Chapter I · (continued 2)

Thirdly, that positive aspect of atonement, the transfigurement that results from grief's travail, the blessedness that comes of repentance may be independently accepted as the subject of artistic presentment though it may readily pass into false conceptions.

Such, then, are the main distinguishing characteristics of the absolute spiritual Ideal regarded as the essential content of romantic painting. It forms the material of its most successful and solemn creations, works that are immortal by virtue of the depth of their contemplation; and when the representation of essential truth is thereby expressed they are nothing less than the most exalted expansion of the soul to its heaven of bliss, the most intimate and complete revelation of ideal life that an artist can bring before our vision.

Following this pre-eminently religious sphere of artistic production we have still to investigate two further fields of its activity.

(β) In direct contrast to the province of religion we have that which, if we consider it in its isolated abstraction, is equally destitute of the life of soul and God, Nature in its simplest terms, and regarded more definitely in its connection with painting, Nature's landscape. We have stated the character of the object of religion to be such that in it the substantive ideality of the soul expresses therein the indwelling sense of Love as united to the Absolute[273]. This inward ideality has, however, a further content. It is able to discover in that which is wholly external an accord with soul-life, and can recognize in the objective world as such traits which have an affinity with what is spiritual. Regarded in their immediacy, no doubt, hills, mountains, woods, valleys, streams, meadows, sunlight, moon, and the starry heavens, are simply perceived to be the natural objects they are. But, in the first place, these objects have to start with an independent interest, in so far as it is the free life of Nature, which appears in them, and produces a sense of fellow feeling in the individual as one who shares that life himself; and, secondly, the particular changes of Nature's moods bring about states in the soul which correspond to such moods. It is possible for man to follow with his own life this animation of Nature and partake in this harmony of soul with its environment, and feel thereby at home in Nature. Just as the Arcadians spoke of a Pan, who made them shudder and frightened in the gloaming of the forest, in the same way the varied conditions of Nature's landscape in its gentle blithesomeness, its balmy repose, its spring-freshness, its wintry chill, its morning awakening and evening rest find their counterfeits in states of the soul. The tranquil depth of the ocean, the possibility that its depths may break forth with infinite power is akin to soul movements, just as conversely the roaring, upwelling, foaming, and break of storm-tossed waves stir the soul with concordant music. It is an ideal significance of this kind that the art of painting accepts as its object. And for this reason it is not natural objects merely as such in their external form and association which ought to constitute its true content, so that painting is nothing more than a mere imitation, but rather the animation of Nature's life, which interfuses it throughout and which is able to bring into prominence and assert with more vividness in the scenes of Nature reproduced the characteristic affinity of specific conditions of this life with particular spiritual states—it is a vital participation in Nature of this kind which gives us the meeting-point, steeped as it is in the soul-life and temperament of the artist, by means of which Nature may become the content of painting not merely as environment, but as possessing a distinct individuality[274].

(γ) There is yet further a third type of idealization which we find partly in the case where objects wholly insignificant are detached from the position they occupy in the landscape, and, partly, in scenes of human life, which may appear to us not merely as wholly accidental as thus selected, but even of a kind that is both mean and commonplace. I have already found an opportunity for an attempt to justify the artistic selection of such subjects[275]. I will in connection with painting merely add the following remarks to our former discussion.

The art of painting is not merely concerned with the inward life of the soul, but with that ideal element that is essentially particularized[276]. This latter type of ideality for the reason that particularity is its principle is not content to rest satisfied with the absolute object of religion, and as little will merely accept from the external world Nature's vitality and its defined character as landscape; rather it insists on partaking of everything, in which man as an isolated individual soul can take a rational interest and find pleasure. Even in the case of its representations of religious material art, in proportion as it develops, it attaches such more closely to terrestrial conditions and the objects of actual vision, giving to its content the complete presence of natural existence, so that we ultimately find that the aspect of sensuous existence is most important and the interest of devotional life only so in a subordinate degree. For here, too, art receives the task to work out the Ideal in its fullest realization, in other words, to present to our senses that which is originally detached from them, to carry over objects taken from the remoteness of past life into present life and unite them with that present human life.

At our present stage of human evolution it is the ideality which we find in actual life as it faces us, in the circumstances of daily experience, the most common and the most trivial, which is the actual content.

