{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55623/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55623","id":"gutenberg_55623","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55623","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics","Category: Art","Category: Philosophy & Ethics"],"text":"THE PHILOSOPHY OF\n\nFINE ART\n\nBY\n\nG. W. F. HEGEL\n\nTRANSLATED, WITH NOTES, BY\n\nF. P. B. OSMASTON, B.A.\n\nAUTHOR OF \"THE ART AND GENIUS OF TINTORET,\" \"AN ESSAY\nON THE FUTURE OF POETRY,\" AND OTHER WORKS\n\nVOL. III\n\nLONDON\n\nG. BELL AND SONS, LTD.\n\n1920\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOL. III\n\n\n THIRD PART\n\n THE SYSTEM OF THE PARTICULAR ARTS\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n [Summary. Nature of the relation between the system of Art-types,\n or the collective totality of ideal world-presentments, and their\n objective realization in independent works of art. Nature of the\n process in the evolution of the specific arts themselves, and of the\n aspects identical in all. The origins of art. Grace, Charm, and severe\n or agreeable Style]\n\n DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT\n\n [The principle of differentiation as determined by the sensuous aspect\n of the subject-matter, and the relation thereto of the human senses\n of Sight, Hearing, and intellectual Conception. Insufficiency of such\n a principle of classification. Alternative principle discussed and\n illustrated of more concrete nature, in which the evolution of truth\n as the reality of the Idea itself is presented]\n\n SUBSECTION I\n\n ARCHITECTURE\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n [Of the beginnings of human art, and that of building in particular.\n Of the nature of the subordinate classification of architecture viewed\n as symbolic, classical and romantic]\n\n Division of Subject\n\n\n\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n INDEPENDENT AND SYMBOLIC ARCHITECTURE\n\n\n\n Introduction and Subdivision\n\n 1. Works of architecture erected in order to unite peoples\n\n 2. Works of architecture intermediate between the arts of building and\n sculpture\n\n (_a_) The influence of the generative activity of Nature on the form\n of buildings\n\n (_b_) Further modification of similar conceptions in the obelisks of\n Egypt and other examples\n\n (_c_) Temple enclosures, labyrinths, etc.\n\n 3. The transition from self-substantive architecture to the classical\n type\n\n (_a_) The nature of subterranean dwellings\n\n (_b_) Construction raised to house the dead in Egypt and elsewhere.\n The Pyramids\n\n (_c_) Buildings that directly subserve a purpose as the point\n of transition to the classical type. The ordinary dwelling. The\n environment of the sculptured image. The adoption of the principle of\n expediency. The abstraction of parts of a building from the organic\n form, _e.g._, in the column\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n CLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE\n\n Introduction and Subdivision\n\n 1. The general character of classical architecture\n\n (_a_) Serviceableness to a definite end\n\n (_b_) The nature of the fitness or power of adaptation of such a\n structure to such an end\n\n (_c_) The relatively greater artistic freedom of such architecture.\n Architecture as frozen music. The dwelling-house\n\n 2. The fundamental determinants of architectural forms in their\n separation\n\n (_a_) Buildings of wood and stone. The question of their historical\n priority\n\n (_b_) The specific forms of the parts of a temple-dwelling.\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Features of support. The column\n\n (_\u03b2_) The thing supported. The entablature, in its architecture,\n cornice, etc.\n\n (_\u03b3_) That which encloses. The walls and partitions]\n\n (_c_) The classical temple in its entirety\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The horizontal rather than soaring-up character\n\n (_\u03b2_) The simplicity and proportion\n\n (_\u03b3_) The nature of its elaboration]\n\n 3. The different constructive types of classical architecture\n\n (_a_) The Doric, Ionian, and Corinthian types, compared\n\n and contrasted\n\n (_b_) The Roman type of building. The vault\n\n (_c_) General character of Roman architecture\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n ROMAN ARCHITECTURE\n\n 1. General Architecture\n\n 2. Particular architectural modes of configuration\n\n (_a_) As the basic form we have the wholly shut away dwelling-house\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Relation of this form to the ideal character of the Christian\n religion\n\n (_\u03b2_) Exclusion of light and access to mundane life\n\n (_\u03b3_) The aspect of soaring in tower and pinnacle]\n\n (_b_) The form of the exterior and interior\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The figure of the square and rectangular roofing not\n appropriate. Parallel between the vaulting of a Gothic church and a\n roofing of forest trees. Distinction between piers and columns. The\n pointed arch. Distinction between choir, transept, nave, and aisles.\n The baptismal font and entrance\n\n (_\u03b2_) In contrast to the Greek temple decoration and and general\n coordination of parts determined from within outwards. The form of\n Cross. The doors. Flying buttresses, pinnacles, and towers]\n\n (_c_) The mode of decoration\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Importance of ornament to Gothic architecture\n\n (_\u03b2_) Lightness and delicacy a prevailing feature, especially on the\n outside\n\n (_\u03b3_) Display of romantic imagination therein]\n\n 3. Different types of building in romantic architecture\n\n (_a_) The pre-Gothic architecture distinct from it. The basilica\n\n (_b_) Genuine Gothic architecture of the thirteenth century\n\n (_c_) Secular architecture of the Middle Ages. The art of\n garden-making\n\n\n SUBSECTION II\n\n SCULPTURE\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n [Sculpture makes a direct use of the human form instead of accepting a\n symbolical mode of expression merely suggestive of spiritual import.\n Does not primarily express emotion or spiritual life in action or the\n focus of soul-life. Absence of colour]\n\n Division of subject\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n THE PRINCIPLE OF GENUINE SCULPTURE\n\n 1. The essential content of sculpture\n\n [(_a_) The twofold aspect of subjectivity. The province of subjective\n life as such to be excluded from sculpture. The Divine presented in\n its infinite repose and sublimity\n\n (_b_) Presents a spiritual content only as explicit in bodily shape]\n\n\n 2. The beautiful form of sculpture\n\n (_a_) The exclusion of the particularity of the appearance. How far\n relative\n\n (_b_) The exclusion of incidental facial expression\n\n (_c_) Substantive individuality\n\n 3. Sculpture as the art of the classical Ideal\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n THE IDEAL OF SCULPTURE\n\n Introduction and division of subject\n\n 1. The general character of the ideal form of sculpture\n\n (_a_) The free product of the genius of the artist. General content\n borrowed from mythology, etc.\n\n (_b_) The animation which results from the plastic perfection of the\n integrated coalescence of the whole throughout its definition and\n relief\n\n (_c_) No mere imitation of Nature. The external shape must be suffused\n with ideal content]\n\n 2. The particular aspects of the ideal form of sculpture as such\n\n (_a_) The Greek profile. Contrast of the human mouth with that\n of animals. The projection of the forehead. Position of nose.\n Consideration of the human eye and ear. Beauty of the human mouth.\n Treatment of the chin in sculpture, also the hair\n\n (_b_) Position of other parts of the human body and the motion thereof\n\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The nature of the relation under which the limbs are associated\n in their contribution to spiritual ideality. The upright position\n\n (_\u03b2_) The motion and repose of the same in their freedom and beauty\n\n (_\u03b3_) The type of position and motion adapted to a situation\n (_habitus_) or bodily habit under which the Ideal is expressed]\n\n (_c_) Drapery\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Ethical origin and artistic justification of, in sculpture\n\n (_\u03b2_) Treatment of it by Greek sculpture\n\n (_\u03b3_) Artistic principle as determining the right emphasis on ideal\n significance. Contrast between antique and modern sculpture in the use\n of it]\n\n 3. The individuality of the ideal figures of Sculpture\n\n (_a_) Incidental attributes and style of drapery, armour, etc.,\n treated by sculpture. Distinguishing symbolic accessories of Greek\n gods\n\n (_b_) Distinctions of age and sex in gods, heroes, human figures, and\n animals\n\n (_c_) Representation of particular gods\n\n CHAPTER III\n\n THE VARIOUS KINDS OF REPRESENTATION, MATERIAL, AND THE HISTORICAL\n STAGES OF THE EVOLUTION OF SCULPTURE\n\n Introduction and division of subject\n\n 1. Modes of Representation\n\n (_a_) The single statue\n\n (_b_) The group. Tranquil juxtaposition. Conflicting actions. Niobe.\n Lacoon\n\n (_c_) The relief\n\n 2. The material of sculpture\n\n (_a_) Wood\n\n (_b_) Ivory, gold, bronze, and marble\n\n (_c_) Precious stones and glass\n\n 3. The historical evolution of sculpture\n\n (_a_) Egyptian sculpture. Deficiency of ideal spontaneity. Position of\n hands and arms. Position of eyes\n\n (_b_) Sculpture of the Greeks and Romans\n\n (_c_) Christian sculpture\n\n SUBSECTION III\n\n THE ROMANTIC ARTS\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n [The principle of subjectivity as such. How it is accepted as the\n essential principle by romantic art. The contrast presented by\n romantic and classical art in the changed point of view. The effect\n of such a change on both the subjective side of soul-life and the\n external aspect of objective presentment. The process of the gradual\n idealization of the external medium of art itself as illustrated by\n the particular romantic arts and the necessity thereof]\n\n CHAPTER I\n\n THE ART OF PAINTING\n\n Introduction and division of subject\n\n I. General character of Painting\n\n (_a_) Fundamental definition of the art. Combines the subject-matter\n of architecture and sculpture. More popular than sculpture\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Individuality must not be suffered to pass wholly into the\n universality of its substance. Introduction of accidental features as\n in Nature\n\n (_\u03b2_) Greatly extended field of subject-matter. The entire world\n of the religious idea, history, Nature, all that concerns humanity\n included\n\n (_\u03b3_) A revelation further of the objective existence of soul-life.\n Vitality of artist imported into his presentation of natural objects]\n\n\n (_b_) The sensuous medium of Painting\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Compresses the three dimensions of Space into two. Its greater\n abstraction, as compared with sculpture, implies an advance ideally.\n Its object is semblance merely, its interest that of contemplation.\n The nature of its locale\n\n (_\u03b2_) Its higher power of differentiation. Light its medium. This\n implies, even in Nature, a movement towards ideality. The appearance\n of light and shadow in painting intentional. Form is the creation of\n light and shadow simply. This fact supplies rationale of the removal\n of one dimension from spatial condition\n\n (_\u03b3_) This medium enables the art to elaborate the entire extent of\n the phenomenal world]\n\n (_c_) The principle of the artistic mode of treatment\n\n [Two opposed directions in painting, one the expression of spiritual\n significance by interfusion with or abstraction from objective\n phenomena, the other the reproduction of every kind of detail as not\n alien to its fundamental principle. Illustrations of the two methods\n and their relative opposition, or reconciliation]\n\n 2. Particular modes in the definition of Painting\n\n (_a_) The romantic content\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The Ideal which consists in the reconciliation of the soul with\n God as revealed in His human passage through suffering. The religious\n content. The Love of religion\n\n (_\u03b1\u03b1_) The representation of God the Father. Generally beyond the\n scope of painting. The famous picture of Van Eyck at Ghent\n\n (_\u03b2\u03b2_) Christ the more essential object. Modes of depicting him in his\n absolute Godhead or his humanity. Scenes of Childhood and Passion most\n fitted to express religious aspect. Love of the Virgin Mary. Contrast\n with Niobe\n\n (_\u03b3\u03b3_) The ideas of devotion, repentance, and conversion as such\n affect humanity in general when included in the religious sphere. The\n pictorial treatment of martyrdom\n\n (_\u03b2_) The pictorial treatment of landscape\n\n (_\u03b3\u03b3_) The pictorial treatment of objects in natural or secular\n associations. The vitality and delight of independent human existence.\n Art secures the stability of evanescent phenomena. The influence of\n artistic personality on the interest]\n\n (_b_) The more detailed definition of the material of pictorial\n representation\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Linear perspective\n\n (_\u03b2_) Accuracy of drawing of form. The plastic aspect of a pictorial\n work\n\n (_\u03b3_) The significance of colour. Modelling. Of gradations of colour\n and its symbolism. Of various schemes of colour. Colour harmony.\n The painting of the human flesh. The mystery of colour The creative\n impulse of the artist]\n\n (_c_) Artistic conception, composition, and characterization\n\n [Painting can only embody one moment of time. Concentration of\n interest. The law of intelligibility. Religious subjects, their\n advantage in this respect. Historical scenes as appropriate\n to particular buildings. Unity of entire effect. Raphael's\n Transfiguration. Of the treatment of landscape as subordinate.\n The grouping of figures. The form of the pyramid. Comparison of\n the characteristic in painting and sculpture. The treatment of\n love's expression in religious subjects. The gradual elaboration of\n the portrait. The situation which is itself a critical moment in\n characterization]\n\n 3. The historical development of Painting\n\n (_a_) Byzantine painting\n\n (_b_) Italian painting. General review of its spirit in religious and\n romantic subject-matter\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Characteristic features of early type: austerity, solemnity,\n and religious elevation\n\n (_\u03b2_) The free acceptance of all that is human and individual. The\n influence of Giotto. Later schools mark a still further advance in\n naturalism. Masaccio and Fra Angelico. The pictorial representation of\n secular subjects\n\n (_\u03b3_) Further advance in power of emotional expression. Leonardo da\n Vinci, Perugino, Raphael, and Correggio.]\n\n (_c_) The Flemish, Dutch, and German schools\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The brothers Van Eyck. Innocence, na\u00efvet\u00e9, and piety of early\n Flemish School. Contrast with Italian masters\n\n (_\u03b2_) The emphasis by North German painting on ugliness and brutality\n\n\n (_\u03b3_) Dutch painting. Historical conditions of its appearance. General\n characteristics of Dutch art]\n\n\n CHAPTER II\n\n MUSIC\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n [Summary. The principle of subjectivity, as realized in painting,\n contrasted with its complete emancipation in the art of music.\n Annihilation of spatial objectivity. Motion with its resultant effect\n in musical tone. Analysis of the twofold negation of externality in\n which the fundamental principle of musical tone consists. The inner\n soul-life exclusively the subject-matter of music. Addressed also in\n its effect to such]\n\n Division of subject\n\n 1. The General Character of Music\n\n (_a_) Comparison of music with the plastic arts and poetry\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Both affiliated to and strongly contrasted with architecture.\n It resembles architecture in the nature of the configuration of its\n content as based on rigorously rational principles directed by human\n invention. It supplies the architectonic of the extreme of ideality\n as architecture supplies that of the external material of sense. The\n quantitative or measure relation is the basis of both\n\n (_\u03b2_) Music further removed from sculpture than painting. This is\n not merely due to the greater ideality of latter, but also to its\n treatment of its medium. The unity realized by a musical composition\n of a different kind to that realized by the plastic arts. In the\n former case subject to the condition of a time-series\n\n (_\u03b3_) Most nearly related to poetry. Employ the same medium of tone.\n Poetry possible without speech-utterance. Ideal objectivity of poetry\n as contrasted with the independence of musical tone as the sensuous\n medium of music. Music as an accompaniment of the voice]\n\n (_b_) Musical grasp and expression of Content\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Primarily must not minister to sense-perception. Must\n make soul-life intelligible to soul. This abstract inwardness\n differentiated in human feeling, of every description\n\n (_\u03b2_) Natural interjections not music. They are the point of\n departure. To music belongs intelligible structure, a totality of\n differences capable of union and disunion in concords, discords,\n oppositions and transitions. The nature of its relation to positive\n ideas]\n\n (_c_) Effect of music\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The evanescent character of the objectivity of music. It\n seizes on conscious life where it is not confronted with an object.\n Its effect due to an elementary force. Appeal to man as a particular\n person. The soul made aware of its association with Time. Analysis of\n the notion of Time\n\n (_\u03b2_) Must also possess a content. Orpheus. Incentive to martial\n ardour and enthusiasm\n\n (_\u03b3_) Necessity of repeated reproduction. Personal relation of the\n executive artist to the same. Excess of this influence]\n\n 2. The particular definition of the means of expression in music\n\n (_a_) Time-measure, beat, and rhythm\n\n [The relation of Time to the fundamental principle of subjective\n life. Time-measure prevents the series being indefinite and devoid of\n content, and further regulates by intelligible division the nature of\n its advance. Time-beat possesses the same function as the principle\n of symmetry in architecture. Coordinates a fortuitous variety.\n Distinct kinds of time-measure. Rhythm gives vital significance to the\n time-measure and beat. The accent. The rhythm of melody. The analogous\n example of verse. Handelian music]\n\n (_b_) Harmony\n\n [(_\u03b1_) Difference of sound through different instruments of music.\n Artificially made. Instruments which possess an oscillating column\n of air, or a stretched string of gut or metal which vibrates. The\n kettledrum and harmonica. The human voice. Can be employed in\n separation or combination\n\n (_\u03b2_)Tone in its own essential definition. The constitution of harmony\n as such. The theory of intervals. The scales and keys. Numerical\n relations of tones and their pitch. Accordant and discordant tones.\n The octave and other intervals\n\n (_\u03b3_) The system of chords. The triad. Dissonant chords of the seventh\n and ninth. The resolution of a dissonance. Transitions and modulations\n of harmony]\n\n (_c_) Melody\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The more poetic aspect of music. Inseparable from the\n theoretical means which creates it. No real surrender involved in its\n subjection to rules of harmony\n\n (_\u03b2_) Simple melodies. Folk-songs. Part chorales where each note of\n melody represented by a chord. Musical composition as an illustration\n of the conflict between the principles of freedom and necessity\n\n (_\u03b3_) General character of genuine melody. As such reflects free\n self-consciousness of soul-life]\n\n 3. The relation between means of expression in music and its content\n\n\n (_a_) Music as an accompaniment\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The melodic expression of such music. Ought not to fall into\n excess of tumult. Palestrina, Durante, Haydn, Mozart, etc. Beauty of\n Italian music\n\n (_\u03b2_) The differentiation of the mode of musical expression must\n correspond with the nature of a specific content and its situation.\n Such a content supplied by the libretto. Distinction from this of a\n song. The recitative. Defective unity\n\n (_\u03b3_) The nature of the condition of concrete unity in the libretto\n and declamatory recitative. A good libretto not wholly unimportant.\n Must be stamped with self-consistency. The libretto of Mozart's\n \"Magic Flute.\" Comparison of the sustaining soul of music with the\n fundamental beauty of Raphael's paintings. Different forms of music as\n accompaniment. Church, lyrical, and dramatic music]\n\n (_b_) Independent music\n\n (_c_) The artist as Executant\n\n [(_\u03b1_) The ordinary executant who simply executes what lies before\n him. Comparison with the rhapsodist or reciter of Epos. Player must\n lose himself in music and reproduce composer\n\n (_\u03b2_) The virtuoso, who himself creates and makes the music a means of\n personal display. Must not merely show eccentricity, but reveal the\n life of music and the force of a personality]\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD PART\n\n\nTHE SYSTEM OF THE PARTICULAR ARTS\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHY OF FINE ART\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe objects treated by our science in the _first_ part were the general\nnotion and the reality of beauty in Nature and art, in other words\nbeauty in its truth, and art in its truth, the Ideal in the as yet\nundeveloped unity of its fundamental principles, independent of its\nspecific content and its distinguishing modes of envisagement.\n\nThis essentially genuine[1] unity of the beautiful in art, in the\n_second_ place, unfolded itself within its own resources in a totality\nof art-forms, whose determinate structure defined at the same time the\ncontent which the art-spirit was impelled to fashion from itself in an\nessentially articulate system of manifestations of beauty under which\nthe Divine and human is envisaged to the world.\n\nWhat still is absent from both these spheres is the reality that is\npresent within the elementary substance of the _external_ phenomenon\nitself. For although both in our examination of the Ideal as such, and\nin that of the specific modes of symbolic, classical, and romantic\nart, we throughout referred to the relation or complete mediation\nwhich obtains between the significance conceived as an ideal principle\nand its embodiment in the external or phenomenal _materia_, yet\nthis realization merely retained its validity as that which was\nstill exclusively the _ideal_ art-activity in the sphere of general\nworld-impressions[2] of beauty, in and through which it is diffused.\nInasmuch, however, as the fundamental conception of beautiful implies,\nthat it make itself objective for the immediate vision, that is to\nsay for the senses and sensuous perception as an external work of\nart, so that what is beautiful becomes only then itself through such\na definite form appropriate to itself explicitly united with the\nbeautiful and the Ideal, we have in the _third_ place to review this\nterritory of the art-product as actually self-realized in the entirely\nsensuous medium. For it is only through this final configuration that\nthe work of art is truly concrete, an individual entity which is at\nonce real, self-contained, and singular. The Ideal can only constitute\nthe _content_ of this third sphere of our aesthetic philosophy for\nthe reason that it is the idea of the beautiful, in the collective\ntotality of all its world presentments, which is thus self-realized\nin objective form[3]. For this reason the art-product is still, even\nup to this point, to be conceived as a totality articulated in\nitself, nevertheless as an organism, whose organic parts, which--while\nin the second part of our inquiry they were differentiated under a\ncollective concept of essentially disparate world-aspects--now fall\nasunder as isolated members, every one of which becomes independently a\nself-subsistent whole, and in this singularity is capable of bringing\ninto display the totality of the different art-types. Essentially and\nin accordance with its notion it is quite true that the collective\nresult of this new reality of art belongs to _one_ single totality.\nInasmuch, however, as it is a portion of the realm of the sensuous[4]\npresent, in which the same is made real to itself, the Ideal is now\nresolved into its phasal states as a process[5], and confers on them\nan independent and self-subsistent stability, albeit they are capable\nof coming into juxtaposition, essential relation, and reciprocal\nreintegration with one another. And this real world of art is the\nsystem of the _separate_ arts. Just as then the particular types\nof art, regarded throughout as totality, expose intrinsically a\nprocess, an evolution, that is, of the symbolical to the classical and\nromantic types, we find also, on the one hand, a similar advance in\nthe particular arts, in so far as it is the very art-types themselves\nwhich receive their determinate existence through these specific arts.\nFrom another point of view, however, the particular arts have also\nthemselves within them a process, a progression, independently of the\nart-types to which they attach an objective reality, a process which in\nthis its more abstract relation is _common to all._ Every art possesses\nits spring-time of perfected elaboration as art, and on the one side or\nthe other a history that precedes or follows this period of full-bloom.\nFor the products of the arts collectively are spiritual products,\nand consequently are not at once to hand in their own specialized\nprovince respectively, as are the forms of Nature, but are subject to\na beginning, progression, completion, and termination, a growth, a\nblooming, and a decay.\n\nThese more abstract differences, whose devolution we propose at\nthe very commencement of our inquiry briefly to indicate, since it\nasserts itself equally in all the arts, are identical with that which\nit is usual to define under the name of _rigorous_, _ideal_, and\n_approved_ style, when indicating the specific styles of art in each\ncase, which are mainly related to the general mode of embodiment and\nrepresentation, partly as considered in its external shape, and its\npossession or lack of spontaneity, its simplicity, its surfeit of\ndetail, briefly in all its various aspects, according to which the\ndefinition of the content emerges in the external appearance; partly\nno less in its aspect of the technical elaboration of its sensuous\nmaterial, in which the art in question gives determinate existence to\nits content.\n\nIt is a common assumption that art finds its beginnings in what is\ndevoid of complexity and is _natural._ In a certain sense, no doubt,\nwe may accept this as true. In other words what is rude and barbarous\nis without question, when contrasted with the genuine spirit of art,\nsomething both nearer to Nature and less complex. What is, however,\nnatural, vital, and simple in art, regarded as fine art, is something\nquite different to this. All beginnings which are merely simple and\nnatural, in the sense of uncouthness, do not as yet belong to the\nprovince of art and the beautiful at all as, for example, in the case\nwhere children scrawl simple figures, and with a few formless strokes\nwould indicate thereby a human form, a horse, and so forth. Beauty,\nconsidered as a spiritual product, demands even from the start an\nelaborate technique, implies a long series of experiment and practice.\nSimplicity, when we refer to it as the simplicity of the beautiful,\nits ideal proportions, is rather a result, which only succeeds in\novercoming the variety, medley, confusion, excess and incumbrance of\nits matter, and in concealing and effacing its preparatory studies,\nafter much mediating work, so that at last Beauty, with all its\nunfettered spontaneity, appears to us as though liberated in one\ncast[6]. What we find here is very analogous to the behaviour of a\nman of education, who, in all that he says and does, moves simply,\nspontaneously, and with ease, albeit he did not by any means start in\nthe possession of such simple spontaneity, but rather has only secured\nsuch as the result of a thorough self-training.\n\nFor this reason it is no less in accordance with the nature of the fact\nthan it is with the actual course of history that art in its beginnings\nrather presents us the appearance of _artificiality_ and clumsiness,\nrunning largely into incidental detail, and generally overloaded with\nthe elaboration of drapery and the environment of its subject-matter;\nand precisely in the degree that this external material is more compact\nand multifarious, to that extent that which is really expressive is\nreduced to its baldest terms; in other words what is truly the free and\nvital expression of Spirit in its forms and motion is that which is\nhere least in evidence.\n\nIn this respect consequently the primitive and most ancient\nart-products in all the particular arts are the vehicle of a content\nthat is essentially most abstract, such as simple tales in poetry,\ntheogonies effervescent with abstract thoughts and their incomplete\nelaboration, single objects of sacred association in stone and\nwood and so forth, and the representation remains unaccommodating,\nmonotonous or confused, stiff and dry. More especially in plastic\nart the facial expression is insipid with a repose which does not so\nmuch express spirituality in its essential penetration as a purely\nanimal emptiness, or conversely is remorseless and exaggerated in its\nemphasis on characteristic traits. In the same way the bodily forms\nand their motion are devoid of life, the arms, for example, are glued\nto the body, the legs are not divided, or are clumsily moved, or in\nangular and constrained modes; and in other respects such figures are\nill-shaped, suffer from narrow compression, or are excessively lank\nand extended. On the other hand we find that much more devotion and\nindustry is spent upon accessories such as drapery, hair, weapons,\nand ornaments of a similar nature; the folds of the drapery remain\nwooden and independent, without being able to accommodate themselves\nto the limbs, just as we may often see for ourselves in images of the\nVirgin and saints of early times, where they are in part run together\nin monotonous regularity, and in part are continually broken up in\nharsh corners, not flowing freely in their lines, but scattered about\nwith diffuseness over too wide a surface. And in the same way the\nfirst attempts at poetry are full of breaks, devoid of connection,\nmonotonous, dominated in an abstract way by one idea or emotion, or\nelsewhere wild, violent, the particular being obscurely assimilated,\nand the whole as yet not bound together in a secure and ideal organic\nunity.\n\nIt is only, however, after such preparatory work as the above that\nthe style which is the main subject of our present inquiry commences\nwith what is truly genuine fine art. In this it is no doubt in the\nfirst instance at the same time still _austere_, but already moderated\nwith more beauty in its severity. This severe style is the more lofty\nabstraction of the beautiful, which comes to a stop with that which\nis of real importance, expresses and reproduces the same in its broad\noutlines, still disdains all amiability and grace, suffers the main\nsubject-matter alone to assert itself, and preeminently expends very\nlittle industry and elaboration on what is incidental. And in doing so,\nthis severe style also still adheres to the imitation of that which\nis immediately given to sense. In other words, just as, in regard to\ncontent, it takes its stand, so far as ideas and representation are\nconcerned, in what is given it, in the tradition, for example, of a\nrevered religion, so also, to take the opposite point of view, namely,\nthat of external form, it will merely render assured the fact itself,\nand not its own invention. It is, in short, satisfied with the general\nbroad effect that is educed from the fact, and follows in expression\nclosely upon the growth and definite existence of this. In the same way\neverything that is accidental is held aloof from this type of style, in\norder that the caprice and spontaneity of the individual mind[7] may\nnot appear to be involved in it. The motives are simple, the objects of\nrepresentation few[8]; and for this reason no considerable variety in\nthe detail of configuration, muscles and motion, is apparent.\n\n_Secondly_, the ideal, purely beautiful style hovers between the simply\nsubstantive expression of fact and the fullest exposition of all that\nimmediately pleases. We may define the character of this style as the\nhighest degree of vitality compatible with a beautiful and reposeful\ngreatness, such as we admire in the works of Pheidias or Homer. It is\na living presentment of all traits, shapes, modifications of such,\nmotions, limbs, in which there is nothing without significance and\nexpression, but everything is instinct with life and action, and\ntestifies to the breath, or very pulse of free life itself on the\nmerest glance at the work of art in question; a vitality, however,\nwhich essentially makes visible one totality, and only one, is the\nexpression of one content, of one individuality of action.\n\nIt is in such a truly vital atmosphere that we find moreover the\nbreath of grace poured forth over the entire work. Grace is indeed\na concession to the hearer and spectator, which the severe style\ndespises. At the same time, whenever Charis, that is Grace, is asserted\nin the presence of an onlooker, if only as an acknowledgement, a\nmeans of conveying pleasure, yet in the ideal style we find that\nsuch a presence appears entirely divested of any craving to confer\nmerely pleasure. We may perhaps explain our meaning in more technical\nlanguage. The fact or subject-matter is here the substantive in its\nconcentration and self-absorption. During the process, however, that\nit is manifested through the medium of art, and is, so to speak,\nconcerned to actually exist for others, to pass over, that is, from its\nsimplicity and essential solidarity to particularization, articulation,\nand individualization, we may regard this development to an existent\nform for others as at the same time a kind of complaisance on the part\nof the predominant matter, in so far, that is, as it does not appear\nto require this more concrete mode of existence, and yet is wholly\npoured forth into it for us. Such a charm as this is only entitled to\nassert itself in such a style so long as what is really substantive\nalso persists in undisturbed self-possession, as we may call it, over\nagainst the grace of its manifestation, which blooms forth entirely in\noutward guise as an original type of superfluity. This indifference of\nthe ideal or inner self-assurance[9] for its existence, this repose\nof itself on itself is precisely that which constitutes the beautiful\nnegligence of the grace, which attributes no immediate value to this,\nits mode of manifestation. And it is just in this that we must look\nfor the loftiness of the beautiful style. Beautiful free art is\ncareless in its attitude to the external form, in which it refuses to\nlet us see any peculiar movement of the mind, or any end or intention.\nRather in every expression, every modification, it points to one thing\nonly, and that is the idea and vital principle of the whole. It is only\nby this means that the Ideal of the beautiful style asserts itself,\nwhich is neither harsh nor severe, but already shows the softening\ninfluence of the cheerful notes of the beautiful. Though no violence\nis done either to any feature of expression, any part of the whole,\nand every member appears in its independence, and rejoices in its own\nexistence, yet each and all is content at the same time to be only\nan aspect in the total evolved presentment. This it is which alone\ndisplays, alongside of the depth and determinacy of individuality and\ncharacter, the grace of Life itself. On the one side we have indeed\nmerely the substantial subject-matter predominant, but in the detailed\nexposition, in the lucid, and at the same time exhaustive variety of\ntraits, which complete the definition of the appearance, and place it\nbefore us in its transparent vitality, the spectator is at the same\ntime freed from the thing in its baldness, in so far as he possesses\nand is wholly face to face with its concrete life. By virtue, however,\nof the last mentioned fact, this ideal style, so soon as it carries\nthis modification in its external aspect to yet further lengths, passes\nover into the so-called _agreeable_ or pleasing style. Here we have the\nassertion of another intent than the mere vitality of the fact[10].\nThe giving of pleasure, the active elaboration in the direction of\nexternality is asserted as itself an object, and is a matter of\nindependent concern. As an example we may take the famous Belvedere\nApollo, not indeed as itself belonging to this latter style, but at\nleast marking the transition from the lofty style to that of sensuous\nattraction. And inasmuch as in an art of this kind it is no longer the\nsingle actuality itself to which the entire embodiment is referable,\nthe particular details become under this mode, even though in the first\ninstance still deducible from the central object itself and rendered\nnecessary by means of it, more and more for all that independent.\nWe feel that they are introduced, or interpolated, as ornaments,\nintentional additions of episodical import. And yet for the very reason\nthat they are only related to the object accidentally and only receive\ntheir essential definition in a personal relation to the spectator or\nreader, they flatter the individual taste[11] of such, to which their\nworkmanship is primarily directed. Virgil and Horace, for example,\ndelight us in this respect by an educated style, in which we can trace\na variety of things aimed at, and an effort deliberately made to give\npleasure. In architecture, sculpture, and painting, owing to this\nspirit of complaisance, simple and imposing effects of size disappear,\nand we find on every side small pictures standing by themselves,\nornamentation, fineries, dimples on cheeks, elegant hair-dress, smiles,\nall the varied folding of draperies, enchanting colours and shapes,\nexceptional, difficult, but for all that unconstrained movements in\nthe pose of the figure[12]. In the so-called Gothic or German art of\nbuilding, where the same is carried in the direction of this spirit, we\nfind decoration elaborated without limit, so that the whole appears to\nbe little more than a collection of little columns with all the utmost\nvariety of ornamentations, diminutive towers, spires, and so forth,\nwhich, in their isolation, please us, without, however, destroying\nthe impression of the larger connections of the whole and the still\ninsistent masses of the same.\n\nIn so far, however, as the province of art we have been discussing\nin its entirety gives way to this activity of externalization, this\npresentment of what is purely exterior, we may emphasize it in its\nfurther generalization as the _effect_, which makes use of as a means\nof expression what is unpleasing, strained, and colossal, the type\nof uncouth contrasts such as the prodigious genius of Michael Angelo\noften exploits to excess. The effect may be generally indicated as the\nexcessive leaning towards an ulterior public, which results in the\nform no longer being asserted in its independent, self-sufficient and\nbuoyant repose. Rather it turns round, as it were, and makes an appeal\nat the same time to the onlooker, and strives to place itself in a\nrelation to him by means of this manner of presentment. Both aspects,\nnamely essential repose and the address to the spectator, must no doubt\nbe present in a work of art; but these aspects should fall together\nin complete equilibrium. If the work of art in the severe style is\nwholly without qualification self-contained, without any appeal to the\nspectator, it leaves him cold. If, on the other hand, the appeal is\nmade too directly to him, it creates indeed a sensuous pleasure, but\nloses to that extent its substantive thoroughness[13], or it does so\nwithout this thoroughness of content and the simple character of the\nconception and delineation therein contained. This passage from itself\nthen merges in the accidental characterization of the appearance; as\na result the image itself shares this accidental character, in which\nwe no longer recognize the actual subject-matter and the form which\nis imperatively rooted in itself, but rather the poet and artist with\nhis own personal designs, his peculiar type of production and skill.\nAnd for this reason the public is entirely released from the essential\ncontent of the work, finding itself by means of it placed in a personal\nrelation[14] to the artist, inasmuch as everything now wholly depends\non its seeing that which the artist through his art intended, that\nis, the cunning and personal skill which is embodied in his grasp\nof his subject and its execution. To be thus brought into personal\ncommunity of insight and critical acumen with the artist is for most\npeople a flattering concession; and our reader or audience, and very\npossibly the spectator of plastic art, with even more readiness wonder\nat their poet, musician, or painter or sculptor respectively; and the\nvanity of such is all the better satisfied in proportion as the work\ninvites them to this personal criticism, and supplies them openly\nwith hints of such designs and points of view. In the severe style,\non the contrary, no such confidences are made over to the spectator\nat all. What we have is just the substantive nature of the content,\nwhich in its representation austerely, and even harshly, repulses the\npurely personal quest. A repulse of this kind will often be no doubt\nmerely indicative of the spleen of the artist, who, after entrusting a\nprofound significance to his work, instead of making the exposition of\nthe same free, transparent, and buoyant, deliberately makes it hard to\nfollow. A trade in mysteries of this kind is also nothing but another\nform of affectation, and a spurious alternative to the complaisance we\nhave criticized.\n\nIt is pre-eminently in the work of the French school that we find\nthis tendency to flatter, attract, and create effect, and they have\nin this way elaborated this easy-going and complaisant attitude to\nthe public as the main object of their efforts. They seek to find\nthe real importance of their artistic work in the satisfaction such\naffords others, whose interest they would arouse and whom they would\nduly impress. This tendency is particularly marked in their dramatic\npoetry. Marmontel, for example, gives us the following anecdote in\nconnection with the performance of his drama \"D\u00e9nis, the Tyrant.\" The\ncrisis culminated in a question asked the Tyrant. Clairon, in whose\nmouth this question was put, when the moment for asking it had arrived,\nand when actually in conversation with Dionysius, made a forward step\nin front of the audience and dramatically addressed them instead. By\nthis rhetorical effect the enthusiastic support of the entire piece was\nassured.\n\nWe Germans, on the other hand, require too much a content in our works\nof art, in the depths of which the artist finds a deliverance from\nhimself, without troubling himself about the public, who is just left\nto look at it, take trouble over it, and help himself out with it, as\nhe pleases or is able.\n\n\nDIVISION OF SUBJECT\n\nApproaching now, after these general observations we have made with\nreference to the distinctions of style common to all the arts, the\ndivision of the third fundamental section of our inquiry we may observe\nthat the one-sided understanding has looked about in many directions\nfor various principles of differentiation in its classification of\nthe specific arts severally. The true division can, however, only\nbe deduced from the nature of the work of art, which in the entire\ncomplexus of its forms[15] explicitly unfolds the totality of the\naspects and phases which are referable to its own notion. And the\nfirst thing which asserts itself in this connection as important is\nthe consideration that art, in accordance with the fact that its\npresentments now have definitely to pass into sensuous reality, becomes\non account of this also art for the _senses_, so that the definition of\nthis sense and the material medium which is applicable to it, and in\nwhich the work of art is made objective, must necessarily furnish us\nwith the principles of subdivision in the several arts. Now the senses,\nfor the reason that they are senses, or in other words, are related\nto a given material, a disparate exterior medium[16] and an essential\nmultiplicity, are themselves different, namely, feeling, smell, taste,\nhearing, and sight. It is not our business in this place to demonstrate\nthe ideal necessity of this totality and its disparate parts; that is\nthe function of the philosophy of Nature. Our problem is limited to the\ninquiry whether all these senses, or if not, which of them are capable,\nby virtue of their notional significance, of being organs for the\nreception of works of art. We have already at a previous stage excluded\nfeeling, taste, and smell. Botticher's mere feeling with the hand of\nthe effeminately smooth portions of statues of goddesses is not a part\nof artistic contemplation or enjoyment at all. By the sense of touch\nthe individual merely comes, as an individual endowed with sense, into\ncontact with the purely sensuous particular thing and its gravity,\nhardness, softness, and material resistance. A work of art is, however,\nnot merely a sensuous thing, but Spirit manifested through a sensuous\nmedium. As little can we exercise our sense of _taste_ on a work of\nart as such, because taste is unable to leave the object in its free\nindependence, but is concerned with it in a wholly active way, resolves\nit, in fact, and consumes it. A cultivation and refinement of taste is\nonly possible and desirable in connection with dishes of food and their\npreparation, or the chemical qualities of objects. An object of art,\nhowever, should be contemplated in its independent and self-contained\nobjective presence, which no doubt is there for the mind that perceives\nit, but only as an appeal to soul and intelligence, not in some active\nrelation, and with none whatever to the appetites and volition. As for\nthe sense of _smell_ it is just as little able to become an organ of\nartistic enjoyment, inasmuch as things are only presented to this sense\nin so far as they are themselves in a condition of process, and are\ndissolved through the air and its direct influence.\n\n_Sight_, on the other hand, possesses a purely ideal relation to\nobjects by means of light, a material, which is at the same time\nimmaterial, and which suffers on its part the objects to continue in\ntheir free self-subsistence, making them appear and re-appear, but\nwhich does not, as the atmosphere or fire does, consume them actively\neither by imperceptible degrees or patently. Everything, then, is an\nobject of the appetiteless vision, which materially exists in Space\nas a disparate aggregate, which, however, in so far as it remains\nunimpaired in its integrity, merely is disclosed in its form and colour.\n\nThe remaining ideal sense is _hearing._ This is in signal contrast to\nthe one just described. Hearing is concerned with the tone, rather\nthan the form and colour of an object, with the vibration of what is\ncorporeal; it requires no process of dissolution, as the sense of smell\nrequires, but merely a trembling of the object, by which the same\nis in no wise impoverished. This ideal motion, in which through its\nsound what is as it were the simple individuality[17], the soul of\nthe material thing expresses itself, the ear receives also in an ideal\nway, just as the eye shape and colour, and suffers thereby what is\nideal or not external in the object to appeal to what is spiritual or\nnon-corporeal.\n\nAs a third accretion to these two senses we have the _sensuous\nconception_, memory, the retention of images, which appear in\nconsciousness by means of the isolated perception, in this way\nsubsumed under universals, and become related and united to the same\nby means of the imagination, so that now in one particular aspect the\nexternal reality itself exists both as ideal and spiritual, while\nthat which is spiritual from another point of view accepts under the\nimaginative conception the form of what is external, and is brought to\nconsciousness as a disparate and correlated aggregate.\n\nThis triple mode of seizing on reality offers art the well-known\ndivision into _first_, the _plastic_ arts, which elaborate their\ncontent for vision in the external form and colour of objects,\n_secondly_, in the art of _sound, music_, and _thirdly_, into _poetry_,\nwhich as the art of _speech_ uses tone merely as a symbol, in order,\nby means of it, to address itself directly to what is ideal in the\ncontemplation, emotion, and imagination of our spiritual life. If we\nrest satisfied with this sensuous aspect of our subject-matter, as the\nfinal principle of its differentiation, we shall, in respect to our\nfirst principles, find ourselves in a difficulty, because the grounds\nof this division, instead of being deduced from the concrete notion of\nour subject-matter, are merely borrowed from the most abstract features\nof it. We have consequently to look about us once more for a principle\nof division that has deeper roots, which has, in fact, already been\nput forward in the introduction of this work as the truly systematic\nmode of dividing this third section of it. The function of art is just\nthis and only this, namely, to bring before the grasp of the senses\ntruth, as it is in the world of spirit, reconciled, that is, in its\nunity as a whole with objectivity and the sensuous material. In so far,\nthen, as this is possible at this stage in the element of the external\nreality of the art-product to that extent the totality, which the\nAbsolute is in its very truth, breaks apart into the various modes that\ndifferentiate it as a process.\n\nThe _middle point_, the truly substantive centrum, is given us here\nin the representation of the _Absolute_, God Himself as God, in His\nindependent _self-subsistence_, not as yet developed to the point of\nmotion and difference, or advanced to the active operation of and\nseparation from what is His, but presented essentially self-absorbed in\nsupreme divine repose and stillness, briefly the Ideal embodied in a\nform essentially adequate to itself, which persists in its determinate\nexistence in correspondent identity with itself. And in order that it\nmay appear in infinite self-subsistency the Absolute must be conceived\nas Spirit, as conscious Subject, but as Subject which possesses\nessentially itself its own adequate mode of external appearance.\n\nAs divine subject, however, which passes forth into actual reality,\nit has confronting it an _external_ world for environment, which,\nin conformity with the Absolute, must be built up to an appearance\nharmonious with the same, an appearance permeated with the Absolute.\nThis environing world is then on one side the _objective_ as such,\nthe basis, the embrace of external Nature, which, taken by itself,\npossesses no absolute significance for Spirit, nor any ideality such as\nis present to individual consciousness[18], and consequently is only\nable to express by suggestion the spiritual Ideal which its appearance\nmust seek to secure by embodying its embraced content in a world of\nBeauty.\n\nIn opposition to external Nature we find the _ideal_ realm of\n_consciousness_[19], the human soul as the medium[20] for the existence\nand manifestation of the Absolute. Together with this subjectivity\nis conjoined the multiplicity and differentiation of individuality,\nparticularization, distinction, action, and development, that is, in\ngeneral terms the full and varied world of the reality of Spirit[21],\nin which the Absolute is known, willed, experienced, and actively\npresent. We may already infer from what we have indicated above that\nthe differences under which the total content of art is differentiated\nare in essential consonance, both for our grasp and presentation of\nthem, with what we have previously in the second portion of our\ninquiry examined as the symbolical, classical, and romantic types of\nart. In other words symbolic art only carries the art-process to the\npoint of marking an affinity between content and form, instead of their\nidentity, of only suggesting the ideal significance in itself and the\ncontent which that suggestion purports to express, in other words the\nexternal appearance[22]. It furnishes consequently the fundamental type\nto that specific art, whose function it is to elaborate the objective\nworld as such, Nature's environment in the beautiful conclusion\ngiven by Art to Spirit (mind), and to image by suggestion the ideal\nsignificance of what is spiritual in this external medium. The\nclassical Ideal, on the contrary, meets the case of the presentation\nof the Absolute as such, in its self-subsistent external reality, its\nessential self-repose, while the romantic Spirit (mind) type of art\nis, both in content and form, identical with the internal life of the\nsoul, and the emotional life both in its infinite aspect and its finite\nparticularity.\n\nIt is, then, on a principle such as the above that the system of the\nparticular arts is differentiated as follows:\n\n_First_, we have _architecture_, the beginning of all, whose\nfoundation reposes in the very nature of its subject-matter. It is\nthe commencement of art for this reason, that art at the start has in\ngeneral terms neither discovered for the presentation of its spiritual\ncontent the adequate material, nor the forms that fully express it, and\nis consequently compelled to rest content in the mere _search_ after\nsuch true satisfaction, and to do so in the externality of its content\nand its mode of presentation. The medium of this primary art is that\nwhich is essentially unspiritual, gross matter, that is, only capable\nof configuration according to physical laws of gravity. Its form is\nthe image of external Nature, united by its regularity and symmetry in\nthe whole of a work of art to express merely an external reflection of\nSpirit.\n\nThe _second_ art is _sculpture._ Both for its principle and content it\npossesses spiritual individuality under the mode of the classic Ideal\nin the sense, namely, that the ideal and spiritual finds its expression\nin the corporeal appearance pertinent to spiritual life, which it is\nthe function here of Art to present in existent artistic actuality.\nIt consequently still accepts for its material gross matter in its\nspatial extension, without, however, shaping the same in conformity\nto rule merely in respect to its gravity and its natural conditions\naccording to the forms of the organic or inorganic, or in relation to\nits visibility in bringing it down to, and in all essential respects\nparticularizing it in, a simple repetition of the external appearance.\nThe _form_ which is here, however, determined by virtue of the content\nitself is the actual life of Spirit, human form, and its objective\norganism permeated with Spirit's own breath, whose function it is to\nembody in adequate shape the self-subsistence of the Divine in its\nsupreme repose and unperturbed greatness, unaffected by the divisions\nand limitations of human affairs, their conflicts and endurances.\n\n_Thirdly_, we have to render intelligible in one final whole those\narts whose province it is to give form to the ideal content of the\nindividual soul-life.\n\nThe art of _painting_ marks the _beginning_ of this final totality.\nIt converts the external form itself entirely into an expression of\nwhat is ideal[23], which within the limits of the environing world\nnot merely reproduces the ideal self-containedness of the Absolute,\nbut also brings to the vision the same as essentially a personal\npossession[24] in its spiritual existence, volition, feeling, action,\nin its activity and relation to another, and consequently also in\nits sufferings, pain, death, in the entire series of passions and\nsatisfaction. Its object is for this reason no longer _God_ simply,\nthat is, as object of the human consciousness, but this consciousness\nitself, God, that is, either in His reality present in the action\nand suffering of individual life, or as spirit of the community,\nas the spiritual related through feeling to itself, soul-life in\nits resignation, its sacrifice of, or joy and blessedness in, life\nand action within the limits of the natural world. As a means to\nthe presentation of this _content_ the art of painting is bound to\nutilize the external phenomenon in respect to its form, not merely\nthe human organism, but also Nature in its simplicity in so far as\nthe same suffers what is of spirit to shine through with clarity. It\nis, however, unable to utilize as material physical matter and its\nspatial existence just as it is; it is compelled, in working it up into\nits forms, essentially to idealize the same. The first step by means\nof which the sensuous material is raised in this respect to confront\nmind[25], consists, on the one hand, in the uplifting of the actual\nsensuous appearance, whose visibility is converted into the mere _show_\nby art, and on the other in _colour_ by means of the distinctions,\ntransitions, and modulations of which this transformation is effected.\nThe art of painting, consequently, in order to express the soul in\nits ideality, resolves the three dimensions of space into that of\nsuperficies as that which most intimately asserts the ideality of what\nis external, and represents spatial distance and form by means of the\nphenomena of colour. For painting is not concerned with producing\nmere visibility in its general significance, but with that form of\nvisibility which, if it is ideally produced, is also quite as much\nessentially particularized. In sculpture and the art of building forms\nare visible by means of external light. In the art of painting, on the\ncontrary, the material which is itself essentially obscure possesses\nintrinsically within itself its inward or ideal, light in short. It is\nitself transfused in its own medium, and mere light is to that extent\nessentially obscured. The unity, however, and blending of light and\ndark is colour[26].\n\n_Secondly_, the art of _music_ offers a contrast to that of painting\nin one and the same sphere as the latter. Its real element is the\nideal realm as such, emotion in its formless independence, capable of\nasserting itself not in externality and its reality, but purely through\nthe external medium which disappears immediately when it is expressed\nand thereby cancels itself. Its _content_ consequently consists of\nthe internal life of Spirit in its immediate, essential subjective\nunity, emotion simply; its _material_ is musical tone, its form and\nconfiguration, the concord, discord, harmony, contrast, opposition, and\nresolution of such tones according to the laws of their quantitative\nintervals respectively and their artistically elaborated time measure.\n\nFinally, in the _third_ place, after painting and music we get the\nart of speech, _poetry_ in its general terms, the absolutely genuine\nart of Spirit and its expression as such. For everything which the\nhuman consciousness conceives and spiritually embodies in the chamber\nof spirit speech is able to accept, express, and bring imaginatively\nbefore us, and only speech is thus able. In respect to its content,\ntherefore, poetry is the richest and its boundaries are the widest.\nBut in proportion as it gains as the vehicle of Spirit it loses on the\nside of the material object. In other words, for the reason that it\nneither works for the perception of the sense as the plastic arts, nor\nmerely for the ideal emotion, as music does, but is concerned to create\nits spiritual significances under the form of its own spiritual medium\nmerely for the conception and contemplation of mind, the _material_\nthrough which its constructive activity is asserted only retains for\nit the value of a _means_, however much it may be elaborated in an\nartistic sense, by which Spirit is expressed for Spirit, and no longer\ncounts as a sensuous mode of existence, in which the spiritual content\nis capable of finding a reality adequate to it. Such a means can in\nthe light of our previous consideration only be _tone_ regarded as the\nstill relatively most adequate material of spiritual expression. Tone\nhere, however, does not in the present case preserve, as was the case\nwith music, an independent validity of its own for which the unique\nand essential aim of art could be exhausted in finding an artistic\nform, but conversely is entirely steeped in the world of Spirit and the\ndefinite content of conception and contemplation, and appears simply as\nthe external symbol of this content. So far as the _embodiment_ which\nthe poetry receives is concerned, in this respect poetry may claim to\ninclude the whole field of art in the sense, that is, that it repeats\nin its own province the modes of presentation adopted by the other\narts, which is only in a qualified degree the case with painting and\nmusic.\n\nIn other words poetry gives, on the one hand, as epic poetry the form\nof _objectivity_ to its content, which no doubt here does not, as in\nthe plastic arts, attain to an external existence. It is none the less\na world conceived by the mind in the form of the objective world and\nrepresented as objective for the individual imagination. This it is\nwhich constitutes human speech as such, which finds satisfaction in\nits own content and its expression by means of speech.\n\nOn the other hand, however, poetry is conversely to an equal degree\nspeech of the soul, the _ideal_ medium, which, as that inward content\nreturns to itself, is _lyrical poetry_, which invokes the aid of music\nin order to penetrate yet more deeply the world of souls and emotion.\n\nFinally, to take the _third_ example, poetry proceeds through speech\nwithin the limits of a self-contained _action_, which it at the same\ntime makes an object of its presentment, and consequently is able to\nally itself closely to music, gesture, mimicry, and the dance. This\nis _dramatic_ art, in which man, in all that the term implies[27],\ncreatively presents the work of art which is the product of human life.\nThese five arts form the system of realized and actual art, essentially\ndetermined by itself and differentiated as such. In addition to them\nthere are no doubt other incomplete arts, for example, the arts of\ngardening and dance. These we shall only refer to incidentally as\nthe opportunity recurs. A philosophical investigation must perforce\nrestrict itself entirely to distinctions referable to the notion, and\ndevelop and grasp these adequate and veritable modes of embodiment.\nNature and reality is not, it is true, confined to these circumscribed\nlimits, but is more liberal in its movement, and we not unfrequently\nhear it made a matter of praise that in this respect the products of\ngenius are perforce compelled to expand themselves beyond just such\nlimitations. In Nature, however, transitional organisms of either\nhybrid or amphibian type, instead of emphasizing the spontaneity and\nexcellence of Nature, merely demonstrate its inability to hold fast\nto the essential differentiations of species which are rooted in that\nprocess, or to prevent their deterioration before external conditions\nand influences. The same thing may be affirmed in art with regard to\nthese intermediate forms, although the same are capable of producing\nmuch, too, that delights us, is full of charm and utility, albeit not\nin the highest class of perfection.\n\nIf we turn our attention now after these introductory remarks and\nconsiderations to the more specific examination of the separate\narts, we shall find ourselves from another point of view in some\ndifficulty. For inasmuch as we have hitherto concerned ourselves\nwith art as such, the Ideal and the general types, under which its\nevolution according to its _notion_ proceeds, it is imperative to\npass over into the concrete existence of art, and by doing so into\nthe world of experience. Here we find a condition very analogous to\nthat we observe in Nature, the provinces of which are readily grasped\nin their generality and the necessary laws which distinguish them,\nin whose actual material existence, however, the individual objects\nand their species, not merely in the aspects which they present to\nobservation, but also in the form under which they exist, are of such\na wealth of variety that, as a part of the difficulty, they offer as\nfeasible every conceivable way of approaching them; and in addition to\nthis the philosophical notion, when we are desirous of applying the\nstandard of its simple lines of distinction, appears as insufficient\nfor this purpose and the mere grasp of thought incapable of taking in\nthe breath of such fulness. If, however, we merely rest satisfied with\nmere description and superficial reflections we fall short no less of\nthe object we have set before us, that is, a development which is both\nscientific and systematic. Added to which difficulties we have the\nfurther one that nowadays every particular art makes the independent\ndemand for a special science, inasmuch as with the continuous growth of\nconnoisseurship in art the range of such special knowledge has become\never more rich and extensive. This science of the connoisseur, or\ndilettante, has, however, in our own times become fashionable under the\ndirect teaching of philosophy itself. It has, in short, been maintained\nthat it is in art we must look for real religion, the discovery of\ntruth and the Absolute, that, in short, it stands on a loftier pedestal\nthan philosophy for the reason that it is not abstract, but receives at\nthe same time the Idea in reality and for a contemplation and emotion\nwhich are concrete[28]. And on the other hand it is regarded nowadays\nas of august importance in art[29] to occupy one's attention with an\ninfinite superfluity of detail of this kind, in the interests of\nwhich the demand is made from everyone that he should have observed\nsome novelty or other. Such critical labour is a kind of learned\ntrifling which may very readily be overdone. It causes, no doubt,\nconsiderable pleasure to examine works of art, to grasp the thoughts\nand reflections which such may suggest, to give currency to the points\nof view, which others have pointed out, and by this means to become\njudges and critics. The more rich, however, by this means, namely, that\neverybody is intent on having discovered on his own account something\nuniquely his own, a learning and process of reflection has become, the\nmore every particular art, nay, every branch of the same, now renders\nnecessary the completeness of a treatment of it from the individual's\nstandpoint. As a corollary the historical aspect of such a survey and\nthe criticism of works of art, which becomes inevitable, only add yet\nfurther to the learning and range of the subject. It is, moreover,\nessential before we take part in any discussion over the details of\nmatters of artistic import that we should already have seen much and\nmany times. Personally I have no doubt seen a considerable amount, but\nby no means all that is necessary to enable me to discuss the material\nof art exhaustively. All such difficulties, however, we may meet with\nthe simple response that it does not lie within the aim of the present\nwork to teach art-criticism, or to bring forward an historical review\nof such learning, or only to the extent such is necessary to apprehend\non philosophical principles the essential and universal aspects of\nour subject, and their relation to the idea of the beautiful in its\nrealization within the sensuous medium of art. If we keep this aim\nbefore us the variety of artistic effects we above indicated need\ncause us no embarrassment; for despite this complexity the essential\ncharacter of the subject-matter according to its notional idea is the\ncontrolling factor; and although this is frequently lost in accidental\nmatter by virtue of the medium in which it is realized, points of view\nare none the less in evidence, in which it is as clearly proclaimed. To\ngrasp these aspects, and to develop them in a scientific way, is the\nvery problem which it is the function of philosophy to elucidate.\n\n\nFIRST SUBSECTION\n\nARCHITECTURE\n\nArt, by enabling its content to attain a realized existence under a\ndefinite form, becomes a _particular_ art. We may therefore now for\nthe first time refer to it as an actual art and find therein the\n_real_ beginning of art. With this particularity, however, in so far\nas it purports to bring before us the objectivity of the Idea of the\nbeautiful and art, we have presented to us at the same time in its\nnotional significance a _totality_ of what is particular. For this\nreason when we now, in the sphere of the specific arts, begin our\nexamination of the same with the art of building this must not merely\nbe accepted in the sense that architecture asserts itself as the art\nwhich, by virtue of its notional definition, is first presented to us\nas such an object of inquiry, but we may equally accept as a result,\nthat it is also in relation to its _existence_ the art first to be\nconsidered. In supplying, however, an answer to the question, what\nthe mode of origin was, which fine art, relatively to its notion and\nrealized form, has received, we must exclude the experience of history\nno less than reflections, conjectures, and ordinary conceptions, which\nmerely have reference to objective history, and are so readily and in\nsuch variety propounded. In other words, men are ordinarily actuated\nby an impulse, to bring before their mental vision anything in its\noriginal mode of appearance for the reason that the beginning is the\nsimplest mode, under which the fact asserts itself. And connected with\nthis impulse we have present behind it the covert conviction that\nthe simple mode of appearance informs us of the fact in its notional\nsignificance and real origin, and the further amplification of such\na beginning to the actual point in the process which only really\nconcerns us is further with a like readiness conceived under the\ntrivial mode of thought, that a process so understood has _gradually_\nbrought art forward to the crucial stage above indicated. A beginning,\nhowever, of this simplicity is, if we look at its content, something\nwhich, taken by itself, is so unimportant, that for philosophical\nthought it can only appear as wholly accidental, albeit it is for the\nordinary consciousness only just in such a way that the origin can be\nreadily grasped. For example, we have the story, as an explanation of\nthe origin of the art of painting, told us of a maiden who followed\nthe dim outline of the shadow of her sleeping lover. In the same way\nwe have sometimes a cave and sometimes a hollow tree adduced as the\npoint of departure in the art of building. Beginnings of this kind are\nso intelligible in themselves that further comment on the fact appears\nunnecessary[30]. In particular the Greeks invented many charming\ntales to explain the origins not merely of fine art, but also ethical\ninstitutions and other conditions of life, all of which satisfied the\nprimary need to make such beginnings visible to the _imagination._ Such\nbeginnings are not substantiated by history, and yet they do not aim at\nmaking the manner of origin intelligible directly as a process involved\nin the _notion_, but purport to confine their explanation to the field\nof objective history.\n\n\nDIVISION OF SUBJECT\n\nWe have, then, in such a way to establish the beginning of art from its\nnotional significance, that the first problem of art is made to consist\nin giving form to that which is essentially objective, the ground, that\nis, of Nature, the external environment, and by doing so to make that\nwhich is without ideal import to conform both to significance and form,\nboth of which still remain external to it, for the reason that they are\nnot either the form or significance inherent in the objective material.\nThe art, which has set before it this task is, as we have seen, an\narchitecture which has already discovered its first elaboration under\nthe modes of sculpture, or painting and music[31].\n\nIf we now direct our attention to the most primitive origins of the art\nof building, we find at the earliest stage that we can accept for such\na beginning the hut, regarded as the human dwelling, and the temple,\nas the exterior enclosure of the god and his community. With a view\nto define this commencement more closely a dispute has been raised\nwith reference to the nature of the _material_ employed for building,\nwhether, that is to say, it originated in buildings of wood, which\nis the opinion of Vitruvius, and is supported by Hirt in a similar\nreference, or rather from those of stone. This contrast of original\nmaterial is no doubt of importance, for it does not merely concern its\nexternal quality as one might at first sight suppose, but rather the\narchitectonic character of fundamental forms; for instance, the kind of\ndecoration united with it is essentially bound up with this external\nmaterial. We may, however, entirely set aside the distinction as a\npurely subordinate aspect of the matter rather referable to what is\naccidental and empirical, and devote our attention to a point of more\nimportance.\n\nIn other words, in dealing with houses, temples, and other buildings we\nare confronted with the essential condition, to which we attribute the\nfact that buildings of this kind are merely _means_ which presuppose\nan external end. Hut and house of God alike presuppose those who dwell\nin them, and for whom they have been erected, men and the images of\ngods. Man is also prompted by a desire to leap and sing; he requires\nthe mediacy of human speech; but speech, leaping, shouting, and singing\nare not as yet poetry, the dance and music. And when within the\narchitectonic adaptation of means to ends in order to satisfy specific\nneeds, in part referable to daily life and in part to the religious\ncultus or the state, the impulse in the direction of artistic form and\nbeauty asserts itself, we find at the same time a _division_ apparent\nin the kind of building above mentioned. On the one hand we have man,\nthinking man, or the image of the god as the essential _object_, for\nwhich, from the other point of view, architecture merely supplies the\n_means_ of environment and covering. With such a divided point of view\nwe are unable to constitute our beginning, which is in its nature the\n_immediate_, and simple, not a relativity or essential relation of this\nsort; rather we must look for a point of departure, where a distinction\nof this kind does not yet arise.\n\nIn this respect we have already at an earlier stage stated that the art\nof building corresponds to the _symbolic_ type of art, and in a unique\ndegree gives realization to the principle of the same as particular art\nbecause architecture generally is adapted to suggest the significances\nimplanted in it purely in the external framework of the environment.\nIf the distinction, then, above referred to between the object of\nthe external cover independently presented in the living man, or the\ntemple's image, and the building regarded as the fulfilment of such\nan object, is to be absent from our earliest stage, we shall have to\nlook about us for buildings which precisely, as works of sculpture,\ndo stand up in _independent_ self-subsistence, which in short carry\ntheir significance in _themselves_ rather than in some _other_ object\nor necessity. This is a point of the highest importance, which I have\nnever found raised hitherto, although it goes to the root of the\nmatter, and alone is capable of disclosing the manifold nature of\nexternal forms, and of supplying a thread to conduct us through the\nmaze of architectonic configuration. A self-subsistent art of building\nof this kind will also to a similar degree differ from sculpture\non this ground, namely, that it, as architecture, does not create\nimages, whose significance is that which is essentially spiritual and\npersonal, and which itself intrinsically possesses the principle of\nan appropriated embodiment throughout adequate to its ideal import,\nbut builds up works which, in their exterior form, can merely give an\nimpress of the significance in a symbolic way. And for this reason\nthis type of architecture, both in respect to its content and, its\npresentation, is really of a _symbolic type._\n\nAll that we have said with reference to the principle of this stage\nof art applies equally to its mode of _presentation._ Here, too, we\nfind that the mere distinction between buildings of wood and stone is\nnot sufficient, in so far as the same points to a means of limiting\nand enclosing a defined space for a specific religious or other human\npurposes, as is the case with dwellings, palaces, and temples. Such a\nspace, may be obtained either by hollowing out essentially solid and\nstable masses, or conversely, by preparing walls and roofs to enclose\nit. We can make our beginning of the art of building with neither of\nthese alternatives, which we should consequently define as an inorganic\nform of sculpture; such a type no doubt piles up independently stable\nimages, but while doing so does not in any way make the end of free\nbeauty and the manifestation of Spirit in the bodily form commensurate\nwith the end it pursues, but in general terms sets up a purely symbolic\nform, which purports in itself to indicate and express a particular\nidea.\n\nArchitecture is, however, unable to remain standing at such a point of\ndeparture. Its function indeed consists just in this, namely, to build\nup external Nature as an environment which emanates from Spirit itself\nthrough the gates of art under the forms of beauty, and to build it\nfor the independently present life of mind, that is mankind, or for\nthe images of the gods that are set up and clothed by man in objective\nform, and to build up the same as that which no longer carries its\nsignificance in itself, but discovers the same in another, that is\nman, and his necessities and objects of family and State-life, culture\nand so forth, and by so doing surrenders the self-subsistency of such\nbuildings.\n\nRegarded under this aspect we may assume the _advance_ of architecture\nto consist in this, that it suffers the above indicated distinction\nbetween end and means to appear in separation, and constructs for man,\nor the individual human form of gods, which is the work of sculpture,\nan architectural dwelling, palace, or temple analogous to the\nsignificance of the same.\n\nAnd, thirdly, the _termination_[32] unites both phases in the\nprocess, and appears within this aspect of division as at the same\ntime self-subsistent. These points of view present to us, as the\nclassification of the entire art of building, the following heads of\ndivision, which essentially comprehend the notional distinctions of the\nmatter in question no less than the historical development of the same.\n\n_First_, we have the genuine _symbolic_ or _self-subsistent_ type of\narchitecture.\n\n_Secondly_, there is the _classical_ type, which gives independent form\nto spiritual individuality, divesting on the other hand the art of\nbuilding of its self-subsistency, and degrading it in the intent to set\nup an inorganic environment under the forms of art, for the spiritual\nsignificances which are now on their part independently realized.\n\n_Thirdly_, _romantic_ architecture, in other words the so-called\nMoorish, Gothic, and German, in which, it is true, houses, churches,\nand palaces are also merely the dwellings and places in which civic\nand religious needs and activities are concentrated; which, however,\nconversely are also shaped and raised without let or hindrance for the\nexpress object of emphasizing their self-subsistency.\n\nAlthough on the grounds already advanced architecture in respect to\nits fundamental character remains of a symbolic type, yet the artistic\ntypes known as the truly symbolic, classical, and romantic constitute\nthe closest means of defining it, and are here of greater importance\nthan in the other arts. For in sculpture the classical, and in music\nand painting the romantic, penetrates so profoundly to the entire\nroot-basis of these arts respectively, that for the elaboration of\nthe type of the other arts[33], to a more or less degree, but little\nroom is left for other aspects. And, finally, in poetry, though it is\nthe fact that it gives the most complete impress in its art-products\nof the entire series of art-types, we shall find it necessary to\nmake our classification not by means of the distinction between\nsymbolic, classic, and romantic poetry, but according to the specific\ndifferentiation applicable to poetry as a particular art in epic,\nlyrical, and dramatic poetry. Architecture is, on the other hand, art\nin its immediate relation to the external medium, so that in this case\nthe essential differences consist in this, whether this external matter\nreceives its significance intrinsically, or is treated as a means for\nan object other than it, or finally asserts itself in this subservience\nas at the same time independent. The first case is identical with\nthe symbolic type simply, the second with the classical, the real\nsignificance attaining here an independent presentation, and in doing\nthis the symbolic is attached as an environment wholly external to it,\na type which is exemplified in the principle of classical art. The\nunion of these two types is coincident with the romantic, in so far,\nthat is, as romantic art makes use of the exterior medium as a means of\nexpression, yet withdraws itself into itself out of this reality, and\nis consequently able once more by doing so to let objective existence\nstand forth in self-subsistent embodiment.\n\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Gediegene_ here seems to mean that the unity is a real\none throughout all its manifestations--it is one of sterling efficacy.]\n\n[Footnote 2: By the words _die innere Produktion der Kunst_\nis meant apparently \"the creative activity of art-production\nas ideally conceived in a series of general world-impressions\n(_Weltanschauungen_).\" The main contrast between the theoretic\napprehension of such an evolution of art as a series, held in its\nbroad generic outlines by mind, and its practical realization\nas differentiated in the _actual_ products of different arts is\nsufficiently clear. The difficulty remains, however, as to how far\nHegel regarded these _Weltanschauungen_ in their universality to have\nthemselves an _objective_ significance no less than a _subjective_\none--how far, in other words, are they merely abstract concepts of the\nobserver, the schemata of scientific generalization, or do actually\nunfold an objective, if ideal process--how far is the thought one with\nthe revelation of the Absolute itself. It is, of course, a difficulty\nnot unknown to the student of Hegel in other directions. At least,\nas translator, I must content myself, as an excuse for obscurity in\nthis and other passages, with drawing attention (_a_) To the main\ncontrast which is quite clear, and (_b_) To the fundamental difficulty\nwhich remains. As a rule the word _Weltanschauung_ is generally used\nrather in the sense of a world-outlook as from the point of view\nof an observer. In this passage, and still more obviously a little\nlower down, the sense appears to be rather world-presentment or\nmanifestation--and the emphasis certainly on the objective aspect.\nThus the Ideal of Beauty is defined as \"the collective totality of\nits _Weltanschauungen._\" How far within such, which have previously\nbeen called exclusively _ideal_ (_innere_) can be incorporated the\npositive concrete embodiments of definite works of art is for myself\nthe difficulty, which I do not profess myself to be able to solve. I am\nin fact not entirely clear as to the entire meaning of Hegel myself.\nThe mere statement that the one is made objective by the other does\nnot appear to me to remove the difficulty; for, to mention no other\nobjection, a particular work of art is not exclusively either concrete\nor objective in the sense that an ideal process is so, or an Ideal\nwhich combines the ideal stages or moments in such a process.]\n\n[Footnote 3: _Welche sich objectivirt._ See note above.]\n\n[Footnote 4: The present, that is, which is objective to sense.]\n\n[Footnote 5: _So l\u00f6st sich das Ideal in seine Momente auf._ According\nto this it would appear that the process is wholly identified with the\nsystem of the particular arts. But the universal world-presentments are\nsurely equally a process or at least an abstract of such a process. And\nthis is in fact affirmed lower down.]\n\n[Footnote 6: A favourite metaphor of Hegel. The idea is that the metal\nis all one infusion producing a result that is like the appearance of\nAthene from the brow of Zeus.]\n\n[Footnote 7: _Der Subjektivit\u00e4t._ The mind of the artist.]\n\n[Footnote 8: A misprint. _Der_ should be _die._]\n\n[Footnote 9: _Zuversicht._ Confidence in itself.]\n\n[Footnote 10: _Die Sache._ The fact, the artistic object primarily\ntreated.]\n\n[Footnote 11: _Die Subjektivit\u00e4t._ What is personal in the perception\nof judgment.]\n\n[Footnote 12: A fine illustration of this passage is to be found in\nMiss Harrison's description of the Praxiteles Hermes in her admirable\n\"Introductory Studies in Greek Art\" (see chap, VI), a work every\nstudent of Greek Art should peruse.]\n\n[Footnote 13: _Gediegenheit._ Sterling solidity. To understand all that\nis implied the above cited work of Miss Harrison is the clearest and\nmost useful I know.]\n\n[Footnote 14: _In Unterhaltung._ Finds himself, so to speak, directly\nconversing with him.]\n\n[Footnote 15: _Der Gattungen, i.e._, specific types.]\n\n[Footnote 16: _Das Aussereinander._ A differentiated exteriority.]\n\n[Footnote 17: _Subjektivit\u00e4t_, the ideal unity that is--not so much as\nsoul or personality.]\n\n[Footnote 18: _Kein subjektives Inneres._ No ideal content that implies\na unifying subject.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Same expression as last note. An ideal realm in its\naspect of relation to an individual soul.]\n\n[Footnote 20: _Als Element._]\n\n[Footnote 21: Or reason (_Geist._)]\n\n[Footnote 22: As such content.]\n\n[Footnote 23: This must be taken subject to qualifications which appear\nfurther on.]\n\n[Footnote 24: _An sich selbst subjektiv._ As essentially appertinent to\nthe individual soul.]\n\n[Footnote 25: _Sich entgegenheit dem Geist_, _i.e._, raises itself as\na medium opposed to--or, as we should say, subservient to.]\n\n[Footnote 26: This is obviously a reference to the false theory of\nlight advanced by Goethe and accepted by Hegel.]\n\n[Footnote 27: _Das ganze Mensch._ The entire man with all his\nfaculties.]\n\n[Footnote 28: This is a reference, of course, to the Art Philosophy of\nSchelling.]\n\n[Footnote 29: _Zum vornehmen Wesen._ Ironical, of course. It is part of\nthe aristocratic pretensions of the connoisseur.]\n\n[Footnote 30: He means that as an explanation they are obvious provided\nthe facts are true, which he then points out in such cases is not so.]\n\n[Footnote 31: I am not sure I follow the sense here. I presume the\nmeaning is that, as _notionally_ considered, we have to commence\nwith an architecture to which other arts are already subservient.\nThe process of elaboration has already been carried beyond mere\narchitecture. And in this sense he calls sculpture an elaboration\n(_Ausbildung_) of architecture. But the addition of painting and music\nas such elaboration is, to say the least, an unnecessary obscurity.\nSuch an elaboration of a primitive form of music is suggested lower\ndown. But the conception appears to me rather confusing.]\n\n[Footnote 32: That is the final phase, romantic architecture.]\n\n[Footnote 33: Other than architecture.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nINDEPENDENT SYMBOLICAL ARCHITECTURE\n\n\nThe primary and original necessity of art is this, that a conception,\na thought emanate from mind, be produced and emphasized by man as\nthe result of his activity, just as in speech there are simple ideas\nwhich man communicates thereby and makes intelligible to others. In\nhuman speech, however, the means of communication is accepted merely\nas a sign, and for this reason is an entirely arbitrary mode of\nexternalization. The function of art, on the contrary, is not only\nto make use of the mere symbolic sign, but, in contrast to this, to\nsupply a sensuous presence correspondent to significances. On the one\nhand, therefore, the sensuous product, which art presents to us, must\nafford lodging for an ideal content; on the other it has to represent\nthis content in a manner which enables us to see that it is itself\nas its content not merely a realization of immediate reality, but an\nactual product of human conception and its spiritual activity. If I\nsee, for example, an actually living lion I deduce from the unique\npresentment of the same the concept of lion precisely as I should in\nthe case of a picture of it. In the picture, however, we find something\nmore than this. It demonstrates to us that the form has been conceived\nin the mind, and has found the origination of its existence in the\nhuman spirit and its productive activity, so that now we not only\nreceive the idea of an object, but the idea of a human conception of\nthat object. There is, however, no original artistic necessity that\neither a lion, merely as such[34], a tree, or any other single object\nbe added for the success of such reproduction. We have seen, on the\ncontrary, that art, and pre-eminently plastic art, proceeds with the\npresentation of such objects in order to affirm in them the dexterity\nof the counterfeit from the artist's own point of view. The interest\nin its first origination is directed to bringing before the vision of\nthe artist himself and others the primary impressions of the objective\nfacts, and the universal or essential thoughts thus stimulated. Such\npopular impressions are, however, in the first instance abstract and\nin themselves of indefinite character, so that man, in order that\nhe may present them to the imagination, lays hold of that which is\nessentially just as abstract, the material medium as it is--which is at\nonce massive and ponderous--a material which is no doubt capable of a\ndefinite, but not of an intrinsically concrete and veritably spiritual,\ncontent. The relation between content and sensuous reality, by virtue\nof which the content is to pass from the concipient world into that\nof imagination, can consequently only be of a symbolical type. At the\nsame time, however, a building, which purports to declare a general\nsignificance for others, stands there for no other purpose save that\nof essentially expressing this loftier aspect, and is consequently an\nindependent symbol of a thought that goes straight to its essential\nimport, and is of universal validity, a kind of speech which is\npresent to spiritual life on its own account, however much it may not\nbe expressed through sound. The products, therefore, of this type of\narchitecture are necessarily stimulating to thought of themselves, and\narouse universal concepts, albeit they fail to be the mere envelope and\nenvironment of significances which otherwise possess independent form.\nFor this reason, however, the form which permits a content of this kind\nto appear through it cannot perforce merely pass as symbolic sign, as,\nfor example, in the case when we raise a cross to a deceased person,\nor erect stones in memory of battles. For signs of this character are\ndoubtless qualified to stimulate ideas, but a cross, or a pile of\nstones, do not suggest, in virtue of their own nature, the idea which\nit is our object to awake, but are just as able to remind us of much\nelse entirely different. This distinction constitutes the general\nnotion of the stage now discussed[35].\n\nWith regard to this it may be affirmed that entire nations have known\nhow to express their profoundest requirements in no other way than by\nthe arts of building, or at least pre-eminently in an architectonic\nway. This has been, however, to an essential degree only in the East,\nas will appear from what we have already seen when we were called on\nto discuss the symbolic type of art. To an exceptional degree we may\nsay that the constructions of the more ancient art of Babylonia, India,\nand Egypt--which we have now before us to some extent only in ruins,\nruins which have been able to defy all ages and their revolutions, and\nwhich excite our wonder and astonishment as much on account of what is\nwholly fantastic in their forms as in virtue of their extraordinary\nproportions and mass--either completely bear this character, or in\ngreat measure are derived from it. They are works whose construction\nenlists at certain periods of history the entire activity and life of\nnations.\n\nIf, however, we inquire more closely into the _classification_ proposed\nby this chapter and the heads of subject-matter comprised in it, we\nshall find that the point of departure in this kind of architecture\nis not, as in the case of the classic or romantic type, from definite\nforms similar to that of the house. In other words we have here no\nindependently secure content, and with it no secure mode of embodiment,\nadvanced as the principle thereof, which is forthwith related in its\nfurther development to the entire range of the different constructions.\nRather the significances which are accepted as content remain, as in\nthe case of the symbolic type generally, likewise inchoate and general\nconceptions, elementary, in many respects separated and interfused\nabstractions of natural life mingled with thoughts of spiritual\nactivity, without being, ideally concentrated to a focus as the evolved\nstates of _one_ mind[36]. This aspect of dissolution gives them the\nappearance of the greatest variety and change, and the object of\nsuch architecture merely consists in emphasizing in its presentation\nfirst one aspect and then another, in making such symbolical, and, by\nmeans of human labour, making such symbolism apparent to us. Before\na multiplicity of content such as this we cannot pretend in this\ndiscussion to be either exhaustive or systematic. I shall limit myself\nto an attempt, so far as this is possible, to bring simply that which\nis of most importance into connection with a rational classification.\n\nThe prominent features of such a survey may be thus briefly enumerated.\n\nAs content our demand was for modes of view of a wholly general\ncharacter, in which peoples and individuals possess an ideal\nresting-place, a point, a unity for consciousness. The _proximate_\nobject, therefore, of such independent and self-substantive\nconstruction is simply to raise some work, which forms the _unity_ of\na nation or nations, a place in which its life may be concentrated.\nWe may also find along with this the further object more nearly\nassociated, to present by means of this very embodiment, that which\ngenerally unites mankind, in other words the religious ideas of\nnations, by virtue of which works of this kind receive likewise a more\ndefinite content for their symbolical expression.\n\nFurthermore, in the _second_ place, such an architecture is unable to\nremain fixed within the limits of this incipient determination of its\n_entire_ content; the symbolical images tend to become _isolated_; the\nsymbolical content of their signification is more closely defined, and\nby this means we find that the distinctions of their forms tend to come\ninto more assured prominence, as for instance we see in the case of the\nLingam columns, obelisks, and other examples of this kind. From another\npoint of view the art of building, in the spirit of such isolated\nself-subsistency, presses forward in its passage to _sculpture_, its\nacceptance of organic animal forms or human figures, its enlargement of\neither and association of both of them, however, on a prodigious scale,\nin its further addition of walls, doors and passages, and throughout\nin its treatment of what is adapted to sculpture in such objects in\nan entirely architectonic manner. The Sphinxes, Memnons, and enormous\ntemples of Egypt come under this category.\n\n_Thirdly_, this symbolical art of building begins to present the\ntransitional stage to the classic type. In other words it excludes\nsculpture from its immediate province, and sets about constructing\nitself as a receptacle for other significances, which are themselves\nnot merely expressed under an architectonic mode. That the reader may\nbetter understand the process thus indicated I will recall to memory a\nfew famous examples of such buildings.\n\n\n\n1. ARCHITECTURAL WORKS ERECTED WITH THE OBJECT OF UNITING PEOPLES\n\n\n\"What is holy?\" is a question raised by Goethe in a certain distich,\nand the answer he gives is: \"that which binds together many souls.\"\nIn this sense we may affirm that what is sacred, together with the\nend expressed in the above association, and as such association, has\nactually formed the primary content of self-subsistent building and\nthe art of such. The earliest example of this we may take from the\nstory of the building of the tower of Babylon. In the broad expanse\nof the Euphrates valley we are told that mankind erected an enormous\narchitectural work. It is built by the labour of a community, and\nthis public character of its construction is at the same time the end\nand content of the work itself. And what is equally true is this,\nthat this foundation of an association of communal labour is no mere\nunity of a patriarchal stamp; on the contrary we find here that the\nmere unity of the family is precisely that which is set on one side,\nand this building, which is raised to the heavens, is the objective\npresentment of the dissolution of the more primitive type of unity and\nthe realization of another of more expansive range. The collective\nactivity of peoples belonging to that age worked in it; and, in\nproportion as they came together in order to accomplish a building of\nprodigious size, the product of their activity came to be the band,\nwhich, on the ground and soil they had thus selected, and by means of\nthe accumulated mass of stone and the architectural construction on the\nland--just as in our case morality, custom, and the lawful constitution\nof State-life--bound them in unity together. A building of this kind is\nin consequence also symbolical for the reason that it merely suggests\nthe band of unity which it is, because it is only able, by means of\nits form and content, to express the sacred unity which unites men in\nan external way. It is also equally a part of this tradition that the\ncommunities have once more split apart from the centre of attraction\nwhich united them on a work of this external character.\n\nA further and yet more important building, which has, too, already\na more reliable historical basis, is the temple of Belus, of which\nHerodotus informs us[37]. We will not here inquire in what relation\nthis stands to that of Biblical tradition. It is impossible to call\nthis structure, taking it as a whole, a temple in any ordinary meaning\nof that term; rather we should call it a temple enclosure in the form\nof a square, each side of which was two stadia long, with brazen gates\nfor means of entry. In the centre of this sacred place, according to\nHerodotus, who had actually seen this colossal work, a tower of thick\nwalls (with no interior, solid throughout, in other words a \u03c0\u03ad\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b5\u03cc\u03c2) was built, both in length and breadth a stadium: on this\nwas placed yet another, and again another on that, and so on, eight\ntowers in all. On the outside of this a roadway was made to the top;\nand it appears that halfway up to the summit was a place of rest with\nbenches on which all who ascended could rest themselves. On the summit,\nhowever, of the last tower there was a huge temple, and in the temple\nwas a great bench, well cushioned, and before it stood a gold table.\nNo statue, however, was placed in the temple. No one was permitted\nto be there at night with the exception of the attendant women, who,\naccording to the statements of the Chaldaeans, the priests of this god,\nwere selected by him pre-eminently for service. The priests further\nmaintained (_c._ 182) that the temple was visited by the god, who\nrested on the bench made for him. Herodotus, it is true, also states\n(_c._ 183) that below within this sanctuary there was yet another\ntemple, in which was placed a great image of the god of gold, together\nwith a huge golden table before it, and at the same time refers to two\ngreat altars outside the temple on which the sacrifices were made.\nNotwithstanding these facts it is impossible to picture this gigantic\nbuilding as a temple either in the Greek or modern sense of the term.\nFor the first seven cubic towers are solid throughout, and it is only\nthe eighth one at the summit which serves as a resting-chamber for the\ninvisible god, who received therein no obeisance either from priesthood\nor the community. His image was below outside the building, so that the\nentire construction was raised in really independent and self-contained\nform, and did not subserve the objects of religious ritual, although\nit is no longer a purely abstract point of unity that we find here\nbut a sanctuary. The form remains no doubt subject to accidental\ncauses, or it receives its determinate character purely on account\nof the material security of the cube form; at the same time we have\nevidence of a demand which seeks for a significance which may supply\na determinate relation to it more directly symbolical and applicable\nto the work taken as a whole. We must look for this, though this is\nnot a point expressly adverted to by Herodotus, in the number of the\nmassive floors. There are seven of them with an eighth superposed for\nthe nightly abode of the god. This number of seven in all probability\nsymbolizes the seven planets and spheres of heaven.\n\nWe find also in Media cities built in accordance with such a symbolism.\nThere is, for example, Ecbatana with its seven encircling walls, of\nwhich Herodotus[38] states that in part by virtue of the height of\nthe elevation on the slope of which the city was built, and in part\nintentionally and by artificial means, they were higher one than the\nother, and their battlements were coloured differently. White was\non the first, black on the second, purple on the third, blue on the\nfourth, red on the fifth; the sixth, however, was coated with silver,\nand the seventh with gold, and within this last stood the royal\nstronghold and its treasure. \"Ecbatana,\" remarks Creuzer, in his work\non Symbolism, when referring to this type of building[39], \"that Median\ncity, and its royal stronghold in the centre, with its seven circles of\nwalls and its battlements of seven different colours, represents the\nspheres of heaven which enclose the stronghold of the sun.\"\n\n\n\n2. ARCHITECTURAL WORKS INTERMEDIATE BETWEEN THE ARTS OF BUILDING AND\nSCULPTURE\n\n\nThe first point we have to consider in the further development of\nour subject consists in this, that architecture accepts for its\ncontent significances that are more _concrete_, and aims at their\nmore symbolical presentation in accordance with _forms_ that are\nsimilarly _more concrete_, which, however, whether we take the case of\ntheir insulation[40], or collective accretion in gigantic buildings,\nthey do not make use of in the way sculpture makes use of them, but\narchitectonically in their own independent province. In the case of\nthis present type we have to direct our attention to more specific\nfacts, although all that we advance can put in no pretension to\ncompleteness, or an _a priori_ development for the reason that art in\nso far as it proceeds in its products to embrace the full range of the\nactual, that is the historical ways of comprehending the world and its\nreligious conceptions, is lost in aspects of a contingent character.\nThe fundamental definition of the type is simply this, that we have\na confused blend of sculpture and architecture, albeit the art of\nbuilding is that which permeates all and predominates.\n\n(_a_) We had occasion before, when discussing the symbolic type of art,\nto mention the fact that in the East it is frequently the universal\nliving force of Nature, that is, not the spirituality and might of\nconsciousness, but the productive energy of generation, which is\nemphasized and revered. More particularly in India this religious\nattitude was universal; also from its sources in Phrygia and Syria\nunder the image of the great goddess, the fructifyer, a conception\nwas derived which the Greeks themselves accepted. Still more closely\nconsidered this conception of the universally productive energy of\nNature was represented and held sacred in the form of the organs of\nsex, Phallus and Lingam. This cultus was in the main promulgated in\nIndia, albeit also, as we learn from Herodotus, it was not wholly\nforeign to Egypt. At any rate we meet with something of the kind in the\nfestivals of Dionysus. According to the statement of Herodotus, \"they\nhave invented other puppets as substitutes for the phalli of an ell's\nlength, which the women draw about with a string, on which we find\nthe sexual member no smaller in size than the rest of the body.\" The\nGreeks accepted a similar ministration, and Herodotus expressly informs\nus (_c._ 49) that Melampus had knowledge of the Egyptian sacrificial\nfestival of Dionysus, and had introduced the phallus which was carried\nabout in honour of the god. It was in India especially that the worship\nof the energy of generation assumed the exterior shape and significance\nof the organs of sex. Enormous columnar images were in this respect\nraised of stone as massive as towers and broadening out at the base.\nOriginally they were themselves independently the aim and objects of\nsuch worship; only at a later time it became customary to make openings\nand hollow chambers within them and deposit in these divine images,\na custom which was maintained in the Hermes figures of the Greeks,\nlittle temple shrines that could be carried. The point of departure,\nhowever, in India was the phallus pillars, which had no such hollows,\nand which only at a later date were divided into a shell and kernel,\ngrowing thus into pagodas. For the genuine Indian pagodas, which should\nbe distinguished essentially from later Mohammedan or other imitations,\ndo not originate in the form of the dwelling, but are narrow and lofty,\nand receive their fundamental type from these columnar constructions.\nWe find a similar significance and form also once more in the\nconception of the mountain Meru as expanded by Hindoo imagination,\nwhich is conceived as twirling stick in the sea of milk, and is the\ncreative source of the world. Herodotus mentions similar columns, some\nconstructed in the shape of the male, others in that of the female\norgan. He ascribes their construction[41] to Sesostris, who erected\nthem everywhere on his military expeditions against all the peoples he\nconquered. The majority of such pillars no longer existed in the days\nof Herodotus. It was only in Syria that the historian[42] had himself\nseen them. However, the fact that he ascribes them all to Sesostris is\nmerely based on the tradition he adopts. Moreover, his explanation is\nwholly Greek in its colour; he converts the natural significance into\none of ethical import and in this sense informs us: \"In cases where\nSesostris during his expedition crossed nations which were brave in\nbattle, he set up pillars in their land together with inscriptions,\nwhich gave his own name and nation, and indicated that he had subdued\nthese peoples. Where, on the contrary, he overcame without opposition,\nhe indicated on such pillars the female organ of sex without attaching\nan inscription in order to declare the fact that these nations had been\ncowards in battle.\"\n\n(_b_) We find further constructions of a similar nature, intermediate,\nthat is, between sculpture and architecture, principally in Egypt. With\nthese we may include, for example, the _obelisks_, which do not, it is\ntrue, borrow their form from the living organisms of Nature, such as\nplants, animals, or the human form, but are of a form wholly subject to\ngeometrical rule, yet at the same time no longer constructed expressly\nas subservient to the human dwelling or temple, but are erected in\nfree and independent self-subsistency, and possess the symbolical\nsignificance of the solar rays. \"Mithras,\" maintains Creuzer, \"the Mede\nor Persian, rules in the solar city of Egypt[43], and is there prompted\nby a dream to build obelisks, that is to say solar rays in stone, and\nto inscribe on them letters which are known as Egyptian.\" Pliny had\nalready attached this import to obelisks[44]. They were dedicated to\nthe sun's divinity, whose rays they were intended to catch and at the\nsame time to reflect. Also we find that in the images set up in Persia\nwe have rays of fire which ascend from columns[45].\n\nAfter obelisks we should mention as most important the sculptured\n_Memnons._ The huge statues of Memnon of Thebes, of which Strabo was\nstill able to see one fully preserved and made from a single stone,\nwhile the other, which uttered a sound at setting of the sun, was\nalready in his day mutilated, possessed the human form. They were\ntwo seated colossal human figures in their grandiose and massive\nproportions rather inorganically and architectonically designed than in\nthe strict sense sculptured, as also appears in the case of the linear\narrangement of the Memnon columns, and, inasmuch as they are only\nvalid in such equable order and size, they wholly digress from the aim\nof sculpture and are subject to the art of building. Hirt[46] refers\nthe colossal melodious statue, which Pausanias states the Egyptians\nregarded as the image of Phamenoph, not so much to deity as to a king,\nwho possessed in it his monument, as Osymandyas and others in a similar\nway. It is, however, quite possible that these imposing images supplied\na more definite or indefinite conception of something universal. Both\nEgyptians and Aethiopians worshipped Memnon, the son of the Dawn,\nand sacrificed to him on the first appearance of the solar rays by\nmeans of which the image greeted with its vocal sound the worshippers.\nProducing as it did vocal sound it is not merely in virtue of its form\nof importance and interest, but by reason of its nature as a living,\nsignificant and revealing thing, albeit the mode of revelation is\npurely one of symbolic suggestion.\n\nThis relation we have pointed out in the case of these statues of\nMemnon is equally true in that of the _Sphinxes_, which we have already\ndiscussed in our reference to their symbolic significance. We find\nthese Sphinxes in Egypt not merely in extraordinary numbers but also\nof stupendous size. One of the most famous of them is the one which is\nsituated in close proximity to the Cairo group of pyramids. Its length\nis 148 metres, its height from the claws to the head is 65 metres; the\nfeet that repose in front, measured from the breast to the points of\nthe claws, are 57 metres, and the height of the claws 8 metres. This\nenormous mass of rock, however, has not in the first instance been\nexcavated and then carried to the place now occupied by it. On the\ncontrary, the excavations which have been made to its foundations prove\nthat the foundation consists of limestone, and in a manner which showed\nthat the entire huge work was hewn from one rock of which it only forms\na portion. This enormous image more nearly approaches, it is true,\ngenuine sculpture in its colossal proportions; it is, however, equally\ntrue that the Sphinxes were also set side by side linearly in passages,\nin which position they, too, receive a wholly architectonic character.\n\n(_c_) Such independent figures are, as a rule, not only to be found in\nisolation, but are supplemented by the construction of large buildings\nresembling the temple type, labyrinths, subterranean excavations\nof every kind, or amongst other things are utilized in masses and\nsurrounded by walls.\n\nThe first thing we may remark with regard to the temple enclosures\nof Egypt is this that the fundamental character of this huge type\nof architecture, detailed information as to which we have latterly\nreceived in the main from French writers, consists in this that they\nare constructions open to the day, without roofing, doors, passages\nbetween partitions[47], and above all, between columned halls, entire\nforests of columns. They are works, in short, of the greatest range\nand variety of interior construction which, without serving as the\nhabitation of a god, or a communion of worshippers, independently\nby this self-consistent operation appeal to the wonder of our\nimaginations quite as much in the colossal size of their proportions\nand masses, as through the fact that their isolated forms and images\nmake an independent and exclusive claim to our interest. Such forms\nand images are in truth placed there as symbols for significances\nwhich are strictly universal in their import, or in the position\nthey occupy as representing literature, in so far, that is, as they\ndeclare such significances not through the manner of their form, but\nby means of writings, works of imaginative form which are engraved on\ntheir surfaces. We may in part describe these gigantic buildings as\na collection of sculptured images; for the most part, however, these\nappear in such a number and with such repetition of one and the same\nform, that the arrangement becomes one of a series, and it is only in\nthis kind of line and order that they receive what is precisely their\narchitectonic definition, which becomes, however, once more an object\nin itself, and does not merely mean beams and roofing and nothing\nbeyond them.\n\nThe larger constructions of this type start with a paved passage, one\nhundred feet broad, according to Strabo's statement, and three or four\ntimes as long. On either side of this approach (\u03b4\u03c1\u03cc\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2) stand Sphinxes,\nin rows of fifty to a hundred, in height from twenty to thirty feet.\nAfter this comes an imposing and splendid portal (\u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c0\u03c5\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd), narrower\nat the top than at the base, with piers and columns of enormous bulk,\nten or twenty times higher than the height of a man; partially isolate\nand independent, and in part fixed in walls and gorgeously decorated\nstructures[48], which also stand up perpendicularly in independence\nto the height of from fifty to sixty feet, broader at the bottom\nthan at the top, without being connected with transverse walls, or\ncarrying entablatures[49], and so constituting a dwelling. On the\ncontrary, what we find is that, in contrast to vertical walls, which\nrather suggest they are built to support a weight, they belong to the\nindependent mode of architecture. Here and there Memnon images lean\nagainst these walls, which also constitute passages, and are entirely\ncovered with hieroglyphics and enormous pictures on stone, so that they\nappeared to the Frenchmen who recently saw them like printed calico.\nWe may regard them as so many leaves of books, which by means of their\nspatial and limited superficies arouse unlimited astonishment, feeling,\nand reflection in the human soul. Doors follow at frequent intervals,\nand alternate with each series of Sphinxes; or we find an open spot\nengirt throughout by a wall with columned passages to these walls.\nAfter that we get a covered place, which does not serve as a dwelling,\nbut is a forest of pillars, the columns of which have no roofing but\ncarry slabs of stone. After these Sphinx passages, series of columns,\nand structural walls over-flowered with hieroglyphics, after them a\nfrontage building with wings, before which obelisks are erected and\nlions couched; or also, after forecourts, or a cincture of yet more\nnarrow approaches, we reach the culmination of the entire construction,\nthe real temple, the sanctuary (\u03c3\u03b7\u03ba\u1f78\u03c2), according to Strabo of moderate\nproportions, which either contained no image of the god, or merely an\nanimal image. This dwelling of godhead was now and again a monolith,\nas Herodotus, for example, narrates[50] in respect of the temple of\nButo. This temple was worked out of one piece of stone to a length\nand breadth, which in each of its walls of equal size measured forty\ncubits, and as final roof to the same was placed a single stone with a\ncornice of four cubits' breadth. In general, however, these sanctuaries\nare so small, that no communion of worshippers could find room inside.\nSuch a communion, however, is an essential concomitant of a temple;\notherwise the same is merely a box, a treasury, a place where sacred\nimages are conserved.\n\nTo such an extent buildings of this type run on for miles with their\nrows of animal figures, their Memnons, their immense doors, their walls\nand colonnades of the most stupendous dimensions, some of greater\nbreadth, some of less, their isolated obelisks and much else, that\nwhile we wander within works so huge and so calculated to excite our\nsurprise, which in part possess merely a more restricted purpose in\nthe diverse activities of the system of culture to which they belong\nthe question is irresistible, what these masses of stone have to tell\nus of the Divine they secrete. For on closer inspection symbolical\nmeanings are everywhere in-woven in these constructions in that the\nnumber of Sphinxes and Memnons, the position of columns and passages\nhave relation to the days of the year, the twelve signs of the Zodiac,\nthe seven planets, the great periods of the lunar cycle and other\nphenomena. To some extent we find here that sculpture has not yet\nfreed itself from architecture; and in some degree again the really\narchitectonic aspect of measure, interval, number of columns, walls,\nsteps, and so forth is so treated, that the real object of these\nrelations is not to be found in their own intrinsic character, that\nis, in their symmetry, harmony, and beauty, but is referable to their\nsymbolical definition. And in this way all this work of construction\nasserts itself independently as an object in itself, as itself a\ncultus, in which both nation and king are united. Many works, such as\ncanals, the lake Maeotis, and generally waterworks have a particular\nrelation to agriculture and the floods of the Nile. An example of this\nwe have in the statement of Herodotus[51] to the effect that Sesostris\nhad the entire country, which up to this time had been ridden and\ndriven over, cut up into canals to provide drinking-water, and in this\nway made horses and wagons useless. The main constructions, however,\nremained those buildings with a religious purpose, which the Egyptians\ninstinctively piled up much as the bees do their cells. Their property\nwas regulated[52], their other social conditions equally so, the soil\nof the country was extraordinarily fruitful, and required no laborious\ncultivation, so that we may almost say their agriculture merely\nconsisted in sowing and harvest. We hear little of other interests and\nexploits, such as are common to nations, and, with the exception of the\ntales of the priesthood with reference to the maritime undertakings of\nSesostris, we have no account of sea voyages. Speaking generally, the\nEgyptians restricted their efforts to this work of construction within\ntheir own country. It is, however, what we have called self-substantive\nand symbolical architecture which forms the fundamental type of their\nimposing works and for this reason that the human ideal, the spiritual\nin its aims and external forms, has not as yet come to self-knowledge,\nor constituted itself the object and product of its free activity.\nSelf-consciousness has not as yet ripened in the fruit, is not yet\nindependently secured, but is restless, seeking, surmising, ever for\nproducing without absolute satisfaction, and consequently without\nrepose. It is only in the form that is commensurate with Spirit\nthat mind essentially at home with itself finds satisfaction and\nfinds its true definition in what it produces. The symbolical work\nof art on the contrary remains more or less indefinite. Among such\ncreations of the Egyptian art of building we may include the so-called\n_labyrinths_, courts with columned approaches, circumambient paths\nbetween partitions, which entwine about in a mysterious fashion, but\nwhose confusing intricacy is not constructed with the puerile object\nto make the means of exit a problem, but to create for the senses an\nintricate mode of motion that is dominated by mysteries of symbolical\nimport. For these paths, as we have already indicated, imitate in\ntheir course that of the heavenly bodies and embody the same for\nimagination. They are in part constructed above the ground and in part\nunderneath it, and in addition to their passages are furnished with\nchambers and halls of enormous size, whose walls are covered with\nhieroglyphics. The largest labyrinth which Herodotus himself saw was\nnot far from the lake Maeris. He affirms[53] that its size exceeded his\npowers of description, and it surpassed the pyramids themselves. The\nbuilding he ascribes to the twelve kings, and he describes it in the\nfollowing terms. The entire building surrounded by one and the same\nwall consisted of two stories, the one above and the other beneath\nthe level of the ground. Taken together they enclosed three thousand\nchambers, each story containing fifteen hundred. The upper story which\nalone Herodotus was able to see was divided into twelve adjacent\ncourts[54], with doors placed opposite to each other, six facing the\nNorth and six the South, and every court was engirt with a colonnade,\nconstructed of white and carefully worked stone. From these courts,\nHerodotus continues, you have ingress to the chambers, and from these\ninto the halls, and from the halls into other chambers, and from these\nchambers into the courts. According to Hirt[55] Herodotus only so far\ndefines this latter relation to the extent that he places in the first\ninstance the chambers in juxtaposition to the courts. With regard to\nthe labyrinthine passages, Herodotus states that the numerous passages\nthrough the roofed-in chambers and the multitudinous incurvations\nbetween the courts had filled him with infinite astonishment. Pliny[56]\ndescribes them as obscure and tedious for a stranger on account of\ntheir windings, and when their doors were opened there was a noise\nin them like thunder; we also learn from Strabo, an evidence of\nimportance, for he was an eye-witness no less than Herodotus, that the\nlabyrinthine passages encircled the court spaces. It was the Egyptians\nwho mainly built such labyrinths: but we find in imitation of Egypt a\nsimilar one in Crete, though of smaller extent, and also, too, in the\nMorea and Malta. Taking into consideration the fact, however, that,\non the one hand, an art of building of this kind in its chambers and\nhalls already approximated to the dwelling type, while, on the other,\naccording to the delineation of Herodotus, the subterranean portion\nof the labyrinth, an entrance into which was forbidden him, had for\nits definite object the sepulchre of the founders of the building and\nsacred crocodiles--so that here the essential characteristic of the\nlabyrinth was entirely the symbolic import in an independent sense--we\nmay find in such works a point of transition to the form of symbolical\narchitecture, which in its own constituent parts begins already to\napproach the classic type of building.\n\n\n\n3. THE TRANSITION FROM SELF-SUBSTANTIVE ARCHITECTURE TO THE CLASSICAL\nTYPE\n\n\nHowever stupendous in size the construction we have just considered are\nthe subterranean architecture of Oriental peoples such as the Hindoos\nand Egyptians, which offer many features of resemblance, are still\nmore imposing and calculated to excite our wonder. Whatever aspect of\ngrandeur and nobility is in this respect discoverable above ground\npresents no parallel to that which among the Hindoos is presented us\nbeneath the earth in Salsette, which faces Bombay, and in Ellora, that\nis, in Upper Egypt and Nubia. In these extraordinary excavations what\nwe have in the earliest examples exposed is the immediate necessity of\nan _enclosure._ The fact that mankind have sought protection in caves,\nand made their dwelling there and that entire peoples have possessed no\nother mode of dwelling is due to the compelling force of their needs.\nCaves of this kind existed in the land of Judaea, where in works of\nmany stories there was room for thousands. There were also in the Harz\nmountains in the Rammelsberg near Goslar chambers, into which men crept\nfor cover, and used to bring their provisions for safety.\n\n(_a_) Of an entirely different type, however, are the Hindoo and\nEgyptian subterranean constructions to which we have alluded. In some\ndegree they served as places of assemblage, subterranean cathedrals,\nand are constructions whose object was to excite religious wonder and\nconcentrate the communion of spiritual life; they are united to designs\nand suggestions of a symbolical character, colonnades, sphinxes,\nMemnons, elephants, colossal images of idols, which, hewn from the bare\nrock, were as fully left a component growth of the formless stone as\nthe columns in such excavations were made to stand out in isolation\nfrom it. In front of the walls of rock these buildings were here and\nthere wholly exposed to the light, in other parts they were entirely\ndevoid of it, and illuminated merely with torches, while in other\nportions light was introduced from above.\n\nRelatively to the super-terranean constructions these excavations\nappear as prior in time, so that we may regard the enormous spaces\nlaid out above the soil as an imitation and efflorescence of similar\ntracts of land beneath it. In excavations there is no positive\nbuilding, but we have rather a given material taken away. And to nest\nthus in the ground, to excavate is more natural to man than to seek for\na material, and with it to construct and inform a mass of buildings.\nIn this respect we may assume the cave to be utilized prior to the hut\nor dwelling. Caves are the extension of spatial covering instead of\na limitation of such, or an extension which grows up as a limit and\nenclosure, in which the enclosure is already present. The subterranean\nconstruction consequently inclines to start with what is already\npresent, and, in so far as it leaves the fundamental material as it\nfinds it, is not erected with the freedom applicable to a configuration\nraised above the surface of the soil. In our view, however, these\nconstructions already belong to a further stage of the art of building,\nhowever much they may also have features of a symbolical type, because\nthey no longer are placed there as independently symbolical, but\nalready possess the aim or purpose of an enclosure, a partition, a\nroof, within which more symbolical figures as such are set up. That\nwhich is connoted under the conception of temple and dwelling, both in\nthe Greek and more modern use of the terms, we have here in their most\nnatural form.\n\nWe may include in the above class the caves of Mithras, although we\nfind them in a very different locality. The worship and ritual of\nMithras originates in Persia. A cultus, however, of a similar kind was\nalso promulgated in the Roman Empire. In the Paris Museum we find a\nvery famous bas-relief, which represents a youth in the act of striking\nan ox with a steel weapon. It was discovered in the Roman Capitol in\na deep grotto beneath the temple of Jupiter. In these Mithras caves\nvaults are also met with, and passages which on the one hand appear\ndefinitely to symbolize by suggestion the course of the stars, and from\nanother point of view also (precisely as still in our own time takes\nplace in our free-mason lodges, where people are conducted through\nmany passages and have to see dramatic scenes and much else) the ways,\nwhich the soul must pass through in its purification, albeit it may be\ntrue enough that this fundamental meaning is more fully and directly\nexpressed in sculpture and other work than in architecture simply. In\na connection somewhat similar we may also mention the Roman catacombs,\nthe fundamental idea of whose construction was certainly something\nquite other than that of being subservient to aqueducts, sepulchres or\nany system of drainage.