozzo Gozzoli, Perugino,\nand Raffaelle. There is a beautiful instance by the former in the\nfrescoes of the Ricardi palace, where behind the adoring angel groups\nthe landscape is governed by the most absolute symmetry; roses and\npomegranates, their leaves drawn to the last rib and vein, twine\nthemselves in fair and perfect order about delicate trellises; broad\nstone pines and tall cypresses overshadow them, bright birds hover here\nand there in the serene sky, and groups of angels, hand joined with\nhand, and wing with wing, glide and float through the glades of the\nunentangled forest. But behind the human figures, behind the pomp and\nturbulence of the Kingly procession descending from the distant hills\nthe spirit of the landscape is changed. Severer mountains rise in the\ndistance, ruder prominences and less flowery vary the nearer ground, and\ngloomy shadows remain unbroken beneath the forest branches.\n\n\nSec. 11. Landscape of Perugino and Raffaelle.\n\nThe landscape of Perugino, for grace, purity and as much of nature as is\nconsistent with the above-named conditions, is unrivalled; and the more\ninteresting because in him certainly whatever limits are set to the\nrendering of nature proceed not from incapability. The sea is in the\ndistance almost always, then some blue promontories and undulating dewy\npark ground, studded with glittering trees; in the landscape of the\nfresco in St^a. Maria Maddalena at Florence there is more variety than\nis usual with him; a gentle river winds round the bases of rocky hills,\na river like our own Wye or Tees in their loveliest reaches; level\nmeadows stretch away on its opposite side; mounds set with\nslender-stemmed foliage occupy the nearer ground, a small village with\nits simple spire peeps from the forest at the bend of the valley, and it\nis remarkable that in architecture thus employed neither Perugino nor\nany other of the ideal painters ever use Italian forms but always\nTransalpine, both of church and castle. The little landscape which forms\nthe background of his own portrait in the Uffizii is another highly\nfinished and characteristic example. The landscape of Raffaelle was\nlearned from his father, and continued for some time little modified,\nthough expressed with greater refinement. It became afterwards\nconventional and poor, and in some cases altogether meaningless. The\nhaystacks and vulgar trees behind the St. Cecilia at Bologna form a\npainful contrast to the pure space of mountain country in the Perugino\nopposite.[76]\n\n\nSec. 12. Such Landscape is not to be imitated.\n\nIn all these cases, while I would uphold the landscape thus employed and\ntreated, as worthy of all admiration, I should be sorry to advance it\nfor imitation. What is right in its mannerism arose from keen feeling in\nthe painter: imitated without the same feeling, it would be painful; the\nonly safe mode of following in such steps is to attain perfect knowledge\nof nature herself, and then to suffer our own feelings to guide us in\nthe selection of what is fitting for any particular purpose. Every\npainter ought to paint what he himself loves, not what others have\nloved; if his mind be pure and sweetly toned, what he loves will be\nlovely; if otherwise, no example can guide his selection, no precept\ngovern his hand; and farther let it be distinctly observed, that all\nthis mannered landscape is only right under the supposition of its being\na background to some supernatural presence; behind mortal beings it\nwould be wrong, and by itself, as landscape, ridiculous; and farther,\nthe chief virtue of it results from the exquisite refinement of those\nnatural details consistent with its character from the botanical drawing\nof the flowers and the clearness and brightness of the sky.\n\n\nSec. 13. Color, and Decoration. Their use in representations of the\n Supernatural.\n\nAnother mode of attaining supernatural character is by purity of color\nalmost shadowless, no more darkness being allowed than is absolutely\nnecessary for the explanation of the forms, and the vividness of the\neffect enhanced as far as may be by use of gilding, enamel, and other\njewellery. I think the smaller works of Angelico are perfect models in\nthis respect; the glories about the heads being of beaten rays of gold,\non which the light plays and changes as the spectator moves; (and which\ntherefore throw the purest flesh color out in dark relief) and such\ncolor and light being obtained by the enamelling of the angel wings as\nof course is utterly unattainable by any other expedient of art; the\ncolors of the draperies always pure and pale; blue, rose, or tender\ngreen, or brown, but never dark or gloomy; the faces of the most\ncelestial fairness, brightly flushed: the height and glow of this flush\nare noticed by Constantin as reserved by the older painters for\nspiritual beings, as if expressive of light seen through the body.