{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_44329/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_44329","id":"gutenberg_44329","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44329","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics","Category: Art","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Painting"],"text":"Library Edition\n\n  THE COMPLETE WORKS\n\n          OF\n\n      JOHN RUSKIN\n\n\n\n\n  MODERN PAINTERS\n\n  VOLUME IV--OF MOUNTAIN BEAUTY\n\n            / OF LEAF BEAUTY\n  VOLUME V <  OF CLOUD BEAUTY\n            \\ OF IDEAS OF RELATION\n\n\n\n\n  NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION\n  NEW YORK         CHICAGO\n\n\n\n\n  MODERN PAINTERS.\n\n  VOLUME V.,\n\n  COMPLETING THE WORK AND CONTAINING\n\n\n  PARTS\n\n  VI. OF LEAF BEAUTY.--VII. OF CLOUD BEAUTY.\n\n  VIII. OF IDEAS OF RELATION.\n\n    1. OF INVENTION FORMAL.\n\n  IX. OF IDEAS OF RELATION.\n\n    2. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe disproportion, between the length of time occupied in the\npreparation of this volume, and the slightness of apparent result, is so\nvexatious to me, and must seem so strange to the reader, that he will\nperhaps bear with my stating some of the matters which have employed or\ninterrupted me between 1855 and 1860. I needed rest after finishing the\nfourth volume, and did little in the following summer. The winter of\n1856 was spent in writing the \"Elements of Drawing,\" for which I thought\nthere was immediate need; and in examining with more attention than they\ndeserved some of the modern theories of political economy, to which\nthere was necessarily reference in my addresses at Manchester. The\nManchester Exhibition then gave me some work, chiefly in its magnificent\nReynolds' constellation; and thence I went on into Scotland, to look at\nDumblane and Jedburgh, and some other favorite sites of Turner's; which\nI had not all seen, when I received notice from Mr. Wornum that he had\nobtained for me permission, from the Trustees of the National Gallery,\nto arrange, as I thought best, the Turner drawings belonging to the\nnation; on which I returned to London immediately.\n\nIn seven tin boxes in the lower room of the National Gallery I found\nupwards of nineteen thousand pieces of paper, drawn upon by Turner in\none way or another. Many on both sides; some with four, five, or six\nsubjects on each side (the pencil point digging spiritedly through from\nthe foregrounds of the front into the tender pieces of sky on the back);\nsome in chalk, which the touch of the finger would sweep away;[1] others\nin ink, rotted into holes; others (some splendid colored drawings among\nthem) long eaten away by damp and mildew, and falling into dust at the\nedges, in capes and bays of fragile decay; others worm-eaten, some\nmouse-eaten, many torn half-way through; numbers doubled (quadrupled, I\nshould say) up into four, being Turner's favorite mode of packing for\ntravelling; nearly all rudely flattened out from the bundles in which\nTurner had finally rolled them up and squeezed them into his drawers in\nQueen Anne Street. Dust of thirty years' accumulation, black, dense, and\nsooty, lay in the rents of the crushed and crumpled edges of these\nflattened bundles, looking like a jagged black frame, and producing\naltogether unexpected effects in brilliant portions of skies, whence an\naccidental or experimental finger mark of the first bundle-unfolder had\nswept it away.\n\nAbout half, or rather more, of the entire number consisted of pencil\nsketches, in flat oblong pocket-books, dropping to pieces at the back,\ntearing laterally whenever opened, and every drawing rubbing itself into\nthe one opposite. These first I paged with my own hand; then unbound;\nand laid every leaf separately in a clean sheet of perfectly smooth\nwriting paper, so that it might receive no farther injury. Then,\nenclosing the contents and boards of each book (usually ninety-two\nleaves, more or less drawn on both sides, with two sketches on the\nboards at the beginning and end) in a separate sealed packet, I returned\nit to its tin box. The loose sketches needed more trouble. The dust had\nfirst to be got off them (from the chalk ones it could only be blown\noff); then they had to be variously flattened; the torn ones to be laid\ndown, the loveliest guarded, so as to prevent all future friction; and\nfour hundred of the most characteristic framed and glazed, and cabinets\nconstructed for them which would admit of their free use by the public.\nWith two assistants, I was at work all the autumn and winter of 1857,\nevery day, all day long, and often far into the night.\n\nThe manual labor would not have hurt me; but the excitement involved in\nseeing unfolded the whole career of Turner's mind during his life,\njoined with much sorrow at the state in which nearly all his most\nprecious work had been left, and with great anxiety, and heavy sense of\nresponsibility besides, were very trying; and I have never in my life\nfelt so much exhausted as when I locked the last box, and gave the keys\nto Mr. Wornum, in May, 1858. Among the later colored sketches, there was\none magnificent series, which appeared to be of some towns along the\ncourse of the Rhine on the north of Switzerland. Knowing that these\ntowns were peculiarly liable to be injured by modern railroad works, I\nthought I might rest myself by hunting down these Turner subjects, and\nsketching what I could of them, in order to illustrate his compositions.\n\nAs I expected, the subjects in question were all on, or near, that east\nand west reach of the Rhine between Constance and Basle. Most of them\nare of Rheinfelden, Seckingen, Lauffenbourg, Schaffhausen, and the Swiss\nBaden.\n\nHaving made what notes were possible to me of these subjects in the\nsummer (one or two are used in this volume), I was crossing Lombardy in\norder to examine some points of the shepherd character in the Vaudois\nvalleys, thinking to get my book finished next spring; when I\nunexpectedly found some good Paul Veroneses at Turin. There were several\nquestions respecting the real motives of Venetian work that still\ntroubled me not a little, and which I had intended to work out in the\nLouvre; but seeing that Turin was a good place wherein to keep out of\npeople's way, I settled there instead, and began with Veronese's Queen\nof Sheba;--when, with much consternation, but more delight, I found that\nI had never got to the roots of the moral power of the Venetians, and\nthat they needed still another and a very stern course of study. There\nwas nothing for it but to give up the book for that year. The winter was\nspent mainly in trying to get at the mind of Titian; not a light\nwinter's task; of which the issue, being in many ways very unexpected to\nme (the reader will find it partly told towards the close of this\nvolume), necessitated my going in the spring to Berlin, to see Titian's\nportrait of Lavinia there, and to Dresden to see the Tribute Money, the\nelder Lavinia, and girl in white, with the flag fan. Another portrait,\nat Dresden, of a lady in a dress of rose and gold, by me unheard of\nbefore, and one of an admiral, at Munich, had like to have kept me in\nGermany all summer.\n\nGetting home at last, and having put myself to arrange materials of\nwhich it was not easy, after so much interruption, to recover the\ncommand;--which also were now not reducible to a single volume--two\nquestions occurred in the outset, one in the section on vegetation,\nrespecting the origin of wood; the other in the section on sea,\nrespecting curves of waves; to neither of which, from botanist or\nmathematicians, any sufficient answer seemed obtainable.\n\nIn other respects also the section on the sea was wholly unsatisfactory\nto me: I knew little of ships, nothing of blue open water. Turner's\npathetic interest in the sea, and his inexhaustible knowledge of\nshipping, deserved more complete and accurate illustration than was at\nall possible to me; and the mathematical difficulty lay at the beginning\nof all demonstration of facts. I determined to do this piece of work\nwell, or not at all, and threw the proposed section out of this volume.\nIf I ever am able to do what I want with it (and this is barely\nprobable), it will be a separate book; which, on other accounts, I do\nnot regret, since many persons might be interested in studies of the\nshipping of the old Nelson times, and of the sea-waves and sailor\ncharacter of all times, who would not care to encumber themselves with\nfive volumes of a work on Art.\n\nThe vegetation question had, however, at all cost, to be made out as\nbest might be; and again lost me much time. Many of the results of this\ninquiry, also, can only be given, if ever, in a detached form.\n\nDuring these various discouragements, the preparation of the Plates\ncould not go on prosperously. Drawing is difficult enough, undertaken in\nquietness: it is impossible to bring it to any point of fine rightness\nwith half-applied energy.\n\nMany experiments were made in hope of expressing Turner's peculiar\nexecution and touch by facsimile. They cost time, and strength, and, for\nthe present, have failed; many elaborate drawings, made during the\nwinter of 1858, having been at last thrown aside. Some good may\nafterwards come of these; but certainly not by reduction to the size of\nthe page of this book, for which, even of smaller subjects, I have not\nprepared the most interesting, for I do not wish the possession of any\neffective and valuable engravings from Turner to be contingent on the\npurchasing a book of mine.[2]\n\nFeebly and faultfully, therefore, yet as well as I can do it under these\ndiscouragements, the book is at last done; respecting the general course\nof which, it will be kind and well if the reader will note these few\npoints that follow.\n\nThe first volume was the expansion of a reply to a magazine article; and\nwas not begun because I then thought myself qualified to write a\nsystematic treatise on Art; but because I at least knew, and knew it to\nbe demonstrable, that Turner was right and true, and that his critics\nwere wrong, false, and base. At that time I had seen much of nature, and\nhad been several times in Italy, wintering once in Rome; but had chiefly\ndelighted in northern art, beginning, when a mere boy, with Rubens and\nRembrandt. It was long before I got quit of a boy's veneration for\nRubens' physical art-power; and the reader will, perhaps, on this ground\nforgive the strong expressions of admiration for Rubens, which, to my\ngreat regret, occur in the first volume.\n\nFinding myself, however, engaged seriously in the essay, I went, before\nwriting the second volume, to study in Italy; where the strong reaction\nfrom the influence of Rubens threw me at first too far under that of\nAngelico and Raphael, and, which was the worst harm that came of that\nRubens influence, blinded me long to the deepest qualities of Venetian\nart; which, the reader may see by expressions occurring not only in the\nsecond, but even in the third and fourth volumes, I thought, however\npowerful, yet partly luxurious and sensual, until I was led into the\nfinal inquiries above related.\n\nThese oscillations of temper, and progressions of discovery, extending\nover a period of seventeen years, ought not to diminish the reader's\nconfidence in the book. Let him be assured of this, that unless\nimportant changes are occurring in his opinions continually, all his\nlife long, not one of those opinions can be on any questionable subject\ntrue. All true opinions are living, and show their life by being capable\nof nourishment; therefore of change. But their change is that of a\ntree--not of a cloud.\n\nIn the main aim and principle of the book, there is no variation, from\nits first syllable to its last. It declares the perfectness and eternal\nbeauty of the work of God; and tests all work of man by concurrence\nwith, or subjection to that. And it differs from most books, and has a\nchance of being in some respects better for the difference, in that it\nhas not been written either for fame, or for money, or for\nconscience-sake, but of necessity.\n\nIt has not been written for praise. Had I wished to gain present\nreputation, by a little flattery adroitly used in some places, a sharp\nword or two withheld in others, and the substitution of verbiage\ngenerally for investigation, I could have made the circulation of these\nvolumes tenfold what it has been in modern society. Had I wished for\nfuture fame, I should have written one volume, not five. Also, it has\nnot been written for money. In this wealth-producing country, seventeen\nyears' labor could hardly have been invested with less chance of\nequivalent return.\n\nAlso, it has not been written for conscience-sake. I had no definite\nhope in writing it; still less any sense of its being required of me as\na duty. It seems to me, and seemed always, probable, that I might have\ndone much more good in some other way. But it has been written of\nnecessity. I saw an injustice done, and tried to remedy it. I heard\nfalsehood taught, and was compelled to deny it. Nothing else was\npossible to me. I knew not how little or how much might come of the\nbusiness, or whether I was fit for it; but here was the lie full set in\nfront of me, and there was no way round it, but only over it. So that,\nas the work changed like a tree, it was also rooted like a tree--not\nwhere it would, but where need was; on which, if any fruit grow such as\nyou can like, you are welcome to gather it without thanks; and so far as\nit is poor or bitter, it will be your justice to refuse it without\nreviling.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The best book of studies for his great shipwrecks contained about\n    a quarter of a pound of chalk d\u00e9bris, black and white, broken off the\n    crayons with which Turner had drawn furiously on both sides of the\n    leaves; every leaf, with peculiar foresight and consideration of\n    difficulties to be met by future mounters, containing half of one\n    subject on the front of it, and half of another on the back.\n\n  [2] To Mr. Armytage, Mr. Cuff, and Mr. Cousen, I have to express my\n    sincere thanks for the patience, and my sincere admiration of the\n    skill, with which they have helped me. Their patience, especially,\n    has been put to severe trial by the rewardless toil required to\n    produce facsimiles of drawings in which the slightness of subject\n    could never attract any due notice to the excellence of workmanship.\n\n    Aid, just as disinterested, and deserving of as earnest\n    acknowledgment, has been given me by Miss Byfield, in her faultless\n    facsimiles of my careless sketches; by Miss O. Hill, who prepared the\n    copies which I required from portions of the pictures of the old\n    masters; and by Mr. Robin Allen, in accurate line studies from\n    nature, of which, though only one is engraved in this volume, many\n    others have been most serviceable, both to it and to me.\n\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CONTENTS.\n\n\n  PART VI.\n\n  ON LEAF BEAUTY.\n\n                                            PAGE\n  PREFACE                                      v\n\n  CHAPTER I.--The Earth-Veil                   1\n     \"   II.--The Leaf Orders                  6\n     \"  III.--The Bud                         10\n     \"   IV.--The Leaf                        21\n     \"    V.--Leaf Aspects                    34\n     \"   VI.--The Branch                      39\n     \"  VII.--The Stem                        49\n     \" VIII.--The Leaf Monuments              63\n     \"   IX.--The Leaf Shadows                77\n     \"    X.--Leaves Motionless               88\n\n\n  PART VII.\n\n  OF CLOUD BEAUTY.\n\n  CHAPTER I.--The Cloud Balancings           101\n      \"  II.--The Cloud-Flocks               108\n      \" III.--The Cloud-Chariots             122\n      \"  IV.--The Angel of the Sea           133\n\n\n  PART VIII.\n\n  OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--I. OF INVENTION FORMAL.\n\n  CHAPTER I.--The Law of Help                153\n      \"  II.--The Task of the Least          164\n      \" III.--The Rule of the Greatest       175\n      \"  IV.--The Law of Perfectness         180\n\n\n  PART IX.\n\n  OF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL.\n\n  CHAPTER I.--The Dark Mirror                193\n      \"  II.--The Lance of Pallas            202\n      \" III.--The Wings of the Lion          214\n      \"  IV.--Durer and Salvator             230\n      \"   V.--Claude and Poussin             241\n      \"  VI.--Rubens and Cuyp                249\n      \" VII.--Of Vulgarity                   261\n      \" VIII.--Wouvermans and Angelico       277\n      \"  IX.--The Two Boyhoods               286\n      \"   X.--The Nereid's Guard             298\n      \"  XI.--The Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9              314\n      \" XII.--Peace      339\n\n\n  LOCAL INDEX.\n\n  INDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES.\n\n  TOPICAL INDEX.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PLATES TO VOL. V.\n\n\n                                         Drawn by                  Engraved by\n\n  Frontispiece, Ancilla Domini        _Fra Angelico_              WM. HALL\n\n  Plate                                                                    Facing page\n\n  51. The Dryad's Toil                _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE    12\n  52. Spirals of Thorn                _R. Allen_                  R. P. CUFF        26\n  53. The Dryad's Crown               _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE    36\n  54. Dutch Leafage                   _Cuyp and Hobbima_          J. COUSEN         37\n  55. By the Way-side                  _J. M. W. Turner_           J. C. ARMYTAGE   38\n  56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works  _J. Ruskin_                 J. EMSLIE         61\n  57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese   _Durer and Veronese_        R. P. CUFF        65\n  58. Branch Curvature                _R. Allen_                  R. P. CUFF        69\n  59. The Dryad's Waywardness         _J. Ruskin_                 R. P. CUFF        71\n  60. The Rending of Leaves           _J. Ruskin_                 J. COUSEN         94\n  61. Richmond, from the Moors        _J. M. W. Turner_           J. C. ARMYTAGE    98\n  62. By the Brookside                _J. M. W. Turner_           J. C. ARMYTAGE    98\n  63. The Cloud Flocks                _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   109\n  64. Cloud Perspective (Rectilinear) _J. Ruskin_                 J. EMSLIE        115\n  65.   \"        \"      (Curvilinear) _J. Ruskin_                 J. EMSLIE        116\n  66. Light in the West, Beauvais     _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   121\n  67. Clouds                          _J. M. W. Turner_           J. C. ARMYTAGE   118\n  68. Monte Rosa                      _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   339\n  69. Aiguilles and their Friends     _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   125\n  70. The Grai\u00e6                       _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   127\n  71. \"Venga Medusa\"                  _J. Ruskin_                 J. C. ARMYTAGE   127\n  72. The Locks of Typhon             _J. M. W. Turner_           J. C. ARMYTAGE   142\n  73. Loire Side                      _J. M. W. Turner_           J. RUSKIN        165\n  74. The Mill Stream                 _J. M. W. Turner_           J. RUSKIN        168\n  75. The Castle of Lauffen           _J. M. W. Turner_           R. P. CUFF       169\n  76. The Moat of Nuremberg           _J. Ruskin_                 J. H. LE KEUX    233\n  78. Quivi Trovammo                  _J. M. W. Turner_           J. RUSKIN        298\n  79. Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9                   _Giorgione_                 WM. HALL         314\n  80. Rocks at Rest                  / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \\  J. C. ARMYTAGE   319\n                                     \\   _W. Turner_           /\n  81. Rocks in Unrest                / _J. Ruskin, from J. M._ \\  J. C. ARMYTAGE   320\n                                     \\   _W. Turner_           /\n  82. The Nets in the Rapids          _J. M. W. Turner_           J. H. LE KEUX    336\n  83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden       _J. Ruskin_                 J. H. LE KEUX    337\n  84. Peace                           _J. Ruskin_                 J. H. LE KEUX    338\n\n\nSEPARATE ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.\n\n  Figure 56,              to face page 65\n     \"   61,                     \"     69\n     \"   75 to 78,               \"     97\n     \"   85,                     \"    118\n     \"   87,                     \"    127\n     \"   88 to 90,               \"    128\n     \"   98,                     \"    184\n     \"  100,                     \"    284\n\n\n[Illustration: Ancilla Domini.]\n\n\n\n\nMODERN PAINTERS.\n\nPART VI.\n\nOF LEAF BEAUTY.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE EARTH-VEIL.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. \"To dress it and to keep it.\"\n\nThat, then, was to be our work. Alas! what work have we set ourselves\nupon instead! How have we ravaged the garden instead of kept it--feeding\nour war-horses with its flowers, and splintering its trees into\nspear-shafts!\n\n\"And at the East a flaming sword.\"\n\nIs its flame quenchless? and are those gates that keep the way indeed\npassable no more? or is it not rather that we no more desire to enter?\nFor what can we conceive of that first Eden which we might not yet win\nback, if we chose? It was a place full of flowers, we say. Well: the\nflowers are always striving to grow wherever we suffer them; and the\nfairer, the closer. There may indeed have been a Fall of Flowers, as a\nFall of Man; but assuredly creatures such as we are can now fancy\nnothing lovelier than roses and lilies, which would grow for us side by\nside, leaf overlapping leaf, till the Earth was white and red with them,\nif we cared to have it so. And Paradise was full of pleasant shades and\nfruitful avenues. Well: what hinders us from covering as much of the\nworld as we like with pleasant shade and pure blossom, and goodly fruit?\nWho forbids its valleys to be covered over with corn, till they laugh\nand sing? Who prevents its dark forests, ghostly and uninhabitable,\nfrom being changed into infinite orchards, wreathing the hills with\nfrail-floretted snow, far away to the half-lighted horizon of April, and\nflushing the face of all the autumnal earth with glow of clustered food?\nBut Paradise was a place of peace, we say, and all the animals were\ngentle servants to us. Well: the world would yet be a place of peace if\nwe were all peacemakers, and gentle service should we have of its\ncreatures if we gave them gentle mastery. But so long as we make sport\nof slaying bird and beast, so long as we choose to contend rather with\nour fellows than with our faults, and make battlefield of our meadows\ninstead of pasture--so long, truly, the Flaming Sword will still turn\nevery way, and the gates of Eden remain barred close enough, till we\nhave sheathed the sharper flame of our own passions, and broken down the\ncloser gates of our own hearts.\n\n\u00a7 2. I have been led to see and feel this more and more, as I considered\nthe service which the flowers and trees, which man was at first\nappointed to keep, were intended to render to him in return for his\ncare; and the services they still render to him, as far as he allows\ntheir influence, or fulfils his own task towards them. For what infinite\nwonderfulness there is in this vegetation, considered, as indeed it is,\nas the means by which the earth becomes the companion of man--his friend\nand his teacher! In the conditions which we have traced in its rocks,\nthere could only be seen preparation for his existence;--the characters\nwhich enable him to live on it safely, and to work with it easily--in\nall these it has been inanimate and passive; but vegetation is to it as\nan imperfect soul, given to meet the soul of man. The earth in its\ndepths must remain dead and cold, incapable except of slow crystalline\nchange; but at its surface, which human beings look upon and deal with,\nit ministers to them through a veil of strange intermediate being; which\nbreathes, but has no voice; moves, but cannot leave its appointed place;\npasses through life without consciousness, to death without bitterness;\nwears the beauty of youth, without its passion; and declines to the\nweakness of age, without its regret.\n\n\u00a7 3. And in this mystery of intermediate being, entirely subordinate to\nus, with which we can deal as we choose, having just the greater power\nas we have the less responsibility for our treatment of the unsuffering\ncreature, most of the pleasures which we need from the external world\nare gathered, and most of the lessons we need are written, all kinds of\nprecious grace and teaching being united in this link between the Earth\nand Man: wonderful in universal adaptation to his need, desire, and\ndiscipline; God's daily preparation of the earth for him, with beautiful\nmeans of life. First a carpet to make it soft for him; then, a colored\nfantasy of embroidery thereon; then, tall spreading of foliage to shade\nhim from sunheat, and shade also the fallen rain, that it may not dry\nquickly back into the clouds, but stay to nourish the springs among the\nmoss. Stout wood to bear this leafage: easily to be cut, yet tough and\nlight, to make houses for him, or instruments (lance-shaft, or\nplough-handle, according to his temper); useless it had been, if harder;\nuseless, if less fibrous; useless, if less elastic. Winter comes, and\nthe shade of leafage falls away, to let the sun warm the earth; the\nstrong boughs remain, breaking the strength of winter winds. The seeds\nwhich are to prolong the race, innumerable according to the need, are\nmade beautiful and palatable, varied into infinitude of appeal to the\nfancy of man, or provision for his service: cold juice, or glowing\nspice, or balm, or incense, softening oil, preserving resin, medicine of\nstyptic, febrifuge, or lulling charm: and all these presented in forms\nof endless change. Fragility or force, softness and strength, in all\ndegrees and aspects; unerring uprightness, as of temple pillars, or\nundivided wandering of feeble tendrils on the ground; mighty resistances\nof rigid arm and limb to the storms of ages, or wavings to and fro with\nfaintest pulse of summer streamlet. Roots cleaving the strength of rock,\nor binding the transience of the sand; crests basking in sunshine of the\ndesert, or hiding by dripping spring and lightless cave; foliage far\ntossing in entangled fields beneath every wave of ocean--clothing with\nvariegated, everlasting films, the peaks of the trackless mountains, or\nministering at cottage doors to every gentlest passion and simplest joy\nof humanity.\n\n\u00a7 4. Being thus prepared for us in all ways, and made beautiful, and\ngood for food, and for building, and for instruments of our hands, this\nrace of plants, deserving boundless affection and admiration from us,\nbecome, in proportion to their obtaining it, a nearly perfect test of\nour being in right temper of mind and way of life; so that no one can be\nfar wrong in either who loves the trees enough, and every one is\nassuredly wrong in both, who does not love them, if his life has\nbrought them in his way. It is clearly possible to do without them, for\nthe great companionship of the sea and sky are all that sailors need;\nand many a noble heart has been taught the best it had to learn between\ndark stone walls. Still if human life be cast among trees at all, the\nlove borne to them is a sure test of its purity. And it is a sorrowful\nproof of the mistaken ways of the world that the \"country,\" in the\nsimple sense of a place of fields and trees, has hitherto been the\nsource of reproach to its inhabitants, and that the words \"countryman,\"\n\"rustic,\" \"clown,\" \"paysan,\" \"villager,\" still signify a rude and\nuntaught person, as opposed to the words \"townsman,\" and \"citizen.\" We\naccept this usage of words, or the evil which it signifies, somewhat too\nquietly; as if it were quite necessary and natural that country-people\nshould be rude, and towns-people gentle. Whereas I believe that the\nresult of each mode of life may, in some stages of the world's progress,\nbe the exact reverse; and that another use of words may be forced upon\nus by a new aspect of facts, so that we may find ourselves saying: \"Such\nand such a person is very gentle and kind--he is quite rustic; and such\nand such another person is very rude and ill-taught--he is quite\nurbane.\"\n\n\u00a7 5. At all events, cities have hitherto gained the better part of their\ngood report through our evil ways of going on in the world\ngenerally;--chiefly and eminently through our bad habit of fighting with\neach other. No field, in the middle ages, being safe from devastation,\nand every country lane yielding easier passage to the marauders,\npeacefully-minded men necessarily congregated in cities, and walled\nthemselves in, making as few cross-country roads as possible: while the\nmen who sowed and reaped the harvests of Europe were only the servants\nor slaves of the barons. The disdain of all agricultural pursuits by the\nnobility, and of all plain facts by the monks, kept educated Europe in a\nstate of mind over which natural phenomena could have no power; body and\nintellect being lost in the practice of war without purpose, and the\nmeditation of words without meaning. Men learned the dexterity with\nsword and syllogism, which they mistook for education, within cloister\nand tilt-yard; and looked on all the broad space of the world of God\nmainly as a place for exercise of horses, or for growth of food.\n\n\u00a7 6. There is a beautiful type of this neglect of the perfectness of the\nEarth's beauty, by reason of the passions of men, in that picture of\nPaul Uccello's of the battle of Sant' Egidio,[1] in which the armies\nmeet on a country road beside a hedge of wild roses; the tender red\nflowers tossing above the helmets, and glowing between the lowered\nlances. For in like manner the whole of Nature only shone hitherto for\nman between the tossing of helmet-crests; and sometimes I cannot but\nthink of the trees of the earth as capable of a kind of sorrow, in that\nimperfect life of theirs, as they opened their innocent leaves in the\nwarm spring-time, in vain for men; and all along the dells of England\nher beeches cast their dappled shade only where the outlaw drew his bow,\nand the king rode his careless chase; and by the sweet French rivers\ntheir long ranks of poplar waved in the twilight, only to show the\nflames of burning cities, on the horizon, through the tracery of their\nstems: amidst the fair defiles of the Apennines, the twisted\nolive-trunks hid the ambushes of treachery; and on their valley meadows,\nday by day, the lilies which were white at the dawn were washed with\ncrimson at sunset.\n\n\u00a7 7. And indeed I had once purposed, in this work, to show what kind of\nevidence existed respecting the possible influence of country life on\nmen; it seeming to me, then, likely that here and there a reader would\nperceive this to be a grave question, more than most which we contend\nabout, political or social, and might care to follow it out with me\nearnestly.\n\nThe day will assuredly come when men will see that it is a grave\nquestion; at which period, also, I doubt not, there will arise persons\nable to investigate it. For the present, the movements of the world seem\nlittle likely to be influenced by botanical law; or by any other\nconsiderations respecting trees, than the probable price of timber. I\nshall limit myself, therefore, to my own simple woodman's work, and try\nto hew this book into its final shape, with the limited and humble aim\nthat I had in beginning it, namely, to prove how far the idle and\npeaceable persons, who have hitherto cared about leaves and clouds, have\nrightly seen, or faithfully reported of them.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1]: In our own National Gallery. It is quaint and imperfect, but of\n    great interest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE LEAF ORDERS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. As in our sketch of the structure of mountains it seemed advisable\nto adopt a classification of their forms, which, though inconsistent\nwith absolute scientific precision, was convenient for order of\nsuccessive inquiry, and gave useful largeness of view; so, and with yet\nstronger reason, in glancing at the first laws of vegetable life, it\nwill be best to follow an arrangement easily remembered and broadly\ntrue, however incapable of being carried out into entirely consistent\ndetail. I say, \"with yet stronger reason,\" because more questions are at\nissue among botanists than among geologists; a greater number of\nclassifications have been suggested for plants than for rocks; nor is it\nunlikely that those now accepted may be hereafter modified. I take an\narrangement, therefore, involving no theory; serviceable enough for all\nworking purposes, and sure to remain thus serviceable, in its rough\ngenerality, whatever views may hereafter be developed among botanists.\n\n\u00a7 2. A child's division of plants is into \"trees and flowers.\" If,\nhowever, we were to take him in spring, after he had gathered his lapful\nof daisies, from the lawn into the orchard, and ask him how he would\ncall those wreaths of richer floret, whose frail petals tossed their\nfoam of promise between him and the sky, he would at once see the need\nof some intermediate name, and call them, perhaps, \"tree-flowers.\" If,\nthen, we took him to a birch-wood, and showed him that catkins were\nflowers, as well as cherry-blossoms, he might, with a little help, reach\nso far as to divide all flowers into two classes; one, those that grew\non ground; and another, those that grew on trees. The botanist might\nsmile at such a division; but an artist would not. To him, as the child,\nthere is something specific and distinctive in those rough trunks that\ncarry the higher flowers. To him, it makes the main difference between\none plant and another, whether it is to tell as a light upon the ground,\nor as a shade upon the sky. And if, after this, we asked for a little\nhelp from the botanist, and he were to lead us, leaving the blossoms, to\nlook more carefully at leaves and buds, we should find ourselves able in\nsome sort to justify, even to him, our childish classification. For our\npresent purposes, justifiable or not, it is the most suggestive and\nconvenient. Plants are, indeed, broadly referable to two great classes.\nThe first we may, perhaps, not inexpediently call TENTED PLANTS. They\nlive in encampments, on the ground, as lilies; or on surfaces of rock,\nor stems of other plants, as lichens and mosses. They live--some for a\nyear, some for many years, some for myriads of years; but, perishing,\nthey pass as the tented Arab passes; they leave _no memorials of\nthemselves_, except the seed, or bulb, or root which is to perpetuate\nthe race.\n\n\u00a7 3. The other great class of plants we may perhaps best call BUILDING\nPLANTS. These will not live on the ground, but eagerly raise edifices\nabove it. Each works hard with solemn forethought all its life.\nPerishing, it leaves its work in the form which will be most useful to\nits successors--its own monument, and their inheritance. These\narchitectural edifices we call \"Trees.\"\n\nIt may be thought that this nomenclature already involves a theory. But\nI care about neither the nomenclature, nor about anything questionable\nin my description of the classes. The reader is welcome to give them\nwhat names he likes, and to render what account of them he thinks\nfittest. But to us, as artists, or lovers of art, this is the first and\nmost vital question concerning a plant: \"Has it a fixed form or a\nchanging one? Shall I find it always as I do to-day--this Parnassia\npalustris--with one leaf and one flower? or may it some day have\nincalculable pomp of leaves and unmeasured treasure of flowers? Will it\nrise only to the height of a man--as an ear of corn--and perish like a\nman; or will it spread its boughs to the sea and branches to the river,\nand enlarge its circle of shade in heaven for a thousand years?\"\n\n\u00a7 4. This, I repeat, is the _first_ question I ask the plant. And as it\nanswers, I range it on one side or the other, among those that rest or\nthose that toil: tent-dwellers, who toil not, neither do they spin; or\ntree-builders, whose days are as the days of the people. I find again,\non farther questioning these plants who rest, that one group of them\ndoes indeed rest always, contentedly, on the ground, but that those of\nanother group, more ambitious, emulate the builders; and though they\ncannot build rightly, raise for themselves pillars out of the remains of\npast generations, on which they themselves, living the life of St.\nSimeon Stylites, are called, by courtesy, Trees; being, in fact, many of\nthem (palms, for instance) quite as stately as real trees.[1]\n\nThese two classes we might call earth-plants, and pillar-plants.\n\n\u00a7 5. Again, in questioning the true builders as to their modes of work,\nI find that they also are divisible into two great classes. Without in\nthe least wishing the reader to accept the fanciful nomenclature, I\nthink he may yet most conveniently remember these as \"Builders with the\nshield,\" and \"Builders with the sword.\"\n\nBuilders with the shield have expanded leaves, more or less resembling\nshields, partly in shape, but still more in office; for under their\nlifted shadow the young bud of the next year is kept from harm. These\nare the gentlest of the builders, and live in pleasant places, providing\nfood and shelter for man. Builders with the sword, on the contrary, have\nsharp leaves in the shape of swords, and the young buds, instead of\nbeing as numerous as the leaves, crouching each under a leaf-shadow, are\nfew in number, and grow fearlessly, each in the midst of a sheaf of\nswords. These builders live in savage places, are sternly dark in color,\nand though they give much help to man by their merely physical strength,\nthey (with few exceptions) give him no food, and imperfect shelter.\nTheir mode of building is ruder than that of the shield-builders, and\nthey in many ways resemble the pillar-plants of the opposite order. We\ncall them generally \"Pines.\"\n\n\u00a7 6. Our work, in this section, will lie only among the shield-builders,\nsword-builders, and plants of rest. The Pillar-plants belong, for the\nmost part, to other climates. I could not analyze them rightly; and the\nlabor given to them would be comparatively useless for our present\npurposes. The chief mystery of vegetation, so far as respects external\nform, is among the fair shield-builders. These, at least, we must\nexamine fondly and earnestly.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] I am not sure that this is a fair account of palms. I have never\n    had opportunity of studying stems of Endogens, and I cannot\n    understand the description given of them in books, nor do I know how\n    far some of their branched conditions approximate to real\n    tree-structure. If this work, whatever errors it may involve,\n    provokes the curiosity of the reader so as to lead him to seek for\n    more and better knowledge, it will do all the service I hope from it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE BUD.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. If you gather in summer time an outer spray of any shield-leaved\ntree, you will find it consists of a slender rod, throwing out leaves,\nperhaps on every side, perhaps on two sides only, with usually a cluster\nof closer leaves at the end. In order to understand its structure, we\nmust reduce it to a simple general type. Nay, even to a very inaccurate\ntype. For a tree-branch is essentially a complex thing, and no \"simple\"\ntype can, therefore, be a right one.\n\nThis type I am going to give you is full of fallacies and inaccuracies;\nbut out of these fallacies we will bring the truth, by casting them\naside one by one.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 1.]\n\n\u00a7 2. Let the tree spray be represented under one of these two types, A\nor B, Fig. 1, the cluster at the end being in each case supposed to\nconsist of three leaves only (a most impertinent supposition, for it\nmust at least have four, only the fourth would be in a puzzling\nperspective in A, and hidden behind the central leaf in B). So, receive\nthis false type patiently. When leaves are set on the stalk one after\nanother, as in A, they are called \"alternate;\" when placed as in B,\n\"opposite.\" It is necessary you should remember this not very difficult\npiece of nomenclature.\n\nIf you examine the branch you have gathered, you will see that for some\nlittle way below the full-leaf cluster at the end, the stalk is smooth,\nand the leaves are set regularly on it. But at six, eight, or ten inches\ndown, there comes an awkward knot; something seems to have gone wrong,\nperhaps another spray branches off there; at all events, the stem gets\nsuddenly thicker, and you may break it there (probably) easier than\nanywhere else.\n\nThat is the junction of two stories of the building. The smooth piece\nhas all been done this summer. At the knot the foundation was left\nduring the winter.\n\nThe year's work is called a \"shoot.\" I shall be glad if you will break\nit off to look at; as my A and B types are supposed to go no farther\ndown than the knot.\n\nThe alternate form A is more frequent than B, and some botanists think\nincludes B. We will, therefore, begin with it.\n\n\u00a7 3. If you look close at the figure, you will see small projecting\npoints at the roots of the leaves. These represent buds, which you may\nfind, most probably, in the shoot you have in your hand. Whether you\nfind them or not, they are there--visible, or latent, does not matter.\nEvery leaf has assuredly an infant bud to take care of, laid tenderly,\nas in a cradle, just where the leaf-stalk forms a safe niche between it\nand the main stem. The child-bud is thus fondly guarded all summer; but\nits protecting leaf dies in the autumn; and then the boy-bud is put out\nto rough winter-schooling, by which he is prepared for personal entrance\ninto public life in the spring.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 2.]\n\nLet us suppose autumn to have come, and the leaves to have fallen. Then\nour A of Fig. I, the buds only being left, one for each leaf, will\nappear as A B, in Fig. 2. We will call the buds grouped at B, terminal\nbuds, and those at _a_, _b_, and _c_, lateral buds.\n\nThis budded rod is the true year's work of the building plant, at that\npart of its edifice. You may consider the little spray, if you like, as\none pinnacle of the tree-cathedral, which has taken a year to fashion;\ninnumerable other pinnacles having been built at the same time on other\nbranches.\n\n\u00a7 4. Now, every one of these buds, _a_, _b_, and _c_, as well as every\nterminal bud, has the power and disposition to raise himself in the\nspring, into just such another pinnacle as A B is.\n\nThis development is the process we have mainly to study in this chapter;\nbut, in the outset, let us see clearly what it is to end in.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 3.]\n\nEach bud, I said, has the power and disposition to make a pinnacle of\nhimself, but he has not always the opportunity. What may hinder him we\nshall see presently. Meantime, the reader will, perhaps, kindly allow me\nto assume that the buds _a_, _b_, and _c_, come to nothing, and only the\nthree terminal ones build forward. Each of these producing the image of\nthe first pinnacle, we have the type for our next summer bough of Fig.\n3; in which observe the original shoot A B, has become thicker; its\nlateral buds having proved abortive, are now only seen as little knobs\non its sides. Its terminal buds have each risen into a new pinnacle. The\ncentral or strongest one B C, has become the very image of what his\nparent shoot A B, was last year. The two lateral ones are weaker and\nshorter, one probably longer than the other. The joint at B is the knot\nor foundation for each shoot above spoken of.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 4.]\n\nKnowing now what we are about, we will go into closer detail.\n\n[Illustration: 51. The Dryad's Toil.]\n\n\u00a7 5. Let us return to the type in Fig. 2, of the fully accomplished\nsummer's work: the rod with its bare buds. Plate 51, opposite,\nrepresents, of about half its real size, an outer spray of oak in\nwinter. It is not growing strongly, and is as simple as possible in\nramification. You may easily see, in each branch, the continuous piece\nof shoot produced last year. The wrinkles which make these shoots look\nlike old branches are caused by drying, as the stalk of a bunch of\nraisins is furrowed (the oak-shoot fresh gathered is round as a\ngrape-stalk). I draw them thus, because the furrows are important clues\nto structure. Fig. 4 is the top of one of these oak sprays magnified for\nreference. The little brackets, _x_, _y_, &c., which project beneath\neach bud and sustain it, are the remains of the leaf-stalks. Those\nstalks were jointed at that place, and the leaves fell without leaving a\nscar, only a crescent-shaped, somewhat blank-looking flat space, which\nyou may study at your ease on a horse-chestnut stem, where these spaces\nare very large.\n\n\u00a7 6. Now if you cut your oak spray neatly through, just above a bud, as\nat A, Fig. 4, and look at it with a not very powerful magnifier, you\nwill find it present the pretty section, Fig. 5.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 5.]\n\nThat is the proper or normal section of an oak spray. Never quite\nregular. Sure to have one of the projections a little larger than the\nrest, and to have its bark (the black line) not quite regularly put\nround it, but exquisitely finished, down to a little white star in the\nvery centre, which I have not drawn, because it would look in the\nwoodcut black, not white; and be too conspicuous.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 6.]\n\nThe oak spray, however, will not keep this form unchanged for an\ninstant. Cut it through a little way above your first section, and you\nwill find the largest projection is increasing till, just where it\nopens[1] at last into the leaf-stalk, its section is Fig. 6. If,\ntherefore, you choose to consider every interval between bud and bud as\none story of your tower or pinnacle, you find that there is literally\nnot a hair's-breadth of the work in which the _plan_ of the tower does\nnot change. You may see in Plate 51 that every shoot is suffused by a\nsubtle (in nature an _infinitely_ subtle) change of contour between bud\nand bud.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 7.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 8.]\n\n\u00a7 7. But farther, observe in what succession those buds are put round\nthe bearing stem. Let the section of the stem be represented by the\nsmall central circle in Fig. 8; and suppose it surrounded by a _nearly_\nregular pentagon (in the figure it is quite regular for clearness'\nsake). Let the first of any ascending series of buds be represented by\nthe curved projection filling the nearest angle of the pentagon at 1.\nThen the next bud, above, will fill the angle at 2; the next above, at\n3, the next at 4, the next at 5. The sixth will come nearly over the\nfirst. That is to say, each projecting portion of the section, Fig. 5,\nexpands into its bud, not successively, but by leaps, always to the\n_next but one;_ the buds being thus placed in a nearly regular spiral\norder.\n\n\u00a7 8. I say nearly regular--for there are subtleties of variation in plan\nwhich it would be merely tiresome to enter into. All that we need care\nabout is the general law, of which the oak spray furnishes a striking\nexample,--that the buds of the first great group of alternate builders\nrise in a spiral order round the stem (I believe, for the most part, the\nspiral proceeds from right to left). And this spiral succession very\nfrequently approximates to the pentagonal order, which it takes with\ngreat accuracy in an oak; for, merely assuming that each ascending bud\nplaces itself as far as it can easily out of the way of the one beneath,\nand yet not quite on the opposite side of the stem, we find the interval\nbetween the two must generally approximate to that left between 1 and 2,\nor 2 and 3, in Fig. 8.[2]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 9.]\n\n\u00a7 9. Should the interval be consistently a little _less_ than that which\nbrings out the pentagonal structure, the plant seems to get at first\ninto much difficulty. For, in such case, there is a probability of the\nbuds falling into a triangle, as at A, Fig. 9; and then the fourth must\ncome over the first, which would be inadmissible (we shall soon see\nwhy). Nevertheless, the plant seems to like the triangular result for\nits outline, and sets itself to get out of the difficulty with much\ningenuity, by methods of succession, which I will examine farther in the\nnext chapter: it being enough for us to know at present that the\npuzzled, but persevering, vegetable _does_ get out of its difficulty and\nissues triumphantly, and with a peculiar expression of leafy exultation,\nin a hexagonal star, composed of two distinct triangles, normally as at\nB, Fig. 9. Why the buds do not like to be one above the other, we shall\nsee in next chapter. Meantime I must shortly warn the reader of what we\nshall then discover, that, though we have spoken of the projections of\nour pentagonal tower as if they were first built to sustain each its\nleaf, they are themselves chiefly built by the leaf they seem to\nsustain. Without troubling ourselves about this yet, let us fix in our\nminds broadly the effective aspect of the matter, which is all we want,\nby a simple practical illustration.\n\n\u00a7 10. Take a piece of stick half-an-inch thick, and a yard or two long,\nand tie large knots, at any _equal_ distances you choose, on a piece of\npack-thread. Then wind the pack-thread round the stick, with any number\nof equidistant turns you choose, from one end to the other, and the\nknots will take the position of buds in the general type of alternate\nvegetation. By varying the number of knots and the turns of the thread,\nyou may get the system of any tree, with the exception of one character\nonly--viz., that since the shoot grows faster at one time than another,\nthe buds run closer together when the growth is slow. You cannot imitate\nthis structure by closing the coils of your string, for that would alter\nthe positions of your knots irregularly. The intervals between the buds\nare, by this gradual acceleration or retardation of growth, usually\nvaried in lovely proportions. Fig. 10 shows the elevations of the buds\non five different sprays of oak; A and B being of the real size (short\nshoots); C, D, and E, on a reduced scale. I have not traced the cause\nof the apparent tendency of the buds to follow in pairs, in these longer\nshoots.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 10.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 11.]\n\n\u00a7 11. Lastly: If the spiral be constructed so as to bring the buds\nnearly on opposite sides of the stem, though alternate in succession,\nthe stem, most probably, will shoot a little away from each bud after\nthrowing it off, and thus establish the oscillatory form _b_, Fig. 11,\nwhich, when the buds are placed, as in this case, at diminishing\nintervals, is very beautiful.[3]\n\n\u00a7 12. I fear this has been a tiresome chapter; but it is necessary to\nmaster the elementary structure, if we are to understand anything of\ntrees; and the reader will therefore, perhaps, take patience enough to\nlook at one or two examples of the spray structure of the second great\nclass of builders, in which the leaves are opposite. Nearly all\nopposite-leaved trees grow, normally, like vegetable weathercocks run to\nseed, with north and south, and east and west pointers thrown off\nalternately one over another, as in Fig. 12.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 12.]\n\nThis, I say, is the normal condition. Under certain circumstances, north\nand south pointers set themselves north-east and south-west; this\nconcession being acknowledged and imitated by the east and west pointers\nat the next opportunity; but, for the present, let us keep to our simple\nform.\n\nThe first business of the budding stem, is to get every pair of buds set\naccurately at right angles to the one below. Here are some examples of\nthe way it contrives this. A, Fig. 13, is the section of the stem of a\nspray of box, magnified eight or nine times, just where it throws off\ntwo of its leaves, suppose on north and south sides. The crescents below\nand above are sections through the leaf-stalks thrown off on each side.\nJust above this joint, the section of the stem is B, which is the normal\nsection of a box-stem, as Fig. 5 is of an oak's. This, as it ascends,\nbecomes C, elongating itself now east and west; and the section next to\nC, would be again A turned that way; or, taking the succession\ncompletely through two joints, and of the real size, it would be thus:\nFig. 14.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 13.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 14.]\n\nThe stem of the spotted aucuba is normally hexagonal, as that of the box\nis normally square. It is very dexterous and delicate in its mode of\ntransformation to the two sides. Through the joint it is A, Fig. 15.\nAbove joint, B, normal, passing on into C, and D for the next joint.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 15.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 16.]\n\nWhile in the horse-chestnut, a larger tree, and, as we shall see\nhereafter, therefore less regular in conduct, the section, normally\nhexagonal, is much rounded and softened into irregularities; A, Fig. 16,\nbecoming, as it buds, B and C. The dark diamond beside C is a section\nthrough a bud, in which, however small, the quatrefoil disposition is\nalways seen complete: the four little infant leaves with a queen leaf in\nthe middle, all laid in their fan-shaped feebleness, safe in a white\ncloud of miniature woollen blanket.\n\n\u00a7 13. The elementary structure of all important trees may, I think, thus\nbe resolved into three principal forms: three-leaved, Fig. 9;\nfour-leaved, Figs. 13 to 16; and five-leaved, Fig. 8. Or, in well-known\nterms, trefoil, quatrefoil, cinqfoil. And these are essential classes,\nmore complicated forms being usually, it seems to me, resolvable into\nthese, but these not into each other. The simplest arrangement (Fig.\n11), in which the buds are nearly opposite in position, though alternate\nin elevation, cannot, I believe, constitute a separate class, being only\nan accidental condition of the spiral. If it did, it might be called\ndifoil; but the important classes are three:--\n\n  Trefoil,    Fig.  9: Type, Rhododendron.\n  Quatrefoil, Fig. 13: Type, Horse-chestnut.\n  Cinqfoil,   Fig.  5: Type, Oak.\n\n\u00a7 14. The coincidences between beautiful architecture and the\nconstruction of trees must more and more have become marked in the\nreader's mind as we advanced; and if he will now look at what I have\nsaid in other places of the use and meaning of the trefoil, quatrefoil,\nand cinqfoil, in Gothic architecture, he will see why I could hardly\nhelp thinking and speaking of all trees as builders. But there is yet\none more subtlety in their way of building which we have not noticed. If\nthe reader will look carefully at the separate shoots in Plate 51, he\nwill see that the furrows of the stems fall in almost every case into\ncontinuous spiral curves, carrying the whole system of buds with them.\nThis superinduced spiral action, of which we shall perhaps presently\ndiscover the cause, often takes place vigorously, producing completely\ntwisted stems of great thickness. It is nearly always existent slightly,\ngiving farther grace and change to the whole wonderful structure. And\nthus we have, as the final result of one year's vegetative labor on any\nsingle spray, a twisted tower, not similar at any height of its\nbuilding: or (for, as we shall see presently, it loses in diameter at\neach bud) a twisted spire, correspondent somewhat in principle to the\ntwisted spire of Dijon, or twisted fountain of Ulm, or twisted shafts of\nVerona. Bossed as it ascends with living sculpture, chiselled, not by\ndiminution but through increase, it rises by one consistent impulse from\nits base to its minaret, ready, in spring-time, to throw round it at the\ncrest at once the radiance of fresh youth and the promise of restoration\nafter that youth has passed away. A marvellous creation: nay might we\nnot almost say, a marvellous creature full of prescience in its infancy,\nforeboding even, in the earliest gladness of its opening to sunshine,\nthe hour of fainting strength and falling leaf, and guarding under the\nshade of its faithful shields the bud that is to bear its hope through\nwinter's shieldless sleep?\n\nMen often look to bring about great results by violent and unprepared\neffort. But it is only in fair and forecast order, \"as the earth\nbringeth forth her bud,\" that righteousness and praise may spring forth\nbefore the nations.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The added portion, surrounding two of the sides of the pentagon,\n    is the preparation for the stalk of the leaf, which, on detaching\n    itself from the stem, presents variable sections, of which those\n    numbered 1 to 4, Fig. 7, are examples. I cannot determine the proper\n    normal form. The bulb-shaped spot in the heart of the uppermost of\n    the five projections in Fig. 6 is the root of the bud.\n\n  [2] For more accurate information the reader may consult Professor\n    Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (Longman, 1848), vol. i. p. 245,\n    _et seqq._\n\n  [3] Fig. 11 is a shoot of the line, drawn on two sides, to show its\n    continuous curve in one direction, and alternated curves in another.\n    The buds, which may be seen to be at equal heights in the two\n    figures, are exquisitely proportioned in their distances. There is no\n    end to the refinement of system, if we choose to pursue it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE LEAF.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Having now some clear idea of the position of the bud, we have next\nto examine the forms and structure of its shield--the leaf which guards\nit. You will form the best general idea of the flattened leaf of\nshield-builders by thinking of it as you would of a mast and sail. More\nconsistently with our classification, we might perhaps say, by thinking\nalways of the arm sustaining the shield; but we should be in danger of\ncarrying fancy too far, and the likeness of mast and sail is closer, for\nthe mast tapers as the leaf-rib does, while the hand holding the\nuppermost strap of the buckler clenches itself. Whichever figure we use,\nit will cure us of the bad habit of imagining a leaf composed of a short\nstalk with a broad expansion at the end of it. Whereas we should always\nthink of the stalk as running right up the leaf to its point, and\ncarrying the expanded, or foliate part, as the mast of a lugger does its\nsail. To some extent, indeed, it has yards also, ribs branching from the\ninnermost one; only the yards of the leaf will not run up and down,\nwhich is one essential function of a sailyard.\n\n\u00a7 2. The analogy will, however, serve one step more. As the sail must be\non one side of the mast, so the expansion of a leaf is on one side of\nits central rib, or of its system of ribs. It is laid over them as if it\nwere stretched over a frame, so that on the upper surface it is\ncomparatively smooth; on the lower, barred. The understanding of the\nbroad relations of these parts is the principal work we have to do in\nthis chapter.\n\n\u00a7 3. First, then, you may roughly assume that the section of any\nleaf-mast will be a crescent, as at _a_, Fig. 17 (compare Fig. 7 above).\nThe flat side is the uppermost, the round side underneath, and the flat\nor upper side caries the leaf. You can at once see the convenience of\nthis structure for fitting to a central stem. Suppose the central stem\nhas a little hole in the centre, _b_, Fig. 17, and that you cut it down\nthrough the middle (as terrible knights used to cut their enemies in the\ndark ages, so that half the head fell on one side, and half on the\nother): Pull the two halves separate, _c_, and they will nearly\nrepresent the shape and position of opposite leaf-ribs. In reality the\nleaf-stalks have to fit themselves to the central stem, _a_, and as we\nshall see presently, to lap round it: but we must not go too fast.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 17.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 18.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 19.]\n\n\u00a7 4. Now, _a_, Fig. 17, being the general type of a leaf-stalk, Fig. 18\nis the general type of the way it expands into and carries its leaf;[1]\nthis figure being the enlargement of a typical section right across any\nleaf, the dotted lines show the under surface foreshortened. You see I\nhave made one side broader than the other. I mean that. It is typically\nso. Nature cannot endure two sides of a leaf to be alike. By encouraging\none side more than the other, either by giving it more air or light, or\nperhaps in a chief degree by the mere fact of the moisture necessarily\naccumulating on the lower edge when it rains, and the other always\ndrying first, she contrives it so, that if the essential form or idea of\nthe leaf be _a_, Fig. 19, the actual form will always be _c_, or an\napproximate to it; one half being pushed in advance of the other, as at\n_b_, and all reconciled by soft curvature, _c_. The effort of the leaf\nto keep itself symmetrical rights it, however, often at the point, so\nthat the insertion of the stalk only makes the inequality manifest. But\nit follows that the sides of a straight section across the leaf are\nunequal all the way up, as in my drawing, except at one point.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 20.]\n\n\u00a7 5. I have represented the two wings of the leaf as slightly convex on\nthe upper surface. This is also on the whole a typical character. I use\nthe expression \"wings of the leaf,\" because supposing we exaggerate the\nmain rib a little, the section will generally resemble a bad painter's\ntype of a bird (_a_, Fig. 20). Sometimes the outer edges curl up, _b_,\nbut an entirely concave form, _c_, is rare. When _b_ is strongly\ndeveloped, closing well in, the leaf gets a good deal the look of a boat\nwith a keel.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 21.]\n\n\u00a7 6. If now you take this oblique form of sail, and cut it into any\nnumber of required pieces down to its mast, as in Fig. 21, A, and then\nsuppose each of the pieces to contract into studding-sails at the side,\nyou will have whatever type of divided leaf you choose to shape it for.\nIn Fig. 21, A, B, I have taken the rose as the simplest type. The leaf\nis given in separate contour at C; but that of the mountain ash, A,\nFig. 22, suggests the original oval form which encloses all the\nsubdivisions much more beautifully. Each of the studding-sails in this\nash-leaf looks much at first as if he were himself a mainsail. But you\nmay know him always to be a subordinate, by observing that the\ninequality of the two sides which is brought about by accidental\ninfluences in the mainsail, is an organic law in the studding-sail. The\nreal leaf tries to set itself evenly on its mast; and the inequality is\nonly a graceful concession to circumstances. But the subordinate or\nstudding-sail is always _by law_ larger at one side than the other; and\nif he is himself again divided into smaller sails, he will have larger\nsails on the lowest side, or one more sail on the lowest side, than he\nhas on the other. He always wears, therefore, a servant's, or, at least,\nsubordinate's dress. You may know him anywhere as not the master. Even\nin the ash leaflet, of which I have outlined one separately, B, Fig. 22,\nthis is clearly seen; but it is much more distinct in more finely\ndivided leaves.[2]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 22]\n\n\u00a7 7. Observe, then, that leaves are broadly divisible into mainsails and\nstudding-sails; but that the word _leaf_ is properly to be used only of\nthe mainsail; leaflet is the best word for minor divisions; and whether\nthese minor members are only separated by deep cuts, or become complete\nstalked leaflets, still they are always to be thought of merely as parts\nof a true leaf.\n\nIt follows from the mode of their construction that leaflets must always\nlie more or less _flat_, or edge to edge, in a continuous plane. This\nposition distinguishes them from true leaves as much as their oblique\nform, and distinguishes them with the same delicate likeness of system;\nfor as the true leaf takes, accidentally and partially, the oblique\noutline which is legally required in the subordinate, so the true leaf\ntakes accidentally and partially the flat disposition which is legally\nrequired in the subordinate. And this point of position we must now\nstudy. Henceforward, throughout this chapter, the reader will please\nnote that I speak only of true _leaves_, not of _leaflets_.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 23.]\n\n\u00a7 8. LAW I. THE LAW OF DEFLECTION.--The first law, then, respecting\nposition in true leaves, is that they fall gradually back from the\nuppermost one, or uppermost group. They are never set as at _a_, Fig.\n23, but always as at _b_. The reader may see at once that they have more\nroom and comfort by means of the latter arrangement. The law is carried\nout with more or less distinctness according to the habit of the plant;\nbut is always acknowledged.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 24.]\n\nIn strong-leaved shrubs or trees it is shown with great distinctness and\nbeauty: the phillyrea shoot, for instance, Fig. 24, is almost in as true\nsymmetry as a Greek honeysuckle ornament. In the hawthorn shoot,\ncentral in Plate 52, opposite, the law is seen very slightly, yet it\nrules all the play and fantasy of the varied leaves, gradually\ndepressing their lines as they are set lower. In crowded foliage of\nlarge trees the disposition of each separate leaf is not so manifest.\nFor there is a strange coincidence in this between trees and communities\nof men. When the community is small, people fall more easily into their\nplaces, and take, each in his place, a firmer standing than can be\nobtained by the individuals of a great nation. The members of a vast\ncommunity are separately weaker, as an aspen or elm leaf is thin,\ntremulous, and directionless, compared with the spear-like setting and\nfirm substance of a rhododendron or laurel leaf. The laurel and\nrhododendron are like the Athenian or Florentine republics; the aspen\nlike England--strong-trunked enough when put to proof, and very good for\nmaking cartwheels of, but shaking pale with epidemic panic at every\nbreeze. Nevertheless, the aspen has the better of the great nation, in\nthat if you take it bough by bough, you shall find the gentle law of\nrespect and room for each other truly observed by the leaves in such\nbroken way as they can manage it; but in the nation you find every one\nscrambling for his neighbor's place.\n\nThis, then, is our first law, which we may generally call the Law of\nDeflection; or, if the position of the leaves with respect to the root\nbe regarded, of Radiation. The second is more curious, and we must go\nback over our ground a little to get at it.\n\n[Illustration: 52. Spirals of Thorn.]\n\n\u00a7 9. LAW II. THE LAW OF SUCCESSION.--From what we saw of the position of\nbuds, it follows that in every tree the leaves at the end of the spray,\ntaking the direction given them by the uppermost cycle or spiral of the\nbuds, will fall naturally into a starry group, expressive of the order\nof their growth. In an oak we shall have a cluster of five leaves, in a\nhorse-chestnut of four, in a rhododendron of six, and so on. But\nobserve, if we draw the oak-leaves all equal, as at _a_, Fig. 25, or the\nchestnut's (_b_), or the rhododendron's (_c_), you instantly will feel,\nor ought to feel, that something is wrong; that those are not foliage\nforms--not even normally or typically so--but dead forms, like crystals\nof snow. Considering this, and looking back to last chapter, you will\nsee that the buds which throw out these leaves do not grow side by side,\nbut one above another. In the oak and rhododendron, all five and all\nsix buds are at different heights; in the chestnut, one couple is above\nthe other couple.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 25.]\n\n\u00a7 10. Now so surely as one bud is above another, it must be stronger or\nweaker than that other. The shoot may either be increasing in strength\nas it advances, or declining; in either case, the buds must vary in\npower, and the leaves in size. At the top of the shoot, the last or\nuppermost leaves are mostly the smallest; of course always so in spring\nas they develope.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 26.]\n\nLet us then apply these conditions to our formal figure above, and\nsuppose each leaf to be weaker in its order of succession. The oak\nbecomes as _a_, Fig. 26, the chestnut shoot as _b_, the rhododendron,\n_c_. These, I should think, it can hardly be necessary to tell the\nreader, are true normal forms;--respecting which one or two points must\nbe noticed in detail.\n\n\u00a7 11. The magnitude of the leaves in the oak star diminishes, of course,\nin alternate order. The largest leaf is the lowest, 1 in Figure 8, p.\n14. While the largest leaf forms the bottom, next it, opposite each\nother, come the third and fourth, in order and magnitude, and the fifth\nand second form the top. An oak star is, therefore, always an oblique\nstar; but in the chestnut and other quatrefoil trees, though the\nuppermost couple of leaves must always be smaller than the lowermost\ncouple, there appears no geometrical reason why the opposite leaves of\neach couple should vary in size. Nevertheless, they always do, so that\nthe quatrefoil becomes oblique as well as the cinqfoil, as you see it is\nin Fig. 26.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 27.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 28.]\n\nThe normal of four-foils is therefore as in Fig. 27, A (maple): with\nmagnitudes, in order numbered; but it often happens that an opposite\npair agree to become largest and smallest; thus giving the pretty\nsymmetry, Fig. 27, B (spotted aucuba). Of course the quatrefoil in\nreality is always less formal, one pair of leaves more or less hiding or\npreceding the other. Fig. 28 is the outline of a young one in the maple.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 29.]\n\n\u00a7 12. The third form is more complex, and we must take the pains to\nfollow out what we left unobserved in last chapter respecting the way a\ntriplicate plant gets out of its difficulties.\n\nDraw a circle as in Fig. 29, and two lines, AB, BC, touching it, equal\nto each other, and each divided accurately in half where they touch the\ncircle, so that AP shall be equal to PB, BQ, and QC. And let the lines\nAB and BC be so placed that a dotted line AC, joining their extremities,\nwould not be much longer than either of them.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 30.]\n\nContinue to draw lines of the same length all round the circle. Lay five\nof them, AB, BC, CD, DE, EF. Then join the points AD, EB, and CF, and\nyou have Fig. 30, which is a hexagon, with the following curious\nproperties. It has one side largest, CD, two sides less, but equal to\neach other, AE and BF; and three sides less still, and equal to each\nother, AD, CF, and BE.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 31.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 32.]\n\nNow put leaves into this hexagon, Fig. 31, and you will see how\ncharmingly the rhododendron has got out of its difficulties. The next\ncycle will put a leaf in at the gap at the top, and begin a new hexagon.\nObserve, however, this geometrical figure is only to the rhododendron\nwhat the _a_ in Fig. 25 is to the oak, the icy or dead form. To get the\nliving normal form we must introduce our law of succession. That is to\nsay, the five lines A B, B C, &c., must continually diminish, as they\nproceed, and therefore continually approach the centre; roughly, as in\nFig. 32.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 33.]\n\n\u00a7 13. I dread entering into the finer properties of this construction,\nbut the reader cannot now fail to feel their beautiful result either in\nthe cluster in Fig. 26, or here in Fig. 33, which is a richer and more\noblique one. The three leaves of the uppermost triad are perfectly seen,\nclosing over the bud; and the general form is clear, though the lower\ntriads are confused to the eye by unequal development, as in these\ncomplex arrangements is almost always the case. The more difficulties\nare to be encountered the more licence is given to the plant in dealing\nwith them, and we shall hardly ever find a rhododendron shoot fulfilling\nits splendid spiral as an oak does its simple one.\n\nHere, for instance, is the actual order of ascending leaves in four\nrhododendron shoots which I gather at random.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 34.]\n\nOf these, A is the only quite well-conducted one; B takes one short\nstep, C, one step backwards, and D, two steps back and one, too short,\nforward.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 35.]\n\n\u00a7 14. LAW III. THE LAW OF RESILIENCE.--If you have been gathering any\nbranches from the trees I have named among quatrefoils (the box is the\nbest for exemplification), you have perhaps been embarrassed by finding\nthat the leaves, instead of growing on four sides of the stem, did\npractically grow oppositely on two. But if you look closely at the\nplaces of their insertion, you will find they indeed spring on all four\nsides; and that in order to take the flattened opposite position, each\nleaf twists round on its stalk, as in Fig. 35, which represents a\nbox-leaf magnified and foreshortened. The leaves do this in order to\navoid growing downwards, where the position of the bough and bud would,\nif the leaves regularly kept their places, involve downward growth. The\nleaves always rise up on each side from beneath, and form a flattened\ngroup, more or less distinctly in proportion to the horizontality of the\nbough, and the contiguity of foliage below and above. I shall not\ntrouble myself to illustrate this law, as you have only to gather a few\ntree-sprays to see its effect. But you must note the resulting\ncharacters on _every_ leaf; namely, that not one leaf in a thousand\ngrows without a fixed turn in its stalk; warping and varying the whole\nof the curve on the two edges, throughout its length, and thus producing\nthe loveliest conditions of its form. We shall presently trace the law\nof resilience farther on a larger scale: meanwhile, in summing the\nresults of our inquiry thus far, let us remember that every one of these\nlaws is observed with varying accuracy and gentle equity, according not\nonly to the strength and fellowship of foliage on the spray itself, but\naccording to the place and circumstances of its growth.\n\n\u00a7 15. For the leaves, as we shall see immediately, are the feeders of\nthe plant. Their own orderly habits of succession must not interfere\nwith their main business of finding food. Where the sun and air are, the\nleaf must go, whether it be out of order or not. So, therefore, in any\ngroup, the first consideration with the young leaves is much like that\nof young bees, how to keep out of each other's way, that every one may\nat once leave its neighbors as much free-air pasture as possible, and\nobtain a relative freedom for itself. This would be a quite simple\nmatter, and produce other simply balanced forms, if each branch, with\nopen air all round it, had nothing to think of but reconcilement of\ninterests among its own leaves. But every branch has others to meet or\nto cross, sharing with them, in various advantage, what shade, or sun,\nor rain is to be had. Hence every single leaf-cluster presents the\ngeneral aspect of a little family, entirely at unity among themselves,\nbut obliged to get their living by various shifts, concessions, and\ninfringements of the family rules, in order not to invade the privileges\nof other people in their neighborhood.\n\n\u00a7 16. And in the arrangement of these concessions there is an exquisite\nsensibility among the leaves. They do not grow each to his own liking,\ntill they run against one another, and then turn back sulkily; but by a\nwatchful instinct, far apart, they anticipate their companions' courses,\nas ships at sea, and in every new unfolding of their edged tissue, guide\nthemselves by the sense of each other's remote presence, and by a\nwatchful penetration of leafy purpose in the far future. So that every\nshadow which one casts on the next, and every glint of sun which each\nreflects to the next, and every touch which in toss of storm each\nreceives from the next, aid or arrest the development of their advancing\nform, and direct, as will be safest and best, the curve of every fold\nand the current of every vein.\n\n\u00a7 17. And this peculiar character exists in all the structures thus\ndeveloped, that they are always visibly the result of a volition on the\npart of the leaf, meeting an external force or fate, to which it is\nnever passively subjected. Upon it, as on a mineral in the course of\nformation, the great merciless influences of the universe, and the\noppressive powers of minor things immediately near it, act continually.\nHeat and cold, gravity and the other attractions, windy pressure, or\nlocal and unhealthy restraint, must, in certain inevitable degrees,\naffect the whole of its life. But it is _life_ which they affect;--a\nlife of progress and will,--not a merely passive accumulation of\nsubstance. This may be seen by a single glance. The mineral,--suppose an\nagate in the course of formation--shows in every line nothing but a dead\nsubmission to surrounding force. Flowing, or congealing, its substance\nis here repelled, there attracted, unresistingly to its place, and its\nlanguid sinuosities follow the clefts of the rock that contains them, in\nservile deflexion and compulsory cohesion, impotently calculable, and\ncold. But the leaf, full of fears and affections, shrinks and seeks, as\nit obeys. Not thrust, but awed into its retiring; not dragged, but won\nto its advance; not bent aside, as by a bridle, into new courses of\ngrowth: but persuaded and converted through tender continuance of\nvoluntary change.\n\n\u00a7 18. The mineral and it differing thus widely in separate being, they\ndiffer no less in modes of companionship. The mineral crystals group\nthemselves neither in succession, nor in sympathy; but great and small\nrecklessly strive for place, and deface or distort each other as they\ngather into opponent asperities. The confused crowd fills the rock\ncavity, hanging together in a glittering, yet sordid heap, in which\nnearly every crystal, owing to their vain contention, is imperfect, or\nimpure. Here and there one, at the cost and in defiance of the rest,\nrises into unwarped shape or unstained clearness. But the order of the\nleaves is one of soft and subdued concession. Patiently each awaits its\nappointed time, accepts its prepared place, yields its required\nobservance. Under every oppression of external accident, the group yet\nfollows a law laid down in its own heart; and all the members of it,\nwhether in sickness or health, in strength or languor, combine to carry\nout this first and last heart law; receiving, and seeming to desire for\nthemselves and for each other, only life which they may communicate, and\nloveliness which they may reflect.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] I believe the undermost of the two divisions of the leaf\n    represents vegetable tissue _returning_ from the extremity. See\n    Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_ (1848), vol. i. p. 253.\n\n  [2] For farther notes on this subject, see my _Elements of Drawing_,\n    p. 286.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nLEAF ASPECTS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Before following farther our inquiry into tree structure, it will\nrest us, and perhaps forward our work a little, to make some use of what\nwe know already.\n\nIt results generally from what we have seen that any group of four or\nfive leaves presenting itself in its natural position to the eye,\nconsists of a series of forms connected by exquisite and complex\nsymmetries, and that these forms will be not only varied in themselves,\nbut every one of them seen under a different condition of\nforeshortening.\n\nThe facility of drawing the group may be judged of by a comparison.\nSuppose five or six boats, very beautifully built, and sharp in the\nprow, to start all from one point, and the first bearing up into the\nwind, the other three or four to fall off from it in succession an equal\nnumber of points,[1] taking each, in consequence, a different slope of\ndeck from the stem of the sail. Suppose, also, that the bows of these\nboats were transparent, so that you could see the under sides of their\ndecks as well as the upper;--and that it were required of you to draw\nall their five decks, the under or upper side, as their curve showed it,\nin true foreshortened perspective, indicating the exact distance each\nboat had reached at a given moment from the central point they started\nfrom.\n\nIf you can do that, you can draw a rose-leaf. Not otherwise.\n\n\u00a7 2. When, some few years ago, the pre-Raphaelites began to lead our\nwandering artists back into the eternal paths of all great Art, and\nshowed that whatever men drew at all, ought to be drawn accurately and\nknowingly; not blunderingly nor by guess (leaves of trees among other\nthings): as ignorant pride on the one hand refused their teaching,\nignorant hope caught at it on the other. \"What!\" said many a feeble\nyoung student to himself. \"Painting is not a matter of science then, nor\nof supreme skill, nor of inventive brain. I have only to go and paint\nthe leaves of the trees as they grow, and I shall produce beautiful\nlandscapes directly.\"\n\nAlas! my innocent young friend. \"Paint the leaves as they grow!\" If you\ncan paint _one_ leaf, you can paint the world. These pre-Raphaelite\nlaws, which you think so light, lay stern on the strength of Apelles and\nZeuxis; put Titian to thoughtful trouble; are unrelaxed yet, and\nunrelaxable for ever. Paint a leaf indeed! Above-named Titian has done\nit: Correggio, moreover, and Giorgione: and Leonardo, very nearly,\ntrying hard. Holbein, three or four times, in precious pieces, highest\nwrought. Raphael, it may be, in one or two crowns of Muse or Sibyl. If\nany one else, in later times, we have to consider.\n\n\u00a7 3. At least until recently, the perception of organic leaf form was\nabsolutely, in all painters whatsoever, proportionate to their power of\ndrawing the human figure. All the great Italian designers drew leaves\nthoroughly well, though none quite so fondly as Correggio. Rubens drew\nthem coarsely and vigorously, just as he drew limbs. Among the inferior\nDutch painters, the leaf-painting degenerates in proportion to the\ndiminishing power in figure. Cuyp, Wouvermans, and Paul Potter, paint\nbetter foliage than either Hobbima or Ruysdael.\n\n\u00a7 4. In like manner the power of treating vegetation in sculpture is\nabsolutely commensurate with nobleness of figure design. The quantity,\nrichness, or deceptive finish may be greater in third-rate work; but in\ntrue understanding and force of arrangement the leaf and the human\nfigure show always parallel skill. The leaf-mouldings of Lorenzo\nGhiberti are unrivalled, as his bas-reliefs are, and the severe foliage\nof the Cathedral of Chartres is as grand as its queen-statues.\n\n\u00a7 5. The greatest draughtsmen draw leaves, like everything else, of\ntheir full-life size in the nearest part of the picture. They cannot be\nrightly drawn on any other terms. It is impossible to reduce a group so\ntreated without losing much of its character; and more painfully\nimpossible to represent by engraving any good workman's handling. I\nintended to have inserted in this place an engraving of the cluster of\noak-leaves above Correggio's Antiope in the Louvre, but it is too\nlovely; and if I am able to engrave it at all, it must be separately,\nand of its own size. So I draw, roughly, instead, a group of oak-leaves\non a young shoot, a little curled with autumn frost: Plate 53. I could\nnot draw them accurately enough if I drew them in spring. They would\ndroop and lose their relations. Thus roughly drawn, and losing some of\ntheir grace, by withering, they, nevertheless, have enough left to show\nhow noble leaf-form is; and to prove, it seems to me, that Dutch\ndraughtsmen do not wholly express it. For instance, Fig. 3, Plate 54, is\na facsimile of a bit of the nearest oak foliage out of Hobbima's Scene\nwith the Water-mill, No. 131, in the Dulwich Gallery. Compared with the\nreal forms of oak-leaf, in Plate 53, it may, I hope, at least enable my\nreaders to understand, if they choose, why, never having ceased to rate\nthe Dutch painters for their meanness or minuteness, I yet accepted the\nleaf-painting of the pre-Raphaelites with reverence and hope.\n\n[Illustration: 53. The Dryad's Crown.]\n\n[Illustration: 54. Dutch Leafage.]\n\n\u00a7 6. No word has been more harmfully misused than that ugly one of\n\"niggling.\" I should be glad if it were entirely banished from service\nand record. The only essential question about drawing is whether it be\nright or wrong; that it be small or large, swift or slow, is a matter of\nconvenience only. But so far as the word may be legitimately used at\nall, it belongs especially to such execution as this of\nHobbima's--execution which substitutes, on whatever scale, a mechanical\ntrick or habit of hand for true drawing of known or intended forms. So\nlong as the work is thoughtfully directed, there is no niggling. In a\nsmall Greek coin the muscles of the human body are as grandly treated as\nin a colossal statue; and a fine vignette of Turner's will show separate\ntouches often more extended in intention, and stronger in result, than\nthose of his largest oil pictures. In the vignette of the picture of\nGinevra, at page 90 of Roger's Italy, the forefinger touching the lip is\nentirely and rightly drawn, bent at the two joints, within the length of\nthe thirtieth of an inch, and the whole hand within the space of one of\nthose \"niggling\" touches of Hobbima. But if this work were magnified, it\nwould be seen to be a strong and simple expression of a hand by thick\nblack lines.\n\n\u00a7 7. Niggling, therefore, essentially means disorganized and mechanical\nwork, applied on a scale which may deceive a vulgar or ignorant person\ninto the idea of its being true:--a definition applicable to the whole\nof the leaf-painting of the Dutch landscapists in distant effect, and\nfor the most part to that of their near subjects also. Cuyp and\nWouvermans, as before stated, and others, in proportion to their power\nover the figure, drew leaves better in the foreground, yet never\naltogether well; for though Cuyp often draws a single leaf carefully\n(weedy ground-vegetation especially, with great truth), he never felt\nthe connection of leaves, but scattered them on the boughs at random.\nFig. 1 in Plate 54 is nearly a _facsimile_ of part of the branch on the\nleft side in our National Gallery picture. Its entire want of grace and\norganization ought to be felt at a glance, after the work we have gone\nthrough. The average conditions of leafage-painting among the Dutch are\nbetter represented by Fig. 2, Plate 54, which is a piece of the foliage\nfrom the Cuyp in the Dulwich Gallery, No. 163. It is merely wrought with\na mechanical play of brush in a well-trained hand, gradating the color\nirregularly and agreeably, but with no more feeling or knowledge of\nleafage than a paperstainer shows in graining a pattern. A bit of the\nstalk is seen on the left; it might just as well have been on the other\nside, for any connection the leaves have with it. As the leafage retires\ninto distance, the Dutch painters merely diminish their _scale_ of\ntouch. The touch itself remains the same, but its effect is falser; for\nthough the separate stains or blots in Fig. 2, do not rightly represent\nthe forms of leaves, they may not inaccurately represent the number of\nleaves on that spray. But in distance, when, instead of one spray, we\nhave thousands in sight, no human industry, nor possible diminution of\ntouch can represent their mist of foliage, and the Dutch work becomes\ndoubly base, by reason of false form, and lost infinity.\n\n\u00a7 8. Hence what I said in our first inquiry about foliage, \"A single\ndusty roll of Turner's brush is more truly expressive of the infinitude\nof foliage than the niggling of Hobbima could have rendered his canvas,\nif he had worked on it till doomsday.\" And this brings me to the main\ndifficulty I have had in preparing this section. That infinitude of\nTurner's execution attaches not only to his distant work, but in due\ndegree to the nearest pieces of his trees. As I have shown in the\nchapter on mystery, he perfected the system of art, as applicable to\nlandscape, by the introduction of this infiniteness. In other qualities\nhe is often only equal, in some inferior, to great preceding painters;\nbut in this mystery he stands alone. He could not paint a cluster of\nleaves better than Titian; but he could a bough, much more a distant\nmass of foliage. No man ever before painted a distant tree rightly, or a\nfull-leaved branch rightly. All Titian's distant branches are ponderous\nflakes, as if covered with seaweed, while Veronese's and Raphael's are\nconventional, being exquisitely ornamental arrangements of small perfect\nleaves. See the background of the Parnassus in Volpato's plate. It is\nvery lovely, however.\n\n[Illustration: 55. By the Way-side.]\n\n\u00a7 9. But this peculiar execution of Turner's is entirely uncopiable;\nleast of all to be copied in engraving. It is at once so dexterous and\nso keenly cunning, swiftest play of hand being applied with concentrated\nattention on every movement, that no care in facsimile will render it.\nThe delay in the conclusion of this work has been partly caused by the\nfailure of repeated attempts to express this execution. I see my way now\nto some partial result; but must get the writing done, and give\nundivided care to it before I attempt to produce costly plates.\nMeanwhile, the little cluster of foliage opposite, from the thicket\nwhich runs up the bank on the right-hand side of the drawing of\nRichmond, looking up the river, in the Yorkshire series, will give the\nreader some idea of the mingled definiteness and mystery of Turner's\nwork, as opposed to the mechanism of the Dutch on the one side, and the\nconventional severity of the Italians on the other. It should be\ncompared with the published engraving in the Yorkshire series; for just\nas much increase, both in quantity and refinement, would be necessary in\nevery portion of the picture, before any true conception could be given\nof the richness of Turner's designs. A fragment of distant foliage I may\ngive farther on; but, in order to judge rightly of either example, we\nmust know one or two points in the structure of branches, requiring yet\nsome irksome patience of inquiry, which I am compelled to ask the reader\nto grant me through another two chapters.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] I don't know that this is rightly expressed; but the meaning will\n    be understood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE BRANCH.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. We have hitherto spoken of each shoot as either straight or only\nwarped by its spiral tendency; but no shoot of any length, except those\nof the sapling, ever can be straight; for, as the family of leaves which\nit bears are forced unanimously to take some given direction in search\nof food or light, the stalk necessarily obeys the same impulse, and\nbends itself so as to sustain them in their adopted position, with the\ngreatest ease to itself and comfort for them.\n\nIn doing this, it has two main influences to comply or contend with: the\nfirst, the direct action of the leaves in drawing it this way or that,\nas they themselves seek particular situations; the second, the pressure\nof their absolute weight after they have taken their places, depressing\neach bough in a given degree; the leverage increasing as the leaf\nextends. To these principal forces may frequently be added that of some\nprevalent wind, which, on a majority of days in the year, bends the\nbough, leaves and all, for hours together, out of its normal position.\nOwing to these three forces, the shoot is nearly sure to be curved in at\nleast two directions;[1] that is to say, not merely as the rim of a\nwine-glass is curved (so that, looking at it horizontally, the circle\nbecomes a straight line), but as the edge of a lip or an eyebrow is\ncurved, partly upward, partly forwards, so that in no possible\nperspective can it be seen as a straight line. Similarly, no perspective\nwill usually bring a shoot of a free-growing tree to appear a straight\nline.\n\n\u00a7 2. It is evident that the more leaves the stalk has to sustain, the\nmore strength it requires. It might appear, therefore, not unadvisable,\nthat every leaf should, as it grew, pay a small tax to the stalk for its\nsustenance; so that there might be no fear of any number of leaves being\ntoo oppressive to their bearer. Which, accordingly, is just what the\nleaves do. Each, from the moment of his complete majority, pays a stated\ntax to the stalk; that is to say, collects for it a certain quantity of\nwood, or materials for wood, and sends this wood, or what ultimately\nwill become wood, _down_ the stalk to add to its thickness.\n\n\u00a7 3. \"Down the stalk?\" yes, and down a great way farther. For, as the\nleaves, if they did not thus contribute to their own support, would soon\nbe too heavy for the spray, so if the spray, with its family of leaves,\ncontributed nothing to the thickness of the branch, the leaf-families\nwould soon break down their sustaining branches. And, similarly, if the\nbranches gave nothing to the stem, the stem would soon fall under its\nboughs. Therefore, by a power of which I believe no sufficient account\nexists,[2] as each leaf adds to the thickness of the shoot, so each\nshoot to the branch, so each branch to the stem, and that with so\nperfect an order and regularity of duty, that from every leaf in all the\ncountless crowd at the tree's summit, one slender fibre, or at least\nfibre's thickness of wood, descends through shoot, through spray,\nthrough branch, and through stem; and having thus added, in its due\nproportion, to form the strength of the tree, labors yet farther and\nmore painfully to provide for its security; and thrusting forward into\nthe root, loses nothing of its mighty energy, until, mining through the\ndarkness, it has taken hold in cleft of rock or depth of earth, as\nextended as the sweep of its green crest in the free air.\n\n\u00a7 4. Such, at least, is the mechanical aspect of the tree. The work of\nits construction, considered as a branch tower, partly propped by\nbuttresses, partly lashed by cables, is thus shared in by every leaf.\nBut considering it as a living body to be nourished, it is probably an\ninaccurate analogy to speak of the leaves being taxed for the\nenlargement of the trunk. Strictly speaking, the trunk enlarges by\nsustaining them. For each leaf, however far removed from the ground,\nstands in need of nourishment derived from the ground, as well as of\nthat which it finds in the air; and it simply sends its root down along\nthe stem of the tree, until it reaches the ground and obtains the\nnecessary mineral elements. The trunk has been therefore called by some\nbotanists a \"bundle of roots,\" but I think inaccurately. It is rather a\nmessenger to the roots.[3] A root, properly so called, is a fibre,\nspongy or absorbent at the extremity, which secretes certain elements\nfrom the earth. The stem is by this definition no more a cluster of\nroots than a cluster of leaves, but a channel of intercourse between the\nroots and the leaves. It can gather no nourishment. It only carries\nnourishment, being, in fact, a group of canals for the conveyance of\nmarketable commodities, with an electric telegraph attached to each,\ntransmitting messages from leaf to root, and root to leaf, up and down\nthe tree. But whatever view we take of the operative causes, the\nexternal and visible fact is simply that every leaf does send down from\nits stalk a slender thread of woody matter along the sides of the shoot\nit grows upon; and that the increase of thickness in stem, proportioned\nto the advance of the leaves, corresponds with an increase of thickness\nin roots, proportioned to the advance of their outer fibres. How far\ninterchange of elements takes place between root and leaf, it is not our\nwork here to examine; the general and broad idea is this, that the whole\ntree is fed partly by the earth, partly by the air;--strengthened and\nsustained by the one, agitated and educated by the other;--all of it\nwhich is best, in substance, life, and beauty, being drawn more from the\ndew of heaven than the fatness of the earth. The results of this\nnourishment of the bough by the leaf in external aspect, are the object\nof our immediate inquiry.\n\n\u00a7 5. Hitherto we have considered the shoot as an ascending body,\nthrowing off buds at intervals. This it is indeed; but the part of it\nwhich ascends is not seen externally. Look back to Plate 51. You will\nobserve that each shoot is furrowed, and that the ridges between the\nfurrows rise in slightly spiral lines, terminating in the armlets under\nthe buds which bore last year's leaves. These ridges, which rib the\nshoot so distinctly, are not on the ascending part of it. They are the\ncontributions of each successive leaf thrown out as it ascended. Every\nleaf sent down a slender cord, covering and clinging to the shoot\nbeneath, and increasing its thickness. Each, according to his size and\nstrength, wove his little strand of cable, as a spider his thread; and\ncast it down the side of the springing tower by a marvellous\nmagic--irresistible! The fall of a granite pyramid from an Alp may\nperhaps be stayed; the descending force of that silver thread shall not\nbe stayed. It will split the rocks themselves at its roots, if need be,\nrather than fail in its work.\n\nSo many leaves, so many silver cords. Count--for by just the thickness\nof one cord, beneath each leaf, let fall in fivefold order round and\nround, the shoot increases in thickness to its root:--a spire built\ndownwards from the heaven.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 36.]\n\nAnd now we see why the leaves dislike being above each other. Each seeks\na vacant place, where he may freely let fall the cord. The turning aside\nof the cable to avoid the buds beneath, is one of the main causes of\nspiral curvature, as the shoot increases. It required all the care I\ncould give to the drawing, and all Mr. Armytage's skill in engraving\nPlate 51, to express, though drawing them nearly of their full size, the\nprincipal courses of curvature in even this least graceful of trees.\n\n\u00a7 6. According to the structure thus ascertained, the body of the shoot\nmay at any point be considered as formed by a central rod, represented\nby the shaded inner circle, _a_, Fig. 36, surrounded by as many rods of\ndescending external wood as there are leaves above the point where the\nsection is made. The first five leaves above send down the first dark\nrods; and the next above send down those between, which, being from\nyounger leaves, are less liable to interstices; then the third group\nsending down the side, it will be seen at a glance how a spiral action\nis produced. It would lead us into too subtile detail, if I traced the\nforces of this spiral superimposition. I must be content to let the\nreader peruse this part of the subject for himself, if it amuses him,\nand lead to larger questions.\n\n\u00a7 7. Broadly and practically, we may consider the whole cluster of woody\nmaterial in Fig. 36 as one circle of fibrous substance formed round a\nsmall central rod. The real appearance in most trees is approximately as\nin _b_, Fig. 36, the radiating structure becoming more distinct in\nproportion to the largeness and compactness of the wood.[4]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 37.]\n\nNow the next question is, how this descending external coating of wood\nwill behave itself when it comes to the forking of the shoots. To\nsimplify the examination of this, let us suppose the original or growing\nshoot (whose section is the shaded inner circle in Fig. 36) to have been\nin the form of a letter Y, and no thicker than a stout iron wire, as in\nFig. 37. Down the arms of this letter Y, we have two fibrous streams\nrunning in the direction of the arrows. If the depth or thickness of\nthese streams be such as at _b_ and _c_, what will their thickness be\nwhen they unite at _e_? Evidently, the quantity of wood surrounding the\nvertical wire at _e_ must be twice as great as that surrounding the\nwires _b_ and _c_.\n\n\u00a7 8. The reader will, perhaps, be good enough to take it on my word (if\nhe does not know enough of geometry to ascertain), that the large\ncircle, in Fig. 38, contains twice as much area as either of the two\nsmaller circles. Putting these circles in position, so as to guide us,\nand supposing the trunk to be bounded by straight lines, we have for the\noutline of the fork that in Fig. 38. How, then, do the two minor circles\nchange into one large one? The section of the stem at _a_ is a circle;\nand at _b_, is a circle; and at _c_, a circle. But what is it at _e_?\nEvidently, if the two circles merely united gradually, without change of\nform through a series of figures, such as those at the top of Fig. 39,\nthe quantity of wood, instead of remaining the same, would diminish from\nthe contents of two circles to the contents of one. So for every loss\nwhich the circles sustain at this junction, an equal quantity of wood\nmust be thrust out somehow to the side. Thus, to enable the circles to\nrun into each other, as far as shown at _b_, in Fig. 39, there must be a\nloss between them of as much wood as the shaded space. Therefore, half\nof that space must be added, or rather pushed out on each side, and the\nsection of the uniting branch becomes approximately as in _c_, Fig. 39;\nthe wood squeezed out encompassing the stem more as the circles close,\nuntil the whole is reconciled into one larger single circle.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 38.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 39.]\n\n\u00a7 9. I fear the reader would have no patience with me, if I asked him to\nexamine, in longitudinal section, the lines of the descending currents\nof wood as they eddy into the increased single river. Of course, it is\njust what would take place if two strong streams, filling each a\ncylindrical pipe, ran together into one larger cylinder, with a central\nrod passing up every tube. But, as this central rod increases, and, at\nthe same time, the supply of the stream from above, every added leaf\ncontributing its little current, the eddies of wood about the fork\nbecome intensely curious and interesting; of which thus much the reader\nmay observe in a moment by gathering a branch of any tree (laburnum\nshows it better, I think, than most), that the two meeting currents,\nfirst wrinkling a little, then rise in a low wave in the hollow of the\nfork, and flow over at the side, making their way to diffuse themselves\nround the stem, as in Fig. 40. Seen laterally, the bough bulges out\nbelow the fork, rather curiously and awkwardly, especially if more than\ntwo boughs meet at the same place, growing in one plane, so as to show\nthe sudden increase on the profile. If the reader is interested in the\nsubject, he will find strangely complicated and wonderful arrangements\nof stream when smaller boughs meet larger (one example is given in Plate\n3, Vol. III., where the current of a smaller bough, entering upwards,\npushes its way into the stronger rivers of the stem). But I cannot, of\ncourse, enter into such detail here.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 40.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 41.]\n\n\u00a7 10. The little ringed accumulation, repelled from the wood of the\nlarger trunk at the base of small boughs, may be seen at a glance in any\ntree, and needs no illustration; but I give one from Salvator, Fig. 41\n(from his own etching, _Democritus omnium Derisor_), which is\ninteresting, because it shows the swelling at the bases of insertion,\nwhich yet, Salvator's eye not being quick enough to detect the law of\ndescent in the fibres, he, with his usual love of ugliness, fastens on\nthis swollen character, and exaggerates it into an appearance of\ndisease. The same bloated aspect may be seen in the example already\ngiven from another etching, Vol. III., Plate 4, Fig. 8.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 42.]\n\n\u00a7 11. I do not give any more examples from Claude. We have had enough\nalready in Plate 4, Vol. III., which the reader should examine\ncarefully. If he will then look forward to Fig. 61 here, he will see how\nTurner inserts branches, and with what certain and strange instinct of\nfidelity he marks the wrinkled enlargement and sinuous eddies of the\nwood rivers where they meet.\n\nAnd remember always that Turner's greatness and rightness in all these\npoints successively depend on no scientific knowledge. He was entirely\nignorant of all the laws we have been developing. He had merely\naccustomed himself to see impartially, intensely, and fearlessly.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 43.]\n\n\u00a7 12. It may, perhaps, be interesting to compare, with the rude\nfallacies of Claude and Salvator, a little piece of earliest art,\nwrought by men who could see and feel. The scroll, Fig. 42, is a portion\nof that which surrounds the arch in San Zeno of Verona, above the\npillar engraved in the _Stones of Venice_, Plate 17, Vol. I. It is,\ntherefore, twelfth, or earliest thirteenth century work. Yet the foliage\nis already full of spring and life; and in the part of the stem, which I\nhave given of its real size in Fig. 43, the reader will perhaps be\nsurprised to see at the junctions the laws of vegetation, which escaped\nthe sight of all the degenerate landscape-painters of Italy, expressed\nby one of her simple architectural workmen six hundred years ago.\n\nWe now know enough, I think, of the internal conditions which regulate\ntree-structure to enable us to investigate finally, the great laws of\nbranch and stem aspect. But they are very beautiful; and we will give\nthem a separate chapter.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] See the note on Fig. 11, at page 17, which shows these two\n    directions in a shoot of lime.\n\n  [2] I find that the office and nature of cambium, the causes of the\n    action of the sap, and the real mode of the formation of buds, are\n    all still under the investigation of botanists. I do not lose time in\n    stating the doubts or probabilities which exist on these subjects.\n    For us, the mechanical fact of the increase of thickness by every\n    leaf's action is all that needs attention. The reader who wishes for\n    information as accurate as the present state of science admits, may\n    consult Lindley's _Introduction to Botany_, and an interesting little\n    book by Dr. Alexander Harvey on _Trees and their Nature_ (Nisbet &\n    Co., 1856), to which I owe much help.\n\n  [3] In the true sense a \"mediator,\" ([Greek: mesit\u00eas]).\n\n  [4] The gradual development of this radiating structure, which is\n    organic and essential, composed of what are called by botanists\n    medullary rays, is still a great mystery and wonder to me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE STEM.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. We must be content, in this most complex subject, to advance very\nslowly: and our easiest, if not our only way, will be to examine, first,\nthe conditions under which boughs would form, supposing them all to\ndivide in one plane, as your hand divides when you lay it flat on the\ntable, with the fingers as wide apart as you can. And then we will\ndeduce the laws of ramification which follow on the real structure of\nbranches, which truly divide, not in one plane, but as your fingers\nseparate if you hold a large round ball with them.\n\nThe reader has, I hope, a clear idea by this time of the main principle\nof tree-growth; namely, that the increase is by addition, or\nsuperimposition, not extension. A branch does not stretch itself out as\na leech stretches its body. But it receives additions at its extremity,\nand proportional additions to its thickness. For although the actual\nliving shoot, or growing point, of any year, lengthens itself gradually\nuntil it reaches its terminal bud, after that bud is formed, its length\nis fixed. It is thenceforth one joint of the tree, like the joint of a\npillar, on which other joints of marble may be laid to elongate the\npillar, but which will not itself stretch. A tree is thus truly edified,\nor built, like a house.\n\n\u00a7 2. I am not sure with what absolute stringency this law is observed,\nor what slight lengthening of substance may be traceable by close\nmeasurement among inferior branches. For practical purposes, we may\nassume that the law is final, and that if we represent the state of a\nplant, or extremity of branch, in any given year under the simplest\npossible type, Fig. 44, _a_, of two shoots, with terminal buds,\nspringing from one stem, its growth next year may be expressed by the\ntype, Fig. 44, _b_, in which, the original stems not changing or\nincreasing, the terminal buds have built up each another story of\nplant, or repetition of the original form; and, in order to support this\nnew edifice, have sent down roots all the way to the ground, so as to\nenclose and thicken the inferior stem.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 44.]\n\nBut if this is so, how does the original stem, which never lengthens,\never become the tall trunk of a tree? The arrangement just stated\nprovides very satisfactorily for making it stout, but not for making it\ntall. If the ramification proceeds in this way, the tree must assuredly\nbecome a round compact ball of short sticks, attached to the ground by a\nvery stout, almost invisible, stem, like a puff-ball.\n\nFor if we take the form above, on a small scale, merely to see what\ncomes of it, and carry its branching three steps farther, we get the\nsuccessive conditions in Fig. 45, of which the last comes already round\nto the ground.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 45.]\n\n\"But those forms really look something like trees!\" Yes, if they were on\na large scale. But each of the little shoots is only six or seven inches\nlong; the whole cluster would but be three or four feet over, and\ntouches the ground already at its extremity. It would enlarge if it went\non growing, but never rise from the ground.\n\n\u00a7 3. This is an interesting question: one, also, which, I fear, we must\nsolve, so far as yet it can be solved, with little help. Perhaps nothing\nis more curious in the history of human mind than the way in which the\nscience of botany has become oppressed by nomenclature. Here is perhaps\nthe first question which an intelligent child would think of asking\nabout a tree: \"Mamma, how does it make its trunk?\" and you may open one\nbotanical work after another, and good ones too, and by sensible\nmen,--you shall not find this child's question fairly put, much less\nfairly answered. You will be told gravely that a stem has received many\nnames, such as _culmus_, _stipes_, and _truncus_; that twigs were once\ncalled _flagella_, but are now called _ramuli_; and that Mr. Link calls\na straight stem, with branches on its sides, a _caulis excurrens_; and a\nstem, which at a certain distance above the earth breaks out into\nirregular ramifications, a _caulis deliquescens_. All thanks and honor\nbe to Mr. Link! But at this moment, when we want to know _why_ one stem\nbreaks \"at a certain distance,\" and the other not at all, we find\nno great help in those splendid excurrencies and deliquescencies.\n\"At a certain distance?\" Yes: but why not before? or why then? How\nwas it that, for many and many a year, the young shoots agreed to\nconstruct a vertical tower, or, at least, the nucleus of one, and then,\none merry day, changed their minds, and built about their metropolis in\nall directions, nobody knows where, far into the air in free delight?\nHow is it that yonder larch-stem grows straight and true, while all its\nbranches, constructed by the same process as the mother trunk, and under\nthe mother trunk's careful inspection and direction, nevertheless have\nlost all their manners, and go forking and flashing about, more like\ncracklings of spitefullest lightning than decent branches of trees that\ndip green leaves in dew?\n\n\u00a7 4. We have probably, many of us, missed the point of such questions as\nthese, because we too readily associated the structure of trees with\nthat of flowers. The flowering part of a plant shoots out or up, in some\ngiven direction, until, at a stated period, it opens or branches into\nperfect form by a law just as fixed, and just as inexplicable, as that\nwhich numbers the joints of an animal's skeleton, and puts the head on\nits right joint. In many forms of flowers--foxglove, aloe, hemlock, or\nblossom of maize--the structure of the flowering part so far assimilates\nitself to that of a tree, that we not unnaturally think of a tree only\nas a large flower, or large remnant of flower, run to seed. And we\nsuppose the time and place of its branching to be just as organically\ndetermined as the height of the stalk of straw, or hemlock pipe, and the\nfashion of its branching just as fixed as the shape of petals in a pansy\nor cowslip.\n\n\u00a7 5. But that is not so; not so in anywise. So far as you can watch a\ntree, it is produced throughout by repetitions of the same process,\nwhich repetitions, however, are arbitrarily directed so as to produce\none effect at one time, and another at another time. A young sapling has\nhis branches as much as the tall tree. He does not shoot up in a long\nthin rod, and begin to branch when he is ten or fifteen feet high, as\nthe hemlock or foxglove does when each has reached its ten or fifteen\ninches. The young sapling conducts himself with all the dignity of a\ntree from the first;--only he so manages his branches as to form a\nsupport for his future life, in a strong straight trunk, that will hold\nhim well off the ground. Prudent little sapling!--but how does he manage\nthis? how keep the young branches from rambling about, till the proper\ntime, or on what plea dismiss them from his service if they will not\nhelp his provident purpose? So again, there is no difference in mode of\nconstruction between the trunk of a pine and its branch. But external\ncircumstances so far interfere with the results of this repeated\nconstruction, that a stone pine rises for a hundred feet like a pillar,\nand then suddenly bursts into a cloud. It is the knowledge of the mode\nin which such change may take place which forms the true natural history\nof trees:--or, more accurately, their moral history. An animal is born\nwith so many limbs, and a head of such a shape. That is, strictly\nspeaking, not its history, but one fact of its history: a fact of which\nno other account can be given than that it was so appointed. But a tree\nis born without a head. It has got to make its own head. It is born like\na little family from which a great nation is to spring; and at a certain\ntime, under peculiar external circumstances, this nation, every\nindividual of which remains the same in nature and temper, yet gives\nitself a new political constitution, and sends out branch colonies,\nwhich enforce forms of law and life entirely different from those of the\nparent state. That is the history of the state. It is also the history\nof a tree.