\n\n(_b_) In the _second_ place we may seek for our present use a more\ndefinite point of transition from the architecture of independent\ntype in those constructions which have been raised as _housings of\nthe dead_, partly in the form of excavations beneath the ground, and\npartly as buildings above it. More particularly among the Egyptians\nthis kind of construction, whether subterranean or super-terranean,\nwas associated with a realm of the dead, just as in general among the\nEgyptians it is a realm of the invisible which in the first instance\nreceives a habitation and is placed before us. The Hindoo burns his\ndead, or suffers their bones to lie and moulder on the earth. According\nto the Hindoo's point of view mankind are, or become, god or gods,\nwhichever way one cares to put it, and we are unable to find in\ntheir case this assured distinction between the living and the dead\nregarded as dead. Hindoo constructions, consequently, so far as they\ndo not originate in Mohammedanism, are not dwellings for the dead,\nand appear generally to belong to an earlier period as we assumed\nwas true of the astonishing excavations described. In the case of\nthe Egyptians, however, the contrast between living and dead asserts\nitself predominantly. That which is spiritual begins to separate itself\nessentially from what is material. We have here the resurrection of\nspirit in concrete individuality, the movement of that process. The\ndead are therefore retained fast as personality[57], and are secured\nand preserved securely above the conception of dissolution into Nature,\nthat is into universal evanescence, flood and extinction. Singularity\nis the principle of the spiritual in its notion of independence,\nbecause spirit is only able to exist as individuality, that is\npersonality. Consequently this honour paid to and preservation of the\ndead can only appear to ourselves as a first and important element in\nthe definition of the existence of spiritual individuality, since\nit is here that singularity is asserted as maintained rather than\nabandoned, inasmuch as the body at any rate is treasured and respected\nas this Nature's own mode of individuality. Herodotus assures us, a\nfact we have already noticed, that the Egyptians were the first to\ndeclare that the souls of men were immortal, and despite the fact that\nthe grasp on spiritual individuality is in their case very incomplete,\nin so far as in their view the deceased must for three thousand years\npass through a whole series of animals belonging to land, water, and\nair, yet for all that in this conception, and in the embalming of the\nbody, we find fixedly the notion of bodily individuality, and of the\nindependent self-existence as separate from that body.\n\nIt is therefore also of importance in the arts of building that\nin these the separation of the spiritual, no less than the ideal\nsignificance, which[58] is independently represented, be carried\ninto effect while the corporeal shell is set round it as a purely\narchitectonic environment. The dwellings of the dead of the Egyptians\nconstitute for this reason the earliest examples of the temple type.\nThe essential feature, the central core of worship is a subject,\nan individual object which appears of significance by itself, and\nexpresses itself as distinct from its dwelling, which is thereby\ninterpreted as purely a subservient covering. And no doubt it is not\nan actual man, for whose requirements a house or palace had to be\nbuilt, but deceased objects that are without such needs, kings, sacred\nanimals, around whom immeasurable constructions are enclosed.\n\nJust as agriculture fixes the wandering of nomads in the stable\npossession of a definite locality, we may say that generally\nsepulchres, monuments, and the service of the dead unite mankind, and\neven offer to those who possess no States, no limitations of property,\na place of _rendez-vous_, sacred places which they defend and refuse\nto have taken away from them. As an illustration we may cite the case\nof the Scythians, a nomad people, who retired everywhere, according to\nthe narration of Herodotus[59], before Darius. And when Darius sent an\nembassage to them with the message that if their king deemed himself\nstrong enough to offer resistance he should come forth to battle, but\nif he did not he ought to recognize Darius as his lord, Idanthyrsus met\nthe same with the reply that they possessed neither cities nor tilled\nland, and had nothing to defend for the reason that Darius had nothing\nto ravage; if, however, Darius made a point of having a fight they\npossessed the sepulchres of their fathers, let him therefore dare to\nadvance against these, he will then discover whether they will fight\nfor their sepulchres or not.\n\nThe most ancient and imposing monuments erected to the dead we find\nin Egypt. They are the Pyramids. What most excites our wonder at\nfirst sight of these astonishing constructions is their extraordinary\nmagnitude, which at once makes us reflect upon the duration of time,\nthe variety, superabundance and persistence of human energies which is\ninseparable from the completion of such colossal buildings. From the\npoint of view of form there is nothing in them to protract attention:\nin a few minutes we have surveyed and taken in the entire effect.\nWith this simplicity and uniformity of their form in view their\nobject has ever been a subject of controversy. It is true that even\nthe ancients, as for example Herodotus and Strabo, adduced the aim,\nwhich they subserved; but for all that both in former and more recent\ntimes, travellers and writers have contributed much that is fabulous\nand unwarranted in their reflections. The Arabs endeavoured to effect\nentrance by force, hoping to discover treasure in the interior of\nthe Pyramids; such assaults, however, beyond disturbing much, have\nfailed in their object to reach the actual passages and chambers.\nEuropeans of a later date, among whom we may mention in particular\nfor distinction, Belzoni, a native of Rome, and Caviglia of Genoa,\nhave at last succeeded in ascertaining more accurate information\nwith respect to the interior of these fabrics. Belzoni discovered\nthe royal sepulchre in the Pyramid of Chephren. The entrances to the\nPyramids were closed in the securest way by square blocks of stone,\nand it appears that Egyptians endeavoured in their construction so to\neffect matters that the entrance, even when discovered, could only be\nfollowed up and opened with the greatest difficulty. This proves to us\nthat the Pyramids remained closed and could not be again used. Within\ntheir interior explorers have found chambers, passages, which point by\nsuggestion to the ways, which the soul undertakes after death in its\ncourse and transmigration, great halls, channels beneath the earth at\none time descending, at another mounting up. The royal sepulchre of\nBelzoni runs on in this way hewn out of the rock for a mile. In the\nprincipal hall stood a sarcophagus of granite, sunk in the ground;\nbut all that was discovered in it was the remains of animal bones of\na mummy, probably that of an Apis. The whole, however, proved beyond\na doubt that the object in view was that of being a dwelling for the\ndead. The Pyramids differ in age, form, and size. The most ancient\nappear to be stones piled on one another in a more or less pyramidal\nshape. The more recent ones are constructed with uniformity; some are\nsomewhat flattened out at the summit, others run up entirely to a\npoint. On others have been found deposits, an explanation of which may\nbe gathered from the description Herodotus[60] gives us when referring\nto the Pyramid of Cheops of the manner in which the Egyptians carried\nout such works, so that Hirt includes such among the Pyramids which\nremained unfinished[61]. In the older Pyramids according to the latest\nevidence of Frenchmen the chambers and passages are more winding;\nin the more recent ones they are simpler, but entirely covered with\nhieroglyphics, to interpret which throughout will take several years.\n\nIn this way the Pyramids, despite all the wonder they arouse of their\nown accord, are really nothing but crystals, mere shells, which\nenclose a kernel, that is a departed spirit, and serve as custodians\nof his still consistent bodily presence and form. In this departed\nand deceased person, who secures an independent reproduction, we fail\nto find consequently any significance[62]; the architecture, however,\nwhich up to this point independently possessed its significance in\nitself as architecture, is now divided in its aim, and in this division\nis _subservient_ to something else, whereas sculpture receives the\nfunction to give body to the genuine ideal aspect, although in the\nfirst instance the individual figure in its unique and immediate\nnatural shape is retained. We find consequently, on a general survey\nof the Egyptian art of building, on the one hand, the self-subsistent\nsymbolical buildings; on the other, however, and more particularly\nin everything which is attached to the monuments of the dead, the\nspecific determination of architecture to be an enclosure and nothing\nmore, already clearly asserts itself. It is an essential concomitant\nof this, that architecture not only be limited to the construction of\nexcavations and caves, but attest itself as an inorganic Nature built\nby human hands on the spot where men have actual need of it, and for a\ndefinite purpose will it to be.\n\nOther nations have raised monuments of the same kind, sacred buildings\nas dwellings of the dead bodies, over whom they happen to be erected.\nAs examples we may instance the mausoleum in Curia, and of more recent\ndate that of Hadrian, the still existing Englesburg in Rome, a palace\nof careful construction raised in honour of a dead person, all of which\nwere even in antiquity famous works. According to the description of\nUhden[63] we may also mention in this connection a type of mortuary,\nwhich in its arrangement and environment imitated in its smaller\naspects temples dedicate to gods. A temple of this kind possessed a\ngarden, arbours, a spring, a vineyard, and moreover chapels, in which\nportrait statues of gods were placed. More particularly in the time of\nthe Roman Empire were such monuments to the dead built with statues\nof the deceased under the image of gods such as Apollo, Venus, and\nMinerva. Figures like the above, no less than the entire construction,\nconsequently received during that age the significance of an apotheosis\nand a temple in honour of the dead man, just as also among the\nEgyptians the process of embalming, the emblems placed thereby, and\nthe sarcophagus attest that the deceased was treated as a god-like\nOsiris[64].\n\nThe most imposing and least complex constructions of this kind,\nhowever, are the Egyptian Pyramids. In this type we have the peculiar\nand essential line of the art of building, that is the straight one,\nand in general terms the uniformity and abstract simplicity[65] of\nforms. For architecture, as merely enclosure and inorganic Nature,\nor Nature that is not itself vitally and essentially suffused by the\nindwelling spirit in an independent mode, is unable to possess form\nexcept as one which is external to itself; external form, however,\nis not organic, but abstract and purely referable to the organs of\nsense[66]. However much the Pyramid already begins to receive the\ndetermining characteristics of the dwellings, yet the rectangular\nprinciple is still not throughout predominant, as it is in a real\ndwelling-house; it has still an independent determinacy, which is\nnot merely of service to the purpose for which it is erected, and\nconsequently closes up of itself by a process of gradation directly\nfrom the foundation to the apex.\n\n(_c_) It is from this point that we may make the transition from the\nindependent type of building to that of an art of construction, which\nis serviceable of a _purpose._\n\nThere are two points of departure to this later type. There is on the\none hand _symbolic_ architecture, and on the other practical necessity\nand the _impulse of purpose_ to subserve that necessity. In the case\nof symbolical forms, as we have already had occasion to observe,\narchitectonic purpose is merely an incidental feature, merely an\nexternal mode of co-ordination. The dwelling-house, on the contrary,\nerected as necessity itself, requires posts of wood, or just walls\nstanding up straight with beams, which are laid across them at right\nangles, and a roofing, and constitutes, the other extreme. There can be\nno question that the necessity of this real and effective expediency\nmakes its appearance as the result of its own demand. The distinction\nthat may be raised, however, in answer to the question, whether genuine\narchitecture--as we shall shortly have to consider it as the classic\nart of building--takes its rise solely in this necessity, or is to\nbe deduced from independent and symbolical works, which conducted us\nof their own accord to buildings devoted to service, is the point in\nessential dispute.\n\n(_\u03b1_) It is the force of circumstances which brings to the fore forms\nin architecture which are wholly stamped with a useful purpose, and\nthe abstract deductions of science, such as the rectilinear line, the\nright angle, and the smooth surface. For in serviceable architecture\nthat which constitutes the real object, is, in its independence, as\na statue, or more closely as human individuals, that is community, a\npeople, brought together for objects of general significance, which no\nlonger have as their aim the satisfaction of physical wants, but are\nsuch in a religious and political sense. In a special degree the need\nasserts itself to shape an enclosure for the image, the statue of the\ngods, or generally for that which is independently placed before us and\nactually present as sacred. Memnons, Sphinxes, and the like stand up in\nthe open, or in a grove, that is in the external environment of nature.\nImages of this kind, however, and still more human images of gods,\nare borrowed from another realm than that of immediate Nature. They\nbelong to the world of imagination, and come into existence through the\nartistic powers of mankind. The purely natural environment is therefore\nnot sufficient; they require for their external frame a ground and an\nenclosure, which shall be derived from the same source as their own,\nin other words, such as are the product of the imagination, and have\nreceived their form by means of artistic effort. It is only in an\nenvironment created by art that the gods find themselves at home[67].\nIn such a case, however, this external frame does not possess its\nobject in itself, but it subserves something other than itself, and is\nsubject to the principle of purpose or expediency.\n\nIf, however, these, in the first instance, purely serviceable forms are\nexalted to an expression of beauty they are unable to persist in their\noriginal abstract mode, and are forced to accept, in addition to what\nis merely symmetrical and harmonious, that which is organic, concrete,\nessentially itself conclusive and varied. And because this is so men\nare forced to reflect over distinctions of determinating form, no less\nthan the express emphasis to be made on certain aspects of form, which\nis wholly superfluous where the question is only one of a definite\npurpose to be attained. A beam, for example, is from one point of view\nthat which is carried forward in a straight line; at the same time,\nhowever, it terminates at both extremes. In the same way a post which\nhas to support either rafter or roof stands on the ground and reaches\nits terminating point where the rafter rests upon it. The architecture\nof service asserts distinctions of this kind and gives form to them by\nmeans of art; an organic design, on the contrary, such as a plant, or\na human being, ay, whether we look at such above or below, but in any\ncase throughout, has to be organically embodied, to be differentiated\nin the latter case consequently by feet and head, or in the former by\nroots and corona.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Conversely symbolic architecture takes its point of departure\nmore or less from organic forms of this kind, as we see is the case\nwith sphinxes, memnons, and so forth; yet it is also unable wholly\nto exclude in its walls, doors, beams, obelisks, and the rest, the\nprinciple of the straight line and uniformity, and is generally obliged\nto accept the assistance of such principles appertinent to the genuine\nart of building as equality of size, interval of relative position,\nrectilinear progression of rows, in short, order and regularity when\nit proposes to place in a series and to set up in accordance with\narchitectural design the colossal sculptured figures to which we\nhave referred. By doing so it unites in itself both principles[68],\nwhose union brings for result an architecture, the beauty of which is\npromoted along with the object to which it is subservient, albeit in\nthe symbolic type these two aspects[69] still lie in separation side by\nside instead of being fused in unity.\n\n(_\u03b3_) We may therefore so conceive the transition that on the one side\nthe art of building, hitherto self-subsistent in type, is forced to\nmodify under scientific principles[70] the forms of organisms in the\ndirection of regularity, and to pass into the province of proposed\nexpediency; while conversely what is entirely such intended purpose in\nthe form moves in opposition to the principle of the organic world.\nWhere these two extremes come together, and mutually pass into one\nanother, we get what is really beautiful classic architecture.\n\nWe may recognize this union, as it actually arises, clearly in the\ntransformation now introduced of that which we already have met with in\nthe architecture which was anterior under the form of columns. In other\nwords, it is true that from one point of view walls are necessary to\nmake an enclosure; but walls, too, can stand up independent, as we have\nalready proved with examples, without making the enclosure complete, to\nwhich a roofing, no less than an enclosure of the sides, essentially\ncontributes. But a roofing of this kind has to be supported. The\nsimplest way of doing this is by columns, whose essential and, at\nthe same time exclusive, rationale consists here in being simply\n_supports._ For this reason walls are really a superfluity is so far\nas it is only a question of support. For supporting is a mechanical\nrelation, and belongs to a province of gravity and its laws. And in\nthis[71] gravity the weight of a particular body is concentrated in\nits point of gravity, and must be assisted at this centre in remaining\nhorizontal without a fall. This is precisely what the column does, so\nthat with it the power of support appears to be reduced to the minimum\nlimit of exterior means to effect this. What a wall at great cost[72]\neffects, is equally effected by a few columns. It is a very beautiful\ncharacteristic of classic architecture not to set up more columns than\nare actually necessary to carry the weight of the rafter and that which\nreposes thereon. In genuine architecture columns, for purposes of mere\ndecoration, are not truly beautiful. For the same reason also columns\nwhich stand up entirely alone do not perform their true function. No\ndoubt triumphal columns have been erected, such as the famous ones\nin honour of Trajan and Napoleon: but these, too, are really but a\npedestal for statues, and moreover covered with sculptured reliefs to\ncommemorate and glorify the hero, whose image they carry. In the case\nof the column, then, it is of exceptional importance to see how in the\ncourse of architectural development it is compelled to divest itself\nof the concrete form of Nature before it can secure its more abstract\nform, the form, that is, which is as compatible with a definite object\nas it is with beauty.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Independent architecture, on account of the fact that it starts\nwith organic images, makes use of human shapes, as, for example, we\nfind in Egypt figures in some measure at least human, such as Memnons\nand the like, are utilized. This is, however, a mere superfluity, in\nso far, that is, as a definition of this character is not the true\nmedium of support. We find among the Greeks that Caryatides are used\nin another mode and under a more severe obedience to rule to support\nsuperimposed weight, but such cannot be extensively employed. Moreover,\nwe can only regard it as a misuse of the human form to crush it\ntogether under such burdens, and it is for this reason that Caryatides\nreceive the character of the oppressed; their drapery suggests a state\nof slavery under which it is a degradation to carry such burdens.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The more natural organic form for pillars and supports which\nhave to bear a weight is consequently the tree, plant-life generally, a\nstem, a thin stalk which strives upwards in a vertical direction. The\nhole of a tree already carries of its own nature its crown of branches,\nthe blade of corn the ear, the stem the flower. These forms, too, the\nEgyptian art of building, which has not as yet attained the liberty of\nviewing them in their abstract intension, borrows directly from Nature.\nIn this respect the grandiose quality which we discover in the style\nof Egyptian palaces or temples--the colossal proportions of its rows\nof columns, the huge number of them, and withal the imposing mutual\nrelations of the entire structure, has ever filled the spectator with\nwonder and astonishment. In these colonnades we do not find that all\ncolumns have the same form; they alternate between one, two, or three\ntypes. Denon, in his work on the Egyptian expedition, has collected\na great number of such types. The combined effect is not as yet any\nuniform shape based on abstract principles of selection; rather the\nfoundation is the shape of an onion, a reed-like efflorescence of leaf\nfrom the bulb, or, in other examples, a compression together of the\nroot-leaves according to the manner of several kinds of plant. From\nthis base, then, the thin stem breaks upwards straight, or mounts\nas column with twisted coils, and the capital is also a separation\nof leaves from branches which suggests the process of a flower. The\nimitation, however, is not true to Nature, but the plant-like forms are\ndrained off under the architectural impulse, and made to approximate to\ncircular, geometrical, and regular forms, or straight lines, so that\nsuch columns, in their entirety, resemble what are usually described as\narabesques.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) This is not the place to enter into a general discussion of\nthe _arabesque_ for the reason that notionally it marks precisely\nthe transition from the architecture which adopts as its basic form\nthe natural organism to that which by its adoption of a more severe\nregularity is more strictly architectonic. When, however, the art of\nbuilding has become free in its definitive character it relegates\narabesques to the function of decoration and ornament. They are then\npreeminently forms of plants strained off, so to speak, or forms which\noriginate from plants together with entwined forms of animals and\nhuman beings, or forms of animals in their passage over to plant-life.\nIn so far as they purport to authenticate a symbolical significance\nthe transitional passage between the different spheres of the animal\nkingdom hold good for it. Apart from such an interpretation they are\nsimply the play of the imagination in the selection, combination and\narticulation of the most diverse forms of Nature. For architectural\nornamentation of this kind, in the invention of which the imagination\nfinds scope for its activity in the most varied creations of every\nkind, not even excluding utensils and drapery, the fundamental\ndeterminant and type is this, that whether it be plants, leaves,\nflowers, or animals, all are made to approximate to the abstract\nfigures of science, in other words the inorganic. For this reason\nwe frequently find arabesques to be stiff, untrue to organic life;\nand it is on this account that they are not unfrequently condemned\nand art is blamed for the use of them. This is exceptionally true of\npainting, though Raphael himself did not scruple to paint arabesques\nin great profusion, characterized with the highest charm, nobility of\nfeeling, variety, and grace. No doubt arabesques are an antithesis to\nnature, whether we compare them with organic forms or the rigid laws of\nmechanics; but an opposition of this kind is not merely a right of art\ngenerally, but even an obligation under which architecture is bound.\nIt is only by this means that living forms in other respects unfitted\nfor the art of building are made adaptable to the truly architectural\nstyle and brought into harmony with it. Such an adaptability is\noffered in an exceptionally close degree by vegetable Nature, which\nis also in the East utilized to an extravagant extent in arabesques;\nin other words plants are not as yet individual objects which possess\nfeeling, but naturally present themselves as adapted to architectural\ndesign, by virtue of the fact that they form coverings and protection\nagainst rain, sunlight, and wind, and, generally speaking, do not\npossess the free oscillation[73] of lines which breaks forth from the\nregularity of scientific conceptions[74]. Architecturally used the\nregularity of leaves already present is yet further subjected to rule\nin the definition of rondure and straight line, so that by this means\neverything which it is possible to regard as distortion, unnaturalness,\nor stiffness in the plant-forms is fundamentally to be considered as\na transformation adapted to the requirements of what is genuinely\narchitectural.\n\nIn some such way in the column the real art of building passes from\nthat which is purely organic imitation to the definite purpose of\nscientific rule, and from this to a position which again approximates\nto the organic result. We find it necessary to draw attention to\nthis twofold point of departure from the actual necessities and the\npurposeless self-subsistency of architecture, because the true type\nunites both principles. The beautiful column originates in the natural\nform, which is then transformed into the post, that is, it submits to\nthe uniformity and scientific precision of form.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nCLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE\n\n\nThe art of building, when it has attained the position peculiarly\nits own and adequate to its notional content is subservient in its\nproducts to an end, and a significance which it does not itself\nessentially possess. It becomes an inorganic environment, a whole that\nis co-ordinated and built conformably to the laws of gravity, whose\nconfigurations are subject to that which is severely regular, straight,\nrectangular, circular, the relations of definite number and quantity,\nthat which is essentially limited measure and strict conformity to\nrule. Its beauty consists in this very relation to purpose, which,\nin its freedom from direct[75] admixture with what is organic,\nspiritual, and symbolical, and despite the fact that it subserves an\nend, nevertheless combines in an essentially exclusive totality, which\nsuffers its own aim to appear through all its modifications, and in the\nharmonious co-ordination of its relations clothes that which is purely\nadapted to purpose in the forms of beauty. Architecture, however, at\nthis stage[76] corresponds to its real notion, for the reason that it\nis not in a position to endow that which is in the most explicit sense\nspiritual with a fully adequate existence, and is consequently only\nable to inform what is external and devoid of spirit in its contrasted\nappearance with that which is spiritual.\n\nWe propose, in our consideration of this art of building, in which the\nrelation of service is as truly a characteristic as that of beauty, to\nadopt the following course of argument.\n\nIn the _first_ instance we have to establish the _general notion_ and\ncharacter of the same.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall have to adduce the _particular_ fundamental\ndeterminants of the architectonic types which are deducible from the\nulterior purpose which the classical work of art is erected to subserve.\n\n_Thirdly_, we propose to survey the concrete reality which results from\nthe development of classical architecture.\n\nI do not, however, propose in discussing any of the above relations\nto enter into detail, but will limit myself to points of most general\nsignificance, a restriction more easy to observe in the present case\nthan it was in that of the symbolical type of building.\n\n\n\n1. THE GENERAL CHARACTER OF CLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE\n\n\n(_a_) In conformity with the principle I have already more than once\nadverted to the fundamental idea of the genuine art of building\nconsists in this, that the spiritual import is not exclusively reposed\nin the work of construction itself, which by this means becomes an\nindependent symbol of ideal signification[77], but, with the converse\nresult, that this significance secures its free existence outside the\nlimits of architecture. This existence may be of a twofold character,\nto the extent in other words that another art of extensive range--I\nrefer, above all, to the art of sculpture of the true classical\ntype--sets before us and gives independent form to the significance,\nor the individual man in himself receives and gives effect to the\nsame in the active verity of his life. Apart from this[78], these\ntwo aspects may still appear together. When, therefore, the Oriental\narchitecture of the Babylonians, Hindoos, and Egyptians, on the one\nhand, gave symbolical form, in images of independent consistency, to\nthat which was reckoned among these people as the absolute and true,\nor, from another aspect, enclosed, despite its external natural form,\nthat which was conserved after death--in contrast to this what we\nfind now is--whether we regard it relatively to art's activity, or\nto the life of actual existence--that the spiritual is _separated_\nfrom the work of construction in _independent guise_ for itself,\nand architecture becomes the _vassal_ of what is spiritual, which\nconstitutes the real significance and the determinating end. This end\nis consequently predominant. It controls the entire work; it determines\nthe fundamental form of the same no less than its external skeleton,\nand neither suffers the material nor the individual's imagination and\ncaprice to assert their independence in a self-substantive way, as was\nthe case in symbolical architecture, or to develop, over and beyond\nthe true purpose of the work, a superfluity of manifold parts and\nconfigurations, as is the case in the romantic type.\n\n(_b_) In considering a construction of this character we have, then,\nfirst to ask ourselves not merely what are the circumstances under\nwhich it was erected, but what is its aim and purpose. To make its\nconstruction compatible with such considerations, to have a due regard\nfor climate, position, and the environing landscape, to create a\nwhole, one in spontaneous co-ordination, by a regard for all these\naspects as subservient to one purpose, this is the task stated\nbroadly, in the entire fulfilment of which the instincts and genius\nof the artist will appear conspicuous. Among the Greeks we find that\nit is public buildings, temples, colonnades, and halls utilized for\nthe ordinary rest and commerce of the day, approaches, such as the\nfamous ascent of the Acropolis in Athens, which are pre-eminently the\nobjects of the builder's art. Private residences, on the other hand,\nwere of a very simple character. With the Romans, on the contrary,\nit is the luxurious character of private houses, especially villas,\nwhich becomes prominent; and we may say the same thing of imperial\npalaces, public baths, theatres, circuses, amphitheatres, aqueducts,\nand springs. Buildings of this type, however, the utility of which\nthroughout remains the commanding and directing principle, are merely\nable to accept beauty in a more or less decorative sense. The object\nmost compatible with freedom of treatment in this sphere is that of\nreligion--the temple-house as the enclosure of an individual which\nitself is appropriated by fine art, and placed before us by sculpture\nas the statue of the god.\n\n(_c_) In the pursuit of aims such as those above mentioned, then,\ngenuine architecture appears to be more free than the symbolic type\nof the previous stage, which seizes on the organic forms from Nature,\nnay, more free than sculpture, which is compelled to accept the human\nform it finds, and unites itself with them and their general relations\nas presented it. Classical architecture rather invents its forms and\ntheir configuration, so far as the content is concerned, from ends of\nspiritual import and in respect to form from human reason without any\nprototype. This greater freedom must, in a relative sense, be admitted;\nbut the province in which it is exercised remains restricted, and the\ntreatment which belongs to the classical art of building, on account of\nthe rationality[79] of its forms is, taken as a whole, somewhat of an\nabstract and dry character.\n\nFrederich von Schlegel has described architecture as a frozen music;\nand in truth both these arts repose on a harmony of relations, which\nadmit of being referred to number, and are consequently readily grasped\nin their fundamental characteristics. In our own case the fundamental\ndeterminant for these essential traits and their simple, more serious\nand imposing, or more charming and elegant relations is supplied by the\ndwelling-house, that is, walls, columns, beams brought together in the\nwholly crystalline forms of scientific deduction. What the relations\nare we are not permitted to reduce to the bare determinants of number\nand measure. But an oblong, quadrilateral figure with right angles\nis more pleasing than a square, because in the case of the oblong we\nare more thus affected both by equality and inequality[80]. If the\none dimension, namely breadth, is half as large as the other, we have\na relation which pleases; with an oblong which is long and narrow\nthe reverse is the case. Along with this the mechanical relations\nof support and being supported must likewise be maintained in their\ngenuine measure and law; a heavy entablature, for instance, cannot rest\non slender and delicate columns, or conversely great structures be\nprepared in order after all to lay on them something very light. In all\nthese mutual relations, such as that of the breadth to the length and\nheight of the building, the height of the columns to their thickness,\nthe intervals and number of the columns, the character and variety or\nsimplicity of decorations, the size of many plinths, borders, and so\nforth, a secret principle of rhythm[81] prevails among the ancients,\nwhich the instinct of the Greeks before all others has discovered; from\nwhich he may no doubt now and again deviate in points of detail, but\nthe fundamental relations of which he is in general bound to preserve\nin order that he may not fall away from beauty.\n\n\n\n2. THE FUNDAMENTAL DETERMINANTS OF ARCHITECTURAL FORMS TAKEN SEVERALLY\n\n\n(_a_) We have already alluded to the old controversy whether the\nmaterial of wood or stone is to be accepted as the point of departure\nin building, and whether also it is from this difference of material\nthat the architectural types proceed. For the real art of building at\nleast, in so far as it lays emphasis on the aspect of ultimate purpose\nand elaborates the fundamental type of the dwelling on the lines of\nbeauty we may accept wood as the more original of the two.\n\nThis is the conclusion of Hirt, following in this respect Vitruvius,\nand his conclusion has been much disputed. I will in a few words offer\nmy own view on the matter in dispute, In the ordinary course of such\nreflections we seek to discover the abstract and simple law for a\nconcrete result assumed as already present. It is in this way that\nHirt looks for the basic model of Greek buildings, in like manner\nthe design[82], the anatomical framework, and finds it, so far as\nform and the material connected with it is concerned, in the dwelling\nand building of wood. No doubt a house as such is built mainly as a\ndwelling, a protection against storm, rain, weather, animals, and\nhuman beings, and requires an enclosure that is complete, in order\nthat a family or a larger community of men may collect in independent\nseclusion and may look after their necessities and pursue their\navocations in such seclusion. The house is a structure throughout with\na definite purpose, a creation of mankind for human objects. For this\nreason we find him occupied upon it in many ways and with many objects,\nand the structure is articulated in an aggregate pile of all kinds of\nmechanical ways of mutual interlacement and imposition[83] in order to\nhold in position and secure, according to the laws of gravity, what\nmen are compelled to look after, that is, the making stable what is\nerected[84], the closing it in, the support of what is superimposed,\nand not merely in the way of support, but, where the structure rests\nhorizontally, the preservation of it in such a position, and, further,\nthe uniting of all that clashes together at nooks and corners and so\non. Now it is quite true that the house makes it necessary that the\nenclosure should be complete; and for this walls are most serviceable\nand safest; and from this point of view the building of stone appears\nmost to answer the purpose. We may, however, with equal ease construct\nour fence with posts standing in juxtaposition, upon which then beams\nwill rest, which at the same time both bind together and secure the\nperpendicular posts. Finally we come to the cover of all and roofing.\nIn the temple house, moreover, the fact of enclosure is not the main\nfact of importance, but the feature of support and being supported. For\nthis mechanical result the wooden structure is obviously the nearest\nto hand and the most natural. For the post, as that which supports,\nwhich at the same time requires a means of conjunction, and suffers the\nsame to weigh on it in the shape of the cross-beam, constitutes here\nall that goes to the root of the matter. This essential division of\nparts and connection as well as the association of these aspects for\na definite purpose belongs to the very nature of a wooden structure,\nwhich has its necessary material directly supplied it by the tree. In\nthe tree we find already, without working upon it to any considerable\nor laborious extent, both post and beam, in so far as, that is, the\nwood already by itself possesses a definite form and consists of\nseparate lengths, more or less in the straight line, lengths which\ncan be brought together into rectangular corners no less than those\nwhich are acute or obtuse, and in this way provide corner pillars,\nsupports, cross-beams and roof. Stone, on the contrary, never at any\ntime possesses a form so definite. In contrast to the tree it is a\nformless mass, which first must be intentionally isolated and worked\nupon, in order that it may fit in juxtaposition to or superposition\non other pieces and so once more be brought together with such. It\nrequires, in short, several processes before it receives the form and\nserviceableness which wood already possesses independently. Moreover,\nstone material, when it is used in great masses, invites rather\nexcavations and generally speaking, being _ab initio_ relatively\nformless, is capable of every kind of form, for which reason it is\nrather the congenial material for the symbolical as also the romantic\ntypes of building, while wood, by reason of its natural form of\nstraight stems, is demonstrably without mediation more serviceable\nto that more severe type of purpose and observance of rule, which\nis the fountain-head of classical architecture. In this respect the\nstructure of stone is mainly predominant with the self-substantive type\nof building, although even among the Egyptians, in their colonnades\nbordered with plinths, other considerations supervene, which the\nstructure of wood is able more readily and in the first instance\nto satisfy. Conversely we do not find that classical architecture\nrestricts itself entirely to buildings of wood, but, on the contrary,\nwhere it is elaborated in conformity with beauty, executes its\nbuildings in stone; but in such a way, however, that we are from a\ncertain point of view still able to recognize in the architectural\nforms the original principle of the wood structure, if also from a\nfurther one definite relations attach which do not belong to that kind\nof building as such.\n\n(_b_) The points of fundamental importance, which emphasize the\ndwelling-house as the basic type of the temple, may be in all essential\nparticulars enumerated as follows. If we consider with closer attention\nthe house in its mechanical relation to itself we shall find, in\naccordance with what we have already stated, on the one hand, masses of\narchitectural form which serve as _support_ and, on the other, those\nthat _are supported_ both being united for stability and security.\nThirdly, we have before us the definite aspect of enclosure and\nlimitation according to the three dimensions of length, breadth, and\nheight. A construction, moreover, which, by the fact of its being a\nmutual correlation of definite aspects distinct from each other, is a\nconcrete whole, is bound to declare this unity in its constitution. So\nwe find here that essential differences arise which perforce assert\nthemselves no less in their division and specific elaboration than they\ndo in their rational _connexus._\n\n(_\u03b1_) Of first importance in this respect to consider is the aspect\nof service in the way of _support._ When we speak of masses that\nsupport we commonly, under the influence of every-day needs, think of\nthe wall as the most secure and reliable means of support. Support\nas such, however, as we have already seen, is not the exclusive\nprinciple of the wall; for the wall serves essentially as a means of\nenclosure and connection, and for this reason is a predominant feature\nin the romantic type of building. What is the peculiarity of Greek\narchitecture is this, that it gives direct form to the principle of\nsupport by itself, and for this object employs columns as a fundamental\ncontribution to the purpose and beauty of its architecture.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The aim of the column is to support and only this; and although\na series of columns set up in a straight line make a boundary, such\nan enclosure falls short of a secure wall or partition, and is, in\nfact, expressly cancelled by the genuine partition and placed in a\nposition of free independence. Owing to this exclusive object of\nsupport which pertains to the column, it is of first importance that it\nshould display the aspect of such a purpose relatively to the weight\nwhich rests upon it. Consequently it should neither be too strong nor\ntoo slender, nor again too compressed, not mount upwards to such a\nheight and with such ease as though the weight upon it was not treated\nseriously.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) And just as this column is thus differentiated from the\nenclosing wall, or fence, it is further from another point of view\ndistinct from the mere _post._ In other words, the post is fixed\ndirectly in the ground and ceases with like directness at the\nprecise point where a weight is reposed upon it. For which reason\nits determinate length, its commencement and termination equally\nappear as a negative limitation by means of something else, as a\ndeterminacy which is the result of chance, which it does not possess\nin its own right. Commencement and termination, however, are defining\ncharacteristics, which are part of the very notion of the supporting\ncolumn, and consequently must declare themselves in it as the\nconditions[85] of its own substance. This is the ground of the fact\nthat architecture, in the elaboration of its beauty, assigns to the\ncolumn a base and a capital. In the Tuscan order, no doubt, we find no\nbase; the column springs immediately from the ground. This being so,\nhowever, the length appears to the vision as something accidental. We\nare ignorant whether the column has not been to some undefined extent\ndriven into the soil by the superimposed weight. In order that its\ncommencement must not expose this undefined and accidental appearance\nit must with intention have the foot assigned to it, on which it\nstands, and which expressly enables us to recognize the commencement\nas in reality such. Art will therefore affirm as part of its function\nthat the column begins at a certain place and for the rest it will make\nthe security, and stable subsistence obvious to the eyes, and set the\nvision at rest in this respect also. For similar reasons our column\nshould terminate in a capital, which is quite as much evidence of the\nreal function of being a support as it is an affirmation of the fact\nthat the column terminates here. This conception of a commencement\nand conclusion which are both deliberate is what affords us, in fact,\nthe profounder explanation of base and capital. An analogous case is\nthat of a cadence in music, which requires a secure resolution, or\nthat of a book which should terminate without a full stop, or should\nstart off without a capital letter, in the making of which, however,\nespecially in the Middle Ages, large illuminated letters have been\nemployed, with similar decorations at the work's conclusion, in order\nto bring prominently before the mind the facts of commencement and\ntermination. However much, therefore, both base and capital appear\nto exceed what is obviously required we must not regard them as a\ndecorative superfluity, or think of simply deducing them from the\nexample of Egyptian columns, which still imitate the type of the\nvegetable kingdom. Figures of organic design, such as are represented\nby sculpture in animal and human form, begin and terminate in the free\noutlines they themselves present, for it is the rational organism\nitself, which gives outline to the form working thereon from its\nown intrinsic nature. Architecture, on the contrary, possesses for\nthe column and its shapes nothing beyond the mechanical relation of\nsupport, and the spatial distance from the ground to the point where\nthe weight that is supported terminates the column. Art, however,\nis bound to emphasize and disclose the particular aspects which lie\ntogether in this determinate relation for the reason that they are\nessential features of the column. Its precise length and its twofold\nboundary both above and below, that is, no less than its relation as\nsupport, must consequently not appear as coming to it incidentally and\nby virtue of something else, but must also be represented as immanent\nin its very being.\n\nWith respect to the form of column other than its base and capital, it\nis in the first place round, circular-shaped, for it has to stand up\nin free and independent self-seclusion. The most essentially simple,\nsecurely exclusive, rationally defined[86], and most regular line is\nin fact the circle. For this reason the column already proves from its\nshape that it is not adapted to form an even surface when placed in\nadjacent rows, as is the case with adjacent posts which are squared to\nthe rectangular corner, and so present walls and partitions, but it has\nmerely the object to offer a support under its own self-limitation.\nMoreover the columnar structure is ordinarily reduced in size\ngradually, as it ascends from one-third of its height, it becomes less\nin circumference and thickness, because the portions beneath have\nto carry that above, and it is felt necessary to emphasize and make\nobvious also this mechanical relation of the several parts of the\ncolumn itself. Finally, we frequently find that columns are grooved;\nthe reason of this is twofold, first, essentially to diversify the\nsimple form, and secondly to make the columns appear more thick by\nmeans of such a division where this is necessary.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Although, then, the column is set up in independent isolation\nit has none the less to make it appear evident that it is not placed\nthere for its own sake, but as subservient to the mass which it is\nerected to support. In so far as the house requires a boundary on every\nside the singular column is therefore not sufficient, but others have\nto be placed adjacent to it, in other words we come upon the definite\nconception of a diversity of columns placed in a _series._ And when\nseveral columns support the same weight this common service is at the\nsame time that which determines the equal height which they all possess\nand which unites them together, in other words the beam. This marks the\ntransition from the aspect of support to the opposed object supported.\n\n(_\u03b2_) That which columns support is the _entablature_ superimposed.\nThe relation of most importance to be considered here is that of\n_rectangularity._ Not merely in its relation to the ground, but also in\nthat to the entablature the supporting structure must be rectangular.\nFor the horizontal position is by the laws of gravity that which is\nalone intrinsically the most stable and fitting, and the right angle\nthe only definitely secure one. The acute and obtuse angles are, on the\ncontrary, indefinite, and both vary in their degree and are subject to\ncontingency.\n\nWe may differentiate between the component parts of the entablature as\nfollows:\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The _architrave_, that is, the main beam, rests immediately upon\nthe columns which stand adjacent in a direct line of equal height;\nthis unites the columns together and places on them a weight shared\nequally. As beam, and nothing more, it merely requires the form of four\nlevel surfaces mutually related as rectangular in all three dimensions\nand their abstract regularity. Owing to the fact, however, that the\narchitrave as to one part of it is supported by the columns, and in\nanother constitutes the stay of the rest of the entablature, and it\nis from this latter again that itself receives the necessary relation\nof being a support, progressive architecture also places in external\nrelief this twofold aspect of the main beam by emphasizing in the\nupper portions of the aspect of support by means of jutting plinths and\nso forth. In this respect therefore the main beam is not merely related\nto the columns which support it, but in like degree to other burdens\nwhich repose upon it.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) These in the first instance constitute the _frieze._ The border\nor frieze consists in one part of it of the tops of the joists[87],\nwhich rest on the entablature, in another part of the spaces between\nthe same. For this reason the frieze contains more essential\ndifferences than those distinguishing the architrave, and is bound to\nemphasize them more sharply, especially in the case where architecture,\nalthough executed in stone materials, follows more stringently the\nfundamental type of the wood construction. This is supplied us by the\ndistinction between triglyphs and metopes. In other words triglyphs are\nthe tops of the beams which are divided into three spaces, the metopes\nare the rectangular spaces between the separate triglyphs. In former\ntimes they were in all probability left bare, in later, however, they\nare filled up[88], nay, even covered over and decorated with reliefs.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) The frieze, moreover, which rests on the entablature, carries\nthe _wreath_ or _cornice._ The function of this is to support the\nroof, which completes the whole upwards. Here we at once meet with\nquestions of what form this final limitation is to be. For we may\nhave in this respect two kinds of termination, either the horizontal\nand rectangular, or the one inclined to an acute or obtuse angle. If\nwe look at the mere question of natural necessity we shall see that\nSoutherners, who suffer little from rain and storm, merely require\nprotection from sunlight; in their case a horizontal and rectangular\nroofing of house is likely to suffice. Northerners, on the contrary,\nhave to protect themselves against inevitable showers of rain, against\ncontingency of snow, that the weight may not prove too great; they\nrequire inclining roofs. At the same time, in the case of a fine art of\nbuilding, mere necessity is not only of account; as art it has also to\nsatisfy the profounder requirements of what is pleasing and beautiful.\nWhat mounts upwards from the ground must be conceived with a base, a\nfoot, on which it stands and which serves it for _support_; and in\naddition to this columns and the partitions of genuine architecture\nsupply us visibly with the _means of support._ That which closes all\nabove, the roofing, has no longer to support a weight, but merely to\nbe supported, and is bound to declare in itself this definite aspect\nthat it no longer supports anything. In other words, it must be so\nconstructed that it is actually unable to support, and consequently\nfine down to an angle, whether it be acute or obtuse. Ancient temples\nhave in consequence no horizontal roofing, but two roof surfaces which\nmeet at obtuse angles, and it is out of consideration for beauty\nthat the building is thus terminated. In short, roof surfaces that\nare horizontal do not give us the appearance of a building entirely\ncomplete; a horizontal flat may always add further weight to its\nheight; this the line in which inclining roof surfaces terminate is no\nlonger able to do. To take an analogous case in the art of painting, it\nis the pyramidal form in the grouping of figures which best satisfies\nartistic taste.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The final determining factor which we have to consider is that\nof the _enclosing_, the _walls_, and _partitions._ Columns no doubt\nsupport and form a boundary, but they do not enclose; they are, on the\ncontrary, as such boundary, incompatible with the interior which is\nhemmed in by walls. If we require such an absolute enclosure we must\nhave also thick and solid dividing walls erected. This is actually the\ncase in temple construction.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) We have nothing further to add with respect to walls except\nthe fact that they must be built in a straight and even line and\nperpendicularly for the reason that walls that rise obliquely to acute\nand obtuse angles present the threatening aspect of collapse, and\npossess no direction once and for all securely defined; it can merely\nappear as a matter of chance that they are reared in whatever more\nacute or obtuse angle it may happen to be. The demand of scientific\nrule and purpose alike is here also once more for the right angle.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Owing to the fact that walls act as enclosures no less than\nas means of support, while we restricted the true function of the\ncolumn to that of mere support, we approximate to the conception that\nwhere we have to satisfy these two distinct needs of support and\nenclosure columns may be set up and may be united to one another by\nmeans of thick walls in such partitions; it is thus that we get _half_\n_columns._ In this way, for example, Hirt, following Vitruvius, makes\na start in his original type of construction with four corner-posts.\nIf the necessity of an enclosure is to be satisfied no doubt our\ncolumns, if we are obliged to include such, must be walled up and it is\nnot difficult to prove that half columns date from remote antiquity.\nHirt, for instance[89], affirms that the employment of half columns\nis as old as the art of building itself, and deduces their origin\nfrom the circumstance that columns and piers supported and carried\nthe roofing and other superimposed structures, but at the same time\nrendered partition walls necessary as a protection against sun and\ninclement weather. Since, however, the columns already supported the\nmain building in a sufficient manner, it was not necessary to erect\npartition walls of either so thick or firm a material as the columns,\nand consequently this latter, as a rule, abutted on the exterior of\nthe building. This theory of their origin may be correct, but for all\nthat half columns are repugnant to a rational view of them; we have,\nin short, here two ends standing side by side in _opposition_, and\nessentially _confounding each other_, without any law of necessity\nbeing disclosed. It is of course possible to defend half columns, if\nthe point of departure in considering even the column is so strictly\nthat of the structure of wood, that we regard their essential function\nto be that of an enclosure. Placed in thick walls, however, the column\nhas lost all its significance; it is degraded to the mere post. The\ntrue column is in its nature round, essentially complete, and expresses\nby this very trait of exclusiveness in a visible way that it is\nantagonistic to an even surface, and, consequently, every inclusion\nin a wall. If, therefore, we desire to have the support of walls such\nmust be even, not circular columns, but surfaces which can be extended\nevenly in a wall.\n\nAs far back as 1773 Goethe exclaimed with spirit to the like effect\nin his youthful essay, \"On the German Art of Building\": \"What does it\nmatter to us, you philosophical art-critic of the latest French school,\nthat original man, spurred on by his needs to invent, drove into the\nground four trunks, then fastened four poles on top and covered the\nwhole with branches and moss. And after all it is wholly false to say\nthat this hut of yours was the first begotten on earth. Two poles that\ncross each other at their ends, two behind and one stuck diagonally\nabove in forest fashion is and remains, as you may any day see for\nyourself in the huts of the fields and the vineyard slopes, a far\nearlier discovery from which it is quite impossible for you to deduce\na principle for your pig-stye.\" In other words Goethe seeks to prove\nthat columns enclosed in walls placed in buildings whose essential\nobject is that of mere enclosure have no meaning. This is not because\nhe would not recognize the beauty of the column. On the contrary, he is\nloud in its praise. \"But take good care,\" he adds, \"not to employ them\nimproperly: it is their nature to _stand up free._ Woe to the wretch\nwho has soldered their slender growth in blockish walls.\" It is from\nsuch a point of view that he proceeds to consider the building art of\nthe Middle Ages and our own time and affirms: \"The column is of no\nvalue as a constituent feature of our dwellings: it rather contradicts\nthe essence of all our buildings. Our houses do not consist of _four\ncolumns_ in four corners; they consist of _four walls_ on four sides,\nwhich stand _in the place of all columns_, totally exclude such, and\nwhere they are thrust in they are a burdensome superfluity. This\napplies to our palaces and churches, subject to one or two exceptions,\nwhich it is not necessary to particularize.\" We have in the above\nstatement, which is the result of independent observation of the facts,\nthe principle of the column correctly expressed. The column must place\nits foot down in front of the wall and appear in complete independence\nof it. In our more modern architecture no doubt we find pilasters\nfreely used; architects, have, however, regarded them as the repeated\nadumbration of previous columns, and made them flat rather than round.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) From this it is clear that though no doubt walls may serve as\nsupport, yet, for the reason that the function of support is already\nindependently performed by columns, they must, on their part in\nfinished classical architecture be accepted as essentially having for\ntheir object the enclosure. If they are taken as columns are taken, to\nprovide means of support, the essentially distinct defining functions\nof these latter are not, as is most desirable, performed also as by\ndistinct constituent parts of the building[90], and the conception of\nwhat walls ought to provide is impaired and confused. We consequently\nfind even in temples that the central hall, where the statue of the\ngod was placed, to enclose which was the main object, is often left\nopen in the upper part. If, however, a roofing is required, the claims\nof the lofty style of beauty made it necessary that the same should\nbe supported independently. In other words the direct imposition of\nentablature and roof on the enclosing walls is purely a matter of\nnecessity and need; it is not appertinent to free architectural beauty,\nbecause in the art of classical buildings we require as means of\nsupport neither partitions nor walls, which would be rather derogatory\nto the design in so far as--we have already noticed the fact--they\nput together contrivances and a wall-space of greater extent than is\nactually necessary.\n\nThese would be the main distinguishing features which in classical\narchitecture we have to keep apart.\n\n(_c_) Although we may then, on the one hand, declare it as a principle\nof first importance that the distinctions which have been summarily\nindicated must appear with their _differences_ emphasized, it is\nequally necessary on the other that they should be _united in a whole._\nWe will shortly, in conclusion, draw attention to this union which in\narchitecture will be rather and simply a juxtaposition, association,\nand a thorough eurhythmy of the entire construction. Generally speaking\nthe Greek temple buildings present an aspect which both satisfies, and\nif we may use the expression, sates us to the full.\n\n(_\u03b1_) There is no soaring up, but the whole just expands on the broad\nlevel and is extended without particular elevation. In order to view\nthe building's face it is barely necessary to raise the sight with\nintention; it is, on the contrary, allured to the bare expanse, while\nthe building art of Germany in the Middle Ages strives up almost\nwithout mass and soars. Among the ancients breadth, regarded as secure\nand convenient foundation on the earth, is the main thing. Height is\nrather borrowed from the height of man, and merely is increased in\nproportion as the building increases in breadth and width.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Furthermore, embellishments are so effected that they do not\nimpair the impression of simplicity. For much also depends on the mode\nof decoration. The ancients, more particularly the Greeks, preserve\nhere the finest sense of proportion. Extensive surfaces and lines\nof entire simplicity, for instance, do not appear so large in this\nundivided simplicity as in the case where some variety, somewhat\nthat destroys this uniformity is introduced, by which at once an\nextension of more definite outline is presented to the vision. If this\nsubdivision, however, and its adornment is wholly elaborated in detail,\nso that we have nothing before us but a variety and its details, even\nthe most imposing relations and dimensions appear to be crumbled away\nand destroyed. The ancients, therefore, as a rule are actuated in their\nworks neither to let the same and their proportions by such means\nappear in any way greater than they actually are, nor do they break up\nthe whole by means of interruptions and embellishments to the extent\nthat--because all parts are small and a unity is absent which shall\nonce more bring everything together and fuse it throughout--therefore\nthe whole also shall appear as insignificant. To quite as little an\nextent are their works of beauty in their perfection merely piled up\nas mere weight on the ground, or tower up out of all relation to their\nbreadth to the skies. They preserve in this respect, too, the mean\nof beauty, and offer at the same time in their simplicity necessary\nscope to a duly proportioned variety. Above all, however, the dominant\nfeature of the whole and its simple particularities appear to permeate\nin the most transparent way through all and everything, and overmasters\nthe individuality of the configuration precisely in the way that in the\nclassical Ideal the universal substance retains its power to control\nwhat is accidental and particular, in which the same receives its\nliving form, and to bring it into harmony with itself.\n\n(_\u03b3_) With regard to the disposition and articulation of the several\nparts of a temple we find, on the one hand, a very marked graduation of\nelaboration, and on the other much that is purely traditional. The main\ndistinctions that have an interest for us in this inquiry are limited\nto the temple precinct (\u03bd\u03b1\u1f78\u03c2), enclosed by walls containing the image\nof the god, also the dwelling in front (\u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd\u03b1\u03bf\u03c2), that in the rear\n(\u1f40\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03b8\u03cc\u03b4\u03bf\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2), and the colonnades that encircle the entire structure.\nA dwelling in front and behind with a series of columns before it had\noriginally the typical form, which Vitruvius calls \u1f00\u03bc\u03c6\u03b9\u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c4\u03c5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2; to\nthis was afterwards added a row on either side of the building, that\nis the \u03c0\u03b5\u03c1\u03af\u03c0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2; finally we have the completest form of elaboration\nin the \u03b4\u03af\u03c0\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, where this row of columns is doubled throughout the\ncircuit, and in the \u1f54\u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b8\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 colonnades detached from the walls, and\nwhich it is possible to pass round, as in the case of the colonnades\nabove, are added in double rows with the interior of the \u03bd\u03b1\u1f78\u03c2 itself.\nFor such a type of temple Vitruvius instances as an example the\neight-columned temple of Minerva at Athens, and the ten-columned one of\nOlympian Jupiter[91].\n\nWe will pass over in this place the more detailed consideration of the\nnumber of columns no less than the nature of the intervening spaces\nbetween themselves and the walls, and merely draw attention to the\nunique significance which such colonnades and forecourts, or halls\npossessed in general for the Greek temple. In these prostyles and\namphiprostyles, that is, these single and double colonnades, which\nbrought you direct into the open sunshine, we observe that men can\nmove about openly and free and can group themselves as they choose, or\naccording to the chance of the moment. Columns are, in short, not an\nenclosure, but a limitation through which you can always pass, so that\nyou can be partially within and without them at once, and at any rate\ncan everywhere step from them into the open day. In the same way the\nlong walls at the back of the columns do not permit of any pressure to\none central point, whither our sight may instinctively turn when the\npassages are crowded. On the contrary the eye is rather diverted from\nsuch a point of unity in every direction; and instead of the conception\nof a congregation brought together for One purpose we observe a\ntendency outwards, and merely receive the impression of a means of\nspending the time devoid of seriousness, light-hearted, idle, and\nprovocative of chatter. Within the enclosure no doubt we have suggested\na profounder aim, but even here we find surrounding features[92],\nwhich more or less indicate that we are not to take such a purpose too\nseriously. Consequently the impression of such a temple, though no\ndoubt simple and imposing, is at the same time gay, open, and pleasing\nto the sense; the entire building, in short, is rather arranged as a\nplace for standing about in, strolling round, for ingress and egress\nthan in order to enable an assembly of persons to concentrate their\nnumbers in one spot shut off from the rest of the world.\n\n\n3. THE DIFFERENT CONSTRUCTIVE TYPES OF CLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE\n\n\nCasting our glance now on the different forms of construction which\noffer us the predominant examples of distinctive type in classical\narchitecture we may emphasize the following as most important.\n\n(_a_) What first arrests our attention in this field are those kinds\nof building whose lines of distinction are most noticeable in their\n_columns_; for this reason I shall myself, too, limit myself to a\nstatement of the pre-eminently characteristic traits of the various\ntypes of column.\n\nThe most famous among the orders of columns are the _Doric_, _Ionic_,\nand _Corinthian_, over whose architectural beauty and adaptation to\ndefinite purpose, neither the research of earlier times nor our own\nhas been able to add anything. For we may assume that the Tuscan,\nor, according to Hirt[93], the ancient Greek type of building belongs\nin its undecorative crudeness to the original and simple type of wood\nstructure, not to the architecture of beauty, and the so-called Roman\norder of columns is of no real moment, being merely an increase in the\ndecorative character of the Corinthian. The important points in this\ninquiry are the relation of the height of columns to their thickness,\nthe type of base and capital to be distinguished in each case, and,\nfinally, the greater or less intervening spaces between the columns.\nWith regard to the first, if the column is not of a height four times\nas large as its diameter it appears too bulky and depressed; if its\nheight, however, exceeds such a proportion by being ten times as\nlarge, the column will appear too slender to the eye, and too slim as\na means of support. The respective intervals between the columns must,\nhowever, be considered in close relation to the above facts; if the\ncolumns appear more stout they should be placed nearer to one another,\nif on the contrary the impression they produce is one of slightness\nand lankness the intervals have to be larger. It is a matter of equal\nimportance, and this is so whether the columns have a pedestal or not,\nwhether the capital is of higher or less ample size, is without or with\ndecoration, for it is by this means that the entire character of the\ncolumn is altered. With regard to the column's shaft, however, the rule\nobtains that it should be smooth and devoid of decoration, although it\ndoes not rise throughout of the same thickness, but is appreciably more\nslender at the top than it is midway and at the base, and the change\nis such that there is a swelling which, though barely perceptible, is\nnone the less present. In more recent times no doubt, notably in the\nMiddle Ages, when the antique types of columns were converted to the\nuse of Christian architecture, the smoothness of shaft was found to be\ntoo cold, and for this reason wreaths of flowers were entwined round\nthem, or columns of spiral form were permitted no doubt on similar\ngrounds; this, however, is inadmissible and opposed to the best taste,\nbecause the true function of the column is simply that of support,\nand to carry this out they ought to rise in a secure and straight\nline and be self-subsistent[94]. The only divergency from the rule in\ncolumnar structure which the ancients admitted was that of the groove,\na variation which, as Vitruvius points out, made such appear broader\nthan when their surface is wholly smooth. Such grooving we find carried\nout very extensively.\n\nI will now indicate more closely the main distinguishing features of\nthe Doric, Ionian, and Corinthian order of columns respectively.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In primitive buildings _security_ of structure is the fundamental\ncharacteristic beyond which architecture fails to go; consequently\nit does not as yet dare to risk relations of a slender kind with the\nbolder lightness which belongs to them, but rests satisfied with forms\nof greater bulk. This is the case in the Doric type of building. We\nfind here that the material aspect with its onerous weight still\nis that which is most influential, and is particularly apparent in\nthe relations of breadth and height. When a building is erected in\nlightness and freedom the burden of heavy masses is overcome; if on the\ncontrary its disposition is one which suggests mainly breadth and a low\nelevation the prevailing impression, as in the Doric style, is that of\nstability and solidity, subservient to the dominant force of gravity.\n\nConsistently with this character Doric columns, if contrasted with\nthe other two orders, are the broadest and lowest. The more ancient\nexamples do not rise above a height which is six times their diameter,\nand not unfrequently they are merely four times that breadth; for this\nreason they give, by virtue of their unwieldiness, the impression of an\nearnest, simple, and unadorned manliness, such as we have exemplified\nin the temples at Paestum and Corinth. The later examples of the Doric\norder, however, extend their columns to a height of seven times this\nunit of measure, and, for buildings other than temples, Vitruvius adds\nyet another half diameter. More generally, however, the distinctive\ncharacter of the Doric type consists in this that it approximates most\nnearly to the primitive simplicity of the wood building, although it is\nmore receptive than the Tuscan to decorative work and embellishments.\nThe columns, however, have almost without exception no distinctive\nbase; they stand up directly on their foundation[95], and their\ncapitals are arranged in the simplest way out of ovolo ornament and\nplinth. The shaft is sometimes left smooth, sometimes grooved with\ntwenty drills, which frequently were flat for one third of the way\nfrom the base, and hollowed out in circular form the rest of the\nway[96]. As regards the interval between the columns, according to\nthe older monuments, the breadth is twice the diameter of a column,\nand only a few exceed this by a width between two and two and a half\ndiameters. Another peculiarity of the Doric type of building in which\nit approaches the type of wood construction consists in triglyphs and\nmetopes. In other words triglyphs indicate in the frieze the tops of\nthe beams of the entablature with which the architrave culminates\ninserted there by means of prismatical incisions[97], while the metopes\nfill up the spaces between one beam and another, and in the Doric\nconstruction still retain the form of the square[98]. As a decoration\nthey are frequently covered with reliefs, while beneath the triglyphs,\nwhich rest on the architrave, and as a culmination to the surfaces of\nthe cornice on their lower side, we have for embellishment six small\nconical bodies, technically known as drops.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In the Doric style we are already made aware of an advance in\nthe characteristics of a solidity which affects us with pleasure. In\nIonic architecture this upward progress is further emphasized in a\ntype notable for its slenderness, charm, and grace, if still expressed\nin a simple way. The height of the columns varies between that of\nseven and ten times the width of the diameter at the base, and is\ndetermined, according to the conclusions of Vitruvius, pre-eminently\nby the breadth of the intervening spaces of the columns, that is to\nsay, where they are wider the columns appear thinner, and consequently\nmore slender, where they are more narrow, however, they appear stouter\nand of less height. For this reason the architect is forced, in order\nto avoid an excess of thinness or bulk, in the first case to reduce\nthe height, and in the second to increase it. In the case, then, where\nthe intervals exceed three diameters the height of the columns will\nmerely carry eight of such, where there is an interval of two and a\nquarter rising to three, the height will rise to eight and a half\ndiameters. If the columns, however, are separated only by the width of\ntwo diameters, the height must be extended to nine and a half times\nthe unit, and in the extreme case of an interval of but one and a half\ntimes, such height will even rise to ten times the breadth of diameter.\nHowever, cases such as these latter ones appear very seldom, and, in so\nfar as we may judge from such monuments of the Ionic type of building\nthat have come down to us, the ancients made very scanty use of those\nrelations which necessitated the more lofty columns.\n\nThe Ionic type is further distinguished from the Doric in this that\nthe Ionic columns do not rise directly with their shaft from the\nsubstructure, but are set up on a variously articulated pedestal, and\nthen in unobtrusive rejuvenescence rise lightly in their slender height\nto their capitals with a deeper hollowing out than in the Doric type,\na broad grooving of four and twenty grooves. It is especially in this\ncharacteristic that the Ionic temple at Ephesus is distinguishable\nfrom and in contrast to the Doric at Paestum. In the same way we find\nan increase of variety and grace in the Ionic capital. It has not only\na carved coussinet[99], little ledge and plinth, but receives both to\nthe right and left a spiral winding, and at the sides a decorative kind\nof cushion, from which is derived its title of the pulvinated capital.\nThe volutes at the end of the pad or cushion indicate the end of the\ncolumn, which, however, may rise to a still greater elevation, but in\nthis possible increase makes itself essentially a curve.\n\nCompatibly with this slender character of the pleasing decoration of\nits columns the Ionic type of building requires a less bulky weight in\nits beams, and is concerned in this way too to secure an increase of\ngrace. By doing so it no longer suggests as a predecessor as the Doric\ndoes the wood construction, and consequently suffers triglyphs and\nmetopes to fall away in the flat frieze, introducing in their place as\nits principal means of decoration, heads of sacrificial animals united\nwith flowery coils, and, instead of the suspended mutule[100] tops, we\nfind tooth-like ornamentation[101].\n\n(_\u03b3_) Finally, to come to the _Corinthian_ order, we find it is\nin fundamentals composed upon the Ionic, only that with a similar\nslenderness it is elaborated in more tasteful luxuriance, and unfolds\nthe consummate finish of adornment and embellishment. Like it content\nto possess the definite and various divisions of its structure as\na legacy from the wood building, it emphasizes the same without\npermitting their origin to be conspicuous by means of its decorative\nwork, and expresses, in its manifold ledges and borders on cornice\nand beam, on its weather moulds, its moulding flutes, its variously\narticulated pediments and its more luxuriant capitals, a multiplicity\nof pleasing features.\n\nThe Corinthian column, it is true, does not exceed in height the Ionic,\nrising as a rule with a grooving of similar character, merely eight\ntimes or eight and a half times as high as the diameter of the lower\nportion of the column, but it appears more slender and above all more\nexuberant by virtue of a loftier capital. For the capital's height\nis one and an eighth times the diameter beneath, and has at each of\nits four corners more slender volutes which suffer the pulvination of\nthe previous type to fall off, while the part below is decorated with\nacanthus leaves. The Greeks have a charming tale relative to this. A\nmaiden of exceptional beauty, they tell us, died. Her nurse collected\nher playthings in a little basket and placed it on her grave, where an\nacanthus plant sprang up. The leaves very soon embraced the basket, and\nit was this which suggested the thought of the capital of a column.\n\nOf other points of difference between the Corinthian and the Ionic and\nDoric orders, I will only further mention the delicately curved mutules\nunder the cornices, and the projection of the water moulding, and the\nindentations and corbel-heads on the cornice[102].\n\n(_b_) We may, _secondly_, regard the _Roman_ type of building as\nan intermediate form standing between that of Greek and Christian\narchitecture, in so far as here we find mainly the application of arch\nand vaultings. It is not possible to determine with accuracy the time\nwhen the construction of arches was first discovered; it appears,\nhowever, certain that neither the Egyptians, despite the great progress\nthey made in the arts of building, nor the Babylonians, Israelites, and\nPhoenicians were cognisant of the _ogive_ or the _vault._ The monuments\nof Egyptian architecture at any rate only show us that when it was a\nquestion of superimposing a roof over the interior of a building the\none means the Egyptians had at their disposal was that of placing\nhuge slabs of stone across like beams in horizontal position. If it\nwas required to arch up broad entrances, or cross arches they knew\nof no other way of doing this than letting one stone on either side\nproject forward, with another still more projecting one above it, so\nthat the side walls gradually approached upwards until they reached\na point where only one stone was necessary to close the remaining\nspace between. Where such an expedient was not necessary they covered\nthe spaces with huge slabs of stone arranged across in the manner of\nrafters.\n\nAmong the Greeks we do, I believe, find monuments in which the arch\nconstruction has already been adopted, but they are rare; and Hirt,\nwho has written with most authority over the building and the history\nof the building of antiquity, affirms that among such monuments we\ncan rely on none with security as dating from a time previous to\nthat of Pericles. In other words, in Greek architecture the features\nwhich are characteristic and elaborated are the column and beam in\nhorizontal position, so that we find here the column very little used\nin a relation which lies apart from its true function, namely that\nof supporting beams. Moreover the arch that is vaulted from two\npiers or columns, and the knob-like formation, connotes a yet further\nfeature, for we find here that the column already begins to forsake its\ndeterminate attribute of support. For the circular arch in its rise,\nits flexure and its declivity is related to a centre which has nothing\nto do with the column as a means of support. The separate parts of\nthe circular arch are carried in mutual opposition; they support and\nprolong each other in a way that shows them far more remote from the\ndirect assistance of the column than is the horizontally superimposed\nbeam.\n\nIn _Roman_ architecture, then, as stated, the arch-construction and\nvaulting is of very common occurrence, or rather we have certain\nremains which we can only attribute to the age of the Roman kings, if\nwe may fully believe the evidence of later times. Of this type are\nthe catacombs and cloaca, which were vaulted, but must be regarded\nas works of a more recent restoration. The most probable discoverer\nyet suggested of the vault is Democritus[103], who occupied himself\nin a variety of ways with mathematical problems and is held to be the\ndiscoverer of lithotomy.\n\nOne of the most famous buildings of Roman architecture, in which the\ncircular arch appears as fundamental type is the Pantheon of Agrippa\ndedicated to Jupiter Ultor, which, in addition to the statue of\nJupiter, contained colossal images of gods in no less than six other\nniches, namely, Mars, Venus, the deified Julius Caesar as well as three\nothers whose identity we cannot fix with accuracy. In either side of\nthese niches stood two Corinthian columns, and the whole was vaulted\nwith one majestic vault in form of the half globe and corresponding\nto the vault of heaven. With reference to the material of this vault\nwe may note that it is not a stone one. In other words the Romans, in\nthe majority of their vaultings, in the first instance carried out a\nconstruction of wood, and covered the same with a composition of chalk\nand puzzolana cement, which was made of the dust of a light kind of\ntufa and broken tile shards. When this composition was dry the whole\nwas formed into a mass so that the wooden scaffolding could be removed\nand the vaulting, by virtue of the lightness of its material and\nthe stability of its consolidation, exercised only an insignificant\npressure on the walls.\n\n(_c_) The architecture of the Romans possessed moreover generally, and\napart from this novel employment of arch construction, an entirely\ndifferent scope and character than that of Greece. The Greeks\ndistinguished themselves, while carrying throughout their work its\nmain purpose, and by virtue of their perfection as artists, in the\nnobility, the simplicity no less than the airy delicacy of their\ndecorations. The Romans on the contrary are, as artists, at least on\nthe mechanical side of construction more rich and more ostentatious,\nbut at the same time of less nobility and grace. Add to this in their\narchitecture we meet with a variety of intention which was unknown to\nthe Greek. As I have already observed the Greeks entirely devoted the\nsplendour and beauty of art to public objects. Their private dwellings\nremained insignificant. Among the Romans, however, not only do we find\nan increase of public buildings, whose main purpose of construction\nwas splendidly embellished in theatres, spaces for animal combats and\nother means of public sport, but architecture received a deliberate\nimpulse in the direction of private use. More especially after the\ncivil wars villas, baths, colonnades, flights of steps were constructed\nwith the imposing character of the most luxurious extravagance, and by\nthis means a new opening was made for the arts of building, which also\nincluded that of gardening, which was perfected in a way that evinced\nvery considerable talent and taste. The villa of Lucullus is a striking\nexample.\n\nThis type of Roman architecture has in many respects rendered service\nas a model to Italians and Frenchmen of t more recent times. Among\nourselves we have for a long time to some measure followed in the\nsteps of the Italians, and also to some extent in those of the French;\nfinally men have once more devoted their attention to the Greeks, and\nhave accepted as an object of imitation the antique in its purer form.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nROMANTIC ARCHITECTURE\n\n\nThe Gothic architecture of the Middle Ages, which constitutes here the\ncharacteristic centre of the truly romantic type, has for a long time,\nmore especially since the popularization and predominance of the French\ntaste, been regarded as something rude and barbarous. In recent times\nit was Goethe who mainly, in the first instance, and in the youthful\nfreshness of his own nature and artistic outlook, brought once more the\nGothic type to its place of honour. Critical taste has been more and\nmore concerned to appreciate and respect these imposing works as giving\neffective expression both to the distinctive purpose of Christian\nculture, and the harmonious unity thereby created between architectonic\nform and the ideal spirit of Christendom.\n\n\n\nI. GENERAL CHARACTER\n\n\nIn so far as the general character of these buildings is concerned,\nin which religious architecture is that which is most prominent, we\ndiscovered already in our introduction to this part of our inquiry\nthat in this type both those of _independent_ and _serviceable_\narchitecture are _united._ This unity, however, does not in any way\nconsist in a fusion of the architectural forms of the Oriental and\nthe Greek, but we must look for it in the fact that, on the one hand,\nthe house or _dwelling-enclosure_ furnishes yet more the fundamental\ntype than in the Greek temple construction, and, on the other, mere\n_serviceableness_ and purpose is to that extent _eliminated_, and\nthe house is emphasized apart from it in its _free independence._ No\ndoubt these houses of God and other buildings of this type appear to\nthe fullest extent as constructed for definite objects, as already\nstated, but their true character is precisely this, that it reaches\nover and beyond the determinate aim and presents itself in a form of\nself-seclusion and positive local independence. The creation stands\nup in its place independent, secure, and eternal. For this reason\nthe character of the entirety is no longer to be deduced from any\npurely scientific or theoretical relation. Within the interior the\nbox-like envelope of our Protestant churches falls away which are built\nsimply that they may be filled with men and women, and do not possess\nchurch pews as stalls; in their exterior, the building soars in its\nroofing and pinnacles freely upwards, so that the relation of purpose,\nhowever much it be also present, tends again to disappear, leaving\nthe impression of the whole that of a self-subsistent existence. Such\na building is entirely filled up by nothing expressly; everything is\nabsorbed in the grandeur of the whole: it possesses and declares a\ndefinite object, but in its grandiose proportions and sublime repose\nit is essentially and with an infinite significance exalted[104]\nabove all mere intentional serviceableness. This exaltation over\nfinitude and simple security is that which constitutes the _unique_\ncharacteristic aspect of it. From another point of view it is precisely\nin this type that architecture finds the greatest opportunity for\n_particularisation_, diversion of effect and variety, without\npermitting, however, the whole to fall into mere details and accidental\nparticulars. The imposing character of the art we are considering\nrestores, on the contrary, this aspect of division and dismemberment\nin the original impression of simplicity. It is the substantive being\nof the whole which is set in division and dismemberment in an infinite\nmultiplicity throughout the entire complexus of individual and varied\ndistinctions; but this unbounded complexity is subdivided in a simple\nway, is articulated according to rule, broken into parts symmetrically\nby the same substance, which is the motive and constitutive principle\nthroughout in a harmonious co-ordination which entirely satisfies, and\nwhich combines without let or hindrance the mass of detail in all their\nlength and breadth in securest unity and most perspicuous independence.\n\n\n\n2. PARTICULAR ARCHITECTURAL MODES OF CONFORMATION\n\n\nIf we pass now to a consideration of the particular forms in which\nromantic architecture receives its specific character we shall find,\nas we have already above noticed, that our entire discussion will be\nconfined to what is genuine Gothic architecture, and mainly that of the\nchurch buildings of Christendom, in their contrast to the Greek temple.\n\n(_a_) As fundamental form underlying all the rest, we have here the\n_wholly shut off dwelling-house._\n\n(_\u03b1_) In other words, just as the Christian spirit withdraws itself\nwithin an ideal realm, the building is the place essentially delimited\non all sides for the congregation of the Christian community and the\ngathering together of spiritual life. It is the concentration of\nessential soul-life which thus encloses itself in spatial relations.\nThe devotion of the Christian heart, however, is at the same time\nand in the same degree an exaltation over finitude, so that this\nexaltation, moreover, determines the character of God's house.\nArchitecture secures thereby as its significance, independently of the\nobject which renders it necessary as a building, this exaltation to\nthe Infinite, a significance which it is forced to express through the\nspatial relations of architectural forms. The impression, therefore,\nwhich art is now called upon to emphasize is, in one aspect of it,\nand in contrast to the open gaiety of the Greek temple, that of the\ntranquillity of the soul which, released from external nature and\nworldly conditions, retires wholly into self-seclusion; in the other\naspect of it it is that impress of a solemn sublimity, which strains\nand soars over and beyond all rational limits. If, therefore, the\nbuildings of classical architecture as a rule offer the expansion of\nbreadth, we find in contrast to this that the romantic character of\nChristian churches asserts itself in the growth upwards from the soil\nand a soaring to the skies.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In this oblivion of external Nature and all the diverting\noccupations and interests of finite existence, which is to be effected\nby means of such seclusion, the open forecourts and colonnades and the\nlike, which are in direct communication with that world, furthermore\nand of necessity fall away, or only receive an entirely modified\nrepresentation within the interior of the building. And in like manner\nthe light of the sun is either excluded, or glimmers in broken rays\nthrough windows of painted glass, which, to prevent total immersion\nin darkness, are perforce admitted. What humanity needs here is not\nthe gift of external Nature, but a world created through it and for it\nalone, for its devotion and the activity of its soul-life.\n\n(_\u03b3_) We may fix as the pervading type by which the house of God is\ngenerally and with particular reference to its sections characterized\nthat of the free rise and running up into _pinnacles_, whether they\nbe built up by means of the arch or straight lines. In classical\narchitecture, where we find columns and piers with superimposed beams\nis the fundamental form, rectangularity and the office of support is\nthe feature of importance. For the construction superimposed at right\nangles marks in a definite way that it is supported. And even though\nthe beams do in their turn carry the roofing, the surfaces of this\nlatter portion incline to one another in an obtuse angle. In such a\nconstruction we find no trace of a genuine tendency to points and a\nsoaring up: we find simply repose and support. In the same way, too,\na circular arch, which extends in a continuous and equally gradated\nincline from one column to another, and is referable to one and\nthe same centre, rests on its substructure of support. In romantic\narchitecture, however, we no longer find the relation of support\nsimply and rectangularity the fundamental form, but rather we have\nbefore us the fact that all that is enclosed either on its interior or\nexterior side independently springs upward, and, without the secure and\nexpress distinction between the relationship of weight and support,\nconcentrates in a point. This pre-eminently free striving upwards and\ntendency to inclines that run to culminating points is what constitutes\nhere the essential determinant, by virtue of which either acute-angled\ntriangles with a more slender or broader base or pointed arches appear,\nboth of which aspects stand out most obviously in the characterization\nof Gothic architecture.\n\n(_b_) Moreover, the obligations of spiritual devotion and exaltation,\nregarded as a cultus, bring before us a variety of definite conditions\nand features which cannot be fully met on the exterior of the building\nin the open halls or forecourts of a temple, but can only be satisfied\nwithin the house of God itself. If, therefore, in the case of the\ntemple of classical architecture it is the external form which is of\nmost importance, and we find it remaining by means of the colonnades\nmore independent of the interior construction, romantic architecture\npresents a contrast to this not merely in the fact that the interior\nof the building is more essentially important, for the reason that\nthe whole purports to be simply an enclosure, but also in this, that\nthe interior permeates the very form of the exterior throughout, and\ndetermines its specific shape and mode of articulation.\n\nIn this connection we will, in order to examine the matter more\nclosely, first make an entrance into the interior, and working outwards\ntherefrom endeavour to elucidate the exterior.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The definition I have already adduced as best describing the\n_interior_ of the church is that of a certain place set apart and\nenclosed in all its aspects, whether it be in opposition to the\ninclemency of the weather or the distractions of the outer world, for\nthe community and its spiritual worship. The space of the interior\nis consequently an enclosure in the completest sense, whereas Greek\ntemples, apart from the presence of open passages and halls in the\nenvironment, not unfrequently possessed open cells.\n\nInasmuch as, moreover, Christian worship is an _exaltation_ of the soul\nabove the limitations of natural existence and a reconciliation of the\nindividual with God, we find in this fact a mediation of points of view\nwhich are separably _distinct_ in one and the same essentially concrete\nunity. At the same time romantic architecture receives the function\nin the form and co-ordination of its building to make the above\ncontent of spiritual life, to enclose which is the prime object of its\nconstruction, so far as this is architecturally feasible, shine through\nand determine the actual shape both of the exterior and the interior.\nThe following points will assist our understanding of the nature of\nthis problem.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The space of the interior will have to be no abstractly\nundifferentiated and empty one, which possesses no essentially defined\nfeatures or links that relate them respectively. It must have a\nconcrete form, one, that is, which presents differences in respect\nto all the mutual relations of length, breadth, height, and the mode\nof such dimensions. The form of the circle, the square, the oblong,\nwith the equality of enclosing walls and roofing which is necessary to\nthese figures, will not be suitable here. The movement, severation, and\nmediation of soul-life in its exaltation from that which is of earth to\nthat which is eternal, to the far-off and the more lofty, would fail to\nfind apt expression in this bare equality of a square figure.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) It is only a corollary to this that in the Gothic style the\nsubstantial _purport_ of the house, both in respect of its enclosing\nform of sidewalls and roof, and in that of its columns and beams\nrelatively to the _configuration_ of the whole and its parts, becomes\na matter of subordinate importance. And with this disappears, on the\none hand, as we have already noticed, the strict distinction between\nburden and support, as on the other we find no longer rectangularity\nis emphasized as essential to the building's purpose. Recourse is made\nonce more to an analogous form of Nature, namely, one that prefigures\na solemn place of assemblage and enclosure which freely soars upwards.\nIf we step into the interior of a cathedral of the Middle Ages we have\nbrought before us not so much the stability and mechanical purpose\nof supporting piers and a vault that rests upon it. We are rather\nreminded of the arches of a forest, whose rows of trees incline with\ntheir branches to one another and form an enclosure by this means.\nA crossbeam requires a secure centre of gravity and the horizontal\nposition. In Gothic architecture, however, the walls mount up freely\nand independently, and in the same way the piers, which then expand\nabove in several directions apart from one another, and coalesce as\nthough by accident. In other words their function, to support the\nvaulting, is, although the same in truth reposes on the piers, not\nexpressly emphasized and independently set forth[105]. The effect is\nas though they did not carry such, just as in the tree the branches\ndo not appear as though supported by the stem, but rather in their\nairy incurvation as a continuation of the stem, and with the branches\nof other trees, form a roof of leaves. A roofing of this kind, which\nis thus fixed upon as the cover of the life of Spirit, this awful\nenvironment, which invites us to contemplation, it is which the\ncathedral presents us, in so far as the walls and among them the forest\nof piers freely coalesce in their summits. But for all that we do not\nactually assert that Gothic architecture has accepted trees and woods\nfor the actual exemplar of its forms.\n\nWhile the sharpening to a point offers us generally the basic type in\nGothic we find in the interior of churches this tendency take the more\nspecialized shape of the _pointed arch._ By this means the _columns_ in\nparticular receive an entirely fresh significance and appearance.\n\nThe broad Gothic churches require a roofing to close them in, a roofing\nwhich on account of the breadth is a severe burden and renders support\nunavoidable. Here, therefore, the columns appear to be in their right\nplace. For the reason, however, that the straining upwards is precisely\nthat which converts support into the appearance of free soaring-up\ncolumns are unable to be employed here with the significance they\npossess in classical architecture. They become, on the contrary, piers\nwhich, in lieu of the cross-beam, carry arches in a manner whereby\nthey appear as simply a continuation of the pier and coalesce together\nwithout definite object in a point. We may, no doubt, conceive the\nunavoidable termination of two piers that stand apart from one another\nas analogous to a gut-roof that rests on corner posts; but taking\ninto consideration the surfaces at the sides, although they, too,\nare planted on piers in entirely obtuse angles, and incline to one\nanother in an acute angle, we find in the latter case none the less\nthe conception on the one hand of burden, and on the other of support.\nThe pointed arch, on the contrary, which apparently in the first\ninstance mounts up in a straight line, and only by imperceptible and\nslower degrees leans forward in order to incline to the opposite side,\npresents for the first time the complete idea as though it was just\nnothing but the continuation of the pier itself, which forms an arch\nwith another. Piers and vaulting appear, in their contrast to columns\nand the beam, as one and the same image, although the arches rest upon\nthe capitals from which they spring. The capitals, too, in specific\ncases, such as occur in Netherland churches, keep away altogether, and\nby this means the inseparable unity above-mentioned is made expressly\nvisible to the eye.\n\nMoreover, on account of the fact that this striving upwards is declared\nas the fundamental character, the height of the piers exceeds that of\nthe breadth of their base in a proportion that we cannot calculate at\nsight. The piers are thin, slender, and soar up so high the sight is\nunable to take in the entire form at a glance, and is compelled to\nrove about in its upward flight until it attains repose at last in the\ngently inclined vaulting of the uniting arch, much as the soul moving\nwith restlessness in its devotion from the ground of finitude uplifts\nitself and finds rest in God alone.\n\nThe final point of distinction between piers and columns consists in\nthis, that the piers which are distinctively Gothic, and, where they\nare elaborated in their specific character, do not, as columns do,\nremain in the circular form, essentially secure in that, and one and\nthe same cylinder, but to begin with at their base in a reed-like way\nconstitute a convolute, a bundle of fibres, which break into varied\ndistinction as the pier mounts and radiate forth on all sides under\nvarious modes of continuation. And, while we find already in classical\narchitecture that the column represents an advance from that which is\nmerely subject to laws of gravity, from the solid and simple to that\nwhich is more slender and more adorned, so, too, we find much the same\nchange visible in the pier, which, in this more slender upgrowth, ever\nwithdraws itself more from the mere service of support, and freely\nsoars upward albeit shut in at its summit.\n\nThe same form of piers and pointed arches is repeated in windows and\ndoors. More particularly the windows, not merely the lower ones of the\nside aisles, but also in a still higher degree, the upper ones of the\ntransepts and choir, are of colossal size in order that the glance,\nwhich rests upon their lower portion, may not at once take in the upper\npart as well and may be uplifted as in the case of the vaultings. This\nadds to the restless motion of the upward flight which it is intended\nto communicate to the spectator. Add to this the window panes, as we\nhave already remarked, are with their coloured glass only partially\ntransparent. Sometimes they present sacred histories and sometimes they\nare merely panes of varied colour with the object of increasing the\ntwilight effect and permitting the light of the wax candles to shine\nforth. For in these buildings it is another daylight than that of\nNature which illumines.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Finally, as regards the _entire articulation_ of the interior\nof Gothic churches we have already seen that it is imperative that the\nparticular parts of such should be differentiated in their breadth,\nheight, and length. The primary distinction to consider in this respect\nis that of _choir, transept_, and _nave_ from the _encircling aisles._\nThese latter are constructed on the sides external to the fabric by\nmeans of walls which enclose it, and from which piers and arches are\ncarried, and in their separation from the interior by means of piers\nand pointed arches, which present openings toward the nave, having no\npartition walls between. They receive therefore the converse aspect to\nthat of the colonnades in Greek temples, which are open on the outside\nand are enclosed towards the interior, whereas the aisles in Gothic\nchurches permit free passage between the piers to the nave. In certain\nexamples we find two such aisles in juxtaposition; in fact, Antwerp\ncathedral is an example which possesses three of them at either side of\nthe nave.\n\nThe _nave_ itself soars up by means of enclosing walls on either\nside, at different degrees of elevation, according to various modes\nof disposition, above the aisles, broken by colossal windows in such\na way that the walls themselves at the same time have the appearance\nof being slender piers, which everywhere separate in pointed arches\nand build up vaultings. There are, however, churches in which the\nside aisles have the same height as the nave, as, for example, in the\nlater choirs of the Sebaldus Church in Nuremberg, which offers the\nimpression of an imposing, free, and capacious type of slenderness\nand delicacy. In this way the whole is divided by means of rows of\npiers, which are brought together at their summits like a forest in\nflights of branching arches. Attempts have been made to discover in\nthe _number_ of these piers, and generally in the relations of number\nmuch _mystical_ significance. There can be no question but that at\nthe period of the finest efflorescence of Gothic architecture, that,\nfor example, of Cologne Cathedral, a great significance was attached\nto the symbols of number, the as yet more gloomy presentiment of\nwhat is rational falling in readily with an insistence on external\ntraits of this kind. But despite this fact the artistic productions\nof architecture, which are carried through by means of that which\nis always to a greater or less degree merely the capricious play\nof a symbolism of subordinate rank, is neither of the profoundest\nsignificance, nor of the most exalted form of beauty, for the reason\nthat the genuine spirit of these is expressed in entirely different\nforms and modes than those applicable to the significance of numeral\ndistinctions. We must therefore be especially cautious not to carry\nsuch investigations too far. To attempt to go to the root of everything\nand in every direction to desire to discover a deeper meaning will tend\nquite as much to contract our horizon and destroy our thoroughness of\nsearch as is common with all short-sighted learning which passes over\nthe depth which is clearly expressed and presented without grasping it.\nIn respect to the more detailed distinction between _choir_ and nave,\nI will in conclusion emphasize the following points. The high-altar,\nthis real centre of the ritual, is placed in the choir, which is\nthus dedicated as the place for the priesthood as distinct from the\ncommunity, whose proper place is that of the nave, where we find the\npulpit for the preacher. A flight of steps, which varies in its height,\nconducts us to the choir, so that this latter section and all that\ntakes place in it is visible everywhere. In the same way this choir\nsection is relatively to decoration more ornate, and, moreover, in its\ndistinction from the more prolonged nave, even where the vaultings in\nboth cases are of equal height, is more serious, solemn, and sublime.\nAbove all we find here that the entire building is finally enclosed\nwith piers of greater thickness and more closely, by means of which the\nbreadth tends to disappear, and the entire effect is one of greater\nstillness and height, whereas the transepts and the nave through their\ntowers still provide with their means of entrance and exit a connection\nwith the outside world. According to the points of the compass the\nchoir is placed to the east, the nave lies in a westerly direction,\nand the transepts stand towards the north and south. We find, however,\nchurches with a double choir, in which the two choirs lie respectively\nin the direction of morning and evening and the main entrances are\nplaced in the transepts. The stone font for baptism, that is, for the\nsanctification of human entry into the Christian community, is placed\nin a porch by the main _entrance_ into the church. And, finally, we may\nnote that, while the more express worship is provided for by the entire\nbuilding, and notably the choir and nave, there are also small chapels\nwhich form in each case a fresh and independent church.\n\nThis must suffice as a description of the articulate structure of the\nwhole. In a cathedral of this type there is space enough for an entire\npeople. For here it is the intention that the community of a city and\ndistrict do not congregate round the building, but within the same.\nAnd for this reason all the varied interests of life which in any way\ncome into contact with religion have, too, a place assigned them. No\nfixed divisions of seats placed in rows divide and diminish the broad\nspace, but everyone comes and departs in peace, engages for himself\nor takes a seat for immediate use, kneels down, offers his prayer and\nremoves himself once more. If it is not the hour of high mass the most\nvarious things take place at the same time, and there is no confusion.\nIn one portion a sermon is delivered, in another a sick man is brought\nin; between these points we may find a slow procession; at one spot,\nwe have a baptism, at another a deceased person is carried through\nthe church. Or we may find in one place a priest delivering mass or\ncelebrating the marriage services and in every direction the people in\nbroken groups kneel before altars and sacred images. All such things\nare embraced by one and the same building. But this very variety and\nindividualization disappears, nevertheless, with its alternations\nwhen contrasted with the expanse and size of the building. Nothing\ncompletely fills up the whole, every incident passes by; individuals\nwith all that they do are lost and dispersed as points in this\ngrandiose whole. What happens at a given time is merely visible in its\npassing flight, and over and above all the huge and almost measureless\nspaces soar up in their secure and immutable form and construction.\n\nSuch, then, are the fundamental characteristics of the interior of\nGothic churches. We must not look here for any definite purpose as\nsuch, but rather an object for the private devotion of the soul in\nits self-absorption in every detail of the spiritual life[106], and\nits elevation over all that is isolated and finite. For this reason\nthese buildings are cut off from Nature by spaces enclosed on all\nsides, built up in the atmosphere of gloom and at the same time to\nthe smallest detail in a spirit that strives upwards sublime and\nimmeasurable.\n\n(_\u03b2_) If we direct our attention now to the _external_ aspect we shall\nfind, as we have already above observed, that in contrast to the\nGreek temple the exterior configuration in Gothic architecture, the\ndecoration and co-ordination of the walls and all else is determined\nfrom within outwards, the exterior having to appear simply as an\nenclosure of the interior.\n\nIn this connection we have good reason to emphasize the following\npoints:\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In the _first_ place in the form of the _cross_ which we find\ndominates the whole exterior we cannot fail to recognize in outline a\nsimilar construction as that which obtains within, a form which cuts,\nthe nave and choir in two, and supplies, moreover, the distinctions of\nheight which obtain between the aisles, the nave and choir.\n\nOn closer inspection we find that the _principal fa\u00e7ade_, as the\nexternal form of the aisles and nave, corresponds in the _portals_\nto the particular construction within. A more lofty principal door,\nby which we pass direct into the nave, stands between the smaller\nentrances into the aisles, and suggests by means of the contraction in\nperspective that the exterior must draw together, grow more narrow,\nand disappear in order than an entrance may be thereby provided. The\ninterior is the background already visible, into the depths of which\nthe exterior is carried, just as the soul is constrained to grow more\nprofound as ideality when it enters its own intrinsic wealth. Over\nthe doors at the sides extend in the most direct connection with the\ninterior colossal windows, just as the portals rise up to similar\npointed arches, in a way similar to that in which they are employed\nas the particular form for the vaultings of the interior. Between\nthese doors over the principal portal a large circular window branches\nout, the rose-window, a form which is, we may add, the exclusive and\npeculiar possession of this type of building, and only fitted to it.\nWhere such rose-windows are absent we find substituted for them a still\nmore colossal window with pointed arches. The fa\u00e7ades of the transepts\nare divided in a similar way while the walls of the nave, the choir,\nand the aisles in their windows and their form, no less than in the\nposition of the solid walls between, repeat in all respects the form of\nthe interior and set the same forth on the outside.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In the _second_ place, however, the exterior begins to make\nitself at the same time intelligible to itself[107] in this close\nassociation with the form and subdivision of the interior for the very\nreason that it has its own peculiar tasks to fulfil. In this connection\nwe may mention the _flying buttresses._ They represent the position\nof the many piers within the building and are necessary as points of\nsupport for the elevation and security of the whole. At the same time\nthey further make apparent on the outside, so far as interval, number,\nand other features are concerned, the rows of piers on the inside,\nalbeit they do not exactly reproduce the shape of the interior piers,\nbut the higher they mount up become reduced in the strength of their\nspringing buttresses.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Inasmuch as, however, in the _third_ place, it is only the\ninterior which has to be one essentially complete enclosure, this\nfeature is lost in the form of the exterior and makes way in every\nrespect for the all-prevailing characteristics of continuous elevation.\nAnd for this reason the exterior receives at the same time a form\nindependent of the interior, which asserts itself mainly in a tendency\nto strive upwards on all sides into points and pinnacles, breaking\nout in them one on the top of another. To this fundamental feature\nbelong the lofty uplifted triangles which, independently of the pointed\narches, soar upwards over the portals, pre-eminently the principal\nfa\u00e7ade, though also over the colossal windows of the nave and choir,\nand in a similar way the slenderly pointed shape of the roof, whose\ngable-end is especially prominent in the fa\u00e7ades of the transepts. Add\nto these the flying buttresses, which everywhere terminate in little\npointed pinnacles, and in this way, just as the rows of piers within\nthe building create a forest of stems, branches, and vaultings, on\ntheir part on the exterior stretch up heavenwards a forest of points.\n\nWith most independence and most emphatically, however, it is the\n_towers_ which rise upwards in their sublime summits. In other words\nwe find that the entire mass of the building concentrates among other\nthings itself in them, in order that thus in its main towers it may be\nwithout hindrance uplifted to an incalculable height without thereby\nlosing its character of repose and stability. Such towers are either\nplaced in the principal fa\u00e7ade over the two side entrances, while a\nthird and broader main tower springs up at the point where the vaulting\nof the transepts, choir, and nave meet, or one single tower constitutes\nthe principal fa\u00e7ade and is raised above the entire breadth of the\nnave. Such are at any rate the positions which are most usual. In\ndirect connection with the worship such towers have belfries, that is,\nto the extent that the ringing of bells properly applies to Christian\nservices. This merely indefinite tone of the bell is a solemn stimulus\nof the soul-life, though in the first instance one that as yet prepares\nthe worshipper only on the outside of the building. The articulate\ntone, on the other hand, wherein a definite content of feelings and\nideas is expressed, is the song which is only to be heard within the\nchurch. The inarticulate clang of the bell finds its right place on the\noutside and only there and is sounded forth from the towers that its\npeal may pass forth as from some pure height far over the land.\n\n(_c_) As to the mode of decoration I have already pointed to the main\nfeatures of determinate character.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The _first_ point we have to emphasize is the importance of\nornament generally for Gothic architecture. Classical architecture\npreserves as a rule a wise mean in the adornment of its constructions.\nInasmuch as, however, it is the main interest of Gothic architecture\nto make the masses which it places in position appear larger and\nconsiderably more lofty than they in fact are it is not satisfied with\nplain surfaces, but subdivides the same throughout; and, moreover,\nbreaks them up with forms which themselves suggest on their part a\nstriving upwards. Piers, pointed arches, and triangles, which rise\nabove them with their pinnacles, occur, too, as decorative work. In\nthis way we find that the simple unity of the great masses is impaired,\nand the elaboration is carried to the point of every conceivable\ndetail, leaving the entire effect, however, involved in the most\nflagrant contradiction. On the one hand we cannot fail to observe the\nmost obvious outlines in a clearly defined co-ordination, on the other\nwe have fulness and variety of delicate embellishment impossible to\nfollow with the eye, so that the most motley particularity is directly\nset up in contrast to what is most universal and simple, just as the\nsoul, in the opposition implied in Christian worship, is deeply engaged\nin finite things, and indeed carries its life into the mere detail and\nthe trifle. This very opposition acts as a stimulus to contemplation,\nthis striving up invites to a like action. For what is of paramount\nimportance in this style of decoration is this that it do not, by\nthe mass and alternation of its ornament, destroy or cover up the\nfundamental outlines, but rather suffer them completely to make their\nway through such variety as the essential feature of importance. Only\nwhen it can do this, and I speak in particular of Gothic buildings,\nis the solemnity of their imposing seriousness kept intact. Just as\nreligious devotion has to permeate all particular experiences of\nsoul-life, the life-conditions of every type of humanity, has further\nto engrave indelibly on the heart its universal and incommutable ideas,\nso in the same way the simple and fundamental architectural features\nshould have strength sufficient to recall the most varied articulation,\ndiversity and embellishment of the structure once more within the\nfundamental impression of those outlines and wholly thus absorb them.\n\n(_\u03b2_) A _further_ aspect in decorative work is bound up in the same way\nwith the romantic type of art in general. The romantic has on the one\nhand for its principle Ideality, the return of the Ideal to itself.\nOn the other the Ideal has to reappear in that which is external, and\nthen withdraw itself into itself from the same. In architecture it is\nthe sensuous, material mass in relations of Space, in which the most\nIdeal essence itself is, so far as that is possible, to be presented in\nvisible shape. With a material such as this to deal with there is no\nother alternative possible than that of not suffering this material\nto assert itself with power in its materiality, but to break up and\ndismember its masses in every direction, and to wrest from the same the\nappearance of its immediate coherence and self-subsistency. In this\nconnection the ornamentation, more particularly that of the exterior,\nwhich has not to display the fact of enclosure as such, assumes the\ncharacter of a net-work[108] carried in every direction, or rather\ninterwoven over the surfaces; and we have no example of an architecture\nwhich, taking into account the enormous and heavily weighted masses of\nits stone and their secure coherence, nevertheless has preserved to\nsuch a complete extent the character of lightness and delicacy.\n\n(_\u03b3_) We have only further and _thirdly_ to remark with reference to\nsuch embellishments that in addition to pointed arches, piers, and\ncircles, the forms once more call to mind those of the real organic\nworld. The fretwork and working out of the mass already carries a\nsuggestion of this. Regarded in more detail, however, we actually find\nleaves, rosettes of flowers, and, in entwining work of an arabesque\ncharacter, human figures and those of animals partly realistically\nand partly fantastically linked together; the romantic imagination,\nin short, even in architecture, displays its wealth of imaginative\ncreation, and its power to unite in unexpected ways heterogeneous\nelements, although from another point of view, at any rate during the\nperiod of the purest type of Gothic architecture, even in the matter of\nornament, as, for example, in the pointed arches of the windows, we may\nobserve a decisive return to simple forms.\n\n\n\n3. DIFFERENT TYPES OF BUILDING IN ROMANTIC ARCHITECTURE\n\n\nThe last point on which I have a few observations to make is that of\nthe principal types followed by romantic architecture in its course of\ndevelopment at different periods. I must, however, add the premise that\nin this work no attempt can be made to supply a history of this branch\nof the art.\n\n(_a_) We must wholly distinguish from Gothic architecture, such as I\nhave above described it, the so-called pre-Gothic, whose development\noriginated in Roman architecture. The most ancient form of Christian\nchurches is that of the _basilica._ These originated out of the public\nbuildings of the Empire, huge oblong halls, with the frame-work of\ntheir roofing of wood, such as Constantine placed at the disposal of\nChristians. In buildings such as these there was a tribune, on which,\nduring congregational religious services conducted by priests, there\nwas singing and an address delivered, or merely reading aloud. The\nconception of the choir may have originated with this. In the same\nway Christian architecture accepted other of its forms such as the\nuse of columns with circular arches, the rotunda and the modes of\nclassical embellishment throughout, more particularly in the western\nRoman Empire, while in the eastern section it appears to have remained\nconstant to this type until the time of Justinian. Even buildings\nerected by the Ostrogoths and Lombards in Italy retained essentially\nthe fundamental Roman type. In the more recent architecture, however,\nof the Byzantine Empire several modifications made their appearance.\nA rotunda supported on four great piers forms the centre, to which\ndifferent constructions were attached to meet the particular objects of\nGreek as distinct from the Roman ritual. We must not, however, confuse\nthis genuine architecture of the Byzantine Empire with that which,\nin its general relation to architectural types, goes by the name of\nByzantine, and which was employed in Italy, France, England, Germany,\nand other places up to the close of the twelfth century.\n\n(_b_) In the thirteenth century was evolved the Gothic architecture\nin the distinctive form whose main characteristics I have above\ndescribed in detail. It is nowadays denied that it is the work of\nGothic architects, and the name given it is that of Deutsch or German\narchitecture. We may, however, retain the more customary and ancient\nnomenclature. In other words we find in Spain very ancient indications\nof this type of construction, which suggest an association with\nhistorical circumstances under which Gothic kings, forced back into\nthe mountains of Asturia and Galicia, retained their independence in\nsuch localities. Under such conditions, no doubt, a close affiliation\nof Gothic and _Arab_ architecture appears probable, yet both may\nbe essentially distinguished. For the characteristic trait of Arab\narchitecture in the Middle Ages is not the pointed arch, but the\nso-called _horseshoe_ form. Moreover, these buildings, which are\nconstructed for an entirely different ritual, exhibit an Oriental\nwealth and splendour, embellishments resembling plant-life and other\nforms of decoration, which, in an external form, mix together what is\nof Roman ancestry and that which belongs to the Middle Ages.\n\n(_c_) On parallel lines with this evolution of religious architecture\nwe find, too, the course of _civil construction_, which from its\nparticular point of view imitates and modifies the character of\necclesiastical buildings. In an architecture directed to the uses of\ncitizen life, however, art has less opportunity for display inasmuch\nas here objects of more restricted character, combined with a great\nvariety of requirements, are more strict in the range of satisfaction\npresented, and do not suffer beauty to pass beyond mere decoration.\nExcept for the general harmonious disposition of its forms and masses,\nart is in the main merely able to assert itself in the embellishment of\nfa\u00e7ades, staircases, windows, doors, gables, towers, and the like, and\nhas to do this throughout subject to the condition that the practical\npurpose of the building is what finally determines everything. In\nthe Middle Ages it is pre-eminently the tower-like form of secure\ndwellings, which is the fundamental type of structure not merely\nfor particular declivities and summits but also within the towns,\nwhere every palace, every private dwelling, as in Italy for example,\nreceived the form of a small fortification or keep. Walls, doors,\ntowers, bridges and the like are executed as necessity dictates, and\nare decorated and embellished by art. Stability and security coupled\nwith a grandiose type of splendour and a vital individuality of single\nforms and their connecting links constitute the determining factors,\nto enter into the detail of which would carry us beyond our present\npurpose. By way of supplement we may in conclusion briefly allude to\nthe art of _gardening_, which does not only create under a wholly\nnovel form an environment for spirit, we may call it a second exterior\nNature, but draws the landscape of Nature itself within the operation\nof its constructive purpose and treats the same architectonically as an\nenvironment of buildings. I will only take as an example of what I mean\nthe famous and exceedingly imposing terrace of Sans-souci.\n\nIn our examination of the genuine art of gardening it is most important\nto distinguish the _painter's_ point of view of it from that of the\n_architect._ All that pertains to mere park construction, for instance,\nis not truly architectonic, no building, that is, with freely disposed\nnatural objects, but an artist's portrayal[109], which leaves the\nobjects in their natural form and aims at imitating wide Nature in its\nfreedom. Everything is here suggested in turn, which finds its glad\nplace in a landscape--whether rocks and the huge rough masses which are\ntheir substance, or dales, woods, pastures, meandering brooks, broad\nstreams with their animated banks, still lakes, wreathed round with\ntrees, rushing waterfalls, and everything else of the kind, and is\nbrought together with one total effect. In this way the gardening art\nof the Chinese embraces entire landscapes together with their islands,\nrivers, expanding views, and rockeries.\n\nIn a park of this kind, particularly in modern examples of such,\neverything is, on the one hand, intended to hold intact the freedom\nof Nature, while, on the other, it is artificially elaborated and\nconstructed and conditioned by the locality where it is situated. This\ninvolves a contradiction which is never satisfactorily disposed of.