\n\nI cannot think it necessary while I insist on the value of all these\nseemingly childish means when in the hands of a noble painter, to assert\nalso their futility and even absurdity if employed by no exalted power.\nI think the error has commonly been on the side of scorn, and that we\nreject much in our foolish vanity, which if wiser and more earnest we\nshould delight in. But two points it is very necessary to note in the\nuse of such accessories.\n\n\nSec. 14. Decoration so used must be generic.\n\nThe first that the ornaments used by Angelico, Giotto, and Perugino, but\nespecially by Angelico, are always of a generic and abstract character.\nThey are not diamonds, nor brocades, nor velvets, nor gold embroideries;\nthey are mere spots of gold or of color, simple patterns upon\n_textureless_ draperies; the angel wings burn with transparent crimson\nand purple and amber, but they are not set forth with peacock's plumes;\nthe golden circlets gleam with changeful light, but they are not beaded\nwith elaborate pearls nor set with studied sapphires.\n\nIn the works of Filippino Lippi, Mantegna, and many other painters\nfollowing, interesting examples may be found of the opposite treatment;\nand as in Lippi the heads are usually very sweet, and the composition\nsevere, the degrading effect of the realized decorations and imitated\ndress may be seen in him simply, and without any addition of painfulness\nfrom other deficiencies of feeling. The larger of the two pictures in\nthe Tuscan room of the Uffizii, but for this defect, would have been a\nvery noble ideal work.\n\n\nSec. 15. And color pure.\n\nThe second point to be observed is that brightness of color is\naltogether inadmissible without purity and harmony; and that the sacred\npainters must not be followed in their frankness of unshadowed color\nunless we can also follow them in its clearness. As far as I am\nacquainted with the modern schools of Germany, they seem to be entirely\nignorant of the value of color as an assistant of feeling, and to think\nthat hardness, dryness, and opacity are its virtues as employed in\nreligious art; whereas I hesitate not to affirm that in such art more\nthan in any other, clearness, luminousness and intensity of hue are\nessential to right impression; and from the walls of the Arena chapel in\ntheir rainbow play of brilliant harmonies, to the solemn purple tones of\nPerugino's fresco in the Albizzi palace, I know not any great work of\nsacred art which is not as precious in color as in all other qualities\n(unless indeed it be a Crucifixion of Fra Angelico in the Florence\nAcademy, which has just been glazed and pumiced and painted and\nvarnished by the picture-cleaners until it glares from one end of the\npicture gallery to the other;) only the pure white light and delicate\nhue of the idealists, whose colors are by preference such as we have\nseen to be the most beautiful in the chapter on Purity are carefully to\nbe distinguished from the golden light and deep pitched hue of the\nschool of Titian whose virtue is the grandeur of earthly solemnity, not\nthe glory of heavenly rejoicing.\n\n\nSec. 16. Ideal form of the body itself, of what variety susceptible.\n\nBut leaving these accessory circumstances and touching the treatment of\nthe bodily form, it is evident in the first place that whatever typical\nbeauty the human body is capable of possessing must be bestowed upon it\nwhen it is understood as spiritual. And therefore those general\nproportions and types which are deducible from comparison of the nobler\nindividuals of the race, must be adopted and adhered to; admitting among\nthem not, as in the human ideal, such varieties as result from past\nsuffering, or contest with sin, but such only as are consistent with\nsinless nature or are the signs of instantly or continually operative\naffections; for though it is conceivable that spirit should suffer, it\nis inconceivable that spiritual frame should retain like the stamped\ninelastic human clay, the brand of sorrow past, unless fallen.\n\n \"His face,\n Deep scars of thunder had entrenched, and care\n Sat on his faded cheek.\"\n\nYet so far forth the angelic ideal is diminished, nor could this be\nsuffered in pictorial representation.