Perhaps, if we can comprehend a species of coloured chiaro-scuro, or the addition of colour to the broad and soft principles of light and shade, we shall be able to form a clear perception of the effects of Rembrandt's colouring. Indistinctness of tint, such as colours assume under the influence of twilight, is a strong characteristic of his manner—the shadows never so dark that a black or blue cannot tell firmly in the midst of them; with the total absence of all harshness, from the outlines of objects melting into their adjacent grounds, or assuming an importance after emerging from a mass of indefinite corresponding hues. As he has a mass of shadow with a mass of light, so he has an accumulation of warm colours in opposition to a congregation of cold—every combination introduced conducing to the great principles of breadth. When such is the plan upon which a work is laid down, we can easily perceive how powerfully the smallest touch of positive colour will tell—as in the midst of stillness a pin falling to the ground will be heard. Cuyp has this quality in a high degree, only on another scale—a uniformity of unbroken tone, and in masses of half-tint only, like a few sparkles of light touches, dealt out with the most parsimonious pencil, producing a glitter like so many diamonds. This it is that prevents a work from being heavy, for by their fewness they require not the aid of black grounds to give them consequence, and by their being touched upon colours of the same quality, they avoid the appearance of harshness; in fact, the principles of these two great artists were the same; only from the general tone of Cuyp's pictures being light, his strong darks tell with great power, and Rembrandt's half tints being of a low tone, his high lights become more forcible. I may here mention not only the breadth of Rembrandt's shadows, but their peculiar transparency and clearness, loose in the handling, and filled with air and space, whereas his lights are solid and firm—possessing not only the characteristics of nature in distinctiveness, but also in variety; and though we see always, on a general principle, light upon light and dark on a dark ground, yet we perceive inroads made upon each by their several antagonists; hot and cold colours darting into each other's provinces. This practice is also conducive to breadth, for tints of different hues may be interspersed both in the darks and lights, provided they are of equal strength with those adjoining them. We may observe in Rembrandt—that those colours introduced into the shadows are more under the influence of indistinctness, while those in the light are brighter; this is quite a deviation from the Roman school, where the colours are pronounced so harshly as to set the influence of chiaro-scuro at defiance.
Barry, in his sixth lecture, speaking of colours, says—"The happy effects of those sure and infallible principles of light and colour which Rubens had so successfully disseminated in the Netherlands, were soon found in every department of art. Landscapes, portraits, drolls, and even the dullest and most uninteresting objects of still life, possess irresistible charms and fascination from the magic of those principles. Rembrandt, who, it is said, was never at Venice, might, notwithstanding, have seen, without going out of his country, many pictures of the Venetian school. Besides, he was about thirty years younger than Rubens, whose works were a general object of study when Rembrandt was forming himself. But, however it be, there is no doubt, for the colouring and chiaro-scuro, Rembrandt is one of the most able artists that ever lived. Nothing can exceed the beauty, freshness, and vigour of his tints. They have the same truth, high relish, and sapidity as those of Titian. Indeed, they have the closest resemblance to the hues of Titian when he had Giorgione most in view. There is identically the same attention to the relievo and force obtained by his strong shadows and low deep tones; and his chiaro-scuro, though sometimes too artificial, is yet often (particularly in contrasted subjects) productive of the most fascinating effects. In the tones of Rembrandt, though we recognise the same richness and depth as in Giorgione and Titian, yet there is a suppleness and lifelike character in his flesh unlike either, both from his manner of handling, and also his hot and cold tints being less blended."
The late Sir David Wilkie, in one of his letters, speaking of the death of Sir Thomas Lawrence, says—"I do not wonder at the impression made among you in Rome by the death of Sir Thomas Lawrence; here, it engrossed for a time every other pursuit. One of the last remarks he made to me indicated his extreme admiration of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, he thought, had, with Rembrandt, carried the imitation of nature, in regard to colours, further than any of the old masters." In many of the higher qualities of colour and chiaro-scuro, Reynolds comes nearer to Rembrandt than any other artist who has succeeded him.