\nIn this respect, for the most part, it is impossible to instance an\nexample of worse taste than such an attempt to make visible in all\ndirections a studied purpose in that which is without purpose, and to\nforce that which refuses to be compelled. Add to this the fact that\nhere the genuine character of what is strictly a garden disappears,\nin so far, that is, as a garden is primarily adapted for strolling\nabout in at pleasure and conversation within a certain place, which\nis no longer simply Nature, but a Nature remodelled by man to meet\nhis desire for an environment created by himself. A huge park, on the\ncontrary, particularly if it be garnished with Chinese temples, Turkish\nmosques, Swiss ch\u00e2lets, bridges, hermitages, and any other conceivable\nforeign importation, makes an independent claim on our interest as\nspectator. It offers an independent pretension of being and signifying\nsomething. A charm of this sort disappears as soon as it arises; we\ndo not care to see it twice, for an addition like this spreads before\nour sight no suggestion of infinity, nothing that possesses a really\nexistent vitality[110], and is further only wearisome and tedious for\nconversation as we pass through it.\n\nA garden, strictly speaking, should be only a cheerful environment and\nsimply an environment, which will not pass for something independently\nvalid and withdraw men from their own life and concerns. It is here\nthat architecture, with its scientific lines, order, regularity, and\nsymmetry, is in its proper place and co-ordinates natural objects\nthemselves architectonically. The art of the Mongols on the other side\nof the great wall, in Tibet, the paradise of the Persians, already\nadapt themselves more closely to this type. They are no parks in the\nEnglish sense, but halls with flowers, springs, courts, and palaces,\nwhich have in the form of a retreat in Nature been arranged on a\nsplendid, grandiose, and extravagant scale for the needs of mankind\nand their convenience. But we find the architectural principle most\nthoroughly carried out in the French art of gardening, which, as\na rule, borders upon great palaces, plants trees in the strictest\nconformity of line in long avenues, prunes them, builds up straight\nwalls from trimmed fences, and in this way converts Nature herself into\na broad dwelling beneath the open sky.\n\n[Footnote 34: Simply as a physical object.]\n\n[Footnote 35: That of symbolic architecture.]\n\n[Footnote 36: _Als Momente eines Subjektes._ That is as the constituent\nparts of the mind of one individual.]\n\n[Footnote 37: Herod. I, _c._ 181.]\n\n[Footnote 38: I, _c._ 98.]\n\n[Footnote 39: I, p. 469.]\n\n[Footnote 40: As in obelisks, Memnons, etc.]\n\n[Footnote 41: II, _c._ 162.]\n\n[Footnote 42: _c._ 106.]\n\n[Footnote 43: Symb. (2nd ed.), p. 469. The solar city of Heliopolis.]\n\n[Footnote 44: XXXVI, 14, and XXXVII, 8.]\n\n[Footnote 45: Creutzer I, p. 778.]\n\n[Footnote 46: \"History of Architecture,\" vol. I, p. 69.]\n\n[Footnote 47: _Wandungen._ I presume this refers to every kind of\nsubdivision no less than boundary walls.]\n\n[Footnote 48: _Pracktgew\u00e4nden._ Presumably this refers to the isolated\nstructures in which the columns are built--having flat surfaces like\nwalls.]\n\n[Footnote 49: _Balken._ The word would suggest perhaps that Hegel means\nhere beams of any kind.]\n\n[Footnote 50: II, _c._ 155.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Her. II, _c._ 108.]\n\n[Footnote 52: Herodotus dwells on this in the above passage.]\n\n[Footnote 53: II, _c._ 148.]\n\n[Footnote 54: Commentators of Herodotus point out that we have no\ndirect evidence here of their number, which, comparing this with\nStrabo's account, is doubtful, and still more so the number of the\nchambers (\u03bf\u1f31\u03ba\u03ae\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1). Strabo says there were twenty-seven courts. The\nconnection between the halls was not an architectural one but by means\nof the chambers and colonnades (\u03c0\u03b1\u03c3\u03c4\u03ac\u03b4\u03b5\u03c2). See Blakesley's notes, vol.\nI, pp. 279-80. Neither from Herodotus nor Hegel is it very easy to form\na clear notion of the building.]\n\n[Footnote 55: \"History of Ancient Building,\" vol. I, p. 75.]\n\n[Footnote 56: XXXVI, 19.]\n\n[Footnote 57: _Ein Individuelles._ Lit., An individual entity.]\n\n[Footnote 58: The relative pronoun refers to the separation of both\naspects.]\n\n[Footnote 59: II, _c._ 126-7.]\n\n[Footnote 60: Her. II, _c._ 125.]\n\n[Footnote 61: _Geschichte der Baukunst der Alten_, I, S. 55.]\n\n[Footnote 62: Symbolical significance.]\n\n[Footnote 63: Wolff's and Buttmann's Mus., B. I, p. 536.]\n\n[Footnote 64: Hegel uses the coined word _osirirt_ I presume in this\nsense.]\n\n[Footnote 65: _Abstraction._ Abstract in the sense of possessing no\nideal complexity.]\n\n[Footnote 66: _Verst\u00e4ndig._ Comes under the categories of the\nUnderstanding.]\n\n[Footnote 67: Lit., \"Find the element that is congenial.\"]\n\n[Footnote 68: That is, the principle of geometrical design and that of\norganic structure.]\n\n[Footnote 69: That is the beauty and the ulterior aim of utility.]\n\n[Footnote 70: _Verst\u00e4ndig._ See note above.]\n\n[Footnote 71: The sphere of mechanical gravity.]\n\n[Footnote 72: I presume _Aufwande_ means expense here; it would be more\nreasonable perhaps to say \"waste of room,\" columns being only too often\nso much more expensive for their size.]\n\n[Footnote 73: That is, the free treatment of line under scientific\nforms of abstraction rather than limited to specific modes of organic\nform in Nature.]\n\n[Footnote 74: _Der Verst\u00e4ndigen Gesetzm\u00e4ssigkeit._ The principle of\nscientific architecture.]\n\n[Footnote 75: Immediate imitation, that is.]\n\n[Footnote 76: Of classical art.]\n\n[Footnote 77: _Symbol des Innern._]\n\n[Footnote 78: That is, apart from the classical type.]\n\n[Footnote 79: That is, the scientific reason of abstract principle or\nrule.]\n\n[Footnote 80: _Weil beim Oblongum in der Gleichheit und Ungleichheit\nist._ That is, more pleasure is derived from contrast than mere\nsimilarity. He then qualifies or explains the general principle.]\n\n[Footnote 81: _Eurhythmie_, that is, eurhythmy or a rhythmic movement\nbetween the several parts.]\n\n[Footnote 82: I presume this is the meaning of _die Theorie_ here.\nThat is the purposeful motive of the architectural skeleton of the\nfabric--what explains it rationally.]\n\n[Footnote 83: _Schiebens._ It is possible that Hegel uses the word in\nits primary sense of \"shifting.\"]\n\n[Footnote 84: The idea is slightly confused in the course of the\nsentence. It is not the necessity (_des Bed\u00fcrfnisses_) to build a\nstable house which has to be held in position, etc., but the structure\nwhich that necessity forces men to construct in a certain way.]\n\n[Footnote 85: _Ihre eigenen Momente._ \"Its unique traits\" is possibly\nadequate here.]\n\n[Footnote 86: Hegel probably has in his mind when using the expression\n_verst\u00e4ndig bestimmte_ the close analogy between the self-exclusive\nconcreteness of reason and the completeness of the circular figure.]\n\n[Footnote 87: It is not quite clear what Hegel means by the _K\u00f6pfen der\nDeckenbalken._ The technical word that corresponds to _Deckenbalken_ is\n\"joists\"; here, according to the words that follow, it would appear to\nmean either the last horizontal line of the architrave or the entire\ngrowth of the triglyph. As he uses the word _Zwischenra\u00fcmen_ after we\nappear to be driven on the latter alternative. The frieze, of course,\nwas the entire space between cornice and architrave, including both\ntriglyphs and metopes.]\n\n[Footnote 88: Called _femora._ They were divided by two gutters or\ndrills. The triglyph slightly projected and united perpendicularly\ncornice and architrave.]\n\n[Footnote 89: _Die Baukunst nach den Grunds. der Alten_, Berlin, 1808,\nS. III.]\n\n[Footnote 90: He means that the distinct functions are not assigned\nto those features of the building to which they are naturally or most\nessentially related.]\n\n[Footnote 91: Hirt, _Geschichte der Baukunst_, III, S. 14-18, and II,\nS. 151.]\n\n[Footnote 92: He refers to the columns placed round.]\n\n[Footnote 93: _Gesch. d. Bauk._ I, S. 251.]\n\n[Footnote 94: By _sebstst\u00e4ndig_ Hegel means apparently that there must\nbe nothing in their external form that would divert attention from\ntheir essential character.]\n\n[Footnote 95: _Auf dem Unterbau._ I presume this means generally that\nportion beneath the ground.]\n\n[Footnote 96: I presume what is meant is that in one case the drills\nor grooves are hollowed in round shape and towards the base in square\nshape.]\n\n[Footnote 97: What is precisely meant by the expression _durch\nprismatische Einschnitte_ I frankly do not know. The expression\n_Balken_ is evidently used to mark the association between the slabs of\nstone and beams or rafters.]\n\n[Footnote 98: That is, the spaces between the lower part of the cornice\nand the uppermost slab of the entablature.]\n\n[Footnote 99: The _coussinet_ is that part of the Ionic capital between\nthe abacus and quarter round, which serves to form the volute. There\nare four volutes or spiral scrolls in the Ionic capital.]\n\n[Footnote 100: The _mutule_ is the projecting block worked under the\ncorona of the Doric cornice.]\n\n[Footnote 101: Hirt, _Gesch. der Baukunst_, I, S. 254.]\n\n[Footnote 102: This must, I think, refer to the main moulding of the\narchitrave immediately resting on the column.]\n\n[Footnote 103: Seneca, Ep. 90.]\n\n[Footnote 104: Lit., \"Is raised to infinitude.\"]\n\n[Footnote 105: As it is, for example, by Greek capitals.]\n\n[Footnote 106: Lit., \"In its penetration into the most spiritual\n(_innerste_, ideal) particularity.\"]\n\n[Footnote 107: _Sich verselbstst\u00e4ndigen._ Hegel means that the main\npurpose of the exterior is expressed on the face of it.]\n\n[Footnote 108: I presume the word _Durchbrechen_ is here used in its\nspecific architectural sense.]\n\n[Footnote 109: _Ein Malen._]\n\n[Footnote 110: _Keine in sich seyende Seele._ I presume Hegel means\nthat being an artificial fragment of Nature's landscape it lacks the\ninfinite horizon and the living relation to the whole.]\n\n\n\n\nSUBSECTION II\n\n\nSCULPTURE\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nOver against the inorganic nature of Spirit, in the form we find given\nit by art in architecture, Spirit opposes itself directly in the sense\nthat the work of art receives and displays spirituality as its actual\ncontent. The necessity of this advance we have already adverted to. It\nunderlies the notion of Mind, which differentiates itself under the\ntwofold aspect of subjective self-substantive[111] existence and pure\nobjectivity. In this latter form of externality the ideal substance,\nit is true, makes its appearance by virtue of the architectonic\ntreatment; such, however, does not amount to a complete transfusion\nof the objective material, or a conversion of it into an entirely\nadequate expression of Spirit (Mind), such as suffers it, and only it,\nto appear. Consequently art withdraws itself from the inorganic realm,\nwhich architecture, under its yoke of the laws of gravity, has striven\nto bring nearer as a means of Spirit's expression, to that of the\nIdeal, which forthwith then independently asserts itself in its more\nlofty truth without this intermingling with what is inorganic. It is\nduring this, return passage of Spirit to its own native realm[112] from\nout of the world of masses and material substance that we come across\n_sculpture._\n\nThe first stage, however, in this new sphere is, as yet, no\nwithdrawal of mind into the completely _ideal_ world of subjective\nconsciousness[113], so that the representation of what is of Spirit\nwould require what is itself a purely ideal mode of expression.\nRather Spirit grasps itself, in the first instance, only in so far as\nit is still expressed in _bodily_ shape, and therein possesses its\nhomogeneous and determinate existence. The art which accepts for its\ncontent this attitude to the possessions of Spirit will consequently\nhave, as its due function, to clothe spiritual individuality as a\nmanifestation under _material_ conditions, and we may add, in what is\nactually material to the senses. For discourse and speech are also\nindications[114] which Spirit assumes under the form of externality,\nbut they belong to a mode of objectivity, which, instead of possessing\nthe attributes we attach to matter in its immediate and concrete sense,\nis merely as tone, motion, the undulation of an entire body and the\nrarified element, the atmosphere, a communication of such Spirit. What\nI call immediate corporeality, on the contrary, is the spatial mode of\nmaterial substance such as stone, wood, metal, or clay, wholly spatial\nin all three dimensions. The form, however, which is adequate to Spirit\nis, as we have already seen, the unique bodily form which belongs to\nit; and it is through this that sculpture makes what is of Spirit\nactual in a whole which is subject to the spatial condition.\n\nFrom this point of view sculpture stands on the same plane as\n_architecture_[115] to the extent, namely, that it gives form to the\nsensuous material as such, or what is material according its _spatial_\ncondition as matter. It is, however, to a like extent distinguishable\nfrom architecture by virtue of the fact that it does not work up the\ninorganic substance, as the opposite of Spirit, into an environment\ncreated by Spirit and endowed with its purpose in forms to which a\npurpose is attached which is exterior to it; rather it sets before us\nspirituality itself in the bodily shape which, from the standpoint\nof the notion, is adequate to Spirit and its individuality. In other\nwords its efficient function and independent self-subsistency brings\nindivisibly before our sight both aspects, body and spirit, as one\nwhole. The configuration of sculpture, therefore, breaks away from the\nspecific function of architecture, which is to serve Spirit merely as\nan external Nature and environment, and assumes a really independent\nposition. Despite, however, this separation the image of sculpture\nremains in essential relation to its environment. A statue or group,\nand yet more a relief, cannot be made without considering the place\nin which such a work of art is to be situated. One ought not first to\ncomplete a work of sculpture and then consider where it is likely to\nbe put, but it should in the very conception of it be associated with\na definite exterior world, and its spatial form and local position. In\nthis respect sculpture retains a specific relation to the architectural\naspect of space. For the primary object of statues is that of being\ntemple images and being set up in the shrine of the sanctuary, just\nas in Christian churches painting supplies images for the altar, and\nGothic architecture also attests a similar connection between works of\nsculpture and their local position. Temples and churches, however, are\nnot the only place for statues, groups of statuary and reliefs. In a\nsimilar way halls, staircases, gardens, public squares, doors, single\ncolumns and arches of triumph receive an animation from the forms\nof sculpture; and every statue, even though placed in dissociation\nfrom such a wider environment, requires a pedestal of its own to mark\nits local position and base. And here we must conclude what we have\nto say as to the association of sculpture with or distinction from\narchitecture.\n\nIf we further compare sculpture with the other arts we shall find\nthat it is more especially _poetry_ and _painting_ which will engage\nour attention. Small statues no less than groups present to us the\nspiritual form in complete bodily shape, man, in short, as he exists.\nSculpture therefore appears to possess the truest means of representing\nwhat is spiritual, whereas both painting and poetry have the contrary\nappearance of being more remote from Nature for the reason that\npainting makes use of the mere surface instead of the sensuous totality\nof the spatial condition, which a human form and all other natural\nthings actually assume; speech, too, to a still less degree, expresses\nthe reality of body, being merely able to transmit ideas of the same by\nmeans of tone.\n\nHowever, the truth of the matter is precisely the reverse of this. For\nalthough the image of sculpture appears no doubt to possess from the\nstart the natural form as it stands, it is just this externality of\nbody and nature reproduced in gross material which is not the nature of\nSpirit as such. If we regard the essential character of it its peculiar\nexistence is that expressed by means of speech, acts, and affairs which\ndevelop its ideal or soul-life, and disclose its true existence.\n\nIn this respect sculpture has to yield the place of honour and\npre-eminently when contrasted with _poetry._ No doubt clarity of\noutline[116] is superior in the plastic arts, in which the bodily\npresence is placed before our sight, but poetry too can describe the\nexterior figure of a man, such as his hair, forehead, cheeks, size,\ndress, pose and so forth, though of course not with the precision and\nsufficiency of sculpture. What it loses, however, in this respect is\nmade up by the imagination, which, moreover, does not require for the\nmere conception of an object such a fixed and definite outline, and\nbefore everything else brings before us man in his _action_, with\nall his motives, developments of fortune and circumstance, with all\nhis emotions, discourses, everything that discovers the soul-life or\nthrows light on external incidents. This sculpture is either wholly\nunable to do, or only in a very incomplete way for the reason that it\nneither can present to us the individual soul[117] in its particular\ninward life and passion, nor as poetry a sequence of expressed results,\nbut only offer us the general characteristics of individuality, so\nfar as the body expresses such, and whatever happens together in one\nparticular moment of time, and this too in a state of repose without\nthe progressive action of real life. In these respects, too, it is\ninferior to painting. For the expression of spiritual life receives\nin painting an emphatically more defined accuracy and vitality by\nmeans of the colour given to the human face and its light and shadow,\nnot merely in the sense in which it satisfies generally the material\nsubstance of nature, but pre-eminently in the way it expresses\nphysiognomy and the phenomena of emotion. It is possible, therefore,\nat first to entertain the view that sculpture requires merely for its\ngreater perfection to associate the further advantages of painting with\nthat itself possesses in the spatial totality, and to regard it as a\nmere act of caprice that it has made up its mind to dispense with the\npalette of the painter, or, as indicating a poverty and incapacity of\nits execution, that it entirely restricts its effort to one aspect of\nreality, namely, that of the material form, and withdraws its attention\nfrom that, much as the silhouette and the engraving may be set down as\nmere makeshifts[118]. We are, however, not warranted in thus applying\nsuch a term as \"caprice\" to genuine art. The form such as it is in the\nobject of sculpture, remains in fact merely an _abstract_ aspect of the\nconcrete human bodily presence. Its presentments receive no variety\nfrom particularized colours and movements. This is, however, no defect\ndue to accident, but a limitation of material and manner of presentment\nitself pre-supposed in the notion of art. For Art is a product of\nmind, and we may add of the more exalted and thoughtful mind. A\nwork of this order claims as its object a content of this defined\ncharacter, and consequently implies a mode of artistic realization\nwhich excludes other aspects. We have here a process similar to that\nobserved in the different sciences where we find, for example, geometry\nexclusively adopts space as its object, jurisprudence law, philosophy\nthe explication of the eternal Idea and its determinate existence\nand self-identity in the facts of experience, wherein each of the\nabove mentioned sciences develops these objects by differentiation\nout of their differences, without one of them actually presenting to\nconsciousness in its completeness that which we are accustomed in\nordinary modes of thought to call concrete real existence.\n\nArt then, as a creative informing activity of spiritual origination,\nproceeds step by step, and separates that which in the notion, in\nthe nature of the thing, albeit not in its determinate existence, is\nseparated. It retains such stages consequently in their self-exclusive\nfinity, in order to elaborate them according to their distinct\npeculiarities. And what contributes to this notional distinction\nand exclusive separation in the spatial material substance, which\nconstitutes the element of the plastic art is corporeality in its\naspect of spatial totality and its abstract configuration, in other\nwords bodily form simply, and the more detailed particularization of\nthe same relatively to the variety of its _colorization._ We find at\nthis first stage the art of sculpture so placed relatively to the\nhuman form, which it treats as a stereo-metric body, merely, that is,\naccording to form which it possesses in the three spatial dimensions.\nThe work of art, whose process is in and through the sensuous material,\nmust no doubt have an existence for another[119], with which forthwith\nthe particularization commences. The primary art, however, which is\nconcerned with the human bodily form as an expression of spiritual\nlife, only proceeds so far in this \"being for another\" to the point\nof its first, or rather the still universal mode of Nature's own\nexistence, that is to the point of mere visibility and existence in\nlight generally, without uniting with the same in its presentment the\nrelation of the latter to darkness, in which that which is visible is\nparticularized in its own medium[120] and becomes colour. And the art\noccupying such a position is that of sculpture. For plastic art, which\nis unable as poetry to bring together the totality of the phenomenon\nin one equal element or world of idea, inevitably breaks up this\ntotality[121].\n\nFor this reason we get on the one hand _objectivity_, which in so far\nas it is not the unique configuration of spirit, stands over against\nit as inorganic Nature. It is this relation of bare objectivity which\nconverts architecture into a mere suggestive symbol, which does not\npossess its spiritual significance in itself. The point of extreme\ncontrast to objectivity as such is _subjectivity_, that is the\nsoul[122], emotional life in the entire range of all its particular\nmovements, moods, passions, exterior and interior agitations and\nactions. Between these two we are confronted with the spiritual\nindividuality which no doubt has a definite structure, but which\nis not as yet deepened to the extent of the essential ideality\nof the individual soul; in which, instead of the full personal\nsingularity, the substantive universality of Spirit and its objects\nand characteristic traits is the prevailing factor. In its generality\nit is not as yet absolutely withdrawn into its own exclusive domain\nto the point of purely spiritual unity; rather it comes before us as\nthis midway point[123] still hailing from the objective side, that is\nthe side of inorganic Nature, and consequently even carries as part of\nitself corporeality, as the particular form of existence appropriate\nto spirit, in the body that not merely is its own, but also discloses\nit. In this mode of externality, which no longer remains something\nsimply opposed to what is ideal, spiritual individuality has now\nto be displayed, not, however, as living form, that is to say as\ncorporeality continuously referred back to the point of unity implied\nin the singularity of spiritual life, but rather as form set forth and\nmanifested in its external guise, into the mould of which Spirit has no\ndoubt been poured, without, however, being from this outward bond of\nassociation, made visible in the sense that it is so when it withdraws\ninto its own essential and ideal domain[124].\n\nFrom the above observations the two points to which we have already\ndrawn attention become more clear, namely, first, that sculpture\nmakes use of the human form directly, which is the actual existence\nof spiritual life, instead of accepting a mode of expression which\nis symbolical with a view to promoting the spiritual import of\nmodes of appearance that are merely _suggestive._ At the same time,\nsecondly, it is content, as the manifestation of that mode of\nsubjectivity which does not express emotion and the soul essentially\nunparticularized[125], with _form_ and _nothing more_, where the\nfocus of subjectivity is dissipated[126]. This is also the reason\nwhy sculpture does not on the one hand present Spirit in action, in a\nseries of movements, which both possess and testify to one aim nor in\nundertakings or exploits, wherein a certain character is made visible,\nbut rather as persisting throughout in one objective way, and for this\nreason preeminently in the repose of form, the movement and grouping\nof which is merely a first and obvious commencement of action, not,\nhowever, in any sense a _complete_ presentment of the subjective life\nas agitated by all the conflicts that assail it whether within or\nwithout, or as its development is variously affected in contact with\nthe external world. Consequently what we also miss in the figures of\nsculpture is precisely this revealed focus of the subjective life, the\nconcentrated expression of soul as _soul_, namely, the glance of the\neye, a fact upon which we shall have something further to say later.\nWe miss it because such a figure presents to our sight Spirit embedded\nin corporeality, and Spirit, too, which has to show itself visible in\nthe entire form. From another point of view an individuality, which\nis not as yet essentially separated into its component parts, that\nis, the object of sculpture, does not as yet require the painter's\ncharm of colour as means to display it, a charm which is as capable of\nmaking visible, through the fine gradations and variety of its nuances,\nthe entire wealth of particular traits of character, the absolute\nmanifestation of spiritual presence, its ideal significance[127], as\nby means of the vital flash of the eye it will concentrate in a point\nall the vigour of the soul. Sculpture must not, in other words, accept\na material which is not rendered necessary by its fundamental point of\nview. It only makes use of the spatial qualities of the human figure,\nnot the colouring which depicts it. The figure of sculpture is in\ngeneral of one colour, hewn from white not vari-coloured marble. And\nin the same way metals are used as the material of sculpture, this\nprimitive substance, self-identical, essentially undifferentiated,\na light in fluxion, if we may so express it, without the contrast\nand harmony of different colours[128]. The Greeks are indebted to\ntheir unrivalled artistic insight[129] for having grasped and firmly\nretained this point of view. No doubt we find, too, in Greek sculpture,\nto which we must for the main part confine ourselves, examples of\ncoloured statuary; we must, however, take care in this respect to\ndistinguish both the beginning and end of this art from that which is\ncreated at its culminating point.\n\nIn the same way we must discount that which is admitted by art in\ndeference to traditional religion. We have already found it to be\ntrue in the classical type of art that it does not forthwith and\nimmediately set forth the Ideal, in which its function is to discover\nits fundamental lines of definition, but in the first instance removes\nmuch that is inconsonant with it and foreign; it is the same case\nprecisely with sculpture. It is forced to pass through many preliminary\nstages before it arrives at its perfection; and this initial process\ndiffers very considerably from its supreme attainment. The most ancient\nworks of sculpture are of painted wood, as, for example, Egyptian\nidols; we find similar productions among the Greeks. We must, however,\nexclude such examples from genuine sculpture when the main point is to\nestablish its fundamental notion. We are therefore in no way concerned\nto deny that there are many examples at hand of painted statues. It\nis, however, also a fact that the purer art-taste became, the more\nstrongly \"sculpture withdrew itself from a brilliancy of colour that\nwas not really congenial, and with wise deliberation utilized, on\nthe contrary, light and shadow in order to secure for the beholder's\neye a greater softness, repose, clarity, and agreeableness[130].\" As\nagainst the uniform colour of the bare marble we may no doubt not\nmerely instance the numerous statues of bronze, but also in still\nstronger opposition the greatest and most excellent works, which,\nas in the case of the Zeus of Pheidias, were artificially coloured.\nBut we are not here discussing absence of colour in such an extreme\nabstract sense. Moreover, ivory and gold are not primarily the use of\ncolour as the painter employs it; and generally we may add that the\nvarious works of a definite art do not ever in fact retain fixedly\ntheir fundamental notion in so abstract and unyielding a way, inasmuch\nas they come into contact with the conditions of life subject to\naims of all kinds; they are placed in different environments, and\nare thereby associated with circumstances of an external kind, which\ninevitably modify their real and essential type. In this way the images\nof sculpture are not unfrequently executed in rich material such as\ngold and ivory. They are placed on magnificent chairs or stand on\npedestals which display all the extravagance and luxuriousness of art,\nor receive costly decorations, in order that the nation, when face to\nface with such splendid works, may likewise enjoy the sense of its\npower and wealth. And sculpture in particular, for the reason that\nit is essentially, taken by itself, a more abstract art, does not on\nall occasions hold fast to such exclusiveness, but, on the one hand,\nintroduces incidentally much that is of a traditional, scholastic,\nor local character as a contribution from its history, while, on the\nother, it ministers to vital popular necessities. Active humanity\ndemands for its diversion variety, and seeks in diverse directions for\na stimulus to its vision and imagination. We may take as an analogous\ncase the reading aloud of Greek tragedies, which also brings before us\nthe work of art under its more abstract form. In the wider field of\nexternal existence we have still to add, to make a public performance,\nliving actors, costume, stage scenery, dancing, and music. And in like\nmanner, too, the sculptured figure is unable to dispense with much that\nis supplementary on its own stage of reality. We are, however, only\nconcerned here with the genuine work of sculpture as such; external\naspects such as those above adverted to must not be permitted to\nprevent us bringing before the mind the notion of our subject-matter in\nits most ideal and exclusive sense of definition.\n\nProceeding now to the more definite _heads of division_ in this\nsection we may observe that sculpture constitutes the very centre of\nthe _classical_ type of art to such a degree that we are unable to\naccept the symbolical, classical and romantic types as distinctions\nwhich affect throughout and form the basis of our division. Sculpture\nis the genuine art of the classical Ideal simply. It is quite true\nthat sculpture has also its stages in which it is in the grasp of\nthe _symbolical_ type, as in Egypt for example. But these are rather\npreliminary stages of its historical evolution, no genuine distinctions\nwhich essentially affect the art of sculpture when notionally\nconsidered, in so far, that is, as these exceptional examples, in\nthe manner of their execution and the use that is made of them,\nrather belong to architecture than are strictly within the aim and\npurpose of sculpture. In a similar way, when we find the _romantic_\ntype thereby expressed, sculpture passes beyond its rightful sphere,\nand only receives with the qualified imitation of Greek sculpture\nits exclusively plastic type. We must therefore look about us for a\nprinciple of division of another character.\n\nIn agreement with what we have just stated we shall find that it\nis from the particular way in which the _classical Ideal_ means of\nsculpture acquires a form of reality that most fully expresses it that\nthe focus of our present inquiry is derived. Before, however, we are\nin a position to make an advance in this evolution of the ideal figure\nof sculpture we must by way of introduction demonstrate what kind of\n_content_ and _form_ are pertinent to the point of view of sculpture\nregarded as a specific art, and the course it follows by virtue of both\nuntil the point is reached where the classical Ideal is fully unfolded\nin the human form permeated by spiritual life, and in its shape as\nsubject to spatial condition. From another point of view the classical\nIdeal stands, and falls with an individuality which is unquestionably\nsubstantive, but also to an equal degree essentially particularized, so\nthat sculpture does not accept for its content the Ideal of the human\nform in its _generality_, but the Ideal as _specifically defined_; and,\nby virtue of this fact, it is variously displayed under forms distinct\nfrom each other. Such distinctions partly originate in the conception\nand _representation_ simply, in part are due to the _material_ in which\nsuch is realized, and which further, according to the way it affects\nexecution, introduces points of severation on its own account, to both\nof which finally, as the last ground of difference, the various stages\nare related in the _historical_ development of sculpture.\n\nHaving made these observations we will indicate the course of our\ninquiry as follows.\n\nIn the _first_ place we have merely to deal with the _general_\ndeterminants of the essential _content_ and _form_, such as are\ndeducible from the notion of sculpture.\n\n_Secondly_, as a further step, we have to differentiate more\nclosely the nature of the classical Ideal, in so far as it attains a\ndeterminate existence in its most artistic form.\n\n_Thirdly_, and finally, we shall find that sculpture avails itself of\nvarious types of presentation and material, and expands to a world\nof productions, in which, either under one aspect or another, the\nsymbolical or romantic types also definitely assert themselves, albeit\nit is the classical which constitutes the true point of centre between\nthem in plastic art[131].\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLE OF GENUINE SCULPTURE\n\n\nSculpture, to put the matter in general terms, conceives the astounding\nproject of making Spirit imagine itself in an exclusively material\nmedium, and so shape this external medium that it is presented to\nitself in such and recognizes the presentment to be the objective form\nadequate to its ideal substance.\n\nIn this respect our inquiry will take the following directions.\n\n_First_, we have the question what kind of _spiritual life_ is capable\nof being reproduced in this material of a form entirely sensuous and\nspatial.\n\n_Secondly_, we have to ask in what manner the _forms_ of the spatial\ncondition have to be modified in order to permit us a recognition of\nthe spiritual in the bodily shape of beauty.\n\nWhat we have generally to consider here is the unity between the _ordo\nrerum extensarum_ and that of the _ordo rerum idearum_, the primal fair\nunion of soul and body, in so far as spiritual ideality is expressed by\nsculpture exclusively in its bodily existence.\n\nThis union, _thirdly_, corresponds to what we have already found to be\nthe Ideal of the classical type of art; and for this reason the plastic\nforms of sculpture are nothing less than the very art itself of the\nclassical Ideal.\n\n\n\n1. THE ESSENTIAL CONTENT OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nThe elementary medium, in which sculpture realizes its creations is,\nas we have seen, the elementary, still universal material subject\nto spatial condition, in which no further particularization can\nbe utilized for an artistic purpose than the universal spatial\ndimensions, and the more detailed[132] spatial forms which are\ncompatible with these dimensions under their most beautiful\nconfiguration. Now what most exceptionally corresponds as content to\nthis more abstract aspect of the sensuous material is the _objectivity_\nof Spirit which reposes on its own resources, in so far, that is, as\nSpirit has neither differentiated itself in contradistinction to its\nuniversal substance, nor to its determinate existence in its bodily\npresence, and consequently is not as yet withdrawn as independent\nself-subsistency into its own subjective world. There are two points we\nwould draw attention to here.\n\n(_a_) Spirit as Spirit[133] is no doubt always subjectivity, that is\nideal knowledge of the Self, the Ego. This Ego can, however, separate\nitself from everything that constitutes, whether in knowledge,\nvolition, conception, feeling, action, or achievement, the _universal_\nand eternal content of Spirit, and can concentrate its hold on that\naspect of _individual_ experience which is unique and contingent. It\nis then _subjectivity as such_ which we have before us, which has\nlet go the truly objective content of Spirit, and is self-related\nformally, and without content. In the case of self-satisfaction, for\nexample, I can no doubt view myself from a certain standpoint in an\nentirely objective way and remain satisfied with myself on account of\nmoral action. I do, however, as thus self-satisfied, already withdraw\nmyself from the content of such action. I separate myself as a distinct\nperson, as this particular Ego, from the universality of Spirit, in\norder to compare myself with it. The sense of unison of myself with\nmyself through this comparison produces this self-satisfaction, in\nwhich this determinate Ego, as this core of unity, rejoices in itself.\nNo doubt this personal Ego is involved in all that a man knows, wills,\nor carries out; but it makes an immense difference whether, in-dealing\nwith knowledge and action, the matter of concern is the man's own\nunique Ego, or that in which the essential content of consciousness\nconsists; whether, in other words, a man sinks himself and his\nself-identity in this content, or lives in the unbroken seclusion of\nhis subjective personality.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In this exaltation over what is substantive[134] the subjective\nlife passes into the abstract and disrupt world of personal\ninclination, the caprice and contingency of emotions and impulses,\nowing to which, in the changes to which it is subject in particular\nacts and undertakings, it grows dependent upon particular circumstances\nas they happen to arise, and is unable generally to dispense with this\nassociation with something else. In such a condition of dependence the\nindividual life is nothing but _finite_ subjectivity as contrasted\nwith a real spirituality. And if this personal state essentially\npersists through the volition and knowledge which characterizes it in\nthis contradiction of its conscious life, it can only further become\ninvolved--to put on one side the mere emptiness of its imaginings and\nself-conceits--in the deformity of character and its evil passions, in\ncrime and moral offence, in malice, cruelty, obstinacy, envy, pride,\ninsolence, and every other kind of the reverse side of human nature and\nits insubstantial finiteness.\n\n(_\u03b2_) This province of the subjective life must be excluded in its\nentirety and without hesitation from the content of sculpture. The art\nis exclusively co-extensive with the objectivity of Spirit. And by\nthe term objectivity we mean in this connection what is substantive,\ngenuine, not transitory, the essential nature of Spirit, apart from\nits involvement in that which is accidental and evanescent, for which\nthe individual person is responsible simply in his unmediated state of\nself-relation.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Spirit, however, even in its truly objective sense, can\nonly realize itself as Spirit when associated with _explicit\nself-identity._ Spirit is only Spirit as self-consciousness[135]. The\nposition, however, of this aspect of individual consciousness in the\nspiritual content of sculpture is of such a character that it is not\nindependently expressed, but displays itself as throughout interfused\nwith this substantive content, and not formally reflected back upon\nitself apart from it. We may consequently affirm that though such a\nmode of objectivity possesses a type of self-subsistency, yet it is a\nself-knowledge and volition which is not released from the content it\nfulfils, but forms an inseparable unity with it.\n\nThe presentment of Spirit in this complete and independent seclusion\nof what is essentially substantive and true, this unperturbed and\nunparticularized being of Spirit, is that which we name divinity in\nits contrast to finitude, which is the process of disruption into\ncontingent existence, a world that is broken into complex forms and\nvaried movement. From this point of view the function of sculpture is\nto present the Divine simply in its infinite repose and sublimity,\ntimeless, destitute of motion, entirely without subjective personality\nin the strict sense and the conflict of action or situation. And\nin proceeding to the more detailed definition of our humanity in\nshape and character, it must, nevertheless, exclusively rivet its\nattention on what is unalterable and permanent, in other words what\nis truly substantive in its characterization, and merely select such\naspects for its content, passing over what it finds there of an\naccidental or evanescent nature; and it must do so for the reason\nthat the objectivity which it presents does not rightly include\na differentiation of this fluctuating and fleeting kind, and one\nwhich comes into being by virtue of a subjective consciousness whose\nconception of itself is that of pure insulation. In a biography, for\ninstance, which gives an account of the motley incidents, events, and\nexploits of some individual, we find as a rule the course of varied\ndevelopments and fortuities finally closed by a character sketch which\nsummarizes the entire breadth of detail in a few general qualities\nsuch as goodness, honest dealing, courage, exceptional intelligence,\nand so forth. Characteristics such as these we may term the permanent\nfeatures of a personality; the remaining peculiarities it possesses\nare merely accidental features in the impersonation. It is just this\nstable aspect of life which it is the part of sculpture to present\nas the unique being and determinate substance of individuality. Yet\nwe must not suppose that it creates allegories out of such general\nqualities. It rather builds up true individuals, which it conceives and\ninforms as essentially complete and enclosed within their objective\nspiritual presence, in their self-subsistent repose, delivered thereby\nfrom all antagonism as against external objects. In the presentment\nof an individuality of this character by sculpture what is truly\nsubstantive is throughout the essential foundation, and neither purely\nsubjective self-knowledge and emotion, nor a superficial and mutable\nsingularity[136] must be permitted in any way to be predominant, but\nwhat is eternal in the godlike and our humanity should, divested of all\nthe caprice and contingency of the particular self[137], be set before\nour eyes in its unimpaired clarity.\n\n(_b_) The further point we would draw attention to consists in this,\nthat the content of sculpture, for the reason that its material\nrequires an external presentment in the complete form of the three\nspatial dimensions, is also unable to be a _spiritual content_ as such,\nthat is, the ideality self-enclosed within and absorbed into itself,\nbut rather in the sense that it is only _explicit_ in its opposed\nfactor, in other words, the _bodily form._ The negation of what is\nexternal is already implied in the ideal subjective consciousness,\nand can therefore have no place here, where what is divine and human\nis accepted as content with exclusive reference to its objective\ncharacteristics. And it is only this self-absorbed objective aspect,\nwhich does not comprise ideal subjectivity in the strict sense[138],\nthat gives free play to an externality conditioned in all its three\ndimensions, and is capable of being associated with such a spatial\ntotality. For these reasons it is incumbent on sculpture that it only\naccept out of the objective content of Spirit that which admits of the\nfullest expression in external and bodily shape; if it do otherwise\nit simply selects a content which its specific material is unable to\nassimilate or to unite with an adequate mode of exposition.\n\n\n\n2. THE BEAUTIFUL FORM OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nWe must now inquire into the nature of the bodily _forms_ which are\nadapted to give an impression of a content of this kind.\n\nJust as in classical architecture the dwelling-house is the anatomical\nskeleton framework which art has to inform with its accretions, in\nlike manner sculpture, on its part, discovers the _human form_ as\nthe fundamental type for its figures. Whereas, however, the house is\nalready a piece of human workmanship, though not as yet elaborated\nartistically, the structure of the human form, on the contrary, appears\nas a product of Nature unaffected by man. The fundamental type of\nsculpture is consequently _given_ to it, that is, does not hail from\nhuman inventiveness. The expression, however, that the human form is a\npart of Nature is a very indefinite one, which we must submit to closer\nanalysis.\n\nIn Nature it is the Idea, which is given there, as we have already\nfound when discussing natural beauty, its primary and immediate mode of\nexistence, receiving in animal life and its complete organic structure\nthe _natural_ existence adequate to its notion. The organization of\nthe animal frame is therefore a birth of the notion in its essential\ntotality, which exists in this corporeal mode of being as soul, yet, as\nthe principle of merely animal life, modifies the animal frame in the\nmost varied classifications, albeit too every specific type continues\nto be subject to the general notion[139]. The fact that notion and\nbodily form, or more accurately, soul and body, correspond to one\nanother--to fully understand this is the problem of natural philosophy.\nWe should have to demonstrate that the different systems of the animal\nframe in their ideal[140] structure and conformation no less than\ntheir association, and the more definite organs in which the bodily\nexistence is differentiated are in general accord with the phasal steps\nof the notion's movement, so that it becomes clear, to what extent we\nhave here presented to us as real only the particular aspects of the\nsoul-life which are necessary. To develop this exposition, however,\ndoes not lie within the scope of the present inquiry.\n\nThe human form is not, however, as the animal form, merely the\ncorporeal framework of the soul, but of _Spirit._ In other words,\nspirit and soul are essentially to be distinguished. For the soul\nis merely this ideal and simple unity of self-subsistence attaching\nto the body in its _corporeal_ aspect[141], whereas Spirit is the\nindependent selfness of conscious and _self-conscious_ life together\nwith all the emotions, ideas, and aims of such a conscious existence.\nIn contemplating the immense difference which separates merely animal\nlife from spiritual consciousness, it may appear strange that the\nbodily frame attaching to the _latter_, the human body, is nevertheless\nso clearly homogeneous with that of animal life. It will tend, however,\nto decrease such an astonishment if we recall to mind the definition,\nwhich Spirit itself has authorized us to make in accordance with its\nown notion, that it is a mode of life and essentially therefore itself\nalso a _living soul_ and _natural existence._ As such living soul the\nlife of conscious spirit, by virtue of the same notion that is inherent\nin the animal soul, is entitled to accept a body, which fundamentally\nin its general lines runs parallel to the organic structure of animal\nlife. However superior to mere animal life Spirit may be it is evolved\nthrough[142] a corporeal frame whose visible appearance receives an\nidentical articulation and principle of life with that which the\nnotion of animal life in general underlies. Inasmuch as, however, and\nfurthermore Spirit is not merely the _Idea_ as _determinate existence_,\nthat is, the Idea as Nature and animal life, but the Idea which secures\nindependence in its own free medium of ideality as Idea, the spiritual\nprinciple elaborates for itself its own specific mode of objectivity\nover and beyond that of animal life, simply, in other words, science,\nthe reality of which is exclusively that of thought itself. Apart from\nthought, however, and its philosophical and systematized activity,\nSpirit is involved within an abounding life of feeling, inclination,\nidea, imagination, and so forth, which is fixed in a more direct or\nless immediate association with its vital being[143] and bodily\nframe, and consequently possesses a reality in the human body. In this\nreality, which is part of its own substance, Spirit asserts itself\nalso as a principle of life, shines into it, transpierces it, and is\nmade manifest to others by means of it. Consequently, in so far as the\nhuman body remains no purely natural existence, but has asserted itself\nalso in its configuration and structure as the natural and sensuous\nexistence of Spirit, it is, nevertheless, regarded as the expression of\nan ideality more exalted than that compatible with the purely animal\nbody to be distinguished from it, despite the fact that the human body\nin its broad lines is in harmony with it. For this reason, however,\nthat Spirit is itself soul and life, that is, an animal body, it is and\ncan only be modifications, which the indwelling Spirit of one living\nbody attaches to this corporeal form. As a manifestation of Spirit\nconsequently the human shape is distinct from the animal by virtue of\nthese modifications, albeit the distinctions of the human organism\nfrom the animal are as much the result of the unconscious creation\nof spiritual activities, as the soul of the animal kingdom is the\ninforming though unconscious activity of the body that belongs to it.\n\nWe have thus reached the precise point of our present departure. In\nother words, the human body is present to the artist as Spirit's\nexpression. What is more, he discovers it as such not merely in a\ngeneral way, but also in particular characteristics it is presupposed\nto be the type which, in its form, its specific traits, its position\nand general habit, reflects the ideality of Spirit.\n\nWe shall find it a difficult matter to fix in clear terms of thought\nthe precise nature of the association between spirit and body in\ntheir relation respectively to feeling, passion, and other spiritual\nconditions. It has, no doubt, been attempted to develop the same\nscientifically both from the _pathognomical_[144] point of view and\nthe _physiognomical._ Such attempts have hitherto not met with much\nsuccess. For ourselves the science of physiognomy can only be of\nimportance in so far as that of pathognomy is exclusively concerned\nwith the mode under which definite feelings and passions are physically\nlocated in particular organs. It has been stated, for example, that\nthe seat of anger is in the gall, of courage in the blood. Such\nstatements, we may remark incidentally, are erroneous in their manner\nof expression. For even assuming the activity of particular organs\ncorresponds to specific passions, we cannot say that anger, for\ninstance, has its local position in the gall bladder, but, in so far\nas anger is corporeally related, the gall is pre-eminently that in\nwhich its active appearance asserts itself. In our present inquiry\nthis pathognomical aspect does not, as already stated, concern us,\nbecause sculpture has merely to deal with that which passes over from\nthe ideal side of Spirit into the external aspect of _form_ permitting\nSpirit thus to be visible in the physical environment. The sympathetic\ninteraction between the internal organism and the feeling soul is no\nobject of sculpture; indeed, we may add, it is unable to accept much\nwhich appears on the external surface itself, such as the tremble of\nthe hand and the entire body in an outburst of anger, the movement of\nthe lips, and others of like nature.\n\nWith regard to physiognomical science I will limit myself to this\nobservation. If the work of sculpture, which has as its fundamental\nbasis the human form, has to exhibit the way in which the bodily\npresence as such manifests not only the divine and human aspect of\nSpirit in its broadest and most substantive features, but also the\nparticular character of a definite individuality in this divine\npresence, we are no doubt compelled to discuss what parts, traits, and\nconformations of the body are fully accordant with any specific mode of\nideality. We are indeed forced upon such an inquiry by the sculpture\nof antiquity, which we must as a matter of fact admit includes the\nexpression of individual god-like characters with that of divinity\ngenerally. Such an admission does not, however, amount to an assertion\nthat the association of spiritual expression with bodily form is\nmerely a matter of accident and caprice rather than the creation of a\nfigure of self-subsistent actuality. In this connection every organ\nmust, in a general way, be looked at from two points of view, as a\nmode of expression that possesses its physical side no less than its\nspiritual. We need hardly caution our readers that the method of Gall\nin conducting such an inquiry is inadmissible. This writer reduces\nSpirit to what is little better than a Calvary.\n\n(_a_) The advance of sculpture, in respect to the content which its\nfunction is to declare, is limited to the investigation how far the\nsubstantive and at the same time individual condition of spiritual life\nis made vital in bodily form, receiving therein determinate existence\nand form. In other words, through the content adequate to genuine\nsculpture the contingent _individualization of the external appearance_\nis from one point of view excluded, and this applies both to the\nspiritual and physical aspects of the presentment. Only that which\npersists, and is universal and according to rule in the human form is\nthe object of a work of sculpture. And this is so albeit we have the\nadditional necessity to individualize the universal in such a way that\nnot only the abstract law but an individual form, which is brought into\nthe closest fusion with it, is placed before our eyes.\n\n(_b_) From another point of view it is necessary that sculpture,\nas we have seen, be kept unaffected by purely contingent _personal\nlife_[145], and all expression of such in the independent ideal mode\nunder which it asserts itself. For this reason an artist, in dealing\nwith physiognomical characteristics, is not entitled to move in the\ndirection of individual manner[146]. For a facial manner is simply\njust this appearance on the surface of an individual idiosyncrasy and\nsome particular aspect of emotion, idea, and volition. A man by his\nchance expressions of countenance expresses the feelings he has as\nsome particular person, whether it be in his exclusive relation to\nhis own life, or in his self-relation to exterior objects, or other\npersons. One sees, for example, on the street, more particularly in\nlittle towns, in many, or rather the majority of men, that they are\nexclusively preoccupied, in their demeanour and expression of face,\nwith themselves, their dress and attire, in general terms, that\nis, their purely personal particularity, or, at least, matters of\nmomentary importance, and any unforeseen or accidental features thus\npresented. Countenances which express pride, envy, self-satisfaction,\ndepreciation, and so forth, are of this nature. Moreover, the feeling\nand contrast of substantive being with my personal idiosyncrasy may be\nresponsible for such alterations of expression. Humility, defiance,\nthreats, fear, are expressed in this way. In a felt contrast of\nthis kind we find already a separation between the individual in\nthe subjective sense and the universal asserted. Reflection on what\nis truly substantive continually leans in the direction of merely\npersonal considerations, so that it is the individual rather than the\nsubstantive character which is predominant in the content. The form,\nhowever, which remains severely true to the principle of sculpture\nought neither to express this severation nor the predominance of the\npersonal aspect above adverted to.\n\nIn addition to definite expressions of countenance[147] physiognomy\npresents us with much that merely passes momentarily across the\nfeatures and indicates the human mood. A sudden smile, an instantaneous\noutburst of anger, a quickly repressed expression of scorn, are a\nfew of many examples. In particular, the mouth and eyes possess most\nmobility and resource in seizing and making apparent every shifting\nmood of soul-life. Changes of this character, which are compatible\nwith the art of painting, the sculptor must exclude. Sculpture\nmust rather concentrate its attention on the permanent traits of\nspiritual expression, and retain and disclose such in the posture and\nconfiguration of the body no less than in the face.\n\n(_c_) The task of sculpture, then, essentially consists in this, that\nit implants that which is of substantive spiritual import in that form\nof individuality which is not yet essentially particularized in the\nnarrow subjective sense within the figure of a man, and contributes to\nthe same such a harmony, that it is only that which is universal and\npermanent in the _bodily shapes_ correspondent with the life of Spirit\nwhich is made to appear therein, while that which is accidental or\nmutable is brushed aside, albeit a certain mode of individuality is not\nabsent from its forms.\n\nAn accord of this complete nature between what is ideal and what\nis external, the goal of sculpture, in short, offers us a point of\ntransition to the _third_ point which we have still to discuss.\n\n\n3. SCULPTURE AS THE ART OF THE CLASSICAL IDEAL\n\nThe conclusion that most immediately follows upon the above\nobservations is this, that sculpture in a way, and to an extent\nunrivalled by any other art, remains constant to the Ideal[148]. In\nother words, from one point of view it is free of the symbolical\ntype both by virtue of the translucency of a content, which clearly\ngrasps itself as Spirit, and on account of the fact that it is able\nto disclose such a content with absolute mastery. And so, too, from\nanother it refuses as yet to enter into the subjective aspect of the\npersonal life, to which the external form is indifferent. Consequently\nit forms the focus of classical art. No doubt both the symbolical and\nromantic types of architecture and painting were shown to be adapted\nto classical ideality; but the Ideal, in its genuine sphere, is not\nthe supreme principle of these types of art, inasmuch as they do not,\nas is the case with sculpture, take for their object self-subsistent\nindividuality, character, that is, throughout objective, in other\nwords, the beauty that is both free and inevitable[149]. The\nconfiguration of sculpture must, however, entirely proceed from the\npure spiritual energy of an imagination and thought that denudes its\ncontent of all the haphazard features of personal life and bodily\npresence; it must have no leanings for idiosyncrasies, or any place\nfor the mere emotion, desire, and variety of accidental impulse and\npleasantry[150]. What the artist has at his disposal for his most\nelevated creations is simply, as we have seen, the bodily presentment\nof Spirit in what is exclusively the general configuration of the\norganic structure of the human form. His invention is therefore\nrestricted to promoting on the broadest lines the harmony between\nwhat is ideal and what is external, and partly to making, in however\nan inobtrusive way, the individuality of the presentment accommodate\nitself to and interfuse with the truly substantive character of his\ndesign[151]. Sculpture must give form, just as the gods create in\ntheir own sphere according to eternal ideas, within what is in other\nrespects the world of reality, but exclude as rejected residue all\nlicence and mere selfness from its creations. Theologians make a\ndistinction between the acts of God and all that man in his folly and\ncapriciousness accomplishes. The plastic Ideal is, however, exalted\nabove such questions. It stands at the very centre of this blessedness\nand free necessity for which neither the abstraction of the universal\nnor the caprice of the particular are valid or significant.\n\nThis insight into the consummate plastic union of the divine and human\nwas pre-eminently native to Greece. We fail to grasp Greece at her\nheart and centre in her poets and orators, historians and philosophers,\nunless, as the key to our problem, we are already possessed of an\ninsight into the Ideal of sculpture, and can contemplate from the\nstandpoint of plastic art both the figures of her epic and dramatic\nheroes and her actual statesmen and philosophers. For characters in\nher practical life, no less than poets and thinkers, possessed also in\nthe palmy days of Greece, this plastic, universal, and yet individual\ncharacter, stamped with one mint, whether we look at its external or\nmore personal features. They stand up big and free, a self-subsistent\ngrowth, on the basis of their essentially substantive individuality; a\ngrowth of their own making, built up into that which they ultimately\nbecame and intended to be. In particular the period of Pericles was\nrich in such characters. Pericles himself was one of them. We may add\nPheidias, Plato, and pre-eminently Sophocles. So, too, Thucydides,\nXenophon, and Socrates, everyone with his own type, not one of them\nimpairing the quality of the rest; all are out-and-out artistic\nnatures, ideal artists in the work of self-creation, personalities of\none mould, works of art, which stand before us like figures of immortal\ngods, in whom we can detect no taint of Time and mortality. We may find\na similar plastic subsistency in the artistic perfections of the bodily\nframes of the victors at the Olympic games; nay, even in the apparition\nof Phryne[152] herself, who, as the fairest woman, came from the sea\nnaked before all the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nTHE IDEAL OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nNow that we pass on to consider the really ideal style of sculpture we\nmust once again recall the fact that the perfected type necessarily\npresupposes the imperfect as its predecessor; and it does so not merely\nin relation to its technique, which, in the first instance, does not\nconcern us here, but in respect to the general notion, in other words\nthe mode of its conception and the particular way in which it sets\nforth the same ideally. We have in general terms called the symbolical\ntype that of inquiry; consequently pure sculpture, too, has for its\npresupposition a certain stage of the symbolical type, and by this we\ndo not merely mean a stage of the symbolic form as generally conceived,\nin other words of architecture, but a form of sculpture which is itself\ncharacterized by the symbolical principle. We shall find an opportunity\nof supporting this assertion with the example of Egyptian sculpture in\nthe third chapter.\n\nWe may in this place and from the point of view of the Ideal\ngenerally, and for the present wholly in an abstract and formal\nmanner, assume that which we term symbolical in a specific art is\nits _incompleteness_; as, for example, we may so apply this term to\nan attempt of children to draw the human figure, or mould it from\nwax and clay. What they execute is to this extent merely a symbol,\nas it only _suggests_ the living reality it purports to exhibit,\nremaining, however, wholly unfaithful to the actual object and its\nsignificance. Art is consequently in the first instance hieroglyphical,\nno mere accidental and capricious mark, but a haphazard delineation\nof an object for the imagination. For this purpose a badly drawn\nfigure suffices if it recalls that object it is intended to suggest.\nIn a similar way piety is content with badly executed images, and\nstill worships Christ, the Virgin, and any other saint in the most\nbungling counterfeit, although such images may merely derive such\nindividualization purely from particular attributes conveyed by such\nmeans as a lantern or a mill-stone. For piety refuses to be reminded\nof aught save the object; the soul adds all else thereto, which\nwill be filled up with an image of the object, however untrue the\ncounterfeit may be. It is not the living expression of the present\nwhich is required; it is not that which is presented which is intended\nto enkindle us by itself. Rather a work of art of this kind already\nbrings satisfaction if it excites the general concept of the objects\nby virtue of its images, however insufficient they be. A concept of\nthis kind, however, already abstracts from the given content. I can\nreadily imagine some known thing, such as a house, a tree, a man;\nbut even in such a case, where the reference is to something quite\ndeterminate, the concept merely includes wholly general traits, and is\nin fact only a _true concept_[153] in so far as it has effaced from the\nconcrete presentment the wholly immediate singularity of the objects\nand simplified the same. If the imaged concept, which the work of art\nhas to arouse in us, is that of the divine nature, and if this has to\nreceive recognition from an entire people, this object is especially\nattainable when no _alteration_ is allowed in the mode of presentation.\nFor this reason art is on the one hand conventional, and on the other\nscholastic[154]; and this is so not merely in the case of the more\nancient Egyptians, but also in that of more ancient Greek and Christian\nart. The artist in such case was bound to restrict himself to definite\nforms and to repeat their type.\n\nThe crucial point of transition, where fine art wakes from its sleep,\nmust consequently be sought there, where at last the artist is creative\nby virtue of his own free conception, where the flash of genius\nstrikes into the material presented, and communicates freshness and\nvitality to the presentment. Then for the first time the atmosphere\nof mind[155] enfolds the work of art, which is no longer restricted\nto merely calling up in a general way some idea before the mind, and\nrecalling to it some deeper significance which the spectator already\nis essentially possessed of, but which proceeds to make visible this\nsignificance as throughout made vitally present in some individualized\ncreation, and which consequently neither makes no further advance\nbeyond the purely superficial generality of its forms, nor binds itself\non the other hand, in respect to the detail of its delineation, to the\ncharacteristics of all that common reality offers it.\n\nIn the rise of ideal sculpture we presuppose perforce a complete\npassage to such a sphere of creation. In establishing the facts of this\nappearance we may emphasize the following points of view.\n\n_First_, we have to address ourselves to the general character of the\nideal form in its contrast to the stages previously discussed.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall have to adduce specific aspects of it, the\nimportance of which is most obvious, such as the way in which facial\ncharacteristics, drapery, and pose are modelled or treated.\n\n_Thirdly_, we have to enforce the position that the ideal figure is\nnot merely a general type of beauty in the formal sense of type,\nbut includes, by virtue of its principle of individuality, which\nbelongs to the really living Ideal, essentially, too, the aspect of\ndifferentiation and specific definition within its own sphere, and\nby this means the province of sculpture is expanded in a cycle of\nparticularized images of gods and heroes.\n\n\n\n1. THE GENERAL CHARACTERIZATION OF THE IDEAL FIGURE OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nWe have already examined at length what the general principle of\nthe classical ideal is. Our present inquiry is therefore limited to\nthe particular mode under which this principle is realized through\nthe medium of sculpture in the human form. In this connection the\nlines of difference between the human physiognomy, expressive as it\nis of spiritual life and the general build of the animal organism,\nwhich is unable to pass beyond the mere expression of natural life\nin its unbroken association with natural wants and an organism that\nis exclusively adapted to their satisfaction, will supply us with a\nstandard of comparison which carries us considerably further. Yet\neven such a standard is still somewhat indefinite for the reason\nthat the human form alone neither is as bodily form, or as an\nexpression of Spirit, wholly and as we find it first of ideal type.\nOn the contrary we may observe with more closeness from the fine\nmasterpieces of Greek sculpture what the ideal of sculpture in the\nspiritually fine expression of its creations has to bring before us.\nIt was pre-eminently Winckelmann who, with this intimate knowledge\nof and devotion for art of this kind, and by means of his receptive\nenthusiasm, no less than his intelligence and critical faculty, made\nan end of indefinite statements over the Ideal of Greek beauty by\nleaving the characterization of detail in the form at once distinct\nand precise, an endeavour which by itself is full of instruction. No\ndoubt the results he obtained supply abundant opportunity for further\ncriticism, exceptions, and the like; but we should be careful, before\nattempting to criticize details and errors in his work, not to obscure\nthe main result which he established. However far aesthetic science\nmay extend its borders that at least must be presupposed as essential.\nAssuming this, it cannot, however, be denied that since Winckelmann's\ndeath our knowledge of the antique has not only been essentially\nenlarged in the number of examples submitted to criticism, but also has\nbeen placed on a securer basis in its relation to the style of these\nworks and the true appreciation of their beauty.\n\nWinckelmann, no doubt, passed under review a great number of Egyptian\nand Greek statues; we have, however, added in more recent times the\ncloser acquaintance of the Aeginetan sculptures, no less than those\nmasterworks which in part are ascribed to Pheidias and in part we must\nrecognize as creations of his age and under his supervision. In a word\nwe have secured a more intimate knowledge of a number of sculptures,\nwhether single statues or reliefs, which, in their relation to the\nseverity of the ideal style, are referable to the age in which Greek\nart was at its fullest bloom. For these astonishing monuments of Greek\nsculpture, as is well known, we are indebted to the efforts of Lord\nElgin, who, as English ambassador to Turkey, had a number of statues\nand reliefs of the greatest beauty taken from the Parthenon at Athens\nand other towns to England. People have blamed such acquisitions and\ncalled them temple robbery. Lord Elgin has, however, as a matter of\nfact, really rescued these works of art for Europe and preserved\nthem from complete destruction. Such an enterprise deserves its true\nrecognition. Moreover, it is due to this circumstance that the interest\nof all connoisseurs and friends of art have been directed to an epoch\nand a mode of presentation, which, in the exceptionally consistent\nseverity of its style, constitutes the true greatness and height of\nthe Ideal. What the general verdict has highly estimated in the works\nof this epoch is not the charm and grace of form and pose, not the\nelegance of expression which already, as in the times subsequent to\nPheidias, makes an external appeal and distinctly aims at pleasing\nthe spectator, nor yet the delicacy and boldness of the elaboration;\nrather the general chorus of praise is concentrated upon the expression\nof self-subsistency and essential repose in these figures, and more\nespecially has this note of admiration been most emphatic by virtue\nof the free vitality, the absolute transfusion of and command over\nthe purely natural and material aspect, a command by which the artist\nmoulds the marble, makes it alive and endows it with a soul. And we\nmay add that when all has been said that can be said in such praise\nthe figure of the reclining river-god remains as most emphatically its\nobject, which is one of the finest examples of antique art we have\nrecovered.\n\n(_a_) The vitality of these works consists in this, that they are the\nfree product of the genius of the artist. The artist at this stage\nis neither satisfied with giving, by means of general and haphazard\ncontours, suggestions and expressions, a general conception of that\nwhich he desires to reproduce, nor does he, on the other hand, in\nrespect to what is individual and singular, accept the forms as he has\nreceived them by chance from the external world. For this reason also\nhe does not present them again with loyalty to this accidental aspect,\nbut he is concerned to place within his own free creation what is\nempirically particularized in isolated aspects that thus appear in a\nfurther individual accord with the universal types of the human form,\nan accord which is made to appear as throughout transpierced with the\nspiritual configuration of that which he is called to make apparent,\nwhen he suffers us to see his own vitality, conception and animation in\nthe work regarded on the side of the artist's activity. The universal\naspect of the content of his work is not due to his creation. It is\npresented him by means of mythology and saga precisely in the way that\nhe finds the general effect and details of the human form; but the\nfree and living individualization, which permeates all portions on his\nwork, is the result of his own personal point of view, his efforts and\nservices.\n\n(_b_) The effect and charm of this vitality and freedom is only\nproduced by means of the sufficiency, the honest candour of the\nelaboration of all the particular parts to which the most definite\nknowledge and review of the construction of these parts belongs, no\nless in their position of repose than also in that of their motion. The\nway in which the different members are disposed and moulded with regard\nto rondure and smoothness, in every condition of rest and movement,\nmust be expressed in the most satisfactory way. This fundamental\nelaboration and placing in relief of all the separate parts we find in\nall products of antique art, and the animation thus produced is only\nthe effect of infinite pains and truth. When the eye contemplates works\nof this kind it is, in the first instance, unable clearly to recognize\na mass of distinction; and it is only by virtue of a particular manner\nof lighting that we can appreciate the same by means of a stronger\ncontrast between light and shadow. But though these fine nuances are\nimperceptible at first glance, the general impression they produce is\nnot for that reason lost. In part they appear as the spectator varies\nhis point of view, and in part we derive from them what is essentially\nthe impression of the organic continuity of all the members and their\nforms. This spirit of vitality, this soul of material configuration,\nis due wholly to the fact that, though every part is entirely complete\nin its separable independence, yet it is to a like extent throughout,\nby virtue of the wealth of its modes of transition, associated not\nmerely with the part that is immediately its neighbour, but with the\nentire work. For this reason the form is vital in every part of it;\nthe least detail of it is stamped with purpose; every part of it is\ndifferentiated from the rest, possesses that which distinguishes it\nand makes it distinct, and yet is affected by the same fluidity of\ntreatment, is only what it is vitally as a part of the whole, so that\nwe are able to recognize the whole in the very fragments of it, and a\npart that is broken off enables us not merely to see but to enjoy a\ntotality that is not thus mutilated. The material surface, although for\nthe most part statues are now seriously impaired by the weather and\nother causes in this respect, presents a soft and malleable appearance;\nand in one particular example of the head of a horse I have in mind\nit literally glows with the ardour of life on the face of the marble\nitself. This scarce perceptible undercurrent of fluidity in all organic\nparts, united to the most conscientious elaboration which avoids\npurely regular surfaces and anything approaching the bare convexity of\ncircular shape, supplies that softness and ideality of all parts, that\nharmonious unity, which extends throughout the whole as the spiritual\nbreath of one animating presence.\n\n(_c_) However true, notwithstanding, expression of detailed or\ngeneral configuration may be, this truth is no mere imitation of\nNature simply. Sculpture is always occupied with the abstraction of\nform, and is consequently obliged, on the one hand, to omit from\nthe bodily presentment what is most essentially the natural aspect,\nin other words, what is exclusively indicative of natural function.\nFrom a further point of view it is unable to carry to extremes its\nparticularization of detail, but rather as, for example, in its\ntreatment of hair, must restrict its attention and reproduction to the\nmore general of its forms. In this way, apart from any other, the human\nfigure, when properly treated by sculpture, is at once declared as the\nform and expression of Spirit, rather than of a purely natural form.\nClosely connected with this consideration is the fact that, though a\nspiritual content is expressed by means of sculpture in the _bodily_\nform, yet in the genuine Ideal it is not asserted so _prominently_ in\nthe exterior form to the extent of making that which is simply external\nin its charm and grace either the exclusive or predominant attraction\nto the spectator. On the contrary, though the genuine and more severe\nIdeal of Spirituality is here presented in bodily shape, and is\nexclusively thus presented by means of such shape and its expression,\nyet this configuration must equally appear to be without exception\nunified, supported and transfused by this ideal content. The swell of\nlife, the malleability and bodily presence, or sensuous fulness and\nbeauty of the bodily organism, must as little supply independently the\nobject of the presentation, as what is individual in the spiritual\npresence can be carried to the length of expressing the more intimate\nand more closely related inner life of the spectator, when we consider\nhis own particularity.\n\n\n2. THE PARTICULAR ASPECTS OF THE IDEAL FORM OF SCULPTURE AS SUCH\n\nIf we direct our attention now to the more specific consideration of\nthe fundamental phases, on which the ideal form of sculpture reposes,\nwe shall do well to follow Winckelmann in essentials, who has laid\nstress on the several types with the finest intuitive sense, and with\nthe most fortunate results, as well as on the way in which the same\nhave been treated and shaped by Greek artists, with the result that\nthey finally present to us the Ideal of sculpture. The vitality,\nthis floating emanation no doubt evades the definitions of the\nunderstanding, which in the present case is unable to hold fast and\ntranspierce the particular as in architecture, which, however, asserts\nitself in the entire work, as we have already seen, as the coalescence\nof free spirituality and bodily forms.\n\nThe first general feature of distinction which arrests us concerns\nthe determination of works of sculpture in a general way, by virtue\nof which the human form has to express that which is spiritual. The\nspiritual expression, albeit it has to be poured forth over the entire\nbodily presence reaches its highest degree of concentration in the\n_facial form_, whereas the remaining members are merely able to reflect\nwhat is spiritual by means of their _position_, in so far, that is, as\nthe same proceeds from Spirit in its essential freedom.\n\nIn our examination of these ideal forms we will make a beginning in\nthe _first_ place with the head; we will, then, in the _second_ place\nenlarge upon the position of the body, after which we shall _conclude_\nwith the principle of the drapery.\n\n(_a_) In the ideal configuration of the human head we are first and\nforemost confronted with the so-called Greek profile.\n\n(_\u03b1_) This profile consists in the peculiar union of the forehead\nand nose; in the almost straight or merely slightly crooked line in\nwhich the forehead unites without interruption with the nose, as also,\nto speak more accurately, in the vertical direction of this line to\nanother which, extending it from the root of the nose to the orifice\nof the ear, forms a right angle with the line of the forehead and\nnose above mentioned. In a line of this sort nose and forehead stand\nthroughout to one another in the ideal and fine art of sculpture, and\nthe question presents itself whether this is a merely national and\nartistic contingency or a physiological necessity.\n\nCamper, the famous Dutch physiologist, has, with more exactness and\nin an exceptional way, characterized this line as the line of facial\nbeauty; he in fact discovers therein the main distinction between the\nform of the human visage and the profile of animal life; and on account\nof this follows up the modifications of this feature throughout the\nvarious human races. In this respect his researches are no doubt in\nconflict with those of Blumenbach[156]. Speaking generally, however,\nthe line adverted to is in fact a most marked means of distinction\nbetween the outward form of man and animal. Among animals, it is\ntrue, muzzle and nasal bone also form a more or less straight line,\nbut the specific projection of the animal's snout, which is forced to\nthe front, as being in the nearest practical relation to objects, is\nessentially determined through its connection with the skull, united to\nwhich the ear is moreover placed above or below, so that in the present\ninstance the line that is carried forward from the skull to the root of\nthe nose or the upper jaw, where the teeth are in position, forms an\nacute angle instead of a right angle as is found in the case of man.\nEverybody can independently feel in a general way the strength of this\ndistinction, which no doubt opens the path to more definite thinking on\nthe subject.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In the formation of the head of animals the most insistent\nfeature is the mouth as the organ by means of which it feeds in\nco-operation with the upper and lower jaws, the teeth, and the muscles\nof mastication. All the other organs are subordinate and in a position\nof subservience to this principal feature. Notably the snout as a\nmeans of scenting food, the eyes being to a lesser degree instrumental\nin spying it out. The express insistence on these animal features as\nexclusively devoted to the natural wants and their satisfaction gives\nto the head of the animal the appearance as though intended merely to\nsatisfy natural functions without any trace of spiritual ideality. For\nthis reason the entire animal organism is rendered intelligible from\nthe mouth as a point of departure. A specific mode of nourishment, that\nis to say, requires a specific structure of the muzzle, a particular\nformation of the teeth, together with which the structure of the jaw\nbones, the muscles of mastication, cheek-bones, and, moreover, the\nvertebrae, the thighbones, claws, and so forth all stand in the closest\nrelation. The body of the animal merely subserves natural ends and on\naccount of this dependence on the purely material aspect of nourishment\ngives the impression of absence of spirit. If, then, the human\ncountenance is, even in its bodily conformation, to possess a spiritual\nstamp, those organs which in the animal form are so predominant must\nin the case of man, retire from such a pre-eminence and give way to\nthose which do not so much suggest a practical relation as one that is\nreferable to the ideality of mind.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The human countenance has consequently a _second_ central point,\nin which that attitude to facts, which indicates the relation of the\nsoul or spirit, is declared. We find this in the _upper_ portion of\nthe face, in the thoughtful brow and the eye, through which we face\nthe soul, which looms out beneath it, together with its environment.\nThought, reflection--that is, the introspection of the spiritual\nidentity--is necessarily connected with the forehead, whose internal\nlife in concentrated clarity looks forth from the eye. Through\nthe prominence of the forehead and the correspondingly retreating\nappearance of the mouth and the cheek-bones the human countenance\nderives its _spiritual_ character. This projection of the brow is\ntherefore necessarily that which determines the entire formation of the\nskull, which no longer falls back, forming the side of an acute angle\nas its extreme point the mouth is pressed to the front[157], but rather\npermits of a line being drawn from the forehead through the nose to\nthe point of the chin, which, with a second drawn over the rear of the\nskull to the apex of the forehead, form a right angle, or one at least\nwhich approximates to it.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) _Thirdly_, we may say that the _nose_ forms the passage and\nconnection between the lower and upper portion of the face, that is\nto say, between the purely contemplative and spiritual forehead and\nthe practical organ of nutrition; and if we take into consideration\nits natural function as the organ of smell it is rightly placed in\nthis intermediate position between an attitude to the external world\nwhich is either wholly practical or ideal. No doubt the sense of smell\nin such a position is still associated with an animal want; it is\nintimately connected with the taste; and for this reason, in the case\nof the mere animal, the snout is at the service of the mouth and the\norgan of nourishment. But the sense of smell is by itself as a fact no\nactual consumption of objects, as eating and tasting are; it merely\naccepts the result of the process in which the objects pass into the\natmosphere and its invisible and mysterious medium of dissolution.\nAssuming, then, that the passage from forehead and nose is of such a\nformation that the forehead viewed independently arches forward, and\nyet in relation to the nose retreats, whereas this latter organ on its\npart, in proximity to the forehead, is withdrawn back and only projects\nbeyond this point, we see that both these portions of the face--that\nis, the contemplative part, the forehead, and that which suggests a\npractical use, with which we may associate the mouth, form an emphatic\ncontrast, in virtue of which the nose, as belonging in a sense to\nboth extremes, appertains equally to the practical aims[158] of the\nmouth. Furthermore, the forehead, in its isolated position, receives\nthe appearance of severity and exclusive spiritual concentration in\nits contrast to the eloquent sympathy of the mouth, which is primarily\nthe organ of nutritive support, and at the same time accepts the nasal\norgan into its service as its instrument in creating the natural want\nby virtue of its smell, and thereby declares its direct relation to the\nmaterial side. And in close connection with this reciprocity is the\ncontingent character of the form to the indeterminable modifications\nof which both nose and forehead may be carried. The particular type of\nthe forehead's arch, the nature of its projection or retreat, loses its\nsecure lines of definition, and the nose can be fiat or fine, drooping,\narched, more acutely flattened and a snub.\n\nBy virtue of amelioration[159] and accommodation, however, that\nbeautiful harmony, which the Greek profile asserts in the gentle and\nuninterrupted communication between the spiritual forehead and the\nnose, that is, between the upper and lower portions of the face, the\nnose appears on this very account of closer affinity to the forehead,\nand consequently receives itself a spiritual expression and character\nas though drawn up into the spiritual system. The sense of smell\nbecomes at the same time a sense independent of purely practical ends,\na nose refined for spiritual purpose; just as in fact also the nose by\nits sneer and similar movements, however unimportant by themselves they\nmay be, is nevertheless shown to be in the highest degree pliable as\na mode of expressing the judgments and emotions of soul-life. So, for\nexample, we say of a proud man that he holds his nose high, or ascribe\nsauciness to a young girl who tosses up her bit of a nose.\n\nAnd the same thing may be said of the _mouth._ No doubt it is on the\none hand referable as an instrument to the satisfaction of hunger\nand thirst; it expresses, however, in addition to this conditions of\nthe soul, opinions, and passions. Even among animals it is used in\nthis relation as the organ of animal cries, and by man as that of\nspeech, laughter, sighs, and so forth, by which means the lineaments\nof the mouth are themselves associated with the facts of eloquent\nsoul-sympathy, or of joy, sorrow, and similar conditions.\n\nIt is no doubt asserted that, though for the Greeks, such a\nconfiguration of the human countenance is presented as the true\npresentation of beauty, the Chinese, Jews, and Egyptians, regarded on\nthe contrary an entirely different type, or rather forms absolutely in\nconflict with such, as equally beautiful, or yet more beautiful, and\nthe conclusion is made that, cancelling one example by another, we have\nnot proved that the Greek profile is the type of genuine beauty. Such\na statement, however, is wholly superficial. The Greek profile must\nin fact not be regarded as any mere external and accidental form, but\napproximates to the ideal of beauty by its independent claims, namely,\nfirst, because it is the type of countenance in which the expression of\nsoul-life forces into the background all that is purely material, and,\nsecondly, because it to the fullest extent detaches itself from all\nthat is contingent in the form, without, however, displaying thereby\nmere subservience to rule, and leaving no place for every kind of\nindividuality.\n\n(_\u03b2_) With respect to specific types and their closer consideration I\nwill merely touch upon certain fundamental aspects selected from the\nabundant material which otherwise invites attention. In this respect\nwe may in the _first_ instance refer to the forehead, the eye, and the\near, as those parts of the face which are most nearly related to the\ncontemplative, or at least spiritual aspect, and, _secondly_, to the\nnose, mouth, and chin, as those relatively speaking more connected with\nthe organs of practical import.\n\n_Thirdly_, we shall have somewhat to say of the _hair_ as the external\nsetting, by virtue of which the head is rounded off in an oval shape of\nbeauty.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The _forehead_ is in the ideal form of classical sculpture,\nneither fully arched forward, nor as a rule lofty; for, although the\nspiritual aspect has to be prominently emphasized in its configuration\nof the visual features, yet it is not as yet spirituality simply\nas such, which sculpture has to present before us, but rather\nindividuality as still exclusively expressed in bodily form.\n\nIn heads of Hercules, for example, the forehead is preferably low,\nfor the reason that Hercules possesses rather the muscular vigour of\nthe body directed towards external objects than the introspective\nenergy of mind. And for the rest we find the forehead subject to\nmany modifications, lower in the case of charming and youthful\nfeminine forms, and more lofty in the case of figures that represent\nsubstantial character and serious reflection.\n\nIn speaking of the _eye_ it is important at once to make it clear that\nin the figure of ideal sculpture, in addition to the absence of any\ntrue colour such as is found in painting, the _glance_ of the eye is\nalso absent. It is possible no doubt to show on historical evidence\nthat the ancients, in the case of particular images of Minerva and\nother gods placed in temples, have painted the eye, since we find\nactual traces of colour in certain statues; in the case of images\ndedicated to a sacred purpose, however, artists have frequently held\nfast so far as possible to traditional usage in the face of good taste.\nIn the case of other examples it is clear that they must have possessed\neyes in the shape of precious stones inserted. This practice, however,\nis the result of a desire already adverted to of adorning the images\nof gods in as rich and lavish a manner as possible. And we may affirm\ngenerally that such either mark the beginnings of the art, or are due,\nas exceptions, to the traditions of religion. Moreover, apart from\nthis, mere colour is still far from giving to the eye the essentially\nconcentrated look, which alone communicates to it an expression that\nis wholly complete. We may therefore here assume it as a fact that in\nthe case of statues and busts of a truly classical type, unaffected by\nsuch exceptional conditions which have come down to us from antiquity,\nthe light focus of the eye, no less than the spiritual expression\nof its glance, is absent. For although not unfrequently the focus\nis inserted in the apple of the eye, or at least is indicated by a\nconical depression, and a modification which expresses the light point\nof this focus and by this means a kind of visual glance, such remains\nnevertheless the purely external configuration of the eye-ball, and is\nno presentation of its vitality; in other words it is not the glance of\nit simply, the inward glance, that is, of the soul.\n\nWe can readily imagine that it must cost the artist a great deal to\nsacrifice the eye in its simple aspect of animation. We have only to\nlook a man in the eyes to discover a point of arrest, a centre that\nexplains and is basic to his entire presentment, which we may grasp in\nits simplest terms from the unifying declaration of its bare look. The\neye-glance is in fact that aspect which is most steeped in soul; it is\nthe concentration of the inward life and its subjective emotion. Just\nas a man by means of a handshake, so, too, with yet more rapidity he\nis brought into unity with his fellow by virtue of the eye-glance he\nfaces. And it is this pre-eminently spiritual mode of revelation which\nsculpture is forced to dispense with. In painting, on the contrary,\nthis outward expression of soul-life makes its appearance by means\nof the subtle gradations of colouring either in its entire spiritual\neffect, or in a manifest association with external facts and the\nparticular interests, feelings, and passions, which are called up by\ntheir presence. But the province of the sculptor in his art is neither\nthe essential inwardness of soul-life, the concentration of the entire\nman in the simple centre of self-identity, which gleams out in the\nhuman glance as its ultimate point of illumination, nor the developed\nsubjectivity as we find it diffused amid the surrounding world. The\nend of sculpture is the totality of the external form, into which the\nsoul must disintegrate itself, and present itself by means of the\nmanifold of the medium thus utilized, so that the recourse to one\nsimple soul-focus, in other word the immediacy of the spirit-glance,\nis not here permitted. The work of sculpture possesses no such ideal\nintimacy in its simplest terms which is allowed to assert itself, as\nthe human look does assert itself in contrast to other parts of the\nhuman body, thereby unfolding a contrast between the eye and the body;\nrather in sculpture what the individual is in his ideal and spiritual\nsignificance remains wholly fused in the total aspect of form, which\nthe spirit that contemplates it, the spectator, can alone grasp in its\nunity. And in the _second_ place, and with equal truth the eye peers\ninto the world that surrounds it; it necessarily looks at something\npositive, and thereby is witness to man in his relation to a manifold\nworld of objects, just as in the sphere of feeling he is united to his\nenvironment and general experience. It is, however, precisely this\nunion with external objects from which the true figure of sculpture\nis withdrawn, being rather absorbed in what is substantive in its own\nspiritual content, essentially self-subsistent, that is without further\ndiffusion or development. _Thirdly_, the glance of the eye receives\nits fully evolved significance by virtue of the expression of the rest\nof the bodily presentment, such as in its general mien and speech,\nalbeit as the purely formal point of subjective life, in which the\nentire manifold of the form and its environment is concentrated to a\nfocus, it holds itself aloof and contrasted with this development. A\nbreadth of vision of this specific kind is, however, foreign to the\nplastic art. For this reason the more specialized mode of expression in\nthe human vision, which did not at the same time immediately discover\nits further reciprocal response of effect in the entire compass of\nits configuration, could only be an accidental particularity, which\nthe sculptured figure must dispense with. For reasons such as these,\nsculpture does not merely deprive itself of nothing when it leaves\nits figures bare of the eye's full glance; but we may affirm that it\nis only true to its fundamental principle when it totally disregards\nthis mode of the soul's expression. Consequently it is merely one\nmore example of the fine insight of antiquity, that it recognized\nfirmly this limitation and restriction of sculpture, and remained\nloyal to the abstract view it implied. It is an evidence of the lofty\nintelligence of the ancients, based on the fulness of their reasoning\nfaculties, and the comprehensive grasp of their outlook. No doubt we\ndo meet with cases in antique sculpture, in which the eyes gaze upon\nsome definite point, as for example in the case of the faun we have\nalluded to several times who glances at the young Bacchus. This smile\nof recognition is expressed in a moving way; but even here the eye is\nitself visionless, and the real statues of the gods in their simple\nsituations are not presented to us in relations of this specific\ncharacter so far as the direction of eye and glance is concerned.\n\nWith regard to the _form_ of the eye in ideal sculpture it is large\nof size, widely extended, oval and in respect to position placed\nat right angles toward the line of the forehead and nose, and in\nconsiderable depression. As far back as Winckelmann[160] the large\nsize of the eye was accounted significant of beauty, just as a great\nlight is more beautiful than a small one. \"The size, however,\" his\ndescription continues, \"is relative to the bone of the eye or its\ncavity, and is expressed in the mode of incision[161] and in the\nopening of the eyelids, of which in beautiful eyes the upper describes\na more circular arch toward the angle within than the lower one.\" In\nthe case of profile heads of superior workmanship the apple of the eye\nitself possesses a profile and receives precisely by virtue of this\nopening thus cut away a nobility and a free glance, whose very light,\naccording to Winckelmann's observation, is rendered visible on coins\nthrough an exalted point or focus on the apple of the eye. At the same\ntime mere size does not make all eyes beautiful; they are this in the\nfirst place by virtue of the cast of the eyelids, and in the second\nthrough being themselves deepset. In other words the eye ought not to\npress forward, and by so doing be thrust on the external world, for\nit is just this close relation to the external world which is removed\nfrom the ideal, exchanging for this the self-retirement of personality\nupon its own resources, that is, upon what is ideally substantive in\nthe individuality. The projection of the eye, however, also suggests\nthe thought that the apple of the eye is at one time pushed to the\nfore and at another withdrawn, and, particularly in the case of the\nstaring gaze, only testifies to the fact that the individual is beside\nhimself, either staring in total absence of thought, or in an equally\nsoulless way absorbed in the gaze upon some material object. In the\nIdeal of antique sculpture the eye is placed in even more pronounced\nretreat than we actually find it in Nature. Winckelmann suggests as\na reason for this that in the case of statues of larger size which\nare placed more remote from the vision of the spectator, without\nthis more receding position, on account of the fact that apart from\nthis the apple of the eye was for the most part flat, the eye itself\nwould have been without meaning and practically lifeless, if by just\nthis more emphatic projection of the bone of the eye-socket, the\nthereby accentuated play of light and shadow had not made the eye more\napparently active. Yet this deepening of the eye has a yet further\nsignificance. In other words, if the forehead is thereby suffered to\nreceive a prominence superior to that of Nature the contemplative\nportion of the face is the predominant factor, and we receive a keener\nsense of spiritual expression, while also the emphasized shadow in\nthe eye-sockets on its own account enables us to feel a depth and\nunimpaired inwardness, a look that is shut off from external objects,\nand retires on the essential presence of individuality, whose depths\nare suffused over the entire presentment. In the case of coins, too, of\nthe best period the eyes are deep-set, and the enclosing bones of the\neye are projected. The eyebrows on the contrary are not expressed by\na more extended arch of tiny hairs, but merely suggested by means of\nthe acute sharpness of the eye-bone ridge, which, without interrupting\nthe forehead in its form of continuity as eyebrows actually do through\ntheir colour and relative elevation, surround the eyes as with an\nelliptical garland. The more elevated and consequently more independent\narch of the eye-brows has never been regarded as beautiful.\n\nWinckelmann[162] further observes with regard to the _ears_ that the\nancients devoted the greatest care to their elaboration, so that in the\ncase of cut stones indifferent attention to the execution of the ear\nis an infallible sign of the spuriousness of the work in question. In\nparticular he insists that statues which are portraits often reproduced\nthe characteristic and individual type of the ear. It is consequently\npossible in many cases to ascertain the very personality represented\nfrom the ear, if the same happens to be known, and to take one example,\nfrom a single ear with an exceptionally large opening into it, to\ndeduce the presence of a Marcus Aurelius. Indeed, the ancients have\nnot failed to indicate in this respect what is actually misshapen.\nAs examples of a peculiar type of ear to be found in ideal heads,\nWinckelmann draws attention to certain ears given to Hercules, which\nare beaten out flat, and others which bulge out in their cartilaginous\nfolds. They indicate wrestlers and pancratiasts, just as Hercules\nhimself carried off the prize at Elis as a pancratiast in the games of\nPelops.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) We have still to add some remarks with reference to that part\nof the countenance which is more nearly related to the practical or\nsensuous side of natural function, in other words the specific form\nof the nose, the mouth, and the chin. The distinction in the form of\nthe nose gives to the face a variety of configuration and many various\nkinds of expression. A keenly cut nose with thin folds[163] at the\napertures we are accustomed to associate with an acute understanding,\nwhereas a broad and drooping one, or a snub nose that is somewhat\nbrutish, suggests as a rule sensuality, folly, and bestiality. It is,\nhowever, the function of sculpture to hold itself aloof, not merely\nfrom such extremes, but also the intermediate stages of design and\nexpression, and refuse consequently to accept, as we have already seen\nis the case with the Greek profile, not simply the separation from the\nforehead, but also the extreme curve, whether upwards or downwards, the\nacute point and the more extended rounding off, the elevation in the\nmiddle and the depression towards the forehead and the mouth, generally\nspeaking the extreme acuteness and thickness of the nose, setting in\nthe place of these varied modifications a comparatively indifferent\ntype, if at the same time one which in a quiet way is throughout\nvitalized by individuality.\n\nSecond only to the eye the _month_ belongs to the most beautiful\nportion of the face, provided that it is formed not so much in express\nrelation to its natural function as an organ for eating and drinking\nas in accommodation to its spiritual significance. In this respect it\nonly gives place to the eye in the variety and wealth of its means\nof expression, and this though it is enabled to express with vital\nforce the finest nuances of scorn, disdain, envy, the entire gamut of\nsorrows and joy through the slightest of movements and the fullest\nplay of such, and to a similar degree to express the charm of love,\nearnestness, sensuous feeling, obstinacy, attraction, and other such\nemotions by its state of repose. Sculpture, however, makes less use\nof it to express the nuances of particular expression, and, above\nall, is bound to keep what is entirely sensuous, and suggests natural\nwants away from the form and delineation of the lips. For the most\npart, therefore, it models the mouth neither over-full-shaped nor too\nspare, for extremely thin lips also suggest a parsimony of emotional\nlife; makes the underlip more full than the upper, which was also the\ncase with Schiller, upon the modelling of whose mouth was inscribed\nevery kind of significance and fulness of temperament. This more ideal\ntype of the lips in its contrast to the animal snout presents the\nappearance of a certain absence of desire, whereas in the case of the\nbeast, if the upper portion projects, we are at once reminded of the\nheadlong devouring of food and the grasp for it. Among human beings the\nmouth is, when we have regard for its spiritual relation, primarily\nthe seat of human speech, the organ for the free communication of\nself-conscious life, just as the eye is that of the emotional spirit.\nMoreover, according to the ideals of sculpture, the lips are not\ntightly closed; rather in the works of art in its blooming season the\nmouth is set slightly open without suffering the teeth, however, to be\nvisible, which have nothing to do with the expression of a spiritual\nsignificance. This attitude is so far supported by the fact that when\nthe organs of sense are strongly active, as, for example, when we gaze\nintently at an object, the mouth is closed; when, on the contrary, we\nare absorbed in visionless thought it opens slightly and the angles of\nthe mouth are to an appreciable extent inclined downwards.\n\nLast in our review of the objects above named, the _chin_, in its\nideal form, completes the spiritual expression of the mouth, that is,\nassuming it is not wholly absent, as in the case of animals, or only\nretained in a retreating and meagre condition as in works of Egyptian\nsculpture, but as rather lengthened out even beyond the degree which is\nusual, receiving thus in the rounded fulness of its arched curve, more\nparticularly where we have shorter underlips, yet further increase of\nsize. To sum up in fact a full chin conveys the impression of a certain\nsatiety and repose. Odd fussy wenches wag with their withered-up chins\nand meagre muscles. Goethe, for example, likens their chops to a pair\nof tongs that will be snatching at something. All restlessness of this\nkind disappears with a full chin. The dimple, however, which nowadays\nis held to have some claim to beauty is, as an accidental grace itself,\nno essential accompaniment of beauty. In its place, however, a rounded\nchin of considerable proportions is an infallible sign of antique\nheads. In the case of the Medicean Venus it is not so noticeable, but\nit is proved on good evidence that the statue has suffered a loss in\nthis respect.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) We have only now in conclusion to refer to the _hair._ Generally\nspeaking the hair has rather the character of a vegetable than an\nanimal formation; it testifies less to the strength of the organism\nthan it is indicative of weakness. Barbarians allow the hair to hang\nin straight lines, or cut it off close to the head rather than in\nundulating line or locks. The ancients, on the contrary, devoted\nexcessive attention to the elaboration of the hair in their ideal works\nof sculpture, a direction in which more modern artists devote less\ntrouble and skill. No doubt the ancients also, when the stone on which\nthey worked was extremely hard, did not suffer the hair of the head to\nflow in freely hanging locks, but arranged as though it was cropped\nshort[164] and, in that form, finely combed out. In the case of marble\nsculpture of the better time the hair is in locks and of great vigour\nboth in the case of male and female heads, where we find it presented\nin upward rolls and bound together on the crown of the head; one finds\nit at least, as Winckelmann points out, drawn out in winding rolls and\nwith express depressions the better to indicate its various folds in\nlight and shadow, which is impossible if the drills are shallow. Add\nto this in the case of particular gods the line of direction and the\narrangement of the hair is different In a similar way in Christian\npainting Christ is made recognizable by a definite type of the crown of\nthe head and the locks of hair, following which type in our own time\nthere are not a few who deliberately imitate such an appearance.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The parts above described in their form sum up collectively the\nhead as a whole. The beautiful form is here determined by a line which\nmost nearly approaches the oval of an egg, and thereby resolves every\nindication of sharpness, pointedness, and angularity in harmonious\nform and a gently progressive association, without, however, being\nexclusively regular and abstractly symmetrical, or issuing in multifold\nvariety of lines and their direction and inclination as is the case\nwith other portions of the body. In order to form this self-collected\noval shape, the beautiful and free inclination from the chin to the ear\ncontributes, particularly if we look at the face from the front, no\nless than the line already indicated, which describes the termination\nof the forehead, the bones of the eye-socket. And the arch over the\nprofile from forehead over the point of the nose to the chin is\nequally noticeable, and the beautiful arching of the back of the head\nto the nape of the neck. So much I have permitted myself, without\nentering on further detail, to observe on the ideal shape of the head.\n\n(_b_) In respect to the other organic members such as neck, breast,\nback, belly, arms, hands, thighs, and feet, we find here another type\nof co-ordination. They can no doubt possess a beautiful form, but the\nbeauty is sensuous, vital, without expressing by virtue of their form\nas such a spiritual significance as the countenance expresses it. The\nancients have shown for the form of these parts of the body the highest\nsense of beauty; but in genuine sculpture they must not merely pass as\nthe beauty of a living organism, but as members of the _human_ form\nit is their further function to present the appearance of a spiritual\neffect, so far as this is compatible with what is purely bodily\npresence. Otherwise the expression of the soul would be concentrated\nwholly in the face, whereas in plastic sculpture what is spiritual must\nappear as permeating nothing less than the entire configuration, and\nmust not be permitted to isolate itself independently and in contrast\nto what is corporeal.\n\nIf we now inquire what are the means which enable the breast, the\ntorso, the back, and the extremities to contribute to the expression of\nspirit and thereby to receive over and beyond a beautiful vitality, the\nbreath of a spiritual life, we shall find the following:\n\nIn the _first_ place there is the relation in which the limbs, in so\nfar as that relation proceeds from the ideality of Spirit, and is\nfreely determined by that ideality, are brought into juxtaposition.\n\n_Secondly_, there is the motion and repose in their complete freedom\nand beauty of form.\n\n_Thirdly_, this type of position and motion in their definite\naffiliation[165] and expression supplies the situation more closely,\nin which the Ideal, which can never consist purely in the Ideal of\nabstraction, is comprehended.\n\nI will add yet further some general remarks on the above points.\n\n(_\u03b1_) With regard to _position_ of first importance is that aspect\nwe have had already occasion to notice in a superficial way, namely,\nthe _upright_ position of man. The body of animals moves in a parallel\nline with the ground; mouth and eye follow the same direction, and the\nanimal is unable independently to raise himself from this relation\nto gravity. The opposite is the case with mankind; the eye looking\nstraight forward is placed in its natural direction, that is, in a\nright angle with the line of gravity and the body. Man is no doubt able\nto go on all fours just as animals do, and children do so in fact;\nbut as soon as consciousness begins to awaken, man wrests himself\nfrom the animal chains of the earth, and stands up straight in free\nindependence. This stansion is an act of will, for if we cease to try\nto stand our body collapses and falls to the ground. In this way the\nupright position possesses a spiritual significance, in so far as the\nself-elevation from the ground remains linked with the volition and\nthus with that which is spiritual and ideal; just as we are accustomed\nto say of an essentially free and independent man, who keeps his\nopinions, view's, principles, and aims unaffected by others, that he\nstands on his own feet.\n\nThe upright position is, however, not yet merely as such beautiful;\nit is only so by virtue of the freedom of its form. In other words if\na man stands up only straight in an abstract way, letting his hands\nfall glued to his side with no interval of separation, his legs in the\nsame way being close to each other, we receive an untoward expression\nof stiffness, even although in the first instance this is due to no\ncompulsion. From this stiff effect we deduce on the one hand the\nabstract and likewise architectonic principle of uniformity, under\nwhich the limbs adhere together in the like position, and on the other\nhand we do not discover in it any determination derived from what is\nspiritual and the ideal principle. In such a case arms, legs, breast,\nbody, all the members stand and hang just as though they had from the\nfirst grown there on man, without being brought by means of his spirit,\nhis volition and emotions into a change of position. The same thing\nmay be said of the sitting posture. Conversely also the squatting or\nperching on the ground is destitute of freedom for the reason that it\nsuggests an attitude of subordination, dependence, and serfdom. The\nfree position, on the contrary, avoids in a measure this abstract\nuniformity and angularity, and places the position under lines which\napproximate to the organic form; and to a further extent it suffers\nspiritual relations to shine through, so that by virtue of such a\nposition the conditions and passions of the soul are cognizable. Only\nin this manner can the position pass as a genuine exhibition of Spirit.\n\nIn the application of positions as significant pose[166], it is\nnecessary, however, that sculpture proceed with great circumspection,\nand it has thereby many a difficulty to overcome. On the one hand,\nno doubt, the reciprocal relation of the members is to be derived\nfrom the ideal principle of Spirit; on the other hand, however, this\ndetermination from the ideal side ought not to place the particular\nparts under a mode which contradicts the corporeal structure and the\nlaws of the same, and thereby produce the impression of a constraint\nimposed on the members, or come into collision with the material of\nsubstance, in which sculpture is set the task to execute the artist's\nconceptions. And, in the third place, the pose must appear wholly\nspontaneous, as though the body received it of its own initiative,\notherwise body and spirit have the appearance of being distinct and\nseparable from each other, and are involved in the relative position\nof mere direction from one side and purely abstract obedience from the\nother, whereas both in sculpture ought rightly to constitute one and\nthe same immediately congruent totality. This absence of constraint\nis here of the first importance. Spirit, as the ideal principle, must\nthroughout transfuse the members, and these latter must in like degree\nessentially accept spirit and its determination as to the content of\nits own soul. As to the pose itself and its character, which we may\nempower to express the just attitude in ideal sculpture, we can readily\ninfer from our previous exposition that it ought not be one wholly\nreferable to change or instantaneous action. The representation of\nsculpture must produce no effect such as is seen in the case where men,\nwhile in the art of motion and action, were turned to stone or frozen\nby means of H\u00fcon's horn. On the contrary, it is necessary that the\nposture, although it may without question point to some characteristic\naction, express for all that merely a beginning and preparation, an\nintention, or it must indicate the close of an action and a return from\nthe same to the state of repose. The repose and self-subsistency of a\nspiritual life, which potentially encloses in itself an entire world,\nis the most suitable aspect for the ideal form of sculpture.\n\n(_\u03b2_) And, in the _second_ place, what we have observed of posture is\nequally applicable to _motion._ There is in sculpture as such less room\nfor motion in the full sense of the term than other arts[167], just in\nso far as the same does not as yet advance to the mode of presentation\nwhich is more nearly related to an art whose sphere of effect is more\nextensive. The tranquil image of the god in his blessed self-seclusion\nis the presentment which it is its task mainly to set before us in\nall its essential freedom from conflict. A variety of movement is\nnecessarily excluded from such. What we ought to have is rather a\nstansion or reclining posture of essential self-absorption[168].\nThis attitude of self wholly referable to self it is which does not\nproceed to a definite action, and by doing so does not contract\nits entire energy to the space of a single moment, making such of\nfirst importance, but rather persists in the continued equilibrium\nof tranquillity. We ought to be able to imagine that the figure of\nthe gods will remain for ever in the same posture. The escape from\nself-subsistency, the plunging of individual life within the vortex of\na particular action that implies conflict, the strain of the moment,\nwhich is unable to continue as such--such relations are foreign to\nthe ideality of sculpture. We cross them rather where, in the case of\ngroups and reliefs, the particular moments of an action are presented\nwith a distinct inclination to the principle of painting. A result\nbrought about by powerful effects, and their passing exhibition,\nno doubt exercises upon us an immediate impression; but after once\nhaving received it we do not readily return to it. For that which is\nso prominent in the presentation is the affair of a moment's passage,\nwhich we both observe and recognize in that moment, whereas the ideal\nfulness and freedom, what is infinite in its significance, in other\nwords that which holds our attention permanently, is relegated to the\nbackground.\n\n(_\u03b3_) In asserting this, however, we do not maintain that sculpture,\nwhere, in the case where it adheres to its principle in all its\nseverity and attains its highest point, must necessarily exclude\nentirely the attitude of movement. If it did so it would merely\npresent to us the divine in its indeterminacy and indifference. On the\ncontrary, in so far as it is its function to comprehend the substantive\nas individuality, and to present it to our vision in bodily form, both\nthe ideal and external condition, in accordance with which it brings\nits content and form to an impression, is necessarily individual. And\nit is this individuality of a definite situation which is pre-eminently\nexpressed by means of the pose and movement of the body. Inasmuch\nas, however, the substantive in sculpture is of most importance, and\nindividuality is not as yet itself extricated from the same to the\npoint of particular self-subsistency, the specific determinacy of the\nsituation must not be of a kind that it impairs or annuls the simple\nsterling character[169] of that substantiveness, by either making\nit one-sided or drawing it into the conflict of collisions, or in a\ngeneral way by placing it without reserve under the overmastering\nimportance and variety of what is particular. It must rather remain,\nindependently regarded, a determinacy less essential in its result, or\nrather we may say a vivacious play of vital force, harmless in effect\nover the superficial features of individuality, whose substantive\ncharacter in no respect suffers loss thereby in depth, subsistency, and\nrepose. This is, however, a point which I have at an earlier stage of\nthis investigation already[170] discussed at length in relation to the\nIdeal of sculpture when the situation itself was under review, in which\nthe Ideal ought to appear in definite relation to the presentation:\nfurther discussion may here be consequently dispensed with.\n\n(_c_) The last point of importance we have now to consider is the\nquestion of _drapery_ in sculpture. At first sight it may appear as\nthough the nude form and its corporeal beauty permeated by spiritual\nsignificance, in the manner of its pose and movement, were the most\nappropriate form for the Ideal of sculpture, and drapery were simply\na hindrance. In accordance with such a view we hear the complaint\nraised, more particularly in our own time, that modern sculpture is\nso frequently forced to drape its figures, whereas no drapery should\ntouch the beauty of human organic forms. And we have finally the wail\nadded that our artists should have so little opportunity of studying\nthe nude which was ever before the eyes of the ancients. In general we\nmay simply reply to this that though without question, from the point\nof view of sensuous beauty, the preference must be given to the nude\nform, yet merely sensuous beauty is not the ultimate aim of sculpture,\nso that the Greeks do not give the lead to a false path when they\npresented the larger number of their male figures no doubt in the nude,\nbut by far the greater number of female figures draped.\n\n(_\u03b1_) And generally we may add that, apart from artistic purpose,\ndrapery is justified in real measure in the necessity of providing a\nprotection from climatic changes, Nature having failed to provide man\nwith any covering of hide, feathers, hair, such as animals possess.\nAnd from another point of view it is the sense of modesty which\ncompels man to cover himself with raiment. Now this shame, regarded\nin a general way, is a beginning of indignation over that which is\ncoarse or crude. Man in fact, who is conscious of his more elevated\ncalling to be Spirit, must necessarily regard what is purely animal\nas an incompatibility with that, and pre-eminently seek to cover, as\nthat which is not consonant with the Ideal of his soul[171], those\nparts of his body, such as the belly, breast, back, and legs, which\nare subservient to animal functions, or only are directed to external\nuses, and possess directly no spiritual determinacy, and no spiritual\nexpression. We therefore find among every people, who have entered\nupon the life of reflection, this sense of shame and the necessity of\nclothing in some degree, whether great or small. As far back as the\nnarrative of Genesis we have this transition expressed in the shrewdest\nway. Before Adam and Eve have eaten of the tree of knowledge they walk\nin Paradise in the nakedness of innocence; but no sooner is their\nconsciousness as spiritual beings[172] aroused than they are ashamed\nof their nakedness. The same sense is prevalent among all other\nAsiatic nations. So, for example, Herodotus asserts in narrating[173]\nhow Gyges came to the throne, that it was regarded even in a man as a\nmatter of shame among the Lydians, and almost all barbarians, to be\nseen naked; and as a proof of this we have the tale of the wife of\nCandaules, king of the Lydians. The tale runs that Candaules exposed\nhis wife in nudity to the gaze of Gyges, his satellite and favourite,\nin order to convince him that her beauty as a woman was beyond compare.\nShe, however, discovered the outrage, which it was intended to conceal\nfrom her, by chance seeing Gyges, who had been hidden in her sleeping\nchamber, slip out of the door. Indignant at the outrage, she received\nGyges in audience the following day, and declared to him that, inasmuch\nas the king had taken this step and permitted Gyges to see what he\nought not to have seen, he might select one of two courses, either\nkill the king as his punishment, and possess himself both of her and\nthe kingdom, or himself die. Gyges selected the first alternative, and\nafter assassinating the king mounted the throne and married the widow.\nOn the other hand the Egyptians represented frequently, or, indeed,\nfor the most part, their statues in the nude to the extent that the\nmale figures merely carried an apron; and in the case of Isis the\ndrapery was indicated by nothing more than a barely perceptible fringe\nround the legs. This, however, was neither due to a defective sense of\nshame, nor in virtue of their instinct for the beauty of organic forms.\nFor if we consider their symbolic point of view we can only maintain\nthat what concerned them was not the configuration of a presentment\nconsonant with a spiritual significance, but rather the meaning, the\nessence and conception of that which the form was intended to present\nto intelligence; and they permitted the human form to be thus, without\nreflection upon the further and more remote adequacy of the same to\nSpirit, in its natural state, which they moreover copied with great\ncloseness to life.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Finally, among the Greeks, we meet with both aspects, both nude\nand draped figures. And in actual life also they were equally clothed,\nalbeit from other considerations they held it a point of honour to\nhave first contested in the games nude. To an exceptional degree the\nLacedaemonians were the first to wrestle naked. But this was with them\nnot due so much to a sense of beauty as to their general indifference\nto what savoured of refinement and spiritual purport in the sense of\nmodesty. In the national character of the Greek people, among whom the\nfeeling for personal individuality in all its immediacy, and as it is\nthe spiritual animation of their existence, is so strongly developed,\ntaking this as the instinct for free and beautiful forms, it was also\ninevitable that what was human in its immediacy, the bodily presence,\nthat is, as it belongs to man and is suffused with his spirit, should\nbe elaborated in independent form, and that the human form should be\nrevered above all others for the reason that it is the freest and the\nmost beautiful. In this sense, no doubt, they threw aside that instinct\nof shame, which will not suffer us to look at what is purely corporeal\nin' man, not out of indifference to what was spiritual, but with an\nindifference to what is purely sensuous in desire, for the sake of\nbeauty; and this intention is manifest in full play throughout a great\nnumber of their nude figures.\n\nThis entire absence of drapery, however, it was impossible wholly\nto justify on principle. For, as I have already indicated when\ndistinguishing the head from other parts of the body, it is undeniable\nthat the spiritual expression of the form is restricted to the face\nand the pose and movement of the whole, to the general mien, which is\npreeminently eloquent by virtue of the arms, hands, and position of\nthe legs. For these organs, whose activity is in an outward direction,\nhave still, and precisely by the nature of their pose and movement,\nfor the most part the expression of a spiritual deliverance. The other\nmembers of the body, on the contrary, are and remain solely productive\nof a sensuous beauty; and the distinguishing features which are visible\non them can only be bodily vigour, development of muscle, or degrees\nof delicacy and softness, such as characterize respectively the two\nsexes, age, youth, and childhood. As a means, therefore, of expressing\nwhat is spiritual in the form, the nudity of these parts is also\nfrom the standpoint of beauty indifferent; and it is only due to our\nmoral sense, when, that is to say, the main thing looked for is the\nparamount presentation of the spiritual in man, that such parts should\nbe veiled. What in general ideal art does in the case of every separate\npart of the body is to remove the necessary limitations of animal life\nin its detailed particularities, such as little veins, wrinkles, hairs\nof the skin, and so forth, and simply to enforce and emphasize the\nspiritual impression of the form in its vital outlines, and this is\nprecisely what drapery effects. It covers up the superfluity of the\norgans, which are no doubt necessary for the body's self-support, but\nare in other respects superfluous as an expression of the spirit's\nimport. We are, therefore, not entitled to assert without condition\nthat the nudity of figures of sculpture in every respect betrays a\nhigher sense of beauty, and a greater ethical freedom and emaculacy. It\nwas in this respect, as in others, that a just and spiritual instinct\ndominated the Greek.