\n\n\nSec. 17. Anatomical development how far admissible.\n\nAgain, such muscular development as is necessary to the perfect beauty\nof the body, is to be rendered. But that which is necessary to strength,\nor which appears to have been the result of laborious exercise, is\ninadmissible. No herculean form is spiritual, for it is degrading the\nspiritual creature to suppose it operative through impulse of bone and\nsinew; its power is immaterial and constant, neither dependent on, nor\ndeveloped by exertion. Generally, it is well to conceal anatomical\ndevelopment as far as may be; even Michael Angelo's anatomy interferes\nwith his divinity; in the hands of lower men the angel becomes a\npreparation. How far it is possible to subdue or generalize the naked\nform I venture not to affirm, but I believe that it is best to conceal\nit as far as may be, not with draperies light and undulating, that fall\nin with, and exhibit its principal lines, but with draperies severe and\nlinear, such as were constantly employed before the time of Raffaelle. I\nrecollect no single instance of a naked angel that does not look boylike\nor child-like, and unspiritualized; even Fra Bartolomeo's might with\nadvantage be spared from the pictures at Lucca, and, in the hands of\ninferior men, the sky is merely encumbered with sprawling infants; those\nof Domenichino in the Madonna del Rosario, and Martyrdom of St. Agnes,\nare peculiarly offensive, studies of bare-legged children howling and\nkicking in volumes of smoke. Confusion seems to exist in the minds of\nsubsequent painters between Angels and Cupids.\n\n\nSec. 18. Symmetry. How valuable.\n\nFarther, the qualities of symmetry and repose are of peculiar value in\nspiritual form. We find the former most earnestly sought by all the\ngreat painters in the arrangement of the hair, wherein no loosely\nflowing nor varied form is admitted, but all restrained in undisturbed\nand equal ringlets; often, as in the infant Christ of Fra Angelico,\nsupported on the forehead in forms of sculpturesque severity. The Angel\nof Masaccio, in the Deliverance of Peter, grand both in countenance and\nmotion, loses much of his spirituality because the painter has put a\nlittle too much of his own character into the hair, and left it\ndisordered.\n\n\nSec. 19. The influence of Greek art, how dangerous.\n\nSec. 20. Its scope, how limited.\n\nOf repose, and its exalting power, I have already said enough for our\npresent purpose, though I have not insisted on the peculiar\nmanifestation of it in the Christian ideal as opposed to the pagan. But\nthis, as well as other questions relating to the particular development\nof the Greek mind, is foreign to the immediate inquiry, which therefore\nI shall here conclude in the hope of resuming it in detail after\nexamining the laws of beauty in the inanimate creation; always, however,\nholding this for certain, that of whatever kind or degree the short\ncoming may be, it is not possible but that short coming should be\nvisible in every pagan conception, when set beside Christian; and\nbelieving, for my own part, that there is not only deficiency, but such\ndifference in kind as must make all Greek conception full of danger to\nthe student in proportion to his admiration of it; as I think has been\nfatally seen in its effect on the Italian schools, when its pernicious\nelement first mingled with their solemn purity, and recently in its\ninfluence on the French historical painters: neither can I from my\npresent knowledge fix upon an ancient statue which expresses by the\ncountenance any one elevated character of soul, or any single\nenthusiastic self-abandoning affection, much less any such majesty of\nfeeling as might mark the features for supernatural. The Greek could not\nconceive a spirit; he could do nothing without limbs; his god is a\nfinite god, talking, pursuing, and going journeys;[77] if at any time he\nwas touched with a true feeling of the unseen powers around him, it was\nin the field of poised battle, for there is something in the near coming\nof the shadow of death, something in the devoted fulfilment of mortal\nduty, that reveals the real God, though darkly; that pause on the field\nof Plataea was not one of vain superstition; the two white figures that\nblazed along the Delphic plain, when the earthquake and the fire led the\ncharge from Olympus, were more than sunbeams on the battle dust; the\nsacred cloud, with its lance light and triumph singing, that went down\nto brood over the