(αα) If we inquire, then, what it is that makes a content of this kind, otherwise so poverty-stricken and indifferent, compatible with the claims of art, we must reply that it is the substantive core that is contained and made valid therein, in general terms the vitality and delight of self-subsistent existence, exemplified in the greatest variety of its aims and interests. The life of mankind is always in the immediate Present. What a man may do in each moment thereof is something specific, and its justification consists in the fact that he carries through all his engagements, the least no less than the greatest, with heart and soul. In this way he is united with each particular incident, and, by infusing into each the entire force of his individuality, appears to identify his whole existence with such. This coalescence[277] produces that harmony of the individual with the specific character of his immediate activity in the circumstances that are nearest him, which is itself a mode of ideality, and which communicates in such a case to the subsistency of an existence, which is an exclusive and perfected whole, its attractive character. The interest, therefore, that we derive from representations of this kind is not to be attributed to the subject-matter, but rather to this animating soul, which by itself, and independently of that wherein it is disclosed as vital, finds an echo in every uncorrupted nature, in every free spirit, and is for the same an object of sympathy and delight. We must not, therefore, impair our enjoyment on the ground that the demand is made of us to admire such works of art under the aspect of their likeness to Nature so-called and such illusive imitation[278]. This demand, which works of this kind appear at first blush to support, is itself merely a deception which fails to hit the real point. For an admiration of this type is solely deducible from the wholly external comparison of a work of art and a work of Nature, and is only associated with the similarity of the counterfeit with an object or fact presented us, whereas the real content here and the artistic quality in the composition and execution is the coalescence of the matter portrayed with its own substance, which is the reality as independently depicted in its vital characterization. According to the principle of illusion, for instance, the portraits of Denner are entitled to our praise, which are, no doubt, imitations of Nature, but for the most part fail entirely to present us that vital animation on which we lay the main stress in these cases, and are mainly concerned with depicting hair, wrinkles, and generally every kind of trait which, without exactly being indicative of a corpse, are equally remote from the human physiognomy depicted as alive.

Moreover, if we permit ourselves to level down our enjoyment through superficial thoughts of the above fashionable kind, believing subjects of this type to be mean and unworthy of our contemplation, we accept the content by doing so in a form other than that in which art offers them us. In other words we merely associate with them the relation in which we stand to them according to our personal needs, pleasure, such education as we otherwise possess and other objects we have before us, that is to say we merely conceive them in respect to their external purport, throughout which it is our own requirements which are the vital thing we aim at for ourselves, and the matter of all importance. The life of the subject-matter itself, however, is thereby destroyed, in so far, that is, as the sole object of its existence appears to be that of a means simply, or lapses into a thing of no moment at all, just because we personally have no need for it. A gleam of sunlight, for example, which falls upon a room we enter through an open door, a part of the country we travel through, a sempstress, a maid we happen to see busily engaged, one and all we may regard with indifference, because we suffer them to pass by remote from the thoughts and interests which are bound up with them, and consequently in our soliloquy, or conversation with another will not suffer the situations which actually lie before us to speak a word in the current of our own thoughts and speech; or we cast what is merely a passing glance at them, the summary of which does not amount to more than the remark, "how pleasant, fine, or ugly they are." Thus we are charmed with the joviality of dance of peasants, while we merely glance at it superficially, or turn away from it with contempt, because we are hostile to "every sort of barbarism." We treat in a similar way the human countenances we come across in our daily life, or which we happen to chance upon. Our own personal point of view, and the various matters which engage us are for ever being interposed. We are forced to address this or that person in a certain way, we have affairs to despatch, we have certain things to consider, thoughts that affect our relation to such a person; we observe him under the particular circumstances of our knowledge; we regulate our conversation relatively to that, or we are silent upon it, if he may be likely to resent it—in short we have always in our minds the man's business, station, and status, and our attitude to and business with him, remaining in a wholly practical relation, or in a position of indifference and preoccupied inattention. Art, however, when it depicts such real life, wholly changes our attitude to it; it cuts away once and for all all practical deviations[279], such as we are wont to associate with such material; it places us simply in the attitude of abstract contemplation to it; and in the like degree it does away with its indifference, and directs our otherwise preoccupied attention wholly to the situation portrayed; upon which we must collect and concentrate all our faculties, if we are to enjoy it. Sculpture, in particular, by virtue of its ideal mode of production from the first strikes off all practical relation to the object to the extent that its product at once betrays the fact that it does not belong to this reality. Painting, on the contrary, carries us wholly into the presence of the daily life with which we are in immediate contact, but it furthermore destroys all the threads of practical necessity, attraction, inclination, or disinclination, which draw us to such a Present, or the reverse, and forces us to approach those objects more intimately as ends to themselves in their own particular phase or mode of life. What we meet with here is just the opposite to that which Herr von Schlegel, for example, in the tale of Pygmalion, expresses so very prosily as the return of the completed work of art to common life, that is to a relation of a man's own inclinations and an actual enjoyment, a return which is the very opposite of that alienation, in which the work of art places the objects delineated in their relation to our practical necessities, and, precisely by doing so, sets forth before us their own independent life and appearance.

