The Life and Writings of Henry Fuseli, Volume 2 (of 3)

If any branch of art be once debased to a mere article of fashionable furniture, it will seldom elevate itself above the taste and the caprice of the owner, or the dictates of fashion; for its success depends on both; and though there be not a bauble thrown by the sportive hand of fashion which taste may not catch to advantage, it will seldom be allowed to do it, if fashion dictate the mode. Since liberty and commerce have more levelled the ranks of society, and more equally diffused opulence, private importance has been increased, family connections and attachments have been more numerously formed, and hence portrait painting, which formerly was the exclusive property of princes, or a tribute to beauty, prowess, genius, talent, and distinguished character, is now become a kind of family calendar, engrossed by the mutual charities of parents, children, brothers, nephews, cousins, and relatives of all colours.

To portrait painting, thus circumstanced, we subjoin, as the last branch of uninteresting subjects, that kind of landscape which is entirely occupied with the tame delineation of a given spot; an enumeration of hill and dale, clumps of trees, shrubs, water, meadows, cottages, and houses, what is commonly called Views. These, if not assisted by nature, dictated by taste, or chosen for character, may delight the owner of the acres they enclose, the inhabitants of the spot, perhaps the antiquary or the traveller, but to every other eye they are little more than topography. The landscape of Titian, of Mola, of Salvator, of the Poussins, Claude, Rubens, Elzheimer, Rembrandt and Wilson, spurns all relation with this kind of map-work. To them, nature disclosed her bosom in the varied light of rising, meridian, setting suns; in twilight, night and dawn. Height, depth, solitude, strike, terrify, absorb, bewilder in their scenery. We tread on classic or romantic ground, or wander through the characteristic groups of rich congenial objects. The usual choice of the Dutch school, which frequently exhibits no more than the transcript of a spot, borders, indeed, nearer on the negative kind of landscape; but imitation will not be entitled to the pleasure we receive, or the admiration we bestow, on their genial works, till it has learnt to give an air of choice to necessity, to imitate their hues, spread their masses, and to rival the touch of their pencil.

Subjects which cannot in their whole compass be brought before the eye, which appeal for the best part of their meaning to the erudition of the spectator and the refinements of sentimental enthusiasm, seem equally to defy the powers of invention. The labour of disentangling the former, dissolves the momentary magic of the first impression, and leaves us cold: the second evaporates under the grosser touch of sensual art. It may be more than doubted whether the resignation of Alcestis can ever be made intuitive: the pathos of the story consists in the heroic resolution of Alcestis to save her husband's life by resigning her own. Now the art can show no more than Alcestis dying: the cause of her death, her elevation of mind, the disinterested heroism of her resolution to die, are beyond its power.

Raffaelle's celebrated Donation of the Keys to St. Peter in the Cartoon before us, as ineffectually struggles with more than the irremovable obscurity, with the ambiguity of the subject: a numerous group of grave and devout characters, in attitudes of anxious debate and eager curiosity, press forward to witness the behests of a person who, with one hand, seems to have consigned two massy keys to their foremost companion on his knees, and with the other hand points to a flock of sheep, grazing behind. What associating power can find the connection between those keys and the pasturing herd? or discover in an obtrusive allegory the only real motive of the emotions that inspire the apostolic group? the artist's most determined admirer, if not the slave of pontifical authority, ready to transubstantiate whatever comes before him, must confine his homage to the power that interests us in a composition without a subject.

Poussin's extolled picture of the Testament of Eudamidas is another proof of the inefficacy to represent the enthusiasm of sentiment by the efforts of art. The figures have simplicity, the expression energy, it is well composed, in short, it possesses every requisite but that which alone could make it what it pretends to be: – you see an elderly man on his death-bed; a physician, pensive, with his hand on the man's breast, his wife and daughter desolate at the foot of the bed; one, who resembles a notary, eagerly writing; a buckler and a lance on the wall; and the simple implements of the scene, tell us the former occupation and the circumstances of Eudamidas; – but his legacy – the secure reliance on the friend to whom he bequeaths his daughter – the noble acceptance and magnanimity of that friend, – these we ought to see, and seek in vain for them; what is represented in the picture may be as well applied to any other man who died, made a will, and left a daughter and a wife, as to the Corinthian Eudamidas.