Reynolds, in his lectures, speaking of Gainsborough, observes—"We must not forget, whilst we are on this subject, to make some remarks on his custom of painting by night, which confirms what I have already mentioned—his great affection to his art, since he could not amuse himself in the evening by any other means so agreeable to himself. I am, indeed, much inclined to believe that it is a practice very advantageous and improving to an artist, for by this means he will acquire a new and higher perception of what is great and beautiful in nature. By candlelight, not only objects appear more beautiful, but from their being in a greater breadth of light and shadow, as well as having a greater breadth and uniformity of colour, nature appears in a higher style, and even the flesh seems to take a higher and richer tone of colour. Judgment is to direct us in the use to be made of this method of study; but the method itself is, I am very sure, advantageous. I have often imagined that the two great colourists, Titian and Coreggio, though I do not know that they painted by night, formed their high ideas of colouring from the effects of objects by this artificial light. But I am more assured that whoever attentively studies the first and best manner of Guercino will be convinced that he either painted by this light, or formed his manner on this conception."
How far Coreggio may have formed his principles upon the effects of lamplight it is impossible to decide, seeing that, though his shadows have great breadth, yet his lights have more of a phosphorescent character, tinged, as it were, with the coolness of moonlight; but Titian has all the glow of this property, or, as Reynolds remarks, "as if he painted with the sun shining into the room." The Italian pictures of Vandyke have much of this phosphorescent character—whereas many of those he painted in England have more of a daylight appearance. With regard to Rembrandt, he seems to have regulated the entire scheme both of his chiaro-scuro and colour, on this foundation: his many paintings, drawings, and etchings of candlelight subjects, show how much his taste led to this class of art; and his daylight pictures, from the warmth of colour and breadth of shadow, proclaim the source from which he derived the cause of their brilliancy and force. From the light being tinged with yellow, the half-tone partakes of the same warmth, which gives a greenish tint even to his grey tones. This conduct conveys an emanation of the principal light passing over the more delicate shadows. In his daylight subjects it is not so; the light being often comparatively cool, is allowed to extend its influence to the secondary lights, and then, as it subsides into the shadow, is led in by the dark being lighted up by touches of red and brown; thus the light touches in the dark are warm, though the high light and secondary are cool. In Coreggio we often find the shadows more hot than even in Rembrandt, from his principal light and secondary being more cool. Rembrandt never allows his lights, even though comparatively cool, to pass into the shadow without a few touches of warm colour; this was the practice of Rubens, to enrich, as it were, "the debateable land." When this principle of painting candlelight subjects fell into the hands of his pupils, the harmony and colouring of the whole were lost or changed. For example, Hoogstraten, his pupil, instructed Schalcken, as did also Gerard Dow; but the candlelight pieces of Schalcken are hot and foxy, without any redeeming grey tones. When he painted by candlelight, he placed his sitter in a dark room, with a light, while he painted in another apartment, having a hole cut through the door to communicate with his sitter; the consequence was, the effect gave exactly what we see in such cases—a red, dull treatment of colour. We know these facts by an anecdote told of William the Third. When Schalcken was over in England, the King wished to sit to him for his portrait, and hearing of his celebrity in candlelight pieces, wished it painted under that effect. The painter placed a light in his Majesty's hand, and retired into the outer room; the candle guttering, kept dropping on the King's hand, but being unwilling to disturb the artist, the King held on, while the painter, intent on his work, proceeded without noticing it. Many of our English artists paint by gaslight; but the tones of the flesh are not benefited, gas shedding a white cool light compared with lamplight.