\n\n\u00a7 6. Of these hidden histories, I know and can tell you as little as I\ndid of the making of rocks. It will be enough for me if I can put the\ndifficulty fairly before you, show you clearly such facts as are\nnecessary to the understanding of great Art, and so leave you to pursue,\nat your pleasure, the graceful mystery of this imperfect leafage life.\n\nI took in the outset the type of a _triple_ but as the most general\nthat could be given of all trees, because it represents a prevalently\nupright main tendency, with a capacity of branching on both sides. I\nwould have shown the power of branching on _all_ sides if I could; but\nwe must be content at first with the simplest condition. From what we\nhave seen since of bud structure, we may now make our type more complete\nby giving each bud a root proportioned to its size. And our elementary\ntype of tree plant will be as in Fig. 46.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 46.]\n\n\u00a7 7. Now these three buds, though differently placed, have all one mind.\nNo bud has an oblique mind. Every one would like, if he could, to grow\nupright, and it is because the midmost one has entirely his own way in\nthis matter, that he is largest. He is an elder brother;--his birthright\nis to grow straight towards the sky. A younger child may perhaps\nsupplant him, if he does not care for his privilege. In the meantime all\nare of one family, and love each other,--so that the two lateral buds do\nnot stoop aside because they like it, but to let their more favored\nbrother grow in peace. All the three buds and roots have at heart the\nsame desire;--which is, the one to grow as straight as he can towards\nbright heaven, the other as deep as he can into dark earth. Up to light,\nand down to shade;--into air and into rock:--that is their mind and\npurpose for ever. So far as they can, in kindness to each other, and by\nsufferance of external circumstances, work out that destiny, they will.\nBut their beauty will not result from their working it out,--only from\ntheir maintained purpose and resolve to do so, if it may be. They will\nfail--certainly two, perhaps all three of them: fail\negregiously;--ridiculously;--it may be agonizingly. Instead of growing\nup, they may be wholly sacrificed to happier buds above, and have to\ngrow _down_, sideways, roundabout ways, all sorts of ways. Instead of\ngetting down quietly into the convent of the earth, they may have to\ncling and crawl about hardest and hottest angles of it, full in sight of\nman and beast, and roughly trodden under foot by them;--stumbling-blocks\nto many.\n\nYet out of such sacrifice, gracefully made--such misfortune, gloriously\nsustained--all their true beauty is to arise. Yes, and from more than\nsacrifice--more than misfortune: from _death_. Yes, and more than\ndeath:--from the worst kind of death: not natural, coming to each in\nits due time; but premature, oppressed, unnatural, misguided--or so it\nwould seem--to the poor dying sprays. Yet, without such death, no strong\ntrunk were ever possible; no grace of glorious limb or glittering leaf;\nno companionship with the rest of nature or with man.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 47.]\n\n\u00a7 8. Let us see how this must be. We return to our poor little threefold\ntype, Fig. 46, above. Next year he will become as in Fig. 47. The two\nlateral buds keeping as much as may be out of their brother's way, and\nyet growing upwards with a will, strike diagonal lines, and in moderate\ncomfort accomplish their year's life and terminal buds. But what is to\nbe done next? Forming the triple terminal head on this diagonal line, we\nfind that one of our next year's buds, _c_, will have to grow down\nagain, which is very hard; and another, _b_, will run right against the\nlateral branch of the upper bud, A, which must not be allowed under any\ncircumstances.\n\nWhat are we to do?\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 48.]\n\n\u00a7 9. The best we can. Give up our straightness, and some of our length,\nand consent to grow short, and crooked. But _b_ shall be ordered to\nstoop forward and keep his head out of the great bough's way, as in Fig.\n48, and grow as he best may, with the consumptive pain in his chest. To\ngive him a little more room, the elder brother, _a_, shall stoop a\nlittle forward also, recovering himself when he has got out of _b_'s\nway; and bud _c_ shall be encouraged to bend himself bravely round and\nup, after his first start in that disagreeable downward direction. Poor\n_b_, withdrawn from air and light between _a_ and A, and having to live\nstooping besides, cannot make much of himself, and is stunted and\nfeeble. _c_, having free play for his energies, bends up with a will,\nand becomes handsomer, to our minds, than if he had been straight; and\n_a_ is none the worse for his concession to unhappy _b_ in early life.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 49.]\n\nSo far well for this year. But how for next? _b_ is already too near the\nspray above him, even for his own strength and comfort; much less, with\nhis weak constitution, will he be able to throw up any strong new\nshoots. And if he did, they would only run into those of the bough\nabove. (If the reader will proceed in the construction of the whole\nfigure he will see that this is so.) Under these discouragements and\ndeficiencies, _b_ is probably frostbitten, and drops off. The bough\nproceeds, mutilated, and itself somewhat discouraged. But it repeats its\nsincere and good-natured compliances, and at the close of the year, new\nwood from all the leaves having concealed the stump, and effaced the\nmemory of poor lost _b_, and perhaps a consolatory bud lower down having\nthrown out a tiny spray to make the most of the vacant space near the\nmain stem, we shall find the bough in some such shape as Fig. 49.\n\n\u00a7 10. Wherein we already see the germ of our irregularly bending branch,\nwhich might ultimately be much the prettier for the loss of _b_. Alas!\nthe Fates have forbidden even this. While the low bough is making all\nthese exertions, the boughs of A, above him, higher in air, have made\nthe same under happier auspices. Every year their thicker leaves more\nand more forbid the light; and, after rain, shed their own drops\nunwittingly on the unfortunate lower bough, and prevent the air or sun\nfrom drying his bark or checking the chill in his medullary rays. Slowly\na hopeless languor gains upon him. He buds here or there, faintly, in\nthe spring; but the flow of strong wood from above oppresses him even\nabout his root, where it joins the trunk. The very sap does not turn\naside to him, but rushes up to the stronger, laughing leaves far above.\nLife is no more worth having; and abandoning all effort, the poor bough\ndrops, and finds consummation of destiny in helping an old woman's\nfire.\n\nWhen he is gone, the one next above is left with greater freedom, and\nwill shoot now from points of its sprays which were before likely to\nperish. Hence another condition of irregularity in form. But that bough\nalso will fall in its turn, though after longer persistence. Gradually\nthus the central trunk is built, and the branches by whose help it was\nformed cast off, leaving here and there scars, which are all effaced by\nyears, or lost sight of among the roughnesses and furrows of the aged\nsurface. The work is continually advancing, and thus the head of foliage\non any tree is not an expansion at a given height, like a flower-bell,\nbut the collective group of boughs, or workmen, who have got up so far,\nand will get up higher next year, still losing one or two of their\nnumber underneath.\n\n\u00a7 11. So far well. But this only accounts for the formation of a\nvertical trunk. How is it that at a certain height this vertical trunk\nceases to be built; and irregular branches spread in all directions?\n\nFirst: In a great number of trees, the vertical trunk never ceases to be\nbuilt. It is confused, at the top of the tree, among other radiating\nbranches, being at first, of course, just as slender as they, and only\nprevailing over them in time. It shows at the top the same degree of\nirregularity and undulation as a sapling; and is transformed gradually\ninto straightness lower down (see Fig. 50). The reader has only to take\nan hour's ramble, to see for himself how many trees are thus\nconstructed, if circumstances are favorable to their growth. Again, the\nmystery of blossoming has great influence in increasing the tendency to\ndispersion among the upper boughs: but this part of vegetative structure\nI cannot enter into; it is too subtle, and has, besides, no absolute\nbearing on our subject; the principal conditions which produce the\nvaried play of branches being purely mechanical. The point at which they\nshow a determined tendency to spread is generally to be conceived as a\nplace of _rest_ for the tree, where it has reached the height from the\nground at which ground-mist, imperfect circulation of air, &c., have\nceased to operate injuriously on it, and where it has free room, and\nair, and light for its growth.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 50.]\n\n\u00a7 12. I find there is quite an infinite interest in watching the\ndifferent ways in which trees part their sprays at this resting-place,\nand the sometimes abrupt, sometimes gentle and undiscoverable, severing\nof the upright stem into the wandering and wilful branches; but a\nvolume, instead of a chapter or two, and quite a little gallery of\nplates, would be needed to illustrate the various grace of this\ndivision, associated as it is with an exquisitely subtle effacing of\nundulation in the thicker stems, by the flowing down of the wood from\nabove; the curves which are too violent in the branches being filled up,\nso that what was at _a_, Fig. 50, becomes as at _b_, and when the main\nstem is old, passes at last into straightness by almost imperceptible\ncurves, a continually gradated emphasis of curvature being carried to\nthe branch extremities.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 51.]\n\n\u00a7 13. Hitherto we have confined ourselves entirely to examination of\nstems in one plane. We must glance--though only to ascertain how\nimpossible it is to do more than glance--at the conditions of form which\nresult from the throwing out of branches, not in one plane, but on all\nsides. \"As your fingers divide when they hold a ball,\" I said: or,\nbetter, a large cup, without a handle. Consider how such ramification\nwill appear in one of the bud groups, that of our old friend the oak. We\nsaw it opened usually into five shoots. Imagine, then (Fig. 51), a\nfive-sided cup or funnel with a stout rod running through the centre of\nit. In the figure it is seen from above, so as partly to show the\ninside, and a little obliquely, that the central rod may not hide any of\nthe angles. Then let us suppose that, where the angles of this cup were,\nwe have, instead, five rods, as in Fig. 52, A, like the ribs of a\npentagonal umbrella turned inside out by the wind. I dot the pentagon\nwhich connects their extremities, to keep their positions clear. Then\nthese five rods, with the central one, will represent the five shoots,\nand the leader, from a vigorous young oak-spray. Put the leaves on each;\nthe five-foiled star at its extremity, and the others, now not quite\nformally, but still on the whole as in Fig. 3 above, and we have the\nresult, Fig. 52, B--rather a pretty one.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 52.]\n\n\u00a7 14. By considering the various aspects which the five rods would take\nin Fig. 52, as the entire group was seen from below or above, and at\ndifferent angles and distances, the reader may find out for himself what\nchanges of aspect are possible in even so regular a structure as this.\nBut the branchings soon take more complex symmetry. We know that next\nyear each of these five subordinate rods is to enter into life on its\nown account, and to repeat the branching of the first. Thus, we shall\nhave five pentagonal cups surrounding a large central pentagonal cup.\nThis figure, if the reader likes a pretty perspective problem, he may\nconstruct for his own pleasure:--which having done, or conceived, he is\nthen to apply the great principles of subjection and resilience, not to\nthree branches only, as in Fig. 49, but to the five of each cup;--by\nwhich the cups get flattened out and bent up, as you may have seen\nvessels of Venetian glass, so that every cup actually takes something\nthe shape of a thick aloe or artichoke leaf; and they surround the\ncentral one, not as a bunch of grapes surrounds a grape at the end of\nit, but as the petals grow round the centre of a rose. So that any one\nof these lateral branches--though, seen from above, it would present a\nsymmetrical figure, as if it were not flattened (A, Fig. 53)--seen\nsideways, or in profile, will show itself to be at least as much\nflattened as at B.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 53.]\n\n\u00a7 15. You may thus regard the whole tree as composed of a series of such\nthick, flat, branch-leaves; only incomparably more varied and enriched\nin framework as they spread; and arranged more or less in spirals round\nthe trunk. Gather a cone of a Scotch fir; begin at the bottom of it, and\npull off the seeds, so as to show one of the spiral rows of them\ncontinuously, from the bottom to the top, leaving enough seeds above\nthem to support the row. Then the gradual lengthening of the seeds from\nthe root, their spiral arrangement, and their limitation within a\ncurved, convex form, furnish the best _severe_ type you can have of the\nbranch system of all stemmed trees; and each seed of the cone\nrepresents, not badly, the sort of flattened solid leaf-shape which all\ncomplete branches have. Also, if you will try to draw the spiral of the\nfir-cone, you will understand something about tree-perspective, which\nmay be generally useful. Finally, if you note the way in which the seeds\nof the cone slip each farther and farther over each other, so as to\nchange sides in the middle of the cone, and obtain a reversed action of\nspiral lines in the upper half, you may imagine what a piece of work it\nwould be for both of us, if we were to try to follow the complexities of\nbranch order in trees of irregular growth, such as the rhododendron. I\ntried to do it, at least, for the pine, in section, but saw I was\ngetting into a perfect maelstr\u00f6m of spirals, from which no efforts would\nhave freed me, in any imaginable time, and the only safe way was to keep\nwholly out of the stream.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 54.]\n\n\u00a7 16. The alternate system, leading especially to the formation of\nforked trees, is more manageable; and if the reader is master of\nperspective, he may proceed some distance in the examination of that for\nhimself. But I do not care to frighten the general reader by many\ndiagrams: the book is always sure to open at them when he takes it up. I\nwill venture on one which has perhaps something a little amusing about\nit, and is really of importance.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 55.]\n\n[Illustration: J. Ruskin J. Emslie\n\n56. Sketch by a Clerk of the Works.]\n\n\u00a7 17. Let X, Fig. 54, represent a shoot of any opposite-leaved tree. The\nmode in which it will grow into a tree depends, mainly, on its\ndisposition to lose the leader or a lateral shoot. If it keeps the\nleader, but drops the lateral, it takes the form A, and next year by a\nrepetition of the process, B. But if it keeps the laterals, and drops\nthe leader, it becomes first, C and next year, D. The form A is almost\nuniversal in spiral or alternate trees; and it is especially to be noted\nas bringing about this result, that in any given forking, one bough\nalways goes on in its own direct course, and the other leaves it softly;\nthey do not separate as if one was repelled from the other. Thus in Fig.\n55, a perfect and nearly symmetrical piece of ramification, by Turner\n(lowest bough but one in the tree on the left in the \"Ch\u00e2teau of La\nbelle Gabrielle\"), the leading bough, going on in its own curve, throws\noff, first, a bough to the right, then one to the left, then two small\nones to the right, and proceeds itself, hidden by leaves, to form the\nfarthest upper point of the branch.\n\nThe lower secondary bough--the first thrown off--proceeds in its own\ncurve, branching first to the left, then to the right.\n\nThe upper bough proceeds in the same way, throwing off first to left,\nthen to right. And this is the commonest and most graceful structure.\nBut if the tree loses the leader, as at C, Fig. 54 (and many opposite\ntrees have a trick of doing so), a very curious result is arrived at,\nwhich I will give in a geometrical form.\n\n\u00a7 18. The number of branches which die, so as to leave the main stem\nbare, is always greatest low down, or near the interior of the tree. It\nfollows that the lengths of stem which do not fork diminish gradually to\nthe extremities, in a fixed proportion. This is a general law. Assume,\nfor example's sake, the stem to separate always into two branches, at an\nequal angle, and that each branch is three quarters of the length of the\npreceding one. Diminish their thickness in proportion, and carry out the\nfigure any extent you like. In Plate 56, opposite, Fig. 1, you have it\nat its ninth branch; in which I wish you to notice, first, the delicate\ncurve formed by every complete line of the branches (compare Vol. IV.\nFig. 91); and, secondly, the very curious result of the top of the tree\nbeing a broad flat line, which passes at an angle into lateral shorter\nlines, and so down to the extremities. It is this property which renders\nthe contours of tops of trees so intensely difficult to draw rightly,\nwithout making their curves too smooth and insipid.\n\nObserve, also, that the great weight of the foliage being thrown on the\noutside of each main fork, the tendency of forked trees is very often to\ndroop and diminish the bough on one side, and erect the other into a\nprincipal mass.[1]\n\n\u00a7 19. But the form in a perfect tree is dependent on the revolution of\nthis sectional profile, so as to produce a mushroom-shaped or\ncauliflower-shaped mass, of which I leave the reader to enjoy the\nperspective drawing by himself, adding, after he has completed it, the\neffect of the law of resilience to the extremities. Only, he must note\nthis: that in real trees, as the branches rise from the ground, the open\nspaces underneath are partly filled by subsequent branchings, so that a\nreal tree has not so much the shape of a mushroom, as of an apple, or,\nif elongated, a pear.\n\n\u00a7 20. And now you may just begin to understand a little of Turner's\nmeaning in those odd pear-shaped trees of his, in the \"Mercury and\nArgus,\" and other such compositions: which, however, before we can do\ncompletely, we must gather our evidence together, and see what general\nresults will come of it respecting the hearts and fancies of trees, no\nless than their forms.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] This is Harding's favorite form of tree. You will find it much\n    insisted on in his works on foliage. I intended to have given a\n    figure to show the results of the pressure of the weight of all the\n    leafage on a great lateral bough, in modifying its curves, the\n    strength of timber being greatest where the leverage of the mass\n    tells most. But I find nobody ever reads things which it takes any\n    trouble to understand, so that it is of no use to write them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE LEAF MONUMENTS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. And now, having ascertained in its main points the system on which\nthe leaf-workers build, let us see, finally, what results in aspect, and\nappeal to human mind, their building must present. In some sort it\nresembles that of the coral animal, differing, however, in two points.\nFirst, the animal which forms branched coral, builds, I believe, in calm\nwater, and has few accidents of current, light, or heat to contend with.\nHe builds in monotonous ramification, untormented, therefore\nunbeautiful. Secondly, each coral animal builds for himself, adding his\ncell to what has been before constructed, as a bee adds another cell to\nthe comb. He obtains no essential connection with the root and\nfoundation of the whole structure. That foundation is thickened\nclumsily, by a fused and encumbering aggregation, as a stalactite\nincreases;--not by threads proceeding from the extremities to the root.\n\n\u00a7 2. The leaf, as we have seen, builds in both respects under opposite\nconditions. It leads a life of endurance, effort, and various success,\nissuing in various beauty; and it connects itself with the whole\nprevious edifice by one sustaining thread, continuing its appointed\npiece of work all the way from top to root. Whence result three great\nconditions in branch aspect, for which I cannot find good names, but\nmust use the imperfect ones of \"Spring,\" \"Caprice,\" \"Fellowship.\"\n\n\u00a7 3. I. SPRING: or the appearance of elastic and progressive power, as\nopposed to that look of a bent piece of cord.--This follows partly on\nthe poise of the bough, partly on its action in seeking or shunning.\nEvery branch-line expresses both these. It takes a curve accurately\nshowing the relations between the strength of the sprays in that\nposition (growing downward, upward, or laterally), and the weight of\nleaves they carry; and again, it takes a curve expressive of the will\nor aim of those sprays, during all their life, and handed down from sire\nto son, in steady inheritance of resolution to reach forward in a given\ndirection, or bend away from some given evil influence.\n\nAnd all these proportionate strengths and measured efforts of the bough\nproduce its loveliness, and ought to be felt, in looking at it, not by\nany mathematical evidence, but by the same fine instinct which enables\nus to perceive, when a girl dances rightly, that she moves easily, and\nwith delight to herself; that her limbs are strong enough, and her body\ntender enough, to move precisely as she wills them to move. You cannot\nsay of any bend of arm or foot what precise relations of their curves to\nthe whole figure manifest, in their changeful melodies, that ease of\nmotion; yet you feel that they do so, and you feel it by a true\ninstinct. And if you reason on the matter farther, you may know, though\nyou cannot see, that an absolute mathematical necessity proportions\nevery bend of the body to the rate and direction of its motion; and that\nthe momentary fancy and fire of the will measure themselves, even in\ntheir gaily-fancied freedom, by stern laws of nervous life, and material\nattraction, which regulate eternally every pulse of the strength of man,\nand every sweep of the stars of heaven.\n\n\u00a7 4. Observe, also, the balance of the bough of a tree is quite as\nsubtle as that of a figure in motion. It is a balance between the\nelasticity of the bough and the weight of leaves, affected in curvature,\nliterally, by the growth of _every_ leaf; and besides this, when it\nmoves, it is partly supported by the resistance of the air, greater or\nless, according to the shape of leaf;--so that branches float on the\nwind more than they yield to it; and in their tossing do not so much\nbend under a force, as rise on a wave, which penetrates in liquid\nthreads through all their sprays.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration: 57. Leafage by Durer and Veronese.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 56. _To face page 65._]\n\n\u00a7 5. I am not sure how far, by any illustration, I can exemplify these\nsubtle conditions of form. All my plans have been shortened, and I have\nlearned to content myself with yet more contracted issues of them after\nthe shortening, because I know that nearly all in such matters must be\nsaid or shown, unavailably. No saying will teach the truth. Nothing but\ndoing. If the reader will draw boughs of trees long and faithfully,\ngiving previous pains to gain the power (how rare!) of drawing\n_anything_ faithfully, he will come to see what Turner's work is,\nor any other right work, but not by reading, nor thinking, nor idly\nlooking. However, in some degree, even our ordinary instinctive\nperception of grace and balance may serve us, if we choose to pay any\naccurate attention to the matter.\n\n\u00a7 6. Look back to Fig. 55. That bough of Turner's is exactly and\nexquisitely poised, leaves and all, for its present horizontal position.\nTurn the book so as to put the spray upright, with the leaves at the\ntop. You ought to see they would then be wrong;--that they must, in that\nposition, have adjusted themselves more directly above the main stem,\nand more firmly, the curves of the lighter sprays being a deflection\ncaused by their weight in the horizontal position. Again, Fig. 56\nrepresents, enlarged to four times the size of the original, the two\nScotch firs in Turner's etching of Inverary.[1] These are both in\nperfect poise, representing a double action: the warping of the trees\naway from the sea-wind, and the continual growing out of the boughs on\nthe right-hand side, to recover the balance.\n\nTurn the page so as to be horizontal, and you ought to feel that,\nconsidered now as branches, both would be out of balance. If you turn\nthe heads of the trees to your right, they are wrong, because gravity\nwould have bent them more downwards; if to your left, wrong, because the\nlaw of resilience would have raised them more at the extremities.\n\n\u00a7 7. Now take two branches of Salvator's, Figs. 57 and 58.[2] You ought\nto feel that these have neither poise nor spring: their leaves are\nincoherent, ragged, hanging together in decay.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 57.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 58.]\n\nImmediately after these, turn to Plate 57, opposite. The branch at the\ntop is facsimiled from that in the hand of Adam, in Durer's Adam and\nEve.[3] It is full of the most exquisite vitality and spring in every\nline. Look at it for five minutes carefully. Then turn back to\nSalvator's, Fig. 57. Are you as well satisfied with it? You ought to\nfeel that it is not strong enough at the origin to sustain the leaves;\nand that if it were, those leaves themselves are in broken or forced\nrelations with each other. Such relations might, indeed, exist in a\npartially withered tree, and one of these branches is intended to be\npartially withered, but the other is not; and if it were, Salvator's\nchoice of the withered tree is precisely the sign of his preferring\nugliness to beauty, decrepitude and disorganization to life and youth.\nThe leaves on the spray, by Durer, hold themselves as the girl holds\nherself in dancing; those on Salvator's as an old man, partially\npalsied, totters along with broken motion, and loose deflection of limb.\n\n\u00a7 8. Next, let us take a spray by Paul Veronese[4]--the lower figure in\nPlate 57. It is just as if we had gathered one out of the garden. Though\nevery line and leaf in the quadruple group is necessary to join with\nother parts of the composition of the noble picture, every line and leaf\nis also as free and true as if it were growing. None are confused, yet\nnone are loose; all are individual, yet none separate, in tender poise\nof pliant strength and fair order of accomplished grace, each, by due\nforce of the indulgent bough, set and sustained.\n\n\u00a7 9. Observe, however, that in all these instances from earlier masters,\nthe expression of the universal botanical law of poise is independent of\naccuracy in rendering of species. As before noticed, the neglect of\nspecific distinction long restrained the advance of landscape, and even\nhindered Turner himself in many respects. The sprays of Veronese are a\nconventional type of laurel; Albert Durer's an imaginary branch of\nparadisaical vegetation; Salvator's, a rude reminiscence of sweet\nchestnut; Turner's only is a faithful rendering of the Scotch fir.\n\n[Illustration: 58. Branch Curvature.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 59.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 60.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 61 _To face page 69._]\n\n\u00a7 10. To show how the principle of balance is carried out by Nature\nherself, here is a little terminal upright spray of willow, the most\ngraceful of English trees (Fig. 59). I have drawn it carefully; and if\nthe reader will study its curves, or, better, trace and pencil them with\na perfectly fine point, he will feel, I think, without difficulty, their\nfinished relation to the leaves they sustain. Then if we turn suddenly\nto a piece of Dutch branch-drawing (Fig. 60), facsimiled from No. 160,\nDulwich Gallery (Berghem), he will understand, I believe, also the\nqualities of that, without comment of mine. It is of course not so dark\nin the original, being drawn with the chance dashes of a brush loaded\nwith brown, but the contours are absolutely as in the woodcut. This\nDutch design is a very characteristic example of two faults in\ntree-drawing; namely, the loss not only of grace and spring, but of\nwoodiness. A branch is not elastic as steel is, neither as a carter's\nwhip is. It is a combination, wholly peculiar, of elasticity with\nhalf-dead and sapless stubbornness, and of continuous curve with pauses\nof knottiness, every bough having its blunted, affronted, fatigued,\nor repentant moments of existence, and mingling crabbed rugosities\nand fretful changes of mind with the main tendencies of its growth. The\npiece of pollard willow opposite (Fig. 61), facsimiled from Turner's\netching of \"Young Anglers,\" in the Liber Studiorum, has all these\ncharacters in perfectness, and may serve for sufficient study of them.\nIt is impossible to explain in what the expression of the woody strength\nconsists, unless it be felt. One very obvious condition is the excessive\nfineness of curvature, approximating continually to a straight line. In\norder to get a piece of branch curvature given as accurately as I could\nby an unprejudiced person, I set one of my pupils at the Working Men's\nCollege (a joiner by trade) to draw, last spring, a lilac branch of its\nreal size, as it grew, before it budded. It was about six feet long, and\nbefore he could get it quite right, the buds came out and interrupted\nhim; but the fragment he got drawn is engraved in flat profile, in Plate\n58. It has suffered much by reduction, one or two of its finest curves\nhaving become lost in the mere thickness of the lines. Nevertheless, if\nthe reader will compare it carefully with the Dutch work, it will teach\nhim something about trees.\n\n\u00a7 11. II. CAPRICE.--The next character we had to note of the\nleaf-builders was their capriciousness, noted, partly, in Vol. III.\nchap. ix. \u00a7 14. It is a character connected with the ruggedness and\nill-temperedness just spoken of, and an essential source of branch\nbeauty: being in reality the written story of all the branch's life,--of\nthe theories it formed, the accidents it suffered, the fits of\nenthusiasm to which it yielded in certain delicious warm springs; the\ndisgusts at weeks of east wind, the mortifications of itself for its\nfriends' sakes; or the sudden and successful inventions of new ways of\ngetting out to the sun. The reader will understand this character in a\nmoment, by merely comparing Fig. 62, which is a branch of Salvator's,[5]\nwith Fig. 63, which I have traced from the engraving, in the Yorkshire\nseries, of Turner's \"Aske Hall.\" You cannot but feel at once, not only\nthe wrongness of Salvator's, but its dulness. It is not now a question\neither of poise, or grace, or gravity; only of wit. That bough has got\nno sense; it has not been struck by a single new idea from the beginning\nof it to the end; dares not even cross itself with one of its own\nsprays. You will be amazed, in taking up any of these old engravings, to\nsee how seldom the boughs _do_ cross each other. Whereas, in nature, not\nonly is the intersection of extremities a mathematical necessity (see\nPlate 56), but out of this intersection and crossing of curve by curve,\nand the opposition of line it involves, the best part of their\ncomposition arises. Look at the way the boughs are interwoven in that\npiece of lilac stem (Plate 58).\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 62.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 63.]\n\n[Illustration: 59. The Dryad's Waywardness.]\n\n\u00a7 12. Again: As it seldom struck the old painters that boughs must cross\neach other, so it never seems to have occurred to them that they must be\nsometimes foreshortened. I chose this bit from \"Aske Hall,\" that you\nmight see at once, both how Turner foreshortens the main stem, and how,\nin doing so, he shows the turning aside, and outwards, of the one next\nto it, to the left, to get more air.[6] Indeed, this foreshortening lies\nat the core of the business; for unless it be well understood, no\nbranch-form can ever be rightly drawn. I placed the oak spray in Plate\n51 so as to be seen as nearly straight on its flank as possible. It is\nthe most uninteresting position in which a bough can be drawn; but it\nshows the first simple action of the law of resilience. I will now turn\nthe bough with its extremity towards us, and foreshorten it (Plate 59),\nwhich being done, you perceive another tendency in the whole branch, not\nseen at all in the first Plate, to throw its sprays to its own right (or\nto your left), which it does to avoid the branch next it, while the\n_forward_ action is in a sweeping curve round to your right, or to the\nbranch's left: a curve which it takes to recover position after its\nfirst concession. The lines of the nearer and smaller shoots are very\nnearly--thus foreshortened--those of a boat's bow. Here is a piece of\nDutch foreshortening for you to compare with it, Fig. 64.[7]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 64.]\n\n\u00a7 13. In this final perfection of bough-drawing, Turner stands _wholly\nalone_. Even Titian does not foreshorten his boughs rightly. Of course\nhe could, if he had cared to do so; for if you can foreshorten a limb or\na hand, much more a tree branch. But either he had never looked at a\ntree carefully enough to feel that it was necessary, or, which is more\nlikely, he disliked to introduce in a background elements of vigorous\nprojection. Be the reason what it may, if you take Lef\u00e8vre's plates of\nthe Peter Martyr and St. Jerome--the only ones I know which give any\nidea of Titian's tree-drawing, you will observe at once that the boughs\nlie in flakes, artificially set to the right and left, and are not\nintricate or varied, even where the foliage indicates some\nforeshortening;--completing thus the evidence for my statement long ago\ngiven, that no man but Turner had ever drawn the stem of a tree.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 65.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 66.]\n\n\u00a7 14. It may be well also to note, for the advantage of the general\nstudent of design, that, in foliage and bough drawing, all the final\ngrace and general utility of the study depend on its being well\nforeshortened; and that, till the power of doing so quite accurately is\nobtained, no landscape-drawing is of the least value; nor can the\ncharacter of any tree be known at all until not only its branches, but\nits minutest extremities, have been drawn in the severest\nforeshortening, with little accompanying plans of the arrangements of\nthe leaves or buds, or thorns, on the stem. Thus Fig. 65 is the\nextremity of a single shoot of spruce foreshortened, showing the\nresilience of its swords from beneath, and Fig. 66 is a little\nground-plan, showing the position of the three lowest triple groups of\nthorn on a shoot of gooseberry.[8] The fir shoot is carelessly drawn;\nbut it is not worth while to do it better, unless I engraved it on\nsteel, so as to show the fine relations of shade.\n\n\u00a7 15. III. FELLOWSHIP.--The compactness of mass presented by this little\nsheaf of pine-swords may lead us to the consideration of the last\ncharacter I have to note of boughs; namely, the mode of their\nassociation in masses. It follows, of course, from all the laws of\ngrowth we have ascertained, that the terminal outline of any tree or\nbranch must be a simple one, containing within it, at a given height or\nlevel, the series of leaves of the year; only we have not yet noticed\nthe kind of form which results, in each branch, from the part it has to\ntake in forming the mass of the tree. The systems of branching are\nindeed infinite, and could not be exemplified by any number of types;\nbut here are two common types, in section, which will enough explain\nwhat I mean.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 67.]\n\n\u00a7 16. If a tree branches with a concave tendency, it is apt to carry its\nboughs to the outer curve of limitation, as at A, Fig. 67, and if with a\nconvex tendency, as at B. In either case the vertical section, or\nprofile, of a bough will give a triangular mass, terminated by curves,\nand elongated at one extremity. These triangular masses you may see at a\nglance, prevailing in the branch system of any tree in winter. They may,\nof course, be mathematically reduced to the four types _a_, _b_, _c_,\nand _d_, Fig. 67, but are capable of endless variety of expression in\naction, and in the adjustment of their weights to the bearing stem.\n\n\u00a7 17. To conclude, then, we find that the beauty of these buildings of\nthe leaves consists, from the first step of it to the last, in its\nshowing their perfect fellowship; and a single aim uniting them under\ncircumstances of various distress, trial, and pleasure. Without the\nfellowship, no beauty; without the steady purpose, no beauty; without\ntrouble, and death, no beauty; without individual pleasure, freedom, and\ncaprice, so far as may be consistent with the universal good, no beauty.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 68.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 69.]\n\n\u00a7 18. Tree-loveliness might be thus lost or killed in many ways.\nDiscordance would kill it--of one leaf with another; disobedience would\nkill it--of any leaf to the ruling law; indulgence would kill it, and\nthe doing away with pain; or slavish symmetry would kill it, and the\ndoing away with delight. And this is so, down to the smallest atom and\nbeginning of life: so soon as there is life at all, there are these four\nconditions of it;--harmony, obedience, distress, and delightsome\ninequality. Here is the magnified section of an oak-bud, not the size of\na wheat grain (Fig. 68). Already its nascent leaves are seen arranged\nunder the perfect law of resilience, preparing for stoutest work on the\nright side. Here is a dogwood bud just opening into life (Fig. 69). Its\nruling law is to be four square, but see how the uppermost leaf takes\nthe lead, and the lower bends up, already a little distressed by the\neffort. Here is a birch-bud, farther advanced, Fig. 70. Who shall say\nhow many humors the little thing has in its mind already; or how many\nadventures it has passed through? And so to the end. Help, submission,\nsorrow, dissimilarity, are the sources of all good;--war, disobedience,\nluxury, equality, the sources of all evil.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 70.]\n\n\u00a7 19. There is yet another and a deeply laid lesson to be received from\nthe leaf-builders, which I hope the reader has already perceived. Every\nleaf, we have seen, connects its work with the entire and accumulated\nresult of the work of its predecessors. Their previous construction\nserved it during its life, raised it towards the light, gave it more\nfree sway and motion in the wind, and removed it from the noxiousness of\nearth exhalation. Dying, it leaves its own small but well-labored\nthread, adding, though imperceptibly, yet essentially, to the strength,\nfrom root to crest, of the trunk on which it had lived, and fitting that\ntrunk for better service to succeeding races of leaves.\n\nWe men, sometimes, in what we presume to be humility, compare ourselves\nwith leaves; but we have as yet no right to do so. The leaves may well\nscorn the comparison. We who live for ourselves, and neither know how\nto use nor keep the work of past time, may humbly learn,--as from the\nant, foresight,--from the leaf, reverence. The power of every great\npeople, as of every living tree, depends on its not effacing, but\nconfirming and concluding, the labors of its ancestors. Looking back to\nthe history of nations, we may date the beginning of their decline from\nthe moment when they ceased to be reverent in heart, and accumulative in\nhand and brain; from the moment when the redundant fruit of age hid in\nthem the hollowness of heart, whence the simplicities of custom and\nsinews of tradition had withered away. Had men but guarded the righteous\nlaws, and protected the precious works of their fathers, with half the\nindustry they have given to change and to ravage, they would not now\nhave been seeking vainly, in millennial visions and mechanic servitudes,\nthe accomplishment of the promise made to them so long ago: \"As the days\nof a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the\nwork of their hands; they shall not labor in vain, nor bring forth for\ntrouble; for they are the seed of the blessed of the Lord, and their\noffspring with them.\"\n\n\u00a7 20. This lesson we have to take from the leaf's life. One more we may\nreceive from its death. If ever in autumn a pensiveness falls upon us as\nthe leaves drift by in their fading, may we not wisely look up in hope\nto their mighty monuments? Behold how fair, how far prolonged, in arch\nand aisle, the avenues of the valleys; the fringes of the hills! So\nstately,--so eternal; the joy of man, the comfort of all living\ncreatures, the glory of the earth,--they are but the monuments of those\npoor leaves that flit faintly past us to die. Let them not pass, without\nour understanding their last counsel and example: that we also, careless\nof monument by the grave, may build it in the world--monument by which\nmen may be taught to remember, not where we died, but where we lived.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] They are enlarged, partly in order to show the care and\n    minuteness of Turner's drawing on the smallest scale, partly to save\n    the reader the trouble of using a magnifying glass, partly because\n    this woodcut will print safely; while if I had facsimiled the fine\n    Turner etching, the block might have been spoiled after a hundred\n    impressions.\n\n  [2] Magnified to twice the size of the original, but otherwise\n    facsimiled from his own etching of Oedipus, and the School of Plato.\n\n  [3] The parrot perched on it is removed, which may be done without\n    altering the curve, as the bird is set where its weight would not\n    have bent the wood.\n\n  [4] The largest laurel spray in the background of the \"Susanna,\"\n    Louvre--reduced to about a fifth of the original. The drawing was\n    made for me by M. Hippolyte Dubois, and I am glad it is not one of my\n    own, lest I should be charged with exaggerating Veronese's accuracy.\n\n    This group of leaves is, in the original, of the life-size; the\n    circle which interferes with the spray on the right being the outline\n    of the head and of one of the elders; and, as painted for distant\n    effect, there is no care in completing the stems:--they are struck\n    with a few broken touches of the brush, which cannot be imitated in\n    the engraving, and much of their spirit is lost in consequence.\n\n  [5] The longest in \"Apollo and the Sibyl,\" engraved by Boydell.\n    (Reduced one-half.)\n\n  [6] The foreshortening of the bough to the right is a piece of great\n    audacity; it comes towards us two or three feet sharply, after\n    forking, so as to look half as thick again as at the fork;--then\n    bends back again, and outwards.\n\n  [7] Hobbima. Dulwich Gallery, No. 131. Turn the book with its inner\n    edge up.\n\n  [8] Their change from groups of three to groups of two, and then to\n    single thorns at the end of the spray, will be found very beautiful\n    in a real shoot. The figure on the left in Plate 52 is a branch of\n    blackthorn with its spines (which are a peculiar condition of branch,\n    and can bud like branches, while thorns have no root nor power of\n    development). Such a branch gives good practice without too much\n    difficulty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE LEAF SHADOWS.\n\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 71.]\n\n\u00a7 1. It may be judged, by the time which it has taken to arrive at any\nclear idea of the structure of shield-builders, what a task would open\nto us if we endeavored to trace the more wonderful forms of the wild\nbuilders with the sword. Not that they are more complex; but they are\nmore definite, and cannot be so easily generalized. The conditions which\nproduce the spire of the cypress, and flaked breadth of the cedar, the\nrounded head of the stone pine, and perfect pyramid of the black spruce,\nare far more distinct, and would require more accurate and curious\ndiagrams to illustrate them, than the graceful, but in some degree\nmonotonous branching of leaf-builders. In broad principle they are,\nhowever, alike. The leaves construct the sprays in the same accumulative\nway: the only essential difference being that in the sword-builders the\nleaves are all set close, and at equal intervals. Instead of admitting\nextended and variable spaces between them, the whole spray is one tower\nof leaf-roots, set in a perfect spiral. Thus, Fig. 71, at A, represents\na fragment of spray of Scotch fir of its real size. B is the same piece\nmagnified, the diamond-like spaces being the points on which the leaves\ngrew. The dotted lines show the regularity of the spiral. As the minor\nstems join in boughs, the scars left by the leaves are gradually\neffaced, and a thick but broken and scaly bark forms instead.\n\n\u00a7 2. A sword-builder may therefore be generally considered as a\nshield-builder put under the severest military restraint. The graceful\nand thin leaf is concentrated into a strong, narrow, pointed rod; and\nthe insertion of these rods on them is in a close and perfectly timed\norder. In some ambiguous trees connected with the tribe (as the arbor\nvit\u00e6) there is no proper stem to the outer leaves, but all the\nextremities form a kind of coralline leaf, flat and fern-like, but\narticulated like a crustacean animal, which gradually concentrates and\nembrowns itself into the stem. The thicker branches of these trees are\nexquisitely fantastic; and the mode in which the flat system of leaf\nfirst produces an irregular branch, and then adapts itself to the\nsymmetrical cone of the whole tree, is one of the most interesting\nprocesses of form which I know in vegetation.\n\n\u00a7 3. Neither this, however, nor any other of the pine formations, have\nwe space here to examine in detail; while without detail, all discussion\nof them is in vain. I shall only permit myself to note a few points\nrespecting my favorite tree, the black spruce, not with any view to art\ncriticism (though we might get at some curious results by a comparison\nof popular pine-drawing in Germany, America, and other dark-wooded\ncountries, with the true natural forms), but because I think the\nexpression of this tree has not been rightly understood by travellers in\nSwitzerland, and that, with a little watching of it, they might easily\nobtain a juster feeling.\n\n\u00a7 4. Of the many marked adaptations of nature to the mind of man, it\nseems one of the most singular, that trees intended especially for the\nadornment of the wildest mountains should be in broad outline the most\nformal of trees. The vine, which is to be the companion of man, is\nwaywardly docile in its growth, falling into festoons beside his\ncornfields, or roofing his garden-walks, or casting its shadow all\nsummer upon his door. Associated always with the trimness of\ncultivation, it introduces all possible elements of sweet wildness. The\npine, placed nearly always among scenes disordered and desolate, brings\ninto them all possible elements of order and precision. Lowland trees\nmay lean to this side and that, though it is but a meadow breeze that\nbends them, or a bank of cowslips from which their trunks lean aslope.\nBut let storm and avalanche do their worst, and let the pine find only a\nledge of vertical precipice to cling to, it will nevertheless grow\nstraight. Thrust a rod from its last shoot down the stem;--it shall\npoint to the centre of the earth as long as the tree lives.\n\n\u00a7 5. Also it may be well for lowland branches to reach hither and\nthither for what they need, and to take all kinds of irregular shape and\nextension. But the pine is trained to need nothing, and to endure\neverything. It is resolvedly whole, self-contained, desiring nothing but\nrightness, content with restricted completion. Tall or short, it will be\nstraight. Small or large, it will be round. It may be permitted also to\nthese soft lowland trees that they should make themselves gay with show\nof blossom, and glad with pretty charities of fruitfulness. We builders\nwith the sword have harder work to do for man, and must do it in\nclose-set troops. To stay the sliding of the mountain snows, which would\nbury him; to hold in divided drops, at our sword-points, the rain, which\nwould sweep away him and his treasure-fields; to nurse in shade among\nour brown fallen leaves the tricklings that feed the brooks in drought;\nto give massive shield against the winter wind, which shrieks through\nthe bare branches of the plain:--such service must we do him steadfastly\nwhile we live. Our bodies, also, are at his service: softer than the\nbodies of other trees, though our toil is harder than theirs. Let him\ntake them as pleases him, for his houses and ships. So also it may be\nwell for these timid lowland trees to tremble with all their leaves, or\nturn their paleness to the sky, if but a rush of rain passes by them; or\nto let fall their leaves at last, sick and sere. But we pines must live\ncarelessly amidst the wrath of clouds. We only wave our branches to and\nfro when the storm pleads with us, as men toss their arms in a dream.\n\nAnd finally, these weak lowland trees may struggle fondly for the last\nremnants of life, and send up feeble saplings again from their roots\nwhen they are cut down. But we builders with the sword perish boldly;\nour dying shall be perfect and solemn, as our warring: we give up our\nlives without reluctance, and for ever.[1]\n\n\u00a7 6. I wish the reader to fix his attention for a moment on these two\ngreat characters of the pine, its straightness and rounded perfectness;\nboth wonderful, and in their issue lovely, though they have hitherto\nprevented the tree from being drawn. I say, first, its straightness.\nBecause we constantly see it in the wildest scenery, we are apt to\nremember only as characteristic examples of it those which have been\ndisturbed by violent accident or disease. Of course such instances are\nfrequent. The soil of the pine is subject to continual change; perhaps\nthe rock in which it is rooted splits in frost and falls forward,\nthrowing the young stems aslope, or the whole mass of earth around it is\nundermined by rain, or a huge boulder falls on its stem from above, and\nforces it for twenty years to grow with weight of a couple of tons\nleaning on its side. Hence, especially at edges of loose cliffs, about\nwaterfalls, or at glacier banks, and in other places liable to\ndisturbance, the pine may be seen distorted and oblique; and in Turner's\n\"Source of the Arveron,\" he has, with his usual unerring perception of\nthe main point in any matter, fastened on this means of relating the\nglacier's history. The glacier cannot explain its own motion; and\nordinary observers saw in it only its rigidity; but Turner saw that the\nwonderful thing was its non-rigidity. Other ice is fixed, only this ice\nstirs. All the banks are staggering beneath its waves, crumbling and\nwithered as by the blast of a perpetual storm. He made the rocks of his\nforeground loose--rolling and tottering down together; the pines,\nsmitten aside by them, their tops dead, bared by the ice wind.\n\n\u00a7 7. Nevertheless, this is not the truest or universal expression of the\npine's character. I said long ago, even of Turner: \"Into the spirit of\nthe pine he cannot enter.\" He understood the glacier at once; he had\nseen the force of sea on shore too often to miss the action of those\ncrystal-crested waves. But the pine was strange to him, adverse to his\ndelight in broad and flowing line; he refused its magnificent erectness.\nMagnificent!--nay, sometimes, almost terrible. Other trees, tufting crag\nor hill, yield to the form and sway of the ground, clothe it with soft\ncompliance, are partly its subjects, partly its flatterers, partly its\ncomforters. But the pine rises in serene resistance, self-contained; nor\ncan I ever without awe stay long under a great Alpine cliff, far from\nall house or work of men, looking up to its companies of pine, as they\nstand on the inaccessible juts and perilous ledges of the enormous wall,\nin quiet multitudes, each like the shadow of the one beside it--upright,\nfixed, spectral, as troops of ghosts standing on the walls of Hades, not\nknowing each other--dumb for ever. You cannot reach them, cannot cry to\nthem;--those trees never heard human voice; they are far above all sound\nbut of the winds. No foot ever stirred fallen leaf of theirs. All\ncomfortless they stand, between the two eternities of the Vacancy and\nthe Rock: yet with such iron will, that the rock itself looks bent and\nshattered beside them--fragile, weak, inconsistent, compared to their\ndark energy of delicate life, and monotony of enchanted\npride:--unnumbered, unconquerable.\n\n\u00a7 8. Then note, farther, their perfectness. The impression on most\npeople's minds must have been received more from pictures than reality,\nso far as I can judge;--so ragged they think the pine; whereas its chief\ncharacter in health is green and full roundness. It stands compact, like\none of its own cones, slightly curved on its sides, finished and quaint\nas a carved tree in some Elizabethan garden; and instead of being wild\nin expression, forms the softest of all forest scenery; for other trees\nshow their trunks and twisting boughs: but the pine, growing either in\nluxuriant mass or in happy isolation, allows no branch to be seen.\nSummit behind summit rise its pyramidal ranges, or down to the very\ngrass sweep the circlets of its boughs; so that there is nothing but\ngreen cone and green carpet. Nor is it only softer, but in one sense\nmore cheerful than other foliage; for it casts only a pyramidal shadow.\nLowland forest arches overhead, and chequers the ground with darkness;\nbut the pine, growing in scattered groups, leaves the glades between\nemerald-bright. Its gloom is all its own; narrowing into the sky, it\nlets the sunshine strike down to the dew. And if ever a superstitious\nfeeling comes over me among the pine-glades, it is never tainted with\nthe old German forest fear; but is only a more solemn tone of the fairy\nenchantment that haunts our English meadows; so that I have always\ncalled the prettiest pine glade in Chamouni, \"Fairies' Hollow.\" It is in\nthe glen beneath the steep ascent above Pont Pelissier, and may be\nreached by a little winding path which goes down from the top of the\nhill; being, indeed, not truly a glen, but a broad ledge of moss and\nturf, leaning in a formidable precipice (which, however, the gentle\nbranches hide) over the Arve. An almost isolated rock promontory,\nmany-colored, rises at the end of it. On the other sides it is bordered\nby cliffs, from which a little cascade falls, literally down among the\npines, for it is so light, shaking itself into mere showers of seed\npearl in the sun, that the pines don't know it from mist, and grow\nthrough it without minding. Underneath, there is only the mossy silence,\nand above, for ever, the snow of the nameless Aiguille.\n\n\u00a7 9. And then the third character which I want you to notice in the pine\nis its exquisite fineness. Other trees rise against the sky in dots and\nknots, but this in fringes.[2] You never see the edges of it, so subtle\nare they; and for this reason, it alone of trees, so far as I know, is\ncapable of the fiery change which we saw before had been noticed by\nShakespeare. When the sun rises behind a ridge crested with pine,\nprovided the ridge be at a distance of about two miles, and seen clear,\nall the trees, for about three or four degrees on each side of the sun,\nbecome trees of light, seen in clear flame against the darker sky, and\ndazzling as the sun itself. I thought at first this was owing to the\nactual lustre of the leaves; but I believe now it is caused by the\ncloud-dew upon them,--every minutest leaf carrying its diamond. It seems\nas if these trees, living always among the clouds, had caught part of\ntheir glory from them; and themselves the darkest of vegetation, could\nyet add splendor to the sun itself.\n\n\u00a7 10. Yet I have been more struck by their character of finished\ndelicacy at a distance from the central Alps, among the pastoral hills\nof the Emmenthal, or lowland districts of Berne, where they are set in\ngroups between the cottages, whose shingle roofs (they also of pine) of\ndeep gray blue, and lightly carved fronts, golden and orange in the\nautumn sunshine,[3] gleam on the banks and lawns of hill-side,--endless\nlawns, mounded, and studded, and bossed all over with deeper green\nhay-heaps, orderly set, like jewellery (the mountain hay, when the\npastures are full of springs, being strangely dark and fresh in verdure\nfor a whole day after it is cut). And amidst this delicate delight of\ncottage and field, the young pines stand delicatest of all, scented as\nwith frankincense, their slender stems straight as arrows, and crystal\nwhite, looking as if they would break with a touch, like needles; and\ntheir arabesques of dark leaf pierced through and through by the pale\nradiance of clear sky, opal blue, where they follow each other along the\nsoft hill-ridges, up and down.\n\n\u00a7 11. I have watched them in such scenes with the deeper interest,\nbecause of all trees they have hitherto had most influence on human\ncharacter. The effect of other vegetation, however great, has been\ndivided by mingled species; elm and oak in England, poplar in France,\nbirch in Scotland, olive in Italy and Spain, share their power with\ninferior trees, and with all the changing charm of successive\nagriculture. But the tremendous unity of the pine absorbs and moulds the\nlife of a race. The pine shadows rest upon a nation. The Northern\npeoples, century after century, lived under one or other of the two\ngreat powers of the Pine and the Sea, both infinite. They dwelt amidst\nthe forests, as they wandered on the waves, and saw no end, nor any\nother horizon;--still the dark green trees, or the dark green waters,\njagged the dawn with their fringe, or their foam. And whatever elements\nof imagination, or of warrior strength, or of domestic justice, were\nbrought down by the Norwegian and the Goth against the dissoluteness or\ndegradation of the South of Europe, were taught them under the green\nroofs and wild penetralia of the pine.\n\n\u00a7 12. I do not attempt, delightful as the task would be, to trace this\ninfluence (mixed with superstition) in Scandinavia, or North Germany;\nbut let us at least note it in the instance which we speak of so\nfrequently, yet so seldom take to heart. There has been much dispute\nrespecting the character of the Swiss, arising out of the difficulty\nwhich other nations had to understand their simplicity. They were\nassumed to be either romantically virtuous, or basely mercenary, when in\nfact they were neither heroic nor base, but were true-hearted men,\nstubborn with more than any recorded stubbornness; not much regarding\ntheir lives, yet not casting them causelessly away; forming no high\nideal of improvement, but never relaxing their grasp of a good they had\nonce gained; devoid of all romantic sentiment, yet loving with a\npractical and patient love that neither wearied nor forsook; little\ngiven to enthusiasm in religion, but maintaining their faith in a purity\nwhich no worldliness deadened and no hypocrisy soiled; neither\nchivalrously generous nor pathetically humane, yet never pursuing their\ndefeated enemies, nor suffering their poor to perish: proud, yet not\nallowing their pride to prick them into unwary or unworthy quarrel;\navaricious, yet contentedly rendering to their neighbor his due; dull,\nbut clear-sighted to all the principles of justice; and patient, without\never allowing delay to be prolonged by sloth, or forbearance by fear.\n\n\u00a7 13. This temper of Swiss mind, while it animated the whole\nconfederacy, was rooted chiefly in one small district which formed the\nheart of their country, yet lay not among its highest mountains. Beneath\nthe glaciers of Zermatt and Evolena, and on the scorching slopes of the\nValais, the peasants remained in an aimless torpor, unheard of but as\nthe obedient vassals of the great Bishopric of Sion. But where the lower\nledges of calcareous rock were broken by the inlets of the Lake Lucerne,\nand bracing winds penetrating from the north forbade the growth of the\nvine, compelling the peasantry to adopt an entirely pastoral life, was\nreared another race of men. Their narrow domain should be marked by a\nsmall green spot on every map of Europe. It is about forty miles from\neast to west; as many from north to south: yet on that shred of rugged\nground, while every kingdom of the world around it rose or fell in fatal\nchange, and every multitudinous race mingled or wasted itself in various\ndispersion and decline, the simple shepherd dynasty remained changeless.\nThere is no record of their origin. They are neither Goths, Burgundians,\nRomans, nor Germans. They have been for ever Helvetii, and for ever\nfree. Voluntarily placing themselves under the protection of the House\nof Hapsburg, they acknowledged its supremacy, but resisted its\noppression; and rose against the unjust governors it appointed over\nthem, not to gain, but to redeem, their liberties. Victorious in the\nstruggle by the Lake of Egeri, they stood the foremost standard-bearers\namong the nations of Europe in the cause of loyalty and life--loyalty in\nits highest sense, to the laws of God's helpful justice, and of man's\nfaithful and brotherly fortitude.\n\n\u00a7 14. You will find among them, as I said, no subtle wit nor high\nenthusiasm, only an undeceivable common sense, and an obstinate\nrectitude. They cannot be persuaded into their duties, but they feel\nthem; they use no phrases of friendship, but do not fail you at your\nneed. Questions of creed, which other nations sought to solve by logic\nor reverie, these shepherds brought to practical tests: sustained with\ntranquillity the excommunication of abbots who wanted to feed their\ncattle on other people's fields, and, halbert in hand, struck down the\nSwiss Reformation, because the Evangelicals of Zurich refused to send\nthem their due supplies of salt. Not readily yielding to the demands of\nsuperstition, they were patient under those of economy; they would\npurchase the remission of taxes, but not of sins; and while the sale of\nindulgences was arrested in the church of Ensiedlen as boldly as at the\ngates of Wittenberg, the inhabitants of the valley of Fr\u00fctigen[4] ate no\nmeat for seven years, in order peacefully to free themselves and their\ndescendants from the seigniorial claims of the Baron of Thurm.\n\n\u00a7 15. What praise may be justly due to this modest and rational virtue,\nwe have perhaps no sufficient grounds for defining. It must long remain\nquestionable how far the vices of superior civilization may be atoned\nfor by its achievements, and the errors of more transcendental devotion\nforgiven to its rapture. But, take it for what we may, the character of\nthis peasantry is, at least, serviceable to others and sufficient for\ntheir own peace; and in its consistency and simplicity, it stands alone\nin the history of the human heart. How far it was developed by\ncircumstances of natural phenomena may also be disputed; nor should I\nenter into such dispute with any strongly held conviction. The Swiss\nhave certainly no feelings respecting their mountains in anywise\ncorrespondent to ours. It was rather as fortresses of defence, than as\nspectacles of splendor, that the cliffs of the Rothstock bare rule over\nthe destinies of those who dwelt at their feet; and the training for\nwhich the mountain children had to thank the slopes of the Muotta-Thal,\nwas in soundness of breath, and steadiness of limb, far more than in\nelevation of idea. But the point which I desire the reader to note is,\nthat the character of the scene which, if any, appears to have been\nimpressive to the inhabitant, is not that which we ourselves feel when\nwe enter the district. It was not from their lakes, nor their cliffs,\nnor their glaciers--though these were all peculiarly their possession,\nthat the three venerable cantons or states received their name. They\nwere not called the States of the Rock, nor the States of the Lake, but\nthe States of the _Forest_. And the one of the three which contains the\nmost touching record of the spiritual power of Swiss religion, in the\nname of the convent of the \"Hill of Angels,\" has, for its own, none but\nthe sweet childish name of \"Under the Woods.\"\n\n\u00a7 16. And indeed you may pass under them if, leaving the most sacred\nspot in Swiss history, the Meadow of the Three Fountains, you bid the\nboatman row southward a little way by the shore of the Bay of Uri.\nSteepest there on its western side, the walls of its rocks ascend to\nheaven. Far, in the blue of evening, like a great cathedral pavement,\nlies the lake in its darkness; and you may hear the whisper of\ninnumerable falling waters return from the hollows of the cliff, like\nthe voices of a multitude praying under their breath. From time to time\nthe beat of a wave, slow lifted, where the rocks lean over the black\ndepth, dies heavily as the last note of a requiem. Opposite, green with\nsteep grass, and set with chalet villages, the Fron-Alp rises in one\nsolemn glow of pastoral light and peace; and above, against the clouds\nof twilight, ghostly on the gray precipice, stand, myriad by myriad, the\nshadowy armies of the Unterwalden pine.[5]\n\nI have seen that it is possible for the stranger to pass through this\ngreat chapel, with its font of waters, and mountain pillars, and vaults\nof cloud, without being touched by one noble thought, or stirred by any\nsacred passion; but for those who received from its waves the baptism of\ntheir youth, and learned beneath its rocks the fidelity of their\nmanhood, and watched amidst its clouds the likeness of the dream of\nlife, with the eyes of age--for these I will not believe that the\nmountain shrine was built, or the calm of its forest-shadows guarded by\ntheir God, in vain.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] \"Croesus, therefore, having heard these things, sent word to the\n    people of Lampsacus that they should let Miltiades go; and, if not,\n    he would cut them down like a pine-tree.\"--_Herod._ vi. 37.\n\n  [2] Keats (as is his way) puts nearly all that may be said of the\n    pine into one verse, though they are only figurative pines of which\n    he is speaking. I have come to that pass of admiration for him now,\n    that I dare not read him, so discontented he makes me with my own\n    work: but others must not leave unread, in considering the influence\n    of trees upon the human soul, that marvellous ode to Psyche. Here is\n    the piece about pines:--\n\n      \"Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane\n       In some untrodden region of my mind,\n       Where branch\u00e9d thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,\n       Instead of pines, shall murmur in the wind:\n       Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees\n       _Fledge the wild-ridged mountains_, steep by steep;\n       And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,\n       The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;\n       And in the midst of this wide quietness\n       A rosy sanctuary will I dress\n       With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,\n       With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,\n       With all the Gardener Fancy e'er could feign,\n       Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same.\n       And there shall be for thee all soft delight\n       That shadowy thought can win;\n       A bright torch, and a casement ope, at night,\n       To let the warm Love in.\"\n\n  [3] There has been much cottage-building about the hills lately, with\n    very pretty carving, the skill in which has been encouraged by\n    travellers; and the fresh-cut larch is splendid in color under rosy\n    sunlight.\n\n  [4] This valley is on the pass of the Gemmi in Canton Berne, but the\n    people are the same in temper as those of the Waldstetten.\n\n  [5] The cliff immediately bordering the lake is in Canton Uri: the\n    green hills of Unterwalden rise above. This is the grandest piece of\n    the shore of Lake Lucerne; the rocks near Tell's Chapel are neither\n    so lofty nor so precipitous.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nLEAVES MOTIONLESS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. It will be remembered that our final inquiry was to be into the\nsources of beauty in the tented plants, or flowers of the field; which\nthe reader may perhaps suppose one of no great difficulty, the beauty of\nflowers being somewhat generally admitted and comprehended.\n\nAdmitted? yes. Comprehended? no; and, which is worse, in all its highest\ncharacters, for many a day yet, incomprehensible: though with a little\nsteady application, I suppose we might soon know more than we do now\nabout the colors of flowers,--being tangible enough, and staying longer\nthan those of clouds. We have discovered something definite about colors\nof opal and of peacock's plume; perhaps, also, in due time we may give\nsome account of that true gold (the only gold of intrinsic value) which\ngilds buttercups; and understand how the spots are laid, in painting a\npansy.\n\nArt is of interest, when we may win any of its secrets; but to such\nknowledge the road lies not up brick streets. And howsoever that\nflower-painting may be done, one thing is certain, it is not by\nmachinery.\n\n\u00a7 2. Perhaps, it may be thought, if we understood flowers better, we\nmight love them less.\n\nWe do not love them much, as it is. Few people care about flowers. Many,\nindeed, are fond of finding a new shape of blossom, caring for it as a\nchild cares about a kaleidoscope. Many, also, like a fair service of\nflowers in the greenhouse, as a fair service of plate on the table. Many\nare scientifically interested in them, though even these in the\nnomenclature rather than the flowers. And a few enjoy their gardens; but\nI have never heard of a piece of land, which would let well on a\nbuilding lease, remaining unlet because it was a flowery piece. I have\nnever heard of parks being kept for wild hyacinths, though often of\ntheir being kept for wild beasts. And the blossoming time of the year\nbeing principally spring, I perceive it to be the mind of most people,\nduring that period, to stay in towns.\n\n\u00a7 3. A year or two ago, a keen-sighted and eccentrically-minded friend\nof mine, having taken it into his head to violate this national custom,\nand go to the Tyrol in spring, was passing through a valley near\nLandech, with several similarly headstrong companions. A strange\nmountain appeared in the distance, belted about its breast with a zone\nof blue, like our English Queen. Was it a blue cloud? A blue horizontal\nbar of the air that Titian breathed in youth, seen now far away, which\nmortal might never breathe again? Was it a mirage--a meteor? Would it\nstay to be approached? (ten miles of winding road yet between them and\nthe foot of its mountain.) Such questioning had they concerning it. My\nkeen-sighted friend alone maintained it to be substantial: whatever it\nmight be, it was not air, and would not vanish. The ten miles of road\nwere overpassed, the carriage left, the mountain climbed. It stayed\npatiently, expanding still into richer breadth and heavenlier glow--a\nbelt of gentians. Such things may verily be seen among the Alps in\nspring, and in spring only. Which being so, I observe most people prefer\ngoing in autumn.\n\n\u00a7 4. Nevertheless, without any special affection for them, most of us,\nat least, languidly consent to the beauty of flowers, and occasionally\ngather them, and prefer them from among other forms of vegetation. This,\nstrange to say, is precisely what great painters do _not_.\n\nEvery other kind of object they paint, in its due place and office, with\nrespect;--but, except compulsorily and imperfectly, never flowers. A\ncurious fact, this! Here are men whose lives are spent in the study of\ncolor, and the one thing they will not paint is a flower! Anything but\nthat. A furred mantle, a jewelled zone, a silken gown, a brazen corslet,\nnay, an old leathern chair, or a wall-paper if you will, with utmost\ncare and delight;--but a flower by no manner of means, if avoidable.\nWhen the thing has perforce to be done, the great painters of course do\nit rightly. Titian, in his early work, sometimes carries a blossom or\ntwo out with affection, as the columbines in our Bacchus and Ariadne.\nSo also Holbein. But in his later and mightier work, Titian will only\npaint a fan or a wristband intensely, never a flower. In his portrait of\nLavinia, at Berlin, the roses are just touched finely enough to fill\ntheir place, with no affection whatever, and with the most subdued red\npossible; while in the later portrait of her, at Dresden, there are no\nroses at all, but a belt of chased golden balls, on every stud of which\nTitian has concentrated his strength, and I verily believe forgot the\nface a little, so much has his mind been set on them.\n\n\u00a7 5. In Paul Veronese's Europa, at Dresden, the entire foreground is\ncovered with flowers, but they are executed with sharp and crude touches\nlike those of a decorative painter. In Correggio's paintings, at\nDresden, and in the Antiope of the Louvre, there are lovely pieces of\nfoliage, but no flowers. A large garland of oranges and lemons, with\ntheir leaves, above the St. George, at Dresden, is connected\ntraditionally with the garlanded backgrounds of Ghirlandajo and\nMantegna, but the studious absence of flowers renders it almost\ndisagreeably ponderous. I do not remember any painted by Velasquez, or\nby Tintoret, except compulsory Annunciation lilies. The flowers of\nRubens are gross and rude; those of Vandyck vague, slight, and subdued\nin color, so as not to contend with the flesh. In his portraits of King\nCharles's children, at Turin, an enchanting picture, there is a\nrose-thicket, in which the roses seem to be enchanted the wrong way, for\ntheir leaves are all gray, and the flowers dull brick-red. Yet it is\nright.\n\n\u00a7 6. One reason for this is that all great men like their inferior forms\nto follow and obey contours of large surfaces, or group themselves in\nconnected masses. Patterns do the first, leaves the last; but flowers\nstand separately.\n\nAnother reason is that the beauty of flower-petals and texture can only\nbe seen by looking at it close; but flat patterns can be seen far off,\nas well as gleaming of metal-work. All the great men calculate their\nwork for effect at some distance, and with that object, know it to be\nlost time to complete the drawing of flowers. Farther, the forms of\nflowers being determined, require a painful attention, and restrain the\nfancy; whereas, in painting fur, jewels, or bronze, the color and touch\nmay be varied almost at pleasure, and without effort.\n\nAgain, much of what is best in flowers is inimitable in painting; and a\nthoroughly good workman feels the feebleness of his means when he\nmatches them fairly with Nature, and gives up the attempt\nfrankly--painting the rose dull red, rather than trying to rival its\nflush in sunshine.\n\nAnd, lastly, in nearly all good landscape-painting, the breadth of\nforeground included implies such a distance of the spectator from the\nnearest object as must entirely prevent his seeing flower detail.\n\n\u00a7 7. There is, however, a deeper reason than all these; namely, that\nflowers have no sublimity. We shall have to examine the nature of\nsublimity in our following and last section, among other ideas of\nrelation. Here I only note the fact briefly, that impressions of awe and\nsorrow being at the root of the sensation of sublimity, and the beauty\nof separate flowers not being of the kind which connects itself with\nsuch sensation, there is a wide distinction, in general, between\nflower-loving minds and minds of the highest order. Flowers seem\nintended for the solace of ordinary humanity: children love them; quiet,\ntender, contented ordinary people love them as they grow; luxurious and\ndisorderly people rejoice in them gathered: They are the cottager's\ntreasure; and in the crowded town, mark, as with a little broken\nfragment of rainbow, the windows of the workers in whose heart rests the\ncovenant of peace. Passionate or religious minds contemplate them with\nfond, feverish intensity; the affection is seen severely calm in the\nworks of many old religious painters, and mixed with more open and true\ncountry sentiment in those of our own pre-Raphaelites. To the child and\nthe girl, the peasant and the manufacturing operative, to the grisette\nand the nun, the lover and monk, they are precious always. But to the\nmen of supreme power and thoughtfulness, precious only at times;\nsymbolically and pathetically often to the poets, but rarely for their\nown sake. They fall forgotten from the great workmen's and soldiers'\nhands. Such men will take, in thankfulness, crowns of leaves, or crowns\nof thorns--not crowns of flowers.\n\n\u00a7 8. Some beautiful things have been done lately, and more beautiful are\nlikely to be done, by our younger painters, in representing blossoms of\nthe orchard and the field in mass and extent. I have had something to do\nwith the encouragement of this impulse; and truly, if pictures are to\nbe essentially imitative rather than inventive, it is better to spend\ncare in painting hyacinths than dead leaves, and roses rather than\nstubble. Such work, however, as I stated in my first essay on this\nsubject, in the year 1851,[1] can only connect itself with the great\nschools by becoming inventive instead of copyist; and for the most part,\nI believe these young painters would do well to remember that the best\nbeauty of flowers being wholly inimitable, and their sweetest service\nunrenderable by art, the picture involves some approach to an\nunsatisfying mockery, in the cold imagery of what Nature has given to be\nbreathed with the profuse winds of spring, and touched by the happy\nfootsteps of youth.\n\n\u00a7 9. Among the greater masters, as I have said, there is little\nlaborious or affectionate flower-painting. The utmost that Turner ever\nallows in his foregrounds is a water-lily or two, a cluster of heath or\nfoxglove, a thistle sometimes, a violet or daisy, or a bindweed-bell;\njust enough to lead the eye into the understanding of the rich mystery\nof his more distant leafage. Rich mystery, indeed, respecting which\nthese following facts about the foliage of tented plants must be noted\ncarefully.\n\n\u00a7 10. Two characters seem especially aimed at by Nature in the\nearth-plants: first, that they should be characteristic and interesting;\nsecondly, that they should not be very visibly injured by crushing.\n\nI say, first, characteristic. The leaves of large trees take\napproximately simple forms, slightly monotonous. They are intended to be\nseen in mass. But the leaves of the herbage at our feet take all kinds\nof strange shapes, as if to invite us to examine them. Star-shaped,\nheart-shaped, spear-shaped, arrow-shaped, fretted, fringed, cleft,\nfurrowed, serrated, sinuated; in whorls, in tufts, in spires, in wreaths\nendlessly expressive, deceptive, fantastic, never the same from\nfootstalk to blossom; they seem perpetually to tempt our watchfulness,\nand take delight in outstripping our wonder.\n\n\u00a7 11. Secondly, observe, their forms are such as will not be visibly\ninjured by crushing. Their complexity is already disordered: jags and\nrents are their laws of being; rent by the footstep they betray no\nharm. Here, for instance (Fig. 72), is the mere outline of a\nbuttercup-leaf in full free growth; which, perhaps, may be taken as a\ngood common type of earth foliage. Fig. 73 is a less advanced one,\nplaced so as to show its symmetrical bounding form. But both, how\nvarious;--how delicately rent into beauty! As in the aiguilles of the\ngreat Alps, so in this lowest field-herb, where rending is the law of\nbeing, it is the law of loveliness.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 72.]\n\n\u00a7 12. One class, however, of these torn leaves, peculiar to the tented\nplants, has, it seems to me, a strange expressional function. I mean the\ngroup of leaves rent into _alternate_ gaps, typically represented by the\nthistle. The alternation of the rent, if not absolutely, is\neffectively, peculiar to the earth-plants. Leaves of the builders are\nrent symmetrically, so as to form radiating groups, as in the\nhorse-chestnut, or they are irregularly sinuous, as in the oak; but the\nearth-plants continually present forms such as those in the opposite\nPlate: a kind of web-footed leaf, so to speak; a continuous tissue,\nenlarged alternately on each side of the stalk. Leaves of this form have\nnecessarily a kind of limping gait, as if they grew not all at once, but\nfirst a little bit on one side, and then a little bit on the other, and\nwherever they occur in quantity, give the expression to foreground\nvegetation which we feel and call \"ragged.\"\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 73.]\n\n[Illustration: 60. The Rending of Leaves.]\n\n\u00a7 13. It is strange that the mere alternation of the rent should give\nthis effect; the more so, because alternate leaves, completely separate\nfrom each other, produce one of the most graceful types of building\nplants. Yet the fact is indeed so, that the alternate rent in the\nearth-leaf is the principal cause of its ragged effect. However deeply\nit may be rent symmetrically, as in the alchemilla, or buttercup, just\ninstanced, and however finely divided, as in the parsleys, the result is\nalways a delicate richness, unless the jags are alternate, and the\nleaf-tissue continuous at the stem; and the moment these conditions\nappear, so does the raggedness.\n\n\u00a7 14. It is yet more worthy of note that the proper duty of these\nleaves, which catch the eye so clearly and powerfully, would appear to\nbe to draw the attention of man to spots where his work is needed, for\nthey nearly all habitually grow on ruins or neglected ground: not noble\nruins, or on _wild_ ground, but on heaps of rubbish, or pieces of land\nwhich have been indolently cultivated or much disturbed. The leaf on the\nright of the three in the Plate, which is the most characteristic of the\nclass, is that of the Sisymbrium Irio, which grows, by choice, always on\nruins left by fire. The plant, which, as far as I have observed, grows\nfirst on earth that has been moved, is the colts-foot: its broad\ncovering leaf is much jagged, but only irregular, not alternate in the\nrent; but the weeds that mark habitual neglect, such as the thistle,\ngive clear alternation.\n\n\u00a7 15. The aspects of complexity and carelessness of injury are farther\nincreased in the herb of the field, because it is \"herb yielding seed;\"\nthat is to say, a seed different in character from that which trees form\nin their fruit.\n\nI am somewhat alarmed in reading over the above sentence, lest a\nbotanist, or other scientific person, should open the book at it. For of\ncourse the essential character of either fruit or seed being only that\nin the smallest compass the vital principle of the plant is rendered\nportable, and for some time, preservable, we ought to call every such\nvegetable dormitory a \"fruit\" or a \"seed\" indifferently. But with\nrespect to man there is a notable difference between them.\n\nA seed is what we \"sow.\"\n\nA fruit, what we \"enjoy.\"\n\nFruit is seed prepared especially for the sight and taste of man and\nanimals; and in this sense we have true fruit and traitorous fruit\n(poisonous); but it is perhaps the best available distinction,[2] that\nseed being the part necessary for the renewed birth of the plant, a\nfruit is such seed enclosed or sustained by some extraneous substance,\nwhich is soft and juicy, and beautifully colored, pleasing and useful to\nanimals and men.\n\n\u00a7 16. I find it convenient in this volume, and wish I had thought of the\nexpedient before, whenever I get into a difficulty, to leave the reader\nto work it out. He will perhaps, therefore, be so good as to define\nfruit for himself. Having defined it, he will find that the sentence\nabout which I was alarmed above is, in the main, true, and that tented\nplants principally are herb yielding seed, while building plants give\nfruit. The berried shrubs of rock and wood, however dwarfed in stature,\nare true builders. The strawberry-plant is the only important\nexception--a tender Bedouin.\n\n\u00a7 17. Of course the principal reason for this is the plain, practical\none, that fruit should not be trampled on, and had better perhaps be put\na little out of easy reach than too near the hand, so that it may not be\ngathered wantonly or without some little trouble, and may be waited for\nuntil it is properly ripe: while the plants meant to be trampled on have\nsmall and multitudinous seed, hard and wooden, which may be shaken and\nscattered about without harm.\n\nAlso, fine fruit is often only to be brought forth with patience; not by\nyoung and hurried trees--but in due time, after much suffering; and the\nbest fruit is often to be an adornment of old age, so as to supply the\nwant of other grace. While the plants which will not work, but only\nbloom and wander, do not (except the grasses) bring forth fruit of high\nservice, but only the seed that prolongs their race, the grasses alone\nhaving great honor put on them for their humility, as we saw in our\nfirst account of them.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 74.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 75.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 76.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 77.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 78.   _To face page 97._]\n\n\u00a7 18. This being so, we find another element of very complex effect\nadded to the others which exist in tented plants, namely, that of\nminute, granular, feathery, or downy seed-vessels, mingling quaint brown\npunctuation, and dusty tremors of dancing grain, with the bloom of the\nnearer fields; and casting a gossamered grayness and softness of plumy\nmist along their surfaces far away; mysterious evermore, not only with\ndew in the morning or mirage at noon, but with the shaking threads of\nfine arborescence, each a little belfry of grain-bells, all a-chime.\n\n\u00a7 19. I feel sorely tempted to draw one of these same spires of the fine\ngrasses, with its sweet changing proportions of pendent grain, but it\nwould be a useless piece of finesse, as such form of course never enters\ninto general foreground effect.[3] I have, however, engraved, at the top\nof the group of woodcuts opposite (Fig. 74), a single leaf cluster of\nDurer's foreground in the St. Hubert, which is interesting in several\nways; as an example of modern work, no less than old; for it is a\nfacsimile twice removed; being first drawn from the plate with the pen,\nby Mr. Allen, and then facsimiled on wood by Miss Byfield; and if the\nreader can compare it with the original, he will find it still come\ntolerably close in most parts (though the nearest large leaf has got\nspoiled), and of course some of the finest and most precious qualities\nof Durer's work are lost. Still, it gives a fair idea of his perfectness\nof conception, every leaf being thoroughly set in perspective, and drawn\nwith unerring decision. On each side of it (Figs. 75, 76) are two pieces\nfrom a fairly good modern etching, which I oppose to the Durer in order\nto show the difference between true work and that which pretends to give\ndetail, but is without feeling or knowledge. There are a great many\nleaves in the piece on the left, but they are all set the same way; the\ndraughtsman has not conceived their real positions, but draws one after\nanother as he would deliver a tale of bricks. The grasses on the right\nlook delicate, but are a mere series of inorganic lines. Look how\nDurer's grass-blades cross each other. If you take a pen and copy a\nlittle piece of each example, you will soon feel the difference.\nUnderneath, in the centre (Fig. 77), is a piece of grass out of\nLandseer's etching of the \"Ladies' Pets,\" more massive and effective\nthan the two lateral fragments, but still loose and uncomposed. Then\nunderneath is a piece of firm and good work again, which will stand with\nDurer's; it is the outline only of a group of leaves out of Turner's\nforeground in the Richmond from the Moors, of which I give a reduced\netching, Plate 61, for the sake of the foreground principally, and in\nPlate 62, the group of leaves in question, in their light and shade,\nwith the bridge beyond. What I have chiefly to say of them belongs to\nour section on composition; but this mere fragment of a Turner\nforeground may perhaps lead the reader to take note in his great\npictures of the almost inconceivable labor with which he has sought to\nexpress the redundance and delicacy of ground leafage.\n\n\u00a7 20. By comparing the etching in Plate 61 with the published engraving,\nit will be seen how much yet remains to be done before any approximately\njust representation of Turner foreground can be put within the reach of\nthe public. This Plate has been reduced by Mr. Armytage from a\npen-drawing of mine, as large as the original of Turner's (18 inches by\n11 inches). It will look a little better under a magnifying glass; but\nonly a most costly engraving, of the real size, could give any idea of\nthe richness of mossy and ferny leafage included in the real design. And\nif this be so on one of the ordinary England drawings of a barren\nYorkshire moor, it may be imagined what the task would be of engraving\ntruly such a foreground as that of the \"Bay of Bai\u00e6\" or \"Daphne and\nLeucippus,\" in which Turner's aim has been luxuriance.\n\n[Illustration: 61. Richmond from the Moors.]\n\n[Illustration: 62. By the Brookside.]\n\n\u00a7 21. His mind recurred, in all these classical foregrounds, to strong\nimpressions made upon him during his studies at Rome, by the masses of\nvegetation which enrich its heaps of ruin with their embroidery and\nbloom. I have always partly regretted these Roman studies, thinking that\nthey led him into too great fondness of pandering luxuriance in\nvegetation, associated with decay; and prevented his giving\naffection enough to the more solemn and more sacred infinity with which,\namong the mightier ruins of the Alpine Rome, glow the pure and\nmotionless splendors of the gentian and the rose.\n\n\u00a7 22. Leaves motionless. The strong pines wave above them, and the weak\ngrasses tremble beside them; but the blue stars rest upon the earth with\na peace as of heaven; and far along the ridges of iron rock, moveless as\nthey, the rubied crests of Alpine rose flush in the low rays of morning.\nNor these yet the stillest leaves. Others there are subdued to a deeper\nquietness, the mute slaves of the earth, to whom we owe, perhaps,\nthanks, and tenderness, the most profound of all we have to render for\nthe leaf ministries.\n\n\u00a7 23. It is strange to think of the gradually diminished power and\nwithdrawn freedom among the orders of leaves--from the sweep of the\nchestnut and gadding of the vine, down to the close shrinking trefoil,\nand contented daisy, pressed on earth; and, at last, to the leaves that\nare not merely close to earth, but themselves a part of it; fastened\ndown to it by their sides, here and there only a wrinkled edge rising\nfrom the granite crystals. We have found beauty in the tree yielding\nfruit, and in the herb yielding seed. How of the herb yielding _no_\nseed,[4] the fruitless, flowerless lichen of the rock?\n\n\u00a7 24. Lichen, and mosses (though these last in their luxuriance are deep\nand rich as herbage, yet both for the most part humblest of the green\nthings that live),--how of these? Meek creatures! the first mercy of the\nearth, veiling with hushed softness its dintless rocks; creatures full\nof pity, covering with strange and tender honor the scarred disgrace of\nruin,--laying quiet finger on the trembling stones, to teach them rest.\nNo words, that I know of, will say what these mosses are. None are\ndelicate enough, none perfect enough, none rich enough. How is one to\ntell of the rounded bosses of furred and beaming green,--the starred\ndivisions of rubied bloom, fine-filmed, as if the Rock Spirits could\nspin porphyry as we do glass,--the traceries of intricate silver, and\nfringes of amber, lustrous, arborescent, burnished through every fibre\ninto fitful brightness and glossy traverses of silken change, yet all\nsubdued and pensive, and framed for simplest, sweetest offices of grace.\nThey will not be gathered, like the flowers, for chaplet or love-token;\nbut of these the wild bird will make its nest, and the wearied child his\npillow.\n\nAnd, as the earth's first mercy, so they are its last gift to us. When\nall other service is vain, from plant and tree, the soft mosses and gray\nlichen take up their watch by the head-stone. The woods, the blossoms,\nthe gift-bearing grasses, have done their parts for a time, but these do\nservice for ever. Trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's\nchamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave.\n\n\u00a7 25. Yet as in one sense the humblest, in another they are the most\nhonored of the earth-children. Unfading, as motionless, the worm frets\nthem not, and the autumn wastes not. Strong in lowliness, they neither\nblanch in heat nor pine in frost. To them, slow-fingered,\nconstant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal,\ntapestries of the hills; to them, slow-pencilled, iris-dyed, the tender\nframing of their endless imagery. Sharing the stillness of the\nunimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance; and while the winds\nof departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted\nsnow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its\ncowslip-gold,--far above, among the mountains, the silver lichen-spots\nrest, star-like, on the stone; and the gathering orange stain upon the\nedge of yonder western peak reflects the sunsets of a thousand years.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] _Pre-Raphaelitism._ The essay contains some important notes on\n    Turner's work, which, therefore, I do not repeat in this volume.\n\n  [2] I say the \"best available distinction.\" It is, of course, no real\n    distinction. A peapod is a kind of central type of seed and\n    seed-vessel, and it is difficult so to define fruit as to keep clear\n    of it. Pea-shells are boiled and eaten in some countries rather than\n    pease. It does not sound like a scientific distinction to say that\n    fruit is a \"shell which is good without being boiled.\" Nay, even if\n    we humiliate ourselves into this practical reference to the kitchen,\n    we are still far from success. For the pulp of a strawberry is not a\n    \"shell,\" the seeds being on the outside of it. The available part of\n    a pomegranate or orange, though a seed envelope, is itself shut\n    within a less useful rind. While in an almond the shell becomes less\n    profitable still, and all goodness retires into the seed itself, as\n    in a grain of corn.\n\n  [3] For the same reason, I enter into no considerations respecting\n    the geometrical forms of flowers, though they are deeply interesting,\n    and perhaps some day I may give a few studies of them separately. The\n    reader should note, however, that beauty of form in flowers is\n    chiefly dependent on a more accurately finished or more studiously\n    varied development of the tre-foil, quatre-foil, and cinq-foil\n    structures which we have seen irregularly approached by leaf-buds.\n    The most beautiful six-foiled flowers (like the rhododendron-shoot)\n    are composed of two triangular groups, one superimposed on the other,\n    as in the narcissus; and the most interesting types both of six-foils\n    and cinq-foils are unequally leaved, symmetrical on opposite sides,\n    as the iris and violet.\n\n  [4] The reader must remember always that my work is concerning the\n    _aspects_ of things only. Of course, a lichen has seeds, just as\n    other plants have, but not effectually or visibly for man.\n\n\n\n\nPART VII.\n\nOF CLOUD BEAUTY.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE CLOUD-BALANCINGS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. We have seen that when the earth had to be prepared for the\nhabitation of man, a veil, as it were, of intermediate being was spread\nbetween him and its darkness, in which were joined, in a subdued\nmeasure, the stability and insensibility of the earth, and the passion\nand perishing of mankind.\n\nBut the heavens, also, had to be prepared for his habitation.\n\nBetween their burning light,--their deep vacuity, and man, as between\nthe earth's gloom of iron substance, and man, a veil had to be spread of\nintermediate being;--which should appease the unendurable glory to the\nlevel of human feebleness, and sign the changeless motion of the heavens\nwith a semblance of human vicissitude.\n\nBetween earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came\nthe cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the\nflying vapor.\n\n\u00a7 2. Has the reader any distinct idea of what clouds are? We had some\ntalk about them long ago, and perhaps thought their nature, though at\nthat time not clear to us, would be easily enough understandable when we\nput ourselves seriously to make it out. Shall we begin with one or two\neasiest questions?\n\nThat mist which lies in the morning so softly in the valley, level and\nwhite, through which the tops of the trees rise as if through an\ninundation--why is _it_ so heavy? and why does it lie so low, being yet\nso thin and frail that it will melt away utterly into splendor of\nmorning, when the sun has shone on it but a few moments more? Those\ncolossal pyramids, huge and firm, with outlines as of rocks, and\nstrength to bear the beating of the high sun full on their fiery\nflanks--why are _they_ so light,--their bases high over our heads, high\nover the heads of Alps? why will these melt away, not as the sun rises,\nbut as he descends, and leave the stars of twilight clear, while the\nvalley vapor gains again upon the earth like a shroud?\n\nOr that ghost of a cloud, which steals by yonder clump of pines; nay,\nwhich does _not_ steal by them, but haunts them, wreathing yet round\nthem, and yet--and yet, slowly: now falling in a fair waved line like a\nwoman's veil; now fading, now gone: we look away for an instant, and\nlook back, and it is again there. What has it to do with that clump of\npines, that it broods by them and weaves itself among their branches, to\nand fro? Has it hidden a cloudy treasure among the moss at their roots,\nwhich it watches thus? Or has some strong enchanter charmed it into fond\nreturning, or bound it fast within those bars of bough? And yonder filmy\ncrescent, bent like an archer's bow above the snowy summit, the highest\nof all the hill,--that white arch which never forms but over the supreme\ncrest,--how is it stayed there, repelled apparently from the\nsnow--nowhere touching it, the clear sky seen between it and the\nmountain edge, yet never leaving it--poised as a white bird hovers over\nits nest?\n\nOr those war-clouds that gather on the horizon, dragon-crested, tongued\nwith fire;--how is their barbed strength bridled? what bits are these\nthey are champing with their vaporous lips; flinging off flakes of black\nfoam? Leagued leviathans of the Sea of Heaven, out of their nostrils\ngoeth smoke, and their eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. The\nsword of him that layeth at them cannot hold the spear, the dart, nor\nthe habergeon. Where ride the captains of their armies? Where are set\nthe measures of their march? Fierce murmurers, answering each other from\nmorning until evening--what rebuke is this which has awed them into\npeace? what hand has reined them back by the way by which they came?\n\n\u00a7 3. I know not if the reader will think at first that questions like\nthese are easily answered. So far from it, I rather believe that some\nof the mysteries of the clouds never will be understood by us at all.\n\"Knowest thou the balancings of the clouds?\" Is the answer ever to be\none of pride? \"The wondrous works of Him which is perfect in knowledge?\"\nIs _our_ knowledge ever to be so?\n\nIt is one of the most discouraging consequences of the varied character\nof this work of mine, that I am wholly unable to take note of the\nadvance of modern science. What has conclusively been discovered or\nobserved about clouds, I know not; but by the chance inquiry possible to\nme I find no book which fairly states the difficulties of accounting for\neven the ordinary aspects of the sky. I shall, therefore, be able in\nthis section to do little more than suggest inquiries to the reader,\nputting the subject in a clear form for him. All men accustomed to\ninvestigation will confirm me in saying that it is a great step when we\nare personally quite certain what we do _not_ know.\n\n\u00a7 4. First, then, I believe we do not know what makes clouds float.\nClouds are water, in some fine form or another; but water is heavier\nthan air, and the finest form you can give a heavy thing will not make\nit float in a light thing. _On_ it, yes; as a boat: but _in_ it, no.\nClouds are not boats, nor boat-shaped, and they float in the air, not on\nthe top of it. \"Nay, but though unlike boats, may they not be like\nfeathers? If out of quill substance there may be constructed eider-down,\nand out of vegetable tissue, thistle-down, both buoyant enough for a\ntime, surely of water-tissue may be constructed also water-down, which\nwill be buoyant enough for all cloudy purposes.\" Not so. Throw out your\neider plumage in a calm day, and it will all come settling to the\nground: slowly indeed, to aspect; but practically so fast that all our\nfinest clouds would be here in a heap about our ears in an hour or two,\nif they were only made of water-feathers. \"But may they not be\nquill-feathers, and have air inside them? May not all their particles be\nminute little balloons?\"\n\nA balloon only floats when the air inside it is either specifically, or\nby heating, lighter than the air it floats in. If the cloud-feathers had\nwarm air inside their quills, a cloud would be warmer than the air about\nit, which it is not (I believe). And if the cloud-feathers had hydrogen\ninside their quills, a cloud would be unwholesome for breathing, which\nit is not--at least so it seems to me.\n\n\"But may they not have nothing inside their quills?\" Then they would\nrise, as bubbles do through water, just as certainly as, if they were\nsolid feathers, they would fall. All our clouds would go up to the top\nof the air, and swim in eddies of cloud-foam.\n\n\"But is not that just what they do?\" No. They float at different\nheights, and with definite forms, in the body of the air itself. If they\nrose like foam, the sky on a cloudy day would look like a very large\nflat glass of champagne seen from below, with a stream of bubbles (or\nclouds) going up as fast as they could to a flat foam-ceiling.\n\n\"But may they not be just so nicely mixed out of something and nothing,\nas to float where they are wanted?\"\n\nYes: that is just what they not only may, but must be: only this way of\nmixing something and nothing is the very thing I want to explain or have\nexplained, and cannot do it, nor get it done.\n\n\u00a7 5. Except thus far. It is conceivable that minute hollow spherical\nglobules might be formed of water, in which the enclosed vacuity just\nbalanced the weight of the enclosing water, and that the arched sphere\nformed by the watery film was strong enough to prevent the pressure of\nthe atmosphere from breaking it in. Such a globule would float like a\nballoon at the height in the atmosphere where the equipoise between the\nvacuum it enclosed, and its own excess of weight above that of the air,\nwas exact. It would, probably, approach its companion globules by\nreciprocal attraction, and form aggregations which might be visible.\n\nThis is, I believe, the view usually taken by meteorologists. I state it\nas a possibility, to be taken into account in examining the question--a\npossibility confirmed by the scriptural words which I have taken for the\ntitle of this chapter.\n\n\u00a7 6. Nevertheless, I state it as a possibility only, not seeing how any\nknown operation of physical law could explain the formation of such\nmolecules. This, however, is not the only difficulty. Whatever shape the\nwater is thrown into, it seems at first improbable that it should lose\nits property of wetness. Minute division of rain, as in \"Scotch mist,\"\nmakes it capable of floating farther,[1] or floating up and down a\nlittle, just as dust will float, though pebbles will not; or gold-leaf,\nthough a sovereign will not; but minutely divided rain wets as much as\nany other kind, whereas a cloud, partially always, sometimes entirely,\nloses its power of moistening. Some low clouds look, when you are in\nthem, as if they were made of specks of dust, like short hairs; and\nthese clouds are entirely dry. And also many clouds will wet some\nsubstances, but not others. So that we must grant farther, if we are to\nbe happy in our theory, that the spherical molecules are held together\nby an attraction which prevents their adhering to any foreign body, or\nperhaps ceases only under some peculiar electric conditions.\n\n\u00a7 7. The question remains, even supposing their production accounted\nfor,--What intermediate states of water may exist between these\nspherical hollow molecules and pure vapor?\n\nHas the reader ever considered the relations of commonest forms of\nvolatile substance? The invisible particles which cause the scent of a\nrose-leaf, how minute, how multitudinous, passing richly away into the\nair continually! The visible cloud of frankincense--why visible? Is it\nin consequence of the greater quantity, or larger size of the particles,\nand how does the heat act in throwing them off in this quantity, or of\nthis size?\n\nAsk the same questions respecting water. It dries, that is, becomes\nvolatile, invisibly, at (any?) temperature. Snow dries, as water does.\nUnder increase of heat, it volatilizes faster, so as to become dimly\nvisible in large mass, as a heat-haze. It reaches boiling point, then\nbecomes entirely visible. But compress it, so that no air shall get\nbetween the watery particles--it is invisible again. At the first\nissuing from the steam-pipe the steam is transparent; but opaque, or\nvisible, as it diffuses itself. The water is indeed closer, because\ncooler, in that diffusion; but more air is between its particles. Then\nthis very question of visibility is an endless one, wavering between\nform of substance and action of light. The clearest (or least visible)\nstream becomes brightly opaque by more minute division in its foam, and\nthe clearest dew in hoar-frost. Dust, unperceived in shade, becomes\nconstantly visible in sunbeam; and watery vapor in the atmosphere, which\nis itself opaque, when there is promise of fine weather, becomes\nexquisitely transparent; and (questionably) blue, when it is going to\nrain.\n\n\u00a7 8. Questionably blue: for besides knowing very little about water, we\nknow what, except by courtesy, must, I think, be called Nothing--about\nair. Is it the watery vapor, or the air itself, which is blue? Are\nneither blue, but only white, producing blue when seen over dark spaces?\nIf either blue, or white, why, when crimson is their commanded dress,\nare the most distant clouds crimsonest? Clouds close to us may be blue,\nbut far off, golden,--a strange result, if the air is blue. And again,\nif blue, why are rays that come through large spaces of it red; and that\nAlp, or anything else that catches far-away light, why colored red at\ndawn and sunset? No one knows, I believe. It is true that many\nsubstances, as opal, are blue, or green, by reflected light, yellow by\ntransmitted; but air, if blue at all, is blue always by transmitted\nlight. I hear of a wonderful solution of nettles, or other unlovely\nherb, which is green when shallow,--red when deep. Perhaps some day, as\nthe motion of the heavenly bodies by help of an apple, their light by\nhelp of a nettle, may be explained to mankind.\n\n\u00a7 9. But farther: these questions of volatility, and visibility, and\nhue, are all complicated with those of shape. How is a cloud outlined?\nGranted whatever you choose to ask, concerning its material, or its\naspect, its loftiness and luminousness,--how of its limitation? What\nhews it into a heap, or spins it into a web? Cold is usually shapeless,\nI suppose, extending over large spaces equally, or with gradual\ndiminution. You cannot have, in the open air, angles, and wedges, and\ncoils, and cliffs of cold. Yet the vapor stops suddenly, sharp and steep\nas a rock, or thrusts itself across the gates of heaven in likeness of a\nbrazen bar; or braids itself in and out, and across and across, like a\ntissue of tapestry; or falls into ripples, like sand; or into waving\nshreds and tongues, as fire. On what anvils and wheels is the vapor\npointed, twisted, hammered, whirled, as the potter's clay? By what hands\nis the incense of the sea built up into domes of marble?\n\nAnd, lastly, all these questions respecting substance, and aspect, and\nshape, and line, and division, are involved with others as inscrutable,\nconcerning action. The curves in which clouds move are unknown;--nay,\nthe very method of their motion, or apparent motion, how far it is by\nchange of place, how far by appearance in one place and vanishing from\nanother. And these questions about movement lead partly far away into\nhigh mathematics, where I cannot follow them, and partly into theories\nconcerning electricity and infinite space, where I suppose at present no\none can follow them.\n\nWhat, then, is the use of asking the questions?\n\nFor my own part, I enjoy the mystery, and perhaps the reader may. I\nthink he ought. He should not be less grateful for summer rain, or see\nless beauty in the clouds of morning, because they come to prove him\nwith hard questions; to which, perhaps, if we look close at the heavenly\nscroll,[2] we may find also a syllable or two of answer illuminated here\nand there.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The buoyancy of solid bodies of a given specific gravity, in a\n    given fluid, depends, first on their size, then on their forms.\n\n    First, on their size; that is to say, on the proportion of the\n    magnitude of the object (irrespective of the distribution of its\n    particles) to the magnitude of the particles of the air.\n\n    Thus, a grain of sand is buoyant in wind, but a large stone is not;\n    and pebbles and sand are buoyant in water in proportion to their\n    smallness, fine dust taking long to sink, while a large stone sinks\n    at once. Thus, we see that water may be arranged in drops of any\n    magnitude, from the largest rain-drop, about the size of a large pea,\n    to an atom so small as not to be separately visible, the smallest\n    rain passing gradually into mist. Of these drops of different sizes\n    (supposing the strength of the wind the same), the largest fall\n    fastest, the smaller drops are more buoyant, and the small misty rain\n    floats about like a cloud, as often up as down, so that an umbrella\n    is useless in it; though in a heavy thunder-storm, if there is no\n    wind, one may stand gathered up under an umbrella without a drop\n    touching the feet.\n\n    Secondly, buoyancy depends on the amount of surface which a given\n    weight of the substance exposes to the resistance of the substance it\n    floats in. Thus, gold-leaf is in a high degree buoyant, while the\n    same quantity of gold in a compact grain would fall like a shot; and\n    a feather is buoyant, though the same quantity of animal matter in a\n    compact form would be as heavy as a little stone. A slate blows far\n    from a house-top, while a brick falls vertically, or nearly so.\n\n  [2] There is a beautiful passage in _Sartor Resartus_ concerning this\n    old Hebrew scroll, in its deeper meanings, and the child's watching\n    it, though long illegible for him, yet \"with an eye to the gilding.\"\n    It signifies in a word or two nearly all that is to be said about\n    clouds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE CLOUD-FLOCKS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. From the tenor of the foregoing chapter, the reader will, I hope,\nbe prepared to find me, though dogmatic (it is said) upon some\noccasions, anything rather than dogmatic respecting clouds. I will\nassume nothing concerning them, beyond the simple fact, that as a\nfloating sediment forms in a saturated liquid, vapor forms in the body\nof the air; and all that I want the reader to be clear about in the\noutset is that this vapor floats in and with the wind (as, if you throw\nany thick coloring matter into a river, it floats with the stream), and\nthat it is not blown before a denser volume of the wind, as a fleece of\nwool would be.\n\n\u00a7 2. At whatever height they form, clouds may be broadly considered as\nof two species only, massive and striated. I cannot find a better word\nthan massive, though it is not a good one, for I mean it only to signify\na fleecy arrangement in which no _lines_ are visible. The fleece may be\nso bright as to look like flying thistle-down, or so diffused as to show\nno visible outline at all. Still if it is all of one common texture,\nlike a handful of wool, or a wreath of smoke, I call it massive.\n\nOn the other hand, if divided by parallel lines, so as to look more or\nless like spun-glass, I call it striated. In Plate 69, Fig. 4, the top\nof the Aiguille Dru (Chamouni) is seen emergent above low striated\nclouds, with heaped massive cloud beyond. I do not know in the least\nwhat causes this striation, except that it depends on the nature of the\ncloud, not on the wind. The strongest wind will not throw a cloud,\nmassive by nature, into the linear form. It will toss it about, and tear\nit to pieces, but not spin it into threads. On the other hand, often\nwithout any wind at all, the cloud will spin itself into threads fine as\ngossamer. These threads are often said to be a prognostic of storm; but\nthey are not produced by storm.\n\n[Illustration: J. Ruskin   J.C. Armytage\n\n63. The Cloud-Flocks.]\n\n\u00a7 3. In the first volume, we considered all clouds as belonging to three\nregions, that of the cirrous, the central cloud, and the rain-cloud. It\nis of course an arrangement more of convenience than of true\ndescription, for cirrous clouds sometimes form low as well as high; and\nrain sometimes falls high as well as low. I will, nevertheless, retain\nthis old arrangement, which is practically as serviceable as any.