This is not the only instance in which Poussin has mistaken erudition and detail of circumstances for evidence. The Exposition of Infant Moses on the Nile, is a picture as much celebrated as the former: a woman shoves a child placed in a basket from the shore. A man mournfully pensive walks off followed by a boy who turns towards the woman and connects the groups; a girl in the back-ground points to a distance, where we discover the Egyptian princess, and thus anticipate the fate of the child. The statue of a river god recumbent on the sphinx, a town with lofty temples, pyramids and obelisks, tell Memphis and the Nile; and smoking brick-kilns still nearer allude to the servitude and toil of Israel in Egypt: not one circumstance is omitted that could contribute to explain the meaning of the whole; but the repulsive subject completely baffled the painter's endeavour to show the real motive of the action. We cannot penetrate the cause that forces these people to expose the child on the river, and hence our sympathy and participation languish, we turn from a subject that gives us danger without fear, to admire the expression of the parts, the classic elegance, the harmony of colours, the mastery of execution.

The importance of some secondary points of invention, of scenery, back-ground, drapery, ornament, is frequently such, that, independent of the want of more essential parts, if possessed in a very eminent degree, they have singly raised from insignificance to esteem, names that had few other rights to consideration; and neglected, in spite of superior comprehension, in the choice or conception of a subject, in defiance of style and perhaps of colour, of expression, and sometimes composition, often have left little but apathy to the contemplation of works produced by men of superior grasp and essential excellence. Fewer would admire Poussin were he deprived of his scenery, though I shall not assert with Mengs, that in his works the subject is more frequently the appendix than the principle of the back-ground; what right could the greater part of Andrea del Sarto's historic compositions claim to our attention, if deprived of the parallelism, the repose and space in which his figures are arranged, or the ample draperies that invest them, and hide with solemn simplicity their vulgarity of character and limbs: it often requires no inconsiderable degree of mental power and technic discrimination to separate the sublimity of Michael Agnolo, and the pathos of Raffaelle from the total neglect or the incongruities of scenery and back-ground, which frequently involve or clog their conceptions, to add by fancy the place on which their figures ought to stand, the horizon that ought to elevate or surround them, and the masses of light and shade indolently neglected or sacrificed to higher principles. How deeply the importance of scenery and situation, with their proper degree of finish, were felt by Tiziano, before and after his emancipation from the shackles of Giov. Bellino, every work of his during the course of nearly a centenary practice proves: to select two from all, the Martyrdom of the Dominican Peter, that summary of his accumulated powers, and the Presentation of the Virgin, one of his first historic essays, owe, if not all, their greatest effect, to scenery: loftiness and solitude of site assist the sublimity of the descending vision to consecrate the actors beyond what their characters and style of limbs could claim, and render the first an object of submissive admiration, whilst its simple grandeur renders the second one of cheerful and indulgent acquiescence; and reconciles us to a detail of portrait-painting, and the impropriety of associating domestic and vulgar imagery with a consecrated subject.

It is for these reasons that the importance of scenery and back-ground has been so much insisted on by Reynolds; who frequently declared, that whatever preparatory assistance he might admit in the draperies or other parts of his figures, he always made it a point to keep the arrangement of the scenery, the disposition and ultimate finish of the back-ground to himself.

By the choice and scenery of the back-ground we are frequently enabled to judge how far a painter entered into his subject, whether he understood its nature, to what class it belonged, what impression it was capable of making, what passion it was calculated to rouse: the sedate, the solemn, the severe, the awful, the terrible, the sublime, the placid, the solitary, the pleasing, the gay, are stamped by it. Sometimes it ought to be negative, entirely subordinate, receding or shrinking into itself; sometimes more positive, it acts, invigorates, assists the subject, and claims attention; sometimes its forms, sometimes its colour ought to command. – A subject in itself bordering on the usual or common, may become sublime or pathetic by the back-ground alone, and a sublime or pathetic one may become trivial and uninteresting by it: a female leaning her head on her hand on a rock might easily suggest itself to any painter of portrait, but the means of making this figure interesting to those who are not concerned in the likeness, were not to be picked from the mixtures of the palette: Reynolds found the secret in contrasting the tranquillity and repose of the person by a tempestuous sea and a stormy shore in the distance; and in another female contemplating a tremulous sea by a placid moonlight, he connected elegance with sympathy and desire.