\n\nChildren, Cupid for example, where we find the bodily presentment one\nof unreserved innocence, and the spiritual beauty consisting just in\nthis; or, to take other examples, youths, youthful gods, heroic gods,\nand heroes, such as Perseus, Hercules, Theseus, Jason, in which cases\nheroic courage, and the use and elaboration of the bodily frame in\nworks of bodily strength and permanence is of most importance; or\nwrestlers in the national games, where it is not so much the content\nof the action, the spirit and individuality of character, as the\nphysical aspect of the exploit, the vigour, suppleness, and free play\nof the muscles and limbs, which is the source of exclusive interest;\nor finally fauns and satyrs, Bacchantes in the frenzy of the dance,\nno less than Aphrodite, in so far as the sensuous charm of her beauty\nis emphasized--such are the kind of examples which were rendered\nin the nude by antique sculpture. Where, on the contrary, a more\nlofty significance and reflection, a more ideal earnestness is made\nprominent, where in general the natural features are not superlatively\nemphasized, there we get drapery. So Winckelmann adduces a case where\namong ten statues of the female form only one is wholly undraped.\nAmong the goddesses Pallas, Juno, Vesta, Diana, Ceres and the Muses\nare pre-eminently those which are veiled in drapery, while among the\ngods such a treatment particularly applies to Jupiter, and the bearded\nIndian Bacchus, with some others.\n\n(_\u03b3_) And finally with regard to the principle of drapery, it is\nunquestionable that we have here a subject that critics are very fond\nof discussing, and which has consequently to some extent been already\nwell thrashed out. I will, therefore, limit myself to the few following\nremarks.\n\nGenerally we have no reason to lament the fact that our modern feeling\nof what is respectable is somewhat averse to setting up totally nude\nfigures. For if the drapery merely permits the pose in question to be\nentirely transpicuous instead of covering it up, we lose nothing at\nall; rather the drapery is just that which rightly fixes the emphasis,\nand is in this respect even an advantage, in so far as it draws us\naside from the direct view of that which as merely sensuous is without\ntrue significance, and simply shows us what is there in relation to the\nsituation expressed by means of pose and movement.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Once accept this principle, and it may at first sight appear\nthat such covering is of most signal advantage for the artistic\ntreatment, which conceals the contour of the limbs, and consequently\nalso the pose as little as possible, precisely in fact as this is the\ncase with our sufficiently enclosing _modern_ garments. Our closely\nfitting sleeves and trousers follow the outlines of the form, and\nstand in the way of the motion and mien least of all by their making\nthe entire form of the limbs visible. The long white garments and\nbulging-out hoses of the Orientals, on the contrary, are intolerable to\nour sense of vivacity and multifarious activities, and are only fitting\nfor folk who, like the Turks, sit the whole day long in one place with\nlegs crossed, or only perambulate slowly and with great gravity. And\nyet we are conscious at the same time--indeed the very first glance\nat either modern statues or pictures will establish the truth for\nus--that our modern clothing is entirely unartistic. In other words\nwhat we behold in it really is, as I have already in another passage,\ninsisted, not the fine, free, and vital outlines of the body in their\ntender and flowing elaboration, but stretched out sacks with stiff\nfolds. For albeit we do obtain the most generalized form, yet the\nbeauty of the organic undulations is lost; and what we really look at\nis a contrivance of exterior aim, a matter of tailor's work, which in\none place is stitched together, in another folded back over, and yet in\nanother made tightly fitting--in other words, as a whole, forms that\nare not free, folds and surfaces which are fastened together by stitch,\nbuttons and button holes. To all intents and purposes such a clothing\nas this is simply a cover and veil, which, while devoid of any real\nform of its own, yet in its other aspect, though in a general sort of\nway following the organic contour of limbs, hides from the view just\nthat sensuous beauty and vital rondour and undulation which belongs to\nthem, merely to replace it with the material aspect of the mechanically\nelaborated stuff of which it is composed. And thus we get what is so\nentirely inartistic in our modern form of garments.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The principle for an artistic type of clothing, then, consists\nin this that it is at the same time treated as a work of architectonic\ndesign. Such a work is simply an environment, in which a man can\nlikewise move in freedom, and which must essentially possess and\ndeclare on its part a determinate shape of its own as its mode of\ncovering quite apart from the form which it encloses. Add to this\nsuch a work, in its aspect of a thing which is worn and carried, must\nfreely follow its own mechanical texture. A principle of this type\nfollows in the track of the kind of draping which we find adopted in\nthe ideal sculpture of the ancients. Particularly here do we find that\nthe mantle is as it were a house in which free motion is possible. It\nis no doubt carried, but is only made fast at one point, namely, on the\nshoulder. For the rest it evolves its particular form according to the\nmodifications brought about by its own weight; it hangs, falls along\nthe ground, and casts folds spontaneously, and only receives through\nthe pose the varied changes of this free kind of configuration. In like\nmanner there is little to impair essentially, if in varied degree, the\nfreedom of disposition in other parts of antique drapery. This it is\nwhich constitutes its artistic quality. It is only in drapery such as\nthis that we do not face something which is a burden, and something\nartificial, whose shape merely displays an external constraint and\nnecessity, which is rather something itself independent in its form,\nand which, however, accepts from a spiritual source, that is the pose\nof the figure, its point of departure. For this reason the garments\nof the ancients are only fastened to the body so far as is actually\nunavoidable, that is, to prevent their collapse, and are modified by\nthe pose of it. In all other respects they hang freely about it, and\nthemselves in their power of movement through the motion of the body\ngive yet further support to the same principle. And this is wholly as\nit should be; for the body is one thing and its drapery another, and\nthe latter ought thereby to receive its full due and be displayed in\nits freedom. Modern clothing on the contrary is either wholly carried\nby the body and purely in subjection to it, so that even the pose\nitself is too emphatically repeated, and it merely follows the forms\nof the limbs, or, in cases where it is able to secure an independent\nform in the formation of folds, it is after all merely the tailor's\nwork who makes this form according to the exigences of fashion. The\nmaterial is, on the one hand, dragged up and down by the various parts\nof the body and their movements, and, on the other, by its stitches and\nseams. On grounds of this description the antique form of drapery is by\na long way to be preferred to our modern style as the ideal standard\nfor works of sculpture. No end has been written with every resource of\nantiquarian research over the form and details of the ancient ways of\ndraping, for although men as a rule do not permit themselves to chatter\nmuch over fashion in their clothes, the kind of cloth, border, cut,\nand every other such detail, yet they find ample justification from\nthe antiquarian standpoint for treating these trifling matters also as\nimportant, and of talking about them with even greater prolixity than\nis permitted to woman herself in her unchallenged field of supremacy.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) It is, however, a totally different problem we have to consider\nwhen the question is asked whether modern clothing, that is, the kind\nso greatly to be contrasted with the antique, is in all cases to be\nrejected. This question is of particular importance when we examine the\ncase of portrait statues; and inasmuch as its main interest closely\ntouches a principle of importance to art as we have it now, we will\nconsider it at rather greater length. When nowadays we have to create\na portrait of some contemporary it becomes necessarily a part of it\nthat the drapery and the environment are both accepted from the actual\nfacts of their individual existence, for, inasmuch as it is just this\nactual person which is here made the object of art, this external\nframework, to which the clothing essentially belongs, is in its reality\nand truth precisely that which is most important. And this is more\nespecially to be observed when what is aimed at is the presentment\nbefore our vision in our individuality of well-defined characters whose\ngreatness and activity in any _particular_ sphere have been remarkable.\nWhether it be in a picture, or in the marble, an individual is, in\nfact, exhibited to our immediate vision in a bodily mode, in other\nwords under external conditions, and to seek to carry the portrait\nbeyond such a restriction would virtually imply the self-contradiction\nthat the individual was associated with that which was essentially\nuntrue, and this for the reason that the service, what is peculiar\nand distinguished in actual men, consists precisely in their active\nrelations to the real, that is in their life and action in definite\nprofessional spheres. And if this individual activity is to be made\nclear to us the environment must exhibit nothing that is foreign to or\ntends to impair the effect. A famous general, for example, has lived\nin respect to his professional surroundings with cannon, rifles, and\npowder before his eyes. If we intend to depict him in his professional\nactivity we recur most naturally to the way he gives orders to his\nadjutants, commands the line of battle, and advances against the enemy.\nAnd with yet more detail such a general is not merely one of a class,\nbut is distinguished by the particular style of his uniform. He is\neither a leader of infantry or a stalwart hussar, and so forth. In\nevery example of this kind we have some exceptional form of habiliment\nwhich is appropriate to the circumstances. Moreover a famous general\nis simply a famous general, not necessarily a law-giver, poet, or\neven very possibly a religious man; he commands in all respects as\na soldier; he is just that; he is, in a word, no complete totality,\nand this alone gives us the ideal and divine type. For the divinity\nof the ideal figures of sculpture is to be sought in nothing so much\nas this that their character and individuality are appertinent to no\nparticular relations and professed callings, but are rather removed\nfrom such division, or, in the case that the idea of such relations is\nmooted, it is so placed before us that we are forced to believe about\nsuch individuals that their powers of performance are unlimited. For\nreasons such as the above a demand to represent the heroes of our time\nor the more recent Past, when their heroism is of a restricted nature,\nin ideal drapery is very superficial. Such a demand testifies no doubt\nto a zeal for artistic beauty, but a zeal which is unintelligent, and\nin its devotion to the antique overlooks the fact that the greatness of\nthe ancients likewise reposes essentially in the lofty comprehension\nof all that they accomplished. In other words, they have, no doubt,\nrepresented what is essentially ideal, but they have not sought to\nenforce a form that is opposed to reality. If the entire content of\nthe individuals in question is not of an ideal character, then their\ndraping ought not to be such; and if a powerful, determined, and\nresolute general does not already possess a countenance indicative of\nthe lineaments of Mars, then to drape him with Greek drapery would\nbe as much a folly as though we popped a bearded man in a maiden's\npetticoats. Despite this truth, however, modern clothing does involve\nus in considerable difficulty because it is subject to fashion, and\nconsequently subject to change. For the rational principle of fashion\nconsists in this that it exercises over Time the claim to be always\nsubject to modification. A robe, according to some particular cut, soon\npasses out of fashion, and it is only in fashion so long as it pleases.\nBut when the fashion is over, we cease to be used to it, and what\npleased us a few years back now appears suddenly ridiculous. For this\nreason only those forms of garments are appropriate for statues which\ncarry the specific character of a period in a more permanent type; but,\nin general, it may be advisable to find a middle way, as our artists\nattempt to do. Yet, despite of the rule, it is generally a mistake\nto clothe portrait statues in modern clothing when they are either\nsmall, or the object sought after is simply a familiar presentation.\nIn such cases mere busts are best, which are the more easily lifted to\nan ideal elevation, simply neck and breast being retained, inasmuch\nas the head and the physiognomy thus remain of most importance, and\neverything else is relegated to incidental insignificance. Where we\nhave large-sized statues on the contrary, more particularly where\nthe pose is one of tranquillity, we see at once, because they are in\nrepose, how they are draped; and large-sized male figures, even in\nthe painted portrait, when clothed after modern wont can only with\ndifficulty be raised over what is insignificant. As instances we may\nmention the full-figure seated portraits by old Tischbein of Herder and\nWieland, of which we have excellent engravings on copper. One feels\nat once, when looking at them, that it is a somewhat stale, flat, and\nunprofitable business to gaze at their breeches, stockings, and shoes,\nand absolutely so to see their cosy, self-contented posture on a sofa,\nwhere they have their hands lying happily together over their paunches.\n\nIt is another matter with portrait statues of individuals where,\neither in respect to the period of their activity they are far removed\nfrom our own, or are themselves essentially of an ideal greatness. In\nsuch cases what is old is already divested of the temporal aspect and\nhas passed into the more indefinite background of the general idea,\nso that in this release from its particular form of actuality it is\nalso in the mode of its drapery capable of an ideal presentation. And\nthis is still more true in the case of individuals, who by virtue of\ntheir self-subsistency and the ideal fulness of what are otherwise\nthe mere limitations of their particular profession, and detached\nfrom what is merely the activity of a definite period of time, create\nindependently for themselves a free totality, a world of relations\nand activities, and consequently should appear, even in the aspect of\ntheir habiliments, as exalted above the familiar guise of everyday life\nin their ordinary temporal costume. As far back as the Greeks we find\nstatues of Achilles and Alexander, on which the more individual traits\nof portraiture are of so fine a quality that we should rather imagine\nthem to be sons of gods than human beings. In the case of the genial\nand greathearted youth Alexander this is quite as it should be. And in\nmuch the same way, moreover, Napoleon himself has been lifted to such\na fame, and is a genius of so comprehensive a grasp, that there is no\nreason why he should not be depicted in ideal drapery, which indeed\nwould not be unfitting for Frederick the Great, when the object is to\ncelebrate him in all his greatness of soul. No doubt the size of the\nstatues is here, too, of importance. In the case of small figures,\nwhich carry an air of familiarity, the three-cornered little hat of\nNapoleon is out of place no less than the famous uniform and the arms\ncrossed over breast, and, if we desire to have before us the great\nFrederick as \"old Fritz,\" we may have him pictured for us with hat and\nstick as we find him on tobacco boxes.\n\n\n\n3. THE INDIVIDUALITY OF IDEAL FIGURES OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nHitherto we have considered the Ideal of sculpture in its general\ncharacter and in the further aspect of the more detailed forms which\ndistinguish it. We have _thirdly_ only left us to emphasize the fact\nthat the Ideals of sculpture, in so far as, in respect to their\ncontent, they have to manifest what is substantive in individualities,\nand in respect to their external form the human bodily shape, are\nalso under the necessity of an advance in which the _particularity_\nof their presentation is differentiated, and an aggregate of specific\nindividuals is thereby created, just as we already, in the classical\ntype of art, recognize the embracing circle of the Greek gods. We\nmay, no doubt, very possibly imagine to ourselves there can only be\none _exemplum_ of the finest beauty and perfection, which may be,\nmoreover, concentrated in its absolute completeness in one statue.\nSuch a conception of one Ideal in its purity is deficient in insight\nand indeed ridiculous. For the beauty of the Ideal consists just in\nthis, that it is no purely general form or standard, but essentially\nindividuality, and consequently possesses both particularity and\ncharacter. It is simply owing to this that vitality is imported into\nworks of sculpture, and it is this[174] which expands the one abstract\nbeauty, in a totality of essentially definite creations. Taken as a\nwhole, however, this aggregate is, if we regard its content, one with\nmarked limits; and the reason is that a number of categories, which\nwe are, for example, accustomed to employ in our Christian outlook,\nfall absolutely away in the case of the genuine Ideal of sculpture. The\nethical points of view and virtues, for example, such as were brought\ntogether by the Middle Ages and our modern world in a synthetical nexus\nof duties which yields to some modification, moreover, in every epoch,\nhas no meaning at all when applied to the ideal gods of sculpture; it\nis simply absent from such a circle altogether. Consequently we can as\nlittle expect to find here the presentation of sacrifice, of egotism\novercome, of the conflict, against what is sensuous, of the victory of\nchastity and so forth, as that of incommutable fidelity, of the honour\nand honesty of either man or woman, or of the expression of religious\nmeekness, subjection, and blessedness in God. All these virtues,\nqualities, and conditions repose in part on the breach between what is\nspiritual and what is corporeal; and in part they retire altogether\nbeyond what is of the body within, the intimate shrine of the soul, or\nbetray the individual personal life in its separation from its entirely\nconcrete and explicit substance, as also in its struggle to find again\nmediation in the same. Moreover, the circle of these veritable gods of\nsculpture is no doubt a totality, but, as we already discovered in our\nconsideration of the classical type of art, it is, when we examine the\ndistinguishing differences of its notion, no stringently articulated\nand unified system. Moreover, the particular examples are every one\nof them to be distinguished from all the others in their essentially\ndefinite and self-exclusive individuality, albeit they are not thus set\napart by virtue of the characteristics of a purely abstract mintage,\nbut rather, on the contrary, include much which they share in common\nrelatively to their ideal and divine substance.\n\nWe will now pass in review the distinctions above indicated under the\nfollowing aspects:\n\n_First_, we have to examine purely external marks, incidental\nattributes, style of drapery, style of armour, and such like,\nindications with the detail of which Winckelmann deals at exceptional\nlength.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall see how the most important differences do not\nmerely consist in external marks and traits of this kind, but rather\nin the individual configuration and _habitus_ of the entire figure.\nWhat is most important in this respect is the distinction of _age_,\n_sex_, no less than that of the _different sphere_, from which the\nworks receive their content and form, whether they are the impressions\nof gods, heroes, satyrs, fawns, or such representations as reach their\nfinal dissolution in the attempt to render animal images.\n\nAnd, _thirdly_, we propose to direct the attention on a _particular_\nexample of each class, in the individual form of which sculpture\nelaborates these general differences. Here, no doubt, we are faced with\na multiplicity of material, and can only permit ourselves to deduce\nparts of it by way of example, a province, too, as it moreover is which\nimplies a large experience.\n\n(_a_) In considering these _first_ mere attributes and all such\nexternal accessories, the kind of ornament, armour, tools, vessels,\nand in general all that is associated with mere environment, we find\nthat such things are of a very simple character in superior works of\nsculpture, and retained only in a temperate and restricted degree, so\nthat we see little of them beyond what is suggestive or sufficient\nto appeal to our minds. It is the independent figure, that is its\nexpression and not outside accessories, which has to give us the\nspiritual significance and its manifestation. Conversely, however,\nmarks of this kind are nevertheless necessary, in order to enable\nus to recognize the particular gods. In other words divinity in its\nuniversal guise, which is the source of the substantive part of the\npresentment in the case of each individual, asserts, by virtue of this\nvery equality of ground-basis, close affinity between the expression\nof each example and also between the individual figures, so that every\ngod is to this extent withdrawn from the aspect of his particularity,\nand can indeed further pass through other conditions and modes of\nexpression, than would otherwise belong to them. For this reason we do\nnot as a rule have set before us the particular characterization with\ncomplete seriousness; and it is frequently these external additions\nwhich exclusively make the particular god intelligible. Among these\nindicating marks I will allude briefly to the following.\n\n(_\u03b1_) I have already discussed the real _attributes_ when the classical\ntype of art and its gods presented an opportunity. In sculpture the\nsame lose yet more their self-subsistent, symbolical character, and\nmerely retain the right to appear as the external presentation and\nform which is referable to simply one aspect of the specific gods, a\npresentment which is true to this extent or approximately so. Such\nmarks are frequently borrowed from animal life, as for example when\nZeus is represented with the eagle, Juno with the peacock, Bacchus\nwith the tiger and panther, who are harnessed to his car, because, as\nWinckelmann observes[175], this animal is an exceptionally thirsty\none, and, moreover, fond of wine; and in the like manner we have Venus\nwith her hare. Other attributes are tools or utensils of some kind,\nwhich are related to activities and actions, which may be ascribed to\nany particular god by virtue of his or her specific individuality. So\nwe have Bacchus depicted with the thyrsus wand, in order to entwine\nthereon the ivy-leaves and garlands; or he receives a wreath of laurel\nleaves, to indicate him as victorious in his expedition to India, or a\ntorch, with which he lighted Ceres home.\n\nAccessories such as these, among which I have here, of course, only\nadduced the most famous examples, are an exceptional stimulus to the\nacuteness and learning of our professors, and carry them into a kind of\ncommerce in trifles, which too frequently leads them out of bounds, and\nfinds significance in things where there is really none. As an example\nwe are assured that two famous sleeping female figures in the Vatican\nand the Villa Medici are representations of Cleopatra, simply because\nthey have a bracelet in the shape of a viper, and to the vision of\nsuch archaeologists a serpent at once suggests the death of Cleopatra,\nmuch as it would suggest to a pious father of the church the original\nserpent who seduced Eve in Paradise. It was, however, a prevailing\ncustom for Greek women to wear bracelets in serpent coils, and such\nbracelets in fact were called by that name. Consequently the just\nsense of Winckelmann[176] has long ago rejected this interpretation,\nand Visconti has finally recognized[177] them as figures of Ariadne,\nas she at lasts sinks to sleep after her sorrow at the departure of\nTheseus. Although in uncounted cases acuteness of this quality shows\nitself at fault in dealing with detail of this kind, and makes itself\nappear contemptible in its departure from such insignificant facts, yet\nunquestionably both research and criticism of apparently unimportant\nfacts are necessary, because it is only thereby that we can arrive at\nthe closer determination of a figure. Yet even here the difficulty\ncrops up, that attributes no less than form, do not in all cases point\nour conclusions to one god, but may be shared in common by several.\nWe have the vase, for example, not only associated with Jupiter,\nApollo, Mercury, Aesculapius, but also with Ceres and Hygiaea. Several\ngoddesses receive the ear of corn; we find the lily in the hand of\nJuno, Venus, and Hope; and even the lightning is not the exclusive\npossession of Zeus, for it is shared by Pallas, who on her part again\ndoes not alone carry; the Aegis, but on equal terms with Zeus, Juno,\nand Apollo[178]. The source of the individual deities from a general\nsignificance of less determinate character which, they share itself is\nassociated with ancient symbols, which were appertinent to this more\ngeneral and consequently more widely shared nature.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Accessories of this incidental nature are more in place with\nworks which, already departing from the simple repose of the gods,\nrepresent actions, groups, or the series of figures such as we find on\nreliefs, and for this reason are able to make more extensive use of\na variety of external indications and suggestions. On gifts dedicate\nto a devout purpose, which are frequent in all kinds of works of art\nand nowhere more frequent than, in the case of statuary, on statues of\nOlympic victors, but more particularly on coins and cut stones, the\nrich and prolific invention of the Greek found ample scope for the\npresence of symbolical references of this type, such as that to his\ncity's locality and others like it.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Other signs are more removed from purely external significance,\nand penetrate deeper within the individuality of such deities. These\nthemselves are a part of the particular type in question, and are\nan integrating factor in it. Among such we may mention the specific\ntype of the drapery, armour, adornment of the hair, and other attire\nof a similar nature, in respect of which I must here content myself\nin elucidation with a few examples borrowed from Winckelmann, who\nexercised great acuteness in such matters. Among the several gods Zeus\nwas pre-eminently recognizable by the general treatment of his hair,\nand our authority maintains[179], that any particular head can at once\nbe determined as one intended for this deity or no by the hair over his\nforehead, or his beard, even though there be nothing else significant\nto arrest us. In other words he asserts that, \"the hair is elevated\nin an outward curve on the brow, and its different divisions fall\nin a narrow curve with broken lines[180] down again.\" This type of\nhair-treatment was so rigorous, that we even find it persisted in among\nthe sons and grandchildren of Zeus. So, for example, the head of Zeus\nis barely to be distinguished from that of Aesculapius in this respect,\nwho consequently receives another kind of beard, more particularly\nover the upper lip, where the same is more depressed in its curve,\nwhereas that of Zeus is rather folded over the angle of the mouth and\nintermingled with the beard on the chin. Winckelmann further recognizes\nthe fine head of a statue in the Villa Medici, later in Florence, by\nmeans of the more curled beard, which, moreover, folds over the upper\nlip, and is of greater thickness, and must be distinguished from the\nheads of Zeus with their greater tendency to curled locks. Pallas,\nin direct contrast to Diana, wears her hair long, bound together in\nits downward fall from the head, and then beneath the fillet flowing\nin a series of locks. Diana, on the contrary, wears hers thrown up\nfrom all sides, and fastened in a knot on the crown of the head. The\nhead of Ceres is up to the back portion covered with her veil. Add to\nthis, in addition to the corn she carries, she holds a diadem as Juno\ndoes, in front of which, to quote our authority once more[181], the\nscattered hairs are thrown into a charming confusion, as though to\nsuggest possibly her sorrow at the robbing of her daughter Proserpine.\nIndividuality of the same kind is emphasized by other exterior means,\nas for example, when we recognize Pallas by her helmet and its\nparticular shape, in her type of drapery and various other things.\n\n(_b_) The truly vital individuality, however, in so far as it should\nfind its mintage in sculpture by means of the spontaneous and beautiful\nbodily form, ought not to be asserted merely by such accessories as\nthe external attributes or modes of things we have cited, but should\nbe displayed no less in the form itself than in its expression. In\nattempting such an individualization the fine insight and creative\npower of the Greek artist increased in proportion as the figures of\ntheir deities possessed a substantive basis of essentially the same\nkind, from which, without wholly departing from it, it was their task\nso to elaborate the characteristic individuality that this ground-root\nof their conception was still maintained as a wholly vital and present\nfact. Nothing invites our admiration so much in the best works of\nantique sculpture than the exquisite attention the artist directed\nto the task of bringing the smallest traits of the presentment and\nexpression into harmony with the entire figure, an attention which is,\nin fact, the source of such a harmony.\n\n(_\u03b1_) If we inquire further after general distinctions of main\nimportance which assert themselves as the substantive bases in most\ndirect relation to the more individual severation of the bodily forms\nand their expression we may note, _first_, the distinction of more\nyouthful figures in contrast to those of more mature age. In the\ngenuine Ideal, as I have already stated, every trait, every particular\npart of the figure is expressed; and, moreover, the direct line,\nwhich is taken straight forward, avoids the abstractly level surface\nprecisely as the circular form avoids the geometrical circle; and\ninstead of this the vital variety of lines and shapes is elaborated\nin the finest way throughout by the nuances of their transitional\nforms which unite them. In juvenile and youthful age the boundaries of\nforms are less noticeably fluent, and pass into each other so finely,\nthat we may compare them, I borrow the simile from Winckelmann[182],\nwith the surface of a sea unruffled by the wind, of which we may say\nthat, although in continuous motion, it is still. In the case of\nmore advanced age, however, such distinguishing features are more\ndefinitely emphasized, and have to be elaborated with more pronounced\ncharacterization. Consummate male figures consequently are more\nlikely to please us at the first glance, because the expression is\nthroughout more distinct, and we wonder more readily at the knowledge\nand ability of the artist. Youthful examples appear more easy in their\naccomplishment because of their softness, and the smaller number of\ntheir distinguishing features. As a matter of fact, however, the\nopposite is the case. That is to say, in so far as \"the forming of\ntheir parts in the interval between their first growth and their\ncompletion is permitted to be indefinite[183],\" the joints, bones,\nsinews, muscles, are necessarily more delicate and tender, yet are none\nthe less suggested. Antique art celebrates its triumph in just this\nfact, that even in its most delicate figures all parts throughout and\ntheir appropriate organization are somehow made perceptible in barely\nvisible nuances of elevation and depression, by means of which the\nscience and virtuosity of an artist is only followed by an observer\nwhose research and attention is equally thorough. If, for example, to\ntake the case of a delicate human figure, such as the youthful Apollo,\nthe entire structure of the human body were not reproduced actually,\nand in all its essentials with consummate, if half veiled insight, the\nmembers might indeed appear well and fully rounded off, but they would\nbe at the same time flaccid, without expression and variety, so that\nthe entire effect could hardly satisfy. As a striking example of the\ndistinction between the youthful body and a man's in mature age, we may\nadduce the sons and father in the Laocoon group.\n\nSpeaking generally the Greeks, in the representation of their deities,\npreferred the still youthful age, and even in heads and statues of Zeus\nand Neptune do not indicate old age.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In the case of the _sex_, in which the figure is portrayed, the\ndifference, that is, between male and female figures, we meet with a\ndistinctive mark of still more importance. In general we may affirm of\nthe latter what I have already briefly stated in the contrast drawn\nbetween the more youthful and more advanced age. The female figures\nare more tender and soft, the sinews and muscles, albeit they must be\nthere, are less pronounced, the transitional lines are more flowing\nand malleable, yet in the wide interval of expression from the point of\nquiet earnestness, greater severity of power and dignity to that of the\nmost delicate charm and grace of the love attraction, there is room for\nthe richest gradations and variety. We find a wealth of form equally\ngreat in the male figures, in the treatment of which we have, moreover,\nthe expression of elaborate bodily strength and courage. The cheerful\ntone of delight, however, is shared by all, a blithesomeness and\nblessed indifference, which soars above all particularity, associated\nnot unfrequently with a trait of tranquil sorrow, a kind of smile\nthrough tears, in which we neither have wholly smile nor tears.\n\nThere is not a marked line of distinction here between the masculine\nand feminine character, for the more youthful figures of Bacchus and\nApollo frequently are fined out to the point of feminine delicacy and\nsoftness, nay, we even find representations of Hercules in which there\nis so much the appearance of a young woman's form that critics have\nconfused him with Iole, his sweetheart. And it is not merely this point\nof transition but even the combination of the male and female figure,\nwhich the ancients have expressly represented in their hermaphrodites.\n\n(_\u03b3_) _Thirdly_, and in conclusion, there is the question as to the\nmain distinctions which the figure of sculpture receives in order\nthat it may be classed within one of the specific divisions of\nsubject-matter which constitute the content of the ideal outlook on the\nworld appropriate to this art.\n\nThe organic forms which sculpture can utilize generally in its plastic\neffort are on the one hand the forms of humanity, on the other those\nof _animal_ life. In respect to the animal forms we have already seen\nthat in the case of the more severe type of the art at its culminating\nperfection they will only be found as attributes associated with\nthe divine form, as when we find a hind with the hunting Diana, or\nZeus with an eagle. And the same thing may be said of the panther,\ngriffin, and similar figures. Apart from the genuine attributes animal\nforms are, however, accepted partly in combination with human shapes,\nand in part entirely by themselves. The extent, however, of such\nrepresentations is of a limited character. Apart from figures of the\nroebuck it is above all the horse whose beauty and fiery animation\nobtains a recognition in plastic art, whether it be in union with\nthe human form, or in its own free and independent shape. In fact,\nwe find that the horse stands generally in a close relation to the\ncourage, bravery, and dexterity of human heroism and heroic beauty,\nwhereas other animals, such as the lion, which Hercules overcomes,\nand the wild boar, which Meleager kills, are objects of heroic deeds\nthemselves, and consequently are entitled to a place within the circle\nof representation, when such are expanded in groups and reliefs where a\nfreer field is admissible for situations of movement and action.\n\nThe _human_ figure on its part, in so far as it is conceived in form\nand expression as pure Ideal, supplies the adequate form for the\ndivine, which, being still in union with the sensuous material, is not\ncapable of being concentrated in the simple unity of _one_ God, and can\nmerely embrace a _collective_ whole of divine figures. And similarly,\nto put the matter conversely, the human, whether we regard it according\nto its form or its expression, cannot pass out of the province of human\nindividuality, albeit the same is at one time brought into intimacy and\nunion with the divine, and at another with the animal nature.\n\nFor these reasons sculpture is faced with various sources out of\nwhich it can select and elaborate its subject-matter, and which I\nwill now review. The essentially central source is, as I have already\nseveral times indicated, the sphere of the _particular gods._ Their\ndistinction from humanity preeminently consists in this, that as they,\nin respect to that which they express, appear essentially gathered\nup over and beyond the finitude of care and mortal passion within a\nblessed repose and everlasting youth, so, too, their bodily shapes are\nnot merely purified from the finite particularity of mankind, but they\nare further detached from everything which would suggest the needs\nand necessary limitations of sensuous life, without, however, losing\ntheir vitality. We have, for example, an object of human interest in\nthe way a mother pacifies her child. The Greek goddesses, however,\nare always represented as childless. Juno, according to the myth,\ntosses the young Hercules from her, and the Milky Way is the result.\nTo associate a son with the majestic spouse of Zeus was beneath the\ndignity of the antique point of view. Even Aphrodite does not appear in\nsculpture as mother. Cupid is no doubt very near to her, but scarcely\nin the sense of her child. In the same way Jupiter is nursed by a\ngoat, and Romulus and Remus are suckled by a wolf. Among Egyptian and\nHindoo representations, on the contrary, we find many, in which deities\nreceive mother's milk from goddesses. Among Greek goddesses the maiden\nform is that which is pre-eminent, this being that which to the least\nextent asserts the purely natural functions of the wife.\n\nThe above constitutes an important contrast between classical art and\nromantic, in the latter of which maternal love is a leading subject.\nAfter the gods we find that sculpture deals with heroes and those\nfigures which have both the human and animal form in their composition,\nsuch as centaurs, fauns, and satyrs.\n\nThe line of distinction between _heroes_ and gods is a very fine one;\nand much the same interval separates them from ordinary human life.\nWinckelmann observes with regard to a Battus on a coin of Cyrene, \"With\na single glance of tender jollity we could make a Bacchus of it, and\none trait of godlike greatness would leave us an Apollo.\" And yet even\nin such cases human forms, where the object is to envisage the force\nof the will and bodily strength, tend in certain directions to make\nfor greatness; the artist gave to the muscular development a vital\nactivity and movement, and in violent actions set in motion all the\nsprings of Nature's workmanship. Inasmuch as, however, we find the same\nhero subject to an entire series of conditions not merely distinct,\nbut opposed to each other, the masculine forms here also frequently\napproximate to the feminine. This is, for example, the case where\nAchilles first appears among the maidens of Lycomedes. Here we do not\nfind him in his full heroic strength such as he displays before Troy,\nbut in drapery resembling that of a woman and a fascination of figure\nwhich almost conceals his sex. Hercules, too, is not always depicted\nin the gravity and power suggestive of the tedious labours which he\nperformed, but in the milder impersonation of his service to Omphale,\nas also in the repose of his deification, and generally in a variety of\nsituations. In other relations heroes possess the closest affinity for\nthe figures of the deities themselves, Achilles for that of Mars, for\ninstance; it is consequently only after the most profound study that we\ncan recognize the specific meaning of a piece of statuary merely from\nthe characterization without further suggestion from attributes. Really\nexpert connoisseurs can, however, deduce the character and shape of the\nentire figure from isolated pieces and supply what is missing; from\nwhich fact we again are instructed to admire the fine insight and the\nconsequential character the individualization of Greek art displays to\nus, whose masters knew how to preserve and execute even the smallest\ndetail in consonance with the entire effect.\n\nComing now to _satyrs_ and _fauns_ we find in them made visible what\nis throughout excluded from the lofty Ideal of the gods, the needs\nof mankind, the jollity of life, sensuous pleasure, satisfaction of\nexcessive desire, and the like. Yet we find in particular young satyrs\nand fauns so remarkable for the beauty in which they are represented\nby the ancients that, to adopt a phrase of Winckelmann[184], \"Every\nexample of such figures may be exchanged, if we except the head, for a\nstatue of Apollo, I refer to that one which is styled Sauroktonos, and\npossesses the same stansion of the legs.\" The heads of fauns and satyrs\nmay be known by their pointed ears, their stiffly erected hair, and\ntheir little horns.\n\nA _second_ province of sculpture is occupied by what is _human simply._\nIn this we have above all else the beauty of human form as we find it\nset before us in its elaborate power and dexterity in the sacred games.\nWrestlers, discoboli, and the like are its main subject-matter. In such\nproductions sculpture proceeds in a way that is somewhat opposed to the\nmere portrait, in which department the ancients, even in cases where\nthey actually copied _real_ personages, still understood how to hold\nfast throughout to the principle of sculpture as we have come to know\nit.\n\nThe _last_ field that sculpture makes its own is that of independent\n_animal_ figures, more particularly lions, hounds, and some others.\nHere, too, the ancients did not fail to grasp, make vital in its\nindividuality, and enforce the principle of sculpture, the substantive\nsignificance of form, and indeed attained to such a perfection that,\nto take one example, the cow of Myron has become more famous than all\nhis other works. Goethe, in \"Kunst und Alterthum[185],\" has described\nit with great charm of style, and pre-eminently drawn attention to the\nfact that, as we have already seen, such as animal function as suckling\nis only presented by Greek art in the entirely animal world. He\nentirely sets on one side poetical conceits such as we find in ancient\nepigrams, and with acuteness confines his attention to the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_\nof the conception out of which this most familiar of artistic themes\narises.\n\n(_c_) In concluding this chapter we have now to refer a little more\nclosely to the _particular_ individuals, in the characterization and\nvitality of which the distinctions above mentioned are elaborated, that\nis to say, for the most part to the presentment of gods.\n\n(_\u03b1_) However much, speaking generally--and we may no doubt seek to\nenforce our conviction in reference also to the spiritual deities of\nsculpture--this spiritual significance is at bottom the emancipation of\nindividuality--and the remark applies to Ideals also according to the\ndegree of their ideality and nobility--to that extent as individuals\ntheir distinction from one another is less marked. And the astonishing\nthing in the problem of sculpture, as solved by the Greeks, consisted\njust in this, that despite of the universality and ideality of their\ngods they have none the less preserved their individuality and lines\nof distinction; they have done so despite the fact that in certain\ndirections we are conscious of the endeavour to eliminate hard-and-fast\nboundaries and to depict particular forms in their transitional state.\nIf, moreover, we are inclined to regard individuality in a way that\nsuggests definite traits as being appropriate to definite deities,\nmuch as the traits of a portrait are so, a fixed type will thereby\nnecessarily appear to be substituted for a vital creation and art\nwill suffer accordingly. But this is quite as little in accordance\nwith the facts. On the contrary we find that their invention in\nsuch individualization and vitalization gained in subtlety just in\nproportion as a substantive type lay at the roots of the same.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Again, in considering the particular deities, we are inevitably\nled to the conviction that one individual is of commanding influence\nin determining all these ideal figures. This supreme value and dignity\nPheidias attached in an unrivalled degree to the form and expression of\nhis Zeus, albeit the father of the gods and mankind, is set before us\nat the same time with a blithe and benignant look throned in serenity\nof mature age, that is not in the first flush of youth, without,\nhowever, on the other hand emphasizing in the least any harshness of\nform or suggesting the feebleness of age. The most obvious parallels in\nform and gesture with Zeus are his brothers Neptune and Pluto, whose\ninteresting statues in Dresden, for example, despite all that they\nshare with him, nevertheless retain a clear line of distinction--Zeus\nhimself, by virtue of the benignity of his lofty presence, Neptune, by\nvirtue of his greater ruggedness, Pluto, who is a kindred type to the\nEgyptian Serapis, by virtue of his profounder gloom and melancholy.\n\nEssentially more apart from Zeus are Bacchus and Apollo, Mars and\nMercury, the first pair in their more youthful beauty and the greater\ndelicacy of their figures, the second more masculine albeit beardless.\nMercury, too, is more robust, more slender in shape, with exceptional\nfineness noticeable in the facial traits. Mars is not so much marked\nout from the others as Hercules might be in the strength of his muscles\nand other parts of his figure, but rather as a more youthful and\nbeautiful hero of an ideal form.\n\nAmong the goddesses I will only refer to Juno, Pallas, Diana, and\nAphrodite.\n\nJust as Zeus among the masculine deities, so, too, Juno among the\nfeminine displays in her figure and its expression the greatest\ndignity. The large circular-arched eyes are proud and commanding, in\nlike manner, too, the mouth by which she is at once recognized more\nparticularly in profile. Generally she presents the appearance of \"a\nqueen, who will rule, is to be revered and must awaken devotion[186].\"\nPallas, on the contrary, receives the expression of more austere\nmaidenhood and chastity. Tenderness, love, and every kind of womanly\nweakness are kept away from her; her eyes are less expanded than\nthose of Here, less emphatically arched and somewhat downcast in the\ntranquillity of reflection, just as her head is, which is not proudly\nerect as in the case of the spouse of Zeus, although it is armed with\na helmet. A very similar type of maidenhood characterizes the figure of\nDiana. She is, however, endowed with a more fascinating quality, more\nlightly poised, more slender, albeit there is no self-conscious delight\nin her charm. She is not given the pose of tranquil observation, but\nis generally in motion, pressing forward as toward some object in her\nvision.\n\nFinally we have Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty as such, who is, along\nwith the Graces and the Hours, alone depicted by the Greek artists as\nundraped and even here subject to exceptions. In her case nudity is\njustified on the good ground that she expresses, above all, sensuous\nbeauty and its conquest, grace, attractiveness, tenderness, elevated\nand tempered by spiritual qualities. Her eye, even in cases where a\nmore grave and lofty expression is emphasized, is smaller than that of\nPallas and Juno, not so much in length, but narrower by reason of the\nlower eyelid being slightly raised, by which means Love's yearning look\nis admirably expressed. She varies, however, very considerably in the\ntype expressed. In some cases her pose is more serious and powerful; in\nothers delicacy and tenderness are most insisted upon; her age, too,\nis sometimes that of maidenhood, at other of riper years. Winckelmann\ncompares the Medicean Venus to a rose which blossoms in the fair light\nof its own colour at daybreak. Uranian Aphrodite is, on the contrary,\nindicated by a diadem which resembles that worn by Juno, and which\nVenus victrix also wears.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The discovery of this plastic individuality, whose entire\nexpression is wholly elaborated through abstract form and nothing\nfurther, was in a like degree of consummate perfection peculiar to\nthe Greeks and is due to religion itself. A more spiritual religion\ncan rest satisfied with the contemplation and devotion of the soul,\nso that works of sculpture pass for it simply as so much luxury and\nsuperfluity. A religion so dependent on the sense vision as the Greek\nwas must necessarily continue to create, inasmuch as for it this\nartistic production and invention is itself a religious activity and\nsatisfaction, and for the people the sight of such works is not merely\nso much sight-seeing, but is part of their religion and soul-life.\nAnd in general the Greeks did everything with a public and universal\naim in view, in which every man discovered his enjoyment, pride, and\nhonour. In this public aspect the art of the Greeks is not merely an\nornamental object, but a vital thing that meets a really felt want,\nin much the same sort of way as that of painting in its most glorious\nseason responded to the life of Venice. Only on grounds such as\nthese can we find a rational explanation, if we consider the great\ndifficulties which the technique of sculpture implies, for the host\nof sculptured figures, this forest of statues of every kind, which\nin their thousand and indeed thousands, were to be met with in _one_\nsingle city, in Elis, in Athens, in Corinth, and even in towns of\nlesser importance, and in the same way in the greater Greece beyond and\nthe islands of the Cyclades.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nDIFFERENT TYPES OF PRESENTMENT, MATERIAL, AND HISTORICAL STAGES IN THE\nEVOLUTION OF SCULPTURE.\n\n\nWe have hitherto in our inquiry in the first instance looked about\nus for the _general_ determinants, out of which it is possible to\ndevelop the most adequate content for sculpture and the form which\nbest responds to it. We discovered the classical Ideal supplied this\ncontent, so that in the _second_ place we were called to establish the\nprecise mode, in which sculpture among the particular arts is most\nreadily adapted to give shape to this Ideal. Inasmuch as we found,\nmoreover, that this Ideal is only to be comprehended in its essential\nimport as _individuality_, not only did we find that the ideal outlook\nof the artist expand to a collective cyclus of ideal figures, but\nthe external mode of representation and execution in actual works of\nart breaks up into _particular types_ of sculpture. In this latter\ndirection we have still several points of view left us to discuss as\nfollows:\n\n_First_, there is the manner of representation, which, in so far as\nactual execution is concerned, either creates single statues, or\ngroups, until finally in the relief we are confronted with the step of\ntransition to painting.\n\n_Secondly_, there is the external medium, in which these distinctions\nare given actual effect to.\n\n_Thirdly_, we have to deal with the historical stages of evolution, or\nthe process within which works of art are executed in the various types\nand material.\n\n\n\n1. THE SINGLE STATUE, THE GROUP AND THE RELIEF\n\n\nJust as, in the case of architecture, we made an essential distinction\nbetween independent building and that which was subservient we may also\nhere establish a similar dividing line in sculpture, that is between\nsuch works that have an independent position and those which rather\ncontribute to architectural decoration. In the case of the first the\nenvironment is nothing more than an artificially prepared locality,\nwhereas in the latter cases their relation to the building which they\nadorn is of the first importance, and does not merely determine the\nform of the work of sculpture, but in a large measure even its content.\nSpeaking in a summary way we may assert in this respect that single\nstatues are set up on their own account, while groups and _a fortiori_\nreliefs tend to lose this independence and are utilized by architecture\nfor its own artistic purposes.\n\n(_a_) As to the single statue their original function is that of\nsculpture generally, that is to supply temple images as they are set up\nin the shrine of the temple, and all that surrounds them is in direct\nassociation with them.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In such a case sculpture retains its most adequate purity. It\ndisplays the figure of the god apart from all situation, in beautiful,\nunimpaired, and inactive tranquillity, or at least free, unmolested,\nwithout definite action and development, such as I have on several\noccasions depicted, that is, in unconstrained situations.\n\n(_\u03b2_) The earliest departure from this austere loftiness consists in\nthis that the entire pose suggests the beginning of an action, or\nthe conclusion of the same, without the godlike repose being thereby\ndisturbed, or the figure being presented as in struggle or conflict.\nWe place under this type the famous Medicean Venus and the Belvedere\nApollo. In the times of Lessing and Winckelmann the admiration of the\ncritical world over these statues, as the highest Ideal of art, was\nunconditional; nowadays, since we have come to know works more vital\nand substantial in their configuration, and more profound in their\nexpressive power, we must deduct somewhat from this estimate; critics,\nin fact, place them in an age somewhat subsequent to the great period,\nan age in which the smoothness of their elaborate workmanship already\nsuggests that to please is the main object, and the genuine grand and\nsevere style is not persisted in. An English traveller goes so far as\nto say that the Apollo is \"a theatrical coxcomb,\" and while admitting\nthat the Venus has extraordinary softness, sweetness, symmetry, and\ncoy grace, yet only finds in this a spiritual quality that is wanting\nin much, a negative perfection, and--a good deal of insipidity. We\nmay generally review that transition from the former more severe\nrepose and holiness as follows. Sculpture is no doubt the art of lofty\nseriousness, but this elevated austerity of the gods, inasmuch as the\nsame are no abstractions, but individual figures, brings with it the\nabsolute blithesomeness, and thereby a reflex attitude to reality and\nfinite life, in which the blithesomeness of the gods does not express\nthe feeling of absorption in such finite content, but the feeling of\nreconciliation, of spiritual freedom and alertness.\n\n(_\u03b3_) In consequence of this Greek art is throughout permeated with all\nthe blithesomeness of the Greek genius, and has found its satisfaction,\ndelight, and an object for its activity in a countless number of\ngratifying situations. When it once had discovered a way from the\nconstraint of the abstractions of its presentment to an appreciation\nof vital individuality, which is the unifying factor of the whole, its\njoy in all that is indicative of life and cheerfulness became a real\nthing, and artists became occupied with a great variety of subjects,\nwhich, without glancing aside at anything suggestive of pain, horror,\ndistortion or injurious, fixed as its final limit unoffensive humanity\nand remained thus. The ancients have in this respect executed much\nof the greatest excellence. I will here only mention, among the many\nmythological subjects of playful, that is playful in the most innocent\nway, interest, the sports of Cupid, in which we already see a close\napproach to the ordinary life of mankind, just as there were others in\nwhich the vitality of the presentment is the main interest, and indeed\nthe very attempt to secure and execute such subject-matter itself\ncontributes this blithesomeness and innocence to the effect. In this\nkind of way we may point out that the dice-players and satellite of\nPolycleitus were thought quite as highly of as his Argive statue of\nHere. The discus-throwers and racers of Myron were equally famous. How\ndear to this folk, too, and admired is that youth in a seated posture\nwho extracts a thorn from his foot? There were many others of the same\ntype of production in great measure merely by name. We are face to face\nwith the fleeting moment of natural existence, which is here arrested\nfor ever by the sculptor.\n\n(_b_) Beginning with examples such as the above of a movement towards\nexternal objects, sculpture proceeds further in the representation of\nsituations, conflicts, and actions yet more involved with motion, and\nat last arrives at the group. For with an increase of specific detail\nin the action we have placed before us the more concrete animation,\nwhich expands in contradiction, reactions, and thereby, too, in the\npresence of several figures essentially related and intertwined with\neach other.\n\n(_\u03b1_) At first we have, however, merely tranquil juxtapositions, such\nas, for example, the two colossal horse-tamers, which are set up in\nRome on Mount Cavallo, and indicate Castor and Pollux. The one statue\nis commonly ascribed to Pheidias, the other to Praxiteles. There is,\nhowever, no strong evidence for this, although the extraordinary\nexcellence of conception, and the no less exquisite thoroughness of\nthe execution justifies names as famous. Such are entirely independent\ngroups, which as yet express no real action, or the result of it, and\nare wholly appropriate as representations of sculpture and public\nexposition before the Parthenon, where it appears they were originally\nplaced.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Sculpture, however, is equally occupied in the group with the\npresentment of situations, which have as their content conflicts,\ndiscordant actions, pain, and other similar conditions. In this\ndirection, too, we can only speak highly of the genuine artistic\ninsight of the Greeks, which did not set forth such groups\nindependently, and by themselves, but brought them, for the reason\nthat sculpture has already made a departure from its peculiar, that\nis to say its self-subsistent, province, into closer relation to\narchitecture. The temple figure, that is the isolated statue, stood in\nunimpaired tranquillity and sacredness within the inner shrine. The\nexternal pediment, on the contrary, was decorated with groups which\nrepresented definite actions of the god, and consequently admitted\nof more animated movement in its elaboration. The famous group of\nNiobe and her children is of this type. The general form for the\nco-ordination of each part is determined by the space which the group\nin question had to fill. The principal figure stood in the middle, and\nwas thus able to be the largest in size and most prominent. The rest\naccording as they were placed in the direction of the acute angle of\nthe gable-end had to submit to other postures, the limit being reached\nby that of a reclining figure.\n\nOf other famous works I will here only mention the Laocoon group.\nIt has now for over forty years been the object of much inquiry and\ncontroversy. In particular it has been regarded as a matter of real\nimportance, whether Virgil in his description followed this work of\nsculpture, or the sculptor adopted his work to the scene depicted by\nVirgil, whether Laocoon here is actually crying out, and whether it is\nappropriate in a work of sculpture to attempt to express such a cry,\nand many more criticisms of this kind. Critics have worried themselves\nup and down with such matters of psychological interest for the simple\nreason that they have not as yet secured the sort of enthusiasm and\ncritical acumen which Winckelmann possessed; and, moreover, arm-chair\nprofessors are more readily disposed for such investigations for the\nreason that not unfrequently they have neither the opportunity granted\nthem to see real works of art, nor the capacity to grasp them for what\nthey are when they do so. The most essential thing which can occupy\nour attention in this group is this namely, that in the supreme pain,\nthe supreme truth, the convulsive tension of the body, the distention\nof all the muscles, the noble aspect of beauty is still preserved, and\nthe process has not been carried in the remotest degree to the extremes\nof grimace, distortion, and over-strain. Despite of this, however,\nthe entire work belongs without doubt--we have only to consider its\nsubject-matter, the artificiality of its coordinate grouping, the\ndisposition of each posed figure and the type of its elaboration--to\na much later period, which already seeks to pass beyond simple beauty\nand vitality by means of a deliberate obtrusion of science in the\nconfiguration and muscular development of the human body, and no less\nis anxious to please by refined excess in its executive elaboration.\nThe step from the ingenuous ease and greatness of art to a mere\nmannerism is already taken.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Works of sculpture may be set forth in very various places,\nsuch as in the entrances to columned halls, forecourts, landings\nof staircases, niches, and so forth. It is just in this variety of\nlocal position and architectural setting, which, on its account too,\nis variously related to human circumstances and conditions, that\nthe content and object of such works of art are for ever changing,\napproaching as such art does in the group yet more closely our\nhumanity. It is, however, a serious defect to place groups that embody\nmuch movement and variety of figure on the top of a building without\nfurther background against the sky. In other words the colour of the\nsky may sometimes be gray, at others blue and dazzlingly bright, so\nthat it is impossible to see the outlines of the figures. Yet these\noutlines, that is, the silhouette we find in them, is just what is most\nimportant; it is the main thing which we recognize, and which simply\nmakes the rest intelligible. For in the case of a group we find that\nmany portions stand in front relatively to others, an arm before the\ntrunk of the body, or one leg in front of another. Now the fact of\ndistance alone disturbs the clearness and intelligible articulation\nof such parts, or at least tends to do this more emphatically than\nin the case of outlined portions which are independent. We have only\nto imagine a group depicted on a piece of paper in which certain\nparts of a figure are strongly and sharply indicated, while others\non the contrary are marked with lines of less defined and arresting\ndefinition. This is precisely the effect of a statue's lines, and yet\nmore those of groups, which have no other background but that of the\nsky; in the latter case we only see a sharply indicated silhouette,\nin which, so far as what is within the compass of that outline, only\nrelatively weaker articulation is visible.\n\nThis is the reason that, to take an example near home, the Victory on\nthe Brandenburg gate in Berlin not only affects us strongly by virtue\nof its simplicity and repose, but can be readily followed through its\nseparate figures. The horses, in fact, stand far from each other,\nwithout either of them impairing the view of the other; and similarly\nthe figure of Victory rises sufficiently high above them. Conversely\nthe Apollo drawn in a car by griffins, which we have on the Opera\nHouse, is less satisfactory from this point of view, however artistic\nthe entire conception and technical work may be in other respects. By\nthe favour of a friend I saw these figures before they were taken\nfrom the workshop. The effect promised was noble. But as we see them\nnow at such a height, we have far too much of one outline partly\nobscuring another, which in its turn is backed by something else, and\nconsequently is less freely and clearly silhouetted than would be the\ncase were all the figures silhouetted in their simple outlines[187].\nThe griffins, which necessarily, on account of their shorter legs, do\nnot stand up either so highly or so freely as horses, have wings into\nthe bargain, and Apollo, too, has his tuft of hair and his lyre. All\nthis detail is too much for the position, and only tends to make the\noutlines obscure.\n\n(_c_) The final mode of representation, in which sculpture makes an\nimportant step in the direction of the principle of painting is the\n_relief_; in the first instance the high-relief, and after it the\nlow-relief. The condition here is the surface, the figures standing on\none and the same plane, so that the spatial totality of the figure,\nwhich is the point of departure of sculpture, more and more tends\nto disappear. The older form of relief, however, does not as yet\napproximate so closely to painting, which involves distinctions of\nperspective between the foreground and background, but rather holds\nfast to the surface or plane as such without permitting the different\nobjects to project into or to retire within the distinctions of their\nspatial position by means of an artificial reduction of size. In the\npresent case figures in profile are preferred, and they are placed side\nby side on an even surface. A simple treatment of this kind does not\nadmit the content of complicated actions, but actions which in real\nlife already adopt more or less of one and the same line of motion,\nprocessions of all kinds, whether those of sacrifice or Olympian\nvictors or others. Add to this the relief is capable of the greatest\nvariety of form. It not only fills up and decorates the friezes and\nwalls of temples, but is attached to utensils of all kinds, sacrificial\nbowls, votive gifts, shells, goblets, urns, lamps, and so forth; it\nis the adornment of seats and tripods, and is closely allied to the\nskilled crafts. Here as nowhere else the ingenuity of invention\nreceives the fullest scope in every kind of form and combination, and\nis no longer in position to retain the true object of independent\nsculpture.\n\n\n\n2. THE MATERIAL OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nWe have, by our acceptance of the principle of individuality, which\nis fundamental to sculpture, been compelled not merely to emphasize\nin separation the different provinces of the divine, human and\nnatural, from which plastic art accepts its subject-matter, but also\nto classify the several modes of presentation in the single statue,\ngroup, or relief. In the same way we have to discover a like variety\nof division in the _material_ which the artist can make use of in his\nworks. For different kinds of content and mode of presentation are more\nparticularly congenial to different kinds of sensuous material, and\nbetray a secret attraction to and affinity with such.\n\nBy way of generalization I will merely here permit myself the remark\nthat the ancients, in addition to the extraordinary excellence of their\ninvention, equally excite our astonishment by reason of the amazing\nelaboration and versatility of their technical accomplishment. Both\naspects present an equal difficulty in sculpture, because the means at\nhand here for such presentation are without the ideal many-sidedness,\nwhich is at the disposal of the other arts. Architecture is no doubt\npoorer still in this respect; but it is not her province to embody\nspirit in its vitality, or what is actually alive in Nature in a\nmaterial which is by itself wholly inorganic. This elaborate dexterity\nin the absolutely consummate treatment of pure material is, however,\nbound up with the notion of the Ideal itself, for its very principle\nis a complete entrance into the sensuous concreteness and the blending\ntogether of the Ideal with its external mode of existence. The same\nprinciple is therefore once again asserted, where the Ideal attains its\nexecuted form and realization. In this respect we have no reason to\nwonder, when it is asserted that artists, in periods distinguished by\ngreat executive ability, either executed their works of marble in clay\nwithout models, or, if they had recourse to them, set about their work\nin a much freer and unconstrained manner than is the case in our own\ntimes, where, to put the fact bluntly, it only makes copies which are\nnow executed in marble after originals carried out in the clay[188].\nThe old artists retained in fact the vital enthusiasm, which is always\nto a more or less extent lost in the case of copies and replicas,\nalthough it is undeniable that now and again we meet with defective\nwork in famous masterpieces, as, for example, eyes that are not of the\nsame size, ears one of which is placed lower than the other, feet that\nare of unequal length and others of the same kind. They did not lay so\nmuch stress on the absolute precision of the compass in such things as\nordinary production and art criticism, that mediocrity of talent which\nimagines itself so profound, is wont to do; and it can do little else.\n\n(_a_) Among the different materials in which sculptors have executed\nimages of gods, wood is one of the most ancient. A trunk, a post at\nthe top of which a head can be indicated, such was the beginning.\nAmong the earliest examples of the temple image many are of wood, but\nthe material was also used even in the days of Pheidias. The colossal\nMinerva of Pheidias at Plataea was mainly carved from wood which\nwas gilded, the head, hands, and feet being of marble[189]; Myron,\ntoo[190], executed a Hecate out of wood here with only one head and\nbody, and no doubt for Aegina, where Hecate was most revered and a\nfestival took place annually in her honour, a festival which the\nAeginetans maintained the Thracian Orpheus had inaugurated for them.\n\nGenerally speaking, wood, when it is not covered over with gilding or\nsome other precious material, by reason of its texture and the grain\nof it, appears too fine a material for works of importance and more\nappropriate to smaller figures, for which purpose it was frequently\nused in the Middle Ages, and is still thus utilized nowadays.\n\n(_b_) Other materials of most importance are _ivory_, associated with\n_gold_, founded _bronze_ and _marble._\n\n(_\u03b1_) As is well known, Pheidias employed ivory and gold for his\nmasterpieces, such as his Olympian Zeus, and also for his famous\ncolossal Athene in the Acropolis of Athens, who carried on her hand\nan image of Victory, itself being larger than life-size. The nude\nportions of the body were made out of sheets of ivory, the drapery\nand mantle from gold plates, which could be removed. This type of\nworkmanship in yellowish ivory and gold dates from a period in which\nstatues were coloured, a kind of representation which steadily\napproximated to the one colour tone of bronze and marble. Ivory is an\nextremely pure material, smooth and without the granular character of\nmarble, and, moreover, costly. And among the Athenians the costliness\nof the statues of their gods was itself of importance. The Pallas at\nPlataea had merely a superficial gilding, that at Athens solid metal\nplates. The statues had to be both of colossal size and of the richest\nmaterial. Quatrem\u00e8re de Quincy has written a masterly work upon these\nworks, upon the \"toreutic\" of the ancients. \"Toreutic\"--\u03c4\u03bf\u03c1\u03b5\u03cd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd,\n\u03c4\u03cc\u03c1\u03b5\u03c5\u03bc\u03b1--is primarily applicable to figures whose lines are brought\nout by engraving in metal, or cutting of some kind such as cut stones;\none uses the expression, however, to indicate entire works or parts of\nentire works in metal, which are executed by means of moulds and the\nfounder's art, that is, not by means of engraving, then, still more\nremotely from the original meaning, of superb figures on earthenware\nutensils, and finally in the widest sense of mouldings[191] on\nbronze. Quatrem\u00e8re's researches have particularly been directed to\nthe technical aspect of the execution; he calculates what must have\nbeen the size of the plates made of elephants' tusks, and, among other\nthings, how much space, in proportion to the gigantic dimensions of\nthe figure, they would leave covered. From another point of view he\nis equally concerned to reproduce for us from the sketches, or other\nevidence[192] we possess from antiquity, a drawing of the seated figure\nof Zeus, and, most of all, the great chair with its rich decorations\nof bas-reliefs, and by so doing to give us in every respect some\nconception of the splendour and perfection of the work.\n\nIn the Middle Ages ivory is mainly used for smaller works of very\nvaried character, such as Christ on the Cross and the Virgin Mary, or\nyet again for drinking vessels with scenes of hunting and the like, in\nwhich cases ivory, on account of its smoothness and hardness, is in\nmany respects preferable to wood.\n\n(_\u03b2_) The material which was most favoured and most widely employed\nby the ancients was bronze, in the casting of which it attained a\nsuccess of the highest mastery. Preeminently during the period of Myron\nand Polycletus it was the prevailing material utilized in statues of\ndeities and other kinds of sculpture. The darker, less defined colour,\nthe sheen, the smoothness of bronze generally, has not reached the\nabstract formality of the white marble, and it is at the same time\nwarmed. The bronze which the ancients used was partly gold and silver,\npartly copper, varying considerably in the degrees of its component\nparts. The so-called bronze of Corinth is, for example, a composition\nunique of its kind which originated after the burning of Corinth from\nthe almost incredible wealth of this city in statues and vessels of\nbronze. Mummius had many statues carried off on his ships; and the\nexcellent man was so full of anxiety for their safe deliverance in Rome\nthat he informed the captain that in case of loss he must recreate\nthe same exactly or suffer, such was the threat, heavy punishment. In\nthe founding of bronze the ancients attained an incredible mastery,\nby aid of which it was possible to them to cast it securely despite\nits extreme thinness. It is possible to regard such a feat as merely a\nmatter of technical dexterity which is unconnected with true art. Every\nartist, however, works upon a certain material, and it is an essential\nquality of genius to be complete master of the same. Dexterity and\nadaptability in matters which concern the technique and instruments of\nits work constitute one distinct aspect of genius. On account of this\nvirtuosity in the founder's art a work of sculpture in this medium\ninvolved a less expensive process, and was in the reach of a larger\nnumber than the chiselling out of marble statues. A second advantage,\nwhich the ancients were able to attain in casting their work in bronze,\nwas the purity thereby acquired, which they carried so far that their\nbronze statues did not require further enchasening, and consequently\nlost nothing of the finer marks of expression, which is almost\ninevitable where such a process is necessary. If we consider, then, the\nextraordinary number of works of art, which originated in this facility\nand mastery over technical matters, we cannot fail to be astonished and\nadmit that the artistic sense for sculpture is a distinctive impulse\nand instinct of spirit, which can only, that is, in so overwhelming\na degree, appear in one period and one people. In the whole of the\nPrussian State, for example, at the present time we can easily reckon\nup the number of bronze statues, the single bronze door of a church\nwe find in Gnesen, and, with the exception of the standing figures of\nBl\u00fccher at Berlin and Breslau, and Luther at Wittenburg, we have merely\na few more in K\u00f6nigsberg and D\u00fcsseldorf[193].\n\nThe very various tone and the infinite adaptability to form and\nfusibility of this material, which may accommodate itself to every kind\nof representation, gives to sculpture the pass into every conceivable\nvariety of production, and makes its sensitive material suitable for\na host of conceits, prettinesses, utensils, ornaments, and innocent\ntrifles of all kinds. Marble, on the other hand, is limited in its\nsuitability for the depicting of objects and their size; it is, for\ninstance, possible to execute bas-reliefs in it of a certain size on\nurns and vases. It is, however, unsuitable for smaller objects. In the\ncase of bronze, however, which is not merely cast into specific forms,\nbut can also be beaten into shape and informed by the engraver's tools,\nthere is hardly any type or size of representation which it does not\ncommand. We may here, by way of more definite example, instance the\ncase of coinage minting. In this art, too, we find that the ancients\nexecuted masterworks of beauty, albeit in the technical aspect of the\nmere mintage[194] they stand as yet far behind our present elaboration\nof all that is mechanical in the design. The coins in fact were not\nreally minted, but beaten but of pieces of metal closely resembling\na globular form. This department of the art attained its culmination\nin the time of Alexander. The coins of the Roman Empire have already\ndeteriorated. In our own time Napoleon endeavoured to revive the beauty\nof antique work in his medals and coinage, and they are of great\nexcellence. In other states, however, the mere worth of the metal and\naccurate weight is mainly important in the mintage of coin.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The last kind of material exceptionally favourable to sculpture\nis stone, which possesses independently the external aspect of\nconsistency and permanence. The Egyptians long before chiselled out\ntheir sculptured colossi with a labour that spared no pains from\nthe hardest granite, syenite and basalt. _Marble_ is, however, most\ndirectly, as a material, in harmony with the aims of sculpture through\nits soft purity, whiteness, no less than by the absence of definite\ncolour and the mildness of its sheen, and in particular possesses,\nby virtue of its granular texture and the soft interfusion of light\nwhich it carries, a great advantage over the chalk-like dead whiteness\nof gypsum, which is too bright, and easily kills with its glare the\nfiner shadows. We find a distinct preference given to marble, only\nat a later epoch of the Greek school, that is during the period of\nPraxiteles and Scopas, who executed their most famous works in marble.\nPheidias no doubt worked in marble, but for the most part only in the\nexecution of head, hands, and feet. Myron and Polycletus mainly made\nuse of bronze. Praxiteles and Scopas, on the other hand, appear to have\nsought to remove from sculpture that feature which is alien to its main\nprinciple, namely colour. No doubt it is undeniable that the beauty of\nthe ideal of sculpture is capable of being embodied in bronze as in\nmarble, with no diminution whatever of its purity. When, however, as\nwas the case with Praxiteles and Scopas, art begins to approach the\nsofter forms of grace and charm of figure, the marble asserts itself\nas the more congenial medium. For marble \"encourages, by virtue of\nthe transparency of its surface, a softness of outline, its gentle\narticulation[195] and mild conjunction; add to this that the tender and\nartificial elaboration of consummate work always appears more clearly\non the soft whiteness of stone than on bronze, however noble it may\nbe, which, in proportion as the transition of green is beautifully\ngradated, makes the lustres and the reflections all the more disturbing\nto the effect of repose[196].\" For the same reason the careful\nattention, which at this period was paid to effects of light and shade,\nwhose nuances and gradations are more clearly marked by marble than by\nbronze, was a further reason why stone should be preferred to metal.\n\n(_c_) In conclusion we ought to associate with the above more important\nkinds of material _precious stones_ and _glass._\n\nThe ancient gems, cameos and pastes are invaluable. They repeat in\nfact on the smallest scale, yet with consummate finish, the entire\nsurvey of sculpture, from the simple figure of a god, through all the\nvaried forms of grouping to every possible kind of conceit in dainty\ndelight and prettiness. Winckelmann, however, observes with regard to\nthe Stosch collection[197]: \"It was while looking at this that I was\nmade aware of a truth, which afterwards became to me of great value in\nelucidating monuments, very difficult to understand; and the truth is\nthis, that on cut stones, no less than on imposing works of sculpture,\nwe very rarely come across events which took place after the Trojan\nwar, or after the return of Odysseus to Ithaca, if we only except\nthe one case of the Heracleidae and the descendants of Hercules; for\nin this latter case the limits of history and fable still overlap,\nand fable is the main subject of these artists. Only one example of\nthe tale of the Heracleidae, however, is known to me personally.\" As\nfor gems, the genuine and most consummately executed figures are of\nthe greatest beauty, fine as the work of organic Nature, and may be\ninspected through a magnifying glass without any loss to the purity of\ntheir delineation. I refer to this fact in proof that the technique\nof art in such cases is almost an art of intuition; the fineness is\nsuch that the artist is unable as the sculptor is to follow the work\nwith his eyes, but is rather compelled to _feel after_ it. He holds\nthe stone which is made fast on wax against tiny sharp wheels which\nare made to spin by means of a flying-wheel, and in this way cuts\nout the forms. By this process what we have is a kind of instinctive\nsense, which takes in and directs so consummately the conception, the\nintention of line and drawing, that we can almost fancy ourselves\nto have before us in these stones, when one sees them properly\nilluminated, a relief work.\n\nThe work on cameos is to be contrasted with the above. These represent\nfigures finely cut in out of the stone. The onyx was particularly\nutilized as material for this kind of work. In dealing with these, the\nancients were expert in setting off to advantage and with taste the\nvarious strata, in particular the white and yellow-brown. Aemilius\nPaulus had a number of such stones and other trinkets carried to Rome.\n\nIn the representations which were depicted upon all this varied\nmaterial the Greek artists adapted as the basis of their work no\nsituations which were poetically conceived by themselves, but selected\ntheir subject-matter invariably, if we only except examples of\nBacchanals and dances, from myths about the gods and sagas. Even in\nthe case of urns and representations of events relative to deceased\npersons they had definite facts before them, which were associated with\nthe individual, whom it was thought right to honour by reason of his\ndecease. The direct allegory, in fact, does not belong to the genuine\nIdeal, but only becomes perspicuous in art's later development.\n\n\n\n3. THE HISTORICAL EVOLUTION OF SCULPTURE\n\n\nWe have hitherto regarded sculpture as the most adequate expression\nof the classical Ideal. The Ideal, however, has not merely an\nintrinsic forward development on its own account, by virtue of which\nit approximates to that which it is in virtue of its notion, and\nby doing so equally begins a forward movement beyond this absolute\nharmony with its own essential nature. Quite apart from this, as we\nhave already seen in the second main division of this work during\nour review of the particular types of art as a process, it contains,\nputting on one side its mode of presentation under the symbolical\ntype, a certain aspect presupposed, which it is bound to pass beyond\nin order generally to establish itself as Ideal, and moreover a\nfurther type of art, that is the romantic, from which it will once\nmore pass away. Both types of art, the symbolical no less than the\nromantic, likewise seize upon the human figure as an element of their\npresentment, whose spatial outlines they adhere to, and consequently\nset forth as sculpture sets them forth. We have, therefore, when it is\na question of drawing attention to the historical-development, not only\nto speak of Greek and Roman sculpture, but also Oriental and Christian.\nIt was, however, the Egyptian people pre-eminently among all, among\nwhom the _symbolical_ type sums up the fundamental character of their\nart-production, who first began to associate with their deities the\nhuman figure as it emerges from a mode of existence that is purely\nnatural, and for this reason it is mainly among them that we meet\ntoo with sculpture, inasmuch as they gave as a rule to their general\noutlook an artistic existence in that which was simply material. The\nsculpture of Christianity is of wider range and richer development.\nWe do not merely refer here to its uniquely romantic character in the\nMiddle Ages, but also to that further elaboration, in which we find it\nmade an effort once again to approach more closely the principle of the\nclassical Ideal, and establish that type most specifically consonant\nwith sculpture.\n\nI will in concluding the present section of my work in its entirety,\nand following the above general observations, add a few words,\n_first_, upon Egyptian sculpture as contrasted with the Greek as the\nintroductory stage of the true Ideal.\n\nThe characteristic elaboration of _Greek_ sculpture makes our _second_\nstage, which closes with _Roman_ sculpture. On the present occasion\nwhat will mainly concern us will be to survey the stage which precedes\nthe really ideal mode of presentation, because we have already in our\nsecond chapter considered at length ideal sculpture.\n\n_Thirdly_, we have merely left us to indicate briefly the principle of\nChristian sculpture. I can only undertake in this place to refer to it\nin the most general terms.\n\n(_a_) When we have the intention to investigate on the soil of Greece\nthe classical art of sculpture from the _historical_ standpoint, we\nfind ourselves already confronted with Egyptian art in the form of\nsculpture before we have arrived at our object; and we must add not\nmerely is this so in regard to great works which bear witness to the\nhighest technique and elaboration in an entirely unique artistic\nstyle, but as the point of departure and source for the forms of Greek\nplastic art. That this last result on the ground of historical fact\namounts also to an external contact, an acceptance and an instruction\nto which Greek artists submitted, this must be left to the history\nof art to establish, whether it be in reference to the significance\nof figures of deities represented from the field of mythology, or to\nthe particular methods of artistic treatment. The association between\nGreek and Egyptian ideas of the gods is a conviction set forth with\nproofs by Herodotus. Creuzer is of the view that we find this external\nassociation of these arts most clearly demonstrated on coins, and\nhe lays exceptional stress on ancient Attic examples. He has showed\nme one in his own possession in which without question the face, a\nprofile possessed quite the outline of the physiognomy of Egyptian\nfigures in every respect[198]. We must, however, here leave this purely\nhistorical aspect to stand on its own merits, and confine ourselves\nto the inquiry whether apart from it a more ideal and necessary bond\nof connection cannot be established. This bond of intrinsic causality\nwe have already adverted to above. It is necessary that the art which\nis incomplete must precede the complete form of art, the Ideal, by\nmeans of the negation of which, that is by the stripping off of that\naspect which adheres to it as a defect, the Ideal is first realized.\nIn this respect unquestionably classical art is a _becoming_ or a\nprocess, which, however, apart from it must necessarily possess an\nindependent existence, inasmuch as _qu\u00e2_ classical it must leave all\ndeficiency, all the mere becoming behind it, and be essentially rounded\nin \"completion.\" This process as such consists in this, that the form\nof the presentation first begins to run counter to the Ideal, and\nyet remains incapable of an ideal grasp, belonging as it does to the\nsymbolical synthesis, which is unable to embody in union the universal\naspect of the significance, and the individual embodiment as it appears\nto sense. That _Egyptian_ sculpture possesses such a fundamental\ncharacter, is the single point that I will now briefly touch upon.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The primary fact that calls for attention is the deficiency we\nfind here in ideal and creative _spontaneity_, despite the greatest\ntechnical perfection. The source of works of Greek sculpture is the\nvitality and freedom of the imagination, which builds up individual\nfigures from the religious ideas which are prevalent, and in the\nindividuality of this its production makes an actual fact of its\nown ideal outlook and classical perfection. The Egyptian figures of\ndeities, on the contrary, receive an inherited[199] type. As Plato long\nago observes[200], the representations were long before fixed by the\npriestly caste, and it was neither permitted to painter nor any master\nof sculpture to introduce novelty, nor indeed to invent anything at\nall, but to accept instead what was already among them and traditional;\nneither is such permission conceded now. We consequently find that what\nwas made and fashioned, it may be myriads of years before (to allow\noneself a hyperbolical expression for the great number that is actual\nverity), is neither more beautiful nor more ugly than the work of\nto-day. The circumstance must also be associated with this scholastic\naccuracy, that in Egypt, as appears clear from Herodotus[201], artists\ndid not enjoy the same respect as other citizens, but were forced\nwith their children to defer to all who were not engaged in artistic\nwork. Add to this art among the people was not followed according to\nnatural inclination; the institution of caste was paramount, and the\nson walked after his father, not merely in the matter of profession,\nbut also in the way in which he made himself efficient in his duties\nand his art. One man simply placed his feet in the steps of another,\nso that, as Winckelmann has already observed[202], \"Not a soul appears\nto have left behind him a footmark, which he can appropriate as his\nown.\" Consequently art, when fully confronted with this enforced\nserfdom of Spirit--in conjunction with which the mobility of free and\nartistic genius, in other words, not the mere impulse after external\nhonour and reward, but the more elevated impulse to be _artist_, is\nbanished--maintained itself simply as the mere craftsman working in\na purely mechanical and abstract way according to forms and rules\nready to hand, rather than with the vision of the artist of his own\nindividuality in his work, viewed in this way as his own unique\ncreation.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Coming now in the _second_ place to the actual works of art,\nhere, too, we may borrow from Winckelmann, whose descriptions attest\nonce more his exceptional acuteness of observation and distinction, and\nwhose account of the character of Egyptian sculpture is in its main\nlines as follows[203].\n\nSpeaking generally we may say that both grace and vitality, which\nare the result of the genuine sweep and balance of organic line, are\nabsent from the entire figure and its detailed parts; the outlines are\nstraight or in lines that show less deviation from it, the pose appears\nconstrained and stiff, the feet are thrust close together, and in cases\nof figures in the upright position where one foot is placed before\nthe other, both point in the same direction instead of having the\ntoes turned outwards. In the same way, in masculine figures, the arms\nhang down straight and glued to the body. Further, the hands, such is\nWinckelmann's view, are shaped much as we find them in men who possess\nhands not badly shaped originally, but deteriorated and neglected;\nfeet, on the other hand, are too flat and spread out, the toes are of\nequal length and the little toe is neither crooked nor curved inwards:\nin other respects hands, nails, and toes are not badly shaped, although\nneither the joints of fingers nor toes are indicated. And similarly\nwe may say of all the rest of the nude figure the muscles and bones\nare but slightly indicated, and the nerves and veins not at all. In\nshort, so far as detail is concerned, despite the laborious and able\nexecution, just that aspect of the elaboration is absent which alone\ncommunicates to the figure its true animation and vitality. The knees,\nhowever, bones, and elbows are traceable in relief, as we find them\nin Nature. Masculine figures are conspicuous for their exceptionally\nnarrow waist above the hips. The backs of figures, on account of their\nposition against columns and their being sculptured from one block with\nthem, are not visible.\n\nTogether with this lack of mobility, which is not entirely due to\nthe technical inferiority of the artists, but must be regarded as a\nresult of their primitive conception of the figures of deities and\ntheir mysterious repose, is nearly associated the absence of any\ntrue situation and any sort or kind of action, which are asserted\nin sculpture by means of the position and motion of the hands and\nthe demeanour and expression of delineation. No doubt we do find\namong Egyptian representations on obelisks and walls many figures\nin movement, but these are purely reliefs and are for the most part\npainted.\n\nTo add a few more examples of even more intimate detail, the eyes are\nnot deeply set as in the Greek ideal, but are almost on a level with\nthe forehead; they are flattened and extended obliquely. The eyebrows,\neyelids, and rims of the lips are mainly suggested by the graver's\nlines, or the brows are indicated by a stroke in relief, which extends\nas far as the temples and is at that point cut off angular wise. What\nwe above all find wanting here is the projection of the forehead, and\nalong with this, together with uncommonly high placed ears and arched\nnoses, as is the rule with vulgar natures, we have the retreating form\nof cheekbones, which in contrast to other parts are strongly indicated\nand emphasized, whereas the chin is always retiring and small; the\nrigidly closed mouth, too, draws its corners in an outward rather than\nan under-ward direction, and the lips appear to be separated from each\nother by a mere slit. Speaking generally, then, such figures are not\nonly wanting in freedom and vitality, but more than anything else the\nhead fails to show us the expression of spiritual significance; the\nanimal aspect is the prevailing one, and Spirit is not as yet suffered\nto appear in its self-poise and independence.\n\nThe execution of _animal_ figures is, on the contrary, according to the\nsame authority, carried through with much knowledge and an exquisite\nvariety of gently gradated outlines and of parts that flow one into the\nother without a break. And if in the human figures spiritual life is\nnot as yet liberated from the animal type and the interfusion of the\nIdeal with what is sensuous and of Nature on a new and free model is\nabsent, yet we find here that the specifically symbolical significance\nof the human no less than the animal figures is directly expressed by\nmeans of sculpture in these embodiments of forms, in which human and\nanimal shapes pass into one mysterious union.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Consequently the works of art, which carry on their face this\ncharacter, remain at the stage where the breach between significance\nand form is not yet bridged over. For such a stage significance\nis still of main importance, and what is aimed at is rather the\nconception of that in its general aspect, than the vitalization of any\none individual figure and the artistic enjoyment derived from such\npresentment. Sculpture proceeds here from the genius of an entire\npeople, about which we may on the one hand affirm, that it has in the\nfirst instance arrived at the point where the need of _imaginative_\nconception is disclosed; and it is satisfied to find that indicated in\nthe work of art, which is present in the conception, and here of course\nis a conception which is _religious._ We are not therefore entitled,\ntaking into consideration the great strides they have made in laborious\nactivity upon and actual perfection in technical execution, to call\nthe Egyptians uneducated in their sculpture merely on the ground that,\ndespite all this, they did not as yet in great measure seek to attach\ntruth, vitality, and beauty to their results, by virtue of which\nqualities the free work of art receives a soul. Doubtless from another\npoint of view the Egyptians did advance beyond the mere idea and its\nnecessary demand. They sought further to envisage and embody the same\nin human and animal forms, nay, they knew how to comprehend and set\nforth the forms, which they reproduced, clearly, without distortion and\nin their just relations. They failed, however, to impart to them the\nbreath of vitality, which the human form in its natural state already\npossesses, and to infuse with them that more exalted life, by virtue\nof which an active and fluent motion of spirit could be expressed in a\ncreated image that was adequate to its significance. Their works rather\nattest a seriousness that is entirely lifeless, an unsolved riddle, so\nthat the configuration does not so much embody their own individual\nideality as permit us to surmise a further significance which is\nstill alien to it. I will here only adduce one example, namely, the\nfrequently recurring figure of Isis, holding Horus on her knees. Here\nwe have, so far as externals are concerned, the same subject-matter\nthat we meet with in Christian art as the Madonna and her Child. In the\nsymmetrical, straight-lined, and immovable pose of the Egyptian example\nwe discover, to quote a recent description[204], \"neither a mother,\nnor a child; there is no trace of affection, smile, or endearment, in\na word there is no real expression at all. Tranquil, unperturbed, and\nimmovable is this divine mother, who suckles her divine babe; or rather\nwe have here neither goddess nor mother, nor son, nor god. It is simply\nthe sensuous sign of a thought, which is capable of no result and no\npassion; it is not the genuine presentation of a real action, still\nless the just expression of a natural emotion.\"\n\nAnd it is precisely this which constitutes the breach between\nsignification and determinate being, which creates the absence of\nfigurative expression in the artistic results of the Egyptian people.\nTheir ideality or spiritual sense is still so imbruted, that it has\nno imperative desire to possess the precision bound up in a true and\nvital representation carried through with detailed accuracy, to which\nthe onlooker has nothing to add, but may simply surrender himself\nto the attitude of reception and translation, because everything is\nalready a gift of the artist. We must have a more lofty feeling of the\nindividual's self-respect aroused than the Egyptians possessed, before\nwe cease to be content with the indefinite and superficial features of\nart, and make valid in its products a claim to reason, science, motion,\nexpression, soul, and beauty.\n\n(_b_) We find this artistic self-consciousness, so far as sculpture is\nconcerned, first wholly alive among the Greeks. By its presence all\nthe defects of the Egyptian phase of art vanish. Yet in this further\ndevelopment we do not have to make a wide leap from the imperfections\nof a type of sculpture still symbolical to the perfected result of\nthe classical Ideal. Rather the Ideal has, in its own distinctive\nprovince--I have noticed this more than once--although lifted to a\nhigher range, to remove the defects whereby in the first instance its\nonward path of perfection is obstructed.\n\n(_\u03b1_) I will here very briefly refer to _Aeginetan_ and ancient\n_Etruscan_ works of art as examples of such beginnings within the\nsphere itself of classical art. Both these stages, or rather styles,\nalready pass beyond that point of view, which is satisfied, as was the\ncase with Egypt, in repeating forms, we will not say absolutely opposed\nto Nature, but at least forms that are lifeless, precisely as they\nhave been received from others, and is further content to place before\nthe imagination a figure, from which the same can abstract its own\nreligious content and recover the same for memory, without, however,\nattempting to work it out under a mode, by virtue of which the work is\nmade apparent as the individual conception and vitality of the artist\nhimself.\n\nBut along with this and to the same degree this preliminary stage of\nideal art fails as yet to force its way entirely to the true classical\nground, and this, first, because it is still clearly constrained within\nthe bonds of the type and therewith the lifeless; secondly, because\nthough it makes an advance in the direction of vitality and motion,\nyet in the first instance all that it attains to is the vitality of\nwhat is wholly of _Nature_, rather than that beauty, whose animation\nis Spirit's own gift, and which manifests the life Spirit inseparably\nconjoint within the living presentment of its natural form, accepting\nthe individual modifications of this fully completed union with equal\nimpartiality from present vision of actual fact and the free creation\nof genius. It is only in recent times that we have obtained a more\ndetailed knowledge of Aeginetan works of art, over which it has been\na matter of controversy, whether they belonged to Greek art or no. In\nconsidering their artistic quality, as representations, we must at once\nmake an essential distinction between the head and the rest of the\nbody. The whole of the body, if we except the head, attests the most\nfaithful apprehension and imitation of Nature. Even accidental features\nof the skin are copied and excellently executed with an extraordinary\nmanipulation of the marble's surface; the muscles are set forth in\nfull relief and the skeleton framework of the body well indicated; the\nfigures are thickset in their severity of line[205], but are reflected\nwith such knowledge of the human organism, that they appear alive to a\nlimit of actual deception, ay, to an extent, so Wagner assures us[206],\nthat we are almost scared at the sight and hardly like to touch them.\n\nOn the other hand, in the execution of heads all attempt to represent\nNature is abandoned. One uniform design of face is throughout apparent\nin all the heads despite every divergence of action, character, and\nsituation; the noses are pointed; the forehead is still the retreating\ntype, which fails to rise up straight and with freedom; the ears\nare set high in the head; the long slit eyes are flat and oblique;\nthe closed mouth ends in corners which are pursed outwards; the\ncheeks are stretched flat-shaped; the chin, however, is strong and\nangular[207]. Of a similar uniformity is the form of the hair and the\nfall of the drapery, in which symmetry, a principle which is also\nuniquely conspicuous in the pose and groupings, and second to that, a\npeculiar kind of exquisiteness are the prevailing characteristics. This\nuniformity has been in part imputed to a lack of the sense of beauty in\nseizing national traits, and in part traced to the fact that reverence\nfor the ancient traditions of an art still immature has fettered the\nhands of the artists. An artist, however, whose life is that of his\npersonality, and who lives in his work, does not suffer his hands to\nbe thus shackled; consequently we can only explain this type of work,\nassociated as it is with great ability in other respects, by assuming\nsome bondage of spirit, as yet not wholly conscious of its freedom and\nindependence of its creative powers.\n\nThe pose of these figures is of the same kind of uniformity, not so\nmuch a quality of stiffness as uncouthness, lack of enthusiasm, and in\na measure, where we have the attitudes of warriors, resembling what we\nsometimes find from artisans at their trade, such as the rough work of\njoiners with the plane[208].\n\nThe net result, which we gather from the above description, we may\naffirm to be that, however interesting they may be for the history\nof art, what is wanting in such works of art, in the conflict they\ndisclose between tradition and the imitation of Nature, is _spiritual_\nanimation. For we must remember that, in accordance with what I have\nalready explained in the second chapter of this part of my work,\nspiritual significance is exclusively expressed in the countenance and\nthe pose of the figure. The other parts of the body no doubt indicate\nnatural distinctions of soul, sex, and age, but what is spiritual in\nthe full sense can only be reflected by the general pose. But it is\nprecisely the traits of countenance and the posture which in Aeginetan\nsculpture is the relatively spiritless.\n\nThe _Etruscan_ works of art, that is, such whose genuineness is fully\nauthenticated by inscription, display the same imitation of Nature in\na yet higher degree; they are, however, freer in their pose and facial\ncharacteristics, and, in fact, some of them approximate closely to the\nportrait. Winckelmann, for example[209], mentions the statue of a man\nwhich appears to be simply a portrait, though it would also appear to\ndate from a later period of art. It is a man of life-size, representing\nsome kind of orator, a magisterial, worthy sort of person. It is\nexecuted with an extraordinary spontaneity and naturalness both of pose\nand expression. Remarkable and significant it would indeed be, if we\ndid not recollect that on Roman soil it is not the Ideal but actual and\nprosaic natural fact which is from the first at home.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In the _second_ place truly _ideal_ sculpture, in order to reach\nthe highest point of classical art, has above all, to abandon the\nmere type and the respect for what is traditional, and to give free\nscope to the principle of spontaneity in artistic production. It is\nalone possible to a freedom of this kind entirely to incorporate the\nsignificance in its generality in the individual presentment of the\nform; or, from another point of view, to elevate the sensuous forms\nto the high level of a true expression of their spiritual import.\nOnly after doing this do we find the rigid and inflexible aspect\nwhich is native to the origins of the more ancient art, no less than\nthe emphatic prominence of the significance over the individuality,\nby means of which the content ought to be expressed, liberated as\nthat vital creation, in which the bodily forms also on their part\nequally lose the abstract uniformity of a traditional, character,\nand an illusive realism, and by doing so move in the direction\nof the classical individuality, which quite as much makes, vital\nthe universality of the form in the particularity of its object\nas, on the other hand, it makes the sensuousness and actuality of\nthe same throughout interfused with the expression of a soul's\ninspiration[210]. A vitalization of this type affects not only the\nform, but also the pose, movement, drapery, grouping, in short\nevery aspect of the sculptured figure to which I have already drawn\nattention. What here communicates unity are these two principles of\nuniversality and individualization. They have, however, not merely to\nbe brought into harmony in respect to the spiritual content, but also\nin relation to the material form, before they can be participant in\nthe indissoluble association which is the classical type in its full\nflavour. This identity, however, has itself a series of stages. In\nother words, under one extreme we find that the Ideal still somewhat\ninclines to the aspect of _loftiness_ and severity, which it is true\ndoes not deprive the individual object of its living impulse and\nmovement, yet does tend to concentrate it more securely under the\nlordship of the general type. At the other extreme we find that the\nuniversal aspect more and more tends to dissolve in the individual;\nand while it pays the penalty for doing so in loss of depth it can\nonly replace this loss by further elaboration of this sensuous\nindividuality. Consequently it descends from the heights to the lower\nlevels of that which _gives pleasure_, is exquisite, blithesome,\nand displays the charm which flatters. Between these two there is a\n_further_ phase, one, namely, which carries forward the severity of the\nfirst to increased individualization, without reaching that point where\nmere charm of aspect is held to be the supreme object.\n\n(_\u03b3_) _Thirdly_, in the art of _Rome_ we have indications of the\ndissolution of classical sculpture. In this art it is no longer upon\nthe true Ideal that the entire conception and execution depends. The\npoetry inherent in the vital action of Spirit, the breath and nobility\nof the soul apparent in the essentially perfected presentment, these\npeculiarly emphasized excellences of Greek plastic art disappear,\nand give place, as a rule, to a preference for portraiture studies.\nAnd this insistence on realistic truth in art is carried out in all\npossible modifications. Notwithstanding, this Roman sculpture maintains\nso lofty a position in this its own province, that it is only in so\nfar as it withdraws from that which brings a work of art to its full\nperfection, in other words, the poetry of the Ideal in the true sense\nof the word, that it essentially falls behind Greek art.\n\n(_c_) Fixing now our attention on _Christian_ sculpture we shall find\nthat the principle of artistic conception and its mode of embodiment is\nfrom the commencement one that does not so directly commend itself to\nthe material and forms of sculpture as we find to be the case in the\nclassical Ideal of the Greek imagination and art. The romantic Ideal in\nshort is essentially concerned, as we discovered in the second portion\nof this work, with a personal withdrawal of the self into its own realm\nfrom the external world, with a self-absorbed individuality, which\nno doubt possesses its external reflection, but which permits this\nexternal appearance to issue independently from it in its aspect of\nparticularity, without enforcing a fusion between it and its ideal and\nspiritual self. Pain, torture of body and soul, martyrdom and penance,\ndeath and resurrection, the personality of the individual soul, inner\nlife, love, and emotional life in general--this characteristic content\nof the romantic imagination, in a religious sense, is no object, for\nwhich the external form taken simply for what it is in its spatial\nentirety, and the material which belongs to it in its more sensuous\nexistence unrelated to ideality, can supply either a form that is\nwholly relevant to it, or one similarly congruent with it. It is\ntherefore not in romantic art sculpture contributes the fundamental\ntype and the affiliating quality of membership in a system[211] to\nall the other arts as in Greece, but yields the palm in this respect\nto painting and music, as arts more adequate to express the life of\nthe soul, distinct from the external world of particularity which is\nwithdrawn from it. No doubt we find also in Christian art repeated\nexamples of sculpture in wood, marble, bronze, and both silver and gold\nwork, examples of the greatest excellence. Yet for all that sculpture\nis not here the art which, as in Greek art, is most fitted to reveal\nthe Divine image. Religious romantic sculpture, on the contrary, is\nto a larger extent than in the case of the Greek, an embellishment of\narchitecture. The saints are placed as a rule in the niches of towers\nand buttresses, or at the entrance doors. Likewise the birth, baptism,\nthe histories of the passion and resurrection, and many other incidents\nin the life of Christ, the day of Judgment and so forth, accommodate\nthemselves naturally by the multiplicity of their subject-matter to\nreliefs over church doors, on church walls, and stalls in the choir,\nand readily approximate to the character of arabesques. All such\nsculpture contains, for the reason that it is the life of the soul\nwhich is herein pre-eminently expressed, characteristics suggestive\nof the painter's art in a higher degree than is permitted in the\nplastic of ideal sculpture. And from another point of view, for the\nsame reason, such a sculpture seizes more readily upon aspects of\nordinary life, and therewith inclines to portraiture, which, as in the\ncase of painting, it is quite prepared to associate with religious\nrepresentations. The goose-seller, for example, in the N\u00fcrnberg\nmarketplace, which is highly prized by Goethe and Meyer, is an ordinary\nrustic of very realistic appearance in bronze (it would be impossible\nin marble), who carries a goose under either arm to market. There are,\ntoo, the many sculptured figures, which we find upon the St. Sebaldus\nChurch and on many other churches and buildings, especially dating from\nthe period previous to Peter Vischer, and which in their representation\nof religious subjects such as the Passion, make clear to us with great\nvividness this particular type of individualized form, expression, mien\nand attitude, more particularly in their reflection of every degree of\nsorrow.\n\nAs a rule, then, romantic sculpture, which has deviated only too\nfrequently into every kind of confusion, remains most loyal to the\ngenuine principle of plastic art in those cases where it approaches\nmost nearly the Greek, and either is concerned to treat in the mode of\nsculpture ancient subject-matter, much as the ancients would have done,\nor to model the standing figures of heroes and kings, and portraits,\nwith an intention to imitate the antique. This is exceptionally the\ncase nowadays. Much of the most excellent work, however, has been\naccomplished by sculpture, even in the religious field. It is only\nnecessary here to mention the name of Michelangelo. We can hardly\nadmire sufficiently his dead Christ[212], of which we have a plaster\ncast in our Royal Museum. The authenticity of the sculptured figure\nof the Madonna in the Frauenkirche at Bruges, a consummate work, is\ndisputed by certain critics. Speaking for myself, nothing has ever\nmore impressed me than the tomb of the Count of Nassau at Breda[213].\nThe Count reposes with his lady, life-size figures both in alabaster,\non a slab of black marble. At the angles of this are placed Regulus,\nHannibal, Caesar, and a Roman warrior in a bowing posture, and they\nsupport above their heads a black slab similar to the one beneath.\nCould anything be more interesting than to see a character such as that\nof Caesar placed before our eyes by Michelangelo. Even when dealing\nwith religious subjects the genius, the power of imagination, the\nforce, thoroughness, boldness, in short all the extraordinary resources\nof this master tended, in the characteristic production of his art, to\ncombine the plastic principle of the ancients with the type of intimate\nsoul-life which we find in romantic art. But as we have seen, the\ndirection as a rule of the Christian emotion, where the religious point\nof view and idea are paramount, is not towards the classical form of\nideality, which primarily and with highest results is the determinant\nfactor of its sculpture.\n\n\nFrom this point we may now fix the transition from sculpture to another\nprinciple of artistic apprehension and presentment, which requires for\nits realization another sensuous material. In classical sculpture it\nwas the objective and _substantive_ individuality in its human shape,\nwhich constituted the vital core, and the human form was placed thereby\nat such a lofty level, that it was in fact retained in its abstract\nsimplicity as the beauty of form, and as such converted to the Divine\nimage. Under such a one-sided aspect of content and representation man\nis not fully himself in his _concrete humanity._ The anthropomorphism\nof art remains in its incomplete state in ancient sculpture. For that\nwhich fails us here is humanity in its _objective universality_, a\nuniversality which we identify at the same time with the principle\nof _absolute personality_, quite as much as that aspect of it which\nin common parlance is called human, in other words the phase of\n_subjective singularity_, human weakness, contingency, caprice,\nimmediate sense life, passion, and so forth, a phase or factor which\nmust be taken up into that universality in order that the _entire\nindividuality_, the subject of conscious life, that is, in its entire\nrange, and in the infinite compass of its reality, may appear as the\nvital principle both of the mode of presentment and its content.\n\nIn classical sculpture one of these phasal aspects, that is the human\nfrom the side of immediate Nature, is in part only brought before us\nin animals, quasi-animals, fauns and the like, without being reflected\nback again into the personal life of soul, and stated as a negation\nof that; and also in some measure this type of sculpture only accepts\nthe factor of particularity, only directs its interest to external\nthings in the _pleasing style_, in the countless sallies of delight and\nconceits, in which the antique plastic lives and moves. Owing to this\nwe wholly fail to meet here the profundity and infinity which lies at\nthe root of man's personal life, that inmost reconciliation of Spirit\nwith the Absolute, that ideal union of humanity with the humanity of\nGod. No doubt Christian sculpture is the instrument which makes visible\nthe content which here enters the domain of art more consonant with the\nabove disregarded principle. But it is precisely its modes of art's\nembodiment which expose to us the fact that sculpture is insufficient\nfor such a content, that other modes of art will infallibly arise able\nto reach in very truth the mark which sculpture failed in its work to\nachieve. We may collectively unite these new arts under the title of\nthe _romantic arts._ They are indeed the modes most adequate to express\nthe romantic type of art.\n\n[Footnote 111: _Sein subjektives F\u00fcrsichseyn._ Subjective independence\nof material conditions. Self-consciousness.]\n\n[Footnote 112: _R\u00fcckkehr in sich._ Into itself, its own ideal world of\nconscious thought and emotion.]\n\n[Footnote 113: _In seine innerliche Subjektivit\u00e4t._ That is, what is\nessentially the world of soul. Spirit here stands for mind and _Gem\u00fcth_\nor emotional life.]\n\n[Footnote 114: _Ein Sichzeichen des Geistes_, _i.e._, are signs of\nitself which mind evolves in a mode of externality.]\n\n[Footnote 115: Here called generically _Baukunst._]\n\n[Footnote 116: _Die plastische Deutlichkeit._]\n\n[Footnote 117: _Das subjektive Innere, i.e._, spiritual experience of a\npersonality.]\n\n[Footnote 118: That is in comparison with the fully independent arts.]\n\n[Footnote 119: That is to say it must be a distinct object of the\nsenses.]\n\n[Footnote 120: _In sich materiell particularisirt._ We see Hegel's\nfalse notions of the theory of colour influencing his expression. It is\nreally false to say that sculpture has nothing to do with colour. Light\nand shadow at least are necessary and colour is implied.]\n\n[Footnote 121: That is, lets fall some of its aspects.]\n\n[Footnote 122: _Das Gem\u00fcth._ Strictly the more emotional part.]\n\n[Footnote 123: Between the extremes of architecture and poetry or\nmusic.]\n\n[Footnote 124: Lit., \"Without being manifested in its return to itself\nas ideal substance.\"]\n\n[Footnote 125: Unparticularized, that is in its essential experience.]\n\n[Footnote 126: He explains this lower down. The concentrated point is\nin the flash of the eye. Perhaps here he merely refers to it generally.]\n\n[Footnote 127: _Als Innerlichkeit._]\n\n[Footnote 128: This is only partially true of bronze, and any marble\nthat has had weathering.]\n\n[Footnote 129: By _grosse geistige Sinn_ Hegel means no doubt more than\n\"taste.\" He refers to the deep-rooted instinct in the genius of the\nrace.]\n\n[Footnote 130: Meyer, \"History of the Plastic Arts among the Greeks,\"\nvol. I, p. 119.]\n\n[Footnote 131: _Die acht plastische Mitte._ Hegel means that plastic\nart comes to its most important focus, as it were, between the arts\nthat either incline too much to the material as in architecture, or to\nideality as in poetry.]\n\n[Footnote 132: _N\u00e4heren._]\n\n[Footnote 133: The reader must always bear in mind that Spirit\n(_Geist_) includes intelligence. It might no doubt in some places be\nbetter translated as \"mind.\"]\n\n[Footnote 134: _Substantielle._ That is what is the concrete fulness of\nreal spiritual content.]\n\n[Footnote 135: _Als Subjekt._]\n\n[Footnote 136: _Besonderheit._ The isolated self of the _Aufkl\u00e4rung._]\n\n[Footnote 137: _Zuf\u00e4lligen Selbstischkeit._ Contingent selfness. The\nego above described.]\n\n[Footnote 138: _Ohne innere Subjektivit\u00e4t als solche._ That is, in the\nwholly abstract sense.]\n\n[Footnote 139: _Begriff_ appears to refer here to the notion of animal\nlife generally, rather than the generic notion in its narrow sense.]\n\n[Footnote 140: _Innern Strukture._ The structure that ideally motives\nthe whole.]\n\n[Footnote 141: _Dieses ideelle einfache F\u00fcrsichseyn des leiblichen._\nApparently this includes the vegetable world.]\n\n[Footnote 142: _Macht sich._ That is an operative principle in the\nworking out of.]\n\n[Footnote 143: _Als Seele_, _i.e._, in the narrow sense of the\nexpression above defined.]\n\n[Footnote 144: _Pathognomik_, _i.e._, the science, that is, of the\nexpression of the passions, together with that of their physiological\naspect.]\n\n[Footnote 145: Lit., contingent subjectivity.]\n\n[Footnote 146: Hegel's expression _Mienen_ is not easy to translate\nby a single English equivalent. It signifies the passing look--the\ngeneral variety of facial expression as contrasted with the permanent\nexpression of substantive character.]\n\n[Footnote 147: _Den eigentlichen Mienen._ The definite aspects of the\nface which express relatively permanent states of soul-life.]\n\n[Footnote 148: Persists in the line of direction of the Ideal.]\n\n[Footnote 149: _Die sch\u00f6ne freie Nothwendigkeit._]\n\n[Footnote 150: By _Witzigkeit_ I presume Hegel means oddity and\nfunniness of every kind--perhaps \"humorous eccentricity\" would\ninterpret it.]\n\n[Footnote 151: I think this gives the sense, though the language is\nrather confused because his image is that of invention attaching itself\nto what is already presented rather than creating a form that is based\non external suggestion.]\n\n[Footnote 152: The celebrated courtesan. She entered the sea with\ndishevelled hair at a celebrated festival at Eleusis. She had a statue\nof gold at Delphi.]\n\n[Footnote 153: _Eigentlich Vorstellung ist._]\n\n[Footnote 154: _Statarisch._ That is, modelled on historical\nassociations or the results of former work; perhaps \"eclectic\" would be\na better word.]\n\n[Footnote 155: _Der geistige Ton._]\n\n[Footnote 156: _De varietate nationum_, \u00a7 60.]\n\n[Footnote 157: As in savage animals.]\n\n[Footnote 158: The word _system_ is used, which is not readily\ntranslated in this context, though I have adopted the literal\ntranslation lower down.]\n\n[Footnote 159: _Mildrung._ The softening of its severe lines.]\n\n[Footnote 160: Werke, vol. IV, bk. 5, c. 5, \u00a7 20, p. 198.]\n\n[Footnote 161: It is difficult to see what Hegel means exactly here by\n_Schnitte._ I suppose he means the external lines of the eye-socket.]\n\n[Footnote 162: _L.c._ \u00a7 29.]\n\n[Footnote 163: _Fl\u00fcgeln_ must here refer to the orifices of the nose.]\n\n[Footnote 164: Winck, _l.c._ \u00a7 37, p. 218.]\n\n[Footnote 165: Hegel's word is _habitus._ Customary attitude and mode\nof connection appears to be included.]\n\n[Footnote 166: _Gebehrde_, a word somewhat difficult to translate here.\nIt seems to combine the ideas of gesture and pose.]\n\n[Footnote 167: The reference is, of course, to painting and indirectly\nto poetry.]\n\n[Footnote 168: _Ein in sich versunkenes Dastehn oder Liegen._]\n\n[Footnote 169: _Gediegenheit._]\n\n[Footnote 170: See vol. I, pp. 268-272.]\n\n[Footnote 171: _Das h\u00f6here Innere._]\n\n[Footnote 172: _Das geistige Bewusstseyn._]\n\n[Footnote 173: Her. I, _c._ 10.]\n\n[Footnote 174: This vitality.]\n\n[Footnote 175: Vol. V, bk. 2, p. 503.]\n\n[Footnote 176: Vol. V, bk. 6, ch. 2, p. 56.]\n\n[Footnote 177: Mus. Pio-Clement. Tom. 2, pp. 89-92.]\n\n[Footnote 178: Winck., vol. II, p. 491.]\n\n[Footnote 179: Vol. IV, bk. 5, ch. I, \u00a7 29.]\n\n[Footnote 180: I am not sure what is exactly meant by _gekr\u00fcmmt_ here.\nThe description is not very lucid.]\n\n[Footnote 181: IV, 5, 2, \u00a7 10.]\n\n[Footnote 182: Winck., vol. VII, p, 78.]\n\n[Footnote 183: Winck., vol, VII, p. 80.]\n\n[Footnote 184: Vol. IV, p. 78.]\n\n[Footnote 185: Vol. II, \u00a7 I.]\n\n[Footnote 186: Winck., vol. IV, p. 116.]\n\n[Footnote 187: Such is, I think, the general meaning, though the\nliteral translation of the words _als den Figuren s\u00e4mmtlich die\nEinfachheit abgeht_ is not quite clear. I take the word _s\u00e4mmtlich_ to\nmean \"taken collectively as separate units.\"]\n\n[Footnote 188: Winck., Werk., vol. V, p. 389. Anmerk.]\n\n[Footnote 189: Meyer's _Gesch. der bild. K\u00fcnste bei den Griechen_, vol.\nI, p. 60.]\n\n[Footnote 190: Pausanias, II, 30.]\n\n[Footnote 191: I presume this is the meaning of _Bildnerei._]\n\n[Footnote 192: I am not sure whether _Angaben_ refers to actual\nsketches, or merely other evidence handed down.]\n\n[Footnote 193: In the year 1829.]\n\n[Footnote 194: That is in the accuracy of mechanical line as the result\nof machine.]\n\n[Footnote 195: _Sanftes Verlaufen, i.e._, passage from one plane\nsurface to another. _Zusammen-stossen_ appears to me the melting\ntogether of lines, _i.e._, conjunction, fusion.]\n\n[Footnote 196: Meyer's _Gesch._, vol. I, p. 279.]\n\n[Footnote 197: Vol. III, Vorr. XXVII.]\n\n[Footnote 198: That is in 1821.]\n\n[Footnote 199: _Statarischen_, scholastic, eclectic.]\n\n[Footnote 200: \"De Leg.,\" Lib. II, ed. Bekk., III, 2, p. 239.]\n\n[Footnote 201: Herod, II, _c._ 167.]\n\n[Footnote 202: Vol. III, bk. 2, ch. I, p. 74.]\n\n[Footnote 203: Vol. III, bk. 2, ch. 2, pp. 77-84.]\n\n[Footnote 204: \"Cours d'Arch\u00e9ologie par Raoul-Rochette,\n1-12me le\u00e7on,\" Paris, 1828.]\n\n[Footnote 205: I am not sure if this rightly gives the sense of the\nwords _Die Gestalten bei strenger Zeichnung gedrungen._]\n\n[Footnote 206: Ueber die Aeg. Bildwerke mit kunstgesch. Anmerk. von\nSchelling, 1817.]\n\n[Footnote 207: That is, it does not approach Egyptian type so nearly.]\n\n[Footnote 208: Hegel's words mean this, I suppose, though the German is\nsomewhat compressed and not very clear as it stands.]\n\n[Footnote 209: Vol. III, ch. 2, \u00a7 10, p. 188 and Pl. VI, A.]\n\n[Footnote 210: Hegel uses the unusual word _Begeistigung_, I presume\nsomewhat in the sense of _Begeisterung_, signifying the personal\ninspiration of the artist.]\n\n[Footnote 211: This appears to be the meaning of the difficult\nphrase that sculpture supplies _das gesammte Daseyn_, _i.e._, is the\naffiliating link of the collective body. All the different arts are\nstamped with its characteristics.]\n\n[Footnote 212: I presume the Piet\u00e0 in St. Peter's.]\n\n[Footnote 213: Hegel's \"Vermisch. Schriften,\" vol. II, p. 561.]\n\n\n\n\nSUBSECTION III\n\n\nTHE ROMANTIC ARTS\n\n\nThe source of the general transition from sculpture to the other arts\nis, as we have seen, the principle of _subjectivity_, which now invades\nart's content and its manner of exposition. What we understand here by\nsubjectivity is the notion of an intelligence which ideally exists in\nfree independence, withdrawing itself from objective reality into its\nown more intimate domain, a conscious life which no longer concentrates\nitself with its corporeal attachment in a unity which is without\ndivision.