\n\nAllowing, also, for various exceptions and modifications, these three\nbodies of cloud may be generally distinguished in our minds thus. The\nclouds of upper region are for the most part quiet, or seem to be so,\nowing to their distance. They are formed now of striated, now of massive\nsubstance; but always finely divided into large ragged flakes or\nponderous heaps. These heaps (cumuli) and flakes, or drifts, present\ndifferent phenomena, but must be joined in our minds under the head of\ncentral cloud. The lower clouds, bearing rain abundantly, are composed\npartly of striated, partly of massive substance; but may generally be\ncomprehended under the term rain-cloud.\n\nOur business in this chapter, then, is with the upper clouds, which,\nowing to their quietness and multitude, we may perhaps conveniently\nthink of as the \"cloud-flocks.\" And we have to discover if any laws of\nbeauty attach to them, such as we have seen in mountains or\ntree-branches.\n\n\u00a7 4. On one of the few mornings of this winter, when the sky was clear,\nand one of the far fewer, on which its clearness was visible from the\nneighborhood of London,--which now entirely loses at least two out of\nthree sunrises, owing to the environing smoke,--the dawn broke beneath a\nbroad field of level purple cloud, under which floated ranks of divided\ncirri, composed of finely striated vapor.\n\nIt was not a sky containing any extraordinary number of these minor\nclouds; but each was more than usually distinct in separation from its\nneighbor, and as they showed in nearly pure pale scarlet on the dark\npurple ground, they were easily to be counted.\n\n\u00a7 5. There were five or six ranks, from the zenith to the horizon; that\nis to say, three distinct ones, and then two or three more running\ntogether, and losing themselves in distance, in the manner roughly shown\nin Fig. 79. The nearest rank was composed of more than 150 rows of\ncloud, set obliquely, as in the figure. I counted 150 which was near\nthe mark, and then stopped, lest the light should fail, to count the\nseparate clouds in some of the rows. The average number was 60 in each\nrow, rather more than less.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 79.]\n\nThere were therefore 150\u00d760, that is, 9,000, separate clouds in this one\nrank, or about 50,000 in the field of sight. Flocks of Admetus under\nApollo's keeping. Who else could shepherd such? He by day, dog Sirius by\nnight; or huntress Diana herself--her bright arrows driving away the\nclouds of prey that would ravage her fair flocks. We must leave fancies,\nhowever; these wonderful clouds need close looking at. I will try to\ndraw one or two of them before they fade.\n\n\u00a7 6. On doing which we find, after all, they are not much more like\nsheep than Canis Major is like a dog. They resemble more some of our old\nfriends, the pine branches, covered with snow. The three forming the\nuppermost figure, in the Plate opposite, are as like three of the fifty\nthousand as I could get them, complex enough in structure, even this\nsingle group. Busy workers they must be, that twine the braiding of them\nall to the horizon, and down beyond it.\n\nAnd who are these workers? You have two questions here, both difficult.\nWhat separates these thousands of clouds each from the other, and each\nabout equally from the other? How can they be drawn asunder, yet not\nallowed to part? Looped lace as it were, richest point--invisible\nthreads fastening embroidered cloud to cloud--the \"plighted clouds\" of\nMilton,--creatures of the element--\n\n  \"That in the colors of the rainbow live\n   And play in the plighted clouds.\"\n\nCompare Geraldine dressing:--\n\n  \"Puts on her silken vestments white,\n   And tricks her hair in lovely plight.\"\n\nAnd Britomart's--\n\n                      \"Her well-plighted frock\n  She low let fall, that flowed from her lanck side\n  Down to her foot, with careless modesty.\"\n\nAnd, secondly, what bends each of them into these flame-like curves,\ntender and various, as motions of a bird, hither and thither? Perhaps\nyou may hardly see the curves well in the softly finished forms; here\nthey are plainer in rude outline, Fig. 80.[1]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 80.]\n\n\u00a7 7. What is it that throws them into these lines?\n\nEddies of wind?\n\nNay, an eddy of wind will not stay quiet for three minutes, as that\ncloud did to be drawn; as all the others did, each in his place. You\nsee there is perfect harmony among the curves. They all flow into each\nother as the currents of a stream do. If you throw dust that will float\non the surface of a slow river, it will arrange itself in lines somewhat\nlike these. To a certain extent, indeed, it is true that there are\ngentle currents of change in the atmosphere, which move slowly enough to\npermit in the clouds that follow them some appearance of stability. But\nhow to obtain change so complex in an infinite number of consecutive\nspaces;--fifty thousand separate groups of current in half of a morning\nsky, with quiet invisible vapor between, or none--and yet all obedient\nto one ruling law, gone forth through their companies;--each marshalled\nto their white standards, in great unity of warlike march, unarrested,\nunconfused? \"One shall not thrust another, they shall walk every one in\nhis own path.\"\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 81.]\n\n\u00a7 8. These questions occur, at first sight, respecting every group of\ncirrus cloud. Whatever the form may be, whether branched, as in this\ninstance, or merely rippled, or thrown into shield-like segments, as in\nFig. 81--a frequent arrangement--there is still the same difficulty in\naccounting satisfactorily for the individual forces which regulate the\nsimilar shape of each mass, while all are moved by a general force that\nhas apparently no influence on the divided structure. Thus the mass of\nclouds disposed as in Fig. 81, will probably move, mutually, in the\ndirection of the arrow; that is to say, sideways, as far as their\nseparate curvature is concerned. I suppose it probable that as the\nscience of electricity is more perfectly systematized, the explanation\nof many circumstances of cloud-form will be rendered by it. At present I\nsee no use in troubling the reader or myself with conjectures which a\nyear's progress in science might either effectively contradict or\nsupersede. All that I want is, that we should have our questions ready\nto put clearly to the electricians when the electricians are ready to\nanswer us.\n\n\u00a7 9. It is possible that some of the loveliest conditions of these\nparallel clouds may be owing to a structure which I forgot to explain,\nwhen it occurred in rocks, in the course of the last volume.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 82.]\n\nWhen they are finely stratified, and their surfaces abraded by broad,\nshallow furrows, the edges of the beds, of course, are thrown into\nundulations, and at some distance, where the furrows disappear, the\nsurface looks as if the rock had flowed over it in successive waves.\nSuch a condition is seen on the left at the top in Fig. 17, in Vol. IV.\nSupposing a series of beds of vapor cut across by a straight sloping\ncurrent of air, and so placed as to catch the light on their edges, we\nshould have a series of curved lights, looking like independent clouds.\n\n\u00a7 10. I believe conditions of form like those in Fig. 82 (turn the book\nwith its outer edge down) may not unfrequently be thus, owing to\nstratification, when they occur in the nearer sky. This line of cloud is\nfar off at the horizon, drifting towards the left (the points of course\nforward), and is, I suppose, a series of nearly circular eddies seen in\nperspective.\n\nWhich question of perspective we must examine a little before going a\nstep farther. In order to simplify it, let us assume that the under\nsurfaces of clouds are flat, and lie in a horizontal extended field.\nThis is in great measure the fact, and notable perspective phenomena\ndepend on the approximation of clouds to such a condition.\n\n[Illustration: 64. Cloud Perspective. (Rectilinear.)]\n\n[Illustration: 65. Cloud Perspective. (Curvilinear.)]\n\n\u00a7 11. Referring the reader to my Elements of Perspective for statements\nof law which would be in this place tiresome, I can only ask him to take\nmy word for it that the three figures in Plate 64 represent limiting\nlines of sky perspective, as they would appear over a large space of the\nsky. Supposing that the breadth included was one-fourth of the horizon,\nthe shaded portions in the central figure represent square fields\nof cloud,[2] and those in the uppermost figure narrow triangles, with\ntheir shortest side next us, but sloping a little away from us.\n\nIn each figure, the shaded portions show the perspective limits of\ncloud-masses, which, in reality, are arranged in perfectly straight\nlines, are all similar, and are equidistant from each other. Their exact\nrelative positions are marked by the lines connecting them, and may be\ndetermined by the reader if he knows perspective. If he does not, he may\nbe surprised at first to be told that the stubborn and blunt little\ntriangle, _b_, Fig. 1, Plate 64, represents a cloud precisely similar,\nand similarly situated, to that represented by the thin triangle, _a_;\nand, in like manner, the stout diamond, _a_, Fig. 2, represents\nprecisely the same form and size of cloud as the thin strip at _b_. He\nmay perhaps think it still more curious that the retiring perspective\nwhich causes stoutness in the triangle, causes leanness in the\ndiamond.[3]\n\n\u00a7 12. Still greater confusion in aspect is induced by the apparent\nchange caused by perspective in the direction of the wind. If Fig. 3 be\nsupposed to include a quarter of the horizon, the spaces, into which its\nstraight lines divide it, represent squares of sky. The curved lines,\nwhich cross these spaces from corner to corner, are precisely parallel\nthroughout; and, therefore, two clouds moving, one on the curved line\nfrom _a_ to _b_, and the other on the other side, from _c_ to _d_,\nwould, in reality, be moving with the same wind, in parallel lines. In\nPlate 66, which is a sketch of an actual sunset behind Beauvais\ncathedral (the point of the roof of the apse, a little to the left of\nthe centre, shows it to be a summer sunset), the white cirri in the high\nlight are all moving eastward, away from the sun, in perfectly parallel\nlines, curving a little round to the south. Underneath, are two straight\nranks of rainy cirri, crossing each other; one directed south-east; the\nother, north-west. The meeting perspective of these, in extreme\ndistance, determines the shape of the angular light which opens above\nthe cathedral. Underneath all, fragments of true rain-cloud are floating\nbetween us and the sun, governed by curves of their own. They are,\nnevertheless, connected with the straight cirri, by the dark\nsemi-cumulus in the middle of the shade above the cathedral.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 83.]\n\n\u00a7 13. Sky perspective, however, remains perfectly simple, so long as it\ncan be reduced to any rectilinear arrangement; but when nearly the whole\nsystem is curved, which nine times out of ten is the case, it becomes\nembarrassing. The central figure in Plate 65 represents the simplest\npossible combination of perspective of straight lines with that of\ncurves, a group of concentric circles of small clouds being supposed to\ncast shadows from the sun near the horizon. Such shadows are often cast\nin misty air; the aspect of rays about the sun being, in fact, only\ncaused by spaces between them. They are carried out formally and far in\nthe Plate, to show how curiously they may modify the arrangement of\nlight in a sky. The woodcut, Fig. 83, gives roughly the arrangement of\nthe clouds in Turner's Pools of Solomon, in which he has employed a\nconcentric system of circles of this kind, and thus lighted. In the\nperspective figure the clouds are represented as small square masses,\nfor the sake of greater simplicity, and are so beaded or strung as it\nwere on the curves in which they move, as to keep their distances\nprecisely equal, and their sides parallel. This is the usual condition\nof cloud: for though arranged in curved ranks, each cloud has its face\nto the front, or, at all events, acts in some parallel line--generally\nanother curve--with those next to it: being rarely, except in the form\nof fine radiating stri\u00e6, arranged on the curves as at _a_, Fig. 84; but\nas at _b_, or _c_. It would make the diagram too complex if I gave one\nof intersecting curves; but the lowest figure in Plate 65 represents, in\nperspective, two groups of ellipses arranged in equidistant straight and\nparallel lines, and following each other on two circular curves. Their\nexact relative position is shown in Fig. 2, Plate 56. While the\nuppermost figure in Plate 65 represents, in parallel perspective, a\nseries of ellipses arranged in radiation on a circle, their exact\nrelative size and position are shown in Fig. 3, Plate 56, and the lines\nof such a sky as would be produced by them, roughly, in Fig. 90, facing\npage 128.[4]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 84.]\n\n\u00a7 14. And in these figures, which, if we look up the subject rightly,\nwould be but the first and simplest of the series necessary to\nillustrate the action of the upper cirri, the reader may see, at once,\nhow necessarily painters, untrained in observance of proportion, and\nignorant of perspective, must lose in every touch the expression of\nbuoyancy and space in sky. The absolute forms of each cloud are, indeed,\nnot alike, as the ellipses in the engraving; but assuredly, when moving\nin groups of this kind, there are among them the same proportioned\ninequalities of relative distance, the same gradated changes from\nponderous to elongated form, the same exquisite suggestions of\nincluding curve; and a common painter, dotting his clouds down at\nrandom, or in more or less equal masses, can no more paint a sky, than\nhe could, by random dashes for its ruined arches, paint the Coliseum.\n\n\u00a7 15. Whatever approximation to the character of upper clouds may have\nbeen reached by some of our modern students, it will be found, on\ncareful analysis, that Turner stands more absolutely alone in this gift\nof cloud-drawing, than in any other of his great powers. Observe, I say,\ncloud-_drawing_; other great men colored clouds beautifully; none but he\never drew them truly: this power coming from his constant habit of\ndrawing skies, like everything else, with the pencil point. It is quite\nimpossible to engrave any of his large finished skies on a small scale;\nbut the woodcut, Fig. 85, will give some idea of the forms of cloud\ninvolved in one of his small drawings. It is only half of the sky in\nquestion, that of Rouen from St. Catherine's Hill, in the Rivers of\nFrance. Its clouds are arranged on two systems of intersecting circles,\ncrossed beneath by long bars very slightly bent. The form of every\nseparate cloud is completely studied; the manner of drawing them will be\nunderstood better by help of the Plate opposite, which is a piece of the\nsky above the \"Campo Santo,\"[5] at Venice, exhibited in 1842. It is\nexquisite in rounding of the separate fragments and buoyancy of the\nrising central group, as well as in its expression of the wayward\ninfluence of curved lines of breeze on a generally rectilinear system of\ncloud.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 85. _To face page 118._]\n\n[Illustration: 67. Clouds.]\n\n\u00a7 16. To follow the subject farther would, however, lead us into\ndoctrine of circular storms, and all kinds of pleasant, but infinite,\ndifficulty, from which temptation I keep clear, believing that enough is\nnow stated to enable the reader to understand what he is to look for in\nTurner's skies; and what kind of power, thought, and science are\ninvolved continually in the little white or purple dashes of\ncloud-spray, which, in such pictures as the San Benedetto, looking to\nFusina, the Napoleon, or the Temeraire, guide the eye to the horizon\nmore by their true perspective than by their a\u00ebrial tone, and are\nbuoyant, not so much by expression of lightness as of motion.[6]\n\n\u00a7 17. I say the \"white or purple\" cloud-spray. One word yet may be\npermitted me respecting the mystery of that color. What should we have\nthought--if we had lived in a country where there were no clouds, but\nonly low mist or fog--of any stranger who had told us that, in his\ncountry, these mists rose into the air, and became purple, crimson,\nscarlet, and gold? I am aware of no sufficient explanation of these hues\nof the upper clouds, nor of their strange mingling of opacity with a\npower of absorbing light. All clouds are so opaque that, however\ndelicate they may be, you never see one through another. Six feet depth\nof them, at a little distance, will wholly veil the darkest mountain\nedge; so that, whether for light or shade, they tell upon the sky as\nbody color on canvas; they have always a perfect surface and\nbloom;--delicate as a rose-leaf, when required of them, but never poor\nor meagre in hue, like old-fashioned water-colors. And, if needed, in\nmass, they will bear themselves for solid force of hue against any rock.\nFacing p. 339, I have engraved a memorandum made of a clear sunset after\nrain, from the top of Milan cathedral. The greater part of the outline\nis granite--Monte Rosa--the rest cloud; but it and the granite were dark\nalike. Frequently, in effects of this kind, the cloud is darker of the\ntwo.[7] And this opacity is, nevertheless, obtained without destroying\nthe gift they have of letting broken light through them, so that,\nbetween us and the sun, they may become golden fleeces, and float as\nfields of light.\n\nNow their distant colors depend on these two properties together;\npartly on the opacity, which enables them to reflect light strongly;\npartly on a spongelike power of gathering light into their bodies.\n\n\u00a7 18. Long ago it was noted by Aristotle, and again by Leonardo, that\nvaporous bodies looked russet, or even red, when warm light was seen\nthrough them, and blue when deep shade was seen through them. Both\ncolors may, generally, be seen on any wreath of cottage smoke.\n\nWhereon, easy conclusion has sometimes been founded by modern reasoners.\nAll red in sky is caused by light seen through vapor, and all blue by\nshade seen through vapor.\n\nEasy, indeed, but not sure, even in cloud-color only. It is true that\nthe smoke of a town may be of a rich brick red against golden twilight;\nand of a very lovely, though not bright, blue against shade. But I never\nsaw crimson or scarlet smoke, nor ultramarine smoke.\n\nEven granting that watery vapor in its purity may give the colors more\nclearly, the red colors are by no means always relieved against light.\nThe finest scarlets are constantly seen in broken flakes on a deep\npurple ground of heavier cloud beyond, and some of the loveliest\nrose-colors on clouds in the east, opposite the sunset, or in the west\nin the morning. Nor are blues always attainable by throwing vapor over\nshade. Especially, you cannot get them by putting it over blue itself. A\nthin vapor on dark blue sky is of a warm gray, not blue. A\nthunder-cloud, deep enough to conceal everything behind it, is often\ndark lead-color, or sulphurous blue; but the thin vapors crossing it,\nmilky-white. The vividest hues are connected also with another attribute\nof clouds, their lustre--metallic in effect, watery in reality. They not\nonly reflect color as dust or wool would, but, when far off, as water\nwould; sometimes even giving a distinct image of the sun underneath the\norb itself;--in all cases becoming dazzling in lustre, when at a low\nangle, capable of strong reflection. Practically, this low angle is only\nobtained when the cloud seems near the sun, and hence we get into the\ncareless habit of looking at the golden reflected light as if it were\nactually caused by nearness to the fiery ball.\n\n[Illustration: 66. Light in the West, Beauvais.]\n\n\u00a7 19. Without, however, troubling ourselves at all about laws, or causes\nof color, the visible consequences of their operation are notably\nthese--that when near us, clouds present only subdued and uncertain\ncolors; but when far from us, and struck by the sun on their under\nsurfaces--so that the greater part of the light they receive is\nreflected--they may become golden, purple, scarlet, and intense fiery\nwhite, mingled in all kinds of gradations, such as I tried to describe\nin the chapter on the upper clouds in the first volume, in hope of being\nable to return to them \"when we knew what was beautiful.\"\n\nThe question before us now is, therefore, What value ought this\nattribute of clouds to possess in the human mind? Ought we to admire\ntheir colors, or despise them? Is it well to watch them as Turner does,\nand strive to paint them through all deficiency and darkness of\ninadequate material? Or, is it wiser and nobler--like Claude, Salvator,\nRuysdael, Wouvermans--never to look for them--never to portray? We must\nyet have patience a little before deciding this, because we have to\nascertain some facts respecting the typical meaning of color itself;\nwhich, reserving for another place, let us proceed here to learn the\nforms of the inferior clouds.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] Before going farther, I must say a word or two respecting method\n    of drawing clouds.\n\n    Absolutely well no cloud _can_ be drawn with the point; nothing but\n    the most delicate management of the brush will express its variety of\n    edge and texture. By laborious and tender engraving, a close\n    approximation may be obtained either to nature or to good painting;\n    and the engravings of sky by our modern line engravers are often\n    admirable;--in many respects as good as can be, and to my mind the\n    best part of their work. There still exist some early proofs of\n    Miller's plate of the Grand Canal, Venice, in which the sky is the\n    likest thing to Turner's work I have ever seen in large engravings.\n    The plate was spoiled after a few impressions were taken off by\n    desire of the publisher. The sky was so exactly like Turner's that he\n    thought it would not please the public, and had all the fine\n    cloud-drawing rubbed away to make it soft.\n\n    The Plate opposite page 118, by Mr. Armytage, is also, I think, a\n    superb specimen of engraving, though in result not so good as the one\n    just spoken of, because this was done from my copy of Turner's sky,\n    not from the picture itself.\n\n    But engraving of this finished kind cannot, by reason of its\n    costliness, be given for every illustration of cloud form. Nor, if it\n    could, can skies be sketched with the completion which would bear it.\n    It is sometimes possible to draw one cloud out of fifty thousand with\n    something like fidelity before it fades. But if we want the\n    arrangement of the fifty thousand, they can only be indicated with\n    the rudest lines, and finished from memory. It was, as we shall see\n    presently, only by his gigantic powers of memory that Turner was\n    enabled to draw skies as he did.\n\n    Now, I look upon my own memory of clouds, or of anything else, as of\n    no value whatever. All the drawings on which I have ever rested an\n    assertion have been made without stirring from the spot; and in\n    sketching clouds from nature, it is very seldom desirable to use the\n    brush. For broad effects and notes of color (though these, hastily\n    made, are always inaccurate, and letters indicating the color do\n    nearly as well) the brush may be sometimes useful, but, in most\n    cases, a dark pencil, which will lay shade with its side and draw\n    lines with its point, is the best instrument. Turner almost always\n    outlined merely with the point, being able to remember the relations\n    of shade without the slightest chance of error. The point, at all\n    events, is needful, however much stump work may be added to it.\n\n    Now, in translating sketches made with the pencil point into\n    engraving, we must either engrave delicately and expensively, or be\n    content to substitute for the soft varied pencil lines the finer and\n    uncloudlike touches of the pen. It is best to do this boldly, if at\n    all, and without the least aim at fineness of effect, to lay down a\n    vigorous black line as the limit of the cloud form or action. The\n    more subtle a painter's finished work, the more fearless he is in\n    using the vigorous black line when he is making memoranda, of\n    treating his subject conventionally. At the top of page 224, Vol.\n    IV., the reader may see the kind of outline which Titian uses for\n    clouds in his pen work. Usually he is even bolder and coarser. And in\n    the rude woodcuts I am going to employ here, I believe the reader\n    will find ultimately that, with whatever ill success used by me, the\n    means of expression are the fullest and most convenient that can be\n    adopted, short of finished engraving, while there are some conditions\n    of cloud-action which I satisfy myself better in expressing by these\n    coarse lines than in any other way.\n\n  [2] If the figures are supposed to include less than one-fourth of\n    the horizon, the shaded figures represent diamond-shaped clouds; but\n    the reader cannot understand this without studying perspective laws\n    accurately.\n\n  [3] In reality, the retiring ranks of cloud, if long enough, would,\n    of course, go on converging to the horizon. I do not continue them,\n    because the figures would become too compressed.\n\n  [4] I use ellipses in order to make these figures easily\n    intelligible; the curves actually _are_ variable curves, of the\n    nature of the cycloid, or other curves of continuous motion; probably\n    produced by a current moving in some such direction as that indicated\n    by the dotted line in Fig. 3, Plate 56.\n\n  [5] Now in the possession of E. Bicknell, Esq., who kindly lent me\n    the picture, that I might make this drawing from it carefully.\n\n  [6] I cannot yet engrave these; but the little study of a single rank\n    of cirrus, the lowest in Plate 63, may serve to show the value of\n    perspective in expressing buoyancy. It is not, however, though\n    beautifully engraved by Mr. Armytage, as delicate as it should be, in\n    the finer threads which indicate increasing distance at the\n    extremity. Compare the rising of the lines of curve at the edges of\n    this mass, with the similar action on a larger scale, of Turner's\n    cloud, opposite.\n\n  [7] In the autobiography of John Newton there is an interesting\n    account of the deception of a whole ship's company by cloud, taking\n    the aspect and outline of mountainous land. They ate the last\n    provision in the ship, so sure were they of its being land, and were\n    nearly starved to death in consequence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE CLOUD-CHARIOTS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Between the flocks of small countless clouds which occupy the\nhighest heavens, and the gray undivided film of the true rain-cloud,\nform the fixed masses or torn fleeces, sometimes collected and calm,\nsometimes fiercely drifting, which are, nevertheless, known under one\ngeneral name of cumulus, or heaped cloud.\n\nThe true cumulus, the most majestic of all clouds, and almost the only\none which attracts the notice of ordinary observers, is for the most\npart windless; the movement of its masses being solemn, continuous,\ninexplicable, a steady advance or retiring, as if they were animated by\nan inner will, or compelled by an unseen power. They appear to be\npeculiarly connected with heat, forming perfectly only in the afternoon,\nand melting away in the evening. Their noblest conditions are strongly\nelectric, and connect themselves with storm-cloud and true\nthunder-cloud. When there is thunder in the air, they will form in cold\nweather, or early in the day.\n\n\u00a7 2. I have never succeeded in drawing a cumulus. Its divisions of\nsurface are grotesque and endless, as those of a mountain;--perfectly\ndefined, brilliant beyond all power of color, and transitory as a dream.\nEven Turner never attempted to paint them, any more than he did the\nsnows of the high Alps.\n\nNor can I explain them any more than I can draw them. The ordinary\naccount given of their structure is, I believe, that the moisture raised\nfrom the earth by the sun's heat becomes visible by condensation at a\ncertain height in the colder air, that the level of the condensing point\nis that of the cloud's base, and that above it, the heaps are pushed up\nhigher and higher as more vapor accumulates, till, towards evening, the\nsupply beneath ceases; and at sunset, the fall of dew enables the\nsurrounding atmosphere to absorb and melt them away. Very plausible.\nBut it seems to me herein unexplained how the vapor is held together in\nthose heaps. If the clear air about and above it has no aqueous vapor in\nit, or at least a much less quantity, why does not the clear air keep\npulling the cloud to pieces, eating it away, as steam is consumed in\nopen air? Or, if any cause prevents such rapid devouring of it, why does\nnot the aqueous vapor diffuse itself softly in the air like smoke, so\nthat one would not know where the cloud ended? What should make it bind\nitself in those solid mounds, and stay so:--positive, fantastic,\ndefiant, determined?\n\n\u00a7 3. If ever I am able to understand the process of the cumulus\nformation,[1] it will become to me one of the most interesting of all\nsubjects of study to trace the connection of the threatening and\nterrible outlines of thunder-cloud with the increased action of the\nelectric power. I am for the present utterly unable to speak respecting\nthis matter, and must pass it by, in all humility, to say what little I\nhave ascertained respecting the more broken and rapidly moving forms of\nthe central clouds, which connect themselves with mountains, and may,\ntherefore, among mountains, be seen close and truly.\n\n\u00a7 4. Yet even of these, I can only reason with great doubt and continual\npause. This last volume ought certainly to be better than the first of\nthe series, for two reasons. I have learned, during the sixteen years,\nto say little where I said much, and to see difficulties where I saw\nnone. And I am in a great state of marvel in looking back to my first\naccount of clouds, not only at myself, but even at my dear master, M. de\nSaussure. To think that both of us should have looked at drifting\nmountain clouds, for years together, and been content with the theory\nwhich you will find set forth in \u00a7 4, of the chapter on the central\ncloud region (Vol. I.), respecting the action of the snowy summits and\nwatery vapor passing them. It is quite true that this action takes\nplace, and that the said fourth paragraph is right, as far as it\nreaches. But both Saussure and I ought to have known--we both did know,\nbut did not think of it--that the covering or cap-cloud forms on hot\nsummits as well as cold ones;--that the red and bare rocks of Mont\nPilate, hotter, certainly, after a day's sunshine than the cold\nstorm-wind which sweeps to them from the Alps, nevertheless have been\nrenowned for their helmet of cloud, ever since the Romans watched the\ncloven summit, gray against the south, from the ramparts of Vindonissa,\ngiving it the name from which the good Catholics of Lucerne have warped\nout their favorite piece of terrific sacred biography.[2] And both my\nmaster and I should also have reflected, that if our theory about its\nformation had been generally true, the helmet cloud ought to form on\nevery cold summit, at the approach of rain, in approximating proportions\nto the bulk of the glaciers; which is so far from being the case that\nnot only (A) the cap-cloud may often be seen on lower summits of grass\nor rock, while the higher ones are splendidly clear (which may be\naccounted for by supposing the wind containing the moisture not to have\nrisen so high), but (B) the cap-cloud always shows a preference for\nhills of a conical form, such as the Mole or Niesen, which can have very\nlittle power in chilling the air, even supposing they were cold\nthemselves, while it will entirely refuse to form round huge masses of\nmountain, which, supposing them of chilly temperament, must have\ndiscomforted the atmosphere in their neighborhood for leagues. And\nfinally (C) reversing the principle under letter A, the cap-cloud\nconstantly forms on the summit of Mont Blanc, while it will obstinately\nrefuse to appear on the Dome du Go\u00fbte or Aiguille Sans-nom, where the\nsnow-fields are of greater extent, and the air must be moister, because\nlower.\n\n[Illustration: J. Ruskin.   J. C. Armytage.\n\n69. Aiguilles and their Friends.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 86.]\n\n\u00a7 5. The fact is, that the explanation given in that fourth paragraph\ncan, in reality, account only for what may properly be termed \"lee-side\ncloud,\" slightly noticed in the continuation of the same chapter, but\ndeserving most attentive illustration, as one of the most beautiful\nphenomena of the Alps. When a moist wind blows in clear weather over a\ncold summit, it has not time to get chilled as it approaches the\nrock, and therefore the air remains clear, and the sky bright on the\nwindward side; but under the lee of the peak, there is partly a back\neddy, and partly still air; and in that lull and eddy the wind gets time\nto be chilled by the rock, and the cloud appears as a boiling mass of\nwhite vapor, rising continually with the return current to the upper\nedge of the mountain, where it is caught by the straight wind, and\npartly torn, partly melted away in broken fragments. In Fig. 86 the dark\nmass represents the mountain peak, the arrow the main direction of the\nwind, the curved lines show the directions of such current and its\nconcentration, and the dotted lines enclose the space in which cloud\nforms densely, floating away beyond and above in irregular tongues and\nflakes. The second figure from the top in Plate 69 represents the actual\naspect of it when in full development, with a strong south wind, in a\nclear day, on the Aiguille Dru, the sky being perfectly blue and lovely\naround.\n\nSo far all is satisfactory. But the true helmet cloud will not allow\nitself to be thus explained away. The uppermost figure in Plate 69\nrepresents the loveliest form of it, seen in that perfect arch, so far\nas I know, only over the highest piece of earth in Europe.\n\n\u00a7 6. Respecting which there are two mysteries:--First, why it should\nform only at a certain distance above the snow, showing blue sky between\nit and the summit. Secondly, why, so forming, it should always show as\nan arch, not as a concave cup. This last question puzzles me especially.\nFor, if it be a true arch, and not a cup, it ought to show itself in\ncertain positions of the spectator, or directions of the wind, like the\nring of Saturn, as a mere line, or as a spot of cloud pausing over the\nhill-top. But I never saw it so. While, as above noticed, the lowest\nform of the helmet cloud is not white as of silver, but like Dolon's\nhelmet of wolf-skin,--it is a gray, flaky veil, lapping itself over the\nshoulders of a more or less conical peak; and of this, also, I have no\nword to utter but the old one, \"Electricity,\" and I might as well say\nnothing.\n\n\u00a7 7. Neither the helmet cloud, nor the lee-side cloud, however, though\nmost interesting and beautiful, are of much importance in picturesque\neffect. They are too isolated and strange. But the great mountain cloud,\nwhich seems to be a blending of the two with independent forms of vapor\n(that is to say, a greater development, in consequence of the mountain's\naction, of clouds which would in some way or other have formed\nanywhere), requires prolonged attention, as the principal element of the\nsky in noblest landscape.\n\n\u00a7 8. For which purpose, first, it may be well to clear a few clouds out\nof the way. I believe the true cumulus is never seen in a great mountain\nregion, at least never associated with hills. It is always broken up and\nmodified by them. Boiling and rounded masses of vapor occur continually,\nas behind the Aiguille Dru (lowest figure in Plate 69); but the quiet,\nthoroughly defined, infinitely divided and modelled pyramid never\ndevelops itself. It would be very grand if one ever saw a great mountain\npeak breaking through the domed shoulders of a true cumulus; but this I\nhave never seen.\n\n\u00a7 9. Again, the true high cirri never cross a mountain in Europe. How\noften have I hoped to see an Alp rising through and above their\nlevel-laid and rippled fields! but those white harvest-fields are\nheaven's own. And, finally, even the low, level, cirrus (used so largely\nin Martin's pictures) rarely crosses a mountain. If it does, it usually\nbecomes slightly waved or broken, so as to destroy its character.\nSometimes, however, at great distances, a very level bar of cloud will\nstrike across a peak; but nearer, too much of the under surface of the\nfield is seen, so that a well-defined bar across a peak, seen at a high\nangle, is of the greatest rarity.\n\n[Illustration: J. Ruskin.   J. C. Armytage.\n\n70. The Grai\u00e6.]\n\n[Illustration: 71. \"Venga Medusa.\"]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 87. _To face page 127._]\n\n\u00a7 10. The ordinary mountain cloud, therefore, if well defined, divides\nitself into two kinds: a broken condition of cumulus, grand in\nproportion as it is solid and quiet,--and a strange modification of\ndrift-cloud, midway, as I said, between the helmet and the lee-side\nforms. The broken, quiet cumulus impressed Turner exceedingly when he\nfirst saw it on hills. He uses it, slightly exaggerating its\ndefiniteness, in all his early studies among the mountains of the\nChartreuse, and very beautifully in the vignette of St. Maurice in\nRogers's Italy. There is nothing, however, to be specially observed of\nit, as it only differs from the cumulus of the plains, by being smaller\nand more broken.\n\n\u00a7 11. Not so the mountain drift-cloud, which is as peculiar as it is\nmajestic. The Plates 70 and 71 show, as well as I can express, two\nsuccessive phases of it on a mountain crest; (in this instance the great\nlimestone ridge above St. Michel, in Savoy.) But what colossal\nproportions this noble cloud assumes may be best gathered from the rude\nsketch, Fig. 87, in which I have simply put firm black ink over the\nactual pencil lines made at the moment, giving the form of a single\nwreath of the drift-cloud, stretching about five miles in a direct line\nfrom the summit of one of the Alps of the Val d'Aosta, as seen from the\nplain of Turin. It has a grand volcanic look, but I believe its aspect\nof rising from the peak to be almost, if not altogether, deceptive; and\nthat the apparently gigantic column is a nearly horizontal stream of\nlee-side cloud, tapered into the distance by perspective, and thus\nrising at its apparently lowest but in reality most distant point, from\nthe mountain summit whose shade calls it into being out of the clear\nwinds.\n\nWhether this be so or not, the apparent origin of the cloud on the peak,\nand radiation from it, distinguish it from the drift-cloud of level\ncountry, which arranges itself at the horizon in broken masses, such as\nFig. 89, showing no point of origin; and I do not know how far they are\nvertical cliffs or horizontally extended fields. They are apt to be very\nprecipitous in aspect, breaking into fragments with an apparently\nconcentric motion, as in the figure; but of this motion also--whether\nvertical or horizontal--I can say nothing positive.\n\n\u00a7 12. The absolute scale of such clouds may be seen, or at least\ndemonstrated, more clearly in Fig. 88, which is a rough note of an\neffect of sky behind the tower of Berne Cathedral. It was made from the\nmound beside the railroad bridge. The Cathedral tower is half-a-mile\ndistant. The great Eiger of Grindelwald is seen just on the right of it.\nThis mountain is distant from the tower thirty-four miles as the crow\nflies, and ten thousand feet above it in height. The drift-cloud behind\nit, therefore, being in full light, and showing no overhanging\nsurfaces, must rise at least twenty thousand feet into the air.\n\n\u00a7 13. The extreme whiteness of the volume of vapor in this case (not, I\nfear, very intelligible in the woodcut[3]) may be partly owing to recent\nrain, which, by its evaporation, gives a peculiar density and brightness\nto some forms of clearing cloud. In order to understand this, we must\nconsider another set of facts. When weather is thoroughly wet among\nhills, we ought no more to accuse the mountains of forming the clouds,\nthan we do the plains in similar circumstances. The unbroken mist buries\nthe mountains to their bases; but that is not their fault. It may be\njust as wet and just as cloudy elsewhere. (This is not true of Scottish\nmountain, by the way.) But when the wet weather is breaking, and the\nclouds pass, perhaps, in great measure, away from the plains leaving\nlarge spaces of blue sky, the mountains begin to shape clouds for\nthemselves. The fallen moisture evaporates from the plain invisibly; but\nnot so from the hill-side. There, what quantity of rain has not gone\ndown in the torrents, ascends again to heaven instantly in white clouds.\nThe storm passes as if it had tormented the crags, and the strong\nmountains smoke like tired horses.\n\n\u00a7 14. Here is another question for us of some interest. Why does the\nmuch greater quantity of moisture lying on the horizontal fields send up\nno visible vapor, and the less quantity left on the rocks glorify itself\ninto a magnificent wreath of soaring snow?\n\nFirst, for the very reason, that it is less in quantity, and more\ndistributed; as a wet cloth smokes when you put it near the fire, but a\nbasin of water not.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 88.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 89.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 90. _To face page 128._]\n\nThe previous heat of the crags, noticed in the first volume, p. 249, is\nonly a part of the cause. It operates only locally, and on remains of\nsudden showers. But after any number of days and nights of rain, and in\nall places exposed to returning sunshine and breezes, the _distribution_\nof the moisture tells. So soon as the rain has ceased, all water that\ncan run off is of course gone from the steep hill-sides; there remains\nonly the thin adherent film of moisture to be dried; but that film is\nspread over a complex texture--all manner of crannies, and bosses, and\nprojections, and filaments of moss and lichen, exposing a vast extent of\ndrying surface to the air. And the evaporation is rapid in proportion.\n\n\u00a7 15. Its rapidity, however, observe, does not account for its\nvisibility, and this is one of the questions I cannot clearly solve,\nunless I were sure of the nature of the vesicular vapor. When our breath\nbecomes visible on a frosty day, it is easily enough understood that the\nmoisture which was invisible, carried by the warm air from the lungs,\nbecomes visible when condensed or precipitated by the surrounding chill;\nbut one does not see why air passing over a moist surface quite as cold\nas itself should take up one particle of water more than it can\nconveniently--that is to say, invisibly--carry. Whenever you _see_\nvapor, you may not inaccurately consider the air as having got more than\nit can properly hold, and dropping some. Now it is easily understood how\nit should take up much in the lungs, and let some of it fall when it is\npinched by the frost outside; but why should it overload itself there on\nthe hills, when it is at perfect liberty to fly away as soon as it\nlikes, and come back for more? I do not see my way well in this. I do\nnot see it clearly, even through the wet cloth. I shall leave all the\nembarrassment of the matter, however, to my reader, contenting myself,\nas usual, with the actual fact, that the hill-side air does behave in\nthis covetous and unreasonable manner; and that, in consequence, when\nthe weather is breaking (and sometimes, provokingly, when it is not),\nphantom clouds form and rise in sudden crowds of wild and spectral\nimagery along all the far succession of the hill-slopes and ravines.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 91.]\n\n\u00a7 16. There is this distinction, however, between the clouds that form\nduring the rain and after it. In the worst weather, the rain-cloud keeps\nrather high, and is unbroken; but when there is a disposition in the\nrain to relax, every now and then a sudden company of white clouds will\nform quite low down (in Chamouni or Grindelwald, and such high\ndistricts, even down to the bottom of the valley), which will remain,\nperhaps, for ten minutes, filling all the air, then disappear as\nsuddenly as they came, leaving the gray upper cloud and steady rain to\ntheir work. These \"clouds of relaxation,\" if we may so call them, are\nusually flaky and horizontal, sometimes tending to the silky cirrus, yet\nshowing no fine forms of drift; but when the rain has passed, and the\nair is getting warm, forms the true clearing cloud, in wreaths that\nascend continually with a slow circling motion, melting as they rise.\nThe woodcut, Fig. 91, is a rude note of it floating more quietly from\nthe hill of the Superga, the church (nearly as large as St. Paul's)\nappearing above, and thus showing the scale of the wreath.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 92.]\n\n\u00a7 17. This cloud of evaporation, however, does not always rise. It\nsometimes rests in absolute stillness, low laid in the hollows of the\nhills, their peaks emergent from it. Fig. 92 shows this condition of it,\nseen from a distance, among the Cenis hills. I do not know what gives it\nthis disposition to rest in the ravines, nor whether there is a greater\nchill in the hollows, or a real action of gravity on the particles of\ncloud. In general, the position seems to depend on the temperature.\nThus, in Chamouni, the crests of La C\u00f4te and Taconay continually appear\nin stormy weather as in Plate 36, Vol. IV., in which I intended to\nrepresent rising drift-cloud, made dense between the crests by the chill\nfrom the glaciers. But in the condition shown in Fig. 92, on a\ncomparatively open sweep of hill-side, the thermometer would certainly\nindicate a higher temperature in the sheltered valley than on the\nexposed peaks; yet the cloud still subsides into the valleys like folds\nof a garment; and, more than this, sometimes conditions of morning\ncloud, dependent, I believe, chiefly on dew evaporation, form first on\nthe _tops_ of the soft hills of wooded Switzerland, and droop down in\nrent fringes, and separate tongues, clinging close to all the\nhill-sides, and giving them exactly the appearance of being covered with\nwhite fringed cloth, falling over them in torn or divided folds. It\nalways looks like a true action of gravity. How far it is, in reality,\nthe indication of the power of the rising sun causing evaporation, first\non the hill-top, and then in separate streams, by its divided light on\nthe ravines, I cannot tell. The subject is, as the reader perceives,\nalways inextricably complicated by these three necessities--that to get\na cloud in any given spot, you must have moisture to form the material\nof it, heat to develop it, and cold[4] to show it; and the adverse\ncauses inducing the moisture, the evaporation, and the visibility are\ncontinually interchanged in presence and in power. And thus, also, the\nphenomena which properly belong to a certain elevation are confused,\namong hills at least, with those which in plains would have been lower\nor higher.\n\nI have been led unavoidably in this chapter to speak of some conditions\nof the rain-cloud; nor can we finally understand the forms even of the\ncumulus, without considering those into which it descends or diffuses\nitself. Which, however, being, I think, a little more interesting than\nour work hitherto, we will leave this chapter to its dulness, and begin\nanother.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] One of the great difficulties in doing this is to distinguish the\n    portions of cloud outline which really slope upwards from those which\n    only appear to do so, being in reality horizontal, and thrown into\n    apparent inclination by perspective.\n\n  [2] _Pileatus_, capped (strictly speaking, with the cap of\n    liberty;--stormy cloud enough sometimes on men's brows as well as on\n    mountains), corrupted into Pilatus, and Pilate.\n\n  [3] I could not properly illustrate the subject of clouds without\n    numbers of these rude drawings, which would probably offend the\n    general reader by their coarseness, while the cost of engraving them\n    in facsimile is considerable, and would much add to the price of the\n    book. If I find people at all interested in the subject, I may,\n    perhaps, some day systematize and publish my studies of cloud\n    separately. I am sorry not to have given in this volume a careful\n    study of a rich cirrus sky, but no wood-engraving that I can employ\n    on this scale will express the finer threads and waves.\n\n  [4] We might say light, as well as cold; for it wholly depends on the\n    degree of light in the sky how far delicate cloud is seen.\n\n    The second figure from the top in Plate 69 shows an effect of morning\n    light on the range of the Aiguille Bouchard (Chamouni). Every crag\n    casts its shadow up into apparently clear sky. The shadow is, in such\n    cases, a bluish gray, the color of clear sky; and the defining light\n    is caused by the sunbeams showing mist which otherwise would have\n    been unperceived. The shadows are not irregular enough in\n    outline--the sketch was made for their color and sharpness, not their\n    shape,--and I cannot now put them right, so I leave them as they were\n    drawn at the moment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE ANGEL OF THE SEA.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Perhaps the best and truest piece of work done in the first volume\nof this book, was the account given in it of the rain-cloud; to which I\nhave here little, descriptively, to add. But the question before us now\nis, not who has drawn the rain-cloud best, but if it were worth drawing\nat all. Our English artists naturally painted it often and rightly; but\nare their pictures the better for it? We have seen how mountains are\nbeautiful; how trees are beautiful; how sun-lighted clouds are\nbeautiful; but can rain be beautiful?\n\nI spoke roughly of the Italian painters in that chapter, because they\ncould only draw distinct clouds, or violent storms, \"massive\nconcretions,\" while our northern painters could represent every phase of\nmist and fall of shower.\n\nBut is this indeed so delightful? Is English wet weather, indeed, one of\nthe things which we should desire to see Art give perpetuity to?\n\nYes, assuredly. I have given some reasons for this answer in the fifth\nchapter of last volume; one or two, yet unnoticed, belong to the present\ndivision of our subject.\n\n\u00a7 2. The climates or lands into which our globe is divided may, with\nrespect to their fitness for Art, be perhaps conveniently ranged under\nfive heads:--\n\n1. Forest-lands, sustaining the great mass of the magnificent vegetation\nof the tropics, for the most part characterized by moist and unhealthy\nheat, and watered by enormous rivers, or periodical rains. This country\ncannot, I believe, develop the mind or art of man. He may reach great\nsubtlety of intellect, as the Indian, but not become learned, nor\nproduce any noble art, only a savage or grotesque form of it. Even\nsupposing the evil influences of climate could be vanquished, the\nscenery is on too large a scale. It would be difficult to conceive of\ngroves less fit for academic purposes than those mentioned by Humboldt,\ninto which no one can enter except under a stout wooden shield, to avoid\nthe chance of being killed by the fall of a nut.\n\n2. Sand-lands, including the desert and dry-rock plains of the earth,\ninhabited generally by a nomade population, capable of high mental\ncultivation and of solemn monumental or religious art, but not of art in\nwhich pleasurableness forms a large element, their life being\nessentially one of hardship.\n\n3. Grape and wheat lands, namely, rocks and hills, such as are good for\nthe vine, associated with arable ground forming the noblest and best\nground given to man. In these districts only art of the highest kind\nseems possible, the religious art of the sand-lands being here joined\nwith that of pleasure or sense.\n\n4. Meadow-lands, including the great pastoral and agricultural districts\nof the North, capable only of an inferior art: apt to lose its\nspirituality and become wholly material.\n\n5. Moss-lands, including the rude forest-mountain and ground of the\nNorth, inhabited by a healthy race, capable of high mental cultivation\nand moral energy, but wholly incapable of art, except savage, like that\nof the forest-lands, or as in Scandinavia.\n\nWe might carry out these divisions into others, but these are I think\nessential, and easily remembered in a tabular form; saying \"wood\"\ninstead of \"forest,\" and \"field\" for \"meadow,\" we can get such a form\nshortly worded:--\n\n  Wood-lands     Shrewd intellect      No art.\n  Sand-lands     High intellect        Religious art.\n  Vine-lands     Highest intellect     Perfect art.\n  Field-lands    High intellect        Material art.\n  Moss-lands     Shrewd intellect      No art.\n\n\u00a7 3. In this table the moss-lands appear symmetrically opposed to the\nwood-lands, which in a sort they are; the too diminutive vegetation\nunder bleakest heaven, opposed to the too colossal under sultriest\nheaven, while the perfect ministry of the elements, represented by bread\nand wine, produces the perfect soul of man.\n\nBut this is not altogether so. The moss-lands have one great advantage\nover the forest-lands, namely, sight of the sky.\n\nAnd not only sight of it, but continual and beneficent help from it.\nWhat they have to separate them from barren rock, namely, their moss and\nstreams, being dependent on its direct help, not on great rivers coming\nfrom distant mountain chains, nor on vast tracts of ocean-mist coming up\nat evening, but on the continual play and change of sun and cloud.\n\n\u00a7 4. Note this word \"change.\" The moss-lands have an infinite advantage,\nnot only in sight, but in liberty; they are the freest ground in all the\nworld. You can only traverse the great woods by crawling like a lizard,\nor climbing like a monkey--the great sands with slow steps and veiled\nhead. But bare-headed, and open-eyed, and free-limbed, commanding all\nthe horizon's space of changeful light, and all the horizon's compass of\ntossing ground, you traverse the moss-land. In discipline it is severe\nas the desert, but it is a discipline compelling to action; and the\nmoss-lands seem, therefore, the rough schools of the world, in which its\nstrongest human frames are knit and tried, and so bent down, like the\nnorthern winds, to brace and brighten the languor into which the repose\nof more favored districts may degenerate.\n\n\u00a7 5. It would be strange, indeed, if there were no beauty in the\nphenomena by which this great renovating and purifying work is done. And\nit is done almost entirely by the great Angel of the Sea--rain;--the\nAngel, observe, the messenger sent to a special place on a special\nerrand. Not the diffused perpetual presence of the burden of mist, but\nthe going and returning of intermittent cloud. All turns upon that\nintermittence. Soft moss on stone and rock;--cave-fern of tangled glen;\nwayside well--perennial, patient, silent, clear; stealing through its\nsquare font of rough-hewn stone; ever thus deep--no more--which the\nwinter wreck sullies not, the summer thirst wastes not, incapable of\nstain as of decline--where the fallen leaf floats undecayed, and the\ninsect darts undefiling. Cressed brook and ever-eddying river, lifted\neven in flood scarcely over its stepping-stones,--but through all sweet\nsummer keeping tremulous music with harp-strings of dark water among the\nsilver fingering of the pebbles. Far away in the south the strong river\nGods have all hasted, and gone down to the sea. Wasted and burning,\nwhite furnaces of blasting sand, their broad beds lie ghastly and bare;\nbut here the soft wings of the Sea Angel droop still with dew, and the\nshadows of their plumes falter on the hills: strange laughings, and\nglitterings of silver streamlets, born suddenly, and twined about the\nmossy heights in trickling tinsel, answering to them as they wave.[1]\n\n\u00a7 6. Nor are those wings colorless. We habitually think of the\nrain-cloud only as dark and gray; not knowing that we owe to it perhaps\nthe fairest, though not the most dazzling of the hues of heaven. Often\nin our English mornings, the rain-clouds in the dawn form soft level\nfields, which melt imperceptibly into the blue; or when of less extent,\ngather into apparent bars, crossing the sheets of broader cloud above;\nand all these bathed throughout in an unspeakable light of pure\nrose-color, and purple, and amber, and blue; not shining, but\nmisty-soft; the barred masses, when seen nearer, composed of clusters or\ntresses of cloud, like floss silk; looking as if each knot were a little\nswathe or sheaf of lighted rain. No clouds form such skies, none are so\ntender, various, inimitable. Turner himself never caught them.\nCorreggio, putting out his whole strength, could have painted them, no\nother man.[2]\n\n\u00a7 7. For these are the robes of love of the Angel of the Sea. To these\nthat name is chiefly given, the \"spreadings of the clouds,\" from their\nextent, their gentleness, their fulness of rain. Note how they are\nspoken of in Job xxxvi. v. 29-31. \"By them judgeth he the people; he\ngiveth meat in abundance. With clouds he covereth the light.[3] He hath\nhidden the light in his hands, and commanded that it should return. He\nspeaks of it to his friend; that it is his possession, and that he may\nascend thereto.\"\n\nThat, then, is the Sea Angel's message to God's friends; _that_, the\nmeaning of those strange golden lights and purple flushes before the\nmorning rain. The rain is sent to judge, and feed us; but the light is\nthe possession of the friends of God, and they may ascend\nthereto,--where the tabernacle veil will cross and part its rays no\nmore.\n\n\u00a7 8. But the Angel of the Sea has also another message,--in the \"great\nrain of his strength,\" rain of trial, sweeping away ill-set foundations.\nThen his robe is not spread softly over the whole heaven, as a veil, but\nsweeps back from his shoulders, ponderous, oblique, terrible--leaving\nhis sword-arm free.\n\nThe approach of trial-storm, hurricane-storm, is indeed in its vastness\nas the clouds of the softer rain. But it is not slow nor horizontal, but\nswift and steep: swift with passion of ravenous winds; steep as slope of\nsome dark, hollowed hill. The fronting clouds come leaning forward, one\nthrusting the other aside, or on; impatient, ponderous, impendent, like\nglobes of rock tossed of Titans--Ossa on Olympus--but hurled forward\nall, in one wave of cloud-lava--cloud whose throat is as a sepulchre.\nFierce behind them rages the oblique wrath of the rain, white as ashes,\ndense as showers of driven steel; the pillars of it full of ghastly\nlife; Rain-Furies, shrieking as they fly;--scourging, as with whips of\nscorpions;--the earth ringing and trembling under them, heaven wailing\nwildly, the trees stooped blindly down, covering their faces, quivering\nin every leaf with horror, ruin of their branches flying by them like\nblack stubble.\n\n\u00a7 9. I wrote Furies. I ought to have written Gorgons. Perhaps the reader\ndoes not know that the Gorgons are not dead, are ever undying. We shall\nhave to take our chance of being turned into stones by looking them in\nthe face, presently. Meantime, I gather what part of the great Greek\nstory of the Sea Angels, has meaning for us here.\n\nNereus, the God of the Sea, who dwells in it always (Neptune being the\nGod who rules it from Olympus), has children by the Earth; namely,\nThaumas, the father of Iris; that is, the \"wonderful\" or miracle-working\nangel of the sea; Phorcys, the malignant angel of it (you will find him\ndegraded through many forms, at last, in the story of Sindbad, into the\nOld Man of the Sea); Ceto, the deep places of the sea, meaning its bays\namong rocks, therefore called by Hesiod \"Fair-cheeked\" Ceto; and\nEurybia, the tidal force or sway of the sea, of whom more hereafter.\n\n\u00a7 10. Phorcys and Ceto, the malignant angel of the sea, and the spirit\nof its deep rocky places, have children, namely, first, Grai\u00e6, the soft\nrain-clouds. The Greeks had a greater dislike of storm than we have, and\ntherefore whatever violence is in the action of rain, they represented\nby harsher types than we should--types given in one group by\nAristophanes (speaking in mockery of the poets): \"This was the reason,\nthen, that they made so much talk about the fierce rushing of the moist\nclouds, coiled in glittering; and the locks of the hundred-headed\nTyphon; and the blowing storms; and the bent-clawed birds drifted on\nthe breeze, fresh, and a\u00ebrial.\" Note the expression \"bent-clawed birds.\"\nIt illustrates two characters of these clouds; partly their coiling\nform; but more directly the way they tear down the earth from the\nhill-sides; especially those twisted storm-clouds which in violent\naction become the waterspout. These always strike at a narrow point,\noften opening the earth on a hill-side into a trench as a great pickaxe\nwould (whence the Grai\u00e6 are said to have only one beak between them).\nNevertheless, the rain-cloud was, on the whole, looked upon by the\nGreeks as beneficent, so that it is boasted of in the Oedipus Coloneus\nfor its perpetual feeding of the springs of Cephisus,[4] and elsewhere\noften; and the opening song of the rain-clouds in Aristophanes is\nentirely beautiful:--\n\n\"O eternal Clouds! let us raise into open sight our dewy existence, from\nthe deep-sounding Sea, our Father, up to the crests of the wooded hills,\nwhence we look down over the sacred land, nourishing its fruits, and\nover the rippling of the divine rivers, and over the low murmuring bays\nof the deep.\" I cannot satisfy myself about the meaning of the names of\nthe Grai\u00e6--Pephredo and Enuo--but the epithets which Hesiod gives them\nare interesting: \"Pephredo, the well-robed; Enuo, the crocus-robed;\"\nprobably, it seems to me, from their beautiful colors in morning.\n\n\u00a7 11. Next to the Grai\u00e6, Phorcys and Ceto begat the Gorgons, which are\nthe true storm-clouds. The Grai\u00e6 have only one beak or tooth, but all\nthe Gorgons have tusks like boars; brazen hands (brass being the word\nused for the metal of which the Greeks made their spears), and golden\nwings.\n\nTheir names are \"Steino\" (straitened), of storms compressed into narrow\ncompass; \"Euryale\" (having wide threshing-floor), of storms spread over\ngreat space; \"Medusa\" (the dominant), the most terrible. She is\nessentially the highest storm-cloud; therefore the hail-cloud or cloud\nof cold, her countenance turning all who behold it to stone. (\"He\ncasteth forth his ice like morsels. Who can stand before his cold?\") The\nserpents about her head are the fringes of the hail, the idea of\ncoldness being connected by the Greeks with the bite of the serpent, as\nwith the hemlock.\n\n\u00a7 12. On Minerva's shield, her head signifies, I believe, the cloudy\ncoldness of knowledge, and its venomous character (\"Knowledge puffeth\nup.\" Compare Bacon in Advancement of Learning). But the idea of serpents\nrose essentially from the change of form in the cloud as it broke; the\ncumulus cloud not breaking into full storm till it is cloven by the\ncirrus; which is twice hinted at in the story of Perseus; only we must\ngo back a little to gather it together.\n\nPerseus was the son of Jupiter by Dana\u00eb, who being shut in a brazen\ntower, Jupiter came to her in a shower of gold: the brazen tower being,\nI think, only another expression for the cumulus or Medusa cloud; and\nthe golden rain for the rays of the sun striking it; but we have not\nonly this rain of Dana\u00eb's to remember in connection with the Gorgon, but\nthat also of the sieves of the Dana\u00efdes, said to represent the provision\nof Argos with water by their father Dana\u00fcs, who dug wells about the\nAcropolis; nor only wells, but opened, I doubt not, channels of\nirrigation for the fields, because the Dana\u00efdes are said to have brought\nthe mysteries of Ceres from Egypt. And though I cannot trace the root of\nthe names Dana\u00fcs and Dana\u00eb, there is assuredly some farther link of\nconnection in the deaths of the lovers of the Dana\u00efdes, whom they slew,\nas Perseus Medusa. And again note, that when the father of Dana\u00eb,\nAcrisius, is detained in Seriphos by storms, a disk thrown by Perseus is\ncarried _by the wind against his head_, and kills him; and lastly, when\nPerseus cuts off the head of Medusa, from her blood springs Chrysaor,\n\"wielder of the golden sword,\" the Angel of the Lightning, and Pegasus,\nthe Angel of the \"Wild Fountains,\" that is to say, the fastest flying or\nlower rain-cloud; winged, but racing as upon the earth.\n\n\u00a7 13. I say, \"wild\" fountains; because the kind of fountain from which\nPegasus is named is especially the \"fountain of the great deep\" of\nGenesis; sudden and furious, (cataracts of heaven, not windows, in the\nSeptuagint);--the mountain torrent caused by thunderous storm, or as our\n\"fountain\"--a Geyser-like leaping forth of water. Therefore, it is the\ndeep and full source of streams, and so used typically of the source of\nevils, or of passions; whereas the word \"spring\" with the Greeks is like\nour \"well-head\"--a gentle issuing forth of water continually. But,\nbecause both the lightning-fire and the gushing forth, as of a fountain,\nare the signs of the poet's true power, together with perpetuity, it is\nPegasus who strikes the earth with his foot, on Helicon,[5] and causes\nHippocrene to spring forth--\"the horse's well-head.\" It is perpetual;\nbut has, nevertheless, the Pegasean storm-power.\n\n\u00a7 14. Wherein we may find, I think, sufficient cause for putting honor\nupon the rain-cloud. Few of us, perhaps, have thought, in watching its\ncareer across our own mossy hills, or listening to the murmur of the\nsprings amidst the mountain quietness, that the chief masters of the\nhuman imagination owed, and confessed that they owed, the force of their\nnoblest thoughts, not to the flowers of the valley, nor the majesty of\nthe hill, but to the flying cloud.\n\nYet they never saw it fly, as we may in our own England. So far, at\nleast, as I know the clouds of the south, they are often more terrible\nthan ours, but the English Pegasus is swifter. On the Yorkshire and\nDerbyshire hills, when the rain-cloud is low and much broken, and the\nsteady west-wind fills all space with its strength,[6] the sun-gleams\nfly like golden vultures: they are flashes rather than shinings; the\ndark spaces and the dazzling race and skim along the acclivities, and\ndart and dip from crag to dell, swallow-like;--no Grai\u00e6 these,--gray\nand withered: Grey Hounds rather, following the Cerinthian stag with the\ngolden antlers.\n\n\u00a7 15. There is one character about these lower rain-clouds, partly\naffecting all their connection with the upper sky, which I have never\nbeen able to account for; that which, as before noticed, Aristophanes\nfastened on at once for their distinctive character--their obliquity.\nThey always fly in an oblique position, as in the Plate opposite, which\nis a careful facsimile of the first advancing mass of the rain-cloud in\nTurner's Slave Ship. When the head of the cloud is foremost, as in this\ninstance, and rain falling beneath, it is easy to imagine that its\ndrops, increasing in size as they fall, may exercise some retarding\naction on the wind. But the head of the cloud is not always first, the\nbase of it is sometimes advanced.[7] The only certainty is, that it will\nnot shape itself horizontally, its thin drawn lines and main contours\nwill always be oblique, though its motion is horizontal; and, which is\nstill more curious, their sloping lines are hardly ever modified in\ntheir descent by any distinct retiring tendency or perspective\nconvergence. A troop of leaning clouds will follow one another, each\nstooping forward at the same apparent slope, round a fourth of the\nhorizon.\n\n\u00a7 16. Another circumstance which the reader should note in this cloud of\nTurner's, is the witch-like look of drifted or erected locks of hair at\nits left side. We have just read the words of the old Greek poet: \"Locks\nof the hundred-headed Typhon;\" and must remember that Turner's account\nof this picture, in the Academy catalogue, was \"Slaver throwing\noverboard the Dead and Dying. _Typhoon_ coming on.\" The resemblance to\nwildly drifted hair is stronger in the picture than in the engraving;\nthe gray and purple tints of torn cloud being relieved against golden\nsky beyond.\n\n[Illustration: 72. The Locks of Typhon.]\n\n\u00a7 17. It was not, however, as we saw, merely to locks of hair, but to\nserpents, that the Greeks likened the dissolving of the Medusa cloud in\nblood. Of that sanguine rain, or of its meaning, I cannot yet speak.\nIt is connected with other and higher types, which must be traced in\nanother place.[8]\n\nBut the likeness to serpents we may illustrate here. The two Plates\nalready given, 70 and 71 (at page 127), represent successive conditions\nof the Medusa cloud on one of the Cenis hills (the great limestone\nprecipice above St. Michel, between Lanslebourg and St. Jean di\nMaurienne).[9] In the first, the cloud is approaching, with the lee-side\ncloud forming beyond it; in the second, it has approached, increased,\nand broken, the Medusa serpents writhing about the central peak, the\nrounded tops of the broken cumulus showing above. In this instance, they\ntake nearly the forms of flame; but when the storm is more violent, they\nare torn into fragments, and magnificent revolving wheels of vapor are\nformed, broken, and tossed into the air, as the grass is tossed in the\nhay-field from the toothed wheels of the mowing-machine; perhaps, in\ncommon with all other inventions of the kind, likely to bring more evil\nupon men than ever the Medusa cloud did, and turn them more effectually\ninto stone.[10]\n\n\u00a7 18. I have named in the first volume the principal works of Turner\nrepresenting these clouds; and until I am able to draw them better, it\nis useless to say more of them; but in connection with the subject we\nhave been examining, I should be glad if the reader could turn to the\nengravings of the England drawings of Salisbury and Stonehenge. What\nopportunities Turner had of acquainting himself with classical\nliterature, and how he used them, we shall see presently. In the\nmeantime, let me simply assure the reader that, in various byways, he\nhad gained a knowledge of most of the great Greek traditions, and that\nhe felt them more than he knew them; his mind being affected, up to a\ncertain point, precisely as an ancient painter's would have been, by\nexternal phenomena of nature. To him, as to the Greek, the storm-clouds\nseemed messengers of fate. He feared them, while he reverenced; nor does\nhe ever introduce them without some hidden purpose, bearing upon the\nexpression of the scene he is painting.\n\n\u00a7 19. On that plain of Salisbury, he had been struck first by its\nwidely-spacious pastoral life; and secondly, by its monuments of the two\ngreat religions of England--Druidical and Christian.\n\nHe was not a man to miss the possible connection of these impressions.\nHe treats the shepherd life as a type of the ecclesiastical; and\ncomposes his two drawings so as to illustrate both.\n\nIn the drawing of Salisbury, the plain is swept by rapid but not\ndistressful rain. The cathedral occupies the centre of the picture,\ntowering high over the city, of which the houses (made on purpose\nsmaller than they really are) are scattered about it like a flock of\nsheep. The cathedral is surrounded by a great light. The storm gives way\nat first in a subdued gleam over a distant parish church, then bursts\ndown again, breaks away into full light about the cathedral, and passes\nover the city, in various sun and shade. In the foreground stands a\nshepherd leaning on his staff, watching his flock--bare-headed; he has\ngiven his cloak to a group of children, who have covered themselves up\nwith it, and are shrinking from the rain; his dog crouches under a bank;\nhis sheep, for the most part, are resting quietly, some coming up the\nslope of the bank towards him.[11]\n\n\u00a7 20. The rain-clouds in this picture are wrought with a care which I\nhave never seen equalled in any other sky of the same kind. It is the\nrain of blessing--abundant, but full of brightness; golden gleams are\nflying across the wet grass, and fall softly on the lines of willows in\nthe valley--willows by the watercourses; the little brooks flash out\nhere and there between them and the fields. Turn now to the Stonehenge.\nThat, also, stands in great light; but it is the Gorgon light--the sword\nof Chrysaor is bared against it. The cloud of judgment hangs above. The\nrock pillars seem to reel before its slope, pale beneath the lightning.\nAnd nearer, in the darkness, the shepherd lies dead, his flock\nscattered.\n\nI alluded, in speaking before of this Stonehenge, to Turner's use of the\nsame symbol in the drawing of P\u00e6stum for Rogers's Italy; but a more\nstriking instance of its employment occurs in a Study of P\u00e6stum, which\nhe engraved himself before undertaking the Liber Studiorum and another\nin his drawing of the Temple of Minerva, on Cape Colonna: and observe\nfarther that he rarely introduces lightning, if the ruined building has\nnot been devoted to religion. The wrath of man may destroy the fortress,\nbut only the wrath of heaven can destroy the temple.\n\n\u00a7 21. Of these secret meanings of Turner's, we shall see enough in the\ncourse of the inquiry we have to undertake, lastly, respecting ideas of\nrelation; but one more instance of his opposed use of the lightning\nsymbol, and of the rain of blessing, I name here, to confirm what has\nbeen noted above. For, in this last instance, he was questioned\nrespecting his meaning, and explained it. I refer to the drawings of\nSinai and Lebanon, made for Finden's Bible. The sketches from which\nTurner prepared that series were, I believe, careful and accurate; but\nthe treatment of the subjects was left wholly to him. He took the Sinai\nand Lebanon to show the opposite influences of the Law and the Gospel.\nThe Rock of Moses is shown in the burning of the desert, among fallen\nstones, forked lightning cleaving the blue mist which veils the summit\nof Sinai. Armed Arabs pause at the foot of the rock. No human habitation\nis seen, nor any herb or tree, nor any brook, and the lightning strikes\nwithout rain.[12] Over the Mount Lebanon an intensely soft gray-blue sky\nis melting into dewy rain. Every ravine is filled, every promontory\ncrowned, by tenderest foliage, golden in slanting sunshine.[13] The\nwhite convent nestles into the hollow of the rock; and a little brook\nruns under the shadow of the nearer trees, beside which two monks sit\nreading.\n\n\u00a7 22. It was a beautiful thought, yet an erring one, as all thoughts are\nwhich oppose the Law to the Gospel. When people read, \"the law came by\nMoses, but grace and truth by Christ,\" do they suppose that the law was\nungracious and untrue? The law was given for a foundation; the grace (or\nmercy) and truth for fulfilment;--the whole forming one glorious Trinity\nof judgment, mercy, and truth. And if people would but read the text of\ntheir Bibles with heartier purpose of understanding it, instead of\nsuperstitiously, they would see that throughout the parts which they are\nintended to make most personally their own (the Psalms) it is always the\nLaw which is spoken of with chief joy. The Psalms respecting mercy are\noften sorrowful, as in thought of what it cost; but those respecting the\nlaw are always full of delight. David cannot contain himself for joy in\nthinking of it,--he is never weary of its praise:--\"How love I thy law!\nit is my meditation all the day. Thy testimonies are my delight and my\ncounsellors; sweeter, also, than honey and the honeycomb.\"\n\n\u00a7 23. And I desire, especially, that the reader should note this, in now\nclosing the work through which we have passed together in the\ninvestigation of the beauty of the visible world. For perhaps he\nexpected more pleasure and freedom in that work; he thought that it\nwould lead him at once into fields of fond imagination, and may have\nbeen surprised to find that the following of beauty brought him always\nunder a sterner dominion of mysterious law; the brightness was\ncontinually based upon obedience, and all majesty only another form of\nsubmission. But this is indeed so. I have been perpetually hindered in\nthis inquiry into the sources of beauty by fear of wearying the reader\nwith their severities. It was always accuracy I had to ask of him, not\nsympathy; patience, not zeal; apprehension, not sensation. The thing to\nbe shown him was not a pleasure to be snatched, but a law to be learned.\n\n\u00a7 24. It is in this character, however, that the beauty of the natural\nworld completes its message. We saw long ago, how its various _powers_\nof appeal to the mind of men might be traced to some typical expression\nof Divine attributes. We have seen since how its _modes_ of appeal\npresent constant types of human obedience to the Divine law, and\nconstant proofs that this law, instead of being contrary to mercy, is\nthe foundation of all delight, and the guide of all fair and fortunate\nexistence.\n\n\u00a7 25. Which understanding, let us receive our last message from the\nAngel of the Sea.\n\nTake up the 19th Psalm and look at it verse by verse. Perhaps to my\nyounger readers, one word may be permitted respecting their\nBible-reading in general.[14] The Bible is, indeed, a deep book, when\ndepth is required, that is to say, for deep people. But it is not\nintended, particularly, for profound persons; on the contrary, much more\nfor shallow and simple persons. And therefore the first, and generally\nthe main and leading idea of the Bible, is on its surface, written in\nplainest possible Greek, Hebrew, or English, needing no penetration, nor\namplification, needing nothing but what we all might give--attention.\n\nBut this, which is in every one's power, and is the only thing that God\nwants, is just the last thing any one will give Him. We are delighted to\nramble away into day-dreams, to repeat pet verses from other places,\nsuggested by chance words; to snap at an expression which suits our own\nparticular views, or to dig up a meaning from under a verse, which we\nshould be amiably grieved to think any human being had been so happy as\nto find before. But the plain, intended, immediate, fruitful meaning,\nwhich every one ought to find always, and especially that which depends\non our seeing the relation of the verse to those near it, and getting\nthe force of the whole passage, in due relation--this sort of\nsignificance we do not look for;--it being, truly, not to be discovered,\nunless we really attend to what is said, instead of to our own feelings.\n\n\u00a7 26. It is unfortunate also, but very certain, that in order to attend\nto what is said, we must go through the irksomeness of knowing the\nmeaning of the words. And the first thing that children should be taught\nabout their Bibles is, to distinguish clearly between words that they\nunderstand and words that they do not; and to put aside the words they\ndo not understand, and verses connected with them, to be asked about, or\nfor a future time; and never to think they are reading the Bible when\nthey are merely repeating phrases of an unknown tongue.\n\n\u00a7 27. Let us try, by way of example, this 19th Psalm, and see what plain\nmeaning is uppermost in it.\n\n\"The heavens declare the glory of God.\"\n\nWhat are the heavens?\n\nThe word occurring in the Lord's Prayer, and the thing expressed being\nwhat a child may, with some advantage, be led to look at, it might be\nsupposed among a schoolmaster's first duties to explain this word\nclearly.\n\nNow there can be no question that in the minds of the sacred writers, it\nstood naturally for the entire system of cloud, and of space beyond it,\nconceived by them as a vault set with stars. But there can, also, be no\nquestion, as we saw in previous inquiry, that the firmament, which is\nsaid to have been \"called\" heaven, at the creation, expresses, in all\ndefinite use of the word, the system of clouds, as spreading the power\nof the water over the earth; hence the constant expressions dew of\nheaven, rain of heaven, &c., where heaven is used in the singular; while\n\"the heavens,\" when used plurally, and especially when in distinction,\nas here, from the word \"firmament,\" remained expressive of the starry\nspace beyond.\n\n\u00a7 28. A child might therefore be told (surely, with advantage), that our\nbeautiful word Heaven may possibly have been formed from a Hebrew word,\nmeaning \"the high place;\" that the great warrior Roman nation, camping\nmuch out at night, generally overtired and not in moods for thinking,\nare believed, by many people, to have seen in the stars only the\nlikeness of the glittering studs of their armor, and to have called the\nsky \"The bossed, or studded;\" but that others think those Roman soldiers\non their might-watches had rather been impressed by the great emptiness\nand void of night, and by the far coming of sounds through its darkness,\nand had called the heaven \"The Hollow place.\" Finally, I should tell\nthe children, showing them first the setting of a star, how the great\nGreeks had found out the truest power of the heavens, and had called\nthem \"The Rolling.\" But whatever different nations had called them, at\nleast I would make it clear to the child's mind that in this 19th Psalm,\ntheir whole power being intended, the two words are used which express\nit: the Heavens, for the great vault or void, with all its planets, and\nstars, and ceaseless march of orbs innumerable; and the Firmament, for\nthe ordinance of the clouds.\n\nThese heavens, then, \"declare the _glory_ of God;\" that is, the light of\nGod, the eternal glory, stable and changeless. As their orbs fail\nnot--but pursue their course for ever, to give light upon the earth--so\nGod's glory surrounds man for ever--changeless, in its fulness\ninsupportable--infinite.\n\n\"And the firmament showeth his _handywork_.\"\n\n\u00a7 29. The clouds, prepared by the hand of God for the help of man,\nvaried in their ministration--veiling the inner splendor--show, not His\neternal glory, but His daily handiwork. So He dealt with Moses. I will\ncover thee \"with my hand\" as I pass by. Compare Job xxxvi. 24: \"Remember\nthat thou magnify his work, which men behold. Every man may see it.\" Not\nso the glory--that only in part; the courses of these stars are to be\nseen imperfectly, and but by a few. But this firmament, \"every man may\nsee it, man may behold it afar off.\" \"Behold, God is great, and we know\nhim not. For he maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain\naccording to the vapor thereof.\"\n\n\u00a7 30. \"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth\nknowledge. They have no speech nor language, yet without these their\nvoice is heard. Their rule is gone out throughout the earth, and their\nwords to the end of the world.\"\n\nNote that. Their rule throughout the earth, whether inhabited or\nnot--their law of right is thereon; but their words, spoken to human\nsouls, to the end of the inhabited world.\n\n\"In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun,\" &c. Literally, a\ntabernacle, or curtained tent, with its veil and its hangings; also of\nthe colors of His desert tabernacle--blue, and purple, and scarlet.\n\nThus far the psalm describes the manner of this great heaven's message.\n\nThenceforward, it comes to the matter of it.\n\n\u00a7 31. Observe, you have the two divisions of the declaration. The\nheavens (compare Psalm viii.) declare the eternal glory of God before\nmen, and the firmament the daily mercy of God towards men. And the\neternal glory is in this--that the law of the Lord is perfect, and His\ntestimony sure, and His statutes right.\n\nAnd the daily mercy in this--that the commandment of the Lord is pure,\nand His fear is clean, and His judgments true and righteous.\n\nThere are three oppositions:--\n\nBetween law and commandment.\n\nBetween testimony and fear.\n\nBetween statute and judgment.\n\n\u00a7 32. I. Between law and commandment.\n\nThe law is fixed and everlasting; uttered once, abiding for ever, as the\nsun, it may not be moved. It is \"perfect, converting the soul:\" the\nwhole question about the soul being, whether it has been turned from\ndarkness to light, acknowledged this law or not,--whether it is godly or\nungodly? But the commandment is given momentarily to each man, according\nto the need. It does not convert: it guides. It does not concern the\nentire purpose of the soul; but it enlightens the eyes, respecting a\nspecial act. The law is, \"Do this always;\" the commandment, \"Do _thou_\nthis _now_:\" often mysterious enough, and through the cloud; chilling,\nand with strange rain of tears; yet always pure (the law converting, but\nthe commandment cleansing): a rod not for guiding merely, but for\nstrengthening, and tasting honey with. \"Look how mine eyes have been\nenlightened, because I tasted a little of this honey.\"\n\n\u00a7 33. II. Between testimony and fear.\n\nThe testimony is everlasting: the true promise of salvation. Bright as\nthe sun beyond all the earth-cloud, it makes wise the simple; all wisdom\nbeing assured in perceiving it and trusting it; all wisdom brought to\nnothing which does not perceive it.\n\nBut the fear of God is taught through special encouragement and special\nwithdrawal of it, according to each man's need--by the\nearth-cloud--smile and frown alternately: it also, as the commandment,\nis clean, purging and casting out all other fear, it only remaining for\never.\n\n\u00a7 34. III. Between statute and judgment.\n\nThe statutes are the appointments of the Eternal justice; fixed and\nbright, and constant as the stars; equal and balanced as their courses.\nThey \"are right, rejoicing the heart.\" But the judgments are special\njudgments of given acts of men. \"True,\" that is to say, fulfilling the\nwarning or promise given to each man; \"righteous altogether,\" that is,\ndone or executed in truth and righteousness. The statute is right, in\nappointment. The judgment righteous altogether, in appointment and\nfulfilment;--yet not always rejoicing the heart.\n\nThen, respecting all these, comes the expression of passionate desire,\nand of joy; that also divided with respect to each. The glory of God,\neternal in the Heavens, is future, \"to be _desired_ more than gold, than\nmuch fine gold\"--treasure in the heavens that faileth not. But the\npresent guidance and teaching of God are on earth; they are now\npossessed, sweeter than all earthly food--\"sweeter than honey and the\nhoneycomb. Moreover by them\" (the law and the testimony) \"is thy servant\nwarned\"--warned of the ways of death and life.\n\n\"And in keeping them\" (the commandments and the judgments) \"there is\ngreat reward:\" pain now, and bitterness of tears, but reward\nunspeakable.\n\n\u00a7 35. Thus far the psalm has been descriptive and interpreting. It ends\nin prayer.\n\n\"Who can understand his errors?\" (wanderings from the perfect law.)\n\"Cleanse thou me from secret faults; from all that I have done against\nthy will, and far from thy way, in the darkness. Keep back thy servant\nfrom presumptuous sins\" (sins against the commandment) \"against thy will\nwhen it is seen and direct, pleading with heart and conscience. So shall\nI be undefiled, and innocent from the great transgression--the\ntransgression that crucifies afresh.\n\n\"Let the words of my mouth (for I have set them to declare thy law), and\nthe meditation of my heart (for I have set it to keep thy commandments),\nbe acceptable in thy sight, whose glory is my strength, and whose work,\nmy redemption; my Strength, and my Redeemer.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] Compare the beautiful stanza beginning the epilogue of the\n    \"Golden Legend.\"\n\n  [2] I do not mean that Correggio is greater than Turner, but that\n    only _his_ way of work, the touch which he has used for the golden\n    hair of Antiope for instance, could have painted these clouds. In\n    open lowland country I have never been able to come to any\n    satisfactory conclusion about their height, so strangely do they\n    blend with each other. Here, for instance, is the arrangement of an\n    actual group of them. The space at A was deep, purest ultramarine\n    blue, traversed by streaks of absolutely pure and perfect rose-color.\n    The blue passed downwards imperceptibly into gray at G, and then into\n    amber, and at the white edge below into gold. On this amber ground\n    the streaks P were dark purple, and, finally, the spaces at B B,\n    again, clearest and most precious blue, paler than that at A. The\n    _two_ levels of these clouds are always very notable. After a\n    continuance of fine weather among the Alps, the determined approach\n    of rain is usually announced by a soft, unbroken film of level cloud,\n    white and thin at the approaching edge, gray at the horizon, covering\n    the whole sky from side to side, and advancing steadily from the\n    south-west. Under its gray veil, as it approaches, are formed\n    detached bars, darker or lighter than the field above, according to\n    the position of the sun. These bars are usually of a very sharply\n    elongated oval shape, something like fish. I habitually call them\n    \"fish clouds,\" and look upon them with much discomfort, if any\n    excursions of interest have been planned within the next three days.\n    Their oval shape is a perspective deception dependent on their\n    flatness; they are probably thin, extended fields, irregularly\n    circular.\n\n    [Illustration: FIG. 98.]\n\n  [3] I do not copy the interpolated words which follow, \"and\n    commandeth it _not to shine_.\" The closing verse of the chapter, as\n    we have it, is unintelligible; not so in the Vulgate, the reading of\n    which I give.\n\n  [4] I assume the [Greek: aupnoi kr\u00eanai nomades] to mean clouds, not\n    springs; but this does not matter, the whole passage being one of\n    rejoicing in moisture and dew of heaven.\n\n  [5] I believe, however, that when Pegasus strikes forth this\n    fountain, he is to be regarded, not as springing from Medusa's blood,\n    but as born of Medusa by Neptune; the true horse was given by Neptune\n    striking the earth with his trident; the divine horse is born to\n    Neptune and the storm-cloud.\n\n  [6] I have been often at great heights on the Alps in rough weather,\n    and have seen strong gusts of storm in the plains of the south. But,\n    to get full expression of the very heart and meaning of wind, there\n    is no place like a Yorkshire moor. I think Scottish breezes are\n    thinner, very bleak and piercing, but not substantial. If you lean on\n    them they will let you fall, but one may rest against a Yorkshire\n    breeze as one would on a quickset hedge. I shall not soon\n    forget,--having had the good fortune to meet a vigorous one on an\n    April morning, between Hawes and Settle, just on the flat under\n    Wharnside,--the vague sense of wonder with which I watched\n    Ingleborough stand without rocking.\n\n  [7] When there is a violent current of wind near the ground, the rain\n    columns slope _forward_ at the foot. See the Entrance to Fowey\n    Harbor, of the England Series.\n\n  [8] See Part IX. chap. 2, \"The Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9.\"\n\n  [9] The reader must remember that sketches made as these are, on the\n    instant, cannot be far carried, and would lose all their use if they\n    were finished at home. These were both made in pencil, and merely\n    washed with gray on returning to the inn, enough to secure the main\n    forms.\n\n  [10] I do not say this carelessly, nor because machines throw the\n    laboring man \"out of work.\" The laboring man will always have more\n    work than he wants. I speak thus, because the use of such machinery\n    involves the destruction of all pleasures in rural labor; and I doubt\n    not, in that destruction, the essential deterioration of the national\n    mind.\n\n  [11] You may see the arrangement of subject in the published\n    engraving, but nothing more; it is among the worst engravings in the\n    England Series.\n\n  [12] Hosea xiii. 5, 15.\n\n  [13] Hosea xiv. 4, 5, 6. Compare Psalm lxxii. 6-16.\n\n  [14] I believe few sermons are more false or dangerous than those in\n    which the teacher professes to impress his audience by showing \"how\n    much there is in a verse.\" If he examined his own heart closely\n    before beginning, he would often find that his real desire was to\n    show how much he, the expounder, could make out of the verse. But\n    entirely honest and earnest men often fall into the same error. They\n    have been taught that they should always look deep, and that\n    Scripture is full of hidden meanings; and they easily yield to the\n    flattering conviction that every chance idea which comes into their\n    heads in looking at a word, is put there by Divine agency. Hence they\n    wander away into what they believe to be an inspired meditation, but\n    which is, in reality, a meaningless jumble of ideas; perhaps very\n    proper ideas, but with which the text in question has nothing\n    whatever to do.\n\n\n\n\nPART VIII.\n\nOF IDEAS OF RELATION:--FIRST, OF INVENTION FORMAL.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE LAW OF HELP.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. We have now reached the last and the most important part of our\nsubject. We have seen, in the first division of this book, how far art\nmay be, and has been, consistent with physical or material facts. In its\nsecond division, we examined how far it may be and has been obedient to\nthe laws of physical beauty. In this last division we have to consider\nits relations of art to God and man. Its work in the help of human\nbeings, and service of their Creator.\n\nWe have to inquire into the various Powers, Conditions, and Aims of mind\ninvolved in the conception or creation of pictures; in the choice of\nsubject, and the mode and order of its history;--the choice of forms,\nand the modes of their arrangement.\n\nAnd these phases of mind being concerned, partly with choice and\narrangement of incidents, partly with choice and arrangement of forms\nand colors, the whole subject will fall into two main divisions, namely,\nexpressional or spiritual invention; and material or formal invention.\n\nThey are of course connected;--all good formal invention being\nexpressional also; but as a matter of convenience it is best to say what\nmay be ascertained of the nature of formal invention, before attempting\nto illustrate the faculty in its higher field.\n\n\u00a7 2. First, then, of INVENTION FORMAL, otherwise and most commonly\ncalled technical composition; that is to say, the arrangement of lines,\nforms, or colors, so as to produce the best possible effect.[1]\n\nI have often been accused of slighting this quality in pictures; the\nfact being that I have avoided it only because I considered it too great\nand wonderful for me to deal with. The longer I thought, the more\nwonderful it always seemed; and it is, to myself personally, the\nquality, above all others, which gives me delight in pictures. Many\nothers I admire, or respect; but this one I rejoice in. Expression,\nsentiment, truth to nature, are essential; but all these are not enough.\nI never care to look at a picture again, if it be ill composed; and if\nwell composed I can hardly leave off looking at it.\n\n\"Well composed.\" Does that mean according to rule?\n\nNo. Precisely the contrary. Composed as only the man who did it could\nhave done it; composed as no other picture is, or was, or ever can be\nagain. Every great work stands alone.\n\n\u00a7 3. Yet there are certain elementary laws of arrangement traceable a\nlittle way; a few of these only I shall note, not caring to pursue the\nsubject far in this work, so intricate it becomes even in its first\nelements: nor could it be treated with any approach to completeness,\nunless I were to give many and elaborate outlines of large pictures. I\nhave a vague hope of entering on such a task, some future day. Meantime\nI shall only indicate the place which technical composition should hold\nin our scheme.\n\nAnd, first, let us understand what composition is, and how far it is\nrequired.\n\n\u00a7 4. Composition may be best defined as the help of everything in the\npicture by everything else.\n\nI wish the reader to dwell a little on this word \"Help.\" It is a grave\none.\n\nIn substance which we call \"inanimate,\" as of clouds, or stones, their\natoms may cohere to each other, or consist with each other, but they do\nnot help each other. The removal of one part does not injure the rest.\n\nBut in a plant, the taking away of any one part does injure the rest.\nHurt or remove any portion of the sap, bark, or pith, the rest is\ninjured. If any part enters into a state in which it no more assists the\nrest, and has thus become \"helpless,\" we call it also \"dead.\"\n\nThe power which causes the several portions of the plant to help each\nother, we call life. Much more is this so in an animal. We may take away\nthe branch of a tree without much harm to it; but not the animal's limb.\nThus, intensity of life is also intensity of helpfulness--completeness\nof depending of each part on all the rest. The ceasing of this help is\nwhat we call corruption; and in proportion to the perfectness of the\nhelp, is the dreadfulness of the loss. The more intense the life has\nbeen, the more terrible is its corruption.\n\nThe decomposition of a crystal is not necessarily impure at all. The\nfermentation of a wholesome liquid begins to admit the idea slightly;\nthe decay of leaves yet more; of flowers, more; of animals, with greater\npainfulness and terribleness in exact proportion to their original\nvitality; and the foulest of all corruption is that of the body of man;\nand, in his body, that which is occasioned by disease, more than that of\nnatural death.\n\n\u00a7 5. I said just now, that though atoms of inanimate substance could not\nhelp each other, they could \"consist\" with each other. \"Consistence\" is\ntheir virtue. Thus the parts of a crystal are consistent, but of dust,\ninconsistent. Orderly adherence, the best help its atoms can give,\nconstitutes the nobleness of such substance.\n\nWhen matter is either consistent, or living, we call it pure, or clean;\nwhen inconsistent, or corrupting (unhelpful), we call it impure, or\nunclean. The greatest uncleanliness being that which is essentially most\nopposite to life.\n\nLife and consistency, then, both expressing one character (namely,\nhelpfulness, of a higher or lower order), the Maker of all creatures and\nthings, \"by whom all creatures live, and all things consist,\" is\nessentially and for ever the Helpful One, or in softer Saxon, the \"Holy\"\nOne.\n\nThe word has no other ultimate meaning: Helpful, harmless, undefiled:\n\"living\" or \"Lord of life.\"\n\nThe idea is clear and mighty in the cherubim's cry: \"Helpful, helpful,\nhelpful, Lord God of Hosts;\" _i.e._ of all the hosts, armies, and\ncreatures of the earth.[2]\n\n\u00a7 6. A pure or holy state of anything, therefore, is that in which all\nits parts are helpful or consistent. They may or may not be homogeneous.\nThe highest or organic purities are composed of many elements in an\nentirely helpful state. The highest and first law of the universe--and\nthe other name of life, is, therefore, \"help.\" The other name of death\nis \"separation.\" Government and co-operation are in all things and\neternally the laws of life. Anarchy and competition, eternally, and in\nall things, the laws of death.\n\n\u00a7 7. Perhaps the best, though the most familiar example we could take of\nthe nature and power of consistence, will be that of the possible\nchanges in the dust we tread on.\n\nExclusive of animal decay, we can hardly arrive at a more absolute type\nof impurity than the mud or slime of a damp over-trodden path, in the\noutskirts of a manufacturing town. I do not say mud of the road, because\nthat is mixed with animal refuse; but take merely an ounce or two of the\nblackest slime of a beaten footpath on a rainy day, near a large\nmanufacturing town.\n\n\u00a7 8. That slime we shall find in most cases composed of clay (or\nbrickdust, which is burnt clay) mixed with soot, a little sand, and\nwater. All these elements are at helpless war with each other, and\ndestroy reciprocally each other's nature and power, competing and\nfighting for place at every tread of your foot;--sand squeezing out\nclay, and clay squeezing out water, and soot meddling everywhere and\ndefiling the whole. Let us suppose that this ounce of mud is left in\nperfect rest, and that its elements gather together, like to like, so\nthat their atoms may get into the closest relations possible.\n\n\u00a7 9. Let the clay begin. Ridding itself of all foreign substance, it\ngradually becomes a white earth, already very beautiful; and fit, with\nhelp of congealing fire, to be made into finest porcelain, and painted\non, and be kept in kings' palaces. But such artificial consistence is\nnot its best. Leave it still quiet to follow its own instinct of unity,\nand it becomes not only white, but clear; not only clear, but hard; not\nonly clear and hard, but so set that it can deal with light in a\nwonderful way, and gather out of it the loveliest blue rays only,\nrefusing the rest. We call it then a sapphire.\n\nSuch being the consummation of the clay, we give similar permission of\nquiet to the sand. It also becomes, first, a white earth, then proceeds\nto grow clear and hard, and at last arranges itself in mysterious,\ninfinitely fine, parallel lines, which have the power of reflecting not\nmerely the blue rays, but the blue, green, purple, and red rays in the\ngreatest beauty in which they can be seen through any hard material\nwhatsoever. We call it then an opal.\n\nIn next order the soot sets to work; it cannot make itself white at\nfirst, but instead of being discouraged, tries harder and harder, and\ncomes out clear at last, and the hardest thing in the world; and for the\nblackness that it had, obtains in exchange the power of reflecting all\nthe rays of the sun at once in the vividest blaze that any solid thing\ncan shoot. We call it then a diamond.\n\nLast of all the water purifies or unites itself, contented enough if it\nonly reach the form of a dew-drop; but if we insist on its proceeding to\na more perfect consistence, it crystallizes into the shape of a star.\n\nAnd for the ounce of slime which we had by political economy of\ncompetition, we have by political economy of co-operation, a sapphire,\nan opal, and a diamond, set in the midst of a star of snow.\n\n\u00a7 10. Now invention in art signifies an arrangement, in which everything\nin the work is thus consistent with all things else, and helpful to all\nelse.\n\nIt is the greatest and rarest of all the qualities of art. The power by\nwhich it is effected is absolutely inexplicable and incommunicable; but\nexercised with entire facility by those who possess it, in many cases\neven unconsciously.[3]\n\nIn work which is not composed, there may be many beautiful things, but\nthey do not help each other. They at the best only stand beside, and\nmore usually compete with and destroy, each other. They may be connected\nartificially in many ways, but the test of there being no invention is,\nthat if one of them be taken away, the others are no worse than before.\nBut in true composition, if one be taken away, all the rest are helpless\nand valueless. Generally, in falsely composed work, if anything be taken\naway, the rest will look better; because the attention is less\ndistracted. Hence the pleasure of inferior artists in sketching, and\ntheir inability to finish; all that they add destroys.\n\n\u00a7 11. Also in true composition, everything not only helps everything\nelse a _little_, but helps with its utmost power. Every atom is in full\nenergy; and _all_ that energy is kind. Not a line, nor spark of color,\nbut is doing its very best, and that best is aid. The extent to which\nthis law is carried in truly right and noble work is wholly\ninconceivable to the ordinary observer, and no true account of it would\nbe believed.\n\n\u00a7 12. True composition being entirely easy to the man who can compose,\nhe is seldom proud of it, though he clearly recognizes it. Also, true\ncomposition is inexplicable. No one can explain how the notes of a\nMozart melody, or the folds of a piece of Titian's drapery, produce\ntheir essential effect on each other. If you do not feel it, no one can\nby reasoning make you feel it. And, the highest composition is so\nsubtle, that it is apt to become unpopular, and sometimes seem insipid.\n\n\u00a7 13. The reader may be surprised at my giving so high a place to\ninvention. But if he ever come to know true invention from false, he\nwill find that it is not only the highest quality of art, but is simply\nthe most wonderful act or power of humanity. It is pre-eminently the\ndeed of human creation; [Greek: poi\u00easis], otherwise, poetry.\n\nIf the reader will look back to my definition of poetry, he will find it\nis \"the suggestion, by the imagination, of noble grounds for the noble\nemotions\" (Vol. III. p. 10), amplified below (\u00a7 14) into \"assembling by\nhelp of the imagination;\" that is to say, imagination associative,\ndescribed at length in Vol. II., in the chapter just referred to. The\nmystery of the power is sufficiently set forth in that place. Of its\ndignity I have a word or two to say here.\n\n\u00a7 14. Men in their several professed employments, looked at broadly, may\nbe properly arranged under five classes:--\n\n1. Persons who see. These in modern language are sometimes called\nsight-seers, that being an occupation coming more and more into vogue\nevery day. Anciently they used to be called, simply, seers.\n\n2. Persons who talk. These, in modern language, are usually called\ntalkers, or speakers, as in the House of Commons, and elsewhere. They\nused to be called prophets.\n\n3. Persons who make. These, in modern language, are usually called\nmanufacturers. Anciently they were called poets.\n\n4. Persons who think. There seems to be no very distinct modern title\nfor this kind of person, anciently called philosophers; nevertheless we\nhave a few of them among us.\n\n5. Persons who do: in modern language, called practical persons;\nanciently, believers.\n\nOf the first two classes I have only this to note,--that we ought\nneither to say that a person sees, if he sees falsely, nor speaks, if he\nspeaks falsely. For seeing falsely is worse than blindness, and speaking\nfalsely, than silence. A man who is too dim-sighted to discern the road\nfrom the ditch, may feel which is which;--but if the ditch appears\nmanifestly to him to be the road, and the road to be the ditch, what\nshall become of him? False seeing is unseeing,--on the negative side of\nblindness; and false speaking, unspeaking,--on the negative side of\nsilence.\n\nTo the persons who think, also, the same test applies very shrewdly.\nTheirs is a dangerous profession; and from the time of the Aristophanes\nthought-shop to the great German establishment, or thought-manufactory,\nwhose productions have, unhappily, taken in part the place of the older\nand more serviceable commodities of Nuremberg toys and Berlin wool, it\nhas been often harmful enough to mankind. It should not be so, for a\nfalse thought is more distinctly and visibly no thought than a false\nsaying is no saying. But it is touching the two great productive classes\nof the doers and makers, that we have one or two important points to\nnote here.\n\n\u00a7 15. Has the reader ever considered, carefully, what is the meaning of\n\"doing\" a thing?\n\nSuppose a rock falls from a hill-side, crushes a group of cottages, and\nkills a number of people. The stone has produced a great effect in the\nworld. If any one asks, respecting the broken roofs, \"What did it?\" you\nsay the stone did it. Yet you don't talk of the deed of the stone. If\nyou inquire farther, and find that a goat had been feeding beside the\nrock, and had loosened it by gnawing the roots of the grasses beneath,\nyou find the goat to be the active cause of the calamity, and you say\nthe goat did it. Yet you don't call the goat the doer, nor talk of its\nevil deed. But if you find any one went up to the rock, in the night,\nand with deliberate purpose loosened it, that it might fall on the\ncottages, you say in quite a different sense, \"It is his deed: he is the\ndoer of it.\"\n\n\u00a7 16. It appears, then, that deliberate purpose and resolve are needed\nto constitute a deed or doing, in the true sense of the word; and that\nwhen, accidentally or mechanically, events take place without such\npurpose, we have indeed effects or results, and agents or causes, but\nneither deeds nor doers.\n\nNow it so happens, as we all well know, that by far the largest part of\nthings happening in practical life _are_ brought about with no\ndeliberate purpose. There are always a number of people who have the\nnature of stones; they fall on other persons and crush them. Some again\nhave the nature of weeds, and twist about other people's feet and\nentangle them. More have the nature of logs, and lie in the way, so that\nevery one falls over them. And most of all have the nature of thorns,\nand set themselves by waysides, so that every passer-by must be torn,\nand all good seed choked; or perhaps make wonderful crackling under\nvarious pots, even to the extent of practically boiling water and\nworking pistons. All these people produce immense and sorrowful effect\nin the world. Yet none of them are doers: it is their nature to crush,\nimpede, and prick: but deed is not in them.[4]\n\n\u00a7 17. And farther, observe, that even when some effect is finally\nintended, you cannot call it the person's deed, unless it is _what_ he\nintended.\n\nIf an ignorant person, purposing evil, accidentally does good, (as if a\nthief's disturbing a family should lead them to discover in time that\ntheir house was on fire); or _vice vers\u00e2_, if an ignorant person\nintending good, accidentally does evil (as if a child should give\nhemlock to his companions for celery), in neither case do you call them\nthe doers of what may result. So that in order to be a true deed, it is\nnecessary that the effect of it should be foreseen. Which, ultimately,\nit cannot be, but by a person who knows, and in his deed obeys, the laws\nof the universe, and of its Maker. And this knowledge is in its highest\nform, respecting the will of the Ruling Spirit, called Trust. For it is\nnot the knowledge that a thing is, but that, according to the promise\nand nature of the Ruling Spirit, a thing will be. Also obedience in its\nhighest form is not obedience to a constant and compulsory law, but a\npersuaded or voluntary yielded obedience to an issued command; and so\nfar as it was a _persuaded_ submission to command, it was anciently\ncalled, in a passive sense, \"persuasion,\" or [Greek: pistis], and in so\nfar as it alone assuredly did, and it alone _could_ do, what it meant to\ndo, and was therefore the root and essence of all human deed, it was\ncalled by the Latins the \"doing,\" or _fides_, which has passed into the\nFrench _foi_ and the English _faith_. And therefore because in His\ndoing always certain, and in His speaking always true, His name who\nleads the armies of Heaven is \"Faithful and True,\"[5] and all deeds\nwhich are done in alliance with those armies, be they small or great,\nare essentially deeds of faith, which therefore, and in this one stern,\neternal, sense, subdues all kingdoms, and turns to flight the armies of\nthe aliens, and is at once the source and the substance of all human\ndeed, rightly so called.\n\n\u00a7 18. Thus far then of practical persons, once called believers, as set\nforth in the last word of the noblest group of words ever, so far as I\nknow, uttered by simple man concerning his practice, being the final\ntestimony of the leaders of a great practical nation, whose deed\nthenceforward became an example of deed to mankind:\n\n  [Greek: \u00d4 xein', angellein Lakedaimoniois, hoti t\u00eade Keimetha, tois\n          kein\u00f4n rh\u00eamasi peithomenoi.]\n\n\"O stranger! (we pray thee), tell the Laced\u00e6monians that we are lying\nhere, having _obeyed_ their words.\"\n\n\u00a7 19. What, let us ask next, is the ruling character of the person who\nproduces--the creator or maker, anciently called the poet?\n\nWe have seen what a deed is. What then is a \"creation\"? Nay, it may be\nreplied, to \"create\" cannot be said of man's labor.\n\nOn the contrary, it not only can be said, but is and must be said\ncontinually. You certainly do not talk of creating a watch, or creating\na shoe; nevertheless you _do_ talk of creating a feeling. Why is this?\n\nLook back to the greatest of all creation, that of the world. Suppose\nthe trees had been ever so well or so ingeniously put together, stem and\nleaf, yet if they had not been able to grow, would they have been well\ncreated? Or suppose the fish had been cut and stitched finely out of\nskin and whalebone; yet, cast upon the waters, had not been able to\nswim? Or suppose Adam and Eve had been made in the softest clay, ever so\nneatly, and set at the foot of the tree of knowledge, fastened up to\nit, quite unable to fall, or do anything else, would they have been well\ncreated, or in any true sense created at all?\n\n\u00a7 20. It will, perhaps, appear to you, after a little farther thought,\nthat to create anything in reality is to put life into it.\n\nA poet, or creator, is therefore a person who puts things together, not\nas a watchmaker steel, or a shoemaker leather, but who puts life into\nthem.\n\nHis work is essentially this: it is the gathering and arranging of\nmaterial by imagination, so as to have in it at last the harmony or\nhelpfulness of life, and the passion or emotion of life. Mere fitting\nand adjustment of material is nothing; that is watchmaking. But helpful\nand passionate harmony, essentially choral harmony, so called from the\nGreek word \"rejoicing,\"[6] is the harmony of Apollo and the Muses; the\nword Muse and Mother being derived from the same root, meaning\n\"passionate seeking,\" or love, of which the issue is passionate finding,\nor sacred INVENTION. For which reason I could not bear to use any baser\nword than this of invention. And if the reader will think over all these\nthings, and follow them out, as I think he may easily with this much of\nclue given him, he will not any more think it wrong in me to place\ninvention so high among the powers of man.[7]\n\nOr any more think it strange that the last act of the life of\nSocrates[8] should have been to purify himself from the sin of having\nnegligently listened to the voice within him, which, through all his\npast life, had bid him \"labor, and make harmony.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The word composition has been so much abused, and is in itself so\n    inexpressive, that when I wrote the first part of this work I\n    intended always to use, in this final section of it, the word\n    \"invention,\" and to reserve the term \"composition\" for that false\n    composition which can be taught on principles; as I have already so\n    employed the term in the chapter on \"Imagination Associative,\" in the\n    second volume. But, in arranging this section, I find it is not\n    conveniently possible to avoid the ordinary modes of parlance; I\n    therefore only head the section as I intended (and as is, indeed,\n    best), using in the text the ordinarily accepted term; only, the\n    reader must be careful to note that what I spoke of shortly as\n    \"composition\" in the chapters on \"Imagination,\" I here always call,\n    distinctly, \"false composition;\" using here, as I find most\n    convenient, the words \"invention\" or \"composition\" indifferently for\n    the true faculty.