Whatever connects the individual with the elements, whether by abrupt or imperceptible means, is an instrument of sublimity, as, whatever connects it in the same manner with, or tears it from the species, may become an organ of pathos: in this discrimination lies the rule by which our art, to astonish or move, ought to choose the scenery of its subjects. It is not by the accumulation of infernal or magic machinery, distinctly seen, by the introduction of Hecate and a chorus of female demons and witches, by surrounding him with successive apparitions at once, and a range of shadows moving above or before him, that Macbeth can be made an object of terror, – to render him so you must place him on a ridge, his down-dashed eye absorbed by the murky abyss; surround the horrid vision with darkness, exclude its limits, and shear its light to glimpses.

This art of giving to the principal figure the command of the horizon, is perhaps the only principle by which modern art might have gained an advantage over that of the ancients, and improved the dignity of composition, had it been steadily pursued by its great restorers, the painters of Julio II. and Leone X., though we find it more attended to in the monumental imagery of the Capella Sistina than in the Stanze and the Cartoons of Raffaello, which being oftener pathetic or intellectual than sublime, suffered less by neglecting it.

The same principle which has developed in the cone, the form generally most proper for composing a single figure or a group, contains the reason why the principal figure or group should be the most elevated object of a composition, and locally command the accidents of scenery and place. The Apollo of Belvedere, singly or in a group, was surely not composed to move at the bottom of a valley, nor the Zeus of Phidias to be covered with a roof.

The improprieties attendant on the neglect of this principle are, perhaps, in no work of eminence more offensively evident than in the celebrated Resuscitation of Lazarus by Sebastian del Piombo, whose composition, if composition it deserved to be called, seems to have been dictated by the back-ground. It usurps the first glance; it partly buries, everywhere throngs, and in the most important place squeezes the subject into a corner. The horizon is at the top, Jesus, Maria, and Lazarus at the bottom of the scene. Though its plan and groups recede in diminished forms, they advance in glaring opaque colour, nor can it avail in excuse of the artist, to say that the multitude of figures admitted are characters chosen to show in different modes of expression the effect of the miracle, whilst their number gives celebrity to it and discriminates it from the obscure trick of a juggler: all this, if it had been done, though perhaps it has not, for by far the greater part are not spectators, might have been done with subordination: the most authentic proof of the reality of the miracle ought to have beamed from the countenance of Him who performed it, and of the restored man's sister. – In every work something must be first, something last; that is essential, this optional; that is present by its own right, this by courtesy and convenience.⁸⁵

The rival picture of the resuscitation of Lazarus, the Transfiguration of Christ by Raffaello, avoids the inconvenience of indiscriminate crowding, and the impertinent luxuriance of scenery which we have censured, by the artifice of escaping from what is strictly called back-ground, and excluding it altogether: the action on the fore-ground is the basis and Christ the apex of the cone, and what they might have suffered from diminution of size is compensated by elevation and splendour. In sacrificing to this principle the rules of a perspective which he was so well acquainted with, Raffaello succeeded to unite the beginning, the middle, and the end of the event which he represented in one moment; he escaped every atom of common-place or unnecessary embellishment with a simplicity and so artless an air, that few but the dull, the petulant, and the pedant, can refuse him their assent, admiration and sympathy; if he has not, strictly speaking, embodied possibility, he has perhaps done more, he has done what Homer did, by hiding the unmanageable but less essential part of his materials, he has transformed it to probability.

I have said that by the choice of scenery alone we may often, if not always, judge how far an artist has penetrated his subject, what emotion in treating it he meant to excite. No subjects can elucidate this with so much perspicuity as those generally distinguished by the name of Madonnas: subjects stamped with a mystery of religion, and originally contrived under the bland images of maternal fondness to subdue the heart. In examining the considerable number of those by Raffaello, we find generally some reciprocal feature of filial and parental love, "the charities of father, son, and mother," sometimes varied by infant play and female caresses, sometimes dignified by celestial ministry and homage; the endearments of the nursery selected and embodied by forms more charming than exalted, less beautiful than genial – accordingly the choice of scenery consists seldom in more than a pleasing accompaniment: the flower and the shrub, the rivulet and grove, enamel the seat or embower the repose of the sacred pilgrims under the serenity of a placid sky, expanded or breaking through trees, or sheltering ruins; whilst in those surrounded by domestic scenery, a warm recess veils the mother, now hiding her darling from profane aspect, now pressing him to her bosom, or contemplating in silent rapture his charms displayed on her lap – accompaniments and actions, though appropriate, without allusion to the mysterious personages they profess to exhibit – to discriminate them the chair, the window, the saddle on which Joseph sits in one, the flowers which he kneeling presents in another, the cradle, the bath, are called on. Raffaello was less penetrated by a devout than by an amorous principle; his design was less to stamp maternal affection with the seal of religion than to consecrate the face he adored; his Holy Families, with one exception, are the apotheosis of his Fornarina.