\n\nThere follows from this transition, therefore, that dissolution,\nthat dismemberment of the unity which is held together in the\nsubstantive and objective presence of sculpture, in the focus of its\ntranquillity and all-inclusive rondure and as such is apprehended\nin fusion. We may consider this breach from two points of view. On\nthe one hand sculpture, in respect to its _content_, entwined what\nis substantive in Spirit directly with the individuality, which is\nas yet not self-introspective, in the exclusive unit of a personal\nconsciousness, and treated thereby an _objective_ unity in the sense in\nwhich objectivity suggests what is intrinsically infinite, immutable,\ntrue--that substantive aspect, in short, which has no part in mere\ncaprice and singularity. And from another point of view sculpture\nfailed to do more than discharge this spiritual content wholly within\nthe corporeal frame as the vital and significant instrument of the\nsame, and by doing so create a _new objective_ unity in _that_ meaning\nof the expression, under which objectivity, as contrasted with all that\nis wholly ideal and subjective, indicates real and external existence.\n\nWhen we find, then, that these two aspects, at first thus reconciled\nin one another by sculpture, are separated, that which we call\n_self-introspective_ spirituality is not merely placed in opposition\nto that which is _external_, but also, in the domain of what is\n_spiritual_ throughout, what is substantive and objective in that\nmedium, in so far as it no longer continues to be retained in what\nis substantial individuality simply, is dissevered from the vital\nparticularity of the conscious life, and all these aspects which have\nbeen hitherto held together in perfect fusion are relatively to each\nother and independently free, so that they can be treated too by art as\nfree in this very way.\n\n1. If we examine the content, then, we have through the above process,\non the one hand, the substantive being of what is spiritual, the world\nof truth and eternity, the _Divine_ in fact, which however here, in\naccordance with the principle of particularity, is comprehended and\nrealized by art as a subject of consciousness, or as personality, as\nthe Absolute, which is self-conscious in the medium of its infinite\nspiritual substance, as God in His Spirit and Truth. And in contrast to\nHim we have asserted the worldly and _human_ condition of soul-life,\nwhich, regarded now as no longer in direct union with the intrinsic\nsubstance of Spirit, can unfold itself in all the fulness of that\nparticularity which is simply human, and thereby permits the heart of\nman wherever and whenever represented[214], the entire wealth of our\nhuman mortality, to be open to art's acceptance.\n\nThe meeting-ground upon which these two aspects once more coalesce is\nthe principle of _subjectivity_, which is common to both. The Absolute\nis, in virtue of this, disclosed to us to the full extent a living,\nactual, and equally human subject of consciousness, as the human and\nfinite conscious life, viewed as spiritual, makes vital and real the\nabsolute substance and truth, or in other words simply the Divine\nSpirit. The new bond of unity which is thus secured no longer, however,\nsupports the character of that former immediacy, such as sculpture\ndisclosed it; rather it is a union and reconciliation which asserts\nitself essentially as a mediation of opposed factors, and whose very\nnotion makes its apprehension only possible in the realms of _the\nsoul_ and ideal life.\n\nI have already, when the general subdivision of our science in its\nentire compass offered an opportunity for doing so, laid it down, that\nif the Ideal of sculpture sets forth in a sensuously present image the\nessential solidity[215] of the individuality of the God in the bodily\nform alone able to express that substance, the community thereupon\nessentially confronts such an object as the intelligent reflection of\nthat unity. Spirit, however, that is wholly self-absorbed can only\npresent the substance of Spirit under the mode of Spirit, in other\nwords as a conscious subject, and receives thereby straightway the\nprinciple of the spiritual reconciliation of individual subjective\nlife with God. As particular self, however, man also possesses his\ncontingent natural existence, and a sphere of finite interests, needs,\naims, and passions, whether it be more extensive or restricted, in\nwhich he is able to realize and satisfy his nature quite as much\nas he can in the same be absorbed in those ideas of God and the\nreconciliation with God.\n\n2. _Secondly_, if we consider the aspect of the representation on its\n_external_ side, we find that it is by virtue of its particularity\nat once self-subsistent and possesses a claim to stand forth in\nthis independence, and this for the reason that the principle of\nsubjectivity excludes that correspondence in its immediacy, and\ndisallows to itself the absolute interfusion of the ideal and\nexternal aspects in every part and relation of it. For the subjective\nprinciple is here precisely that which comes to be, in self-subsistent\nseclusion, that inward life which retires from real or objective\nexistence into the realm of the Ideal, the world of emotion, soul,\nheart, and contemplation[216]. This ideal life is manifested no doubt\nin its external form, under a mode, however, in which the external\nform itself appears, that is to say it is _merely_ the outer shell\nof a conscious subject that is growing _independently_ within. The\nhard and fast association of the bodily form and the life of Spirit\nin classical sculpture is not therefore carried to the point of an\nall-dissolving unity[217] but in so light and slack a coalescence\nthat both aspects, albeit neither is present without the other,\npreserve in this connection their separate independence relatively to\nthe other, or at least, if a profounder union is really secured, the\nspiritual aspect as that inward principle, which asserts its presence\nover and beyond its suffusion with the objective or external material,\nbecomes the essentially illuminating focus of all. And it results from\nthis that, to promote the enhancement of this relatively increased\nself-subsistency of the objective and material aspect,--we have in\nour mind mainly, no doubt, the extreme case of the representation\nof external Nature and its objects, even in their isolated and most\nexclusive particularity,--yet even in such a case and despite all\nrealism in the presentment it is necessary that such counterfeits\nshould permit a reflection of the artist's soul to be visible on\ntheir face. They should in other words suffer us to see the sympathy\nof Spirit in the manner of their artistic realization, and therewith\ndiscover to us the life of soul, the ideal life which is the vital\nbreath of their co-ordination, the penetration of man's emotional life\nitself into this extreme type of external environment.\n\nSpeaking, then, generally, we may affirm that the principle of\nsubjectivity carries with it as its inevitable result, on the one hand,\nthat the wholly unconstrained union of Spirit with its corporeal frame\nshould be given up, and the bodily aspect be asserted in a more or less\nnegative relation over against the former, in order that the ideality\nof Spirit may be emphasized on the front of that external reality, and,\non the other hand, in order to procure free scope for every separate\nfeature of the variety, division, and movement of what is spiritual no\nless than what directly appeals to man's senses.\n\n3. And, _thirdly_, this new principle has to establish itself in the\nsensuous material, of which art avails itself in its new manifestations.\n\n(_a_) The material hitherto was matter simply, that is, the material\nof gravity in the content of its spatial extension, and no less was it\nform under its simplest and most abstract definition of configuration.\nNow that the _subjective_ and at the same time the essentially\nparticularized content of the soul is imported into this material,\nthe spatial totality of such material will without question in some\nmeasure suffer loss in order that the former content may appear\nupon its face with its ideal mintage[218], and contrariwise will be\nconverted from its immediately material guise to an appearance which\nis the product of _mind_ or spirit; and, on the other hand, both in\nrespect to form and its externally sensuous visibility, all the detail\nof what appears will be necessarily emphasized in the way that the new\ncontent requires. Art is, however, even now compelled in the first\ninstance to move in the realm of the visible and sensuous, because,\nfollowing the above course of our inquiry, though no doubt the inward\nor ideal is conceived as self-introspection[219], yet it has further to\nappear as a return of its own quality to itself from this very realm\nof _externality_ and _material shape_, in short, as a return of itself\nto itself, which can only from the earliest point of view be portrayed\nin the objective existence of Nature and the corporeal existence of\nSpirit's life.\n\nThe _first_ among the romantic arts will consequently have as its\nproper function to assert its content in the visible forms of the\nexternal human figure and the natural shape wherever disclosed,\nwithout, however, remaining bound to the sensuous ideality and abstract\nrange of sculpture. This is the task and province of _painting._\n\n(_b_) In so far, however, as we find in painting for its fundamental\ntype, not as in sculpture the entirely perfected resolution of the\nspiritual idea and the bodily form in one content, but rather the\npredominant exposition of the self-absorbed ideality of soul, to that\nextent the spatial figure in extension is not a truly adequate medium\nof expression for the inward life of Spirit. Art therefore abandons the\nprevious medium of configuration, and in the place of spatial forms\nemploys the medium of _tone_ in the limited duration of its sounds;\ntone in fact by its assertion of the material of Space under a purely\nnegative relation secures for itself a finite existence nearer to\nideality, and corresponds to that soul-life, which in accordance with\nits own inward experience conceives and grasps that life as emotion,\nand then expresses that content, as it enforces its claim in the unseen\nmovement of heart and soul, in the procession of tones. The second\nart, therefore, which follows this principle of exposition is that of\n_music._\n\n(_c_) Thereby, however, music merely is placed at the opposite\nextreme, and, in contrast to the plastic arts, both in respect to its\ncontent and relatively to its sensuous material, and the mode of its\nexpression, cleaves fast to the formless content of its pure ideality.\nIt is, however, the function of art, in virtue of its essential\nnotion, to disclose to the senses not _merely_ the soul-life, but the\nmanifestation and actuality of the same in its _external reality._\nWhen, however, art has abandoned the process of veritably informing\nthe real and consequently visible form of objective existence, and has\napplied its activity to the element itself of soul-life, the objective\nreality, to which it once more recurs, can no longer be the reality as\nsuch in itself, but one which is merely _imagined_ and prefigured to\nthe mind or sensitive soul. The presentment, moreover, as being the\ncommunication to Spirit of creative mind working in its own domain\nis compelled to use the _sensuous_ material united to its disclosure\nsimply as a mere means for such communication. It must consequently\nlower its denomination to that of a sign which of itself is without\nsignificance. It is at this point that _poetry_ or the art of speech,\nconfronts us, which now incorporates its art-productions in the medium\nof a speech elaborated to an instrument of artistic service, precisely\nas intelligence already in ordinary speech makes intelligible to\nspiritual life all that it carries in itself. And, moreover, for the\nreason that it is able thus to unfold the _entire_ content of Spirit in\nits own medium, it is the _universal_ art, which belongs indifferently\nto all the types of art, and is only excluded in that case where the\nspiritual life which is still unrevealed to itself in its highest\nform of content is merely able to make itself aware of its own dim\npresentiments in the form and configuration of that which is external\nand alien to itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nTHE ART OF PAINTING\n\n\nThe most adequate object of sculpture is the tranquil self-absorption\nof personality in its essential substance, the character whose\nspiritual individuality is in the fullest degree displayed on the face\nof its corporeal presentment, making the sensuous frame, which reveals\nthis incorporation of spirit, adequate to such an embodiment of mind\nwholly in its aspects of external form. The sightless look has as yet\nfailed to concentrate at one point the supreme focus of ideal life,\nthe vital breath of soul, the heart of most intimate feeling, and is\nas yet without spiritual movement, without the deliberate distinction\nbetween a world without it and a life within. It is on account of this\nthat the sculpture of the ancients leaves us in some degree unmoved.\nWe either do not remain long before it, or our delay is rather due\nto a scientific investigation of the fine modifications of form and\ndetail which it displays. We cannot blame mankind if they are unable\nto take the profound interest in fine works of sculpture which such\nworks deserve. To know how to value them is a study in itself. At\nfirst glance we either experience no attraction, or are immediately\nconscious of the general character of the whole. To come to closer\nquarters we have first to discover what it is that continues to supply\nsuch an interest. An enjoyment, however, which is only the possible\nresult of study, thought, learning, and a wide experience is not the\nimmediate object of art. And, moreover, the essential demand we make\nthat a character should develop, should pass into the field of action\nand affairs, and that the soul should thereby meet with divisions\nand-grow deeper, this, after all our journey in search of the delight\nwhich this study of the works of antique sculpture may bring to us,\nremains unsatisfied. For this reason we inevitably feel more at home\nin painting. In other words we are at once and for the first time\nconscious in it of the principle of our finite and yet essentially\ninfinite spiritual substance, the life and breath of our own existence;\nwe contemplate in its pictures the very spark which works and is active\nin ourselves. The god of sculpture remains for sense-perception an\nobject simply; in painting, on the contrary, the Divine appears as\nitself essentially the living subject of spiritual life, which comes\ninto direct relations with the community, and makes it possible for\neach individual thereof to place himself in spiritual communion and\nreconcilement with Him. The substantive character of such a Divinity\nis not, as in sculpture, an individual that persists in the inflexible\nbond of its own limitations[220], but is one which expands into and is\ndifferentiated within the community itself.\n\nThe same principle generally differentiates the individual from his\nown bodily frame and external environment to quite as considerable an\nextent as it brings the soul into mediated relation with the same.\nWithin the compass of this subjective differentiation--regarded as the\nindependent assertion of human individuality as opposed to God, Nature,\nand the inward and external life of other persons, regarded also\nconversely as the most intimate relation, the most secure communion of\nGod with the community, and of individual men with God, the environment\nof Nature and the infinite variety of the wants, purposes, passions,\nand activities of human existence--falls the entire movement and\nvitality, which sculpture, both in respect to its content and its\nmeans of contributing expression, suffers to escape; and it adds an\nimmeasurable wealth of new material and a novel breadth and variety\nof artistic treatment which hitherto was absent. Briefly, then, this\nprinciple of subjectivity is on the one hand the basis of division,\non the other a principle of mediation and synthesis, so that painting\nunites in one and the same art what hitherto formed the subject-matter\nof two different arts, namely, the external environment, which\narchitecture treated artistically, and the essentially spiritual form,\nwhich was elaborated by sculpture. Painting places its figures on the\nbackground of a Nature or an architectural environment, both of which\nare the products of its own invention in precisely the same sense,\nand is able to make this external material in both of these aspects\nby virtue of its emotional powers and soul a counterfeit within its\nideal realm, in the degree that it understands how best to place it in\nrelation and harmony with the spirit of the figures that live and move\ntherein.\n\nSuch is the principle of the new advance that painting contributes to\nthe representative powers of art.\n\nIf we inquire now the course which the more detailed examination of our\nsubject necessitates the following division will serve us.\n\nIn the _first_ place we shall have yet further to consider the _general\ncharacter_ which the art of painting must necessarily receive in\naccordance with its notion and relatively both to its specific content,\nthe material that is made consonant with this content and finally the\nartistic treatment which is thereby involved.\n\n_Secondly_, we have to develop the _separate_ modes of definition,\nwhich are contained in the principle of such a content and manner\nof presentation, and more succinctly fix the boundaries of the\nsubject-matter which is adapted to painting no less than the modes of\nits conception, composition, and technical qualities as painting.\n\n_Thirdly_, painting is itself _broken up_ into _distinct schools_ of\npainting by reason of the above divisions of matter, technique, and so\nforth, which, as in the other arts, have their own phases of historical\ndevelopment.\n\n\n\n1. GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE ART OF PAINTING\n\n\nAfter having thus emphasized as the essential principle of painting\nthat world of the soul in its vitality of feeling, conception, and\naction cast in embrace round heaven and earth, in the variety of its\nmanifestations and external disclosures within the bodily frame, and\naffirmed on this account that the focus, and centre of this art is to\nbe sought for in romantic and Christian art, it may immediately occur\nto the reader that not only do we find excellent artists among the\nancients, who are as distinguished in this art as others of their\nage in sculpture--and we cannot praise them more highly--but also\nthat other peoples, notably the Chinese, Hindoos, and Egyptians, have\nsecured distinction in the direction of painting. Without question the\nart of painting is, by virtue of the variety of the objects treated and\nthe particular type of its manner of execution, less[221] restricted\nin the range of nations that exemplify its pursuit. This, however, is\nnot the point at issue. If our question is simply that of the historian\ndoubtless we find single examples of one type[222] of painting or\nanother have been produced at the most varied epochs by the nations\nalready mentioned and others. It is, however, a profounder question\naltogether when we ask ourselves what is the _principle_ of painting,\nexamine the means of its exposition and in doing so seek to establish\nthat content, which by virtue of its _own nature_ is emphatically\nconsonant with the _painter's art_ as such and its mode of presentment,\nso that we can affirm the form thus selected to be wholly adequate to\nthe content in question. We have but little left us of the painting of\nthe ancient world, examples, in fact, which we see can neither have\nformed part of the most consummate work of antiquity in this respect,\nnor have been the product of its most famous masters. At least all that\nhas been discovered through excavation in private houses is of this\ncharacter. It is impossible, however, not to admire the delicacy of\ntaste, the suitability of the objects, selected, the clearness of the\ngrouping, and, we may add, the lightness of the handling and freshness\nof the colouring, excellences which without doubt were present in the\noriginals of such pictures in a far higher degree, in imitation of\nwhich, for example, the wall paintings in the so-called house of the\ntragedian at Pompeii have been executed. We have, unfortunately, no\nexamples of the works of famous masters. Whatever degree of excellence,\nhowever, these more original productions attained, we may none the\nless affirm that the ancients could not, alongside of the unmatchable\nbeauty of their sculptures, have lifted the art of painting to the\nlevel of artistic elaboration as painting which we find secured in the\nChristian era of the Middle Ages, and pre-eminently in the sixteenth\nand seventeenth centuries. And we may assume this to be so on the\nphilosophical ground that the most genuine heart of the Greek outlook\nis, in a degree which is inapplicable to the other arts, concordant\nwith the root and fragrance of that which sculpture and sculpture\nalone can supply. And in art we are not entitled to separate spiritual\ncontent from its mode of presentation. If, having this clear to our\nminds, we inquire how it is that painting only reached its most\ncharacteristic consummation through the content of the romantic type of\nart, we can but reply that it is precisely the intimacy of feeling, the\nblessedness[223] and pain that give to us the soul of this profounder\ncontent, whose demand is for such a vital infusion, which has paved the\nway to and in fact been the cause of this higher perfection of painting.\n\nAs an example of what I mean I will but recall to recollection one\nparticular instance already cited, namely, that we borrow from\nRaoul-Rochette of the treatment of Isis carrying Horns on her knees. In\ngeneral the subject is identical with the Madonna pictures, a Divine\nmother and her child. The difference of handling and conception in the\ntwo cases, however, is immeasurable. The Egyptian Isis, as we find\nher thus situated on bas-reliefs, has nothing maternal about her, no\ntenderness, no trait of soul or emotion, such as is not even wholly\nabsent in the stiffer Byzantine pictures of the Madonna. And if we\nthink of Raphael, or any other great Italian master, what results have\nthey not achieved from this subject of the Mother and Christ-babe!\nWhat depth of emotion, what spiritual life, what intimacy and wealth\nof heart, what exaltation and endearment, how human and yet how\nentirely filled with divine spirit is the soul which speaks to us\nfrom every line and feature. And under what infinite variety of forms\nand situations is this one subject presented to us even by particular\nmasters taken singly and still more by different artists. The mother,\nthe pure Virgin, the physical, the spiritual beauty, loftiness and\ndevotion of love, all this and countless other features are emphasized\nin their turn as the main significance of the expression. But chief\nof all we find throughout that it is not the sensuous beauty of mere\nform, but the animate life of Spirit, by virtue of which artistic\ngenius no less than mastery of execution is asserted and secured. Now\nit is quite true that Greek art has passed a long way beyond Egyptian\nart, and we may add that it has made the expression of man's soul an\nobject aimed for. But it was not capable of grasping that intimacy\nand depth of emotion which is discovered to us in the Christian type\nof expression, and indeed was careful, in accordance with its entire\ncharacter, not to attach itself to such intensity of feeling. Take, for\ninstance, the case I have more than once already cited of the faun, who\ncarries the youthful Bacchus in his arms; it is, no doubt, expressive\nof extremely tender and amiable qualities. The nymphs are equally so\nwho tend upon Bacchus, a situation which is depicted by a gem in a\nvery beautiful group of figures. In such cases we have an analogous\nsentiment of unconstrained love for a child, equally free from passion\nand yearning; but, even putting on one side the maternal relation[224],\nthe expression possesses in no respect the intimacy, the depth of soul,\nwhich confront us in Christian paintings. The ancients may very well\nhave painted excellent portraits, but neither their way of conceiving\nnatural fact, nor the point of view from which they regarded human and\ndivine conditions was of the kind that, in the case of painting, an\ninfusion of soul-life could be expressed with such intimate intensity\nas was possible in Christian painting.\n\nThe demand of painting, however, for this more personal type of\ninspiration is a result of its very material. In other words, the\nsensuous medium in which it moves is an extension on pure surface, and\nthe display of form by means of the use of _diversified_ colours, by\nvirtue of which process the objective shape, as we have it presented\nto the vision, is converted to an artificial illusion adopted by a\nspiritual agency[225] in the place of the actual form of fact. It is\npart of the principle of such a treatment of material that which is\nexternal should not ultimately retain its validity in its independent\nnative existence, even in the modified form it takes as a vital\nproduct of human hands, but should in this form of realization be\nlowered as reality to a purely phenomenal reflex of the _inward_\nsoul-life itself, which seeks to contemplate itself independently as\nsuch. When we look into the heart of the matter we shall find that\nthe advance from the rounded form of sculpture amounts to nothing\nless than the above statement. It is the soul-life, the ideality\nof Spirit which undertakes to express itself in an intimate way\nthrough the counterfeit of the objective world. Add to this, in the\nsecond place, that the surface on which the art of painting makes\nits objects visible, opens independently the path to the employment\nof a surrounding background and other complex relations; and colour\ntoo, regarded as the articulation of that which appears, requires\na correspondent differentiation of soul-life, which can only be\nrendered clearly through the definition of expression, situation,\nand action, and consequently makes necessary variety, movement, and\nthe detailed exposition of both the inward and external life. This\nprinciple of inwardness[226] taken alone, which at the same time in\nits actual manifestation is associated with the variety of external\nexistence and is cognizable on the face of such particular existence\nas an essentially complete and independent complex of conditions, we\nhave already seen to be the principle of the romantic type of art, in\nwhose configuration and mode of presentation consequently the medium\nof painting discovers in a unique way its _wholly adequate object._\nConversely we may affirm at the same time that romantic art, when\nthe question is actually one of definite works of art, must seek for\nmaterial which is consonant with its content, and in the first instance\nit finds such in painting, which consequently remains more or less of\na formal character when dealing with all objects and compositions not\nof this type[227]. Granting, then, the fact that we find outside the\nChristian paintings an Oriental, Greek, and Roman school of painting,\nyet the real centre and focus of all is none the less the elaboration\nwhich this art secured within the boundaries of romantic art. We can\nonly speak of Oriental and Greek painting in the same kind of way\nas we did when, despite our main thesis that sculpture attained its\nhighest crown of perfection in the classical Ideal, we referred to a\nsubordinate Christian type of sculpture. In other words we are forced\nto admit that the art of painting first apprehends its content in the\nmaterial of the romantic type of art, which completely corresponds to\nits instruments and its modes, and consequently that it was only after\nthe treatment of such material that it discovered how best to use and\nelaborate in every direction all the means at its disposal.\n\nFollowing now the course of the above remarks in a wholly general\nway we have to observe as follows in connection with the _content_,\n_material_, and _artistic mode_ of treatment of painting.\n\n(_a_) The fundamental definition of the _content_ of painting is, as we\nhave seen, subjectivity as an independent process[228].\n\n(_\u03b1_) In this process, looking at it from the point of view of a\n_reflex of soul-life_, individuality must not wholly pass into the\nuniversality its substance, but must on the contrary disclose how\nit retains that content as a distinctive personality[229], and\npossesses and expresses its inward life, that is the vitality of its\nown conception and feeling in the same; neither should the external\nform be wholly dominated by the ideal individuality as is the case\nin sculpture. For the principle of subjectivity, albeit that it\npermeates the external material as the mode of objectivity adequate to\nexpress it, is notwithstanding likewise an identity which withdraws\nitself into itself out of that objective domain, and by virtue of\nthis self-seclusion is relatively to that objective aspect neutral,\nleaving it quite untrammelled. Just as therefore, on the spiritual\nside of the content, the particularity of the personal life is not\nset forth in direct union with its substance and universality, but is\nessentially reflected as the culminating feature of its independent\nembodiment[230], so, too, in the objective envisagement of form, the\nparticularity and universality of the same are carried from their\nprevious plastic union[231] to a predominance of the individual aspect,\nand indeed of comparatively accidental and indifferent features, and\nin a manner much the same as that which, in the reality of sense\nexperience, is the prevailing character of all phenomena.\n\n(_\u03b2_) A _further_ important point is that connected with the range\nof _scope_ that is permitted to the art of painting in virtue of its\nprinciple with regard to the objects to be thus presented.\n\nThe free principle of subjectivity suffers on the one hand the entire\nfield of natural objects, and every department of human activity to\nremain in its substantive mode of existence; on the other, it is\ncapable of entering into fusion with all possible detail, and creating\ntherefrom a content of its own ideal life, of rather we should say that\nonly in this interfusion with concrete actuality does it assert itself\nas concrete and vital in its products. Consequently it is possible for\nthe painter to import a wealth of material into the realm occupied by\nhis artistic works, which remains outside, the reach of the sculptor.\nThe entire world of the religious idea, conceptions of heaven and hell,\nthe history of Christ, his disciples and saints, external Nature, all\nthat concerns humanity down to the most fugitive of situations and\ncharacters, all this material and more can find a place here. For as\nwe have seen all that pertains to the detail, caprice, and accidental\nfeatures of human need and interest is affected by this principle,\nwhich at once strives to comprehend and compose it.\n\n(_\u03b3_) And along with this fact we have as its _corollary_ that painting\nmakes the _soul_ of man itself the subject of its creative work. All\nthat is alive within the soul is present in ideal form, if it is,\nwhen we consider its content, at once objective and absolute in the\nabstract sense[232]. For the emotional life of soul can without\nquestion carry the universal within its content, a content, however,\nwhich, as feeling, does not retain the form of this universality,\nbut appears under the mode as I, this individual person--I know my\nidentity therein and feel the same. In order to educe and set forth\nthis objective content as objective, I must forget myself. In this way\nthe painter no doubt reveals to our sight the ideal substance of soul\nin the form of external objects, but the truly real content which it\nexpresses is the personal soul that feels. For which reason painting,\nfrom the point of view of form, is unable to offer such distinctive\nenvisagements of the Divine as sculpture, but only ideas of less\ndefined character such as belong to the emotions. It may appear as a\ncontradiction to this position that we find again and again selected\nas subjects of the paintings of masters, who stand without question\nin the highest rank, the external environment of mankind, mountains,\nvalleys, meadows, brooks, trees, ships, buildings, their interiors,\nin short earth, sea, and sky. What, however, constitutes the core in\nthe content of such works of art is not the objects themselves, but\nthe _vitality_ and soul imported into them by the artist's conception\nand execution, his emotional life in fact, which is reflected in his\nwork, and gives us not merely a counterfeit of external objects, but\ntherewith his own personality and temperament[233]. And it is precisely\nby his doing this that the objects of Nature, as reflected by painting,\neven from this realistic point of view, are relatively insignificant,\nbecause the influence of soul-life begins to assert itself in them as\nthe main significance. In this tendency towards temperament, which, in\nthe case of objects borrowed from external Nature, may frequently only\namount to a general response emphasized between the two sides, we find\nthe most important distinction between painting on the one hand and\nsculpture and architecture on the other. Painting indeed approximates\nin this respect more closely to music and emphasizes here the point of\ntransition from the plastic arts to that of tone.\n\n(_b_) To proceed to our _second_ main division I have already several\ntimes referred, if only in respect to features of fundamental\nimportance, to the difference we discover between the sensuous\n_material_ of painting and that of sculpture. I will therefore in this\nplace only touch upon the closer connection which obtains between this\nmaterial and the spiritual content which it most notably has to display\nto us.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The first fact we have to consider in this connection is this\nthat painting compresses the _three_ dimensions, of Space. Absolute\nconcentration would be carried to the point, as elimination of\nall juxtaposition, and as unrest essentially predicable of such\nconcentration, as we find it in the point of Time. Such a mode of\nnegation carried out in its entire result, however, we only meet\nwith in the art of music. Painting, on the contrary, permits the\nspatial relation still to subsist, and only effaces _one_ of the three\ndimensions; superficies is made the element of its representations.\nThis reduction of the three dimensions to level surface is implied\nin principle of increasing reality, which is only capable thereby of\nasserting itself in spatial relation as such ideal transmutation, owing\nto the fact that it does not suffer the complete totality of objective\nfact to persist as such, but restricts the same. Ordinarily we are\naccustomed to view this reduction as a caprice of the art which amounts\nto a defect. What is here sought for, it appears, is that natural\nobjects in all their naked reality, or spiritual ideas and feelings, by\nmeans of the human body and its postures should be made visible to our\nsenses for such an aim it is obvious that the surface is insufficient\nand inferior to Nature, which appears before us with a completeness\nwholly different.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Painting is unquestionably yet more abstract than sculpture in\nrespect to material conditioned in Space; but this abstraction, remote\nas it is from being a purely capricious limitation, or an indication of\nhuman incapacity, is just that which brings about the necessary advance\nfrom sculpture. Even sculpture is not simply an imitation of natural\nor physical existence, but a creation of intelligence, which removes\nfrom form all aspects of natural existence which are not in accord\nwith the definite content it undertakes to present. This elimination\nwas carried out by sculpture in the case of all colour detail, so that\nwhat remained to it was only the abstraction of material form. In\npainting we have the opposite process, its content being the ideality\nof soul-life, which can only appear on the face of objective reality,\nby a process of self-absorption from that very material[234]. The art\nof painting, therefore, no doubt, works for the sense-perception,\nbut in a way, through which the object which it displays remains no\nlonger an actual natural existence wholly in Space, but is changed to a\ncounterfeit creation of intelligence, in which it only so far reveals\nits spiritual source as it annuls the actual existence of its object,\nrecreating it for itself in a purely phenomenal semblance within its\nown spiritual realm--for Spirit.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) And to this intent painting must necessarily effect a breach\nwith the totality of the spatial condition, and there is no reason\nfor charging to human incapacity this loss of Nature's completeness.\nIn other words, inasmuch as the object of painting from the point of\nview of its spatial existence, is merely a semblance, reflective of\nthe soul of man, exhibited by art for his spirit, the self-subsistency\nof the object as we find it actually in Space is dissolved, and the\nobject is related in a far more restricted way to the spectator than\nis the case in sculpture. A statue is by itself wholly an isolated\nobject, independent of the spectator, who may place himself where\nhe pleases; his point of view, his movements, his walking round it,\nnot one of them affect the work of art as a whole[235]. If this\nself-subsistency is to be preserved the sculptured figure must also\nhave some definite impression to offer each and every point of view.\nAnd this independence of the work must be retained in sculpture for\nthe reason that its content is the tranquillity, self-seclusion, and\nobjective presence which, in both an external and ideal sense, reposes\non their own substance. In painting, on the contrary, whose content is\nconditioned by an ideal atmosphere, and in fact is composed of ideal\nrelations essentially particularized, it is precisely this aspect of\ndiscord in a work of art between object and spectator which has to be\nemphasized, and yet with a like directness to be resolved in the fact,\nthat the work, as depicting the ideality of intelligence in its entire\nmode of presentation, can be only defined under the assumption that it\nstands there related to an individual mind, that is a spectator, and\napart from the same has no self-subsistency. The spectator is assumed\nand reckoned to be there from the first, and the work of art is only\nintelligible as related to this point of personal contemplation[236].\nFor such a relation to mere _visibility_ and its reflection upon\nan individual consciousness, however, the mere show of reality is\nsufficient; or rather the actual totality of the spatial condition is\na defect, because in that case the objects seen retain an independent\nexistence, and do not appear to be created by Spirit for its own\ncontemplation. Nature consequently is not entitled to reduce its images\nto the plain surface; its objects possess and claim to possess a real\nand independent existence. The satisfaction, however, we derive from\npainting is not in actual existence, but in the contemplative interest\nwe receive from the external reproduction of ideal truths, things born\nof the soul, and its art therefore dispenses wholly with the need and\napparatus of spatial reality in its complete organization.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) And together with this reduction to the level surface we may\n_thirdly_ associate the fact that painting is placed in a still more\nremote position to architecture than that occupied by sculpture.\nWorks of sculpture even where exhibited independently for themselves\nin public places or gardens, require some kind of pedestal treated\narchitectonically, and, in the case of apartments, forecourts, and\nhalls, either the art of building merely assists in presenting the\nstatue's fitting environment, or conversely the sculptured figure is\nused as the decoration of the building, and between these two thus\nrelated objects we find a close association. Painting, on the contrary,\nwhether placed in the enclosed apartment, or in public halls, or under\nthe open sky, is limited to the wall. Originally its function is\nsimply to fill up empty wall spaces. Among the ancients this original\ndestination is mainly sufficient, and they decorated in this way the\nwalls of their temples, and in more recent times also their private\nchambers. Gothic architecture, whose main task is the enclosure\nunder the most grandiose conditions, supplies no doubt still larger\nsurfaces, or rather the largest possible, yet it is only in the most\nancient mosaics that we find painting is employed as a decoration of\nempty spaces, whether in the case of the outside or the interior. The\nmore recent architecture of the fourteenth century, on the contrary,\nfills up its enormous wall surfaces in an architectural manner,\nthe most imposing example I know of which is the main _fa\u00e7ade_ of\nStrasbourg cathedral. Here we find that the empty surfaces, excluding\nthe entrance doors, the rose and other windows, are filled in by the\nornamental work analogous to that of windows traced over the walls,\nand decorated by figures of considerable delicacy and variety of form,\nso that we have no need here for painting. In the case of religious\narchitecture, therefore, painting mainly appears in buildings which\nbegin to approximate to the ancient type of architecture. As a rule,\nhowever, Christian painting is to be distinguished from the arts of\nbuilding, and presents its works in independent form, as for example in\nlarge pictures, whether placed in chapels or on high altars. It is true\nthat here, too, the picture must retain some relation to the character\nof the place, which it is destined to fill; for the rest, however, it\nis not merely intended to fill up wall spaces, but to hang them as\na work of art independently just as a work of sculpture may do. In\nconclusion painting has its use as a decoration of halls and apartments\nin public buildings, town halls, palaces, and private houses, in which\nrespect its association with architecture is once more closely marked,\nan association, however, in which its independence as a free art ought\nnot to be lost.\n\n(_\u03b2_) A further necessary ground for the contraction of the spatial\ndimensions in painting to bare surface is due to the fact that the art\nof painting is concerned to express ideal conditions essentially in\ntheir separation[237], and thereby rich in every kind of particular\ncharacter. A mere restriction to the shapes of _spatial_ form, with\nwhich sculpture is able to rest satisfied, vanishes therefore in the\nmore luxuriant art; for the forms of spatial dimension are the most\nabstract in Nature, and an attempt must now be made to seize particular\ndistinctions, in so far as the demand is now for an essentially more\nmultifold material. The matter specifically defined in the _physical_\nsense is attached to the very principle of presentation in Space,\nthe differences of which[238], if they are to appear as essential\nin the work of art, themselves disclose this fact[239] in the total\nconfiguration of spatial form, which no longer remains the final\nmode of presentation, and they are compelled to make a breach in the\ncomplete form of spatial dimensions, in order to cancel the exclusive\nappearance of the physical medium. For the dimensions in painting are\nnot presented by themselves in their actual reality, but are merely by\nmeans of this physical aspect made to appear and be visible as such.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) If we further inquire what is the nature of the _physical_\nelement which the art of painting makes use of we shall find this to be\n_Light_, regarding it as that medium which renders all objects whatever\nvisible.\n\nPreviously the sensuous, concrete material of architecture was the\nresisting matter of gravity, which more particularly in the art of\nbuilding asserted this character of heavy material in its features of\nburden, constraint, power to support and be supported, and even in\nsculpture still retained such characteristics. Heavy material encumbers\nbecause it does not possess its centre of material unity in itself, but\nin something else; and it seeks for this centre and strives towards it,\nthough it retains its position through the resistance of other bodies,\nwhich become by doing so bodies of support. The principle of light is\nan opposite, or extreme, of that material of weight which is not as\nyet enclosed within its unity. Whatever else we may predicate of light\nit is obvious that it is absolutely devoid of weight and offers no\nresistance; rather it is pure identity with itself, and thereby simple\nself-relation, the primordial ideality, the original self of Nature. In\nlight Nature make its start on the path of ideality or inwardness[240],\nand is the universal physical ego, which of course is not carried\nhere to the point of particularity[241], nor has as yet concentrated\nitself within the unit of individuality and self-seclusion, yet is\nthereby enabled to cancel the bare objectivity and external show of\nheavy matter and abstract from the sensuous and spatial totality of the\nsame[242]. From this aspect of the more _ideal_ quality of light it\nbecomes the physical principle of the art of painting.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Light regarded simply as such, however, only exists as _one_\naspect contained in the principle of subjectivity, that is, as this\nmore ideal identity. In this respect light is manifestation, just that,\nwhich, however, in Nature is only asserted _generally_ as the power of\nmaking objects visible, holding the particular content of that which\nit reveals outside itself as an objective world, which is not light,\nbut rather that which confronts it and consequently is dark. These\nobjects light renders cognizable under their distinctions of form by\nirradiating them, that is, illuminating to a greater or less degree\ntheir obscurity and invisibility, and permitting certain parts to be\nmore visible, namely, as they approach the spectator, and others, on\nthe contrary, more obscure as they withdraw from him. For light and\ndarkness, putting for the present on one side the particular colour of\nan object, is generally speaking due to the relative remoteness of the\nilluminated objects from us in their specific degree of illumination.\nIn this direct relation to objectivity light is no longer asserted\nsimply as light, but as essentially particularized brightness and\nobscurity, light and shadow, whose varied manifestations render the\nshape and distance of objects from one another intelligible to the\nspectator. This is the principle which painting makes use of, because\nfrom the first differentiation is implied in its notion. If we compare\nthis art in this respect with sculpture and architecture we shall\nsee that in these latter arts the actual distinctions of spatial\nconfiguration are set forth in their nakedness, and light and shadow\nare suffered to retain the ordinary effect which light produces in\nNature relatively to the position of the spectator, so that the rondure\nof form is here already independently[243] present and light and\nshade, whereby they are rendered visible, are merely a result of that\nwhich was already actually on the spot independently of this further\naspect of their becoming visible. In the art of painting, however,\nbrightness and darkness together with all their gradations and finest\ntransitions are themselves part of the fundamental _artistic material_,\nand it is a purely _intentional appearance_ they produce of that\nmedium, which sculpture gives form to in its _native_ state. Light and\nshade, in short, the appearance of objects under this illumination, is\neffected by art rather than the mere natural light, which consequently\nonly makes that kind of brightness, darkness, and lighting _visible_,\nwhich are the products of painting. And this it is which constitutes\nthe positive rationale deduced from the material of the art itself, why\npainting does not require three dimensions. Form is the creation of\nlight and shadow simply, and that form which exists in spatial reality\nis superfluous.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Bright and dark, shadow and light, no less than their interplay\nare, however, merely an abstraction, which do not exist in Nature as\nsuch abstraction, and consequently cannot be utilized as sensuous\nmaterial. In other words Light, as we have already seen, is related\nto its opposite Dark. In this relation both principles have no\nself-subsistency apart from each other, but can only be asserted in\ntheir unity, that is, as the interplay of light and dark. The light,\nwhich is in this way essentially impaired and obscured, which, however,\nto a like extent transpierces and illumines darkness[244], supplies us\nwith the principle of _colour_ as the genuine material of painting.\nLight in its purity is devoid of colour, it is the pure indeterminacy\nof essential identity. Distinction from bare light, a lowering of its\nvalue, is the characteristic of colour, which in contrast to light is\nalready in some degree obscurity, and together with which the principle\nof light is asserted in union. It is consequently an incorrect and\nfalse idea to hold that light is the aggregate result of different\ncolours, or in other words different degrees of obscuration[245].\n\nForm, distance, limitation, rounded shape, in short, all spatial\nrelations and distinctions visible in the phenomena of Space are\nunfolded in the art of painting entirely by means of colour, the\nmore ideal principle of which is capable of presenting a more ideal\ncontent and by virtue of its profounder oppositions, the infinite\nvariety of its transitional gradations and the delicacy of its softest\nmodulations relatively to the fulness and detail of the objects it\naccepts as subject-matter, is possessed of a field for its activity\nof the widest range. It is beyond belief what mere colour is able to\naccomplish in this art. Two human beings are, for example, something\ntotally distinct. Either is in his self-conscious identity no less than\nhis bodily organism an independent and exclusive spiritual and bodily\ntotality, yet the entire result of this difference is in a picture\nreduced to a distinction of colours. In one place some particular\nshade of colour ceases, in another a particular one starts up, and by\nsuch means we get everything set before us, shape, distance, play of\nposture, expression, what is nearest to sense and what is most akin to\nintelligence. And we are not to regard this reduction as a make-shift\nand defect. Quite the reverse is the fact; the art of painting\ndispensing with the third dimension in no such way, but deliberately\nrejecting it in order to set in the place of purely spatial reality the\nhigher and richer principle of colour.\n\n(_\u03b3_) This wealth enables painting to elaborate in its reproductions\nthe entire extent of the phenomenal world. Sculpture is more or less\nrestricted to the stable self-seclusion of individuality. In painting,\nhowever, the individual cannot remain in such limitations of stability\nwhether regarded in his ideal aspect or relatively to the external\nworld, but is placed in every kind of varied definition. For on the one\nhand, as already pointed out, he is placed in a far closer relation to\nthe spectator, and on the other he receives a more varied connection\nwith other individuals and the environment of Nature. A process,\ntherefore, which merely illuminates semblance of objective fact makes\npossible the widest expansion of distances and spaces and the present\nof such and all the varied objects that appear in them in one and the\nsame work of art. Yet it must no less, as a work of art, prove itself\nto be a self-contained and unified whole, and exhibit itself in this\nsynthesis, not simply as an aggregate whose limits and boundaries\nare defined by no principle, but rather as a totality whose unified\nconsistency is due to its own subject-matter.\n\n(_c_) In the _third_ place we have, after this general consideration\nof the content and sensuous material of painting, briefly to adduce in\ngeneral terms the principle of the _artistic mode_ of treatment adopted\nby it.\n\nThe art of painting more so than either sculpture or architecture\nadmits of the two extremes. In the first case prominence is given\nto the religious and ethical severity of the conception and\npresentation of the ideal beauty of form, and in the second, where the\nsubject-matter is, taken by itself, insignificant, to the detail of\nwhat it contains and the personal aspect of the creative art. We may\ntherefore not unfrequently hear two extreme kinds of criticism. Our\ncritic in the one case apostrophizes the nobility of the object, the\ndepth and astonishing sufficiency of the conception, the greatness of\nthe expression, and the boldness of the delineation[246]. And in the\nother equal praise is given to the fine and unexampled character of\nthe painter's treatment of his colour. This contrast is implied in the\nvery notion of the art; indeed, we may affirm that it is impossible\nto unite both aspects on one plane of elaboration. Each must remain\ninevitably independent of the other. For painting has shape simply as\nsuch, that is, the forms of spatial limitation, no less than colour\nas means contributive to its artistic result, and is placed thereby\nmidway between the Ideal of the plastic arts and the extreme form of\nthe direct detail of Nature's reality; by reason of which we get two\ndistinct types of painting. One, that is the ideal, whose essential\nbasis is universality; and the other, that which presents particular\nobjects in all their closeness of detail.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In this respect painting must accept, in the first instance, as\nsculpture, that which is substantive in the sense that the objects of\nreligious belief are such, no less than the great events of history,\nand its pre-eminent individual characters, albeit it renders visible\nthis substance in a form wherein the ideal and personal aspect is\nemphasized. It is the imposing character, the serious significance\nof the action portrayed, or the depth of the soul expressed which is\nhere of most importance, so that the elaboration and employment of all\nthe rich artistic means which are within the reach of painting, and\nthe dexterity, which the wholly consummate use of these means demands\nregarded as a _tour de force_ of technique, cannot here be entirely\nindicated. In cases of this kind it is the force of the content to be\npresented and the absorption in what is essential and substantive in\nthe same, which tend to drive into the background the overwhelming\nfacility in the art of painting as that aspect which is less essential.\nIn this sense, for instance, the Cartoons of Raphael are of invaluable\nmerit, and fully display the entire excellence of their composition,\nalthough Raphael, even in the case of particular pictures, despite all\nhis mastery in drawing, and the purity of his ideal, and at the same\ntime wholly vital personal figures, and the composition he may have\narrived at, most certainly in colour, and all that concerns landscape\nand other aspects, is excelled by the Dutch masters. This is yet more\nthe case with the earlier Italian heroes of art, in contrast to whom\nRaphael is to a somewhat similar degree inferior in depth, power, and\nideality of expression, as he surpasses such in the technique of his\ncraft, in the beauty of vital grouping, in draughtsmanship and the\nlike[247].\n\n(_\u03b2_) Conversely, however, the art of painting, as we have seen, ought\nto advance further than this exclusive absorption in the ideal and\ninfinite content of man's soul-life; its function is equally to assert\nthe subsistency and freedom of detail, which however incidental it may\nbe, contributes to the environment and background of the work. In this\nadvance from the profoundest seriousness to the objective features\nof independent detail it is bound to force its way to the extreme\narticulation of the purely phenomenal, where any and every content is\na matter of indifference, and artistic illusion in a realistic sense\nis the main interest. In such a type of art we find depicted for us\nthe most fugitive aspect of the sky, the time of day, the lighting up\nof the woods, the gleam and reflection of the clouds, waves, lakes,\nstreams, the shimmer and glitter of wine in the glass, the glance of\nthe eye, and every conceivable look and smile of the human countenance.\nPainting in such cases moves from the idealistic standpoint to that of\nliving reality, whose phenomenal effect it mainly seeks to reproduce\nby means of accuracy in the execution of every bit of detail[248]. Yet\nthis effort is no mere assiduity of elaboration, but a real exercise of\ngenuine talent, which strives to present every kind of detail in its\nindependent perfection, and yet retain the whole composition in unity\nand fusion, and this can only be done by the finest art. In such work\nthe vital force of the realistic appearance thus secured tends to be\nmore near to the artist's aim than the Ideal; and it is precisely this\nkind of art, as I have already found occasion to remark, which raises,\nas no other, controversial points over the significance of the Ideal\nand Nature. No doubt it is very possible to blame the use of the most\nelaborate technique in subjects of little importance by themselves\nas mere extravagance; yet there is no real reason for rejecting such\nmaterial, and it is precisely of that kind which ought to be treated in\nthis way by art, and be permitted to keep every conceivable subtlety\nand refinement of surface appearance that it possesses.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The artistic treatment does not, however, stop at this more\ngeneral kind of opposition, but, inasmuch as painting reposes on the\nprinciple of soul-expression and particularity, proceeds yet further\nin the direction of differentiation in its results. Both architecture\nand sculpture, it is true, assert differences of national type, and in\nparticular we are made aware in sculpture of a closer individuality\ntypical of certain schools and masters. In the art of painting this\ndistinction and personal aspect in the modes of representation expands\nto an incalculable degree in proportion as the objects, which it may\naccept, are taken from a field without definable limitations. In\nthis art to a pre-eminent extent the genius of particular peoples,\nprovinces, epochs and individuals asserts its claims and affects not\nmerely the choice of subjects and the spirit of their conception, but\nalso the character of drawing, grouping, colouring, handling of the dry\npoint no less than that of particular colours down to characteristics\nof personal style and wont.\n\nInasmuch as the function of painting is so without restriction\nconcerned with the ideal aspect and the details of its subject-matter,\nit follows of course that it gives us quite as little opportunity to\nmake definite statements of universal validity as to adduce specific\nfacts which can always without exception be accepted as true of it. We\nmust, however, not rest satisfied with what I have already discussed in\nrespect of the principle of the content, the material and the artistic\ntreatment, but make a further effort, however much we leave on one\nside all that confronts us in its multifold variety, still to subject\ncertain aspects, that most emphatically enlist our attention, to\nfurther examination.\n\n\n\n2. PARTICULAR MODES OF THE DEFINITION OF PAINTING\n\n\nThe different points of view, according to which we have to undertake\nthis closer characterization, may be already anticipated from our\nprevious discussion. They refer once more to the content, the material\nand the artistic treatment.\n\n_First_, as to _content_, we have no doubt found the content of the\nromantic type of art offer the most adequate subject-matter; we must,\nhowever, inquire further what specific portions we should select from\nthe entire wealth within this type as pre-eminently adapted to the art\nof painting.\n\n_Secondly_, we have already made ourselves fairly cognisant with the\n_principle_ of the sensuous material. We have now to define more\nnarrowly the forms, which may be expressed on the level surface by\nmeans of colouring, in so far as the human form and other facts of\nNature have to be made visible in order that the ideality of Spirit may\nbe thereby disclosed.\n\n_Thirdly_, we have a similar question with regard to the definite\ncharacter of the artistic conception and presentation, which\ncorresponds to the different character of the content thus itself\nsimilarly differentiated, producing thereby different _types_ or\nschools of painting.\n\n(_a_) I have already at an earlier stage recalled the fact that the\nancients have had excellent painters, but added thereto the statement\nthat the function of painting is only completely satisfied by the way\nof looking at things and the type of art which is referable to the\nemotional life and which is actively asserted in the romantic type of\nart. What appears, however, to contradict this from the point of view\nof content is the fact that at the very culminating point of Christian\npainting, during the age of Raphael, Rubens, Correggio, and others,\nwe find that mythological subjects are used and portrayed in part on\ntheir own merits, and in part for the decoration and allegorization of\ngreat exploits, triumphs, royal weddings, and so forth. In this sense\nGoethe, for example, has once more borrowed from the descriptions\nof Philostratus of the pictures of Polygnotus, and, assisted by his\nimaginative powers as a poet, has added a novel freshness to such\nsubjects for the painter's benefit. If, however, such contributions\nfurther imply the demand that subjects of Greek mythology and saga, or\nscenes, too, from the Roman world, for which the French at a certain\nperiod of their painting have evinced a great inclination, should\nbe conceived and portrayed in the definitive mood and significance\nattached to them by the ancient world we can only object generally\nthat it is impossible to recall to life this past history, and what is\npeculiarly appropriate to the antique is not wholly compatible with\nthe art of painting. The painter must consequently create from such\nmaterial an entirely different result, must import therein a totally\ndifferent spirit, other emotions and modes of seeing things than those\npresent to the ancients, in order to bring such a content into accord\nwith the real problems and aims of painting. For this reason also the\ncircle of antique material and situations is not that which painting\nhas elaborated in a consequential process; rather it is an aspect of\nit which has been passed over as alien to its material, and which has\nfirst to be essentially remodelled. I have several times insisted that\npainting has before all to seize that, the presentment of which it can,\nin deliberate contrast to sculpture, music, and poetry, master by means\nof external form. And this is preeminently the self-concentration of\nSpirit, which is denied to sculpture, while music again is unable to\nmake the passage to the external appearance of ideality, and poetry\nitself can merely render visible the bodily presence in an incomplete\nway. Painting, on the contrary, is still in a position to unite both\naspects. It can express the entire content of soul-life in an external\nform, and is consequently bound to accept for its essential content\nthe emotional depth of the soul no less than the particular type of\ncharacter and its specific traits in its deepest impression--in other\nwords intensity of feeling and ideality in its differentiation, for the\nexpression of which definite events, conditions, and situations not\nonly must appear as the explanatory source of individual character,\nbut the specific individuality must disclose itself as a part of the\nmoulded form of the soul and physiognomy, rooted therein, and entirely\ntaken up into the external embodiment.\n\nIn order to express generally this ideality of soul we do not require\nthat ideal self-subsistency and largeness[249] of the classical\ntype we have previously dealt with, in which individuality persists\nin immediate accord with the substantive core of its spiritual\nessence and the physical characteristics of its bodily presentment;\nto quite as little extent will suffice to the manifestation of\nthis soul-life Nature's ordinary hilarity, that Greek geniality of\nenjoyment and blissful absorption in its object; rather true depth\nand self-revelation of spiritual life presupposes that the soul has\nworked its way through its emotions, its forces, its whole inward life,\nhas overcome much, has suffered and endured much anguish or misery\nof spirit, and yet in all these divisions has retained its sense of\nunity and come back to the same out of them. The ancients no doubt\nalso place before us in the mythos of Hercules a hero, who after many\ntroubles receives his apotheosis, and enjoys among the gods the repose\nof blessedness; but the labours which Hercules accomplishes are purely\nexternal, and the bliss, which he obtains as a reward, is merely a\ntranquil cessation from labour; and the ancient rune, that Zeus will\nhave brought his empire to its consummation by his efforts, he, that\nis the greatest hero of Greece, has not accomplished. Rather the end\nof the rule of these self-subsistent gods then commences for the first\ntime, where we find man overcomes the dragons and serpents of his own\nbreast, the obstinacy and stubbornness of the soul's native realm\nrather than the living dragons and serpents of Nature. Only thereby\nwill Nature's gladsomeness attain to that loftier cheerfulness of the\nspirit, which is perfected in its passage through the negative phase\nof division, and finally secures an infinite satisfaction through such\ntravail. The feeling of blitheness and happiness must be glorified and\nexpanded in real blessedness. For happiness and content still retain\nan association with external conditions which partake of Nature's\ncontingency. In blessedness, however, that happiness, which is still\nrelated to immediate existence, is left behind, and the entire content\nis made one with the inner life of soul. Blessedness is a satisfaction\nwhich is an attained result, and is thereby justified; it is the\ngladness of a victory, the emotion of a soul which has essentially\nset at nought what is sensuous and finite, and thereby thrust from\nitself the care which lurks for ever in ambush. Blessed is the soul,\nwhich has, it is true, experienced both conflict and pain, but come\nvictorious through its troubles.\n\n(_\u03b1_) If we now inquire what is the nature of the actual _Ideal_\nin this content we shall find it to be the _reconciliation_ of the\nindividual soul with God, who in His human manifestation has Himself\ntraversed this passage of sorrows. The substantive ideality[250] can\nonly be that of _religion_, the peace of self-consciousness, which\nonly feels itself truly satisfied, in so far as it is concentrated\nin its own substance, has broken its earthly heart, has raised itself\nabove the purely natural conditions of finite existence, and in this\nexaltation has secured an inward life of universal significance,\nan ideal union in and with God Himself. The soul wills itself, but\nit finds the object of its will in something other than itself, in\nits particularity; it thereby gives itself up in its opposition to\nGod, in order to find itself again and its joy in Him. This is the\nvital character of Love, the soul's function in its truth, that is\nreligious love purged of mere desire, which communicates to Spirit\nreconciliation, peace, and blessedness. It is not the enjoyment and\ndelight of the actual love of living nature, but rather one that is\ndevoid of passion, nay, one that is without inclination, a tendency\nof the soul, a love in fact which on the side of Nature is identical\nwith death, and is such a state, so that the actual relation as earthly\nbond and relation of man to man floats before us as a thing of the\nPast, which essentially has no consummation in its usual existing form,\nbut carries within itself the defect of its temporality, and as such\nprepares the way for an exaltation to something beyond it, which is\nfound to be at the same time a conscious state and enjoyment of a love\nthat is without yearning and sensuous desire.\n\nIt is this character which gives to us the soulful, intimate, and\nmore elevated Ideal, which we find now in the place of the tranquil\ngreatness and self-subsistency of the antique. No doubt the divinities\nof the classical Ideal were not without a trait of sombre grief, a\nnegative replete with fateful import, which is as it were the shadow of\na cold Necessity passing over these blithesome figures, which remain,\nhowever, secure in their substantive divinity and freedom, their simple\ngreatness and might. The freedom of Love, however, is not a freedom\nof this kind, being more instinct with soul-life, for the reason\nthat it subsists in a relation between soul and soul, and spirit to\nspirit. This inward glow enkindles the ray of bliss made actual in the\nsoul, a love, which in suffering, and the extremest loss not merely\ncan discover comfort or independence therefrom, but in proportion to\nthe depth of its suffering can feel the more profoundly therein the\nreality and assuredness of its love, making clear the mastery of\nits own essential substance in that suffering. In the Ideal of the\nancients on the contrary we find no doubt, independently of that trait\nof a tranquil sorrow already indicated, the expression of the pain\nof noble natures, as for instance in the case of Niobe and Laocoon.\nThey do not betake themselves to lamentation and despair, but adhere\nto their greatness and loftiness of spirit; but this self-continency\nremains empty; their suffering, their pain is likewise the conclusion\nof the matter. In the place of reconcilement and satisfaction we can\nonly have an austere resignation, which, without suffering entire\ncollapse, surrenders that upon which it had previously laid hold. It\nis not the base that is crushed[251]; no rage, no contempt or vexation\nis expressed; but despite of it all the loftiness of this type of\nindividuality is nought but an inflexible self-continency[252], an\nendurance of destiny that is without relief, in which the nobility and\npain of the soul do not appear as reconciled in fulfilment. In the\nromantic love of religion we find for the first time the expression\nof blessedness and freedom. This union and satisfaction is by nature\nconcrete in a spiritual sense, for it is the feeling of Spirit which\nis made cognizant of its unity in something other than itself. And for\nthis reason we find necessary here, if the content presented is to be\ncomplete, two aspects, in so far as the reduplication of spiritual\npersonality is necessary to love's appearance. It reposes upon two\nindependent individuals who possess, however, the sense of their\nintrinsic union. With this union, however, the negative condition is\nalways at the same time connected. In other words Love belongs to the\nsoul's condition; the subject of such a conscious state is, however,\nthis independently self-stable[253] heart, which to experience love\nmust bid goodbye to itself, surrender itself and sacrifice the\nunyielding focus of its individual isolation. It is this sacrifice\nwhich constitutes the _motive_ principle of Love, the life and emotion\nof which is bound up wholly in a self-surrender. In consequence of\nthis, if notwithstanding a man retains his consciousness of self in\nan act of such surrender, and just in this very annihilation of his\npersonal independence attains to a truly positive self-subsistency,\nin that case he has left him at least in the feeling of this unity\nand its supreme happiness the negative aspect, the movement of Love's\nprinciple, not so much in a sense of sacrifice, as of a blessedness\nundeserved, which in despite of himself permits him still to feel his\nassured identity at unity with itself. The movement is the feeling of\nthe dialectical contradiction, namely, to have surrendered personality\nand yet to remain in self-subsistent unity, a contradiction which is\npresent in Love and eternally resolved in it.\n\nIn so far, then, as the aspect of an individual _human_ state of\nsoul-life is concerned in this universal condition we find that the\nunique Love, which blesses and discovers its heaven within it, tends\nto rise over all that is finite and the specific individuality of\ncharacter, which lapses into a position of insignificance. Already\nwe have observed that the divine ideals of sculpture pass into one\nanother, always provided, however, that they are not wrested from\nthe content and province of that original and immediate type of\nindividuality; and yet it must be admitted that this individuality\nremains the essential form of the mode of presentment. In this later\npure gleam of blessedness, however, particularity is on the contrary\ncancelled. Before God all men are equal, or rather piety makes them\nactually equal, so that the sole point of importance is the expression\nof love in the concentrated focus above depicted, and which has no\nfurther need of happiness, or this or that particular object. No doubt\nreligious Love, too, requires definite individuals as a condition of\nits existence, which possess also, apart from this experience, other\nspheres of existence; for the reason, however, that this soul-possessed\nstate of intimate life supplies the really ideal content, the\nexpression and reality of such are not to be found in the isolated\ndistinctions of character, its talents, conditions, and fortunes, but\nare rather lifted above the same. When consequently nowadays we hear\npeople make a regard for distinctions in the soul-life of different\npersons a matter of first importance in education, and in that which\nis the essential requirement of each man individually, from which we\ndeduce the fundamental thesis that every one will and indeed inevitably\nmust act differently in a given case, such a position directly clashes\nwith the fact of the love of religion, in which all such diversities\nof individual life fall into the background. Conversely, however,\nindividual characterization now, precisely for the reason that it\nis the unessential, which refuses wholly to fuse with the spiritual\nrealm of celestial Love, receives a more emphatic definition. In\nother words, agreeably to the romantic type of art, it is free, and\nis written in character all the more distinct in proportion as it\nrefuses to accept as its supreme principle classical beauty, that is\nthe entire transfusion of immediate vitality, and the particularity of\nfinite existence, with a spiritual or religious content. In despite of\nthis fact, however, there is no absolute reason that this individual\ncharacterization should impair this inward intensity of Love, which,\nas such on its own account, is not shackled to such features, but has\nbecome free, and constitutes independently the truly self-substantive\nIdeal of Spirit.\n\nWhat, then, constitutes the ideal centre and main content of the\nreligious field is, as we have already indicated in our examination of\nthe romantic type of art, the essentially _reconciled_ and satisfied\nLove, whose object should appear in the art of painting, whose function\nit is to exhibit the most spiritual content under the mode of human\nand corporeal actuality, as no mere \"beyond\" of Spirit, but in its\nveritable presence. In conformity with such a result we may adduce the\nHoly Family, and above all the love of the Madonna to her child as the\nideal content pre-eminently fitted to this sphere. On either side of\nthis centre, however, a mass of additional material extends which is\nin varying degree less adapted in this sense to the art in question.\nI will now attempt to differentiate the whole of this material on the\nfollowing lines.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The first objectification is the object of Love itself in its\npure universality and unimpaired unity with itself--God Himself in\nHis unphenomenal essence--or God the Father. In this case, however,\npainting has great difficulties to overcome, when it attempts to\ndepict God the Father as the religious imagination of Christendom seeks\nto grasp Him. The Father of gods and men regarded as a particular\npersonality is exhaustively dealt with by art in Zeus. What on the\ncontrary falls away from the Christian conception of God the Father\nis the human individuality, in which painting is alone in a position\nto reproduce the spiritual aspect. For taken in His independent\nself-exclusion God the Father is no doubt spiritual personality and\nsupreme Power, Wisdom and so forth, but only retained as such without\ndefined form and as an abstraction of thought. The art of painting is,\nhowever, unable to avoid anthropomorphization, and must perforce assign\nto Him the figure of man. However broad in its generalization, however\nlofty, ideal, and masterful the presentment of such a figure may be,\nwe fail to get beyond the fact that it is entirely a human individual\nof more or less grave aspect, which fails entirely to coalesce with\nthe conception of God the Father. Among the early Flemish painters Van\nEyck in his God the Father of the altar picture at Ghent has attained\nthe greatest success that we can conceive as possible in this sphere.\nIt is a creation that may well match our conception of the Olympian\nZeus. But however consummate it may be also in its expression of\neternal repose, loftiness, power, worth, and other qualities--and it\nis quite impossible to overstate the depth and imposing character of\nits conception no less than its execution--yet our imagination cannot\nfail to find something in it which does not satisfy. For what is here\nset before us as God the Father, that is to say a creation that is\nlikewise human personality, is just what we first meet with in Christ\nthe Son. It is in Him that we contemplate for the first time this\ndecisive moment in which individuality and human existence combine as a\nmoment in the Divine Life[254], and moreover combine in such a way that\nthe same is not disclosed as an ingenious creature of the phantasy,\nas was the case with the Greek divinities, but as essential and very\nrevelation, the fact of all importance and fundamental significance.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The more essential object, therefore, of Love in the creation\nof painting will be _Christ._ In other words, with this object Art at\nonce finds itself in the sphere of humanity, a sphere which along with\nChrist embraces further material in its presentations of the Virgin\nMary, Joseph, John the Baptist, the disciples, and so forth, and\nultimately the common folk who in part are followers of the Gospel, and\nin part cry out for the crucifixion of its Master and mock Him in His\nsufferings.\n\nAnd here once more the already mentioned difficulty confronts us how\nwe are to conceive and depict Christ in his _universality_, when he is\npresented in the ordinary way of half-length figures or portraits. I\nmust admit that for myself at any rate, the heads of Christ I have seen\nby Caracci and others and, to take two famous examples, that of Van\nEyck, formerly in the Sully Collection and now in the Berlin Museum,\nand that of Von Hemling, now in Munich, do not give me the entire\nsatisfaction which they ought to do. That of Van Eyck, no doubt, is\nvery imposing in figure, forehead, colour, and general conception, but\nthe mouth and eye wholly fail to express anything that transcends our\nhumanity. The expression is rather that of an inflexible seriousness,\nwhich is emphasized by the general type of the form, the parting of the\nhair, and other traits. And when such heads incline still further in\nexpression and shape towards the specifically human type, and a milder,\nmore yielding and tender aspect is thereby imported, much of their\ndepth and power of impression is very readily lost; and least of all\nsuited to such, as I have already observed, is the beauty of Greek form.\n\nFor this reason Christ, as depicted in the experiences of His actual\nlife, is a more suitable subject for pictorial effort. Yet in this\nconnection an essential distinction must not be overlooked. It is\nquite true that in the biographies of Christ we have from one point\nof view the human consciousness of God presented us as a fundamental\naspect. Christ is one of the gods, but under the guise of an actual\nman, and takes His place among men as one of them, in whose phenomenal\nappearance He can consequently be depicted in so far as such expresses\nthe life of Spirit. From another point of view, however, he is not\nmerely an individual man, but entirely God. In such situations,\ntherefore, in which this supreme Divinity forces its way beyond the\nlimits of human soul-life, the art of painting is met with a fresh\nsource of difficulty. The very depth of the content begins to be too\noverpowering. For in the majority of cases in which we find Christ\npresented for example merely as a teacher, art will not pass much\nbeyond the point in which He is depicted as the noblest, most worthy,\nand wisest of men, much as Pythagoras or any other wise man, is\npresented to us in such a picture as Raphael's \"School of Athens.\" The\nmost important way in which painting can overcome such a difficulty\nis to bring the Divinity of Christ mainly into direct contrast with\nHis surroundings, and above all, to contrast it with the sins, the\nrepentance and penance, or the meanness and evil of our humanity, or\nagain conversely through His worshippers, who, by their adoration of\nHim remove Him as one of themselves and a man, existing in a particular\nplace, from such immediate conditions, so that we behold Him exalted\nto the heaven of Spirit, and at the same time get a glimpse of the\nfact that His appearance has not merely been that of God, but also\nthat of the human form under its ordinary and natural, in other words,\nnot wholly ideal conditions, who as Spirit essentially possesses his\nexistence in our humanity and the human community, and expresses\nHis divinity as reflected in the same. But we must not understand\nthis reflection as though God is present in humanity as in a purely\naccidental or external mode of form and expression; rather we ought\nto regard the Spirit manifested in the consciousness of mankind as\nthe essential spiritual existence of God Himself[255]. Such a mode of\npresentation will be exceptionally appropriate where Christ is to be\nrepresented as man, teacher, as the risen and glorified person who\nascends up to heaven before our eyes. To speak plainly, in situations\nsuch as these the means of expression in painting such as the human\nform and its colour, the countenance, the glance of eye, are not wholly\nsufficient to express all that is implied in the Christ. And least\nof all will the antique beauty of forms suffice. In particular the\nresurrection and ascension, and generally, all scenes in the life\nof Christ, in which He, the individual man, is already divested of\nimmediate existence as such on His return to His Father, require a more\nelevated expression of Divinity than the art of painting is able to\nsupply, for the reason that it ought to cancel the very means it uses\nin its representation, that is, the expression of human soul-life in\nits external form, and glorify the same in a light of purer quality.\n\nConsequently, we shall find those scenes of Christ's life treated\nwith greater advantage and more fitting effect in which He Himself\nhas not yet arrived at the full consummation, or where His Divinity\nappears to be obstructed and depressed in the moment of negation. And\nthis we find is the case in His _childhood_ and the _Passion._ That\nChrist as a child expresses definitely from a certain point of view the\nsignificance which attaches to Him in religion. He is God Who becomes\nman, and Who consequently passes through the stages of man's natural\nlife. In another aspect of the same fact that He is presented to our\nminds as a child we are led to feel the practical impossibility of\ndisclosing entirely to us all that He essentially is. And it is just\nhere that the art of painting possesses the incalculable advantage\nof being able to show how the loftiness and dignity of Spirit can\nshine forth from the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ and innocence of the child, which in\nsome measure derives actual force from such a contrast, and in part,\nfor the very reason that it is predicated of an infant, is to an\ninfinitely less extent required by us in comparison with that we look\nfor in Christ as man, teacher, and judge of the world. In this way the\nexamples of Christ the babe which we find in Raphael's pictures, and\nabove all, that in the Sistine Madonna picture at Dresden, offer us the\nmost beautiful presentment of childhood. We are, however, aware in them\nalso of a tendency to pass beyond merely childlike innocence, a passage\nwhich discloses quite as much the Divine already present in the opening\nsheath, as it enables us to surmise the expansion of such Divinity to\nan infinite fulness of revelation, a revelation the incompleteness\nof which in the child carries with it its own justification. In the\nMadonna pictures of Van Eyck, on the contrary, the Divine babe is the\nleast successful feature, for they are in general stiff and emphasize\nthe defective form of a newly-born child. It has been attempted to\nregard this as allegorical and intentional. They are not to be fair in\naspect because it is not the beauty of the Christ babe which is that\nwhich is adorable, but the Christ as Christ. Such a mode of thought\nis not consonant with the true aim of Art, and the babes of Raphael\nregarded as works of art are in this respect of far higher rank.\n\nIn the same way the history of _Christ's passion_, such as the\nscenes where He is mocked and crowned with thorns, that of the Ecce\nHomo carrying the cross, deposition, and burial, are exceptionally\nappropriate to pictorial presentment. For in these it is precisely\nthe Divinity, in its contrast to its triumph and in the depression of\nits unlimited power and wisdom, which supplies the content. Art is\nnot merely able to present this, but there is ample room for the play\nof originality in the composition of such scenes without falling into\npurely fantastical imagery. God is here set before us as suffering, in\nso far as He is man and under certain determinate bounds. Such pain\nis not merely disclosed as human pain over human calamity, but it is\nan awful suffering, the feeling of an infinite negativity, albeit in\nhuman form, as the conscious life of one individual. And withal there\nis added, for the reason that it is God who suffers, a certain sense of\nalleviation, a reduction of such anguish which is thus unable to break\nforth in actual despair, distortion, and horror. This expression of\n_soul-suffering_ is, more particularly in the works of several Italian\nmasters, an original creation. The pain is in the lower portions of\nthe countenance, a gravity of mien, and nothing more, not as in the\nLaocoon a contraction of the muscles, which can be interpreted as\nan actual cry; but in the eyes and on the forehead the billows of\nsoul-anguish are, so to speak, allowed to roll over one another. The\nsweat drops that bespeak the heart's agony stand forth; and with true\ninstinct on the brow, in which the immovable bone constitutes the\ndetermining feature, precisely at the point where nose, eyes, and\nforehead coalesce, and the life of mind and heart is concentrated and\nemphasized, we find that just one or two indications of skin-folds\nand muscles, unable to be distorted to any great extent, are suffered\npre-eminently to bear and express in tension this accumulated weight\nof agony. In particular I can recall a certain head in the gallery\nof Schleisheim, in which the master--I fancy Guido Reni[256]--and\ndoubtless others in a similar way, have discovered a distinct colour\ntone for the flesh, which is quite unlike that of human flesh. They had\nto disclose the night of the Spirit and created for the same a dowry\nof colour, most admirably adapted to express this tempest, these black\nclouds of Spirit which are likewise encompassed by the brazen forehead\nof the Divine Nature[257].\n\nAs the most perfect subject of such painting, however, I have already\naffirmed that Love, which is essentially _satisfied_, whose object is\nno purely spiritual Beyond, but one actually present, so that we can\nbehold Love itself in its object. The highest and most unique form of\nsuch a Love is that of the Virgin Mother for her Christ child, the\nlove of the one mother who has brought forth the Saviour of the world\nand carries Him in her arms. This is the content of most loveliness\nto which we may say Christian art generally and pre-eminently the\npainter's art in the religious sphere has been exalted.\n\nThe love of God, and more expressly[258] that of which Christ is the\nobject, is of an entirely spiritual type. Its object is only visible to\nthe eyes of the soul, so that in these cases we do not in the strict\nsense get the reciprocity which is bound with the notion of Love, and\nmoreover there is no natural tie which secures the lovers and from\nits origin binds them to each other. Every other type of love, to\nput the matter conversely, remains in some measure accidental in its\nincidence, and in another aspect of it the lovers possess, as, for\ninstance, sisters, or the father's love for his children, yet further\nrelations outside this particular one, which assert an essential claim\nupon them. A father or brothers are compelled to direct their attention\nto the world, the State, affairs or war, in one word universal ends;\nthe sister becomes wife, mother, and so forth. In the case of a\nmother's love of her child, on the contrary, the love is from its\nvery nature neither something that is contingent, nor is it merely a\nsingle phase[259]. It is its highest earthly type, in which its natural\ncharacter and its most sacred function immediately coalesce. From\nthe point of view, however, in which as a rule in maternal love the\nmother sees and feels at the same time her husband in her child, we may\nobserve that this aspect, too, in the Virgin Mary's case disappears.\nHer feeling has nothing in common with a wife's love for her wedded\nhusband; on the contrary her relation to Joseph is rather that of a\nsister, and on the side of Joseph a feeling of respectful reverence for\nthe Child that is God's and Mary's. We therefore find that religious\nlove is set forth in its fullest and most ideal[260] human form, not in\nthat for Christ amid His sufferings, nor in His resurrection, nor as He\ndelays His departure among His friends, but in the emotional nature of\na woman, in Mary. Her entire soul and life is human love for the Child,\nwhich she calls her own, and along with it adoration, and love of God\nwith whom she feels herself thus united[261]. She is humble before God,\nand yet is steeped in the infinite exaltation that she is the single\none among maidens who is above all blessed. Not alone and apart, but\nonly in her Child is she made perfect in God, but in that, whether it\nbe by the cradle or as queen of heaven, she is entirely content and\nblessed, without passion and yearning, with no other want, with no\nother aim to have or possess anything but that which she possesses.\n\nThe manifestation of this love under the aspect of its religious\ncontent expands in many directions, such as the annunciation,\nthe visitation, the birth, the flight into Egypt, and other such\nincidents. We may also associate with it, during the later course of\nthe Christ-life, the disciples and women, who follow Him, and in whom\nthe love of God is more or less a personal relation of their love to\nthe living, present Saviour, Who, as actual man, pursues His course\namong them, and in like manner also the love of those angels who, on\nthe occasion of His birth and at other times, hover around in grave\nadoration or simple joy. In treating all such figures the art of\npainting in particular discloses the complete peace and content of such\na love.\n\nBut this peace, furthermore, is dissolved in the most heartfelt\nanguish. Mary the mother beholds Christ carrying the cross. She sees\nHim suffer on the cross and die; she sees Him taken from the cross and\nburied, and no grief is more poignant than her own. And yet we may\nobserve that it is neither the irreparableness[262] of such a grief, or\nrather of such a loss, nor the weight of the calamity, nor the lament\nover the injustice of destiny, which constitutes the real content in\nsuch anguish, so that a contrast between it and the sorrow of Niobe is\nparticularly instructive. Niobe, too, has lost all her children, and\nis set before us in severe loftiness and unperturbed beauty. The main\ncontent here is the aspect of the natural life of this ill-starred\nsufferer, the beauty in which Nature has robed her and which embraces\nthe entire presentment of her actual existence. She, this actual\npersonality, is beauty personified, and therein she persists. But her\nsoul-life, her heart, has lost the entire content of its love, its\nsoul, and her individuality and beauty can only turn into stone. The\ngrief of Mary is of a wholly different type. She feels intimately the\ndagger which cuts through her soul's very centre, her heart breaks, but\nshe does not become stone. She did not merely possess love, but her\nsoul-life throughout is nothing but love, that is, free and concrete\nideality, which retains the absolute content of that which it loses,\nand in the loss itself of the beloved persists in the peace of love.\nHer heart indeed breaks, but the substantive principle of her heart,\nthe content of its life[263], which is disclosed through her anguish\nof soul with a vital strength that can never be lost, is something\ninfinitely more exalted, namely, the living beauty of the human soul,\nas contrasted with its abstract substance, whose ideal existence\nas presented in _bodily shape_, when it is lost remains indeed\nindestructible, but is turned to stone.\n\nThere is one further subject for painting in connection with Mary the\nmother of Jesus, and that is her death and assumption. Schoreel has\nwith exceptional beauty depicted a death of Mary in which we find the\ncharm of her youth once more restored[264]. This master has united\nin his picture the expression of somnambulism, presence of death,\nrigidity, and blindness towards the exterior world with one which seems\nto suggest that the spirit, which seems somehow to penetrate through\ntheir general aspect, has found a home elsewhere and is blessed therein.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_)_Thirdly_, we must include within the sphere of the actual\npresence of God in the life, sufferings, and glorification of\nHimself, _mankind at large_[265], that is to say the consciousness of\n_individual human life_, which God, or more accurately the events of\nHis history, constitutes as itself an object of His love, communicating\nto it a content which is not merely finite but absolute in its\nsignificance. Here, too, we may emphasize the three aspects of tranquil\n_devotion_, _repentance_, and _conversion_, which both from the\npoint of view of the soul and that of external condition the history\nof the Divine Passion repeats to mankind, no less than the ideal\n_consummation_ in glory and the blessedness of pure attainment.\n\nIn respect to the _first_ of these, namely, devotion, we have here\nwhat is primarily the content of _prayer._ This relation is in one\naspect of it a humbling, surrender of the self, the seeking of peace\nin another; from another point of view it is not a _petition_ but\nrather a _prayer_[266]. Petition and prayer are no doubt closely\nconnected in so far, that is, as a prayer can be a petition. And yet\nthe genuine petition seeks after something _for itself._ It importunes\nthe man who possesses something of importance to myself, that he may\nfeel inclined to do me a favour in virtue of the request, that his\nheart may yield, or his love may be roused toward me, in one word that\nhis feeling of identity with myself may be awakened. What I, however,\nfeel in making a petition is the desire for something, which the other\nperson must lose if I am to secure it. The other person is to love me\nin order that my self-love may be satisfied, and my weal and necessity\nbe promoted. I on the contrary give nothing further in the transaction\nunless it be contained in an admission that the person thus opportuned\nmay ask for similar favours from myself. Prayer is not a petition of\nthis type. It is an exaltation of the heart to the Absolute, which\nis assumed to be essentially Love, and as such possesses nothing\nindependently[267]. The devotion itself is the gift, the petition\nitself is the blessedness. For although prayer may contain a petition\nfor some particular thing, yet it is not this particular thing which\nis the true purport of the prayer; rather the essential truth of it is\nthe conviction that the petition will be heard, and not heard in its\nrelation to the particular request so much as to the absolute trust\nthat God will apportion that which is best for me to receive. And thus\neven in such a connection prayer is itself its own satisfaction, the\nenjoyment, the express feeling and consciousness of eternal Love, which\nnot only with its ray of illumination shines through the object[268]\nof prayer and its situation, but in fact constitutes the situation and\nwhat is there actually or is thereby manifested. It is this type of\nsupplication which we find exemplified by Pope Sixtus in the picture\nof Raphael already mentioned[269], no less than by Santa Barbara in\nthe same picture, and by many other representations of the prayers of\napostles and saints, of Saint Francis[270] and the like at the foot of\nthe Cross, where we find in the place of the suffering of Christ, or\nthe dismay, doubt, and despair of the disciples the love and adoration\nof God, and the prayer that loses itself in Him is selected as the\nsignificant content. We find such rendered with particular force for\nthe most part on the countenances of aged men marked strongly with the\nsufferings and experience of life in the earlier period of painting,\nfaces that appear to be portraits, souls permeated with devotional\nfeeling to such an extent that this attitude of prayer does not merely\nappear to be experienced at this particular moment, but rather they\nare presented us as pious and saintlike persons whose entire life,\nthought, instinct, and volition is one prayer, and whose expression\ndespite of all the truth of their portraiture may be summed up wholly\nin this assurance and peace of Love. It is otherwise, however, among\nmany of the earlier German and Flemish masters. The subject of the\naltar picture in Cologne Cathedral is the adoring kings and patrons of\nCologne. We find this subject too frequently selected by the school of\nVan Eyck. In such examples the persons who adore are frequently famous\nindividuals, princes, as, for instance, in a well-known adoration\npicture, which has been taken for the work of Van Eyck, critics have\nidentified two of the kings with portraits of Philip of Burgundy and\nCharles the Bold. In the case of personages of this type we see that\nthey are something more than saints, have affairs in the world, and\nonly go to mass on Sunday or in the early morning, but during the rest\nof the week or for the rest of the day have other business to look\nafter. And more particularly in our Flemish or German pictures the\npatrons are pious knights, God-fearing housewives with their sons and\ndaughters. They resemble Martha who fares hither and thither and is\nconcerned with matters of external or mundane significance, rather than\nMary who has selected once and for all the best part. Their piety is\nnot deficient, it is true, in intensity and soul; but we do not find\nhere the song of Love which is at once the beginning and end of it,\nand which is perforce not merely an exaltation, a prayer, or thanks\nfor a gift received, but is as much its unique life as that of the\nnightingale.\n\nWe may summarize the distinction which can be drawn generally in\npictures of this kind between saints and worshippers on the one hand,\nand pious members of the Christian community as they actually appeared\non the other, in the statement that the worshippers, more especially in\nItalian pictures, disclose in the expression of their piety a complete\nharmony of external and spiritual condition. It is their very soul\nwhich we find written for the most part on their countenances, which\nare not permitted to express anything opposed to the emotions of their\nheart. In the actual conditions of life this is not always the case. An\ninfant, for example, when it weeps, more particularly when beginning to\ndo so, quite apart from the fact that we know its grief is not worth\nthe trouble of crying over, often makes us smile with its ugly faces.\nAnd in the same way old folk pucker up their face when they laugh,\nbecause the lines of their features are too pronounced, cold, and stiff\nto accommodate themselves readily to an unreserved and natural laugh\nor a friendly smile. The art of painting should endeavour to avoid\nthis incompatibility between the emotions of piety expressed and the\nsensuous forms which have to express them, and, so far as possible,\nproduce a harmony between the soul and its external mode of expression.\nAnd this in the highest degree was effected by the Italians; the\nGermans and Flemish were less successful, because the main object in\ntheir work was living portraiture.\n\nI will add one further remark, that this devotion of the soul ought\nnot to reach the point of the actual cry of anxiety, that cry of\ntribulation and desire, such as the Psalms and many Lutheran hymns\nexpress, and we may illustrate it with the old words: \"As the hart\ncrieth for the water-brooks, so crieth my soul for Thee.\" We may\nrather indicate it as a gradual melting away, not to that attenuation\nof sweetness perhaps we associate with the nun, but at any rate a\nsurrender of the soul, and an enjoyment and satisfaction in such\nsurrender. For that travail of faith, that anxious troubling of soul,\nthat doubt and desperation which persists in disunion, such a type of\nhypochondriacal piety which never is certain whether it is still sin,\nwhether there has been repentance and pardon is complete, a surrender,\nin which the soul can never advance a step, and is always betraying the\nfact by his anxiety, such a state is not compatible with the beauty\nof the romantic Ideal. We much prefer that the eye of devotion should\nraise its look of yearning heavenwards, although it is both more\nartistic and gives us yet more satisfaction when it is centred on some\npresent object of adoration, whether it be the Virgin Mother, Christ,\nor saint. It is a facile thing, only too facile, to attach to a picture\na spiritual interest, by making its central figure gaze heavenwards,\nanywhere beyond the world, just as we find that nowadays people are\nonly too ready to make use of an equally facile way of proving God\nand religion to be the foundation of society by quoting texts of the\nBible rather than establishing such a basis on the reason of actual\nreality. Such a gaze of countenance upwards becomes in the pictures of\nGuido Reni[271], for example, a pure mannerism. The Assumption of the\nVirgin, too, which we find at Munich, has been much eulogized by its\nadmirers and critics, and we may admit that the exalted character of\nits transfiguration, the absorption and surrender of the soul in the\nheavenly vision, and indeed the entire pose of the ascending figure,\nto say nothing of the brilliance and beauty of the colouring, is most\nimpressive. But for myself I find such representations which depict\nthe Virgin Mother in her own daydream of love and blessedness with her\nglance centred on her babe still more appropriate to her truth. The\nother type of yearning and strain, with its upward gaze heavenwards, is\nsomewhat too near to our modern sentimentalism.\n\nA _further_ aspect of importance is concerned with the entrance of\nthe principle of negation into the spiritual devotion of Love. The\ndisciples, saints, and martyrs, have to pass through, in some measure\nas an experience of their souls, and in part, too, as one of their\nexternal life, that way of suffering along which the Christ in the\nhistory of His Passion passed before them.\n\nThis suffering lies to some extent on the confines of art. Painting can\nvery easily overstep this boundary, in so far, that is, as it accepts\nfor its subject-matter the horrors and terrors of the _bodily_ torture,\nwhether it be in flaying, or burning, or crucifixion, and its pains.\nThis it is not permitted to do, if it is not to forsake the spiritual\nIdeal. This is not solely due to the fact that to present martyrs\nunder such conditions to our sight is not beautiful to the sense, nor\nbecause our nerves nowadays are too keenly strung, but on the better\nground that this material aspect is not the really important one.\nThe true content we have to follow with sympathy and which should be\ndepicted is the _spiritual_ experience, the soul in all that it suffers\nthrough Love, and not the direct bodily pain of a certain individual,\nthe grief for the sufferings of another, or the anguish felt personally\nfor personal demerit. The endurance of martyrs in physical tortures\nis an endurance which carries with it merely physical pain: what the\nspiritual Ideal looks for is the trial of the soul in its own domain,\nits own peculiar suffering, the wounds of its love, the repentance,\nmourning, anguish, and penance of its heart.\n\nBut we must add that in depicting this pain of soul the _positive_\naspect must not wholly be absent. The soul must be assured of the\nactual and essentially consummated reconciliation between mankind\nand God, and only experience anxiety that this eternal salvation be\nrealized as a truth in itself. In this connection we not unfrequently\nmeet with repentant people, martyrs, and monks, who, despite of their\nassuredness of an objective atonement, partly are overwhelmed with\nsorrow for a heart whose entire surrender they deem to be right, and\npartly have already made such complete surrender, and yet are always\nfor realizing such reconciliation anew, and consequently for ever\nimposing on themselves the burden of penances. And we find, therefore,\nin the artistic treatment of such situations a twofold point of\ndeparture. In other words, the artist may, to start with, presuppose in\nhis subject an open disposition, freedom, cheerfulness, and decision\nof spirit, such as carries with ease life and the yoke of the actual\nworld and knows how to readily deal with the same, then he may fitly\nassociate with such painful experiences a native nobility, grace,\nfreshness, freedom, and beauty of form. When, on the contrary, his\nwork is based upon a natural sense that is more refractory, defiant,\nsavage, and limited, the conflict of the spirit in overcoming the flesh\nand the world, and securing to itself the religion of salvation will\nnecessarily imply more severe travail. In cases of such obstinacy of\nsoul, therefore, the harsher reflections of force and stability are\nmore apparent, the scars of the wounds which have been inflicted on an\nobstinacy of this type are more visible and enduring, and the beauty\nof the physical result tends to vanish[272].\n\n_Thirdly_, that positive aspect of atonement, the _transfigurement_\nthat results from grief's travail, the blessedness that comes of\nrepentance may be independently accepted as the subject of artistic\npresentment though it may readily pass into false conceptions.\n\nSuch, then, are the main distinguishing characteristics of the absolute\nspiritual Ideal regarded as the essential content of romantic painting.\nIt forms the material of its most successful and solemn creations,\nworks that are immortal by virtue of the depth of their contemplation;\nand when the representation of essential truth is thereby expressed\nthey are nothing less than the most exalted expansion of the soul to\nits heaven of bliss, the most intimate and complete revelation of ideal\nlife that an artist can bring before our vision.\n\nFollowing this pre-eminently religious sphere of artistic production we\nhave still to investigate two further fields of its activity.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In direct contrast to the province of religion we have that\nwhich, if we consider it in its isolated abstraction, is equally\ndestitute of the life of soul and God, Nature in its simplest terms,\nand regarded more definitely in its connection with painting, Nature's\n_landscape._ We have stated the character of the object of religion to\nbe such that in it the _substantive_ ideality of the soul expresses\ntherein the indwelling sense of Love as united to the Absolute[273].\nThis inward ideality has, however, a further content. It is able to\ndiscover in that which is wholly external an accord with soul-life,\nand can recognize in the objective world as such traits which have\nan affinity with what is spiritual. Regarded in their immediacy, no\ndoubt, hills, mountains, woods, valleys, streams, meadows, sunlight,\nmoon, and the starry heavens, are simply perceived to be the natural\nobjects they are. But, in the _first_ place, these objects have to\nstart with an _independent_ interest, in so far as it is the free\nlife of Nature, which appears in them, and produces a sense of fellow\nfeeling in the individual as one who shares that life himself; and,\n_secondly_, the particular changes of Nature's moods bring about states\nin the soul which correspond to such moods. It is possible for man\nto follow with his own life this animation of Nature and partake in\nthis harmony of soul with its environment, and feel thereby at home in\nNature. Just as the Arcadians spoke of a Pan, who made them shudder\nand frightened in the gloaming of the forest, in the same way the\nvaried conditions of Nature's landscape in its gentle blithesomeness,\nits balmy repose, its spring-freshness, its wintry chill, its morning\nawakening and evening rest find their counterfeits in states of the\nsoul. The tranquil depth of the ocean, the possibility that its depths\nmay break forth with infinite power is akin to soul movements, just as\nconversely the roaring, upwelling, foaming, and break of storm-tossed\nwaves stir the soul with concordant music. It is an ideal significance\nof this kind that the art of painting accepts as its object. And for\nthis reason it is not natural objects merely as such in their external\nform and association which ought to constitute its true content, so\nthat painting is nothing more than a mere imitation, but rather the\nanimation of Nature's life, which interfuses it throughout and which\nis able to bring into prominence and assert with more vividness in the\nscenes of Nature reproduced the characteristic affinity of specific\nconditions of this life with particular spiritual states--it is a vital\nparticipation in Nature of this kind which gives us the meeting-point,\nsteeped as it is in the soul-life and temperament of the artist, by\nmeans of which Nature may become the content of painting not merely as\nenvironment, but as possessing a distinct individuality[274].\n\n(_\u03b3_) There is yet further a _third_ type of idealization which we find\npartly in the case where objects wholly insignificant are detached from\nthe position they occupy in the landscape, and, partly, in scenes of\nhuman life, which may appear to us not merely as wholly accidental as\nthus selected, but even of a kind that is both mean and commonplace.\nI have already found an opportunity for an attempt to justify the\nartistic selection of such subjects[275]. I will in connection with\npainting merely add the following remarks to our former discussion.\n\nThe art of painting is not merely concerned with the inward life\nof the soul, but with that ideal element that is essentially\n_particularized_[276]. This latter type of ideality for the reason\nthat particularity is its principle is not content to rest satisfied\nwith the absolute object of religion, and as little will merely accept\nfrom the external world Nature's vitality and its defined character\nas landscape; rather it insists on partaking of everything, in which\nman as an isolated individual soul can take a rational interest and\nfind pleasure. Even in the case of its representations of religious\nmaterial art, in proportion as it develops, it attaches such more\nclosely to terrestrial conditions and the objects of actual vision,\ngiving to its content the complete presence of natural existence, so\nthat we ultimately find that the aspect of sensuous existence is most\nimportant and the interest of devotional life only so in a subordinate\ndegree. For here, too, art receives the task to work out the Ideal in\nits fullest realization, in other words, to present to our senses that\nwhich is originally detached from them, to carry over objects taken\nfrom the remoteness of past life into present life and unite them with\nthat present human life.\n\nAt our present stage of human evolution it is the ideality which we\nfind in actual life as it faces us, in the circumstances of daily\nexperience, the most common and the most trivial, which is the actual\ncontent.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) If we inquire, then, what it is that makes a content of this\nkind, otherwise so poverty-stricken and indifferent, compatible with\nthe claims of art, we must reply that it is the substantive core that\nis contained and made valid therein, in general terms the vitality and\ndelight of self-subsistent existence, exemplified in the greatest\nvariety of its aims and interests. The life of mankind is always in\nthe immediate Present. What a man may do in each moment thereof is\nsomething specific, and its justification consists in the fact that\nhe carries through all his engagements, the least no less than the\ngreatest, with heart and soul. In this way he is united with each\nparticular incident, and, by infusing into each the entire force of\nhis individuality, appears to identify his whole existence with such.\nThis coalescence[277] produces that harmony of the individual with\nthe specific character of his immediate activity in the circumstances\nthat are nearest him, which is itself a mode of ideality, and which\ncommunicates in such a case to the subsistency of an existence, which\nis an exclusive and perfected whole, its attractive character. The\ninterest, therefore, that we derive from representations of this kind\nis not to be attributed to the subject-matter, but rather to this\nanimating soul, which by itself, and independently of that wherein\nit is disclosed as vital, finds an echo in every uncorrupted nature,\nin every free spirit, and is for the same an object of sympathy and\ndelight. We must not, therefore, impair our enjoyment on the ground\nthat the demand is made of us to admire such works of art under the\naspect of their _likeness_ to _Nature_ so-called and such illusive\nimitation[278]. This demand, which works of this kind appear at first\nblush to support, is itself merely a deception which fails to hit the\nreal point. For an admiration of this type is solely deducible from\nthe wholly external comparison of a work of art and a work of Nature,\nand is only associated with the similarity of the counterfeit with an\nobject or fact presented us, whereas the real content here and the\nartistic quality in the composition and execution is the coalescence\nof the matter portrayed _with its own substance_, which is the reality\nas independently depicted in its vital characterization. According to\nthe principle of illusion, for instance, the portraits of Denner are\nentitled to our praise, which are, no doubt, imitations of Nature, but\nfor the most part fail entirely to present us that vital animation on\nwhich we lay the main stress in these cases, and are mainly concerned\nwith depicting hair, wrinkles, and generally every kind of trait which,\nwithout exactly being indicative of a corpse, are equally remote from\nthe human physiognomy depicted as alive.\n\nMoreover, if we permit ourselves to level down our enjoyment through\nsuperficial thoughts of the above fashionable kind, believing subjects\nof this type to be mean and unworthy of our contemplation, we accept\nthe content by doing so in a form other than that in which art offers\nthem us. In other words we merely associate with them the relation\nin which we stand to them according to our personal needs, pleasure,\nsuch education as we otherwise possess and other objects we have\nbefore us, that is to say we merely conceive them in respect to their\n_external purport_, throughout which it is our own requirements which\nare the vital thing we aim at for ourselves, and the matter of all\nimportance. The life of the subject-matter itself, however, is thereby\ndestroyed, in so far, that is, as the sole object of its existence\nappears to be that of a means simply, or lapses into a thing of no\nmoment at all, just because we personally have no need for it. A gleam\nof sunlight, for example, which falls upon a room we enter through\nan open door, a part of the country we travel through, a sempstress,\na maid we happen to see busily engaged, one and all we may regard\nwith indifference, because we suffer them to pass by remote from the\nthoughts and interests which are bound up with them, and consequently\nin our soliloquy, or conversation with another will not suffer the\nsituations which actually lie before us to speak a word in the current\nof our own thoughts and speech; or we cast what is merely a passing\nglance at them, the summary of which does not amount to more than the\nremark, \"how pleasant, fine, or ugly they are.\" Thus we are charmed\nwith the joviality of dance of peasants, while we merely glance at\nit superficially, or turn away from it with contempt, because we are\nhostile to \"every sort of barbarism.\" We treat in a similar way the\nhuman countenances we come across in our daily life, or which we\nhappen to chance upon. Our own personal point of view, and the various\nmatters which engage us are for ever being interposed. _We_ are forced\nto address this or that person in a certain way, we have affairs to\ndespatch, we have certain things to consider, thoughts that affect\nour relation to such a person; we observe him under the particular\ncircumstances of our knowledge; we regulate our conversation relatively\nto that, or we are silent upon it, if he may be likely to resent\nit--in short we have always in our minds the man's business, station,\nand status, and our attitude to and business with him, remaining in\na wholly practical relation, or in a position of indifference and\npreoccupied inattention. Art, however, when it depicts such real\nlife, wholly changes our attitude to it; it cuts away once and for\nall all practical deviations[279], such as we are wont to associate\nwith such material; it places us simply in the attitude of abstract\ncontemplation to it; and in the like degree it does away with its\nindifference, and directs our otherwise preoccupied attention wholly\nto the situation portrayed; upon which we must collect and concentrate\nall our faculties, if we are to enjoy it. Sculpture, in particular, by\nvirtue of its ideal mode of production from the first strikes off all\npractical relation to the object to the extent that its product at once\nbetrays the fact that it does not belong to this reality. Painting, on\nthe contrary, carries us wholly into the presence of the daily life\nwith which we are in immediate contact, but it furthermore destroys\nall the threads of practical necessity, attraction, inclination, or\ndisinclination, which draw us to such a Present, or the reverse,\nand forces us to approach those objects more intimately as ends to\nthemselves in their own particular phase or mode of life. What we\nmeet with here is just the opposite to that which Herr von Schlegel,\nfor example, in the tale of Pygmalion, expresses so very prosily as\nthe return of the completed work of art to common life, that is to a\nrelation of a man's own inclinations and an actual enjoyment, a return\nwhich is the very opposite of that alienation, in which the work of\nart places the objects delineated in their relation to our practical\nnecessities, and, precisely by doing so, sets forth before us their own\nindependent life and appearance.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Just as, then, art, in this particular sphere, re-establishes\nthe forfeited independence of a content, which we otherwise failed to\npreserve in its unique characteristics, in the same way, _secondly_,\nit is able to secure in stability such objects as may happen to\nappear in actual existence in a form we are not accustomed to respect\nsimply as such. The higher Nature stretches in its organization and\nshifting appearance the more it resembles the actor who only serves the\npresent need. In this connection I have already emphasized the fact\nas a triumph of art over reality, namely, that it is able to fix that\nwhich is most evanescent. This power of art in attaching permanence\nto _momentary_ things applies not only to the sudden flash of life\nwe find concentrated in certain situations, but also to the magical\neffect of its external presentment in the rapid changes of its colour.\nA troop of horsemen, for example, may alter every moment in the mode\nof its grouping, and the mutual relation of each rider within it. If\nwe were one of such we should have something else to do than consider\nthe lively effect of such changes. We should have to mount, dismount,\nmake up our haversack, eat, drink, rest, groom, drink and feed our\nhorses: or, if we looked on as ordinary folk, we should look at such\nwith wholly different interests. We should want to know what they are\nthere for, what nationality they are, for what reason they have left\ntheir barracks, and so forth. The painter, on the contrary, smuggles\noff the most volatile of the movements, the most evanescent expressions\nof countenance, the most momentary gleams of colour apparent in such\nmotion, and places such before us solely in virtue of its interest\nin the animation of such phenomena which without it would vanish.\nFor especially it is the play of the colouring, not treated merely\nas flat tint, but in its lights and shadows, and in the prominence\nor subordination of the objects painted which is the reason that the\nrepresentation appears lifelike, a fact which we are accustomed to\nobserve in works of art less than such an aspect deserves, bringing\nas it does art first clearly to our minds. And, moreover, the artist\npreferably accepts in depicting these natural relations the effort of\nfollowing the least detail, and making his work concrete, definite\nand stamped with individuality, endeavouring as he does to secure for\nhis subject-matter the individuality which phenomenal life itself\nsupplies in its most momentary flashes; and yet withal does not so\nmuch seek for such a detail merely as imitated closely to strike our\nsenses with its directness, but rather to furnish a definite image to\nthe imagination in which at the same time the ideality of the entire\ncomposition remains active.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) The more insignificant the objects are, in comparison with\nthe material of religion, which this particular phase of painting\naccepts for its content, to that very extent it is just this quality\nof _artistic_ creation, the manner of observation, conception,\nelaboration, the vitality communicated by the artist to his work by\nall his individual faculties, in short the soul and living enthusiasm\nof his execution, which constitute a prominent aspect of its interest,\nand are part of its content. That which the subject treated is under\nhis workmanship must, however, substantially remain what it is in\nfact and is capable of being. We believe, indeed, that we look upon\nsomething different, and novel, because in actual life we do not pay\nthe same detailed attention to similar situations, and their manner of\ncolouring. Looked at on the reverse side no doubt we have something,\ntoo, that is new added to such ordinary subjects, namely, just this\nvery enthusiasm, artistic insight and spirit, the soul, in which the\nartist handles them, adapts them to his uses, and by doing so infuses\nthe enthusiasm of his activity like the breath of a new life throughout\nall his work[280].\n\nSuch, then, are the essential points of view, which it was necessary to\ndiscuss in regard to the content of painting.\n\n(_b_) The _second_ aspect which we have next in order to examine is\nconnected with the more particular modes of definition, to which the\nsensuous material, in so far as it has to accept in itself a given\ncontent, has to accommodate itself.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The _first_ of these of importance is the _linear perspective._\nThis is introduced as necessary, because painting has only the\nsuperficies at its disposal and no longer, as was the case with the\nbas-relief of antique sculpture, can extend its figures side by side on\none and the same plane, but has to proceed to a mode of presentation,\nwhich finds it necessary to make the remoteness of its objects in\nall their spatial dimensions merely appear as such to our senses. For\nthe art of painting has to unfold the content it selects, to place\nthe same in its various movement before our eyes, and to associate in\ndifferent ways its figures with the landscape of external Nature, its\nbuildings and so forth, in a wholly distinct grade of literalness to\nthat which sculpture in the relief is able to secure. And that which\npainting in this respect cannot place before us in its actual degree of\nremoteness in the realistic manner of sculpture it must present under\nthe illusion of reality. What we have first to notice here consists\nin this that the _single_ surface which confronts painting is divided\ninto distinct planes, apparently remote from one another, and by this\nmeans the contrasts of a near foreground and a remote background are\nsecured, which furthermore are linked together by means of a middle\ndistance. Inasmuch as the objects are, the more distant they are from\nthe vision, proportionately reduced in size, and this deduction follows\nin Nature itself optical laws capable of mathematical determination,\nthe art of painting, too, has on its part to follow the same rules,\nwhich, by virtue of the fact that objects are set forth on one surface,\nare applicable here in a particular way. And this is the rational\nground of the so-called linear or mathematical perspective in the art\nof painting, whose more detailed exposition, however, it is not our\nbusiness here to discuss.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In the _second_ place, however, objects are not only placed\nat a certain distance from one another, but they also differ in\n_shape._ This particular mode of their spatial limitation by virtue\nof which every object is made visible in its particular form is the\nsubject-matter of _draughtsmanship._ The art of drawing gives us for\nthe first time not merely the comparative distance of objects from\none another, but their respective configuration. Its most important\nprinciple is _accuracy_ of form and relative distance, which of\ncourse in the first instance is not as yet associated with ideal[281]\nexpression, but related simply to external appearance, and consequently\nforms the purely external framework[282], an accuracy, however, which,\nmore particularly in the case of organic forms and their varied\nmovements, is on account of the fore-shortenings thereby rendered\nnecessary one of extreme difficulty. In so far as these two aspects\nare related purely to _form_ and its spatial totality they constitute\nthe _plastic_ or sculpturesque features in painting, which this art,\nfor the very reason that it expresses what is most ideal in its\nsignificance by means of external form, can as little dispense with as\nit can in another respect remain solely content with. For its supreme\ntask is the employment of colour, and in such a way that in all that\nis truly painting distance and shape only attain and discover their\ngenuine presentment by virtue of the distinctions of colour.