\n\n  [2] \"The cries of them which have reaped have entered into the ears\n    of the Lord of Sabaoth (of all the creatures of the earth).\" You will\n    find a wonderful clearness come into many texts by reading,\n    habitually, \"helpful\" and \"helpfulness\" for \"holy\" and \"holiness,\" or\n    else \"living,\" as in Rom. xi. 16. The sense \"dedicated\" (the Latin\n    _sanctus_), being, of course, inapplicable to the Supreme Being, is\n    an entirely secondary and accidental one.\n\n  [3] By diligent study of good compositions it is possible to put work\n    together so that the parts shall help each other, a little, or at all\n    events do no harm; and when some tact and taste are associated with\n    this diligence, semblances of real invention are often produced,\n    which, being the results of great labor, the artist is always proud\n    of; and which, being capable of learned explanation and imitation,\n    the spectator naturally takes interest in. The common precepts about\n    composition all produce and teach this false kind, which, as true\n    composition is the noblest, being the corruption of it, is the\n    ignoblest condition of art.\n\n  [4] We may, perhaps, expediently recollect as much of our botany as\n    to teach us that there may be sharp and rough persons, like spines,\n    who yet have good in them, and are essentially branches, and can bud.\n    But the true thorny person is no spine, only an excrescence; rootless\n    evermore,--leafless evermore. No crown made of such can ever meet\n    glory of Angel's hand. (In Memoriam, lxviii.)\n\n  [5] \"True,\" means, etymologically, not \"consistent with fact,\" but\n    \"which may be trusted.\" \"This is a true saying, and worthy of all\n    acceptation,\" &c., meaning a trusty saying,--a saying to be rested\n    on, leant upon.\n\n  [6] [Greek: Chorous te \u00f4nomakenai para t\u00eas charas emphyton onoma].\n    (D\u00e9 leg. II. 1.)\n\n  [7] This being, indeed, among the visiblest signs of the Divine or\n    immortal life. We have got a base habit of opposing the word \"mortal\"\n    or \"deathful\" merely to \"_im_-mortal;\" whereas it is essentially\n    contrary to \"divine\" (to [Greek: theios], not to [Greek: athanatos],\n    Phaedo, 66), that which is deathful being anarchic or disobedient,\n    and that which is divine ruling and obedient; this being the true\n    distinction between flesh and spirit.\n\n  [8] [Greek: Pollakis moi phoit\u00f4n to auto enypnion en t\u00f4 parelthonti\n    bi\u00f4, allot' en all\u00ea opsei phainomenon, ta auta de legon, \u00d4 S\u00f4kra tes,\n    eph\u00ea, mousik\u00ean poiei kai ergazou]. (Phaedo, 11.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE TASK OF THE LEAST.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. The reader has probably been surprised at my assertions made often\nbefore now, and reiterated here, that the _minutest_ portion of a great\ncomposition is helpful to the whole. It certainly does not seem easily\nconceivable that this should be so. I will go farther, and say that it\nis inconceivable. But it is the fact.\n\nWe shall discern it to be so by taking one or two compositions to\npieces, and examining the fragments. In doing which, we must remember\nthat a great composition always has a leading emotional purpose,\ntechnically called its motive, to which all its lines and forms have\nsome relation. Undulating lines, for instance, are expressive of action;\nand would be false in effect if the motive of the picture was one of\nrepose. Horizontal and angular lines are expressive of rest and\nstrength; and would destroy a design whose purpose was to express\ndisquiet and feebleness. It is therefore necessary to ascertain the\nmotive before descending to the detail.\n\n\u00a7 2. One of the simplest subjects, in the series of the Rivers of\nFrance, is \"Rietz, near Saumur.\" The published Plate gives a better\nrendering than usual of its tone of light; and my rough etching, Plate\n73, sufficiently shows the arrangement of its lines. What is their\nmotive?\n\nTo get at it completely, we must know something of the Loire.\n\nThe district through which it here flows is, for the most part, a low\nplace, yet not altogether at the level of the stream, but cut into steep\nbanks of chalk or gravel, thirty or forty feet high, running for miles\nat about an equal height above the water.\n\n[Illustration: 73. Loire-side.]\n\nThese banks are excavated by the peasantry, partly for houses, partly\nfor cellars, so economizing vineyard space above; and thus a kind of\ncontinuous village runs along the river-side, composed half of caves,\nhalf of rude buildings, backed by the cliff, propped against it,\ntherefore always leaning away from the river; mingled with overlappings\nof vineyard trellis from above, and little towers or summer-houses for\noutlook, when the grapes are ripe, or for gossip over the garden wall.\n\n\u00a7 3. It is an autumnal evening, then, by this Loire side. The day has\nbeen hot, and the air is heavy and misty still; the sunlight warm, but\ndim; the brown vine-leaves motionless: all else quiet. Not a sail in\nsight on the river,[1] its strong, noiseless current lengthening the\nstream of low sunlight.\n\nThe motive of the picture, therefore, is the expression of rude but\nperfect peace, slightly mingled with an indolent languor and\ndespondency; the peace between intervals of enforced labor; happy, but\nlistless, and having little care or hope about the future; cutting its\nhome out of this gravel bank, and letting the vine and the river twine\nand undermine as they will; careless to mend or build, so long as the\nwalls hold together, and the black fruit swells in the sunshine.\n\n\u00a7 4. To get this repose, together with rude stability, we have therefore\nhorizontal lines and bold angles. The grand horizontal space and sweep\nof Turner's distant river show perhaps better in the etching than in the\nPlate; but depend wholly for value on the piece of near wall. It is the\nvertical line of its dark side which drives the eye up into the\ndistance, right against the horizontal, and so makes it felt, while the\nflatness of the stone prepares the eye to understand the flatness of the\nriver. Farther: hide with your finger the little ring on that stone, and\nyou will find the river has stopped flowing. That ring is to repeat the\ncurved lines of the river bank, which express its line of current, and\nto bring the feeling of them down near us. On the other side of the road\nthe horizontal lines are taken up again by the dark pieces of wood,\nwithout which we should still lose half our space.\n\nNext: The repose is to be not only perfect, but indolent: the repose of\nout-wearied people: not caring much what becomes of them.\n\nYou see the road is covered with litter. Even the crockery is left\noutside the cottage to dry in the sun, after being washed up. The steps\nof the cottage door have been too high for comfort originally, only it\nwas less trouble to cut three large stones than four or five small. They\nare now all aslope and broken, not repaired for years. Their weighty\nforms increase the sense of languor throughout the scene, and of\nstability also, because we feel how difficult it would be to stir them.\nThe crockery has its work to do also;--the arched door on the left being\nnecessary to show the great thickness of walls and the strength they\nrequire to prevent falling in of the cliff above;--as the horizontal\nlines must be diffused on the right, so this arch must be diffused on\nthe left; and the large round plate on one side of the steps, with the\ntwo small ones on the other, are to carry down the element of circular\ncurvature. Hide them, and see the result.\n\nAs they carry the arched group of forms down, the arched window-shutter\ndiffuses it upwards, where all the lines of the distant buildings\nsuggest one and the same idea of disorderly and careless strength,\nmingling masonry with rock.\n\n\u00a7 5. So far of the horizontal and curved lines. How of the radiating\nones? What has the black vine trellis got to do?\n\nLay a pencil or ruler parallel with its lines. You will find that they\npoint to the massive building in the distance. To which, as nearly as is\npossible without at once showing the artifice, every other radiating\nline points also; almost ludicrously when it is once pointed out; even\nthe curved line of the top of the terrace runs into it, and the last\nsweep of the river evidently leads to its base. And so nearly is it in\nthe exact centre of the picture, that one diagonal from corner to corner\npasses through it, and the other only misses the base by the twentieth\nof an inch.\n\nIf you are accustomed to France, you will know in a moment by its\noutline that this massive building is an old church.\n\nWithout it, the repose would not have been essentially the laborer's\nrest--rest as of the Sabbath. Among all the groups of lines that point\nto it, two are principal: the first, those of the vine trellis: the\nsecond, those of the handles of the saw left in the beam:--the blessing\nof human life and its labor.\n\nWhenever Turner wishes to express profound repose, he puts in the\nforeground some instrument of labor cast aside. See, in Roger's Poems,\nthe last vignette, \"Datur hora quieti,\" with the plough in the furrow;\nand in the first vignette of the same book, the scythe on the shoulder\nof the peasant going home. (There is nothing about the scythe in the\npassage of the poem which this vignette illustrates.)\n\n\u00a7 6. Observe, farther, the outline of the church itself. As our\nhabitations are, so is our church, evidently a heap of old, but massive,\nwalls, patched, and repaired, and roofed in, and over and over, until\nits original shape is hardly recognizable. I know the kind of church\nwell--can tell even here, two miles off, that I shall find some Norman\narches in the apse, and a flamboyant porch, rich and dark, with every\nstatue broken out of it; and a rude wooden belfry above all; and a\nquantity of miserable shops built in among the buttresses; and that I\nmay walk in and out as much as I please, but that how often soever, I\nshall always find some one praying at the Holy Sepulchre, in the darkest\naisle, and my going in and out will not disturb them. For they _are_\npraying, which in many a handsomer and highlier-furbished edifice might,\nperhaps, not be so assuredly the case.\n\n\u00a7 7. Lastly: What kind of people have we on this winding road? Three\nindolent ones, leaning on the wall to look over into the gliding water;\nand a matron with her market panniers, by her figure, not a fast rider.\nThe road, besides, is bad, and seems unsafe for trotting, and she has\npassed without disturbing the cat, who sits comfortably on the block of\nwood in the middle of it.\n\n\u00a7 8. Next to this piece of quietness, let us glance at a composition in\nwhich the motive is one of tumult: that of the Fall of Schaffhausen. It\nis engraved in the Keepsake. I have etched in Plate 74, at the top, the\nchief lines of its composition,[2] in which the first great purpose is\nto give swing enough to the water. The line of fall is straight and\nmonotonous in reality. Turner wants to get the great concave sweep and\nrush of the river well felt, in spite of the unbroken form. The column\nof spray, rocks, mills, and bank, all radiate like a plume, sweeping\nround together in grand curves to the left, where the group of figures,\nhurried about the ferry boat, rises like a dash of spray; they also\nradiating: so as to form one perfectly connected cluster, with the two\ngens-d'armes and the millstones; the millstones at the bottom being the\nroot of it; the two soldiers laid right and left to sustain the branch\nof figures beyond, balanced just as a tree bough would be.\n\n\u00a7 9. One of the gens-d'armes is flirting with a young lady in a round\ncap and full sleeves, under pretence of wanting her to show him what she\nhas in her bandbox. The motive of which flirtation is, so far as Turner\nis concerned in it, primarily the bandbox: this and the millstones\nbelow, give him a series of concave lines, which, concentrated by the\nrecumbent soldiers, intensify the hollow sweep of the fall, precisely as\nthe ring on the stone does the Loire eddies. These curves are carried\nout on the right by the small plate of eggs, laid to be washed at the\nspring; and, all these concave lines being a little too quiet and\nrecumbent, the staggering casks are set on the left, and the\nill-balanced milk-pail on the right, to give a general feeling of things\nbeing rolled over and over. The things which are to give this sense of\nrolling are dark, in order to hint at the way in which the cataract\nrolls boulders of rock; while the forms which are to give the sense of\nits sweeping force are white. The little spring, splashing out of its\npine-trough, is to give contrast with the power of the fall,--while it\ncarries out the general sense of splashing water.\n\n[Illustration: 74. The Mill-stream.]\n\n[Illustration: Painted by J. N. W. Turner. Drawn by J. Ruskin. Engraved\nby R. P. Cuff.\n\n75. The Castle of Lauffen.]\n\n\u00a7 10. This spring exists on the spot, and so does everything else in the\npicture; but the combinations are wholly arbitrary; it being Turner's\nfixed principle to collect out of any scene whatever was characteristic,\nand put it together just as he liked. The changes made in this instance\nare highly curious. The mills have no resemblance whatever to the real\ngroup as seen from this spot; for there is a vulgar and formal\ndwelling-house in front of them. But if you climb the rock behind them,\nyou find they form on that side a towering cluster, which Turner has put\nwith little modification into the drawing. What he has done to the\nmills, he has done with still greater audacity to the central rock. Seen\nfrom this spot, it shows, in reality, its greatest breadth, and is heavy\nand uninteresting; but on the Lauffen side, exposes its consumed base,\nworn away by the rush of water, which Turner resolving to show, serenely\ndraws the rock as it appears from the other side of the Rhine, and\nbrings that view of it over to this side. I have etched the bit with the\nrock a little larger below; and if the reader knows the spot, he will\nsee that this piece of the drawing, reversed in the etching, is almost a\nbon\u00e2 fide unreversed study of the fall from the Lauffen side.[3]\n\nFinally, the castle of Lauffen itself, being, when seen from this spot,\ntoo much foreshortened to show its extent, Turner walks a quarter of a\nmile lower down the river, draws the castle accurately there, brings it\nback with him, and puts it in all its extent, where he chooses to have\nit, beyond the rocks.\n\nI tried to copy and engrave this piece of the drawing of its real size,\nmerely to show the forms of the trees, drifted back by the breeze from\nthe fall, and wet with its spray; but in the endeavor to facsimile the\ntouches, great part of their grace and ease has been lost; still, Plate\n75 may, if compared with the same piece in the Keepsake engraving, at\nleast show that the original drawing has not yet been rendered with\ncompleteness.\n\n\u00a7 11. These two examples may sufficiently serve to show the mode in\nwhich minor details, both in form and spirit, are used by Turner to aid\nhis main motives; of course I cannot, in the space of this volume, go on\nexamining subjects at this length, even if I had time to etch them; but\nevery design of Turner's would be equally instructive, examined in a\nsimilar manner. Thus far, however, we have only seen the help of the\nparts to the whole: we must give yet a little attention to the mode of\ncombining the smallest details.\n\nI am always led away, in spite of myself, from my proper subject here,\ninvention formal, or the merely pleasant placing of lines and masses,\ninto the emotional results of such arrangement.\n\nThe chief reason of this is that the emotional power can be explained;\nbut the perfection of formative arrangement, as I said, cannot be\nexplained, any more than that of melody in music. An instance or two of\nit, however, may be given.\n\n\u00a7 12. Much fine formative arrangement depends on a more or less\nelliptical or pear-shaped balance of the group, obtained by arranging\nthe principal members of it on two opposite curves, and either\ncentralizing it by some powerful feature at the base, centre, or summit;\nor else clasping it together by some conspicuous point or knot. A very\nsmall object will often do this satisfactorily.\n\nIf you can get the complete series of Lef\u00e8bre's engravings from Titian\nand Veronese, they will be quite enough to teach you, in their dumb way,\neverything that is teachable of composition; at all events, try to get\nthe Madonna, with St. Peter and St. George under the two great pillars;\nthe Madonna and Child, with mitred bishop on her left, and St. Andrew on\nher right; and Veronese's Triumph of Venice. The first of these Plates\nunites two formative symmetries; that of the two pillars, clasped by the\nsquare altar-cloth below and cloud above, catches the eye first; but the\nmain group is the fivefold one rising to the left, crowned by the\nMadonna. St. Francis and St. Peter form its two wings, and the kneeling\nportrait figures, its base. It is clasped at the bottom by the key of\nSt. Peter, which points straight at the Madonna's head, and is laid on\nthe steps solely for this purpose; the curved lines, which enclose the\ngroup, meet also in her face; and the straight line of light, on the\ncloak of the nearest senator, points at her also. If you have Turner's\nLiber Studiorum, turn to the Lauffenburg, and compare the figure group\nthere: a fivefold chain, one standing figure, central; two recumbent,\nfor wings; two half-recumbent, for bases; and a cluster of weeds to\nclasp. Then turn to Lef\u00e8bre's Europa (there are two in the series--I\nmean the one with the two tree trunks over her head). It is a wonderful\nninefold group. Europa central; two stooping figures, each surmounted by\na standing one, for wings; a cupid on one side, and dog on the other,\nfor bases; a cupid and trunk of tree, on each side, to terminate above;\nand a garland for clasp.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 94.]\n\n\u00a7 13. Fig. 94, page 171, will serve to show the mode in which similar\narrangements are carried into the smallest detail. It is magnified four\ntimes from a cluster of leaves in the foreground of the \"Isis\" (Liber\nStudiorum). Figs. 95 and 96, page 172, show the arrangement of the two\ngroups composing it; the lower is purely symmetrical, with trefoiled\ncentre and broad masses for wings; the uppermost is a sweeping\ncontinuous curve, symmetrical, but foreshortened. Both are clasped by\narrow-shaped leaves. The two whole groups themselves are, in turn,\nmembers of another larger group, composing the entire foreground, and\nconsisting of broad dock-leaves, with minor clusters on the right and\nleft, of which these form the chief portion on the right side.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 95.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 96.]\n\n\u00a7 14. Unless every leaf, and every visible point or object, however\nsmall, forms a part of some harmony of this kind (these symmetrical\nconditions being only the most simple and obvious), it has no business\nin the picture. It is the necessary connection of all the forms and\ncolors, down to the last touch, which constitutes great or inventive\nwork, separated from all common work by an impassable gulf.\n\nBy diligently copying the etchings of the Liber Studiorum, the reader\nmay, however, easily attain the perception of the existence of these\nrelations, and be prepared to understand Turner's more elaborate\ncomposition. It would take many figures to disentangle and explain the\narrangements merely of the leaf cluster, Fig. 78, facing page 97; but\nthat there _is_ a system, and that every leaf has a fixed value and\nplace in it, can hardly but be felt at a glance.\n\nIt is curious that, in spite of all the constant talkings of\n\"composition\" which goes on among art students, true composition is just\nthe last thing which appears to be perceived. One would have thought\nthat in this group, at least, the value of the central black leaf would\nhave been seen, of which the principal function is to point towards, and\ncontinue, the line of bank above. See Plate 62. But a glance at the\npublished Plate in the England series will show that no idea of the\ncomposition had occurred to the engraver's mind. He thought any leaves\nwould do, and supplied them from his own repertory of hack vegetation.\n\n\u00a7 15. I would willingly enlarge farther on this subject--it is a\nfavorite one with me; but the figures required for any exhaustive\ntreatment of it would form a separate volume. All that I can do is to\nindicate, as these examples do sufficiently, the vast field open to the\nstudent's analysis if he cares to pursue the subject; and to mark for\nthe general reader these two strong conclusions:--that nothing in great\nwork is ever either fortuitous or contentious.\n\nIt is not fortuitous; that is to say, not left to fortune. The \"must do\nit by a kind of felicity\" of Bacon is true; it is true also that an\naccident is often suggestive to an inventor. Turner himself said, \"I\nnever lose an accident.\" But it is this not _losing_ it, this taking\nthings out of the hands of Fortune, and putting them into those of force\nand foresight, which attest the master. Chance may sometimes help, and\nsometimes provoke, a success; but must never rule, and rarely allure.\n\nAnd, lastly, nothing must be contentious. Art has many uses and many\npleasantnesses; but of all its services, none are higher than its\nsetting forth, by a visible and enduring image, the nature of all true\nauthority and freedom; Authority which defines and directs the action of\nbenevolent law; and Freedom which consists in deep and soft consent of\nindividual[4] helpfulness.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The sails in the engraving were put in to catch the public eye.\n    There are none in the drawing.\n\n  [2] These etchings of compositions are all reversed, for they are\n    merely sketches on the steel, and I cannot sketch easily except\n    straight from the drawing, and without reversing. The looking-glass\n    plagues me with cross lights. As examples of composition, it does not\n    the least matter which way they are turned; and the reader may see\n    this Schaffhausen subject from the right side of the Rhine, by\n    holding the book before a glass. The rude indications of the figures\n    in the Loire subject are nearly facsimiles of Turner's.\n\n  [3] With the exception of the jagged ledge rising out of the foam\n    below which comes from the north side, and is admirable in its\n    expression of the position of the limestone-beds, which, rising from\n    below the drift gravel of Constance, are the real cause of the fall\n    of Schaffhausen.\n\n  [4] \"Individual,\" that is to say, distinct and separate in character,\n    though joined in purpose. I might have enlarged on this head, but\n    that all I should care to say has been already said admirably by Mr.\n    J. S. Mill in his essay on _Liberty_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE RULE OF THE GREATEST.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. In the entire range of art principles, none perhaps present a\ndifficulty so great to the student, or require from the teacher\nexpression so cautious, and yet so strong, as those which concern the\nnature and influence of magnitude.\n\nIn one sense, and that deep, there is no such thing as magnitude. The\nleast thing is as the greatest, and one day as a thousand years, in the\neyes of the Maker of great and small things. In another sense, and that\nclose to us and necessary, there exist both magnitude and value. Though\nnot a sparrow falls to the ground unnoted, there are yet creatures who\nare of more value than many; and the same Spirit which weighs the dust\nof the earth in a balance, counts the isles as a little thing.\n\n\u00a7 2. The just temper of human mind in this matter may, nevertheless, be\ntold shortly. Greatness can only be rightly estimated when minuteness is\njustly reverenced. Greatness is the aggregation of minuteness; nor can\nits sublimity be felt truthfully by any mind unaccustomed to the\naffectionate watching of what is least.\n\nBut if this affection for the least be unaccompanied by the powers of\ncomparison and reflection; if it be intemperate in its thirst, restless\nin curiosity, and incapable of the patient and self-commandant pause\nwhich is wise to arrange, and submissive to refuse, it will close the\npaths of noble art to the student as effectually, and hopelessly, as\neven the blindness of pride, or impatience of ambition.\n\n\u00a7 3. I say the paths of noble art, not of useful art. All accurate\ninvestigation will have its reward; the morbid curiosity will at least\nslake the thirst of others, if not its own; and the diffused and petty\naffections will distribute, in serviceable measure, their minute\ndelights and narrow discoveries. The opposite error, the desire of\ngreatness as such, or rather of what appears great to indolence and\nvanity;--the instinct which I have described in the \"Seven Lamps,\"\nnoting it, among the Renaissance builders, to be an especial and\nunfailing sign of baseness of mind, is as fruitless as it is vile; no\nway profitable--every way harmful: the widest and most corrupting\nexpression of vulgarity. The microscopic drawing of an insect may be\nprecious; but nothing except disgrace and misguidance will ever be\ngathered from such work as that of Haydon or Barry.\n\n\u00a7 4. The work I have mostly had to do, since this essay was begun, has\nbeen that of contention against such debased issues of swollen insolence\nand windy conceit; but I have noticed lately, that some lightly-budding\nphilosophers have depreciated true greatness; confusing the relations of\nscale, as they bear upon human instinct and morality; reasoning as if a\nmountain were no nobler than a grain of sand, or as if many souls were\nnot of mightier interest than one. To whom it must be shortly answered\nthat the Lord of power and life knew which were His noblest works, when\nHe bade His servant watch the play of the Leviathan, rather than dissect\nthe spawn of the minnow; and that when it comes to practical question\nwhether a single soul is to be jeoparded for many, and this Leonidas, or\nCurtius, or Winkelried shall abolish--so far as abolishable--his own\nspirit, that he may save more numerous spirits, such question is to be\nsolved by the simple human instinct respecting number and magnitude, not\nby reasonings on infinity:--\n\n  \"Le navigateur, qui, la nuit, voit l'oc\u00e9an \u00e9tinceler de lumi\u00e8re,\n  danser en guirlandes de feu, s'\u00e9gaye d'abord de ce spectacle. Il fait\n  dix lieues; la guirlande s'allonge ind\u00e9finiment, elle s'agite, se\n  tord, se noue, aux mouvements de la lame; c'est un serpent monstrueux\n  qui va toujours s'allongeant, jusqu'\u00e0 trente lieues, quarante lieues.\n  Et tout cela n'est qu'une danse d'animalcules imperceptibles. En quel\n  nombre? A cette question l'imagination s'effraye; elle sent l\u00e0 une\n  nature de puissance immense, de richesse epouvantable.... Que sont ces\n  petits des petits? Rien moins que les constructeurs du globe o\u00f9 nous\n  sommes. De leurs corps, de leurs d\u00e9bris, ils ont pr\u00e9par\u00e9 le sol qui\n  est sous nos pas.... Et ce sont les plus petits qui ont fait les plus\n  grandes choses. L'imperceptible rhizopode s'est b\u00e2ti un monument bien\n  autre que les pyramides, pas moins que l'Italie centrale, une notable\n  partie de la cha\u00eene des Apennins. Mais c'\u00e9tait trop peu encore; les\n  masses \u00e9normes du Chili, les prodigieuses Cordill\u00e8res, qui regardent\n  le monde \u00e0 leurs pieds, sont le monument fun\u00e9raire o\u00f9 cet \u00eatre\n  insaisissable, et pour ainsi dire, invisible, a enseveli les d\u00e9bris de\n  son esp\u00e8ce d\u00efsparue.\"--(Michelet: _L'Insecte_.)\n\n\u00a7 5. In these passages, and those connected with them in the chapter\nfrom which they are taken, itself so vast in scope, and therefore so\nsublime, we may perhaps find the true relations of minuteness,\nmultitude, and magnitude. We shall not feel that there is no such thing\nas littleness, or no such thing as magnitude. Nor shall we be disposed\nto confuse a Volvox with the Cordilleras; but we may learn that they\nboth are bound together by links of eternal life and toil; we shall see\nthe vastest thing noble, chiefly for what it includes; and the meanest\nfor what it accomplishes. Thence we might gather--and the conclusion\nwill be found in experience true--that the sense of largeness would be\nmost grateful to minds capable of comprehending, balancing, and\ncomparing; but capable also of great patience and expectation; while the\nsense of minute wonderfulness would be attractive to minds acted upon by\nsharp, small, penetrative sympathies, and apt to be impatient,\nirregular, and partial. This fact is curiously shown in the relations\nbetween the temper of the great composers and the modern pathetic\nschool. I was surprised at the first rise of that school, now some years\nago, by observing how they restrained themselves to subjects which in\nother hands would have been wholly uninteresting (compare Vol. IV., p.\n19); and in their succeeding efforts, I saw with increasing wonder, that\nthey were almost destitute of the power of feeling vastness, or enjoying\nthe forms which expressed it. A mountain or great building only appeared\nto them as a piece of color of a certain shape. The powers it\nrepresented, or included, were invisible to them. In general they\navoided subjects expressing space or mass, and fastened on confined,\nbroken, and sharp forms; liking furze, fern, reeds, straw, stubble, dead\nleaves, and such like, better than strong stones, broad-flowing leaves,\nor rounded hills: in all such greater things, when forced to paint them,\nthey missed the main and mighty lines; and this no less in what they\nloved than in what they disliked; for though fond of foliage, their\ntrees always had a tendency to congeal into little acicular\nthorn-hedges, and never tossed free. Which modes of choice proceed\nnaturally from a petulant sympathy with local and immediately visible\ninterests or sorrows, not regarding their large consequences, nor\ncapable of understanding more massive view or more deeply deliberate\nmercifulness;--but peevish and horror-struck, and often incapable of\nself-control, though not of self-sacrifice. There are more people who\ncan forget themselves than govern themselves.\n\nThis narrowly pungent and bitter virtue has, however, its beautiful\nuses, and is of special value in the present day, when surface-work,\nshallow generalization, and cold arithmetical estimates of things, are\namong the chief dangers and causes of misery which men have to deal\nwith.\n\n\u00a7 6. On the other hand, and in clear distinction from all such workers,\nit is to be remembered that the great composers, not less deep in\nfeeling, are in the fixed habit of regarding as much the relations and\npositions, as the separate nature, of things; that they reap and thrash\nin the sheaf, never pluck ears to rub in the hand; fish with net, not\nline, and sweep their prey together within great cords of errorless\ncurve;--that nothing ever bears to them a separate or isolated aspect,\nbut leads or links a chain of aspects--that to them it is not merely the\nsurface, nor the substance, of anything that is of import; but its\ncircumference and continence: that they are pre-eminently patient and\nreserved; observant, not curious;--comprehensive, not conjectural; calm\nexceedingly; unerring, constant, terrible in steadfastness of intent;\nunconquerable: incomprehensible: always suggesting, implying, including,\nmore than can be told.\n\n\u00a7 7. And this may be seen down to their treatment of the smallest\nthings.\n\nFor there is nothing so small but we may, as we choose, see it in the\nwhole, or in part, and in subdued connection with other things, or in\nindividual and petty prominence. The greatest treatment is always that\nwhich gives conception the widest range, and most harmonious\nguidance;--it being permitted us to employ a certain quantity of time,\nand certain number of touches of pencil--he who with these embraces the\nlargest sphere of thought, and suggests within that sphere the most\nperfect order of thought, has wrought the most wisely, and therefore\nmost nobly.\n\n\u00a7 8. I do not, however, purpose here to examine or illustrate the\nnature of great treatment--to do so effectually would need many examples\nfrom the figure composers; and it will be better (if I have time to work\nout the subject carefully) that I should do so in a form which may be\neasily accessible to young students. Here I will only state in\nconclusion what it is chiefly important for all students to be convinced\nof, that all the technical qualities by which greatness of treatment is\nknown, such as reserve in color, tranquillity and largeness of line, and\nrefusal of unnecessary objects of interest, are, when they are real, the\nexponents of an habitually noble temper of mind, never the observances\nof a precept supposed to be useful. The refusal or reserve of a mighty\npainter cannot be imitated; it is only by reaching the same intellectual\nstrength that you will be able to give an equal dignity to your\nself-denial. No one can tell you beforehand what to accept, or what to\nignore; only remember always, in painting as in eloquence, the greater\nyour strength, the quieter will be your manner, and the fewer your\nwords; and in painting, as in all the arts and acts of life, the secret\nof high success will be found, not in a fretful, and various excellence,\nbut in a quiet singleness of justly chosen aim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE LAW OF PERFECTNESS.\n\n\n\u00a71. Among the several characteristics of great treatment which in the\nlast chapter were alluded to without being enlarged upon, one will be\nfound several times named;--reserve.\n\nIt is necessary for our present purpose that we should understand this\nquality more distinctly. I mean by it the power which a great painter\nexercises over himself in fixing certain limits, either of force, of\ncolor, or of quantity of work;--limits which he will not transgress in\nany part of his picture, even though here and there a painful sense of\nincompletion may exist, under the fixed conditions, and might tempt an\ninferior workman to infringe them. The nature of this reserve we must\nunderstand in order that we may also determine the nature of true\ncompletion or perfectness, which is the end of composition.\n\n\u00a7 2. For perfectness, properly so called, means harmony. The word\nsignifies, literally, the doing our work _thoroughly_. It does not mean\ncarrying it up to any constant and established degree of finish, but\ncarrying the whole of it up to a degree determined upon. In a chalk or\npencil sketch by a great master, it will often be found that the deepest\nshades are feeble tints of pale gray; the outlines nearly invisible, and\nthe forms brought out by a ghostly delicacy of touch, which, on looking\nclose to the paper, will be indistinguishable from its general texture.\nA single line of ink, occurring anywhere in such a drawing, would of\ncourse destroy it; placed in the darkness of a mouth or nostril, it\nwould turn the expression into a caricature; on a cheek or brow it would\nbe simply a blot. Yet let the blot remain, and let the master work up to\nit with lines of similar force; and the drawing which was before\nperfect, in terms of pencil, will become, under his hand, perfect in\nterms of ink; and what was before a scratch on the cheek will become a\nnecessary and beautiful part of its gradation.\n\nAll great work is thus reduced under certain conditions, and its right\nto be called complete depends on its fulfilment of them, not on the\nnature of the conditions chosen. Habitually, indeed, we call a colored\nwork which is satisfactory to us, finished, and a chalk drawing\nunfinished; but in the mind of the master, all his work is, according to\nthe sense in which you use the word, equally perfect or imperfect.\nPerfect, if you regard its purpose and limitation; imperfect, if you\ncompare it with the natural standard. In what appears to you consummate,\nthe master has assigned to himself terms of shortcoming, and marked with\na sad severity the point up to which he will permit himself to contend\nwith nature. Were it not for his acceptance of such restraint, he could\nneither quit his work, nor endure it. He could not quit it, for he would\nalways perceive more that might be done; he could not endure it, because\nall doing ended only in more elaborate deficiency.\n\n\u00a7 3. But we are apt to forget, in modern days, that the reserve of a man\nwho is not putting forth half his strength is different in manner and\ndignity from the effort of one who can do no more. Charmed, and justly\ncharmed, by the harmonious sketches of great painters, and by the\ngrandeur of their acquiescence in the point of pause, we have put\nourselves to produce sketches as an end instead of a means, and thought\nto imitate the painter's scornful restraint of his own power, by a\nscornful rejection of the things beyond ours. For many reasons,\ntherefore, it becomes desirable to understand precisely and finally what\na good painter means by completion.\n\n\u00a7 4. The sketches of true painters may be classed under the following\nheads:--\n\nI. _Experimental._--In which they are assisting an imperfect conception\nof a subject by trying the look of it on paper in different ways.\n\nBy the greatest men this kind of sketch is hardly ever made; they\nconceive their subjects distinctly at once, and their sketch is not to\ntry them, but to fasten them down. Raphael's form the only important\nexception--and the numerous examples of experimental work by him are\nevidence of his composition being technical rather than imaginative. I\nhave never seen a drawing of the kind by any great Venetian. Among the\nnineteen thousand sketches by Turner--which I arranged in the National\nGallery--there was, to the best of my recollection, _not one_. In\nseveral instances the work, after being carried forward a certain\nlength, had been abandoned and begun again with another view; sometimes\nalso two or more modes of treatment had been set side by side with a\nview to choice. But there were always two distinct imaginations\ncontending for realization--not experimental modifications of one.\n\n\u00a7 5. II. _Determinant._--The fastening down of an idea in the simplest\nterms, in order that it may not be disturbed or confused by after work.\nNearly all the great composers do this, methodically, before beginning a\npainting. Such sketches are usually in a high degree resolute and\ncompressive; the best of them outlined or marked calmly with the pen,\nand deliberately washed with color, indicating the places of the\nprincipal lights.\n\nFine drawings of this class never show any hurry or confusion. They are\nthe expression of concluded operations of mind, are drawn slowly, and\nare not so much sketches, as maps.\n\n\u00a7 6. III. _Commemorative._--Containing records of facts which the master\nrequired. These in their most elaborate form are \"studies,\" or drawings,\nfrom Nature, of parts needed in the composition, often highly finished\nin the part which is to be introduced. In this form, however, they never\noccur by the greatest imaginative masters. For by a truly great inventor\neverything is invented; no atom of the work is unmodified by his mind;\nand no study from nature, however beautiful, could be introduced by him\ninto his design without change; it would not fit with the rest. Finished\nstudies for introduction are therefore chiefly by Leonardo and Raphael,\nboth technical designers rather than imaginative ones.\n\nCommemorative sketches, by great masters, are generally hasty, merely to\nput them in mind of motives of invention, or they are shorthand\nmemoranda of things with which they do not care to trouble their memory;\nor, finally, accurate notes of things which they must _not_ modify by\ninvention, as local detail, costume, and such like. You may find\nperfectly accurate drawings of coats of arms, portions of dresses,\npieces of architecture, and so on, by all the great men; but you will\nnot find elaborate studies of bits of their pictures.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 97.]\n\n\u00a7 7. When the sketch is made merely as a memorandum, it is impossible to\nsay how little, or what kind of drawing, may be sufficient for the\npurpose. It is of course likely to be hasty from its very nature, and\nunless the exact purpose be understood, it may be as unintelligible as a\npiece of shorthand writing. For instance, in the corner of a sheet of\nsketches made at sea, among those of Turner, at the National Gallery,\noccurs this one, Fig. 97. I suppose most persons would not see much use\nin it. It nevertheless was probably one of the most important sketches\nmade in Turner's life, fixing for ever in his mind certain facts\nrespecting the sunrise from a clear sea-horizon. Having myself watched\nsuch sunrise, occasionally, I perceive this sketch to mean as follows:--\n\n(Half circle at the top.) When the sun was only half out of the sea, the\nhorizon was sharply traced across its disk, and red streaks of vapor\ncrossed the lower part of it.\n\n(Horseshoe underneath.) When the sun had risen so far as to show\nthree-quarters of its diameter, its light became so great as to conceal\nthe sea-horizon, consuming it away in descending rays.\n\n(Smaller horseshoe below.) When on the point of detaching itself from\nthe horizon, the sun still consumed away the line of the sea, and looked\nas if pulled down by it.\n\n(Broken oval.) Having risen about a fourth of its diameter above the\nhorizon, the sea-line reappeared; but the risen orb was flattened by\nrefraction into an oval.\n\n(Broken circle.) Having risen a little farther above the sea-line, the\nsun, at last, got itself round, and all right, with sparkling reflection\non the waves just below the sea-line.\n\nThis memorandum is for its purpose entirely perfect and efficient,\nthough the sun is not drawn carefully round, but with a dash of the\npencil; but there is no affected or desired slightness. Could it have\nbeen drawn round as instantaneously, it would have been. The purpose is\nthroughout determined; there is no scrawling, as in vulgar sketching.[1]\n\n\u00a7 8. Again, Fig. 98 is a facsimile of one of Turner's \"memoranda,\" of a\ncomplete subject,[2] Lausanne, from the road to Fribourg.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 98. _To face page 184._]\n\nThis example is entirely characteristic of his usual drawings from\nnature, which unite two characters, being _both_ commemorative and\ndeterminant:--Commemorative, in so far as they note certain facts about\nthe place: determinant, in that they record an impression received from\nthe place there and then, together with the principal arrangement of the\ncomposition in which it was afterwards to be recorded. In this mode of\nsketching, Turner differs from all other men whose work I have studied.\nHe never draws accurately on the spot, with the intention of modifying\nor composing afterwards from the materials; but instantly modifies as he\ndraws, placing his memoranda where they are to be ultimately used, and\ntaking exactly what he wants, not a fragment or line more.\n\n\u00a7 9. This sketch has been made in the afternoon. He had been impressed\nas he walked up the hill, by the vanishing of the lake in the golden\nhorizon, without end of waters, and by the opposition of the pinnacled\ncastle and cathedral to its level breadth. That must be drawn! and from\nthis spot, where all the buildings are set well together. But it\nlucklessly happens that, though the buildings come just where he wants\nthem in situation, they don't in height. For the castle (the square mass\non the right) is in reality higher than the cathedral, and would block\nout the end of the lake. Down it goes instantly a hundred feet, that we\nmay see the lake over it; without the smallest regard for the military\nposition of Lausanne.\n\n\u00a7 10. Next: The last low spire on the left is in truth concealed behind\nthe nearer bank, the town running far down the hill (and climbing\nanother hill) in that direction. But the group oi spires, without it,\nwould not be rich enough to give a proper impression of Lausanne, as a\nspiry place. Turner quietly sends to fetch the church from round the\ncorner, places it where he likes, and indicates its distance only by\na\u00ebrial perspective (much greater in the pencil drawing than in the\nwoodcut).\n\n\u00a7 11. But again: Not only the spire of the lower church, but the peak of\nthe Rochers d'Enfer (that highest in the distance) would in reality be\nout of sight; it is much farther round to the left. This would never do\neither; for without it, we should have no idea that Lausanne was\nopposite the mountains, nor should we have a nice sloping line to lead\nus into the distance.\n\nWith the same unblushing tranquillity of mind in which he had ordered up\nthe church, Turner sends also to fetch the Rochers d'Enfer; and puts\n_them_ also where he chooses, to crown the slope of distant hill, which,\nas every traveller knows, in its decline to the west, is one of the most\nnotable features of the view from Lausanne.\n\n\u00a7 12. These modifications, easily traceable in the large features of the\ndesign, are carried out with equal audacity and precision in every part\nof it. Every one of those confused lines on the right indicates\nsomething that is really there, only everything is shifted and sorted\ninto the exact places that Turner chose. The group of dark objects near\nus at the foot of the bank is a cluster of mills, which, when the\npicture was completed, were to be the blackest things in it, and to\nthrow back the castle, and the golden horizon; while the rounded touches\nat the bottom, under the castle, indicate a row of trees, which follow a\nbrook coming out of the ravine behind us; and were going to be made very\nround indeed in the picture (to oppose the spiky and angular masses of\ncastle) and very consecutive, in order to form another conducting line\ninto the distance.\n\n\u00a7 13. These motives, or motives like them, might perhaps be guessed on\nlooking at the sketch. But no one without going to the spot would\nunderstand the meaning of the vertical lines in the left-hand lowest\ncorner.\n\nThey are a \"memorandum\" of the artificial verticalness of a low\nsandstone cliff, which has been cut down there to give space for a bit\nof garden belonging to a public-house beneath, from which garden a path\nleads along the ravine to the Lausanne rifle ground. The value of these\nvertical lines in repeating those of the cathedral is very great; it\nwould be greater still in the completed picture, increasing the sense of\nlooking down from a height, and giving grasp of, and power over, the\nwhole scene.\n\n\u00a7 14. Throughout the sketch, as in all that Turner made, the observing\nand combining intellect acts in the same manner. Not a line is lost, nor\na moment of time; and though the pencil flies, and the whole thing is\nliterally done as fast as a piece of shorthand writing, it is to the\nfull as purposeful and compressed, so that while there are indeed dashes\nof the pencil which are unintentional, they are only unintentional as\nthe form of a letter is, in fast writing, not from want of intention,\nbut from the accident of haste.\n\n\u00a7 15. I know not if the reader can understand,--I myself cannot, though\nI see it to be demonstrable,--the simultaneous occurrence of idea which\nproduces such a drawing as this: the grasp of the whole, from the laying\nof the first line, which induces continual modifications of all that is\ndone, out of respect to parts not done yet. No line is ever changed or\neffaced: no experiment made; but every touch is placed with reference to\nall that are to succeed, as to all that have gone before; every addition\ntakes its part, as the stones in an arch of a bridge; the last touch\nlocks the arch. Remove that keystone, or remove any other of the stones\nof the vault, and the whole will fall.\n\n\u00a7 16. I repeat--the power of mind which accomplishes this, is yet wholly\ninexplicable to me, as it was when first I defined it in the chapter on\nimagination associative, in the second volume. But the grandeur of the\npower impresses me daily more and more; and, in quitting the subject of\ninvention, let me assert finally, in clearest and strongest terms, that\nno painting is of any true imaginative perfectness at all, unless it has\nbeen thus conceived.\n\nOne sign of its being thus conceived may be always found in the\nstraightforwardness of its work. There are continual disputes among\nartists as to the best way of doing things, which may nearly all be\nresolved into confessions of indetermination. If you know precisely what\nyou want, you will not feel much hesitation in setting about it; and a\npicture may be painted almost any way, so only that it can be a straight\nway. Give a true painter a ground of black, white, scarlet, or green,\nand out of it he will bring what you choose. From the black, brightness;\nfrom the white, sadness; from the scarlet, coolness; from the green,\nglow: he will make anything out of anything, but in each case his method\nwill be pure, direct, perfect, the shortest and simplest possible. You\nwill find him, moreover, indifferent as to succession of process. Ask\nhim to begin at the bottom of the picture instead of the top,--to finish\ntwo square inches of it without touching the rest, or to lay a separate\nground for every part before finishing any;--it is all the same to him!\nWhat he will do if left to himself, depends on mechanical convenience,\nand on the time at his disposal. If he has a large brush in his hand,\nand plenty of one color ground, he may lay as much as is wanted of that\ncolor, at once, in every part of the picture where it is to occur; and\nif any is left, perhaps walk to another canvas, and lay the rest of it\nwhere it will be wanted on that. If, on the contrary, he has a small\nbrush in his hand, and is interested in a particular spot of the\npicture, he will, perhaps, not stir from it till that bit is finished.\nBut the absolutely best, or centrally, and entirely _right_ way of\npainting is as follows:--\n\n\u00a7 17. A light ground, white, red, yellow, or gray, not brown, or black.\nOn that an entirely accurate, and firm black outline of the whole\npicture, in its principal masses. The outline to be exquisitely correct\nas far as it reaches, but not to include small details; the use of it\nbeing to limit the masses of first color. The ground-colors then to be\nlaid firmly, each on its own proper part of the picture, as inlaid work\nin a mosaic table, meeting each other truly at the edges: as much of\neach being laid as will get itself into the state which the artist\nrequires it to be in for his second painting, by the time he comes to\nit. On this first color, the second colors and subordinate masses laid\nin due order, now, of course, necessarily without previous outline, and\nall small detail reserved to the last, the bracelet being not touched,\nnor indicated in the last, till the arm is finished.[3]\n\n\u00a7 18. This is, as far as it can be expressed in few words, the right, or\nVenetian way of painting; but it is incapable of absolute definition,\nfor it depends on the scale, the material, and the nature of the object\nrepresented, _how much_ a great painter will do with his first color; or\nhow many after processes he will use. Very often the first color, richly\nblended and worked into, is also the last; sometimes it wants a glaze\nonly to modify it; sometimes an entirely different color above it.\nTurner's storm-blues, for instance, were produced by a black ground,\nwith opaque blue, mixed with white, struck over it.[4] The amount of\ndetail given in the first color will also depend on convenience. For\ninstance, if a jewel _fastens_ a fold of dress, a Venetian will lay\nprobably a piece of the jewel color in its place at the time he draws\nthe fold; but if the jewel _falls upon_ the dress, he will paint the\nfolds only in the ground color, and the jewel afterwards. For in the\nfirst case his hand must pause, at any rate, where the fold is fastened;\nso that he may as well mark the color of the gem: but he would have to\ncheck his hand in the sweep with which he drew the drapery, if he\npainted a jewel that fell upon it with the first color. So far, however,\nas he can possibly use the under color, he will, in whatever he has to\nsuperimpose. There is a pretty little instance of such economical work\nin the painting of the pearls on the breast of the elder princess, in\nour best Paul Veronese (Family of Darius). The lowest is about the size\nof a small hazel-nut, and falls on her rose-red dress. Any other but a\nVenetian would have put a complete piece of white paint over the dress,\nfor the whole pearl, and painted into that the colors of the stone. But\nVeronese knows beforehand that all the dark side of the pearl will\nreflect the red of the dress. He will not put white over the red, only\nto put red over the white again. He leaves the actual dress for the dark\nside of the pearl, and with two small separate touches, one white,\nanother brown, places its high light and shadow. This he does with\nperfect care and calm; but in two decisive seconds. There is no dash,\nnor display, nor hurry, nor error. The exactly right thing is done in\nthe exactly right place, and not one atom of color, nor moment of time\nspent vainly. Look close at the two touches,--you wonder what they mean.\nRetire six feet from the picture--the pearl is there!\n\n\u00a7 19. The degree in which the ground colors are extended over his\npicture, as he works, is to a great painter absolutely indifferent. It\nis all the same to him whether he grounds a head, and finishes it at\nonce to the shoulders, leaving all round it white; or whether he grounds\nthe whole picture. His harmony, paint as he will, never can be complete\ntill the last touch is given; so long as it remains incomplete, he does\nnot care how little of it is suggested, or how many notes are missing.\nAll is wrong till all is right; and he must be able to bear the\nall-wrongness till his work is done, or he cannot paint at all. His mode\nof treatment will, therefore, depend on the nature of his subject; as is\nbeautifully shown in the water-color sketches by Turner in the National\nGallery. His general system was to complete inch by inch; leaving the\npaper quite white all round, especially if the work was to be delicate.\nThe most exquisite drawings left unfinished in the collection--those at\nRome and Naples--are thus outlined accurately on pure white paper, begun\nin the middle of the sheet, and worked out to the side, finishing as he\nproceeds. If, however, any united effect of light or color is to embrace\na large part of the subject, he will lay it in with a broad wash over\nthe whole paper at once; then paint into it using it as a ground, and\nmodifying it in the pure Venetian manner. His oil pictures were laid\nroughly with ground colors, and painted into with such rapid skill, that\nthe artists who used to see him finishing at the Academy sometimes\nsuspected him of having the picture finished underneath the colors he\nshowed, and removing, instead of adding, as they watched.\n\n\u00a7 20. But, whatever the means used may be, the certainty and directness\nof them imply absolute grasp of the whole subject, and without this\ngrasp there is no good painting. This, finally, let me declare, without\nqualification--that partial conception is no conception. The whole\npicture must be imagined, or none of it is. And this grasp of the whole\nimplies very strange and sublime qualities of mind. It is not possible,\nunless the feelings are completely under control; the least excitement\nor passion will disturb the measured equity of power; a painter needs to\nbe as cool as a general; and as little moved or subdued by his sense of\npleasure, as a soldier by the sense of pain. Nothing good can be done\nwithout intense feeling; but it must be feeling so crushed, that the\nwork is set about with mechanical steadiness, absolutely untroubled, as\na surgeon,--not without pity, but conquering it and putting it\naside--begins an operation. Until the feelings can give strength enough\nto the will to enable it to conquer them, they are not strong enough. If\nyou cannot leave your picture at any moment;--cannot turn from it and go\non with another, while the color is drying;--cannot work at any part of\nit you choose with equal contentment--you have not firm enough grasp of\nit.\n\n\u00a7 21. It follows also, that no vain or selfish person can possibly\npaint, in the noble sense of the word. Vanity and selfishness are\ntroublous, eager, anxious, petulant:--painting can only be done in calm\nof mind. Resolution is not enough to secure this; it must be secured by\ndisposition as well. You may resolve to think of your picture only; but,\nif you have been fretted before beginning, no manly or clear grasp of it\nwill be possible for you. No forced calm is calm enough. Only honest\ncalm,--natural calm. You might as well try by external pressure to\nsmoothe a lake till it could reflect the sky, as by violence of effort\nto secure the peace through which only you can reach imagination. That\npeace must come in its own time; as the waters settle themselves into\nclearness as well as quietness; you can no more filter your mind into\npurity than you can compress it into calmness; you must keep it pure, if\nyou would have it pure; and throw no stones into it, if you would have\nit quiet. Great courage and self-command may, to a certain extent, give\npower of painting without the true calmness underneath; but never of\ndoing first-rate work. There is sufficient evidence of this, in even\nwhat we know of great men, though of the greatest, we nearly always know\nthe least (and that necessarily; they being very silent, and not much\ngiven to setting themselves forth to questioners; apt to be\ncontemptuously reserved, no less than unselfishly). But in such writings\nand sayings as we possess of theirs, we may trace a quite curious\ngentleness and serene courtesy. Rubens' letters are almost ludicrous in\ntheir unhurried politeness. Reynolds, swiftest of painters, was gentlest\nof companions; so also Velasquez, Titian, and Veronese.\n\n\u00a7 22. It is gratuitous to add that no shallow or petty person can paint.\nMere cleverness or special gift never made an artist. It is only\nperfectness of mind, unity, depth, decision, the highest qualities, in\nfine, of the intellect, which will form the imagination.\n\n\u00a7 23. And, lastly, no false person can paint. A person false at heart\nmay, when it suits his purposes, seize a stray truth here or there; but\nthe relations of truth,--its perfectness,--that which makes it wholesome\ntruth, he can never perceive. As wholeness and wholesomeness go\ntogether, so also sight with sincerity; it is only the constant desire\nof, and submissiveness to truth, which can measure its strange angles\nand mark its infinite aspects; and fit them and knit them into the\nstrength of sacred invention.\n\nSacred, I call it deliberately; for it is thus, in the most accurate\nsenses, humble as well as helpful; meek in its receiving, as magnificent\nin its disposing; the name it bears being rightly given to invention\nformal, not because it forms, but because it finds. For you cannot find\na lie; you must make it for yourself. False things may be imagined, and\nfalse things composed; but only truth can be invented.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The word in the uppermost note, to the right of the sun, is\n    \"red;\" the others, \"yellow,\" \"purple,\" \"cold\" light gray. He always\n    noted the colors of the skies in this way.\n\n  [2] It is not so good a facsimile as those I have given from Durer,\n    for the original sketch is in light pencil; and the thickening and\n    delicate emphasis of the lines, on which nearly all the beauty of the\n    drawing depended, cannot be expressed in the woodcut, though marked\n    by a double line as well as I could. But the figure will answer its\n    purpose well enough in showing Turner's mode of sketching.\n\n  [3] Thus, in the Holy Family of Titian, lately purchased for the\n    National Gallery, the piece of St. Catherine's dress over her\n    shoulders is painted on the under dress, after that was dry. All its\n    value would have been lost, had the slightest tint or trace of it\n    been given previously. This picture, I think, and certainly many of\n    Tintoret's, are painted on dark grounds; but this is to save time,\n    and with some loss to the future brightness of the color.\n\n  [4] In cleaning the \"Hero and Leander,\" now in the National\n    collection, these upper glazes were taken off, and only the black\n    ground left. I remember the picture when its distance was of the most\n    exquisite blue. I have no doubt the \"Fire at Sea\" has had its\n    distance destroyed in the same manner.\n\n\n\n\nPART IX.\n\nOF IDEAS OF RELATION:--II. OF INVENTION SPIRITUAL.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE DARK MIRROR.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. In the course of our inquiry into the moral of landscape (Vol.\nIII., chap. 17), we promised, at the close of our work, to seek for some\nbetter, or at least clearer, conclusions than were then possible to us.\nWe confined ourselves in that chapter to the vindication of the probable\nutility of the _love_ of natural scenery. We made no assertion of the\nusefulness of _painting_ such scenery. It might be well to delight in\nthe real country, or admire the real flowers and true mountains. But it\ndid not follow that it was advisable to paint them.\n\nFar from it. Many reasons might be given why we should not paint them.\nAll the purposes of good which we saw that the beauty of nature could\naccomplish, may be better fulfilled by the meanest of her realities than\nby the brightest of imitations. For prolonged entertainment, no picture\ncan be compared with the wealth of interest which may be found in the\nherbage of the poorest field, or blossoms of the narrowest copse. As\nsuggestive of supernatural power, the passing away of a fitful\nrain-cloud, or opening of dawn, are in their change and mystery more\npregnant than any pictures. A child would, I suppose, receive a\nreligious lesson from a flower more willingly than from a print of one,\nand might be taught to understand the nineteenth Psalm, on a starry\nnight, better than by diagrams of the constellations.\n\nWhence it might seem a waste of time to draw landscape at all.\n\nI believe it is;--to draw landscape mere and solitary, however beautiful\n(unless it be for the sake of geographical or other science, or of\nhistorical record). But there _is_ a kind of landscape which it is not\ninexpedient to draw. What kind, we may probably discover by considering\nthat which mankind has hitherto contented itself with painting.\n\n\u00a7 2. We may arrange nearly all existing landscape under the following\nheads:--\n\nI. HEROIC.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by men not\nperhaps perfectly civilized, but noble, and usually subjected to severe\ntrials, and by spiritual powers of the highest order. It is frequently\nwithout architecture; never without figure-action, or emotion. Its\nprincipal master is Titian.\n\nII. CLASSICAL.--Representing an imaginary world, inhabited by perfectly\ncivilized men, and by spiritual powers of an inferior order.\n\nIt generally assumes this condition of things to have existed among the\nGreek and Roman nations. It contains usually architecture of an elevated\ncharacter, and always incidents of figure-action and emotion. Its\nprincipal master is Nicolo Poussin.\n\nIII. PASTORAL.--Representing peasant life and its daily work, or such\nscenery as may naturally be suggestive of it, consisting usually of\nsimple landscape, in part subjected to agriculture, with figures,\ncattle, and domestic buildings. No supernatural being is ever visibly\npresent. It does not in ordinary cases admit architecture of an elevated\ncharacter, nor exciting incident. Its principal master is Cuyp.\n\nIV. CONTEMPLATIVE.--Directed principally to the observance of the powers\nof Nature, and record of the historical associations connected with\nlandscape, illustrated by, or contrasted with, existing states of human\nlife. No supernatural being is visibly present. It admits every variety\nof subject, and requires, in general, figure incident, but not of an\nexciting character. It was not developed completely until recent times.\nIts principal master is Turner.[1]\n\n\u00a7 3. These are the four true orders of landscape, not of course\ndistinctly separated from each other in all cases, but very distinctly\nin typical examples. Two spurious forms require separate note.\n\n(A.) PICTURESQUE.--This is indeed rather the degradation (or sometimes\nthe undeveloped state) of the Contemplative, than a distinct class; but\nit may be considered generally as including pictures meant to display\nthe skill of the artist, and his powers of composition; or to give\nagreeable forms and colors, irrespective of sentiment. It will include\nmuch modern art, with the street views and church interiors of the\nDutch, and the works of Canaletto, Guardi, Tempesta, and the like.\n\n(B.) HYBRID.--Landscape in which the painter endeavors to unite the\nirreconcileable sentiment of two or more of the above-named classes. Its\nprincipal masters are Berghem and Wouvermans.\n\n\u00a7 4. Passing for the present by these inferior schools, we find that all\ntrue landscape, whether simple or exalted, depends primarily for its\ninterest on connection with humanity, or with spiritual powers. Banish\nyour heroes and nymphs from the classical landscape--its laurel shades\nwill move you no more. Show that the dark clefts of the most romantic\nmountain are uninhabited and untraversed; it will cease to be romantic.\nFields without shepherds and without fairies will have no gaiety in\ntheir green, nor will the noblest masses of ground or colors of cloud\narrest or raise your thoughts, if the earth has no life to sustain, and\nthe heaven none to refresh.\n\n\u00a7 5. It might perhaps be thought that, since from scenes in which the\nfigure was principal, and landscape symbolical and subordinate (as in\nthe art of Egypt), the process of ages had led us to scenes in which\nlandscape was principal and the figure subordinate,--a continuance in\nthe same current of feeling might bring forth at last an art from which\nhumanity and its interests should wholly vanish, leaving us to the\npassionless admiration of herbage and stone. But this will not, and\ncannot be. For observe the parallel instance in the gradually\nincreasing importance of dress. From the simplicity of Greek design,\nconcentrating, I suppose, its skill chiefly on the naked form, the\ncourse of time developed conditions of Venetian imagination which found\nnearly as much interest, and expressed nearly as much dignity, in folds\nof dress and fancies of decoration as in the faces of the figures\nthemselves; so that if from Veronese's Marriage in Cana we remove the\narchitecture and the gay dresses, we shall not in the faces and hands\nremaining, find a satisfactory abstract of the picture. But try it the\nother way. Take out the faces; leave the draperies, and how then? Put\nthe fine dresses and jewelled girdles into the best group you can; paint\nthem with all Veronese's skill: will they satisfy you?\n\n\u00a7 6. Not so. As long as they are in their due service and\nsubjection--while their folds are formed by the motion of men, and their\nlustre adorns the nobleness of men--so long the lustre and the folds are\nlovely. But cast them from the human limbs;--golden circlet and silken\ntissue are withered; the dead leaves of autumn are more precious than\nthey.\n\nThis is just as true, but in a far deeper sense, of the weaving of the\nnatural robe of man's soul. Fragrant tissue of flowers, golden circlets\nof clouds, are only fair when they meet the fondness of human thoughts,\nand glorify human visions of heaven.\n\n\u00a7 7. It is the leaning on this truth which, more than any other, has\nbeen the distinctive character of all my own past work. And in closing a\nseries of Art-studies, prolonged during so many years, it may be perhaps\npermitted me to point out this specialty--the rather that it has been,\nof all their characters, the one most denied. I constantly see that the\nsame thing takes place in the estimation formed by the modern public of\nthe work of almost any true person, living or dead. It is not needful to\nstate here the causes of such error: but the fact is indeed so, that\nprecisely the distinctive root and leading force of any true man's work\nand way are the things denied concerning him.\n\nAnd in these books of mine, their distinctive character, as essays on\nart, is their bringing everything to a root in human passion or human\nhope. Arising first not in any desire to explain the principles of art,\nbut in the endeavor to defend an individual painter from injustice,\nthey have been colored throughout,--nay, continually altered in shape,\nand even warped and broken, by digressions respecting social questions,\nwhich had for me an interest tenfold greater than the work I had been\nforced into undertaking. Every principle of painting which I have stated\nis traced to some vital or spiritual fact; and in my works on\narchitecture the preference accorded finally to one school over another,\nis founded on a comparison of their influences on the life of the\nworkman--a question by all other writers on the subject of architecture\nwholly forgotten or despised.\n\n\u00a7 8. The essential connection of the power of landscape with human\nemotion is not less certain, because in many impressive pictures the\nlink is slight or local. That the connection should exist at a single\npoint is all that we need. The comparison with the dress of the body may\nbe carried out into the extremest parallelism. It may often happen that\nno part of the figure wearing the dress is discernible, nevertheless,\nthe perceivable fact that the drapery is worn by a figure makes all the\ndifference. In one of the most sublime figures in the world this is\nactually so: one of the fainting Marys in Tintoret's Crucifixion has\ncast her mantle over her head, and her face is lost in its shade, and\nher whole figure veiled in folds of gray. But what the difference is\nbetween that gray woof, that gathers round her as she falls, and the\nsame folds cast in a heap upon the ground, that difference, and more,\nexists between the power of Nature through which humanity is seen, and\nher power in the desert. Desert--whether of leaf or sand--true\ndesertness is not in the want of leaves, but of life. Where humanity is\nnot, and was not, the best natural beauty is more than vain. It is even\nterrible; not as the dress cast aside from the body; but as an\nembroidered shroud hiding a skeleton.\n\n\u00a7 9. And on each side of a right feeling in this matter there lie, as\nusual, two opposite errors.\n\nThe first, that of caring for man only; and for the rest of the\nuniverse, little, or not at all, which, in a measure, was the error of\nthe Greeks and Florentines; the other, that of caring for the universe\nonly;--for man, not at all,--which, in a measure, is the error of modern\nscience, and of the Art connecting itself with such science.\n\nThe degree of power which any man may ultimately possess in\nlandscape-painting will depend finally on his perception of this\ninfluence. If he has to paint the desert, its awfulness--if the garden,\nits gladsomeness--will arise simply and only from his sensibility to the\nstory of life. Without this he is nothing but a scientific mechanist;\nthis, though it cannot make him yet a painter, raises him to the sphere\nin which he may become one. Nay, the mere shadow and semblance of this\nhave given dangerous power to works in all other respects unnoticeable;\nand the least degree of its true presence has given value to work in all\nother respects vain.\n\nThe true presence, observe, of sympathy with the spirit of man. Where\nthis is not, sympathy with any higher spirit is impossible.\n\nFor the directest manifestation of Deity to man is in His own image,\nthat is, in man.\n\n\u00a7 10. \"In his own image. After his likeness.\" _Ad imaginem et\nsimilitudinem Suam._ I do not know what people in general understand by\nthose words. I suppose they ought to be understood. The truth they\ncontain seems to lie at the foundation of our knowledge both of God and\nman; yet do we not usually pass the sentence by, in dull reverence,\nattaching no definite sense to it at all? For all practical purpose,\nmight it not as well be out of the text?\n\nI have no time, nor much desire, to examine the vague expressions of\nbelief with which the verse has been encumbered. Let us try to find its\nonly possible plain significance.\n\n\u00a7 11. It cannot be supposed that the bodily shape of man resembles, or\nresembled, any bodily shape in Deity. The likeness must therefore be, or\nhave been, in the soul. Had it wholly passed away, and the Divine soul\nbeen altered into a soul brutal or diabolic, I suppose we should have\nbeen told of the change. But we are told nothing of the kind. The verse\nstill stands as if for our use and trust. It was only death which was to\nbe our punishment. Not _change_. So far as we live, the image is still\nthere; defiled, if you will; broken, if you will; all but effaced, if\nyou will, by death and the shadow of it. But not changed. We are not\nmade now in any other image than God's. There are, indeed, the two\nstates of this image--the earthly and heavenly, but both Adamite, both\nhuman, both the same likeness; only one defiled, and one pure. So that\nthe soul of man is still a mirror, wherein may be seen, darkly, the\nimage of the mind of God.\n\nThese may seem daring words. I am sorry that they do; but I am helpless\nto soften them. Discover any other meaning of the text if you are\nable;--but be sure that it _is_ a meaning--a meaning in your head and\nheart;--not a subtle gloss, nor a shifting of one verbal expression into\nanother, both idealess. I repeat, that, to me, the verse has, and can\nhave, no other signification than this--that the soul of man is a mirror\nof the mind of God. A mirror dark, distorted, broken, use what blameful\nwords you please of its state; yet in the main, a true mirror, out of\nwhich alone, and by which alone, we can know anything of God at all.\n\n\"How?\" the reader, perhaps, answers indignantly. \"I know the nature of\nGod by revelation, not by looking into myself.\"\n\nRevelation to what? To a nature incapable of receiving truth? That\ncannot be; for only to a nature capable of truth, desirous of it,\ndistinguishing it, feeding upon it, revelation is possible. To a being\nundesirous of it, and hating it, revelation is impossible. There can be\nnone to a brute, or fiend. In so far, therefore, as you love truth, and\nlive therein, in so far revelation can exist for you;--and in so far,\nyour mind is the image of God's.\n\n\u00a7 12. But consider farther, not only _to_ what, but _by_ what, is the\nrevelation. By sight? or word? If by sight, then to eyes which see\njustly. Otherwise, no sight would be revelation. So far, then, as your\nsight is just, it is the image of God's sight.\n\nIf by words,--how do you know their meanings? Here is a short piece of\nprecious word revelation, for instance. \"God is love.\"\n\nLove! yes. But what is _that_? The revelation does not tell you that, I\nthink. Look into the mirror, and you will see. Out of your own heart you\nmay know what love is. In no other possible way,--by no other help or\nsign. All the words and sounds ever uttered, all the revelations of\ncloud, or flame, or crystal, are utterly powerless. They cannot tell\nyou, in the smallest point, what love means. Only the broken mirror\ncan.\n\n\u00a7 13. Here is more revelation. \"God is just!\" Just! What is that? The\nrevelation cannot help you to discover. You say it is dealing equitably\nor equally. But how do you discern the equality? Not by inequality of\nmind; not by a mind incapable of weighing, judging, or distributing. If\nthe lengths seem unequal in the broken mirror, for you they are unequal;\nbut if they seem equal, then the mirror is true. So far as you recognize\nequality, and your conscience tells you what is just, so far your mind\nis the image of God's: and so far as you do _not_ discern this nature of\njustice or equality, the words \"God is just\" bring no revelation to you.\n\n\u00a7 14. \"But His thoughts are not as our thoughts.\" No: the sea is not as\nthe standing pool by the wayside. Yet when the breeze crisps the pool,\nyou may see the image of the breakers, and a likeness of the foam. Nay,\nin some sort, the same foam. If the sea is for ever invisible to you,\nsomething you may learn of it from the pool. Nothing, assuredly, any\notherwise.\n\n\"But this poor miserable Me! Is _this_, then, all the book I have got to\nread about God in?\" Yes, truly so. No other book, nor fragment of book,\nthan that, will you ever find;--no velvet-bound missal, nor\nfrankincensed manuscript;--nothing hieroglyphic nor cuneiform; papyrus\nand pyramid are alike silent on this matter;--nothing in the clouds\nabove, nor in the earth beneath. That flesh-bound volume is the only\nrevelation that is, that was, or that can be. In that is the image of\nGod painted; in that is the law of God written; in that is the promise\nof God revealed. Know thyself; for through thyself only thou canst know\nGod.\n\n\u00a7 15. Through the glass, darkly. But, except through the glass, in\nnowise.\n\nA tremulous crystal, waved as water, poured out upon the ground;--you\nmay defile it, despise it, pollute it at your pleasure, and at your\nperil; for on the peace of those weak waves must all the heaven you\nshall ever gain be first seen; and through such purity as you can win\nfor those dark waves, must all the light of the risen Sun of\nrighteousness be bent down, by faint refraction. Cleanse them, and calm\nthem, as you love your life.\n\nTherefore it is that all the power of nature depends on subjection to\nthe human soul. Man is the sun of the world; more than the real sun. The\nfire of his wonderful heart is the only light and heat worth gauge or\nmeasure. Where he is, are the tropics; where he is not, the ice-world.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] I have been embarrassed in assigning the names to these orders of\n    art, the term \"Contemplative\" belonging in justice nearly as much to\n    the romantic and pastoral conception as to the modern landscape. I\n    intended, originally, to call the four schools--Romantic, Classic,\n    Georgic, and Theoretic--which would have been more accurate; and more\n    consistent with the nomenclature of the second volume; but would not\n    have been pleasant in sound, nor to the general reader, very clear in\n    sense.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE LANCE OF PALLAS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. It might be thought that the tenor of the preceding chapter was in\nsome sort adverse to my repeated statement that all great art is the\nexpression of man's delight in God's work, not in _his own._ But\nobserve, he is not himself his own work: he is himself precisely the\nmost wonderful piece of God's workmanship extant. In this best piece not\nonly he is bound to take delight, but cannot, in a right state of\nthought, take delight in anything else, otherwise than through himself.\nThrough himself, however, as the sun of creation, not as _the_ creation.\nIn himself, as the light of the world.[1] Not as being the world. Let\nhim stand in his due relation to other creatures, and to inanimate\nthings--know them all and love them, as made for him, and he for\nthem;--and he becomes himself the greatest and holiest of them. But let\nhim cast off this relation, despise and forget the less creation around\nhim, and instead of being the light of the world, he is as a sun in\nspace--a fiery ball, spotted with storm.\n\n\u00a7 2. All the diseases of mind leading to fatalest ruin consist primarily\nin this isolation. They are the concentration of man upon himself,\nwhether his heavenly interests or his worldly interests, matters not; it\nis the being _his own_ interests which makes the regard of them so\nmortal. Every form of asceticism on one side, of sensualism on the\nother, is an isolation of his soul or of his body; the fixing his\nthoughts upon them alone: while every healthy state of nations and of\nindividual minds consists in the unselfish presence of the human spirit\neverywhere, energizing over all things; speaking and living through all\nthings.\n\n\u00a7 3. Man being thus the crowning and ruling work of God, it will follow\nthat all his best art must have something to tell about himself, as the\nsoul of things, and ruler of creatures. It must also make this reference\nto himself under a true conception of his own nature. Therefore all art\nwhich involves no reference to man is inferior or nugatory. And all art\nwhich involves misconception of man, or base thought of him, is in that\ndegree false, and base.\n\nNow the basest thought possible concerning him is, that he has no\nspiritual nature; and the foolishest misunderstanding of him possible\nis, that he has or should have, no animal nature. For his nature is\nnobly animal, nobly spiritual--coherently and irrevocably so; neither\npart of it may, but at its peril, expel, despise, or defy the other. All\ngreat art confesses and worships both.\n\n\u00a7 4. The art which, since the writings of Rio and Lord Lindsay, is\nspecially known as \"Christian,\" erred by pride in its denial of the\nanimal nature of man;--and, in connection with all monkish and fanatical\nforms of religion, by looking always to another world instead of this.\nIt wasted its strength in visions, and was therefore swept away,\nnotwithstanding all its good and glory, by the strong truth of the\nnaturalist art of the sixteenth century. But that naturalist art erred\non the other side; denied at last the spiritual nature of man, and\nperished in corruption.\n\nA contemplative reaction is taking place in modern times, out of which\nit may be hoped a new spiritual art may be developed. The first school\nof landscape, named, in the foregoing chapter, the Heroic, is that of\nthe noble naturalists. The second (Classical), and third (Pastoral),\nbelong to the time of sensual decline. The fourth (Contemplative) is\nthat of modern revival.\n\n\u00a7 5. But why, the reader will ask, is no place given in this scheme to\nthe \"Christian\" or spiritual art which preceded the naturalists? Because\nall landscape belonging to that art is subordinate, and in one essential\nprinciple false. It is subordinate, because intended only to exalt the\nconception of saintly or Divine presence:--rather therefore to be\nconsidered as a landscape decoration or type, than an effort to paint\nnature. If I included it in my list of schools, I should have to go\nstill farther back, and include with it the conventional and\nillustrative landscape of the Greeks and Egyptians.\n\n\u00a7 6. But also it cannot constitute a real school, because its first\nassumption is false, namely, that the natural world can be represented\nwithout the element of death.\n\nThe real schools of landscape are primarily distinguished from the\npreceding unreal ones by their introduction of this element. They are\nnot at first in any sort the worthier for it. But they are more true,\nand capable, therefore, in the issue, of becoming worthier.\n\nIt will be a hard piece of work for us to think this rightly out, but it\nmust be done.\n\n\u00a7 7. Perhaps an accurate analysis of the schools of art of all time\nmight show us that when the immortality of the soul was practically and\ncompletely believed, the elements of decay, danger, and grief in visible\nthings were always disregarded. However this may be, it is assuredly so\nin the early Christian schools. The ideas of danger or decay seem not\nmerely repugnant, but inconceivable to them; the expression of\nimmortality and perpetuity is alone possible. I do not mean that they\ntake no note of the absolute fact of corruption. This fact the early\npainters often compel themselves to look fuller in the front than any\nother men: as in the way they usually paint the Deluge (the raven\nfeeding on the bodies), and in all the various triumphs and processions\nof the Power of Death, which formed one great chapter of religious\nteaching and painting, from Orcagna's time to the close of the Purist\nepoch. But I mean that this external fact of corruption is separated in\ntheir minds from the main conditions of their work; and its horror\nenters no more into their general treatment of landscape than the fear\nof murder or martyrdom, both of which they had nevertheless continually\nto represent. None of these things appeared to them as affecting the\ngeneral dealings of the Deity with His world. Death, pain, and decay\nwere simply momentary accidents in the course of immortality, which\nnever ought to exercise any depressing influence over the hearts of men,\nor in the life of Nature. God, in intense life, peace, and helping\npower, was always and everywhere. Human bodies, at one time or another,\nhad indeed to be made dust of, and raised from it; and this becoming\ndust was hurtful and humiliating, but not in the least melancholy, nor,\nin any very high degree, important; except to thoughtless persons, who\nneeded sometimes to be reminded of it, and whom, not at all fearing the\nthings much himself, the painter accordingly did remind of it, somewhat\nsharply.\n\n\u00a7 8. A similar condition of mind seems to have been attained, not\nunfrequently, in modern times, by persons whom either narrowness of\ncircumstance or education, or vigorous moral efforts have guarded from\nthe troubling of the world, so as to give them firm and childlike trust\nin the power and presence of God, together with peace of conscience, and\na belief in the passing of all evil into some form of good. It is\nimpossible that a person thus disciplined should feel, in any of its\nmore acute phases, the sorrow for any of the phenomena of nature, or\nterror in any material danger which would occur to another. The absence\nof personal fear, the consciousness of security as great in the midst of\npestilence and storm, as amidst beds of flowers on a summer morning, and\nthe certainty that whatever appeared evil, or was assuredly painful,\nmust eventually issue in a far greater and enduring good--this general\nfeeling and conviction, I say, would gradually lull, and at last put to\nentire rest, the physical sensations of grief and fear; so that the man\nwould look upon danger without dread,--accept pain without lamentation.\n\n\u00a7 9. It may perhaps be thought that this is a very high and right state\nof mind.\n\nUnfortunately, it appears that the attainment of it is never possible\nwithout inducing some form of intellectual weakness.\n\nNo painter belonging to the purest religious schools ever mastered his\nart. Perugino nearly did so; but it was because he was more\nrational--more a man of the world--than the rest. No literature exists\nof a high class produced by minds in the pure religious temper. On the\ncontrary, a great deal of literature exists, produced by persons in that\ntemper, which is markedly, and very far, below average literary work.\n\n\u00a7 10. The reason of this I believe to be, that the right faith of man is\nnot intended to give him repose, but to enable him to do his work. It is\nnot intended that he should look away from the place he lives in now,\nand cheer himself with thoughts of the place he is to live in next, but\nthat he should look stoutly into this world, in faith that if he does\nhis work thoroughly here, some good to others or himself, with which,\nhowever, he is not at present concerned, will come of it hereafter. And\nthis kind of brave, but not very hopeful or cheerful faith, I perceive\nto be always rewarded by clear practical success and splendid\nintellectual power; while the faith which dwells on the future fades\naway into rosy mist, and emptiness of musical air. That result indeed\nfollows naturally enough on its habit of assuming that things must be\nright, or must come right, when, probably, the fact is, that so far as\nwe are concerned, they are entirely wrong; and going wrong: and also on\nits weak and false way of looking on what these religious persons call\n\"the bright side of things,\" that is to say, on one side of them only,\nwhen God has given them two sides, and intended us to see both.\n\n\u00a7 11. I was reading but the other day, in a book by a zealous, useful,\nand able Scotch clergyman, one of these rhapsodies, in which he\ndescribed a scene in the Highlands to show (he said) the goodness of\nGod. In this Highland scene there was nothing but sunshine, and fresh\nbreezes, and bleating lambs, and clean tartans, and all manner of\npleasantness. Now a Highland scene is, beyond dispute, pleasant enough\nin its own way; but, looked close at, has its shadows. Here, for\ninstance, is the very fact of one, as pretty as I can remember--having\nseen many. It is a little valley of soft turf, enclosed in its narrow\noval by jutting rocks and broad flakes of nodding fern. From one side of\nit to the other winds, serpentine, a clear brown stream, drooping into\nquicker ripple as it reaches the end of the oval field, and then, first\nislanding a purple and white rock with an amber pool, it dashes away\ninto a narrow fall of foam under a thicket of mountain ash and alder.\nThe autumn sun, low but clear, shines on the scarlet ash-berries and on\nthe golden birch-leaves, which, fallen here and there, when the breeze\nhas not caught them, rest quiet in the crannies of the purple rock.\nBeside the rock, in the hollow under the thicket, the carcass of a ewe,\ndrowned in the last flood, lies nearly bare to the bone, its white ribs\nprotruding through the skin, raven-torn; and the rags of its wool still\nflickering from the branches that first stayed it as the stream swept it\ndown. A little lower, the current plunges, roaring, into a circular\nchasm like a well, surrounded on three sides by a chimney-like\nhollowness of polished rock, down which the foam slips in detached\nsnow-flakes. Round the edges of the pool beneath, the water circles\nslowly, like black oil; a little butterfly lies on its back, its wings\nglued to one of the eddies, its limbs feebly quivering; a fish rises and\nit is gone. Lower down the stream, I can just see, over a knoll, the\ngreen and damp turf roofs of four or five hovels, built at the edge of a\nmorass, which is trodden by the cattle into a black Slough of Despond at\ntheir doors, and traversed by a few ill-set stepping-stones, with here\nand there a flat slab on the tops, where they have sunk out of sight;\nand at the turn of the brook I see a man fishing, with a boy and a\ndog--a picturesque and pretty group enough certainly, if they had not\nbeen there all day starving. I know them, and I know the dog's ribs\nalso, which are nearly as bare as the dead ewe's; and the child's wasted\nshoulders, cutting his old tartan jacket through, so sharp are they. We\nwill go down and talk with the man.\n\n\u00a7 12. Or, that I may not piece pure truth with fancy, for I have none of\nhis words set down, let us hear a word or two from another such, a\nScotchman also, and as true hearted, and in just as fair a scene. I\nwrite out the passage, in which I have kept his few sentences, word for\nword, as it stands in my private diary:--\"22nd April (1851). Yesterday I\nhad a long walk up the Via Gellia, at Matlock, coming down upon it from\nthe hills above, all sown with anemones and violets, and murmuring with\nsweet springs. Above all the mills in the valley, the brook, in its\nfirst purity, forms a small shallow pool, with a sandy bottom covered\nwith cresses, and other water plants. A man was wading in it for cresses\nas I passed up the valley, and bade me good-day. I did not go much\nfarther; he was there when I returned. I passed him again, about one\nhundred yards, when it struck me I might as well learn all I could about\nwatercresses: so I turned back. I asked the man, among other questions,\nwhat he called the common weed, something like watercress, but with a\nserrated leaf, which grows at the edge of nearly all such pools. 'We\ncalls that brooklime, hereabouts,' said a voice behind me. I turned, and\nsaw three men, miners or manufacturers--two evidently Derbyshire men,\nand respectable-looking in their way; the third, thin, poor, old, and\nharder-featured, and utterly in rags. 'Brooklime?' I said. 'What do you\ncall it lime for?' The man said he did not know, it was called that.\n'You'll find that in the British 'Erba,' said the weak, calm voice of\nthe old man. I turned to him in much surprise; but he went on saying\nsomething drily (I hardly understood what) to the cress-gatherer; who\ncontradicting him, the old man said he 'didn't know fresh water,' he\n'knew enough of sa't.' 'Have you been a sailor?' I asked. 'I was a\nsailor for eleven years and ten months of my life,' he said, in the same\nstrangely quiet manner. 'And what are you now?' 'I lived for ten years\nafter my wife's death by picking up rags and bones; I hadn't much\noccasion afore.' 'And now how do you live?' 'Why, I lives hard and\nhonest, and haven't got to live long,' or something to that effect. He\nthen went on, in a kind of maundering way, about his wife. 'She had\nrheumatism and fever very bad; and her second rib grow'd over her\nhench-bone. A' was a clever woman, but a' grow'd to be a very little\none' (this with an expression of deep melancholy). 'Eighteen years after\nher first lad she was in the family-way again, and they had doctors up\nfrom Lunnon about it. They wanted to rip her open and take the child out\nof her side. But I never would give my consent.' (Then, after a pause:)\n'She died twenty-six hours and ten minutes after it. I never cared much\nwhat come of me since; but I know that I shall soon reach her; that's a\nknowledge I would na gie for the king's crown.' 'You are a Scotchman,\nare not you?' I asked. 'I'm from the Isle of Skye, sir; I'm a McGregor.'\nI said something about his religious faith. 'Ye'll know I was bred in\nthe Church of Scotland, sir,' he said, 'and I love it as I love my own\nsoul; but I think thae Wesleyan Methodists ha' got salvation among them,\ntoo.'\"\n\nTruly, this Highland and English hill-scenery is fair enough; but has\nits shadows; and deeper coloring, here and there, than that of heath and\nrose.\n\n\u00a7 13. Now, as far as I have watched the main powers of human mind, they\nhave risen first from the resolution to see fearlessly, pitifully, and\nto its very worst, what these deep colors mean, wheresoever they fall;\nnot by any means to pass on the other side looking pleasantly up to the\nsky, but to stoop to the horror, and let the sky, for the present, take\ncare of its own clouds. However this may be in moral matters, with which\nI have nothing here to do, in my own field of inquiry the fact is so;\nand all great and beautiful work has come of first gazing without\nshrinking into the darkness. If, having done so, the human spirit can,\nby its courage and faith, conquer the evil, it rises into conceptions of\nvictorious and consummated beauty. It is then the spirit of the highest\nGreek and Venetian Art. If unable to conquer the evil, but remaining in\nstrong, though melancholy war with it, not rising into supreme beauty,\nit is the spirit of the best northern art, typically represented by that\nof Holbein and Durer. If, itself conquered by the evil, infected by the\ndragon breath of it, and at last brought into captivity, so as to take\ndelight in evil for ever, it becomes the spirit of the dark, but still\npowerful sensualistic art, represented typically by that of Salvator. We\nmust trace this fact briefly through Greek, Venetian, and Dureresque\nart; we shall then see how the art of decline came of avoiding the evil,\nand seeking pleasure only; and thus obtain, at last, some power of\njudging whether the tendency of our own contemplative art be right or\nignoble.\n\n\u00a7 14. The ruling purpose of Greek poetry is the assertion of victory, by\nheroism, over fate, sin, and death. The terror of these great enemies is\ndwelt upon chiefly by the tragedians. The victory over them by Homer.\n\nThe adversary chiefly contemplated by the tragedians is Fate, or\npredestinate misfortune. And that under three principal forms.\n\nA. Blindness, or ignorance; not in itself guilty, but inducing acts\nwhich otherwise would have been guilty; and leading, no less than guilt,\nto destruction.[2]\n\nB. Visitation upon one person of the sin of another.\n\nC. Repression, by brutal or tyrannous strength, of a benevolent will.\n\n\u00a7 15. In all these cases sorrow is much more definitely connected with\nsin by the Greek tragedians than by Shakspere. The \"fate\" of Shakspere\nis, indeed, a form of blindness, but it issues in little more than haste\nor indiscretion. It is, in the literal sense, \"fatal,\" but hardly\ncriminal.\n\nThe \"I am fortune's fool\" of Romeo, expresses Shakspere's primary idea\nof tragic circumstance. Often his victims are entirely innocent, swept\naway by mere current of strong encompassing calamity (Ophelia, Cordelia,\nArthur, Queen Katharine). This is rarely so with the Greeks. The victim\nmay indeed be innocent, as Antigone, but is in some way resolutely\nentangled with crime, and destroyed by it, as if it struck by pollution,\nno less than participation.\n\nThe victory over sin and death is therefore also with the Greek\ntragedians more complete than with Shakspere. As the enemy has more\ndirect moral personality,--as it is sinfulness more than mischance, it\nis met by a higher moral resolve, a greater preparation of heart, a more\nsolemn patience and purposed self-sacrifice. At the close of a Shakspere\ntragedy nothing remains but dead march and clothes of burial. At the\nclose of a Greek tragedy there are far-off sounds of a divine triumph,\nand a glory as of resurrection.[3]\n\n\u00a7 16. The Homeric temper is wholly different. Far more tender, more\npractical, more cheerful; bent chiefly on present things and giving\nvictory now, and here, rather than in hope, and hereafter. The enemies\nof mankind, in Homer's conception, are more distinctly conquerable; they\nare ungoverned passions, especially anger, and unreasonable impulse\ngenerally ([Greek: at\u00ea]). Hence the anger of Achilles, misdirected by\npride, but rightly directed by friendship, is the subject of the\n_Iliad_. The anger of Ulysses ([Greek: Odysseus] \"the angry\"),\nmisdirected at first into idle and irregular hostilities, directed at\nlast to execution of sternest justice, is the subject of the _Odyssey_.\n\nThough this is the central idea of the two poems, it is connected with\ngeneral display of the evil of all unbridled passions, pride,\nsensuality, indolence, or curiosity. The pride of Atrides, the passion\nof Paris, the sluggishness of Elpenor, the curiosity of Ulysses himself\nabout the Cyclops, the impatience of his sailors in untying the winds,\nand all other faults or follies, down to that--(evidently no small one\nin Homer's mind)--of domestic disorderliness, are throughout shown in\ncontrast with conditions of patient affection and household peace.\n\nAlso, the wild powers and mysteries of Nature are in the Homeric mind\namong the enemies of man; so that all the labors of Ulysses are an\nexpression of the contest of manhood, not only with its own passions or\nwith the folly of others, but with the merciless and mysterious powers\nof the natural world.\n\n\u00a7 17. This is perhaps the chief signification of the seven years' stay\nwith Calypso, \"the concealer.\" Not, as vulgarly thought, the concealer\nof Ulysses, but the great concealer--the hidden power of natural things.\nShe is the daughter of Atlas and the Sea (Atlas, the sustainer of\nheaven, and the Sea, the disturber of the Earth). She dwells in the\nisland of Ogygia (\"the ancient or venerable\"). (Whenever Athens, or any\nother Greek city, is spoken of with any peculiar reverence, it is called\n\"Ogygian.\") Escaping from this goddess of secrets, and from other\nspirits, some of destructive natural force (Scylla), others signifying\nthe enchantment of mere natural beauty (Circe, daughter of the Sun and\nSea), he arrives at last at the Ph\u00e6acian land, whose king is \"strength\nwith intellect,\" and whose queen, \"virtue.\" These restore him to his\ncountry.\n\n\u00a7 18. Now observe that in their dealing with all these subjects the\nGreeks never shrink from horror; down to its uttermost depth, to its\nmost appalling physical detail, they strive to sound the secrets of\nsorrow. For them there is no passing by on the other side, no turning\naway the eyes to vanity from pain. Literally, they have not \"lifted up\ntheir souls unto vanity.\" Whether there be consolation for them or not,\nneither apathy nor blindness shall be their saviours; if, for them, thus\nknowing the facts of the grief of earth, any hope, relief, or triumph\nmay hereafter seem possible,--well; but if not, still hopeless,\nreliefless, eternal, the sorrow shall be met face to face. This Hector,\nso righteous, so merciful, so brave, has, nevertheless, to look upon his\ndearest brother in miserablest death. His own soul passes away in\nhopeless sobs through the throat-wound of the Grecian spear. That is one\naspect of things in this world, a fair world truly, but having, among\nits other aspects, this one, highly ambiguous.\n\n\u00a7 19. Meeting it boldly as they may, gazing right into the skeleton face\nof it, the ambiguity remains; nay, in some sort gains upon them. We\ntrusted in the gods;--we thought that wisdom and courage would save us.\nOur wisdom and courage themselves deceive us to our death. Athena had\nthe aspect of Deiphobus--terror of the enemy. She has not terrified him,\nbut left us, in our mortal need.\n\nAnd, beyond that mortality, what hope have we? Nothing is clear to us on\nthat horizon, nor comforting. Funeral honors; perhaps also rest; perhaps\na shadowy life--artless, joyless, loveless. No devices in that darkness\nof the grave, nor daring, nor delight. Neither marrying nor giving in\nmarriage, nor casting of spears, nor rolling of chariots, nor voice of\nfame. Lapped in pale Elysian mist, chilling the forgetful heart and\nfeeble frame, shall we waste on forever? Can the dust of earth claim\nmore of immortality than this? Or shall we have even so much as rest?\nMay we, indeed, lie down again in the dust, or have our sins not hidden\nfrom us even the things that belong to that peace? May not chance and\nthe whirl of passion govern us there; when there shall be no thought,\nnor work, nor wisdom, nor breathing of the soul?[4]\n\nBe it so. With no better reward, no brighter hope, we will be men while\nwe may: men, just, and strong, and fearless, and up to our power,\nperfect. Athena herself, our wisdom and our strength, may betray\nus;--Phoebus, our sun, smite us with plague, or hide his face from us\nhelpless;--Jove and all the powers of fate oppress us, or give us up to\ndestruction. While we live, we will hold fast our integrity; no weak\ntears shall blind us, no untimely tremors abate our strength of arm nor\nswiftness of limb. The gods have given us at least this glorious body\nand this righteous conscience; these will we keep bright and pure to the\nend. So may we fall to misery, but not to baseness; so may we sink to\nsleep, but not to shame.\n\n\u00a7 20. And herein was conquest. So defied, the betraying and accusing\nshadows shrank back; the mysterious horror subdued itself to majestic\nsorrow. Death was swallowed up in victory. Their blood, which seemed to\nbe poured out upon the ground, rose into hyacinthine flowers. All the\nbeauty of earth opened to them; they had ploughed into its darkness, and\nthey reaped its gold; the gods, in whom they had trusted through all\nsemblance of oppression, came down to love them and be their helpmates.\nAll nature round them became divine,--one harmony of power and peace.\nThe sun hurt them not by day, nor the moon by night; the earth opened no\nmore her jaws into the pit; the sea whitened no more against them the\nteeth of his devouring waves. Sun, and moon, and earth, and sea,--all\nmelted into grace and love; the fatal arrows rang not now at the\nshoulders of Apollo the healer; lord of life and of the three great\nspirits of life--Care, Memory, and Melody. Great Artemis guarded their\nflocks by night; Selene kissed in love the eyes of those who slept. And\nfrom all came the help of heaven to body and soul; a strange spirit\nlifting the lovely limbs; strange light glowing on the golden hair; and\nstrangest comfort filling the trustful heart, so that they could put off\ntheir armor, and lie down to sleep,--their work well done, whether at\nthe gates of their temples[5] or of their mountains;[6] accepting the\ndeath they once thought terrible, as the gift of Him who knew and\ngranted what was best.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] Matt. v. 14.\n\n  [2] The speech of Achilles to Priam expresses this idea of fatality\n    and submission clearly, there being two vessels--one full of sorrow,\n    the other of great and noble gifts (a sense of disgrace mixing with\n    that of sorrow, and of honor with that of joy), from which Jupiter\n    pours forth the destinies of men; the idea partly corresponding to\n    the scriptural--\" In the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the\n    wine is red; it is full mixed, and He poureth out of the same.\" But\n    the title of the gods, nevertheless, both with Homer and Hesiod, is\n    given not from the cup of sorrow, but of good; \"givers of good\"\n    ([Greek: dot\u00eares heaon]).--_Hes. Theog._ 664: _Odyss._ viii. 325.\n\n  [3] The Alcestis is perhaps the central example of the _idea_ of all\n    Greek drama.\n\n  [4]\n\n    [Greek: t\u00f4 kai tethnei\u00f4ti noon pore Persephoneia,\n            oi\u00f4 pepnusthai; toi de skiai aissousin].\n\n              Od. x. 495.\n\n  [5] [Greek: ouketi anestesan, all' en telei tout\u00f4 eschonto.] Herod,\n    i. 31.\n\n  [6] [Greek: ho de apopempomenos, autos men ouk apelipeto ton de paida\n    sustrateuomenon, eonta oi mounogenea, apepempse.] Herod, vii. 221.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE WINGS OF THE LION.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Such being the heroic spirit of Greek religion and art, we may now\nwith ease trace the relations between it and that which animated the\nItalian, and chiefly the Venetian, schools.\n\nObserve, all the nobleness, as well as the faults, of the Greek art were\ndependent on its making the most of this present life. It might do so in\nthe Anacreontic temper--[Greek: Ti Pleiadessi, kamoi]; \"What have I to\ndo with the Pleiads?\" or in the defiant or the trustful endurance of\nfate;--but its dominion was in this world.\n\nFlorentine art was essentially Christian, ascetic, expectant of a better\nworld, and antagonistic, therefore, to the Greek temper. So that the\nGreek element, once forced upon it, destroyed it. There was absolute\nincompatibility between them. Florentine art, also, could not produce\nlandscape. It despised the rock, the tree, the vital air itself,\naspiring to breathe empyreal air.\n\nVenetian art began with the same aim and under the same restrictions.\nBoth are healthy in the youth of art. Heavenly aim and severe law for\nboyhood; earthly work and fair freedom for manhood.\n\n\u00a7 2. The Venetians began, I repeat, with asceticism; always, however,\ndelighting in more massive and deep color than other religious painters.\nThey are especially fond of saints who have been cardinals, because of\ntheir red hats, and they sunburn all their hermits into splendid russet\nbrown.\n\nThey differed from the Pisans in having no Maremma between them and the\nsea; from the Romans, in continually quarrelling with the Pope; and from\nthe Florentines in having no gardens.\n\nThey had another kind of garden, deep-furrowed, with blossom in white\nwreaths--fruitless. Perpetual May therein, and singing of wild, nestless\nbirds. And they had no Maremma to separate them from this garden of\ntheirs. The destiny of Pisa was changed, in all probability, by the ten\nmiles of marsh-land and poisonous air between it and the beach. The\nGenoese energy was feverish; too much heat reflected from their torrid\nApennine. But the Venetian had his free horizon, his salt breeze, and\nsandy Lido-shore; sloped far and flat,--ridged sometimes under the\nTramontane winds with half a mile's breadth of rollers;--sea and sand\nshrivelled up together in one yellow careering field of fall and roar.\n\n\u00a7 3. They were, also, we said, always quarrelling with the Pope. Their\nreligious liberty came, like their bodily health, from that\nwave-training; for it is one notable effect of a life passed on\nshipboard to destroy weak beliefs in appointed forms of religion. A\nsailor may be grossly superstitious, but his superstitions will be\nconnected with amulets and omens, not cast in systems. He must accustom\nhimself, if he prays at all, to pray anywhere and anyhow. Candlesticks\nand incense not being portable into the maintop, he perceives those\ndecorations to be, on the whole, inessential to a maintop mass. Sails\nmust be set and cables bent, be it never so strict a saint's day, and it\nis found that no harm comes of it. Absolution on a lee-shore must be had\nof the breakers, it appears, if at all, and they give it plenary and\nbrief, without listening to confession.\n\nWhereupon our religious opinions become vague, but our religious\nconfidences strong; and the end of it all is that we perceive the Pope\nto be on the other side of the Apennines, and able, indeed, to sell\nindulgences, but not winds, for any money. Whereas, God and the sea are\nwith us, and we must even trust them both, and take what they shall\nsend.\n\n\u00a7 4. Then, farther. This ocean-work is wholly adverse to any morbid\nconditions of sentiment. Reverie, above all things, is forbidden by\nScylla and Charybdis. By the dogs and the depths, no dreaming! The first\nthing required of us is presence of mind. Neither love, nor poetry, nor\npiety, must ever so take up our thoughts as to make us slow or unready.\nIn sweet Val d'Arno it is permissible enough to dream among the\norange-blossoms, and forget the day in twilight of ilex. But along the\navenues of the Adrian waves there can be no careless walking.\nVigilance, might and day, required of us, besides learning of many\npractical lessons in severe and humble dexterities. It is enough for the\nFlorentine to know how to use his sword and to ride. We Venetians, also,\nmust be able to use our swords, and on ground which is none of the\nsteadiest; but, besides, we must be able to do nearly everything that\nhands can turn to--rudders, and yards, and cables, all needing workmanly\nhandling and workmanly knowledge, from captain as well as from men. To\ndrive a nail, lash a spear, reef a sail--rude work this for noble hands;\nbut to be done sometimes, and done well, on pain of death. All which not\nonly takes mean pride out of us, and puts nobler pride of power in its\nstead; but it tends partly to soothe, partly to chasten, partly to\nemploy and direct, the hot Italian temper, and make us every way\ngreater, calmer, and happier.\n\n\u00a7 5. Moreover, it tends to induce in us great respect for the whole\nhuman body; for its limbs, as much as for its tongue or its wit. Policy\nand eloquence are well; and, indeed, we Venetians can be politic enough,\nand can speak melodiously when we choose; but to put the helm up at the\nright moment is the beginning of all cunning--and for that we need arm\nand eye;--not tongue. And with this respect for the body as such, comes\nalso the sailor's preference of massive beauty in bodily form. The\nlandsmen, among their roses and orange-blossoms, and chequered shadows\nof twisted vine, may well please themselves with pale faces, and finely\ndrawn eyebrows, and fantastic braiding of hair. But from the sweeping\nglory of the sea we learn to love another kind of beauty;\nbroad-breasted; level-browed, like the horizon;--thighed and shouldered\nlike the billows;--footed like their stealing foam;--bathed in cloud of\ngolden hair, like their sunsets.\n\n\u00a7 6. Such were the physical influences constantly in operation on the\nVenetians; their painters, however, were partly prepared for their work\nby others in their infancy. Associations connected with early life among\nmountains softened and deepened the teaching of the sea; and the\nwildness of form of the Tyrolese Alps gave greater strength and\ngrotesqueness to their imaginations than the Greek painters could have\nfound among the cliffs of the \u00c6gean. Thus far, however, the influences\non both are nearly similar. The Greek sea was indeed less bleak, and\nthe Greek hills less grand; but the difference was in degree rather than\nin the nature of their power. The moral influences at work on the two\nraces were far more sharply opposed.\n\n\u00a7 7. Evil, as we saw, had been fronted by the Greek, and thrust out of\nhis path. Once conquered, if he thought of it more, it was\ninvoluntarily, as we remember a painful dream, yet with a secret dread\nthat the dream might return and continue for ever. But the teaching of\nthe church in the middle ages had made the contemplation of evil one of\nthe duties of men. As sin, it was to be duly thought upon, that it might\nbe confessed. As suffering, endured joyfully, in hope of future reward.\nHence conditions of bodily distemper which an Athenian would have looked\nupon with the severest contempt and aversion, were in the Christian\nchurch regarded always with pity, and often with respect; while the\npartial practice of celibacy by the clergy, and by those over whom they\nhad influence,--together with the whole system of conventual penance and\npathetic ritual (with the vicious reactionary tendencies necessarily\nfollowing), introduced calamitous conditions both of body and soul,\nwhich added largely to the pagan's simple list of elements of evil, and\nintroduced the most complicated states of mental suffering and\ndecrepitude.\n\n\u00a7 8. Therefore the Christian painters differed from the Greek in two\nmain points. They had been taught a faith which put an end to restless\nquestioning and discouragement. All was at last to be well--and their\nbest genius might be peacefully given to imagining the glories of heaven\nand the happiness of its redeemed. But on the other hand, though\nsuffering was to cease in heaven, it was to be not only endured, but\nhonored upon earth. And from the Crucifixion, down to a beggar's\nlameness, all the tortures and maladies of men were to be made, at least\nin part, the subjects of art. The Venetian was, therefore, in his inner\nmind, less serious than the Greek: in his superficial temper, sadder. In\nhis heart there was none of the deep horror which vexed the soul of\n\u00c6schylus or Homer. His Pallas-shield was the shield of Faith, not the\nshield of the Gorgon. All was at last to issue happily; in sweetest\nharpings and seven-fold circles of light. But for the present he had to\ndwell with the maimed and the blind, and to revere Lazarus more than\nAchilles.\n\n\u00a7 9. This reference to a future world has a morbid influence on all\ntheir conclusions. For the earth and all its natural elements are\ndespised. They are to pass away like a scroll. Man, the immortal, is\nalone revered; his work and presence are all that can be noble or\ndesirable. Men, and fair architecture, temples and courts such as may be\nin a celestial city, or the clouds and angels of Paradise; these are\nwhat we must paint when we want beautiful things. But the sea, the\nmountains, the forests, are all adverse to us,--a desolation. The ground\nthat was cursed for our sake;--the sea that executed judgment on all our\nrace, and rages against us still, though bridled;--storm-demons churning\nit into foam in nightly glare on Lido, and hissing from it against our\npalaces. Nature is but a terror, or a temptation. She is for hermits,\nmartyrs, murderers,--for St. Jerome, and St. Mary of Egypt, and the\nMagdalen in the desert, and monk Peter, falling before the sword.