This exception, as it proves what had been advanced of the rest, so it proves likewise that the omission of its beauties in them was more a matter of choice than want of comprehension. Than the face and attitude of the Madonna of Versailles, known from a print by Edelinck, copied by Giac. Frey, nature and art combined never offered to the sense and heart a more exalted sentiment, or more correspondent forms. The face still, indeed, offers his favourite lines, lines not of supreme beauty, but they have assumed a sanctity which is in vain looked for in all its sister faces: serious without severity, pure without insipidity, humble though majestic, charming and modest at once, and without affectation graceful: face and figure unite what we can conceive of maternal beauty, equally poised between effusion of affection and the mysterious sentiment of superiority in the awful Infant, whom she bends to receive from his slumbers.

The bland imagery of Raffaello was exalted to a type of devotion by M. Angelo, and place and scenery are adjusted with allegoric or prophetic ornament: thus in the picture painted for Angelo Doni, where the enraptured mother receives the Infant from the hands of Joseph, the scene behind exhibits the new sacrament in varied groups of Baptists, immersing themselves or issuing from the fount. In another, representing the annunciation, we discover in the awful twilight of a recess, the figure of Moses breaking the tables he received on Sinai, an allusion to the abolition of the old law – an infringement of Jewish habits, for the figure is not an apparition, but a statue, readily forgiven to its allegoric beauty. Even in those subjects relating to Christ and his family, where the back-ground is destitute of allusive ornament, it appears the seat of meditation or virgin purity, and consecrates the sentiment or action of the figures, as in the salutation of St. Giovanni in Laterano, and in that where Maria contemplates her son spread in her lap, and seems to bend under the presentiment of the terrible moment which shall spread him at her feet, under the cross; but in that monumental image of Jesus expired on the cross, with the Madonna and John on each side, what is the scenery but the echo of the subject? The surrounding element sympathises with the woe of the sufferers in the two mourning Genii emerging from the air – a sublime conception, which Vasari fancied to have successfully imitated and perhaps improved, when in a repetition of the same subject, he travestied them to Phœbus and Diana extinguishing their orbs, as symbols of sun and moon eclipsed.⁸⁶

What has been said of the luxuriance of Poussin's scenery, leads to that intemperate abuse which allots it a greater space, a more conspicuous situation, a higher finish and effect than the importance of the subject itself permits – by which, unity is destroyed, and it becomes doubtful to what class a work belongs, whether it be a mixture of two or more, or all, where portrait with architecture, landscape with history for "mastery striving, each rules a moment." It cannot be denied that some of the noblest works of art are liable to this imputation, and that the fond admiration of the detailed beauties in the scenery of the Pietro Martire of Titian, if it does not detract from the main purpose for which the picture was or ought to have been painted, certainly adds nothing to its real interest – nature finishes all, but an attempt to mimic nature's universality palsies the hand of art; the celebrated "Cene," or Supper-Scenes of Paolo Cagliari can escape this imputation only by being classed as models of ornamental painting; and were it not known, that notwithstanding their grandeur, propriety, and pathos of composition, the Cartoons of Raffaello had been originally destined still more for popular amusement than the poised admiration of select judges, it would be difficult to excuse or to account for the exuberance, not seldom the impropriety of accompaniment and of scenery, with which some of them are loaded: in the Cartoon of the miraculous draught of fishes, perhaps Giovanni d'Udine would not have been allowed to treat us with fac-similes of the herons of the lake on its fore-ground; in that of Paul on the Areopagus, there would probably have been less agglomeration of finished, unfinished, or half demolished buildings; in the Miracle of Peter and John, the principal agents would scarcely have been hemmed in by a barbaric colonnade, loaded with profane ornament; or in the Massacre of the Infants, the humble cottages of Bethlehem been transformed to piles of Ionian architecture, girt with gods in intercolumnar niches, and the metropolitan pomp of Rome.