\n\n(_\u03b3_) It is, therefore, _colour_, and the art of colouring, which\nmake the painter a painter. We dwell with pleasure, no doubt, on the\ndrawing, and exceptionally so on the study or sketch, as on that\nwhich pre-eminently betrays the quality of genius; but however rich\nwith invention and imagination, with whatever directness the soul of\nan artist may assert itself in such studies by reason of the more\ntransparent and mobile shell of their form, yet the fact remains\nto be painting we must have colour, if the work is not to continue\nabstract from the point of view of its sensuous material in the vital\nindividuality and articulation of its objects. We must, however, at\nthe same time admit that drawings and dry point drawings from the\nhand of great masters such as Raphael and Albrecht D\u00fcrer are of real\nimportance. In fact from a certain point of view we may say that it is\njust these hand drawings which carry with them the finest interest. We\nfind here the wonderful result that the entire spirit of the master is\nexpressed directly in such manual facility, a facility which places\nwith the greatest ease, in instantaneous work, without any preliminary\nessays, the essential substance of the master's conception. The border\ndrawings of D\u00fcrer, for example, in the Prayer-book of the Munich\nlibrary, are of indescribable ideality and freedom. Idea and execution\nappear in such a case to be one and the same thing, whereas in finished\npictures we cannot avoid the sense that the consummate result is only\nsecured after repeated over-paintings, a continuous process of advance\nand finish.\n\nIn despite of this, however, it is only through its employment of\ncolour that the art of painting is able to give a real and vital\npresentment to the wealth of soul-life. All the schools of painting\nhave, however, not retained the art of colouring at the same high\nlevel. It is a significant fact that we may, with an exception here\nand there, assert that it is only the Venetians and the Dutch[283] who\nhave become consummate masters in their use of it. Both peoples were\nlinked to the sea-coast, both situated on a low-lying land divided by\nfens, streams, and canals. In the case of the Dutch we may find an\nexplanation in the fact that, on account of their having so perpetually\na cloud-covered horizon, their conception of a gray background became\nfixed in their minds, and owing to this very gloomy prepossession they\nwere the more driven to study colour in all its effects and variety of\nlighting, shadow, and chiaroscuro, to emphasize this and to discover\nin this the main task of their artistic efforts. In contrast to that\nof the Venetians and the Dutch the painting of the Italians generally,\nif we except that of Correggio and one or two others, appears to be\nmore dry, sapless, cold, and lifeless. Looked at more closely we may\nemphasize the following points in connection with the art of colouring\nas the most important.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In the _first_ place we have the abstract basis of all colour\nin _light_ and _dark._ When we posit this contrast and its transitions\nby themselves without further distinctions of colour effect, we\nget thereby simply the contrasts supplied us by white as light and\nblack as shadow together with their transitional grades and nuances,\ncontrasts which offer to the art of drawing its integrating quality,\nappertaining as they do to the real plastic character of form, and\nproducing the prominence, retreat, rondure, and distance of objects.\nWe may incidentally mention in this connection the art of engraving on\nthe plate which is wholly concerned with light and shadow as such[284].\nApart from the infinite assiduity and labour it implies we find in\nthis highly valuable art, at the point of its supreme attainment, soul\nintimately associated with the utility of great variety of form[285],\na variety which the art of bookbinding also possesses. Such an art,\nhowever, is not wholly occupied with effects of light and shade as that\nof simple draughtsmanship is; it endeavours further in its elaboration\nto become distinctly a rival of painting, and in addition to light and\nshade such as is purely the effect of illumination, also strives to\nexpress those distinctions of more emphatic light and darkness which\nare primarily the result of local colour; we find, for example, in\na copperplate engraving that an attempt is made by its use of light\neffects to render visible the distinction between blond and black hair.\n\nIn painting, however, as already remarked, mere light and darkness\nonly supply the fundamental basis, albeit such a foundation is of\nthe greatest importance. For it is this contrast and only this which\ndefines the comparative prominence and retirement, the rondure, and\ngenerally the actual appearance of form as sensuous shape, all that\nwe understand by _modelling._ Masters of colour in this respect\nsimply carry the process to the most extreme contrasts of the most\nbrilliant light and the deepest shadow, and merely produce thereby\ntheir grand effects. Such contrasts are, however, only permissible in\nso far as they avoid harshness, that is, in so far as they are made\nwithin the limits of a just interplay of intermediate tones and colour\ntransitions, which bind the entire composition in a fluid unity and\nrender the finest gradations of tint possible. If such contrasts are\nentirely absent the entire effect will be flat, because it is precisely\nthis distinction between that which is more brilliant and more obscure\nwhich gives emphatic prominence to particular aspects of the work\nand a like subordination to others. And especially in the case of\ncompositions having a large content, and where the distance between\nobjects is considerable, it is necessary to introduce the deepest\nshadow in order to make the scale of light and shadow a broad one.\n\nWith regard to the closer definition of light and shade we find that\nthis depends more than anything else upon the mode of _lighting_\naccepted by the artist. The light of day, that of morning, noon, and\nevening, sunlight or moonlight, a clear or clouded sky, the light of\ntempest, candle-light, a light that is veiled, or falls upon the object\nor diffuses itself gradually, every conceivable mode of lighting, in\nshort, is possible, and the cause of every kind of effect. In treating\na subject of public interest, full of incident, a situation that at\nonce appeals to our common sense, the question of external lighting is\nof subordinate importance. The artist will avail himself here with most\nadvantage of ordinary daylight, if, that is, the demands of dramatic\nvividness, and a desire to emphasize particular figures and groups, or\nto throw into the background others, do not render a less usual mode of\nlighting necessary, which may fall in more readily with such objects.\n\nThe great painters of the earlier school have consequently as a rule\nmade little use of such contrasts or specific schemes of lighting.\nAnd they did rightly, inasmuch as their emphasis was rather on the\nspiritual aspect as such than on the sensuous impression of their\npictures. And on account of the pre-eminent ideality and spiritual\nsignificance of the content they were able to dispense with the aspect\nof their work which inclined more or less to the material side. In the\ncase of landscapes, on the contrary, and subjects of less importance\ntaken from ordinary life, the question of lighting makes a very\ndifferent appeal. In these important artistic and, often, artificial\nand mysterious effects are indispensable. In the landscape the bold\ncontrasts between large masses in illumination and other parts in the\nstrongest shadow will receive their full effect, but tend also to\ndevelop the artistic mannerism. Conversely we find, more especially\nin the treatment of landscape, reflections of light, the flash and\nits counterfeit, that wonderful echo of light, which arises from the\ninterplay of light and dark, and offers an ample and progressive\nsubject of study both to the artist and the spectator. Such a scheme\nof lighting, which the artist has either by direct imitation or\nimaginatively conceived in his work, can, however, by itself only be\na transient one, which is subject to rapid change. However sudden or\nuncommon the lighting thus permanently retained may be, the artist must\nsee in the treatment of his composition, even though it be as full of\nmovement as possible, that the whole, despite all its variety, is not\ninjured by mere restlessness and wavering motive, but is throughout\nclear and marked with unity.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In accordance with what has already been stated the art of\npainting, however, has not merely to express light and dark in its\npurely abstract intension, but to add to it the distinctions of colour.\nLight and shadow must be coloured light and shadow. We have therefore\nin the _second_ place to discuss colour simply.\n\nThe _first_ point we have to deal with here is the _brightness_ and\n_obscurity_ of particular colours respectively to one another, that\nis in so far as they are operative as light and dark in their varied\nrelations, and either emphasize or suppress and impair their individual\neffect. Red, for example, and still more yellow, is at an equal grade\nof intensity more brilliant than blue. This is dependent upon the\nnature of the colours themselves, which in recent times Goethe has\nfor the first time fully explained[286]. In other words, we find\nthat in blue _shadow_ is of main significance, which, in its first\noperation through a brighter, but not as yet fully transparent medium,\nappears to our sight as blue. The sky, for example, is dark, and on\nthe highest mountains it is yet darker. Seen through a transparent\nbut thick medium, such as the atmosphere of its lower planes is, it\nappears as blue, and its brightness increases in proportion as the\nair is less transparent. In the case of yellow, on the contrary,\nessential brightness works through a density, which, however, suffers\nthis brightness to shine through it. Smoke, for example, is such an\nobscuring medium; looked at in front of anything black which works\nits way through it, it appears of a bluish tint, and before anything\nbright it appears yellow and reddish. Genuine red is the actively\nroyal and concrete colour, in which blue and yellow, themselves also\nextremes of opposition, press together in fusion, We may also regard\ngreen as such a union, not, however, in a unity that is concrete, but\nmerely as a difference that is cancelled, as a medium of satiated and\ntranquillized neutrality[287]. These colours are the purest, simplest,\nand original _cardinal_ colours. We may consequently find a symbolical\nsignificance in the way that the old masters made use of them.\nEspecially is this so in their use of blue and red. Blue corresponds\nwith the milder, sensuous, more tranquil aspect, a contemplation which\nis rich in feeling, in so far as it has obscurity for its principle,\nand offers no resistance, whereas the brightness therein rather\nsuggests that which resists, produces, is alive and blithesome. Red\ncorresponds with what is masculine, dominant, and royal, green with\nthat which is indifferent and neutral. According to such symbolism for\nexample, the Virgin Mary is frequently clothed in red where she is\nenthroned, and set before us as queen of heaven; where she is depicted\nas mother, she wears a blue mantle[288]. All the other colours in\ntheir endless variety must be regarded as mere modifications of the\nabove, in which we must recognize a certain degree of shadow fused\nwith the cardinal colours. In this sense no painter would call violet\na colour[289]. Furthermore all these colours, in their mutual relation\nto each other, are respectively of greater brightness or obscurity,\na fact that the artist must bear in mind if he is not to fail in\ngetting the just tone which any particular section of his modelling or\ndistance effects ought to have. In other words we have here a source\nof exceptional difficulty. In the countenance, for example, the lip is\nred, the eyebrow dark, black, brown, or, if blonde, at least darker as\nsuch than the lip; in the same way the cheeks with their reddish tint\nare more brilliant in colour than the nose, with its main impression\nof yellow, brownish, or greenish tint. Such portions of the face can\nreadily receive a greater brightness and intensity owing to this local\ncolour than is consonant with their modelling as parts of the whole.\nIn sculpture, indeed in mere drawing too, such parts of a composition\nreceive their light and shadow wholly in reference to their particular\nform and its manner of lighting. A painter on the contrary must\naccept their local colouring, and this disturbs such a relation. Such\na difficulty is even more obvious between objects more removed from\none another. For the ordinary vision of sight it is our mind which\ndetermines the distance and form of such objects, not merely by means\nof their colour appearance, but also on a variety of other grounds. In\npainting, however, all that we have before us is colour, which as such\nis able to interfere with that which is demanded by mere brightness and\ndarkness as such. The art of the painter, therefore, consists in his\nability to resolve this contradiction, and so to arrange his colours\nthat neither in their local tints, nor in their mutual relation in\nany other way, they impair the modelling as a whole. Only if success\nis secured in both respects are we likely to see the actual shape and\ncolour of the objects realized in perfection. With what consummate\nart, for example, have the Dutch painted the sheen of satin dresses\nwith all their variety of reflections and gradations of shadow in\ntheir folds, or the flash of silver, gold, copper, vessels of glass\nand velvet; and in the same way we may mention the lighting a Van Eyck\ngives to his jewels, gold borders, and metals. The colours by means of\nwhich the flash of gold is presented have nothing of metallic about\nthem: looked at closely we merely see yellow, which by itself is of\nno great brightness. The entire effect is due on the one hand to the\nprominence of the form, and on the other to the contiguity of the\nmutual gradations of distinct colour tones.\n\nA further aspect in the _second_ place is the _harmony_ of the\ncolouring.\n\nI have already observed that the very nature of the facts necessitates\nthat colour should have itself an articulated system. And this complete\nresult should appear. No fundamental colour should be wholly omitted,\notherwise our sense of this integrated whole is lost. To an exceptional\ndegree the old Italian masters and the Dutch satisfy us in this\nrespect. We find in their pictures blue, yellow, red, and green[290].\nIt is this completeness which supplies the basis of our colour harmony.\nThe colours, moreover, must be so arranged that not merely their\nartistic contrast, but also their mediation and resolution, and a\nrepose and reconciliation as the result of such, is made visible to the\nsight. Such effective contrast and repose in conciliated extremes is\nbrought about partly by the way the colours are associated, and partly\nby the degree of intensity which characterizes each colour. In early\npainting it was principally the Dutch school[291], which employed the\ncardinal colours in their purity and their unimpaired brilliance, by\nwhich means the harmony is rendered more difficult by reason of the\nemphasis laid on contrast, but when secured should be pleasing to the\neye. Where, however, the decisive character and force of colour is\ninsisted on the nature of the subject-matter itself should be more\ndefinite and simple. And by attending to this a higher degree of\nharmony between colouring and content is also obtained. The important\npersonages, for instance, must receive the colour that is most\nemphatic, and in their characterization, their entire deportment and\nexpression should appear more imposing than the subordinate figures,\nwho will receive merely the composite colours. In landscape painting\nthe contrast of pure cardinal colours is less pronounced. In scenes,\non the contrary, in which human figures are of most importance, and\nmore particularly where drapery occupies large spaces of canvas, the\nmore simple colours will be in their right place. In such we have a\nscene taken from the world of spiritual life, in which that which is\ninorganic, the natural environment, is more abstract, in other words\nmust not appear in its natural completeness and isolated manner of\neffect, and the varied tints of landscape in all the profusion of\ntheir gradations are less suitable. As a rule the landscape is not\nso entirely fitted to the environment of human scenes as a room, or\ngenerally that which is architectural, inasmuch as situations which\ntake place in the open air are in general not accepted from a class in\nwhich the life of soul without considerable reserve is manifested. If\na man is placed before us with the open landscape around him it should\nappear simply as environment. And in cases of this type it is right\nto make use of colours that are exceptionally prominent. But the use\nof such involves also boldness and power of execution. Sickly sweet,\noverpowered[292], doting faces are not the kind for such treatment.\nSuch soft expressions, such over-diluted countenances, which, ever\nsince Mengs gave them as people are wont to think typical of ideality,\nwould be entirely pulverized by such decision of colour. In recent\ntimes and among us Germans, weak faces which have essentially nothing\nto say[293], carefully posed in ways that imagine themselves to possess\ngrace, simplicity, and imposing character, are all the fashion. This\nlack of distinction, on the side of spiritual characterization, has\nits counterpart in and indeed produces a similar lack of definition\nin colour and tone, so that all colours are run together in one\nconfusion, and forceless condition of mutilation and evaporization, and\nno real emphasis is laid on any. You cannot say that one suppresses\nanother exactly, but then none adds contrast to another. It is no\ndoubt a colour harmony of a kind, and frequently it impresses with\nits excessive sweetness and flattering endearment, but the note of\ndistinction is absent. In this connection Goethe thus expresses himself\nin his observations added to the translation of Diderot's essay on\npainting: \"Critics do not by any means admit that it is easier to make\nweak colour harmonious than a strong scheme: but it stands to reason\nwhen colour is strong, when colours are placed before us vividly,\nin that case the eye will experience their harmony or discord with\ngreater vividness. If, however, we weaken our colours, employ some with\nbrilliance, others in fusion, others in obscure squalour, then it is\nobvious no one will be able to say whether the picture he looks at is\nharmonious or not. One thing in any case we can say of it, it lacks\ndistinction.\"\n\nWith harmony of colour, however, we have not by any means attained the\ngoal of the art of colouring. To reach this consummate effect, in the\n_third_ place, several other aspects must not be neglected. In this\nrespect I will restrict my observations to three points, first, the\nso-called _atmospheric perspective_, secondly, _flesh-colour_, and in\nconclusion, the magic of _colour brilliancy._[294]\n\nLinear perspective is connected in the first instance merely with\nthe different degrees of size, which the lines of objects possess in\ntheir greater or less remoteness from the human eye. This alteration\nand reduction of form is, however, not the only thing painting has\nto reproduce. In Nature everything is affected by the presence of\natmosphere, not merely between different objects, but even different\nparts of them, a difference which asserts itself in colour. This tone\nof colour which thus as it were evaporates with the distance is what\nconstitutes _atmospheric perspective_, in so far as thereby objects\nare modified partly in deliberate outline, and partly in respect to\ntheir light and shadow and general colouring. As a rule people think\nthat what is nearest to the eye in the foreground is brightest, and\nwhat lies in the background is more obscure; in truth the matter is\notherwise[295]. But lights and shadows in the foreground are strongest,\nin other words the contrast between light and shade has a more powerful\neffect, and outlines are more defined near to the spectator. In\nproportion, however, to the degree of their remoteness, they lose in\ndefinition of colour and form, because the contrast of their light and\nshadow is gradually reduced, until finally everything disappears in\ntranspicuous gray. Different schemes of lighting, however, necessitate\nin this respect various modes of treatment. In landscape painting more\nespecially, but also in other compositions, which present large spaces,\natmospheric perspective is of first importance, and the great masters\nof colour have carried out by this means the most bewitching effects.\n\nThe most difficult achievement in colouring, the ideal and consummation\nof its art, is the colour effect of the human flesh[296], which unites\nin its perfection all other colour tones, without permitting any\nparticular one to be singly prominent. The healthy red in the cheeks of\nyouth is, no doubt, pure carmine without any admixture of blue, violet,\nor yellow, but this red is itself only a flush, or rather a sheen,\nwhich appears to rise on the surface, and imperceptibly passes into the\nprevailing flesh-tints. And this is an ideal[297] commixture of all the\nfundamental colours. Through the transparent yellow of the skin the red\nof the arteries and the blue of the veins is visible, and along with\nthe light and shade and all the variety of sheen and reflection we have\nfurther tones of gray, brown, even green, which at first sight appear\nas contrary to Nature, but for all that may contribute to the justness\nand truth of the effect. Moreover, this composite treatment of many\napparent tints is wholly without sheen as such, that is, it reflects\nnothing alien to it on its surface; its vital quality is entirely a\nresult of itself and the living thing it is. It is this rendering of\nthat which is the life shining through the organic integument which\nconstitutes the main difficulty. We may compare it to a lake in the\nevening glow, in which we behold the objects that it reflects[298] no\nless than the clear depth and native character of water. The flash of\nmetal combines on the contrary, no doubt, both light of its own and\ntransparency, jewels both flash and are translucent, and something\nsimilar is seen in the case of velvet and silk-stuffs, but none of\nthese approaches the life-conferred interfusion of colours apparent\non the surface of the living flesh. The skin of animals, whether hair\nor hide, wool, and so forth, are in like manner of the most varied\ncolouring, but it is a colour capable of more direct and independent\ndefinition in its parts, so that the variety is rather the result\nof different surfaces and planes, it is not a single transfusion\nand suffusion of many colours such as human flesh is. The nearest\napproach to it perhaps is the interplay of colour visible in the\nbunch of grapes, or the exquisitely tender gradations of translucent\ncolour in the rose. And yet even this last example is unable to give\nus the counterfeit of ideal animation[299] which flesh-colour should\npossess. It is this volatile emanation of the soul exhibited on a\nnon-transparent surface which is one of the most difficult problems of\npainting. For this ideality, this reflex of the inward life of soul\nmust not appear on a surface as imported there, must not be pasted\nthere as so many streaks, hatchings, and so forth of material colour,\nbut seem to us itself to belong to the living whole[300], a transparent\ndepth, as the blue of heaven, which offers our vision no repellent\nsurface, but one in which we are infallibly invited to unfold. Already\nDiderot, in the essay on painting translated by Goethe, expressed\nhimself as follows on this head: \"He who once has truly felt and\nsecured the apparition of flesh-colour is far on his way to perfect\nvictory. Thousands of painters have died without such a feeling, and\nmany thousands more will die without doing so.\"\n\nIn so far as the material is concerned, by means of which this\nuntransparent vitality of flesh is reproduced, the first medium to\ndeclare its suitability for such an effect was the oil-pigment. Work\nin mosaics is of all the least fitting to present us such a composite\neffect. Its permanency is no doubt a recommendation, but inasmuch\nas it can only express colour gradations through variously coloured\nglass cubes or stones placed in juxtaposition, it is wholly unable to\nreproduce the intermingling flow of one unified presentment of many\ncolours. Fresco and tempera painting carry us considerably further in\nthis direction. Yet in the case of fresco-painting the colours are\nput on the wet plaster with too great rapidity, so that, on the one\nhand, the greatest facility and sureness of brushwork is an essential,\nand, on the other, the work has to be carried out with broad adjacent\nstrokes, which on account of their drying so rapidly do not admit of\na fine degree of finish[301]. The same kind of difficulty meets us in\nthe case of tempera-painting, a process[302] which no doubt admits of\ngreat lucidity of expression[303] and beautiful contrasts of light\nand shadow, yet for all that, by reason of the fact that its medium\ndries so quickly, is less adapted to the fusion and elaboration of its\neffects, and necessitates an articulate surface made up of definite\nstrokes of the brush. The oil pigment, on the contrary, not only\npermits of the most tender and subtle melting together and elaborate\nfusion of colour effect, so that transitions are so imperceptible we\ncannot say where one colour begins and where it leaves off, but it is,\nwhere its component elements are properly fused and the execution of it\nis as it should be, itself remarkable for a luminous quality like that\nof precious stones, and it can, by virtue of its distinctions between\nopaque or transparent colours[304], reproduce in a far higher degree\nthan tempera painting the translucency of different layers of colour.\n\nThe _third_ and last point for our consideration in this connection\nis the emanation[305] and _mystery_ of colour in its entire effect.\nThis witchery of colour appearance will mainly be found, where the\nsubstantive ideality of objects has become an effusion of spirit which\nenters into the scheme and treatment of its coloured presentment. In\ngeneral, we may say that the magic consists in a handling of colour\nby means of which we obtain an interplay of scenic effect which is\ndevoid of defined articulation as such, which is, in fact, simply the\nresult of moulding of colour in the finest degree of fluency, a fusion\nof coloured material, an interplay of reflected points which pass\ninto one another, and are so fine and evanescent in their gradations,\nso full of vital cohesion that the medium here seems already to have\nentered that of musical sound. From the point of view of modelling\nthe mastery of chiaroscuro is part of this magic result, an aspect of\nthe art in which among the Italians Leonardo da Vinci and, above all,\nCorreggio were supreme. While introducing the very deepest shadow, the\ntransparency of this is not only preserved, but is carried through\nimperceptible gradations to the most brilliant light. By this means\nroundness in the moulding of form is complete; there is no harshness\nof line or limit, but all is equable transition. Light and shadow are\nnot here merely in their immediate effect as such, but gleam through\none another much as a spiritual force is operative through an external\nshell. It is just an effect like this we find in the artistic treatment\nof colour, and the Dutch were no less than others consummate masters\nof this. By virtue of this ideality, this mutual relation between the\nparts, this interfusion of reflections and colour scintillations, this\nalternation and evanescence of transitional tones, a breath of soul and\nvitality is throughout communicated in the brilliancy, depth, the mild\nand juicy illumination of colour. It is this which gives us the magic\neffect of a masterpiece of colour; it is the unique gift of the genius\nof the artist who is himself the magician.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) And this brings us to the last point we have to discuss on this\npart of our subject.\n\nWe started with the _linear perspective_, we passed on then to\n_drawing_ and concluded with _colour_; _first_ considering light and\nshade in its relation to modelling, and, _secondly_, viewing it as\ncolour simply, or more accurately, as the mutual relation between\ndegrees of brightness and darkness in colours, regarding it, moreover,\nin its aspects of harmony, atmospheric perspective, flesh-colour\nand magical effect. We have now to consider more directly[306] the\n_creative impulse_ of the artist in bringing about such colour effects.\n\nThe ordinary view is that the art of painting follows definite rules\nin attaining its results. This is, however, only true of the linear\nperspective, being as it is a wholly geometrical science, and even\nin this case rules must not obtrude themselves in their abstract\nstringency, if we are to preserve all that essentially contributes to\nour art. And, in the second place, we shall find that artistic drawing\naccommodates itself even less readily than perspective to universal\nrules, but least of all is this true of colouring. Sense of colour\nought to be an artistic instinct or quality, should be as much a unique\nway of looking at and composing existing tones of colour, as it should\nbe an essential aspect of creative power and invention. On account\nof this personal equation in the production of colour, the way, that\nis, the artist looks at and is active in the making of his world, the\nimmense variety which we find in different modes of treating, it is no\nmere caprice and favourite mannerism of colouring, which is absent from\nthe facts _in rerum natura_, but lies in the nature of the case. Goethe\nsupplies us with an example of personal experience which, as confided\nin his \"Dichtung und Wahrheit,\" illustrates what I mean: \"As I returned\nto my cobbler's house [he had just visited the Dresden Gallery] once\nmore to take lunch I could scarce trust the evidence of my eyes. I\nbelieved myself to see before me a picture of Van Ostade[307], so\ncomplete it was, that you might have hung it there and then in the\nGallery. Composition of subject-matter, light, shadow, brown tone\nof the whole, all that is admirable in this artist's pictures I saw\nactually before me. It was the first time that I was aware, to such a\nhigh degree of the power which I subsequently exercised with intention,\nthe power of seeing, that is, with the eyes of the particular artist,\nto whose works I had just happened to devote exceptional attention.\nThis facility afforded me great enjoyment, but also increased the\ndesire from time to time to persevere in the exercise of a talent\nwhich Nature seemed ungracious enough to disallow me[308].\" This\nvariety in the manner of colouring is exceptionally conspicuous in the\npainting of human flesh, quite apart from all modifications rendered\nnecessary by the mode of lighting, age, sex, situation, and the like\nconsiderations. And for the rest, whether the subject depicted be\ndaily life, outside or within the interior of private houses, taverns,\nchurches, or other buildings, or it be that of Nature's landscape,\nwith its wealth of objects and colour, which finds more or less\naccurate reflection in the personal essay of any particular painter,\nthe result cannot fail to illustrate this varied play of form and\ncolour effect[309], which will infallibly appear, due as it is to the\nmanner in which each comprehends, reproduces, and creates his own work\naccording to his own outlook, experience and imaginative powers.\n\n(_c_) We have hitherto, in discussing the several points of view which\nare given effect to in the art of painting, referred, _firstly_, to its\ncontent, and _secondly_ to the sensuous medium in which such content\ncan be built up. We have in conclusion to define the mode under which\nthe artist is bound to conceive and execute his content as a painter\nand under the conditions of his particular medium. We will divide the\nvery considerable matter which such an investigation implies in the\nfollowing manner:\n\n_First_, we have to deal with the more _general_ distinctions in forms\nof _conception_, which it will be necessary to classify and follow in\ntheir progressive advance to richer manifestations of life.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall have to direct attention to the more definite\naspects, which, within these general types of conception, are more\ndirectly referable to genuine pictorial _composition_, that is, the\nartistic motives apparent in the particular situation and manner of\ngrouping selected.\n\n_Lastly_, we propose to review rapidly the mode of _characterization_,\nwhich results from distinctions of subject-matter no less than modes of\nconception.\n\n(_\u03b1_) With respect to the most generally prevailing modes of artistic\nconception[310], we shall find these are in some measure due to the\ncontent which has to be depicted, and in part are referable to the\ncourse of the art's evolution, which does not from the first seek to\nelaborate all that is apparent in any subject, but rather through a\nvariety of stages and transitions makes itself fully mistress of Life\nand its manifestations.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The first position which the art of painting is able to secure\nstill betrays its origin from sculpture and architecture: in the\n_entire mode_ of its conception it is still in close association with\nthese arts. And this will pre-eminently be the case where the artist\nrestricts himself to individual figures, which he does not place before\nus in the vital connections of an essentially concrete situation,\nbut in the simple independence of its self-repose. Out of the many\nsources of content which I have indicated as adapted to painting, we\nshall find religious subjects, Christ, his apostles, and the like are\nexceptionally suited to such abstract treatment. Such figures as these\nmust necessarily be assumed to possess sufficient significance in\ntheir isolation, to be complete in themselves, and to unfold an object\nsufficiently substantive of adoration and love. Belonging to this\ntype, particularly in early art, we meet with examples of Christ or\nhis saints isolated without definite situation and environment. If we\ndo find the latter it mainly consists in architectural embellishments,\nparticularly Gothic; this is frequently the case in early Flemish or\nupper German art[311]. In this relation to architecture, among the\ncolumns and arches of which such figures as the twelve apostles and\nothers are frequently composed, painting does not as yet attain to the\nlife-like actuality of its later development, and we find that even the\nfigures still retain in some measure a character which inclines to the\nstatuesque, or to some extent do not move beyond such a general type\nas we find indicated in its fundamentals by Byzantine painting. For\nisolated figures of this character, devoid of any background or only\nretaining a purely architectonic outline, a more severe simplicity of\ncolour, and a more emphatic brilliancy, is as it should be. The oldest\nschool of painters have consequently employed a single-tinted ground of\ngold instead of a rich natural landscape, a ground which the colours\nof drapery have to confront, and to which they are compelled to adapt\nthemselves; these are consequently more decisive and glaring than the\ncolours employed in the periods of Art's finest bloom, just as we find\nas a rule that simple vivid colours such as red, blue, and the rest are\nmost pleasing to uncultivated people.\n\nTo this earliest type of conception it is that for the most part the\nmiracle-working pictures belong. To such as to something stupendous\nman is merely placed in a relation of stupidity, from which the aspect\nof their artistic merit vanishes, so that they are not brought nearer\nto his conscious life in friendly guise in accordance with their vital\nhumanity and beauty, and the very pictures which are most revered in a\nreligious sense are from an artistic standpoint the most execrable.\n\nIf, however, isolated figures of this type do not supply an object\nfor devotion or interest as being already complete and independent\npersonality, their execution, carried out as it is in consonance\nwith the principle of statuesque conception, has no meaning at all.\nPortraits, for example, are of interest to relatives who know the\nman thus portrayed and his individuality. But where the personages\nthus depicted are forgotten or unknown the sympathy which is excited\nby their portraiture in a given action or situation, which gives\ndefinite content to a particular character, is of a wholly different\nkind to that which we find in the entirely simple type of conception\nabove referred to. Really great portraits, when they face us in the\nfullest wealth of life all the means of art can display, possess in\nthis wealth itself the power to stand forth from and step out of their\nframes. In looking at the portraits of Van Dyck, for example, more\nparticularly when the pose of the figure is not wholly full face, but\nslightly turned away, the frame has struck me like the door of the\nworld, which the man before me enters. When consequently individuals\ndo not possess, as saints, angels and the like do, a characterization\nwhich is in itself sufficiently complete and acknowledged, and are only\ninteresting by virtue of the definite character of a given situation,\nsome single circumstance or particular action, it is not suitable to\npresent them as independent figures. As an example of this the last\nwork of K\u00fcgelchen in Dresden was a composition of four heads, half\nfigures, namely, Christ, John the Evangelist, John the Baptist, and the\nProdigal Son. So far as Christ and John the Evangelist are concerned I\nfound the conception quite appropriate. But in the case of the Baptist,\nand in every respect in that of the Prodigal Son, I failed to connect\nwith them the authentic character which could justify a treatment of\nthem as half-length portraits. In such cases it is essential to place\nthe figures in a condition of action or incident, or at least to show\nthem in situations, by means of which, in vital association with\nexternal environment, they can assert the individuality which marks an\nessentially exclusive whole. The head of the Prodigal Son in the above\npicture expresses no doubt, very finely too, pain, profound repentance\nand remorse, but the only indication we have given us that this is the\nrepentance of the Prodigal Son is a very diminutive herd of swine in\nthe foreground. Instead of a symbolical reference of this kind we ought\nto see him among his swine, or at least in some other scene of his\nlife. The Prodigal Son, in short, does not possess for us any further\ngeneral characterization complete as such in our minds and only exists,\nin so far as he is not purely allegorical, in the well-known scenes of\nBiblical narrative. He should be depicted to us as leaving his father's\nhouse, or in his misery, his repentance and return, that is, in the\nconcrete facts of the tale. Those swine put in the foreground do not\ncarry us much further than a label with \"The Prodigal Son\" written on\nit.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) And generally it is obvious that painting, for the reason that\nits function is to accept as its content the wealth of soul-life in all\nits detail, is, to a yet greater extent than sculpture, unable to rest\nsatisfied with that repose on itself which is without defined situation\nand the conception of a character taken by itself and alone simply. It\nis bound to make the effort to exhibit such self-subsistency and its\ncontent in specific situation, variety, and distinction of character\nviewed in their mutual relations and in association with their\nenvironment. It is, in fact, just this departure from purely eclectic\nand traditional types, from the architectonic composition of figures\nand the statuesque mode of conception; it is just this liberation from\nall that is devoid of movement and action, this striving after a living\nhuman expression, a characteristic individuality; it is this investment\nof a content with all the detail of the ideal and external condition\nthat affects it which constitutes the advance of the art, in virtue of\nwhich it secures its own unique point of view. Consequently to painting\nas to no other plastic art is it not merely permitted, but it is even\nrequired from it, that it should unfold dramatic realization, and by\nthe composition of its figures display their activity in a distinctly\nemphasized situation.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) And, in the _third_ place, closely connected with this\nabsorption in the complete wealth of existing life and the dramatic\nmovement of circumstance and character, we are aware of the importance\nwhich is increasingly attached, both in conception and execution, to\nthe individuality and the vital wealth of the colour aspect of all\nobjects, in so far as in painting we attain to the supremest effects of\nvital truth which are capable of being expressed purely by colour.\n\nThis magical result of appearance can, however, be carried to such\na pitch, that in contrast to it the exhibition of content becomes a\nmatter of indifference, and painting tends to pass over, in the mere\ncharm and perfume of its colour tones, and the contrast, fusion, and\nplay of their harmonies, into the art of music, precisely as sculpture,\nin the elaboration of its reliefs, tends to associate itself with\npainting.\n\n(_\u03b2_) What we have in the first instance now to pass in review are the\nparticular lines[312] that pictorial _composition_ is constrained to\nadhere to in its productions when presenting to us a definite situation\nand the more immediate motives referable to it by virtue of the way it\nconcentrates and groups together various figures and natural objects in\none self-exclusive whole.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) What is of fundamental and pre-eminent importance here is the\nhappy selection of a situation adapted to the art.\n\nIn this respect the imaginative powers of the painter possess an\nimmeasurable field to select from, a field whose limits extend from\nthe simplest situation[313] of an object insignificant in itself,\nsuch as a wreath of flowers, or a wineglass composed with plates,\nbread, and certain fruits, to rich compositions of important public\nevents, political actions, coronation f\u00eates, battles, or even the Last\nJudgment, in which God the Father, Christ, his apostles, the heavenly\nlegions, nay, our entire humanity, and earth, heaven, and hell are\nbrought together. And here a closer inspection will show us that we\nmust clearly distinguish what is truly pictorial on the one hand from\nthat which is sculpturesque, and on the other from what is poetical in\nthe sense that it is only poetry that can fully express it.\n\nThe essential difference between a _pictorial_, and _sculpturesque_\nsituation consists, as we have already seen, in this, that the\nmain function of sculpture is to place before us that which is\nself-subsistent in its tranquillity, without conflict under conditions\nthat do not affect it, in which distinctness of definition is not the\nmain demand, it is only in the relief that it really begins to approach\na group composition, and an epic expanse of figures begins to represent\nactions involving motion, and which imply collision of opposing forces.\nThe art of painting, on the contrary, only thoroughly takes up its\nproper task, when it moves away from figures composed independently\nof their more concrete relations, moves away from a situation that\nis deficient in its elaboration, in order that it may thus pass into\nthe sphere of living movement, human conditions, passions, conflicts,\nactions in persistent association with external environment, and even\nin its composition of natural landscape is able to retain firmly\nthis definite structure of a given situation and its most lifelike\nindividuality. It was for this reason that from the first we maintained\nthat painting was called upon to effect the exposition of character,\nsoul, and ideal qualities, not in the way that this spiritual world\nenables us to recognize it directly in its external shape, but in the\nway it evolves and expresses its actual substance by means of _actions._\n\nAnd the truth we have just mentioned is that which brings painting\ninto closer relation with _poetry._ Both arts have in this respect an\nadvantage[314], and from another point of view, also a disadvantage.\nPainting is unable to give us the development of a situation, event, or\naction, as poetry or music, that is to say, in a _series_ of changes;\nit can only embody one moment of time. A simple reflection is deducible\nfrom this, namely, that we must in this one moment have placed before\nus the substance of the situation or action in its entirety, the very\nbloom of it; consequently, that moment should be selected in which all\nthat preceded and followed it is concentrated in one point. In the case\nof a battle, for example, this moment will be that of victory. The\nconflict is still apparent, but its decisive conclusion is equally so.\nThe artist is able, therefore, to retain as it were the residue of the\nPast, which, in the very act of withdrawal and disappearance, still\nasserts itself in the Present, and furthermore can suggest what has yet\nto be evolved as the immediate result of a given situation. I cannot,\nhowever, here enlarge further on this head. The painter, however,\ntogether with this disadvantage as against the poet, is to this extent\nadvantaged in that he can bring the precise scene before our vision\nin all the appearance of its reality, can depict it perfectly in all\nits detail. \"_Ut pictura poesis erit_\" is no doubt a favourite saying\nwhich is particularly and pertinaciously advanced by theorists, and is\nno doubt actually accepted and exemplified by narrative poetry in its\ndescriptions of the seasons, its flowers, and its landscapes. Detailed\ntranscription of such objects and situations is, however, not only a\nvery dry and tedious affair, and indeed, so far from being exhaustive,\nalways leaves something more to say. It is, further, contrasted with\npainting, only a confusing result, because it is forced to present as\na successive series of ideas what painting sets before our vision once\nand for all, so that we constantly tend to forget what has gone before\nand lose it from our minds, despite the fact that it should be held\nin essential relation with that which follows, inasmuch as under the\nspatial condition it is in fact a part of it, and only is significant\nin this association and this immediacy. It is, however, just in this\ncontemporaneous exposition of detail that the painter can restore that\nwhich, in respect to the progressive series of past and future events,\nhe fails to secure.\n\nThere is, however, another respect in which painting yields place to\npoetry and music, and that is in its lyrical quality. The art of poetry\ncan not only develop emotions and ideas generally as such respectively,\nbut also in their transitions, movement, and increased intensity. In\nrespect to concentrated intensity this is yet more the case in music,\nwhich is essentially concerned with soul-movement. To represent this\npainting has nothing beyond the expression of face and pose; and if it\ndoes exclusively direct its effort, to what is actually lyrical, it\nmisconceives the means at hand. However much the soul's passion may\nbe expressed in the play of the countenance or bodily movement, such\nexpression should not be directly referable to emotion as such, but\nto emotions in so far as they are present, with a _definite_ mode of\nexpression, in an event or action. The fact that it reveals ideality in\nexternal form therefore does not connote the abstract meaning that it\nmakes the nature of the soul visible by means of physiognomy and form,\nunder the mode of which it expresses soul-life; it is rather just the\nindividual situation of an action, passion in some specific outburst\nthereof, by means of which the emotion is unfolded and recognized.\nWhen, therefore, it is attempted to interpret the poetical quality\nof painting under the assumption that it should express the soul's\nemotion directly, without a motive and action more near to it in facial\nexpression and pose, all that we do in such a case is to throw the art\nback upon an abstraction, which its effort should precisely strive to\nbe rid of; we ask of it, in short, that it should master the peculiar\nand just contribution of poetry; and if it attempts to do this the\nresult will be a barren and stale one.\n\nI particularly insist on this point because in the exhibition of art\nwe had here last year (1828) several pictures from the so-called\nD\u00fcsseldorf school have received much attention, the painters of which,\nwhile displaying in their work considerable knowledge and technical\nability, have laid almost exclusive stress on this ideal aspect, on\nmaterial that is only capable of adequate presentment in poetry. The\ncontent, for the most part borrowed from poems of Goethe or from\nShakespeare, Ariosto, and Tasso, may be generally indicated as the\nideal emotion of Love. As a rule the most capable of these pictures set\nbefore us a pair of lovers, Romeo and Juliet, for example, or Rinaldo\nand Armida, without any further situation, so that these couples have\nnothing more to do and express except the fact that they are in love\nwith each other, in other words, they share a mutual attraction, gaze\non each other as lovers, and as lovers look yet again. Naturally in\nsuch a case the main expression must be concentrated in the mouth and\neyes; and we may add that our Rinaldo has been so placed relatively\nto his spider legs that he looks very much as though he did not know\nwhat to do with them. They are extensions which are entirely without\nmeaning. Sculpture, as we have seen, dispenses with the glance of\neye, the soul-flash; painting, on the other hand, seizes on this\npotent means of expression, but it must not focus everything at this\none point, it should not make the fire or the refluent languor and\nyearning of the eye or soft friendliness of lips the soul and centre\nof expression without any other motives. Equally defective was the\nfisherman of H\u00fcbner, the theme of which was borrowed from that famous\npoem of Goethe, which depicts with such wonderful depth and charm of\nfeeling the indefinite yearning for the repose, coolness and purity\nof water. The naked fisher lad, who in this picture is being drawn\ninto the water, has, just as the male figures in the other pictures\nhave, a very prosaic looking face, such as we could not imagine, if\nthe features were in repose, to be capable of profound or beautiful\nemotions. And, as a rule, we cannot assert of these figures, whether\nmale or female, that they are beautiful in a healthy sense; they, on\nthe contrary, merely betray the nervous excitement, weakness, and\ndisease of Love and emotional life generally, which people have no\nbusiness to repeat and which we would willingly, whether in life or\nArt, be spared. To the same class of conception belongs the way that\nSchadow, the master of this school, has depicted Goethe's Mignon. The\ncharacter of Mignon is wholly poetical. What makes her interesting is\nher Past, the severity of her destiny as it affects both her inward\nand outward life, the conflict of her Italian, wholly excited passion\nin a soul which is still obscure to itself, which can neither decide\nupon a course of action or object, and which, being this mystery\nto itself, merges itself in such and yet can do itself no good. It\nis this self-expression wholly divided in itself and yet retiring\ninto itself, and only letting us see its confusion in isolated and\nunrelated eruptions, which creates the awful interest we cannot fail\nto experience in her. Such a network of contradictions we may no\ndoubt imagine in our minds, but the art of painting is wholly unable\nto, present it to us, as Schadow has attempted to do, simply by\nmeans of Mignon's form and physiognomy, without defining further any\nsituation or action. We may, therefore, assert generally that the\nabove-mentioned pictures are conceived without any real insight for\nsituations, motives, and expression. It is, in short, an inseparable\ncondition of genuine artistic representations of painting that the\nentire subject-matter should be grasped with imaginative power,\nshould be made visible to us in figurative form, which is expressed\nand manifests its ideal quality through a series of feeling, that\nis, through an action, which is of such significance to the emotion,\nthat each and everything in the work of art appears to be entirely\nappropriated by the imagination to express the content selected. The\nold Italian painters have to a conspicuous degree, no less than their\nmodern fraternity, depicted love-scenes, and in part borrowed the\nmaterial from poetry; but they have known how to clothe the same with\nimagination and delight. Cupid and Psyche, Cupid and Venus, Pluto's\nrape of Proserpine, the rape of the Sabine women, such and other\nsimilar subjects the old masters depicted in lifelike and definite\nsituations, in scenes properly motived and not merely as simple emotion\nconceived without imaginative grasp, without action. They have also\nborrowed love scenes from the Old Testament. We may find an example\nin the Dresden Gallery, a picture of Giorgione, in which Jacob, after\nhis long journey, greets Rachel, presses her hand and kisses her; in\nthe distance there stand a pair of youths by a spring, busily engaged\nin watering their herds, which are feeding, a large number of them, in\nthe dale. Another picture presents to us Isaac and Rebecca. Rebecca\ngives Abraham's carls water to drink and is recognized in doing so.\nIn the same way scenes are taken from Ariosto; we have Medor, for\nexample, writing the name of Angelica on the edge of a spring. When,\ntherefore, people nowadays refer to poetry in painting, this can only\nmean, as already insisted, that we must grasp a subject imaginatively\nand suffer emotions to unfold themselves in action; it excludes the\nidea of securing feeling simply as such or endeavouring thus to express\nit. Even poetry, which is capable of expressing emotion in its ideal or\nspiritual substance, is unfolded in ideas, images, and descriptions.\nIf this art was content to abide by a mere \"I love thee,\" repeated\neternally, as its entire expression, such a consummation no doubt,\nmight prove highly agreeable to those masters who have talked so much\nabout the poetry of poetry, but it would be the blankest prose for all\nthat. For art generally in its relation to emotion consists in the\napprehension and enjoyment of the same by means of the imagination,\nwhich in poetry displays passion in its conceptions, and satisfies us\nin their expression, whether that expression be lyrical, or conveyed\nin epical events, or dramatic action. As a presentment of the inward\nlife of soul, however, in painting the mouth, eye, and pose, do not\nalone suffice; we must have the total objective realization in its\nconcreteness to make valid and vouch for such ideality.\n\nThe main thing, then, in a picture is that it present to us a\nsituation, the scene of some action. And closely associated with this\nwe have the primary law of _intelligibility._ In this respect religious\nsubjects possess the supreme advantage, that they are universally\nknown. The annunciation of the angel, the adoration of the shepherds or\nof the three kings, the repose in the flight to Egypt, the crucifixion,\nburial, resurrection, no less than the legends of the saints, were\nwell known subjects with the public, for whom such pictures were\npainted, albeit to our own generation the stories of the martyrs are\nremoved to some distance. For a particular church, for example, it was\nmainly the biography of its patrons or its guardian saints which was\nrepresented. Consequently it was not always the painters themselves\nwho selected such subjects; particular circumstances rendered such\nselection inevitable for particular altars, chapels, and cloisters, so\nthat the place where they are exhibited in itself contributes to their\nelucidation. And this is, in part, necessary, for in painting we do not\nfind speech, words, and names, by which interpretation of poetry may be\nmaterially assisted to say nothing of all its other means. And in the\nsame way in a royal residence, council-hall, or parliament-building,\nscenes of great events, important situations taken from the history of\nthe state, city, and building in which they are found are there, and\nreceive a just recognition in the place for which they were originally\npainted. It is hardly likely, for instance, that in painting a picture\nfor one of our palaces an artist would select a subject borrowed from\nEnglish or Chinese history, or from the life of King Mithridates. It\nis otherwise in picture galleries, where we have all kinds of subjects\nbrought together that we could wish to buy or possess as examples of\nfine works of art. In such a case, of course, the peculiar relation of\nany picture to a definite locale, no less than its intelligibility, so\nfar as it is thereby promoted, disappears. The same thing is true of\nthe private collection. The collector brings together just what he can\nget; the principle is that of a public gallery, and his love of art or\ncaprice may extend in other directions.\n\nAllegorical pictures are far inferior to those of historical content\nin the matter of intelligibility; they are, moreover, for the reason\nthat the ideal vitality and emphatic characterization of the figures\nmust in great measure pass out of them, indefinite, and not motive to\nenthusiasm. Landscapes and situations borrowed from the reality of\ndaily life, are, on the contrary, no less clear in their substantial\nimport than, in respect to their characterization, dramatic variety,\nmovement and wealth of existence, they supply a highly favourable\nopportunity for inventive power and executive ability.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) To render the defined situation of a picture intelligible, in so\nfar as the artist is called upon to do this, the mere fact of its local\nplace of exposition and a general knowledge of its subject will not\nsuffice. As a general rule, these are purely external relations, under\nwhich the work as a work of art is less affected. The main point of\nreal importance consists, on the contrary, in this that the artist be\nsufficiently endowed in artistic sense and general talent to bring into\nprominence and give form to the varied motives, which such a situation\ncontains, with all the bounty of invention. Every action, in which\nthe ideal world is manifested in that which is external, possesses\nimmediate modes of expression, sensuous results and relations, which,\nin so far as they are actually the activities of spirit, betray and\nreflect its emotion, and consequently can be utilized with the greatest\nadvantage as motives which contribute to the intelligibility of the\nwork no less than its individual character. It is, for example, a\nfrequent criticism of the Transfiguration picture of Raphael, that\nthe composition is cut up into two unrelated parts; and this from an\n_objective_ standpoint is the case. We have the transfiguration on\nthe hill and the incident of the possessed child in the foreground.\nFrom an ideal[315] point of view, however, an association of supreme\nsignificance is undoubtedly present. For, on the one hand, the sensuous\ntransfiguration of Christ is just this very exaltation of himself\nabove the earth and his removal from his disciples, a removal which as\nsuch separation ought to be made visible; and from a further point of\nview the majesty of Christ is in this, an actual and particular case,\nto the highest degree emphasized by the fact that the disciples are\nunable to heal the possessed child without the assistance of their\nMaster. In this instance, therefore, this twofold action is throughout\nmotived, and the association is enforced before our eyes, both in its\nexternal and ideal aspect, by the incident that a disciple expressly\npoints to Christ who is removed from them, and in doing so suggests the\nprofounder truth of the Son of God to be at the same time on Earth,\nin accordance with the truth of that saying, \"If two are gathered\ntogether in my name I am in the midst of them.\" I will give yet another\nillustration. Goethe on one occasion gave as a subject for a prize\nexhibition the representation of Achilles in female garments at the\ncoming of Odysseus. In one drawing Achilles glances at the helmet of\nthe armed hero, his heart fires up at the sight, and in consequence\nof this emotion the pearl necklace is broken which he wears round the\nneck. A lad seeks for and picks up the pieces from the ground. Such is\nan example of admirable motive.\n\nMoreover, the artist finds he has to a more or less extent large\nspaces to fill in; he requires landscape as background, lighting,\narchitectonic surrounding, and he has to introduce incidental figures\nand objects and so forth. All this material he should apply, in so far\nas it can be so adapted, as motives in the situation, and bring this\nexternal matter into unity with his subject in such a way that it is no\nlonger insignificant. Two princes or patriarchs shake hands. If this\nis indicative of a peace treaty, and the seal upon the same, warriors,\narmed bands, and the like, preparations for a sacrifice to solemnize\nthe pact, will be an obviously fitting environment. If such people\nhappen to meet each other with a similar welcome on a journey, other\nmotives will be necessary. To invent the same in a way that attaches\nreal significance and individualization to the action, this it is which\nmore than anything else will test the artistic insight of the painter\nso far as this aspect of his work is concerned. And in order to promote\nthis not a few artists have also attached symbolical relations between\nbackground and the main action. In the composition, for example, of\nthe Adoration of the three Kings, we not unfrequently find the holy\nInfant in His cradle beneath a ruined roof, around Him the walls of a\nbuilding falling in decay, and in the background the commencement of\na cathedral. The falling stone-work and the rising cathedral directly\nsuggest the victory of the Christian church over paganism[316]. In the\nsame way we find, not unfrequently, in pictures, more especially of\nthe Van Eyck school, which depict the greeting of the angel Gabriel to\nMary, flowering lilies like stamens. They indicate the maidenhood of\nthe mother of God.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Inasmuch as in the _third_ place the art of painting, by\nvirtue of the principle of ideal and external variety, in which it is\nbound to give clear definition to situations, events, conflicts, and\nactions, is forced to deal on its way with many kinds of distinction\nand contradiction in its subject-matter, whether purely natural objects\nor human figures, and, moreover, receives the task to subdivide this\ncomposite content, and create of it one harmonious whole, a way of\nposing and _grouping_ its figures artistically, becomes one of the\nmost important and necessary claims made upon it. Among the crowd of\nparticular rules and definitions, however, which are applicable to\nthis subject, what we are able to affirm in its most general terms can\nonly be valid in quite a formal way, and I will merely draw attention\nshortly to a few of the main points.\n\nThe earliest mode of composition still remains entirely architectonic,\na homogeneous juxtaposition of figures or a regular opposition and\nsymmetrical arrangement, not merely of the figures themselves, but\nalso their posture and movements. We may add that at this stage the\npyramidal form of grouping is much in favour. When the subject is the\nCrucifixion of our Lord such shapes follow as a matter of course.\nChrist is suspended on high from the cross, and at the sides we have\na group of the disciples, Mary the mother, or saints. In pictures of\nthe Madonna also, in which Mary is seated with her Child on a raised\nthrone, and we find adoring apostles, martyrs, and so forth, beneath\nthem on either side we have a further illustration of this form. Even\nin the Sistine Madonna picture this mode of grouping is still in its\nfundamental features retained. And, generally, it brings repose to the\neye because the pyramids, by virtue of its apex, makes the otherwise\ndispersed association coherent, giving an external point of unity to\nthe group[317].\n\nWithin the limits, however, of such a generally abstract symmetrical\ncomposition, the pose of the figures may be marked in detail by great\nvividness and individuality, and equally the general expression and\nmovement. The artist, while using in combination the means of his art,\nwill have his several planes, whereby he is able more definitely to\nemphasize the more important figures as against the others; and he can\nin addition avail himself of his scheme of lighting and colour. The way\nhe will arrange his groups to arrive at this result is sufficiently\nobvious. He will not, of course, place his main figures at the sides,\nor place subordinate ones in positions which are likely to attract the\nhighest attention. And similarly he will throw the strongest light on\nobjects which are part of the most significant content, rather than\nleave them in shadow, and emphasize with such strong light and the most\nconspicuous tints objects which are incidental.\n\nIn the case he adopts a method of grouping less symmetrical, and\nthereby more life-like, the artist will have to take especial pains not\nto make the figures press too closely on each other, which results\nin a confusion not unfrequently noticeable in certain pictures; we\nshould not be under the necessity of having first to identify limbs and\ndiscover which belong to which, whether they be arms, legs, or other\nproperties, such as drapery, armour, and so forth. It will, on the\ncontrary, be wisest in the case of larger compositions, in the first\ninstance no doubt, to separate the whole into component parts easily\nascertained, but, at the same time, not to isolate them in dispersion\nentirely. And particularly will this be advisable where we have scenes\nand situations, which on their own account naturally tend to a broad\nand disunited effect such as the gathering of manna in the wilderness,\nmarket-fairs, and similar subjects.\n\nOn the above subject I must restrict myself here to these very general\nobservations.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Having thus, _firstly_, dealt with the general types of pictorial\ncomposition, and, _secondly_, with a composition from the point of\nview of selection of situations, arrangement of motives and grouping,\nwe will now add a few remarks upon the mode of _characterization_, by\nmeans of which painting is to be distinguished from sculpture and its\nideal plastic character.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) I have several times previously taken occasion to remark,\nthat in painting the ideal and external _particularity_ of soul-life\nis admitted in its freedom, and consequently is not necessarily\nthat typical beauty of individualization which is inseparable from\nthe Ideal itself, but one which is suffered to expand in every\ndirection of particular appearance, by virtue of which we obtain\nthat which in modern parlance is called _characteristic._ Critics\nhave generally referred to \"the characteristic\" thus understood as\nthe distinctive mark of modern art in its contrast to the antique;\nand, in the significance we are here attaching to the term, no doubt\nthe above contrast is just. According to our modern criterion Zeus,\nApollo, Diana, and the rest are really not characters at all in this\nsense, although we cannot fail to admire their infinitely lofty,\nplastic, and ideal individualities. We already find a more articulate\nindividualization is approached by the Homeric Achilles, the Agamemnon\nand Clytemnestra of Aeschylus[318], or the Odysseus, Antigone, and\nIsmene in the type of spiritual development which by word and deed\nSophocles unfolds to us, a definition in which these figures subsist in\nwhat appears to be consonant with their substantive nature, so that we\ncan no doubt discover the presentment of character in the antique if\nwe are prepared to call such creations characters. Still in Agamemnon,\nAjax, Odysseus, and the rest, the individualization remains throughout\nof a generalized type, the character of a prince, of frantic rage, of\ncunning in its more abstract determinacy. The individual aspect is in\nthe result closely intertwined with the general conception, and the\ncharacter is merged in an individualization of ideal import. The art\nof painting, on the contrary, which does not restrain particularity\nwithin the limits of such ideality, is more than anything else occupied\nwith developing the entire variety of that aspect of particularization\nwhich is accidental, so that what we have now set before us, instead of\nthose plastic ideals of gods and men, is _particular people_ viewed in\nall the varied appearance of their accidental qualities. Consequently\nperfection of corporeal form, and the fully realized consonancy of\nthe spiritual or ideal aspect with its free and sane existence, in a\nword, all that in sculpture we referred to as ideal beauty, in the\nart of painting neither make the same claim upon us, nor generally\nare regarded as the matter of most importance, inasmuch as now it is\nthe ideality of soul-life itself, and its manifestation as conscious\nlife which forms the centre of interest. In this more ideal sphere\nthat realm of Nature is not so profoundly insistent. Piety of heart,\nreligion of soul can, no less than ethical sense, and activity in\nfact did in the Silenus face of Socrates, find a dwelling in a bodily\nform which, viewed on the outside simply, is ugly and distorted. No\ndoubt in expressing spiritual beauty, the artist will avoid what is\nessentially ugly in external form, or will find a way to subdue and\nillumine it in the power of the soul which breaks through it, but he\ncannot for all that entirely dispense with ugliness[319]. For the\ncontent of painting, as we have above depicted it at length, includes\nwithin itself an aspect, for which it is precisely the abnormal and\ndistorted traits of human figures and physiognomy, which are most able\nto express. This is no other than the sphere of what is bad and evil,\nwhich in religious subjects we find mainly represented by the common\nsoldiers, who take a part in the passion of Christ, or by the sinners\nand devils in hell. Michelangelo was pre-eminent in his delineation of\ndevils. In his imaginative realization, though we find he passes beyond\nthe scale of ordinary human life, yet at the same time an affinity with\nit is retained. However much notwithstanding the impersonations which\npainting sets before us necessarily disclose an essentially complete\nwhole of characteristic realization, we will not go so far as to\nmaintain that we cannot find in them an analogue of that which we refer\nto as the Ideal in the most plastic type of art[320]. In religious\nsubjects, no doubt, the feature of all importance is that of pure Love.\nThis is exceptionally so in the case of the Virgin mother, whose entire\nlife reposes in this love; it is more or less the same thing with the\nwomen who accompany the Master, and with John, the disciple of Love. In\nthe expression of this we may also find the sensuous beauty of forms\nassociated, as is the case with Raphael's conceptions. Such a close\naffinity must not, however, assert itself merely as formal beauty, but\nmust be spiritually made vital through the most intimate expression of\nsoul-life, and thereby transfigured; and this spiritual penetration\nmust make itself felt as the real object and content. The conception,\ntoo, of beauty, has its real opportunity in the stories of Christ's\nchildhood and those of John the Baptist. In the case of the other\nhistorical persons, whether apostles, saints, disciples, or wise men\nof antiquity, this expression of an emphasized intensity of soul-life\nis rather simply an affair of particular critical situations, apart\nfrom which they are mainly placed before us as independent characters\nof the actual world of experience, endowed with force and endurance of\ncourage, faith and action, so that what most determines the gist of\ntheir characters in all its variety is an earnest and worthy manliness.\nThey are not ideals of gods, but entirely individualized human\nideals; not simply men, as they ought to be, but human ideals[321],\nas they actually are in a certain place, to which neither particular\ndefinition of character is wanting, nor yet a real association\nbetween such particularity and the universal type which completes\nthem. Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo da Vinci, in his famous Last\nSupper, have supplied examples of this type, in the composition of\nwhich we find an entirely different quality of worth, majesty and\nnobility present than in those presented by other painters[322]. This\nis precisely the point at which painting meets on the same ground with\nthe ancients, without, however, sacrificing the character of its own\nprovince.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Inasmuch, moreover, as the art of painting, to the fullest\nextent among the plastic arts, acknowledges the claim of the specific\nform, and the individualized characterization to assert itself, so\nabove all we find here the transition to real _portraiture._ We should\nbe therefore wholly in the wrong if we condemned portrait painting\nas incompatible with the lofty aims of art. Who indeed could desire\nto lose the great number of excellent portraits painted by the great\nmasters? Who is not, quite apart from the artistic merits of such\nworks, curious to have definitely substantiated to their vision this\nactual counterfeit of the idea of famous personalities, their genius,\nand their exploits, which they may have otherwise had to accept from\nhistory. For even the greatest and most highly placed man was, or is,\na veritable individual, and we desire to see in visible shape this\nindividuality, and the spiritual impression of it in all its most\nactual and vital characteristics. But apart from objects, which lie\noutside the purview of art, we may assert in a real sense, that the\nadvances in painting from its imperfect essays consist in nothing so\nmuch as this very elaboration of the _portrait._ It was, in the first\ninstance, the pious and devotional sense which brought into prominence\nthe ideal life of soul. A yet finer art added new life to this sense by\nadding to its product reality of expression and individual existence;\nand with this profounder penetration into external fact the inward\nlife of spirit, the expression of which was its main object, was also\nenhanced and deepened. In order, however, that the portrait should\nbe a genuine work of art the unity of the spiritual individuality\nmust, as I have already stated, be stamped upon it, and the spiritual\nimpression of the characterization must be the one mainly emphasized\nand made prominent. Every feature of the countenance contributes\nto this result in a conspicuous degree, and the fine instinct for\ndetecting such in the artist will declare itself by the way in which\nhe makes visible the unique impression of any personality by seizing\nand emphasizing precisely those traits, and parts in which this\ndistinctive personal quality is expressed in its clearest and most\nvitally pregnant embodiment. In this respect a portrait may be very\ntrue to Nature, executed with the greatest perseverance, and yet\nentirely devoid of life, while a mere sketch[323], a few outlines from\nthe hand of a master, may be infinitely more vivacious and arresting\nin its truth. Such a study should, however, by indicating the lines or\nfeatures of real significance, reflect that character in its structural\ncompleteness[324], if on the simplest scale, which the previous\nlifeless execution and insistence upon crude fact glosses over and\nrenders invisible. The most advisable course, as a rule, is to maintain\na happy mean between such studies, and purely natural imitation. The\nmasterly portraits of Titian are of this type. The impression such\nmake on us is that of a complete personality. We get from them an\nidea of spiritual vitality, such as actual experience is unable to\nsupply. The effect is similar to that afforded by the description of\ngreat actions and events in the hands of a truly artistic historian.\nWe obtain from such a much loftier and vitally true picture of the\nfacts than any we could have taken from the direct evidence of our\nsenses. Concrete reality is so overburdened with the phenomenal, that\nis incidental or accidental detail, that we frequently cannot see the\nforest for the trees, and often the most important fact slips by us as\na thing of common or daily occurrence. It is the indwelling insight\nand genius of the writer which first adds the quality of greatness\nto events or actions, presenting them fully in a truly historical\ncomposition, which rejects what is purely external, and only brings\ninto prominence that through which that ideal substance is vitally\nunfolded. In this way, too, the painter should place before us the\nmind[325] and character of the impersonation by means of his art. If\nsuccess is fully attained we may affirm that a portrait of this qualify\nis more to the mark, more like the personality thus conceived than the\nreal man himself is. Albrecht D\u00fcrer has also executed portraits of\nthis character. With a few technical means the traits are emphasized\nwith such simplicity, definition, and dignity, that we wholly believe\nourselves to be facing spiritual life itself. The longer we look at\nsuch a picture, the more profoundly we penetrate into it, the more it\nis revealed to us. It reminds one of a clear-cut drawing, instinct\nwith genius, which completely gives expression to the characteristic,\nand for the rest is merely executive in its colour and outlines in\nso far as the same may make the characterization more intelligible,\napparent, and finished as a whole, without entering into all the\nimportunate detail of the facts of natural life. In the same way also\nNature in her landscape paints every leaf, branch, and blade to the\nlast shadow of a line or tint. Landscape painting, on the contrary,\nhas no business to attempt such elaboration, but may only follow her\nsubject to a principle of treatment, in which the expression of the\nwhole is involved, which emphasizes detail, but nevertheless does not\ncopy slavishly such particulars in all their threads, irregularities\nand so forth, assuming it is to remain essentially characteristic\nand individual work. In the human face the drawing of _Nature_ is\nthe framework of bone in its harsh lines, around which the softer\nones are disposed and continue in various accidental details. Truly\ncharacteristic _portraiture_, however, despite all the importance we may\nrightly attach to these well defined lines, consists in other traits\nindicated with equal force, the countenance in short as _elaborated by\nthe creative artist._[326] In this sense we may say of the portrait\nthat it not only can, but that it ought to flatter, inasmuch as it\nneglects what pertains to Nature's contingency, and only accepts that\nwhich contributes to the characteristic content of the individual\nportrayed, his most unique and most intimate self. Nowadays we find it\nthe fashion to give every kind of face just a ripple of a smile, to\nemphasize its amiability, a very questionable fashion indeed, and one\nhard to restrain within the limit imposed. Charming, no doubt; but the\nmerely polite amiability of social intercourse is not a fundamental\ntrait of any character, and becomes in the hands of many artists only\ntoo readily the most insipid kind of sweetness.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) However compatible with portraiture the course of painting\nmay be in all its modes of production it should, however, make the\nparticular features of the face, the specific forms, ways of posing,\ngrouping, and schemes of colour consonant with the actual situation, in\nwhich it composes its figures and natural objects in order to express a\ncontent. For it is just this content in this particular situation which\nshould be portrayed.\n\nOut of the infinitely diversified detail which in this connection we\nmight examine I will only touch upon one point of vital importance. It\nis this that the situation may either be on its own account a passing\none, and the emotion expressed by it of a momentary character, so that\none and the same individual could express many similar ones in addition\nand also feelings in contrast with it, or the situation and emotion\nstrikes at the very heart of a character, which thereby discloses\nits entire and most intimate nature. Situations and emotions of this\nlatter type are the truly momentous crises in characterization[327].\nIn the situations, for example, in which I have already referred to\nthe Madonna, one finds nothing, however essentially complete the\nindividualization of the Mother of God may be in its composition,\nwhich is not a real factor in the embracing compass of her soul and\ncharacter. In this case, too, the characterization is such that it is\n_self_-evident that she does not exist apart from what she can express\nin this specific circumstance. Supreme masters consequently have\npainted the Madonna in such immortal maternal situations or phases.\nOther masters have still retained in her character the expression of\nordinary life otherwise experienced and actual. This expression may be\nvery beautiful and life-like, but this form, the like features, and a\nsimilar expression would be equally applicable to other interests and\nrelations of marriage lore. We are consequently inclined to regard\na figure of this type from yet other points of view than that of a\nMadonna, whereas in the supremest works we are unable to make room\nfor any other thoughts but that which the situation awakens in us.\nIt is on this ground that I admire so strongly the Mary Magdalene of\nCorreggio in Dresden, and it will for ever awake such admiration.\nWe have here the repentant sinner, but we cannot fail to see that\nsinfulness is not here the point of serious consideration[328]; it is\nassumed she was essentially noble and could not have been capable of\nbad passions and actions. Her profound and intimately self-imposed\nrestraint therefore can only be a return to that which she really is,\nwhat is no momentary situation, but her entire nature. Throughout this\nentire composition, whether we look at form, facial expression, dress,\npose, or environment, the artist has therefore not in the slightest\ndegree laid a stress on those circumstances, which might indicate sin\nand culpability; she has lost the consciousness of those times, and\nis entirely absorbed in her present condition, and this faith, this\ninstinct, this absorption appears to be her real and complete character.\n\nSuch a complete reciprocity between soul-life and external\nsurroundings, determinacy of character and situation, the masters\nof Italy have illustrated with exceptional beauty. In the example\nI have already referred to of K\u00fcgelchen's picture of the Prodigal\nSon, on the contrary, we have no doubt the remorse of repentance and\ngrief expressed to the life; but the artist has failed to secure the\nunity of the entire character, which, apart from such an aspect of\nit, he possessed, and of the actual conditions under which such was\ndepicted to us. If we examine quietly such features, we can only find\nin them the physiognomy of any one we might chance to meet on the\nDresden bridge or anywhere else. In the case of a real coalescence of\ncharacter with the expression of a specific situation such a result\nwould be impossible; just as, in true genre-painting, even where\nthe concentration is upon the most fleeting moments of time, the\nrealization is too vivid to leave room for the notion that the figures\nbefore us could ever be otherwise placed or could have received other\ntraits or an altered type of expression.\n\nThese, then, are the main points we have to consider in respect to\nthe content and the artistic treatment in the sensuous material of\npainting, the surface, that is, and colour.\n\n\n\n3. HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PAINTING\n\n\nIn our consideration of this _third_ section of our subject we are\nunable to confine ourselves, as we have hitherto done, to a wholly\ngeneral examination of the content and purport appropriate to painting,\nand the mode of configuration, which follows from its principle, for\nin so far as this art is built up on the particularity of characters\nand their situation, and upon form and its pose, colour, and so\nforth, we are compelled to fix in our minds and discuss the _actual\nreality_ of this art's separate productions. No study of painting is\ncomplete that does not take into its survey and is unable to enjoy\nand criticize the pictures themselves, in which the aspects of it we\nhave examined are enforced. This is a general rule in the case of all\nart, but it applies with exceptional force to painting among those we\nhave up to the present considered. In the case of architecture and\nsculpture, where the embrace of the content is more restricted, the\nmeans of exposition and configuration are to a less extent stamped\nwith wealth and distinctive modification, and the particular aspects\nof their definition are simpler and more radical, we can more readily\navail ourselves of copies, descriptions, and casts. It is essential\nin dealing with the art of painting that we should see the actual\nworks themselves. In this case mere descriptions, however important\nthey may be in a subsidiary sense, will not suffice. In the infinite\nvariety, however, of its explication, the various aspects of which are\nunited in particular works of art, these works appear to us in the\nfirst instance as a mere motley array, which, by reason of the fact\nthat our review of it is based upon no principle of classification,\nis only to a small extent able to disclose to us the unique quality\nof individual pictures. And it follows from this that galleries, as\na rule, if we are not already able to connect with each picture our\nknowledge of the country, period, school, and master to which it\nbelongs, is simply a collection without meaning, in which we lose\nourselves. The most profitable arrangement for study and enjoyment with\nour eyes is therefore an exhibition based on _historical sequence._ A\ncollection of this kind, co-ordinated in relation to such a principle,\nunique and invaluable of its class, we shall shortly be able to admire\nin the picture gallery of the royal museum in this city[329]. In\nthis we shall not only possess a historical survey of the technique\nof art in its stages of development, but shall have set before our\nminds, as an essential process with a history, that articulation of\nits ideal content in the distinctions of its schools, their various\nsubject-matter, and their different modes of artistic conception and\ntreatment. It is only through having given us a survey as consonant\nas this is with that vital process that we can form an idea from its\norigins in traditional and eclectic types, of the living growth of\nart, its search after expression and individual characteristic, its\nliberation from the inactive and tranquil station of its figures, that\nwe can appreciate its progress to dramatic movement, grouping, and all\nthe wealth and witchery of its colour, or finally learn to distinguish\nits schools, which either to some extent treat similar subject-matter\nin a way peculiar to themselves, or are distinct from each other by\nreasons of the variety of their respective content.\n\nA historical development of painting such as that referred to is of as\ngreat importance to _scientific_ observation and exposition as it is\nto accurate study. The content of art as I have presented it, namely,\nthe elaboration of its material, the distinct and fundamental changes\nin the mode of its conception, we find all this and more receives thus\nfor the first time its concrete coherence in a sequence and under\na classification which corresponds with the facts. It is therefore\nincumbent on us to glance at this process, if only by way of emphasis\nto what most immediately arrests attention.\n\nIn general the advance consists in this, that it originates in\n_religious_ subjects conceived still in a _typical_ way, with simple\narchitectonic arrangement and unelaborated colour. After this, in\nan increasing degree of fusion with religious situations, we get\nactuality, vital beauty of form, individuality, depth of penetration,\ncharm and witchery of colouring, until Art finally turns its attention\nto the world itself, makes itself master of Nature, the daily\noccurrence of ordinary life, or what is of significance in national\nhistory whether present or past, or portraiture and anything else\ndown to the merest trifle and the least significant fact, and with\nan enthusiasm equal to that it devoted to the religious ideal, and\npre-eminently in this sphere secures not merely the most consummate\nresult of technical accomplishment, but also a treatment and execution\nwhich is most full of life and personality. This progress is followed\nin clearest outline if we take in succession the schools of Byzantine,\nItalian, Flemish, Dutch, and German painting, after noting the most\nprominent features of which briefly we shall finally indicate the\ntransition to the art of music[330].\n\n(_a_) In our review of Byzantine painting we may remark to start with\nthat the practice of painting among the Greeks was to a definable\ndegree always carried on; and examples of antique work contributed\nto the greater excellence of its results relatively to posture,\ndraping, and other respects. On the other hand the touch of Nature\nand life wholly vanished from this art; in facial types it adhered\nstrictly to tradition; in its figures and modes of expression it\nwas conventional and rigid; in its general composition more or less\narchitectonic. We find no trace of natural environment and a landscape\nbackground. The modelling, by means of light and shadow, brilliance\nand obscurity, and their fusion, no less than perspective and the\nart of lifelike grouping, either were not elaborated at all, or to a\nvery slight extent. By reason of this strict adherence to a single\nacknowledged type independent artistic production had little room for\nits exercise. The art of painting and mosaic frequently degenerated\ninto a mere craft, and became thereby lifeless and devoid of spirit,\nalbeit such craftsmen, equally with the workers on antique vases,\npossessed excellent examples of previous work, which they could imitate\nso far as pose and the folding of drapery was concerned. A similar\ntype of painting spread its sombre influence over the ravaged West\nand more particularly in Italy. Here, however, although in the first\ninstance with beginnings of little strength, we are even at an early\ndate conscious of an effort to break away from inflexible forms and\nmodes of expression, and to face, at first, however, in a rough and\nready way, a development of loftier aim. Of Byzantine pictures we\nmay, on the contrary, affirm, as Herr von Rumohr[331] has maintained\nof Greek Madonnas and images of Christ that \"it is obvious even in\nthe most favoured examples, their origin was that of the mosaic, and\nartistic elaboration was rejected from the first.\" In other words[332]\nthe Italians endeavoured even before the period of their independent\nart development in painting, and in contrast to the Byzantines to\napproximate to a more spiritual conception of Christian subjects.\nThe writer above-named draws attention also as noteworthy support of\nhis contention to the manner in which the later Greeks and Italians\nrespectively represented Christ on crucifixes. According to this writer\n\"the Greeks, to whom the sight of terrible bodily suffering was of\ncommon occurrence, conceived the Saviour suspended on the Cross with\nthe entire weight of his body, the lower part of the body swollen and\nthe slackened knees bent to the left, the bowed head contending with\nthe pains of an awful death. Their subject was consequently in its\nessentials bodily suffering. The Italians, on the contrary, in their\nmore ancient monuments, while we must not overlook the fact that the\nrepresentation of the Virgin Mary with her Child no less than the\nCrucified is only of rare occurrence, were accustomed to depict the\nfigure of the Saviour on the cross adopting, so it appears to us,\nthe idea of the victory of the spiritual, not as in the former case\nthe death of the body. And this unquestionably nobler conception\nasserts itself at an early date in the more favoured parts of Western\nEurope[333].\" With this sketch I must here rest content.\n\n(_b_) We have, however, _secondly_, another characteristic of art to\nconsider in the earlier development of Italian painting. Apart from\nthe religious content of the Old and New Testament and the biographies\nof martyrs and saints, it borrows its subjects in the main from Greek\nmythology, very seldom, that is, from the events of national history,\nor, if we except portraits, from the reality of contemporary life,\nand equally rarely, and only at a late stage and exceptionally, from\nnatural landscape. Now that which it before all contributes to its\nconception and artistic elaboration of the subject-matter of religion\nis the _vital reality_ of spiritual and corporeal existence, relatively\nto which at this stage all its forms are embodied and endowed with\nanimation. For this vitality the essential principle on the spiritual\nside is that natural delightfulness, and on the corporeal side is\nthat beauty which is consonant with physical form, a beauty which\nindependently, as beautiful form, already displays innocence, buoyancy,\nmaidenhood, natural grace of temperament, nobility, imagination,\nand a loving soul. If there is further added to a _naturel_ of this\ntype the exaltation and adornment of the soul in virtue of the ideal\nintimacy of religion and the spiritual characteristics of a profounder\npiety established as a vitalizing principle of soul-life in this\nessentially more admitted and inviolable province of spiritual\nredemption[334],--in such a case we have presented to us thereby an\noriginal harmony of form and its expression, which, wherever it is\nperfected, vividly reminds us in this sphere of romantic art and\nChristian art of the pure Ideal of art. No doubt also within a new\naccord of this type the inward life of the heart will be predominant;\nbut this inward experience is a more happy, a purer heaven of the\nsoul, the way of return to which form what is sensuous and finite, and\nthe return to God, albeit the passage may be through a travail in the\nprofounder anguish of repentance and death, is, however, less saturated\nwith trouble and its insistency. And the reason of this is that the\npain is concentrated in the sphere of soul, of idea, of faith, without\nmaking a descent into the region of passionate desire, intractable\nsavagery, obstinate self-seeking and sin, and only arriving at the\nhardly won victory through smiting down such enemies of the blessed\nstate. It is rather a transition of ideal permanence[335], a pain of\nthe inward life, which feels itself as such suffering rather simply\nin virtue of its enthusiasm, a suffering of more abstract type, more\nspiritually abundant, which has as little need to brush away bodily\nanguish as we have to seek signs in the characterization of its bodily\npresence and physiognomy of obstinacy, uncouthness, crookedness, or the\ntraits of superficial and mean natures, in which an obstinate conflict\nis first necessary, before such are meet to express real religious\nfeeling[336] and piety. This more benign[337] intimacy of soul, this\nmore original consonancy of exterior forms to ideal experience of this\nkind is what creates the charming clarity and the untroubled delight,\nwhich the genuinely beautiful works of Italian painting excite and\nsupply. Just as we say of instrumental music that there is tone and\nmelody in it, so, too, we find that the pure song of soul floats here\nin melodious fusion over the entire configuration and all its forms.\nAnd as in the music of the Italians and in the tones of their song,\nwhen the pure strains ring forth without a forced utterance, in every\nseparate note and inflection of sound and melody, it is simply the\ndelight of the voice itself which rings out; so, too, such an intimate\npersonal enjoyment of the loving soul is the fundamental tone of their\npainting[338]. It is the same intimacy, clarity, and freedom which\nmeet us again in the great Italian poets. To start with this artistic\nresonance of rhymes in their terzets, canzonets, sonnets, and stanzas,\nthis accord, which is not merely satisfied to allay its thirst for\nreverberation in the one repetition, but repeats the echo three times\nand more, this is itself a euphony which streams forth on its own\naccount and for the sake of its own enjoyment. And a like freedom is\nstamped upon the spiritual content. In Petrarch's sonnets, sestets, and\ncanzonets it is not so much the actual possession of their subject,\nafter which the heart yearns; it is not the consideration and emotion\nwhich are involved in the actual content of the poem as such, and which\nis therein necessarily expressed; rather it is the expression itself\nwhich constitutes the source of enjoyment. It is the self-delight of\nLove, which seeks its bliss in its own mourning, its laments, its\ndescriptions, memories, and experience; a yearning, which is satisfied\nin itself as such, and with the image, the spirit of those it loves,\nis already in full possession of the soul, with which it longs to\nunite itself. Dante, too, when conducted by his master Virgil through\nhell and hell-fire, gazes at what is the culmination of horror, of\nawfulness; he is fearful, he often bursts into tears, but he strides\non comforted and tranquil, without affright and anxiety, without the\nsullenness and embitterment which implies \"these things should not\nbe thus.\" Nay, even his damned in hell receive the blessedness of\neternity. _Io eterno duro_ is inscribed over the gates of hell. They\nare what they are, without repentance and longing; they do not speak\nof their sufferings; they are as immaterial to us as they are to them,\nfor they endure for ever. Rather they are absorbed simply in their\npersonal experience and actions, secure of themselves as rooted in the\nsame interests, without lamentation and without yearning[339].\n\nWhen we have grasped this trait of happy independence and freedom of\nthe soul in love we shall understand the character of the greatest\nItalian painters. It is in this freedom that they are masters of the\ndetail of expression, and situation. On the wings of this tranquillity\nof soul they can maintain their sovereignty over form, beauty, and\ncolour. In their most defined presentation of reality and character,\nwhile remaining wholly on the earth and often only producing portraits,\nor appearing to produce such, what we have are pictures of another sun,\nanother spring. They are roses which are equally heavenly blossoms.\nAnd, consequently, we find that in their beauty we do not have merely\nbeauty of form, we do not have only the sensuous unity of soul\nimpressed on sensuous corporeal shapes; we are confronted with this\nvery trait of reconciled Love in every mode, feature, and individuality\nof character. It is the butterfly, the Psyche[340], which in the\nsunlight of its heaven, even hovers round stunted flowers[341]. It is\nonly by virtue of this rich, free, and rounded beauty that they are\nable to unfold the ideals of the antique art's more recent perfection.\n\nItalian art has, however, not immediately and from the first attained\nto such a point of perfection; it had in truth a long road to traverse\nbefore it arrived there. And yet, despite this, the purity and\ninnocence of its piety, the largeness of the entire conception, the\nunassuming beauty of form, this intimate revelation of soul[342], are\nfrequently and above all in the case of the old Italian masters most\nconspicuous where the technical elaboration is still wholly incomplete.\nIn the previous century it was fashionable to depreciate these earlier\nmasters, and place them on one side as clumsy, dull, and barren[343].\nIt is only in more recent times that they have been once more rescued\nfrom oblivion by savants and artists; but the wonder and imitation thus\nawakened has run off into the excess of a preference which tends to\ndeny the advances of a further development in mode of conception and\npresentment, and can only lead astray in the opposite direction.\n\nIn drawing the reader's more close attention to the more important\nphases in the development of Italian art up to this period of its\nfullest perfection, I will only briefly emphasize the following points\nwhich immediately concern the characterization of the essential aspects\nof painting and its modes of expression.\n\n(_\u03b1_) After the earliest stage of rawness and barbarism the Italians\nmoved forward with a fresh impetus from that in the main craftsmanship\ntype of art which was planted by the Byzantines. The compass of\nsubjects depicted was, however, not extensive, and the distinctive\nfeatures of the type were austerity, solemnity, and religious\nloftiness. But even at this stage--I am quoting the conclusions of\nHerr von Rumohr--who is generally recognized as an authority upon\nthese earlier periods[344], Duccio, the Sienese, and Cimabue, the\nFlorentine, endeavoured to assimilate the few remains of antique\ndrawing, which was grounded on laws of perspective and anatomical\nprecision, and so far as possible, to rejuvenate the same in their own\ngenius. They \"instinctively recognized the value of such drawings, but\nstrove to soften the extreme insistence[345] of their ossification,\ncomparing such insufficiently comprehended traits with the life such\nas we find it in fact or suggestion when face to face with their own\nproductions[345].\" Such are merely the first and mediating efforts of\nart to rise from the inflexibility of a type to lifelike and individual\nexpression.\n\n(_\u03b2_) The _further_ step of advance consists in the complete severation\nfrom those previous Greek examples, in the full acceptance, relatively\nboth to the entire conception and execution of what is distinctively\nhuman and individual, and along with this in the profounder suitability\nof human characters and forms which was gradually evolved to express\nthe religious content thus to be expressed.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) It is here before all we must draw attention to the great\ninfluence which Giotto and his pupils exercised. Giotto, along with the\nchanges he effected in respect to modes of conception and composition,\nbrought about a reform in the art of preparing colours. The later\nGreeks probably, such at least is the result of chemical analysis, made\nuse of wax either as a medium of colour, or as a kind of varnish[346],\nand from this we get the yellow-green and obscure general tone, which\nis not sufficiently explained by the action of lamplight[347]. Giotto\nwholly dispensed with this glutinous medium of the Greek painters, and\nused instead, when preparing his colours[348], the clarified milk of\nyoung shoots, unripe figs, and other less oliginous limes[349], which\nItalian painters of the early Middle Ages had used, very likely even\nbefore they strenuously imitated the Byzantines[350]. A medium of this\nkind had no darkening effect on the colours, but left their luminosity\nand clarity unimpaired. Still more important was the reform effected by\nGiotto in Italian painting with respect to selection of subjects and\ntheir manner of presentment. Ghiberti himself praises Giotto for having\nabandoned the rude style of the Greeks, and without leaning in this\ndirection to an excess having introduced the truth and grace of Nature.\nBoccaccio, too, says of him that Nature is unable to create anything\nthat Giotto could not imitate to the point of deception[351]. In\nByzantine pictures we can hardly detect a trace of natural appearance.\nIt was Giotto, then, who concentrated his attention on what is present\nand actual, and compared the forms and effects which he undertook to\nexhibit with Life as it existed around him. And we may associate with\nthis tendency the fact that during the times of Giotto not only do we\nfind that the state of society was more free and intent on enjoyment,\nbut that the veneration of several later saints took its rise then,\nsaints whose lives more or less fell in that period[352]. It was such\nGiotto utilized particularly in emphasizing the truthful presentment of\nthe subjects of his art; there was, in fact, thus the further demand\nsuggested by the content itself that he should bring into prominence\nthe natural features of the bodily presence and exhibit more defined\ncharacterization, action, passion, situation, pose, and movement. What\nwe find, however, to a relative degree disappears from this attempt\nis that imposing religious seriousness which is the fundamental\ncharacteristic of the phase of art which it followed[353]. The things\nof the world receive a stage and a wider opportunity for expression;\nand this is illustrated by the way Giotto, under the influence of his\nage, found room for burlesque along with so much that was pathetic.\nIn this connection Herr von Rumohr states rightly, \"Under conditions\nof this description I am at a loss to understand how certain critics,\nwho have exclusively insisted on this feature of Giotto's work, can so\noverestimate Giotto's tendency and performance by claiming it as the\nmost sublime effort of modern art[354].\" It is a great service of the\nabove-named critic to have once more placed in a true light the point\nof view from which Giotto can be justly appreciated; he throughout\nmakes us careful to see, that in this tendency of Giotto to humanize\nand towards realism he never really, as a rule, advances beyond a\ncomparatively subordinate stage in the process.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The advance of painting continued under the manner of\nconception for which Giotto was in the main responsible. The typical\nrepresentation of Christ, the apostles, and the more important\nevents which are reported us by the evangelists, were more and more\nthrust into the background. Yet in another direction the embrace of\nsubject-matter was for that reason extended. As our author expresses\nit: \"All artists engaged in depicting the various phases in the life\nof latter-day saints, such as their previous worldliness, the sudden\nawakening of conscience, their entrance into the life of piety and\nasceticism, the miracles of their lives, more particularly after their\ndecease, in the representation of which, as is to be expected from\nthe external conditions of the art, the expression of the effect upon\nthe living exceeded any suggestion of invisible powder[355].\" Add\nto this that the events of the Life and Passion of Christ were not\nneglected. The birth and education of Christ, the Madonna with her\nChild were exceptionally favoured subjects, and were invested with a\nmore life-like domesticity, touched with a more intimate tenderness,\nrevealed to us in the medium of human feeling, and, moreover, to quote\nyet further: \"In the problems[356] suggested by the Passion it was\nnot so much the sublime and the triumph as simply the pathetic aspect\nwhich was emphasized, a direct consequence of the enthusiastic wave of\nsympathy with the earthly sufferings of the Saviour, to which Saint\nFrancis, both by example and teaching, had communicated a vital energy\nhitherto unheard of.\"\n\nIn respect to a yet further advance towards the middle of the fifteenth\ncentury, we have to lay exceptional stress on two names, Masaccio and\nFiesole. In the progressive steps through which the religious content\nwas vividly carried into the living forms of the human figure and\nthe animated expression of human traits Herr von Rumohr[357] draws\nattention to two essential aspects as of most importance. The one is\nthe increase of rondure in all forms to which it applies; the other\nhe indicates as \"a profounder penetration into the articulation, the\nconsistency, the most varied phases of the charm and significance\nof the features of the human countenance.\" Masaccio and Angelico da\nFiesole between them were the first to contribute effectively to\nthe solution of this artistic problem, the difficulty of which in\nits entirety exceeded the powers of any one artist of that period.\n\"Masaccio was mainly occupied with the problem of chiaroscuro, and the\nrounding and effective articulations of groups of figures. Angelico da\nFiesole, on the other hand, devoted himself to sounding the depths of\nideal coherence, that indwelling significance of human features, the\nmine of whose treasure he was the first to open to painting[358].\" The\neffort of Masaccio was not so much one in the direction of grace as\nin that of imposing conception, manliness, and under the instinctive\nneed for unity of the entire composition. The impulse of Fra Angelico\nwas that of religious intensity, a love severed from the world, a\ncloistral purity of emotion, an exaltation and consecration of the\nsoul. Vasari assures us in his account of him that he never commenced\nwork without prayer, and never depicted the sufferings of the Redeemer\nwithout bursting into tears[359]. We have, then as aspects of this\nadvance of painting a more exalted vitality and realism: but, on the\nother hand, the depth of piety, the ingenuous devotion of the soul\nin its faith overran itself and overpowered the freedom, dexterity,\nnaturalism, and beauty of the composition, pose, drapery, and colour.\nIf the later development was able to attain to a far more exalted and\ncomplete expression of the spiritual consciousness, yet the epoch we\nare now considering has never been surpassed in purity and innocence\nof religious feeling and serious depth of conception. Many pictures of\nthis time may very well, by reason of the fact that the forms of life,\nwhich are used to depict the religious intensity of soul-life, do not\nappear fully adequate to this expression, give us something like a\nrepulse; from the point of view, however, of spiritual emotion, which\nis the most vital source of these works of art, we have still less\nreason to fail to acknowledge the naive purity, the intimacy with the\nmost profound depths of the truly religious content, the assuredness\nof faithful love even under oppression and in grief, and oft, too,\nthe charm of innocence and blessedness, inasmuch as the epochs that\nfollowed it, however much in other aspects of artistic perfection\nthey made a step forwards, yet for all that never secured again the\nperfection of these previous excellencies, when once it had been lost.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) A _third_ aspect attaches to the further development of the\nart, in addition to those already discussed, which may be described\nas the wider embrace of it relatively to the subjects accepted\nfor presentation by the new impulse. Just as what was regarded as\nsacred had from the very commencement of Italian painting approached\nmore closely to reality by reason of the fact that men whose lives\nfell about the time of the painters themselves were declared to be\nsaints, so too Art received into its own sphere other aspects of\nreality and present life. Starting from that earliest phase of pure\nspirituality and piety, an art whose aim was wholly absorbed in the\nexpression of such religious emotions, painting proceeded more and\nmore to associate the external life of the world with its religious\nsubject-matter. The gladsome, forceful self-reliance of the citizen\nin the midst of his professional career, the business and the craft\nthat was bound up with such qualities, the freedom, the manly courage\nand patriotism, in one word, his weal in the vital activities of\nthe Present, all this newly-awakened sense of human delight in the\nvirtues of civil life and its cheer and humour[360], this harmonized\nsympathy with what was actual in both its aspects of ideal life[361]\nand the external framework of the same, all this it was which entered\nnow into his artistic conceptions and modes of presenting such and\nwas made valid therein. It is in this spirit that the enthusiasm\nfor landscape backgrounds, views of cities, environment of church\nbuildings and palaces becomes a real instinct of artistic life; the\nliving portraits of famous savants, friends, statesmen, artists, and\nother persons remarkable in their day for their wit and vivacity find\na place in religious compositions; traits borrowed from both civil and\ndomestic life are utilized with a greater or less degree of freedom\nand dexterity; and if, no doubt, the spiritual aspect of the religious\ncontent remained the foundation of all, yet the expression of piety was\nno longer exclusively isolate, but is linked together with the more\nample life of reality and the open stage of the world[362]. No doubt we\nmust add that by reason of this tendency the expression of religious\nconcentration and its intimate piety is weakened, but art required also\nthis worldly element in order to arrive at its culminating point.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Out of this fusion of the more embracing reality of life with\nthe ideal material of religious emotion arose a new problem for\ngenius to solve, the complete solution of which was reserved for the\ngreat masters of the sixteenth century. The supreme aim now was to\nbring the intimate life of soul, the seriousness and the loftiness\nof religious emotion into harmony with the animation, the actual\npresence of characters and forms both in its corporeal and spiritual\naspect, in order that the bodily configuration in its pose, movement,\nand colour, may not simply remain an external framework, but become\nitself essentially an expression of spirit and life, and by virtue of\nthat expression, made throughout all its parts wholly the reflex of\nsoul-life no less than of external form, reveal a beauty without break\nor interruption.\n\nAmong the masters of most distinction, who set before themselves such\nan aim, we should pre-eminently mention Leonardo da Vinci. It was he,\nwho, by virtue of his artistic thoroughness, his almost over-refined\npassion for detail, his exquisite delicacy of mind and feeling, not\nonly penetrated further than any other[363] into the mysteries of the\nhuman form and the secrets of its expression, but, through his equally\nprofound knowledge of all the technique of a painter, attained to an\nextraordinary infallibility in the employment of all the means that his\nresearches and practice had placed within his reach. And, along with\nthis, he was able to retain a reverential seriousness in composing his\nreligious subjects, so that his figures, however much they present to\nus the ideal of a more complete and rounded actuality, and disclose\nthe expression of sweet, smiling joyfulness in facial traits and the\ndelicate rhythm of drapery, do not thereby dispense with the dignity,\nwhich the worth and truth of religion demand[364].\n\nThe most unflecked quality[365] of perfection reached in this direction\nwas, however, that first attained by Raphael. Herr von Rumohr assigns\nmore particularly to the artists of the Umbrian School dating from\nthe middle of the fifteenth century a mysterious fascination, which\nno sympathetic nature can resist, and endeavours to find the source\nof this attraction in the depth and tenderness of feeling no less\nthan the marvellous unity into which these painters knew how to bring\nmemories from the oldest essays of Christian art of a style only very\npartially understood by them[366] with the milder conceptions of a\nlater time, and in this respect proved themselves superior to the\nTuscan, Lombard, and Venetian fellow artists of that period[367]. It\nwas just this expression of \"flawless purity of soul and absolute\nsurrender to the yearning and enthusiastic flow of tender feeling\" to\nwhich Pietro Perugino, the master of Raphael, devoted his artistic\nefforts, and succeeded by doing so in fusing the objectivity and\nvitality of external forms, throughout all its actual realization and\nin every detail, an aim which had previously received the most marked\nattention in the elaborate work of the Florentines. Starting from\nthe work of Perugino, to whose artistic taste and style he appears\nto have consistently adhered in his early work, Raphael proceeded\nyet further to realize to the most consummate degree the demand of\nthe ideal above indicated. In other words we find united in him the\nhighest ecclesiastical feeling for the themes of religious art and a\ncomplete knowledge and enthusiastic respect for natural phenomena in\nall the animation of their colour and shape together with an insight\nfully as great for the beauty of the antique. This great admiration\nfor the idealistic beauty of the ancients did not bring him in any\nway to imitate and adapt to his work the forms which Greek sculpture\nhad elaborated in their perfection. What he seized from it was simply\nthe general principle of their free beauty which in his hands was\nthroughout suffused with a more individual vitality more applicable\nto his art and with a type of expression more deeply informed with\nsoul-life, and at the same time with an open, blithesome clarity and\nthoroughness, in all the detail of the presentment that up to his\ntime was as yet unknown among Italian artists. In the elaboration and\nconsistent fusion and coherence of this ideal atmosphere he reached\nthe highest point of his attainment. On the other hand, in the magical\ncharm of chiaroscuro, in the exquisite tenderness and grace of\nsoul-expression, of forms, movements, and grouping, it is Correggio\nwho most excels, while the incomparable greatness of Titian consists\nin the wealth of natural life that he displays, the illuminating\nbloom, fervency, warmth, and power of his colour. We know nothing more\ndelightful than the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of Correggio's not so much natural as\nreligious and spiritual grace, nothing more sweet than his smiling,\nunconscious beauty and innocence[368].\n\nThe artistic perfection of these great masters is a culminating point\nof art such as could only be mastered by one nation in the course of\nhistorical development.\n\n(_c_) _Thirdly_, in so far as the question is that of German painting\nwe may affiliate that which is entirely German with that of Flemish\nor Dutch painters. The general distinction between the above schools\nand that of the Italians, consists in this, that neither the Germans\nnor the painters of the Netherlands were willing as a creation of\ntheir own to attain to the free ideal forms and modes of expression\ncharacteristic of Italian art, or were able to progress to that\nspiritually transfigured type of beauty which is essentially the result\nof such. What they did elaborate, however, was, in one aspect of it,\nthe expression of depth of emotion and the austere seclusion of the\nindividual soul, and, from another point of view, they attach to this\nintensity of faith the separate definition of individual character in\nthe broader significance of it, that is to say, one which does not\nmerely disclose the fact of its close interest with the claims of faith\nand salvation, but also shows how the individuals represented are\naffected by the concerns of the world, how they are buffeted by the\ncares of life, and in this severe ordeal have gained worldly wisdom,\nfidelity, consistency, straightforwardness, the constancy of chivalry\nand the sterling character of good citizens. Agreeably to this more\nrestricted and depressed vision of the detail of life we find here,\nand it is particularly conspicuous in the German school, from the\nbeginning, in deliberate contrast with the purer forms and characters\nof the Italians, rather the expression of a formal obstinacy of\nstubborn natures, which either oppose themselves to God with energetic\ndefiance and brutal wilfulness, or are forced to impose restraint on\nthemselves in order that they may, with sore travail, wrest themselves\nfrom their limitations and uncouthness, and fight their way to the\nreconciliation of religion; consequently the deep wounds which they\ninflict on their spiritual life inevitably contribute to the visible\nexpression of their piety. In illustrating this more closely I will\nmerely draw attention to certain prominent features, which are\nimportant indications of the contrast between the older Flemish school\nand the upper German and more recent Dutch masters of the seventeenth\ncentury.\n\n(_\u03b1_) Among the early Flemish masters, the brothers Van Eyck, Hubert,\nand John are exceptionally distinguished in the early half of the\nfifteenth century, and it is only recently that their true merits\nhave once more been established. It is now an established fact that\nthey discovered, or at least they were the first to fully perfect,\nthe process of oil-painting. Looking at the great advance they made\nwe must now assume that a distinct series of stages in the course of\nthis progress to its culmination could be set forth. We have, however,\nno historical array of works of art preserved for us whereby we could\nillustrate such a gradual process. We are face to face at one moment of\ntime with the beginning and final consummation. For painting of greater\nexcellence than that of these two brothers it is almost impossible\nto imagine. Moreover, the works that have come down to us, in which\nthe mere type is already dispensed with and overcome, not merely\ndisplay a grand mastery in drawing, arrangement, grouping, ideal and\nexterior characterization, enthusiasm, clarity, harmony, and delicacy\nof colouring, dignity and repose of composition; but we must add that\nthe entire wealth of painting respectively to nature's environment,\narchitectonic accessories, backgrounds, splendour and variety of\nmaterial, drapery, style of weapons, ornamentation, and much besides,\nis already treated with such fidelity, with such an instinctive sense\nof what is pictorial, and with such a technical virtuosity, that even\nlater centuries, at any rate from the point of view of thoroughness\nand truth, have been unable to produce any more consummate result. We\nare, however, more strongly attracted by the master works of Italian\npainting, if we contrast them with this Flemish school, because the\nItalians, along with the completest expression of soul-life and the\nreligious sense, retain throughout the ideal of spiritual freedom and\nimaginative beauty. The figures of Flemish art delight us, no doubt,\nby virtue of their innocence, _na\u00efvet\u00e9_, and piety; nay, in the depth\nof their emotional life they, in some measure, surpass the work of the\nmost excellent Italian artists; but the Flemish masters have never been\nable to attain to a beauty of form and a freedom of soul comparable\nwith that of the Italians. Their Christ-babes are, in particular, badly\nmodelled; and for the rest their characters, whether men or women,\nhowever strongly, subject to their dominant expression of religious\nfervour, they may display a sterling character in their relation to\nsecular interests sanctified by the depth of their faith, nevertheless\nappear to us lacking in a significance which can exalt itself over\nsuch a piety, or rather, as dominated by it, do not appear able at the\nsame time to be essentially free, instinct with imagination and the\nenterprise of superior qualities.\n\n(_\u03b2_) A further aspect we shall do well to consider is the transition\nfrom the more tranquil, reverential piety to the representation of\nmartyrdoms, and, in general, what is not beautiful in reality. It is\nmore particularly the North German masters who excel in scenes borrowed\nfrom the Passion in which they emphasize the savagery of the soldiery,\nthe evil aspects of the mocking, the fierceness of the hate against\nChrist during the course of His sufferings, with particular insistence\non features of ugliness and distortion, and which are intended to\ndenote external forms correspondent with the depravity of spirit. The\ntranquil and beautiful activity of an unassuming personal piety is\nthrown into the background, and the movements which are inseparable\nfrom the situations above mentioned unfold us hideous distortions,\nexpressions of ferocity, and all the unbridled exhibition of passions.\nWhere we have the contending tumult and the uncouthness of characters\npresented with such detail, it is not surprising that such pictures are\ndefective in the ideal harmony of their composition no less than their\ncolour, so that, more especially where a taste for old German paintings\nfirst crops up, critics when thus confronted with what is, as a rule,\nan inferior class of technical accomplishment, fall into many mistakes\nwhen determining the date of their production. Thus it has been\nmaintained that they are previous to the more consummate pictures of\nthe Van Eyck period, although, for the most part, they hail from a more\nrecent time. However, the Upper German masters were not exclusively\noccupied with works of this type, but have likewise treated a variety\nof religious subjects, and, indeed--Albrecht D\u00fcrer, with others,\nexemplifies this--even in scenes from Christ's Passion, have understood\nhow effectively to grapple with the extremes of pure savagery, and even\nwhen treating such themes to preserve an ideal nobility and an external\nindependence[369] and freedom.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Finally, the development of German and Flemish art is\ncharacterized in a complete identification of itself with the\n_ordinary_ life of the Present; and, along with this, in a unified\nsystem of the most varied modes of presentation, which, both in\nrespect to their content and technique, are distinct from one another\nand independently elaborated. We have seen already the advance made\nby Italian painting from the simple nobility of devotion to an\never-increasing assertion of secular motive, which here, however, as\nwe pointed out in the case of Raphael, was in some measure permeated\nby ecclesiastical prepossessions, and in part limited by the coherent\nprinciple of antique beauty. We may add that the later course of\nthis school is not so much a dissolution of that unity in the\nrepresentation of every kind of subject-matter under the predominant\ninterest of the colourist as a more superficial disposition, or\nrather, eclectic imitation of styles of draughtsmanship and painting.\nGerman and Flemish art, on the contrary, has in the most definite and\nexceptional degree traversed the entire scheme of content and modes\nof treatment, starting from its wholly traditional church pictures,\nsingle figures and half lengths, then on to thoughtful, pious, and\ndevotional subjects, until we come to that animation and extension of\nthe same in larger compositions and scenes, in which, however, the\nfree characterization of figure, the heightened vitality effected by\nmeans of processions, retinues, incidental personages, embellishment\nof garments and utensils, wealth of portraiture, architectural works,\nenvironment, views of churches, cities, streams, forests, mountains,\nis still conceived and executed as a whole subject to religious\nmotivation. This focal centre still persists; but we find that the\nrange of subjects, which had hitherto been held together in unity,\nis broken into division, and the separate parts become, in the\nspecific singularity and contingent character of their alternations or\nindependent modifications, subject to every possible type of conception\nand pictorial execution[370].\n\nIn order to arrive at a full appreciation of this aspect of art's\ndevelopment in the present context, for we have already referred to\nthe point, we will pass briefly in review the national conditions\nwhich were operative in the change. We are under the necessity to\njustify, as we shall attempt to do in the following observations, a\ntransition from direct relations to the Church and the outlook and\npictorial modes of piety to a delight in the world simply, that is to\nsay, to the objects and particular phenomena of Nature, to domestic\nlife in its dignity, congeniality, and peaceful seclusion, to an\nenjoyment of national festivities and processions, rustic dances, the\ngames and follies attendant upon church f\u00eates. Now the Reformation had\nthoroughly penetrated Holland. The Dutch had become Protestants and\novercome the despotism of the Spanish Crown and Church. And what is\nmore we do not, if we consider the political condition here, either\nfind a distinguished nobility which drives forth its princes and\ntyrants, or imposes laws on them, nor yet an agricultural people,\noppressed peasantry, who break free as the Swiss have done, but rather\na population which, in by far the largest proportion of it, if we\nexcept the few brave souls that tilled the soil and its more than brave\nheroes of the sea, consisted of citizens of the town, men of business,\nwell-to-do burghers, men who, rejoicing in their ordinary avocations,\nentertained no lofty pretensions, but, as became their courage and\nintelligence, with audacious reliance in God, stood up to defend the\nfreedom of their hardly-won liberties and the particular privileges\nof their provinces, cities, and guilds, dared to oppose themselves to\nall hazards without fear of the transcendent prestige of the Spanish\ndominion over half the world, to bravely let their blood flow for\nsuch an aim, and by virtue of this righteous boldness and endurance\nvictoriously secured both their religious and civic independence. And\nif we may brand any single condition of soul-life as distinctively\n_deutsch_, it is just this loyal, well-to-do, and genial citizenship,\nwhich, in a self-respect that is without pride, in a piety which is not\nmerely absorbed in enthusiasm and devotion, but which is concretely\npious in the affairs of the world[371] and is homely and contented in\nits abundance, remains neat and clean, and in persistent carefulness\nand contentment under all circumstances, armed with its own enduring\nsense of independence and freedom, is able, with loyalty to its former\nlife, to preserve the sterling character of its forefathers unimpaired.