THE NATIONAL GALLERY.—No. 3.

Among the restorers of art in the fifteenth century, perhaps the greatest name, whether in regard to the extent or the versatility of his powers, is that of Leonardo da Vinci. Other artists, his contemporaries or immediate predecessors, had done much towards the resuscitation, or rather the introduction, of a just taste, each according to the particular bent of his genius. But Leonardo, with an intuitive comprehension, seems to have seized on every principle of excellence, and although those principles were carried by his successors, at least by M. Angelo, Raffaelle, and Titian, to higher degrees of perfection, yet it is not too much to assert that in his works we discover, not the germs merely, but in visible development, the severe dignity of the Florentine, the dramatic pathos of the Roman, and the captivating splendour of the Venetian schools. The works of Leonardo are scarce. The celebrated picture of the Last Supper, at Milan, has crumbled from the walls; it is well known, however, by engravings. The picture of Christ disputing with the Doctors, in the National Gallery, is in all that relates to internal evidence, of unquestionable originality; although, from the difficulty of having the history of so early a picture, doubts of its genuineness have been sometimes expressed. 198Of its value as a great work of art there can be no doubt. It is evident, that in this brilliant and elaborate performance Leonardo has tasked his powers to the utmost. From the depth of colour and chiaroscuro, the figures stand out in the boldest relief; but in order to concentrate the interest on the person of the Saviour, the subordinate figures are kept somewhat smaller than the laws of perspective allow: an artifice not perfectly justifiable, but, in this instance, fully effective. The person of Christ is considerably older than is consonant with scriptural authority, and the countenance has an air of almost feminine mildness and amiability: indeed, it is evident that the radical lines of the physiognomy were constructed on that abstract idea of beauty which the artist had established in his own mind. Hence it is that this head of the Saviour is, perhaps, somewhat deficient in masculine energy. The expression, however, is beautiful and characteristic; and announces a being who, conscious of uttering inspired truths, encounters the authority of human wisdom without fear, and triumphs without arrogance. The noble and sedate character of this picture is nowhere disturbed by strong contrasts or violent expression. The astonishment which the Doctors may be supposed to have evinced, has subsided; and with the exception of the eager and determined theologian on the right, they appear to listen with absorbed and deferential attention to the arguments and eloquence of their divine antagonist. The drapery of the Saviour is disposed with great grace and dignity, and the hands are painted with peculiar beauty.

There are four pictures by Corregio in the National Gallery, and although neither of them can be said to exhibit the excellence of that great master in its fullest extent, they are yet fine and beautiful specimens of his various and extraordinary powers. The two groups of children’s heads which hang on the staircase are painted precisely on the same principle with the groups of angels in the Cupola at Parma,—a style which in breadth and grandeur has never been equalled, except by Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. The two small pictures exhibit the extremes of Corregio’s style: that of Christ praying in the Garden, leaning to the last degree of depth and concentration; the other, that of The Holy Family, being made up of semi-tones, and scarcely exceeding, either in its lights or shadows, the medium of half-tint. The colouring, too, is negative, never approaching to a primitive hue; but the execution is exquisitely pure and delicate. If in this work Corregio is at all inferior to himself in his usual power of expression, the deficiency is amply compensated in the picture of Christ praying in the Garden, which may be cited as one, among the few works of art, in which every part of the picture is made a vehicle of the presiding sentiment. The whole scene is enveloped in gloom and solemnity. No genial hues enliven the colouring, a part even of the principal light formed by the mantle of Christ being composed of pale blue, an arrangement rarely admitted by Corregio or any other great colourist: the only tint approaching to warmth is that of the drapery of the Angel, a subdued red, which, for the purpose of harmony, is faintly repeated on the groups in the middle distance. The first pale grey of dawn appears breaking over the horizon; but the general effect of the picture is that of intense gloom, in the midst of which we discern the sleeping Disciples, and farther off the Jews approaching to seize on Christ. The figure of the Redeemer himself, isolated, amidst darkness and danger, while his friends slumber and his enemies pursue him, is a sublime and touching impersonation of suffering virtue appealing to God from human persecution, but bowing with implicit resignation to the Almighty will. In this picture, Corregio exhibits what we so often wish for in Rembrandt, principals worthy of the beautiful accessories by which they are surrounded.