The practice of painting by candlelight originated neither with Rembrandt nor Gainsborough; in fact, we find that all academies, from the time of Bacio Bandinelli to our own, were always opened at night, both for the purposes of drawing and painting. But these effects generally remain where they originated, and are seldom taken advantage of without the walls, the figure alone being considered, without reference to the background. Tintoret was one of the first to apply the principles to his practice. Fuseli, speaking of chiaro-scuro, says—"The nocturnal studies of Tintoret, from models and artificial groups, have been celebrated; those prepared in wax or clay he arranged, raised, suspended, to produce masses, foreshortening, and effect. It was thence he acquired that decision of chiaro-scuro, unknown to more expanded daylight, by which he divided his bodies, and those wings of obscurity and light by which he separated the groups of his composition; though the mellowness of his eye nearly always instructed him to connect the two extremes by something that partook of both, as the extremes themselves by the reflexes with the background or the scenery. The general rapidity of his process, by which he baffled his competitors, and often overwhelmed himself, did not, indeed, always permit him to attend deliberately to this principle, and often hurried him into an abuse of practice which in the lights turned breadth into mannered or insipid flatness; and in the shadows into a total extinction of parts. Of all this he has in the schools of San Rollo and Marco given the most unquestionable instances—'The Resurrection of Christ,' and 'The Massacre of the Innocents,' comprehend every charm by which chiaro-scuro fascinates its votaries. In the vision, dewy dawn melts into deep but pellucid shade, itself sent or reflected by celestial splendour and angelic hues; whilst in the infant massacre of Bethlehem, alternate sheets of stormy light and agitated gloom dash horror on the astonished eye."
Rembrandt, like Tintoret, never destroyed the effective character of his chiaro-scuro by the addition of his colour, but made it a main contributor to the general character of the subject; hence that undisturbed and engulphing breadth which pervades his works. Fuseli, in the same lecture, defends the Venetian school from being considered as the "ornamental school." After selecting several of the pictures of Titian, as proofs of his grand and solemn specimens of colour, he thus proceeds—"But perhaps it is not to Titian, but to Tintoret and Paul Cagliari, that the debaucheries of colour, and blind submission to fascinating tints, the rage of scattering flowers to no purpose, are ascribed. Let us select from Tintoret's most extensive work in the Scuola of San Rocco, the most extensive composition, and his acknowledged masterpiece—'The Crucifixion,' and compare its tone with that of Rubens and Rembrandt of the same subject. What impression feels he who for the first time casts a glance over the immense scenery of that work? a whole whose numberless parts are connected by a lowering, mournful, minacious tone. A general fearful silence hushes all around the central figure of the Saviour suspended on the cross, his fainting mother, and a group of male and female mourners at its foot—a group of colours that less imitate than rival nature, and tinged by grief itself; a scale of tones for which even Titian offers me no parallel—yet all equally overcast by the lurid tone that stains the whole, and like a meteor hangs in the sickly air. Whatever inequality or dereliction of feeling, whatever improprieties of commonplace, of local and antique costume, the master's rapidity admitted to fill his space, and they are great, all vanish in the power which compresses them into a single point, and we do not detect them till we recover from our terror."
The picture of Rubens which we oppose to Tintoret was painted for the Church of St. Walburgha, at Antwerp, after his return from Italy, and has been minutely described and as exquisitely criticised by Reynolds: "Christ," he says, "is nailed to the cross, with a number of figures exerting themselves to raise it. The invention of throwing the cross obliquely from one corner of the picture to the other, is finely conceived, something in the manner of Tintoret." So far Reynolds. "In Tintoret," says Fuseli, "it is the cross of one of the criminals they attempt to raise, who casts his eye on Christ, already raised. The body of Christ is the grandest, in my opinion, that Rubens ever painted; it seems to be imitated from the Torso of Apollonius, and that of the Laocoon. How far it be characteristic of Christ, or correspondent with the situation, I shall not here inquire; my object is the ruling tone of the whole—and of this the criticism quoted says not a word, though much of local colour, and grey and ochry balance. Would so great a master of tone as Reynolds have forgot this master-key if he had found it in the picture? The fact is, the picture has no other than the painter's usual tone. Rubens came to his work with gay, technic exultation, and by the magic of his pencil changed the horrors of Golgotha to an enchanted garden and clusters of flowers. Rembrandt, though on a smaller scale of size and composition, concentrated the tremendous moment in one flash of pallid light. It breaks on the body of Christ, shivers down his limbs, and vanishes on the armour of a crucifix—the rest is gloom."