\n\n\u00a7 10. But the worst point we have to note respecting the spirit of\nVenetian landscape is its pride.\n\nIt was observed in the course of the third volume how the medi\u00e6val\ntemper had rejected agricultural pursuits, and whatever pleasures could\ncome of them.\n\nAt Venice this negation had reached its extreme. Though the Florentines\nand Romans had no delight in farming, they had in gardening. The\nVenetian possessed, and cared for, neither fields nor pastures. Being\ndelivered, to his loss, from all the wholesome labors of tillage, he was\nalso shut out from the sweet wonders and charities of the earth, and\nfrom the pleasant natural history of the year. Birds and beasts, and\ntimes and seasons, all unknown to him. No swallow chattered at his\nwindow,[1] nor, nested under his golden roofs, claimed the sacredness of\nhis mercy;[2] no Pythagorean fowl taught him the blessings of the\npoor,[3] nor did the grave spirit of poverty rise at his side to set\nforth the delicate grace and honor of lowly life.[4] No humble thoughts\nof grasshopper sire had he, like the Athenian; no gratitude for gifts of\nolive; no childish care for figs, any more than thistles. The rich\nVenetian feast had no need of the figtree spoon.[5] Dramas about birds,\nand wasps, and frogs, would have passed unheeded by his proud fancy;\ncarol or murmur of them had fallen unrecognized on ears accustomed only\nto grave syllables of war-tried men, and wash of songless wave.\n\n\u00a7 11. No simple joy was possible to him. Only stateliness and power;\nhigh intercourse with kingly and beautiful humanity, proud thoughts, or\nsplendid pleasures; throned sensualities, and ennobled appetites. But of\ninnocent, childish, helpful, holy pleasures, he had none. As in the\nclassical landscape, nearly all rural labor is banished from the\nTitianesque: there is one bold etching of a landscape, with grand\nploughing in the foreground, but this is only a caprice; the customary\nVenetian background is without sign of laborious rural life. We find\nindeed often a shepherd with his flock, sometimes a woman spinning, but\nno division of fields, no growing crops nor nestling villages. In the\nnumerous drawings and woodcuts variously connected with or\nrepresentative of Venetian work, a watermill is a frequent object, a\nriver constant, generally the sea. But the prevailing idea in all the\ngreat pictures I have seen, is that of mountainous land with wild but\ngraceful forest, and rolling or horizontal clouds. The mountains are\ndark blue; the clouds glowing or soft gray, always massive; the light,\ndeep, clear, melancholy; the foliage, neither intricate nor graceful,\nbut compact and sweeping (with undulated trunks), dividing much into\nhorizontal flakes, like the clouds; the ground rocky and broken somewhat\nmonotonously, but richly green with wild herbage; here and there a\nflower, by preference white or blue, rarely yellow, still more rarely\nred.\n\n\u00a7 12. It was stated that this heroic landscape of theirs was peopled by\nspiritual beings of the highest order. And in this rested the dominion\nof the Venetians over all later schools. They were the _last believing_\nschool of Italy. Although, as I said above, always quarrelling with the\nPope, there is all the more evidence of an earnest faith in their\nreligion. People who trusted the Madonna less, flattered the Pope more.\nBut down to Tintoret's time, the Roman Catholic religion was still real\nand sincere at Venice; and though faith in it was compatible with much\nwhich to us appears criminal or absurd, the religion itself was\nentirely sincere.\n\n\u00a7 13. Perhaps when you see one of Titian's splendidly passionate\nsubjects, or find Veronese making the marriage in Cana one blaze of\nworldly pomp, you imagine that Titian must have been a sensualist, and\nVeronese an unbeliever.\n\nPut the idea from you at once, and be assured of this for ever;--it will\nguide you through many a labyrinth of life, as well as of\npainting,--that of an evil tree, men never gather good fruit--good of\nany sort or kind;--even good sensualism.\n\nLet us look to this calmly. We have seen what physical advantage the\nVenetian had, in his sea and sky; also what moral disadvantage he had,\nin scorn of the poor; now finally, let us see with what power he was\ninvested, which men since his time have never recovered more.\n\n\u00a7 14. \"Neither of a bramble bush, gather they grapes.\"\n\nThe great saying has twofold help for us. Be assured, first, that if it\nwere bramble from which you gathered them, these are not grapes in your\nhand, though they look like grapes. Or if these are indeed grapes, it\nwas no bramble you gathered them from, though it looked like one.\n\nIt is difficult for persons, accustomed to receive, without questioning,\nthe modern English idea of religion, to understand the temper of the\nVenetian Catholics. I do not enter into examination of our own feelings;\nbut I have to note this one significant point of difference between us.\n\n\u00a7 15. An English gentleman, desiring his portrait, gives probably to the\npainter a choice of several actions, in any of which he is willing to be\nrepresented. As for instance, riding his best horse, shooting with his\nfavorite pointer, manifesting himself in his robes of state on some\ngreat public occasion, meditating in his study, playing with his\nchildren, or visiting his tenants; in any of these or other such\ncircumstances, he will give the artist free leave to paint him. But in\none important action he would shrink even from the suggestion of being\ndrawn. He will assuredly not let himself be painted praying.\n\nStrangely, this is the action, which of all others, a Venetian desires\nto be painted in. If they want a noble and complete portrait, they\nnearly always choose to be painted on their knees.\n\n\u00a7 16. \"Hypocrisy,\" you say; and \"that they might be seen of men.\" If we\nexamine ourselves, or any one else, who will give trustworthy answer on\nthis point, so as to ascertain, to the best of our judgment, what the\nfeeling is, which would make a modern English person dislike to be\npainted praying, we shall not find it, I believe, to be excess of\nsincerity. Whatever we find it to be, the opposite Venetian feeling is\ncertainly not hypocrisy. It is often conventionalism, implying as little\ndevotion in the person represented, as regular attendance at church does\nwith us. But that it is not hypocrisy, you may ascertain by one simple\nconsideration (supposing you not to have enough knowledge of the\nexpression of sincere persons to judge by the portraits themselves). The\nVenetians, when they desired to deceive, were much too subtle to attempt\nit clumsily. If they assumed the mask of religion, the mask must have\nbeen of some use. The persons whom it deceived must, therefore, have\nbeen religious, and, being so, have believed in the Venetians'\nsincerity. If therefore, among other contemporary nations with whom they\nhad intercourse, we can find any, more religious than they, who were\nduped, or even influenced, by their external religiousness, we might\nhave some ground for suspecting that religiousness to be assumed. But if\nwe can find no one likely to have been deceived, we must believe the\nVenetian to have been, in reality, what there was no advantage in\nseeming.\n\n\u00a7 17. I leave the matter to your examination, forewarning you,\nconfidently, that you will discover by severest evidence, that the\nVenetian religion was true. Not only true, but one of the main motives\nof their lives. In the field of investigation to which we are here\nlimited, I will collect some of the evidence of this.\n\nFor one profane picture by great Venetians, you will find ten of sacred\nsubjects; and those, also, including their grandest, most labored, and\nmost beloved works. Tintoret's power culminates in two great religious\npictures: the Crucifixion, and the Paradise. Titian's in the Assumption,\nthe Peter Martyr, and Presentation of the Virgin. Veronese's in the\nMarriage in Cana. John Bellini and Basaiti never, so far as I remember,\npainted any other than sacred subjects. By the Palmas, Vincenzo, Catena,\nand Bonifazio, I remember no profane subject of importance.\n\n\u00a7 18. There is, moreover, one distinction of the very highest import\nbetween the treatment of sacred subjects by Venetian painters and by all\nothers.\n\nThroughout the rest of Italy, piety had become abstract, and opposed\ntheoretically to worldly life; hence the Florentine and Umbrian painters\ngenerally separated their saints from living men. They delighted in\nimagining scenes of spiritual perfectness;--Paradises, and companies of\nthe redeemed at the judgment;--glorified meetings of martyrs;--madonnas\nsurrounded by circles of angels. If, which was rare, definite\nportraitures of living men were introduced, these real characters formed\na kind of chorus or attendant company, taking no part in the action. At\nVenice all this was reversed, and so boldly as at first to shock, with\nits seeming irreverence, a spectator accustomed to the formalities and\nabstractions of the so-called sacred schools. The madonnas are no more\nseated apart on their thrones, the saints no more breathe celestial air.\nThey are on our own plain ground--nay, here in our houses with us. All\nkind of worldly business going on in their presence, fearlessly; our own\nfriends and respected acquaintances, with all their mortal faults, and\nin their mortal flesh, looking at them face to face unalarmed: nay, our\ndearest children playing with their pet dogs at Christ's very feet.\n\nI once myself thought this irreverent. How foolishly! As if children\nwhom He loved _could_ play anywhere else.\n\n\u00a7 19. The picture most illustrative of this feeling is perhaps that at\nDresden, of Veronese's family, painted by himself.\n\nHe wishes to represent them as happy and honored. The best happiness and\nhighest honor he can imagine for them is that they should be presented\nto the Madonna, to whom, therefore, they are being brought by the three\nvirtues--Faith, Hope, and Charity.\n\nThe Virgin stands in a recess behind two marble shafts, such as may be\nseen in any house belonging to an old family in Venice. She places the\nboy Christ on the edge of a balustrade before her. At her side are St.\nJohn the Baptist, and St. Jerome. This group occupies the left side of\nthe picture. The pillars, seen sideways, divide it from the group formed\nby the Virtues, with the wife and children of Veronese. He himself\nstands a little behind, his hands clasped in prayer.\n\n\u00a7 20. His wife kneels full in front, a strong Venetian woman, well\nadvanced in years. She has brought up her children in fear of God, and\nis not afraid to meet the Virgin's eyes. She gazes steadfastly on them;\nher proud head and gentle, self-possessed face are relieved in one broad\nmass of shadow against a space of light, formed by the white robes of\nFaith, who stands beside her,--guardian, and companion. Perhaps a\nsomewhat disappointing Faith at the first sight, for her face is not in\nany way exalted or refined. Veronese knew that Faith had to companion\nsimple and slow-hearted people perhaps oftener than able or refined\npeople--does not therefore insist on her being severely intellectual, or\nlooking as if she were always in the best company. So she is only\ndistinguished by her pure white (not bright white) dress, her delicate\nhand, her golden hair drifted in light ripples across her breast, from\nwhich the white robes fall nearly in the shape of a shield--the shield\nof Faith. A little behind her stands Hope; she also, at first, not to\nmost people a recognizable Hope. We usually paint Hope as young, and\njoyous. Veronese knows better. That young hope is vain hope--passing\naway in rain of tears; but the Hope of Veronese is aged, assured,\nremaining when all else had been taken away. \"For tribulation worketh\npatience, and patience experience, and experience hope;\" and _that_ hope\nmaketh not ashamed.\n\nShe has a black veil on her head.\n\nThen again, in the front, is Charity, red-robed; stout in the arms,--a\nservant of all work, she; but small-headed, not being specially given to\nthinking; soft-eyed, her hair braided brightly, her lips rich red,\nsweet-blossoming. She has got some work to do even now, for a nephew of\nVeronese's is doubtful about coming forward, and looks very humbly and\npenitently towards the Virgin--his life perhaps not having been quite so\nexemplary as might at present be wished. Faith reaches her small white\nhand lightly back to him, lays the tips of her fingers on his; but\nCharity takes firm hold of him by the wrist from behind, and will push\nhim on presently, if he still hangs back.\n\n\u00a7 21. In front of the mother kneel her two eldest children, a girl of\nabout sixteen, and a boy a year or two younger. They are both wrapt in\nadoration--the boy's being the deepest. Nearer us, at their left side,\nis a younger boy, about nine years old--a black-eyed fellow, full of\nlife--and evidently his father's darling (for Veronese has put him full\nin light in the front; and given him a beautiful white silken jacket,\nbarred with black, that nobody may ever miss seeing him to the end of\ntime). He is a little shy about being presented to the Madonna, and for\nthe present has got behind the pillar, blushing, but opening his black\neyes wide; he is just summoning courage to peep round, and see if she\nlooks kind. A still younger child, about six years old, is really\nfrightened, and has run back to his mother, catching hold of her dress\nat the waist. She throws her right arm round him and over him, with\nexquisite instinctive action, not moving her eyes from the Madonna's\nface. Last of all, the youngest child, perhaps about three years old, is\nneither frightened nor interested, but finds the ceremony tedious, and\nis trying to coax the dog to play with him; but the dog, which is one of\nthe little curly, short-nosed, fringy-pawed things, which all Venetian\nladies petted, will not now be coaxed. For the dog is the last link in\nthe chain of lowering feeling, and takes his doggish views of the\nmatter. He cannot understand, first, how the Madonna got into the house;\nnor, secondly, why she is allowed to stay, disturbing the family, and\ntaking all their attention from his dogship. And he is walking away,\nmuch offended.\n\n\u00a7 22. The dog is thus constantly introduced by the Venetians in order to\ngive the fullest contrast to the highest tones of human thought and\nfeeling. I shall examine this point presently farther, in speaking of\npastoral landscape and animal painting; but at present we will merely\ncompare the use of the same mode of expression in Veronese's\nPresentation of the Queen of Sheba.\n\n\u00a7 23. This picture is at Turin, and is of quite inestimable value. It is\nhung high; and the really principal figure--the Solomon, being in the\nshade, can hardly be seen, but is painted with Veronese's utmost\ntenderness, in the bloom of perfect youth, his hair golden, short,\ncrisply curled. He is seated high on his lion throne; two elders on each\nside beneath him, the whole group forming a tower of solemn shade. I\nhave alluded, elsewhere, to the principle on which all the best\ncomposers act, of supporting these lofty groups by some vigorous mass of\nfoundation. This column of noble shade is curiously sustained. A\nfalconer leans forward from the left-hand side, bearing on his wrist a\nsnow-white falcon, its wings spread, and brilliantly relieved against\nthe purple robe of one of the elders. It touches with its wings one of\nthe golden lions of the throne, on which the light also flashes\nstrongly; thus forming, together with it, the lion and eagle symbol,\nwhich is the type of Christ throughout medi\u00e6val work. In order to show\nthe meaning of this symbol, and that Solomon is typically invested with\nthe Christian royalty, one of the elders, by a bold anachronism, holds a\njewel in his hand of the shape of a cross, with which he (by accident of\ngesture) points to Solomon; his other hand is laid on an open book.\n\n\u00a7 24. The group opposite, of which the queen forms the centre, is also\npainted with Veronese's highest skill; but contains no point of interest\nbearing on our present subject, except its connection by a chain of\ndescending emotion. The Queen is wholly oppressed and subdued; kneeling,\nand nearly fainting, she looks up to Solomon with tears in her eyes; he,\nstartled by fear for her, stoops forward from the throne, opening his\nright hand, as if to support her, so as almost to drop the sceptre. At\nher side her first maid of honor is kneeling also, but does not care\nabout Solomon; and is gathering up her dress that it may not be crushed;\nand looking back to encourage a negro girl, who, carrying two toy-birds,\nmade of enamel and jewels, for presenting to the King, is frightened at\nseeing her Queen fainting, and does not know what she ought to do; while\nlastly, the Queen's dog, another of the little fringy-paws, is wholly\nunabashed by Solomon's presence, or anybody else's; and stands with his\nfore legs well apart, right in front of his mistress, thinking everybody\nhas lost their wits; and barking violently at one of the attendants, who\nhas set down a golden vase disrespectfully near him.\n\n\u00a7 25. Throughout these designs I want the reader to notice the purpose\nof representing things as they were likely to have occurred, down to\ntrivial, or even ludicrous detail--the nobleness of all that was\nintended to be noble being so great that nothing could detract from it.\nA farther instance, however, and a prettier one, of this familiar\nrealization, occurs in a Holy Family, by Veronese, at Brussels. The\nMadonna has laid the infant Christ on a projecting base of pillar, and\nstands behind, looking down on him. St. Catherine, having knelt down in\nfront, the child turns round to receive her--so suddenly, and so far,\nthat any other child must have fallen over the edge of the stone. St.\nCatherine, terrified, thinking he is really going to fall, stretches out\nher arms to catch him. But the Madonna looking down, only smiles, \"He\nwill not fall.\"\n\n\u00a7 26. A more touching instance of this realization occurs, however, in\nthe treatment of the saint Veronica (in the Ascent to Calvary), at\nDresden. Most painters merely represent her as one of the gentle,\nweeping, attendant women; and show her giving the handkerchief as though\nthese women had been allowed to approach Christ without any difficulty.\nBut in Veronese's conception, she has to break through the executioners\nto him. She is not weeping; and the expression of pity, though intense,\nis overborne by that of resolution. She is determined to reach Christ;\nhas set her teeth close, and thrusts aside one of the executioners, who\nstrikes fiercely at her with a heavy doubled cord.\n\n\u00a7 27. These instances are enough to explain the general character of the\nmind of Veronese, capable of tragic power to the utmost, if he chooses\nto exert it in that direction, but, by habitual preference, exquisitely\ngraceful and playful; religious without severity, and winningly noble;\ndelighting in slight, sweet, every-day incident, but hiding deep\nmeanings underneath it; rarely painting a gloomy subject, and never a\nbase one.\n\n\u00a7 28. I have, in other places, entered enough into the examination of\nthe great religious mind of Tintoret; supposing then that he was\ndistinguished from Titian chiefly by this character. But in this I was\nmistaken; the religion of Titian is like that of Shakspere--occult\nbehind his magnificent equity. It is not possible, however, within the\nlimits of this work, to give any just account of the mind of Titian: nor\nshall I attempt it; but will only explain some of those more strange and\napparently inconsistent attributes of it, which might otherwise prevent\nthe reader from getting clue to its real tone. The first of these is its\noccasional coarseness in choice of type of feature.\n\n\u00a7 29. In the second volume I had to speak of Titian's Magdalen, in the\nPitti Palace, as treated basely, and that in strong terms, \"the\ndisgusting Magdalen of the Pitti.\"\n\nTruly she is so as compared with the received types of the Magdalen. A\nstout, redfaced woman, dull, and coarse of feature, with much of the\nanimal in even her expression of repentance--her eyes strained, and\ninflamed with weeping. I ought, however, to have remembered another\npicture of the Magdalen by Titian (Mr. Rogers's, now in the National\nGallery), in which she is just as refined, as in the Pitti Palace she is\ngross; and had I done so, I should have seen Titian's meaning. It had\nbeen the fashion before his time to make the Magdalen always young and\nbeautiful; her, if no one else, even the rudest painters flattered; her\nrepentance was not thought perfect unless she had lustrous hair and\nlovely lips. Titian first dared to doubt the romantic fable, and reject\nthe narrowness of sentimental faith. He saw that it was possible for\nplain women to love no less than beautiful ones; and for stout persons\nto repent as well as those more delicately made. It seemed to him that\nthe Magdalen would have received her pardon not the less quickly because\nher wit was none of the readiest; and would not have been regarded with\nless compassion by her Master because her eyes were swollen, or her\ndress disordered. It is just because he has set himself sternly to\nenforce this lesson that the picture is so painful: the only instance,\nso far as I remember, of Titian's painting a woman markedly and entirely\nbelonging to the lowest class.\n\n\u00a7 30. It may perhaps appear more difficult to account for the\nalternation of Titian's great religious pictures with others devoted\nwholly to the expression of sensual qualities, or to exulting and bright\nrepresentation of heathen deities.\n\nThe Venetian mind, we have said, and Titian's especially, as the central\ntype of it, was wholly realist, universal, and manly.\n\nIn this breadth and realism, the painter saw that sensual passion in man\nwas, not only a fact, but a Divine fact; the human creature, though the\nhighest of the animals, was, nevertheless, a perfect animal, and his\nhappiness, health, and nobleness depended on the due power of every\nanimal passion, as well as the cultivation of every spiritual tendency.\n\nHe thought that every feeling of the mind and heart, as well as every\nform of the body, deserved painting. Also to a painter's true and highly\ntrained instinct, the human body is the loveliest of all objects. I do\nnot stay to trace the reasons why, at Venice, the female body could be\nfound in more perfect beauty than the male; but so it was, and it\nbecomes the principal subject therefore, both with Giorgione and Titian.\nThey painted it fearlessly, with all right and natural qualities; never,\nhowever, representing it as exercising any overpowering attractive\ninfluence on man; but only on the Faun or Satyr.\n\nYet they did this so majestically that I am perfectly certain no\nuntouched Venetian picture ever yet excited one base thought (otherwise\nthan in base persons anything may do so); while in the greatest studies\nof the female body by the Venetians, all other characters are overborne\nby majesty, and the form becomes as pure as that of a Greek statue.\n\n\u00a7 31. There is no need, I should think, to point out how this\ncontemplation of the entire personal nature was reconcilable with the\nseverest conceptions of religious duty and faith.\n\nBut the fond introduction of heathen gods may appear less explicable.\n\nOn examination, however, it will be found, that these deities are never\npainted with any heart-reverence or affection. They are introduced for\nthe most part symbolically (Bacchus and Venus oftenest, as incarnations\nof the spirit of revelry and beauty), of course always conceived with\ndeep imaginative truth, much resembling the mode of Keats's conception;\nbut never so as to withdraw any of the deep devotion referred to the\nobjects of Christian faith.\n\nIn all its roots of power, and modes of work;--in its belief, its\nbreadth, and its judgment, I find the Venetian mind perfect.\n\nHow, then, did its art so swiftly pass away? How become, what it became\nunquestionably, one of the chief causes of the corruption of the mind of\nItaly, and of her subsequent decline in moral and political power?\n\n\u00a7 32. By reason of one great, one fatal fault;--recklessness in aim.\nWholly noble in its sources, it was wholly unworthy in its purposes.\n\nSeparate and strong, like Samson, chosen from its youth, and with the\nspirit of God visibly resting on it,--like him, it warred in careless\nstrength, and wantoned in untimely pleasure. No Venetian painter ever\nworked with any aim beyond that of delighting the eye, or expressing\nfancies agreeable to himself or flattering to his nation. They could not\nbe either unless they were religious. But he did not desire the\nreligion. He desired the delight.\n\nThe Assumption is a noble picture, because Titian believed in the\nMadonna. But he did not paint it to make any one else believe in her. He\npainted it because he enjoyed rich masses of red and blue, and faces\nflushed with sunlight.\n\nTintoret's Paradise is a noble picture, because he believed in Paradise.\nBut he did not paint it to make any one think of heaven; but to form a\nbeautiful termination for the hall of the greater council.\n\nOther men used their effete faiths and mean faculties with a high moral\npurpose. The Venetian gave the most earnest faith, and the lordliest\nfaculty, to gild the shadows of an ante-chamber, or heighten the\nsplendors of a holiday.\n\n\u00a7 33. Strange, and lamentable as this carelessness may appear, I find it\nto be almost the law with the great workers. Weak and vain men have\nacute consciences, and labor under a profound sense of responsibility.\nThe strong men, sternly disdainful of themselves, do what they can, too\noften merely as it pleases them at the moment, reckless what comes of\nit.\n\nI know not how far in humility, or how far in bitter and hopeless\nlevity, the great Venetians gave their art to be blasted by the\nsea-winds or wasted by the worm. I know not whether in sorrowful\nobedience, or in wanton compliance, they fostered the folly, and\nenriched the luxury of their age. This only I know, that in proportion\nto the greatness of their power was the shame of its desecration and the\nsuddenness of its fall. The enchanter's spell, woven by centuries of\ntoil, was broken in the weakness of a moment; and swiftly, and utterly,\nas a rainbow vanishes, the radiance and the strength faded from the\nwings of the Lion.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] Anacreon, Ode 12th.\n\n  [2] Herod, i. 59.\n\n  [3] Lucian (Micyllus).\n\n  [4] Aristophanes, Plutus.\n\n  [5] Hippias Major, 208.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nDURER AND SALVATOR.\n\n\"EMIGRAVIT.\"\n\n\n\u00a7 1. BY referring to the first analysis of our subject, it will be seen\nwe have next to examine the art which cannot conquer the evil, but\nremains at war with, or in captivity to it.\n\nUp to the time of the Reformation it was possible for men even of the\nhighest powers of intellect to obtain a tranquillity of faith, in the\nhighest degree favorable to the pursuit of any particular art. Possible,\nat least, we see it to have been; there is no need--nor, so far as I\nsee, any ground, for argument about it. I am myself unable to understand\nhow it was so; but the fact is unquestionable. It is not that I wonder\nat men's trust in the Pope's infallibility, or in his virtue; nor at\ntheir surrendering their private judgment; nor at their being easily\ncheated by imitations of miracles; nor at their thinking indulgences\ncould be purchased with money. But I wonder at this one thing only; the\nacceptance of the doctrine of eternal punishment as dependent on\naccident of birth, or momentary excitement of devotional feeling. I\nmarvel at the acceptance of the system (as stated in its fulness by\nDante) which condemned guiltless persons to the loss of heaven because\nthey had lived before Christ, and which made the obtaining of Paradise\nturn frequently on a passing thought or a momentary invocation. How this\ncame to pass, it is no part of our work here to determine. That in this\nfaith, it was possible to attain entire peace of mind; to live calmly,\nand die hopefully, is indisputable.\n\n\u00a7 2. But this possibility ceased at the Reformation. Thenceforward human\nlife became a school of debate, troubled and fearful. Fifteen hundred\nyears of spiritual teaching were called into fearful question, whether\nindeed it had been teaching by angels or devils? Whatever it had been,\nthere was no longer any way of trusting it peacefully.\n\nA dark time for all men. We cannot now conceive it. The great horror of\nit lay in this:--that, as in the trial-hour of the Greek, the heavens\nthemselves seemed to have deceived those who had trusted in them.\n\n\"We had prayed with tears; we had loved with our hearts. There was no\nchoice of way open to us. No guidance from God or man, other than this,\nand behold, it was a lie. 'When He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, He\nshall guide you into all truth.' And He has guided us into _no_ truth.\nThere can be no such Spirit. There is no Advocate, no Comforter. Has\nthere been no Resurrection?\"\n\n\u00a7 3. Then came the Resurrection of Death. Never since man first saw him,\nface to face, had his terror been so great. \"Swallowed up in victory:\"\nalas! no; but king over all the earth. All faith, hope, and fond belief\nwere betrayed. Nothing of futurity was now sure but the grave.\n\nFor the Pan-Athenaic Triumph and the Feast of Jubilee, there came up,\nthrough fields of spring, the dance of Death.\n\nThe brood of weak men fled from the face of him. A new Bacchus and his\ncrew this, with worm for snake and gall for wine. They recoiled to such\npleasure as yet remained possible to them--feeble infidelities, and\nluxurious sciences, and so went their way.\n\n\u00a7 4. At least, of the men with whom we are concerned--the artists--this\nwas almost the universal fate. They gave themselves to the following of\npleasure only; and as a religious school, after a few pale rays of\nfading sanctity from Guido, and brown gleams of gipsy Madonnahood from\nMurillo, came utterly to an end.\n\nThree men only stood firm, facing the new Dionysiac revel, to see what\nwould come of it.\n\nTwo in the north, Holbein and Durer, and, later, one in the south,\nSalvator.\n\nBut the ground on which they stood differed strangely; Durer and\nHolbein, amidst the formal delights, the tender religions, and practical\nscience, of domestic life and honest commerce. Salvator, amidst the\npride of lascivious wealth, and the outlawed distress of impious\npoverty.\n\n\u00a7 5. It would be impossible to imagine any two phases of scenery or\nsociety more contrary in character, more opposite in teaching, than\nthose surrounding Nuremberg and Naples, in the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies. What they were then, both districts still to all general\nintents remain. The cities have in each case lost their splendor and\npower, but not their character. The surrounding scenery remains wholly\nunchanged. It is still in our power, from the actual aspect of the\nplaces, to conceive their effect on the youth of the two painters.\n\n[Illustration: 76. The Moat of Nuremberg.]\n\n\u00a7 6. Nuremberg is gathered at the base of a sandstone rock, rising in\nthe midst of a dry but fertile plain. The rock forms a prolonged and\ncurved ridge, of which the concave side, at the highest point, is\nprecipitous; the other slopes gradually to the plain. Fortified with\nwall and tower along its whole crest, and crowned with a stately castle,\nit defends the city--not with its precipitous side--but with its slope.\nThe precipice is turned to the town. It wears no aspect of hostility\ntowards the surrounding fields; the roads lead down into them by gentle\ndescents from the gates. To the south and east the walls are on the\nlevel of the plain; within them, the city itself stands on two swells of\nhill, divided by a winding river. Its architecture has, however, been\nmuch overrated. The effect of the streets, so delightful to the eye of\nthe passing traveller, depends chiefly on one appendage of the roof,\nnamely, its warehouse windows. Every house, almost without exception,\nhas at least one boldly opening dormer window, the roof of which\nsustains a pulley for raising goods; and the underpart of this strong\noverhanging roof is always carved with a rich pattern, not of refined\ndesign, but effective.[1] Among these comparatively modern structures\nare mingled, however, not unfrequently, others, turreted at the angles,\nwhich are true Gothic of the fifteenth, some of the fourteenth, century;\nand the principal churches remain nearly as in Durer's time. Their\nGothic is none of it good, nor even rich (though the fa\u00e7ades have their\nornament so distributed as to give them a sufficiently elaborate\neffect at a distance); their size is diminutive; their interiors mean,\nrude, and ill-proportioned, wholly dependent for their interest on\ningenious stone cutting in corners, and finely-twisted ironwork; of\nthese the mason's exercises are in the worst possible taste, possessing\nnot even the merit of delicate execution; but the designs in metal are\nusually meritorious, and Fischer's shrine of St. Sebald is good, and may\nrank with Italian work.[2]\n\n\u00a7 7. Though, however, not comparable for an instant to any great Italian\nor French city, Nuremberg possesses one character peculiar to itself,\nthat of a self-restrained, contented, quaint domesticity. It would be\nvain to expect any first-rate painting, sculpture, or poetry, from the\nwell-regulated community of merchants of small ware. But it is evident\nthey were affectionate and trustworthy--that they had playful fancy, and\nhonorable pride. There is no exalted grandeur in their city, nor any\ndeep beauty; but an imaginative homeliness, mingled with some elements\nof melancholy and power, and a few even of grace.\n\nThis homeliness, among many other causes, arises out of one in chief.\nThe richness of the houses depends, as I just said, on the dormer\nwindows: but their deeper character on the pitch and space of roofs. I\nhad to notice long ago how much our English cottage depended for\nexpression on its steep roof. The German house does so in far greater\ndegree. Plate 76 is engraved[3] from a slight pen-and-ink sketch of mine\non the ramparts of Nuremberg, showing a piece of its moat and wall, and\na little corner of the city beneath the castle; of which the tower on\nthe extreme right rises just in front of Durer's house. The character\nof this scene approaches more nearly that which Durer would see in his\ndaily walks, than most of the modernized inner streets. In Durer's own\nengraving, \"The Cannon,\" the distance (of which the most important\npassage is facsimiled in my Elements of Drawing, p. 111) is an actual\nportrait of part of the landscape seen from those castle ramparts,\nlooking towards Franconian Switzerland.\n\n\u00a7 8. If the reader will be at the pains to turn to it, he will see at a\nglance the elements of the Nuremberg country, as they still exist.\nWooden cottages, thickly grouped, enormously high in the roofs; the\nsharp church spire, small and slightly grotesque, surmounting them;\nbeyond, a richly cultivated, healthy plain bounded by woody hills. By a\nstrange coincidence the very plant which constitutes the staple produce\nof those fields, is in almost ludicrous harmony with the grotesqueness\nand neatness of the architecture around; and one may almost fancy that\nthe builders of the little knotted spires and turrets of the town, and\nworkers of its dark iron flowers, are in spiritual presence, watching\nand guiding the produce of the field,--when one finds the footpaths\nbordered everywhere, by the bossy spires and lustrous jetty flowers of\nthe black hollyhock.\n\n\u00a7 9. Lastly, when Durer penetrated among those hills of Franconia he\nwould find himself in a pastoral country, much resembling the Gruy\u00e8re\ndistricts of Switzerland, but less thickly inhabited, and giving in its\nsteep, though not lofty, rocks,--its scattered pines,--and its\nfortresses and chapels, the motives of all the wilder landscape\nintroduced by the painter in such pieces as his St. Jerome, or St.\nHubert. His continual and forced introduction of sea in almost every\nscene, much as it seems to me to be regretted, is possibly owing to his\nhappy recollections of the sea-city where he received the rarest of all\nrewards granted to a good workman; and, for once in his life, was\nunderstood.\n\n\u00a7 10. Among this pastoral simplicity and formal sweetness of domestic\npeace, Durer had to work out his question concerning the grave. It\nhaunted him long; he learned to engrave death's heads well before he had\ndone with it; looked deeper than any other man into those strange rings,\ntheir jewels lost; and gave answer at last conclusively in his great\nKnight and Death--of which more presently. But while the Nuremberg\nlandscape is still fresh in our minds, we had better turn south quickly\nand compare the elements of education which formed, and of creation\nwhich companioned, Salvator.\n\n\u00a7 11. Born with a wild and coarse nature (how coarse I will show you\nsoon), but nevertheless an honest one, he set himself in youth hotly to\nthe war, and cast himself carelessly on the current of life. No\nrectitude of ledger-lines stood in his way; no tender precision of\nhousehold customs; no calm successions of rural labor. But past his\nhalf-starved lips rolled profusion of pitiless wealth; before him glared\nand swept the troops of shameless pleasure. Above him muttered Vesuvius;\nbeneath his feet shook the Solfatara.\n\nIn heart disdainful, in temper adventurous; conscious of power,\nimpatient of labor, and yet more of the pride of the patrons of his\nyouth, he fled to the Calabrian hills, seeking, not knowledge, but\nfreedom. If he was to be surrounded by cruelty and deceit, let them at\nleast be those of brave men or savage beasts, not of the timorous and\nthe contemptible. Better the wrath of the robber, than enmity of the\npriest; and the cunning of the wolf than of the hypocrite.\n\n\u00a7 12. We are accustomed to hear the south of Italy spoken of as a\nbeautiful country. Its mountain forms are graceful above others, its\nsea-bays exquisite in outline and hue; but it is only beautiful in\nsuperficial aspect. In closer detail it is wild and melancholy. Its\nforests are sombre-leafed, labyrinth-stemmed; the carubbe, the olive,\nlaurel, and ilex, are alike in that strange feverish twisting of their\nbranches, as if in spasms of half human pain:--Avernus forests; one\nfears to break their boughs, lest they should cry to us from their\nrents; the rocks they shade are of ashes, or thrice-molten lava; iron\nsponge, whose every pore has been filled with fire. Silent villages,\nearthquake-shaken, without commerce, without industry, without\nknowledge, without hope, gleam in white ruin from hill-side to\nhill-side; far-winding wrecks of immemorial walls surround the dust of\ncities long forsaken: the mountain streams moan through the cold arches\nof their foundations, green with weed, and rage over the heaps of their\nfallen towers. Far above, in thunder-blue serration, stand the eternal\nedges of the angry Apennine, dark with rolling impendence of volcanic\ncloud.\n\n\u00a7 13. Yet even among such scenes as these, Salvator might have been\ncalmed and exalted, had he been, indeed, capable of exaltation. But he\nwas not of high temper enough to perceive beauty. He had not the sacred\nsense--the sense of color; all the loveliest hues of the Calabrian air\nwere invisible to him; the sorrowful desolation of the Calabrian\nvillages unfelt. He saw only what was gross and terrible,--the jagged\npeak, the splintered tree, the flowerless bank of grass, and wandering\nweed, prickly and pale. His temper confirmed itself in evil, and became\nmore and more fierce and morose; though not, I believe, cruel,\nungenerous, or lascivious. I should not suspect Salvator of wantonly\ninflicting pain. His constantly painting it does not prove he delighted\nin it; he felt the horror of it, and in that horror, fascination. Also,\nhe desired fame, and saw that here was an untried field rich enough in\nmorbid excitement to catch the humor of his indolent patrons. But the\ngloom gained upon him, and grasped him. He could jest, indeed, as men\njest in prison-yards (he became afterwards a renowned mime in Florence);\nhis satires are full of good mocking, but his own doom to sadness is\nnever repealed.\n\n\u00a7 14. Of all men whose work I have ever studied, he gives me most\ndistinctly the idea of a lost spirit. Michelet calls him \"Ce damn\u00e9\nSalvator,\" perhaps in a sense merely harsh and violent; the epithet to\nme seems true in a more literal, more merciful sense,--\"That condemned\nSalvator.\" I see in him, notwithstanding all his baseness, the last\ntraces of spiritual life in the art of Europe. He was the last man to\nwhom the thought of a spiritual existence presented itself as a\nconceivable reality. All succeeding men, however powerful--Rembrandt,\nRubens, Vandyke, Reynolds--would have mocked at the idea of a spirit.\nThey were men of the world; they are never in earnest, and they are\nnever appalled. But Salvator was capable of pensiveness, of faith, and\nof fear. The misery of the earth is a marvel to him; he cannot leave off\ngazing at it. The religion of the earth is a horror to him. He gnashes\nhis teeth at it, rages at it, mocks and gibes at it. He would have\nacknowledged religion, had he seen any that was true. Anything rather\nthan that baseness which he did see. \"If there is no other religion\nthan this of pope and cardinals, let us to the robber's ambush and the\ndragon's den.\" He was capable of fear also. The gray spectre,\nhorse-headed, striding across the sky--(in the Pitti Palace)--its bat\nwings spread, green bars of the twilight seen between its bones; it was\nno play to him--the painting of it. Helpless Salvator! A little early\nsympathy, a word of true guidance, perhaps, had saved him. What says he\nof himself? \"Despiser of wealth and of death.\" Two grand scorns; but,\noh, condemned Salvator! the question is not for man what he can scorn,\nbut what he can love.\n\n\u00a7 15. I do not care to trace the various hold which Hades takes on this\nfallen soul. It is no part of my work here to analyze his art, nor even\nthat of Durer; all that we need to note is the opposite answer they gave\nto the question about death.\n\nTo Salvator it came in narrow terms. Desolation, without hope,\nthroughout the fields of nature he had to explore; hypocrisy and\nsensuality, triumphant and shameless, in the cities from which he\nderived his support. His life, so far as any nobility remained in it,\ncould only pass in horror, disdain, or despair. It is difficult to say\nwhich of the three prevails most in his common work; but his answer to\nthe great question was of despair only. He represents \"Umana Fragilita\"\nby the type of a skeleton with plumy wings, leaning over a woman and\nchild; the earth covered with ruin round them--a thistle, casting its\nseed, the only fruit of it. \"Thorns, also, and thistles shall it bring\nforth to thee.\" The same tone of thought marks all Salvator's more\nearnest work.\n\n\u00a7 16. On the contrary, in the sight of Durer, things were for the most\npart as they ought to be. Men did their work in his city and in the\nfields round it. The clergy were sincere. Great social questions\nunagitated; great social evils either non-existent, or seemingly a part\nof the nature of things, and inevitable. His answer was that of patient\nhope; and twofold, consisting of one design in praise of Fortitude, and\nanother in praise of Labor. The Fortitude, commonly known as the \"Knight\nand Death,\" represents a knight riding through a dark valley overhung by\nleafless trees, and with a great castle on a hill beyond. Beside him,\nbut a little in advance, rides Death on a pale horse. Death is\ngray-haired and crowned;--serpents wreathed about his crown; (the sting\nof death involved in the kingly power). He holds up the hour-glass, and\nlooks earnestly into the knight's face. Behind him follows Sin; but Sin\npowerless; he has been conquered and passed by, but follows yet,\nwatching if any way of assault remains. On his forehead are two horns--I\nthink, of sea-shell--to indicate his insatiableness and instability. He\nhas also the twisted horns of the ram, for stubbornness, the ears of an\nass, the snout of a swine, the hoofs of a goat. Torn wings hang useless\nfrom his shoulders, and he carries a spear with two hooks, for catching\nas well as wounding. The knight does not heed him, nor even Death,\nthough he is conscious of the presence of the last.\n\nHe rides quietly, his bridle firm in his hand, and his lips set close in\na slight sorrowful smile, for he hears what Death is saying; and hears\nit as the word of a messenger who brings pleasant tidings, thinking to\nbring evil ones. A little branch of delicate heath is twisted round his\nhelmet. His horse trots proudly and straight; its head high, and with a\ncluster of oak on the brow where on the fiend's brow is the sea-shell\nhorn. But the horse of Death stoops its head; and its rein catches the\nlittle bell which hangs from the knight's horse-bridle, making it toll,\nas a passing bell.[4]\n\n\u00a7 17. Durer's second answer is the plate of \"Melencholia,\" which is the\nhistory of the sorrowful toil of the earth, as the \"Knight and Death\" is\nof its sorrowful patience under temptation.\n\nSalvator's answer, remember, is in both respects that of despair. Death\nas he reads, lord of temptation, is victor over the spirit of man; and\nlord of ruin, is victor over the work of man. Durer declares the sad,\nbut unsullied conquest over Death the tempter; and the sad, but\nenduring conquest over Death the destroyer.\n\n\u00a7 18. Though the general intent of the Melencholia is clear, and to be\nfelt at a glance, I am in some doubt respecting its special symbolism. I\ndo not know how far Durer intended to show that labor, in many of its\nmost earnest forms, is closely connected with the morbid sadness, or\n\"dark anger,\" of the northern nations. Truly some of the best work ever\ndone for man, has been in that dark anger;[5] but I have not yet been\nable to determine for myself how far this is necessary, or how far great\nwork may also be done with cheerfulness. If I knew what the truth was, I\nshould be able to interpret Durer better; meantime the design seems to\nme his answer to the complaint, \"Yet is his strength labor and sorrow.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replies, \"but labor and sorrow are his strength.\"\n\n\u00a7 19. The labor indicated is in the daily work of men. Not the inspired\nor gifted labor of the few (it is labor connected with the sciences, not\nwith the arts), shown in its four chief functions: thoughtful, faithful,\ncalculating and executing.\n\nThoughtful, first; all true power coming of that resolved, resistless\ncalm of melancholy thought. This is the first and last message of the\nwhole design. Faithful, the right arm of the spirit resting on the book.\nCalculating (chiefly in the sense of self-command), the compasses in her\nright hand. Executive--roughest instruments of labor at her feet: a\ncrucible, and geometrical solids, indicating her work in the sciences.\nOver her head the hour-glass and the bell, for their continual words,\n\"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do.\" Beside her, childish labor\n(lesson-learning?) sitting on an old millstone, with a tablet on its\nknees. I do not know what instrument it has in its hand. At her knees, a\nwolf-hound asleep. In the distance, a comet (the disorder and\nthreatening of the universe) setting, the rainbow dominant over it. Her\nstrong body is close girded for work; at her waist hang the keys of\nwealth; but the coin is cast aside contemptuously under her feet. She\nhas eagles' wings, and is crowned with fair leafage of spring.\n\nYes, Albert of Nuremberg, it was a noble answer, yet an imperfect one.\nThis is indeed the labor which is crowned with laurel and has the wings\nof the eagle. It was reserved for another country to prove, for another\nhand to portray, the labor which is crowned with fire, and has the wings\nof the bat.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] To obtain room for the goods, the roofs slope steeply, and their\n    other dormer windows are richly carved--but all are of wood; and, for\n    the most part, I think, some hundred years later than Durer's time. A\n    large number of the oriel and bow windows on the fa\u00e7ades are wooden\n    also, and of recent date.\n\n  [2] His piece in the cathedral of Magdeburg is strangely inferior,\n    wanting both the grace of composition and bold handling of the St.\n    Sebald's. The bronze fountains at Nuremberg (three, of fame, in as\n    many squares) are highly wrought, and have considerable merit; the\n    ordinary ironwork of the houses, with less pretension, is, perhaps,\n    more truly artistic. In Plate 52, the right-hand figure is a\n    characteristic example of the bell-handle at the door of a private\n    house, composed of a wreath of flowers and leafage twisted in a\n    spiral round an upright rod, the spiral terminating below in a\n    delicate tendril; the whole of wrought iron. It is longer than\n    represented, some of the leaf-links of the chain being omitted in the\n    dotted spaces, as well as the handle, which, though often itself of\n    leafage, is always convenient for the hand.\n\n  [3] By Mr. Le Keux, very admirably.\n\n  [4] This was first pointed out to me by a friend--Mr. Robin Allen. It\n    is a beautiful thought; yet, possibly, an after-thought, I have some\n    suspicion that there is an alteration in the plate at that place, and\n    that the rope to which the bell hangs was originally the line of the\n    chest of the nearer horse, as the grass-blades about the lifted hind\n    leg conceal the lines which could not, in Durer's way of work, be\n    effaced, indicating its first intended position. What a proof of his\n    general decision of handling is involved in this \"repentir\"!\n\n  [5] \"Yet withal, you see that the Monarch is a great, valiant,\n    cautious, melancholy, commanding man\"--Friends in Council, last\n    volume, p. 269; Milverton giving an account of Titian's picture of\n    Charles the Fifth. (Compare Ellesmere's description of Milverton\n    himself, p. 140.) Read carefully also what is said further on\n    respecting Titian's freedom, and fearless with holding of flattery;\n    comparing it with the note on Giorgione and Titian.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nCLAUDE AND POUSSIN.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. It was stated in the last chapter that Salvator was the last\npainter of Italy on whom any fading trace of the old faithful spirit\nrested. Carrying some of its passion far into the seventeenth century,\nhe deserved to be remembered together with the painters whom the\nquestioning of the Reformation had exercised, eighty years before. Not\nso his contemporaries. The whole body of painters around him, but\nchiefly those of landscape, had cast aside all regard for the faith of\ntheir fathers, or for any other; and founded a school of art properly\ncalled \"classical,\"[1] of which the following are the chief\ncharacteristics.\n\n\u00a7 2. The belief in a supreme benevolent Being having ceased, and the\nsense of spiritual destitution fastening on the mind, together with the\nhopeless perception of ruin and decay in the existing world, the\nimagination sought to quit itself from the oppression of these ideas by\nrealizing a perfect worldly felicity, in which the inevitable ruin\nshould at least be lovely, and the necessarily short life entirely happy\nand refined. Labor must be banished, since it was to be unrewarded.\nHumiliation and degradation of body must be prevented since there could\nbe no compensation for them by preparation of the soul for another\nworld. Let us eat and drink (refinedly), for to-morrow we die, and\nattain the highest possible dignity as men in this world, since we shall\nhave none as spirits in the next.\n\n\u00a7 3. Observe, this is neither the Greek nor the Roman spirit. Neither\nClaude, nor Poussin, nor any other painter or writer, properly termed\n\"classical,\" ever could enter into the Greek or Roman heart, which was\nas full, in many cases fuller, of the hope of immortality than our own.\n\nOn the absence of belief in a good supreme Being, follows, necessarily,\nthe habit of looking to ourselves for supreme judgment in all matters,\nand for supreme government. Hence, first, the irreverent habit of\njudgment instead of admiration. It is generally expressed under the\njustly degrading term \"good taste.\"\n\n\u00a7 4. Hence, in the second place, the habit of restraint or\nself-government (instead of impulsive and limitless obedience), based\nupon pride, and involving, for the most part, scorn of the helpless and\nweak, and respect only for the orders of men who have been trained to\nthis habit of self-government. Whence the title classical, from the\nLatin _classicus_.\n\n\u00a7 5. The school is, therefore, generally to be characterized as that of\ntaste and restraint. As the school of taste, everything is, in its\nestimation, beneath it, so as to be tasted or tested; not above it, to\nbe thankfully received. Nothing was to be fed upon as bread; but only\npalated as a dainty. This spirit has destroyed art since the close of\nthe sixteenth century, and nearly destroyed French literature, our\nEnglish literature being at the same time severely depressed, and our\neducation (except in bodily strength) rendered nearly nugatory by it, so\nfar as it affects common-place minds. It is not possible that the\nclassical spirit should ever take possession of a mind of the highest\norder. Pope is, as far as I know, the greatest man who ever fell\nstrongly under its influence; and though it spoiled half his work, he\nbroke through it continually into true enthusiasm and tender thought.[2]\nAgain, as the school of reserve, it refuses to allow itself in any\nviolent or \"spasmodic\" passion; the schools of literature which have\nbeen in modern times called \"spasmodic,\" being reactionary against it.\nThe word, though an ugly one, is quite accurate, the most spasmodic\nbooks in the world being Solomon's Song, Job, and Isaiah.\n\n\u00a7 6. The classical landscape, properly so called, is therefore the\nrepresentative of perfectly trained and civilized human life, associated\nwith perfect natural scenery and with decorative spiritual powers.\n\nI will expand this definition a little.\n\n1. Perfectly civilized human life; that is, life freed from the\nnecessity of humiliating labor, from passions inducing bodily disease,\nand from abusing misfortune. The personages of the classical landscape,\ntherefore, must be virtuous and amiable; if employed in labor, endowed\nwith strength such as may make it not oppressive. (Considered as a\npracticable ideal, the classical life necessarily implies slavery, and\nthe command, therefore, of a higher order of men over a lower, occupied\nin servile work.) Pastoral occupation is allowable as a contrast with\ncity life. War, if undertaken by classical persons, must be a contest\nfor honor, more than for life, not at all for wealth,[3] and free from\nall fearful or debasing passion. Classical persons must be trained in\nall the polite arts, and, because their health is to be perfect, chiefly\nin the open air. Hence, the architecture around them must be of the most\nfinished kind, the rough country and ground being subdued by frequent\nand happy humanity.\n\n\u00a7 7. 2. Such personages and buildings must be associated with natural\nscenery, uninjured by storms or inclemency of climate (such injury\nimplying interruption of the open air life); and it must be scenery\nconducing to pleasure, not to material service; all cornfields,\norchards, olive-yards, and such like, being under the management of\nslaves,[4] and the superior beings having nothing to do with them; but\npassing their lives under avenues of scented and otherwise delightful\ntrees--under picturesque rocks, and by clear fountains.\n\n\u00a7 8. 3. The spiritual powers in classical scenery must be decorative;\nornamental gods, not governing gods; otherwise they could not be\nsubjected to the principles of taste, but would demand reverence. In\norder, therefore, as far as possible, without taking away their\nsupernatural power, to destroy their dignity, they are made more\ncriminal and capricious than men, and, for the most part, those only are\nintroduced who are the lords of lascivious pleasures. For the appearance\nof any great god would at once destroy the whole theory of the classical\nlife; therefore, Pan, Bacchus, and the Satyrs, with Venus and the\nNymphs, are the principal spiritual powers of the classical landscape.\nApollo with the Muses appear as the patrons of the liberal arts. Minerva\nrarely presents herself (except to be insulted by judgment of Paris);\nJuno seldom, except for some purpose of tyranny; Jupiter seldom, but for\npurpose of amour.\n\n\u00a7 9. Such being the general ideal of the classical landscape, it can\nhardly be necessary to show the reader how such charm as it possesses\nmust in general be strong only over weak or second-rate orders of mind.\nIt has, however, been often experimentally or playfully aimed at by\ngreat men; but I shall only take note of its two leading masters.\n\n\u00a7 10. I. Claude. As I shall have no farther occasion to refer to this\npainter, I will resume, shortly, what has been said of him throughout\nthe work. He had a fine feeling for beauty of form and considerable\ntenderness of perception. Vol. I., p. 76; vol. III., p. 318. His a\u00ebrial\neffects are unequalled. Vol. III., p. 318. Their character appears to me\nto arise rather from a delicacy of bodily constitution in Claude, than\nfrom any mental sensibility; such as they are, they give a kind of\nfeminine charm to his work, which partly accounts for its wide\ninfluence. To whatever the character may be traced, it reads him\nincapable of enjoying or painting anything energetic or terrible. Hence\nthe weakness of his conceptions of rough sea. Vol. I., p. 77.\n\nII. He had sincerity of purpose. Vol. III., p. 318. But in common with\nother landscape painters of his day, neither earnestness, humility, nor\nlove, such as would ever cause him to forget himself. Vol. I., p. 77.\n\nThat is to say, so far as he felt the truth, he tried to be true; but he\nnever felt it enough to sacrifice supposed propriety, or habitual method\nto it. Very few of his sketches, and none of his pictures, show evidence\nof interest in other natural phenomena than the quiet afternoon sunshine\nwhich would fall methodically into a composition. One would suppose he\nhad never seen scarlet in a morning cloud, nor a storm burst on the\nApennines. But he enjoys a quiet misty afternoon in a ruminant sort of\nway (Vol. III., p. 322), yet truly; and strives for the likeness of it,\ntherein differing from Salvator, who never attempts to be truthful, but\nonly to be impressive.\n\n\u00a7 11. III. His seas are the most beautiful in old art. Vol. I., p. 345.\nFor he studied tame waves, as he did tame skies, with great sincerity,\nand some affection; and modelled them with more care not only than any\nother landscape painter of his day, but even than any of the greater\nmen; for they, seeing the perfect painting of sea to be impossible, gave\nup the attempt, and treated it conventionally. But Claude took so much\npains about this, feeling it was one of his _fortes_, that I suppose no\none can model a small wave better than he.\n\nIV. He first set the pictorial sun in the pictorial heaven. Vol. III.,\np. 318. We will give him the credit of this, with no drawbacks.\n\nV. He had hardly any knowledge of physical science (Vol. I., p. 76), and\nshows a peculiar incapacity of understanding the main point of a matter.\nVol. III., p. 321. Connected with which incapacity is his want of\nharmony in expression. Vol. II., p. 151. (Compare, for illustration of\nthis, the account of the picture of the Mill in the preface to Vol. I.)\n\n\u00a7 12. Such were the principal qualities of the leading painter of\nclassical landscape, his effeminate softness carrying him to dislike all\nevidences of toil, or distress, or terror, and to delight in the calm\nformalities which mark the school.\n\nAlthough he often introduces romantic incidents and medi\u00e6val as well as\nGreek or Roman personages, his landscape is always in the true sense\nclassic--everything being \"elegantly\" (selectingly or tastefully), not\npassionately, treated. The absence of indications of rural labor, of\nhedges, ditches, haystacks, ploughed fields, and the like; the frequent\noccurrence of ruins of temples, or masses of unruined palaces; and the\ngraceful wildness of growth in his trees, are the principal sources of\nthe \"elevated\" character which so many persons feel in his scenery.\n\nThere is no other sentiment traceable in his work than this weak dislike\nto entertain the conception of toil or suffering. Ideas of relation, in\nthe true sense, he has none; nor ever makes an effort to conceive an\nevent in its probable circumstances, but fills his foregrounds with\ndecorative figures, using commonest conventionalism to indicate the\nsubject he intends. We may take two examples, merely to show the general\ncharacter of such designs of his.\n\n\u00a7 13. 1. St. George and the Dragon.\n\nThe scene is a beautiful opening in woods by a river side, a pleasant\nfountain springs on the right, and the usual rich vegetation covers the\nforeground. The dragon is about the size of ten bramble leaves, and is\nbeing killed by the remains of a lance, barely the thickness of a\nwalking-stick, in his throat, curling his tail in a highly offensive and\nthreatening manner. St. George, notwithstanding, on a prancing horse,\nbrandishes his sword, at about thirty yards' distance from the offensive\nanimal.\n\nA semicircular shelf of rocks encircles the foreground, by which the\ntheatre of action is divided into pit and boxes. Some women and children\nhaving descended unadvisedly into the pit, are helping each other out of\nit again, with marked precipitation. A prudent person of rank has taken\na front seat in the boxes,--crosses his legs, leans his head on his\nhand, and contemplates the proceedings with the air of a connoisseur.\nTwo attendants stand in graceful attitudes behind him, and two more walk\naway under the trees, conversing on general subjects.\n\n\u00a7 14. 2. Worship of the Golden Calf.\n\nThe scene is nearly the same as that of the St. George; but, in order\nbetter to express the desert of Sinai, the river is much larger, and the\ntrees and vegetation softer. Two people, uninterested in the idolatrous\nceremonies, are rowing in a pleasure boat on the river. The calf is\nabout sixteen inches long (perhaps, we ought to give Claude credit for\nremembering that it was made of ear-rings, though he might as well have\ninquired how large Egyptian ear-rings were). Aaron has put it on a\nhandsome pillar, under which five people are dancing, and twenty-eight,\nwith several children, worshipping. Refreshments for the dancers are\nprovided in four large vases under a tree on the left, presided over by\na dignified person holding a dog in a leash. Under the distant group of\ntrees appears Moses, conducted by some younger personage (Nadab or\nAbihu). This younger personage holds up his hands, and Moses, in the\nway usually expected of him, breaks the tables of the law, which are as\nlarge as an ordinary octavo volume.\n\n\u00a7 15. I need not proceed farther, for any reader of sense or ordinary\npowers of thought can thus examine the subjects of Claude, one by one,\nfor himself. We may quit him with these few final statements concerning\nhim.\n\nThe admiration of his works was legitimate, so far as it regarded their\nsunlight effects and their graceful details. It was base, in so far as\nit involved irreverence both for the deeper powers of nature, and\ncarelessness as to conception of subject. Large admiration of Claude is\nwholly impossible in any period of national vigor in art. He may by such\ntenderness as he possesses, and by the very fact of his banishing\npainfulness, exercise considerable influence over certain classes of\nminds; but this influence is almost exclusively hurtful to them.\n\n\u00a7 16. Nevertheless, on account of such small sterling qualities as they\npossess, and of their general pleasantness, as well as their importance\nin the history of art, genuine Claudes must always possess a\nconsiderable value, either as drawing-room ornaments or museum relics.\nThey may be ranked with fine pieces of China manufacture, and other\nagreeable curiosities, of which the price depends on the rarity rather\nthan the merit, yet always on a merit of a certain low kind.\n\n\u00a7 17. The other characteristic master of classical landscape is Nicolo\nPoussin.\n\nI named Claude first, because the forms of scenery he has represented\nare richer and more general than Poussin's; but Poussin has a far\ngreater power, and his landscapes, though more limited in material, are\nincomparably nobler than Claude's. It would take considerable time to\nenter into accurate analysis of Poussin's strong but degraded mind; and\nbring us no reward, because whatever he has done has been done better by\nTitian. His peculiarities are, without exception, weaknesses, induced in\na highly intellectual and inventive mind by being fed on medals, books,\nand bassi-relievi instead of nature, and by the want of any deep\nsensibility. His best works are his Bacchanalian revels, always brightly\nwanton and wild, full of frisk and fire; but they are coarser than\nTitian's, and infinitely less beautiful. In all minglings of the human\nand brutal character he leans on the bestial, yet with a sternly Greek\nseverity of treatment. This restraint, peculiarly classical, is much too\nmanifest in him; for, owing to his habit of never letting himself be\nfree, he does nothing as well as it ought to be done, rarely even as\nwell as he can himself do it; and his best beauty is poor, incomplete,\nand characterless, though refined. The Nymph pressing the honey in the\n\"Nursing of Jupiter,\" and the Muse leaning against the tree, in the\n\"Inspiration of Poet\" (both in the Dulwich Gallery), appear to me\nexamples of about his highest reach in this sphere.\n\n\u00a7 18. His want of sensibility permits him to paint frightful subjects,\nwithout feeling any true horror: his pictures of the Plague, the Death\nof Polydectes, &c., are thus ghastly in incident, sometimes disgusting,\nbut never impressive. The prominence of the bleeding head in the Triumph\nof David marks the same temper. His battle pieces are cold and feeble;\nhis religious subjects wholly nugatory, they do not excite him enough to\ndevelop even his ordinary powers of invention. Neither does he put much\npower into his landscape when it becomes principal; the best pieces of\nit occur in fragments behind his figures. Beautiful vegetation, more or\nless ornamental in character, occurs in nearly all his mythological\nsubjects, but his pure landscape is notable only for its dignified\nreserve; the great squareness and horizontality of its masses, with\nlowness of tone, giving it a deeply meditative character. His Deluge\nmight be much depreciated, under this head of ideas of relation, but it\nis so uncharacteristic of him that I pass it by. Whatever power this\nlowness of tone, light in the distance, &c., give to his landscape, or\nto Gaspar's (compare Vol. II., Chapter on Infinity, \u00a7 12), is in both\nconventional and artificial.\n\nI have nothing, therefore, to add farther, here, to what was said of him\nin Vol. I. (p. 89); and, as no other older masters of the classical\nlandscape are worth any special note, we will pass on at once to a\nschool of humbler but more vital power.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] The word \"classical\" is carelessly used in the preceding volumes,\n    to signify the characters of the Greek or Roman nations.\n    Henceforward, it is used in a limited and accurate sense, as defined\n    in the text.\n\n  [2] Cold-hearted, I have called him. He was so in writing the\n    Pastorals, of which I then spoke; but in after-life his errors were\n    those of his time, his wisdom was his own; it would be well if we\n    also made it ours.\n\n  [3] Because the pursuit of wealth is inconsistent at once with the\n    peace and dignity of perfect life.\n\n  [4] It is curious, as marking the peculiarity of the classical spirit\n    in its resolute degradation of the lower orders, that a\n    sailing-vessel is hardly admissible in a classical landscape, because\n    its management implies too much elevation of the inferior life. But a\n    galley, with oars, is admissible, because the rowers may be conceived\n    as absolute slaves.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nRUBENS AND CUYP.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. The examination of the causes which led to the final departure of\nthe religious spirit from the hearts of painters, would involve\ndiscussion of the whole scope of the Reformation on the minds of persons\nunconcerned directly in its progress. This is of course impossible.\n\nOne or two broad facts only can be stated, which the reader may verify,\nif he pleases, by his own labor. I do not give them rashly.\n\n\u00a7 2. The strength of the Reformation lay entirely in its being a\nmovement towards purity of practice.\n\nThe Catholic priesthood was hostile to it in proportion to the degree in\nwhich they had been false to their own principles of moral action, and\nhad become corrupt or worldly in heart.\n\nThe Reformers indeed cast out many absurdities, and demonstrated many\nfallacies, in the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church. But they\nthemselves introduced errors, which rent the ranks, and finally arrested\nthe march of the Reformation, and which paralyze the Protestant Church\nto this day. Errors of which the fatality was increased by the\ncontroversial bent which lost accuracy of meaning in force of\ndeclamation, and turned expressions, which ought to be used only in\nretired depth of thought, into phrases of custom, or watchwords of\nattack. Owing to which habits of hot, ingenious, and unguarded\ncontroversy, the Reformed churches themselves soon forgot the meaning of\nthe word which, of all words, was oftenest in their mouths. They forgot\nthat [Greek: pistis] is a derivative of [Greek: peithomai], not of\n[Greek: pisteu\u00f4], and that \"fides,\" closely connected with \"fio\" on one\nside, and with \"confido\" on the other, is but distantly related to\n\"credo.\"[1]\n\n\u00a7 3. By whatever means, however, the reader may himself be disposed to\nadmit, the Reformation _was_ arrested; and got itself shut up into\nchancels of cathedrals in England (even those, generally too large for\nit), and into conventicles everywhere else. Then rising between the\ninfancy of Reformation, and the palsy of Catholicism;--between a new\nshell of half-built religion on one side, daubed with untempered mortar,\nand a falling ruin of outworn religion on the other, lizard-crannied,\nand ivy-grown;--rose, on its independent foundation, the faithless and\nmaterialized mind of modern Europe--ending in the rationalism of\nGermany, the polite formalism of England, the careless blasphemy of\nFrance, and the helpless sensualities of Italy; in the midst of which,\nsteadily advancing science, and the charities of more and more widely\nextended peace, are preparing the way for a Christian church, which\nshall depend neither on ignorance for its continuance, nor on\ncontroversy for its progress; but shall reign at once in light, and\nlove.\n\n\u00a7 4. The whole body of painters (such of them as were left) necessarily\nfell into the rationalistic chasm. The Evangelicals despised the arts,\nwhile the Roman Catholics were effete or insincere, and could not retain\ninfluence over men of strong reasoning power.\n\nThe painters could only associate frankly with men of the world, and\nthemselves became men of the world. Men, I mean, having no belief in\nspiritual existences; no interests or affections beyond the grave.\n\n\u00a7 5. Not but that they still painted scriptural subjects. Altar-pieces\nwere wanted occasionally, and pious patrons sometimes commissioned a\ncabinet Madonna. But there is just this difference between the men of\nthis modern period, and the Florentines or Venetians--that whereas the\nlatter never exert themselves fully except on a sacred subject, the\nFlemish and Dutch masters are always languid unless they are profane.\nLeonardo is only to be seen in the Cena; Titian only in the Assumption;\nbut Rubens only in the Battle of the Amazons, and Vandyck only at court.\n\n\u00a7 6. Altar-pieces, when wanted, of course either of them will supply as\nreadily as anything else. Virgins in blue,[2] or St. Johns in red,[3] as\nmany as you please. Martyrdoms also, by all means: Rubens especially\ndelights in these. St. Peter, head downwards,[4] is interesting\nanatomically; writhings of impenitent thieves, and bishops having their\ntongues pulled out, display our powers to advantage, also.[5]\nTheological instruction, if required: \"Christ armed with thunder, to\ndestroy the world, spares it at the intercession of St. Francis.\"[6]\nLast Judgments even, quite Michael-Angelesque, rich in twistings of\nlimbs, with spiteful biting, and scratching; and fine a\u00ebrial effects in\nsmoke of the pit.[7]\n\n\u00a7 7. In all this, however, there is not a vestige of religious feeling\nor reverence. We have even some visible difficulty in meeting our\npatron's pious wishes. Daniel in the lion's den is indeed an available\nsubject, but duller than a lion hunt; and Mary of Nazareth must be\npainted, if an order come for her; but (says polite Sir Peter), Mary of\nMedicis, or Catherine, her bodice being fuller, and better embroidered,\nwould, if we might offer a suggestion, probably give greater\nsatisfaction.\n\n\u00a7 8. No phenomenon in human mind is more extraordinary than the junction\nof this cold and worldly temper with great rectitude of principle, and\ntranquil kindness of heart. Rubens was an honorable and entirely\nwell-intentioned man, earnestly industrious, simple and temperate in\nhabits of life, high-bred, learned, and discreet. His affection for his\nmother was great; his generosity to contemporary artists unfailing. He\nis a healthy, worthy, kind-hearted, courtly-phrased--Animal--without any\nclearly perceptible traces of a soul, except when he paints his\nchildren. Few descriptions of pictures could be more ludicrous in their\npure animalism than those which he gives of his own. \"It is a subject,\"\nhe writes to Sir D. Carleton, \"neither sacred nor profane, although\ntaken from Holy Writ, namely, Sarah in the act of scolding Hagar, who,\npregnant, is leaving the house in a feminine and graceful manner,\nassisted by the patriarch Abram.\" (What a graceful apology, by the way,\ninstantly follows, for not having finished the picture himself.) \"I have\nengaged, as is my custom, a very skilful man in his pursuit to finish\nthe landscapes solely to augment the enjoyment of Y. E.!\"[8]\n\nAgain, in priced catalogue,--\n\n\"50 florins each.--The Twelve Apostles, with a Christ. Done by my\nscholars, from originals by my own hand, each having to be retouched by\nmy hand throughout.\n\n\"600 florins.--A picture of Achilles clothed as a woman; done by the\nbest of my scholars, and the whole retouched by my hand; a most\nbrilliant picture, and full of many beautiful young girls.\"\n\n\u00a7 9. Observe, however, Rubens is always entirely honorable in his\nstatements of what is done by himself and what not. He is religious,\ntoo, after his manner; hears mass every morning, and perpetually uses\nthe phrase \"by the grace of God,\" or some other such, in writing of any\nbusiness he takes in hand; but the tone of his religion may be\ndetermined by one fact.\n\nWe saw how Veronese painted himself and his family, as worshipping the\nMadonna.\n\nRubens has also painted himself and his family in an equally elaborate\npiece. But they are not _worshipping_ the Madonna. They are _performing_\nthe Madonna, and her saintly entourage. His favorite wife \"En Madone;\"\nhis youngest boy \"as Christ;\" his father-in-law (or father, it matters\nnot which) \"as Simeon;\" another elderly relation, with a beard, \"as St.\nJerome;\" and he himself \"as St. George.\"\n\n\u00a7 10. Rembrandt has also painted (it is, on the whole, his greatest\npicture, so far as I have seen) himself and his wife in a state of ideal\nhappiness. He sits at supper with his wife on his knee, flourishing a\nglass of champagne, with a roast peacock on the table.\n\nThe Rubens is in the Church of St. James at Antwerp; the Rembrandt at\nDresden--marvellous pictures, both. No more precious works by either\npainter exist. Their hearts, such as they have, are entirely in them;\nand the two pictures, not inaptly, represent the Faith and Hope of the\n17th century. We have to stoop somewhat lower, in order to comprehend\nthe pastoral and rustic scenery of Cuyp and Teniers, which must yet be\nheld as forming one group with the historical art of Rubens, being\nconnected with it by Rubens' pastoral landscape. To these, I say, we\nmust stoop lower; for they are destitute, not of spiritual character\nonly, but of spiritual thought.\n\nRubens often gives instructive and magnificent allegory; Rembrandt,\npathetic or powerful fancies, founded on real scripture reading, and on\nhis interest in the picturesque character of the Jew. And Vandyck, a\ngraceful dramatic rendering of received scriptural legends.\n\nBut in the pastoral landscape we lose, not only all faith in religion,\nbut all remembrance of it. Absolutely now at last we find ourselves\nwithout sight of God in all the world.\n\n\u00a7 11. So far as I can hear or read, this is an entirely new and\nwonderful state of things achieved by the Hollanders. The human being\nnever got wholly quit of the terror of spiritual being before. Persian,\nEgyptian, Assyrian, Hindoo, Chinese, all kept some dim, appalling record\nof what they called \"gods.\" Farthest savages had--and still have--their\nGreat Spirit, or, in extremity, their feather idols, large-eyed; but\nhere in Holland we have at last got utterly done with it all. Our only\nidol glitters dimly, in tangible shape of a pint pot, and all the\nincense offered thereto, comes out of a small censer or bowl at the end\nof a pipe. Of deities or virtues, angels, principalities, or powers, in\nthe name of our ditches, no more. Let us have cattle, and market\nvegetables.\n\nThis is the first and essential character of the Holland landscape art.\nIts second is a worthier one; respect for rural life.\n\n\u00a7 12. I should attach greater importance to this rural feeling, if there\nwere any true humanity in it, or any feeling for beauty. But there is\nneither. No incidents of this lower life are painted for the sake of the\nincidents, but only for the effects of light. You will find that the\nbest Dutch painters do not care about the people, but about the lustres\non them. Paul Potter, their best herd and cattle painter, does not care\neven for sheep, but only for wool; regards not cows, but cowhide. He\nattains great dexterity in drawing tufts and locks, lingers in the\nlittle parallel ravines and furrows of fleece that open across sheep's\nbacks as they turn; is unsurpassed in twisting a horn or pointing a\nnose; but he cannot paint eyes, nor perceive any condition of an\nanimal's mind, except its desire of grazing. Cuyp can, indeed, paint\nsunlight, the best that Holland's sun can show; he is a man of large\nnatural gift, and sees broadly, nay, even seriously; finds out--a\nwonderful thing for men to find out in those days--that there are\nreflections in water, and that boats require often to be painted upside\ndown. A brewer by trade, he feels the quiet of a summer afternoon, and\nhis work will make you marvellously drowsy. It is good for nothing else\nthat I know of: strong; but unhelpful and unthoughtful. Nothing happens\nin his pictures, except some indifferent person's asking the way of\nsomebody else, who, by their cast of countenance, seems not likely to\nknow it. For farther entertainment perhaps a red cow and a white one; or\npuppies at play, not playfully; the man's heart not going even with the\npuppies. Essentially he sees nothing but the shine on the flaps of their\nears.\n\n\u00a7 13. Observe always, the fault lies not in the thing's being little, or\nthe incident being slight. Titian could have put issues of life and\ndeath into the face of a man asking the way; nay, into the back of him,\nif he had so chosen. He has put a whole scheme of dogmatic theology into\na row of bishops' backs at the Louvre. And for dogs, Velasquez has made\nsome of them nearly as grand as his surly kings.\n\nInto the causes of which grandeur we must look a little, with respect\nnot only to these puppies, and gray horses, and cattle of Cuyp, but to\nthe hunting pieces of Rubens and Snyders. For closely connected with the\nDutch rejection of motives of spiritual interest, is the increasing\nimportance attached by them to animals, seen either in the chase or in\nagriculture; and to judge justly of the value of this animal painting it\nwill be necessary for us to glance at that of earlier times.\n\n\u00a7 14. And first of the animals which have had more influence over the\nhuman soul, in its modern life, than ever Apis or the crocodile had\nover Egyptian--the dog and horse. I stated, in speaking of Venetian\nreligion, that the Venetians always introduced the dog as a contrast to\nthe high aspects of humanity. They do this, not because they consider\nhim the basest of animals, but the highest--the connecting link between\nmen and animals; in whom the lower forms of really human feeling may be\nbest exemplified, such as conceit, gluttony, indolence, petulance. But\nthey saw the noble qualities of the dog, too;--all his patience, love,\nand faithfulness; therefore Veronese, hard as he is often on lap-dogs,\nhas painted one great heroic poem on the dog.\n\n\u00a7 15. Two mighty brindled mastiffs, and beyond them, darkness. You\nscarcely see them at first, against the gloomy green. No other sky for\nthem--poor things. They are gray themselves, spotted with black all\nover; their multitudinous doggish vices may not be washed out of\nthem,--are in grain of nature. Strong thewed and sinewed, however,--no\nblame on them as far as bodily strength may reach; their heads\ncoal-black, with drooping ears and fierce eyes, bloodshot a little.\nWildest of beasts perhaps they would have been, by nature. But between\nthem stands the spirit of their human Love, dove-winged and beautiful,\nthe resistless Greek boy, golden-quivered; his glowing breast and limbs\nthe only light upon the sky,--purple and pure. He has cast his chain\nabout the dogs' necks, and holds it in his strong right hand, leaning\nproudly a little back from them. They will never break loose.\n\n\u00a7 16. This is Veronese's highest, or spiritual view of the dog's nature.\nHe can only give this when looking at the creature alone. When he sees\nit in company with men, he subdues it, like an inferior light in\npresence of the sky; and generally then gives it a merely brutal nature,\nnot insisting even on its affection. It is thus used in the Marriage in\nCana to symbolize gluttony. That great picture I have not yet had time\nto examine in all its bearings of thought; but the chief purpose of it\nis, I believe, to express the pomp and pleasure of the world, pursued\nwithout thought of the presence of Christ; therefore the Fool with the\nbells is put in the centre, immediately underneath the Christ; and in\nfront are the couple of dogs in leash, one gnawing a bone. A cat lying\non her back scratches at one of the vases which hold the wine of the\nmiracle.\n\n\u00a7 17. In the picture of Susannah, her little pet dog is merely doing his\nduty, barking at the Elders. But in that of the Magdalen (at Turin) a\nnoble piece of bye-meaning is brought out by a dog's help. On one side\nis the principal figure, the Mary washing Christ's feet; on the other, a\ndog has just come out from beneath the table (the dog under the table\neating of the crumbs), and in doing so, has touched the robe of one of\nthe Pharisees, thus making it unclean. The Pharisee gathers up his robe\nin a passion, and shows the hem of it to a bystander, pointing to the\ndog at the same time.\n\n\u00a7 18. In the Supper at Emmaus, the dog's affection is, however, fully\ndwelt upon. Veronese's own two little daughters are playing, on the\nhither side of the table, with a great wolf-hound, larger than either of\nthem. One with her head down, nearly touching his nose, is talking to\nhim,--asking him questions it seems, nearly pushing him over at the same\ntime:--the other, raising her eyes, half archly, half dreamily,--some\nfar-away thought coming over her,--leans against him on the other side,\npropping him with her little hand, laid slightly on his neck. He, all\npassive, and glad at heart, yielding himself to the pushing or\nsustaining hand, looks earnestly into the face of the child close to\nhis; would answer her with the gravity of a senator, if so it might\nbe:--can only look at her, and love her.\n\n\u00a7 19. To Velasquez and Titian dogs seem less interesting than to\nVeronese; they paint them simply as noble brown beasts, but without any\nspecial character; perhaps Velasquez's dogs are sterner and more\nthreatening than the Venetian's, as are also his kings and admirals.\nThis fierceness in the animal increases, as the spiritual power of the\nartist declines; and, with the fierceness, another character. One great\nand infallible sign of the absence of spiritual power is the presence of\nthe slightest taint of obscenity. Dante marked this strongly in all his\nrepresentations of demons, and as we pass from the Venetians and\nFlorentines to the Dutch, the passing away of the soul-power is\nindicated by every animal becoming savage or foul. The dog is used by\nTeniers, and many other Hollanders, merely to obtain unclean jest; while\nby the more powerful men, Rubens, Snyders, Rembrandt, it is painted only\nin savage chase, or butchered agony. I know no pictures more shameful to\nhumanity than the boar and lion hunts of Rubens and Snyders, signs of\ndisgrace all the deeper, because the powers desecrated are so great. The\npainter of the village ale-house sign may, not dishonorably, paint the\nfox-hunt for the village squire; but the occupation of magnificent\nart-power in giving semblance of perpetuity to those bodily pangs which\nNature has mercifully ordained to be transient, and in forcing us, by\nthe fascination of its stormy skill, to dwell on that from which eyes of\nmerciful men should instinctively turn away, and eyes of high-minded men\nscornfully, is dishonorable, alike in the power which it degrades, and\nthe joy to which it betrays.\n\n\u00a7 20. In our modern treatment of the dog, of which the prevailing\ntendency is marked by Landseer, the interest taken in him is\ndisproportionate to that taken in man, and leads to a somewhat trivial\nmingling of sentiment, or warping by caricature; giving up the true\nnature of the animal for the sake of a pretty thought or pleasant jest.\nNeither Titian nor Velasquez ever jest; and though Veronese jests\ngracefully and tenderly, he never for an instant oversteps the absolute\nfacts of nature. But the English painter looks for sentiment or jest\nprimarily, and reaches both by a feebly romantic taint of fallacy,\nexcept in one or two simple and touching pictures, such as the\nShepherd's Chief Mourner.\n\nI was pleased by a little unpretending modern German picture at\nDusseldorf, by E. Bosch, representing a boy carving a model of his\nsheep-dog in wood; the dog sitting on its haunches in front of him,\nwatches the progress of the sculpture with a grave interest and\ncuriosity, not in the least caricatured, but highly humorous. Another\nsmall picture, by the same artist, of a forester's boy being taught to\nshoot by his father,--the dog critically and eagerly watching the\nraising of the gun,--shows equally true sympathy.\n\n\u00a7 21. I wish I were able to trace any of the leading circumstances in\nthe ancient treatment of the horse, but I have no sufficient data. Its\nfunction in the art of the Greeks is connected with all their beautiful\nfable philosophy; but I have not a tithe of the knowledge necessary to\npursue the subject in this direction. It branches into questions\nrelating to sacred animals, and Egyptian and Eastern mythology. I\nbelieve the Greek interest in _pure_ animal character corresponded\nclosely to our own, except that it is less sentimental, and either\ndistinctly true or distinctly fabulous; not hesitating between truth and\nfalsehood. Achilles' horses, like Anacreon's dove, and Aristophanes'\nfrogs and birds, speak clearly out, if at all. They do not become feebly\nhuman, by fallacies and exaggerations, but frankly and wholly.\n\nZeuxis' picture of the Centaur indicates, however, a more distinctly\nsentimental conception; and I suppose the Greek artists always to have\nfully appreciated the horse's fineness of temper and nervous\nconstitution.[9] They seem, by the way, hardly to have done justice to\nthe dog. My pleasure in the entire Odyssey is diminished because Ulysses\ngives not a word of kindness or of regret to Argus.\n\n\u00a7 22. I am still less able to speak of Roman treatment of the horse. It\nis very strange that in the chivalric ages, he is despised; their\ngreatest painters drawing him with ludicrous neglect. The Venetians, as\nwas natural, painted him little and ill; but he becomes important in the\nequestrian statues of the fifteenth and sixteenth century, chiefly, I\nsuppose, under the influence of Leonardo.\n\nI am not qualified to judge of the merit of these equestrian statues;\nbut, in painting, I find that no real interest is taken in the horse\nuntil Vandyck's time, he and Rubens doing more for it than all previous\npainters put together. Rubens was a good rider, and rode nearly every\nday, as, I doubt not, Vandyck also. Some notice of an interesting\nequestrian picture of Vandyck's will be found in the next chapter. The\nhorse has never, I think, been painted worthily again, since he\ndied.[10] Of the influence of its unworthy painting, and unworthy use, I\ndo not at present care to speak, noticing only that it brought about in\nEngland the last degradations of feeling and of art. The Dutch, indeed,\nbanished all deity from the earth; but I think only in England has\ndeath-bed consolation been sought in a fox's tail.[11]\n\nI wish, however, the reader distinctly to understand that the\nexpressions of reprobation of field-sports which he will find scattered\nthrough these volumes,--and which, in concluding them, I wish I had time\nto collect and farther enforce--refer only to the chase and the turf;\nthat is to say, to hunting, shooting, and horse-racing, but not to\nathletic exercises. I have just as deep a respect for boxing, wrestling,\ncricketing, and rowing, as contempt of all the various modes of wasting\nwealth, time, land, and energy of soul, which have been invented by the\npride and selfishness of men, in order to enable them to be healthy in\nuselessness, and get quit of the burdens of their own lives, without\ncondescending to make them serviceable to others.\n\n\u00a7 23. Lastly, of cattle.\n\nThe period when the interest of men began to be transferred from the\nploughman to his oxen is very distinctly marked by Bassano. In him the\ndescent is even greater, being, accurately, from the Madonna to the\nManger--one of perhaps his best pictures (now, I believe, somewhere in\nthe north of England), representing an adoration of shepherds with\nnothing to adore, they and their herds forming the subject, and the\nChrist being \"supposed\" at the side. From that time cattle-pieces become\nfrequent, and gradually form a staple art commodity. Cuyp's are the\nbest; nevertheless, neither by him nor any one else have I ever seen an\nentirely well-painted cow. All the men who have skill enough to paint\ncattle nobly, disdain them. The real influence of these Dutch\ncattle-pieces, in subsequent art, is difficult to trace, and is not\nworth tracing. They contain a certain healthy appreciation of simple\npleasure which I cannot look upon wholly without respect. On the other\nhand, their cheap tricks of composition degraded the entire technical\nsystem of landscape; and their clownish and blunt vulgarities too long\nblinded us, and continue, so far as in them lies, to blind us yet, to\nall the true refinement and passion of rural life. There have always\nbeen truth and depth of pastoral feeling in the works of great poets and\nnovelists; but never, I think, in painting, until lately. The designs of\nJ. C. Hook are, perhaps, the only works of the kind in existence which\ndeserve to be mentioned in connection with the pastorals of Wordsworth\nand Tennyson.\n\nWe must not, however, yet pass to the modern school, having still to\nexamine the last phase of Dutch design, in which the vulgarities which\nmight be forgiven to the truth of Cuyp, and forgotten in the power of\nRubens, became unpardonable and dominant in the works of men who were at\nonce affected and feeble. But before doing this, we must pause to settle\na preliminary question, which is an important and difficult one, and\nwill need a separate chapter; namely, What is vulgarity itself?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] None of our present forms of opinion are more curious than those\n    which have developed themselves from this verbal carelessness. It\n    never seems to strike any of our religious teachers, that if a child\n    has a father living, it either _knows_ it has a father, or does not:\n    it does not \"believe\" it has a father. We should be surprised to see\n    an intelligent child standing at its garden gate, crying out to the\n    passers-by: \"I believe in my father, because he built this house;\" as\n    logical people proclaim that they believe in God, because He must\n    have made the world.\n\n  [2] Dusseldorf.\n\n  [3] Antwerp.\n\n  [4] Cologne.\n\n  [5] Brussels.\n\n  [6] Brussels.\n\n  [7] Munich.\n\n  [8] Original Papers relating to Rubens; edited by W. Sainsbury.\n    London, 1859: page 39. Y. E. is the person who commissioned the\n    picture.\n\n  [9] \"A single harsh word will raise a nervous horse's pulse ten beats\n    a minute.\"--Mr. Rarey.\n\n  [10] John Lewis has made grand sketches of the horse, but has never,\n    so far as I know, completed any of them. Respecting his wonderful\n    engravings of wild animals, see my pamphlet on Pre-Raphaelitism.\n\n  [11] See \"The Fox-hunter's Death-bed,\" a popular sporting print.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nOF VULGARITY.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Two great errors, coloring, or rather discoloring, severally, the\nminds of the higher and lower classes, have sown wide dissension, and\nwider misfortune, through the society of modern days. These errors are\nin our modes of interpreting the word \"gentleman.\"\n\nIts primal, literal, and perpetual meaning is \"a man of pure race;\" well\nbred, in the sense that a horse or dog is well bred.\n\nThe so-called higher classes, being generally of purer race than the\nlower, have retained the true idea, and the convictions associated with\nit; but are afraid to speak it out, and equivocate about it in public;\nthis equivocation mainly proceeding from their desire to connect another\nmeaning with it, and a false one;--that of \"a man living in idleness on\nother people's labor;\"--with which idea, the term has nothing whatever\nto do.\n\nThe lower classes, denying vigorously, and with reason, the notion that\na gentleman means an idler, and rightly feeling that the more any one\nworks, the more of a gentleman he becomes, and is likely to\nbecome,--have nevertheless got little of the good they otherwise might,\nfrom the truth, because, with it, they wanted to hold a\nfalsehood,--namely, that race was of no consequence. It being precisely\nof as much consequence in man as it is in any other animal.\n\n\u00a7 2. The nation cannot truly prosper till both these errors are finally\ngot quit of. Gentlemen have to learn that it is no part of their duty or\nprivilege to live on other people's toil. They have to learn that there\nis no degradation in the hardest manual, or the humblest servile, labor,\nwhen it is honest. But that there _is_ degradation, and that deep, in\nextravagance, in bribery, in indolence, in pride, in taking places they\nare not fit for, or in coining places for which there is no need. It\ndoes not disgrace a gentleman to become an errand boy, or a day\nlaborer; but it disgraces him much to become a knave, or a thief. And\nknavery is not the less knavery because it involves large interests, nor\ntheft the less theft because it is countenanced by usage, or accompanied\nby failure in undertaken duty. It is an incomparably less guilty form of\nrobbery to cut a purse out of a man's pocket, than to take it out of his\nhand on the understanding that you are to steer his ship up channel,\nwhen you do not know the soundings.\n\n\u00a7 3. On the other hand, the lower orders, and all orders, have to learn\nthat every vicious habit and chronic disease communicates itself by\ndescent; and that by purity of birth the entire system of the human body\nand soul may be gradually elevated, or by recklessness of birth,\ndegraded; until there shall be as much difference between the well-bred\nand ill-bred human creature (whatever pains be taken with their\neducation) as between a wolf-hound and the vilest mongrel cur. And the\nknowledge of this great fact ought to regulate the education of our\nyouth, and the entire conduct of the nation.[1]\n\n\u00a7 4. Gentlemanliness, however, in ordinary parlance, must be taken to\nsignify those qualities which are usually the evidence of high breeding,\nand which, so far as they can be acquired, it should be every man's\neffort to acquire; or, if he has them by nature, to preserve and exalt.\nVulgarity, on the other hand, will signify qualities usually\ncharacteristic of ill-breeding, which, according to his power, it\nbecomes every person's duty to subdue. We have briefly to note what\nthese are.\n\n\u00a7 5. A gentleman's first characteristic is that fineness of structure in\nthe body, which renders it capable of the most delicate sensation; and\nof structure in the mind which renders it capable of the most delicate\nsympathies--one may say, simply, \"fineness of nature.\" This is, of\ncourse, compatible with heroic bodily strength and mental firmness; in\nfact, heroic strength is not conceivable without such delicacy.\nElephantine strength may drive its way through a forest and feel no\ntouch of the boughs; but the white skin of Homer's Atrides would have\nfelt a bent rose-leaf, yet subdue its feeling in glow of battle, and\nbehave itself like iron. I do not mean to call an elephant a vulgar\nanimal; but if you think about him carefully, you will find that his\nnon-vulgarity consists in such gentleness as is possible to elephantine\nnature; not in his insensitive hide, nor in his clumsy foot; but in the\nway he will lift his foot if a child lies in his way; and in his\nsensitive trunk, and still more sensitive mind, and capability of pique\non points of honor.\n\n\u00a7 6. And, though rightness of moral conduct is ultimately the great\npurifier of race, the sign of nobleness is not in this rightness of\nmoral conduct, but in sensitiveness. When the make of the creature is\nfine, its temptations are strong, as well as its perceptions; it is\nliable to all kinds of impressions from without in their most violent\nform; liable therefore to be abused and hurt by all kinds of rough\nthings which would do a coarser creature little harm, and thus to fall\ninto frightful wrong if its fate will have it so. Thus David, coming of\ngentlest as well as royalest race, of Ruth as well as of Judah, is\nsensitiveness through all flesh and spirit; not that his compassion will\nrestrain him from murder when his terror urges him to it; nay, he is\ndriven to the murder all the more by his sensitiveness to the shame\nwhich otherwise threatens him. But when his own story is told him under\na disguise, though only a lamb is now concerned, his passion about it\nleaves him no time for thought. \"The man shall die\"--note the\nreason--\"because he had no pity.\" He is so eager and indignant that it\nnever occurs to him as strange that Nathan hides the name. This is true\ngentleman. A vulgar man would assuredly have been cautious, and asked\n\"who it was?\"\n\n\u00a7 7. Hence it will follow that one of the probable signs of\nhigh-breeding in men generally, will be their kindness and mercifulness;\nthese always indicating more or less fineness of make in the mind; and\nmiserliness and cruelty the contrary; hence that of Isaiah: \"The vile\nperson shall no more be called liberal, nor the churl said to be\nbountiful.\" But a thousand things may prevent this kindness from\ndisplaying or continuing itself; the mind of the man may be warped so as\nto bear mainly on his own interests, and then all his sensibilities will\ntake the form of pride, or fastidiousness, or revengefulness; and other\nwicked, but not ungentlemanly tempers; or, farther, they may run into\nutter sensuality and covetousness, if he is bent on pleasure,\naccompanied with quite infinite cruelty when the pride is wounded, or\nthe passions thwarted;--until your gentleman becomes Ezzelin, and your\nlady, the deadly Lucrece; yet still gentleman and lady, quite incapable\nof making anything else of themselves, being so born.\n\n\u00a7 8. A truer sign of breeding than mere kindness is therefore sympathy;\na vulgar man may often be kind in a hard way, on principle, and because\nhe thinks he ought to be; whereas, a highly-bred man, even when cruel,\nwill be cruel in a softer way, understanding and feeling what he\ninflicts, and pitying his victim. Only we must carefully remember that\nthe quantity of sympathy a gentleman feels can never be judged of by its\noutward expression, for another of his chief characteristics is apparent\nreserve. I say \"apparent\" reserve; for the sympathy is real, but the\nreserve not: a perfect gentleman is never reserved, but sweetly and\nentirely open, so far as it is good for others, or possible, that he\nshould be. In a great many respects it is impossible that he should be\nopen except to men of his own kind. To them, he can open himself, by a\nword, or syllable, or a glance; but to men not of his kind he cannot\nopen himself, though he tried it through an eternity of clear\ngrammatical speech. By the very acuteness of his sympathy he knows how\nmuch of himself he can give to anybody; and he gives that much\nfrankly;--would always be glad to give more if he could, but is obliged,\nnevertheless, in his general intercourse with the world, to be a\nsomewhat silent person; silence is to most people, he finds, less\nreserved than speech. Whatever he said, a vulgar man would misinterpret:\nno words that he could use would bear the same sense to the vulgar man\nthat they do to him; if he used any, the vulgar man would go away\nsaying, \"He had said so and so, and meant so and so\" (something\nassuredly he never meant); but he keeps silence, and the vulgar man goes\naway saying, \"He didn't know what to make of him.\" Which is precisely\nthe fact, and the only fact which he is anywise able to announce to the\nvulgar man concerning himself.\n\n\u00a7 9. There is yet another quite as efficient cause of the apparent\nreserve of a gentleman. His sensibility being constant and intelligent,\nit will be seldom that a feeling touches him, however acutely, but it\nhas touched him in the same way often before, and in some sort is\ntouching him always. It is not that he feels little, but that he feels\nhabitually; a vulgar man having some heart at the bottom of him, if you\ncan by talk or by sight fairly force the pathos of anything down to his\nheart, will be excited about it and demonstrative; the sensation of pity\nbeing strange to him, and wonderful. But your gentleman has walked in\npity all day long; the tears have never been out of his eyes: you\nthought the eyes were bright only; but they were wet. You tell him a\nsorrowful story, and his countenance does not change; the eyes can but\nbe wet still; he does not speak neither, there being, in fact, nothing\nto be said, only something to be done; some vulgar person, beside you\nboth, goes away saying, \"How hard he is!\" Next day he hears that the\nhard person has put good end to the sorrow he said nothing about;--and\nthen he changes his wonder, and exclaims, \"How reserved he is!\"\n\n\u00a7 10. Self-command is often thought a characteristic of high-breeding:\nand to a certain extent it is so, at least it is one of the means of\nforming and strengthening character; but it is rather a way of imitating\na gentleman than a characteristic of him; a true gentleman has no need\nof self-command; he simply feels rightly on all occasions: and desiring\nto express only so much of his feeling as it is right to express, does\nnot need to command himself. Hence perfect ease is indeed characteristic\nof him; but perfect ease is inconsistent with self-restraint.\nNevertheless gentlemen, so far as they fail of their own ideal, need to\ncommand themselves, and do so; while, on the contrary, to feel unwisely,\nand to be unable to restrain the expression of the unwise feeling, is\nvulgarity; and yet even then, the vulgarity, at its root, is not in the\nmistimed expression, but in the unseemly feeling; and when we find fault\nwith a vulgar person for \"exposing himself,\" it is not his openness, but\nclumsiness; and yet more the want of sensibility to his own failure,\nwhich we blame; so that still the vulgarity resolves itself into want of\nsensibility. Also, it is to be noted that great powers of self-restraint\nmay be attained by very vulgar persons, when it suits their purposes.\n\n\u00a7 11. Closely, but strangely, connected with this openness is that form\nof truthfulness which is opposed to cunning, yet not opposed to falsity\nabsolute. And herein is a distinction of great importance.\n\nCunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over-reaching,\naccompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. It is associated\nwith small and dull conceit, and with an absolute want of sympathy or\naffection. Its essential connection with vulgarity may be at once\nexemplified by the expression of the butcher's dog in Landseer's \"Low\nLife.\" Cruikshank's \"Noah Claypole,\" in the illustrations to Oliver\nTwist, in the interview with the Jew, is, however, still more\ncharacteristic. It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity absolute and\nutter with which I am acquainted.[2]\n\nThe truthfulness which is opposed to cunning ought, perhaps, rather to\nbe called the desire of truthfulness; it consists more in unwillingness\nto deceive than in not deceiving,--an unwillingness implying sympathy\nwith and respect for the person deceived; and a fond observance of truth\nup to the possible point, as in a good soldier's mode of retaining his\nhonor through a _ruse-de-guerre_. A cunning person seeks for\nopportunities to deceive; a gentleman shuns them. A cunning person\ntriumphs in deceiving; a gentleman is humiliated by his success, or at\nleast by so much of the success as is dependent merely on the falsehood,\nand not on his intellectual superiority.\n\n\u00a7 12. The absolute disdain of all lying belongs rather to Christian\nchivalry than to mere high breeding; as connected merely with this\nlatter, and with general refinement and courage, the exact relations of\ntruthfulness may be best studied in the well-trained Greek mind. The\nGreeks believed that mercy and truth were co-relative virtues--cruelty\nand falsehood co-relative vices. But they did not call necessary\nseverity, cruelty; nor necessary deception, falsehood. It was needful\nsometimes to slay men, and sometimes to deceive them. When this had to\nbe done, it should be done well and thoroughly; so that to direct a\nspear well to its mark, or a lie well to its end, was equally the\naccomplishment of a perfect gentleman. Hence, in the pretty\ndiamond-cut-diamond scene between Pallas and Ulysses, when she receives\nhim on the coast of Ithaca, the goddess laughs delightedly at her hero's\ngood lying, and gives him her hand upon it; showing herself then in her\nwoman's form, as just a little more than his match. \"Subtle would he be,\nand stealthy, who should go beyond thee in deceit, even were he a god,\nthou many-witted! What! here in thine own land, too, wilt thou not cease\nfrom cheating? Knowest thou not me, Pallas Athena, maid of Jove, who am\nwith thee in all thy labors, and gave thee favor with the Ph\u00e6acians, and\nkeep thee, and have come now to weave cunning with thee?\" But how\ncompletely this kind of cunning was looked upon as a part of a man's\npower, and not as a diminution of faithfulness, is perhaps best shown by\nthe single line of praise in which the high qualities of his servant are\nsummed up by Chremulus in the Plutus--\"Of all my house servants, I hold\nyou to be the faithfullest, and the greatest cheat (or thief).\"\n\n\u00a7 13. Thus, the primal difference between honorable and base lying in\nthe Greek mind lay in honorable purpose. A man who used his strength\nwantonly to hurt others was a monster; so, also, a man who used his\ncunning wantonly to hurt others. Strength and cunning were to be used\nonly in self-defence, or to save the weak, and then were alike\nadmirable. This was their first idea. Then the second, and perhaps the\nmore essential, difference between noble and ignoble lying in the Greek\nmind, was that the honorable lie--or, if we may use the strange, yet\njust, expression, the true lie--knew and confessed itself for such--was\nready to take the full responsibility of what it did. As the sword\nanswered for its blow, so the lie for its snare. But what the Greeks\nhated with all their heart was the false lie; the lie that did not know\nitself, feared to confess itself, which slunk to its aim under a cloak\nof truth, and sought to do liars' work, and yet not take liars' pay,\nexcusing itself to the conscience by quibble and quirk. Hence the great\nexpression of Jesuit principle by Euripides, \"The tongue has sworn, but\nnot the heart,\" was a subject of execration throughout Greece, and the\nsatirists exhausted their arrows on it--no audience was ever tired\nhearing ([Greek: to Euripideion ekeino]) \"that Euripidean thing\" brought\nto shame.\n\n\u00a7 14. And this is especially to be insisted on in the early education of\nyoung people. It should be pointed out to them with continual\nearnestness that the essence of lying is in deception, not in words; a\nlie may be told by silence, by equivocation, by the accent on a\nsyllable, by a glance of the eye attaching a peculiar significance to a\nsentence; and all these kinds of lies are worse and baser by many\ndegrees than a lie plainly worded; so that no form of blinded conscience\nis so far sunk as that which comforts itself for having deceived,\nbecause the deception was by gesture or silence, instead of utterance;\nand, finally, according to Tennyson's deep and trenchant line, \"A lie\nwhich is half a truth is ever the worst of lies.\"\n\n\u00a7 15. Although, however, ungenerous cunning is usually so distinct an\noutward manifestation of vulgarity, that I name it separately from\ninsensibility, it is in truth only an effect of insensibility, producing\nwant of affection to others, and blindness to the beauty of truth. The\ndegree in which political subtlety in men such as Richelieu, Machiavel,\nor Metternich, will efface the gentleman, depends on the selfishness of\npolitical purpose to which the cunning is directed, and on the base\ndelight taken in its use. The command, \"Be ye wise as serpents, harmless\nas doves,\" is the ultimate expression of this principle, misunderstood\nusually because the word \"wise\" is referred to the intellectual power\ninstead of the subtlety of the serpent. The serpent has very little\nintellectual power, but according to that which it has, it is yet, as of\nold, the subtlest of the beasts of the field.\n\n\u00a7 16. Another great sign of vulgarity is also, when traced to its root,\nanother phase of insensibility, namely, the undue regard to appearances\nand manners, as in the households of vulgar persons, of all stations,\nand the assumption of behavior, language, or dress unsuited to them, by\npersons in inferior stations of life. I say \"undue\" regard to\nappearances, because in the undueness consists, of course, the\nvulgarity. It is due and wise in some sort to care for appearances, in\nanother sort undue and unwise. Wherein lies the difference?\n\nAt first one is apt to answer quickly: the vulgarity is simply in\npretending to be what you are not. But that answer will not stand. A\nqueen may dress like a waiting maid,--perhaps succeed, if she chooses,\nin passing for one; but she will not, therefore, be vulgar; nay, a\nwaiting maid may dress like a queen, and pretend to be one, and yet need\nnot be vulgar, unless there is inherent vulgarity in her. In Scribe's\nvery absurd but very amusing _Reine d'un jour_, a milliner's girl\nsustains the part of a queen for a day. She several times amazes and\ndisgusts her courtiers by her straightforwardness; and once or twice\nvery nearly betrays herself to her maids of honor by an unqueenly\nknowledge of sewing; but she is not in the least vulgar, for she is\nsensitive, simple, and generous, and a queen could be no more.\n\n\u00a7 17. Is the vulgarity, then, only in trying to play a part you cannot\nplay, so as to be continually detected? No; a bad amateur actor may be\ncontinually detected in his part, but yet continually detected to be a\ngentleman: a vulgar regard to appearances has nothing in it necessarily\nof hypocrisy. You shall know a man not to be a gentleman by the perfect\nand neat pronunciation of his words: but he does not pretend to\npronounce accurately; he _does_ pronounce accurately, the vulgarity is\nin the real (not assumed) scrupulousness.\n\n\u00a7 18. It will be found on farther thought, that a vulgar regard for\nappearances is, primarily, a selfish one, resulting, not out of a wish,\nto give pleasure (as a wife's wish to make herself beautiful for her\nhusband), but out of an endeavor to mortify others, or attract for\npride's sake;--the common \"keeping up appearances\" of society, being a\nmere selfish struggle of the vain with the vain. But the deepest stain\nof the vulgarity depends on this being done, not selfishly only, but\nstupidly, without understanding the impression which is really produced,\nnor the relations of importance between oneself and others, so as to\nsuppose that their attention is fixed upon us, when we are in reality\nciphers in their eyes--all which comes of insensibility. Hence pride\nsimple is not vulgar (the looking down on others because of their true\ninferiority to us), nor vanity simple (the desire of praise), but\nconceit simple (the attribution to ourselves of qualities we have not),\nis always so. In cases of over-studied pronunciation, &c., there is\ninsensibility, first, in the person's thinking more of himself than of\nwhat he is saying; and, secondly, in his not having musical fineness of\near enough to feel that his talking is uneasy and strained.\n\n\u00a7 19. Finally, vulgarity is indicated by coarseness of language or\nmanners, only so far as this coarseness has been contracted under\ncircumstances not necessarily producing it. The illiterateness of a\nSpanish or Calabrian peasant is not vulgar, because they had never an\nopportunity of acquiring letters; but the illiterateness of an English\nschool-boy is. So again, provincial dialect is not vulgar; but cockney\ndialect, the corruption, by blunted sense, of a finer language\ncontinually heard, is so in a deep degree; and again, of this corrupted\ndialect, that is the worst which consists, not in the direct or\nexpressive alteration of the form of a word, but in an unmusical\ndestruction of it by dead utterance and bad or swollen formation of lip.