MARTYRDOM OF S. AGATA
After a picture by Seb. dal Piombo, once in the Ducal Collection at Urbino, now in the Pitti Gallery, Florence
In a preceding portion of this work we have alluded to the innovations of naturalism in painting, by men who introduced perspective, created chiaroscuro, cultivated design, and mastered nude action. Through their example, it not only extended a predominating influence over pictorial treatment, but quickly obtained that place as a canon of artistic criticism which it has since continued commonly to hold. It may seem rash to impugn a principle so universally adopted; and if perfection in art really depends upon an accurate imitation of nature, it would be folly to gainsay it. But the principle may be carried too far; and if we are to allow to art a nobler mission,—if we recognise in painting and sculpture a language wherein gifted men can embody, develop, and elaborately adorn the conceptions of beauty and sublimity, or it may be the sallies of humour and the scintillations of wit that flit across the fancy—a key whereby they can impart to their fellows, and transmit to all ages and nations, their emanations of genius, their poetic flashes, their benevolent sympathies, their devotional aspirations,—then surely a higher standard should be applied to what are often ranked as merely imitative arts, and are tested by their supposed fidelity as transcripts of external objects.[*210]
Such views will to many seem visionary and strange heresies. Yet they are truths by which painting reached its golden era, and which, even in its decline, have been largely drawn upon. Under Louis XIV., a vile epoch of a faulty school,[*211] allegory triumphed over reality, and the best feelings of humanity were forced into masquerade. But what shall we think of the taste which admits such solecisms against nature, whilst objecting to the conventionalities practised by the early Christian masters, and adopted by the purists of our own day? What, indeed, is art but a tissue of conventionalities, even when the imitation of external objects is its aim? Upon what laws of nature are regulated the gradations of aerial perspective, or the receding or flattened surfaces of basso-relievo? Does not the landscape painter, in modifying the tones of his colouring, remember that his mimic scenes are to be enclosed in gilt frames, an appendage for which Providence has made no provision in the real ones? But to such imitations art neither is nor ought to be confined. As the language of genius, it expresses loftier themes, and none but kindred spirits can fitly judge of its style, or set bounds to its range. The rustic who spells through Burns or Bloomfield would pause upon Paradise Lost, and throw down Hamlet in despair; whilst, to the presbyterian who ornaments his walls with Knox's portrait, or the Battle of Bothwell-brig, the Last Judgment would seem unintelligible, the Transfiguration blasphemous, the Judgment of Paris a flagrant indecency. In like manner, those who have neither imbibed the spirit of the Roman ritual, nor studied the forms of Christian art, may fully appreciate the dishevelled goddesses of Rubens, or the golden sunsets of Claude,—the glowing tints of Titian, or the transparent finish of Teniers; but let them understand ere they sneer at those sacred paintings which for successive ages have confirmed the faith of the unlettered, elevated their hopes, and inspired their prayerful ejaculations.
Alinari
HOLY FAMILY
After the picture by Sustermans, once in the Ducal Collection of Urbino, now in the Pitti Gallery, Florence
When the Christian mythology, which had supplied art with subjects derived from inspired writ or venerated tradition, was supplanted by an idolatry of nature content to feed spiritual longings with common forms copied without due selection from daily life, men no longer painted what religion taught them to believe, but what their senses offered for imitation, modified by their own unrestrained fancies. Painting thus became an accessory of luxurious life, and its productions were regarded somewhat as furniture, indicating the taste rather than the devotion of patrons and artists. These accordingly followed a wider latitude of topics and treatment. In proportion as devotional subjects fell out of use, a demand arose for mythological fable and allegory. Profane history, individual adventure or portraiture, supplied matter pleasing to vanity, profitable to adulation. But while the objects of painting became less elevated, its mechanism gained importance; it became ostentatious in sentiment, ambitious in execution. The aim of professors, the standard of connoisseurs, declined from the ideal to the palpable. A fresh field for exertion was thus opened up. Schools attained celebrity from their successful treatment of technical difficulties. Michael Angelo attracted pupils by his power in design; Titian by his mastery in colour; Correggio by his management of light; while the eclectic masters of Bologna vainly aspired to perfection by nicely adjusting their borrowed plumes; and the tenebristi of Naples sought, by impenetrable shadows, to startle rather than to please. A demand for domestic decoration led to further exercise of ingenuity. Landscapes, first improved by the Venetian masters as accessories, became a new province of art; and transcripts from nature in her scenes of beauty were succeeded by the clang of battles, the inanities of still life, the orgies or crimes of worthless men.[*212] In architecture and in sculpture, the departure was scarcely less remarkable from the pure style and simple forms of the fifteenth century: a free introduction of costly materials and elaborate decoration deteriorated taste, without compensating for the absence of ideal beauty. The masters of this, which we may distinguish as the "newest" manner, must accordingly be tried by a new standard. Those of the silver and golden ages, Angelico and Raffaele, sought a simple or vigorous development of deep feeling; the Giordani and Caravaggii, men of brass and iron, whose technical capacity outstripped their ideas, aspired not beyond effect. Effect is, therefore, the self-chosen test to which artists of the decline should be subjected, though it may detect in them false taste and vulgar deformity. Under their guidance, energy was substituted for grandeur, bustle for dramatic action; while flickering lights and fluttering draperies ill replaced the solidity and stateliness of earlier men. Art thus, like literature, became copious rather than captivating. Ambitious attempts were not wanting, but the effort to produce them was ever palpable. Ingenuity over-taxed gave birth to bewildering allegories, affected postures, startling contrasts, exaggerated colouring, meretricious graces. Nature was invoked to stand godmother to the progeny, but she disavowed them as spurious.