This is given with all the eloquence Fuseli was so well able to utter; but it displays, also, a severe castigation on those who would class Tintoret and Paul Veronese in the catalogue of ornamental painters. The observations which seem to have kindled his wrath are to be found in Sir Joshua's fourth lecture, in which he says—"Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and others of the Venetian school, seem to have painted with no other purpose than to be admired for their skill and experience in the mechanism of painting, and to make a parade of that art which, as I before observed, the higher style requires its followers to conceal." But, to understand the matter, the whole lecture must be read. With regard to the two pictures Fuseli brings into comparison with the Venetian, both are described in Reynolds' Tour to Flanders and Holland. Sir Joshua certainly criticizes the Rubens correctly with regard to colouring; but sentiment it has none. The Rembrandt is now in the Munich Gallery, and though one of his early pictures, it is very grand and striking. Of it Reynolds remarks—"There are likewise in this room eight Rembrandts, the chief merit of which consists in his peculiarity of manner—of admitting but little light, and giving to that little a wonderful brilliancy. The colouring of Christ in the elevation of the cross cannot be exceeded—it is exactly the tint of Vandyke's 'Susanna,' in the other room; but whether the ground of this picture has been repainted, or the white horse, which was certainly intended to make the mass of light broader, has lost its brightness, at present the Christ makes a disagreeable mass of light."
In bringing the opinions of these two great artists in contact, the truth is elicited, that the tone of colour has much to do in conveying the sentiment and pathos of the picture, and Rembrandt possessed this quality in a very high degree. In the infancy of the arts, when practised by rude nations, we find harsh and bright colours predominate in a very strong scale—in fact, the brighter the more effective on the uneducated eye; and it is only when the arts advance towards perfection that a subdued tone of colour is demanded as most compatible with refinement. Colour, both as an imitative quality, and also as an adjunct towards assisting the character of his subject, seems always to have been uppermost in Rembrandt's mind. His drawing, it is true, is open to censure, but his colour will stand the most searching investigation, and will always appear more transcendent the more it is examined. Reynolds, in his Journey through Holland, mentions a picture by Rembrandt, in the collection of the Prince of Orange—"a study of a Susanna, for the picture by Rembrandt which is in my possession: it is nearly the same action, except that she is here sitting. This is the third study I have seen for this figure—I have one myself, and the third was in the possession of the late Mr. Blackwood. In the drawing which he made for this picture, which I have, she is likewise sitting; in the picture, she is on her legs, but leaning forward. It appears extraordinary that Rembrandt should have taken so much pains, and have made at last so very ugly and ill-favoured a figure; but his attention was principally directed to the colouring and effect, in which it must be acknowledged he has attained the highest degree of excellence." The small picture in the National Gallery is a study of the same figure. Colour was the ruling principle with Rembrandt, the Alpha and Omega, in the same way that Richard Wilson designated the three qualifications for landscape painting, as contained in one—viz., breadth. The tones of colour with which Rembrandt clothed his subjects are always in the highest degree appropriate and conducive to the sentiment, whether within the "solemn temples," or the personification of some great supernatural event. As most of his historical subjects are from Sacred Writ, he never loses sight of those qualities which take them out of the page of every-day occurrences. I shall mention two, though one is sufficient for a master-key to them all. In the picture of "The Adoration of the Magi and Kings," in the Queen's Collection, the solemnity is carried to the utmost extent, like the mysterious leaf of a sybil's book; the only light shed over the scene seems to descend from the lurid rays of the star that stood over the place of the nativity, and guided them to the spot. To acquire the greatest breadth, he has placed the Virgin and child in the corner of the picture, and low down at the base, with the same feeling that impelled Shakspere, in his Constance, to utter, "Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it." The presentation of incense and precious perfumes, of diadems and jewels, by crowned heads and venerable magi, not only removes the attendants to the background, but even Joseph is represented as wrapt in thought, and viewing from the shade the solemnity of the scene. The whole colouring of this work is in accordance with this feeling—subdued, except in the smallest portions of each hue, and these shine out like sparkling of jewels in a dark recess.