\nThere is no vulgarity in--\n\n  \"Blythe, blythe, blythe was she,\n     Blythe was she, but and ben,\n   And weel she liked a Hawick gill,\n     And leugh to see a tappit hen;\"\n\nbut much in Mrs. Gamp's inarticulate \"bottle on the chumley-piece, and\nlet me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged.\"\n\n\u00a7 20. So also of personal defects, those only are vulgar which imply\ninsensibility or dissipation.\n\nThere is no vulgarity in the emaciation of Don Quixote, the deformity of\nthe Black Dwarf, or the corpulence of Falstaff; but much in the same\npersonal characters, as they are seen in Uriah Heep, Quilp, and\nChadband.\n\n\u00a7 21. One of the most curious minor questions in this matter is\nrespecting the vulgarity of excessive neatness, complicating itself with\ninquiries into the distinction between base neatness, and the\nperfectness of good execution in the fine arts. It will be found on\nfinal thought that precision and exquisiteness of arrangement are always\nnoble; but become vulgar only when they arise from an equality\n(insensibility) of temperament, which is incapable of fine passion, and\nis set ignobly, and with a dullard mechanism, on accuracy in vile\nthings. In the finest Greek coins, the letters of the inscriptions are\npurposely coarse and rude, while the relievi are wrought with\ninestimable care. But in an English coin, the letters are the best done,\nand the whole is unredeemably vulgar. In a picture of Titian's, an\ninserted inscription will be complete in the lettering, as all the rest\nis; because it costs Titian very little more trouble to draw rightly\nthan wrongly, and in him, therefore, impatience with the letters would\nbe vulgar, as in the Greek sculptor of the coin, patience would have\nbeen. For the engraving of a letter accurately[3] is difficult work,\nand his time must have been unworthily thrown away.\n\n\u00a7 22. All the different impressions connected with negligence or\nfoulness depend, in like manner, on the degree of insensibility implied.\nDisorder in a drawing-room is vulgar, in an antiquary's study, not; the\nblack battle-stain on a soldier's face is not vulgar, but the dirty face\nof a housemaid is.\n\nAnd lastly, courage, so far as it is a sign of race, is peculiarly the\nmark of a gentleman or a lady: but it becomes vulgar if rude or\ninsensitive, while timidity is not vulgar, if it be a characteristic of\nrace or fineness of make. A fawn is not vulgar in being timid, nor a\ncrocodile \"gentle\" because courageous.\n\n\u00a7 23. Without following the inquiry into farther detail,[4] we may\nconclude that vulgarity consists in a deadness of the heart and body,\nresulting from prolonged, and especially from inherited conditions of\n\"degeneracy,\" or literally \"un-racing;\"--gentlemanliness, being another\nword for an intense humanity. And vulgarity shows itself primarily in\ndulness of heart, not in rage or cruelty, but in inability to feel or\nconceive noble character or emotion. This is its essential, pure, and\nmost fatal form. Dulness of bodily sense and general stupidity, with\nsuch forms of crime as peculiarly issue from stupidity, are its material\nmanifestation.\n\n\u00a7 24. Two years ago, when I was first beginning to work out the subject,\nand chatting with one of my keenest-minded friends (Mr. Brett, the\npainter of the Val d'Aosta in the Exhibition of 1859), I casually asked\nhim, \"What is vulgarity?\" merely to see what he would say, not supposing\nit possible to get a sudden answer. He thought for about a minute, then\nanswered quietly, \"It is merely one of the forms of Death.\" I did not\nsee the meaning of the reply at the time; but on testing it, found that\nit met every phase of the difficulties connected with the inquiry, and\nsummed the true conclusion. Yet, in order to be complete, it ought to be\nmade a distinctive as well as conclusive definition; showing _what_\nform of death vulgarity is; for death itself is not vulgar, but only\ndeath mingled with life. I cannot, however, construct a short-worded\ndefinition which will include all the minor conditions of bodily\ndegeneracy; but the term \"deathful selfishness\" will embrace all the\nmost fatal and essential forms of mental vulgarity.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] We ought always in pure English to use the term \"good breeding\"\n    literally; and to say \"good nurture\" for what we usually mean by good\n    breeding. Given the race and make of the animal, you may turn it to\n    good or bad account; you may spoil your good dog or colt, and make\n    him as vicious as you choose, or break his back at once by ill-usage;\n    and you may, on the other hand, make something serviceable and\n    respectable out of your poor cur or colt if you educate them\n    carefully; but ill bred they will both of them be to their lives'\n    end; and the best you will ever be able to say of them is, that they\n    are useful, and decently behaved ill-bred creatures. An error, which\n    is associated with the truth, and which makes it always look weak and\n    disputable, is the confusion of race with name; and the supposition\n    that the blood of a family must still be good, if its genealogy be\n    unbroken and its name not lost, though sire and son have been\n    indulging age after age in habits involving perpetual degeneracy of\n    race. Of course it is equally an error to suppose that, because a\n    man's name is common, his blood must be base; since his family may\n    have been ennobling it by pureness of moral habit for many\n    generations, and yet may not have got any title, or other sign of\n    nobleness attached to their names. Nevertheless, the probability is\n    always in favor of the race which has had acknowledged supremacy, and\n    in which every motive leads to the endeavor to preserve their true\n    nobility.\n\n  [2] Among the reckless losses of the right service of intellectual\n    power with which this century must be charged, very few are, to my\n    mind, more to be regretted than that which is involved in its having\n    turned to no higher purpose than the illustration of the career of\n    Jack Sheppard, and of the Irish Rebellion, the great, grave (I use\n    the words deliberately and with large meaning), and singular genius\n    of Cruikshank.\n\n  [3] There is this farther reason also: \"Letters are always ugly\n    things\"--(Seven Lamps, chap. iv. s. 9). Titian often wanted a certain\n    quantity of ugliness to oppose his beauty with, as a certain quantity\n    of black to oppose his color. He could regulate the size and quantity\n    of inscription as he liked; and, therefore, made it as neat--that is,\n    as effectively ugly--as possible. But the Greek sculptor could not\n    regulate either size or quantity of inscription. Legible it must be,\n    to common eyes, and contain an assigned group of words. He had more\n    ugliness than he wanted, or could endure. There was nothing for it\n    but to make the letters themselves rugged and picturesque; to give\n    them--that is, a certain quantity of organic variety.\n\n    I do not wonder at people sometimes thinking I contradict myself when\n    they come suddenly on any of the scattered passages, in which I am\n    forced to insist on the opposite practical applications of subtle\n    principles of this kind. It may amuse the reader, and be finally\n    serviceable to him in showing him how necessary it is to the right\n    handling of any subject, that these contrary statements should be\n    made, if I assemble here the principal ones I remember having brought\n    forward, bearing on this difficult point of precision in execution.\n\n    It would be well if you would first glance over the chapter on Finish\n    in the third volume; and if, coming to the fourth paragraph, about\n    gentlemen's carriages, you have time to turn to Sydney Smith's\n    Memoirs and read his account of the construction of the \"Immortal,\"\n    it will furnish you with an interesting illustration.\n\n    The general conclusion reached in that chapter being that finish, for\n    the sake of added truth, or utility, or beauty, is noble; but finish,\n    for the sake of workmanship, neatness, or polish, ignoble,--turn to\n    the fourth chapter of the Seven Lamps, where you will find the\n    Campanile of Giotto given as the model and mirror of perfect\n    architecture, just on account of its exquisite completion. Also, in\n    the next chapter, I expressly limit the delightfulness of rough and\n    imperfect work to developing and unformed schools (pp. 142-3, 1st\n    edition); then turn to the 170th page of the Stones of Venice, Vol.\n    III., and you will find this directly contrary statement:--\n\n    \"No good work whatever can be perfect, and the demand for perfection\n    is always a sign of the misunderstanding of the end of art.\" ... \"The\n    first cause of the fall of the arts in Europe was a relentless\n    requirement of perfection\" (p. 172). By reading the intermediate\n    text, you will be put in possession of many good reasons for this\n    opinion; and, comparing it with that just cited about the Campanile\n    of Giotto, will be brought, I hope, into a wholesome state of not\n    knowing what to think.\n\n    Then turn to p. 167, where the great law of finish is again\n    maintained as strongly as ever: \"Perfect finish (finish, that is to\n    say, up to the point possible) is always desirable from the greatest\n    masters, and is always given by them.\"--\u00a7 19.\n\n    And, lastly, if you look to \u00a7 19 of the chapter on the Early\n    Renaissance, you will find the profoundest respect paid to\n    completion; and, at the close of that chapter, \u00a7 38, the principle is\n    resumed very strongly. \"As _ideals of executive perfection_, these\n    palaces are most notable among the architecture of Europe, and the\n    Rio fa\u00e7ade of the Ducal palace, as an example of finished masonry in\n    a vast building, is one of the finest things, not only in Venice, but\n    in the world.\"\n\n    Now all these passages are perfectly true; and, as in much more\n    serious matters, the essential thing for the reader is to receive\n    their truth, however little he may be able to see their consistency.\n    If truths of apparent contrary character are candidly and rightly\n    received, they will fit themselves together in the mind without any\n    trouble. But no truth maliciously received will nourish you, or fit\n    with others. The clue of connection may in this case, however, be\n    given in a word. Absolute finish is always right; finish,\n    inconsistent with prudence and passion, wrong. The imperative demand\n    for finish is ruinous, because it refuses better things than finish.\n    The stopping short of the finish, which is honorably possible to\n    human energy, is destructive on the other side, and not in less\n    degree. Err, of the two, on the side of completion.\n\n    [4] In general illustration of the subject, the following extract\n    from my private diary possesses some interest. It refers to two\n    portraits which happened to be placed opposite to each other in the\n    arrangement of a gallery; one, modern, of a (foreign) general on\n    horseback at a review; the other, by Vandyck, also an equestrian\n    portrait, of an ancestor of his family, whom I shall here simply call\n    the \"knight:\"\n\n    \"I have seldom seen so noble a Vandyck, chiefly because it is painted\n    with less flightiness and flimsiness than usual, with a grand\n    quietness and reserve--almost like Titian. The other is, on the\n    contrary, as vulgar and base a picture as I have ever seen, and it\n    becomes a matter of extreme interest to trace the cause of the\n    difference.\n\n    \"In the first place, everything the general and his horse wear is\n    evidently just made. It has not only been cleaned that morning, but\n    has been sent home from the tailor's in a hurry last night. Horse\n    bridle, saddle housings, blue coat, stars and lace thereupon, cocked\n    hat, and sword hilt--all look as if they had just been taken from a\n    shopboard in Pall Mall; the irresistible sense of the coat having\n    been brushed to perfection is the first sentiment which the picture\n    summons. The horse has also been rubbed down all the morning, and\n    shines from head to tail.\n\n    \"The knight rides in a suit of rusty armor. It has evidently been\n    polished also carefully, and gleams brightly here and there; but all\n    the polishing in the world will never take the battle-dints and\n    battle-darkness out of it. His horse is gray, not lustrous, but a\n    dark, lurid gray. Its mane is deep and soft: part of it shaken in\n    front over its forehead--the rest, in enormous masses of waving gold,\n    six feet long, falls streaming on its neck, and rises in currents of\n    softest light, rippled by the wind, over the rider's armor. The\n    saddle cloth is of a dim red, fading into leathern brown, gleaming\n    with sparkles of obscure gold. When, after looking a little while at\n    the soft mane of the Vandyck horse, we turn back to the general's, we\n    are shocked by the evident coarseness of its hair, which hangs,\n    indeed, in long locks over the bridle, but is stiff, crude, sharp\n    pointed, coarsely colored (a kind of buff); no fine drawing of\n    nostril or neck can give any look of nobleness to the animal which\n    carries such hair; it looks like a hobby-horse with tow glued to it,\n    which riotous children have half pulled out or scratched out. The\n    next point of difference is the isolation of Vandyck's figure,\n    compared with the modern painter's endeavor to ennoble his by\n    subduing others. The knight seems to be just going out of his castle\n    gates; his horse rears as he passes their pillars; there is nothing\n    behind but the sky. But the general is reviewing a regiment; the\n    ensign lowers its colors to him; he takes off his hat in return. All\n    which reviewing and bowing is in its very nature ignoble, wholly\n    unfit to be painted: a gentleman might as well be painted leaving his\n    card on somebody. And, in the next place, the modern painter has\n    thought to enhance his officer by putting the regiment some distance\n    back, and in the shade, so that the men look only about five feet\n    high, being besides very ill painted to keep them in better\n    subordination. One does not know whether most to despise the\n    feebleness of the painter who must have recourse to such an artifice,\n    or his vulgarity in being satisfied with it. I ought, by the way,\n    before leaving the point of dress, to have noted that the vulgarity\n    of the painter is considerably assisted by the vulgarity of the\n    costume itself. Not only is it base in being new, but base in that it\n    cannot last to be old. If one wanted a lesson on the ugliness of\n    modern costume, it could not be more sharply received than by turning\n    from one to the other horseman. The knight wears steel plate armor,\n    chased here and there with gold; the delicate, rich, pointed lace\n    collar falling on the embossed breastplate; his dark hair flowing\n    over his shoulders; a crimson silk scarf fastened round his waist,\n    and floating behind him; buff boots, deep folded at the instep, set\n    in silver stirrup. The general wears his hair cropped short; blue\n    coat, padded and buttoned; blue trowsers and red stripe; black shiny\n    boots; common saddler's stirrups; cocked hat in hand, suggestive of\n    absurd completion, when assumed.\n\n    \"Another thing noticeable as giving nobleness to the Vandyck is its\n    feminineness: the rich, light silken scarf, the flowing hair, the\n    delicate, sharp, though sunburnt features, and the lace collar, do\n    not in the least diminish the manliness, but _add_ feminineness. One\n    sees that the knight is indeed a soldier, but not a soldier only;\n    that he is accomplished in all ways, and tender in all thoughts:\n    while the general is represented as nothing but a soldier--and it is\n    very doubtful if he is even that--one is sure, at a glance, that if\n    he can do anything but put his hat off and on, and give words of\n    command, the anything must, at all events, have something to do with\n    the barracks; that there is no grace, nor music, nor softness, nor\n    learnedness, in the man's soul; that he is made up of forms and\n    accoutrements.\n\n    \"Lastly, the modern picture is as bad painting as it is wretched\n    conceiving, and one is struck, in looking from it to Vandyck's,\n    peculiarly by the fact that good work is always _enjoyed_ work. There\n    is not a touch of Vandyck's pencil but he seems to have revelled\n    in--not grossly, but delicately--tasting the color in every touch as\n    an epicure would wine. While the other goes on daub, daub, daub, like\n    a bricklayer spreading mortar--nay, with far less lightness of hand\n    or lightness of spirit than a good bricklayer's--covering his canvas\n    heavily and conceitedly at once, caring only but to catch the public\n    eye with his coarse, presumptuous, ponderous, illiterate work.\"\n\n    Thus far my diary. In case it should be discovered by any one where\n    these pictures are, it should be noted that the vulgarity of the\n    modern one is wholly the painter's fault. It implies none in the\n    general (except bad taste in pictures). The same painter would have\n    made an equally vulgar portrait of Bayard. And as for taste in\n    pictures, the general's was not singular. I used to spend much time\n    before the Vandyck; and among all the tourist visitors to the\n    gallery, who were numerous, I never saw one look at it twice, but all\n    paused in respectful admiration before the padded surtout. The reader\n    will find, farther, many interesting and most valuable notes on the\n    subject of nobleness and vulgarity in Emerson's Essays, and every\n    phase of nobleness illustrated in Sir Kenelm Digby's \"Broad Stone of\n    Honor.\" The best help I have ever had--so far as help depended on the\n    sympathy or praise of others in work which, year after year, it was\n    necessary to pursue through the abuse of the brutal and the base--was\n    given me, when this author, from whom I had first learned to love\n    nobleness, introduced frequent reference to my own writings in his\n    \"Children's Bower.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWOUVERMANS AND ANGELICO.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Having determined the general nature of vulgarity, we are now able\nto close our view of the character of the Dutch school.\n\nIt is a strangely mingled one, which I have the more difficulty in\ninvestigating, because I have no power of sympathy with it. However\ninferior in capacity, I can enter measuredly into the feelings of\nCorreggio or of Titian; what they like, I like; what they disdain, I\ndisdain. Going lower down, I can still follow Salvator's passion, or\nAlbano's prettiness; and lower still, I can measure modern German\nheroics, or French sensualities. I see what the people mean,--know where\nthey are, and what they are. But no effort of fancy will enable me to\nlay hold of the temper of Teniers or Wouvermans, any more than I can\nenter into the feelings of one of the lower animals. I cannot see why\nthey painted,--what they are aiming at,--what they liked or disliked.\nAll their life and work is the same sort of mystery to me as the mind of\nmy dog when he rolls on carrion. He is a well enough conducted dog in\nother respects, and many of these Dutchmen were doubtless very\nwell-conducted persons: certainly they learned their business well; both\nTeniers and Wouvermans touch with a workmanly hand, such as we cannot\nsee rivalled now; and they seem never to have painted indolently, but\ngave the purchaser his thorough money's worth of mechanism, while the\nburgesses who bargained for their cattle and card parties were probably\nmore respectable men than the princes who gave orders to Titian for\nnymphs, and to Raphael for nativities. But whatever patient merit or\ncommercial value may be in Dutch labor, this at least is clear, that it\nis wholly insensitive.\n\nThe very mastery these men have of their business proceeds from their\nnever really seeing the whole of anything, but only that part of it\nwhich they know how to do. Out of all nature they felt their function\nwas to extract the grayness and shininess. Give them a golden sunset, a\nrosy dawn, a green waterfall, a scarlet autumn on the hills, and they\nmerely look curiously into it to see if there is anything gray and\nglittering which can be painted on their common principles.\n\n\u00a7 2. If this, however, were their only fault, it would not prove\nabsolute insensibility, any more than it could be declared of the makers\nof Florentine tables, that they were blind or vulgar because they took\nout of nature only what could be represented in agate. A Dutch picture\nis, in fact, merely a Florentine table more finely touched: it has its\nregular ground of slate, and its mother-of-pearl and tinsel put in with\nequal precision; and perhaps the fairest view one can take of a Dutch\npainter is, that he is a respectable tradesman furnishing well-made\narticles in oil paint: but when we begin to examine the designs of these\narticles, we may see immediately that it is his inbred vulgarity, and\nnot the chance of fortune, which has made him a tradesman, and kept him\none;--which essential character of Dutch work, as distinguished from all\nother, may be best seen in that hybrid landscape, introduced by\nWouvermans and Berghem. Of this landscape Wouvermans' is the most\ncharacteristic. It will be remembered that I called it \"hybrid,\" because\nit strove to unite the attractiveness of every other school. We will\nexamine the motives of one of the most elaborate Wouvermans\nexisting--the landscape with a hunting party, No. 208 in the Pinacothek\nof Munich.\n\n\u00a7 3. A large lake in the distance narrows into a river in the\nforeground; but the river has no current, nor has the lake either\nreflections or waves. It is a piece of gray slate-table, painted with\nhorizontal touches, and only explained to be water by boats upon it.\nSome of the figures in these are fishing (the corks of a net are drawn\nin bad perspective); others are bathing, one man pulling his shirt over\nhis ears, others are swimming. On the farther side of the river are some\ncurious buildings, half villa, half ruin; or rather ruin dressed. There\nare gardens at the top of them, with beautiful and graceful trellised\narchitecture and wandering tendrils of vine. A gentleman is coming down\nfrom a door in the ruins to get into his pleasure-boat. His servant\ncatches his dog.\n\n\u00a7 4. On the nearer side of the river, a bank of broken ground rises from\nthe water's edge up to a group of very graceful and carefully studied\ntrees, with a French-antique statue on a pedestal in the midst of them,\nat the foot of which are three musicians, and a well-dressed couple\ndancing; their coach is in waiting behind. In the foreground are\nhunters. A richly and highly-dressed woman, with falcon on fist, the\nprincipal figure in the picture, is wrought with Wouvermans' best skill.\nA stouter lady rides into the water after a stag and hind, who gallop\nacross the middle of the river without sinking. Two horsemen attend the\ntwo Amazons, of whom one pursues the game cautiously, but the other is\nthrown headforemost into the river, with a splash which shows it to be\ndeep at the edge, though the hart and hind find bottom in the middle.\nRunning footmen, with other dogs, are coming up, and children are\nsailing a toy-boat in the immediate foreground. The tone of the whole is\ndark and gray, throwing out the figures in spots of light, on\nWouvermans' usual system. The sky is cloudy, and very cold.\n\n\u00a7 5. You observe that in this picture the painter has assembled all the\nelements which he supposes pleasurable. We have music, dancing, hunting,\nboating, fishing, bathing, and child-play, all at once. Water, wide and\nnarrow; architecture, rustic and classical; trees also of the finest;\nclouds, not ill-shaped. Nothing wanting to our Paradise: not even\npractical jest; for to keep us always laughing, somebody shall be for\never falling with a splash into the Kishon. Things proceed,\nnevertheless, with an oppressive quietude. The dancers are uninterested\nin the hunters, the hunters in the dancers; the hirer of the\npleasure-boat perceives neither hart nor hind; the children are\nunconcerned at the hunter's fall; the bathers regard not the draught of\nfishes; the fishers fish among the bathers, without apparently\nanticipating any diminution in their haul.\n\n\u00a7 6. Let the reader ask himself, would it have been possible for the\npainter in any clearer way to show an absolute, clay-cold, ice-cold\nincapacity of understanding what a pleasure meant? Had he had as much\nheart as a minnow, he would have given some interest to the fishing;\nwith the soul of a grasshopper, some spring to the dancing; had he half\nthe will of a dog, he would have made some one turn to look at the hunt,\nor given a little fire to the dash down to the water's edge. If he had\nbeen capable of pensiveness, he would not have put the pleasure-boat\nunder the ruin;--capable of cheerfulness, he would not have put the ruin\nabove the pleasure-boat. Paralyzed in heart and brain, he delivers his\ninventoried articles of pleasure one by one to his ravenous customers;\npalateless; gluttonous. \"We cannot taste it. Hunting is not enough; let\nus have dancing. That's dull; now give us a jest, or what is life! The\nriver is too narrow, let us have a lake; and, for mercy's sake, a\npleasure-boat, or how can we spend another minute of this languid day!\nBut what pleasure can be in a boat? let us swim; we see people always\ndrest, let us see them naked.\"\n\n\u00a7 7. Such is the unredeemed, carnal appetite for mere sensual pleasure.\nI am aware of no other painter who consults it so exclusively, without\none gleam of higher hope, thought, beauty, or passion.\n\nAs the pleasure of Wouvermans, so also is his war. That, however, is not\nhybrid, it is of one character only.\n\nThe best example I know is the great battle-piece with the bridge, in\nthe gallery of Turin. It is said that when this picture, which had been\ntaken to Paris, was sent back, the French offered twelve thousand pounds\n(300,000 francs) for permission to keep it. The report, true or not,\nshows the estimation in which the picture is held at Turin.\n\n\u00a7 8. There are some twenty figures in the m\u00eal\u00e9e whose faces can be seen\n(about sixty in the picture altogether), and of these twenty, there is\nnot one whose face indicates courage or power; or anything but animal\nrage and cowardice; the latter prevailing always. Every one is fighting\nfor his life, with the expression of a burglar defending himself at\nextremity against a party of policemen. There is the same terror, fury,\nand pain which a low thief would show on receiving a pistol-shot through\nhis arm. Most of them appear to be fighting only to get away; the\nstandard-bearer _is_ retreating, but whether with the enemies' flag or\nhis own I do not see; he slinks away with it, with reverted eye, as if\nhe were stealing a pocket-handkerchief. The swordsmen cut at each other\nwith clenched teeth and terrified eyes; they are too busy to curse each\nother; but one sees that the feelings they have could be expressed no\notherwise than by low oaths. Far away, to the smallest figures in the\nsmoke, and to one drowning under the distant arch of the bridge, all are\nwrought with a consummate skill in vulgar touch; there is no good\npainting, properly so called, anywhere, but of clever, dotty, sparkling,\ntelling execution, as much as the canvas will hold, and much delicate\ngray and blue color in the smoke and sky.\n\n\u00a7 9. Now, in order fully to feel the difference between this view of\nwar, and a gentleman's, go, if possible, into our National Gallery, and\nlook at the young Malatesta riding into the battle of Sant' Egidio (as\nhe is painted by Paul Ucello). His uncle Carlo, the leader of the army,\na grave man of about sixty, has just given orders for the knights to\nclose: two have pushed forward with lowered lances, and the m\u00eal\u00e9e has\nbegun only a few yards in front; but the young knight, riding at his\nuncle's side, has not yet put his helmet on, nor intends doing so, yet.\nErect he sits, and quiet, waiting for his captain's orders to charge;\ncalm as if he were at a hawking party, only more grave; his golden hair\nwreathed about his proud white brow, as about a statue's.\n\n\u00a7 10. \"Yes,\" the thoughtful reader replies; \"this may be pictorially\nvery beautiful; but those Dutchmen were good fighters, and generally won\nthe day; whereas, this very battle of Sant' Egidio, so calmly and\nbravely begun, was lost.\"\n\nIndeed, it is very singular that unmitigated expressions of cowardice in\nbattle should be given by the painters of so brave a nation as the\nDutch. Not but that it is possible enough for a coward to be stubborn,\nand a brave man weak; the one may win his battle by a blind persistence,\nand the other lose it by a thoughtful vacillation. Nevertheless, the\nwant of all expression of resoluteness in Dutch battle-pieces remains,\nfor the present, a mystery to me. In those of Wouvermans, it is only a\nnatural development of his perfect vulgarity in all respects.\n\n\u00a7 11. I do not think it necessary to trace farther the evidences of\ninsensitive conception in the Dutch school. I have associated the name\nof Teniers with that of Wouvermans in the beginning of this chapter,\nbecause Teniers is essentially the painter of the pleasures of the\nale-house and card-table, as Wouvermans of those of the chase; and the\ntwo are leading masters of the peculiar Dutch trick of white touch on\ngray or brown ground; but Teniers is higher in reach, and more honest in\nmanner. Berghem is the real associate of Wouvermans in the hybrid school\nof landscape. But all three are alike insensitive; that is to say,\nunspiritual or deathful, and that to the uttermost, in every\nthought,--producing, therefore, the lowest phase of possible art of a\nskilful kind. There are deeper elements in De Hooghe and Gerard Terburg;\nsometimes expressed with superb quiet painting by the former; but the\nwhole school is inherently mortal to all its admirers; having by its\ninfluence in England destroyed our perception of all purposes of\npainting, and throughout the north of the Continent effaced the sense of\ncolor among artists of every rank.\n\nWe have, last, to consider what recovery has taken place from the\nparalysis to which the influence of this Dutch art had reduced us in\nEngland seventy years ago. But, in closing my review of older art, I\nwill endeavor to illustrate, by four simple examples, the main\ndirections of its spiritual power, and the cause of its decline.\n\n\u00a7 12. The frontispiece of this volume is engraved from an old sketch of\nmine, a pencil outline of the little Madonna by Angelico, in the\nAnnunciation preserved in the sacristy of Santa Maria Novella. This\nMadonna has not, so far as I know, been engraved before, and it is one\nof the most characteristic of the Purist school. I believe through all\nmy late work I have sufficiently guarded my readers from over-estimating\nthis school; but it is well to turn back to it now, from the wholly\ncarnal work of Wouvermans, in order to feel its purity: so that, if we\nerr, it may be on this side. The opposition is the most accurate which I\ncan set before the student, for the technical disposition of Wouvermans,\nin his search after delicate form and minute grace, much resembles that\nof Angelico. But the thoughts of Wouvermans are wholly of this world.\nFor him there is no heroism, awe, or mercy, hope, or faith. Eating and\ndrinking, and slaying; rage and lust; the pleasures and distresses of\nthe debased body--from these, his thoughts, if so we may call them,\nnever for an instant rise or range.\n\n\u00a7 13. The soul of Angelico is in all ways the precise reverse of this;\nhabitually as incognizant of any earthly pleasure as Wouvermans of any\nheavenly one. Both are exclusive with absolute exclusiveness;--neither\ndesiring nor conceiving anything beyond their respective spheres.\nWouvermans lives under gray clouds, his lights come out as spots.\nAngelico lives in an unclouded light: his shadows themselves are color;\nhis lights are not the spots, but his darks. Wouvermans lives in\nperpetual tumult--tramp of horse--clash of cup--ring of pistol-shot.\nAngelico in perpetual peace. Not seclusion from the world. No shutting\nout of the world is needful for him. There is nothing to shut out. Envy,\nlust, contention, discourtesy, are to him as though they were not; and\nthe cloister walk of Fiesole no penitential solitude, barred from the\nstir and joy of life, but a possessed land of tender blessing, guarded\nfrom the entrance of all but holiest sorrow. The little cell was as one\nof the houses of heaven prepared for him by his master. \"What need had\nit to be elsewhere? Was not the Val d'Arno, with its olive woods in\nwhite blossom, paradise enough for a poor monk? or could Christ be\nindeed in heaven more than here? Was he not always with him? Could he\nbreathe or see, but that Christ breathed beside him and looked into his\neyes? Under every cypress avenue the angels walked; he had seen their\nwhite robes, whiter than the dawn, at his bedside, as he awoke in early\nsummer. They had sung with him, one on each side, when his voice failed\nfor joy at sweet vesper and matin time; his eyes were blinded by their\nwings in the sunset, when it sank behind the hills of Luni.\"\n\nThere may be weakness in this, but there is no baseness; and while I\nrejoice in all recovery from monasticism which leads to practical and\nhealthy action in the world, I must, in closing this work, severely\nguard my pupils from the thought that sacred rest may be honorably\nexchanged for selfish and mindless activity.\n\n\u00a7 14. In order to mark the temper of Angelico, by a contrast of another\nkind, I give, in Fig. 99, a facsimile of one of the heads in Salvator's\netching of the Academy of Plato. It is accurately characteristic of\nSalvator, showing, by quite a central type, his indignant, desolate, and\ndegraded power. I could have taken unspeakably baser examples from\nothers of his etchings, but they would have polluted my book, and been\nin some sort unjust, representing only the worst part of his work. This\nhead, which is as elevated a type as he ever reaches, is assuredly\ndebased enough; and a sufficient image of the mind of the painter of\nCatiline and the Witch of Endor.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 99.]\n\n\u00a7 15. Then, in Fig. 100, you have also a central type of the mind of\nDurer. Complete, yet quaint; severely rational and practical, yet\ncapable of the highest imaginative religious feeling, and as gentle as a\nchild's, it seemed to be well represented by this figure of the old\nbishop, with all the infirmities, and all the victory, of his life,\nwritten on his calm, kind, and worldly face. He has been no dreamer, nor\npersecutor, but a helpful and undeceivable man; and by careful\ncomparison of this conception with the common kinds of episcopal ideal\nin modern religious art, you will gradually feel how the force of Durer\nis joined with an unapproachable refinement, so that he can give the\nmost practical view of whatever he treats, without the slightest taint\nor shadow of vulgarity. Lastly, the fresco of Giorgione, Plate 79, which\nis as fair a type as I am able to give in any single figure, of the\ncentral Venetian art, will complete for us a series, sufficiently\nsymbolical, of the several ranks of art, from lowest to highest.[1] In\nWouvermans (of whose work I suppose no example is needed, it being so\ngenerally known), we have the entirely carnal mind,--wholly versed in\nthe material world, and incapable of conceiving any goodness or\ngreatness whatsoever.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 100. _To face page 284._]\n\nIn Angelico, you have the entirely spiritual mind, wholly versed in the\nheavenly world, and incapable of conceiving any wickedness or vileness\nwhatsoever.\n\nIn Salvator, you have an awakened conscience, and some spiritual power,\ncontending with evil, but conquered by it, and brought into captivity to\nit.\n\nIn Durer, you have a far purer conscience and higher spiritual power,\nyet, with some defect still in intellect, contending with evil, and\nnobly prevailing over it; yet retaining the marks of the contest, and\nnever so entirely victorious as to conquer sadness.\n\nIn Giorgione, you have the same high spiritual power and practical\nsense; but now, with entirely perfect intellect, contending with evil;\nconquering it utterly, casting it away for ever, and rising beyond it\ninto magnificence of rest.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] As I was correcting these pages, there was put into my hand a\n    little work by a very dear friend--\"Travels and Study in Italy,\" by\n    Charles Eliot Norton;--I have not yet been able to do more than\n    glance at it; but my impression is, that by carefully reading it,\n    together with the essay by the same writer on the Vita Nuova of\n    Dante, a more just estimate may be formed of the religious art of\n    Italy than by the study of any other books yet existing. At least, I\n    have seen none in which the tone of thought was at once so tender and\n    so just.\n\n    I had hoped, before concluding this book, to have given it higher\n    value by extracts from the works which have chiefly helped or guided\n    me, especially from the writings of Helps, Lowell, and the Rev. A. J.\n    Scott. But if I were to begin making such extracts, I find that I\n    should not know, either in justice or affection, how to end.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE TWO BOYHOODS.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Born half-way between the mountains and the sea--that young George\nof Castelfranco--of the Brave Castle:--Stout George they called him,\nGeorge of Georges, so goodly a boy he was--Giorgione.\n\nHave you ever thought what a world his eyes opened on--fair, searching\neyes of youth? What a world of mighty life, from those mountain roots to\nthe shore;--of loveliest life, when he went down, yet so young, to the\nmarble city--and became himself as a fiery heart to it?\n\nA city of marble, did I say? nay, rather a golden city, paved with\nemerald. For truly, every pinnacle and turret glanced or glowed,\noverlaid with gold, or bossed with jasper. Beneath, the unsullied sea\ndrew in deep breathing, to and fro, its eddies of green wave.\nDeep-hearted, majestic, terrible as the sea,--the men of Venice moved in\nsway of power and war; pure as her pillars of alabaster, stood her\nmothers and maidens; from foot to brow, all noble, walked her knights;\nthe low bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armor shot angrily under their\nblood-red mantle-folds. Fearless, faithful, patient, impenetrable,\nimplacable,--every word a fate--sate her senate. In hope and honor,\nlulled by flowing of wave around their isles of sacred sand, each with\nhis name written and the cross graved at his side, lay her dead. A\nwonderful piece of world. Rather, itself a world. It lay along the face\nof the waters, no larger, as its captains saw it from their masts at\nevening, than a bar of sunset that could not pass away; but, for its\npower, it must have seemed to them as if they were sailing in the\nexpanse of heaven, and this a great planet, whose orient edge widened\nthrough ether. A world from which all ignoble care and petty thoughts\nwere banished, with all the common and poor elements of life. No\nfoulness, nor tumult, in those tremulous streets, that filled, or fell,\nbeneath the moon; but rippled music of majestic change, or thrilling\nsilence. No weak walls could rise above them; no low-roofed cottage, nor\nstraw-built shed. Only the strength as of rock, and the finished setting\nof stones most precious. And around them, far as the eye could reach,\nstill the soft moving of stainless waters, proudly pure; as not the\nflower, so neither the thorn nor the thistle, could grow in the glancing\nfields. Ethereal strength of Alps, dream-like, vanishing in high\nprocession beyond the Torcellan shore; blue islands of Paduan hills,\npoised in the golden west. Above, tree winds and fiery clouds ranging at\ntheir will;--brightness out of the north, and balm from the south, and\nthe stars of the evening and morning clear in the limitless light of\narched heaven and circling sea.\n\nSuch was Giorgione's school--such Titian's home.\n\n\u00a7 2. Near the south-west corner of Covent Garden, a square brick pit or\nwell is formed by a close-set block of houses, to the back windows of\nwhich it admits a few rays of light. Access to the bottom of it is\nobtained out of Maiden Lane, through a low archway and an iron gate; and\nif you stand long enough under the archway to accustom your eyes to the\ndarkness, you may see on the left hand a narrow door, which formerly\ngave quiet access to a respectable barber's shop, of which the front\nwindow, looking into Maiden Lane, is still extant, filled in this year\n(1860), with a row of bottles, connected, in some defunct manner, with a\nbrewer's business. A more fashionable neighborhood, it is said, eighty\nyears ago than now--never certainly a cheerful one--wherein a boy being\nborn on St. George's day, 1775, began soon after to take interest in the\nworld of Covent Garden, and put to service such spectacles of life as it\nafforded.\n\n\u00a7 3. No knights to be seen there, nor, I imagine, many beautiful ladies;\ntheir costume at least disadvantageous, depending much on incumbency of\nhat and feather, and short waists; the majesty of men founded similarly\non shoebuckles and wigs;--impressive enough when Reynolds will do his\nbest for it; but not suggestive of much ideal delight to a boy.\n\n\"Bello ovile dov' io dormii agnello:\" of things beautiful, besides men\nand women, dusty sunbeams up or down the street on summer mornings;\ndeep furrowed cabbage leaves at the greengrocer's; magnificence of\noranges in wheelbarrows round the corner; and Thames' shore within three\nminutes' race.\n\n\u00a7 4. None of these things very glorious; the best, however, that\nEngland, it seems, was then able to provide for a boy of gift: who, such\nas they are, loves them--never, indeed, forgets them. The short waists\nmodify to the last his visions of Greek ideal. His foregrounds had\nalways a succulent cluster or two of greengrocery at the corners.\nEnchanted oranges gleam in Covent Gardens of the Hesperides; and great\nships go to pieces in order to scatter chests of them on the waves. That\nmist of early sunbeams in the London dawn crosses, many and many a time,\nthe clearness of Italian air; and by Thames' shore, with its stranded\nbarges and glidings of red sail, dearer to us than Lucerne lake or\nVenetian lagoon,--by Thames' shore we will die.\n\n\u00a7 5. With such circumstance round him in youth, let us note what\nnecessary effects followed upon the boy. I assume him to have had\nGiorgione's sensibility (and more than Giorgione's, if that be possible)\nto color and form. I tell you farther, and this fact you may receive\ntrustfully, that his sensibility to human affection and distress was no\nless keen than even his sense for natural beauty--heart-sight deep as\neye-sight.\n\nConsequently, he attaches himself with the faithfullest child-love to\neverything that bears an image of the place he was born in. No matter\nhow ugly it is,--has it anything about it like Maiden Lane, or like\nThames' shore? If so, it shall be painted for their sake. Hence, to the\nvery close of life, Turner could endure ugliness which no one else, of\nthe same sensibility, would have borne with for an instant. Dead brick\nwalls, blank square windows, old clothes, market-womanly types of\nhumanity--anything fishy and muddy, like Billingsgate or Hungerford\nMarket, had great attraction for him; black barges, patched sails, and\nevery possible condition of fog.\n\n\u00a7 6. You will find these tolerations and affections guiding or\nsustaining him to the last hour of his life; the notablest of all such\nendurances being that of dirt. No Venetian ever draws anything foul; but\nTurner devoted picture after picture to the illustration of effects of\ndinginess, smoke, soot, dust, and dusty texture; old sides of boats,\nweedy roadside vegetation, dung-hills, straw-yards, and all the\nsoilings and stains of every common labor.\n\nAnd more than this, he not only could endure, but enjoyed and looked for\n_litter_, like Covent Garden wreck after the market. His pictures are\noften full of it, from side to side; their foregrounds differ from all\nothers in the natural way that things have of lying about in them. Even\nhis richest vegetation, in ideal work, is confused; and he delights in\nshingle, d\u00e9bris, and heaps of fallen stones. The last words he ever\nspoke to me about a picture were in gentle exaltation about his St.\nGothard: \"that _litter_ of stones which I endeavored to represent.\"\n\n\u00a7 7. The second great result of this Covent Garden training was,\nunderstanding of and regard for the poor, whom the Venetians, we saw,\ndespised; whom, contrarily, Turner loved, and more than\nloved--understood. He got no romantic sight of them, but an infallible\none, as he prowled about the end of his lane, watching night effects in\nthe wintry streets; nor sight of the poor alone, but of the poor in\ndirect relations with the rich. He knew, in good and evil, what both\nclasses thought of, and how they dwelt with, each other.\n\nReynolds and Gainsborough, bred in country villages, learned there the\ncountry boy's reverential theory of \"the squire,\" and kept it. They\npainted the squire and the squire's lady as centres of the movements of\nthe universe, to the end of their lives. But Turner perceived the\nyounger squire in other aspects about his lane, occurring prominently in\nits night scenery, as a dark figure, or one of two, against the\nmoonlight. He saw also the working of city commerce, from endless\nwarehouse, towering over Thames, to the back shop in the lane, with its\nstale herrings--highly interesting these last; one of his fathers best\nfriends, whom he often afterwards visited affectionately at Bristol,\nbeing a fish-monger and glueboiler; which gives us a friendly turn of\nmind towards herring-fishing, whaling, Calais poissardes, and many other\nof our choicest subjects in after life; all this being connected with\nthat mysterious forest below London Bridge on one side;--and, on the\nother, with these masses of human power and national wealth which weigh\nupon us, at Covent Garden here, with strange compression, and crush us\ninto narrow Hand Court.\n\n\u00a7 8. \"That mysterious forest below London Bridge\"--better for the boy\nthan wood of pine, or grove of myrtle. How he must have tormented the\nwatermen, beseeching them to let him crouch anywhere in the bows, quiet\nas a log, so only that he might get floated down there among the ships,\nand round and round the ships, and with the ships, and by the ships, and\nunder the ships, staring and clambering;--these the only quite beautiful\nthings he can see in all the world, except the sky; but these, when the\nsun is on their sails, filling or falling, endlessly disordered by sway\nof tide and stress of anchorage, beautiful unspeakably; which ships also\nare inhabited by glorious creatures--redfaced sailors, with pipes,\nappearing over the gunwales, true knights, over their castle\nparapets--the most angelic beings in the whole compass of London world.\nAnd Trafalgar happening long before we can draw ships, we, nevertheless,\ncoax all current stories out of the wounded sailors, do our best at\npresent to show Nelson's funeral streaming up the Thames; and vow that\nTrafalgar shall have its tribute of memory some day. Which, accordingly,\nis accomplished--once, with all our might, for its death; twice, with\nall our might, for its victory; thrice, in pensive farewell to the old\nTemeraire, and, with it, to that order of things.\n\n\u00a7 9. Now this fond companying with sailors must have divided his time,\nit appears to me, pretty equally between Covent Garden and Wapping\n(allowing for incidental excursions to Chelsea on one side, and\nGreenwich on the other), which time he would spend pleasantly, but not\nmagnificently, being limited in pocket-money, and leading a kind of\n\"Poor-Jack\" life on the river.\n\nIn some respects, no life could be better for a lad. But it was not\ncalculated to make his ear fine to the niceties of language, nor form\nhis moralities on an entirely regular standard. Picking up his first\nscraps of vigorous English chiefly at Deptford and in the markets, and\nhis first ideas of female tenderness and beauty among nymphs of the\nbarge and the barrow,--another boy might, perhaps, have become what\npeople usually term \"vulgar.\" But the original make and frame of\nTurner's mind being not vulgar, but as nearly as possible a combination\nof the minds of Keats and Dante, joining capricious waywardness, and\nintense openness to every fine pleasure of sense, and hot defiance of\nformal precedent, with a quite infinite tenderness, generosity, and\ndesire of justice and truth--this kind of mind did not become vulgar,\nbut very tolerant of vulgarity, even fond of it in some forms; and, on\nthe outside, visibly infected by it, deeply enough; the curious result,\nin its combination of elements, being to most people wholly\nincomprehensible. It was as if a cable had been woven of blood-crimson\nsilk, and then tarred on the outside. People handled it, and the tar\ncame off on their hands; red gleams were seen through the black,\nunderneath, at the places where it had been strained. Was it\nochre?--said the world--or red lead?\n\n\u00a7 10. Schooled thus in manners, literature, and general moral principles\nat Chelsea and Wapping, we have finally to inquire concerning the most\nimportant point of all. We have seen the principal differences between\nthis boy and Giorgione, as respects sight of the beautiful,\nunderstanding of poverty, of commerce, and of order of battle; then\nfollows another cause of difference in our training--not slight,--the\naspect of religion, namely, in the neighborhood of Covent Garden. I say\nthe aspect; for that was all the lad could judge by. Disposed, for the\nmost part, to learn chiefly by his eyes, in this special matter he finds\nthere is really no other way of learning. His father taught him \"to lay\none penny upon another.\" Of mother's teaching, we hear of none; of\nparish pastoral teaching, the reader may guess how much.\n\n\u00a7 11. I chose Giorgione rather than Veronese to help me in carrying out\nthis parallel; because I do not find in Giorgione's work any of the\nearly Venetian monarchist element. He seems to me to have belonged more\nto an abstract contemplative school. I may be wrong in this; it is no\nmatter;--suppose it were so, and that he came down to Venice somewhat\nrecusant, or insentient, concerning the usual priestly doctrines of his\nday,--how would the Venetian religion, from an outer intellectual\nstanding-point, have _looked_ to him?\n\n\u00a7 12. He would have seen it to be a religion indisputably powerful in\nhuman affairs; often very harmfully so; sometimes devouring widows'\nhouses, and consuming the strongest and fairest from among the young;\nfreezing into merciless bigotry the policy of the old: also, on the\nother hand, animating national courage, and raising souls, otherwise\nsordid, into heroism: on the whole, always a real and great power;\nserved with daily sacrifice of gold, time, and thought; putting forth\nits claims, if hypocritically, at least in bold hypocrisy, not waiving\nany atom of them in doubt or fear; and, assuredly, in large measure,\nsincere, believing in itself, and believed: a goodly system, moreover,\nin aspect; gorgeous, harmonious, mysterious;--a thing which had either\nto be obeyed or combated, but could not be scorned. A religion towering\nover all the city--many buttressed--luminous in marble stateliness, as\nthe dome of our Lady of Safety shines over the sea; many-voiced also,\ngiving, over all the eastern seas, to the sentinel his watchword, to the\nsoldier his war-cry; and, on the lips of all who died for Venice,\nshaping the whisper of death.\n\n\u00a7 13. I suppose the boy Turner to have regarded the religion of his city\nalso from an external intellectual standing-point.\n\nWhat did he see in Maiden Lane?\n\nLet not the reader be offended with me; I am willing to let him\ndescribe, at his own pleasure, what Turner saw there; but to me, it\nseems to have been this. A religion maintained occasionally, even the\nwhole length of the lane, at point of constable's staff; but, at other\ntimes, placed under the custody of the beadle, within certain black and\nunstately iron railings of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Among the\nwheelbarrows and over the vegetables, no perceptible dominance of\nreligion; in the narrow, disquieted streets, none; in the tongues,\ndeeds, daily ways of Maiden Lane, little. Some honesty, indeed, and\nEnglish industry, and kindness of heart, and general idea of justice;\nbut faith, of any national kind, shut up from one Sunday to the next,\nnot artistically beautiful even in those Sabbatical exhibitions; its\nparaphernalia being chiefly of high pews, heavy elocution, and cold\ngrimness of behavior.\n\nWhat chiaroscuro belongs to it--(dependent mostly on candlelight),--we\nwill, however, draw considerately; no goodliness of escutcheon, nor\nother respectability being omitted, and the best of their results\nconfessed, a meek old woman and a child being let into a pew, for whom\nthe reading by candlelight will be beneficial.[1]\n\n\u00a7 14. For the rest, this religion seems to him\ndiscreditable--discredited--not believing in itself, putting forth its\nauthority in a cowardly way, watching how far it might be tolerated,\ncontinually shrinking, disclaiming, fencing, finessing; divided against\nitself, not by stormy rents, but by thin fissures, and splittings of\nplaster from the walls. Not to be either obeyed, or combated, by an\nignorant, yet clear-sighted youth; only to be scorned. And scorned not\none whit the less, though also the dome dedicated to _it_ looms high\nover distant winding of the Thames; as St. Mark's campanile rose, for\ngoodly landmark, over mirage of lagoon. For St. Mark ruled over life;\nthe Saint of London over death; St. Mark over St. Mark's Place, but St.\nPaul over St. Paul's Churchyard.\n\n\u00a7 15. Under these influences pass away the first reflective hours of\nlife, with such conclusion as they can reach. In consequence of a fit of\nillness, he was taken--I cannot ascertain in what year--to live with an\naunt, at Brentford; and here, I believe, received some schooling, which\nhe seems to have snatched vigorously; getting knowledge, at least by\ntranslation, of the more picturesque classical authors, which he turned\npresently to use, as we shall see. Hence also, walks about Putney and\nTwickenham in the summer time acquainted him with the look of English\nmeadow-ground in its restricted states of paddock and park; and with\nsome round-headed appearances of trees, and stately entrances to houses\nof mark: the avenue at Bushy, and the iron gates and carved pillars of\nHampton, impressing him apparently with great awe and admiration; so\nthat in after life his little country house is,--of all places in the\nworld,--at Twickenham! Of swans and reedy shores he now learns the soft\nmotion and the green mystery, in a way not to be forgotten.\n\n\u00a7 16. And at last fortune wills that the lad's true life shall begin;\nand one summer's evening, after various wonderful stage-coach\nexperiences on the north road, which gave him a love of stage-coaches\never after, he finds himself sitting alone among the Yorkshire hills.[2]\nFor the first time, the silence of Nature round him, her freedom sealed\nto him, her glory opened to him. Peace at last; no roll of cart-wheel,\nnor mutter of sullen voices in the back shop; but curlew-cry in space of\nheaven, and welling of bell-toned streamlet by its shadowy rock. Freedom\nat last. Dead-wall, dark railing, fenced field, gated garden, all passed\naway like the dream of a prisoner; and behold, far as foot or eye can\nrace or range, the moor, and cloud. Loveliness at last. It is here then,\namong these deserted vales! Not among men. Those pale, poverty-struck,\nor cruel faces;--that multitudinous, marred humanity--are not the only\nthings that God has made. Here is something He has made which no one has\nmarred. Pride of purple rocks, and river pools of blue, and tender\nwilderness of glittering trees, and misty lights of evening on\nimmeasurable hills.\n\n\u00a7 17. Beauty, and freedom, and peace; and yet another teacher, graver\nthan these. Sound preaching at last here, in Kirkstall crypt, concerning\nfate and life. Here, where the dark pool reflects the chancel pillars,\nand the cattle lie in unhindered rest, the soft sunshine on their\ndappled bodies, instead of priests' vestments; their white furry hair\nruffled a little, fitfully, by the evening wind, deep-scented from the\nmeadow thyme.\n\n\u00a7 18. Consider deeply the import to him of this, his first sight of\nruin, and compare it with the effect of the architecture that was around\nGiorgione. There were indeed aged buildings, at Venice, in his time, but\nnone in decay. All ruin was removed, and its place filled as quickly as\nin our London; but filled always by architecture loftier and more\nwonderful than that whose place it took, the boy himself happy to work\nupon the walls of it; so that the idea of the passing away of the\nstrength of men and beauty of their works never could occur to him\nsternly. Brighter and brighter the cities of Italy had been rising and\nbroadening on hill and plain, for three hundred years. He saw only\nstrength and immortality, could not but paint both; conceived the form\nof man as deathless, calm with power, and fiery with life.\n\n\u00a7 19. Turner saw the exact reverse of this. In the present work of men,\nmeanness, aimlessness, unsightliness: thin-walled, lath-divided,\nnarrow-garreted houses of clay; booths of a darksome Vanity Fair, busily\nbase.\n\nBut on Whitby Hill, and by Bolton Brook, remained traces of other\nhandiwork. Men who could build had been there; and who also had wrought,\nnot merely for their own days. But to what purpose? Strong faith, and\nsteady hands, and patient souls--can this, then, be all you have left!\nthis the sum of your doing on the earth!--a nest whence the night-owl\nmay whimper to the brook, and a ribbed skeleton of consumed arches,\nlooming above the bleak banks of mist, from its cliff to the sea?\n\nAs the strength of men to Giorgione, to Turner their weakness and\nvileness, were alone visible. They themselves, unworthy or ephemeral;\ntheir work, despicable, or decayed. In the Venetian's eyes, all beauty\ndepended on man's presence and pride; in Turner's, on the solitude he\nhad left, and the humiliation he had suffered.\n\n\u00a7 20. And thus the fate and issue of all his work were determined at\nonce. He must be a painter of the strength of nature, there was no\nbeauty elsewhere than in that; he must paint also the labor and sorrow\nand passing away of men; this was the great human truth visible to him.\n\nTheir labor, their sorrow, and their death. Mark the three. Labor; by\nsea and land, in field and city, at forge and furnace, helm and plough.\nNo pastoral indolence nor classic pride shall stand between him and the\ntroubling of the world; still less between him and the toil of his\ncountry,--blind, tormented, unwearied, marvellous England.\n\n\u00a7 21. Also their Sorrow; Ruin of all their glorious work, passing away\nof their thoughts and their honor, mirage of pleasure, FALLACY OF HOPE;\ngathering of weed on temple step; gaining of wave on deserted strand;\nweeping of the mother for the children, desolate by her breathless\nfirst-born in the streets of the city,[3] desolate by her last sons\nslain, among the beasts of the field.[4]\n\n\u00a7 22. And their Death. That old Greek question again;--yet unanswered.\nThe unconquerable spectre still flitting among the forest trees at\ntwilight; rising ribbed out of the sea-sand;--white, a strange\nAphrodite,--out of the sea-foam; stretching its gray, cloven wings among\nthe clouds; turning the light of their sunsets into blood. This has to\nbe looked upon, and in a more terrible shape than ever Salvator or Durer\nsaw it. The wreck of one guilty country does not infer the ruin of all\ncountries, and need not cause general terror respecting the laws of the\nuniverse. Neither did the orderly and narrow succession of domestic joy\nand sorrow in a small German community bring the question in its\nbreadth, or in any unresolvable shape, before the mind of Durer. But the\nEnglish death--the European death of the nineteenth century--was of\nanother range and power; more terrible a thousand-fold in its merely\nphysical grasp and grief; more terrible, incalculably, in its mystery\nand shame. What were the robber's casual pang, or the rage of the flying\nskirmish, compared to the work of the axe, and the sword, and the\nfamine, which was done during this man's youth on all the hills and\nplains of the Christian earth, from Moscow to Gibraltar. He was eighteen\nyears old when Napoleon came down on Arcola. Look on the map of Europe,\nand count the blood-stains on it, between Arcola and Waterloo.\n\n\u00a7 23. Not alone those blood-stains on the Alpine snow, and the blue of\nthe Lombard plain. The English death was before his eyes also. No\ndecent, calculable, consoled dying; no passing to rest like that of the\naged burghers of Nuremberg town. No gentle processions to churchyards\namong the fields, the bronze crests bossed deep on the memorial tablets,\nand the skylark singing above them from among the corn. But the life\ntrampled out in the slime of the street, crushed to dust amidst the\nroaring of the wheel, tossed countlessly away into howling winter wind\nalong five hundred leagues of rock-fanged shore. Or, worst of all,\nrotted down to forgotten graves through years of ignorant patience, and\nvain seeking for help from man, for hope in God--infirm, imperfect\nyearning, as of motherless infants starving at the dawn; oppressed\nroyalties of captive thought, vague ague-fits of bleak, amazed despair.\n\n\u00a7 24. A goodly landscape this, for the lad to paint, and under a goodly\nlight. Wide enough the light was, and clear; no more Salvator's lurid\nchasm on jagged horizon, nor Durer's spotted rest of sunny gleam on\nhedgerow and field; but light over all the world. Full shone now its\nawful globe, one pallid charnel-house,--a ball strewn bright with human\nashes, glaring in poised sway beneath the sun, all blinding-white with\ndeath from pole to pole,--death, not of myriads of poor bodies only, but\nof will, and mercy, and conscience; death, not once inflicted on the\nflesh, but daily, fastening on the spirit; death, not silent or patient,\nwaiting his appointed hour, but voiceful, venomous; death with the\ntaunting word, and burning grasp, and infixed sting.\n\n\"Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe.\" The word is spoken in\nour ears continually to other reapers than the angels--to the busy\nskeletons that never tire for stooping. When the measure of iniquity is\nfull, and it seems that another day might bring repentance and\nredemption,--\"Put ye in the sickle.\" When the young life has been wasted\nall away, and the eyes are just opening upon the tracks of ruin, and\nfaint resolution rising in the heart for nobler things,--\"Put ye in the\nsickle.\" When the roughest blows of fortune have been borne long and\nbravely, and the hand is just stretched to grasp its goal,--\"Put ye in\nthe sickle.\" And when there are but a few in the midst of a nation, to\nsave it, or to teach, or to cherish; and all its life is bound up in\nthose few golden ears,--\"Put ye in the sickle, pale reapers, and pour\nhemlock for your feast of harvest home.\"\n\nThis was the sight which opened on the young eyes, this the watchword\nsounding within the heart of Turner in his youth.\n\nSo taught, and prepared for his life's labor, sate the boy at last alone\namong his fair English hills; and began to paint, with cautious toil,\nthe rocks, and fields, and trickling brooks, and soft, white clouds of\nheaven.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] Liber Studiorum. \"Interior of a church.\" It is worthy of remark\n    that Giorgione and Titian are always delighted to have an opportunity\n    of drawing priests. The English Church may, perhaps, accept it as\n    matter of congratulation that this is the only instance in which\n    Turner drew a clergyman.\n\n  [2] I do not mean that this is his first acquaintance with the\n    country, but the first impressive and touching one, after his mind\n    was formed. The earliest sketches I found in the National Collection\n    are at Clifton and Bristol; the next, at Oxford.\n\n  [3] \"The Tenth Plague of Egypt.\"\n\n  [4] \"Rizpah, the Daughter of Aiah.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE NEREID'S GUARD.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. The work of Turner, in its first period, is said in my account of\nhis drawings at the National Gallery to be distinguished by \"boldness of\nhandling, generally gloomy tendency of mind, subdued color, and\nperpetual reference to precedent in composition.\" I must refer the\nreader to those two catalogues[1] for a more special account of his\nearly modes of technical study. Here we are concerned only with the\nexpression of that gloomy tendency of mind, whose causes we are now\nbetter able to understand.\n\n\u00a7 2. It was prevented from overpowering him by his labor. This,\ncontinual, and as tranquil in its course as a ploughman's in the field,\nby demanding an admirable humility and patience, averted the tragic\npassion of youth. Full of stern sorrow and fixed purpose, the boy set\nhimself to his labor silently and meekly, like a workman's child on its\nfirst day at the cotton-mill. Without haste, but without\nrelaxation,--accepting all modes and means of progress, however painful\nor humiliating, he took the burden on his shoulder and began his march.\nThere was nothing so little, but that he noticed it; nothing so great\nbut he began preparations to cope with it. For some time his work is,\napparently, feelingless, so patient and mechanical are the first essays.\nIt gains gradually in power and grasp; there is no perceptible _aim_ at\nfreedom, or at fineness, but the force insensibly becomes swifter, and\nthe touch finer. The color is always dark or subdued.\n\n[Illustration: 78. Quivi Trovammo.]\n\n\u00a7 3. Of the first forty subjects which he exhibited at the Royal\nAcademy, thirty-one are architectural, and of these twenty-one are of\nelaborate Gothic architecture (Peterborough cathedral, Lincoln\ncathedral, Malmesbury abbey, Tintern abbey, &c.). I look upon the\ndiscipline given to his hand by these formal drawings as of the highest\nimportance. His mind was also gradually led by them into a calmer\npensiveness.[2] Education amidst country possessing architectural\nremains of some noble kind, I believe to be wholly essential to the\nprogress of a landscape artist. The first verses he ever attached to a\npicture were in 1798. They are from Paradise Lost, and refer to a\npicture of Morning, on the Coniston Fells:--\n\n  \"Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise\n   From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray,\n   Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold,\n   In honor to the world's great Author rise.\"\n\nBy glancing over the verses, which in following years[3] he quotes from\nMilton, Thompson, and Mallet, it may be seen at once how his mind was\nset, so far as natural scenes were concerned, on rendering atmospheric\neffect;--and so far as emotion was to be expressed, how consistently it\nwas melancholy.\n\nHe paints, first of heroic or meditative subjects, the Fifth Plague of\nEgypt; next, the Tenth Plague of Egypt. His first tribute to the memory\nof Nelson is the \"Battle of the Nile,\" 1799. I presume an unimportant\npicture, as his power was not then availably developed. His first\nclassical subject is Narcissus and Echo, in 1805:--\n\n  \"So melts the youth and languishes away,\n   His beauty withers, and his limbs decay.\"\n\nThe year following he summons his whole strength, and paints what we\nmight suppose would be a happier subject, the Garden of the Hesperides.\nThis being the most important picture of the first period, I will\nanalyze it completely.\n\n\u00a7 4. The fable of the Hesperides had, it seems to me, in the Greek mind\ntwo distinct meanings; the first referring to natural phenomena, and the\nsecond to moral. The natural meaning of it I believe to have been\nthis:--\n\nThe Garden of the Hesperides was supposed to exist in the westernmost\npart of the Cyrenaica; it was generally the expression for the beauty\nand luxuriant vegetation of the coast of Africa in that district. The\ncentre of the Cyrenaica \"is occupied by a moderately elevated\ntable-land, whose edge runs parallel to the coast, to which it sinks\ndown in a succession of terraces, clothed with verdure, intersected by\nmountain streams running through ravines filled with the richest\nvegetation; well watered by frequent rains, exposed to the cool sea\nbreeze from the north, and sheltered by the mass of the mountain from\nthe sands and hot winds of the Sahara.\"[4]\n\nThe Greek colony of Cyrene itself was founded ten miles from the\nsea-shore, \"in a spot backed by the mountains on the south, and thus\nsheltered from the fiery blasts of the desert; while at the height of\nabout 1800 feet an inexhaustible spring bursts forth amidst luxuriant\nvegetation, and pours its waters down to the Mediterranean through a\nmost beautiful ravine.\"\n\nThe nymphs of the west, or Hesperides, are therefore, I believe, as\nnatural types, the representatives of the soft western winds and\nsunshine, which were in this district most favorable to vegetation. In\nthis sense they are called daughters of Atlas and Hesperis, the western\nwinds being cooled by the snow of Atlas. The dragon, on the contrary, is\nthe representative of the Sahara wind, or Simoom, which blew over the\ngarden from among the hills on the south, and forbade all advance of\ncultivation beyond their ridge. Whether this was the physical meaning of\nthe tradition in the Greek mind or not, there can be no doubt of its\nbeing Turner's first interpretation of it. A glance at the picture may\ndetermine this: a clear fountain being made the principal object in the\nforeground,--a bright and strong torrent in the distance,--while the\ndragon, wrapped in flame and whirlwind, watches from the top of the\ncliff.\n\n\u00a7 5. But, both in the Greek mind and Turner's, this natural meaning of\nthe legend was a completely subordinate one. The moral significance of\nit lay far deeper. In the second, but principal sense, the Hesperides\nwere not daughters of Atlas, nor connected with the winds of the west,\nbut with its splendor. They are properly the nymphs of the sunset, and\nare the daughters of night, having many brothers and sisters, of whom I\nshall take Hesiod's account.\n\n\u00a7 6. \"And the Night begat Doom, and short-withering Fate, and Death.\n\n\"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams, and Censure, and Sorrow.\n\n\"And the Hesperides, who keep the golden fruit beyond the mighty Sea.\n\n\"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of merciless punishment.\n\n\"And Jealousy, and Deceit, and Wanton Love; and Old Age, that fades\naway; and Strife, whose will endures.\"\n\n\u00a7 7. We have not, I think, hitherto quite understood the Greek feeling\nabout those nymphs and their golden apples, coming as a light in the\nmidst of cloud; between Censure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies. We must\nlook to the precise meaning of Hesiod's words, in order to get the force\nof the passage.\n\n\"The Night begat Doom;\" that is to say, the doom of unforeseen\naccident--doom essentially of darkness.\n\n\"And short-withering Fate.\" Ill translated. I cannot do it better. It\nmeans especially the sudden fate which brings untimely end to all\npurpose, and cuts off youth and its promise; called, therefore (the\nepithet hardly ever leaving it), \"black Fate.\"\n\n\"And Death.\" This is the universal, inevitable death, opposed to the\ninterfering, untimely death. These three are named as the elder\nchildren. Hesiod pauses, and repeats the word \"begat\" before going on to\nnumber the others.\n\n\"And begat Sleep, and the company of Dreams.\"\n\n\"And _Censure_.\" \"Momus,\" the Spirit of Blame--the spirit which desires\nto blame rather than to praise; false, base, unhelpful, unholy\njudgment;--ignorant and blind, child of the Night.\n\n\"And Sorrow.\" Accurately, sorrow of mourning; the sorrow of the night,\nwhen no man can work; of the night that falls when what was the light of\nthe eyes is taken from us; lamenting, sightless sorrow, without\nhope,--child of Night.\n\n\"And the Hesperides.\" We will come back to these.\n\n\"And the Destinies, and the Spirits of Merciless Punishment.\" These are\nthe great Fates which have rule over conduct; the first fate spoken of\n(short-withering) is that which has rule over occurrence. These great\nFates are Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Their three powers are--Clotho's\nover the clue, the thread, or connecting energy,--that is, the conduct\nof life; Lachesis' over the lot--that is to say, the chance which warps,\nentangles, or bends the course of life. Atropos, inflexible, cuts the\nthread for ever.\n\n\"And Jealousy,\" especially the jealousy of Fortune, in balancing all\ngood by evil. The Greeks had a peculiar dread of this form of fate.\n\n\"And Deceit, and sensual Love. And Old Age that fades, and Strife that\nendures;\" that is to say, old age, which, growing not in wisdom, is\nmarked only by its failing power--by the gradual gaining of darkness on\nthe faculties, and helplessness on the frame, such age is the forerunner\nof true death--the child of Night. \"And Strife,\" the last and the\nmightiest, the nearest to man of the Night-children--blind leader of the\nblind.\n\n\u00a7 8. Understanding thus whose sisters they are, let us consider of the\nHesperides themselves--spoken of commonly as the \"Singing Nymphs.\" They\nare four.\n\nTheir names are \u00c6gl\u00e9,--Brightness; Erytheia,--Blushing; Hestia,--the\n(spirit of the) Hearth; Arethusa,--the Ministering.\n\nO English reader! hast thou ever heard of these fair and true daughters\nof Sunset, beyond the mighty sea?\n\nAnd was it not well to trust to such keepers the guarding of the golden\nfruit which the earth gave to Juno at her marriage? Not fruit only:\nfruit on the tree, given by the earth, the great mother, to Juno (female\npower), at her marriage with Jupiter, or _ruling_ manly power\n(distinguished from the tried and _agonizing_ strength of Hercules). I\ncall Juno, briefly, female power. She is, especially, the goddess\npresiding over marriage, regarding the woman as the mistress of a\nhousehold. Vesta (the goddess of the hearth[5]), with Ceres, and Venus,\nare variously dominant over marriage, as the fulfilment of love; but\nJuno is pre-eminently the housewives' goddess. She, therefore,\nrepresents, in her character, whatever good or evil may result from\nfemale ambition, or desire of power: and, as to a housewife, the earth\npresents its golden fruit to her, which she gives to two kinds of\nguardians. The wealth of the earth, as the source of household peace and\nplenty, is watched by the singing nymphs--the Hesperides. But, as the\nsource of household sorrow and desolation, it is watched by the Dragon.\n\nWe must, therefore, see who the Dragon was, and what kind of dragon.\n\n\u00a7 9. The reader will, perhaps, remember that we traced, in an earlier\nchapter, the birth of the Gorgons, through Phorcys and Ceto, from\nNereus. The youngest child of Phorcys and Ceto is the Dragon of the\nHesperides; but this latest descent is not, as in Northern traditions, a\nsign of fortunateness: on the contrary, the children of Nereus receive\ngradually more and more terror and power, as they are later born, till\nthis last of the Nereids unites horror and power at their utmost.\nObserve the gradual change. Nereus himself is said to have been\nperfectly _true_ and _gentle_.\n\nThis is Hesiod's account of him:--\n\n\"And Pontus begat Nereus, simple and true, the oldest of children; but\nthey call him the aged man, in that he is errorless and kind; neither\nforgets he what is right; but knows all just and gentle counsel.\"\n\n\u00a7 10. Now the children of Nereus, like the Hesperides themselves, bear a\ntwofold typical character; one physical, the other moral. In his\nphysical symbolism, Nereus himself is the calm and gentle sea, from\nwhich rise, in gradual increase of terror, the clouds and storms. In his\nmoral character, Nereus is the type of the deep, pure, rightly-tempered\nhuman mind, from which, in gradual degeneracy, spring the troubling\npassions.\n\nKeeping this double meaning in view, observe the whole line of descent\nto the Hesperides' Dragon. Nereus, by the earth, begets (1) Thaumas (the\nwonderful), physically, the father of the Rainbow; morally, the type of\nthe enchantments and dangers of imagination. His grandchildren, besides\nthe Rainbow, are the Harpies. 2. Phorcys (Orcus?), physically, the\ntreachery or devouring spirit of the sea; morally, covetousness or\nmalignity of heart. 3. Ceto, physically, the deep places of the sea;\nmorally, secretness of heart, called \"fair-cheeked,\" because tranquil in\noutward aspect. 4. Eurybia (wide strength), physically, the flowing,\nespecially the tidal power of the sea (she, by one of the sons of\nHeaven, becomes the mother of three great Titans, one of whom, Astr\u00e6us,\nand the Dawn, are the parents of the four Winds); morally, the healthy\npassion of the heart. Thus far the children of Nereus.\n\n\u00a7 11. Next, Phorcys and Ceto, in their physical characters (the grasping\nor devouring of the sea, reaching out over the land and its depth),\nbeget the Clouds and Storms--namely, first, the Grai\u00e6, or soft\nrain-clouds; then the Gorgons, or storm-clouds; and youngest and last,\nthe Hesperides' Dragon--Volcanic or earth-storm, associated, in\nconception, with the Simoom and fiery African winds.\n\nBut, in its moral significance, the descent is this. Covetousness, or\nmalignity (Phorcys), and Secretness (Ceto), beget, first, the darkening\npassions, whose hair is always gray; then the stormy and merciless\npassions, brazen-winged (the Gorgons), of whom the dominant, Medusa, is\nice-cold, turning all who look on her to stone. And, lastly, the\nconsuming (poisonous and volcanic) passions--the \"flame-backed dragon,\"\nuniting the powers of poison, and instant destruction. Now, the reader\nmay have heard, perhaps, in other books of Genesis than Hesiod's, of a\ndragon being busy about a tree which bore apples, and of crushing the\nhead of that dragon; but seeing how, in the Greek mind, this serpent was\ndescended from the sea, he may, perhaps, be surprised to remember\nanother verse, bearing also on the matter:--\"Thou brakest the heads of\nthe dragons in the waters;\" and yet more surprised, going on with the\nSeptuagint version, to find where he is being led: \"Thou brakest the\nhead of the dragon, and gavest him to be meat to the Ethiopian people.\nThou didst tear asunder the strong fountains and the storm-torrents;\nthou didst dry up the rivers of Etham, [Greek: p\u00eagas kai cheimarrhous],\nthe Pegasus fountains--Etham on the edge of the wilderness.\"\n\n\u00a7 12. Returning then to Hesiod, we find he tells us of the Dragon\nhimself:--\"He, in the secret places of the desert land, kept the\nall-golden apples in his great knots\" (coils of rope, or extremities of\nanything). With which compare Euripides' report of him:--\"And Hercules\ncame to the Hesperian dome, to the singing maidens, plucking the apple\nfruit from the golden petals; slaying the flame-backed dragon, who\ntwined round and round, kept guard in unapproachable spires\" (spirals or\nwhirls, as of a whirlwind-vortex).\n\nFarther, we hear from other scattered syllables of tradition, that this\ndragon was sleepless, and that he was able to take various tones of\nhuman voice.\n\nAnd we find a later tradition than Hesiod's calling him a child of\nTyphon and Echidna. Now Typhon is volcanic storm, generally the evil\nspirit of tumult.\n\nEchidna (the adder) is a descendant of Medusa. She is a daughter of\nChrysaor (the lightning), by Callir\u00f6e (the fair flowing), a daughter of\nOcean;--that is to say, she joins the intense fatality of the lightning\nwith perfect gentleness. In form she is half-maiden, half-serpent;\ntherefore she is the spirit of all the fatalest evil, veiled in\ngentleness: or, in one word, treachery;--having dominion over many\ngentle things;--and chiefly over a kiss, given, indeed, in another\ngarden than that of the Hesperides, yet in relation to keeping of\ntreasure also.\n\n\u00a7 13. Having got this farther clue, let us look who it is whom Dante\nmakes the typical Spirit of Treachery. The eighth or lowest pit of hell\nis given to its keeping; at the edge of which pit, Virgil casts a _rope_\ndown for a signal; instantly there rises, as from the sea, \"as one\nreturns who hath been down to loose some anchor,\" \"the fell monster with\nthe deadly sting, who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls, and\nfirm embattled spears; and with his filth taints all the world.\"\n\nThink for an instant of another place:--\"Sharp stones are under him, he\nlaugheth at the shaking of a spear.\" We must yet keep to Dante,\nhowever. Echidna, remember, is half-maiden, half-serpent;--hear what\nDante's Fraud is like:--\n\n  \"Forthwith that image vile of Fraud appear'd,\n   His head and upper part exposed on land,\n   But laid not on the shore his bestial train.\n   His face the semblance of a just man's wore,\n   So kind and gracious was its outward cheer;\n   The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws\n   Reach'd to the armpits; and the back and breast,\n   And either side, were painted o'er with nodes\n   And orbits. Colors variegated more\n   Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state\n   With interchangeable embroidery wove,\n   Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom.\n   As oft-times a light skiff moor'd to the shore,\n   Stands part in water, part upon the land;\n   Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor,\n   The beaver settles, watching for his prey;\n   So on the rim, that fenced the sand with rock,\n   Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void\n   Glancing, his tail upturn'd, its venomous fork\n   With sting like scorpion's arm'd.\"\n\n\u00a7 14. You observe throughout this description the leaning on the\ncharacter of the _Sea_ Dragon; a little farther on, his way of flying is\ntold us:--\n\n  \"As a small vessel backing out from land,\n   Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd,\n   And, when he felt himself at large, turn'd round\n   There, where the breast had been, his fork'd tail.\n   Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd,\n   Gathering the air up with retractile claws.\"\n\nAnd lastly, his name is told us: Geryon. Whereupon, looking back at\nHesiod, we find that Geryon is Echidna's brother. Man-serpent,\ntherefore, in Dante, as Echidna is woman-serpent.\n\nWe find next that Geryon lived in the island of Erytheia, (blushing),\nonly another kind of blushing than that of the Hesperid Erytheia. But it\nis on, also, a western island, and Geryon kept red oxen on it (said to\nbe near the red setting sun); and Hercules kills him, as he does the\nHesperian dragon: but in order to be able to reach him, a golden boat is\ngiven to Hercules by the Sun, to cross the sea in.\n\n\u00a7 15. We will return to this part of the legend presently, having enough\nof it now collected to get at the complete idea of the Hesperian dragon,\nwho is, in fine, the \"Pluto il gran nemico\" of Dante; the demon of all\nevil passions connected with covetousness; that is to say, essentially\nof fraud, rage, and gloom. Regarded as the demon of Fraud, he is said to\nbe descended from the viper Echidna, full of deadly cunning, in whirl on\nwhirl; as the demon of consuming Rage, from Phorcys; as the demon of\nGloom, from Ceto;--in his watching and melancholy, he is sleepless\n(compare the Micyllus dialogue of Lucian); breathing whirlwind and fire,\nhe is the destroyer, descended from Typhon as well as Phorcys; having,\nmoreover, with all these, the irresistible strength of his ancestral\nsea.\n\n\u00a7 16. Now, look at him, as Turner has drawn him (p. 298). I cannot\nreduce the creature to this scale without losing half his power; his\nlength, especially, seems to diminish more than it should in proportion\nto his bulk. In the picture he is far in the distance, cresting the\nmountain; and may be, perhaps, three-quarters of a mile long. The actual\nlength on the canvas is a foot and eight inches; so that it may be\njudged how much he loses by the reduction, not to speak of my imperfect\netching,[6] and of the loss which, however well he might have been\nengraved, he would still have sustained, in the impossibility of\nexpressing the lurid color of his armor, alternate bronze and blue.\n\n\u00a7 17. Still, the main points of him are discernible enough; and among\nall the wonderful things that Turner did in his day, I think this nearly\nthe most wonderful. How far he had really found out for himself the\ncollateral bearings of the Hesperid tradition I know not; but that he\nhad got the main clue of it, and knew who the Dragon was, there can be\nno doubt; the strange thing is, that his conception of it throughout,\ndown to the minutest detail, fits every one of the circumstances of the\nGreek traditions. There is, first, the Dragon's descent from Medusa and\nTyphon, indicated in the serpent-clouds floating from his head (compare\nmy sketch of the Medusa-cloud, Plate 71); then note the grovelling and\nponderous body, ending in a serpent, of which we do not see the end. He\ndrags the weight of it forward by his claws, not being able to lift\nhimself from the ground (\"Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell\");\nthen the grip of the claws themselves as if they would clutch (rather\nthan tear) the rock itself into pieces; but chiefly, the designing of\nthe body. Remember, one of the essential characters of the creature, as\ndescended from Medusa, is its coldness and petrifying power; this, in\nthe demon of covetousness, must exist to the utmost; breathing fire, he\nis yet himself of ice. Now, if I were merely to draw this dragon as\nwhite, instead of dark, and take his claws away, his body would become a\nrepresentation of a greater glacier, so nearly perfect, that I know no\npublished engraving of glacier breaking over a rocky brow so like the\ntruth as this dragon's shoulders would be, if they were thrown out in\nlight; there being only this difference, that they have the form, but\nnot the fragility of the ice; they are at once ice and iron. \"His bones\nare like solid pieces of brass; his bones are like bars of iron; by his\nneesings a light doth shine.\"\n\n\u00a7 18. The strange unity of vertebrated action, and of a true bony\ncontour, infinitely varied in every vertebra, with this glacial\noutline;--together with the adoption of the head of the Ganges\ncrocodile, the fish-eater, to show his sea descent (and this in the year\n1806, when hardly a single fossil saurian skeleton existed within\nTurner's reach), renders the whole conception one of the most curious\nexertions of the imaginative intellect with which I am acquainted in the\narts.\n\n\u00a7 19. Thus far, then, of the dragon; next, we have to examine the\nconception of the Goddess of Discord. We must return for a moment to the\ntradition about Geryon. I cannot yet decipher the meaning of his oxen,\nsaid to be fed together with those of Hades; nor of the journey of\nHercules, in which, after slaying Geryon, he returns through Europe like\na border forager, driving these herds, and led into farther battle in\nprotection or recovery of them. But it seems to me the main drift of the\nlegend cannot be mistaken; viz., that Geryon is the evil spirit of\nwealth, as arising from commerce; hence, placed as a guardian of isles\nin the most distant sea, and reached in a golden boat; while the\nHesperian dragon is the evil spirit of wealth, as possessed in\nhouseholds; and associated, therefore, with the true household\nguardians, or singing nymphs. Hercules (manly labor), slaying both\nGeryon and Ladon, presents oxen and apples to Juno, who is their proper\nmistress; but the Goddess of Discord, contriving that one portion of\nthis household wealth shall be ill bestowed by Paris, he, according to\nColeridge's interpretation, choosing pleasure instead of wisdom or\npower;--there issue from this evil choice the catastrophe of the Trojan\nwar, and the wanderings of Ulysses, which are essentially, both in the\nIliad and Odyssey, the troubling of household peace; terminating with\nthe restoration of this peace by repentance and patience; Helen and\nPenelope seen at last sitting upon their household thrones, in the\nHesperian light of age.\n\n\u00a7 20. We have, therefore, to regard Discord, in the Hesperides garden,\neminently as the disturber of households, assuming a different aspect\nfrom Homer's wild and fierce discord of war. They are, nevertheless, one\nand the same power; for she changes her aspect at will. I cannot get at\nthe root of her name, Eris. It seems to me as if it ought to have one in\ncommon with Erinnys (Fury); but it means always contention, emulation,\nor competition, either in mind or in words;--the final work of Eris is\nessentially \"division,\" and she is herself always double-minded; shouts\ntwo ways at once (in Iliad, xi. 6), and wears a mantle rent in half\n(\u00c6neid, viii. 702). Homer makes her loud-voiced, and insatiably\ncovetous. This last attribute is, with him, the source of her usual\ntitle. She is little when she first is seen, then rises till her head\ntouches heaven. By Virgil she is called mad; and her hair is of\nserpents, bound with bloody garlands.\n\n\u00a7 21. This is the conception first adopted by Turner, but combined with\nanother which he found in Spenser; only note that there is some\nconfusion in the minds of English poets between Eris (Discord) and At\u00e9\n(Error), who is a daughter of Discord, according to Hesiod. She is\nproperly--mischievous error, tender-footed; for she does not walk on the\nearth, but on heads of men (Iliad, xix. 92); _i.e._ not on the solid\nground, but on human vain thoughts; therefore, her hair is glittering\n(Iliad, xix. 126). I think she is mainly the confusion of mind coming of\npride, as Eris comes of covetousness; therefore, Homer makes her a\ndaughter of Jove. Spenser, under the name of At\u00e9, describes Eris. I have\nreferred to his account of her in my notice of the Discord on the Ducal\npalace of Venice (remember the inscription there, _Discordia sum,\ndiscordans_). But the stanzas from which Turner derived his conception\nof her are these--\n\n  \"Als, as she double spake, so heard she double,\n   With matchlesse eares deformed and distort,\n   Fild with false rumors and seditious trouble,\n   Bred in assemblies of the vulgar sort,\n   That still are led with every light report:\n   And as her eares, so eke her feet were odde,\n   And much unlike; th' one long, the other short,\n   And both misplast; that, when th' one forward yode,\n   The other backe retired and contr\u00e1rie trode.\n\n  \"Likewise unequall were her hand\u00ebs twaine;\n   That one did reach, the other pusht away;\n   That one did make the other mard againe,\n   And sought to bring all things unto decay;\n   Whereby great riches, gathered manie a day,\n   She in short space did often bring to nought,\n   An their possessours often did dismay:\n   For all her studie was, and all her thought\n   How she might overthrow the thing that Concord wrought.\n\n  \"So much her malice did her might surpas,\n   That even th' Almightie selfe she did maligne,\n   Because to man so mercifull He was,\n   And unto all His creatures so benigne,\n   Sith she herself was of his grace indigne:\n   For all this worlds faire workmanship she tride\n   Unto his last confusion to bring,\n   And that great golden chaine quite to divide,\n   With which it blessed Concord hath together tide.\"\n\nAll these circumstances of decrepitude and distortion Turner has\nfollowed, through hand and limb, with patient care: he has added one\nfinal touch of his own. The nymph who brings the apples to the goddess,\noffers her one in each hand; and Eris, of the divided mind, cannot\nchoose.\n\n\u00a7 22. One farther circumstance must be noted, in order to complete our\nunderstanding of the picture,--the gloom extending, not to the dragon\nonly, but also to the fountain and the tree of golden fruit. The reason\nof this gloom may be found in two other passages of the authors from\nwhich Turner had taken his conception of Eris--Virgil and Spenser. For\nthough the Hesperides in their own character, as the nymphs of domestic\njoy, are entirely bright (and the garden always bright around them), yet\nseen or remembered in sorrow, or in the presence of discord, they deepen\ndistress. Their entirely happy character is given by Euripides:--\"The\nfruit-planted shore of the Hesperides,--songstresses,--where the ruler\nof the purple lake allows not any more to the sailor his way, assigning\nthe boundary of Heaven, which Atlas holds; where the ambrosial fountains\nflow, and the fruitful and divine land increases the happiness of the\ngods.\"\n\nBut to the thoughts of Dido, in her despair, they recur under another\naspect; she remembers their priestess as a great enchantress; who _feeds\nthe dragon_ and preserves the boughs of the tree; sprinkling moist honey\nand drowsy poppy; who also has power over ghosts; \"and the earth shakes\nand the forests stoop from the hills at her bidding.\"\n\n\u00a7 23. This passage Turner must have known well, from his continual\ninterest in Carthage: but his diminution of the splendor of the old\nGreek garden was certainly caused chiefly by Spenser's describing the\nHesperides fruit as growing first in the garden of Mammon:--\n\n  \"There mournfull cypresse grew in greatest store;\n   And trees of bitter gall; and heben sad;\n   Dead sleeping poppy; and black hellebore;\n   Cold coloquintida; and tetra mad\n   Mortal samnitis; and cicuta bad,\n   With which th' uniust Atheniens made to dy\n   Wise Socrates, who, thereof quaffing glad,\n   Pourd out his life and last philosophy.\n\n       *     *     *     *     *\n\n  \"The gardin of Pros\u00e8rpina this hight:\n   And in the midst thereof a silver seat,\n   With a thick arber goodly over dight,\n   In which she often usd from open heat\n   Herselfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat:\n   Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree,\n   With braunches broad dispredd and body great,\n   Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see,\n   And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee.\n\n  \"Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright,\n   That goodly was their glory to behold;\n   On earth like never grew, ne living wight\n   Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold;\n   For those, which Hercules with conquest bold\n   Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began.\n\n       *     *     *     *     *\n\n  \"Here eke that famous golden apple grew,\n   The which emongst the gods false At\u00e9 threw.\"\n\nThere are two collateral evidences in the picture of Turner's mind\nhaving been partly influenced by this passage. The excessive darkness of\nthe stream,--though one of the Cyrene fountains--to remind us of\nCocytus; and the breaking of the bough of the tree by the weight of its\napples--not healthily, but as a diseased tree would break.\n\n\u00a7 24. Such then is our English painter's first great religious picture;\nand exponent of our English faith. A sad-colored work, not executed in\nAngelico's white and gold; nor in Perugino's crimson and azure; but in a\nsulphurous hue, as relating to a paradise of smoke. That power, it\nappears, on the hill-top, is our British Madonna; whom, reverently, the\nEnglish devotional painter must paint, thus enthroned, with nimbus about\nthe gracious head. Our Madonna,--or our Jupiter on Olympus,--or, perhaps\nmore accurately still, our unknown god, sea-born, with the cliffs, not\nof Cyrene, but of England, for his altar; and no chance of any Mars'\nHill proclamation concerning him, \"whom therefore ye ignorantly\nworship.\"\n\n\u00a7 25. This is no irony. The fact is verily so. The greatest man of our\nEngland, in the first half of the nineteenth century, in the strength\nand hope of his youth, perceives this to be the thing he has to tell us\nof utmost moment, connected with the spiritual world. In each city and\ncountry of past time, the master-minds had to declare the chief worship\nwhich lay at the nation's heart; to define it; adorn it; show the range\nand authority of it. Thus in Athens, we have the triumph of Pallas; and\nin Venice the assumption of the Virgin; here, in England, is our great\nspiritual fact for ever interpreted to us--the Assumption of the Dragon.\nNo St. George any more to be heard of; no more dragon-slaying possible:\nthis child, born on St. George's Day, can only make manifest the Dragon,\nnot slay him, sea-serpent as he is; whom the English Andromeda, not\nfearing, takes for her lord. The fairy English Queen once thought to\ncommand the waves, but it is the sea-dragon now who commands her\nvalleys; of old the Angel of the Sea ministered to them, but now the\nSerpent of the Sea; where once flowed their clear springs now spreads\nthe black Cocytus pool; and the fair blooming of the Hesperid meadows\nfades into ashes beneath the Nereid's Guard.\n\nYes, Albert of Nuremberg; the time has at last come. Another nation has\narisen in the strength of its Black anger; and another hand has\nportrayed the spirit of its toil. Crowned with fire, and with the wings\nof the bat.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [1] Notes on the Turner Collection at Marlborough House. 1857.\n    Catalogue of the Sketches of J. M. V. Turner exhibited at Marlborough\n    House. 1858.\n\n  [2] The regret I expressed in the third volume at Turner's not having\n    been educated under the influence of Gothic art was, therefore,\n    mistaken; I had not then had access to his earlier studies. He _was_\n    educated under the influence of Gothic architecture; but, in more\n    advanced life, his mind was warped and weakened by classical\n    architecture. Why he left the one for the other, or how far good\n    influences were mingled with evil in the result of the change, I have\n    not yet been able to determine.\n\n  [3] They may be referred to with ease in Boone's Catalogue of\n    Turner's Pictures, 1857.\n\n  [4] Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography. Art.\n    \"Cyrenaica.\"\n\n  [5] Her name is also that of the Hesperid nymph; but I give the\n    Hesperid her Greek form of name, to distinguish her from the goddess.\n    The Hesperid Arethusa has the same subordinate relation to Ceres; and\n    Erytheia, to Venus. \u00c6gl\u00e9 signifies especially the spirit of\n    brightness or cheerfulness including even the subordinate idea of\n    household neatness or cleanliness.\n\n  [6] It is merely a sketch on the steel, like the illustrations before\n    given of composition; but it marks the points needing note. Perhaps\n    some day I may be able to engrave it of the full size.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE HESPERID \u00c6GL\u00c9.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Five years after the Hesperides were painted, another great\nmythological subject appeared by Turner's hand. Another dragon--this\ntime not triumphant, but in death-pang; the Python, slain by Apollo.\n\nNot in a garden, this slaying, but in a hollow, among wildest rocks,\nbeside a stagnant pool. Yet, instead of the sombre coloring of the\nHesperid hills, strange gleams of blue and gold flit around the mountain\npeaks, and color the clouds above them.\n\nThe picture is at once the type, and the first expression of a great\nchange which was passing in Turner's mind. A change, which was not\nclearly manifested in all its results until much later in his life; but\nin the coloring of this picture are the first signs of it; and in the\nsubject of this picture, its symbol.\n\n\u00a7 2. Had Turner died early, the reputation he would have left, though\ngreat and enduring, would have been strangely different from that which\nultimately must now attach to his name. He would have been remembered as\none of the severest of painters; his iron touch and positive form would\nhave been continually opposed to the delicacy of Claude and richness of\nTitian; he would have been spoken of, popularly, as a man who had no eye\nfor color. Perhaps here and there a watchful critic might have shown\nthis popular idea to be false; but no conception could have been formed\nby any one of the man's real disposition or capacity.\n\nIt was only after the year 1820 that these were determinable, and his\npeculiar work discerned.\n\n\u00a7 3. He had begun by faithful declaration of the sorrow there was in the\nworld. It is now permitted him to see also its beauty. He becomes,\nseparately and without rival, the painter of the loveliness and light of\nthe creation.\n\n[Illustration: 79. The Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9.]\n\nOf its loveliness: that which may be beloved in it, the tenderest,\nkindest, most feminine of its aspects. Of its light: light not merely\ndiffused, but interpreted; light seen pre-eminently in color.\n\nClaude and Cuyp had painted the sun_shine_, Turner alone the sun\n_color_.\n\nObserve this accurately. Those easily understood effects of afternoon\nlight, gracious and sweet so far as they reach, are produced by the\nsoftly warm or yellow rays of the sun falling through mist. They are low\nin tone, even in nature, and disguise the colors of objects. They are\nimitable even by persons who have little or no gift of color, if the\ntones of the picture are kept low and in true harmony, and the reflected\nlights warm. But they never could be painted by great colorists. The\nfact of blue and crimson being effaced by yellow and gray, puts such\neffect at once out of the notice or thought of a colorist, unless he has\nsome special interest in the motive of it. You might as well ask a\nmusician to compose with only three notes, as Titian to paint without\ncrimson and blue. Accordingly the colorists in general, feeling that no\nother than this yellow sunshine was imitable, refused it, and painted in\ntwilight, when the color was full. Therefore, from the imperfect\ncolorists,--from Cuyp, Claude, Both, Wilson, we get deceptive effect of\nsunshine; never from the Venetians, from Rubens, Reynolds or Velasquez.\nFrom these we get only conventional substitutions for it, Rubens being\nespecially daring[1] in frankness of symbol.\n\n\u00a7 4. Turner, however, as a landscape painter, had to represent sunshine\nof one kind or another. He went steadily through the subdued golden\nchord, and painted Cuyp's favorite effect, \"sun rising through vapor,\"\nfor many a weary year. But this was not enough for him. He must paint\nthe sun in his strength, the sun rising _not_ through vapor. If you\nglance at that Apollo slaying the Python, you will see there is rose\ncolor and blue on the clouds, as well as gold; and if then you turn to\nthe Apollo in the Ulysses and Polyphemus--his horses are rising beyond\nthe horizon,--you see he is not \"rising through vapor,\" but above it;\ngaining somewhat of a victory over vapor, it appears.\n\nThe old Dutch brewer, with his yellow mist, was a great man and a good\nguide, but he was not Apollo. He and his dray-horses led the way through\nthe flats, cheerily, for a little time; we have other horses now flaming\nout \"beyond the mighty sea.\"\n\nA victory over vapor of many kinds; Python-slaying in general. Look how\nthe Python's jaws smoke as he falls back between the rocks:--a vaporous\nserpent! We will see who he was, presently.\n\nThe public remonstrated loudly in the cause of Python: \"He had been so\nyellow, quiet, and pleasant a creature; what meant these azure-shafted\narrows, this sudden glare into darkness, this Iris message;\nThaumantian;--miracle-working; scattering our slumber down in Cocytus?\"\nIt meant much, but that was not what they should have first asked about\nit. They should have asked simply, was it a true message? Were these\nThaumantian things so, in the real universe?\n\nIt might have been known easily they were. One fair dawn or sunset,\nobediently beheld, would have set them right; and shown that Turner was\nindeed the only true speaker concerning such things that ever yet had\nappeared in the world. They would neither look nor hear;--only shouted\ncontinuously, \"Perish Apollo. Bring us back Python.\"\n\n\u00a7 5. We must understand the real meaning of this cry, for herein rests\nnot merely the question of the great right or wrong in Turner's life,\nbut the question of the right or wrong of all painting. Nay, on this\nissue hangs the nobleness of painting as an art altogether, for it is\ndistinctively the art of coloring, not of shaping or relating. Sculptors\nand poets can do these, the painter's own work is color.\n\nThus, then, for the last time, rises the question, what is the true\ndignity of color? We left that doubt a little while ago among the\nclouds, wondering what they had been made so scarlet for. Now Turner\nbrings the doubt back to us, unescapable any more. No man, hitherto, had\npainted the clouds scarlet. Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9, and Erytheia, throned there\nin the west, fade into the twilights of four thousand years,\nunconfessed. Here is at last one who confesses them, but is it well? Men\nsay these Hesperids are sensual goddesses,--traitresses,--that the\nGrai\u00e6 are the only true ones. Nature made the western and the eastern\nclouds splendid in fallacy. Crimson is impure and vile; let us paint in\nblack if we would be virtuous.\n\n\u00a7 6. Note, with respect to this matter, that the peculiar innovation of\nTurner was the perfection of the color chord by means of _scarlet_.\nOther painters had rendered the golden tones, and the blue tones, of\nsky; Titian especially the last, in perfectness. But none had dared to\npaint, none seem to have seen, the scarlet and purple.\n\nNor was it only in seeing this color in vividness when it occurred in\nfull light, that Turner differed from preceding painters. His most\ndistinctive innovation as a colorist was his discovery of the scarlet\n_shadow_. \"True, there is a sunshine whose light is golden, and its\nshadow gray; but there is another sunshine, and that the purest, whose\nlight is white, and its shadow scarlet.\" This was the essentially\noffensive, inconceivable thing, which he could not be believed in. There\nwas some ground for the incredulity, because no color is vivid enough to\nexpress the pitch of light of pure white sunshine, so that the color\ngiven without the true intensity of light _looks_ false. Nevertheless,\nTurner could not but report of the color truly. \"I must indeed be lower\nin the key, but that is no reason why I should be false in the note.\nHere is sunshine which glows even when subdued; it has not cool shade,\nbut fiery shade.\"[2] This is the glory of sunshine.\n\n\u00a7 7. Now, this scarlet color,--or pure red, intensified by expression of\nlight,--is, of all the three primitive colors, that which is most\ndistinctive. Yellow is of the nature of simple light; blue, connected\nwith simple shade; but red is an entirely abstract color. It is red to\nwhich the color-blind are blind, as if to show us that it was not\nnecessary merely for the service or comfort of man, but that there was a\nspecial gift or teaching in this color. Observe, farther, that it is\nthis color which the sunbeams take in passing through the _earth's\natmosphere_. The rose of dawn and sunset is the hue of the rays passing\nclose over the earth. It is also concentrated in the blood of man.\n\n[Illustration: 80. Rocks at Rest.]\n\n\u00a7 8. Unforeseen requirements have compelled me to disperse through\nvarious works, undertaken between the first and last portions of this\nessay, the examination of many points respecting color, which I had\nintended to reserve for this place. I can now only refer the reader to\nthese several passages,[3] and sum their import: which is briefly,\nthat color generally, but chiefly the scarlet, used with the hyssop, in\nthe Levitical law, is the great sanctifying element of visible beauty\ninseparably connected with purity and life.\n\n[Illustration: 81. Rocks in Unrest.]\n\nI must not enter here into the solemn and far-reaching fields of thought\nwhich it would be necessary to traverse, in order to detect the mystical\nconnection between life and love, set forth in that Hebrew system of\nsacrificial religion to which we may trace most of the received ideas\nrespecting sanctity, consecration, and purification. This only I must\nhint to the reader--for his own following out--that if he earnestly\nexamines the original sources from which our heedless popular language\nrespecting the washing away of sins has been borrowed, he will find that\nthe fountain in which sins are indeed to be washed away, is that of\nlove, not of agony.\n\n\u00a7 9. But, without approaching the presence of this deeper meaning of the\nsign, the reader may rest satisfied with the connection given him\ndirectly in written words, between the cloud and its bow. The cloud, or\nfirmament, as we have seen, signifies the ministration of the heavens to\nman. That ministration may be in judgment or mercy--in the lightning, or\nthe dew. But the bow, or color, of the cloud, signifies always mercy,\nthe sparing of life; such ministry of the heaven, as shall feed and\nprolong life. And as the sunlight, undivided, is the type of the wisdom\nand righteousness of God, so divided, and softened into color by means\nof the fundamental ministry, fitted to every need of man, as to every\ndelight, and becoming one chief source of human beauty, by being made\npart of the flesh of man;--thus divided, the sunlight is the type of the\nwisdom of God, becoming sanctification and redemption. Various in\nwork--various in beauty--various in power.\n\nColor is, therefore, in brief terms, the type of love. Hence it is\nespecially connected with the blossoming of the earth; and again, with\nits fruits; also, with the spring and fall of the leaf, and with the\nmorning and evening of the day, in order to show the waiting of love\nabout the birth and death of man.\n\n\u00a7 10. And now, I think, we may understand, even far away in the Greek\nmind, the meaning of that contest of Apollo with the Python. It was a\nfar greater contest than that of Hercules with Ladon. Fraud and avarice\nmight be overcome by frankness and force; but this Python was a darker\nenemy, and could not be subdued but by a greater god. Nor was the\nconquest slightly esteemed by the victor deity. He took his great name\nfrom it thenceforth--his prophetic and sacred name--the Pythian.\n\nIt could, therefore, be no merely devouring dragon--no mere wild beast\nwith scales and claws. It must possess some more terrible character to\nmake conquest over it so glorious. Consider the meaning of its name,\n\"THE CORRUPTER.\" That Hesperid dragon was a treasure-guardian. This is\nthe treasure-destroyer,--where moth and rust doth corrupt--the worm of\neternal decay.\n\nApollo's contest with him is the strife of purity with pollution; of\nlife, with forgetfulness; of love, with the grave.\n\n\u00a7 11. I believe this great battle stood, in the Greek mind, for the type\nof the struggle of youth and manhood with deadly sin--venomous,\ninfectious, irrecoverable sin. In virtue of his victory over this\ncorruption, Apollo becomes thenceforward the guide; the witness; the\npurifying and helpful God. The other gods help waywardly, whom they\nchoose. But Apollo helps always: he is by name, not only Pythian, the\nconqueror of death; but P\u00e6an--the healer of the people.\n\nWell did Turner know the meaning of that battle: he has told its tale\nwith fearful distinctness. The Mammon dragon was armed with adamant; but\nthis dragon of decay is a mere colossal worm: wounded, he bursts asunder\nin the midst,[4] and melts to pieces, rather than dies, vomiting\nsmoke--a smaller serpent-worm rising out of his blood.\n\n\u00a7 12. Alas, for Turner! This smaller serpent-worm, it seemed, he could\nnot conceive to be slain. In the midst of all the power and beauty of\nnature, he still saw this death-worm writhing among the weeds. A little\nthing now, yet enough; you may see it in the foreground of the Bay of\nBai\u00e6, which has also in it the story of Apollo and the Sibyl; Apollo\ngiving love; but not youth, nor immortality: you may see it again in the\nforeground of the Lake Avernus--the Hades lake--which Turner surrounds\nwith delicatest beauty, the Fates dancing in circle; but in front, is\nthe serpent beneath the thistle and the wild thorn. The same Sibyl,\nDeiphobe, holding the golden bough. I cannot get at the meaning of this\nlegend of the bough; but it was, assuredly, still connected, in\nTurner's mind, with that help from Apollo. He indicated the strength of\nhis feeling at the time when he painted the Python contest, by the\ndrawing exhibited the same year, of the Prayer of Chryses. There the\npriest is on the beach alone, the sun setting. He prays to it as it\ndescends;--flakes of its sheeted light are borne to him by the\nmelancholy waves, and cast away with sighs upon the sand.\n\nHow this sadness came to be persistent over Turner, and to conquer him,\nwe shall see in a little while. It is enough for us to know at present\nthat our most wise and Christian England, with all her appurtenances of\nschool-porch and church-spire, had so disposed her teaching as to leave\nthis somewhat notable child of hers without even cruel Pandora's gift.\n\nHe was without hope.\n\nTrue daughter of Night, Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9 was to him; coming between\nCensure, and Sorrow,--and the Destinies.\n\n\u00a7 13. What, for us, his work yet may be, I know not. But let not the\nreal nature of it be misunderstood any more.\n\nHe is distinctively, as he rises into his own peculiar strength,\nseparating himself from all men who had painted forms of the physical\nworld before,--the painter of the loveliness of nature, with the worm at\nits root: Rose and cankerworm,--both with his utmost strength; the one\n_never_ separate from the other.\n\nIn which his work was the true image of his own mind.\n\nI would fain have looked last at the rose; but that is not the way\nAtropos will have it, and there is no pleading with her.\n\nSo, therefore, first of the rose.\n\n\u00a7 14. That is to say, of this vision of the loveliness and kindness of\nNature, as distinguished from all visions of her ever received by other\nmen. By the Greek, she had been distrusted. She was to him Calypso, the\nConcealer, Circe, the Sorceress. By the Venetian, she had been dreaded.\nHer wildernesses were desolate; her shadows stern. By the Fleming, she\nhad been despised; what mattered the heavenly colors to him? But at\nlast, the time comes for her loveliness and kindness to be declared to\nmen. Had they helped Turner, listened to him, believed in him, he had\ndone it wholly for them. But they cried out for Python, and Python\ncame;--came literally as well as spiritually;--all the perfectest beauty\nand conquest which Turner wrought is already withered. The cankerworm\nstood at his right hand, and of all his richest, most precious work,\nthere remains only the shadow. Yet that shadow is more than other men's\nsunlight; it is the scarlet shade, shade of the Rose. Wrecked, and\nfaded, and defiled, his work still, in what remains of it, or may\nremain, is the loveliest ever yet done by man, in imagery of the\nphysical world. Whatsoever is there of fairest, you will find recorded\nby Turner, and by him alone.