\nThis intelligent and artistically endowed people furthermore seeks\nits enjoyment in the pictorial presentment of its vigorous, justly\nco-ordinated, satisfying, and comfortable existence; it is all for\ntaking a renewed delight by means of its pictures in the cleanliness\nunder all conditions of its towns, houses, and domestic arrangements,\nof enjoying thus its household felicity, its wealth, the generous\nadornment of its wives and children, the splendour of its civic\nfeasts, the boldness of its seamen, the fame of its merchandise and\nthe shipping, in which it rides over all the seas of the world. And\nit is just this instinct of orderly and cheerful existence, which the\nDutch masters emphasize also in their landscape subjects. In one word,\nin all their pictorial accomplishment they succeed in combining with\nfreedom, and truth of conception, with their enthusiasm for what is in\nappearance of inferior and momentary significance, with the freshness\nof open vision and the concentration of their entire soul on all that\nis most stamped with the seclusion and limitations of their life, the\nmost ample freedom of artistic composition, no less than the finest\nfeeling for accessories and the most perfect effects of studious\nelaboration. From one point of view this school of painting has\ndeveloped to an incomparable degree the magic and mystery of lighting\nand colour[372] generally in its scenes borrowed from war and military\nlife, in its tavern jollifications, in its weddings and other rustic\nf\u00eates, in its pictures of domestic life, in its portraits, landscapes,\nanimals, flowers, and the rest. From another aspect it has elaborated\nwith a similar excellence the characterization which penetrates to\nthe heart of life in all the truth of which Art is capable. And\nalthough its insistence on the insignificant and contingent includes\nthe expression of what is boorish, rude, and common, yet these scenes\nare so permeated throughout with ingenuous lustiness and jollity,\nthat it is not the common in its meanness and naughtiness so much as\nthe gaiety and joviality which creates the artistic subject and its\ncontent. We do not look at mean feelings and passions, but simply\nwhat is boorish, in the sense of being rustic, near to nature, in\nthe poorer classes, a quality which connotes geniality, waggishness,\nand comedy. In short the Ideal itself is not wholly absent from this\nunperturbed easy-way-of-life. It is the Sabbath of Life, which brings\nall to one level and removes all badness, simply as such. Men who are\nthus so whole-heartedly of good temper can neither be wholly bad nor\nmean. In this respect it is not one and the same thing, whether evil\nis of purely momentary appearance in a character, or lies at its root\nand essence. In the work of these Dutch painters what is humorous in a\nsituation cancels what is evil, and it is at once clear to us that the\ncharacters could be something other than that in the guise of which\nthey are for the time being set before us[373]. A gaiety and comedy of\nthis description contributes much to the invaluable character of these\npictures. If pictures of this rollicking type are attempted nowadays,\nthe painter, as a rule, only places before us what is essentially\nmean, coarse and bad without the illuminating atmosphere of a comic\nsituation[374]. A bad wife rails at her tipsy husband in the tavern\nwith all her might. In a scene of this kind we have only put before us,\nas I have already remarked, the bald facts that the man is a dissipated\nbrute and the woman a rating wench.\n\nIf we look at the Dutch masters in this light we shall no longer\nentertain the view that the art of painting should have said goodbye to\nsuch subjects altogether, and merely confined itself to depicting the\ngods of old, myths, and fables, or even Madonna pictures, crucifixions,\nmartyrs, popes, and saints of both sexes. What is a vital ingredient\nof every work of art is inseparable also from painting, and this is\nthe observance of what generally concerns our humanity, the spirit\nand characterization of man, in other words what man is and what\n_each_ individual is. This vital grasp of the conscious life of human\nnature and the external forms of its appearance, this naive delight\nand artistic freedom, this freshness and cheerfulness of imaginative\nsympathy, this absolute directness of execution is what constitutes\nthe poetry that underlies the work of the majority of the Dutch\npainters of this period. In their paintings we may study and acquaint\nourselves with human nature and mankind. Nowadays, however, our artist\nonly too frequently will confront us with portraits and historical\npictures, at which we have only to cast a bare glance, and we see that,\nwhile flatly contradicting the wildest dream of what is possible in\nmankind or anyone in particular, he neither knows aught at all about\nman or his natural colour, nor yet the modes of composition[375] in\nwhich we may justly express that humanity[376].\n\n[Footnote 214: _Die gesammte Menschen-brust._]\n\n[Footnote 215: _Die in sich gediegene Individualit\u00e4t des Gottes._]\n\n[Footnote 216: _Betrachtung_, here implying thought rather than vision.]\n\n[Footnote 217: That is a unity which dissolves all difference.]\n\n[Footnote 218: _Als Inneres._]\n\n[Footnote 219: _Als Reflexion in sich._ Probably Hegel means simply the\nultimate fact of self-conscious life--which is to find itself in Nature\nas the antithesis of the synthetic unity of the ego. This is developed\nin the latter half of the sentence.]\n\n[Footnote 220: Lit., \"Is not an essentially persistent and stereotyped\n(_Erstarrtes_, stiffened) individual.\"]\n\n[Footnote 221: Less than sculpture.]\n\n[Footnote 222: He may mean type of art generally, but I think the\nreference here is simply to painting. The passage is an important one.]\n\n[Footnote 223: I presume Hegel uses the word _seeligkeit_ in the\nordinary sense, not \"soulfulness.\" The close relation with _Schmertz_\nnecessitates this. But the spelling suggests the other interpretation.]\n\n[Footnote 224: Which is absent in the classical treatment.]\n\n[Footnote 225: That is, the creative artist.]\n\n[Footnote 226: _Innerlichkeit._ It is impossible to express Hegel's use\nof this word by one expression. It combines intimacy, ideal union, and\ninwardness of soul-life in its contrast to objective reality.]\n\n[Footnote 227: That is the romantic type.]\n\n[Footnote 228: _Die f\u00fcr sich seyende Subjektivit\u00e4t._ That is a process\nthat elaborates itself in independent form consonant to its own\nsubstance.]\n\n[Footnote 229: _Als dieses Subjekt._ That is, I assume, as the\ndistinctive personality of the artist. This must appear on the face of\nthe work as the crown of its independent type and concrete unity (_Zur\nSpitze des F\u00fcrsichseyns_) but must not dominate it to the extent of\ndestroying all natural detail, not even to the extent of sculpture.]\n\n[Footnote 230: _Zur Spitze des F\u00fcrsichseyns._ See note above.]\n\n[Footnote 231: That is their union in sculpture.]\n\n[Footnote 232: _Als solcher._ Hegel means that the universal present in\nemotion is objective therein as part of the self-conscious life, but\nis only presented in the concrete objective shape in the work of the\nartist who therein suffers to escape the wholly personal side.]\n\n[Footnote 233: _Sein Inneres_, his ideal substance, with more direct\nreference to feeling.]\n\n[Footnote 234: _Aus demselben in sich hineingehend._ I think what is\nmeant is that the material is idealized out of one of its spatial\nconditions rather than that the artist selects his _medium_ in\nconsonance with his temperament and technique.]\n\n[Footnote 235: That is, does not affect the stability and total effect\nof the work. Of course the actual effect may vary.]\n\n[Footnote 236: _F\u00fcr diesen festen Punkt des Subjekts._]\n\n[Footnote 237: _Die in sich besonderte Innerlichkeit._]\n\n[Footnote 238: The distinctions in matter conditioned in Space.]\n\n[Footnote 239: The meaning, if rather obscurely expressed, appears\nto be this. The art of sculpture shows us when it treats the spatial\ndimensions as essential that we must have the entire spatial form\nto do this, and it shows us that if we wish to pass from the mere\npresentment of bodily form to a fuller ideal quality we must contract\nthis exclusive appearance of physical matter.]\n\n[Footnote 240: Lit., \"Begins to be subjective.\" Begins to possess a\nself-excluding centre of unity, _i.e._, self-identity.]\n\n[Footnote 241: That is to the point of a real subject or ego.]\n\n[Footnote 242: _E.g._, secure an abstract result in superficies only.]\n\n[Footnote 243: Apart from artistic means.]\n\n[Footnote 244: Though the statements here are suggestive, they are\nobviously influenced by Hegel's belief in the false theory of light\npropounded by Goethe.]\n\n[Footnote 245: This is a direct reference to the Newtonian theory, of\ncourse.]\n\n[Footnote 246: _Zeichnung_ here refers to line rather than technical\nexcellence in draughtsmanship. It must be admitted Hegel's emphasis of\nthese two aspects is carried rather too far.]\n\n[Footnote 247: The above passage is open to criticism. Hegel hardly\nmakes allowance for the fact that the defective technique, so far\nas it is defective, of the earlier masters, was mainly due to their\nstate of knowledge. Art was, in a certain aspect of technique, in its\ninfancy. Moreover to compare Dutch landscape with that of Bellini or\nRaphael is to compare things that are each unique of their kind and\nnot comparable. Their aim was entirely different. In such pictures as\nthe San Sisto Madonna of Raphael, the great Crucifixion of Tintoret,\nor the Entombment of Titian it is quite impossible to maintain that\nthe earnestness of conception is in any way inferior to the technique,\nalthough we have no doubt a different degree of conviction expressed by\nFra Angelico. And the classical landscape of Titian or Tintoret is of\nits type supreme.]\n\n[Footnote 248: This statement of Hegel again requires parenthesis or\nat least interpretation. There is a realism such as that we find in\nthe most consummate work of a Titian, or the genre work of the Dutch\nschool, or our own Pre-Raphaelites, to say nothing of mere academical\nrealism, which hardly comes within his remarks. It is obvious that the\nIdeal is subserved in different degrees by such examples, and in fact\nto preserve that unity of conception despite the greatest elaboration,\n_is_ to serve the Ideal at least in one aspect of it. Hegel, at least\nin the concluding part of this paragraph, appears mainly to have in\nhis mind still life and the genre pictures of the Dutch, and rather\nseems to overlook his own statement as to the necessity of selection\nand the power to express detail by the shorthand of genius rather than\ndeliberate imitation.]\n\n[Footnote 249: _Grossartigkeit._]\n\n[Footnote 250: _Innigkeit._ Intimate ideality, inwardness.]\n\n[Footnote 251: I am not sure what Hegel means by the expression _Nicht\ndas Niedrige ist zerdr\u00fcckt._ If the text is correct I suppose it means\nthe sensuous side does not make way for a more spiritual synthesis.\nWhat we should expect is some other verb than _zerdr\u00fcckt_ such as\n_ausgedr\u00fcckt_, the sense being that \"_though_ the mean emotion is not\nexpressed, and no rage, etc., is asserted, _yet_ despite of it all,\"\netc. I think there must be some misprint here.]\n\n[Footnote 252: _Ein starres Beisichseyn._ Compare the expression lower\ndown _affirmatives F\u00fcrsichseyn_ with which it contrasts.]\n\n[Footnote 253: _F\u00fcr sich bestehende Herz._]\n\n[Footnote 254: _Als ein g\u00f6ttliches Moment._ It means an actual phase in\nthe Divine existence.]\n\n[Footnote 255: An important statement. Hegel's words are _Sondern\nwir m\u00fcssen das geistige Daseyn im Bewusstseyn des Menschen als die\nwesentliche geistige Existenz Gottes ansehn._]\n\n[Footnote 256: A bad master at any rate for such a subject.]\n\n[Footnote 257: This metaphor appears to me rather confused, and in\nfact I do not pretend wholly to understand its meaning. I suppose the\nidea is that beyond the clouds of soul-life there are the clouds that\nobscure Providence. In all this passage Hegel shows his limitations as\nan art student.]\n\n[Footnote 258: _N\u00e4her._ That is our love of God is mainly through\nChrist.]\n\n[Footnote 259: _Ein bloss eingelnes Moment._ A phase that passes or\nbecomes relatively insignificant.]\n\n[Footnote 260: _Innigste_, most intimate. A curious but characteristic\nconclusion of Hegel.]\n\n[Footnote 261: This analysis must be accepted of course mainly as an\nanalysis of the ideal proposed to us by the profoundest Christian\nart. It is obviously not true of much Italian art, Titian's work for\nexample, and it is equally remote from many of the most probable facts\nof history.]\n\n[Footnote 262: _Die Starrheit._ The rigid or unyielding character.]\n\n[Footnote 263: _Der Gehalt ihres Gem\u00fcths._ It is possible to see in\nthis analysis something rather capricious and far-fetched, and yet to\nappreciate its value as an analysis of Christian love for the deceased\nbeloved as contrasted with pagan sentiment. The finest illustration I\nmyself can recollect of this is not the mother Mary at all, but the\nfigure of the Magdalene in Tintoret's \"Deposition\" in the S. Giorgio\nMaggiore Church in Venice. As a matter of fact the divine mother in\nsacred art is almost invariably depicted in a state of swoon under the\nstress of her grief, though Tintoret's Piet\u00e0 in the Brera is a notable\nexception.]\n\n[Footnote 264: I do not know this painter. For pathos I know no finer\nconception of the death than that of Rembrandt's etching. Blake's\ndrawing, exhibited recently at Cambridge, shows us the tranquillity and\ndignity of the scene more finely than any other representation.]\n\n[Footnote 265: I presume Hegel means this by the words _die\nMenschheit_, but it is a difficult passage.]\n\n[Footnote 266: It is impossible in English to preserve the antithesis\nbetween _bitten_ and _beten._]\n\n[Footnote 267: _Und nichts f\u00fcr sich hat._ That is to say reciprocity is\nof its essence. \"Give and it shall be given unto you.\"]\n\n[Footnote 268: _Die Gestalt_ may possibly refer to the suppliant.]\n\n[Footnote 269: The Sistine Madonna.]\n\n[Footnote 270: A good instance is the great Crucifixion of Fra Angelico\nin the S. Mark convent in Florence.]\n\n[Footnote 271: And a painter like Carlo Dolci or the Caracci are even\nworse.]\n\n[Footnote 272: It would perhaps have been more instructive to consider\nthe difference of temperament in the artist when dealing with such\nsubjects and its influence on his treatment. It is very far from an\nobvious truth that physiognomy upon which the conflict of soul-life is\nmost marked loses thereby the characteristics of beauty. There is the\nbeauty of gnarled oak no less than that of the rose and the lily.]\n\n[Footnote 273: _Das Beisichseyn der Liebe im Absoluten._ Lit., the\nself-inherency cf Love within the Absolute.]\n\n[Footnote 274: _Sondern auch selbst\u00e4ndig._ He seems to mean that they\nreceive from this relation the subsistent individuality of spirit. This\nreference to landscape is obviously very perfunctory and insufficient.]\n\n[Footnote 275: See vol. I, p. 220.]\n\n[Footnote 276: _Mit dem in sich particularisirten Innern._ With the\nideal complexus of particular objects as related to one subject. Their\nparticularity is due to their characterization, and that is dependent\non idealization.]\n\n[Footnote 277: _Diess Verwachsenseyn._ Lit., this growing up with.]\n\n[Footnote 278: There is, however, the aspect of consummate execution\nwhich in itself is a very real source of artistic enjoyment, and Hegel\nrather seems to overlook this here.]\n\n[Footnote 279: _Verzweigungen._ All off-shoots of attention or\ninterest.]\n\n[Footnote 280: Of course, even in the painting of still life, artistic\ncomposition itself implies by its selection and subordination to an\nidea a new result. And the characteristic technique of a painter\ninevitably has the same result.]\n\n[Footnote 281: _Geistigen Ausdr\u00fcck._]\n\n[Footnote 282: _Grundlage._]\n\n[Footnote 283: It is perhaps rather strange that Hegel should have\nconsidered the Dutch and Flemish schools as pre-eminently colourists.\nApart from Rembrandt the truth is not very apparent. But he was mainly\nthinking of their dexterity in the lighting of a picture and the\nscintillation of colour.]\n\n[Footnote 284: That is, as black and white and its gradations.]\n\n[Footnote 285: It is not quite clear what is intended here by\n_Vervielf\u00e4ltigung_, probably power of being adapted to various subject\nmatter and modes of expression.]\n\n[Footnote 286: It is hardly necessary to point out that this\ndiscussion, being based on Goethe's false theory of colour in\nopposition to Newton's prismatic analysis, has no scientific value,\nthough historically of interest. The blueness of the sky is due to the\nblue rays being detained.]\n\n[Footnote 287: I presume by concrete unity Hegel refers in some form to\na unity that is such owing to its intrinsic nature.]\n\n[Footnote 288: But red quite as often symbolizes enthusiasm and love,\nand in Tintoret's Paradise the Virgin has the red tunic and the blue\nmantle.]\n\n[Footnote 289: As a matter of fact violet or purple is a cardinal\ncolour.]\n\n[Footnote 290: Green is not a cardinal colour.]\n\n[Footnote 291: Hegel seems to have in view the Flemish school rather\nthan the Dutch in the restricted sense. It is rather strange that he\nshould dwell on this rather than work of the Venetians such as Bellini.]\n\n[Footnote 292: _Verschwemmte._ Carried away by a stream.]\n\n[Footnote 293: Such as Ary Scheffer and others of the same monotony.\nThe flesh tints of Leighton and Poynter and many less men suffer in the\nsame way.]\n\n[Footnote 294: _Farbenschein_, as Hegel uses it later on, I find it\nimpossible to translate in one word. In fact it is not easy to seize\nprecisely what he means. \"Modulation of colour\" partly expresses it.\nBut he also seems to refer to what we understand as the personal\nquality of a picture or its general atmosphere, not regarded simply\nas Nature's atmosphere, but as the communication of the artist's own\nafflatus.]\n\n[Footnote 295: I crossed a young landscape-artist of growing fame the\nother day, who affirmed and endeavoured to express in his pictures the\nconviction that colour was as strong in distance as foreground. His\npictures were of great interest, but I still think his robust theory\nunsound.]\n\n[Footnote 296: We have no English equivalent for the German _das\nIncarnat_ or colour incarnate.]\n\n[Footnote 297: _Ein ideelles Ineinander._ By ideal Hegel means\napparently that the distinctions of tint fine away beyond the grasp of\nsense vision. This of course is true in all natural colouring. Possibly\nhe may mean that the idea of Life is contributive to the result.]\n\n[Footnote 298: Hardly a just simile for the reason that, as Hegel\nhimself points out, flesh does not reflect external objects.]\n\n[Footnote 299: _Den Schein innerer Belebung._ This expression seems\nto prove that Hegel uses the word _ideel_ in its ordinary sense of\nspiritual ideality.]\n\n[Footnote 300: _Als selbst lebendiges Ganze._ The colour must appear as\nitself a part of the vitality, not a mere covering.]\n\n[Footnote 301: _Vertreibung._ What Hegel exactly means I am not sure,\nprobably finish by overpaintings.]\n\n[Footnote 302: Fresco painting is strictly in tempera. I suppose Hegel\nhas here before him the two processes of tempera painting on the wet\nwall of plaster and tempera painting on some other dry surface.]\n\n[Footnote 303: _Zu grosser innerer Klarheit und sch\u00f6nen Leuchten._ I\ngive what appears to me to be the meaning.]\n\n[Footnote 304: I presume Hegel understands by _Deck und Lasurfarben_\nthe distinction of our opaque and transparent colours such as flake\nwhite and the madders or umbers. He clearly refers to glazes.]\n\n[Footnote 305: _Die Duftigkeit, Magie in der Wirkung des Kolorits._\nThis is a difficult passage to translate, and I am not quite sure\nwhat Hegel is aiming at. He seems to have in his mind both the ideal\natmosphere of a composition and the presence of a personal style.]\n\n[Footnote 306: Hegel has already related the effects considered to the\nartist's personality. He now endeavours to examine more closely what is\nimplied in the relation.]\n\n[Footnote 307: Adriaen van Ostade, 1610-1685.]\n\n[Footnote 308: He means painting, of course. He never passed beyond the\nstage of the average amateur.]\n\n[Footnote 309: _Spiel von Scheinen._ The play of appearance, that is,\nas it strikes on different natures.]\n\n[Footnote 310: _Malerischen Auffassung._ Here the ideas on mental\nconception and artistic composition seem to be combined. But Hegel is\nrather loose in his use of them.]\n\n[Footnote 311: Hegel has doubtless Albrecht D\u00fcrer and yet earlier\nGerman art in his mind.]\n\n[Footnote 312: _Die besonderen Bestimmungen._ The lines of its definite\nexposition.]\n\n[Footnote 313: I adopt Hegel's generic term. But he means here little\nmore than delineation or composition.]\n\n[Footnote 314: As between the art of painting and those of poetry and\nmusic.]\n\n[Footnote 315: _Geistig._ We may say the same thing of Tintoret's great\nGolden Calf picture. But the objection to the composition as a work of\nart remains more strongly than is the case with Raphael's picture.]\n\n[Footnote 316: The same thing is a characteristic of Tintoret's\nAnnunciation in the S. Rocco Scuola and several pictures of D\u00fcrer.]\n\n[Footnote 317: Fine examples of this are Rembrandt's Descent from the\nCross in the Munich Gallery, and the group of mourners in Tintoret's\nGreat Crucifixion.]\n\n[Footnote 318: They have in this respect been well contrasted with the\ncharacters of Euripides in the play of Aristophanes which particularly\nemphasizes the difference between the heroic type of Aeschylus and the\nrealism of Euripides, \"The Frogs of Aristophanes,\" text and translation\nof B. B. Rogers; see Introd., pp. XVIII, XIX, XLV.]\n\n[Footnote 319: As to ugliness and its treatment by Hegel, see Professor\nBosanquet's \"History of Aesthetik,\" pp. 338, 355, and generally pp.\n432-436.]\n\n[Footnote 320: That is sculpture. Hegel calls it _im Plastischen._]\n\n[Footnote 321: An ideal with Hegel is not necessarily an image of the\nmind, but far more generally the concrete realization of life.]\n\n[Footnote 322: He should have added Tintoretto at least. What could be\nmore pertinent than his Sages in the Palazzo Reale in Venice.]\n\n[Footnote 323: Applies to the study rather than the talent exercised.]\n\n[Footnote 324: _Aber ganze Grundbild des Charakters darstellen._]\n\n[Footnote 325: _Den geistigen Sinn und Charakter._ He means the entire\nspiritual impression, heart, soul, and intelligence, with its practical\neffect in substantive character.]\n\n[Footnote 326: I think this is implied here in Hegel's use of the words\n_verarbeitet durch den Geist._ But it may mean \"in the face as worked\nupon the soul within the _person portrayed._\"]\n\n[Footnote 327: _Die wahrhaften absoluten Momente f\u00fcr die\nCharacteristik._]\n\n[Footnote 328: The German expression is, \"It is not a serious affair\nwith her sinning.\" I am not sure that Hegel's view here does not lean\ntowards the sentimentalism he generally so strongly opposes. No doubt a\nclear conception of the Magdalene's character is difficult. But it is\nobvious that the less stress we lay upon her sin, the less weight her\nconversion carries from the religious point of view, and the less great\nappears the effect of the interposition of her divine Master. Correggio\nwas not a master likely to penetrate profoundly into his subject.\nBut, on the other hand, it must be admitted that Hegel's contention\nis in one aspect of it supported by the far finer conceptions of the\nMagdalene in Tintoret's work. At least this great master clearly shows\nus that in his view of her she was strongly emotional, heart and soul\nin everything whether for good, under good influence, or for evil under\nopposite direction. It is possible to understand Hegel's interpretation\nas one mainly aesthetic.]\n\n[Footnote 329: In Berlin. The statement is made in February 1829.]\n\n[Footnote 330: The omission of the Spanish school at least omits a most\nimportant link with modern impressionism and its close relation to that\ntransition to music. And it is impossible to indicate the progress of\nlandscape without reference to the English school.]\n\n[Footnote 331: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. I, p. 279.]\n\n[Footnote 332: The words _in \u00e4hnlicher Weise_ make no sense.]\n\n[Footnote 333: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. I, p. 280.]\n\n[Footnote 334: Literally the sense is \"Which (apparently agrees with\nthe trait of piety) invigorates with soul that assuredness and accepted\nfact (_Fertigkeit_) of existence, which is from the very first (_von\nHause aus_) more decisive (_entscheidenere_) in this province of\nsalvation (_des Heils_).\" _Heils_ must obviously be used in the same\nsense as _Heiland_ above. My translation is necessarily rather free,\nbut I hope I have emphasized the meaning.]\n\n[Footnote 335: _Ein ideal bleibender Uebergang._ The transition is\nrather one the soul imagines than an actual fact. \"Ideal persistence\"\nis perhaps better.]\n\n[Footnote 336: _Religiosit\u00e4t_ here used in good sense.]\n\n[Footnote 337: Lit., \"More free from struggling.\" Compare Saint John\nand Saint Paul as examples on the higher levels.]\n\n[Footnote 338: That is Italian painting.]\n\n[Footnote 339: Hegel's delight in Italian opera is well known to\nreaders of his correspondence. In the above fine passage he to some\nextent unbelts himself from his ordinary tone of rather austere\nreticence.]\n\n[Footnote 340: The distinction seems to be between the more formal\nunity of personality and the peculiarly seductive charm of Italian art.\nIt is rather a fine one and it seems to me rather confusing. Moreover\nI do not quite see the pertinency of the simile of a Psyche that is\nwafted as a butterfly even round blooms that have been spoiled of\ntheir treasure, for such I understand to be the sense of _verk\u00fcmmerte\nBlumen._ A butterfly comes into no active relation with such unless the\nidea is pictorial decoration. But possibly Hegel was thinking of his\nreference to Dante, and in that case employed the metaphor loosely,\nrather too loosely I should say.]\n\n[Footnote 341: \"Stunted\" is perhaps the best translation. The fault\nof the simile lies in its superficiality. It does not penetrate the\nconception Hegel has before him.]\n\n[Footnote 342: Giotto, Mantegna, Carpaccio, Masaccio, would be leading\nnames in point here. Hegel mentions two himself lower down.]\n\n[Footnote 343: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 4.]\n\n[Footnote 344: _Grelle._ That is harsh and flagrant outline.]\n\n[Footnote 345: _Ihrer_ must refer I think to the Italians, though the\nsentence might mean, \"In contrast to these Greek productions.\"]\n\n[Footnote 346: _Als Ueberzug._ The expression suggests it was used as a\nfacial glaze or varnish.]\n\n[Footnote 347: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. I, p. 312.]\n\n[Footnote 348: That is mixed with the attrited colour in its dryness.]\n\n[Footnote 349: _Leimen. Leim_ is size or lime, in the compound word\n_leim-farbe_ signifying distemper.]\n\n[Footnote 350: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 42.]\n\n[Footnote 351: Decam. Giorn., 6. Nov. 5.]\n\n[Footnote 352: Such as S. Francis as presented us in Giotto's great\nfrescoes in Assisi.]\n\n[Footnote 353: No doubt the serious aspect is less imposingly\nemphasized; but if the opinion condemned below is too sweeping it\nremains the fact that we can imagine nothing more profoundly serious in\nthe religious sense than the frescoes in the Arena Chapel in Padua.]\n\n[Footnote 354: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 73.]\n\n[Footnote 355: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 213.]\n\n[Footnote 356: _Aufgaben_, artistic problems, themes.]\n\n[Footnote 357: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 243.]\n\n[Footnote 358: This of course is too strong a statement, and indeed is\nridiculous to anyone who has complete knowledge of the best work even\nof Giotto.]\n\n[Footnote 359: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 252.]\n\n[Footnote 360: The frescoes of Mantegna, and those of Ghirlandaio, we\nwould mention in particular the fine examples in the S. Maria Novella\nchurch in Florence, or for Mantegna our own cartoons at Hampton Court\nand the invaluable but now hopelessly ruined frescoes of Gozzoli, in\nthe Campo Santo of Pisa, are fine illustrations of the text.]\n\n[Footnote 361: _Des inneren Geistes_ may here refer to the ideal\naspects of civil and domestic life, but I think Hegel is contrasting\nthe two extremes and it refers to the religious content.]\n\n[Footnote 362: \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 282.]\n\n[Footnote 363: To make this judgment in any degree a sound one we\nmust assume the stress is laid on the mysterious aspect of expression\nand form. The genuine examples of Leonardo are so very few. But quite\napart from that unless we exclude the great triumvirate of the Venetian\nschool altogether Tintoret, Titian, and Veronese, the praise here given\nto Leonardo as a consummate master of the technique in oil-painting can\nonly be received with considerable reserve and qualification.]\n\n[Footnote 364: Compare \"Ital. Forsch.,\" vol. II, p. 308.]\n\n[Footnote 365: _Die reinste Vollendung._ The adjective refers to the\ncharacter of the perfection as an expression of artistic feeling and\nexecution.]\n\n[Footnote 366: _Halbdeutliche Erinnerungen._ Not I think memories that\nare obscure themselves so much as memories which have failed to grasp\nthe content of what is recollected. The expression is rather confused.]\n\n[Footnote 367: Modern criticism would doubtless have a good deal to say\nin qualification of this. The name of Bellini alone is sufficiently\nsuggestive.]\n\n[Footnote 368: This emphasis on the work of Raphael and Correggio is\ncharacteristic of the best art criticism of the times of Hegel, but\nmarks its limitations. Neither Raphael nor Correggio can be called\nreligious painters in the sense that those profound masters Tintoret\nand Michelangelo were such. The essentially academic aspect of so much\nof Raphael's later production is not noticed. And it is these three\ngreat names, Titian, Tintoret, and Michelangelo, who most truly mark\nthe transition to our modern outlook.]\n\n[Footnote 369: _Eine a\u00fcssere Abgeschlossenheit._ This must mean, I\nthink, a dignified and reserved treatment of the technique mainly of\nsuch themes.]\n\n[Footnote 370: The technical and somewhat long-worded aspect of Hegel's\nstyle is here at its worst and I find it hard to make complete sense\nof this doubtless unrevised passage. The main difficulty is this, that\nthe sentence appears to assert that \"the centre\" (_der Mittelpunkt_)\nof religion persists (_fortbleibt_) and yet asserts in the same breath\nthat the informing unity is broken up. I have done my best.]\n\n[Footnote 371: A piety which is not merely emotional, but is concrete\nin active life, possesses practical content.]\n\n[Footnote 372: See note at end of chapter.]\n\n[Footnote 373: This appears rather to contradict what Hegel has said\nbefore of the impression a fine picture such as Correggio's Magdalene\nleaves upon us that we cannot imagine the character to be other than it\nis. See note below.]\n\n[Footnote 374: More literally, \"Without the alleviating effect of what\nis comic.\"]\n\n[Footnote 375: I presume _die Formen_ refers here rather to the\nartistic forms of grouping and composition than the traits of vital\nexpression. But perhaps the latter interpretation would be more natural\nto the words.]\n\n[Footnote 376: The above survey of Dutch art is of great interest, and\nin its careful comparison of the type of that art with the national\ndevelopment of the Dutch may be contrasted favourably with the somewhat\nprejudiced criticism of such a critic as John Ruskin. At the same\ntime I think it must be obvious that Hegel is a little inclined to\noverrate the ideal aspect of that portion of it we may indicate in\nthe work of painters such as Wouvermans or Teniers, many examples of\nwhich are little removed from the defects of theme he points out in\nmore modern work. Also personally I should say that, if we exclude\nthe supreme genius of Rembrandt, he rather exaggerates their rank as\nsupreme colourists in respect to the scintillation, mystery, and other\neffects of light. To consider that they rank above the Venetians in\nthis respect is wholly impossible, to say nothing of Velasquez. Rubens,\nhowever, may add some support to the view, but he is hardly in the\nschool described, and Van Dyck stands with him.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nMUSIC\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nIf we glance back at the course the evolution of the several arts has\ntaken, we shall find that it began with _architecture._ It was the art\nwhich was least complete; for, as we discovered, it was, by reason of\nthe purely solid material, which it attached to itself as its sensuous\nmedium, and made use of according to the laws of gravity, incapable\nof placing before us under an adequate mode of presentation what is\nspiritual; it was consequently constrained to limit itself to the\ntask of preparing from the resources of the mind an artistic external\nenvironment for Spirit in its living and actual existence.\n\n_Sculpture_, on the contrary, and in the _second_ place, was able,\nit is true, to accept the spiritual itself as its object. It was,\nhowever, neither one in the sense of a particular character, nor as the\nintimate personal life of soul, but rather as a free individuality,\nwhich is as little separate from the substantive content as it is\nfrom the corporeal appearance of Spirit; a presentment which only\ndisplays itself as such individuality, in so far as the same enters\ninto it, in the degree that the same is actually required to import\nan individual vitality into a content which is itself intrinsically\nessential. Moreover, it only, as such ideal spiritualization, is\nfused with the bodily configuration to the extent of revealing the\nessentially inviolable union of Spirit with that natural embodiment\nwhich is consonant therewith. This necessary identity in the art of\nsculpture of Spirit's independent existence wholly with its _corporeal_\norganization, rather than with the medium of its own _ideal essence_,\nmakes it incumbent upon the art still to retain solid matter as its\nmaterial, but to transform the configuration of the same, not, as was\nthe case with architecture, into a purely inorganic environment, but\nrather into the classical beauty adequate to Spirit and its ideal\nplastic realization.\n\nAnd just as sculpture in this respect proved itself to be pre-eminently\nfitted to give vitality to the content and mode of expression of the\n_classical_ type of art in its products, while architecture, despite\nall the service it rendered in the content which belonged to it, was\nunable in its manner of presentation to pass beyond the fundamental\nmode of a purely _symbolical_ significance, so, too, _thirdly_, with\nthe art of painting, we enter the province of the _romantic._ No doubt\nwe find still in painting that the _external_ form is the means by\nvirtue of which the ideal presence is revealed. In this case, however,\nthis ideality is actually the ideal and particular _subjectivity_,\nis, in short, the soul-life returning upon itself from its corporeal\nexistence, is the individual passion and emotion of character and\nheart, which are no longer exclusively delivered in the external\nform, but mirror in the same the very ideal substance and activity\nof Spirit in the domain of its own conditions, aims, and actions. On\naccount of this intimate ideality of its content the art of painting\nis unable to rest satisfied with a material that, in one aspect of\nit, is in its shape merely solid matter, and in another as such crude\nform is merely tangible and unparticularized, but is forced to select\nexclusively the show and _colour semblance_ of the same as its sensuous\nmeans of expression. The colour, however, is only present in order to\nmake still apparent spatial forms and shapes as we find them in the\nactuality of Life, even in the case where we see the art developed\ninto all the magic of colouring, in which the objective fact at the\nsame time already begins to vanish away, and the effect is produced\nby what appears to be no longer anything material at all. However\nmuch, therefore, painting is evolved in the direction of a more ideal\nindependence of a kind of appearance which is no longer attached to\nshape as such, but is permitted to pass spontaneously into its own\nproper element, that is, into the play of visibility and reflection,\ninto all the mysteries of chiaroscuro, yet this magic of colour is\nstill throughout of a spatial mode, it is an appearance growing out of\njuxtaposition on a flat surface, and consequently a _consubsistent_\none.\n\n1. If, however, this ideal essence, as is already the case under\nthe principle of painting, asserts itself in fact as _subjective\nsoul-life_, in that case the truly adequate medium cannot remain of a\ntype which possesses independent subsistency. And for this reason we\nget a mode of expression and communication, in the sensuous material of\nwhich we do not find objectivity disclosed as spatial configuration,\nin order that it may have consistency therein. We require a material\nwhich is without such stability in its relation to what is outside\nit, and which vanishes again in the very moment of its origin and\npresence. Now the art that finally annihilates not merely _one_ form\nof spatial dimension, but the conditions of Space entirely, which is\ncompletely withdrawn into the ideality of soul-life, both in its aspect\nof conscious life and in that of its external expression, is our second\nromantic art--_Music._ In this respect it constitutes the genuine\ncentre of that kind of presentment which accepts the inner personal\nlife as such, both for its content and form. It no doubt manifests\nas art this inner life, but in this very objectification retains its\nsubjective character. In other words it does not, as plastic art,\nsuffer the expression in which it is self-enclosed to be independently\nfree or to attain an essentially tranquil self-subsistency, but cancels\nthe same as objectivity, and will not suffer externality to secure for\nitself an inviolable presence[377] over against it.\n\nIn so far, however, as this annihilation of spatial objectivity,\nregarded as a means of manifestation, is an abandonment of the same\nwhich is itself already in anticipation asserted of the sensuous\nspatiality of the plastic arts themselves[378], this principle of\nnegation must also in a similar way have its activity conditioned by\nthe _materiality_, which, up to this point, we have indicated as one\nof tranquil independent self-subsistency, just as the art of painting\nreduces in its province the spatial dimensions of sculpture to the\nsimple surface. This cancelling of the spatial form therefore merely\nconsists in this, that a specific sensuous material surrenders its\ntranquil relation of juxtaposition, is, in other words, placed in\nmotion but is so essentially affected by that motion that every portion\nof the coherent bodily substance not merely changes its position, but\nalso is reacted upon and reacts upon the previous condition[379]. The\nresult of this oscillating vibration is _tone_, the medium of music.\n\nIn tone music forsakes the element of external form and its sensuous\n_visibility_, and requires for the apprehension of its results another\norgan of sense, namely hearing, which, as also the sight, does not\nbelong to the senses of action but those y of contemplation; and is,\nin fact, still more ideal than sight. For the unruffled, aesthetic\nobservation of works of art no doubt permits the objects to stand\nout quietly in their freedom just as they are without any desire to\nimpair that effect in any way; but that which it apprehends is not\nthat which is itself essentially ideally composed[380], but rather\non the contrary, that which receives its consistency in its sensuous\nexistence. The ear, on the contrary, receives the result of that ideal\nvibration of material substance[381], without placing itself in a\npractical relation towards the objects, a result by means of which it\nis no longer the material object in its repose, but the first example\nof the more ideal activity of the soul itself which is apprehended. And\nfor the further reason that the negativity into which the oscillating\nmedium here enters is from one point of view an annihilation of the\nspatial condition, which is itself removed by means of the reaction\nof the body[382], the expression of this twofold negation, that is\ntone, is a mode of externality which, in virtue of its very mode of\nexistence, is in its very origination self-destructive, and there and\nthen itself fundamentally disappears. And it is by virtue of this\ntwofold negation of externality, in which the root-principle of tone\nconsists, that the same corresponds to the ideal personal life; this\nresonance which, in its essential explicitness[383], is something more\nideal than the subsistent corporeality in its independent reality, also\ndiscloses this more ideal existence[384], and thereby offers a mode of\nexpression suited to the ideality of conscious life.\n\n2. If we now, by a reverse process, inquire of what type this inner\nlife must be, if we are to prove it on its own account adapted to the\nexpression of sound and tones, we may recall the fact already observed\nthat by itself, that is, accepted as a real mode of objectivity, tone,\nin contrast to the material of the plastic arts, is wholly abstract.\nStone and colour receive the forms of an extensive and varied world\nof objects, and place them before us in their actual existence. Tones\nare unable to do this. For musical expression therefore it is only\nthe inner life of soul that is wholly devoid of an object which is\nappropriate, in other words, the abstract personal experience simply.\nThis is our entirely empty ego, the self without further content. The\nfundamental task of music will therefore consist in giving a resonant\nreflection, not to objectivity in its ordinary material sense, but to\nthe mode and modifications under which the most intimate self of the\nsoul, from the point of view of its subjective life and ideality, is\nessentially moved.\n\n3. We may say the same of the _effect_ of music. The paramount claim\nof that, too, is the direct contact with the most intimate ideality of\nconscious life. It is more than any other the art of the soul, and is\nimmediately addressed to that. The art of painting, no doubt, as we\nhave observed, is able to express in physiognomy and facial traits with\nother things the inner life and its activity, the moods and passions\nof the heart, the situations, conflicts, and fatalities of the soul;\nwhat, however, we have before us in pictures are objective appearances,\nfrom which the self of contemplation, in its most ideal self-identity,\nis still held distinctly apart. However much we become absorbed in or\npenetrate into the object, the situation, the character, the forms\nof a statue or a picture, admire a work of art, lose ourselves in or\npossess ourselves with it, the fact still remains that these works of\nart are and remain objects of independent subsistency, in respect to\nwhich it is quite impossible for us to escape the relation of external\nobservation disappears. In music, however, this distinction disappears.\nIts content is that which is itself essentially a part of our own\npersonal[385] life, and its expression does not result at the same\ntime in an objective mode of spatial _persistency_, but discloses, in\nvirtue of the continuity and freedom of its flight as it appears and\nvanishes[386], that it is a manifestation, which, instead of possessing\nitself an independent consistency, is dependent for its support on the\nideality of conscious life, and only can exist for that inward realm.\nTone is therefore no doubt a mode of both expression and externality;\nbut it is an expression which inevitably disappears precisely at the\npoint of and in virtue of becoming externality. At the very moment\nthat our organ of sense receives the sound it is gone. The impression\nthat should be given is at once transferred to the tablets of memory.\nThe tones merely resound in the depths of the soul, which are thereby\nseized upon in their ideal substance, and suffused with emotion. This\nideality of content and mode of expression in the sense that it is\ndevoid of all external object defines the purely _formal_ aspect of\nmusic. It has no doubt a content, but it is not a content such as we\nmean when referring either to the plastic arts or poetry. What it\nlacks is just this configuration of an objective other-to-itself,\nwhether we mean by such actual external phenomena, or the objectivity\nof intellectual ideas and images. We may indicate the course of our\nfurther examination as follows:\n\nIn the _first_ place we have to define more accurately the _general_\ncharacter of music and its effect in contradistinction to the other\narts, not merely from the point of view of its material, but also from\nthat of its form, which the spiritual content accepts.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall have to discuss the particular _distinctions_, in\nwhich musical tones and their modes[387] are developed and mediated\npartly in respect to their temporal duration, and partly in relation to\nthe qualitative distinctions of their actual resonance.\n\n_Thirdly_, and in conclusion, music possesses a relation to\nthe content, which it expresses, either by being associated as\nan accompaniment[388] with emotions, ideas, and considerations\nindependently expressed by word of mouth, or by its free expansion\nwithin its own domain in unfettered independence.\n\nIn proposing now, however, after having thus in a general way specified\nthe principle and division of the subject-matter of Music, to enter\ninto a more detailed examination of its particular aspects, we are\ninevitably confronted with a peculiar difficulty. In other words, for\nthe reason that the musical medium of tone and ideality, in which the\ncontent moves as a process, is of so abstract and formal a character,\nit is impossible for us to attempt such a closer survey without at\nthe same time broaching technical formulae and definitions such as\nbelong to the relations of tone-measure or distinctions that apply to\ndifferent instruments, scales, or chords. I must admit to no expert\nknowledge in this sphere of musical science, and can only offer my\napologies for being unable to do more than limit myself to more general\npoints of view and a few isolated observations.\n\n\n\n1. THE GENERAL CHARACTER OF MUSIC\n\n\nThe essential points of view which are of general importance in a\nsurvey of music we may examine under the following heads of division:\n\n_First_, we have to compare music on the one hand with the plastic\narts, and on the other with poetry.\n\n_Secondly_, we shall by means of the above comparison be in a better\nposition to understand the way in which music is able to master and\ndisclose a given content.\n\n_Thirdly_, and as a result of the latter inquiry, we may with more\naccuracy explain the peculiar effect which the art of music, in\ncontradistinction to the other arts, exercises on the soul.\n\n(_a_) With regard to the first point we should, if we are desirous of\nsetting it forth clearly in its specific individuality, compare music\nwith the other two arts from three distinct points of view.\n\n(_\u03b1_) And, _first_, it may be observed that it stands in a relation of\naffinity to _architecture_, although it is in strong contrast with it.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Our meaning is this. In the art of building the content which\nshould be made apparent in architectonic forms, does not, as is\nthe case in works of sculpture and painting, wholly enter into the\nconfiguration, but remains distinct from it as an external environment;\nso, too, in music, under its aspect of the most specifically romantic\nart, the classical identity of ideality and its external existence\nreceives its resolution in a similar, if converse, way to that in\nwhich architecture, as the symbolical type of presentation, was not\nas yet wholly able to secure such a unity. For this ideality of\nSpirit proceeds from what is purely the concentration of soul-life,\nto ideas and images and the forms of such, as elaborated by the\nimagination, whereas the art of music is throughout more occupied in\nexpressing merely the element of feeling and furthermore surrounds\nthe independently expressed ideas of the mind with the melodic chime\nof emotions, just as architecture in its province places around the\nstatues of the god, no doubt in an unyielding way, the reasonable forms\nof its columns, walls, and entablatures[389].\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In this way tone and its formative combinations is for\nthe first time a medium _created_ by art and entirely artistic\nexpression of a wholly different type from that we find in painting\nand sculpture acting through the material of the human body and its\npose and physiognomy. In this respect, too, music may be more nearly\ncompared with architecture, which does not accept its forms from what\nis actually presented, but as the creation of human invention, in\norder to inform them, partly according to the laws of gravity, and in\npart according to the rules of symmetry and harmonious coordination.\nMusic does the same thing in its own sphere, in so far as it from one\npoint of view follows the harmonious laws of tone which depend on\nquantitative relations independently of the expression of emotion,\nand in another aspect of it, in the recurrence of time and rhythm\nno less than in the further development of the tones themselves, in\nmany respects is subject to the forms of regularity and symmetry.\nConsequently we find operative in music not merely the profoundest\nideality and soul, but the most rigorous, rationality. It unites, in\nfact, two extremes, which readily lend themselves to emphatic contrast\nin their independent self-assertion. In this aspect of independence\nmusic more particularly assumes an architectonic character when we find\nin it a coherent temple of harmony of its own creatively composed and\nco-ordinated according to the laws of music, and released from the\ndirect expression of soul-life[390].\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Despite all this similarity, however, the art of tones moves\nto quite as large a degree in a sphere wholly opposed to that of\narchitecture. We find, no doubt, in both arts as a basis quantitative\nor more accurately measure relations; the material, however, which\nin each case is informed, agreeably to such relations, is totally\ndifferent. Architecture attaches itself to the heavy sensuous material\nin its tranquil juxtaposition and external form in Space. Music, on\nthe contrary, lays hold of the tone-spirit[391] as it rings freely out\nof the spatial material in the qualitative distinctions of musical\nsound and in the flow of a movement subject to the condition of time.\nFor this reason the works of both arts belong to two entirely distinct\nspheres of spiritual activity. The art of building places in an\nenduring form its colossal constructions for external contemplation in\nsymbolical forms. The swiftly evanescent world of tones, on the other\nhand, directly penetrates through the ears of man to the depths of his\nsoul, attuning the same in concordant emotional sympathy.\n\n(_\u03b2_) And if we, in the second place, consider the closer relation\nof music to the two other plastic arts[392], we shall find that the\nsimilarity and distinction, which attaches to such a comparison, is in\nsome measure founded upon the truths already enunciated.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Of these music is furthest removed from sculpture; and this is\nnot merely so in respect to material and type of configuration, but\nalso in that of the completed coalescence of its ideal and external\naspects. There is in short a closer affinity between painting and\nmusic. In part this is due to the predominant ideality of expression\nexemplified in both; in part it is referable to treatment of material,\nin which, as we have already seen, it is permissible for the art of\npainting to approach the very boundary of music itself. Painting has,\nhowever, for its aim in common with sculpture the representation of\nan objective form in Space, and is restricted in its material to the\nactual form of things already present outside the sphere of art. It is\nunquestionably true that neither in the case of the painter nor the\nsculptor do we accept a human countenance, a position of the human\nbody, the outlines of a mountain, the leafage of a tree precisely in\nthe forms they present to us as here or there in Nature; in both cases\nwe are bound to justify what we have before us under the conditions of\nthe art in question, to adapt it to a particular situation, no less\nthan to employ it as a means of expressing the inevitable artistic\nresult of the entire content of the work. We have, therefore, in both\ncases on the one hand an independently recognized content, which has\nto receive artistic individualization, and, on the other, we are\nconfronted with the forms of Nature as they are similarly presented\nin isolation; and the artist is bound, if he be truly an artist, and\nseek to unite these two sources of inspiration in his composition,\nto discover in both the material and support[393] for his conception\nand execution. In short, he will, acting in the first instance on the\nsecurity of such general principles[394], endeavour on the one hand to\nfill out with more concrete detail the generality of his imaginative\nidea, and on the other to idealize and spiritualize the human or any\nother of the forms of Nature, which are submitted to serve him as\nparticular models. The musician, on the contrary, it is true, does\nnot abstract from all and every content, but finds the same in a\ntext, which he sets to music, or with absolute freedom gives musical\nutterance to some definite mood in the form of a theme, which he\nproceeds to elaborate. The actual region, however, of his compositions\nremains the more formal ideality, in other words pure tones, and his\nabsorption of content becomes rather a _retreat_ into the free life of\nhis own soul, a voyage of discovery into that, and in many departments\nof music even a confirmation, that he as artist is free of the content.\nIf we are in a general way permitted to regard human activity in the\nrealm of the beautiful as a liberation of the soul, as a release from\nconstraint and restriction, in short to consider that art does actually\nalleviate the most overpowering and tragic catastrophies[395] by\nmeans of the creations it offers to our contemplation and enjoyment,\nit is the art of music which conducts us to the final summit of that\nascent to freedom. Or in other language that which the plastic arts\nsecure through the objective fact of a plastic beauty, which displays\nthe entirety of human life, human nature as such, its universal and\nideal significance, in the detail of its particularity, without losing\nthat essential harmony, this effect music must produce in a wholly\ndifferent manner. The plastic artist need only _exhibit_, in that which\nis enclosed in the conception, what _was already therein from the\nfirst_, so that every detail in its essential determinacy is merely\na closer explication of the totality which already floats before the\nmind in virtue of the content which is there to exhibit it. A figure,\nfor example, in a plastic work of art, requires in this or that\nsituation a body, hands, feet, bust, a head with a given expression,\na given pose, other figures, or other aspects to which it is related\nas a whole, etc., and all these aspects presuppose the others, in\nmaking collectively essentially complete work. The elaboration of the\ntheme is in such a case merely a more accurate analysis of that which\nalready itself essentially contains it, and the more elaborate the\npicture is, which thereby confronts us, the more concentrated is the\nunity, and the stronger becomes the connection of the parts. The most\nconsummate expression of detail must be, if the work of art is the best\nclass, at the same time an elucidation of the highest form of unity.\nNo doubt the ideal articulation and rounding off in a whole, in which\nthe one part follows inevitably from another, ought to be present in\na musical composition. But in some measure the execution here is of a\ntotally different type, and moreover we can only accept the unity in a\nrestricted sense.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In a musical theme the significance which has to be expressed\nis already exhausted[396]. If it is repeated or carried on to\nfurther oppositions and mediations these repetitions, modulations,\nand elaborations by means of other scales may very readily appear\nsuperfluous, and rather are appertinent to the purely musical\ndevelopment and the assimilation of the varied content of harmonic\nprogressions which are neither demanded by the content itself[397], nor\nremain dependent upon it, whereas in the plastic arts the execution of\nthe detail and the passage to it is simply and always a more accurate\nexhibition and analysis of the content itself.\n\nBut of course it is impossible to deny that another theme is actually\nmotived by the way a theme is developed, and each of them, then, in\ntheir alternation or their interfusion progress, change, are at one\ntime suppressed, at another emphasized, and by their victory or defeat\nare able to make a content explicit in its more definite features,\noppositions, transitions, developments, and resolutions. But in this\ncase, too, the unity is not made more profound and concentrated by\nvirtue of such elaboration as is the case in sculpture and painting,\nbut is rather an expansion, an extension, a correlative series[398],\nan addition of remoteness or a return, for which the content, which is\nthus expressed, remains no doubt the universal centrum, yet does not\nkeep the whole so securely together as we find it is possible to do in\nthe plastic arts, particularly where their subject-matter is confined\nto the human organism.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Looked at from this point of view the art of music, as\ncontrasted with the other arts, lies too close to the medium of that\nformal freedom of soul life, and thereby cannot fail to a greater\nor less degree to be diverted beyond what is actually presented, in\nother words the content[399]. The recollection of a theme proposed\nis likewise a self-revealment[400] of the artist, in other words is\nan ideal realization, to the effect that this self is the artist, and\nhe may progress just as he likes, and by what by-paths he likes. But\non the other hand the free exercise of imaginative caprice of the\nabove description is expressly to be distinguished from a musical\ncomposition which is essentially conclusive, that is to say, which\nconstitutes a fundamentally self-integrated totality. In the free\nimprovization[401] the absence of restrictions is itself an object, so\nthat the artist is able to assert his caprice in the acceptance of any\nmaterial he chooses, to interweave acknowledged melodies and motives in\nhis improvized productions, to emphasize some new aspect of such, to\nelaborate them in a variety of modifications, or make them steps in his\nprogression to other material, and advance from thence in the same way\nto developments of still more arresting contrasts.\n\nIn general, however, a musical composition determines the freedom of\nthe composer, either by limiting it to a more self-contained execution,\nand the observance of what we may describe as a more plastic unity, or\nby permitting him with the full force of his personality and caprice\nto pass at every point into more or less important digressions, to let\nspontaneous ideas travel hither and thither as they please, to lay\nstress for the moment on this or that motive, and then once more to\ndrown it in an overwhelming torrent. While, then, the study of Nature's\nforms is essential to both painter and sculptor, the art of music can\nlook for no such fixed body of fact outside its own prescribed forms,\nwith which it would be forced to comply. The extent of the regularity\nand necessity of its formal character is almost wholly determined\nwithin the sphere of tone itself, which does not come into so close an\nassociation[402] with the definition of the content that is therein\nreposed, and consequently in respect to deviations beyond the same\npermits for the most part a considerable opportunity for the free play\nof the characteristic impulse of the composer.\n\nAnd this is the main point of view, from which we may contract music\nwith the strictly plastic arts.\n\n(_\u03b3_) Looked at from _another_ aspect music is, in the third\nplace[403], most nearly affiliated to _poetry_; both in fact make use\nof the same sensuous medium, that is, tone. Despite this, however,\nthese arts are very strongly distinct from one another not only in\nvirtue of the mode of treating tones in each case, but also in respect\nto their different modes of expression.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In poetry, as we have found already in our general\ndifferentiation of the several arts, tone is not as such elicited and\nartistically produced by various humanly constructed instruments,\nbut the articulate sound of the human organ of speech is reduced\nto the mere symbol of speech, retaining thereby nothing more\nthan the value of a sign of ideas, which is by itself devoid of\nsignificance. Consequently we find here that tone remains throughout a\nself-subsistent sensuous entity, which, as the mere symbol of emotions,\nideas, and thoughts, possesses the externality and _objectivity_ which\nis _inherent in itself_ simply in virtue of the fact that is a _sign_\nand nothing more. For the true objectivity of the soul-life as such\ndoes not consist in utterance and words, but in this fact, that I, as\nsubject, am aware of a thought, a feeling, and so forth, that further\nI confront it as an object, and in this way have it present to the\nimagination, or forthwith develop for myself what is implicit in a\nthought or a conception, setting forth in a series the external and\nspiritual relations of the given content, and relating the particular\nfeatures of it to one another. Unquestionably we think throughout\nin language, without, however, needing actual speech as spoken.\nBy reason of this ability to dispense with speech-utterance in its\nsensuous aspect as contrasted with the spiritual content of ideas,\netc., to elucidate which they[404] are employed, tone receives once\nmore self-subsistency. In the art of painting no doubt colour and its\narrangement, regarded simply as colour, is likewise by itself without\nsignificance, and in the same way, as contrasted with the spiritual\nembodied, thereby a self-substantive sensuous medium; but we get no\npainting from colour simply as such: we must first attach to it form\nand its expression. With these spiritually animated forms colouring is\nbrought into an association by many degrees more constrained than that\nwhich pertains to uttered speech and its coalescing result of words\nwith ideas.\n\nIf we will now look at the distinction between the poetical and musical\nuse of tones we shall find that music does not depress the tone sound\nto the mere speech-utterance, but creates out of tone simply its own\nindependent medium, so that, in so far as there is musical tone, it is\ntreated as the object of the art[405]. And on account of this the realm\nof tone, inasmuch as it cannot serve merely as a symbol, is by virtue\nof this emancipated function of its life[406] able to attain to a mode\nof configuration, which makes the form that is its peculiar possession,\nthat is to say, the modes of tone as artistically developed, its\nfundamental aim and object. In recent times especially, the art of\nmusic, by its wresting itself from all content that is independently\nlucid, has withdrawn into the depths of its own medium. But on this\nvery account and to this extent it has lost its compelling power[407]\nover the soul, inasmuch as the enjoyment, which is thus offered, is\nonly applicable to one aspect of art, in other words, is only an\ninterest in the purely musical characteristics of the composition and\nits artistic dexterity, an aspect which wholly concerns the musical\nexpert, and is less connected with the universal human interest in art.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) All that poetry loses, however, in external objectivity by\nbeing able to place on one side its sensuous medium, in so far as\nthat can be wholly dispensed with by art, it secures for itself, in\nthe ideal objectivity of its vision and ideas, which poetical speech\npresents to soul and mind. For it is the function of imagination to\nclothe these concepts, emotions, and thoughts in a world that is\nitself essentially complete[408] with its events, actions, moods,\nand exhibitions of passion, and by this means it creates works, into\nwhich the entire fabric of reality, both in its external aspect as\nphenomena and in the ideal significance of its content, is brought\nhome to the emotions, vision, and imagination of spiritual life. It\nis this type of objectivity which the art of music, in so far as it\nasserts its independent claims in its own province, is compelled to\nrenounce. In other words, the realm of tone possesses, no doubt, as I\nhave already indicated, a relation to the soul, and an alliance which\nis consonant with its spiritual movement; but it fails to pass beyond\na sympathetic relation which is always of an indefinite character,\nalbeit in this aspect of it a musical composition, if originating in\nthe soul-life itself, and permeated by genius and emotions of a rich\nquality, cannot fail to react on our nature with an equivalent power\nand variety. In the case of a content and the ideal and personal\ncreation such as poetry implies our emotions pass more completely out\nof their elementary medium of undefined conscious life into the more\nconcrete vision and more universal[409] imagination which is embodied\nin such content. This may also be the effect of a musical composition,\nso soon as the emotions which it excites in ourselves by virtue of its\nown nature and the artistic energy that animates it are involved more\nclosely in ourselves with a distinct vision and ideas, and thereby\npresent to consciousness the tangible definition of soul-impressions\nin a more stable outlook and more universally accepted ideas. This\nis, however, _our_ imagination and vision, which no doubt has been\nsuggested by the musical work, but which has not been itself directly\ndisclosed by virtue of the artistic elaboration of musical tones.\nPoetry, on the contrary, expresses emotions, perceptions, and ideas as\nthey are[410], and is further able to delineate a picture of external\nobjects, although it cannot itself either attain to the plastic clarity\nof sculpture and painting or the spiritual intimacy of music, and is\nconsequently obliged to call as auxiliary to its powers the direct\nvision we otherwise receive through the senses and the speechless\napprehension of soul-life in music.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) _Thirdly_, however, the art of music does not confine itself\nto this independent position over against that of poetry and the\nspiritual content of conscious life. It allies itself with a clearly\nexpressed content already completely elaborated by poetry, and as the\naccompaniment of emotions, opinions, events, and actions. If, however,\nthe musical aspect of such a work of art remains the fundamental and\npredominant one, the poetry, whether in the form of poem, drama, or\nany other, has no right to assert an independent claim of its own\ntherein. And as a general rule in this association, of music and poetry\nthe preponderance of one art is injurious to the other. If therefore\nthe text, a poetical creation, possesses a fully independent value\nof its own, the support to be expected from music should be merely\nan insignificant one, as we find, for example, was the case with\nthe dramatic choruses of the ancients where the music was nothing\nmore than an incidental accompaniment. If, conversely, the music is\ncomposed with a more independent individuality of its own, then the\ntext in its turn should be of a more superficially poetical execution,\nand should as an independent production confine itself to emotions\nof a general character and ideas depicted on universal lines. The\npoetical elaboration of profound thoughts is as little appropriate to\na good musical text as is the delineation of the objects of external\nNature or descriptive poetry generally. Songs, operatic arias, the\ntexts of oratorios, and so forth may be consequently, so far as the\ndetail of their execution as poetry is concerned, jejune and of a\ncertain degree of mediocrity. The poet must not make his merits as\npoet too conspicuous if the musician is to find in his text a genuine\nopportunity. In this respect it is especially the Italians, such as\nMetastasio and others, who have displayed the greatest skill, while\nSchiller's poems, which were never written with such an object in\nview at all, have been shown to be ill adapted and indeed useless for\nmusical composition[411]. In cases where the music receives a more\nartistic elaboration, the audience understands next to nothing of the\ntext, and this is more particularly so with our German speech and\npronunciation[412]. For this reason it is not in the interest of music\nthat the weight of interest should be reposed in the text. An Italian\naudience, for example, chatters away during the unimportant scenes of\nan opera, takes refreshment, plays cards, and so on; but the instant\nan aria of emphatic appeal or an important musical movement begins,\nevery section of it is all attention. We Germans, on the contrary,\ntake the greatest interest in the fortunes and speeches of the princes\nand princesses of opera with attendants, squires, intimates, and\nwaiting-maids, and we do not doubt there are many among us still\nwho regret the fact, when the singing begins, that the interest is\ninterrupted, and take their refuge in conversation.\n\nIn religious music also the text is either for the most part a\nwell-known _credo_, or a selection of single psalms, so that the words\nare regarded as merely an incitement to a musical commentary, which\npossesses an independent style peculiar to itself, that is to say one\nwhich not merely is used to expound the text, but which for the most\npart simply emphasizes the universal character of the content much in\nthe same way that painting selects its material from sacred history.\n\n(_b_) The second aspect of our present inquiry is that of the\ndistinction that obtains between the way in which the art of music\nlays hold of its subject-matter as contrasted with the other arts,\nthe form, that is, in which, whether it be as an accompaniment or\nindependently of a given text, it is able to apprehend and express a\nparticular content. As to this I have already observed that music is\nnot only more capable than the other arts of liberating itself from\nan actual text, but also from the expression of a definite content,\nin order that it may find its satisfaction in an essentially complete\nseries of combinations, modifications, contrasts, and modulations,\nwhich are comprised within the realm of absolute music[413]. In such a\ncase, however, music is empty, without significance, and is, for the\nreason that one fundamental aspect of art, namely spiritual content\nand expression, is absent, not really genuine music at all. It is only\nwhen that which is of spiritual import is adequately expressed in the\nsensuous medium of tones and their varied configuration that music\nattains entirely to its position as a true art, and irrespective of\nthe fact whether this content receives an independent and more direct\ndefinition by means of words, or is perforce emotionally realized from\nthe tone music itself and its harmonic relations and melodic animation.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In this respect the unique function of music consists in this,\nthat whatever its content may be it is not so created by the art for\nhuman apprehension as though it either was held by consciousness as\na _general concept_ is so contained, or as definite external form is\nordinarily presented to our perception, or as such receives its more\ncomplete reflection in the artistic counterfeit, but rather in the\nway in which a content is made a living thing in the sphere of the\n_personal soul._ To make this essentially veiled life and in weaved\nmotion ring forth through the independent texture of tones, or attach\nitself to expressed words and ideas, and to steep such ideas in this\nvery medium, in order to re-emphasize anew the same for feeling and\nsympathy, such is the difficult task assigned to the art of music.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The life of soul itself is consequently the form in which music\nis able to grasp its content, and thereby seeks to absorb within itself\neverything that can generally enter into the shrine of the soul and\nabove all disclose itself under the veils of emotional movement. But\nfrom this it necessarily follows that the art of music must not attempt\nto minister to sense-perception, but must restrict its effort to making\nsoul-life intelligible to soul, whether this is effected by its making\nthe substantive and ideal depth of a content as such penetrate to the\nvery core of soul itself, or by its preferring to disclose the life and\nmotion of a content in the soul of some particular person, so that this\ninward life of itself becomes its actual object.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) This abstract inwardness of soul is in the most intimate sense\ndifferentiated, under the mode in which music is related to it, by\n_feelings_ in other words the self-expanding medium of the personal\nsubject, which unquestionably moves in a content, but suffers the same\nto persist in this direct self-seclusion of the Ego, and in a relation\nto the Ego, that is, void of externality. Consequently feeling is\nthroughout simply all the envelope of that content, and it is the\nsphere which is claimed by music[414].\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) It is a province which unfolds in expanse the expression of\nevery kind of emotion, and every shade of joyfulness, merriment, jest,\ncaprice, jubilation and laughter of the soul, every gradation of\nanguish, trouble, melancholy, lament, sorrow, pain, longing and the\nlike, no less than those of reverence, adoration, and love fall within\nthe appropriate limits of its expression.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Tone as interjection, as the cry of grief, as sigh and laughter,\nis already, outside the province of art, the most immediately vital\nexpression of soul-conditions and feelings, the ah and oh of the soul.\nWe find in it a self-production and objectivity of soul as such, an\nexpression which stands intermediately between unconscious absorption\nand the self-return to thoughts ideally determinate, a disclosure,\nwhich has no relation to external fact, but is confined to the\ncontemplative state, just as the bird, too, in its song possesses this\nenjoyment and this production of its inner self.\n\nThe purely natural expression, however, of interjections is not as\nyet music, for though these outcries are no doubt no intentionally\narticulate sign of ideas as speech is and consequently express no\nconceived content in its generalized form as concept, but give vent to\na mood and emotion in and through tone itself, a state which is reposed\nimmediately in similar tones and opens the heart in the outburst of\nthe same, yet this emancipation is not one which is promoted by art.\nThe art of music must on the contrary bring the emotions into tone\nrelations of definite structure, and wean the expression of Nature of\nits wildness, its uncouth deliverance, and ameliorate it.\n\nWe may perhaps say that interjections constitute the point of departure\nof music; but it is only music when an interjection in the form of a\ncadenza, and in this respect it has to elaborate its senuous material\nartistically in a higher degree than either painting or poetry before\nit is qualified to express the content of spirit. We shall have to\nexamine later on more narrowly the particular way in which the content\nof music is worked up to such a pitch of adaptability; at present\nI will merely repeat the observation that the tones are themselves\nessentially a totality of differences, which are capable of disuniting\nand uniting themselves in the most varied kinds of immediate concords,\nessential discords, oppositions and transitions. To these opposed and\nunited tones, no less than the differentiation of their movements and\ntransitions, their entry, their progression, their conflict, their\nself-resolution and their disappearance, the ideal character both of\nthis or that content and of the emotions, in the form whereof both\nheart and soul obtains the mastery of such content, corresponds in\ncloser or more remote affinity, so that the like tone relations,\napprehended and informed conformably thereto, disclose the animated\nexpression of that which is present to Spirit as definable content.\n\nThe medium of tone asserts itself as more cognate with the ideally\nsimple essence of a content than the senuous material previously\ndealt with for this reason that tone instead of making itself secure\nin spatial form and coming to a halt as the varied presentment of\njuxtaposition and extension, is comprised in the ideal realm of _Time_,\nand for this reason does not progress to a condition under which simple\nideality and concrete bodily shape and appearance are differentiated.\nAnd this is equally true of the form of the _feeling_ of a content\nwhose expression mainly falls upon the art of music. In other words in\nsense-perception and conception we have already, as in self-conscious\nthought, the necessary distinction between the perceiving, conceiving\nand thinking Ego and the object of perception, conception, and thought.\nIn emotion, however, this distinction is resolved, or rather it is\nnever propounded, but the content is interwoven with the inner life\nwithout such division. When consequently music is united as an art of\naccompaniment with poetry, or conversely poetry is united with music\nas an interpreter to its elucidation, in such a case music is unable\nto render conspicuous in an external form or to reflect with intention\nideas and thoughts as they are thus apprehended by self-consciousness;\nit is obliged as stated either to offer the simple character of a\ncontent in true relations to feeling, as they are cognate with the\nideal relation of this content, or to seek more nearly to express, by\nmeans of tones which accompany and give intensity to poetry, that\nfeeling itself, which the content of perceptions and ideas can arouse\nin the spirit that is both sympathetic and imaginative.\n\n(_c_) Following the course of these remarks it is possible in the\n_third_ place to form an estimate of the unrivalled power which is\nthereby directly exercised by music on the soul, which is neither\ncarried forward to the vision of reason, nor diverts consciousness in\nisolated points of view, but is accustomed to live within the ideal\nrange and secluded depths of pure emotion. For it is precisely this\nsphere, the intimacy of soul-life, the abstract appropriation of its\nown realm, which is grasped by music, which thereby sets in movement\nthe source of these ideal changes, namely, the heart and soul, which\nwe may consider at this concentrated focus and centre of our entire\nmanhood.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In a particular sense sculpture endows its art products with a\nwholly independent subsistency, an objectivity essentially exclusive\nwhether we regard it from the point of view of its content, or that\nof its external art-manifestation. Its content is the substantive\nbeing of the life of Spirit possessed no doubt with individual\nvitality, but along with this reposing in self-subsistent coherence\non itself; its form is the material configuration under the condition\nof space. For this reason a work of sculpture retains as an object of\nsense-perception the highest degree of self-subsistency. A picture,\nas we have already pointed out in our consideration of the art of\npainting, comes into closer contact with the spectator. In part this is\ndue to the essentially more subjective[415] content thereby depicted;\nin part it is referable to the fact that it is merely the show of\nreality which it displays, thereby making us aware that it is not a\nthing independently substantive, but rather essentially something\nintended for something else, and exclusively so, in other words for the\nhuman vision and soul. Yet even in the case of a picture we have still\nleft us a freedom more independent it fails to absorb; even here we\nhave still only to do with an object externally presented, which only\nreaches us through sense perception, and only thus excites our emotion\nand imagination. The spectator may consequently approach the work of\nart as he likes; he may observe this or that aspect of it; he may\nanalyse the whole, as it throughout persists confronting him, may make\nit the object of various reflections, and in short remain throughout at\nliberty to continue his independent review of it.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The musical work of art, on the contrary, no doubt, as such a\nwork, posits in like manner the incipiency of a distinction between\nthe work itself and the individual that enjoys it; that is to say in\nits actually resonant tones it receives a sensuous existence that\nis distinct from the soul of the listener. But on the one hand this\nopposition does not proceed, as in the case of the plastic arts, to\nan external subsistency in Space and the visibility of a mode of\nobjectivity that coheres independently, but on the contrary makes\nits real existence vanish in the immediate passage through Time. On\nthe other hand the art of music does not make the separation of its\nexternal material from its spiritual content in the same way that\npoetry does so, in which the aspect of idea is elaborated with more\ndefinite independence from the sound of speech[416], and more cut off\nas it is than any of the arts from this aspect of externality, issues\nas such in a unique progression of mental ideas constructed by the\nimagination. No doubt the observation may readily be made here that,\nagreeably with what I have already stated, the art of music is able\nto conversely to release tones from their content and thereby give\nthem independent form; this liberation is, however, not that which\nreally falls within Art's province, which on the contrary wholly\nconsists in employing harmonious and melodic motion for the expression\nof the content originally selected and the emotions, which the same\nis qualified to excite. Inasmuch as, therefore, musical expression\nhas for its content the inward life itself, the ideal significance\nof fact and emotion, and a tone-world which, at least in art, does\nnot proceed to spatial configuration, and in its sensuous existence\nis wholly evanescent, it follows that music directly penetrates with\nits movements to the ideal _habitat_ of all the fluctuations of\nsoul-life. In other words it seizes on consciousness, where it is no\nlonger confronted with an object, and in the loss of this freedom\nfrom the flood of tones as it streams on is itself whirled away with\nit[417]. Yet there is here, too, by reason of the divers directions\nwhich music may separately follow, an effect of varied character. In\nother words, when a more profound content, or, to put it generally, an\nexpression more steeped in soul, is absent, we may find as a result\nthat we experience on the one hand delight in the purely sensuous sound\nand harmony without any further emotional movement, or, on the other\nhand, we follow the course of the harmony and melody with our critical\njudgment, a progression by which the inmost heart of us is no further\ntouched or affected. Or rather we may say that pre-eminently in the\ncase of music there is such a purely critical analysis, for which there\nis nothing else presented in the work of art to evoke it beyond the\nskill of an expert in its laboured production[418]. If we, however,\nwithdraw ourselves from this critical science, and give ourselves up\nunreservedly, we become entirely possessed with the musical composition\nand are carried with it quite independently of the power, which the art\nof it simply as art exercises upon us. And the peculiar power of music\nis an _elementary_ force, that is to say it lies in the element _of\ntone_, in which the art here moves.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The individual is not only carried away by this medium in\nvirtue of the character of its exposition in any particular case,\nor simply drawn to it by the specific content thereof; but, viewed\nsimply as self-conscious subject, the core and centre of his spiritual\nexistence is interwoven with the work and himself placed in active\nrelations with it. We have, for example, in the emphasis of the music's\ncurrent rhythms, an opportunity to beat in time with it, or unite\nour voices with the melody, and in the case of dance-music at least,\nwe may associate the movement of our legs. And, generally speaking,\nthe claim is made upon us as distinct _personalities._ Conversely,\nin the case of purely methodical action, which, in so far as it is\nsubject to time relations, is compatible with a distinct beat in\nvirtue of its regularity and possesses no further content, we require\non the one hand an expression of this regularity as such in order\nthat this action shall be present to the individual under a mode that\nis itself subjective; and, on the other, we require a more intimate\nrealization of this rhythm. Both requirements are supplied by the\nmusical accompaniment. This is effected, for instance, by music as\nassociated with the march of soldiers. Such arouses the soul to the\nrhythmical beat of the march, makes the individual full of the fact of\nhis marching[419] and steeps him in the harmonious action of it. In\nsomething of the same sense the unregulated bustle of a _table d'h\u00f4te_\nand the unsatisfactory excitement it arouses annoys many people. Such\nfeel that the moving up and down, the clatter and chatter should be\nsubject to rule, and as we have in our eating and drinking an empty\nspace of time to deal with, we should have that emptiness filled up\nfor us. Such, therefore, is also an occasion among many others when\nmusic will help us considerably, suggesting as it does other thoughts,\nrecreations, and ideas.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) In these instances we are made aware of the connection between\nthe individual soul with _Time_ simply, a condition in which the\nmedium of music consists. In other words the inward life regarded\nas subjective unity is the active negation of the indifferent[420]\njuxtaposition in Space, and thereby _negative_ unity. In the first\ninstance, however, this identity remains in itself entirely _abstract_\nand void of content, and consists merely in this that it makes itself\nan object, though it then annuls this objectivity, which is itself of\na wholly ideal type and of the same character which the subject of\nconsciousness is, in order thereby to enforce itself as subjective\nunity. An ideal negative activity of the same kind in its sphere\nof _externality_ is Time. For in the _first_ place it effaces the\nindifferent _co-extension_ of the spatial condition and concentrates\nthe continuity of the same in the _point_ of Time, the Now. The point\nof time, however, _secondly_, discloses itself at the same time as\n_negation_ of itself; in other words _this_ Now no sooner is than it\nannuls itself in another Now, and by doing this makes apparent its\nnegative activity. _Thirdly_, we no doubt do not get, on account\nof externality[421], in whose element Time is in motion, the truly\n_subjective_ unity of the first point of Time with the next, to which\nthe Now by self-effacement proceeds, but the Now remains throughout in\nits change always the same[422]. For for every point of Time is a Now,\nand is as undifferentiated from the other Now, taken as the bare point\nof Time, as is the abstract Ego from the object, relatively to which\nit annuls itself[423], and in which it falls into self-coalescence,\nfor the reason that this object is itself merely the empty Ego. The\nactual Ego itself, too, belongs yet more closely to Time, with which\nit coalesces, in so far as it is, if we abstract from the concrete\ncontent of consciousness and self-consciousness, nothing but this empty\nmovement which posits itself as another and then cancels the exchange,\nin other words cancels itself, in order thereby to conserve the Ego and\nhere only the abstract[424] Ego therein. Ego is in Time, and Time is\nthe being of the conscious subject itself. Inasmuch, then, as Time and\nnot the spatial condition as such supplies the essential element, in\nwhich tone secures existence in respect to its validity as music, and\nthe time of tone is likewise that of the conscious subject, for this\nreason tone, by virtue of this fundamental condition of it, penetrates\ninto the self of conscious life, seizes hold of the same in virtue of\nthe most simple aspect of its existence, and places the Ego in movement\nby means of the motion in Time and its rhythm; while in addition to\nthis the other configuration of tones, as the expression of emotions,\nbrings yet further a more definite material to enrich the unity of\nconsciousness, a wealth by which it is at once affected and carried\nforward.\n\nWe find, then, that the fundamental ground for the elementary might of\nthe art of music is of this nature.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In order, however, that music may exercise its full effect we\nmust have something more than the purely abstract tone in its movement\nin Time. The _further_ aspect we have to attach to it is a _content_,\nan emotional wealth steeped in spirit presented to the soul, and the\nexpression, the soul of this content in tones.\n\nWe have no right, then, to entertain any exaggerated[425] opinion of\nthe sovereign might of music simply as music, about which ancient\nwriters, both sacred and profane, have told us so many fabulous tales.\nIf we go back to the miracles which Orpheus performed as a pioneer\nof civilization we find indeed that tones and their movements spread\ntheir influence to the wild creatures, which encircled him shorn of\ntheir wildness, but they did not extend to humankind, who required\nthe content of a nobler strain. It is something of this latter kind\nthat we must attach to the hymns ascribed to Orpheus, which, in the\nform we have received from tradition, even though it be not their\noriginal one, support mythological and other ideas. In a similar way,\ntoo, the warlike songs of Tyrtaeus are famous, by means of which, so\nwe are told, the Lacedaemonians, after long and fruitless conflicts,\nwere stirred up to an irresistible enthusiasm and finally were wholly\nvictorious over the Messenians. In this case, too, the content of\nthe ideas which these elegies excited was the main thing, although\npre-eminently in the case of barbaric peoples and in times of deeply\nmoved passions we cannot deny that the musical aspect of them exercised\na real force and effect. The pipes of the Highlanders contribute\nessentially to the animation of their courage, and the power of the\nMarseillaise as sung in the French Revolution is undeniable. The real\nsource of enthusiasm is, however, to be looked for in the definite\nidea, in the true interest of the Spirit with which a nation is\nsteeped, and which can be exalted to a more direct and living feeling\nwhen the notes of music, the rhythm and the melody carry along whoever\nmay give himself up to them. In our own days, however, we can hardly\nhold that music is capable by itself of evoking such a courageous\ntemper and contempt of death. Almost all armies nowadays have excellent\nregimental music, which calls the soldiers to their duties, releases\nthem from such, gives life to the march and incites them to the attack.\nNo one, however, dreams of beating the enemy with such means. The\ncourage of the field of battle does not come with the blast of trumpets\nand the beat of drums, and it will indeed take a host of trombones\nbefore a fort will tumble in ruin at their blast like the walls of a\nJericho. It is the enthusiasm born of ideas, cannon, and the genius of\ngenerals which are the main thing now rather than music, and this can\nonly act as a support of the forces which have already filled and taken\nhold of the soul.\n\n(_\u03b3_) In conclusion, we may point out in respect to the personal\neffect of musical sound there is an aspect which is referable to the\nparticular manner in which the musical work of art approaches us in\nits distinction from other works of art. In other words, inasmuch\nas musical tones do not as buildings of construction, statues, and\npictures possess independently a permanent objective consistency, but\nvanish in the act of passing by the musical work of art requires in\nvirtue of the fact of this purely momentary existence a continuously\nrepeated _reproduction._ And what is more, the necessity of such a\nrenewal of life points to a further more profound significance. For, in\nso far as it is the personal soul itself, which music accepts for its\ncontent with the object, to make manifest itself not as external form\nand objectively subsistent product, to this extent the expression of\nit must also assert itself immediately in the form of a communication\ndisclosed by a _living_ person, in which that person reposes his entire\nand unique personality. This is to the fullest extent the case in the\nsong of the human voice, but it is relatively so in all instrumental\nmusic, which can only be executed by means of a practised artist and\nhis living and spiritual no less than technical powers as such.\n\nIt is only by virtue of this personal relation in respect to the\nactive effect of the musical work of art that the significance of the\nsubjective aspect of music is substantiated, which, however, too, it is\npossible in this direction to carry to the extreme length of isolation\nin the case, that is, where the personal virtuosity of the reproduction\nas such is made the exclusive focus and content of the enjoyment to be\nderived.\n\nWith the above observations I will now close what I have to say with\nregard to the general character of music.\n\n\n\n2. THE PARTICULAR DEFINITION OF THE MEANS OF EXPRESSION IN MUSIC\n\n\nWe have hitherto contemplated music purely under the aspect, that\nits function is to embody and give life to tone as the musical\nexpression of the personal life of soul; we have now to ask ourselves\nthe further question, by reason of what it is both possible and\nnecessary that tones are no purely natural outcry of emotion but\nthe articulate artistic expression of the same. For feeling as such\npossesses a content; tone regarded as mere tone is without such. It\nmust consequently first be rendered capable by means of an artistic\ntreatment of essentially assimilating the expression of an ideal life.\nSpeaking generally, we may establish the following conclusions on this\nhead.\n\nEvery tone is a substantive, essentially accepted real thing,\nwhich, however, is neither articulated nor consciously apprehended\nin a living unity, as is the case with the animal or human form,\nnor from the further point of view demonstrates in itself, as a\nparticular member of the bodily organism, or any isolated trait of\nthe animated body, whether in its spiritual or physical aspect, that\nthis individualization can only exist in vital association with the\nother limbs and traits, and secure thus its meaning, significance, and\nexpression. Viewed according to external material, a picture no doubt\nconsists in single strokes and colours, which can also independently\nexist, but the real material on the other hand, which first creates a\nwork of art from such strokes and colours, the lines and surfaces that\nis to say of the form, have only a meaning when viewed as a concrete\ntotality. The _separate_ tone, on the contrary, is _independently\nsubstantive_ and can also be animated up to a certain degree by means\nof emotion and receive a definite expression.\n\nConversely, however, inasmuch as tone is no purely indefinite rustle\nand sound, but only possesses in general musical validity by virtue\nof its clear definition and pure tonality, it stands immediately, by\nreason of this definite articulation, not merely according to its\nactual sound, but also its temporal duration, in a relation to _other_\ntones; nay, this _relation_ is that which first contributes to it its\nreal and actual definition and along with this its difference and\ncontrast as opposed to other tones or its unity with such.\n\nIn presence of the more relative self-subsistency this relation,\nhowever, remains as something _external_ to the tones, so that the\nrelations into which they are brought do not appertain to the single\ntones under the mode of _their notion_, as we find such in the members\nof the animal and human organism, or also in the forms of natural\nlandscape. The coalescence of different tones in different relations is\nconsequently something which albeit not contradictory to the essence\nof tone, is, however, in the first instance _artificial_, and not\notherwise presented in Nature. Such a relation proceeds to that extent\nfrom a _third party_ and only exists for such, namely, for the person\nwho apprehends[426] it.\n\nOn account of this externality of the relation the definition of\ntones and their co-ordination subsist in the relation of _quantity_,\nin relations of number, which of course have their foundation in the\nnature of tone itself, yet are employed by music in a system which is,\nin the first instance, discovered by Art and modified[427] in the most\nvaried manner.\n\nFrom this point of view it is not essential vitality, regarded as\norganic unity, which constitutes the foundation of music, but equality,\ninequality, etc., and generally the form of the understanding[428],\nas it is asserted in quantitative relations. If we consequently speak\ndefinitely of musical tones we indicate the same purely by numerical\nrelations as also by letters selected at will by virtue of which we are\naccustomed to indicate the tones according to such relations.\n\nIn such a reference back to mere quantities and their intelligible,\nexternal definition music possesses its most pronounced affinity with\narchitecture, inasmuch as it, just as this latter art does, builds up\nits inventions upon the secure basis and scheme of proportions, a basis\nwhich does not essentially expand and coalesce through vital unity in\nan organically free articulation, in which the remaining differentiated\nparts are given with the one aspect of definition, but only begins to\ngrow into free art in the further elaborations, which are enabled by it\nto arise out of the aforesaid conditions.\n\nAlthough architecture carries the process of liberation no further than\na harmony of forms and the characteristic animation of a mysterious\neurhythmy, music, on the contrary, for the reason that it has for\nits content the most intimate, personal, and free life and essence\nof the soul, strides into and emphasizes the profoundest opposition\nthat exists between this free life of soul and those quantitative\nrelations on which it is based. It is, however, unable to persist in\nthis opposition; rather it is its difficult function to overcome it as\nessentially as it accepts it, by assigning to the free movements of the\nsoul, which it expresses, a more secure foundation and basis by means\nof these necessary proportions, a basis on which it then, however,\ngives movement to and develops the inner life in the freedom which\nfor the first time receives its fulness of content by virtue of such\nfundamental necessity[429].\n\nIn this respect there are in the first instance two aspects of tone\nwe should distinguish, according to which it is artistically to be\nemployed. First, we have the abstract foundation, the universal but\nnot as yet _physically_ specified element, that is, _Time_, in the\ndomain of which tone falls. After that we get sound itself, the _real_\ndistinction of tones, not merely according to aspects referable to the\ndifference of the sensuous material, which sounds, but also in that\naspect of the tones themselves as they are related to one another,\nwhether in their singularity or as a whole. To such we must then adjoin\n_thirdly_, the _soul_, which gives animation to the tones, rounds\nthem off in a free totality, and gives to them a spiritual expression\nin their temporal movement and their real sound. By virtue of these\naspects we receive for their more definite classification a series of\nstages as follows.\n\n_First_, we have to occupy our attention with the purely temporal\nduration and movement, which it is the function of art not merely to\nleave to chance in their arrangement, but to determine according\nto definite measures, and to render various by virtue of their\ndifferences, and once more again to establish their unity in these\ndistinctions. From this we deduce the necessity for _time-measure_,\n_beat_, and _rhythm._\n\n_Secondly_, however, music has not merely to deal with abstract time\nand the relations of longer or shorter duration, musical phrase and\nso forth, but with the concrete time of their _sound_ according to\ndefinite tones, which consequently are not merely distinct from one\nanother according to their duration. This difference reposes, in the\nfirst place, on the specific quality of their sensuous material, by\nreason of whose oscillations the tone is produced; on the other hand\nit depends on the different number of such oscillations, in which the\nresonant bodies oscillate in an equal measure of time. And furthermore\nthese differences assert themselves as essential aspects for the\nrelation of tones in their concord, opposition, and mediation. We may\ngive this portion of our subject the general designation of the theory\nof _harmony._\n\n_Thirdly_, and finally, it is the _melody_, by virtue of which on\nthese foundations of a beat characterized by rhythmical vitality and\nof distinctions and movements of harmony itself that the realm of\ntones is unitedly discharged in a spiritually free mode of expression,\nand conducts us thereby to the final main section of our subject,\nwhich will undertake to consider music in its concrete unity with the\nspiritual content it is intended to express in beat, harmony, and\nrhythm.\n\n\n(_a_) _Time-measure, Beat, Rhythm_\n\nSo far as in the _first_ place the purely _temporal_ aspect of musical\ntone is concerned, we have _first_ to discuss the necessity, which\ngenerally in musical time is the dominant factor. _Secondly_, we shall\nconsider beat under the aspect of time-measure wholly regulated under\nscientific rule. _Thirdly_, we shall treat of the rhythm, under which\na start is made in animating this abstract rule by the prominence or\nsubordination it attains to definite divisions of time.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The figures of sculpture and painting are placed side by side\nin space and present the extension of reality in actual or apparent\ntotality. Music, however, can only place before us tones in so far as\nit makes a body under the spatial condition tremble, setting the same\nin an oscillating motion. These oscillations only affect art under the\naspect, that they follow one another; and for this reason the sensuous\nmaterial generally only enters into music with the _temporal_ duration\nof its movement instead of taking with it its spatial form. No doubt\nthat motion of a body is always present in space, so that painting and\nsculpture have the right to exhibit the appearance of movement, albeit\ntheir figures are in their reality at rest. In respect to this aspect\nof Space, however, music does not accept movement, and there remains\nconsequently as part of its configuration only the time, into which the\noscillation of the body falls.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Time, however, in consequence of what we have already\nabove considered, is not as Space is, the positive condition of\njuxtaposition, but on the contrary _negative_ externality. As\njuxtaposition, which is cancelled, it is the point of passage, and\nas negative activity it is the abrogation of this point of time in\nanother, which is itself immediately cancelled, and becomes another and\nso on continuously. In the continuous series of these points of time\nevery single tone not merely is asserted independently as single, but\nis brought from a further point of view into quantitative association\nwith other tones, by which process Time is referable to _number._\nConversely, however, for the reason that time is the unbroken rise and\npassage of such points of time, which, regarded as mere points of time,\npossess in this unparticularized abstraction no distinction one to\nanother, for this reason to a like extent time appears as the equable\nstream, and the duration essentially undifferentiated.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In this indeterminacy, however, music is unable to leave\ntime. Rather it is compelled to define it more narrowly, to give it\na measure, and regulate its stream according to the rules of such a\nmeasure. By virtue of this regular treatment we get the _time-measure_\nof tones. And here at once arises the question, wherefore then once and\nfor all music requires such measure. The necessity of definite periods\nof time may be evolved from this fact, that time stands in the closest\naffinity with, the self in its simplicity, which apprehends, and has\na right to apprehend, its inward life through the medium of tones;\ntime, in fact, regarded as externality, essentially possesses the\nsame principle, which is active in the Ego as the abstract foundation\nof all that pertains to the soul and spirit. If, then, it is the\nsimple self, which as soul-life has to be made objective in music,\nso, too, the universal medium of this objectivity must be treated\nconformably to the principle of that subjective life. The Ego, however,\nis not the indefinite continuance and the unbroken[430] duration,\nbut is only self-identity when we regard it as an aggregate and a\nreturn upon itself[431]. The assertion of itself, wherein it becomes\nobject, is doubled back in the being thus self-for-itself; and it is\nonly through this relation to itself that it becomes self-feeling,\nself-consciousness and so forth. In this aggregate, however, we find\nessentially a _breaking off_ of the purely indefinite change, such\nas we held time to be in the first instance, in which the rise and\nsuppression, the disappearance and renewal of the points of time were\nnothing but a wholly formal passage from every now to another present\nof similar character, and consequently nothing but an uninterrupted\nprogression. In contrast to this empty process the self is that which\nitself _persists by itself_, the totality whereof essentially breaks\nup the undefined series of time points, creates an infraction into the\nabstract _continuity_, freeing the Ego, which recollects itself in this\nprocess of discrete division and finds itself again therein, from what\nis a purely external process of change.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) The duration of a tone does not, agreeably to this principle,\npass away in a process of relative indeterminacy, but emphasizes with\nits beginning and end, which accordingly is a definite beginning and\ncessation, the series of the time moments, which, apart from it, are\nnot thus distinguishable. If, however[432], many tones follow one\nafter another, and every one of them receives a duration which can\nbe separately distinguished from each other, then we must assume\nthat instead of having that original _indefinite_ series _devoid of\ncontent_, we only once more get by a converse process the fortuitous,\nand, along with this to a like extent, the _indefinite variety_ of\nparticular quantities. This unregulated rambling about contradicts\nquite as much the unity of the Ego as the abstract progress forward;\nand it can only find itself reflected and satisfied in such a varied\nmode of definition in so far as single quantities are brought under\n_one_ unifying principle, which for the reason that it subsumes the\n_particular parts_ under its synthetic embrace, must itself be a\n_definite unity_, yet in the first instance as merely an identity of\nexternal application can only persist as one of an external type.\n\n(_\u03b2_) And this carries us to the further principle of coordination\nwhich we find in the _time-beat._\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The first thing to be considered here consists in this, that,\nas stated, distinct divisions of time are united in a unity, in which\nthe Ego independently creates its identity with itself. Inasmuch as the\nEgo in the first instance only supplies the foundation as _abstract_\nself this equability, in respect to the advance of time and its tones,\ncan only assert itself as operative under the mode of a uniformity that\nis itself abstract, that is to say as the _uniform repetition_ of the\nsame unity of time. Agreeably to the same principle the beat according\nto its simple definition can only consist in this, that it establishes\na definite unity of time as measure and rule not merely for the\ndeliberate[433] breaking up of the time-series held previously without\nsuch distinction, but also for the equally capricious duration of\nsingle tones, which are now apprehended together under a definite bond\nof union, and that it permits this measure of time to be continuously\nrenewed in abstract uniformity. In this respect time-beat possesses\nthe same function as the principle of symmetry in architecture, as,\nfor instance, when this places side by side columns of similar height\nand thickness at intervals of equal distance, or co-ordinates a row\nof windows, which possess a definite size, under the principle of\nequality. We find present in this case, too, an assured distinction\nof parts and a repetition in every way complete. In this uniformity\nself-consciousness discovers itself once more as unity, in so far\nas it in part recognizes its own equality in the co-ordination of a\nfortuitous variety; partly, too, in the return of the same unity, it is\nrecalled to the fact that it has already been there, and precisely by\nmeans of its return asserts itself as the prevailing principle[434].\nThe satisfaction, however, which the Ego receives through the time-beat\nin this rediscovery of itself is all the more complete because the\nunity and regularity do neither apply to time or tones as such, but\nare something which is wholly appertinent to the Ego, and is carried\ninto the time relation by the same as a means of self-satisfaction.\nWe do not find this abstract identity in what is wholly of Nature.\nEven the heavenly bodies retain no regular time-measure[435] in their\nmotions, but accelerate or retard their course, so that they do not\npass over equal spaces in identical periods of time. The same thing\nmay be said of falling bodies, with the motion of projectiles, etc.,\nand we may add that animal life to a still less degree regulates\nits running, springing, and seizing of objects on the principle of\nan exact recurrence of one definite time-measure. In this respect\nthe time-measure of living things proceeds far more completely from\nspiritual initiative than the regular definitions of size applicable to\narchitecture for which we may more readily discover analogies in Nature.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) If, however, the Ego is to return upon itself by means of the\ntime-beat by thus appropriating throughout an identity which it itself\nis and which proceeds from itself, we imply in this, in order that the\ndistinct unity may be felt as a principle, that in a similar degree\nwhat is presented to it should be that which is _unregulated_ and _not\nuniform._ It is in short only through the fact that the definite beat\nof the measure prevails over and co-ordinates what is capriciously\nunequal, that it asserts itself as unity and regulating principle of a\nfortuitous variety. It must consequently appropriate the same within\nitself, and suffer uniformity to appear in that which is not so. This\nit is which first gives to the time-beat its specific and essential\ndefinition to be asserted too in contrast to other measurements of\ntime, which can be repeated relatively to the same principle.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) By reason of this the multiplicity which is enclosed in a given\ntime-measure possesses its definite _standard_ according to which it is\ndivided and co-ordinated. From this we arrive, in the _third_ place,\nat distinct _kinds_ of _time-measure._ The first thing of importance\nto notice in this connection is the division of time according to\neither an _even_ or an _uneven_ number of equally divided parts. Of\nthe first kind we have, for example, the two-four and the four-four\ntime. In these even number is predominant. Of the opposite kind is the\nthree-four time, in which the co-ordinate divisions constitute a unity\nof equal parts, of course, but in a number that is uneven. Both types\nare to be found united in six-eight time, to take an example, which\nno doubt numerically appears to be similar to the four-four time, but\nas a fact, however, does not fall into three but into two divisions,\nof which, however, the one no less than the other, relatively to its\ncloser aspect of division, accepts three, that is an uneven number, as\nits principle.\n\nA particularization of this kind constitutes the constantly repeated\nprinciple of every particular measure of time. However much\nnotwithstanding the definite time-measure is bound to control the\n_variety_ of the time-duration and its longer or shorter sections, we\nmust not therefore extend its effective power to the length that it\nplaces this variety in subjection in a wholly abstract way, that in\nshort, for example, in the four-four measure only four notes of equal\nlength as fourths can appear, in the three-four time only three, and so\nforth. The regularity restricts itself to this, that as, for instance,\nin the four-four time the sum of the separate notes are only equal\nto four equal parts, which may not only be divided into eighths and\nsixteenths, but conversely may again contract into less divisions, and\nindeed are capable moreover of more diffuse division.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The further, however, this elastic mode of differentiation is\ncarried the more necessary it is that the essential divisions of the\ntime should be asserted as predominant and also should be indicated in\nan effective way as an illustration of the fundamental principle of\ntheir co-ordination. This is carried out by the _rhythm_, which first\ngives vital significance to time-measure and the beat. With respect to\nthis vitalization[436] we may distinguish the following points.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In the first place we have _accent_, which to a greater or less\ndegree attaches in an audible way to definite divisions of time, while\nothers pass by on the other hand without an accent. By virtue of such\nemphasis, or lack of emphasis, which is itself of various kinds, every\nparticular measure of time possesses its particular rhythm, which is\nplaced in exact association with the specific mode of division to which\nits rhythm applies. The four-four time, for instance, in which an even\nnumber is the principle of division, has a twofold arsis; on the other\nhand there is that on the first note or fourth division, and then,\nthough in weaker power, on the third. The first is called on account of\nits stronger accentuation, the _strong_ accent, the second in contrast\nto it the _weak_ one. In the three-four time the accent rests entirely\non the first fourth, in six-eight time on the contrary it is on the\nfirst of the eight divisions and the fourth, so that in this case the\ntwofold accent asserts a division of equal length in two halves.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In so far as music is an accompaniment rhythm is brought into\nessential relation with _poetry._ In the most general way I will on\nthis merely venture the observation that the accents of the musical\nbeat ought not to directly contradict those of the metre. If, for\nexample, one of the unaccentuated syllables, relatively to the rhythm\nof the verse, is placed in a strong accent of the beat, while the\narsis, or it may be the caesura, falls in one of the weak accents of\nthe music, then we get a false opposition between the rhythm of the\npoetry and that of the music which it is better to avoid. We may affirm\nthe same thing with regard to the long and short syllables. These also\nought in general to fall into harmony with the duration of the tones,\nso that the longer syllables are coincident with the longer notes, the\nshorter with the shorter, albeit this accordance is not to be pressed\nwith absolute precision, inasmuch as music is frequently permitted\ngreater play for the duration of its long notes, no less than for the\nexuberant subdivision of the same.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) In the _third_ place we may at once in anticipation observe\nthat we have to distinguish the animated _rhythm of melody_ from the\nabstractly considered and severely regular return of the beat rhythm.\nIn this respect music possesses a similar and, in fact, yet greater\nfreedom than poetry. In poetry the beginning and termination of\n_words_[437] need not necessarily coincide with the beginning and end\nof the verse feet; rather a thoroughgoing coincidence of this nature\ngives us a verse that halts and is without caesura. And, furthermore,\nthe beginning and ending of the sentences and periods ought not\nthroughout to mark the beginning and conclusion of a verse. On the\ncontrary, a period will terminate more satisfactorily in the beginning\nor even in the middle and near the last feet of the verse. From which\npoint we begin with a new one which carries the first verse into the\none that follows. The same thing holds good in the case of music\nrelatively to its time-beat and rhythm. The melody and its different\nphrases[438] need not absolutely commence with the fall of a beat\nand close with the conclusion of another: such may in a general way\nmove freely to this extent that the main-arsis of the melody may be\nincident to that portion of a musical beat, on which, relatively to\nits ordinary rhythm, no such emphasis applies; whereas, conversely,\na tone, which in the natural process of the melody would necessarily\nreceive no accentuated prominence, may quite conceivably be placed\nin the strong accent of the time-measure, which requires an arsis,\nso that consequently such a tone, relatively to the time-rhythm, has\na different effect from that which the same tone claims to assert as\ndistinct from that rhythm and purely in the melody. This opposition,\nhowever, asserts itself most strongly in so-called syncopations. If,\non the other hand, the melody absolutely adheres in its rhythms and\ndivisions to the time rhythm it tends to drag, and lacks warmth and\ninvention. In short, what is required is a freedom from the pedantry\nof metre and the barbarism of a uniform rhythm. A deficiency in more\nfree movement readily increases the limpness and sluggishness to the\npoint of actual gloom and depression; and in this way, too, many\nof our popular melodies possess aspects of mournfulness, drag and\nburden, in so far as the soul merely possesses a means of advance\nas its expression more monotonous than itself, and in virtue of\nsuch is constrained to consign to it also the doleful emotions of a\nbroken heart. The speech of Southern peoples, on the other hand, more\nespecially the Italian, offers a rich field for a rhythm and flow\nof melody which is more notable for its variety and movement. And\nit is precisely here that we mark an essential distinction between\nGerman and Italian music. The uniform coldness of the Iambic mode of\nscansion, which recurs in so many German songs, kills the free and\njubilant impulse of the melody, and restrains any further rise and\ndevolution[439]. In more recent times Reichard and others, owing to\nthis very fact that they have said goodbye to this iambic drone, have\nimported into their lyrical compositions a new and rhythmical life,\nalthough we still find traces of the former type in some of their\nsongs. However, we do not only mark the influence of the iambic rhythm\nin songs, but also in many of our most important musical compositions.\nEven in the Messiah of Handel the composition does not only in many\narias and choruses follow the meaning of the words with declamatory\ntruth, but also adheres to the fall of the iambic rhythm, partly in the\ndistinction simply that it makes between its long and short duration,\npartly in the fact that the protraction of the iambic rhythm requires a\nmore elevated tone than the corresponding short syllable in the metre.\nI have no doubt this is one of the characteristic features of Handelian\nmusic, owing to which we Germans feel so much at home with the same,\nquite apart from its excellences in other respects, its majestic swing,\nits victorious onward movement, the wealth it discloses of profoundly\nreligious no less than more simple idyllic emotions. This rhythmical\nsubstance of the melody comes more directly to our sense of hearing\nthan that of the Italians, who are inclined to find in it a want of\nfreedom, as something, too, that strikes the ear as strange and alien.\n\n(_\u03b2_) _Harmony_\n\nThe further aspect, in virtue of which alone the abstract basis of\ntime-beat and rhythm receives its fulfilment, and thereby is enabled\nto become actually concrete music is the kingdom of tones regarded as\nsuch. This more essential domain of music is dominated by the laws\nof _harmony._ We have here a further elementary fact to deal with.\nIn other words, a material substance[440] does not only through its\noscillation for art emerge from the mere visible reproduction of\nits _spatial_ form, and is carried further into the elaboration of\nits configuration _in Time_[441], but it produces _distinct_ sounds\naccording to its particular physical constitution no less than its\ndifferent length and brevity and number of vibrations through which it\npasses in a given period of time, and consequently in this respect,\ntoo, Art is compelled to take account of it and give it form agreeably\nto its own nature.\n\nWith regard, then, to this second element we have to emphasize with\nmore accuracy three main points.\n\nThe _first_ one presented to our consideration is the difference\nbetween the various _instruments_, whose invention and elaboration has\nbeen found essential to create that totality of musical sound, which\nin respect to musical sound constitutes a sphere of different tones\nindependently of all distinction of the relation of pitch whether it be\na high or a low one.\n\n_Secondly_, however, musical tone is, quite apart from the different\npeculiarities of either instruments or the human voice, itself an\narticulated totality of different tones, tone-series, and scales, which\nin the first instance repose on quantitative relations, and in the\ndetermination of these relations are tones which it is the function\nof every instrument and the human voice, according to its specific\nquality, to produce in less or greater completeness.\n\n_Thirdly_, music neither consists in single intervals nor in purely\nabstract series of tones, that is, keys unrelated to each other,\nbut is a concrete interfusion of opposed or mediating sound, which\nnecessitates a forward progression and a passage from one point\nto another. This juxtaposition and change does not depend on mere\ncontingency and caprice, but is subject to definite rules, which\nconstitute the necessary foundation of all true music.\n\nIn passing now to the more detailed consideration of these several\npoints of view I am forced, as already stated, to limit myself for the\nmost part to the most general observations.\n\n(_\u03b1_) Sculpture and painting discover their sensuous material, such\nas wood, stone, metals, and the like, or colours and other media of\nthat type more or less straight to hand, or, at least, they are only\ncompelled to elaborate the same in a subordinate degree, in order to\nadapt them to the uses of art.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Music, on the contrary, which throughout is set in motion\nthrough a medium artificially prepared for the purposes of art from\nthe first, must necessarily pass through a distinctly more difficult\npreparation before the production of musical tones is secured. With the\nexception of the human voice, which returns us Nature in her immediacy,\nMusic is compelled itself to create all its other instruments of\ngenuine musical tone throughout before it can exist as an art.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) With regard to these means as such we have already above formed\nour conception of the _timbre_ proper to them in the sense that it\nis the result of a vibration of the spatial medium, is the first\nexcitation thereof of ideal import, which enforces itself as such in\ncontradistinction to the purely sensuous juxtaposition, and, by virtue\nof this negation of spatial reality, asserts itself as the ideal unity\nof all the physical qualities of specific gravity and the purely\nsensuous type of corporeal coalescence. If we inquire further as to\nthe qualitative peculiarities of the medium thus made to emit musical\nsound we shall find that in its character as material substance no\nless than as artificially constructed, it varies greatly. We may have\na longitudinal or oscillating[442] column of air, which is limited\nby a fixed channel of wood or metal, or we may have a longitudinally\nstretched string of gut or metal, or in other cases a stretched surface\nof parchment or a bell of glass or metal. In this connection we may\ndraw attention to the following distinguishing features. In the _first_\nplace it is the _lineal_ direction[443] which is mainly predominant,\nand produces the instruments most effective in musical employment;\nand this is so whether, as in the case of wind-instruments, the main\nprinciple is represented by a column of air which is relatively more\ndeficient in cohesion or by a material line adapted to tension, but\nof sufficient elasticity to be made to vibrate, as is the case with\nstringed instruments.\n\n_Secondly_, we have the principle of surface rather than line\nrepresented in instruments of inferior significance, such as the\nkettle-drum, bell, and harmonica. There is, in fact, a subtle sympathy\nbetween the self-audible principle of ideality and that type of\nrectilinear tone[444], which, by virtue of its essentially simple\nsubjectivity, demands the resonant vibration of simple line extension\nrather than that of the broad and round surface. In other words,\nideality is as subject this spiritual point, which is made audible\nin tone as its _mode of expression._ But the closest approach to the\nexposition and expression of the mere _punctum_ is not the surface, but\nthe simple linear direction. From this point of view broad or round\nsurfaces are not adapted to the requirements and enforcement of such\naudibility. In the case of the kettle-drum we have a skin stretched\nover a kettle or basin, which by being struck at a single point sets\nthe entire surface vibrating with a muffled sound. Though a musical\nsound, it is one which from its very nature, as belonging to such an\ninstrument, it is impossible to bring either to clear definition or any\nconsiderable degree of variety. We find a difficulty of an opposite\ntype in the case of the harmonica and the bells of glass which are set\nin vibration in it. In this case it is the concentrated intensity of\ntone which fails to project itself, and which is of such an affecting\ncharacter that not a few, when hearing it, receive actual nervous\npain. But, despite this specific effect, this instrument is unable to\ngive permanent pleasure and is with difficulty combined with other\ninstruments on the rare occasions such an attempt is made. We find the\nsame defect on the side of differentiation of tone in the bell and a\nsimilar punctually repeated stroke as in the case of the kettle-drum.