masts of Salamis, was more than morning mist among the\nolives; and yet what were the Greek's thoughts of his god of battle? No\nspirit power was in the vision; it was a being of clay strength and\nhuman passion, foul, fierce, and changeful; of penetrable arms and\nvulnerable flesh. Gather what we may of great, from pagan chisel or\npagan dream, and set it beside the orderer of Christian warfare, Michael\nthe Archangel: not Milton's \"with hostile brow and visage all inflamed,\"\nnot even Milton's in kingly treading of the hills of Paradise, not\nRaffaelle's with the expanded wings and brandished spear, but Perugino's\nwith his triple crest of traceless plume unshaken in heaven, his hand\nfallen on his crossleted sword, the truth girdle binding his undinted\narmor; God has put his power upon him, resistless radiance is on his\nlimbs, no lines are there of earthly strength, no trace on the divine\nfeatures of earthly anger; trustful and thoughtful, fearless, but full\nof love, incapable except of the repose of eternal conquest, vessel and\ninstrument of Omnipotence, filled like a cloud with the victor light,\nthe dust of principalities and powers beneath his feet, the murmur of\nhell against him heard by his spiritual ear like the winding of a shell\non the far-off sea-shore.\n\n\nSec. 21. Conclusion.\n\nIt is vain to attempt to pursue the comparison; the two orders of art\nhave in them nothing common, and the field of sacred history, the intent\nand scope of Christian feeling, are too wide and exalted to admit of the\njuxtaposition of any other sphere or order of conception; they embrace\nall other fields like the dome of heaven. With what comparison shall we\ncompare the types of the martyr saints, the St. Stephen of Fra\nBartolomeo, with his calm forehead crowned by the stony diadem, or the\nSt. Catherine of Raffaelle looking up to heaven in the dawn of the\neternal day, with her lips parted in the resting from her pain? or with\nwhat the Madonnas of Francia and Pinturicchio, in whom the hues of the\nmorning and the solemnity of the eve, the gladness in accomplished\npromise, and sorrow of the sword-pierced heart, are gathered into one\nhuman lamp of ineffable love? or with what the angel choirs of Angelico,\nwith the flames on their white foreheads waving brighter as they move,\nand the sparkles streaming from their purple wings like the glitter of\nmany suns upon a sounding sea, listening, in the pauses of alternate\nsong, for the prolonging of the trumpet blast, and the answering of\npsaltery and cymbal, throughout the endless deep and from all the star\nshores of heaven?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [75] I take no note of the representation of evil spirits, since\n throughout we have been occupied in the pursuit of beauty; but it\n may be observed generally that there is great difficulty to be\n overcome in attempts of this kind, because the elevation of the form\n necessary to give it spirituality destroys the appearance of evil;\n hence even the greatest painters have been reduced to receive aid\n from the fancy, and to eke out all they could conceive of malignity\n by help of horns, hoofs, and claws. Giotto's Satan in the Campo\n Santo, with the serpent gnawing the heart, is fine; so many of the\n fiends of Orcagna, and always those of Michael Angelo. Tintoret in\n the Temptation, with his usual truth of invention, has represented\n the evil spirit under the form of a fair angel, the wings burning\n with crimson and silver, the face sensual and treacherous. It is\n instructive to compare the results of imagination associated with\n powerful fancy in the demons of these great painters, or even in\n such nightmares as that of Salvator already spoken of, Sect. I.\n Chap. V. Sec. 12 (note,) with the simple ugliness of idiotic distortion\n in the meaningless terrorless monsters of Bronzino in the large\n picture of the Uffizii, where the painter, utterly uninventive,\n having assembled all that is abominable of hanging flesh, bony\n limbs, crane necks, staring eyes, and straggling hair, cannot yet by\n the sum and substance of all obtain as much real fearfulness as an\n imaginative painter could throw into the turn of a lip or the\n knitting of a brow.\n\n [76] I have not thought it necessary to give farther instances at\n present, since I purpose hereafter to give numerous examples of this\n kind of ideal landscape. Of true and noble landscape, as such, I am\n aware of no instances except where least they might have been\n expected, among the sea-bred Venetians. Ghirlandajo shows keen,\n though prosaic, sense of nature in that view of Venice behind an\n Adoration of Magi in the Uffizii, but he at last walled himself up\n among gilded entablatures. Masaccio indeed has given one grand\n example in the fresco of the Tribute Money, but its color is now\n nearly lost.