\n\n\u00a7 15. I say _you_ will find, not knowing to how few I speak; for in\norder to find what is fairest, you must delight in what is fair; and I\nknow not how few or how many there may be who take such delight. Once I\ncould speak joyfully about beautiful things, thinking to be\nunderstood;--now I cannot any more; for it seems to me that no one\nregards them. Wherever I look or travel in England or abroad, I see that\nmen, wherever they can reach, destroy all beauty. They seem to have no\nother desire or hope but to have large houses and to be able to move\nfast. Every perfect and lovely spot which they can touch, they\ndefile.[5]\n\n\u00a7 16. Nevertheless, though not joyfully, or with any hope of being at\npresent heard, I would have tried to enter here into some examination of\nthe right and worthy effect of beauty in Art upon human mind, if I had\nbeen myself able to come to demonstrable conclusions. But the question\nis so complicated with that of the enervating influence of all luxury,\nthat I cannot get it put into any tractable compass. Nay, I have many\ninquiries to make, many difficult passages of history to examine, before\nI can determine the just limits of the hope in which I may permit myself\nto continue to labor in any cause of Art.\n\nNor is the subject connected with the purpose of this book. I have\nwritten it to show that Turner is the greatest landscape painter who\never lived; and this it has sufficiently accomplished. What the final\nuse may be to men, of landscape painting, or of any painting, or of\nnatural beauty, I do not yet know. Thus far, however, I _do_ know.\n\n\u00a7 17. Three principal forms of asceticism have existed in this weak\nworld. Religious asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge\nfor the sake (as supposed) of religion; seen chiefly in the middle ages.\nMilitary asceticism, being the refusal of pleasure and knowledge for the\nsake of power; seen chiefly in the early days of Sparta and Rome. And\nmonetary asceticism, consisting in the refusal of pleasure and knowledge\nfor the sake of money; seen in the present days of London and\nManchester.\n\n\"We do not come here to look at the mountains,\" said the Carthusian to\nme at the Grande Chartreuse. \"We do not come here to look at the\nmountains,\" the Austrian generals would say, encamping by the shores of\nGarda. \"We do not come here to look at the mountains,\" so the thriving\nmanufacturers tell me, between Rochdale and Halifax.\n\n\u00a7 18. All these asceticisms have their bright, and their dark sides. I\nmyself like the military asceticism best, because it is not so\nnecessarily a refusal of general knowledge as the two others, but leads\nto acute and marvellous use of mind, and perfect use of body.\nNevertheless, none of the three are a healthy or central state of man.\nThere is much to be respected in each, but they are not what we should\nwish large numbers of men to become. A monk of La Trappe, a French\nsoldier of the Imperial Guard, and a thriving mill-owner, supposing each\na type, and no more than a type, of his class, are all interesting\nspecimens of humanity, but narrow ones,--so narrow that even all the\nthree together would not make a perfect man. Nor does it appear in any\nway desirable that either of the three classes should extend itself so\nas to include a majority of the persons in the world, and turn large\ncities into mere groups of monastery, barracks, or factory. I do not say\nthat it may not be desirable that one city, or one country, sacrificed\nfor the good of the rest, should become a mass of barracks or factories.\nPerhaps, it may be well that this England should become the furnace of\nthe world; so that the smoke of the island, rising out of the sea,\nshould be seen from a hundred leagues away, as if it were a field of\nfierce volcanoes; and every kind of sordid, foul, or venomous work which\nin other countries men dreaded or disdained, it should become England's\nduty to do,--becoming thus the off-scourer of the earth, and taking the\nhyena instead of the lion upon her shield. I do not, for a moment, deny\nthis; but, looking broadly, not at the destiny of England, nor of any\ncountry in particular, but of the world, this is certain--that men\nexclusively occupied either in spiritual reverie, mechanical\ndestruction, or mechanical productiveness, fall below the proper\nstandard of their race, and enter into a lower form of being; and that\nthe true perfection of the race, and, therefore, its power and\nhappiness, are only to be attained by a life which is neither\nspeculative nor productive; but essentially contemplative and\nprotective, which (A) does not lose itself in the monk's vision or hope,\nbut delights in seeing present and real things as they truly are; which\n(B) does not mortify itself for the sake of obtaining powers of\ndestruction, but seeks the more easily attainable powers of affection,\nobservance, and protection; which (C), finally, does not mortify itself\nwith a view to productive accumulation, but delights itself in peace,\nwith its appointed portion. So that the things to be desired for man in\na healthy state, are that he should not see dreams, but realities; that\nhe should not destroy life, but save it; and that he should be not rich,\nbut content.\n\n\u00a7 19. Towards which last state of contentment, I do not see that the\nworld is at present approximating. There are, indeed, two forms of\ndiscontent: one laborious, the other indolent and complaining. We\nrespect the man of laborious desire, but let us not suppose that his\nrestlessness is peace, or his ambition meekness. It is because of the\nspecial connection of meekness with contentment that it is promised that\nthe meek shall \"inherit the earth.\" Neither covetous men, nor the Grave,\ncan inherit anything;[6] they can but consume. Only contentment can\npossess.\n\n\u00a7 20. The most helpful and sacred work, therefore, which can at present\nbe done for humanity, is to teach people (chiefly by example, as all\nbest teaching must be done) not how \"to better themselves,\" but how to\n\"satisfy themselves.\" It is the curse of every evil nation and evil\ncreature to eat, and _not_ be satisfied. The words of blessing are, that\nthey shall eat and be satisfied. And as there is only one kind of water\nwhich quenches all thirst, so there is only one kind of bread which\nsatisfies all hunger, the bread of justice or righteousness; which\nhungering after, men shall always be filled, that being the bread of\nHeaven; but hungering after the bread, or wages, of unrighteousness,\nshall not be filled, that being the bread of Sodom.\n\n\u00a7 21. And, in order to teach men how to be satisfied, it is necessary\nfully to understand the art and joy of humble life,--this, at present,\nof all arts or sciences being the one most needing study. Humble\nlife--that is to say, proposing to itself no future exaltation, but only\na sweet continuance; not excluding the idea of foresight, but wholly of\nfore-sorrow, and taking no troublous thought for coming days: so, also,\nnot excluding the idea of providence, or provision,[7] but wholly of\naccumulation;--the life of domestic affection and domestic peace, full\nof sensitiveness to all elements of costless and kind\npleasure;--therefore, chiefly to the loveliness of the natural world.\n\n\u00a7 22. What length and severity of labor may be ultimately found\nnecessary for the procuring of the due comforts of life, I do not know;\nneither what degree of refinement it is possible to unite with the\nso-called servile occupations of life: but this I know, that right\neconomy of labor will, as it is understood, assign to each man as much\nas will be healthy for him, and no more; and that no refinements are\ndesirable which cannot be connected with toil.\n\nI say, first, that due economy of labor will assign to each man the\nshare which is right. Let no technical labor be wasted on things useless\nor unpleasurable;[8] and let all physical exertion, so far as possible,\nbe utilized, and it will be found no man need ever work more than is\ngood for him. I believe an immense gain in the bodily health and\nhappiness of the upper classes would follow on their steadily\nendeavoring, however clumsily, to make the physical exertion they now\nnecessarily take in amusements, definitely serviceable. It would be far\nbetter, for instance, that a gentleman should mow his own fields, than\nride over other people's.\n\n\u00a7 23. Again, respecting degrees of possible refinement, I cannot yet\nspeak positively, because no effort has yet been made to teach refined\nhabits to persons of simple life.\n\nThe idea of such refinement has been made to appear absurd, partly by\nthe foolish ambition of vulgar persons in low life, but more by the\nworse than foolish assumption, acted on so often by modern advocates of\nimprovement, that \"education\" means teaching Latin, or algebra, or\nmusic, or drawing, instead of developing or \"drawing out\" the human\nsoul.\n\nIt may not be the least necessary that a peasant should know algebra, or\nGreek, or drawing. But it may, perhaps, be both possible and expedient\nthat he should be able to arrange his thoughts clearly, to speak his own\nlanguage intelligibly, to discern between right and wrong, to govern his\npassions, and to receive such pleasures of ear or sight as his life may\nrender accessible to him. I would not have him taught the science of\nmusic; but most assuredly I would have him taught to sing. I would not\nteach him the science of drawing; but certainly I would teach him to\nsee; without learning a single term of botany, he should know accurately\nthe habits and uses of every leaf and flower in his fields; and\nunencumbered by any theories of moral or political philosophy, he should\nhelp his neighbor, and disdain a bribe.\n\n\u00a7 24. Many most valuable conclusions respecting the degree of nobleness\nand refinement which may be attained in servile or in rural life may be\narrived at by a careful study of the noble writings of Blitzius\n(Jeremias Gotthelf), which contain a record of Swiss character not less\nvaluable in its fine truth than that which Scott has left of the\nScottish. I know no ideal characters of women, whatever their station,\nmore majestic than that of Freneli (in Ulric le Valet de Ferme, and\nUlric le Fermier); or of Elise, in the Tour de Jacob; nor any more\nexquisitely tender and refined than that of Aenneli in the Fromagerie\nand Aenneli in the Miroir des Paysans.[9]\n\n\u00a7 25. How far this simple and useful pride, this delicate innocence,\nmight be adorned, or how far destroyed, by higher intellectual education\nin letters or the arts, cannot be known without other experience than\nthe charity of men has hitherto enabled us to acquire.\n\nAll effort in social improvement is paralyzed, because no one has been\nbold or clear-sighted enough to put and press home this radical\nquestion: \"What is indeed the noblest tone and reach of life for men;\nand how can the possibility of it be extended to the greatest numbers?\"\nIt is answered, broadly and rashly, that wealth is good; that knowledge\nis good; that art is good; that luxury is good. Whereas none of them are\ngood in the abstract, but good only if rightly received. Nor have any\nsteps whatever been yet securely taken,--nor, otherwise than in the\nresultless rhapsody of moralists,--to ascertain what luxuries and what\nlearning it is either kind to bestow, or wise to desire. This, however,\nat least we know, shown clearly by the history of all time, that the\narts and sciences, ministering to the pride of nations, have invariably\nhastened their ruin; and this, also, without venturing to say that I\nknow, I nevertheless firmly believe, that the same arts and sciences\nwill tend as distinctly to exalt the strength and quicken the soul of\nevery nation which employs them to increase the comfort of lowly life,\nand grace with happy intelligence the unambitious courses of honorable\ntoil.\n\nThus far, then, of the Rose.\n\n\u00a7 26. Last, of the Worm.\n\nI said that Turner painted the labor of men, their sorrow, and their\ndeath. This he did nearly in the same tones of mind which prompted\nByron's poem of Childe Harold, and the loveliest result of his art, in\nthe central period of it, was an effort to express on a single canvas\nthe meaning of that poem. It may be now seen, by strange coincidence,\nassociated with two others--Caligula's Bridge and the Apollo and Sibyl;\nthe one illustrative of the vanity of human labor, the other of the\nvanity of human life.[10] He painted these, as I said, in the same tone\nof mind which formed the Childe Harold poem, but with different\ncapacity: Turner's sense of beauty was perfect; deeper, therefore, far\nthan Byron's; only that of Keats and Tennyson being comparable with it.\nAnd Turner's love of truth was as stern and patient as Dante's; so that\nwhen over these great capacities come the shadows of despair, the wreck\nis infinitely sterner and more sorrowful. With no sweet home for his\nchildhood,--friendless in youth,--loveless in manhood,--and hopeless in\ndeath, Turner was what Dante might have been, without the \"bello ovile,\"\nwithout Casella, without Beatrice, and without Him who gave them all,\nand took them all away.\n\n\u00a7 27. I will trace this state of his mind farther, in a little while.\nMeantime, I want you to note only the result upon his work;--how,\nthrough all the remainder of his life, wherever he looked, he saw ruin.\n\nRuin, and twilight. What was the distinctive effect of light which he\nintroduced, such as no man had painted before? Brightness, indeed, he\ngave, as we have seen, because it was true and right; but in this he\nonly perfected what others had attempted. His own favorite light is not\n\u00c6gl\u00e9, but Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9. Fading of the last rays of sunset. Faint\nbreathing of the sorrow of night.\n\n\u00a7 28. And fading of sunset, note also, on ruin. I cannot but wonder that\nthis difference between Turner's work and previous art-conception has\nnot been more observed. None of the great early painters draw ruins,\nexcept compulsorily. The shattered buildings introduced by them are\nshattered artificially, like models. There is no real sense of decay;\nwhereas Turner only momentarily dwells on anything else than ruin. Take\nup the Liber Studiorum, and observe how this feeling of decay and\nhumiliation gives solemnity to all its simplest subjects; even to his\nview of daily labor. I have marked its tendency in examining the design\nof the Mill and Lock, but observe its continuance through the book.\nThere is no exultation in thriving city, or mart, or in happy rural\ntoil, or harvest gathering. Only the grinding at the mill, and patient\nstriving with hard conditions of life. Observe the two disordered and\npoor farm-yards, cart, and ploughshare, and harrow rotting away; note\nthe pastoral by the brook side, with its neglected stream, and haggard\ntrees, and bridge with the broken rail, and decrepit\nchildren--fever-struck--one sitting stupidly by the stagnant stream; the\nother in rags, and with an old man's hat on, and lame, leaning on a\nstick. Then the \"Hedging and ditching,\" with its bleak sky and blighted\ntrees--hacked, and bitten, and starved by the clay soil into something\nbetween trees and firewood; its meanly-faced, sickly laborers--pollard\nlaborers, like the willow trunk they hew; and the slatternly\npeasant-woman, with worn cloak and battered bonnet--an English Dryad.\nThen the Water-mill, beyond the fallen steps overgrown with the thistle:\nitself a ruin, mud-built at first, now propped on both sides;--the\nplanks torn from its cattle-shed; a feeble beam, splintered at the end,\nset against the dwelling-house from the ruined pier of the watercourse;\nthe old millstone--useless for many a day--half buried in slime, at the\nbottom of the wall; the listless children, listless dog, and the poor\ngleaner bringing her single sheaf to be ground. Then the \"Peat bog,\"\nwith its cold, dark rain, and dangerous labor. And last and chief, the\nmill in the valley of the Chartreuse. Another than Turner would have\npainted the convent; but he had no sympathy with the hope, no mercy for\nthe indolence of the monk. He painted the mill in the valley. Precipice\noverhanging it, and wildness of dark forest round; blind rage and\nstrength of mountain torrent rolled beneath it,--calm sunset above, but\nfading from the glen, leaving it to its roar of passionate waters and\nsighing of pine-branches in the night.\n\n\u00a7 29. Such is his view of human labor. Of human pride, see what records.\nMorpeth tower, roofless and black; gate of old Winchelsea wall, the\nflock of sheep driven _round_ it, not through it; and Rievaulx choir,\nand Kirkstall crypt; and Dunstanborough, wan above the sea; and\nChepstow, with arrowy light through traceried windows; and Lindisfarne,\nwith failing height of wasted shaft and wall; and last and sweetest,\nRaglan, in utter solitude, amidst the wild wood of its own pleasance;\nthe towers rounded with ivy, and the forest roots choked with\nundergrowth, and the brook languid amidst lilies and sedges. Legends of\ngray knights and enchanted ladies keeping the woodman's children away at\nthe sunset.\n\nThese are his types of human pride. Of human love: Procris, dying by the\narrow; Hesperie, by the viper's fang; and Rizpah, more than dead, beside\nher children.\n\n\u00a7 30. Such are the lessons of the Liber Studiorum. Silent always with a\nbitter silence, disdaining to tell his meaning, when he saw there was no\near to receive it, Turner only indicated this purpose by slight words of\ncontemptuous anger, when he heard of any one's trying to obtain this or\nthe other separate subject as more beautiful than the rest. \"What is the\nuse of them,\" he said, \"but together?\"[11] The meaning of the entire\nbook was symbolized in the frontispiece, which he engraved with his own\nhand: Tyre at sunset, with the Rape of Europa, indicating the symbolism\nof the decay of Europe by that of Tyre, its beauty passing away into\nterror and judgment (Europa being the mother of Minos and\nRhadamanthus).[12]\n\n[Illustration: J. M. W. Turner   J. H. Le Keux\n\n82. The Nets in the Rapids.]\n\n[Illustration: 83. The Bridge of Rheinfelden.]\n\n\u00a7 31. I need not trace the dark clue farther, the reader may follow it\nunbroken through all his work and life, this thread of Atropos.[13] I\nwill only point, in conclusion, to the intensity with which his\nimagination dwelt always on the three great cities of Carthage,\nRome, and Venice--Carthage in connection especially with the thoughts\nand study which led to the painting of the Hesperides' Garden, showing\nthe death which attends the vain pursuit of wealth; Rome, showing the\ndeath which attends the vain pursuit of power; Venice, the death which\nattends the vain pursuit of beauty.\n\nHow strangely significative, thus understood, those last Venetian dreams\nof his become, themselves so beautiful and so frail; wrecks of all that\nthey were once--twilights of twilight!\n\n\u00a7 32. Vain beauty; yet not all in vain. Unlike in birth, how like in\ntheir labor, and their power over the future, these masters of England\nand Venice--Turner and Giorgione. But ten years ago, I saw the last\ntraces of the greatest works of Giorgione yet glowing, like a scarlet\ncloud, on the Fondaco de Tedeschi.[14] And though that scarlet cloud\n(sanguigna e fiammeggiante, per cui le pitture cominciarono con dolce\nviolenza a rapire il cuore delle genti) may, indeed, melt away into\npaleness of night, and Venice herself waste from her islands as a wreath\nof wind-driven foam fades from their weedy beach;--that which she won of\nfaithful light and truth shall never pass away. Deiphobe of the\nsea,--the Sun God measures her immortality to her by its sand. Flushed,\nabove the Avernus of the Adrian lake, her spirit is still seen holding\nthe golden bough; from the lips of the Sea Sibyl men shall learn for\nages yet to come what is most noble and most fair; and, far away, as the\nwhisper in the coils of the shell, withdrawn through the deep hearts of\nnations, shall sound for ever the enchanted voice of Venice.\n\n[Illustration: 84. Peace.]\n\n[Illustration: 68. Monte Rosa. Sunset.]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] There is a very wonderful, and almost deceptive, imitation of\n    sunlight by Rubens at Berlin. It falls through broken clouds upon\n    angels, the flesh being chequered with sunlight and shade.\n\n  [2] Not, accurately speaking, shadow, but dark side. All shadow\n    proper is negative in color, but, generally, reflected light is\n    warmer than direct light; and when the direct light is warm, pure,\n    and of the highest intensity, its reflection is scarlet. Turner\n    habitually, in his later sketches, used vermilion for his pen outline\n    in effects of sun.\n\n  [3] The following collected system of the various statements made\n    respecting color in different parts of my works may be useful to the\n    student:--\n\n    1st. Abstract color is of far less importance than abstract form\n    (vol. i. chap. v.); that is to say, if it could rest in our choice\n    whether we would carve like Phidias (supposing Phidias had never used\n    color), or arrange the colors of a shawl like Indians, there is no\n    question as to which power we ought to choose. The difference of rank\n    is vast; there is no way of estimating or measuring it.\n\n    So, again, if it rest in our choice whether we will be great in\n    invention of form, to be expressed only by light and shade, as Durer,\n    or great in invention and application of color, caring only for\n    ungainly form, as Bassano, there is still no question. Try to be\n    Durer, of the two. So again, if we have to give an account or\n    description of anything--if it be an object of high interest--its\n    form will be always what we should first tell. Neither leopard spots\n    nor partridge's signify primarily in describing either beast or bird.\n    But teeth and feathers do.\n\n    2. Secondly. Though color is of less importance than form, if you\n    introduce it at all, it must be right.\n\n    People often speak of the Roman school as if it were greater than the\n    Venetian, because its color is \"subordinate.\"\n\n    Its color is not subordinate. It is BAD.\n\n    If you paint colored objects, you must either paint them rightly or\n    wrongly. There is no other choice. You may introduce as little color\n    as you choose--a mere tint of rose in a chalk drawing, for instance;\n    or pale hues generally--as Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. All\n    such work implies feebleness or imperfection, but not necessarily\n    error. But if you paint with full color, as Raphael and Leonardo, you\n    must either be true or false. If true, you will paint like a\n    Venetian. If false, your form, supremely beautiful, may draw the\n    attention of the spectator from the false color, or induce him to\n    pardon it--and, if ill-taught, even to like it; but your picture is\n    none the greater for that. Had Leonardo and Raphael colored like\n    Giorgione, their work would have been greater, not less, than it is\n    now.\n\n    3. To color perfectly is the rarest and most precious (technical)\n    power an artist can possess. There have been only seven supreme\n    colorists among the true painters whose works exist (namely,\n    Giorgione, Titian, Veronese, Tintoret, Correggio, Reynolds, and\n    Turner); but the names of great designers, including sculptors,\n    architects, and metal-workers, are multitudinous. Also, if you can\n    color perfectly, you are sure to be able to do everything else if you\n    like. There never yet was colorist who could not draw; but faculty of\n    perceiving form may exist alone. I believe, however, it will be found\n    ultimately that the _perfect_ gifts of color and form always go\n    together. Titian's form is nobler than Durer's, and more subtle; nor\n    have I any doubt but that Phidias could have painted as nobly as he\n    carved. But when the powers are not supreme, the wisest men usually\n    neglect the color-gift, and develope that of form.\n\n    I have not thought it worth while at present to enter into any\n    examination of the construction of Turner's color system, because the\n    public is at present so unconscious of the meaning and nature of\n    color that they would not know what I was talking of. The more than\n    ludicrous folly of the system of modern water-color painting, in\n    which it is assumed that every hue in the drawing may be beneficially\n    washed into every other, must prevent, as long as it influences the\n    popular mind, even incipient inquiry respecting color-art. But for\n    help of any solitary and painstaking student, it may be noted that\n    Turner's color is founded more on Correggio and Bassano than on the\n    central Venetians; it involves a more tender and constant reference\n    to light and shade than that of Veronese; and a more sparkling and\n    gem-like lustre than that of Titian. I dislike using a technical word\n    which has been disgraced by affectation, but there is no other word\n    to signify what I mean in saying that Turner's color has, to the\n    full, Correggio's \"morbidezza,\" including also, in due place,\n    conditions of mosaic effect, like that of the colors in an Indian\n    design, unaccomplished by any previous master in painting; and a\n    fantasy of inventive arrangement corresponding to that of Beethoven\n    in music. In its concurrence with and expression of texture or\n    construction of surfaces (as their bloom, lustre, or intricacy) it\n    stands unrivalled--no still-life painting by any other master can\n    stand for an instant beside Turner's, when his work is of life-size,\n    as in his numerous studies of birds and their plumage. This\n    \"morbidezza\" of color is associated, precisely as it was in\n    Correggio, with an exquisite sensibility to fineness and intricacy of\n    curvature: curvature, as already noticed in the second volume, being\n    to lines what gradation is to colors. This subject, also, is too\n    difficult and too little regarded by the public, to be entered upon\n    here, but it must be observed that this quality of Turner's design,\n    the one which of all is best expressible by engraving, has of all\n    been least expressed, owing to the constant reduction or change of\n    proportion in the plates. Publishers, of course, require generally\n    their plates to be of one size (the plates in this book form an\n    appalling exception to received practice in this respect); Turner\n    always made his drawings longer or shorter by half an inch, or more,\n    according to the subject; the engravers contracted or expanded them\n    to fit the books, with utter destruction of the nature of every curve\n    in the design. Mere reduction necessarily involves such loss to some\n    extent; but the degree in which it probably involves it has been\n    curiously exemplified by the 61st Plate in this volume, reduced from\n    a pen-drawing of mine, 18 inches long. Fig. 101 is a facsimile of the\n    hook and piece of drapery, in the foreground, in my drawing, which is\n    very nearly true to the Turner curves: compare them with the curves\n    either in Plate 61, or in the published engraving in the England\n    series. The Plate opposite (80) is a portion of the foreground of the\n    drawing of the Llanberis (England Series), also of its real size; and\n    interesting as showing the grace of Turner's curvature even when he\n    was drawing fastest. It is a hasty drawing throughout, and after\n    finishing the rocks and water, being apparently a little tired, he\n    has struck out the broken fence of the watering-place for the cattle\n    with a few impetuous dashes of the hand. Yet the curvature and\n    grouping of line are still perfectly tender. How far the passage\n    loses by reduction, may be seen by a glance at the published\n    engraving.\n\n    [Illustration: FIG. 101.]\n\n    4. Color, as stated in the text, is the purifying or sanctifying\n    element of material beauty.\n\n    If so, how less important than form? Because, on form depends\n    existence; on color, only purity. Under the Levitical law, neither\n    scarlet nor hyssop could purify the deformed. So, under all natural\n    law, there must be rightly shaped members first; then sanctifying\n    color and fire in them.\n\n    Nevertheless, there are several great difficulties and oppositions of\n    aspect in this matter, which I must try to reconcile now clearly and\n    finally. As color is the type of Love, it resembles it in all its\n    modes of operation; and in practical work of human hands, it sustains\n    changes of worthiness precisely like those of human sexual love. That\n    love, when true, faithful, well-fixed, is eminently the sanctifying\n    element of human life: without it, the soul cannot reach its fullest\n    height of holiness. But if shallow, faithless, misdirected, it is\n    also one of the strongest corrupting and degrading elements of life.\n\n    Between these base and lofty states of Love are the loveless states;\n    some cold and horrible; others chaste, childish, or ascetic, bearing\n    to careless thinkers the semblance of purity higher than that of\n    Love.\n\n    So it is with the type of Love--color. Followed rashly, coarsely,\n    untruly, for the mere pleasure of it, with no reverence, it becomes a\n    temptation, and leads to corruption. Followed faithfully, with\n    intense but reverent passion, it is the holiest of all aspects of\n    material things.\n\n    Between these two modes of pursuing it, come two modes of refusing\n    it--one, dark and sensual; the other, statuesque and grave, having\n    great aspect of nobleness.\n\n    Thus we have, first, the coarse love of color, as a vulgar person's\n    choice of gaudy hues in dress.\n\n    Then, again, we have the base disdain of color, of which I have\n    spoken at length elsewhere. Thus we have the lofty disdain of color,\n    as in Durer's and Raphael's drawing: finally, the severest and\n    passionate following of it, in Giorgione and Titian.\n\n    5. Color is, more than all elements of art, the reward of veracity of\n    purpose. This point respecting it I have not noticed before, and it\n    is highly curious. We have just seen that in giving an account of\n    anything for its own sake, the most important points are those of\n    form. Nevertheless, the form of the object is its own attribute;\n    special, not shared with other things. An error in giving an account\n    of it does not necessarily involve wider error.\n\n    But its color is partly its own, partly shared with other things\n    round it. The hue and power of all broad sunlight is involved in the\n    color it has cast upon this single thing; to falsify that color, is\n    to misrepresent and break the harmony of the day: also, by what color\n    it bears, this single object is altering hues all round it;\n    reflecting its own into them, displaying them by opposition,\n    softening them by repetition; one falsehood in color in one place,\n    implies a thousand in the neighborhood. Hence, there are peculiar\n    penalties attached to falsehood in color, and peculiar rewards\n    granted to veracity in it. Form may be attained in perfectness by\n    painters who, in their course of study, are continually altering or\n    idealizing it; but only the sternest fidelity will reach coloring.\n    Idealize or alter in that, and you are lost. Whether you alter by\n    abasing, or exaggerating,--by glare or by decline, one fate is for\n    you--ruin. Violate truth wilfully in the slightest particular, or, at\n    least, get into the habit of violating it, and all kinds of failure\n    and error will surround and haunt you to your fall.\n\n    Therefore, also, as long as you are working with form only, you may\n    amuse yourself with fancies; but color is sacred--in that you must\n    keep to facts. Hence the apparent anomaly that the only schools of\n    color are the schools of Realism. The men who care for form only, may\n    drift about in dreams of Spiritualism; but a colorist must keep to\n    substance. The greater his power in color enchantment, the more stern\n    and constant will be his common sense. Fuseli may wander wildly among\n    gray spectra, but Reynolds and Gainsborough must stay in broad\n    daylight, with pure humanity. Velasquez, the greatest colorist, is\n    the most accurate portrait painter of Spain; Holbein, the most\n    accurate portrait painter, is the only colorist of Germany; and even\n    Tintoret had to sacrifice some of the highest qualities of his color\n    before he could give way to the flights of wayward though mighty\n    imagination, in which his mind rises or declines from the royal calm\n    of Titian.\n\n  [4] Compare the deaths of Jehoram, Herod, and Judas.\n\n  [5] Thus, the railroad bridge over the Fall of Schaffhausen, and that\n    round the Clarens shore of the lake of Geneva, have destroyed the\n    power of two pieces of scenery of which nothing can ever supply the\n    place, in appeal to the higher ranks of European mind.\n\n  [6] \"There are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four\n    things say not, it is enough: the grave; and the barren womb; the\n    earth that is not filled with water; and the fire, that saith not, It\n    is enough!\"\n\n  [7] A bad word, being only \"foresight\" again in Latin; but we have no\n    other good English word for the sense into which it has been warped.\n\n  [8] I cannot repeat too often (for it seems almost impossible to\n    arouse the public mind in the least to a sense of the fact) that the\n    root of all benevolent and helpful action towards the lower classes\n    consists in the wise direction of purchase; that is to say, in\n    spending money, as far as possible, only for products of healthful\n    and natural labor. All work with fire is more or less harmful and\n    degrading; so also mine, or machine labor. They at present develope\n    more intelligence than rural labor, but this is only because no\n    education, properly so called, being given to the lower classes,\n    those occupations are best for them which compel them to attain some\n    accurate knowledge, discipline them in presence of mind, and bring\n    them within spheres in which they may raise themselves to positions\n    of command. Properly taught, a ploughman ought to be more\n    intelligent, as well as more healthy, than a miner.\n\n    Every nation which desires to ennoble itself should endeavor to\n    maintain as large a number of persons as possible by rural and\n    maritime labor (including fishing). I cannot in this place enter into\n    consideration of the relative advantages of different channels of\n    industry. Any one who sincerely desires to act upon such knowledge\n    will find no difficulty in obtaining it.\n\n    I have also several series of experiments and inquiries to undertake\n    before I shall be able to speak with security on certain points\n    connected with education; but I have no doubt that every child in a\n    civilized country should be taught the first principles of natural\n    history, physiology, and medicine; also to sing perfectly, so far as\n    it has capacity, and to draw any definite form accurately to any\n    scale.\n\n    These things it should be taught by requiring its attendance at\n    school not more than three hours a day, and less if possible (the\n    best part of children's education being in helping their parents and\n    families). The other elements of its instruction ought to have\n    respect to the trade by which it is to live.\n\n    Modern systems of improvement are too apt to confuse the recreation\n    of the workman with his education. He should be educated for his work\n    before he is allowed to undertake it; and refreshed and relieved\n    while he practises it.\n\n    Every effort should be made to induce the adoption of a national\n    costume. Cleanliness and neatness in dress ought always to be\n    rewarded by some gratification of personal pride; and it is the\n    peculiar virtue of a national costume that it fosters and gratifies\n    the wish to look well, without inducing the desire to look better\n    than one's neighbors--or the hope, peculiarly English, of being\n    mistaken for a person in a higher position of life. A costume may\n    indeed become coquettish, but rarely indecent or vulgar; and though a\n    French bonne or Swiss farm-girl may dress so as sufficiently to\n    mortify her equals, neither of them ever desires or expects to be\n    mistaken for her mistress.\n\n  [9] This last book should be read carefully by all persons interested\n    in social questions. It is sufficiently dull as a tale, but is\n    characterized throughout by a restrained tragic power of the highest\n    order; and it would be worth reading, were it only for the story of\n    Aenneli, and for the last half page of its close.\n\n  [10] \"The Cum\u00e6an Sibyl, Deiphobe, was, in her youth, beloved by\n    Apollo; who, promising to grant her whatever she would ask, she took\n    up a handful of earth, and asked that she might live as many years as\n    there were grains of dust in her hand. She obtained her petition.\n    Apollo would have granted her perpetual youth in return for her love,\n    but she denied him, and wasted into the long ages--known, at last,\n    only by her voice.\"--(See my notes on the Turner Gallery.)\n\n  [11] Turner appears never to have desired, from any one, care in\n    favor of his separate works. The only thing he would say sometimes\n    was, \"Keep them together.\" He seemed not to mind how much they were\n    injured, if only the record of the thought were left in them, and\n    they were kept in the series which would give the key to their\n    meaning. I never saw him, at my father's house, look for an instant\n    at any of his own drawings: I have watched him sitting at dinner\n    nearly opposite one of his chief pictures--his eyes never turned to\n    it.\n\n    But the want of appreciation, nevertheless, touched him sorely;\n    chiefly the not understanding his meaning. He tried hard one day for\n    a quarter of an hour to make me guess what he was doing in the\n    picture of Napoleon, before it had been exhibited, giving me hint\n    after hint in a rough way; but I could not guess, and he would not\n    tell me.\n\n  [12] I limit myself in this book to mere indication of the tones of\n    his mind, illustration of them at any length being as yet impossible.\n    It will be found on examining the series of drawings made by Turner\n    during the late years of his life, in possession of the nation, that\n    they are nearly all made for the sake of some record of human power,\n    partly victorious, partly conquered. There is hardly a single example\n    of landscape painted for its own abstract beauty. Power and\n    desolation, or soft pensiveness, are the elements sought chiefly in\n    landscape; hence the later sketches are nearly all among mountain\n    scenery, and chiefly of fortresses, villages or bridges and roads\n    among the wildest Alps. The pass of the St. Gothard, especially, from\n    his earliest days, had kept possession of his mind, not as a piece of\n    mountain scenery, but as a marvellous road; and the great drawing\n    which I have tried to illustrate with some care in this book, the\n    last he made of the Alps with unfailing energy, was wholly made to\n    show the surviving of this tormented path through avalanche and\n    storm, from the day when he first drew its two bridges, in the Liber\n    Studiorum. Plate 81, which is the piece of the torrent bed on the\n    left, of the real size, where the stones of it appear just on the\n    point of being swept away, and the ground we stand upon with them,\n    completes the series of illustrations of this subject, for the\n    present, sufficiently; and, if compared with Plate 80, will be\n    serviceable, also, in showing how various in its grasp and its\n    delight was this strange human mind, capable of all patience and all\n    energy, and perfect in its sympathy, whether with wrath or quietness.\n    Though lingering always with chief affection about the St. Gothard\n    pass, he seems to have gleaned the whole of Switzerland for every\n    record he could find of grand human effort of any kind; I do not\n    believe there is one baronial tower, one shattered arch of Alpine\n    bridge, one gleaming tower of decayed village or deserted monastery,\n    which he has not drawn; in many cases, round and round, again and\n    again, on every side. Now that I have done this work, I purpose, if\n    life and strength are spared to me, to trace him through these last\n    journeys, and take such record of his best-beloved places as may\n    fully interpret the designs he left. I have given in the three\n    following plates an example of the kind of work which needs doing,\n    and which, as stated in the preface, I have partly already begun.\n    Plate 82 represents roughly two of Turner's memoranda of a bridge\n    over the Rhine. They are quite imperfectly represented, because I do\n    not choose to take any trouble about them on this scale. If I can\n    engrave them at all, it must be of their own size; but they are\n    enough to give an idea of the way he used to walk round a place,\n    taking sketch after sketch of its aspects, from every point or\n    half-point of the compass. There are three other sketches of this\n    bridge, far more detailed than these, in the National Gallery.\n\n    A scratched word on the back of one of them, \"Rheinfels,\" which I\n    knew could not apply to the Rheinfels near Bingen, gave me the clue\n    to the place;--an old Swiss town, seventeen miles above Basle,\n    celebrated in Swiss history as the main fortress defending the\n    frontier toward the Black Forest. I went there the moment I had got\n    Turner's sketches arranged in 1858, and drew it with the pen (or\n    point of brush, more difficult to manage, but a better instrument) on\n    every side on which Turner had drawn it, giving every detail with\n    servile accuracy, so as to show the exact modifications he made as he\n    composed his subjects. Mr. Le Keux has beautifully copied two of\n    these studies, Plates 83 and 84; the first of these is the bridge\n    drawn from the spot whence Turner made his upper memorandum;\n    afterwards, he went down close to the fishing house, and took the\n    second; in which he unhesitatingly divides the Rhine by a strong\n    pyramidal rock, in order to get a group of firm lines pointing to his\n    main subject, the tower (compare \u00a7 12, p. 170, above); and throws a\n    foaming mass of water away to the left, in order to give a better\n    idea of the river's force; the modifications of form in the tower\n    itself are all skilful and majestic in the highest degree. The\n    throwing the whole of it higher than the bridge, taking off the peak\n    from its gable on the left, and adding the little roof-window in the\n    centre, make it a perfectly noble mass, instead of a broken and\n    common one. I have added the other subject, Plate 84,--though I could\n    not give the Turner drawing which it illustrates,--merely to show the\n    kind of scene which modern ambition and folly are destroying\n    throughout Switzerland. In Plate 83, a small dark tower is seen in\n    the distance, just on the left of the tower of the bridge. Getting\n    round nearly to the foot of it, on the outside of the town, and then\n    turning back so as to put the town walls on your right, you may, I\n    hope, still see the subject of the third plate; the old bridge over\n    the moat, and older wall and towers; the stork's nest on the top of\n    the nearest one; the moat itself, now nearly filled with softest\n    grass and flowers; a little mountain brook rippling down through the\n    midst of them, and the first wooded promontory of the Jura beyond.\n    Had Rheinfelden been a place of the least mark, instead of a nearly\n    ruinous village, it is just this spot of ground which, costing little\n    or nothing, would have been made its railroad station, and its\n    refreshment-room would have been built out of the stones of the\n    towers.\n\n  [13] I have not followed out, as I ought to have done, had the task\n    been less painful, my assertion that Turner had to paint not only the\n    labor and the sorrow of men, but their death. There is no form of\n    violent death which he has not painted. Pre-eminent in many things,\n    he is pre-eminent also, bitterly, in this. Durer and Holbein drew the\n    skeleton in its questioning; but Turner, like Salvator, as under some\n    strange fascination or captivity, drew it at its work. Flood, and\n    fire, and wreck, and battle, and pestilence; and solitary death, more\n    fearful still. The noblest of all the plates of the Liber Studiorum,\n    except the Via Mala, is one engraved with his own hand, of a single\n    sailor, yet living, dashed in the night against a granite coast,--his\n    body and outstretched hands just seen in the trough of a mountain\n    wave, between it and the overhanging wall of rock, hollow, polished,\n    and pale with dreadful cloud and grasping foam.\n\n    And remember, also, that the very sign in heaven itself which, truly\n    understood, is the type of love, was to Turner the type of death. The\n    scarlet of the clouds was his symbol of destruction. In his mind it\n    was the color of blood. So he used it in the Fall of Carthage. Note\n    his own written words--\n\n      \"While o'er the western wave the _ensanguined_ sun,\n       In gathering huge a stormy signal spread,\n       And set portentous.\"\n\n    So he used it in the Slaver, in the Ulysses, in the Napoleon, in the\n    Goldau; again and again in slighter hints and momentary dreams, of\n    which one of the saddest and most tender is a little sketch of dawn,\n    made in his last years. It is a small space of level sea shore;\n    beyond it a fair, soft light in the east; the last storm-clouds\n    melting away, oblique into the morning air; some little vessel--a\n    collier, probably--has gone down in the night, all hands lost; a\n    single dog has come ashore. Utterly exhausted, its limbs failing\n    under it, and, sinking into the sand, it stands howling and\n    shivering. The dawn-clouds have the first scarlet upon them, a feeble\n    tinge only, reflected with the same feeble blood-stain on the sand.\n\n    The morning light is used with a loftier significance in a drawing\n    made as a companion to the Goldau, engraved in the fourth volume. The\n    Lake of Zug, which ripples beneath the sunset in the Goldau, is\n    lulled in the level azure of early cloud; and the spire of Aart,\n    which is there a dark point at the edge of the golden lake, is, in\n    the opening light, seen pale against purple mountains. The sketches\n    for these two subjects were, I doubt not, made from the actual\n    effects of a stormy evening, and the next following daybreak; but\n    both with earnest meaning. The crimson sunset lights the valley of\n    rock tombs, cast upon it by the fallen Rossberg; but the sunrise\n    gilds with its level rays the two peaks which protect the village\n    that gives name to Switzerland; and the orb itself breaks first\n    through the darkness on the very point of the pass to the high lake\n    of Egeri, where the liberties of the cantons were won by the\n    battle-charge of Morgarten.\n\n  [14] I have engraved, at the beginning of this chapter, one of the\n    fragments of these frescos, preserved, all imperfectly indeed, yet\n    with some feeling of their nobleness, by Zanetti, whose words\n    respecting them I have quoted in the text. The one I saw was the\n    first figure given in his book; the one engraved in my Plate, the\n    third, had wholly perished; but even this record of it by Zanetti is\n    precious. What imperfections of form exist in it, too visibly, are\n    certainly less Giorgione's than the translator's; nevertheless, for\n    these very faults, as well as for its beauty, I have chosen it, as\n    the best type I could give of the strength of Venetian art; which was\n    derived, be it remembered always, from the acceptance of natural\n    truth, by men who loved beauty too well to think she was to be won by\n    falsehood.\n\n    The words of Zanetti himself respecting Giorgione's figure of\n    Diligence are of great value, as they mark this first article of\n    Venetian faith: \"Giorgione per tale, o per altra che vi fosse,\n    contrassegnolla con quella spezie di mannaja che tiene in mano; per\n    altro tanto ci cercava le sole bellezze della natura, che poco\n    pensando al costume, ritrasse qui una di quelle donne Friulane, che\n    vengono per servire in Venezia; non alterandone nemmeno l'abito, \u00e8\n    facendola alquanto attempata, quale forse ci la vedea; senza voler\n    sapere che per rappresentare le Virt\u00f9, si suole da pittori belle \u00e8\n    fresche giovani immaginare.\"\n\n    Compare with this what I have said of Titian's Magdalen. I ought in\n    that place to have dwelt also upon the firm endurance of all\n    terribleness which is marked in Titian's \"Notomie\" and in Veronese's\n    \"Marsyas.\" In order to understand the Venetian mind entirely, the\n    student should place a plate from that series of the Notomie always\n    beside the best engraving he can obtain of Titian's \"Flora.\"\n\n    My impression is that the ground of the flesh in these Giorgione\n    frescos had been pure vermilion; little else was left in the figure I\n    saw. Therefore, not knowing what power the painter intended to\n    personify by the figure at the commencement of this chapter, I have\n    called her, from her glowing color, Hesperid \u00c6gl\u00e9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nPEACE.\n\n\n\u00a7 1. Looking back over what I have written, I find that I have only now\nthe power of ending this work; it being time that it should end, but not\nof \"concluding\" it; for it has led me into fields of infinite inquiry,\nwhere it is only possible to break off with such imperfect result as\nmay, at any given moment, have been attained.\n\nFull of far deeper reverence for Turner's art than I felt when this task\nof his defence was undertaken (which may, perhaps, be evidenced by my\nhaving associated no other names with his--but of the dead,--in my\nspeaking of him throughout this volume),[1] I am more in doubt\nrespecting the real use to mankind of that, or any other transcendent\nart; incomprehensible as it must always be to the mass of men. Full of\nfar deeper love for what I remember of Turner himself, as I become\nbetter capable of understanding it, I find myself more and more helpless\nto explain his errors and his sins.\n\n\u00a7 2. His errors, I might say, simply. Perhaps, some day, people will\nagain begin to remember the force of the old Greek word for sin; and to\nlearn that all sin is in essence--\"Missing the mark;\" losing sight or\nconsciousness of heaven; and that this loss may be various in its guilt:\nit cannot be judged by us. It is this of which the words are spoken so\nsternly, \"Judge not;\" which words people always quote, I observe, when\nthey are called upon to \"do judgment and justice.\" For it is truly a\npleasant thing to condemn men for their wanderings; but it is a bitter\nthing to acknowledge a truth, or to take any bold share in working out\nan equity. So that the habitual modern practical application of the\nprecept, \"Judge not,\" is to avoid the trouble of pronouncing verdict, by\ntaking, of any matter, the pleasantest malicious view which first comes\nto hand; and to obtain licence for our own convenient iniquities, by\nbeing indulgent to those of others.\n\nThese two methods of obedience being just the two which are most\ndirectly opposite to the law of mercy and truth.\n\n\u00a7 3. \"Bind them about thy neck.\" I said, but now, that of an evil tree\nmen never gathered good fruit. And the lesson we have finally to learn\nfrom Turner's life is broadly this, that all the power of it came of its\nmercy and sincerity; all the failure of it, from its want of faith. It\nhas been asked of me, by several of his friends, that I should endeavor\nto do some justice to his character, mistaken wholly by the world. If my\nlife is spared, I will. But that character is still, in many respects,\ninexplicable to me; the materials within my reach are imperfect; and my\nexperience in the world not yet large enough to enable me to use them\njustly. His life is to be written by a biographer, who will, I believe,\nspare no pains in collecting the few scattered records which exist of a\ncareer so uneventful and secluded. I will not anticipate the conclusions\nof this writer; but if they appear to me just, will endeavor afterwards,\nso far as may be in my power, to confirm and illustrate them; and, if\nunjust, to show in what degree.\n\n\u00a7 4. Which, lest death or illness should forbid me, this only I declare\nnow of what I know respecting Turner's character. Much of his mind and\nheart I do not know;--perhaps, never shall know. But this much I do; and\nif there is anything in the previous course of this work to warrant\ntrust in me of any kind, let me be trusted when I tell you, that Turner\nhad a heart as intensely kind, and as nobly true, as ever God gave to\none of his creatures. I offer, as yet, no evidence in this matter. When\nI _do_ give it, it shall be sifted and clear. Only this one fact I now\nrecord joyfully and solemnly, that, having known Turner for ten years,\nand that during the period of his life when the brightest qualities of\nhis mind were, in many respects, diminished, and when he was suffering\nmost from the evil-speaking of the world, I never heard him say one\ndepreciating word of living man, or man's work; I never saw him look an\nunkind or blameful look; I never knew him let pass, without some\nsorrowful remonstrance, or endeavor at mitigation, a blameful word\nspoken by another.\n\nOf no man but Turner, whom I have ever known, could I say this. And of\nthis kindness and truth[2] came, I repeat, all his highest power. And\nall his failure and error, deep and strange, came of his faithlessness.\n\nFaithlessness, or despair, the despair which has been shown already\n(Vol. III., chap. xvi.) to be characteristic of this present century,\nand most sorrowfully manifested in its greatest men; but existing in an\ninfinitely more fatal form in the lower and general mind, reacting upon\nthose who ought to be its teachers.\n\n\u00a7 5. The form which the infidelity of England, especially, has taken,\nis one hitherto unheard of in human history. No nation ever before\ndeclared boldly, by print and word of mouth, that its religion was good\nfor show, but \"would not work.\" Over and over again it has happened that\nnations have denied their gods, but they denied them bravely. The Greeks\nin their decline jested at their religion, and frittered it away in\nflatteries and fine arts; the French refused theirs fiercely, tore down\ntheir altars and brake their carven images. The question about God with\nboth these nations was still, even in their decline, fairly put, though\nfalsely answered. \"Either there is or is not a Supreme Ruler; we\nconsider of it, declare there is not, and proceed accordingly.\" But we\nEnglish have put the matter in an entirely new light: \"There _is_ a\nSupreme Ruler, no question of it, only He cannot rule. His orders won't\nwork. He will be quite satisfied with euphonious and respectful\nrepetition of them. Execution would be too dangerous under existing\ncircumstances, which He certainly never contemplated.\"\n\nI had no conception of the absolute darkness which has covered the\nnational mind in this respect, until I began to come into collision with\npersons engaged in the study of economical and political questions. The\nentire na\u00efvet\u00e9 and undisturbed imbecility with which I found them\ndeclare that the laws of the Devil were the only practicable ones, and\nthat the laws of God were merely a form of poetical language, passed all\nthat I had ever before heard or read of mortal infidelity. I knew the\nfool had often said in his heart, there was _no_ God; but to hear him\nsay clearly out with his lips, \"There is a foolish God,\" was something\nwhich my art studies had not prepared me for. The French had indeed, for\na considerable time, hinted much of the meaning in the delicate and\ncompassionate blasphemy of their phrase \"_le bon Dieu_,\" but had never\nventured to put it into more precise terms.\n\n6. Now this form of unbelief in God is connected with, and necessarily\nproductive of, a precisely equal unbelief in man.\n\nCo-relative with the assertion, \"There is a foolish God,\" is the\nassertion, \"There is a brutish man.\" \"As no laws but those of the Devil\nare practicable in the world, so no impulses but those of the brute\"\n(says the modern political economist) \"are appealable to in the world.\"\nFaith, generosity, honesty, zeal, and self-sacrifice are poetical\nphrases. None of these things can, in reality, be counted upon; there is\nno truth in man which can be used as a moving or productive power. All\nmotive force in him is essentially brutish, covetous, or contentious.\nHis power is only power of prey: otherwise than the spider, he cannot\ndesign; otherwise than the tiger, he cannot feed. This is the modern\ninterpretation of that embarrassing article of the Creed, \"the communion\nof saints.\"\n\n7. It has always seemed very strange to me, not indeed that this creed\nshould have been adopted, it being the entirely necessary consequence of\nthe previous fundamental article;--but that no one should ever seem to\nhave any misgivings about it;--that, practically, no one had _seen_ how\nstrong work _was_ done by man; how either for hire, or for hatred, it\nnever had been done; and that no amount of pay had ever made a good\nsoldier, a good teacher, a good artist, or a good workman. You pay your\nsoldiers and sailors so many pence a day, at which rated sum one will do\ngood fighting for you; another, bad fighting. Pay as you will, the\nentire goodness of the fighting depends, always, on its being done for\nnothing; or rather, less than nothing, in the expectation of no pay but\ndeath. Examine the work of your spiritual teachers, and you will find\nthe statistical law respecting them is, \"The less pay, the better work.\"\nExamine also your writers and artists: for ten pounds you shall have a\nParadise Lost, and for a plate of figs, a Durer drawing; but for a\nmillion of money sterling, neither. Examine your men of science: paid by\nstarvation, Kepler will discover the laws of the orbs of heaven for\nyou;--and, driven out to die in the street, Swammerdam shall discover\nthe laws of life for you--such hard terms do they make with you, these\nbrutish men, who can only be had for hire.\n\n\u00a7 8. Neither is good work ever done for hatred, any more than hire--but\nfor love only. For love of their country, or their leader, or their\nduty, men fight steadily; but for massacre and plunder, feebly. Your\nsignal, \"England expects every man to do his duty,\" they will answer;\nyour signal of black flag and death's head, they will not answer. And\nverily they will answer it no more in commerce than in battle. The cross\nbones will not make a good shop-sign, you will find ultimately, any more\nthan a good battle-standard. Not the cross bones, but the cross.\n\n\u00a7 9. Now the practical result of this infidelity in man, is the utter\nignorance of all the ways of getting his right work out of him. From a\ngiven quantity of human power and intellect, to produce the least\npossible result, is a problem solved, nearly with mathematical\nprecision, by the present methods of the nation's economical procedure.\nThe power and intellect are enormous. With the best soldiers, at present\nexisting, we survive in battle, and but survive, because, by help of\nProvidence, a man whom we have kept all his life in command of a company\nforces his way at the age of seventy so far up as to obtain permission\nto save us, and die, unthanked. With the shrewdest thinkers in the\nworld, we have not yet succeeded in arriving at any national conviction\nrespecting the uses of life. And with the best artistical material in\nthe world, we spend millions of money in raising a building for our\nHouses of Talk, of the delightfulness and utility of which (perhaps\nroughly classing the Talk and its tabernacle together), posterity will,\nI believe, form no very grateful estimate;--while for sheer want of\nbread, we brought the question to the balance of a hair, whether the\nmost earnest of our young painters should give up his art altogether,\nand go to Australia,--or fight his way through all neglect and obloquy\nto the painting of the Christ in the Temple.\n\n\u00a7 10. The marketing was indeed done in this case, as in all others, on\nthe usual terms. For the millions of money, we got a mouldering toy: for\nthe starvation, five years'work of the prime of a noble life. Yet\nneither that picture, great as it is, nor any other of Hunt's, are the\nbest he could have done. They are the least he could have done. By no\nexpedient could we have repressed him more than he has been repressed;\nby no abnegation received from him less than we have received.\n\nMy dear friend and teacher, Lowell, right as he is in almost everything,\nis for once wrong in these lines, though with a noble wrongness:--\n\n  \"Disappointment's dry and bitter root,\n   Envy's harsh berries, and the choking pool\n   Of the world's scorn, are the right mother-milk\n   To the tough hearts that pioneer their kind.\"\n\nThey are not so; love and trust are the only mother-milk of any man's\nsoul. So far as he is hated and mistrusted, his powers are destroyed. Do\nnot think that with impunity you can follow the eyeless fool, and shout\nwith the shouting charlatan; and that the men you thrust aside with gibe\nand blow, are thus sneered and crushed into the best service they can do\nyou. I have told you they _will_ not serve you for pay. They _cannot_\nserve you for scorn. Even from Balaam, money-lover though he be, no\nuseful prophecy is to be had for silver or gold. From Elisha, savior of\nlife though he be, no saving of life--even of children's, who \"knew no\nbetter,\"--is to be got by the cry, Go up, thou bald-head. No man can\nserve you either for purse or curse; neither kind of pay will answer. No\npay is, indeed, receivable by any true man; but power is receivable by\nhim, in the love and faith you give him. So far only as you give him\nthese can he serve you; that is the meaning of the question which his\nMaster asks always, \"Believest thou that I am able?\" And from every one\nof His servants--to the end of time--if you give them the Capernaum\nmeasure of faith, you shall have from them Capernaum measure of works,\nand no more.\n\nDo not think that I am irreverently comparing great and small things.\nThe system of the world is entirely one; small things and great are\nalike part of one mighty whole. As the flower is gnawed by frost, so\nevery human heart is gnawed by faithlessness. And as surely,--as\nirrevocably,--as the fruit-bud falls before the east wind, so fails the\npower of the kindest human heart, if you meet it with poison.\n\n\u00a7 11. Now the condition of mind in which Turner did all his great work\nwas simply this: \"What I do must be done rightly; but I know also that\nno man now living in Europe cares to understand it; and the better I do\nit, the less he will see the meaning of it.\" There never was yet, so far\nas I can hear or read, isolation of a great spirit so utterly desolate.\nColumbus had succeeded in making other hearts share his hope, before he\nwas put to hardest trial; and knew that, by help of Heaven, he could\nfinally show that he was right. Kepler and Galileo could demonstrate\ntheir conclusions up to a certain point; so far as they felt they were\nright, they were sure that after death their work would be acknowledged.\nBut Turner could demonstrate nothing of what he had done--saw no\nsecurity that after death he would be understood more than he had been\nin life. Only another Turner could apprehend Turner. Such praise as he\nreceived was poor and superficial; he regarded it far less than censure.\nMy own admiration of him was wild in enthusiasm, but it gave him no ray\nof pleasure; he could not make me at that time understand his main\nmeanings; he loved me, but cared nothing for what I said, and was always\ntrying to hinder me from writing, because it gave pain to his fellow\nartists. To the praise of other persons he gave not even the\nacknowledgment of this sad affection; it passed by him as murmur of the\nwind; and most justly, for not one of his own special powers was ever\nperceived by the world. I have said in another place that all great\nmodern artists will own their obligation to him as a guide. They will;\nbut they are in error in this gratitude, as I was, when I quoted it as\na sign of their respect. Close analysis of the portions of modern art\nfounded on Turner has since shown me that in every case his imitators\nmisunderstood him:--that they caught merely at superficial brilliancies,\nand never saw the real character of his mind or his work.\n\nAnd at this day, while I write, the catalogue allowed to be sold at the\ngates of the National Gallery for the instruction of the common people,\ndescribes Calcott and Claude as the greater artists.\n\n\u00a7 12. To censure, on the other hand, Turner was acutely sensitive, owing\nto his own natural kindness; he felt it, for himself, or for others, not\nas criticism, but as cruelty. He knew that however little his higher\npowers could be seen, he had at least done as much as ought to have\nsaved him from wanton insult; and the attacks upon him in his later\nyears were to him not merely contemptible in their ignorance, but\namazing in their ingratitude. \"A man may be weak in his age,\" he said to\nme once, at the time when he felt he was dying; \"but you should not tell\nhim so.\"\n\n\u00a7 13. What Turner might have done for us, had he received help and love,\ninstead of disdain, I can hardly trust myself to imagine. Increasing\ncalmly in power and loveliness, his work would have formed one mighty\nseries of poems, each great as that which I have interpreted,--the\nHesperides; but becoming brighter and kinder as he advanced to happy\nage. Soft as Correggio's, solemn as Titian's, the enchanted color would\nhave glowed, imperishable and pure; and the subtle thoughts risen into\nloftiest teaching, helpful for centuries to come.\n\nWhat we have asked from him, instead of this, and what received, we\nknow. But few of us yet know how true an image those darkening wrecks of\nradiance give of the shadow which gained sway over his once pure and\nnoble soul.\n\n\u00a7 14. Not unresisted, nor touching the heart's core, nor any of the old\nkindness and truth: yet festering work of the worm--inexplicable and\nterrible, such as England, by her goodly gardening, leaves to infect her\nearth-flowers.\n\nSo far as in it lay, this century has caused every one of its great men,\nwhose hearts were kindest, and whose spirits most perceptive of the work\nof God, to die without hope:--Scott, Keats, Byron, Shelley, Turner.\nGreat England, of the Iron-heart now, not of the Lion-heart; for these\nsouls of her children an account may perhaps be one day required of her.\n\n\u00a7 15. She has not yet read often enough that old story of the\nSamaritan's mercy. He whom he saved was going down from Jerusalem to\nJericho--to the accursed city (so the old Church used to understand it).\nHe should not have left Jerusalem; it was his own fault that he went out\ninto the desert, and fell among the thieves, and was left for dead.\nEvery one of these English children, in their day, took the desert\nbypath as he did, and fell among fiends--took to making bread out of\nstones at their bidding, and then died, torn and famished; careful\nEngland, in her pure, priestly dress, passing by on the other side. So\nfar as we are concerned, that is the account _we_ have to give of\nthem.[3]\n\n\u00a7 16. So far as _they_ are concerned, I do not fear for them;--there\nbeing one Priest who never passes by. The longer I live, the more\nclearly I see how all souls are in His hand--the mean and the great.\nFallen on the earth in their baseness, or fading as the mist of morning\nin their goodness; still in the hand of the potter as the clay, and in\nthe temple of their master as the cloud. It was not the mere bodily\ndeath that He conquered--that death had no sting. It was this spiritual\ndeath which He conquered, so that at last it should be swallowed\nup--mark the word--not in life; but in victory. As the dead body shall\nbe raised to life, so also the defeated soul to victory, if only it has\nbeen fighting on its Master's side, has made no covenant with death; nor\nitself bowed its forehead for his seal. Blind from the prison-house,\nmaimed from the battle, or mad from the tombs, their souls shall surely\nyet sit, astonished, at His feet who giveth peace.\n\n\u00a7 17. Who _giveth_ peace? Many a peace we have made and named for\nourselves, but the falsest is in that marvellous thought that we, of all\ngenerations of the earth, only know the right; and that to us, at\nlast,--and us alone,--all the scheme of God, about the salvation of men,\nhas been shown. \"This is the light in which _we_ are walking, Those vain\nGreeks are gone down to their Persephone for ever--Egypt and Assyria,\nElam and her multitude,--uncircumcised, their graves are round about\nthem--Pathros and careless Ethiopia--filled with the slain. Rome, with\nher thirsty sword, and poison wine, how did she walk in her darkness! We\nonly have no idolatries--ours are the seeing eyes; in our pure hands at\nlast, the seven-sealed book is laid; to our true tongues entrusted the\npreaching of a perfect gospel. Who shall come after us? Is it not peace?\nThe poor Jew, Zimri, who slew his master, there is no peace for him:\nbut, for us? tiara on head, may we not look out of the windows of\nheaven?\"\n\n\u00a7 18. Another kind of peace I look for than this, though I hear it said\nof me that I am hopeless.\n\nI am not hopeless, though my hope may be as Veronese's, the dark-veiled.\n\nVeiled, not because sorrowful, but because blind. I do not know what my\nEngland desires, or how long she will choose to do as she is doing\nnow;--with her right hand casting away the souls of men, and with her\nleft the gifts of God.\n\nIn the prayers which she dictates to her children, she tells them to\nfight against the world, the flesh, and the devil. Some day, perhaps, it\nmay also occur to her as desirable to tell those children what she means\nby this. What is the world which they are to \"fight with,\" and how does\nit differ from the world which they are to \"get on in\"? The explanation\nseems to me the more needful, because I do not, in the book we profess\nto live by, find anything very distinct about fighting with the world. I\nfind something about fighting with the rulers of its darkness, and\nsomething also about overcoming it; but it does not follow that this\nconquest is to be by hostility, since evil may be overcome with good.\nBut I find it written very distinctly that God loved the world, and that\nChrist is the light of it.\n\n\u00a7 19. What the much-used words, therefore, mean, I cannot tell. But\nthis, I believe, they _should_ mean. That there is, indeed, one world\nwhich is full of care, and desire, and hatred: a world of war, of which\nChrist is not the light, which indeed is without light, and has never\nheard the great \"Let there be.\" Which is, therefore, in truth, as yet no\nworld; but chaos, on the face of which, moving, the Spirit of God yet\ncauses men to hope that a world will come. The better one, they call it:\nperhaps they might, more wisely, call it the real one. Also, I hear them\nspeak continually of going to it, rather than of its coming to them;\nwhich, again, is strange, for in that prayer which they had straight\nfrom the lips of the Light of the world, and which He apparently thought\nsufficient prayer for them, there is not anything about going to another\nworld; only something of another government coming into this; or rather,\nnot another, but the only government,--that government which will\nconstitute it a world indeed. New heavens and new earth. Earth, no more\nwithout form and void, but sown with fruit of righteousness. Firmament,\nno more of passing cloud, but of cloud risen out of the crystal\nsea--cloud in which, as He was once received up, so He shall again come\nwith power, and every eye shall see Him, and all kindreds of the earth\nshall wail because of Him.\n\nKindreds of the earth, or tribes of it![4]--the \"earth-begotten,\" the\nChaos children--children of this present world, with its desolate seas\nand its Medusa clouds: the Dragon children, merciless: they who dealt as\nclouds without water: serpent clouds, by whose sight men were turned\ninto stone;--the time must surely come for their wailing.\n\n20. \"Thy kingdom come,\" we are bid to ask then! But how shall it come?\nWith power and great glory, it is written; and yet not with observation,\nit is also written. Strange kingdom! Yet its strangeness is renewed to\nus with every dawn.\n\nWhen the time comes for us to wake out of the world's sleep, why should\nit be otherwise than out of the dreams of the night? Singing of birds,\nfirst, broken and low, as, not to dying eyes, but eyes that wake to\nlife, \"the casement slowly grows a glimmering square;\" and then the\ngray, and then the rose of dawn; and last the light, whose going forth\nis to the ends of heaven.\n\nThis kingdom it is not in our power to bring; but it is, to receive.\nNay, it has come already, in part; but not received, because men love\nchaos best; and the Night, with her daughters. That is still the only\nquestion for us, as in the old Elias days, \"If ye will receive it.\" With\npains it may be shut out still from many a dark place of cruelty; by\nsloth it may be still unseen for many a glorious hour. But the pain of\nshutting it out must grow greater and greater:--harder, every day, that\nstruggle of man with man in the abyss, and shorter wages for the fiend's\nwork. But it is still at our choice; the simoom-dragon may still be\nserved if we will, in the fiery desert, or else God walking in the\ngarden, at cool of day. Coolness now, not of Hesperus over Atlas,\nstooped endurer of toil; but of Heosphorus over Sion, the joy of the\nearth.[5] The choice is no vague or doubtful one. High on the desert\nmountain, full descried, sits throned the tempter, with his old\npromise--the kingdoms of this world, and the glory of them. He still\ncalls you to your labor, as Christ to your rest;--labor and sorrow, base\ndesire, and cruel hope. So far as you desire to possess, rather than to\ngive; so far as you look for power to command, instead of to bless; so\nfar as your own prosperity seems to you to issue out of contest or\nrivalry, of any kind, with other men, or other nations; so long as the\nhope before you is for supremacy instead of love; and your desire is to\nbe greatest, instead of least;--first, instead of last;--so long you are\nserving the Lord of all that is last, and least;--the last enemy that\nshall be destroyed--Death; and you shall have death's crown, with the\nworm coiled in it; and death's wages with the worm feeding on them;\nkindred of the earth shall you yourself become; saying to the grave,\n\"Thou art my father;\" and to the worm, \"Thou art my mother, and my\nsister.\"\n\nI leave you to judge, and to choose, between this labor, and the\nbequeathed peace; this wages, and the gift of the Morning Star; this\nobedience, and the doing of the will which shall enable you to claim\nanother kindred than of the earth, and to hear another voice than that\nof the grave, saying, \"My brother, and sister, and mother.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] It is proper, however, for the reader to know, that the title\n    which I myself originally intended for this book was \"_Turner and the\n    Ancients_;\" nor did I purpose to refer in it to any other modern\n    painters than Turner. The title was changed; and the notes on other\n    living painters inserted in the first volume, in deference to the\n    advice of friends, probably wise; for unless the change had been\n    made, the book might never have been read at all. But, as far as I am\n    concerned, I regretted the change then, and regret it still.\n\n  [2] It may perhaps be necessary to explain one or two singular points\n    of Turner's character, not in defence of this statement, but to show\n    its meaning. In speaking of his truth, I use the word in a double\n    sense;--truth to himself, and to others.\n\n    Truth to himself; that is to say, the resolution to do his duty by\n    his art, and carry all work out as well as it could be done. Other\n    painters, for the most part, modify their work by some reference to\n    public taste, or measure out a certain quantity of it for a certain\n    price, or alter facts to show their power. Turner never did any of\n    these things. The thing the public asked of him he would do, but\n    whatever it was, only as _he_ thought it ought to be done. People did\n    not buy his large pictures; he, with avowed discontent, painted small\n    ones; but instead of taking advantage of the smaller size to give,\n    proportionally, less labor, he instantly changed his execution so as\n    to be able to put nearly as much work into his small drawings as into\n    his large ones, though he gave them for half the price. But his aim\n    was always to make the drawing as good as he could, or as the subject\n    deserved, irrespective of price. If he disliked his theme, he painted\n    it slightly, utterly disdainful of the purchaser's complaint. \"The\n    purchaser must take his chance.\" If he liked his theme, he would give\n    three hundred guineas' worth of work for a hundred, and ask no\n    thanks. It is true, exceptionally, that he altered the engravings\n    from his designs, so as to meet the popular taste, but this was\n    because he knew the public could not be got otherwise to look at his\n    art at all. His own drawings the entire body of the nation repudiated\n    and despised: \"the engravers could make something of them,\" they\n    said. Turner scornfully took them at their word. If that is what you\n    like, take it. I will not alter my own noble work one jot for you,\n    but these things you shall have to your minds;--try to use them, and\n    get beyond them. Sometimes, when an engraver came with a plate to be\n    touched, he would take a piece of white chalk in his right hand and\n    of black in his left: \"Which will you have it done with?\" The\n    engraver chose black or white, as he thought his plate weak or heavy.\n    Turner threw the other piece of chalk away, and would reconstruct the\n    plate, with the added lights or darks, in ten minutes. Nevertheless,\n    even this concession to false principles, so far as it had influence,\n    was injurious to him: he had better not have scorned the engravings,\n    but either done nothing with them, or done his best. His best, in a\n    certain way, he did, never sparing pains, if he thought the plate\n    worth it: some of his touched proofs are elaborate drawings.\n\n    Of his earnestness in his main work, enough, I should think, has been\n    already related in this book; but the following anecdote, which I\n    repeat here from my notes on the Turner Gallery, that there may be\n    less chance of its being lost, gives, in a few words, and those his\n    own, the spirit of his labor, as it possessed him throughout his\n    life. The anecdote was communicated to me in a letter by Mr.\n    Kingsley, late of Sidney College, Cambridge; whose words I give:--\"I\n    had taken my mother and a cousin to see Turner's pictures; and, as my\n    mother knows nothing about art, I was taking her down the gallery to\n    look at the large Richmond Park, but as we were passing the\n    Sea-storm, she stopped before it, and I could hardly get her to look\n    at any other picture: and she told me a great deal more about it than\n    I had any notion of, though I had seen many sea-storms. She had been\n    in such a scene on the coast of Holland during the war. When, some\n    time afterwards, I thanked Turner for his permission for her to see\n    the pictures, I told him that he would not guess which had caught my\n    mother's fancy, and then named the picture; and he then said, 'I did\n    not paint it to be understood, but I wished to show what such a scene\n    was like: I got the sailors to lash me to the mast to observe it; I\n    was lashed for four hours, and I did not expect to escape, but I felt\n    bound to record it if I did. But no one had any business to like the\n    picture.' 'But,' said I, 'my mother once went through just such a\n    scene, and it brought it all back to her.' 'Is your mother a\n    painter?' 'No.' 'Then she ought to have been thinking of something\n    else.' These were nearly his words; I observed at the time, he used\n    'record' and 'painting,' as the title 'author' had struck me before.\"\n\n    He was true to others. No accusation had ever been brought forward\n    against Turner by his most envious enemies, of his breaking a\n    promise, or failing in an undertaken trust. His sense of justice was\n    strangely acute; it was like his sense of balance in color, and shone\n    continually in little crotchets of arrangement of price, or other\n    advantages, among the buyers of his pictures. For instance, one of my\n    friends had long desired to possess a picture which Turner would not\n    sell. It had been painted with a companion; which was sold, but this\n    reserved. After a considerable number of years had passed, Turner\n    consented to part with it. The price of canvases of its size having,\n    in the meantime, doubled, question arose as to what was then to be\n    its price. \"Well,\" said Turner, \"Mr. ---- had the companion for so\n    much. You must be on the same footing.\" This was in no desire to do\n    my friend a favor; but in mere instinct of equity. Had the price of\n    his pictures fallen, instead of risen in the meantime, Turner would\n    have said, \"Mr. ---- paid so much, and so must you.\"\n\n    But the best proof to which I can refer in this character of his mind\n    is in the wonderful series of diagrams executed by him for his\n    lectures on perspective at the Royal Academy. I had heard it said\n    that these lectures were inefficient. Barely intelligible in\n    expression they might be; but the zealous care with which Turner\n    endeavored to do his duty, is proved by a series of large drawings,\n    exquisitely tinted, and often completely colored, all by his own\n    hand, of the most difficult perspective subjects; illustrating not\n    only directions of line, but effects of light, with a care and\n    completion which would put the work of any ordinary teacher to utter\n    shame. In teaching generally, he would neither waste his time nor\n    spare it; he would look over a student's drawing, at the\n    academy,--point to a defective part, make a scratch on the paper at\n    the side, saying nothing; if the student saw what was wanted, and did\n    it, Turner was delighted, and would go on with him, giving hint after\n    hint; but if the student could not follow, Turner left him. Such\n    experience as I have had in teaching, leads me more and more to\n    perceive that he was right. Explanations are wasted time. A man who\n    can see, understands a touch; a man who cannot, misunderstands an\n    oration.\n\n    One of the points in Turner which increased the general falseness of\n    impression respecting him was a curious dislike he had to _appear_\n    kind. Drawing, with one of his best friends, at the bridge of St.\n    Martin's, the friend got into great difficulty over a colored sketch.\n    Turner looked over him a little while, then said, in a grumbling\n    way--\"I haven't got any paper I like; let me try yours.\" Receiving a\n    block book, he disappeared for an hour and a half. Returning, he\n    threw the book down, with a growl, saying--\"I can't make anything of\n    your paper.\" There were three sketches on it, in three distinct\n    states of progress, showing the process of coloring from beginning to\n    end, and clearing up every difficulty which his friend had got into.\n    When he gave advice, also, it was apt to come in the form of a keen\n    question, or a quotation of some one else's opinion, rarely a\n    statement of his own. To the same person producing a sketch, which\n    had no special character: \"What are you in _search_ of?\" Note this\n    expression. Turner knew that passionate seeking only leads to\n    passionate finding. Sometimes, however, the advice would come with a\n    startling distinctness. A church spire having been left out in a\n    sketch of a town--\"Why did you not put that in?\" \"I hadn't time.\"\n    \"Then you should take a subject more suited to your capacity.\"\n\n    Many people would have gone away considering this an insult, whereas\n    it was only a sudden flash from Turner's earnest requirement of\n    wholeness or perfectness of conception. \"Whatever you do, large or\n    small, do it wholly; take a slight subject if you will, but don't\n    leave things out.\" But the principal reason for Turner's having got\n    the reputation of always refusing advice was, that artists came to\n    him in a state of mind in which he knew they could not receive it.\n    Virtually, the entire conviction of the artists of his time\n    respecting him was, that he had got a secret, which he could tell, if\n    he liked, that would make them all Turners. They came to him with\n    this general formula of request clearly in their hearts, if not\n    definitely on their lips: \"You know, Mr. Turner, we are all of us\n    quite as clever as you are, and could do all that very well, and we\n    should really like to do a little of it occasionally, only we haven't\n    quite your trick; there's something in it, of course, which you only\n    found out by accident, and it is very ill-natured and unkind of you\n    not to tell us how the thing is done; what do you rub your colors\n    over with, and where ought we to put in the black patches?\" This was\n    the practical meaning of the artistical questioning of his day, to\n    which Turner very resolvedly made no answer. On the contrary, he took\n    great care that any tricks of execution he actually did use should\n    not be known.\n\n    His _practical_ answer to their questioning being as follows:--\"You\n    are indeed, many of you, as clever as I am; but this, which you think\n    a secret, is only the result of sincerity and toil. If you have not\n    sense enough to see this without asking me, you have not sense enough\n    to believe me, if I tell you. True, I know some odd methods of\n    coloring. I have found them out for myself, and they suit me. They\n    would not suit you. They would do you no real good; and it would do\n    me much harm to have you mimicking my ways of work, without knowledge\n    of their meaning. If you want methods fit for you, find them out for\n    yourselves. If you cannot discover them, neither could you use them.\"\n\n  [3] It is strange that the last words Turner ever attached to a\n    picture should have been these:--\n\n    \"The priest held the poisoned cup.\"\n\n    Compare the words of 1798 with those of 1850.\n\n  [4] Compare Matt. xxiv. 30.\n\n  [5] Ps. xlviii. 2.--This joy it is to receive and to give, because\n    its officers (governors of its acts) are to be Peace, and its\n    exactors (governors of its dealings), Righteousness.--Is. lx. 17.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nLOCAL INDEX\n\nTO\n\nMODERN PAINTERS.\n\n\n  Aiguille Blaiti\u00e8re, iv. 186, 188, 399;\n    Bouchard, iv. 39, 186, 200, 209-211;\n    de Chamouni, iv. 163, 183;\n    des Charmoz, iv. 177, 190, 191,192, 206;\n    du Gout\u00e9, iv. 206;\n    duMoine, iv. 189 (note);\n    du Plan, iv. 187;\n    Pourri (Chamouni), iv. 196, 214;\n    de Varens (Chamouni), iv. 161.\n\n  Aletsch glacier, ravine of, iv. 258.\n\n  Alps, angle buttress of the chain of Jungfrau and Gemmi, iv. 286.\n\n  Amiens, poplar groves of, iii. 181, iv. 348;\n    banks of the Somme at, iv. 10 (note).\n\n  Annecy, lake of, cliffs round, iv. 247.\n\n  Apennine, the Lombard, iii. plate 14.\n\n  Ardon (Valais), gorge of, iv. 152.\n\n\n  Beauvais, destruction of old houses at, ii. 6 (note).\n\n  Berne, scenery of lowland districts of, v. 83, iv. 132.\n\n  Bietschhorn, peak of, iv. 178.\n\n  Bolton Abbey (Yorkshire), iv. 249.\n\n  Breven (Chamouni), precipices of, iv. 229.\n\n\n  Calais, tower of, iv. 26.\n\n  Carrara mountains, peaks of, iv. 357;\n    quarries of, iv. 299.\n\n  Chamounix, beauty of pine-glades, v. 82. See Valley.\n\n  Chartres, cathedral, sculpture on, v. 35.\n\n  Cluse, valley of, iv. 144.\n\n  Col d'Anterne, iv. 124.\n\n  Col de Ferret, iv. 124.\n\n  Cormayeur, valley of, iv. 176.\n\n  Cumberland, hills of, iv. 91.\n\n  Cyrene, scenery of, v. 300.\n\n\n  Dart, banks of, iv. 297.\n\n  Dent de Morcles (Valais), peaks of, iv. 160.\n\n  Dent du Midi de Bex, structure of, iv. 241.\n\n  Derbyshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100.\n\n  Derwent, banks of, iv. 297.\n\n\n  Eiger (Grindelwald), position of, iv. 166.\n\n  Engelberg, Hill of Angels, v. 86.\n\n\n  Fa\u00efdo, pass of (St. Gothard), iv. 21.\n\n  Finster-Aarhorn (Bernese Alps), peak of, iv. 164, 178.\n\n  Florence, destruction of old streets and frescoes in, ii. 7 (note).\n\n  France, scenery and valleys of, i. 129, 250; iv. 297, 344.\n\n  Fribourg, district surrounding, iv. 132;\n    towers of, iv. 32.\n\n\n  Geneva, restorations in, ii. 6 (note).\n\n  Goldau, valley of, iv. 312.\n\n  Grande Jorasse (Col de Ferret), position of, iv. 166.\n\n  Grindelwald valley, iv. 164.\n\n\n  Highland valley, described, v. 206.\n\n\n  Il Resegone (Comasque chain of Alps), structure, iv. 153.\n\n\n  Jedburgh, rocks near, iv. 131.\n\n  Jura, crags of, iv. 152, 157.\n\n\n  Lago Maggiore, effect of, destroyed by quarries, iv. 120.\n\n  Langholme, rocks near, iv. 131.\n\n  Lauterbrunnen Cliffs, structure of, iv. 149.\n\n  Loire, description of its course, v. 164.\n\n  Lucca, San Michele, mosaics on, i. 105;\n    tomb in Cathedral of, ii. 70.\n\n  Lucerne, wooden bridges at, iv. 325, 375;\n    lake, shores of, the mountain-temple, v. 85, 87.\n\n\n  Matlock, via Gellia, v. 207.\n\n  Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), structure of, iv. 160, 181, 237, 260;\n    from Zermatt, iv. 232, 238;\n    from Riffelhorn, iv. 235.\n\n  Milan, sculpture in cathedral, ii. 206.\n\n  Montanvert, view from, iv. 178.\n\n  Montagne de la C\u00f4te, crests of, iv. 206, 208, 212, 282; v. 121.\n\n  Montagne de Taconay, iv. 206, 208, 213, 282; v. 131.\n\n  Montagne de Tacondy (Chamouni), ridges of, i. 298.\n\n  Montagne de Vergi, iv. 247.\n\n  Mont Blanc, arrangement of beds in chain of, iv. 174 (note), 394.\n\n  Monte Rosa, iv. 165.\n\n  Mont Pilate, v. 124; iv. 227.\n\n  Monte Viso, peak of, iv. 178.\n\n\n  Niagara, channel of, iv. 95.\n\n  Normandy, hills of, iv. 353.\n\n  Nuremberg, description of, v. 232-235.\n\n\n  Oxford, Queen's College, front of, i. 104.\n\n\n  P\u00e9lerins Cascade (Valley of Chamouni), iv. 282.\n\n  Pisa, destruction of works of art in, ii. 6 (note);\n    mountain scenery round, iv. 357.\n\n  Petit Sal\u00e8ve, iv. 161.\n\n\n  Rhone, valley of, iv. 95.\n\n  Rheinfelden (Switzerland), description of, v. 335 (note).\n\n  Riffelhorn, precipices of, iv. 234.\n\n  Rochers des Fys (Col d'Anterne), cliff of, iv. 241.\n\n  Rome, pursuit of art in, i. 4;\n    Temple of Antoninus and Faustus, griffin on, iii. 100.\n\n  Rouen, destruction of medi\u00e6val architecture in, ii. 6 (note).\n\n\n  Saddleback (Cumberland), i. 298.\n\n  Sallenche, plain of the Arve at, i. 273;\n    walk near, iii. 136.\n\n  Savoy, valleys of, iv. 125.\n\n  Salisbury Crags (Edinburgh), structure of, iv. 149.\n\n  Schauffhausen, fall of, i. 349; v. 325.\n\n  Schreckhorn (Bernese Alps), iv. 164.\n\n  Scotland, hills of, iv. 91, 125.\n\n  Sion (Valais), description of (mountain gloom), iv. 338-341.\n\n  Switzerland, character of, how destroyed by foreigners, iv. 374;\n    railways,  v. 325.\n\n\n  Taconay, Tacondy. See Montagne.\n\n  Tees, banks of, iv. 297.\n\n  Thames, description of, v. 288.\n\n  Tours, destruction of medi\u00e6val buildings in, ii. 6 (note).\n\n  Trient, valley of (mountain gloom), iv. 259, 318.\n\n  Twickenham, meadows of, v. 293.\n\n\n  Underwalden, pine hills of, v. 87.\n\n\n  Valais, canton, iv. 165;\n    fairies' hollow in, v. 82.\n\n  Valley of Chamouni, iv. 177, 375;\n    formation of, iv. 165;\n    how spoiled by quarries, iv. 121;\n    of Cluse, iv. 144;\n    of Cormayer, iv. 176;\n    of Grindewald, iv. 166;\n    of Fr\u00fctigen (Canton of Berne), v. 86.\n\n  Venice, in the eighteenth century, i. 110;\n    modern restorations in, ii. 8  (note);\n    Quay of the Rialto, market scene on, i. 343;\n    St. Mark's, mosaics on, i. 343;\n    described, v. 286. See Topical Index.\n\n  Verona, griffin on cathedral of, iii. 100;\n    San Zeno, sculpture on arch in, v. 46.\n\n  Villeneuve, mountains of, iv. 246, 287.\n\n  Vosges, crags of, iv. 152.\n\n\n  Wales, hills of, iv. 125.\n\n  Weisshorn, peak of, 178.\n\n  Wetterhorn (Grindelwald), iv. 166, 178.\n\n  Wharfe (Yorkshire), shores of, iv. 250, 297.\n\n\n  Yorkshire, limestone hills of, iv. 100, 246; v. 293.\n\n\n  Zermatt, valley of, chapel in, iv. 325.\n\n  Zmutt Glacier, iv. 236.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX TO PAINTERS AND PICTURES\n\nREFERRED TO IN \"MODERN PAINTERS.\"\n\n\n  Angelico da Fiesole, angel choirs of,  ii. 224;\n    attained the highest beauty, ii. 136;\n    cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178;\n    decoration of, ii. 219;\n    distances of, iv. 355;\n    finish of, ii. 82, iii. 122;\n    his hatred of fog, iv. 55;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 355;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120, iii. 33;\n    his purity of life, iii. 72;\n    spiritual beauty of, iii. 33;\n    treatment of Passion subjects by, ii. 129;\n    unison of expressional with pictorial power in, iii. 29;\n    contrast between, and Wouvermans, v. 283;\n    contrast between, and Salvator, v. 283;\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Annunciation, ii. 174;\n      Crucifixion, i. 82, ii. 220;\n      Infant Christ, ii. 222;\n      Last Judgment, i. 85;\n      Last Judgment and Paradise, ii. 224, iii. 57;\n      Spirits in Prison at the Feet of Christ, fresco in St. Mark's, ii.\n        56 (note);\n      St. Dominic of Fiesole, ii. 56;\n      Vita di Christo, ii. 219.\n\n  Art-Union, Christian Vanquishing Apollyon (ideal stones), iv. 307.\n\n\n  Bandinelli, Cacus, ii. 184;\n    Hercules, ii. 184.\n\n  Bartolomeo, introduction of portraiture by, ii. 120.\n\n  Bartolomeo, Fra. Pictures referred to--\n    Last Judgment, ii. 182;\n    St. Stephen, ii. 224.\n\n  Basaiti, Marco, open skies of, i. 84. Picture--St. Stephen, ii. 224.\n\n  Bellini, Gentile, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103, 107;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120.\n\n  Bellini, Giovanni, finish of, ii. 83;\n    hatred of fog, iv. 56;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 129;\n    landscape of, i. 85, iv. 38;\n    luminous skies of, ii. 44;\n    unison of expressional and pictorial power in, iii. 29;\n    use of mountain distances, iv. 355;\n    refinement and gradation, i. 85.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Madonna at Milan, i. 85;\n      San Francesco della Vigna at Venice, i. 85;\n      St. Christopher, ii. 120;\n      St. Jerome, ii. 216;\n      St. Jerome in the Church of San. Chrysostome, i. 85.\n\n  Berghem, landscape, Dulwich Gallery, i. 37, iii. 126, v. 282.\n\n  Blacklock, drawing of the inferior hills, i. 307.\n\n  Blake, Illustrations of the Book of Job, iii. 98.\n\n  Bonifazio, Camp of Israel, iii. 318;\n    what subjects treated by, v. 221.\n\n  Both, failures of, i. 197, v. 315.\n\n  Bronzino, base grotesque, iii. 98.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Christ Visiting the Spirits in Prison, ii. 56.\n\n  Buonarotti, Michael Angelo, anatomy interfering with the divinity of\n      figures, ii. 221;\n    conception of human form, ii. 124, 126;\n    completion of detail, iii. 122;\n    finish of, ii. 83;\n    influence of mountains upon, iv. 358;\n    use of symbol, ii. 215;\n    repose in, ii. 69 (note);\n    impetuous execution of, ii. 187 (note);\n    expression of inspiration by, ii. 214.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Bacchus, ii. 186 (note);\n      Daniel, i. 62;\n      Jonah, ii. 204;\n      Last Judgment, ii. 181, 183;\n      Night and Day, ii. 203, iii. 96;\n      Piet\u00e0 of Florence, ii. 185;\n      Piet\u00e0 of Genoa, ii. 83;\n      Plague of the Fiery Serpents, ii. 69 (note);\n      St. Matthew, ii. 185;\n      Twilight i. 33;\n      Vaults of Sistine Chapel, i. 30-33.\n\n\n  Callcott, Trent, i. 189.\n\n  Canaletto, false treatment of water, i. 341;\n    mannerism of, i. 111;\n    painting in the Palazzo Manfrini, i. 200;\n    Venice, as seen by, i. 111;\n    works of, v. 195.\n\n  Canova, unimaginative work of, ii. 184;\n    Perseus, i. 62.\n\n  Caracci, The, landscape of, iii. 317, iv. 75;\n    use of base models of portraiture by, ii. 120.\n\n  Caravaggio, vulgarity of, iii. 257;\n    perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 137;\n    a worshipper of the depraved, iii. 33.\n\n  Carpaccio, Vittor, delineation of architecture by, i. 107;\n    luminous skies of, ii 44;\n    painting of St. Mark's Church, i. 108.\n\n  Castagno, Andrea del, rocks of, iii. 239.\n\n  Cattermole, G., foliage of, i. 406;\n    Fall of the Clyde, i. 116;\n    Glendearg, i. 116.\n\n  Claude, summary of his qualities, v. 244;\n    painting of sunlight by, iii. 318, v. 315;\n    feeling of the beauty of form, i. 76, iii. 318, v. 244;\n    narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 77;\n    a\u00ebrial effects of, iii. 318, v. 244;\n    sincerity of purpose of, iii. 317, v. 244;\n    never forgot himself, i. 77, v. 244;\n    true painting of afternoon sunshine, iii. 321, v. 245, 315;\n    effeminate softness of, v. 244;\n    landscape of, iii. 318, i. xxxviii. preface, v. 244;\n    seas of, i. 77, 345, v. 244, 245;\n    skies of, i. 208, 227;\n    tenderness of perception in, iii. 318;\n    transition from Ghirlandajo to, iv. 1;\n    absence of imagination in, ii. 158;\n    waterfalls of, i. 300;\n    treatment of rocks by, iv. 253, 308, iii. 322;\n    tree drawing of, iii. 118, 333;\n    absurdities of conception, iii. 321;\n    deficiency in foreground, i. 179, 399;\n    distances of, i. 278;\n    perspective of, i. 409.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Morning, in National Gallery (Cephalus and Procris), i. 317;\n      Enchanted Castle, i. 208;\n      Campagna at Rome, i. xl. preface;\n      Il Mulino, i. xxxix. preface, v. 245, ii. 149;\n      Landscape, No. 241, Dulwich Gallery, i. 208;\n      Landscape, No. 244, Dulwich Gallery, i. 284;\n      Landscape in Uffizii Gallery, i. 339;\n      Seaport, St. Ursula, No. 30, National Gallery, i. 208;\n      Queen of Sheba, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 409;\n      Italian Seaport, No. 5, National Gallery, i. 230;\n      Seaport, No. 14, National Gallery, i. 22;\n      Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca, i. 176, 194, 208, 278, 388;\n      Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 320;\n      Narcissus, i. 388;\n      Pisa, iv. 1;\n      St. George and the Dragon, v. 246;\n      Worship of the Golden Calf, v. 246;\n      Sinon before Priam, i. 169, 279;\n      Liber Veritatis, No. 5, iv. 308;\n      Liber V., No. 86, iv. 220;\n      L. V., No. 91, iv. 253, 254;\n      L. V., No. 140, iii. 117;\n      L. V., No. 145, iii. 321;\n      L. V., No. 180, iii. 321.\n\n  Conegilano, Cima da, entire realization of foreground painting, iii. 128;\n    painting in church of the Madonna dell' Orto, i. 82.\n\n  Constable, landscape of, iii. 126;\n    simplicity and earnestness of, i. 94;\n    aspen drawing of, iv. 78;\n    Helmingham Park, Suffolk, iii. 119;\n    Lock on the Stour, iii. 118;\n    foliage of, i. 406, iii. 119;\n    landscape of, iv. 38.\n\n  Correggio, choice of background, iii. 316;\n    painting of flesh by, iii. 97;\n    leaf drawing of, v. 35;\n    power of, to paint rain-clouds, v. 136 (note);\n    love of physical beauty, iii. 33;\n    morbid gradation, ii. 47;\n    morbid sentimentalism, ii. 174;\n    mystery of, iv. 62;\n    sensuality of, ii. 125, 136;\n    sidelong grace of, iii. 28;\n    tenderness of, iii. 42.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Antiope, iii. 63, v. 36, 90, 136;\n      Charioted Diana, ii. 126;\n      Madonna of the Incoronazione, ii. 125;\n      St. Catherine of the Giorno, ii. 126.\n\n  Cox, David, drawings of, i. xliii. preface, i. 96;\n    foliage of, i. 406;\n    rain-clouds of, i. 248;\n    skies of, in water-color, i. 257;\n    sunset on distant hills, i. 96.\n\n  Creswick, tree-painting of, i. 397.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Nut-brown Maid, i. 397;\n      Weald of Kent, i. 407.\n\n  Cruikshank, G., iv., 387; Noah Claypole (\"Oliver Twist\"), v. 266.\n\n  Cuyp, principal master of pastoral landscape, v. 194;\n    tone of, i. 150;\n    no sense of beauty, i. 76;\n    sky of, i. 215, 225, 209;\n    cattle painting of, v. 259;\n    sunlight of, v. 254, 315;\n    water of, i. 346;\n    foliage of, v. 35, 37;\n    and Rubens, v, 249, 260.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Hilly Landscape, in Dulwich Gallery, No. 169, i. 150, 209;\n      Landscape, in National Gallery, No. 53, i. 150, v. 37;\n      Waterloo etchings, i. 92;\n      Landscape, Dulwich Gallery, No, 83, i. 340, No. 163, v. 37.\n\n\n  Dannaeker, Ariadne, iii. 65.\n\n  Dighton, W. E., Hayfield in a Shower, ii. 229;\n    Haymeadow Corner, ii. 229.\n\n  Dolci, Carlo, finish for finish's sake, iii. 113;\n    softness and smoothness, iii. 113;\n    St. Peter, ii. 204.\n\n  Domenichino, angels of, ii. 222;\n    landscape of, iii. 317;\n    Madonna del Rosario, and Martyrdom of St. Agnes, both utterly\n      hateful, i. 88, ii. 222.\n\n  Drummond, Banditti on the Watch, ii. 230.\n\n  Durer, Albert, and Salvator, v. 230, 240;\n    deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 332;\n    education of, v. 231-232;\n    mind of, how shown, v. 284;\n    decision of, iv. 79, ii. 227;\n    tree-drawing, v. 67;\n    finish of, iii. 42, 122;\n    gloomily minute, i. 90;\n    hatred of fog, iv. 56;\n    drawing of crests, iv. 201;\n    love of sea, v. 234.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Dragon of the Apocalypse, iv. 217;\n      Fall of Lucifer, iv. 201;\n      The Cannon, v. 234;\n      Knight and Death, iii. 93, v. 235, 237;\n      Melancholia, iv. 48, iii. 96, v. 235, 238;\n      Root of Apple-tree in Adam and Eve, iii. 116, v. 65;\n      St. Hubert, v. 97, 234;\n      St. Jerome, v. 234.\n\n\n  Etty, richness and play of color of, ii. 203;\n    Morning Prayer, ii. 229;\n    Still Life, ii. 229;\n    St. John, ii. 229.\n\n  Eyck, Van, deficiency in perception of the beautiful, iv. 333.\n\n\n  Fielding, Copley, faithful rendering of nature, i. 97;\n    feeling in the drawing of inferior mountains, i. 307;\n    foliage of, i. 406;\n    water of, i. 348;\n    moorland foreground, i. 188;\n    use of crude color, i. 98;\n    love of mist, iv. 75;\n    rain-clouds of, i. 248;\n    sea of, i. 351;\n    truth of, i. 248. Picture referred to--Bolton Abbey, i. 100.\n\n  Flaxman, Alpine stones, iv. 308;\n    Pool of Envy (in his Dante), iv. 308.\n\n  Francia, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103;\n    finish of, iii. 122;\n    treatment of the open sky, ii. 43;\n    Madonnas of, ii. 224;\n    Nativity, iii. 48.\n\n\n  Gaddi, Taddeo, treatment of the open sky, ii. 43.\n\n  Gainsborough, color of, i. 93;\n    execution of i. xxii. preface;\n    a\u00ebrial distances of, i. 93;\n    imperfect treatment of details, i. 82.\n\n  Ghiberti, Lorenzo, leaf-moulding and bas-reliefs of, v. 35.\n\n  Ghirlandajo, architecture of the Renaissance style, i. 103;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120;\n    reality of conception, iii. 59;\n    rocks of, iii. 239, 314;\n    symmetrical arrangement of pictures, ii. 74;\n    treatment of the open sky, ii. 44;\n    quaintness of landscape, iii. 322;\n    garlanded backgrounds of, v. 90.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Adoration of the Magi, iii. 312;\n      Baptism of Christ, iii. 313;\n      Pisa, iv. 1.\n\n  Giorgione, boyhood of, v. 287-297;\n    perfect intellect of, v. 285;\n    landscape of, i. 86;\n    luminous sky of, ii, 44;\n    modesty of, ii. 123, 124;\n    one of the few who has painted leaves, v. 35;\n    frescoes of, v. 284, 337;\n    sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202;\n    two figures, or the Fondaco de'Tedeschi, i. 110;\n    one of the seven supreme colorists, v. 318 (note).\n\n  Giotto, cramped by traditional treatment, ii. 178;\n    decoration of, ii. 220;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 357;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120;\n    landscape of, ii. 217;\n    power in detail, iii. 57;\n    reality of conception, iii. 57;\n    symmetrical arrangement in pictures, ii. 73;\n    treatment of the open sky, ii. 44;\n    unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail, iii. 29;\n    use of mountain distances, iv. 354.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Baptism of Christ, ii. 176;\n      Charity, iii. 97;\n      Crucifixion and Arena frescoes, ii. 129;\n      Sacrifice for the Friedes, i. 88.\n\n  Gozzoli Benozzo, landscape of, ii. 217;\n    love of simple domestic incident, iii. 28;\n    reality of conception, iii. 57;\n    treatment of the open sky, ii. 44.\n\n  Guercino, Hagar, ii. 129.\n\n  Guido, sensuality, ii. 125, 136;\n    use of base models for portraiture, ii. 120.\n    Picture--\n      Susannah and the Elders, ii. 126.\n\n\n  Harding, J. D., aspen drawing of, iv. 78;\n    execution of, i. 179, 403, iv. 78;\n    chiaroscuro of, i. 179, 405;\n    distance of, i. 189;\n    foliage, i. 387, 401;\n    trees of, v. 61 (note), i. 387;\n    rocks of, i. 313;\n    water of, i. 350.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Chamouni, i. 287;\n      Sunrise on the Swiss Alps, i. 102.\n\n  Hemling, finish of, iii. 122.\n\n  Hobbima, niggling of, v. 36, 37;\n    distances of, i. 202;\n    failures of, i. 202, 398;\n    landscape in Dulwich Gallery, v. 36.\n\n  Holbein, best northern art represented by, v. 209-231;\n    the most accurate portrait painter, v. 322;\n    Dance of Death, iii. 93;\n    glorious severity of, ii. 123;\n    cared not for flowers, v. 90.\n\n  Hooghe, De, quiet painting of, v. 282.\n\n  Hunt, Holman, finish of, i. 416 (note).\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Awakened Conscience, iii. 90;\n      Claudio and Isabella, iii. 27;\n      Light of the World, iii. 29, 40, 57, 76, 340, iv. 61 (note);\n      Christ in the Temple, v. 347.\n\n  Hunt, William, anecdote of, iii. 86;\n    Farmer's Girl, iii. 82;\n    foliage of, i. 407;\n    great ideality in treatment of still-life, ii. 203.\n\n\n  Landseer, E., more a natural historian than a painter, ii. 203 (note);\n    animal painting of, v. 257;\n    Dog of, ii. 202;\n    Old Cover Hack, deficiency of color, ii. 226;\n    Random Shot, ii. 226;\n    Shepherd's Chief Mourner, i. 9, 30;\n    Ladies' Pets, imperfect grass drawing, v. 98;\n    Low Life, v. 266.\n\n  Laurati, treatment of the open sky, ii. 44.\n\n  Lawrence, Sir Thomas, Satan of, ii. 209.\n\n  Lewis, John, climax of water-color drawing, i. 85;\n    success in seizing Spanish character, i, 124.\n\n  Linnell, cumuli of, i. 244 (note).\n    Picture referred to--\n      Eve of the Deluge, ii. 225.\n\n  Lippi, Filippino, heads of, ii. 220;\n    Tribute Money, iii. 314.\n\n\n  Mantegna, Andrea, painting of stones by, iv. 302;\n    decoration of, ii. 220.\n\n  Masaccio, painting of vital truth from vital present, iii. 90;\n    introduction of portraiture into pictures, ii. 120;\n    mountain scenery of, i. 95, iv. 299;\n    Deliverance of Peter, ii. 222;\n    Tribute Money, i. 85, 95, iii. 314.\n\n  Memmi, Simone, abstract of the Duomo at Florence, at Santa Maria\n      Novella, i. 103;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120.\n\n  Millais, Huguenot, iii. 90.\n\n  Mino da Fiesole, truth and tenderness of, ii. 184;\n    two statues by, ii. 201.\n\n  Mulready, Pictures by--\n    the Butt, perfect color, ii. 227;\n    Burchell and Sophia, ii. 227;\n    Choosing of the Wedding Gown, ii. 227;\n    Gravel Pit, ii. 228.\n\n  Murillo, painting of, ii. 83.\n\n\n  Nesfield, treatment of water by, i. 349.\n\n\n  Orcagna, influence of hills upon, iv. 358;\n    intense solemnity and energy of, iii. 28;\n    unison of expressional and pictorial power in detail of, iii. 28;\n    Inferno, ii. 128;\n    Last Judgment, ii. 181, iii. 57;\n    Madonna, ii. 201;\n    Triumph of Death, iii. 57, 95.\n\n\n  Perugino, decoration of, ii. 220;\n    finish of, ii. 83;\n    formalities of, iii. 122, 315;\n    hatred of fog, iv. 56;\n    landscape of, ii. 218;\n    mountain distances of, iv. 355;\n    right use of gold by, i. 109;\n    rationalism of, how affecting his works, v. 205;\n    sea of, i. 346;\n    expression of, inspiration by, ii. 223.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Annunciation, ii. 44;\n      Assumption of the Virgin, ii. 44;\n      Michael the Archangel, ii. 223;\n      Nativity, iii. 48;\n      Portrait of Himself, ii. 136;\n      Queen-Virgin, iii. 52;\n      St. Maddelena at Florence, i. 346.\n\n  Pickersgill, Contest of Beauty, ii. 229.\n\n  Pinturicchio, finish of, ii. 83;\n    Madonnas of, ii. 224.\n\n  Pisellino, Filippo, rocks of, iii. 239.\n\n  Potter, Paul, Landscape, in Grosvenor Gallery, ii. 226;\n    Landscape, No. 176, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340;\n    foliage of, compared with Hobbima's and Ruysdael's, v. 35;\n    best Dutch painter of cattle, v. 254.\n\n  Poussin, Gaspar, foliage of, i. 386-395;\n    distance of, i. 202;\n    narrowness of, contrasted with vastness of nature, i. 179;\n    mannerism of, i. 90, ii. 45, iv. 38;\n    perception of moral truth, i. 76;\n    skies of, i. 227, 231;\n    want of imagination, ii. 158;\n    false sublimity, iv. 245.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Chimborazo, i. 208;\n      Destruction of Niobe's Children, in Dulwich Gallery, i. 294;\n      Dido and \u00c6neas, i. 257, 391, ii. 159;\n      La Riccia, i. 386, 155, ii. 159;\n      Mont Blanc, i. 208;\n      Sacrifice of Isaac, i. 195, 208, 230, ii. 159.\n\n  Poussin, Nicolas, and Claude, v. 241-248;\n    principal master of classical landscape, v. 194, 247;\n    peculiarities of, v. 247;\n    compared with Claude and Titian, v. 247;\n    characteristics of works by, v. 247;\n    want of sensibility in, v. 247;\n    landscape of, v. 247; trees of, i. 401;\n    landscape of, composed on right principles, i. 90, iii. 323, ii. 159.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      The Plague, v. 248;\n      Death of Polydectes, v. 248;\n      Triumph of David, v. 248;\n      The Deluge, v. 248;\n      Apollo, ii. 207;\n      Deluge (Louvre), i. 345, iv. 244;\n      Landscape, No. 260, Dulwich Gallery, i. 144;\n      Landscape, No. 212, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231;\n      Phocion, i. 144, 159, 178, 258;\n      Triumph of Flora, iii. 323.\n\n  Procaccini, Camillo.\n    Picture referred to--\n      Martyrdom (Milan), ii. 129.\n\n  Prout, Samuel, master of noble picturesque, iv. 13;\n    influence on modern art by works of, i. 103;\n    excellent composition and color of, i. 112, 114;\n    expression of the crumbling character of stone, i. 96, 112, 114.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Brussels, i. 113;\n      Cologne, i. 113;\n      Flemish Hotel de Ville, i. 115;\n      Gothic Well at Ratisbon, i. 114;\n      Italy and Switzerland, i. 113;\n      Louvain, i. 113;\n      Nuremberg, i. 113;\n      Sion, i. 113;\n      Sketches in Flanders and Germany, i. 113;\n      Spire of Calais, iv. 13;\n      Tours, i. 113.\n\n  Punch, instance of modern grotesque from, iv. 388.\n\n  Pyne, J. B. drawing of, i. 314.\n\n\n  Raffaelle, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47;\n    completion of detail by, i. 82, iii. 122;\n    finish of, ii. 83;\n    instances of leaf drawing by, v. 35;\n    conventionalism of branches by, v. 38;\n    his hatred of fog, iii. 126, iv. 56;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 357;\n    influenced by Masaccio, iii. 315;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures by, ii. 120;\n    composition of, v. 182;\n    lofty disdain of color in drawings of, v. 320 (note);\n    landscape of, ii. 217;\n    mountain distance of, iv. 355;\n    subtle gradation of sky, ii. 47, 48;\n    symbolism of, iii. 96.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Baldacchino, ii. 44;\n      Charge to Peter, iii. 53, 315;\n      Draught of Fishes, i. preface, xxx., ii. 204;\n      Holy Family--Tribune of the Uffizii, iii. 313;\n      Madonna della Sediola, ii. 44, iii. 51;\n      Madonna dell' Impannata, ii. 44;\n      Madonna del Cardellino, ii. 44;\n      Madonna di San Sisto, iii. 56;\n      Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179;\n      Michael the Archangel, ii. 223;\n      Moses at the Burning Bush, iii. 115;\n      Nativity, iii. 341;\n      St. Catherine, i. preface, xxxi., i. 34, 139, ii. 98, 224;\n      St. Cecilia, ii. 136, 218, iii. 15, 54;\n      St. John of the Tribune, ii. 44;\n      School of Athens, iii. 26;\n      Transfiguration, iii. 54 (note).\n\n  Rembrandt, landscape of, i. 192;\n    chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 42-47;\n    etchings of, i. 405 (note);\n    vulgarity of, iii. 257.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Presentation of Christ in the Temple, ii. 42;\n      Spotted Shell, ii. 203;\n      Painting of himself and his wife, v. 252.\n\n  Rethel, A.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Death the Avenger, iii. 98;\n      Death the Friend, iii. 98.\n\n  Retsch.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Illustrations to Schiller's Fight of the Dragon, ii. 171.\n\n  Reynolds, Sir Joshua, swiftest of painters, v. 191;\n    influence of early life of, on painting of, v. 289;\n    lectures quoted, i. 7, 44, iii. 4;\n    tenderness of, iv. 67 (note).\n    Picture referred to--\n      Charity, iii. 97.\n\n  Roberts, David, architectural drawing of, i. 118;\n    drawings of the Holy Land, i. 118;\n    hieroglyphics of the Egyptian temples, i. 119;\n    Roslin Chapel, i. 120.\n\n  Robson G., mountain scenery of, i. 95, iii. 325.\n\n  Rosa, Salvator, and Albert Durer, v. 230-240;\n    landscape of, i. 390;\n    characteristics of, v. 237, 285;\n    how influenced by Calabrian scenery, v. 236;\n    of what capable, v. 236;\n    death, how regarded by, v. 237;\n    contrast between, and Angelico, v. 285;\n    leaf branches of, compared with Durer's, v. 67, 68;\n    example of tree bough of, v. 45;\n    education of, v. 235, 236;\n    fallacies of contrast with early artists, v. 46;\n    narrowness of, contrasted with freedom and vastness of nature, i. 77;\n    perpetual seeking for horror and ugliness, ii. 128, 137, v. 46-67;\n    skies of, i. 227, 230;\n    vicious execution  of, i. 39, ii. 83;\n    vigorous imagination of, ii. 159;\n    vulgarity of, iii. 33, iii. 317, 257.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Apollo and Sibyl, v. 79;\n      Umana Fragilita, v. 237;\n      Baptism of Christ, ii. 176 (note);\n      Battles by, ii. 127;\n      Diogenes, ii. 159;\n      finding of Oedipus, iii. 115, v. 65;\n      Landscape, No. 220, Dulwich Gallery, i. 231, 240, 294, 312;\n      Landscape, No. 159, Dulwich Gallery, i. 254;\n      Sea-piece (Pitti Palace), i. 345;\n      Peace burning the arms of War, i. 390;\n      St. Jerome, ii. 159;\n      Temptation of St. Anthony, ii. 45, (note);\n      Mercury and the Woodman (National Gallery), i, 157.