\nThe ring of a bell, however, is not so muffled as in the latter; it\nrings out clearly, although its persistent reverberation is more the\nmere echo of the single beat as struck at regular intervals.\n\n_Thirdly_, the human voice may be regarded in respect to the tones\nemitted as the most complete instrument of all. It unites in itself\nthe characteristics of both the wind instrument and the string. That\nis to say we have here in one aspect of it a column of air which\nvibrates, and, further, by virtue of the muscles, the principle of a\nstring under tension. Just as we saw in the case of the colour inherent\nin the human skin, we had what was in its aspect of ideal unity, the\nmost essentially perfect presentment of colour, so, too, we may affirm\nof the human voice that it contains the ideal compass of sound, all\nthat in other instruments is differentiated in its several composite\nparts. We have here the perfect tone, which is capable of blending\nin the most facile and beautiful way with all other instruments. Add\nto this that the human voice is to be apprehended as the essential\ntone of the soul itself, as the concordant sound which by virtue\nof its nature expresses the ideal character of the inner life, and\nmost immediately directs such expression. In the case of all other\ninstruments on the contrary we find that a material thing is set\nin vibration, which, in the use that is made of it, is placed in a\nrelation of indifference to and outside of the soul and its emotion.\nIn the human song, however, it is the human body itself from which\nthe soul breaks into utterance. For this reason, too, the human voice\nis unfolded, in accord with the subjective temperament and emotion,\nin a vast manifold of particularity. And this variety, if we consider\nits distinguishing features sufficiently generalized, is based on\nnational or other natural relations. Thus, for example, we find that\nthe Italians are pre-eminently the people among whom we meet with\nthe most beautiful voices. An important feature of this beauty is\nto start with the content of the sound simply as sound, its pure\nmetallic quality, which neither fines away in mere keenness or vitreous\nattenuation, nor maintains a persistent muffled and hollow character,\nbut, at the same time, though never carried to the point of tremolo\nin its tone, preserves in the compact body of its tone something of\nthe vital vibration of the soul itself. Above all else the purity of\nvoice-production is most essential, or in other words we must have no\nforeign element of sound asserted alongside of the freest expression of\nessential tone.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Such a totality of instruments the art of music can employ,\neither in separation or complete combination. In the latter case\nof late years we may note an exceptional artistic development. The\ndifficulty of such artistic collaboration is enormous. Every instrument\npossesses a character of its own, which is not directly congenial to\nthe peculiarity of some other instrument. It follows from this that\nwhether we are considering the harmonious co-operation of various\ninstruments of different type, or the effective production of some\nparticular quality of sound such as that of wind or strings, or the\nsudden blast of trombones, or the successive alternations of change\nthat are inseparable from the music of a large choir, in all such cases\nknowledge, circumspection, experience, and imaginative endowment are\nindispensable, in order that, in every example of the kind, whether\nof tonal quality, transition, opposition, progression, or mediation,\nwe do not lose sight of an ideal significance, the soul and emotional\nvalue of the music. For example, I find in the symphonies of Mozart,\nwho was a great master of instrumentation and its sense-appealing,\nthat is its vital no less than luminous variety, a sort of alternation\nbetween the different instruments which frequently resembles in its\ndramatic interplay a kind of dialogue. In one aspect of this the\ncharacter of some particular type of instrument is carried to a point,\nwhich anticipates and prepares the way for that of another; looked at\nin another way, one kind of instrument replies to another; or asserts\nsome typical mode of expression which is denied to the instrument it\nfollows, so that in the most graceful fashion we thus get a kind of\nconversation of appeal and response, which has its beginning, advance\nand consummation.\n\n(_\u03b2_) The _second_ material which enlists our attention is no longer\nthe physical quality asserted in the sound, but the essential\ndefinition of the tone itself, and its relation to other tones. This\nobjective relation, whereby musical tone in the first instance, not\nmerely in its essential and emphatically defined singularity, but\nalso in its fundamental relation to simultaneously persistent tones,\nexpatiates, constitutes the actual _harmonious_ element of music,\nand is based, regarded under its own original physical conditions,\nupon _quantitative differences_ and numerical proportions. A closer\nexamination of the contents of this system of harmony presents, as\nunderstood to-day, the following points of importance.\n\n_First_, we have _separate_ tones in their definite metrical relation,\nand associated with other tones. This is the theory of particular\n_intervals._\n\n_Secondly_, there is the connected series of tones or notes in their\nsimplest form of succession, in which one tone immediately leads up to\nanother; such are the _scales._\n\n_Thirdly_, we have the distinctive characteristics of these scales,\nwhich, in so far as each starts from a different tone, as its\nfundamental tone, is thereby differentiated into the particular _keys_\ndistinct from each other, and into the system of keys which they\nconstitute.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The particular notes do not only receive their tone, but also\nthe more inclusively positive[445] determination of such sound by\nvirtue of a corporeal substance in vibration. In order to get at this\ndeterminacy we have to define the type of vibration itself not in\nany chance or capricious manner, but once for all as it essentially\nis. The column of air, for example, or the string or surface under\ntension, which produces sound possesses invariably a certain length or\nextension. If we take a string, for instance, and fasten it between two\npoints, and set the part of it thus stretched in vibration, the points\nof initial importance to discover are the thickness of the string, and\nthe degree of tension. If we have these two aspects identical in the\ncase of two strings then the all-important question follows, as was\nfirst noticed by Pythagoras, what is the string's length, the reason\nbeing that strings, in other respects identical, if of different\nlengths give a different number of vibrations in the same interval\nof time. The difference of one of these numbers from another and the\nrelation of any one to another constitutes the fundamental ground for\nthe distinction and relation between different tones in their degrees\nof pitch as high or low. Doubtless when we listen to notes thus\nrelated our perception carries little resemblance to one of numerical\nrelations. It is not necessary for us to know anything of numbers and\narithmetical proportions; and indeed when we do actually perceive a\nstring vibrating, such vibration passes away without our being able\nto apprehend the numerical relation, while of course it is equally\nunnecessary for us to glance at the body in vibration at all, in order\nto receive the impression of its tone. An association, therefore,\nbetween the tone and its numerical relations may very possibly at first\nsight strike us, not merely as incredible, but we may receive the\nimpression that its acceptance implies that our sense of hearing and\nideal apprehension of harmonies suffer even depreciation when we look\nfor their cause in that which is purely quantitative. However this may\nbe, it is an undoubted fact that the numerical relation of vibrations\nin identical periods of time is the foundation of the specific\ndefinition of tones. The fact that our sense of hearing is essentially\nsimple is no valid objection. The apparently simple impression, no\nless than the complex may, in respect to its essential character\nand existence, carry within its compass other aspects essentially\nmultifold and related fundamentally to something different. When we\nperceive, for example, blue or yellow, green or red, in the specific\npurity of these colours, we receive in like manner the appearance of\na perfectly simple determinacy, whereas violet readily is decomposed\ninto its constituent colours of blue and red. Despite this fact the\npure blue is not a simple fact, but a distinct correlation and fusion\nof light and shadow[446]. Religious emotions, a sense of right in any\nparticular case, appear to us in the same way as simple; nevertheless\nall religious feeling, every impression that partakes of this sense\nof right, is related to ourselves in entirely different ways, though\nproducing this simple feeling as its point of unity.\n\nIn just such a manner, then, tone is based upon a manifold, however\nmuch we hear and perceive it as something entirely ultimate; a varied\nnature, which, for the reason that musical tone comes into being\nby means of the vibration of a body, and thereby together with its\nvibrations is subject to temporal condition, is deducible from the\nnumerical relation of this oscillation in _time_, in other words from\nthe _determinate number_ of vibrations in a given period. I propose\nto draw attention merely to the following points in respect to this\ndeduction.\n\n_Tones that accord_ in the fullest sense, and on hearing which a\ndistinction is not perceptible as opposition, are those in the case of\nwhich the numerical relation of their vibrations is of the _simplest_\ncharacter; those on the contrary which are not so out and out accordant\npossess proportionate numbers more _complex._ As an example of the\nfirst kind we have _octaves._ In other words, if we tune a string,\nwhere we shall have the keynote given us by a definite number of\nvibrations, and then halve the same; in that case this second half will\ngive us in the same time precisely the same number of vibrations as\nthe previous entire string[447]. Similarly in the case of _fifths_ we\nhave _three_ vibrations to two of the keynote; in the case of _thirds_\nwe have _five_ to _four_ of the keynote. In the case of seconds and\nsevenths we have a different kind of proportion; here to _eight_\nvibrations of the keynote we have in the former case _nine_ and in the\nlatter _fifteen._\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Inasmuch then--we have already referred to this--as these\nrelations cannot be posited as we like, but disclose an ideal necessity\nfor their particular aspects[448], no less than the totality they\ntogether constitute, for the like reason the particular intervals,\nwhich are fixed by such numerical relations, do not persist in their\nrelation of indifference to each other, but are inevitably comprised\ntogether in and as a whole. The first form of this totality of notes\nthus created is, however, as yet no _concrete_ concord of different\nnotes, but an entirely abstract series of a system, a series of notes\nrelated under the most elementary mode to each other, and their\nposition within the totality thus comprised. This is no other than\nthe simple series of notes known as scales. The fundamental basis of\nthis is the tonic, which repeats itself in its octave, and is extended\nthrough the remaining six notes placed between these limits, which by\nvirtue of the fact that the keynote directly falls into unison with its\noctave makes a return upon itself. The remaining notes of the scale\neither harmonize completely[449] with the keynote, as is the case with\nthe fifth and the third, or possess a more fundamental distinction of\nsound in conflict with it, as is the case with seconds and sevenths,\nand take their place consequently in a definite series, which, however,\nI do not now propose to discuss or explain further.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) _Thirdly_, in these scales we find the source of different\n_keys._ In other words, every note of the scale can, in its turn,\nbe posited as the keynote of a fresh series of notes, which is\nco-ordinated precisely as the first is. With the development of\nthe scale through an increase of notes the number of keys has\ncorrespondingly increased. Modern music avails itself of a larger\nvariety of keys than that of the ancients. Further, inasmuch as\ngenerally the different notes of the scales, as already observed,\nare related to one another in unobstructed harmony, or a relation\nthat deviates from such immediacy in a more fundamental way, it\nfollows that the different series which arise from these notes, taken\nseverally as keynotes, either display a closer relation of affinity,\nand consequently permit of a passage readily from one to another, or,\non account of their alien character, do not so admit of this. Add to\nthis that the keys are divided from each other by the distinction\nof hardness and softness, that is, as major or minor tonality; in\nconclusion they possess, in virtue of their key-note, from which\nthey are generated, a definite character, which of itself responds\nto a particular kind of emotion, such as lamentation, joy, mourning,\nand so forth. In this particular even writers in ancient times have\nanticipated much on the subject of distinction between the keys, and\napplied their theory in many ways to actual composition.\n\n(_\u03b3_) The _third_ important matter, with the discussion of which we may\nconclude our brief remarks upon the theory of harmony, is concerned\nwith the simultaneous concord of the notes themselves, in other words,\nthe _system of chords._\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) We have no doubt already seen that the intervals constitute a\nwhole; this totality, however, is in the first instance comprised in\nthe scales and the keys merely in the form of an associated series, in\nthe succession whereof each note is asserted separately in isolation.\nIn consequence the tonal sound remained abstract, because we find here\nthat it is only one particular and determinate tone that is asserted.\nIn so far, however, as the notes in fact are what they are[450] merely\nin virtue of their relation to one another, it follows necessarily that\ntheir tonal modality should attain also an existence as this concrete\nbody of tone itself, in other words different notes will have to\ncoalesce in one and the same body of tone. In this conjoint fusion, in\nthe composition of which, however, the mere number of notes capable of\nsuch coalescence is not the essential point, for we may have a unity of\nthis kind with merely two[451], we possess our definition of _chords._\nFor inasmuch as the different notes are not definable for what they\nare as a result of caprice or chance, but are necessarily regulated\nby virtue of an ideal principle and co-ordinated in their actual\nsuccession, it follows that a regularity of similar character will have\nto declare itself in the chords, in order that we may determine what\nkind of associations will be adapted to musical composition, and what\non the contrary must be excluded. It is these rules which first give us\nthe theory of harmony in the full sense; and it is according to this\nwe find again that the chords are embraced in an essentially regulated\nsystem.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) In this system chords are particularized and distinguished in\ntheir passage from one to another, inasmuch as it is clearly _defined_\nnotes which thus sound together. We have consequently to consider as\nan immediate fact a totality of separately distinguishable chords. In\nattempting the most general classification of these we shall find that\nthe original distinctions we cursorily alluded to in our discussion of\nintervals, scales, and keys will once again serve us.\n\nIn other words the _first_ kind of chords are those in which notes\ncome together, which are completely consonant. In the musical effect\nof these consequently there is no opposition, no contradiction\nperceptible; the consonance remains completely undisturbed. Such is\nthe case in the so-called _consonant_ chords, the foundation of which\nis supplied by the _triad._ This confessedly is generated from the\nkey-note, the third, the mediant[452] and the fifth or dominant. In\nthese we find the notion of harmony expressed in its simplest form, or\nrather the intrinsic idea of harmony generally. For we have a totality\nof distinct notes under consideration, which assert this distinction\nwhile they also declare an undisturbed unity.\n\nWe have here an immediate identity, which moreover is not without the\nelement of separation and mediation, albeit this mediation is not at\nthe same time limited by the self-subsistency of different tones[453],\nsatisfied with the mere transitional passage from one note to another\nin the relation of a series, but the unity is here an actual one and a\nreturn in immediacy upon itself.\n\nBut in the _second_ place we may observe as a further incident of\ndistinct types of the triad, which I cannot now examine in more detail,\nthe deliberate appearance of a deeper mode of opposition. We have,\nhowever, already at an earlier stage seen that the scales contain\nover and above those notes, which coalesce without opposition, others\nwhich annul such consonance. Examples of these are the diminished\nand augmented seventh. Inasmuch as these notes equally belong to the\ntotality of tones, they too will necessarily find an entrance into the\ntriad form. And when this happens it follows that the immediate unity\nand consonance above mentioned is disturbed, to the extent that we\nhave added a tone essentially of another character, by means of which\nfor the first time we meet with a _genuine difference_ which actually\nasserts itself as contradiction. In this way we have the true depth of\nmusical tone really asserted. It proceeds to contradictions that are\nfundamental and does not flinch from the acerbity[454] or fracture they\ninvolve. And, in fact, the notion in its truth is no doubt essential\nunity; but it is not only immediate unity, but one which ideally is\ndisrupt, which falls into contradictions. In this sense I have for\nexample in my Logic developed the notion as subjectivity, but at\nthe same time disclosed how this subjectivity, as ideal transparent\nunity, is resolved in that which confronts it in opposition, namely,\nobjectivity. And further such subjectivity regarded as itself wholly\nideal is nothing more than a one-sided and abstract presentment of\nit, which as such retains a something else, an opposed other over\nagainst it, namely, objectivity, and only becomes subjectivity in the\nprofounder significance of its truth, in so far as it enters into this\nopposing other-than-itself, overcomes it and resolves it. And for\nthis reason in the world of reality it is to the higher natures that\npower is given to endure the pain of that fundamental contradiction of\nconscious life and to overcome it. In order that music therefore may as\nan art express the ideal significance no less than purely subjective\nemotion of the profoundest content, that of religion for example, and\nabove all that of the Christian religion, in which the profoundest\ndepth of suffering is an essential constituent, it must possess the\nmeans within its empire of tone to depict such a conflict of opposing\nforces. And a means of this kind it does possess in the so-called\ndissonant chords of the seventh and ninth[455]. The function of these,\nhowever, I cannot venture further to discuss here.\n\nLooking, however, from a general point of view at the nature of these\nchords I would draw attention to the _further_ important point, that\nthey hold what is contradictory, under the mode of contradiction\nalready explained, in one and the same unity. That, however, what is\ncontradictory as such should remain in unity is a contradiction in\nterms and unintelligible. The very nature and notion of a contradiction\nassumes that assured repose in it and what it implies is impossible.\nOn the contrary it is as such self-destructive. Harmony is therefore\nunable to remain in chords of this character; our ear and feeling, in\norder to obtain satisfaction, imperatively demands their resolution.\nTo the extent of this contradiction we are inevitably impelled to seek\na _resolution_ of dissonance and a return to the consonant triad. And\nthis motion, as the return of the principle of identity upon itself,\nis the movement of truth in the widest sense. In the art of music,\nhowever, this completed identity is only possible as a succession\nof its moments in time, which appears consequently as a series, but\ndeclares its collective dependence in this that a necessary movement of\nan advance, which is essentially self-caused and a movement of change\nbelonging to its very nature, is thereby asserted.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) And this suggests a _third_ point it may be as well to draw\nattention to. In other words just as the scale was an essentially\nco-ordinate, albeit in the first instance still abstract series\nof tones, so too the chords do not persist in their isolation and\nself-consistency, but possess an ideal relation to one another, and a\nnecessary impulse to change and progress. In this advance, although\nthe same can be changed and extended to a far more considerable extent\nthan in the scales, yet again mere caprice is not more possible in the\none case than the other. The transition of chord to chord is effected\nin part by the nature of the chords themselves, and in part by the\nkeys, to which these chords lead us. It is in virtue of this that the\ntheory of music has established many rules, to enumerate and adequately\nexplain which would, however, extend our survey into much too difficult\nand discursive matters. I must therefore rest content with having\nconfined myself to a few observations of most general interest.\n\n(_c_) _Melody_\n\nTaking now a glance in retrospect on that which, as connected with the\nmeans of musical expression, has already engaged our attention, it will\nbe seen that first in order came the mode of configuration appropriate\nto the _temporal_ duration of tones considered as time-measure, beat,\nand rhythm. We then proceeded to discuss the _actual tones_ of musical\nsound themselves; _first_, that is to say, in the sound produced by\nmusical instruments and the human voice; _secondly_, in the fixed and\ndeterminate measure of the intervals, and the abstract succession of\nnotes that are subject to them in the scale and the various keys;\n_thirdly_, in the rules which appertain to the different chords and\ntheir conjoint progression. The concluding subject, which still remains\nfor us to consider, and in which those previous to it discover their\nsynthetic unity, and disclose in the same the fundamental form by\nvirtue of which tones are for the first time in veritable freedom and\nunion unfolded and coordinated, is _melody._\n\nIn other words, harmony possesses merely the essential relations,\nwhich establish the law of necessity in the world of tone; but these\nare not in themselves, any more than beat and rhythm are, actually\nmusic: they are rather the substantive basis, the foundation of rule\nand principle, upon which the soul in its freedom expatiates. The\npoetry of music, that speech of human souls, which pours forth the\nideal atmosphere and the pain of emotional life, and in this overflow\nis raised with a sense of alleviation above the natural constraint of\nfeeling, by making present to the soul that which actually affects it\nstrongly; by enabling it freely to dally round its essential being, and\nby liberating it by this very means from the oppression of joys and\nsufferings--well, this power of soul-expression in the domain of music\nis in the first instance melody[456]. It is this concluding section\nof our inquiry, in so far as it constitutes the more supremely poetic\naspect of music, the realm of its really artistic creations, while\navailing itself of the elements previously discussed, which obviously\npossesses an exceptional claim to our attention. Unfortunately it is\njust in this direction that we find ourselves confronted with the\ndifficulties already adverted to. In other words, to mention one of\nthem, a detailed and scientific treatment of the subject implies a more\naccurate knowledge of the laws of composition, and a totally different\nsort of acquaintance with the masterpieces of musical composition to\nany I possess or indeed am able to secure, for we seldom hear anything\nof a definite or conclusive character on this head either from musical\nexperts or practical musicians, from the latter, only too frequently\nmen of very average intelligence, least of all. And we may further\nobserve that it is a characteristic of the art of music itself, that we\nshould find the task of presenting and expounding particular detail in\ngeneral terms a less easy matter than in the case of the other arts.\nIt is true enough that music, as other arts, deals essentially with a\nspiritual content, and propounds the ideality of this subject-matter,\nor the ideal movements of emotional life, as the object of its\nexpression: yet for all that this content remains more indefinite\nin outline and more vague, for just this very reason that it is\napprehended with exclusive regard to its ideality, or is reflected in\nsound as subjective feeling; and the transitional states of music are\nnot in each case at the same time the change of a particular emotion\nor idea, a thought or an individual form, but are merely a musical\nprogression, which consists in self-exposition or play, and avails\nitself of artistic method for this purpose. I will consequently limit\nmyself merely to the following general observations, which have fallen\nin my way and strike me as of interest.\n\n(_\u03b1_) From a certain point of view, no doubt, melody, in its free\ndisclosure of musical tone, floats independent of beat, rhythm, and\nharmony; but none the less the only means employed in its realization\nare just these rhythmical and metrically constructed movements of tone\nin their essentially necessary relations. The movement of melody,\ntherefore, is inseparable from the means employed to create it, and, if\nmerely opposed to the practical necessity of the subjection of these\nmeans to rule, is unable to exist at all. In this intimate association\nbetween melody and harmony, however, no real surrender of freedom is\ninvolved: what melody is thus emancipated from is a purely capricious\nfancy of the composer exercised in odd or eccentric progressions and\ntransitions. It is united by this very association to a stable and\nself-consistent art. Genuine liberty is not opposed to the principle\nof necessity as a foreign and therefore oppressive and suppressive\npower; rather it possesses in the substantive character of the same\nwhat is a constituent of and identical with the core of its being; in\nfollowing the demands of it it therefore is only conforming to its own\nlaws, acting in accordance with its own nature. And in fact it is by\nthe rejection of such proscriptions and only then that it proves an\nalien to its nature, untrue to itself. Conversely, it is sufficiently\nobvious that beat, rhythm, and harmony are, taken independently, merely\nabstractions, which as thus isolated have no musical[457] significance,\nand are able only to acquire real existence as music in virtue of\nmelody, and as within the domain of this, supplying moments to or\naspects in its realization. It is precisely in the manner that the\ndistinction between melody and harmony is thus effectively mediated and\nresolved that the secret power of great compositions is disclosed.\n\n(_\u03b2_)_Secondly_, in this question of the _individual_ character of\nmelody the following points appear to me of importance.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) In the _first_ place, melody may be restricted, if we consider\nits harmonious progression, to a very simple compass of chords and\nkeys, extended within the embrace of tone-relations destitute of all\nopposition in their harmonious fusion, which it employs merely as the\nfundamental ground on which to develop its more appropriate form and\nmovement. Song melodies, for instance, which be it understood are not\non that account in the least superficial, but may express the depths\nof soul-life, as a rule are motived by constructive harmony of this\nmost simple character. They do not propound the more difficult problems\nof chords and keys in so far as they deal with such things and their\nmodulation at all. They are mainly satisfied with obtaining a simple\nharmonious accompaniment, which is not carried to the point of serious\nopposition, and consequently requires few resolutions in order to\nrecover the final impression of unity. Such a mode of composition no\ndoubt may lead to superficial results, such as we find in a great many\nmodern Italian and French melodies. In such cases the development\nof the harmony is entirely superficial. The composer endeavours to\nsubstitute for the genuine demand of his work in this aspect of it\na merely piquant charm of rhythm or flavour of some kind. Generally\nspeaking, none the less the emptiness of a melody is not the inevitable\nresult of a simple harmonic basis.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) A further distinction consists in this that melody in the case\nsupposed is no longer developed, as in our previous example, merely in\nthe exposition of separate notes composed upon a relatively independent\nharmonic progression, regarded simply as the base of it: in the\nmelody now under consideration every separate note of the melody is\nsubstantially complete as a concrete whole In a chord. In this manner\nit, on the one hand, includes a world of tones, and from another it\nis so closely interwoven with the movement of the harmony, that it is\nnow impossible to retain the distinction previously accepted between a\nmelody unfolded in relative independence, and a harmony which supplies\nthe emphatic pauses of the accompaniment and its more fixed and\ndeterminate musical basis. Harmony and melody are here one and the same\ncompact whole, and a modification of the one implies a correspondent\nand necessary alteration of the other[458]. This may be pre-eminently\nillustrated by chorales written in four parts. In like manner the\nsame melody can be so interwoven in the varied vocal expression of its\nparts, that this interlacery itself creates a harmonic progression; or\nwe may have different melodies in a similar way elaborated harmonically\nin association, so that the union of particular notes of these melodies\nproduces musical harmony. We often, for example, meet with this in the\ncompositions of Sebastian Bach. In such cases the music progresses by\nmeans of parts that vary greatly from one another in their character\nand movement, which appear to associate or inter-thread with each other\non independent lines, yet retain at the same time an essential harmonic\nrelation to each other. A necessary and coherent union is thereby\nasserted.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) In composition of this kind it is not merely necessary for music\nwhich has any claim to profundity to be developed to the bare limits\nof undisturbed consonance, nay, even first to pass beyond it in order\nthat it may return thereto: rather the first simple mode of concord\nwill have to be rent asunder in dissonances. It is only through such\nconflict that the profounder combinations and mysteries of music in\nwhich an independent necessity reposes, discovers their source and\nground; and for the same reason it is only in such profounder harmonic\nprogressions that the arresting moments of melody originate. A bold\nstyle of musical composition will consequently part company with a\npurely consonant progression. It will pass into the sphere of opposing\nforces, will summon to its aid the most discordant contrasts, and\ndisclose its unique power amid the tumult of all the resources of\nharmony, the conflicts of which it is equally able to calm, wholly\nconfident in its ability to celebrate finally the grateful triumph of\nmelodic tranquillity. We have in short here a battle waged between\nfreedom and necessity; a conflict between the freedom of inventive\ngenius, seeking to yield itself to its upward flight, and the\nnecessary constraint of those harmonic conditions, which it is forced\nto acknowledge as the means of its expression, and in which its own\nideal significance is reflected. On the other hand if the harmony, the\nemployment, that is, of all its resources, the unrelenting nature\nof its conflict in the disposal of them and in its attitude to them\nis the main interest, the composition may very easily become heavy\nand overweighted with science, in so far at least as the freedom of\nmovement is really impaired, or at least we are not allowed to feel the\ncomplete effect of its triumph.\n\n(_\u03b3_) To put the matter in other words, in every genuine melody a truly\nmelodic, songful impulse, which is its essential type as music, must\ndeclare itself as predominant and independent, as something which it\nneither forgets nor loses in the plenitude of its expression. Thus\nregarded melody presents, no doubt, an infinite power of adaptation\nand coordination in the progressive motion of tones, but the mode or\nform of this must be such that throughout we are made aware of an\nessentially complete and self-subsistent whole. This totality contains,\nit is true, a varied complexity, and implies in itself a forward\nadvance; but it must for all that, regarded as a whole, be beyond\nall doubt rounded off and secure. It must therefore have a distinct\nbeginning and termination to the extent at least that the intermediate\npart of it may be simply presented as the mediating link between that\nbeginning and end. Only as such a movement, asserted with unmistakable\nemphasis, itself self-differentiated and returning on its own unity,\ndoes the melody of music reflect the free self-consciousness[459] of\nsoul-life, whose expression it ought to be; only as thus perfected can\nmusic, in its own peculiar medium of ideality, enforce expression in\nits pure immediacy, or avail itself of the ideal freedom of that mode\nof expression which is the untarnished reflection of the inner life, an\nexpression which, despite its subordination to the necessary laws of\nharmony, enables the soul to perceive a more exalted vision.\n\n\n\n3. THE RELATION BETWEEN MEANS OF EXPRESSION IN MUSIC AND ITS CONTENT\n\n\nAfter passing in review the general nature of musical art we considered\nthe particular aspects according to which notes and their duration in\ntime secured their necessary form. Having now arrived in our discussion\nof melody at the confines of a world of free artistic invention and\nactual musical composition, what we have now to deal with is a\n_content_, which, under its rhythm, harmony, and melody, is capable of\nreceiving an expression conformable to art's requirements. After fixing\nclearly in our minds general modes of this expression we shall as our\nconclusion be in an advantageous position to review the different\nprovinces of musical composition. With these objects before us we may\nin the first instance advert to the following important distinction.\n\nOn the one side music may be, as already observed, in the nature of\nan _accompaniment._ This is the case where its spiritual content is\nnot merely seized in the abstract ideality of its significance, or\nas individual emotion, but enters into the movement of the music\nsubordinate to the significance it has already received from idea and\nwords. As a type of music opposed to this we have the composition which\nis disconnected with any such content already prepared for it; music\nin this case establishes itself in its own proper sphere, so that\nit either, if it still is forced to deal with a definitely received\ncontent, resolves the same wholly in melodies and their harmonic\ndevelopment, or asserts its _absolute independence_ in the medium\nof musical tone simply and its harmonic or melodic configuration.\nWe have already seen that a similar distinction is apparent in a\nwholly different section of our inquiry. I refer to the case of\narchitecture considered either as an independent art, or in the service\nit renders to that of building generally. But in music the mode of\nits accompaniment is of an essentially freer type than that of our\nillustration; it is far more intimately united with its content than is\never possible in the case of architecture.\n\nIn the actual domain of art this distinction marks the difference\nbetween _vocal_ and _instrumental_ music. We are not, however, entitled\nto accept it in the purely external interpretation of it, as though\nin vocal music it was merely the sound of the human voice, while in\ninstrumental music it was the more varied tones of the many distinct\ninstruments which were made serviceable. We must not in other words\noverlook the fact that the voice expresses at the same time in its song\ndeliberate speech, presenting us the ideas of a specific content, so\nthat music, regarded as the _word that is sung_, if the twofold aspect\nof the same in tone and human speech is not to fall into a condition\nof indifference or absence of relation, is obviously bound, so far as\nthe art enables it to do so, to supply its musical expression to this\n_content_, which as such _content_ is brought before the receptive\nfaculties in its nearest approach to definition, and no longer is\nleft unrelated in more indefinite feeling. In so far, however, as\nthe presented content, as libretto, is, despite of the above union,\nindependently ascertainable in legible form, and is also consequently\ndistinguishable in the mind itself from its musical expression, to this\nextent the music attached to a libretto is an _accompaniment_, whereas\nin sculpture and painting the unfolded content does not already attain\nto any presentment independently of its artistic form. At the same time\nwe must be careful not to go to the other extreme and entertain an idea\nof such accompaniment, as though its entire purpose were one solely\nof subordination; the truth is precisely the reverse. The libretto is\nwritten in the interest of the music, and has no further importance\nsave in so far as it brings home to the mind a more intimate knowledge\nof the actual subject the artist has selected for his work. Music\nmaintains this freedom pre-eminently by virtue of the fact that it does\nnot apprehend the content in the manner the libretto may be assumed to\nmake it intelligible. Rather it exhibits its mastery of a medium, to\nwhich sense-perception and imaginative idea do not belong[460]. In this\nrespect I have already, when discussing the general characteristics\nof music, pointed out that music expresses the principle of ideality\nin its intrinsic quality. The ideality of soul-life, however, may\nbe of a _twofold_ type. That is to say, to accept an object in its\n_ideal presentation_[461] may, in the first place, mean that we do\nnot conceive it in its actual appearance in the phenomenal world,\nbut relatively to its _ideal significance._ We may, however, mean by\nthis, secondly, that a content is expressed as we find it realized in\nthe experience of personal _emotion._ Both forms of idealization are\nrepresented in the art of music. I will therefore endeavour to explain\nin more detail how this comes about.\n\nIn old church music, take the movement of a _crucifixus est_ for\nexample, we find that the profound meanings unfolded in the central\nidea of the Passion regarded as Christ's suffering, death, and burial,\nare severally so conceived, that it is not simply one merely _personal_\nfeeling of sympathy or individual pain over these facts that is\nexpressed, but along with this the very facts themselves, or in other\nwords the depth of their significance is motived by the harmony of the\nmusic and its melodic progression. It is, of course, true that even\nhere the impression is one which acts upon the emotion of those who\nhear it. We do not actually _perceive_ the pain of the crucified, we do\nnot merely receive a general _idea_ of it; the aim is throughout that\nwe experience in the depths of our being the ideal substance of this\ndeath and this divine suffering, that we absorb with heart and soul its\nreality, so that it becomes as it were a part of ourselves, permeating\nour entire conscious life to the exclusion of everything else. And in\nlike manner must the soul of the composer, if his work is to disclose\nsuch a power of impress upon others, entirely lose itself in these\nfacts and only in them. It must not merely have experienced a personal\nemotion of them. It must accept as its aim the task of making in its\nmusic the facts themselves live again for the ideal sense.\n\nConversely, I may read a text, a libretto, which narrates an event,\nplaces before me an action, gives to feelings the impress of speech,\nand thereby become moved even to tears in my profoundest being. This\neffect of _personal_ emotion, which may attend all human action and\nconduct, every expression of inner life, and further may be excited\nby the perception of every such event and by participation in the\npresentment of such, the art of music is able to regulate; by so\ndoing it ameliorates, tranquilizes and idealizes by its influence the\nfellow-feeling in the listener who finds himself attuned to it. In both\ncases, therefore, the content rings through the inner life, in which\nmusic, for the very reason that it subdues consciousness in the simple\nattitude of rapt attention[462], is able to restrain the unfettered\nrange of thought, imagination, sensation, and passage beyond the true\nboundary-line of the subject on hand. Music, in short, keeps the soul\nabsorbed in a particular content, fructifies its energy therein, and\nmoves and fills the life of feeling up to the brim within these limits.\n\nSuch is our conception and description, so far as the present occasion\npermits, of the manner of which music, as an accompaniment, when\ndealing with a definite content which is, as previously explained, set\nbefore it by means of a libretto, elaborates that aspect of it we have\ntermed ideality. Inasmuch, however, as music is pre-eminently called\nup to do this in vocal music, and the human voice is added to this\nassociated with instruments, it is customary to speak of instrumental\nmusic in a special sense as the music of accompaniment. It is no doubt\ntrue that it accompanies the voice, and should not either assert\nunqualified independence or claim an unqualified precedency. But for\nall that vocal music is placed, as thus associated, in a more direct\nrelation still under the definition previously given of an accompanying\ntone. The voice expresses words articulate to the mind; and song is\nmerely a fresh or additional modification of the content of these\nwords, or in other words it is the explication of them in the language\nof the emotions. In the case of instrumental music, if taken by itself,\nthe expression of imaged idea vanishes, and such music must necessarily\nconfine itself to the means and modes of purely musical expression[463].\n\nThe discussion of these points suggests a _third_ one, which, in\nconclusion, it is well not to overlook. I have previously drawn\nattention to the fact that the reality of a musical composition, in\nits full and vital embodiment, depends on a continually repeated\nreproduction. In this respect it is at a disadvantage as compared\nwith sculpture and painting. The sculptor, no less than the painter,\nconceives a given work and executes it throughout. The entire artistic\nactivity implied therein is centred in one single individual, and\nby this means absolute reciprocity between the creative idea and\nits execution is secured. The architect, on the contrary, is in a\nless favourable position, who, in carrying through all the variety\nof structure in a building, has to entrust such work to other hands\nthan his own. The composer in a similar way, must leave the execution\nof his work to other hands and voices. But in his case there is\nthis difference, that the execution, from the point of view of mere\ntechnique, no less than that of the vital spirit of his work, itself\ndemands an artistic activity, not one of mere craftsmanship. In this\nrespect we may in our own time, no less than previously in that of\nthe older Italian opera, whereas in other arts there has been little\nor nothing fresh of the kind, point to a marvellous advance in two\nrespects in music. The first is to be noted in the conception, the\nsecond in the increased virtuosity of execution. It is due to these\nresults the very notion of what music implies and is able to perform\nhas, even in the case of acknowledged experts, been increasingly\nenlarged[464].\n\nWe may now briefly summarize the heads of the concluding sections of\nthis portion of our work.\n\n_First_, we shall investigate more carefully music regarded as\n_accompaniment_, and raise the question with what modes of expression\nin a given content it is as a rule most compatible.\n\n_Secondly_, it will be necessary to consider this question more closely\nas viewed in relation to musical composition that is _exclusively\nindependent._\n\n_Thirdly_, our conclusion will be reached with a few observations upon\nartistic _execution._\n\n\n(_a_) _Music as Accompaniment_\n\nIt follows, as a necessary result of what I have already described\nas being the relative position of libretto and music, that, in this\nsphere of its activity, musical expression is compelled to concern\nitself far more exclusively with a defined content than in the\nalternative case where it is able to surrender itself without restraint\nto its own movement and inspiration. A libretto offers us to start\nwith definite ideas, and compels the attention to forsake that field\nof more visionary emotion destitute of distinct idea, in which we are\npermitted to range without interruption, and are not forced to abandon\nour licence to receive from pure music whatever chance impression or\nwave of emotion it may arouse. In this act of artistic interlacery\nwith words, however, it is not right that music should carry its\nloyalty so far as to impair the free course of its progressions, even\nthough it do so with the object of emphasizing the full character of\nwhat is contained in the libretto. To do this is to employ the mere\npedantry of learning, to adapt means of musical expression for the most\nfaithful presentment possible of a content which is not in the first\ninstance its own, but supplied it externally. It is to accept this\nartificial result rather than the creation of a real self-subsistent\nwork of art. And to that extent we have here evidenced a definite check\nand hindrance to free artistic activity. It is equally wrong in the\nopposite extreme that music should, as is almost invariably the fashion\nwith modern Italian composers, wholly emancipate itself from the\ncontents of the libretto, as though its specific character were only a\nbond, and with no other aim than that of approaching independent music\nas closely as possible. The true function of such music is this. It\nought to steep itself in the meaning of the expressed words, situation,\nor action, and by virtue of such impregnation, ideally conceived,\ndiscover therefrom a vitally arresting expression, and elaborate\nthe same in terms congenial to art. That is the course followed by\nall great masters. They appropriate everything of vital interest in\nthe words; but the stream of their music, the tranquil flow of the\ncomposition, remains for all that as free as ever. We acknowledge the\nnatural growth of the music no less than its affinity to the text it\nillustrates. We would draw attention to _three_ distinct types of\nexpression all illustrative of this free spirit.\n\n(_\u03b1_) To start with, there is that aspect of musical expression which\nwe may describe as the truly _melodic._ We have here simply emotion,\nthe utterance of soul itself, which, apart from anything else, finds\nself-enjoyment in such expression.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) The domain here, in which the composer moves, is coincident with\nthe human heart and the moods of the soul; and melody, which is the\npure musical utterance of this inward world, is in the most profound\nsense the soul of music. Musical tone only attains to expression\nthat is really vital when emotion is embodied in it or reflected in\nsound from it. Connected with this the purely natural cry of feeling,\nwhatever it may be, of horror, for example, or the sobbing of grief, or\nthe exclamation or outburst of uncontrolled jubilation, are themselves\nhighly expressive; and indeed I have already referred to them as the\nstarting-point of music, subject of course to the statement that art\nis unable to accept them under the mode of purely natural utterance.\nHere, too, we find a distinction between music and painting. The art of\npainting is frequently able to produce the most beautiful and artistic\neffect by its realization in every respect of the actual form, the\ncolour and animation of a particular human being in some definite\nsituation and environment, and its complete reflection of all that it\nhas thus assimilated and received in its bare vitality. The truth of\nNature, if presented conformably to artistic truth, is here entirely\njustified. But the art of music ought not thus to repeat emotional\nexpression in the form it assumes as a purely natural utterance of\npassion; what it should do is to vitalize with the emotional forces\nmusical sound elaborated under the definite conditions of its tonal\nprogression, and to this extent resolve the expression in a medium of\nsound wholly created by art and inseparable from the artistic purpose,\na medium in which the mere cry becomes a series of musical tones with a\ndefinite progression, the transitions and course of which are subject\nto the laws of harmony and unfolded in the completeness of a melodic\nphrase.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) The essential significance of this melodic quality and its\nbearing on the human spirit is best apprehended if we view the latter\nas a whole. The fine arts of sculpture and painting give an objective\nexistence to the ideality of soul-life; moreover, they liberate\nthe mind from this externality of their presentation in so far as,\nfrom a certain point of view, it discovers itself therein as an\nideal, spiritual work, and from another everything which partakes\nof adventitious singularity[465], of capricious idea, opinion, and\nreflection, is rejected, the content thereof being placed before us\nin its entirely appropriate individuality. The art of music, on the\ncontrary, as we have repeatedly pointed out, possesses as a means to\nsuch objectivity merely the element of the soul-life itself, by means\nof which that which purely belongs to this enters into conversation\nwith itself, and as expressed in the utterance of emotion itself\nreturns, as it were, upon itself. Music is spirit or soul, which ring\nforth in their untrammelled immediacy, and derive satisfaction in this\nrecord of their self-knowledge. As a fine art, however, it is its\nnecessary function to regulate the expression of such life no less\nthan its effects. It ought not to permit that expression to be whirled\naway in bacchantic thunder and tumult, or be left in the distraction\nof despair, but retain the blessed freedom of its deliverance in the\nextremity of sorrow no less than the jubilant outburst of delight.\nAnd this is the character of truly ideal music, the utterance of\nmelody such as we find it in Palestrina, Durante, Lotti, Pergolese,\nGl\u00fcck, Haydn, and Mozart. Tranquillity of soul is never lost in the\ncompositions of these masters. Grief is no doubt often expressed, but\nthe resolution is always there; the luminous sense of proportion never\nbreaks down in extremes: everything finds its due place knit together\nin the whole; joy is never suffered to degenerate into unseemly uproar\nand even lamentation carries with it the most benign repose. I have\nalready, when discussing Italian painting, emphasized the fact, that\na spirit of reconciliation is not wanting even in extreme examples\nof sorrow and distraction of soul; by virtue of this, even where we\nhave tears and suffering, some trait of tranquillity and assurance is\npreserved; the tenderness and grace which assert themselves in the\nharlequin's r\u00f4le illustrates the same truth. In like manner a feeling\nfor nature and the endowment of musical expression is preeminently\na characteristic of the Italians. In their earlier church music we\nfind that, along with the deepest devotional feeling, the sense of\nreconciliation is expressed in its purity; and though grief may stir\nthe soul most profoundly, yet beauty and rapturous joy, the simple\ngreatness and impress of an imagination which discovers delight in\nits own varied expatiation, is equally present. It is a beauty of\nan apparently sensuous type, so that it is not unusual to refer to\nsuch melodious contentment as a purely sensuous enjoyment. But it is\nsometimes overlooked that it is precisely in this realm of the senses\nthat art discovers its life and movement, and thereby transfers Spirit\nto a sphere in which, as in the world of Nature, this essential wave of\nself-satisfaction is throughout the fundamental tone.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) Albeit, therefore, _particularity_ of emotional content must\nbe duly represented, yet it is right that music, while permitting\npassion and imagination to stream forth in its harmonies, should at\nthe same time lift the soul that is absorbed in such emotion over the\nsame, enable it to hover around such content, and in short create an\natmosphere wherein the recovery from such an absorption, and the pure\nreflection of itself is possible. This it is which gives us in fact\nthe really melodious character to song-music. The important feature\nof it is not merely the progression of determinate emotion such as we\nindicate by the words love, yearning, jollity, and so forth; it is\nrather that inward sense, which presides over it, which expatiates\nin its suffering no less than its delight, and finds satisfaction in\ndoing so. Precisely as the bird in the brake, the lark on high sings\nits glad and touching song for the mere sake of singing, an outburst\nof Nature herself, having no further thought or intention whatever,\nit is just the same with human song and the expression of its melody.\nConsistently with this not infrequently Italian music, in which this\ntruth is pre-eminently emphasized, will, just as poetry will, pass into\nmere melodious sound simply, and can readily appear to part company\nwith the emotional stimulus and its particular mode of expression, or\neven in fact do so, for the very good reason that its object is the\nenjoyment of art by itself, and the contentment of all who thus are\nable to enjoy themselves. And apart from the Italians this is more or\nless the characteristic of all right melody. The specific nature of the\nexpression, albeit present also, passes away, in so far as our hearts\nare absorbed in what we appropriate rather as our own, than in that\nwhich belongs to another, a something beyond us. By reason of this and\nthis alone--it is much as we receive the impression of pure light--we\nare admitted to the most intimate conception of ideal blessedness and\nattuned spirits.\n\n(_\u03b2_) In the art of sculpture the predominant impression is ideal\nbeauty or self-repose. Painting, on the other hand, already presents\na movement in the direction of specific characterization, and the\nemphasis it attaches to articulate expression is an essential feature\nof its executive purpose. In a similar fashion the art of music is\nunable to rest satisfied with melodious expression as above indicated.\nThe purely emotional grasp by the soul of its intrinsic nature, and the\nplay in musical sound of this apprehension is, regarded as the mere\natonement of mood, when we take it strictly, too general and abstract.\nIt is inseparable from the danger not merely of an alienation from the\nmore careful interpretation of the content expressed in the libretto,\nbut of that of becoming generally empty and trivial. If sorrow, joy,\nyearning, and so forth are to find adequate reflection in melody, the\nsoul that is actual and concrete only comes by such emotions in the\ndownright reality of the same as involved in a veritable content,\nthat is, in particular situations, events, actions, and so on. If,\nfor example, a song arouses the emotion of mourning, the lament at a\nloss, we inevitably ask ourselves, what is the nature of that loss.\nIs it, shall we say, the loss of life with all its many interests?\nIs it a loss of youth, happiness, wife, beloved, children, friends,\nor anything else? For this reason it is further incumbent upon music\nthat it should of itself differentiate in like manner its mode of\nexpression when dealing with a _specific_ content and the _various\nrelations_ and situations, which the soul has experienced, and the\nmore ideal or intimate life of which it seeks to reflect in its\nharmonies. Music in short is not primarily concerned with the bare form\nof the inward soul, but with that innermost life as replenished, the\nspecific content of which is most closely related to the particular\ncharacter of the emotion roused, so that the mode of the expression\nwill, or should, inevitably assert itself with essential differences,\naccording to the varied nature of the content. In a similar way the\nsoul, precisely in the degree that it takes a headlong plunge into\nany distracting experience, proceeds through an accumulating series of\neffects, and, in opposition to our previously described state of benign\nself-contentment, passes through conflicts and distraction, wrestlings\nwith passions, and in short reaches an extreme of division, for which\nthe mode of expression hitherto observed is no longer adequate.\n\nNow what we mean by the detail of the content is just that which is\nsupplied by the _libretto_ or words. In the case of a simple melody,\nwhich is less concerned with this specific character, the more defined\ncharacteristics of the _libretto_ are appreciably of less importance.\nA song, for instance, although it essentially implies as a poem and\ntext a whole of variedly motived moods, perceptions, and ideas, none\nthe less as a rule asserts throughout one fundamental progression of\nemotion; it is primarily one chord of the soul that it emphasizes. To\ngrasp this, and to reflect the same in the language of music, this\nis what such song-melody is mainly called upon to do. Consequently\nwe may have identically the same music through all the verses of our\npoem, although the meaning they carry admits of much variety; and\nwhat is more, this very repetition, so far from proving injurious to\nthe effect, may serve to enforce and enhance it. We may see the same\nthing in a landscape, where, too, the most varied objects confront\nthe vision, and yet for all that the prevailing mood and aspect of\nNature, which animates the whole, is one and the same. It is just such\na prevailing tone that ought to assert itself in the song, and this,\nthough it only applies strictly to some of the verses, but does not so\napply to others; and the reason of this is that here the specific sense\nof the words is not to be taken as of most importance. What comes first\nis the simple melody that floats freely over all variety of content. In\nthe case of many compositions which infringe this principle, and which\nstart every fresh verse with a novel melody, which not unfrequently\nvaries from the preceding one in beat, rhythm, and even scale, it is\nquite impossible to understand why, if such essential modifications\nwere really inevitable, the poem itself ought not to have been altered\nin metre, rhythm, and rhyme, through all its verses.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) What is, however, appropriate for the song, which is a genuine\nmelodious utterance of the soul, is not applicable to every kind of\nmusical expression. It is necessary, therefore, to draw attention to\na _further_ aspect in contrast to pure melody as such, one of equal\nimportance, and by virtue of which alone song is really brought into\nline with accompanying music. We find this in that mode of expression\nwhich is dominant in the _recitative._ Here we have no independently\nexclusive melody, which at the same time reflects the fundamental mood\nof the content, in the elaboration of which soul-life, as at home\nwith itself, receives back in musical sound some portion of its ideal\nactivity; rather in the case before us the content of the words, to the\nfull compass of its specific character, is imprinted upon the musical\nexpression, the import of which no less than the course it determines;\nand this is so whether we regard it from the point of view of the\nelevation or profundity which distinguishes it, or the prominence\nor subordination of its particular features. By such means music,\nas contrasted with melodic expression, approximates to an emphatic\ndeclamation, one accurately corresponding with the movement of the\nwords, whether the view we take of them be that of their meaning, or\nthat of their syntactical arrangement. And in so far as it adds also,\nas a novel element, the aspect of a more exalted emotion, it stands\nmidway between the pure melody and poetical speech. Conformably to\nsuch a station, therefore, we have a free accentuation, which adheres\nstrenuously to the specific sense of particular words. Moreover it\nis not necessary for the libretto in this case to be written in\nany particular metre, nor need the musical exposition, as the pure\nmelody does in a like case, follow beat and rhythm with absolute\nprecision; rather the music under this condition of it, that is in its\nacceleration, suspension, or pause in particular progressions, or rapid\npassage over such, is entitled to adapt itself freely to the emotion\naroused by the meaning of the words. For the same reason the modulation\nis not so restricted as in the case of melody. Precisely as the text\nwhich it attempts to express may suggest, it may begin, proceed, pause,\nbreak off, begin again, or stop with absolute licence. Unexpected\naccents, progressions only partially mediated, sudden transitions\nand resolutions are equally permissible; and, in direct contrast to\nthe continuous stream of melodious music, provided always that the\nlibretto's content requires it, this latter mode of expression is\nequally in its place, though delivered in fragments, and torn asunder\nby passionate emotion.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) Being of this character this form of declamatory expression,\nknown as recitative, is suitable for tranquil statement of situation,\nor facts, no less than the presentment of the entire compass of the\nemotions, under which the distraction of the soul in exceptional\ncircumstances is depicted, and which in its soul-full harmonies stirs\nthe heart sympathetically with its every movement. The recitative\nis first mainly applicable to the oratorio, either as the declamed\nnarration, or the more vivacious presentment of instantaneous\noccurrence; or, secondly, we find it in dramatic song, in which case\nit can appropriately express every shade of parenthetical statement,\nno less than every sort of passion, it matters not whether the result\nbe expressed in abrupt, curtailed, or fragmentary variation, or with\naphoristic violence, or in a dialogue of rapid lightning flashes\nand counter flashes, or in a more continuous stream. In both these\nprovinces of epic or dramatic poetry, we may add that instrumental\nmusic is a possible accompaniment. Its function in either case\nis either quite simply to emphasize the pauses in the harmonic\nprogression, or to interrupt the course of melody with incidental\nmusic, which, agreeably to the general import of the former, depicts in\nmusical language other aspects and movements of the situation.\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) What, however, we find defective in this declamatory recitative\nis just the qualities which are essentially characteristic of the pure\nmelody; these are the definite articulation and unification of its\nparts, the expression of that spiritual homogeneity or unity of which\nwe have spoken, that which, it is true, is confined in a particular\ncontent, but at the same time asserts its own sense of unity in that\ncontent, being enabled to do this through its refusal to be distracted\nor broken up by its absorption in particular aspects of it, or rather,\ninstead of this, still retaining in them as predominant its ideal\ncoalescence. For this reason the art of music cannot rest satisfied,\neven where we are dealing with the more sharply defined features\nof the libretto proposed, with such recitative of declamation; nor\nin general can it remain content with the unmediated _difference_\nbetween the pure melody, which, in comparison with it and as above\nexplained, floats over the particularity of the words, and the\nrecitative, whose task it is so far as possible to identify itself\nwith it. On the contrary we must look for some mode of _mediation_\nbetween these extremes. We may compare with this new type of unity a\nconstituent which entered into our consideration of the distinction\nbetween harmony and melody. This harmony was acknowledged as being not\nmerely the general, but to a like extent the essentially specific and\nparticularized foundation of melody; and far from the latter being\nthereby deprived of its freedom of movement, we found that it only\nthus secured for the same a power and definition comparable to that\nthe human organism secures by virtue of its consistent bone-structure,\nwhich only impedes inappropriate postures and movements, while it adds\nstability and security to the right ones.\n\nThis brings us to the final point of view of our discussion of music as\nan accompaniment.\n\n(_\u03b3_) This _third_ mode of expression consists in this that the melodic\nsong, which accompanies words, is also involved in their particularized\nsubstance, and thereby is not permitted to remain wholly indifferent\nto the principle of most force in recitative; rather it appropriates\nthis with the result that while it repairs its own defects in clear\ndefinition, it confers on the characteristic recitative an organic\narticulation and a unified self-consistency. For, as already observed,\neven that which is throughout melody is impossible without a certain\ndefined content. When, therefore, I mainly emphasized the fact that in\nall and every mode of it the tranquil self-reflection of the soul's\nown essential substance and ideal unity is the mode of expression\npeculiarly that of simple melody, inasmuch as, musically considered, it\npresents a similar unity and a similarly complete return upon itself, I\ndid so because I then had in view this aspect as the distinctive point\nof contrast between the pure melody and the recitative. It is, however,\nfurther incumbent on the melodic phrase to bring it about that its\nmode come into actual possession of that which in the first instance\nappears necessarily to have its movement outside it, and by means of\nthis replenishment, in so far as it then is equally of a declamatory\nor a melodic character, for the first time attain to a truly concrete\nexpression. It follows also from the converse point of view that the\ndeclamatory part of it is no longer independently aloof from it,\nbut finds its own one-sidedness supplemented in like manner by the\naccretion of melodic expression. This is what constitutes the necessary\ncondition of such concrete unity. In order to examine this more closely\nwe had better keep distinct the following points of view.\n\n_First_, it will be as well to glance at the kind of _libretto_, or\ntext, which is adapted to musical composition, and for this reason that\nit has been now proved that clear definition in the content of words\nadapted to music and its expression is of essential importance.\n\n_Secondly_, we have now introduced as a fresh constituent of\n_composition_ declamatory characterization; it will therefore be\nnecessary to consider this in its relation to the principle, which we,\nin the first instance, identified as that of melody.\n\n_Thirdly_, we must endeavour to specify the more prominent _modes_\nunder which we may review this type of musical expression.\n\n(_\u03b1\u03b1_) Music[466] is not merely in a general way an accompaniment of\nthe content of a work in a sphere which already engages our attention,\nbut it is part of its function, as already observed, to define still\nfurther the characterization of such a work. It is consequently an\ninjurious assumption that the construction of the libretto is a matter\nof indifference to the musical composition. We find, on the contrary,\nthat really distinguished musical compositions presuppose an excellent\nlibretto, carefully selected by the composers or actually written by\nthem. It is impossible that an artist should treat with indifference\nthe material with which he is dealing and a musician least of all,\nprecisely in the degree that poetry has already worked out and settled\nfor him the epic, lyrical, or dramatic configuration of the content in\nquestion.\n\nWhat is of first importance in the construction of a good\ntext is this that its content should be stamped by essential\n_self-consistency._[467] It is impossible that music should conjure\nforth an artistic product of real strength and penetration from what\nis commonplace, trivial, barren, or absurd. With all the spices and\nseasonings in the world your musical chef will never make a hare\npie out of a roasted cat. In the case of song compositions no doubt\nthe nature of the words is less decisive, yet even here we require\nwords with a really genuine content. From a further point of view,\nhowever, it is equally necessary that such a content should not tax\nour reflection too much, or aspire to philosophical profundity, as is\nrather the case with the lyrics of Schiller. In such an example the\nextraordinary range of pathos exceeds the musical expression of lyrical\nemotion. The same thing may be said of the choruses of Aeschylus\nand Sophocles. The penetrative power here displayed in imaginative\nconception is so exceptional, they are so elaborate in their detail\nwhether regarded in their scenic or ideal presentment, they are already\nso absolutely complete as poetry that we have nothing left for music\nto add to them[468]. We have literally no room left us for any further\nplay or exposition of ideal significance or movement beyond that\nalready presented. The more modern material and mode of treatment we\nfind in the so-called romantic poetry are in their type the strongest\ncontrast to these. Their pretension, as a rule, is that of being naive\nand popular; but we only too frequently find a _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ which is\nfinical, artificial, and stilted. Instead of pure and genuine emotions\nwe get a _simplicitas_ that is nothing but feeling worked upon and\nacting under the constraint of reflection; a false kind of yearning\nand affectation, which is far too complaisant with dulness, stupidity,\nand vulgarity, and is equally blind to the defects of passions, envy,\nlicence, and even devilish wickedness wholly without ideal content;\nwhich is, moreover, as self-satisfied with its assumed excellence in\nthe one case as it is with the dissolution and baseness of the other.\nEmotion that is spontaneous, simple, thorough, penetrative, is here\nentirely absent, and music, in any attempt to reproduce it, can suffer\nno greater injury. We may therefore accept the fact that neither mere\ndepth of thought, nor the vanity or worthlessness of mere emotion can\ngive us a satisfactory content. On the contrary what is most adapted\nfor music is a certain intermediate type of poetry, which we Germans\nare loth even to admit as poetry, and the true feeling and talent for\nwhich is more largely possessed by Italians and Frenchmen. It is a\npoetry of a genuine lyrical quality, extremely simple, which indicates\nsituations and emotions in a few words. Where it is more dramatic it\nremains luminous and vital without too involved a development; detail\nis not so much elaborated, but it is rather, as a rule, concerned to\nsupply general effects, than the completely articulate results of a\npoet's activity. We find here that the composer receives, in accordance\nwith his demand, merely the general foundation, upon which he can,\nin subordination to his own invention, and his own threshing out of\nmotives of every kind, erect his building, treating many aspects of the\nsubject as part of his own life and movement. For inasmuch as music\nhas to adapt itself to words, these words should not particularize\nthe picture too closely; if they do the musical declamation becomes\nabsorbed in trifles, lacking in a common impulse, too contracted in\nthe direction of particular features, and the unity and general effect\nis impaired. In this direction people are only too frequently at fault\nwhen expressing an opinion upon the excellence or insufficiency of a\nlibretto. It is one of the most common verdicts, for example, that\nthe libretto of the Magic Flute is hopelessly bad, though this piece\nof manufacture is nevertheless among the best of opera librettos.\nAmong the many wildly fantastic and commonplace productions of his\npen Schickaneder has in this for once hit the right track. The empire\nof Night, with its queen, the empire of the Sun, these mysteries,\nthese initiations, this Wisdom, Love, these ordeals, and with it all\nthis typically world-wise ethic, excellent in the breadth of its\napplicability--all this when combined with the depth, the bewitching\nloveliness and soul of the music expands and floods our imagination,\nand warms the heart.\n\nTo mention further examples, the old Latin texts of great masses and\nother services are unrivalled for religious music. This is in part\ndue to the fact that they set before us in the greatest simplicity\nand brevity the most general content of religious faith, in part also\nto this that they present in the same spirit the varied stages of\nemotion that accompany the substance of this in the consciousness of\nthe community of the faithful, and by doing both offer the musician a\nwide field for his own particular development. The great Requiem and\nmany selections from the Psalms are equally serviceable. In a similar\nway Handel welded his texts, partly from religious dogmas themselves,\nbut, above all, from scriptural passages and situations of symbolical\nimport, into a completely consistent whole.\n\nIn the field of lyrical poetry the more suitable for this purpose are\nthe emotional and shorter poems, in particular the simple ones, in\ncontent no less than speech, steeped in emotion, which penetrate into\none prevailing mood or affection, or those too of lighter and more gay\ncharacter. There is hardly a nation that does not possess such. In the\nsphere of drama I will only mention Metastasio, and with him Marmontel\nthe Frenchman, who, himself richly emotional, cultured, and lovable,\ninstructed Piccini in French, and knew so wisely how to combine in the\ndrama grace and vivacity with the skill and interest of the action and\ndevelopment. But before all else we shall do well to emphasize the\nlibretti of the famous operas of Gl\u00fcck. Without exception we shall\nfind their motives simple. The content they offer to the emotions is\nin a sphere the most sterling of all, depicting as they do the love of\nmother, wife, sister, friendship, honour, and so forth, and permitting\nthese simple motives and the form of their essential collisions to\nunfold in an atmosphere of tranquillity. And for this reason the\npassion they disclose is throughout pure, great, noble, and of plastic\nsimplicity.\n\n(_\u03b2\u03b2_) It is, then, the function of music, by the characterization of\nits expression no less than its wealth of pure melody, fittingly to\nreproduce a content of the above nature. And that we may obtain such\na result it is not merely necessary that the text contain in itself\nearnestness of heart, the comic and tragic greatness of human passion,\nthe depth of religious idea and emotion, the powers and fatalities\nthat the human breast discloses, the composer also on his part must be\nabsorbed wholly in the composition, and must have lived in and through\nit heart and soul.\n\nWhat is equally important is the relation under which what is\ncharacteristic and melodious in such music is on either hand\nassociated. The main point appears to be, that as between them it\nis the melodic expression which without exception, as the factor of\nsynthetic unity, which gains the day, rather than that which tends\nto distract and break up the whole into particular characterization.\nTo take an example of the latter case from modern dramatic music,\nthe effect often sought for here is one of powerful contrasts, and\nthis is brought about by forcing into one continuous stream of music,\nunder the conditions of conflict permitted to the art, contrasted\npassions. We have, it may be, expressed for us jollity, marriage,\nand festive associations, intermingled with which we may have hate,\nrevenge, hostility, so that for result we are presented a fine uproar\nin which joviality, delight, dance-music, passionate scolding, and\nthe very extremes of distraction are all involved. But contrasts of\ninterrupted life such as these are, and which tumble us from one side\nto another, without any principle of union, are opposed to harmonious\nbeauty precisely in the degree that the point of opposition in such\ncharacterization is acutely emphasized, and any return of the melody\nto a real self-repose and self-enjoyment is out of the question. And\nin general the union of the melodic and characteristic features of\nsuch music readily incurs the risk of overstepping the finely drawn\nboundaries of musical beauty, more especially when the intention is\nto express force, selfishness, evil, impetuosity, and other extremes\nof exclusive passion of a similar nature. The moment that music is\ninvolved in its abstract task of such characteristic limitation it can\nhardly avoid making for chaos, becoming, that is to say, more acute,\nunpliable, and, in fact, thoroughly unmelodious and unmusical, to the\nextent even of sheer misuse of discord.\n\nA similar result will be found if we look at the _different_ features\nof characterization generally. I mean that if these are strongly\nemphasized in their independent form the connection between themselves\nand other traits is readily weakened and their self-subsistency in\nrepose is at once evident: but in musical exposition our difficulty is,\nwe have an essential movement throughout, and it is in this progression\nthat we are forced to look for the relation of stability; this being so\nthe isolation of effect cannot fail to act injuriously on the flow and\nunity of the music.\n\nGenuine beauty in music consists, under the aspect now being\ndiscussed, in this, that while there is no doubt a movement towards\ncharacterization out of that which is simply melodic, yet within the\nsphere of this more defined articulation[469], the melodic aspect\nis still maintained as the sustaining soul and unity, much as we\nfind in what is most characteristic in the paintings of Raphael the\nfundamental tone of beauty is throughout conserved. Melody is then not\nwithout definite significance, but in all such definition betrays a\ncoalescing and suffusing principle of life, and more characteristic\ndetail presents itself merely as the emphasized prominence of certain\naspects, which are none the less always and essentially fused again\nin this medium of unity and animation. To hit off the just mean in\nthis respect is, however, a more difficult task for music than the\nother arts, for the reason that music surrenders itself more readily\nto such antagonistic modes of expression. For this reason criticism\nover musical composition is almost always divided into two camps.\nThe one attaches most importance to the melodic structure, the other\nprefers further advance in characterization. Handel, for example, who\nfrequently in his operas insisted on having certain lyrical episodes\nemphasized acutely, had to face many a tussle on this head with Italian\nsingers, and was finally compelled, when the public ranged itself on\nthe side of the Italians, to confine himself wholly to the composition\nof oratorios, in which field his genius pre-eminently asserted itself.\nIn the time of Gl\u00fcck also the long and vehement controversy between\nthe supporters of Gl\u00fcck and Piccini is famous. Rousseau also in his\nturn insisted on the superiority of the more melodious Italian music\nas compared with the deficiency in this respect of the earlier French\ncomposers. We have in our own days the same old controversy waged for\nor against Rossini and the more modern Italian school. The opponents of\nthe former condemn his music as if it were so much empty ear-tickling;\nif we, however, assimilate his melodies more generously we shall find\nthat there is much in this music of real feeling and genius; it is not\nwithout a real message to our faculties, although it does not make any\nclaim to the characteristic effects, which are more especially dear\nto our severe German musical sense. And indeed it must be admitted\nthat only too often Rossini says good-bye to his libretto, and gives\nfree vent to his melodies, precisely as his mood dictates, so that\nwe have nothing left us but the alternative either to stick to the\nsubject-matter and grumble over the music that is indifferent to it,\nor abandon the former and take our hearty delight in the inspired\nirrelevances of the composer and the soul which they reveal[470].\n\n(_\u03b3\u03b3_) I will now in conclusion briefly summarize the most notable\n_forms_ of music regarded as accompaniment.\n\n_First_, in the order of our classification we may mention\n_ecclesiastical_ music. Music of this type, in so far as it is not\nconcerned with the personal emotion of individuals, but with the\nsubstantive content of emotion in its widest compass, or shall we say\nthe universal emotion of the community viewed collectively, is in\na large measure throughout of _epical_ consistency, even though it\ninstructs us in no events in so many words. How an artistic conception\nis able to be epical in significance, though we have in it no narrative\nof event, we shall endeavour to explain at a later stage when we come\nto deal more closely with epic poetry. This fundamentally religious\nmusic is among the profoundest and most impressive creations that Art\ncan bring into being in any sphere whatever. Its true position, in so\nfar, that is, as it is associated with the sacerdotal petition for the\ncommunity, we find in the cult of _Roman Catholicism_, conjoint with\nthe Mass, and more generally as a means of musical devotion attendant\nto the most varied ecclesiastical functions and festivals. Protestants\ncan also boast of musicians of the profoundest gifts not merely as\nreligious men, but also in the sterling character and opulence of\ntheir imaginative resource or executive ability. Sebastian Bach here\nstands before us as the master of masters. For the first time in our\nown day we have been taught to appreciate at something like its value\nthe great genius of this man, his truly protestant, robust temper, and\nwithal his profound erudition. Of first importance we may observe in\nthis connection, and in contrast to the direction followed by the music\nof Catholicism, the emergence in complete form of the oratorio, in the\nfirst instance out of the Passion music. Nowadays, of course, music\nfor Protestantism is no longer so closely associated with the cult of\nreligion, nor so essentially a part of its services; and indeed it is\noften more a matter of exercise in musical scholarship than a really\nvital creation.\n\n_Second_ in order we have _lyrical_ music, which expresses in melody\nisolated moods, and for the most part should be disjoined from the\nwholly characteristic or declamatory mode, although it may rightly\nundertake to combine with its expression the specific content of the\nwords illustrated, whether their import be religious or otherwise.\n\nTempestuous passions, however, which neither issue in repose or\nfinality, the unresolved division of the heart, emotional distraction\ndestitute of all relief, such experiences are more suitably reproduced\nas an integral part of _dramatic_ music; they are out of place in the\nharmonious consistency of the lyrical mode.\n\nThis _dramatic_ form is then our _third_ and final division. The\ntragedy of the ancients was associated with music; but this aspect\nwas not emphasized, and for this reason that in truly poetical works\nprecedence must necessarily be given to human speech and the poet's\nown exposition of ideas and emotion; the only way music could in these\ntimes assist--which in its harmonic and melodic expression had not as\nyet reached that of a subsequent Christian era--was mainly from the\nrhythmical point of view by heightening with increased animation the\nmusical sound of the poetical language, and thereby bringing the same\nmore home to the heart.\n\nDramatic music, however, receives a really independent position when\nonce the form of church music is essentially complete, and in lyrical\nexpression some degree of perfection has been attained. We find this\nin our modern operas and operettas. It must be admitted that from\nthe point of view of song the _operetta_ is a half-way house of less\nimportance, one which mixes together with no vital connection speech\nand song, what is musical and unmusical, the language of prose and that\nof melody. It is a common objection no doubt that song in the drama is\nwithout exception unnatural. Such an objection cannot be pressed, and\nwould be far less open to argument as against the opera, in which from\nthe first line to the last every idea, emotion, passion, and resolve is\naccompanied by and expressed in song. On the contrary, it is rather the\noperetta which still requires justification in so far as it introduces\nmusic in which we have a more animated presentment of the emotions and\npassions, or the latter are adapted for such presentment, while in\nthe juxtaposition of a confused melody of prosaic dialogue with these\nartistically treated interludes of song we have what is a perpetual\nembarrassment. In other words, the emancipation of art is incomplete.\nIn genuine _opera_, however, in which the action throughout receives\nits musical analogue, we are once and for all transported into an ideal\nworld of art, the atmosphere of which is throughout the work maintained\nin so far as the music accepts for its fundamental content the ideal\naspects of emotional stress, the particular phases of such in specific\nsituations, and the conflicts of passion, that it may, by virtue of\nthe more complete effects of its expression, add the final emphasis\nthey would otherwise have lost. Conversely in the _vaudeville_, where\nairs already popular and well known are set to the more pointed and\narresting rhymes, singing is merely a self-imposed kind of irony. The\nfact that there is singing at all is intended to be taken rather as\nparody or amusement: here the main point is the meaning of the text and\nits fun, and the singing has no sooner ceased than we laugh that it\nshould ever have commenced.\n\n(_b_) _Independent Music_\n\nWe may compare melody, as an essentially self-contained and\nself-supported whole, to plastic sculpture; in the more detailed\ncharacterization of painting we shall find an analogous type to\nthat of musical declamation. And inasmuch as in the latter case we\nhave an aggregate of specific differentia unfolded such as the more\nsimple movement of the human voice is unable in all its variety\nto express, the more all these many aspects of life enter into the\nmovement of the music, to that extent instrumental music is a necessary\naccompaniment. In addition to this, as a _farther_ point of view,\nwhether in its relation to the music that accompanies a libretto, or\nthe characteristic expression of the words, we have to recognize in its\nfreedom a content of definite ideas, which is, as transmitted, wholly\nindependent of musical sound.\n\nNow what constitutes the essential principle of music is the ideality\nof the soul-life. But this innermost, or ideality of the concrete self\nis the subjective state in its bare simplicity, that is, as defined by\nno assured content, and for this reason not forced into motion either\none way or another, but reposing on its unity in unfettered freedom.\nAnd if this subjective principle is to come entirely to its own in\nmusic also it must rid itself of a traditional text, and in all purity,\nout of its own resources, master its content, the movement and the kind\nof expression, the unity and development of its creation, the carrying\nout of a main conception, no less than all episodical or incidental\nmatter; and in doing this, for the reason that the significance of the\nwhole is not expressed in language, it must restrict its means to those\nexclusively of musical value. And this is what does take place in the\nsphere I have already described as _independent_ music. Music, as an\naccompaniment, possesses that which it undertakes to express outside\nits own domain; to this extent it is associated in its expression\nwith that which does not belong to it as music, but to an alien art,\npoetry. If music is to be nothing but music simply, it must disengage\nitself from this factor, which it has only borrowed elsewhere, detach\nitself absolutely from the definite substance of language. Thus alone\nit becomes entirely free. And this is the point we have now to examine\nmore closely.\n\nWe have already noticed the beginnings of such an emancipation within\nthe limits of music as an accompaniment. For though it is true that\nin part here music was compelled by the force of poetical language\nto be subservient, yet also in part it either moved in benign repose\nover the more _limited_ characterization of the words or removed\nitself entirely from the significance of ideas therein expressed, to\nexpatiate of its free will in the musical language of joy or sorrow.\nThe same result is apparent in its effect on an audience, the public\nas we say, and more especially in its attitude to the music of drama.\nIn other words, an opera has many constituents. We have the local\ncondition, landscape and the rest, or the movement of the action, or\nincidental episodes and pageants. From another point of view we are\nconfronted with human passions and their expression. In short, there\nis a twofold content--namely, the external action and the soul-emotion\nthat corresponds. If we take the action simply we shall find that,\nthough it is that in which all the parts cohere, yet regarded merely\nin its movement forward it is less adapted to musical expression and\nmainly elaborated in recitative. With a content of this nature an\naudience is not so arrested; its attention is particularly liable to\nwander off from the dialogue of recitation, and to fix itself upon\nthe portion of the work that is really musical and melodious. We have\nan exceptional illustration of this--I have already adverted to the\nfact--in our modern Italian opera, which is from the first made to\nfall in with the custom of the audience to engage in conversation, or\nother ways of enjoying itself, during the chatter or trivialities of\nthe musical dialogue, and which only returns to that part of the music\nwhich is truly music, with the full measure of sympathetic attention,\nenjoyment, and delight. In this case we find, then, that composer,\nno less than audience, barely fall short of bidding good-bye to the\nlibretto's substance altogether, and of treating music for the purposes\nof enjoyment as an absolutely independent art.\n\n(_\u03b1_) The true province of such independence is, however, not the\naccompaniment of vocal music undeniably conditioned by a text, but\ninstrumental music simply. As already observed, the human voice is the\nappropriate musical expression of man's inner life in its entirety, a\nlife also expressed in ideas and words, which therefore discovers in\nits own voice and song its distinctive organ, so often as it seeks to\nexpress and recover this inner world of its ideas permeated throughout\nwith the concentrated intensity of emotion. In the case of instruments\ntaken by themselves, however, this basis of an associated text of words\ndisappears; here we find an opening for the empire of a music that is\nconfined strictly to its own unassisted powers.\n\n(_\u03b2_) Such a music of particular instruments presented us in quartets,\nquintets, sextets, symphonies and the like, without text or vocal\nmusic, remains unrelated to any movement of ideas independently\nasserted, and is for this very reason compelled to have recourse to\nemotions of a more indefinite character, emotions which in such music\ncan only be expressed in general terms. The aspect of importance\nhere, in short, is the varied motion of the music simply, the ups\nand downs of the harmony or melody, the stream of sound through\nits degrees of opposition, preponderance, emphasis, acuteness or\nvivacity, the elaboration of a melodic phrase in every respect that\nis suitable to the means of musical art, the musician-like fusion of\nall the instruments as one _ensemble_ of tone, or in their succession,\nalternation, and emphatic display of themselves and each other. It is\nin this sphere pre-eminently that the distinction between the _ordinary\nperson_ and the _expert_ of music asserts itself. The ordinary man\nlikes best in music an expression of emotion and ideas that is at once\nintelligible, that whereof the content is obvious; his predilection\nis consequently for music under the mode of an accompaniment. The\nconnoisseur, on the contrary, who is able to follow the relation of\nmusical sounds and instruments as composition, enjoys the artistic\nresult of harmonious modulation, and its interwoven melodies and\ntransitions on its own merits. He is entirely absorbed by this alone,\nand is interested in comparing the detail to which he listens with the\nrules and principles he is fully able to apply to it, in order thus\nto follow the performance with judgment and delight, although even in\nhis case it frequently happens that our modern type of virtuosity,\nwith variations in tempo or other nuances for which our connoisseur\nis unprepared, will perplex him not a little. A complete satisfaction\nof this kind comes rarely to the mere amateur. He is seized with the\nvain desire to master this apparently phantomnal process of music, to\ndiscover arresting points for his attention in the musical development,\nand generally more definite ideas and a more detailed content in the\nvolume of sound that invades him. In this respect he seeks to attach to\nmusic a symbolical significance, yet can find in the same little beyond\nmysterious problems that vanish in the moment they are propounded,\nwhich baffle his powers of solution and in general are capable of a\nvariety of interpretations.\n\nThe _composer_ is able, it is true, on his part to associate with\nhis work a definite significance, a content of specific ideas and\nemotions, which are expressed articulately in movement that excludes\nall else; conversely he can, in complete indifference to such a scheme,\ndevote himself to musical structure simply and the assertion of his\ngenius in such architectonic. Composition, however, of this character\nreadily tends to become defective both in the range of its conception\nand emotional quality, and as a rule does not imply any profound\ncultivation of mind or taste in other respects. And by reason of the\nfact that such a content is not necessary, it frequently happens that\nthe gift of musical composition not merely will show considerable\ndevelopment in very early age, but composers of eminence remain their\nlife long men of the poorest and most impoverished intellectual faculty\nin other directions. More penetration of character may be assumed where\nthe composer even in instrumental music is equally attentive to both\naspects of composition; in other words, the expression of a content,\nif necessarily less defined than in our previous mode, no less than\nits musical structure, by which means it will be in his power at one\ntime to emphasize the melody, at another the depth and colour of the\nharmony, or finally to fuse each with the other.\n\n(_\u03b3_) We have throughout posited subjectivity in its unconstrained\npresentment within the limits of music as the general principle of this\ntype of composition. This independence of a content already proposed\nto it from an alien source will, however, more or less assert itself\nin opposition to mere caprice, though the restrictions under which\nit admits it are not defined rigorously. For, albeit this type of\ncomposition has its own rules and modes, the authority of which no\nmere whim or fancy can reject, yet they are regulations which only\naffect the broader aspects of music; in actual detail there is no end\nto the opportunity which the inner content of soul-life[471], provided\nit once accepts the boundaries fixed by the essential conditions of\nmusical composition, may discover for its otherwise free expatiation\nand exposition. And, in fact, as a result of the elaboration of modes\ncongenial to this type, the caprice of individual composers asserts,\nin contrast to the steady advance of purely melodic expression and\nmusic in association with a definite text, a practically unrestrained\nmastery in every sort of conceit, caprice, interlude, inspiriting\ndrollery, startling suspension, rapid transition, lightning flashes,\nextraordinary surprises and effects.\n\n(_c_) _The Artist as Executant_\n\nIn sculpture and painting we have a work of art presented us as an\nexternal and independent _result_ of artistic activity; we do not\nregard this activity itself as the actual creation of life[472]. It is,\nhowever, necessary to the presentation of a musical work of art that we\nshould have an executant musician in co-operation, just as in dramatic\npoetry we have the representative presence of living manhood as an\nessential factor in this type of art's realization.\n\nWe have, then, reviewed musical composition under the two aspects, that\nis to say, in so far as it sought to conform with a specific content,\nor struck out on its own free path of independence. We may now in the\nsame way distinguish between two main types of purely executive art.\nThe one is wholly absorbed in the work of art on hand, and makes no\nattempt to reproduce anything over and beyond this. The other, on the\ncontrary, is not simply reproductive; it actually creates expression,\ndelivery, in short the essential animation of the work, not merely from\nthe composition as composed, but predominantly from its own resources.\n\n(_\u03b1_) In the case of the epic poem, wherein the poet seeks to unfold\nan objective world of event and modes of action, the rhapsodist, who\nrecites it, has no occasion to do anything further than wholly withdraw\nthe expression of his own personality in the presence of the exploits\nand events he brings home to us. The more reserved he is in this\nrespect the better; indeed such recitation is not incompatible with a\nmonotoned and unemphasized delivery. What is effective here is the fact\nof the poem, the poetical execution, the narrative itself, not its\nrealization in voice and speech. This illustration will suggest to us\nthe _rationale_ for our first type of musical reproduction. In other\nwords, if the composition is in a similar way of a genuine objective\nquality, in the sense that the composer has simply translated his\nsubject-matter, or the emotion that is absorbed with it, into musical\nlanguage, the artistic reproduction should retain the same objective\ncharacter. It is not merely true that here there is no reason for\nthe executant to import into it his idiosyncrasies; by doing so he\nnecessarily impairs the true artistic effect. He must subordinate\nhimself entirely to the character of the work, and prescribe to himself\nsimply this attitude of attention. On the other hand, he must not,\nas is too frequently the case, confuse such an attitude with that\nof the purely servile artisan, and lower himself to the level of an\norgan-grinder. If such execution is to retain any artistic claim the\nartist is bound to avoid leaving the impression of a musical automaton,\nwhich merely repeats its prescribed lesson mechanically, and instead\nto animate the entire work with the heart and soul of the composer\nhimself. The virtuosity of such a vital reproduction is restricted,\nhowever, to the just elucidation of the technical difficulties\npresented by the work, and in doing so the object will be not merely to\ncover any appearance of triumph over an exacting task, but to portray\nthe freest movement under such conditions, and, in so far as superior\nartistic endowment and experience can in the particular case manage\nto do so, attain in the reproduction to the spiritual altitude of the\ncomposer and reflect the same in actual performance.\n\n(_\u03b2_) It is another matter when we come to deal with works of art,\nin which personal idiosyncrasy and caprice are even by the composer\nhimself features brought into prominence, and where generally we\nfind the traces of such a clearly objective quality in expression,\nthe treatment of the harmonic or characteristic development less\npronounced. In such a case the _bravura_ of virtuosity is, it is our\nfirst distinction, quite admissible; and over and above this executive\nability is not only limited to the reproduction of the actual score,\nbut may considerably amplify; an artist will _himself_ add to the\ncomposition in his delivery, supplement defects, add substance to what\nis comparatively superficial, import into parts a new life, and in\ndoing so assert independent judgment and invention. In the Italian\nopera, for example, much is always left to the singer's discretion; in\nparticular where we have embellishments a more liberal opportunity of\ndisplay is granted, and in so far as the exposition of sound is further\nremoved from the mere interpretation of the libretto, the execution in\nits independence becomes a more spontaneous flow of melody, in which\nthe soul of the singer is permitted to enjoy itself and exult in its\nown free rapture. When therefore it is objected that Rossini for one\nhas made the singer's task too easy, the stricture is only in part\njustified. The difficulty is none the less there, only he frequently\nleaves it to the trained intelligence of the executant to work it out\nfor himself. If in the result we are conscious of the cooperation of\ngenius, the work as thus reproduced makes an exceptionally favourable\nimpression. We have not merely a _work of art_ reproduced, but we\nare conscious at the same time of actual _musical creation._ In\nthis very present realization of life the external conditions of\nartistic reproduction disappear, such as place, opportunity, the\nlocal associations of a divine service, the content and intent of a\ndramatical situation; we have no further need for, nor do we desire\nany text, we have left us simply the unspecialized impulse of emotion,\nin the element of which the soul of the artist can surrender itself\nwithout let or hindrance to its own rapture, displaying thereby\ninventive genius, the finest qualities of emotion, and a mastery of\ntechnique; and in fact, provided we find the right spirit, ability, and\npersonal charm to justify it, it may venture to interrupt the flow of\nmelody itself with humour, caprice and virtuosity, and accept for once\nthe moods and suggestions of the moment.\n\n(_\u03b3_) This kind of virtuosity is yet more remarkable in cases where\nthe instrument is not the human voice, but one of _human invention._\nBy this I mean to say that such naturally in the kind of sound they\nproduce are further removed from the soul's direct expression;\nthey are in relation to that of an external object, apiece of dead\nmechanism, and music is essentially a spiritual movement and activity.\nWhen we find, therefore, this externality of the instrument vanishes\naltogether, in the case, that is, where the music of the soul breaks\nright through this alien crust of mechanism, by means of such\nvirtuosity, even an instrument of this character is transformed\ninto one as fully adapted to express the soul of the artist as it\nis possible to conceive. Among the memories of my youth I can still\nrecall the case of an astonishing executant on the guitar, who in\nhis own eccentric fashion had composed huge battle-pieces for this\ncomparatively insignificant instrument. By profession, if I remember\nrightly, he was a weaver, and in conversation he had little enough\nto say for himself. But no sooner did he begin to play than one\nwholly forgot the absurd pretensions of his composition, forgot these\nprecisely as he forgot all else but the music, and the marvellous\nresult he made of it by being totally absorbed body and soul in his\ninstrument, entirely witless of any form of nobler execution than that\nexpressed in the tones of a guitar[473].\n\nA virtuosity of this type, in so far as it asserts such a unique\nsuperiority, is not only a proof of extraordinary mastery over\nmaterial forces, but we receive from it as it strides victoriously\nover difficulties apparently unplayable, even turns aside to add to\nthem, or in wayward mood breaks in upon us jestingly with I know not\nwhat interruptions and surprises, and by original invention even\nmakes us enjoy what would otherwise be vulgar, is a direct reflection\nof absolutely free soul-life[474]. It is quite true that a mere\ncharlatan[475] of this type is unable to produce original works of\nart; but where real genius is part of the endowment we can have\nextraordinary mastery in composition no less than over a particular\ninstrument, the limitations of which this virtuosity lays itself\nout to overcome, and in audacious vindication of its triumph will\nreproduce the artistic effects of other instruments entirely remote\nin other hands from its own. It is an accomplishment of this kind\nwhich delights us with our acutest sense of the life of music. And\nthis riddle of riddles we discover in the fact that a mere piece of\nmechanical craft can become an instrument one with our life, which\nenables us to follow, as through a flash of lightning, a power of ideal\nconception no less than execution, by virtue of which the imagination\nof genius penetrates to the core of life as instantaneously as it\nvanishes therefrom.\n\nSuch, then, are the most essential features, which I have selected from\nmy own experience of music, the more general points of view which I\nhave detached from the subject and concentrated attention upon in the\npresent discussion.\n\n\n[Footnote 377: _Ein festes Daseyn_, lit., an assured existence.]\n\n[Footnote 378: We should not expect the plural. Hegel apparently\nincludes the transitional relief of sculpture.]\n\n[Footnote 379: Lit., \"But also strives to set itself back into the\nprevious condition.\" He refers to the mutual relation of tones.]\n\n[Footnote 380: _In sich selbst Ideellgezetzte._ That is, posited as\nideal in the way music does with its object, as to which further\nexplanation is given below.]\n\n[Footnote 381: It is difficult to follow closely this very technical\ninterpretation of musical sound, and a doubt may be perhaps permitted\nas to whether it corresponds to the scientific facts. I mean it does\nnot appear fully to do justice to the reaction of the organ of human\nhearing itself and the intelligence with which it is related upon\nthe sound waves that through such mediation are cognized as musical\nsound. The ideality appears to me to be more complete than even Hegel's\ntheory would suggest, or, at any rate, some of his expressions. And\nsurely, too, in sight, though it may be true we see independent\nobjects, we only do so, in so far as their secondary qualities\nare concerned, by virtue of a considerable action of what he here\ncalls _Seelenhaftigkeit._ But this is not the place for more than a\nsuggestion. The main points of contrast are in Hegel's interpretation\nsufficiently obvious.]\n\n[Footnote 382: _Des K\u00f6rpers._ I am not sure that I quite follow the\nmeaning of this second moment of negation. If it means the reaction\nor synthetic process of human hearing it removes in great measure the\nobjection above. We then have as the twofold negation the negation\nby the ideality of sound and that through the human sense. But owing\nto Hegel's use of _Material_ to indicate the medium which is subject\nto oscillation, it would rather appear to mean that one vibration is\ncancelled by another.]\n\n[Footnote 383: _Das an und f\u00fcr sich schon etwas Ideelleres ist._ This\nwould correspond to the ideality of the first negation of spatial\ncondition.]\n\n[Footnote 384: He means its own ideal existence. _Aufgeben_ must here\nbe used in the primary sense of \"delivers.\" He does not mean that it\ngives expression to the ideality of spirit; this is added by the next\nclause.]\n\n[Footnote 385: This is, I think, Hegel's meaning for _das an sich\nselbst Subjektive._ Its content is also formally ideal or abstract as\nabove explained, but to express this he would rather have used the word\n_ideell_ or _innerlich._ It is also, as I have pointed out, in great\nmeasure ideal in the sense that as musical tone it is not natural even\nin the qualified sense that colour is. It is even more dependent on the\nhuman organism for its quality and synthesis. But I do not think Hegel\nmeans subjective in this sense, but that it directly expresses human\nemotion.]\n\n[Footnote 386: Both ideas are contained in the word _Verschweben_,\nwhich means to hover and slowly vanish away.]\n\n[Footnote 387: _Figurationen._ Their modal combinations.]\n\n[Footnote 388: It is obvious that in this respect music to some extent\ninfringes on the distinction Hegel has already pointed out between its\ncontent and that of poetry.]\n\n[Footnote 389: By _verst\u00e4ndige Formen_ Hegel means, of course, forms\nthat express an artistic, that is, an intelligible purpose. The whole\npassage is not very clearly expressed. The general meaning is, however,\nthat as architecture surrounds its statues with a medium of material\nenvironment co-ordinated by artistic design and invention, so, too,\nmusic in its medium of emotional content is equally indefinite and may\nbe used as an accompaniment (as architecture is a kind of accompaniment\nto statuary) in the melodic play of its harmonies to definite ideas\nin uttered speech. The reader of Browning will doubtless recollect\nthe fine use made of architecture as metaphorical illustration in the\npoem \"Abt Vogler.\" I think it was Schopenhauer who first spoke of\narchitecture as frozen music. But Schelling speaks of it in the same\nway.]\n\n[Footnote 390: I presume Hegel here refers primarily to scholastic\nmusic, musical exercises intended to exhibit the structure of music.\nThe exercises, for example, of Cramer or Fuchs. Bach's forty-eight\nfugues would occupy a transitional place.]\n\n[Footnote 391: _Tonseele._ There is, of course, something almost mystic\nin Hegel's conception of musical sound as the ideality issuing from the\nmaterial world.]\n\n[Footnote 392: That is, sculpture and painting.]\n\n[Footnote 393: By _Haltpunkte_ Hegel appears to mean material that will\nact as stays and supports in contrast to those which are indifferent.]\n\n[Footnote 394: I presume by _solchen festen Bestimmungen_ Hegel refers\nto the general definition of artistic function just enunciated. But\nthe sense may possibly be, \"while the point of departure is the stable\ndeterminations of natural form.\"]\n\n[Footnote 395: We are inevitably reminded of the release which Art was\nto such men as Beethoven, Dante, Milton, and Blake.]\n\n[Footnote 396: In the theme.]\n\n[Footnote 397: It seems doubtful how how far a musician would accept\nthis at least in so far as it applies to classical music of the formal\ntype. The development, for instance, on the repetition of a theme in a\nsonata is at least part of the formal content of the sonata movement as\na whole.]\n\n[Footnote 398: _Ein Auseinandergehen._ Variations on a theme would be\na good example. But surely the development of a theme may do precisely\nthis in great measure, I mean disclose both the depth of it and its\nconcentration.]\n\n[Footnote 399: No doubt this is so if we assume the content to be\nmainly a theme, a motive. But the content of a movement includes the\ndevelopment. The main difference after all is the fundamental one that\nin music the content is unfolded in a time series and in the plastic\narts instantaneously in spatial form. And in poetry the apprehension is\nalso in a temporal series.]\n\n[Footnote 400: It is impossible in English to reflect the play of words\nbetween _Erinnerung_ (memory) and _Er-innerung_ (self-penetration or\nideal realization).]\n\n[Footnote 401: I am not sure whether Hegel exactly means by\n_Phantasiren_ what we understand as Improvization. But it is the\nonly form of music that strictly applies to his definition. Even the\nrhapsodies of Liszt are controlled by the form, as in a sense all music\nis.]\n\n[Footnote 402: As the plastic arts. It certainly is not so closely\nassociated with a definition given outside it by Nature, that is, but\nit is obviously very closely associated to the formal modes of music,\nsuch as the laws of counterpoint, fugue, sonata, etc.]\n\n[Footnote 403: The first is its relation to architecture, the second\nthat to the plastic arts.]\n\n[Footnote 404: That is, the ideas. By \"receiving self-subsistency\"\nHegel means it maybe regarded independent of the art, something\nessentially outside it.]\n\n[Footnote 405: By _Ton_ Hegel means, of course, musical sound. The\nobject of music is music and ideas only in so far as they are expressed\nin music.]\n\n[Footnote 406: _In diesem Freiwerden._ In this free medium of its\nexistence.]\n\n[Footnote 407: How far would Hegel have applied this criticism to the\ngreat symphonies of his compatriots? I think it is obvious, at any\nrate, that his criticism of pure music is somewhat lacking in sympathy.\nNowadays it is not even a wholly obvious fact that the song or the\nopera are the most popular. The truth is that musical education, and\nthat is what the appreciation of programme or symphonic music implies,\nhas made enormous strides since his day. But his criticism will still\nhold for many in regard to more modern developments in Strauss and his\nschool.]\n\n[Footnote 408: By _fertig_ Hegel must mean here that the world of\npoetry is one whose claims to independent coherence is generally\nacknowledged.]\n\n[Footnote 409: By \"universal\" Hegel appears to mean more universally\nintelligible, He uses the same word in a like sense just below.]\n\n[Footnote 410: If Hegel means to imply that pure music, in so far\nas it presents ideas by suggestion, has any advantage over music\nthe effect of which is entirely a musical effect he is on dangerous\nground. The Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven may or may not be more\npopular than Beethoven's other symphonies, but it is unquestionable\nthat its artistic merit depends exclusively on its claims as musical\ncomposition. And indeed its worth as music suggestive of ideas is\nmainly so great because, as Beethoven himself claimed, it is rather a\nsuggestion of emotional mood than the imitation of natural sounds or\nthe suggestion of distinct ideas. So far as popularity or universality\nof appeal is concerned, he may be right. But this is obviously no\nfinal test of the significance of music as compared with other arts,\nthough it may mark a distinguishing feature. And surely music expresses\nemotions at least \"as they are\" (_selber_) more directly than poetry.\nPoetry no doubt gives them as we express them in ordinary life. But\nmusic makes us feel them as they are unexpressed in our souls, a still\nhigher grade of reality.]\n\n[Footnote 411: Hegel probably never heard Beethoven's ninth symphony\nwith its \"Song of Joy.\" As to its success as set to music there may be\ntwo opinions, but the fact that it is the culmination of so celebrated\na composition is in itself a qualification of Hegel's statement.]\n\n[Footnote 412: Both Mendelssohn and Schumann deplored the fact that\nthey could get no really good libretto and would unquestionably\nnot have received all the statements here without considerable\nqualification. Hegel appears to be too dominated by the character of\nItalian opera. German opera as further developed by Wagner and even\nin the hands of Beethoven and Gl\u00fcck and Weber makes a very different\ndemand. It is unquestionably true that there must be a certain\nreciprocity of quality between the two. But some of the finest music\nhas been written for some of the finest poetical language, namely that\nof our Bible. Composers like Bach, Handel, and S. S. Wesley insisted on\nhaving the very best form of their religious ideas they could obtain.]\n\n[Footnote 413: Lit., \"Within the purely musical realm of tones.\"\nHegel's strictures would only apply to the most formal kind of\nexercises or studies. It would really be a misnomer to say that\nChopin's studies for the piano or Spohr's or even Kreutzer's exercises\nfor the violin wholly come under it.]\n\n[Footnote 414: It is on this ground that Aristotle calls music the most\nimitative art. They represent emotions directly without the mediatory\noffice of Nature's objectivity (_vide_ \"Three Lectures on Aesthetic,\"\nby Bernard Bosanquet, p. 53).]\n\n[Footnote 415: It is more subjective because the content is more ideal,\nand more closely related to the artist's personal qualities.]\n\n[Footnote 416: More definite than feeling and soul-life is from tone.]\n\n[Footnote 417: That is, vanishes with the evanescence of the music.]\n\n[Footnote 418: _Die Geschicklichkeit eines virtuosen Machwerks.\nMachwerk_ is used, of course, in a depreciating sense. The contrast is\nbetween it and a truly inspired composition.]\n\n[Footnote 419: Lit., \"Of the business on hand.\"]\n\n[Footnote 420: _Gleichg\u00fcltig._ I am not sure whether Hegel means\nfortuitous in the sense that Nature in its abstraction is such, or\npurely objective, _i.e._, no self-reflection, probably the latter. They\nare \"dead elements.\"]\n\n[Footnote 421: That is, spatial externality.]\n\n[Footnote 422: The meaning appears to me that apart from conscious life\nwhich can contrast the fleeting moments of Time with its permanent\nself-identity the process is without meaning--there is no process, it\nis a \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03ac \u03c1\u03b5\u1fd6 with no differentiation.]\n\n[Footnote 423: It cancels itself in so far as it makes itself an\nobject. The dialectical movement of self-consciousness is here viewed\nin the bare form of its original abstraction.]\n\n[Footnote 424: _Das Ich als solches._]\n\n[Footnote 425: _Abgeschmackte._ Not so much bad taste here as false\njudgment.]\n\n[Footnote 426: _Auffasst._ Hegel would appear to mean the intelligent\nhearer rather than the composer, though the word would refer to either.\nEven then it is not clear why music should not be said to exist by its\nmere performance. But, of course, such presupposes the human executant,\nand this is possibly what Hegel intends to imply.]\n\n[Footnote 427: _N\u00fcancirt._ Made subject to the nuances or modifications\nintroduced into such relations.]\n\n[Footnote 428: _Verstand_ as contrasted with _Vernunft._ The analytical\nfaculty of science.]\n\n[Footnote 429: That is, the quantitative basis.]\n\n[Footnote 430: _Die haltungslose Dauer._ That is, a duration that is\nunbroken by arresting points in its progress.]\n\n[Footnote 431: That is, self-conscious, synthetic unity holding the\ntemporal process in relation to itself. It thus becomes not merely a\n_werden_ but a _f\u00fcr sich seyn._ In contrast to the purely abstract\nprocess the self is _das Bei sich selbstseyende_ _i.e._, that which\npersists along with itself. This totality or aggregate of particulars\nHegel calls _Sammlung._ The analysis is really an analysis of the form\nof conscious experience.]\n\n[Footnote 432: This is the converse case of a series of definite points\nof contrast, but unrelated by any integrating principle. I admit\nfrankly that I am not sure I have wholly seized the meaning in these\ndifficult paragraphs. I have adhered in my translation, therefore, as\nclosely as possible to the original.]\n\n[Footnote 433: _Markirte._]\n\n[Footnote 434: _Herrschende Regel._]\n\n[Footnote 435: Because their orbits are elliptical and motion is\naccelerated as they approach the focus.]\n\n[Footnote 436: _Verlebendigung._]\n\n[Footnote 437: He means of a specific collection of words, sentences.]\n\n[Footnote 438: _Perioden._]\n\n[Footnote 439: _Umschwung._ Perhaps all that is meant is the return to\nthe previous level, as we should speak of the rise and fall of voices.]\n\n[Footnote 440: _Ein K\u00f6rper._]\n\n[Footnote 441: _Seiner zeitlichen Gestalt._]\n\n[Footnote 442: _Gezwungene._ I presume the meaning is that the\noscillations are effected by a curved form of musical instrument.]\n\n[Footnote 443: I am not sure there is not a certain confusion here.\nOur text, at any rate, when speaking of wind instruments, refers to\nthe column of air as the medium of sound, but in the case of stringed\ninstruments draws attention rather to the thing which creates the\nwaves of vibration, the string itself. The nature of the timbre of\nan instrument is no doubt an important one, but it may be questioned\nwhether this distinction between line or column and surface is very\nsatisfactory or sufficient.]\n\n[Footnote 444: _Jenem linearen T\u00f6nen._ The expression appears to\nme not very easy to interpret even from Hegel's own point of view.\nIn what sense can you call a musical tone linear? The theory here\nstated, though ingenious enough, appears to me to miss the fundamental\nquestion, what actually constitutes the timbre of an instrument,\nin its assertion, for instance, of distantly related harmonies or\nnon-assertion of such. Even assuming that the form of the instrument,\nor the part of it set into vibration, may partially explain this, it\nis obvious, I think, that Hegel's manner of stating it is open to\nconsiderable criticism.]\n\n[Footnote 445: _Die n\u00e4her abgeschlossene Bestimmtheit._ The meaning\nseems to be that definition of them in which they stand out with most\ndistinctness from others.]\n\n[Footnote 446: The comparison is unfortunate--in two respects. Violet\nis a cardinal colour, and the theory of Goethe to which it refers is,\nof course, untenable.]\n\n[Footnote 447: The true scientific reason why octaves resemble each\nother so much more closely than two notes at any other interval is\nthat the upper of two notes at an octave's distance is the first\n\"upper-partial\" tone of the lower, and all its harmonies are also\nharmonies of the lower note; the compound tone, for there is no\nentirely simple tone, of the higher note contains no new sound, which\nis not in the compound tone of the lower. This is not the case with two\nnotes at any other interval.]\n\n[Footnote 448: _Ihre besonderen Seiten._ I presume this means what is\nimmediately called below the several intervals between note and note.]\n\n[Footnote 449: There is really a distinction between the consonance of\nthe dominant and a major or minor third.]\n\n[Footnote 450: That is, the third is only third in relation to the\nkey-note, or the leading-note only as the note previous to the octave.]\n\n[Footnote 451: Three notes are really essential to any true chord.]\n\n[Footnote 452: The mediant lies about midway between the tonic and\ndominant as the third of the scale. The researches of Helmholtz\nprove that the distinction between consonant or semi-consonant and\ndissonant intervals is not arbitrary, but the result of the nature\nof the intervals themselves. A musical tone is mostly a compound\none, containing, besides its principal tone, other tones with fixed\nrelations to the lowest note, called harmonics, or \"upper partials.\"\nHelmholtz has shown that when two of the earlier-produced and stronger\nof these upper partial tones coincide in two notes sounded together,\nthe resulting tone is pure, free, that is, from the inequalities known\nas \"beats\" (Prout, \"Harmony,\" 10th ed., pp. 21, 22).]\n\n[Footnote 453: As, of course, in the scale, notes independent of each\nother.]\n\n[Footnote 454: _Sch\u00e4rfe._]\n\n[Footnote 455: The reader of Browning will recall how the poet in his\n\"Abt Vogler\" exclaims \"Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony\nshould be prized?\" or speaks of blunting the minor into the ninth where\nthe musician \"stands on alien ground, surveying awhile the heights.\"]\n\n[Footnote 456: This extreme emphasis on melody must be read as further\nexplained lower down of melody in the wider sense. Even as thus\nqualified it is rather an overstatement. It may be questioned whether\nin the mind of a musician of genius the freedom of harmonic progression\nis of a different quality to that of melodic. It may _appear_ no doubt\nless spontaneous. But it is the task of the great artist to overcome\nthat appearance in one case as much as in the other.]\n\n[Footnote 457: It may be doubted how far such a statement is true of\nmany chord progressions in modern music. It seems to me that this\nnotion of harmony as _f\u00fcr sich_ having no musical significance is, to\nsay the least, very misleading.]\n\n[Footnote 458: This really is the point. Inspired harmony in its\nprogression unfolds what is really a tissue of melodic threads. The\ncomplex musical structure of a Brahms symphony is a good example.]\n\n[Footnote 459: Lit., \"the free self-subsistency (_Beisichseyn_) of\nsubjective life.\"]\n\n[Footnote 460: Hegel puts it the other way. What he means is that in\nthe medium of music we neither apprehend objects of sense nor ideas as\nwe receive them in imagination or thought.]\n\n[Footnote 461: Hegel throughout uses the term _Innerlichkeit._ That\nwhich is the Inmost is, in fact, the ideal. It is the _raison d'\u00eatre_\nand the notion itself.]\n\n[Footnote 462: He means at the point proposed by the dramatic theme.\nHegel's words are literally \"it subdues the subject (_i.e._, of\nconsciousness) referably to its simple concentration (_i.e._, on the\nsubject at hand).\"]\n\n[Footnote 463: The above distinction is hardly consonant with that\nof customary parlance. We should rather say that the melody of the\nsong gave an utterance to the words, and the instrumentation was,\nfor the very reason that it was more independent, more directly an\naccompaniment. But the point emphasized here seems to be the closeness\nof the association. In this aspect, no doubt, the music actually\nsung is more an accompaniment to the intelligible content. As a rule\naccompaniment is generally used as the accompaniment of a song or\nchoral writing, and Hegel himself uses it in this sense previously.]\n\n[Footnote 464: A general truth, no doubt. But not without qualification\nif we consider the works and indeed the execution of such giants as\nBach and Handel.]\n\n[Footnote 465: That is, particularity due to the idiosyncrasies of\nthe artist, and merely personal to him. But the statement applies to\nclassic art more strictly than modern.]\n\n[Footnote 466: That is, music as an accompaniment.]\n\n[Footnote 467: _Gediegenheit._ Something that rings true as a whole,\nnot a thing of patches.]\n\n[Footnote 468: The music of Mendelssohn and others in this direction\nwill raise a doubt in some whether Hegel does not rather overstate his\ncase here.]\n\n[Footnote 469: _Besonderung._ The relative isolation that is effected\nby marked assertion.]\n\n[Footnote 470: Throughout this discussion the personal bias of Hegel\nfor the Italian opera is obvious. In the light of the actual knowledge\nof his day the wonder is that his own tastes permitted his being even\nas fair as he is. It may be doubted whether he had any strong sense\nfor orchestral or chamber music at all. His reflections must be read\nthroughout with this reservation.]\n\n[Footnote 471: Or, as Hegel more technically calls it, and I have above\ntranslated it, \"subjectivity.\"]\n\n[Footnote 472: That is, dependent on living beings for its presentation\nin every case.]\n\n[Footnote 473: The execution of Paganini is, of course, the classic\nexample. But all cadenzas executed by a great artist, even though\ncarefully studied, express something of the spirit.]\n\n[Footnote 474: Hegel means that such music expresses not so much\nrational freedom as the fundamental independence of the self-conscious\nprinciple.]\n\n[Footnote 475: By _d\u00fcrftiger Kopf_ I understand Hegel to mean the\nheadstrong charlatan as contrasted with the virtuoso who is also a\ntrained musician. Paganini had a vein of both in his composition. The\nepithet _d\u00fcrftig_, lit., thirsty, is, however, not very clear, and\nin so far as it is, the emphasis would not be so much on quackery as\nabsence of all training.]\n\n\n\nEND OF VOL. III","title":"The Philosophy of Fine Art, volume 3 (of 4): Hegel's Aesthetik","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":171265}