\n\n [77] I know not anything in the range of art more unspiritual than\n the Apollo Belvidere; the raising of the fingers of the right hand\n in surprise at the truth of the arrow is altogether human, and would\n be vulgar in a prince, much more in a deity. The sandals destroy the\n divinity of the foot, and the lip is curled with mortal passion.\n\n\n\n\n ADDENDA.\n\n\nAlthough the plan of the present portion of this work does not admit of\nparticular criticism, it will neither be useless nor irrelevant to refer\nto one or two works, lately before the public, in the Exhibitions of the\nRoyal Academy, which either illustrate, or present exceptions to, any of\nthe preceding statements. I would first mention, with reference to what\nhas been advanced respecting the functions of Associative Imagination,\nthe very important work of Mr. Linnell, the \"Eve of the Deluge;\" a\npicture upheld by its admirers (and these were some of the most\nintelligent judges of the day) for a work of consummate imaginative\npower; while it was pronounced by the public journals to be \"a chaos of\nunconcocted color.\" If the writers for the press had been aware of the\nkind of study pursued by Mr. Linnell through many laborious years,\ncharacterized by an observance of nature scrupulously and minutely\npatient, directed by the deepest sensibility, and aided by a power of\ndrawing almost too refined for landscape subjects, and only to be\nunderstood by reference to his engravings after Michael Angelo, they\nwould have felt it to be unlikely that the work of such a man should be\nentirely undeserving of respect. On the other hand, the grounds of its\npraise were unfortunately chosen; for, though possessing many merits, it\nhad no claim whatever to be ranked among productions of Creative art. It\nwould perhaps be difficult to point to a work so exalted in feeling, and\nso deficient in invention. The sky had been strictly taken from nature,\nthis was evident at a glance; and as a study of sky it was every way\nnoble. To the purpose of the picture it hardly contributed; its\nsublimity was that of splendor, not of terror; and its darkness that of\nretreating, not of gathering, storm. The features of the landscape were\ndevoid alike of variety and probability; the division of the scene by\nthe central valley and winding river at once theatrical and commonplace;\nand the foreground, on which the light was intense, alike devoid of\ndignity in arrangement, and of interest in detail.\n\nThe falseness or deficiency of color in the works of Mr. Landseer has\nbeen remarked above. The writer has much pleasure in noticing a very\nbeautiful exception in the picture of the \"Random Shot,\" certainly the\nmost successful rendering he has ever seen of the hue of snow under warm\nbut subdued light. The subtlety of gradation from the portions of the\nwreath fully illumined, to those which, feebly tinged by the horizontal\nrays, swelled into a dome of dim purple, dark against the green evening\nsky; the truth of the blue shadows, with which this dome was barred, and\nthe depth of delicate color out of which the lights upon the footprints\nwere raised, deserved the most earnest and serious admiration; proving,\nat the same time, that the errors in color, so frequently to be\nregretted in the works of the painter, are the result rather of\ninattention than of feeble perception. A curious proof of this\ninattention occurs in the disposition of the shadows in the background\nof the \"Old Cover Hack,\" No. 229. One of its points of light is on the\nrusty iron handle of a pump, in the shape of an S. The sun strikes the\ngreater part of its length, illuminating the perpendicular portion of\nthe curve; yet shadow is only cast on the wall behind by the returning\nportion of the lower extremity. A smile may be excited by the notice of\nso trivial a circumstance; but the simplicity of the error renders it\nthe more remarkable, and the great masters of chiaroscuro are accurate\nin all such minor points; a vague sense of greater truth results from\nthis correctness, even when it is not in particulars analyzed or noted\nby the observer. In the small but very valuable Paul Potter in Lord\nWestminster's collection, the body of one of the sheep under the hedge\nis for the most part in shadow, but the sunlight touches the extremity\nof the back. The sun is low, and the shadows feeble and distorted; yet\nthat of the sunlighted fleece is cast exactly in its true place and\nproportion beyond that of the hedge. The spectator may not observe this;\nyet, unobserved, it is one of the circumstances which make him feel the\npicture to be full of sunshine.