\n\n  Rubens and Cuyp, v. 249-260;\n    color of, i. 169;\n    landscape of, i. 91, 220, iii. 182, 318;\n    leaf drawing of, v. 35;\n    flowers of, v. 90;\n    realistic temper of, iii. 97;\n    symbolism of, iii. 96;\n    treatment of light, ii. 41, i. 165;\n    want of feeling for grace and mystery, iv. 14;\n    characteristics of, v. 251;\n    religion of, v. 252;\n    delight in martyrdoms, v. 251;\n    painting of dogs and horses by, v. 257, 258;\n    descriptions of his own pictures by, v. 252;\n    imitation of sunlight by, v. 315 (note);\n    hunts by, v. 258.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Adoration of the Magi, i. 37;\n      Battle of the Amazons, v. 251;\n      Landscape, No. 175, Dulwich Gallery, iv. 15;\n      His Family, v. 252;\n      Waggoner, iii. 114;\n      Landscapes in Pitti Palace, i. 91;\n      Sunset behind a Tournament, iii. 318.\n\n  Ruysdael.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Running and Falling Water, i. 325, 344;\n      Sea-piece, i. 344.\n\n\n  Sch\u00f6ngauer, Martin, joy in ugliness, iv. 329;\n    missal drawing of, iv. 329.\n\n  Snyders, painting of dogs by, v. 257.\n\n  Spagnoletto, vicious execution of, ii.  83.\n\n  Stanfield, Clarkson, architectural drawing of, i. 121;\n    boats of, i. 122;\n    chiaroscuro of, i. 281;\n    clouds of, i. 224, 243;\n    a realistic painter, i. 121, iv. 57 (note);\n    knowledge and power of, i. 353.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Amalfi, ii. 228;\n      Borromean Islands, with St. Gothard in the distance, i. 282;\n      Botallack Mine (coast scenery), i. 313;\n      Brittany, near Dol, iv. 7;\n      Castle of Ischia, i. 122;\n      Doge's Palace at Venice, i. 122;\n      East Cliff, Hastings, i. 313;\n      Magra, ii. 228;\n      Rocks of Suli, i. 307;\n      Wreck on the Coast of Holland, i. 121.\n\n\n  Taylor, Frederick, drawings of, power of swift execution, i. 35, 257.\n\n  Teniers, scenery of, v. 253;\n    painter of low subjects, v. 256.\n    Pictures referred to--Landscape, No. 139,\n     Dulwich Gallery, i. 315.\n\n  Tintoret, coloring of, iii. 42;\n    delicacy of, iii. 38;\n    painting of vital truth from the vital present, iii. 90;\n    use of concentrically-grouped leaves by, ii. 73;\n    imagination, ii. 158, 159, 173, 180;\n    inadequacy of landscapes by, i. 78;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 358;\n    intensity of imagination of, ii. 173, iv. 66;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120;\n    luminous sky of, ii. 44;\n    modesty of, ii. 123;\n    neglectful of flower-beauty, v. 90;\n    mystery about the pencilling of, ii. 64;\n    no sympathy with the humor of the world, iv. 13;\n    painter of space, i. 87;\n    realistic temper of, iii. 97;\n    sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 201;\n    slightness and earnest haste of, ii. 82 (note), 187 (note);\n    symbolism of, iii. 96.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Agony in the Garden, ii. 159;\n      Adoration of the Magi, iii. 78, 122, iv. 66;\n      Annunciation, ii. 174;\n      Baptism, ii. 176;\n      Cain and Abel, i. 399(note);\n      Crucifixion, ii. 178, 183, iii. 72, v. 197, 221;\n      Doge Loredano before the Madonna, ii. 204;\n      Entombment, ii. 174, iii. 316;\n      Fall of Adam, i. 80 (note);\n      Flight into Egypt, ii. 159, 202;\n      Golden Calf, ii. 207;\n      Last Judgment, ii. 181;\n        picture in Church of Madonna dell' Orto, i. 109;\n      Massacre of the Innocents, ii. 130, 179, 183;\n      Murder of Abel, i. 391;\n      Paradise, i. 338, iv. 66, v. 221, 229;\n      Plague of Fiery Serpents, ii. 183;\n      St. Francis, ii. 207;\n      Temptation, ii. 159, 189.\n\n  Titian, tone of, i. 148;\n    tree drawing of, i. 392;\n    want of foreshortening, v. 71;\n    bough drawing of, i. 392;\n    good leaf drawing, v. 35;\n    distant branches of, v. 38;\n    drawing of crests by, iv. 218;\n    color in the shadows of, iv. 47;\n    mind of, v. 226, 227;\n    imagination of, ii. 159;\n    master of heroic landscape, v. 194;\n    landscape of, i. 78, iii. 316;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 358;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120;\n    home of, v. 287, 288;\n    modesty of, ii. 123;\n    mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 62;\n    partial want of sense of beauty, ii. 136;\n    prefers jewels and fans to flowers, v. 90;\n    right conception of the human form, ii. 123, v. 228;\n    sacrifice of form to color by, ii. 202;\n    color of, v. 317, 318;\n    stones of, iv. 304, 305;\n    trees of, i. 392, ii. 73.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Assumption, iv. 202 (note), v. 221, 229, 251, 312;\n      Bacchus and Ariadne, i. 83, 148, iii. 122, v. 89;\n      Death of Abel, i. 80 (note);\n      Entombment, iii. 122;\n      Europa (Dulwich Gallery), i. 148; Faith, i. 109;\n      Holy Family, v. 133 (note);\n      Madonna and Child, v. 170;\n      Madonna with St. Peter and St. George, v. 170;\n      Flagellation, ii. 44;\n      Magdalen (Pitti Palace), ii. 125, v. 226, 338 (note);\n      Marriage of St. Catherine, i. 91;\n      Portrait of Lavinia, v. 90, preface, viii.;\n      Older Lavinia, preface, viii.;\n      St. Francis receiving the Stigmata, i. 214 (note);\n      St. Jerome, i. 86, ii. 159;\n      St. John, ii. 120;\n      San Pietro Martire, ii. 159, 207;\n      Supper at Emmaus, iii. 19, 122;\n      Venus, iii. 63;\n      Notomie, v. 338.\n\n  Turner, William, of Oxford, mountain drawings, i. 305.\n\n  Turner, Joseph Mallord William, character of, v. 340, 342, 348;\n    affection of, for humble scenery, iv. 248, 249;\n    architectural drawing of, i. 109, 199;\n    his notion of \"Eris\" or \"Discord,\" v. 308, 309;\n    admiration of, for Vandevelde, i. 328;\n    boyhood of, v. 288, 297;\n    chiaroscuro of, i. 134, 143, 148, 281, 366, iv. 40-55;\n    only painter of sun-color, v. 315;\n    painter of \"the Rose and the Cankerworm,\" v. 324;\n    his subjection of color to chiaroscuro, i. 171;\n    color of, i. 134, 151, 157, 160, 166, 169, 171, ii. 202, iii. 236\n      (note), iv. 40, v. 319 (note);\n    composition of, iv. 27, 303;\n    curvature of, i. 125, iii. 118, iv. 192, 293;\n    tree drawing of, i. 394, v. 38, 65, 69, 72;\n    drawing of banks by, iv. 293, 297;\n    discovery of scarlet shadow by, v. 316, 317, 319;\n    drawing of cliffs by, iv. 246;\n    drawing of crests by, iv. 220, 222, 225;\n    drawing of figures by, i. 189;\n    drawing of reflections by, i. 151, 359, 361, 379;\n    drawing of leaves by, v. 38, 99;\n    drawing of water by, i. 355, 382;\n    exceeding refinement of truth in, i. 411;\n    education of, iii. 309, v. 299 (note);\n    execution of, v. 38;\n    ruin of his pictures by decay of pigments, i. 136 (note);\n    gradation of, i. 259;\n    superiority of intellect in, i. 29;\n    expression of weight in water by, i. 367, 376;\n    expression of infinite redundance by, iv. 291;\n    aspects, iii. 279, 307;\n    first great landscape painter, iii. 279, v. 325;\n    form sacrificed to color, ii. 201;\n    head of Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61;\n    master of contemplative landscape, v. 194;\n    work of, in first period, v. 297;\n    infinity of, i. 239, 282, iv. 287;\n    influence of Yorkshire scenery upon, i. 125, iv. 246, 296, 300, 309;\n    his love of stones and rocks, iii. 314, iv. 24;\n    love of rounded hills, iv. 246;\n    master of the science of aspects, 305;\n    mystery of, i. 198,257, 413, iv. 34, 61, v. 33;\n    painting of French and Swiss landscape by, i. 129;\n    spirit of pines not entered into by, v. 80, 81;\n    flowers not often painted by, v. 92;\n    painting of distant expanses of water by, i. 365;\n    rendering of Italian character by, i. 130;\n    skies of, i. 138, 201, 236, 237;\n    storm-clouds, how regarded by, v. 142;\n    study of clouds, by, i. 221, 236, 242, 250, 261, v. 118;\n    study of old masters by, iii. 322;\n    sketches of, v. 183, 184, 333, 334, (note), v. preface, v. vi.;\n    system of tone of, i. 143, 152, 363;\n    treatment of foregrounds by, i. 319, v. 98;\n    treatment of picturesque by, iv. 7-15;\n    treatment of snow mountains by, iv. 240;\n    memoranda of, v. 185, 187, 335 (note);\n    topography of, iv. 16-33;\n    unity of, i. 320;\n    views of Italy by, i. 132;\n    memory of, iv. 27, 30;\n    ideal conception of, i. 388;\n    endurance of ugliness by, v. 283, 289;\n    inventive imagination of, dependent on mental vision and truth of\n      impression, iv. 21-24, 308;\n    lessons to be learnt from Liber Studiorum, v. 332, 333;\n    life of, v. 341;\n    death of, v. 349.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      \u00c6sacus and Hesparie, i. 394;\n      Acro-Corinth, i. 221;\n      Alnwick, i. 127, 269;\n      Ancient Italy, i. 131;\n      Apollo and Sibyl, v. 331;\n      Arona with St. Gothard, i. 262;\n      Assos, i. 201 (note);\n      Avenue of Brienne, i. 178;\n      Babylon, i. 236;\n      Bamborough, i. 375;\n      Bay of Bai\u00e6, i. 132, 324, iii. 311, v. 98, 323;\n      Bedford, i. 127;\n      Ben Lomond, i. 258;\n      Bethlehem, i. 242;\n      Bingen, i. 268;\n      Blenheim, i. 268;\n      Bolton Abbey, i. 394, iii. 118, iv. 249;\n      Bonneville in Savoy, i. 133;\n      Boy of Egremont, i. 372;\n      Buckfastleigh, i. 267, iv. 14;\n      Building of Carthage, i. 29, 136, 147, 162, 171, iii. 311;\n      Burning of Parliament House, i. 269;\n      C\u00e6rlaverock, i. 202 (note), 264;\n      Calais, i. 269;\n      Calder Bridge, i. 183;\n      Caldron Snout Fall, i. 268;\n      Caliglula's Bridge, i. 131, v. 331;\n      Canale della Guidecco, i. 362;\n      Carew Castle, i. 268;\n      Carthages, the two, i. 131, v. 337;\n      Castle Upnor, i. 267, 359;\n      Chain Bridge over the Tees, i. 368, 394;\n      Ch\u00e2teau de la Belle Gabrielle, i. 394, v. 61;\n      Ch\u00e2teau of Prince Albert, i. 357;\n      Cicero's Villa, i. 131, 136, 146, 147;\n      Cliff from Bolton Abbey, iii. 321;\n      Constance, i. 367;\n      Corinth, i. 267;\n      Coventry, i. 254, 268;\n      Cowes, i. 268, 363, 365;\n      Crossing the Brook, i. 131, 170, 394;\n      Daphne and Leucippus, i. 200, 201 (note), 293, 300, iv. 291, v. 98;\n      Dartmouth (river scenery), i. 212;\n      Dartmouth Cove (Southern Coast), i. 394;\n      Dazio Grande, i. 372;\n      Departure of Regulus, i. 131;\n      Devenport, with the Dockyards, i. 159 (note), 366;\n      Dragon of the Hesperides, iii. 97, v. 306, 311;\n      Drawing of the spot where Harold fell, ii. 200;\n      Drawings of the rivers of France, i. 129;\n      Drawings of Swiss Scenery, i. 129;\n      Drawing of the Chain of the Alps of the Superga above Turin, iii.\n        125;\n      Drawing of Mount Pilate, iv. 227, 298;\n      Dudley, i. 173 (note), 269;\n      Durham, i. 267, 394;\n      Dunbar, i. 376;\n      Dunstaffnage, i. 231, 285;\n      Ely, i. 410;\n      Eton College, i. 127;\n      Fa\u00efdo, Pass of, iv. 21, 222;\n      Fall of Carthage, i. 146, 171;\n      Fall of Schaffhausen, v. 167, 325 (note);\n      Flight into Egypt, i. 242;\n      Fire at Sea, v. 189 (note);\n      Folkestone, i. 242, 268;\n      Fort Augustus, i. 305;\n      Fountain of Fallacy, i. 131;\n      Fowey Harbor, i. 267, 376, v. 142 (note);\n      Florence, i. 132;\n      Glencoe, i. 285;\n      Goldau (a recent drawing) i. 264 (note);\n      Goldau, i. 367, iv. 312, v. 337 (note);\n      Golden Bough, iv. 291;\n      Gosport, i. 257;\n      Great Yarmouth, i. 383 (note);\n      Hannibal passing the Alps, i. 130;\n      Hampton Court, i. 178;\n      Hero and Leander, i. 131, 177, 242, 375, 409, v. 188 (note);\n      Holy Isle, iii. 310;\n      Illustration to the Antiquary, i. 264;\n      Inverary, v. 65;\n      Isola Bella, iii. 125;\n      Ivy Bridge, i. 133, iii. 121;\n      Jason, ii. 171;\n      Juliet and her Nurse, i. 135, 137 (note), 269;\n      Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 372, iv. 309;\n      Kenilworth, i. 268;\n      Killie-Crankie, i. 371;\n      Kilgarren, i. 127;\n      Kirby Lonsdale Churchyard, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 315;\n      Lancaster Sands, i. 340;\n      Land's End, i. 251 (note), 253, 352, 376, 377;\n      Laugharne, i. 376;\n      Llanberis, i. 93, 268, v. 320 (note) (English series);\n      Llanthony Abbey, i. 127, 173 (note), 251, 321, 371;\n      Long Ship's Lighthouse, i. 253;\n      Lowestoft, i. 267, 352, 383 (note);\n      Lucerne, iv. 227;\n      \"Male Bolge\"(of the Splugen and St. Gothard), iv. 315;\n      Malvern, i. 268;\n      Marly, i. 80, 399;\n      Mercury and Argus, i. 145, 167, 172 (note), 198, 221, 318, 324,\n        372, v. 62;\n      Modern Italy, i. 132, 172 (note), iv. 291;\n      Morecambe Bay, i. 258;\n      Mount Lebanon, i. 293;\n      Murano, view of, i. 138;\n      Napoleon, i. 151, 162, 163, 170, 221, 268, 310, v. 118, 330 (note);\n      Napoleon at St. Helena, iv. 314;\n      Narcissus and Echo, v. 299;\n      Nemi, i. 268;\n      Nottingham, i. 268, 359, iv. 29;\n      Oakhampton, i. 127, 258, 267, 400;\n      Oberwesel, i. 268, 305;\n      Orford, Suffolk, i. 267;\n      Ostend, i. 380;\n      Palestrina, i. 132;\n      Pas de Calais, i. 339, 380;\n      Penmaen Mawr, i. 323;\n      Picture of the Deluge, i. 346;\n      Pools of Solomon, i. 237, 268, v. 116;\n      Port Ruysdael, i. 380;\n      Pyramid of Caius Cestius, i. 269;\n      Python, v. 315, 316;\n      Rape of Proserpine, i. 131;\n      Rheinfels, v. 335 (note);\n      Rhymer's Glen, i. 371;\n      Richmond (Middlesex), i. 268;\n      Richmond (Yorkshire), i. 261, iv. 14, v. 93;\n      Rome from the Forum, i. 136, v. 359;\n      Salisbury, v. 144;\n      Saltash, i. 268, 359;\n      San Benedetto, looking toward Fusina, i. 362, 138, v. 118;\n      Scarborough, iii. 121;\n      Shores of Wharfe, iv. 248;\n      Shylock, i. 221, 268;\n      Sketches in National Gallery, v. 182, 183;\n      Sketches in Switzerland, i. 138;\n      Slave Ship, i. 135, 137 (note), 146, 151, 170, 261, 268, ii. 209,\n        iv. 314, v. 142, 336;\n      Snowstorm, i. 130, 170, 352, v. 342 (note);\n      St. Gothard, iv. 27, 292, 300;\n      St. Herbert's Isle, i. 269;\n      St. Michael's Mount, i. 261, 263;\n      Stonehenge, i. 260, 268, v. 143 (English series);\n      Study (Block of Gniess at Chamouni), iii. 125;\n      Study (P\u00e6stum) v. 145;\n      Sun of Venice going to Sea, i. 138, 361;\n      Swiss Fribourg, iii. 125;\n      Tantallon Castle, i. 377;\n      Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309;\n      Tees (Lower Fall of), i. 322, 371;\n      Temptation on the Mountain (Illustration to Milton), ii. 210;\n      Temple of Jupiter, i. 131, iii. 310;\n      Temple of Minerva, v. 145;\n      Tenth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 295 (note), 299;\n      The Old T\u00e9m\u00e9raire, i. 135, iv. 314, v. 118, 290;\n      Tivoli, i. 132;\n      Towers of H\u00e9ve, i. 269;\n      Trafalgar, v. 290;\n      Trematon Castle, i. 268;\n      Ulleswater, i. 322, 258, iv. 300;\n      Ulysses and Polypheme, iv. 314, v. 336 (note);\n      various vignettes, i. 267;\n      Venices, i. 109, 268, v. 337, 338;\n      Walhalla, i. 136 (note);\n      Wall Tower of a Swiss Town, iv. 71;\n      Warwick, i. 268, 394;\n      Waterloo, i. 261, 269;\n      Whitby, iii. 310;\n      Wilderness of Engedi, i. 201 (note), 269;\n      Winchelsea (English series), i. 172 (note), 268;\n      Windsor, from Eton, i. 127;\n      Wycliffe, near Rokeby, iv. 309.\n    Finden's Bible Series:--\n      Babylon, i. 236;\n      Bethlehem, i. 242;\n      Mount Lebanon, i. 293, v. 145;\n      Sinai, v. 145;\n      Pyramids of Egypt, i. 242;\n      Pool of Solomon, i. 237, v. 116;\n      Fifth Plague of Egypt, i. 130, v. 299.\n    Illustrations to Campbell:--\n      Hohenlinden, i. 267;\n      Second Vignette, i. 258;\n      The Andes, i. 277;\n      Vignette to the Beech-tree's Petition, i. 177;\n      Vignette to Last Man, i. 264.\n    Illustrations to Rogers' \"Italy:\"--\n      Amalfi, i. 239;\n      Aosta, i. 277;\n      Battle of Marengo, i. 273, 285;\n      Farewell, i. 285;\n      Lake of Albano, i. 268;\n      Lake of Como, i. 238;\n      Lake of Geneva, i. 238, 267;\n      Lake of Lucerne, i. 263, 367;\n      Perugia, i. 174;\n      Piacenza, i. 268, 296;\n      P\u00e6stum, i. 260, 268;\n      Second Vignette, i. 264, 372;\n      The Great St. Bernard, i. 263;\n      Vignette to St. Maurice, i. 263, 263 (note), v. 127.\n    Illustrations to Rogers' \"Poems:\"\n      Bridge of Sighs, i. 269;\n      Datur Hora Quieti, i. 145, 268, v. 167;\n      Garden opposite title-page, i. 177;\n      Jacqueline, i. 277, ii. 210;\n      Loch Lomond, i. 365;\n      Rialto, i. 242, 269;\n      Sunset behind Willows, i. 147;\n      Sunrise, i. 212;\n      Sunrise on the Sea, i. 222, 263;\n      the Alps at Daybreak, i. 223, 264, 267, 276;\n      Vignette to Human Life, i. 267;\n      Vignette to Slowly along the Evening Sky, i. 217;\n      Vignette to the Second Part of Jacqueline, ii. 210;\n      Villa of Galileo, i. 132;\n      Voyage of Columbus, i. 242, 267, ii. 201.\n    Illustrations to Scott:--\n      Armstrong's Tower, i. 178;\n      Chiefswood Cottage, i. 394;\n      Derwentwater, i. 365;\n      Dryburgh, i. 366;\n      Dunstaffnage, i. 261, 285;\n      Glencoe, i. 285, 293;\n      Loch Archray, i. 285;\n      Loch Coriskin, i. 252, 292, iv. 220;\n      Loch Katrine, i. 298, 365;\n      Melrose, i. 336;\n      Skiddaw, i. 267, 305.\n    Liber Studiorum:--\n      \u00c6sacus and Hesperie, i. 130, 400 (note), ii. 162;\n      Ben Arthur, i. 126, iv. 308, 309;\n      Blair Athol, i. 394;\n      Cephalus and Procris, i. 394, 400 (note), ii. 160, 207, iii. 317,\n        v. 334;\n      Chartreuse, i. 127, 394, iii. 317;\n      Chepstow, v. 333;\n      Domestic subjects of L. S., i. 127;\n      Dunstan borough, v. 333;\n      Foliage of L. S., i. 128;\n      Garden of Hesperides, iii. 310, v. 310;\n      Gate of Winchelsea Wall, v. 330;\n      Raglan, v. 333;\n      Rape of Europa, v. 334;\n      Via Mala, v. 336 (note), iv. 259;\n      Isis, v. 171, 172;\n      Hedging and Ditching, i. 127, 394, v. 333;\n      Jason, i. 130, ii. 171, 199, iii. 317;\n      Juvenile Tricks, i. 394;\n      Lauffenbourg, i. 128, iii. 327, v. 170;\n      Little Devil's Bridge, i. 127, iv. 27;\n      Lianberis, i. 258;\n      Mer de Glace, i. 126, 287, iv. 191;\n      Mill near Grande Chartreuse, iv. 259, v. 333;\n      Morpeth Tower, v. 333;\n      Mont St. Gothard, i. 127, 311 (note);\n      Peat Bog, iii. 317, v. 333;\n      Rivaulx choir, v. 333;\n      Rizpah, i. 130, iii. 317, iv. 14, v. 295, 334;\n      Solway Moss, iii. 317;\n      Source of Avernon, iv. 308, v. 80;\n      Study of the Lock, iv. 7, v. 332;\n      Young Anglers, v. 333;\n      Water Mill, v. 333.\n    Rivers of France, i. 129;\n      Amboise, i. 184, 269;\n      Amboise (the Ch\u00e2teau), i. 184;\n      Beaugency, i. 184;\n      Blois, i. 183;\n      Blois (Ch\u00e2teau de), i. 183, 202, 269;\n      Caudebec, i. 269, 302, 366;\n      Ch\u00e2teau Gaillard, i. 183;\n      Clairmont, i. 269, 303;\n      Confluence of the Seine and Marne, i. 364;\n      Drawings of, i. 130;\n      Havre, i. 224;\n      Honfleur, i. 304;\n      Jumi\u00e8ges, i. 250, 364;\n      La Chaise de Gargantua, i. 364;\n      Loire, i. 363;\n      Mantes, i. 269;\n      Mauves, i. 303;\n      Montjan, i. 269;\n      Orleans, i. 183;\n      Quilleboeuf, i. 377, 170;\n      Reitz, near Saumur, v. 164, 165;\n      Rouen, i. 410, v. 118;\n      Rouen, from St. Catherine's Hill, i. 240, 366;\n      St. Denis, i. 264, 269;\n      St. Julien, i. 184, 269;\n      The Lantern of St. Cloud, i. 268;\n      Troyes, i. 269;\n      Tours, i. 184, 269;\n      Vernon, i. 364.\n    Yorkshire Series:--\n      Aske Hall, i. 394, v. 70;\n      Brignall Church, i. 394;\n      Hardraw Fall, iv. 309;\n      Ingleborough, iv. 249;\n      Greta, iv. 14, 248;\n      Junction of the Greta and Tees, i. 322, 372, iv. 309;\n      Kirkby Lonsdale, i. 267, 394, iv. 14, 313;\n      Richmond, i. 261, iv. 14, v. 38;\n      Richmond Castle, iii. 230;\n      Tees (Upper Fall of), i. 319, 323, 367, iv. 309;\n      Zurich, i. 367.\n\n\n  Uccello, Paul, Battle of Sant' Egidio,  National Gallery, v. 5, 281.\n\n  Uwin's Vineyard Scene in the South of France, ii. 229.\n\n\n  Vandevelde, reflection of, i. 359;\n    waves of, iii. 324;\n    Vessels Becalmed, No. 113, Dulwich Gallery, i. 340.\n\n  Vandyke, flowers of, v. 90;\n    delicacy of, v. 275 (note).\n    Pictures--\n      Portrait of King Charles' Children, v. 90;\n      the Knight, v. 273 (note).\n\n  Veronese, Paul, chiaroscuro of, iii. 35, iv. 41, 47;\n    color in the shadows of, iv. 47;\n    delicacy of, iii. 38;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 350;\n    love of physical beauty, iii. 33;\n    mystery about the pencilling of, iv. 61;\n    no sympathy with the tragedy and horror of the world, iv. 14;\n    sincerity of manner, iii. 41;\n    symbolism of, iii. 96;\n    treatment of the open sky, ii. 44;\n    tree drawing of, v. 67;\n    foreground of, v. 90;\n    religion of, (love casting out fear), v. 222;\n    animal painting, compared with Landseer's, ii. 202;\n    Pictures--\n      Entombment, ii. 44;\n      Magdalen washing the feet of Christ, iii. 19, 30;\n      Marriage in Cana, iii. 122, iv. 66, v. 196, 220, 221;\n      two fresco figures at Venice, i. 110;\n      Supper at Emmaus, iii. 30, 60;\n      Queen of Sheba, v. preface, vii. 224;\n      Family of Veronese, v. 222, 224;\n      Holy Family v. 225;\n      Veronica, v. 226;\n      Europa, v. 90, 170;\n      Triumph of Venice, v. 170;\n      Family of Darius, National Gallery, v. 189.\n\n  Vinci, Leonardo da, chiaroscuro of, iv. 47 (and note);\n    completion of detail by, iii. 122;\n    drapery of, iv. 48;\n    finish of, ii. 84, iii. 261;\n    hatred of fog, iv. 56;\n    introduction of portraiture in pictures, ii. 120;\n    influence of hills upon, iv. 356;\n    landscape of, i. 88;\n    love of beauty, iii. 41;\n    rocks of, iii. 239;\n    system of contrast of masses, iv. 42.\n    Pictures--\n      Angel, ii. 176;\n      Cenacolo, ii. 215;\n      Holy Family (Louvre), i. 88;\n      Last Supper, iii. 26, 341;\n      St. Anne, iv. 302, iii. 122.\n\n\n  Wallis, snow scenes of, i. 286 (note).\n\n  Wouvermans, leaves of, v. 33;\n    landscape of, v. 195;\n    vulgarity of, v. 278, 281;\n    contrast between, and Angelico, v. 283.\n    Pictures referred to--\n      Landscape, with hunting party, v. 278;\n      Battle piece, with bridge, v. 280.\n\n\n  Zeuxis, picture of Centaur, v. 258.\n\n\n\n\nTOPICAL INDEX.\n\n\n  Abstraction necessary, when realization is impossible, ii. 206.\n\n  \u00c6sthetic faculty, defined, ii. 12, 16.\n\n  Age, the present, mechanical impulse of, iii. 301, 302;\n    spirit of, iii. 302, 303;\n    our greatest men nearly all unbelievers, iii. 253, 264;\n    levity of, ii. 170.\n    See Modern.\n\n  Aiguilles, structure of, iv. 174;\n    contours of, iv. 178, 190;\n    curved cleavage of, iv. 186, 192, 193, 210-214;\n    angular forms of, iv. 179, 191;\n    how influencing the earth, iv. 193;\n    Dez Charmoz, sharp horn of, iv. 177;\n    Blaiti\u00e8re, curves of, iv. 185-188;\n    of Chamouni, sculpture of, 160, 182.\n    See Local Index.\n\n  Alps, Tyrolese, v. 216;\n    a\u00ebrialness of, at great distances, i. 277;\n    gentians on, v. 89;\n    roses on, v. 99;\n    pines on, iv. 290, v. 86;\n    ancient glaciers of, iv. 169;\n    color of, iii. 233;\n    influence of, on Swiss character, iv. 356, v. 83;\n    general structure of, iv. 164;\n    higher, impossible to paint snow mountains, iv. 240;\n    precipices of, iv. 260, 261;\n    suggestive of Paradise, iv. 346;\n    sunrise in, i. 264.\n    See Mountains.\n\n  Anatomy, development of, admissible only in subordination to laws of\n      beauty, ii. 221;\n    not to be substituted for apparent aspect, iv. 187.\n\n  Animals, proportion in, ii. 58 (note), 64;\n    moral functions of, ii. 94, 95, 97;\n    lower ideal form of, ii. 104;\n    noble qualities of, v. 203.\n\n  Animal Painting, of the Dutch school, v. 254, 258;\n    of the Venetian, 255, 258;\n    of the moderns, v. 257, 273.\n\n  Architecture, influence of bad, on artists, iii. 311;\n    value of signs of age in, i. 104, 106;\n    importance of chiaroscuro in rendering of, i. 106, 107;\n    early painting of, how deficient, i. 103;\n    how regarded by the author, v. 197;\n    Renaissance chiefly expressive of pride, iii. 63;\n    lower than sculpture or painting, the idea of utility being dominant,\n      ii. 10 (note);\n    and trees, coincidences between, v. 19;\n    of Nuremberg, v. 232;\n    Venetian, v. 295.\n\n  Art, definition of greatness in, i. 8, 11, iii. 3-10, 39;\n    imitative, noble or ignoble according to its purpose, iii. 20, 202;\n    practical, ii. 8;\n    theoretic, ii. 8;\n    profane, iii. 61;\n    ideality of, ii. 110;\n    in what sense useful, ii. 3, 4;\n    perfection of, in what consisting, i. 357;\n    first aim of, the representation of facts, i. 45, 46;\n    highest aim of, the expression of thought, i. 45, 46;\n    truth, a just criterion of, i. 48;\n    doubt as to the use of, iii. 19;\n    laws of, how regarded by imaginative and unimaginative painters, ii.\n      155;\n    neglect of works of, ii. 6, 8 (note);\n    nobleness of, in what consisting, iii. 21, 22;\n    noble, right minuteness of, v. 175;\n    meaning of \"style,\" different selection of particular truths to be\n      indicated, i. 95;\n    bad, evil effects of the habitual use of, iv. 334;\n    love of, the only effective patronage, ii. 3;\n    sacred, general influence of, iii. 55;\n    misuse of, in religious services, iii. 59, 60;\n    religious, of Italy, abstract, iii. 48, 58, v. 219;\n    religious, of Venice, Naturalistic, iii. 78, v. 214, 226;\n    Christian, divisible into two great masses, symbolic and imitative,\n      iii. 203;\n    Christian, opposed to pagan, ii. 222, 223;\n    \"Christian,\" denied, the flesh, v. 203;\n    high, consists in the truthful presentation of the maximum of beauty,\n      iii. 34;\n    high, modern ideal of, iii. 65;\n    highest, purely imaginative, iii. 39;\n    highest, dependent on sympathy, iv. 9;\n    highest, chiaroscuro necessary in, i. 79;\n    modern, fatal influence of the sensuality of, iii. 65;\n    allegorical, iii. 95;\n    essays on, by the author, distinctive character of, v. preface, x. v.\n      196;\n    influence of climate on, v. 133;\n    influence of scenery on, v. 214, 232, 235, 287;\n    Venetian, v. 188, 214, 226;\n    classical defined, v. 242;\n    Angelican, iii. 50-57, v. 282;\n    Greek, v. 209;\n    Dutch, v. 277.\n    See Painting, Painters.\n\n  Art, Great, definition of, i. 8-11, iii. 3, 10, 41;\n    characteristics of, i. 305, iii. 26-41, 88, v. 158, 175, 178, 202;\n    not to be taught, iii. 43, 141;\n    the expression of the spirits of great men, iii. 43, v. 179;\n    represents something seen and believed, iii. 80;\n    sets forth the true nature and authority of freedom, v. 203;\n    relation of, to man, v. 203.\n    See Style.\n\n  Artists, danger of spirit of choice to, ii. 26;\n    right aim of, i. 425, 426, iii. 19;\n    their duty in youth, to begin as patient realists, i. 423;\n    choice of subject by, ii. 188, iii. 27, 28, iii. 35, iv. 290, iv. 18\n      (note);\n    should paint what they love, ii. 217;\n    mainly divided into two classes, i. 74, 315;\n    necessity of singleness of aim in, i. 423, 424, v. 179.\n    See Painters.\n\n  Artists, Great, characteristics of, i. 8, 123, 327, ii. 42, iii. 26-41;\n    forgetfulness of self in, i. 84;\n    proof of real imagination in, i. 306;\n    calmness of, v. 191;\n    delight in symbolism, iii. 93;\n    qualities of, v. 191;\n    keenness of sight in, iv. 188;\n    sympathy of, with nature, ii. 90, iii. 177, iv. 13, 70, ii. 92;\n    with humanity, iv. 9, 11, 13, iii. 63, ii. 169, v. 198, 203;\n    live wholly in their own age, iii. 90.\n\n  Artists, Religious, ii. 174, 176, 180, 216, iii. 48-60, iv. 355;\n    imaginative and unimaginative, distinction between, ii. 154, 156;\n    history of the Bible has yet to be painted, iii. 58.\n\n  Asceticism, ii. 114, three forms of, v. 325.\n\n  Association, of two kinds, accidental and rational, ii. 33, 34;\n    unconscious influence of, ii. 34;\n    power of, iii. 17, ii. 45, v. 216;\n    charm of, by whom felt, iii. 292, 309;\n    influence of, on enjoyment of landscape, iii. 289.\n\n\n  Bacon, master of the science of essence, iii. 307;\n    compared with Pascal, iv. 361.\n\n  Banks, formation of, iv. 262;\n    curvature of, iv. 262, 278, 282;\n    luxuriant vegetation of, iv. 125.\n\n  Beauty, definition of the term (pleasure-giving) i. 26, 27;\n    sensations of, instinctive, i. 27, ii. 21, 46, 135;\n    vital, ii. 88, 100, 110;\n    typical, ii. 28, 38, 85, 115, 135;\n    error of confounding truth with, iii. 31 (note);\n    of truths of species, i. 60;\n    of curvature, ii. 46, iv. 192, 197, 200, 262, 263, 264;\n    love of, in great artists, iii. 33, v. 209;\n    moderation essential to, ii. 84;\n    ideas of, essentially moral, ii. 12, 18;\n    repose, an unfailing test of, ii. 68, 108;\n    truth the basis of, i. 47, ii. 136;\n    how far demonstrable by reason, ii. 27;\n    ideas of, exalt and purify the human mind, i. 26, 27;\n    not dependent on the association of ideas, ii. 33, 34;\n    the substitution of, for truth, erroneous, iii. 61, 254;\n    sense of, how degraded and how exalted, ii. 17, 18, v. 209;\n    of the sea, v. 215;\n    influence of moral expression on, ii. 96, 97;\n    lovers of, how classed, iii. 33;\n    consequences of the reckless pursuit of, iii. 23;\n    modern destruction of, v. 325;\n    Renaissance, principles of, to what tending, iii. 254;\n    false opinions respecting, ii. 28, 29, 30, 136;\n    arising out of sacrifice, v. 53;\n    sense of, often wanting in good men, ii. 135, 138;\n    false use of the word, ii. 28;\n    not necessary to our being, ii. 16;\n    unselfish sympathy necessary to sensations of, ii. 17, 93;\n    degrees of love for, in various authors, iii. 285, 288;\n    and sublimity, connection between, i. 42;\n    custom not destructive to, ii. 32;\n    natural, Scott's love of, iii. 271, 272;\n    natural, lessons to be learnt from investigation of, v. 147;\n    natural, when terrible, v. 197;\n    of animal form, depends on moral expression, ii. 97, 98;\n    Alison's false theory of association, ii. 28, 33;\n    sense of, how exalted by affection, ii. 18;\n    abstract of form, how dependent on curvature, iv. 262, 263;\n    ideal, definition of, i. 28;\n    physical, iii. 67;\n    physical, Venetian love of, v. 295;\n    vulgar pursuit of, iii. 67.\n\n  Beauty, human, ancient, and medi\u00e6val admiration of, iii. 197, 198;\n    Venetian painting of, v. 227;\n    consummation not found on earth, ii. 134;\n    Greek love of, iii. 177, 189, 197;\n    culture of, in the middle ages, iii. 197.\n\n  Beauty of nature, character of minds destitute of the love of, iii. 296.\n\n  Benevolence, wise purchase the truest, v. 328 (note).\n\n  Browning, quotation on Renaissance spirit, iv. 369.\n\n  Buds, typical of youth, iii. 206;\n    difference in growth of, v. 8;\n    formation and position of, v. 11, 14, 17, 27;\n    of horse-chestnut, v. 19;\n    accommodating spirit of, v. 53;\n    true beauty of, from what arising, v. 53;\n    sections and drawings of, v. 13, 73, 74.\n\n  Business, proper, of man in the world, iii. 44, 336.\n\n  Byron, use of details by, iii. 8;\n    character of works of, iii. 235, 263, 266, 270, 296, i. 3 (note);\n    love of nature, iii. 285, 288, 295, 297;\n    use of color by, iii. 235;\n    death, without hope, v. 350.\n\n\n  Carlyle, iii. 253;\n    on clouds, v. 107.\n\n  Cattle, painting of, v. 259, 260.\n\n  Change, influence of, on our senses, ii. 54;\n    love of, an imperfection of our nature, ii. 54, 55.\n\n  Charity, the perfection of the theoretic faculty, ii. 90;\n    exercise of, its influence on human features, ii. 115.\n\n  Chasteness, meaning of the term, ii. 81.\n\n  Chiaroscuro, truth of, i. 173-184;\n    contrasts of systems of, iv. 41;\n    great principles of, i. 173, 180;\n    necessity of, in high art, i. 181;\n    necessity of, in expressing form, i. 69, 70;\n    nature's contrasted with man's, i. 141;\n    natural value of, i. 182;\n    rank of deceptive effects in, i. 73;\n    fatal effects of, on art, iii. 140 (note);\n    treatment of, by Venetian colorists, iv. 45, 46.\n\n  Chiaroscurists, advantages of, over colorists, iv. 48.\n\n  Choice, spirit of, dangerous, ii. 26, iv. 18 (note);\n    of love, in rightly tempered men, ii. 137;\n    importance of sincerity of, iii. 27, 35;\n    effect of, on painters, iii. 28;\n    of subject, when sincere, a criterion of the rank of painters, iii. 27;\n    difference of, between great and inferior artists, iii. 35;\n    of subject, painters should paint what they love, ii. 219;\n    error of Pre-Raphaelites, iv. 19.\n\n  City and country life, influence of, v. 4, 5.\n\n  Classical landscape, iii. 168, 190;\n    its features described, v. 242;\n    spirit, its resolute degradation of the lower orders, v. 243 (note).\n\n  Clay, consummation of, v. 157.\n\n  Cliffs, formation of, iv. 146, 149, 158, 241;\n    precipitousness of, iv. 230, 257;\n    Alpine, stability of, iv. 261;\n    Alpine, sublimity of, iv. 245, 261, v. 81;\n    common mistake respecting structure of, iv. 297.\n    See Mountains.\n\n  Clouds, questions respecting, v. 101-107, 110-113;\n    truth of, i. 216, 266;\n    light and shade in, iv. 36;\n    scriptural account of their creation, iv. 82-88;\n    modern love of, iii. 244, 248;\n    classical love of, iii. 245;\n    connected with, not distinct from the sky, i. 207;\n    balancings, v. 101-107;\n    high, at sunset, i. 161;\n    massive and striated, v. 108;\n    method of drawing, v. 111 (note);\n    perspective of, v. 114-121;\n    effects of moisture, heat, and cold, on formation of, v. 131;\n    \"cap-cloud,\" v. 124;\n    \"lee-side cloud,\" v. 124, 125;\n    mountain drift, v. 127, 128;\n    variety of, at different elevations, i. 216;\n    brighter than whitest paper, iv. 36;\n    never absent from a landscape, iv. 69;\n    supremacy of, in mountain scenery, iv. 349;\n    level, early painters' love of, iii. 244;\n    love of, by Greek poets, iii. 244;\n    as represented by Aristophanes, iii. 249, v. 139;\n    Dante's dislike of, iii. 244;\n    wave-band, sign of, in thirteenth century art, iii. 209;\n    Cirrus, or Upper Region, extent of, i. 217, v. 109;\n    color of, i. 224, v. 119, 120, 149;\n    purity of color of, i. 219;\n    sharpness of edge of, i. 218;\n    symmetrical arrangement of, i. 217;\n    multitude of, i. 218, v. 109, 110;\n    Stratus, or Central Region, extent of, i. 226;\n    connection of with mountains, v. 123;\n    majesty of, v. 122;\n    arrangement of, i. 228;\n    curved outlines of, i. 64, 229;\n    perfection and variety of, i. 229, v. 111, 112;\n    Rain, regions of, definite forms in, i. 245, v. 122-138;\n    difference in colors of, i. 244, v. 136;\n    pure blue sky, only seen through the, i. 256;\n    heights of, v. 137 (note);\n    functions of, v. 135, 137;\n    condition of, on Yorkshire hills, v. 141;\n    influence of, on high imagination, v. 141.\n\n  Color, truth of, i. 67-71, 155, 173;\n    purity of, means purity of colored substance, ii. 75, 79;\n    purity of in early Italian masters, ii. 220;\n    the purifier of material beauty, v. 320 (note);\n    associated with purity, life, and light, iv. 53, 123, v. 320;\n    contrasts of, iv. 40;\n    gradation of, ii. 47, 48;\n    dulness of, a sign of dissolution, iv. 124;\n    effect of distance on, iv. 64, 65;\n    effect of gradation in, iv. 71;\n    noble, found in things innocent and precious, iv. 48;\n    pale, are deepest and fullest in shade, iv. 42;\n    sanctity of, iv. 52, v. 320 (note), 149, 319;\n    true dignity of, v. 318, 320 (note), effect of falsifying, v. 321\n      (note);\n    Venetian love of, v. 212;\n    rewards of veracity in, v. 321 (note);\n    of sunshine, contrasted with sun color, v. 317, 318;\n    perfect, the rarest art power, v. 320 (note);\n    pleasure derived from, on what depending, i. 10;\n    chord of perfect, iii. 99, v. 317, 318, iii. 275, iv. 52;\n    anything described by words as visible, may be rendered by, iii. 97;\n    variety of, in nature, i. 70, 168;\n    no brown in nature, iii. 235;\n    without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202;\n    without form, ii. 202;\n    faithful study of, gives power over form, iv. 54, v. 320 (note);\n    perception of form not dependent on, ii. 77, v. 320 (note);\n    effect of atmosphere on distant, i. 97, iv. 188;\n    less important than light, shade, and form, i. 68, 172, v. 321 (note);\n    sombreness of modern, iii. 251, 257;\n    sentimental falsification of, iii. 31;\n    arrangement of, by the false idealist and naturalist, iii. 77;\n    done best by instinct (Hindoos and Chinese), iii. 87;\n    use of full, in shadow, very lovely, iv. 46, v. 317;\n    ground, use of, by great painters, v. 188, 190;\n    nobleness of painting dependent on, v. 316;\n    a type of love, v. 319, 320 (note);\n    use of, shadowless in representing the supernatural, ii. 219;\n    right splendor of in flesh painting, ii. 124;\n    delicate, of the idealists, ii. 221;\n    local, how far expressible in black and white, i. 404;\n    natural, compared with artificial, i. 157;\n    destroyed by general purple tone, i. 169;\n    manifestation of, in sunsets, i. 161, 210;\n    quality of, owes part of its brightness to light, i. 140, 148;\n    natural, impossibility of imitating (too intense), i. 157, 164;\n    imitative, how much truth necessary to, i. 22;\n    effect of association upon, i. 69;\n    delight of great men in, iii. 257;\n    cause of practical failures, three centuries' want of practice, iii.\n      257;\n    medi\u00e6val love of, iii. 231;\n    Greek sense of, iii. 219;\n    brightness of, when wet, iv. 244;\n    difference of, in mountain and lowland scenery, iv. 346, 347;\n    great power in, sign of art intellect, iv. 55;\n    why apparently unnatural when true, iv. 40, v. 317;\n    of near objects, may be represented exactly, iv. 39;\n    of the earth, iv. 38;\n    in stones, iv. 129, 305;\n    in crystalline rocks and marbles, iv. 104, 106, 107, 129, 135;\n    of mosses, iv. 130, v. 99;\n    solemn moderation in, ii. 84, 85;\n    of mountains, i. 157, 158, 168, iv. 351;\n    on buildings, improved by age, i. 105;\n    of the open sky, i. 206;\n    of clouds, v. 120, 121, 136, 149;\n    reflected, on water, i. 330, 332;\n    of form, i. 349;\n    of old masters, i. 159;\n    of the Apennines, contrasted with the Alps, iii. 233;\n    of water, i. 349;\n    the painter's own proper work, v. 316.\n\n  Colorists, contrasts of, iv. 40;\n    advantages of, over chiaroscurists, iv. 47-51;\n    great, use of green by, i. 159 (note);\n    seven supreme, v. 318 (note);\n    great, painting of sun color, v. 317, 318.\n\n  Completion, in art, when professed, should be rigorously exacted, ii. 82;\n    of portraiture, iii. 90;\n    on what depending, v. 181;\n    meaning of, by a good painter, v. 181, 191;\n    right, v. 272 (note);\n    abused, v. 273.\n\n  Composers, great, habit of regarding relations of things, v. 178, 179;\n    determinate sketches of, v. 182.\n\n  Composition, definition of, v. 155;\n    use of simple conception in, ii. 148;\n    harmony of, with true rules, ii. 150, iii. 86;\n    transgression of laws allowable in, iv. 274;\n    true not produced by rules, v. 154;\n    necessity of every part in, v. 158;\n    true, the noblest condition of art, v. 158;\n    law of help in, v. 158, 163;\n    great, has always a leading purpose, v. 163;\n    law of perfectness, v. 180.\n\n  Conception, simple, nature of, ii. 147;\n    concentrates on one idea the pleasure of many, ii. 193;\n    how connected with verbal knowledge, ii. 148;\n    of more than creature, impossible to creature, ii. 133, 134, 212, 215;\n    of superhuman form, ii. 215;\n    use of, in composition, ii. 148;\n    ambiguity of things beautiful changes by its indistinctness, ii. 92;\n    partial, is none, v. 190.\n\n  Conscience, power of association upon, ii. 35.\n\n  Consistence, is life, v. 156;\n    example of its power, jewels out of mud, v. 156.\n\n  Crests, mountain, formation of, i. 295, iv. 197, 198;\n    forms of, i. 295, iv. 195-209;\n    beauty of, depends on radiant curvature, iv. 201, 204;\n    sometimes like flakes of fire, i. 278.\n\n  Crimean War, iii. 326-332.\n\n  Criticism, importance of truth in, i. 48;\n    qualifications necessary to good, i. 418, iii. 23;\n    technical knowledge necessary to, i. 4;\n    how it may be made useful, iii. 22;\n    judicious, i. 11, 420;\n    modern, general incapability and inconsistency of, i. 419;\n    general, iii. 16;\n    when to be contemned, i. 338;\n    true, iii. 22.\n\n  Curvature, a law of nature, ii. 46, iv. 192;\n    two sorts of, finite and infinite, iv. 263;\n    infinity of, in nature, ii. 46, iv. 272;\n    curves arranged to set off each other, iv.  272;\n    beauty of, ii. 46, iv. 263, 264, 287;\n    beauty of moderation in, ii. 84;\n    value of apparent proportion in, ii. 59, 60;\n    laws of, in trees, i. 400;\n    in running streams and torrents, i. 370;\n    approximation of, to right lines, adds beauty, iv. 263 264, 268;\n    in mountains, produced by rough fracture, iv. 193;\n    beauty of catenary, iv. 279;\n    radiating, the most beautiful, iv. 203 (note);\n    measurement of, iv. 269 (note);\n    of beds of slaty crystallines, wavy, iv. 150;\n    of mountains, iv. 282, 285, 287;\n    of aiguilles, iv. 184, 191;\n    in stems, v. 21, 56;\n    in branches, v. 39, 63;\n    loss of, in engraving, v. 320 (note).\n\n  Custom, power of, ii. 24, 34, 55;\n    twofold operation, deadens sensation, confirms affection, ii. 24, 34,\n      35;\n    Wordsworth on, iii. 293.\n\n\n  Dante, one of the creative order of poets, iii. 156;\n    and Shakspere, difference between, iv. 372 (note);\n    compared with Scott, iii. 266;\n    demons of, v. 256;\n    statement of doctrine by (damnation of heathen), v. 230.\n\n  Dante's self-command, iii. 160;\n    clear perception, iii. 156;\n    keen perception of color, iii. 218, 220, 222, 223, 234;\n    definiteness of his Inferno, compared with indefiniteness of\n      Milton's, iii. 209;\n    ideal landscape, iii. 213;\n    poem, formality of landscape in, iii. 209, 211;\n    description of flame, ii. 163;\n    description of a wood, iii. 214;\n    makes mountains abodes of misery, iii. 231,\n    and is insensible to their broad forms, iii. 240;\n    conception of rocks, iii. 232, 238;\n    declaration of medi\u00e6val faith, iii. 217;\n    delight in white clearness of sky, iii. 242;\n    idea of the highest art, reproduction of the aspects of things past\n      and present, iii. 18;\n    idea of happiness, iii. 217;\n    representation of love, iii. 197;\n    hatred of rocks, iii. 238, 275;\n    repugnance to mountains, iii. 240;\n    symbolic use of color in hewn rock, iv. 109 (note);\n    carefulness in defining color, iii. 222;\n    Vision of Leah and Rachel, iii. 216;\n    use of the rush, as emblem of humility, iii. 227;\n    love of the definite, iii. 209, 212, 223;\n    love of light, iii. 243, 244;\n    Spirit of Treachery, v. 305;\n    Geryon, Spirit of Fraud, v. 305;\n    universality, Straw street and highest heavens, iv. 84.\n\n  David, King, true gentleman, v. 263.\n\n  Dead, the, can receive our honor, not our gratitude, i. 6.\n\n  Death, fear of, v. 231, 236;\n    conquest over, v. 237;\n    vulgarity, a form of, v. 275;\n    English and European, v. 296;\n    following the vain pursuit of wealth, power, and beauty (Venice), v.\n      337;\n    mingled with beauty, iv. 327;\n    of Moses and Aaron, iv. 378-383;\n    contrasted with life, ii. 79.\n\n  D\u00e9bris, curvature of, iv. 279, 284, 285;\n    lines of projection produced by, iv. 279;\n    various angles of, iv. 309;\n    effect of gentle streams on, iv. 281;\n    torrents, how destructive to, iv. 281.\n\n  Deception of the senses, not the end of art, i. 22, 74, 76.\n\n  Decision, love of, leads to vicious speed, i. 39.\n\n  Decoration, architectural effects of light on, i. 106;\n    use of, in representing the supernatural, ii. 219.\n\n  Deity, revelation of, iv. 84;\n    presence of, manifested in the clouds, iv. 84, 85;\n    modes of manifestation of, in the Bible, iv. 81;\n    his mountain building, iv. 37;\n    warning of, in the mountains, iv. 341;\n    art representations of, meant only as symbolic, iii. 203;\n    purity, expressive of the presence and energy of, ii. 78, 79;\n    finish of the works of, ii. 82, 87;\n    communication of truth to men, ii. 137;\n    Greek idea of, iii. 170, 177;\n    modern idea of, as separated from the life of nature, iii. 176;\n    presence of, in nature, i. 57, iii. 305, 306, v. 85, 137;\n    manifestation of the, in nature, i. 324, iii. 196;\n    love of nature develops a sense of the presence and power of, iii.\n      300, 301;\n    directest manifestation of the, v. 198.\n\n  Deflection, law of, in trees, v. 25, 26.\n\n  Delavigne, Casimir, \"La toilette de Constance,\" iii. 162.\n\n  Details, use of variable and invariable, not the criterion of poetry,\n      iii. 7-10;\n    Byron's use of, iii. 8;\n    careful drawing of, by great men, iii. 122;\n    use of light in understanding architectural, i. 106;\n    swift execution secures perfection of, i. 202;\n    false and vicious treatment of, by old masters, i. 74.\n\n  Devil, the, held by some to be the world's lawgiver, v. 345.\n\n  \"Discord,\" in Homer, Spenser, and Turner, v. 309-311.\n\n  Distance, effect of, on our perception of objects, i. 186, 191, 192;\n    must sometimes be sacrificed to foreground, i. 187;\n    effect of, on pictorial color, iv. 64;\n    expression of infinity in, ii. 41;\n    extreme, characterized by sharp outlines, i. 283;\n    effect of, on mountains, i. 277, 280;\n    early masters put details into, i. 187.\n\n  Dog, as painted by various masters, v. 224, 255.\n\n  Dragon, of Scripture, v. 305;\n    of the Greeks, v. 300, 305;\n    of Dante, v. 306;\n    of Turner, v. 300, 307-312, 314, 316, 323.\n\n  Drawing, noble, mystery and characteristic of, iv. 56, 59, 63, 214;\n    real power of, never confined to one subject, i. 416;\n    of mountain forms, i. 286, 305, iv. 188-191, 242;\n    of clouds, v. 111 (note), 118;\n    necessary to education, v. 330 (note);\n    figure, of Turner, i. 189;\n    questions concerning, v. 36;\n    landscape of old and modern painters, iii. 249;\n    of artists and architects, difference between, i. 118;\n    distinctness of, iii. 36;\n    of Swiss pines, iv. 290;\n    modern, of snowy mountains, unintelligible, i. 286;\n    as taught in Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica, iv. 295;\n    inviolable canon of, \"draw only what you see,\" iv. 16;\n    should be taught every child, iii. 299.\n\n\n  Earth, general structure of, i. 271;\n    laws of organization of, important in art, i. 270;\n    past and present condition of, iv. 140, 141;\n    colors of, iv. 38;\n    the whole not habitable, iv. 95, 96;\n    noblest scenes of, seen by few, i. 204;\n    man's appointed work on, v. 1;\n    preparation of, for man, v. 3;\n    sculpturing of the dry land, iv. 89.\n\n  Economy of labor, v. 328.\n\n  Education, value of, iii. 42;\n    its good and bad effect on enjoyment of beauty, iii. 64;\n    of Turner, iii. 319, v. 287-297;\n    of Scott, iii. 308;\n    of Giorgione, v. 286, 287, 291;\n    of Durer, v. 230, 231;\n    of Salvator, v. 235, 236;\n    generally unfavorable to love of nature, iii. 298;\n    modern, corrupts taste, iii. 65;\n    logical, a great want of the time, iv. 384;\n    love of picturesque, a means of, iv. 12;\n    what to be taught in, v. 328 (note);\n    what it can do, iii. 42;\n    can improve race, v. 262;\n    of persons of simple life, v. 328 (note).\n\n  Emotions, noble and ignoble, iii. 10;\n    true, generally imaginative, ii. 190.\n\n  Enamel, various uses of the word, iii. 221-223.\n\n  Energy, necessary to repose, ii. 66;\n    purity a type of, ii. 76;\n    how expressed by purity of matter, ii. 79;\n    expression of, in plants, a source of pleasure, ii. 92.\n\n  English art culminated in the 13th century, iv. 350.\n\n  Engraving, influence of, i. 101;\n    system of landscape, i. 260, v. 38, 98, 328.\n\n  Evil, the indisputable fact, iv. 342;\n    captivity to, v. 217, 285;\n    contest with, v. 285;\n    conquered, v. 285;\n    recognition and conquest of, essential to highest art, v. 205-209, 217;\n    war with, v. 231.\n\n  Exaggeration, laws and limits of, ii. 208-210;\n    necessary on a diminished scale, ii. 208.\n\n  Excellence, meaning of the term, i. 14, 15 (note);\n    in language, what necessary to, i. 9;\n    the highest, cannot exist without obscurity, iv. 61;\n    passing public opinion no criterion of, i. 1, 2;\n    technical, superseding expression, iii. 29.\n\n  Execution, meaning of the term, i. 36;\n    three vices of, ii. 188 (note);\n    qualities of, i. 36, 37, 39 (note);\n    dependent upon knowledge of truth, i. 36;\n    essential to drawing of water, i. 350;\n    swift, details best given by, i. 202;\n    legitimate sources of pleasures in, i. 36, 38;\n    mystery of, necessary in rendering space of nature, i. 203;\n    rude, when the source of noble pleasure, ii. 82 (note);\n    determinate, v. 37, 38.\n\n  Expression, three distinct schools of--Great, Pseudo, and\n      Grotesque-Expressional, iv. 385;\n    subtle, how reached, iv. 55;\n    influence of moral in animal form, ii. 97, 98;\n    perfect, never got without color, iv. 54 (note);\n    unison of expressional, with technical power, where found, iii. 29;\n    superseded by technical excellence, iii. 29;\n    of inspiration, ii. 214;\n    of superhuman character, how attained, ii. 213.\n\n  Eye, focus of, truth of space dependent on, i. 186-190;\n    what seen by the cultivated, iv. 71;\n    what seen by the uncultivated, iv. 71;\n    when necessary to change focus of, i. 186, 355;\n    keenness of an artist's, how tested, iv. 188.\n\n\n  Faculty Theoretic, definition of, ii. 12, 18.\n\n  Faculty \u00c6sthetic, definition of, ii. 12, 18.\n\n  Faith, derivation of the word, v. 161;\n    developed by love of nature, iii. 299;\n    want of, iii. 252-254;\n    our ideas of Greek, iii. 169;\n    of the Scotch farmer, iii. 189;\n    source and substance of all human deed, v. 161;\n    want of, in classical art, v. 242;\n    right, looks to present work, v. 205;\n    brave and hopeful, accompanies intellectual power, v. 205;\n    tranquillity of, before the Reformation, v. 230;\n    want of, in Dutch artists, v. 251;\n    of Venetians, v. 218;\n    how shown in early Christian art, iii. 49-51, v. 205;\n    in God, in nature, nearly extinct, iii. 251.\n\n  Fallacy, Pathetic defined, iii. 155;\n    not admitted by greatest poets, iii. 156;\n    Pope's, iii. 158;\n    emotional temperament liable to, iii. 158;\n    instances illustrating the, iii. 160, 167;\n    characteristic of modern painting, iii. 168.\n\n  Fancy, functions of, ii. 150;\n    never serious, ii. 169;\n    distinction between imagination and, ii. 166-170;\n    restlessness of, ii. 170;\n    morbid or nervous, ii. 200.\n\n  Fear, destructive of ideal character, ii. 126;\n    distinguished from awe, ii. 126;\n    expressions of, only sought by impious painters, ii. 128;\n    holy, distinct from human terror, ii. 127.\n\n  Ferocity, always joined with fear, ii. 127;\n    destructive of ideal character, ii. 126.\n\n  Field Sports, v. 259.\n\n  Fields.\n    See Grass.\n\n  Finish, two kinds of--fallacious and faithful, iii. 109;\n    difference between English and continental, iii. 109, 111;\n    human often destroys nature's, iii. 112;\n    nature's, of rock, iii. 112;\n    of outline, iii. 114;\n    vain, useless conveying additional facts, iii. 116, 123, v. 271, 272\n      (note);\n    in landscape foregrounds, i. 200;\n    mysteriousness of, i. 193;\n    esteemed essential by great masters, ii. 83, v. 271, 272 (note);\n    infinite in God's work, ii. 82;\n    how right and how wrong, i. 82-84, iii. 114;\n    of tree stems, iii. 115 (plate).\n\n  Firmament, definition of, iv. 83, v. 148.\n\n  Flowers, medi\u00e6val love of, iii. 193;\n    mountain variety of, iv. 347;\n    typical of the passing and the excellence of human life, iii. 227;\n    sympathy with, ii. 91, v. 88;\n    no sublimity in, v. 91;\n    alpine, v. 93;\n    neglected by the great painters, v.  89;\n    two chief peculiarities, v. 92, 93;\n    beauty of, on what depending, v. 97 (note).\n\n  Foam, two conditions of, i. 373;\n    difficulty of representing, i, 373;\n    appearance of, at Schaffhausen, i. 349;\n    sea, how different from the \"yeast\" of a tempest, i. 380 (note).\n\n  Foliage, an element of mountain glory, iv. 348;\n    unity, variety, and regularity of, 394, 398;\n    as painted on the Continent, i. 401;\n    and by Pre-Raphaelites, i. 397;\n    study of, by old masters, i. 384.\n\n  Forbes, Professor, description of mountains, quoted, iv. 182, 235.\n\n  Foreground, finer truths of, the peculiar business of a master, i. 315;\n    lesson to be received from all, i. 323;\n    mountain attractiveness of, i. 99;\n    of ancient masters, i. 308, 313;\n    increased loveliness of, when wet, iv. 245;\n    Turner's, i. 323, 324;\n    must sometimes be sacrificed to distance, i. 187.\n\n  Form, chiaroscuro necessary to the perception of, i. 69, 70;\n    more important than color, i. 68-71, ii. 77, iv. 54, v. 318 (note);\n    multiplicity of, in mountains, i. 280;\n    animal, typical representation of, ii. 203, 204;\n    without color, ii. 201;\n    without texture, Veronese and Landseer, ii. 202;\n    natural curvature of, ii. 60, 61;\n    animal beauty of, depends on moral expression, ii. 98;\n    what necessary to the sense of beauty in organic, ii. 94, 95;\n    ideal, ii. 104, iii. 78;\n    animal and vegetable, ii. 105;\n    ideal, destroyed by pride, sensuality, etc., ii. 122, 123;\n    rendering of, by photography, iv. 63;\n    mountain, iv. 135, 139, 159-262;\n    natural, variety of, inconceivable, iv. 189;\n    of aiguilles, how produced, iv. 189;\n    beauty of, dependent upon curvature, ii. 46.\n\n  French art culminated in 13th century, iv. 358.\n\n  Fuseli, quotations from, i. 16, ii. 153, 171.\n\n\n  Genius, unrecognized at the time, i. 6;\n    not the result of education, iii. 42;\n    power of, to teach, i. 414.\n\n  Gentility, an English idea, iv. 4.\n\n  Gentleman, the characteristics of a, sensibility, sympathy, courage, v.\n      263-272.\n\n  German religious art, \"piety\" of, iii. 253.\n\n  Glacier, description, iv. 137; action of, iv. 161;\n    gradual softener of mountain form, iv. 169;\n    non-rigidity of, v. 86.\n\n  Gloom, of Savoyard peasant, iv. 320;\n    appearance of, in southern slope of Alps, iv. 326.\n    See Mountain.\n\n  Gneiss, nature of, iv. 206, 209;\n    color of, iv. 136;\n    Matterhorn composed of, iv. 160.\n\n  God.\n    See Deity.\n\n  Gotthelf, works of, iv. 135, v. 330.\n\n  Gracefulness, of poplar grove, iii. 181;\n    of willow, v. 67;\n    of Venetian art, 229.\n\n  Gradation, suggestive of infinity, ii. 47;\n    constant in nature, ii. 47;\n    necessary to give facts of form and distance, i. 149;\n    progress of the eye shown in sensibility to effects (Turner's Swiss\n      towers), iv. 71;\n    of light, Turnerian mystery, iv. 73;\n    in a rose, iv. 46.\n\n  Granite, qualities of, iv. 109, 110;\n    color of, iv. 136.\n\n  Grass, uses of, iii. 227;\n    type of humility and cheerfulness, and of the passing away of human\n      life, iii. 227, 228, v. 96;\n    Greek mode of regarding as opposed to medi\u00e6val, iii. 223, 224;\n    enamelled, Dante's \"green enamel\" description of, iii. 222, 226;\n    damp, Greek love of, iii. 222;\n    careful drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 317;\n    mystery in, i. 315, iii. 221;\n    man's love of, iii. 224;\n    first element of lovely landscape, iii. 224.\n\n  Gratitude, from what arising, ii. 15;\n    a duty to the living can't be paid to the dead, i. 6.\n\n  Greatness, tests of, i. 323, iii. 260, 261, v. 175.\n    See Art, Artists.\n\n  Greek, conception of Godhead, iii. 170, 175;\n    art, spirit of, v. 209, 213;\n    poetry, purpose of, the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209, 210;\n    religion, the manful struggle with evil, v. 211-213;\n    ideas of truthfulness, v. 267, 268;\n    mythology, v. 300, 307, 308, 322;\n    distrust of nature, v. 324;\n    culture of human beauty, iii. 179, 180, 198, 204;\n    landscape, composed of a fountain, meadow, and grove, iii. 181;\n    belief in the presence of Deity in nature, iii. 169-177;\n    absence of feeling for the picturesque, iii. 187;\n    belief in particular gods ruling the elements, iii. 171-177;\n    and Medi\u00e6val feeling, difference between, iii. 218;\n    ideal of God, ii. 223;\n    faith, compared with that of an old Scotch farmer, iii. 188;\n    feeling about waves, iii. 169;\n    indifference to color, iii. 219, 220;\n    life, healthy, iii. 175;\n    formalism of ornament, iii. 208;\n    not visionary, iii. 188;\n    delight in trees, meadows, gardens, caves, poplars, flat country, and\n      damp grass, iii. 182-186, 221;\n    preference of utility to beauty, iii. 181, 185;\n    love of order, iii. 181, 189;\n    coins, v. 36;\n    description of clouds, v. 137-144;\n    design, v. 196.\n\n  Grief, a noble emotion, ii. 129, iii. 10.\n\n  Grotesque, third form of the Ideal, iii. 92-107;\n    three kinds of, iii. 92;\n    noble, iii. 93, 102;\n    true and false (medi\u00e6val and classical) griffins, iii. 101-107;\n    Spenser's description of Envy, iii. 94;\n    how fitted for illumination, iii. 101;\n    modern, iv. 385-403.\n\n  Grotesque Expressional, iv. 385;\n    modern example of, \"Gen. F\u00e8vrier turned traitor,\" iv. 388.\n\n\n  Habit, errors induced by; embarrasses the judgment, ii. 24;\n    modifying effects of, ii. 32;\n    power of, how typified, iv. 215.\n    See Custom.\n\n  Heavens, fitfulness and infinity of, i. 135;\n    means in Scripture, clouds, iv. 86;\n    relation of, to our globe, iv. 88, v. 148;\n    presence of God in, iv. 88;\n    Hebrew, Greek, and Latin names for, v. 147-150;\n    meaning of, in 19th Psalm, v. 148.\n\n  Help, habit of, the best part of education, v. 328 (note).\n\n  Helpfulness, law of, v. 155-158;\n    of inventive power, v. 192.\n    See Consistence.\n\n  Homer, a type of the Greek mind, iii. 188;\n    poetical truth of, iii. 162;\n    idea of the Sea-power, iii. 169;\n    intense realism, iii. 185;\n    conception of rocks, iii. 232, 239-241;\n    pleasure in woody-scenery, iii. 184, 212;\n    love of aspens, iii. 182, 185;\n    love of symmetry, iii. 180;\n    pleasure in utility, iii. 181, 184, 185;\n    ideal of landscape, iii. 179-182;\n    feelings traceable in his allusion to flowers, iii. 226;\n    Michael Angelo compared to, by Reynolds, iii. 13;\n    poetry of, v. 209;\n    Iliad and Odyssey of, v. 210, 211, 309;\n    his \"Discord,\" v. 308;\n    the victory over fate, sin, and death, v. 209;\n    heroic spirit of, v. 211, 212;\n    pride of, v. 217;\n    faith of, v. 217.\n\n  Hooker, his definition of a law, ii. 84;\n    referred to, ii. 9, 14, 24;\n    quotation from, on Divine Unity, ii. 50;\n    quotation on exactness of nature, ii. 82.\n\n  Horse, Greek and Roman treatment of, v. 257;\n    Vandyke, first painter of, v. 258.\n\n  Humility, means a right estimate of one's own powers, iii. 260;\n    how symbolized by Dante, iii. 227;\n    a test of greatness, iii. 260;\n    inculcated by science, iii. 256;\n    necessity of, to enjoyment of nature, iii. 269, iv. 69;\n    grass, a type of, iii. 226, 228, v. 96;\n    of inventive power, v. 192;\n    distinguishing mark between the Christian and Pagan spirit, iii. 226.\n\n\n  Ideal, definition of the word, i. 28;\n    its two senses referring to imagination or to perfection of type, ii.\n      102, 103;\n    how to be attained, i. 44;\n    form in lower animals, ii. 104;\n    form in plants, ii. 105;\n    of form to be preserved in art by exhibition of individuality, ii.\n      109, 210;\n    the bodily, effect of intellect and moral feelings on, ii. 113-115;\n    form, of what variety susceptible, ii. 221;\n    of human form, destroyed by expression of corrupt passions, ii. 122,\n      129;\n    of humanity, how to be restored, ii. 112, 118, 121;\n    form to be obtained only by portraiture, ii. 119, iii. 78;\n    form, necessity of love to the perception of, ii. 121, 130;\n    pictures, interpreters of nature, iii. 141;\n    general, of classical landscape, v. 244;\n    modern pursuit of the, iii. 44, 65, 69;\n    Angelican, iii. 49, 57, v. 283, i. 82;\n    false Raphaelesque, iii. 53-57.\n\n  Ideal, the true, faithful pursuit of, in the business of life, iii. 44;\n    relation of modern sculpturesque to the, iii. 63;\n    operation of, iii. 77;\n    three kinds of--Purist, Naturalist, and Grotesque (see below), iii. 71.\n\n  Ideal, true grotesque, iii. 92-107;\n    limited expression of, iii. 99, 100.\n\n  Ideal, true naturalist, character of, iii. 77-91;\n    high, necessity of reality in, iii. 80, 81, 91;\n    its operation on historical art, iii. 89-91;\n    in landscape produces the heroic, v. 206.\n\n  Ideal, true purist, iii. 71-76.\n\n  Ideal, false, various forms of, iii. 69, iv. 308, 310 (plates);\n    results of pursuit of the, iii. 61, 63;\n    religious, iii. 44, 60;\n    well-executed, dulls perception of truth, iii. 48-52;\n    profane, iii. 61-69;\n    of the modern drama, iv. 321.\n\n  Ideal, superhuman, ii. 212, 224;\n    expression of, by utmost degree of human beauty, ii. 214.\n\n  Ideality, not confined to one age or condition, ii. 109-117;\n    expressible in art, by abstraction of form, color, or texture, ii.\n      201.\n\n  Illumination, distinguished from painting by absence of shadow, iii.\n      99;\n    pigments used in, iii. 223;\n    decline of the art of, to what traceable, iv. 359;\n    of MSS. in thirteenth century, illustrating treatment of natural\n      form, iii. 207, 208, iv. 76;\n    of MSS. in fifteenth century, illustrating treatment of landscape\n      art, iii. 201;\n    of MSS. in sixteenth century, illustrating idea of rocks, iii. 239;\n    of missals, illustrating later ideas of rocks and precipices, iv.\n      253;\n    of missal in British Museum, illustrating German love of horror, iv.\n      328;\n    of MSS. in fifteenth century, German coarseness contrasted with grace\n      and tenderness of thirteenth century, iv. 335;\n    representation of sun in, iii. 318.\n\n  Imagination, threefold operation of, ii. 146;\n    why so called, iii. 132;\n    defined, ii. 151;\n    functions of, ii. 10, 143, 188, iii. 45, iv. 31;\n    how strengthened by feeding on truth and external nature, i. 427, ii.\n      191;\n    tests of presence of, ii. 155, 169, 207;\n    implies self-forgetfulness, i. 306;\n    importance of in art, iii. 38;\n    Dugald Stewart's definition of, ii. 143, 145;\n    conscious of no rules, ii. 155;\n    makes use of accurate knowledge, ii. 109, iii. 40;\n    noble only when truthful, ii. 161, iii. 123, iv. 30;\n    entirety of its grasp, ii. 156, 179, v. 187, 190;\n    its delight in the character of repose, ii. 66;\n    verity of, ii. 161, 188, 211, iii. 30, 107, 133;\n    power of, ii. 158, 206, iii. 10, 11, 131, 287, iv. 19, 30;\n    calmness essential to, v. 191;\n    always the seeing and asserting faculty, iii. 211;\n    charm of expectant, iv. 131;\n    pleasure derived from, how enhanced, iii. 281;\n    highest form of, ii. 146;\n    always right when left to itself, iii. 106;\n    how excited by mountain scenery, iv. 23, 222, v. 216, 235;\n    influence of clouds on, v. 141;\n    searching apprehension of, ii. 164, 165, 169, 183, 188, 195, iii. 107;\n    distinguished from fancy, ii. 166-170, 194, 201;\n    signs of, in language, ii. 165;\n    how shown in sculpture, ii. 184-187;\n    work of, distinguished from composition, ii. 154-158;\n    what necessary to formation of, v. 189-191.\n\n  Imagination, penetrative, ii. 163-191;\n    associative, ii. 147-162;\n    contemplative, ii. 192-211.\n\n  Imitation, power of deceiving the senses, i. 17;\n    why reprehensible, i. 18, 19, 21, 34, 73, 416, iv. 136;\n    no picture good which deceives by, i. 25;\n    when right, in architectural ornament, ii. 205;\n    of flowers, v. 92;\n    was least valued in the thirteenth century, iii. 18, 199, 209;\n    general pleasure in deceptive effects of, iii. 16;\n    when made an end of art, i. 74, 143;\n    began, as a feature of art, about 1300, iii. 203;\n    of what impossible, i. 77, 157, 164, 371, 372, ii. 203, iii. 20, 129,\n      v. 91;\n    definition of ideas of, i. 13, 20.\n\n  Infinity, typical of redeemed life, iv. 80;\n    expressed in nature by curvature and gradation, ii. 45-48;\n    of gradation, i. 210, 224, ii. 47;\n    of variety in nature's coloring, i. 168, 172, 325, iv. 127;\n    of nature's fulness, i. 195, v. 99;\n    of clouds, i. 218, 235, v. 110, 113;\n    of detail in mountains, i. 290, 297;\n    of curvature, i. 315, ii. 60, iv. 262-269, v. 39;\n    expressed by distance, ii. 41;\n    not implied by vastness, ii. 49;\n    the cause of mystery, iv. 58;\n    of mountain vegetation, iv. 288;\n    absence of, in Dutch work, v. 37;\n    general delight in, ii. 42-44.\n\n  Inspiration, the expression of the mind of a God-made great man, iii.\n      141;\n    expression of, on human form, ii. 214;\n    as manifested in impious men, ii. 137, 138;\n    revelations made by, how communicable, ii. 133;\n    condition of prophetic, iii. 159.\n\n  Intellect, how affected by novelty, ii. 54;\n    how connected with pleasure derived from art, i. 10, 28;\n    its operation upon the features, ii. 113-115;\n    connection of beauty with, i. 27;\n    how influenced by state of heart, ii. 17, 114;\n    affected by climatic influences, v. 134;\n    how rendered weak, v. 205, 247;\n    abuse of, v. 266 (note);\n    culture of, in mechanical arts, v. 328 (note);\n    comparison between Angelico's, Salvator's, Durer's, and Giorgione's,\n      v. 284, 285;\n    beauty of animal form increased by expression of, ii. 98;\n    decay of, shown by love of the horrible, iv. 328;\n    popular appreciation of, i. 418;\n    influence of mountain scenery on, iv. 274, 351-363;\n    condition of, in English and French nations, from thirteenth to\n      sixteenth century, iv. 358;\n    great humility of, iii. 260;\n    seriousness of, iii. 258;\n    sensibility of, iii. 159, 286;\n    power of, in controlling emotions, iii. 160;\n    sees the whole truth, v. 205;\n    greater, not found in minds of purest religious temper, v. 204.\n\n  Intemperance, nature and application of the word, ii. 13, 14.\n\n  Invention, characteristic of great art, i. 305, iii. 38, 88;\n    greatest of art-qualities, v. 158;\n    instinctive character of, ii. 155, iii. 84, 87, v. 154, 158;\n    evil of misapplied, i. 117;\n    liberty of, with regard to proportion, ii. 61;\n    operation of (Turnerian Topography), iv. 18, 23, 24;\n    \"never loses an accident,\" v. 173;\n    not the duty of young artists, i. 422;\n    verity of, v. 191;\n    absence of, how tested, v. 157;\n    grandeur of, v. 187;\n    material, v. 153-163;\n    spiritual, v. 193-217;\n    sacred, a passionate finding, v. 192;\n    of form, superior to invention of color, v. 320 (note).\n\n\n  Joy, a noble emotion, ii. 16, iii. 10;\n    necessity of, to ideas of beauty, ii. 17, 29;\n    of youth, how typified in bud-structure and flowers, iii. 206, 227;\n    of humble life, v. 328.\n\n  Judgment, culture and regulation of, i. 49-56, ii. 22-25;\n    distinguished from taste, i. 25, ii. 34;\n    right moral, necessary to sense of beauty, ii. 96, 99;\n    right technical knowledge necessary to formation of, ii. 4;\n    equity of, illustrated by Shakspere, iv. 332;\n    substitution of, for admiration, the result of unbelief, v. 244.\n\n\n  Keats, subdued by the feeling under which he writes, iii. 160;\n    description of waves by, iii. 168;\n    description of pine, v. 82;\n    coloring of, iii. 257;\n    no real sympathy with, but a dreamy love of nature, iii. 270, 285;\n    death of, v. 349;\n    his sense of beauty, v. 332.\n\n  Knowledge, connection of, with sight, i. 54;\n    connection of, with thought, i. 47;\n    pleasure in, iv. 69;\n    communication of, railways and telegraphs, iii. 302;\n    what worth teaching, iii. 298, v. 330;\n    influence of, on art, i. 45, 47, 238;\n    necessary to right judgment of art, i. 121, 411, 418;\n    feeling necessary to fulness of, v. 107;\n    highest form of, is Trust, v. 161;\n    coldness of, v. 140;\n    how to be employed, v. 330;\n    refusal of, a form of asceticism, v. 326.\n\n\n  Labor, healthful and harmful, v. 329, 331.\n\n  Lands, classed by their produce and corresponding kinds of art, v.\n      133-135.\n\n  Landscape, Greek, iii. 178-187, v. 211-213;\n    effect of on Greek mind, iv. 351;\n    of fifteenth century, iii. 201;\n    medi\u00e6val, iii. 201, 209, 219, iv. 77-79;\n    choice of, influenced by national feeling, i. 125;\n    novelty of, iii. 143-151;\n    love of, iii. 280, 294;\n    Scott's view of, iii. 257;\n    of Switzerland, iv. 132, 290 (see Mountains, Alps, &c.);\n    of Southern Italy, v. 235;\n    Swiss moral influences of, contrasted with those of Italy, iv.\n      135-136;\n    colors of, iv. 40, 345;\n    lowland and mountain, iv. 363;\n    gradation in, i. 182;\n    natural, how modified by choice of inventive artists, iv. 24, 26\n      (note);\n    dependent for interest on relation to man, v. 193, 196;\n    how to manufacture one, iv. 291.\n\n  Landscape Painters, aims of great, i. 44, iv. 23;\n    choice of truths by, i. 74-76;\n    in seventeenth century, their vicious and false style, i. 5, 185,\n      328, 387;\n    German and Flemish, i. 90;\n    characteristics of Dutch, v. 253, 259;\n    vulgarity of Dutch, v. 277;\n    English, i. 83, 92-95.\n\n  Landscape Painting, modern, i. 424;\n    four true and two spurious forms of, v. 194, 195;\n    true, dependent for its interest on sympathy with humanity (the\n      \"dark mirror\"), v. 195-201, iii. 248, 250, 259, 325, iv. 56;\n    early Italian school of, i. 81-85, 165, ii. 217;\n    emancipation of, from formalism, iii. 312;\n    Venetian school of, expired 1594, iii. 317, v. 214, 219;\n    supernatural, ii. 219-222;\n    Purist ideal of, iii. 70-76;\n    delight in quaint, iii. 313;\n    preservation of symmetry in, by greatest men, ii. 74;\n    northern school of, iii. 323;\n    doubt as to the usefulness of, iii. 144, v. 193;\n    symbolic, iii. 203;\n    topographical, iv. 16;\n    Dutch school of, i. 92;\n    modern love of darkness and dark color, the \"service of clouds,\" iii.\n      248-251.\n\n  Landscape Painting, Classical, v. 242-248;\n    absence of faith in, v. 242;\n    taste and restraint of, v. 242;\n    ideal of, v. 244.\n\n  Landscape Painting, Dutch, v. 277-281.\n\n  Landscape Painting, Heroic, v. 194-198.\n\n  Landscape Painting, Pastoral, v. 253-260.\n\n  Language of early Italian Pictures, i. 10;\n    of Dutch pictures, i. 10;\n    distinction between ornamental and expressive, i. 10;\n    painting a, i. 8;\n    accuracy of, liable to misinterpretation, iii. 5.\n\n  Law, David's delight in the, v. 146;\n    helpfulness or consistence the highest, v. 156.\n\n  Laws of leaf-grouping, v. 25, 26, 32;\n    of ramification, v. 49-62;\n    of vegetation, how expressed in early Italian sculpture, v. 46.\n\n  Leaf, Leaves, how treated by medi\u00e6val ornamental artists, iii. 204;\n    of American plane, iii. 205;\n    of Alisma plantago, iii. 205;\n    of horse-chestnut, iii. 205;\n    growth of, iv. 193, v. 31;\n    laws of Deflection, Radiation, and Succession, v. 25, 26;\n    ribs of, law of subordination in, iii. 206, v. 24;\n    lessons from, v. 32, 74, 75;\n    of the pine, v. 78;\n    of earth-plants, shapes of, v. 92-95;\n    life of, v. 31, 32, 40, 41, 63;\n    structure of, 21-25;\n    variety and symmetry of, i. 394, ii. 72, 92;\n    drawing of, by Venetians, iii. 316;\n    drawing of, by Dutch and by Durer, v. 37, 90;\n    curvature in, iv. 271-273;\n    mystery in, i. 191, 396;\n    strength and hope received from, ii. 140.\n\n  Leaflets, v. 33.\n\n  Liberty, self-restrained, ii. 84;\n    love of, in modern landscapes, iii. 250;\n    Scott's love of, iii. 271;\n    religious, of Venetians, v. 215;\n    individual helplessness (J. S. Mill), v. 174.\n\n  Lichens.\n    See Moss.\n\n  Life, intensity of, proportionate to intensity of helpfulness, v. 155;\n    connection of color with, iv. 53, 123, v. 322;\n    man's, see Man, Medi\u00e6val.\n\n  Light, power, gradation, and preciousness of, iv. 34, 37, 53, 69, 71-73;\n    medi\u00e6val love of, iii. 200;\n    value of, on what dependent, ii. 48;\n    how affected by color, i. 68, 70;\n    influence of, in architecture, i. 106;\n    table of gradation of different painters, iv. 42;\n    law of evanescence (Turner), iv. 70;\n    expression of, by color, i. 98, 171;\n    with reference to tone, i. 147, 149;\n    a characteristic of the thirteenth century, iv. 49;\n    love of, ii. 75, 76, iii. 244;\n    a type of God, ii. 78;\n    purity of, i. 147, ii. 75;\n    how related to shadows, i. 140, 173;\n    hues of, i. 149, 157, 161;\n    high, how obtained, i. 173, 182, ii. 48;\n    high, use of gold in, i. 106;\n    white of idealists to be distinguished from golden of Titian's\n      school, ii. 221;\n    Dutch, love of, v. 254, 278;\n    effects of, as given by Turner, iv, 71.\n\n  Limestone, of what composed, i. 309;\n    color of, iii. 231-233;\n    tables, iv. 127-129.\n\n  Lines of fall, iv. 276;\n    of projection, iv. 279;\n    of escape, iv. 279;\n    of rest, iv. 309;\n    nature of governing, iv. 187;\n    in faces, ii. 114;\n    undulating, expressive of action, horizontal, of rest and strength,\n      v. 164;\n    horizontal and angular, v. 164;\n    grandeur of, consists in simplicity with variation, iv. 247;\n    curved, iv. 263;\n    apparent proportion in, ii. 61;\n    all doubtful, rejected in armorial bearings, iii. 200.\n\n  Literature, greatest not produced by religious temper, v. 205;\n    classical, the school of taste or restraint, v. 242;\n    spasmodic, v. 242;\n    world of, divided into thinkers and seers, iii. 262;\n    modern temper of, iii. 252, 261-263;\n    reputation of, on what dependent (error transitory) i. 1, 2.\n\n  Locke, quoted (hard to see well), i. 51, 67.\n\n  Love, a noble emotion, iii. 10;\n    color a type of, v. 320 (note);\n    source of unity, ii. 50;\n    as connected with vital beauty, ii. 89;\n    perception quickened by, i. 52;\n    want of, in some of the old landscape painters, i. 77;\n    finish proceeding from, i. 84;\n    nothing drawn rightly with out, iv. 33;\n    of brightness in English cottages, iv. 320;\n    of horror, iv. 328;\n    characteristic of all great men, ii. 90;\n    higher than reason, ii. 114;\n    ideal form, only to be reached by, ii. 121;\n    loveliest things wrought through, ii. 131, v. 348;\n    good work only done for, v. 346-348;\n    and trust the nourishment of man's soul, v. 348.\n\n  Lowell, quotation from, v. 347.\n\n  Lowlander, proud of his lowlands (farmer in \"Alton Locke\"), iii. 182.\n\n\n  Magnitude, relation of, to minuteness, v. 175-177;\n    love of mere size, v. 176;\n    influence of, on different minds, v. 177.\n\n  Man, his use and function, ii. 4;\n    his business in the world, iii. 44, v. 1;\n    three orders of, iii. 286;\n    characteristics of a great, iii. 260;\n    perfection of threefold, v. 326;\n    vital beauty in, ii. 111-131;\n    present and former character of, iii. 149-151;\n    intelligibility necessary to a great, iv. 74;\n    adaptation of plants to needs of, v. 2, 3;\n    influence of scenery on, v. 133-135;\n    lessons learnt by, from natural beauty, v. 146;\n    result of unbelief in, v. 345;\n    how to get noblest work out of, v. 346-348;\n    love and trust necessary to development of, v. 347;\n    divided into five classes, v. 159-162;\n    how to perceive a noble spirit in, iv. 18;\n    when intemperate, ii. 13;\n    pursuits of, how divided, ii. 8, v. 159-162;\n    life of, the rose and cankerworm, v. 324, 332;\n    not intended to be satisfied by earthly beauty, i. 204, iv. 131;\n    his happiness, how constituted, iii. 303, v. 327-330;\n    his idea of finish, iii. 113;\n    society necessary to the development of, ii. 116;\n    noblest tone and reach of life of, v. 331.\n\n  Marble, domestic use of, iv. 370;\n    fitted for sculpture, iv. 127;\n    colors of, iv. 140.\n\n  Medi\u00e6val, ages compared with modern, iii. 250;\n    not \"dark,\" iii. 252;\n    mind, how opposed to Greek, iii. 193;\n    faith, life the expression of man's delight in God's work, iii. 217;\n    admiration of human beauty, iii. 197;\n    knights, iii. 192-195;\n    feeling respecting mountains, iii. 192, 196, 229, iv. 377;\n    want of gratitude, iii. 193;\n    sentimental enjoyment of nature, iii. 192;\n    dread of thick foliage, iii. 213;\n    love for color, iii. 219, 220;\n    dislike of rugged stone, iv. 301;\n    love of cities, v. 4;\n    love of gardens, iii. 191;\n    love of symmetry, iii. 199;\n    neglect of earth's beauty, v. 5, iii. 146;\n    love of definition, iii. 209;\n    idea of education, v. 5;\n    landscape, the fields, iii. 191-228;\n    the rocks, iii. 229-247.\n\n  Mica, characteristics of, iv. 105;\n    connected with chlorite, iv. 113;\n    use of the word, iv. 114;\n    flake of, typical of strength in weakness, iv. 239.\n\n  Michelet, \"L'Insecte,\" quoted on magnitude, v. 176.\n\n  Middle Ages, spirit of the, iii. 151;\n    deficiency in Shakspere's conception of, iv. 364-368;\n    baronial life in the, iii. 192, 195;\n    neglect of agriculture in, iii. 192;\n    made earth a great battlefield, v. 5.\n    See Medi\u00e6val.\n\n  Mill, J. S., \"On Liberty,\" v. 174.\n\n  Milton, characteristics of, ii. 144, iii. 285, 296;\n    his use of the term \"expanse,\" iv. 83;\n    and Dante's descriptions, comparison between, ii. 163, iii. 209;\n    misuse of the term \"enamelled\" by, iii. 223;\n    instances of \"imagination,\" ii. 144.\n\n  Mind, independence of, ii. 191;\n    visibleoperation of, on the body, ii. 113.\n\n  Minuteness, value of, v. 175-177;\n    influence of, on different minds, v. 177.\n    See Magnitude.\n\n  Mist, of what typical, iv. 70;\n    Copley Fielding's love of, iv. 75.\n\n  Mistakes, great, chiefly due to pride, iv. 50.\n\n  Moderation, value of, ii. 84.\n\n  Modern age, characteristics of, iii. 251, 254, 264, 276;\n    costume, ugliness of, iii. 255, v. 273 (note);\n    romance of the past, iii. 255;\n    criticism, iv. 389;\n    landscape, i. 424, ii. 159, iii. 248;\n    mind, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168.\n\n  Moisture, expressed by fulness of color, iv. 245.\n\n  Moss, colors of, iv. 130, v. 99;\n    beauty and endurance of, v. 100.\n\n  Mountaineer, false theatrical idea of, iv. 321;\n   regarded as a term of reproach by Dante, iii. 241;\n    same by Shakspere, iv. 371;\n    his dislike of his country, iii. 182;\n    hardship of, iv. 335;\n    his life of, \"gloom,\" iv. 320.\n\n  Mountains (see also Banks, Crests, D\u00e9bris, &c.), uses and functions of,\n      iv. 91;\n    influences of, on artistic power, iv. 356;\n    influence on purity of religion, doctrine, and practice, iv. 351;\n    monkish view of, iv. 377, iii. 196;\n    structure of, i. 300, iv. 157;\n    materials of, i. 271, iv. 90;\n    principal laws of, i. 270, 302;\n    spirit of, i. 271;\n    false color of (Salvator and Titian), i. 158;\n    multiplicity of feature, i. 299;\n    fulness of vegetation, iv. 291;\n    contours of, i. 298, iv. 141, 157, 182, 276, 309;\n    curvature of, i. 296, iv. 186, 192, 282, 287;\n    appearances of, i. 281, 283;\n    foreground, beauty of, i. 99, iv. 99;\n    two regions in, iv. 172;\n    superior beauty of, iv. 91, 346, 348;\n    false ideal of life in, iv. 319;\n    decomposition, iv. 103, 137, 169, 309;\n    sanctity of, iii. 196;\n    lessons from decay of, iv. 315;\n    regularity and parallelism of beds in, iv. 207;\n    exaggeration in drawing of, ii. 208, iv. 175, 190;\n    love of, iii. 250, 259, 288, iv. 376;\n    mentions of, in Scripture, iii. 196, iv. 377;\n    Moses on Sinai, iv. 378;\n    Transfiguration, iv. 381;\n    construction of Northern Alpine, iv. 286, iv. 324;\n    glory, iv. 344, 345;\n    lift the lowlands on their sides, iv. 92;\n    mystery of, unfathomable, iv. 155, 174;\n    material of Alpine, a type of strength in weakness, iv. 239;\n    Dante's conception of, iii. 229, 230, 239;\n    Dante's repugnance to, iii. 240;\n    influence of the Apennines on Dante, iii. 231;\n    medi\u00e6val feeling respecting, iii. 191, 229;\n    symbolism of, in Dante, iii. 240;\n    not represented by the Greeks, iii. 145;\n    scenery not attempted by old masters, i. 278;\n    influence of, iv. 344, 356;\n    the beginning and end of natural scenery, iv. 344.\n\n  Mountains, central, their formation and aspect, i. 275-287.\n\n  Mountain gloom, iv. 317-343;\n    life in Alpine valleys, iv. 320;\n    love of horror, iv. 328-332;\n    Romanism, iv. 333;\n    disease, iv. 335;\n    instance, Sion in the Valais, iv. 339.\n\n  Mountains, inferior, how distinguished from central, i. 290;\n    individual truth in drawing of, i. 304.\n\n  Mystery, of nature, i. 37, iv. 67, 80;\n    never absent in nature, iv. 58;\n    noble and ignoble, iv. 70, 73, 74;\n    of execution, necessary to the highest excellence, i. 37, iv. 62;\n    in Pre-Raphaelitism, iv. 61;\n    sense of delight in, iv. 69;\n    Turnerian, essential, iv. 56-67;\n    wilful, iv. 68-81.\n\n  Mythology, Renaissance paintings of, iii. 62;\n    Apollo and the Python, v. 322;\n    Calypso, the concealer, v. 211;\n    Ceto, deep places of the sea, v. 138, 304;\n    Chrysaor, angel of lightning, v. 140;\n    Danae's golden rain, v. 140;\n    Dana\u00efdes, sieves of, v. 140;\n    Dragon of Hesperides, v. 302, 308, 309;\n    Eurybia, tidal force of the sea, v. 138, 304;\n    Fates, v. 301;\n    Garden of Hesperides, v. 300-316;\n    Goddess of Discord, Eris, v. 305-310;\n    Gorgons, storm-clouds, v. 138, 304;\n    Grai\u00e6, soft rain-clouds, 138, 304;\n    Hesperides, v. 303, 310;\n    Nereus, god of the sea, v. 138, 303;\n    Minerva's shield, Gorgon's head on, v. 140;\n    Muses, v. 163;\n    Pegasus, lower rain-clouds, v. 140;\n    Phorcys, malignant angel of the sea, v. 138, 303;\n    Thaumas, beneficent angel of the sea, v. 138, 304.\n\n\n  Nature, infinity of, i. 64, 66, 164-168, 198, 219, 224, iii. 121\n     (drawing of leafage), iv. 29, 267, 303, i. 77;\n    variety of, i. 55, 169, 291, v. 2-5;\n    gradation in, ii. 47, iv. 122, 287;\n    curvature in, ii. 46, 60, iv. 271, 272;\n    colors of, i. 70, 169, 352, iii. 35;\n    finish of, iii. 112, 121, 122;\n    fineness of, iv. 304;\n    redundancy of, iii. 122, v. 99;\n    balance of, v. 64;\n    inequality of, v. 22;\n    pathetic treatment of, v. 177;\n    always imaginative, ii. 158;\n    never distinct, never vacant, i. 193;\n    love of, intense or subordinate, classification of writers, iii. 285;\n    love of, an indication of sensibility, iii. 285;\n    love of (moral of landscape), iii. 285-307;\n    want of love of in old masters, i. 77, iii. 325;\n    lights and shadows in, i. 180, 311, iv. 34;\n    organic and inorganic beauty of, i. 286, ii. 96;\n    highest beauty rare in, i. 65, iv. 131;\n    sympathy with, iii. 194, 306, ii. 91, 93, iv. 16-67;\n    not to be painted, i. 64;\n    imagination dependent on, ii. 191;\n    how modified by inventive painters, v. 181;\n    as represented by old masters, i. 77, 176;\n    treatment of, by old landscape painters, i. 75;\n    feeling respecting, of medi\u00e6val and Greek knight, iii. 177, 192, 193,\n      197, v. 5;\n    drawing from (Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica), iv. 295.\n    See Beauty, Deity, Greek, Medi\u00e6val, Mystery, also Clouds, Mountains,\n      etc.\n\n  Neatness, modern love of, iii. 109, iv. 3-6;\n    vulgarity of excessive, v. 271.\n\n  Nereid's guard, the, v. 298-313.\n\n  Niggling, ugly misused term, v. 36;\n    means disorganized and mechanical work, v. 37.\n\n\n  Obedience, equivalent of, \"faith,\" and root of all human deed, v. 161;\n    highest form of, v. 161, 163;\n    law of, v. 161.\n\n  Obscurity, law of, iv. 61;\n    of intelligible and unintelligible painters, iv. 74.\n    See Mystery.\n\n  Ornament, abstract, as used by Angelico, ii. 220;\n    realized, as used by Filippino Lippi, etc., ii. 220;\n    language of, distinct from language of expression, i. 10;\n    use of animal form in, ii. 204;\n    architectural, i. 105, 107, ii. 205;\n    symbolic, ii. 204-205;\n    vulgar, iv. 273;\n    in dress, iv. 364;\n    curvature in, iv. 273, 274;\n    typical, iii. 206;\n    symmetrical, iii. 207;\n    in backgrounds, iii. 203;\n    floral, iii. 207-208.\n\n  Outline exists only conventionally in nature, iii. 114.\n\n\n  Painters, classed by their objects, 1st, exhibition of truth, 2nd,\n      deception of senses, i. 74;\n    classed as colorists and chiaroscurists, iv. 47;\n    functions of, iii. 25;\n    great, characteristics of, i. 8, 124, 326, ii. 42, iii. 26-43, iv.\n      38, v. 189, 190, 332;\n    great, treatment of pictures by, v. 189;\n    valgar, characteristics of, i. 327, ii. 82, 128, 137, iii. 32, 63,\n      175, 257, 318;\n    religious, ii. 174, 175, 181, 217, iii. 48, 59, iv. 355;\n    complete use of space by, i. 235;\n    duty of, with regard to choice of subject, ii. 219, iv. 18 (note);\n    interpreters of nature, iii. 139;\n    modern philosophical, error respecting color of, iii. 30;\n    imaginative and unimaginative, ii. 154-157;\n    should be guides of the imagination, iii. 132;\n    sketches of, v. 180;\n    early Italian, i. 247, iii. 244;\n    Dutch, i. xxxii. preface, iii. 182; v. 35, 37, 278;\n    Venetian, i. 80, 346, v. 214, 229, 258;\n    value of personification to, iii. 96;\n    contrast between northern and Italian, in drawing of clouds, v. 133;\n    effect of the Reformation on, v. 250.\n    See Art, Artists.\n\n  Painting, a language, i. 8;\n    opposed to speaking and writing, not to poetry, iii. 13;\n    classification of, iii. 12;\n    sacred, iii. 46;\n    historical, iii. 39, 90;\n    allegorical, delight of greatest men, iii. 95;\n    of stone, iv. 301;\n    kind of conception necessary to, v. 187;\n    success, how found in, v. 179;\n    of the body, v. 228;\n    differs from illumination in representing shadow, iii. 29;\n    mode of, subordinate to purpose, v. 187;\n    distinctively the art of coloring, v. 316;\n    perfect, indistinctness necessary to, iv. 64;\n    great, expressive of nobleness of mind, v. 178, 191.\n    See Landscape Painting, Animal Painting, Art, Artist, Truth,\n      Medi\u00e6val, Renaissance.\n\n  Past and present, sadly sundered, iv. 4.\n\n  Peace, v. 339-353;\n    of monasticism, v. 282;\n    choice between the labor of death and the peace of obedience, v. 353.\n\n  Perfectness, law of, v. 180-192.\n\n  Perspective, a\u00ebrial, iii. 248;\n    a\u00ebrial, and tone, difference between, i. 141;\n    despised in thirteenth century art, iii. 18;\n    of clouds, v. 114, 118;\n    of Turner's diagrams, v. 341 (note).\n\n  Pharisaism, artistic, iii. 60.\n\n  Photographs give Turnerian form, and Rembrandtesque chiaroscuro, iv.\n      63.\n\n  Pictures, use of, to give a precious, non-deceptive resemblance of\n      Nature, iii. 126-140;\n    noblest, characteristic of, iii. 141;\n    value of estimate by their completeness, i. 11, 421;\n    Venetian, choice of religious subjects in, v. 221;\n    Dutch, description of, v. 277, advantages of unreality in, iii. 139,\n      140;\n    as treated by uninventive artists, iii. 20;\n    finish of, iii. 113;\n    of Venice at early morn, i. 343;\n    of mountaineer life, iv. 320-322.\n    See Realization, Finish.\n\n  Picturesque, nobleness of, dependent on sympathy, iv. 13;\n    Turnerian, iv. 1-15;\n    dependent on absence of trimness, iv. 5;\n    and on actual variety of form and color, iv. 6;\n    lower, heartless delight in decay, iv. 11;\n    treatment of stones, iv. 302;\n    Calais spire an instance of noble, iv. 7.\n\n  Plagiarism, greatest men oftenest borrowers, iii. 339.\n\n  Plains, structure of, i. 272;\n    scenery of compared with mountains, iv. 344, 345;\n    spirit of repose in, i. 271;\n    effect of distance on, i. 273.\n    See Lowlander.\n\n  Plants, ideal of, ii. 105-107;\n    sense of beauty in, ii. 92, 99;\n    typical of virtues, iii. 227;\n    influence of constructive proportion on, ii. 63;\n    sympathy with, ii. 91;\n    uses of, v. 2, 3;\n    \"tented\" and \"building,\" earth-plants and pillar-plants, v. 8;\n    law of succession in, v. 26;\n    seed of, v. 96;\n    roots of, v. 41;\n    life of, law of help, v. 155;\n    strawberry, v. 96;\n    Sisymbrium Irio, v. 95;\n    Oxalis acetosella, i. 82 (note);\n    Soldanella and ranunculus, ii. 89, 108;\n    black hollyhock, v. 234.\n\n  Pleasure of overcoming difficulties, i. 16;\n    sources of, in execution, i. 36;\n    in landscape and architecture, iv. 345. See Pictures.\n\n  Pleasures, higher and lower, ii. 15-18;\n    of sense, ii. 12;\n    of taste, how to be cultivated, ii. 23.\n\n  Poetry, the suggestion by the imagination of noble ground for noble\n      emotion, iii. 10, v. 163;\n    use of details in, iii. 8;\n    contrasted with history, iii. 7-9;\n    modern, pathetic fallacy characteristic of, iii. 168.\n\n  Poets, too many second-rate, iii. 156;\n    described, v. 163;\n    two orders of (creative and reflective), iii. 156 (note), 160;\n    great, have acuteness of, and command of, feeling, iii. 163;\n    love of flowers by, v. 91;\n    why not good judges of painting, iii. 133.\n\n  Poplar grove,  gracefulness of, Homer's love of, iii. 91, 182, 185.\n\n  Popularity, i. 2.\n\n  Porphyry, characteristics of, iv. 108-112.\n\n  Portraits, recognition, no proof of real resemblance, i. 55.\n\n  Portraiture, use of, by painters, ii. 119, iii. 78, 89, 91, iv. 358;\n    necessary to ideal art, ii. 119;\n    modern foolishness, and insolence of, ii. 122;\n    modern, compared with Vandyke's, v. 273 (note);\n    Venetians painted praying, v. 220.\n\n  Power, ideas of, i. 13, 14;\n    ideas of, how received, i. 32;\n    imaginative, iii. 39;\n    never wasted, i. 13;\n    sensations of, not to be sought in imperfect art, i. 33;\n    importance technical, its relation to expressional, iii. 29.\n\n  Precipices, how ordinarily produced, i. 290, iv. 148;\n    general form of, iv. 246;\n    overhanging, in Inferior Alps, iv. 241;\n    steepness of, iv. 230;\n    their awfulness and beauty, iv. 241, 260;\n    action of years upon, iv. 147;\n    rarity of high, among secondary hills, i. 301.\n\n  Pre-Raphaelites, aim of, i. 425;\n    unwise in choice of subject, iv. 18;\n    studies of, iii. 58, 71 (note);\n    rank of, in art, iii. 141, iv. 57;\n    mystery of, iv. 61, iii. 29, 127-129;\n    apparent variance between Turner and, iii. 129;\n    love of flowers, v. 91;\n    flower and leaf-painting of, i. 397, v. 35.\n\n  Pride, cause of mistakes, iv. 50;\n    destructive of ideal character, ii. 122;\n    in idleness, of medi\u00e6val knights, iii. 192;\n    in Venetian landscape, v. 218.\n\n  Proportion, apparent and constructive, ii. 57-63;\n    of curvature, ii. 60, iv. 266, 267;\n    how differing from symmetry, ii. 73;\n    of architecture, ii. 59;\n    Burke's error, ii. 60-62.\n\n  Prosperity, evil consequences of long-continued, ii. 4-5.\n\n  Psalm 19th, meaning of, v. 147-149.\n\n  Purchase, wise, the root of all benevolence, v. 328 (note).\n\n  Puritans and Romanists, iii. 252.\n\n  Purity, the expression of divine energy, ii. 75;\n    type of sinlessness, ii. 78;\n    how connected with ideas of life, ii. 79;\n    of color, ii. 79;\n    conquest of, over pollution, typified in Apollo's contest, v. 323;\n    of flesh painting, on what dependent, ii. 124;\n    Venetian painting of the nude, v. 227. See Sensuality.\n\n  Python, the corrupter, v. 323.\n\n\n  Rays, no perception of, by old masters, i. 213;\n    how far to be represented, i. 213.\n\n  Realization, in art, iii. 16;\n    gradually hardened feeling, iv. 47-51;\n    not the deception of the senses, iii. 16;\n    Dante's, iii. 18. See Pictures.\n\n  Refinement, meaning of term, ii. 81;\n    of spiritual and practical minds, v. 282-284;\n    unconnected with toil undesirable, v. 328.\n\n  Reflection, on distant water, i. 355 et seq.;\n    effect of water upon, i. 329-331;\n    to what extent visible from above, i. 336.\n\n  Reformation, strength of, v. 249;\n    arrest of, v. 250;\n    effect of, on art, iii. 55, v. 251.\n\n  Relation, ideas of, i. 13, 29, 31.\n\n  Religion, of the Greeks, v. 208-213;\n    of Venetian painters, v. 220;\n    of London and Venice, v. 291;\n    English, v. 343.\n\n  Renaissance, painting of mythology, iii. 62;\n    art, its sin and its Nemesis, iii. 254;\n    sensuality, iii. 63;\n    builders, v. 176;\n    spirit of, quotation from Browning, iv. 368.\n\n  Repose, a test of greatness in art, ii. 65-68, 108, 222;\n    characteristic of the eternal mind, ii. 65;\n    want of, in the Laocoon, ii. 69;\n    in scenery, i. 272;\n    Turner's \"Rietz\" (plate), v. 164, 168;\n    instance of, in Michael Angelo's \"Plague of Serpents,\" ii. 69 (note);\n    how consistent with ideal organic form, ii. 108.\n\n  Reserve, of a gentleman (sensibility habitual), v. 269.\n\n  Resilience, law of, v. 30, 71.\n\n  Rest, lines of, in mountains, iv. 276, 310, 312.\n\n  Revelation, v. 199.\n\n  Reverence, for fair scenery, iii. 258;\n    false ideas of (Sunday religion), iii. 142;\n    for mountains, iii. 230;\n    inculcated by science, iii. 256;\n    Venetian, the Madonna in the house, v. 224.\n\n  Reynolds, on the grand style of painting, iii. 23;\n    on the influence of beauty, iii. 23.\n\n  Rocks, iv. 99-134; formation of, iv. 113;\n    division of, iv. 99, 102, 157;\n    curvature of, iv. 150, 154, 213, i. 295;\n    color of, iv. 107, 121, 136, 123, 125, 129, i. 169;\n    cleavages of, iv. 391;\n    great truths taught by, iv. 102;\n    aspect of, i. 295, 309, iv. 101, 108, 120, 128;\n    compound crystalline, iv. 101, 105;\n    compact crystalline, characteristics of, iv. 107, 102, 114, 159, 205;\n    slaty coherent, characteristics of, iv. 122, 205, 251;\n    compact coherent, iv. 128, 159;\n    junction of slaty and compact crystalline, iv. 114, 173, 202;\n    undulation of, iv. 116, 118, 150;\n    material uses of, iv. 119, 127;\n    effect of weather upon, iv. 104;\n    effect of water on, iv. 213;\n    power of, in supporting vegetation, iv. 125, 130;\n    varied vegetation and color of, i. 169;\n    contortion of, iv. 116, 150, 152, 157;\n    d\u00e9bris of, iv. 119;\n    lamination of, iv. 113, 127, i. 291;\n    limestone, iv. 130, 144, 209, 250, 258;\n    sandstone, iv. 132;\n    light and shade of, i. 311;\n    overhanging of, iv. 120, 254, 257;\n    medi\u00e6val landscape, iii. 229-247;\n    early painters' drawing of, iii. 239;\n    Dante's dislike of, iii. 230;\n    Dante's description of, iii. 231, 236;\n    Homer's description of, iii. 232, 239;\n    classical ideal of, iii. 186;\n    Scott's love of, iii. 242, 275. See Stones.\n\n  Romanism, modern, effect of on national temper, iv. 333, and\n      Puritanism, iii. 252, 253.\n\n\n  Saussure, De, description of curved cleavage by, iv. 395;\n    quotation from, iv. 294;\n    on structure of mountain ranges, iv. 172;\n    love of Alps, iv. 393.\n\n  Scenery, interest of, rooted in human emotion, v. 194;\n    associations connected with, iii. 290, 292;\n    classical, Claude and Poussin, v. 244;\n    Highland, v. 206;\n    two aspects of, bright and dark, v. 206;\n    of Venice, effects of, v. 216;\n    of Nuremberg, effect of, v. 233;\n    of Yorkshire hills, effect of, i. 126, v. 293;\n    Swiss influence of, iv. 337-376, v. 84-87;\n    of the Loire, v. 165;\n    effect of mountains on, iv. 343-346. See Nature, Pictures.\n\n  Scent, artificial, opposed to natural, ii. 15;\n    different in the same flower, i. 67-68.\n\n  Science, subservient to life, ii. 8;\n    natural, relation to painting, iii. 305;\n    interest in, iii. 256;\n    inculcates reverence, iii. 256;\n    every step in, adds to its practical applicabilities, ii. 9;\n    use and danger of in relation to enjoyment of nature, iii. 306;\n    gives the essence, art the aspects, of things, iii. 306;\n    may mislead as to aspects, iv. 391.\n\n  Scott, representative of the mind of the age in literature, iii. 259,\n      263, 277;\n    quotations from, showing his habit of looking at nature, iii. 268,\n      269;\n    Scott's love of color, iii. 273-276;\n    enjoyment of nature associated with his weakness, iii. 269-287;\n    love of liberty, iii. 271;\n    habit of drawing slight morals from every scene, iii. 276, 277;\n    love of natural history, iii. 276;\n    education of, compared with Turner's, iii. 308, 309;\n    description of Edinburgh, iii. 273;\n    death without hope, v. 349.\n\n  Scripture, sanctity of color stated in, iv. 52, v. 319;\n    reference to mountains in, iv. 98, 119, 377;\n    Sermon on the Mount, iii. 305, 338;\n    reference to firmament, iv. 80, 86 (note), 87;\n    attention to meaning of words necessary to the understanding of, v.\n      147-151;\n    Psalms, v. 145, 147.\n\n  Sculpture, imagination, how manifested in, ii. 184, 185;\n    suitability of rocks for, iv. 111, 112, 119;\n    instances of gilding and coloring of (middle ages), ii. 201;\n    statues in Medici Chapel referred to, ii. 208;\n    at the close of 16th century devoted to luxury and indolence, iii.\n      63;\n    of 13th century, fidelity to nature in, iii. 203-208, v. 46-48.\n\n  Sea, painting of, i. 373-382;\n    has never been painted, i. 328;\n    Stanfield's truthful rendering of, i. 353;\n    Turner's heavy rolling, i. 376;\n    seldom painted by the Venetians, i. 346;\n    misrepresented by the old masters, i. 344;\n    after a storm, effect of, i. 380, 381;\n    Dutch painting of, i. 343;\n    shore breakers inexpressible, i. 374;\n    Homer's feeling about the, iii. 169;\n    Angel of the, v. 133-151. See Foam, Water.\n\n  Seer, greater than thinker, iii. 134, 262.\n\n  Sensibility, knowledge of the beautiful dependent on, i. 52;\n    an attribute of all noble minds, i. 52;\n    the essence of a gentleman, v. 263;\n    want of, is vulgarity, v. 273;\n    necessary to the perception of facts, i. 52;\n    to color and to form, difference between, i. 416;\n    want of, in undue regard to appearance, v. 269;\n    want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277.\n\n  Sensitiveness, criterion of the gentleman, v. 262, 266;\n    absence of, sign of vulgarity, v. 273;\n    want of, in Dutch painters, v. 277, 278.\n\n  Sensuality, destructive of ideal character, ii. 123;\n    how connected with impurity of color, ii. 124;\n    various degrees of, in modern art, ii. 126, iii. 66;\n    impressions of beauty, not connected with, ii. 12. See Purity.\n\n  Seriousness of men of mental power, iii. 258;\n    want of, in the present age, ii. 169.\n\n  Shade, gradation of, necessary, ii. 47;\n    want of, in early works of nations and men, i. 54;\n    more important than color in expressing character of bodies, i. 70;\n    distinctness of, in nature's rocks, i. 311;\n    and color, sketch of a great master conceived in, i. 405;\n    beautiful only when showing beautiful form, ii. 82 (note).\n\n  Shadow, cast, importance of, i. 331-333;\n    strangeness of cast, iv. 77;\n    importance of, in bright light, i. 174-175;\n    variety of, in nature, i. 168;\n    none on clear water, i. 331;\n    on water, falls clear and dark, in proportion to the quantity of\n      surface-matter, i. 332;\n    as given by various masters, iv. 47;\n    of colorists right, of chiaroscurists untrue, iv. 49;\n    exaggeration of, in photography, iv. 63;\n    rejection of, by medi\u00e6vals, iii. 200.\n\n  Shakspere, creative order of poets, iii. 156 (note);\n    his entire sympathy with all creatures, iv. 362-363;\n    tragedy of, compared with Greek, v. 210;\n    universality of, iii. 90, 91;\n    painted human nature of the sixteenth century, iii. 90, iv. 367;\n    repose of, ii. 68;\n    his religion occult behind his equity, v. 226;\n    complete portraiture in, iii. 78, 91, iv. 364;\n    penetrative imagination of, ii. 165;\n    love of pine trees, iv. 371, v. 82;\n    no reverence for mountains, iv. 363, 370;\n    corrupted by the Renaissance, iv. 367;\n    power of, shown by his self-annihilation, i. xxv. (preface).\n\n  Shelley, contemplative imagination a characteristic of, ii. 199;\n    death without hope, v. 349.\n\n  Sight, greater than thought, iii. 282;\n    better than scientific knowledge, i. 54;\n    impressions of, dependent on mental observations, i. 50, 53;\n    elevated pleasure of, duty of cultivating, ii. 26;\n    of the whole truth, v. 206;\n    partial, of Dutch painters, v. 278;\n    not valued in the present age, ii. 4;\n    keenness of, how to be tested, ii. 37;\n    importance of, in education, iv. 401, v. 330.\n\n  Simplicity, second quality of execution, i. 36;\n    of great men, iii. 87.\n\n  Sin, Greek view of, v. 210;\n    Venetian view of, v. 217;\n    \"missing the mark,\" v. 339;\n    washing away of (the fountain of love), v. 321.\n\n  Sincerity, a characteristic of great style, iii. 35.\n\n  Singing, should be taught to everybody, v. 329 (note), 330.\n\n  Size. See Magnitude.\n\n  Sketches, experimental, v. 181;\n    determinant, v. 182;\n    commemorative, v. 182.\n\n  Sky, truth of, i. 204, 264;\n    three regions of, i. 217, cannot be painted i. 161, iv. 38;\n    pure blue, when visible, i. 256;\n    ideas of, often conventional, i. 206;\n    gradation of color in, i. 210;\n    treated of by the old masters as distinct from clouds, i. 208;\n    prominence of, in modern landscape, iii. 250;\n    open, of modern masters, i. 214;\n    lessons to be taught by, i. 204, 205;\n    pure and clear noble painting of, by earlier Italian and Dutch\n      school, very valuable, ii. 43, i. 84, 210;\n    appearance of, during sunset, i. 161;\n    effect of vapor upon, i. 211;\n    variety of color in, i. 225;\n    reflection of, in water, i. 327;\n    supreme brightness of, iv. 38;\n    transparency of, i. 207;\n    perspective of, v. 114;\n    engraving of, v. 108, 112 (note).\n\n  Snow, form of, on Alps, i. 286, 287;\n    waves of, unexpressible, when forming the principal element in\n      mountain form, iv. 240;\n    wreaths of, never properly drawn, i. 286.\n\n  Space, truth of, i. 191-203;\n    deficiency of, in ancient landscape, i. 256;\n    child-instinct respecting, ii. 39;\n    mystery throughout all, iv. 58.\n\n  Spiritual beings, their introduction into the several forms of\n      landscape art, v. 194;\n    rejected by modern art, v. 236.\n\n  Spenser, example of the grotesque from description of envy, iii. 94,\n      95;\n    description of Eris, v. 309;\n    description of Hesperides fruit, v. 311.\n\n  Spring, our time for staying in town, v. 89.\n\n  Stones, how treated by medi\u00e6val artists, iv. 302;\n    carefully realized in ancient art, iv. 301;\n    false modern ideal, iv. 308;\n    true drawing of, iv. 308. See Rock.\n\n  Style, greatness of, iii. 23-43;\n    choice of noble subject, iii. 26;\n    love of beauty, iii. 31;\n    sincerity, iii. 35;\n    invention, iii. 38;\n    quotation from Reynolds on, iii. 13;\n    false use of the term, i. 95;\n    the \"grand,\" received opinions touching, iii. 1-15.\n\n  Sublimity, the effect on the mind of anything above it, i. 41;\n    Burke's treatise on, quoted, i. 17;\n    when accidental and outward, picturesque, iv. 2, 6, 7.\n\n  Sun, first painted by Claude, iii. 320;\n    early conventional symbol for, iii. 320;\n    color of, painted by Turner only, v. 315.\n\n  Sunbeams, nature and cause of, i. 211;\n    representation of, by old masters, i. 211.\n\n  Sunsets, splendor of, unapproachable by art, i. 161;\n    painted faithfully by Turner only, i. 162;\n    why, when painted, seem unreal, i. 162.\n\n  Superhuman, the, four modes of manifestation, always in the form of a\n      creature, ii. 212, 213.\n\n  Superiority, distinction between kind and degrees of, i. 417.\n\n  Surface, examples of greatest beauty of, ii. 77;\n    of water, imperfectly reflective, i. 329;\n    of water, impossible to paint, i. 355.\n\n  Swiss, character, iv. 135, 338, 374;\n    the forest cantons (\"Under the Woods\"), v. 86, 87.\n\n  Symbolism, passionate expression of, in Lombardic griffin, iii. 206;\n    delight of great artists in, iii. 97;\n    in Calais Tower, iv. 3.\n\n  Symmetry, type of divine justice, ii. 72-74;\n    value of, ii. 222;\n    use of, in religious art, ii. 73, iv. 75;\n    love of, in medi\u00e6val art, iii. 199;\n    appearance of, in mountain form, i. 297;\n    of curvature in trees, i. 400, v. 34;\n    of tree-stems, v. 58, 60;\n    of clouds, i. 219.\n\n  Sympathy, characteristics of, ii. 93, 169;\n    condition of noble picturesque, iv. 10, 12, 14;\n    the foundation of true criticism, iii, 22;\n    cunning associated with absence of, v. 266;\n    necessary to detect passing expression, iii. 67;\n    with nature, ii. 91, 93, iii. 179, 193, iv. 14, 15;\n    with humanity, ii. 169, iv. 11;\n    absence of, is vulgarity, iii. 83, v. 264;\n    mark of a gentleman, v. 263, 264.\n\n  System, establishment of, often useless, iii. 2;\n    of chiaroscuro, of various artists, iv. 42.\n\n\n  Taste, definition of, i. 26;\n    right, characteristics of, ii. 25;\n    a low term, indicating a base feeling for art, iii. 64, 65;\n    how developed, ii. 21;\n    injustice and changefulness of public, i. 418;\n    purity of, how tested, ii. 25;\n    classical, its essence, v. 243;\n    present fondness for unfinished works, i. 420, ii. 82.\n\n  Temperate, right use of the word, ii. 13.\n\n  Tennyson, rich coloring of, iii. 257;\n    subdued by the feelings under which he writes, iii. 160;\n    instances of the pathetic fallacy in, iii. 167, 267;\n    sense of beauty in, v. 332;\n    his faith doubtful, iii. 253.\n\n  Theoretic Faculty, first perfection of, is Charity, ii. 90;\n    second perfection of, is justice of moral judgment, ii. 96;\n    three operations of, ii. 101;\n    how connected with vital beauty, ii. 91;\n    how related to the imagination, ii. 157;\n    should not be called \u00e6sthetic, ii. 12;\n    as concerned with moral functions of animals, ii. 97, 98.\n\n  Theoria, meaning of, ii. 12, 18;\n    derivation of, ii. 23;\n    the service of Heaven, ii. 140;\n    what sought by Christian, ii. 18.\n\n  Thought, definition of, i. 29;\n    value of, in pictures, i. 10;\n    representation of the second end of art, i. 45-47;\n    how connected with knowledge, i. 47;\n    art, in expression of individual, i. 44;\n    choice of incident, expressive of, i. 29;\n    appreciation of, in art, not universal, i. 46.\n\n  Thoughts, highest, depend least on language, i. 9;\n    various, suggested in different minds by same object, iii. 283, 284.\n\n  Tone, meaning of, right relation of shadows to principal light, i. 140;\n    truth of, i. 140-154;\n    a secondary truth, i. 72;\n    attention paid to, by old masters, i. 75, 141;\n    gradation more important than, i. 149;\n    cause of want of, in pictures, i. 141.\n\n  Topography, Turnerian, iv. 16-33;\n    pure, preciousness of, iv. 10, 17;\n    slight exaggeration sometimes allowed in, iv. 32;\n    sketch of Lausanne, v. 185.\n\n  Torrents, beneficent power of, iv. 285;\n    power of, in forcing their way, iv. 258, 259, 318;\n    sculpture of earth by, iv. 262;\n    mountains furrowed by descent of, i. 297, iv. 312;\n    curved lines of, i. 370, iv. 312.\n\n  Transparency, incompatible with highest beauty, ii. 77;\n    appearance of, in mountain chains, i. 281;\n    wanting in ancient landscape, not in modern, i. 215, 234;\n    of the sky, i. 207;\n    of bodies, why admired, ii. 77;\n    ravelling, best kind of, iii. 293.\n\n  Tree, aspen, iv. 77, 78; willow, v. 68;\n    black spruce, v. 78.\n\n  Tree boughs, falsely drawn by Claude and Poussin, i. 389, 391, v. 65;\n    rightly drawn by Veronese and Durer, v. 66, 67;\n    complexity of, i. 389;\n    angles of, i. 392;\n    not easily distinguished, i. 70;\n    diminution and multiplication of, i. 388-389;\n    appearance of tapering in, how caused, i. 385;\n    loveliness of, how produced, v. 64;\n    subtlety of balance in, v. 64;\n    growth of, v. 61;\n    nourishment of, by leaves, v. 41;\n    three conditions of branch-aspect--spring, caprice, and fellowship,\n      v. 63-71.\n\n  Trees, outlines of, iii. 114;\n    ramifications of, i. 386, v. 58, 60, 62;\n    the most important truth respecting (symmetrical terminal curve), i.\n      400;\n    laws common to forest, i. 385;\n    poplar, an element in lovely landscape, i. 129, iii. 186;\n    superiority of, on mountain sides, iv. 348, v. 78-79;\n    multiplicity of, in Swiss scenery, iv. 289, 290;\n    change of color in leafage of, iv. 261;\n    classical delight in, iv. 76, iii. 184;\n    examples of good and bad finish in (plates), iii. 116, 117;\n    examples of Turner's drawing of, i. 394;\n    classed as \"builders with the shield\" and \"with the sword,\" v. 8;\n    laws of growth of, v. 17, 49, 72;\n    mechanical aspect of, v. 40;\n    classed by leaf-structure--trefoil, quatrefoil, and cinqfoil, v. 19;\n    trunks of, v. 40, 56;\n    questions concerning, v. 51;\n    how strengthened, v. 41;\n    history of, v. 52;\n    love of, v. 4;\n    Dutch drawing of, bad, v. 68, 71;\n    as drawn by Titian and Turner, i. 392, 394;\n    as rendered by Italian school, i. 384.\n\n  Trees, pine, v. 8-30, 79, 92;\n    Shakspere's feeling respecting, iv. 371, v. 83;\n    error of painters in representing, iv. 346 (note);\n    perfection of, v. 80-83;\n    influence on Swiss and northern nations, v. 84.\n\n  Truth, in art, i. 21, 46, 47, 74, iii. 35;\n    Greek idea of, v. 267;\n    blindness to beauty of, in vulgar minds, v. 268;\n    half, the worst falsehood, v. 268;\n    standard of all excellence, i. 417;\n    not easily discerned, i. 50, 51, 53;\n    first quality of execution, i. 37;\n    many-sided, the author's seeming contradiction of himself, v. 271\n      (note);\n    essential to real imagination, ii. 161, 188;\n    essential to invention, v. 191;\n    highest difficulty of illustrating the, i. 410;\n    laws of, in painting, iii. vii. (preface);\n    ideas of, i. 23, 24;\n    infinity essential to, i. 239;\n    sometimes spoken through evil men, ii. 137;\n    imaginative preciousness of, iv. 30;\n    individual, in mountain drawing, i. 305;\n    wisely conveyed by grotesque idealism, iii. 96;\n    no vulgarity in, iii. 82;\n    dominion of, universal, iii. 167;\n    error of confounding beauty with, ii. 30, iii. 32 (note);\n    pictures should present the greatest possible amount of, iii. 139;\n    sacrifice of, to decision and velocity, i. 39;\n    difference between imitation and, i. 21, 22;\n    absolute, generally attained by \"colorists,\" never by\n      \"chiaroscurists,\" iv. 42, 48;\n    instance of imaginative (the Two Griffins), iii. 100.\n\n  Truths, two classes of, of deception and of inner resemblance, iii.\n      126;\n    most precious, how attained, iv. 38;\n    importance of characteristic, i. 59, 62;\n    of specific form most important, i. 72;\n    relative importance of, i. 58;\n    nature's always varying, i. 55;\n    value of rare, i. 64;\n    particular, more important than general, i. 58;\n    historical, the most valuable, i. 71;\n    the finer, importance of rendering, i. 316;\n    accurate, not necessary to imitation, i. 21, 22;\n    geological, use of considering, i. 303;\n    simplest, generally last believed, iii. 300;\n    certain sacred, how conveyed, iii. 289, 300;\n    choice of, by artists, the essence of \"style,\" iii. 33, iv. 46;\n    as given by old masters, i. 75;\n    selected by modern artists, i. 76.\n\n  Types--light, ii. 75;\n    purity, ii. 75-79, v. 156;\n    impurity, v. 156;\n    clouds, v. 110, 114;\n    sky, ii. 40-42;\n    mountain decay, iv. 315;\n    crags and ravines, iv. 215;\n    rocks, ii. 79, iv. 102, 117;\n    mountains, iv. 343;\n    sunlight, v. 332;\n    color, v. 331 (note), 332;\n    mica flake, iv. 239;\n    rainbow, v. 332;\n    stones, weeds, logs, thorns, and spines, v. 161;\n    Dante's vision of Rachel and Leah, iii. 216;\n    mythological, v. 140, 300, 301;\n    beauty, ii. 30, 86, v. 145;\n    symmetry, Divine justice, ii. 72, 74;\n    moderation, ii. 81-85;\n    infinity, ii. 41, iv. 79;\n    grass, humility and cheerfulness, iii. 226, 228;\n    rush, humility, iii. 228;\n    buds, iii. 206, v. 20, 53, 74;\n    laws of leaf growth, v. 31, 32, 33, 53, 74;\n    leaf death, v. 74, 95;\n    trees, v. 52, 78, 80;\n    crystallization, v. 33.\n\n\n  Ugliness, sometimes permitted in nature, i. 64;\n    is a positive thing, iii. 24;\n    delight in, Martin Sch\u00f6ngauer, iv. 329, 333;\n    of modern costume, v. 273 (note), iii. 254, 255;\n    of modern architecture, iii. 253, v. 347.\n\n  Unbelief, characteristic of all our most powerful men, iii. 253;\n    modern English, \"God is, but cannot rule,\" v. 347.\n\n  Unity, type of Divine comprehensiveness, ii. 50, 52, 56, 152, 153;\n    in nature, i. 398;\n    apparent proportion, a cause of, ii. 57, 64;\n    instinct of, a faculty of the associative imagination, ii. 151.\n\n  Utility, definition of, ii. 4;\n    of art, ii. 3;\n    of details in poetry, iii. 8;\n    of pictures, iii. 125, 142;\n    of mountains, iv. 91.\n\n\n  Valleys, Alpine beauty of, iv. 311, 316;\n    gloom in, iv. 326;\n    English, iv. 297;\n    French, i. 129, iv. 297.\n\n  Variety, necessity of, arises out of that of unity, ii. 53-55;\n    love of, ii. 55;\n    when most conspicuous, i. 213;\n    in nature, i. 55, 65, 169, 198, 219, 224, 291.\n\n  Vapor, v. 109, 120, 127, 129.\n\n  Vegetables, ideal form in, ii. 107.\n\n  Vegetation, truth of, i. 384, 408;\n    process of form in, v. 78;\n    in forest-lands, v. 133;\n    appointed service of, v. 2;\n    in sculpture, v. 35.\n\n  Velocity in execution, i. 37, ii. 187 (note);\n    sacrifice of truth to, i. 38.\n\n  Venetian art (\"The Wings of the Lion\"), v. 209, 214;\n    conquest of evil, v. 214, seq., 217, 229;\n    scenery, v. 214, 217;\n    idea of beauty, v. 294;\n    faith, v. 219;\n    religious liberty, v. 214;\n    mind, perfection of, v. 227;\n    contempt of poverty, v. 289;\n    unworthy purposes of, v. 227;\n    reverence, the Madonna in the house, v. 223-228.\n\n  Virtue, effect of, on features, ii. 117;\n    set forth by plants, iii. 228;\n    of the Swiss, v. 84, 85.\n\n  Vulgarity of mind, v. 261-276;\n    consists in insensibility, v. 274-275;\n    examples of, v. 269, 270;\n    seen in love of mere physical beauty, iii. 67;\n    in concealment of truth and affectation, iii. 82, 83;\n    inconceivable by the greatest minds, iii. 82;\n    of Renaissance builders, v. 176;\n    \"deathful selfishness,\" v. 277;\n    among Dutch painters, v. 277-285;\n    how produced by vicious habits, v. 262. See Gentlemen.\n\n\n  War, a consequence of injustice, iii. 328;\n    lessons to be gathered from the Crimean, iii. 329;\n    at the present day of what productive, iii. 326;\n    modern fear of, iii. 256.\n\n  Water, influence of, on soil, i. 273;\n    faithful representation of, impossible, i. 325-326;\n    effect produced by mountains on, iv. 93;\n    functions of, i. 325;\n    laws of reflection in, i. 329, 336;\n    clear, takes no shadow, i. 331;\n    most wonderful of inorganic substances, i. 325;\n    difference in the action of continuous and interrupted, i. 369;\n    in shade most reflective, i. 330;\n    painting of, optical laws necessary to, i. 336;\n    smooth, difficulty of giving service to, i. 355, 356;\n    distant, effect of ripple on, i. 335;\n    swift execution necessary to drawing of, i. 350;\n    reflections in, i. 326;\n    motion in, elongates reflections, i. 335-336;\n    execrable painting of, by elder landscape masters, i. 328;\n    as painted by the modern, i. 348-354;\n    as painted by Turner, i. 355-383;\n    as represented by medi\u00e6val art, iii. 209;\n    truth of, i. 325-383. See Sea, Torrents, Foam.\n\n  Waves, as described by Homer and Keats, iii. 168;\n    exaggeration of size in, ii. 209;\n    grander than any torrent, iv. 347;\n    breakers in, i. 377;\n    curves of, i. 375.\n\n  Wordsworth, his insight into nature (illustration of Turner), i. 177;\n    love of plants, ii. 91;\n    good foreground described by, i. 83-84;\n    skies of, i, 207;\n    description of a cloud by, ii 67;\n    on effect of custom, iii 293;\n    fancy and imagination of, ii. 196-200;\n    description of the rays of the sun, i. 220.\n\n  Work, the noblest done only for love, v. 346.","title":"Modern Painters, Volume 5 (of 5)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":155528}