\n\nAs an example of perfect color, and of the most refined handling ever\nperhaps exhibited in animal painting, the Butcher's Dog in the corner of\nMr. Mulready's \"Butt,\" No. 160, deserved a whole room of the Academy to\nhimself. This, with the spaniel in the \"Choosing the Wedding Gown,\" and\nthe two dogs in the hayfield subject (Burchell and Sophia), displays\nperhaps the most wonderful, because the most dignified, finish in the\nexpression of anatomy and covering--of muscle and hide at once, and\nassuredly the most perfect unity of drawing and color, which the entire\nrange of ancient and modern art can exhibit. Albert Durer is indeed the\nonly rival who might be suggested; and, though greater far in\nimagination, and equal in draughtsmanship, Albert Durer was less true\nand less delicate in hue. In sculpturesque arrangement both masters show\nthe same degree of feeling: any of these dogs of Mulready might be taken\nout of the canvas and cut in alabaster, or, perhaps better, struck upon\na coin. Every lock and line of the hair has been grouped as it is on a\nGreek die; and if this not always without some loss of ease and of\naction, yet this very loss is ennobling, in a period when all is\ngenerally sacrificed to the great coxcombry of art, the affectation of\nease.\n\nYet Mr. Mulready himself is not always free from affectation of some\nkind; mannerism, at least, there is in his treatment of tree trunks.\nThere is a ghastliness about his labored anatomies of them, as well as a\nwant of specific character. Why need they be always flayed? The hide of\na beech tree, or of a birch or fir, is nearly as fair a thing as an\nanimal's; glossy as a dove's neck barred with black like a zebra, or\nglowing in purple grey and velvet brown like furry cattle in sunset. Why\nnot paint these as Mr. Mulready paints other things, as they are? That\nsimplest, that deepest of all secrets, which gives such majesty to the\nragged leaves about the edges of the pond in the \"Gravel-pit.\" (No.\n125.), and imparts a strange interest to the grey ragged urchins\ndisappearing behind the bank, that bank so low, so familiar, so sublime!\nWhat a contrast between the deep sentiment of that commonest of all\ncommon, homeliest of all homely, subjects, and the lost sentiment of Mr.\nStanfield's \"Amalfi\" the chief landscape of the year, full of exalted\nmaterial, and mighty crags, and massy seas, grottoes, precipices, and\nconvents, fortress-towers and cloud-capped mountains, and all in vain,\nmerely because that same simple secret has been despised; because\nnothing there is painted as it is! The picture was a most singular\nexample of the scenic assemblage of contradictory theme which is\ncharacteristic of Picturesque, as opposed to Poetical, composition. The\nlines chosen from Rogers for a titular legend were full of summer,\nglowing with golden light, and toned with quiet melancholy:\n\n \"To him who sails\n Under the shore, a few white villages,\n Scattered above, below, some in the clouds,\n Some on the margin of the dark blue sea,\n And glittering thro' their lemon groves, announce\n The region of Amalfi. Then, half-fallen,\n A lonely watch-tower on the precipice,\n Their ancient landmark, comes--long may it last!\n And to the seaman, in a distant age,\n Though now he little thinks how large his debt,\n Serve for their monument.\"\n\nPrepared by these lines for a dream upon deep, calm waters, under the\nshadow and scent of the close lemon leaves, the spectator found himself\nplaced by the painter, wet through, in a noisy fishing boat, on a\nsplashing sea, with just as much on his hands as he could manage to keep\nher gunwale from being stove in against a black rock; and with a heavy\ngrey squall to windward. (This squall, by the by, was the very same\nwhich appeared in the picture of the Magra of 1847, and so were the\nsnowy mountains above; only the squall at Amalfi entered on the left,\nand at the Magra on the right.) Now the scenery of Amalfi is impressive\nalike in storm or calm, and the writer has seen the Mediterranean as\nmajestic and as southern-looking in its rage as in its rest. But it is\ntreating both the green water and woods unfairly to destroy their peace\nwithout expressing their power; and withdraw from them their sadness and\ntheir sun, without the substitution of any effect more terrific than\nthat of a squall at the Nore. The snow on the distant mountains chilled\nwhat it could not elevate, and was untrue to the scene besides; there is\nno snow on the Monte St. Angelo in summer except what is kept for the\nNeapolitan confectioners. The great merit of the picture was its\nrock-painting; too good to have required the aid of the exaggeration of\nforms which satiated the eye throughout the composition.\n\nMr. F. R. Pickersgill's \"Contest of Beauty\" (No. 515.), and Mr. Uwins's\n\"Vineyard Scene in the South of France,\" were, after Mr. Mulready's\nworks, among the most interesting pieces of color in the Exhibition. The\nformer, very rich and sweet in its harmonies, and especially happy in\nits contrasts of light and dark armor; nor less in the fancy of the\nlittle Love who, losing his hold of the orange boughs, was falling\nignominiously without having time to open his wings. The latter was a\ncurious example of what I have described as abstraction of color.\nStrictly true or possible it was not; a vintage is usually a dusty and\ndim-looking procedure; but there were poetry and feeling in Mr. Uwins's\nidealization of the sombre black of the veritable grape into a luscious\nultramarine purple, glowing among the green leaves like so much painted\nglass. The figures were bright and graceful in the extreme and most\nhappily grouped. Little else that could be called color was to be seen\nupon the walls of the Exhibition, with the exception of the smaller\nworks of Mr. Etty. Of these, the single head, \"Morning Prayer,\" (No.\n25.), and the \"Still Life\" (No. 73.), deserved, allowing for their\npeculiar aim, the highest praise. The larger subjects, more especially\nthe St. John, were wanting in the merits peculiar to the painter; and in\nother respects it is alike painful and useless to allude to them. A very\nimportant and valuable work of Mr. Harding was placed, as usual, where\nits merits could be but ill seen, and where its chief fault, a\nfeebleness of color in the principal light on the distant hills, was\napparent. It was one of the very few views of the year which were\ntranscripts, nearly without exaggeration, of the features of the\nlocalities.\n\nAmong the less conspicuous landscapes, Mr. W. E. Dighton's \"Hay Meadow\nCorner\" deserved especial notice; it was at once vigorous, fresh,\nfaithful, and unpretending, the management of the distance most\ningenious, and the painting of the foreground, with the single exception\nof Mr. Mulready's above noticed, unquestionably the best in the room. I\nhave before had occasion to notice a picture by this artist, \"A Hayfield\nin a Shower,\" exhibited in the British Institution in 1847, and this\nyear (1848) in the Scottish Academy, whose sky, in qualities of rainy,\nshattered, transparent grey, I have seldom seen equalled; nor the mist\nof its distance, expressive alike of previous heat and present heat of\nrain. I look with much interest for other works by this painter.\n\nA hurried visit to Scotland in the spring of this year, while it\nenables the writer to acknowledge the ardor and genius manifested in\nvery many of the works exhibited in the Scottish Academy, cannot be\nconsidered as furnishing him with sufficient grounds for specific\ncriticism. He cannot, however, err in testifying his concurrence in the\nopinion expressed to him by several of the most distinguished members of\nthat Academy, respecting the singular merit of the works of Mr. H.\nDrummond. A cabinet picture of \"Banditti on the Watch,\" appeared to him\none of the most masterly, unaffected, and sterling pieces of quiet\npainting he has ever seen from the hand of a living artist; and the\nother works of Mr. Drummond were alike remarkable for their manly and\nearnest finish, and their sweetness of feeling.\n\n * * * * *\n\n CORRECTIONS MADE TO THE ORIGINAL TEXT.\n\nPage 98: 'wherein the superioity' corrected to superiority.\n\nPage 129: 'Convent of St. Marks' corrected to mark's\n\nPage 159: 'had not been hoplessly' corrected to hopelessly.\n\nPage 218: 'in the landscape of the fresco in St^a.' originally S^ta.\n\nPage 226: 'alike devoid of dignity in arrangement' originally arrangemen\n\nFootnote 40: 'De la Poesie Chretienne', accented to be in accordance\n with text.","title":"Modern Painters, Volume 2 (of 5)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":95005}