(ββ) Just as, then, art, in this particular sphere, re-establishes the forfeited independence of a content, which we otherwise failed to preserve in its unique characteristics, in the same way, secondly, it is able to secure in stability such objects as may happen to appear in actual existence in a form we are not accustomed to respect simply as such. The higher Nature stretches in its organization and shifting appearance the more it resembles the actor who only serves the present need. In this connection I have already emphasized the fact as a triumph of art over reality, namely, that it is able to fix that which is most evanescent. This power of art in attaching permanence to momentary things applies not only to the sudden flash of life we find concentrated in certain situations, but also to the magical effect of its external presentment in the rapid changes of its colour. A troop of horsemen, for example, may alter every moment in the mode of its grouping, and the mutual relation of each rider within it. If we were one of such we should have something else to do than consider the lively effect of such changes. We should have to mount, dismount, make up our haversack, eat, drink, rest, groom, drink and feed our horses: or, if we looked on as ordinary folk, we should look at such with wholly different interests. We should want to know what they are there for, what nationality they are, for what reason they have left their barracks, and so forth. The painter, on the contrary, smuggles off the most volatile of the movements, the most evanescent expressions of countenance, the most momentary gleams of colour apparent in such motion, and places such before us solely in virtue of its interest in the animation of such phenomena which without it would vanish. For especially it is the play of the colouring, not treated merely as flat tint, but in its lights and shadows, and in the prominence or subordination of the objects painted which is the reason that the representation appears lifelike, a fact which we are accustomed to observe in works of art less than such an aspect deserves, bringing as it does art first clearly to our minds. And, moreover, the artist preferably accepts in depicting these natural relations the effort of following the least detail, and making his work concrete, definite and stamped with individuality, endeavouring as he does to secure for his subject-matter the individuality which phenomenal life itself supplies in its most momentary flashes; and yet withal does not so much seek for such a detail merely as imitated closely to strike our senses with its directness, but rather to furnish a definite image to the imagination in which at the same time the ideality of the entire composition remains active.

(γγ) The more insignificant the objects are, in comparison with the material of religion, which this particular phase of painting accepts for its content, to that very extent it is just this quality of artistic creation, the manner of observation, conception, elaboration, the vitality communicated by the artist to his work by all his individual faculties, in short the soul and living enthusiasm of his execution, which constitute a prominent aspect of its interest, and are part of its content. That which the subject treated is under his workmanship must, however, substantially remain what it is in fact and is capable of being. We believe, indeed, that we look upon something different, and novel, because in actual life we do not pay the same detailed attention to similar situations, and their manner of colouring. Looked at on the reverse side no doubt we have something, too, that is new added to such ordinary subjects, namely, just this very enthusiasm, artistic insight and spirit, the soul, in which the artist handles them, adapts them to his uses, and by doing so infuses the enthusiasm of his activity like the breath of a new life throughout all his work[280].

Such, then, are the essential points of view, which it was necessary to discuss in regard to the content of painting.

(b) The second aspect which we have next in order to examine is connected with the more particular modes of definition, to which the sensuous material, in so far as it has to accept in itself a given content, has to accommodate itself.

(α) The first of these of importance is the linear perspective. This is introduced as necessary, because painting has only the superficies at its disposal and no longer, as was the case with the bas-relief of antique sculpture, can extend its figures side by side on one and the same plane, but has to proceed to a mode of presentation, which finds it necessary to make the remoteness of its objects in all their spatial dimensions merely appear as such to our senses. For the art of painting has to unfold the content it selects, to place the same in its various movement before our eyes, and to associate in different ways its figures with the landscape of external Nature, its buildings and so forth, in a wholly distinct grade of literalness to that which sculpture in the relief is able to secure. And that which painting in this respect cannot place before us in its actual degree of remoteness in the realistic manner of sculpture it must present under the illusion of reality. What we have first to notice here consists in this that the single surface which confronts painting is divided into distinct planes, apparently remote from one another, and by this means the contrasts of a near foreground and a remote background are secured, which furthermore are linked together by means of a middle distance. Inasmuch as the objects are, the more distant they are from the vision, proportionately reduced in size, and this deduction follows in Nature itself optical laws capable of mathematical determination, the art of painting, too, has on its part to follow the same rules, which, by virtue of the fact that objects are set forth on one surface, are applicable here in a particular way. And this is the rational ground of the so-called linear or mathematical perspective in the art of painting, whose more detailed exposition, however, it is not our business here to discuss.

(β) In the second place, however, objects are not only placed at a certain distance from one another, but they also differ in shape. This particular mode of their spatial limitation by virtue of which every object is made visible in its particular form is the subject-matter of draughtsmanship. The art of drawing gives us for the first time not merely the comparative distance of objects from one another, but their respective configuration. Its most important principle is accuracy of form and relative distance, which of course in the first instance is not as yet associated with ideal[281] expression, but related simply to external appearance, and consequently forms the purely external framework[282], an accuracy, however, which, more particularly in the case of organic forms and their varied movements, is on account of the fore-shortenings thereby rendered necessary one of extreme difficulty. In so far as these two aspects are related purely to form and its spatial totality they constitute the plastic or sculpturesque features in painting, which this art, for the very reason that it expresses what is most ideal in its significance by means of external form, can as little dispense with as it can in another respect remain solely content with. For its supreme task is the employment of colour, and in such a way that in all that is truly painting distance and shape only attain and discover their genuine presentment by virtue of the distinctions of colour.

(γ) It is, therefore, colour, and the art of colouring, which make the painter a painter. We dwell with pleasure, no doubt, on the drawing, and exceptionally so on the study or sketch, as on that which pre-eminently betrays the quality of genius; but however rich with invention and imagination, with whatever directness the soul of an artist may assert itself in such studies by reason of the more transparent and mobile shell of their form, yet the fact remains to be painting we must have colour, if the work is not to continue abstract from the point of view of its sensuous material in the vital individuality and articulation of its objects. We must, however, at the same time admit that drawings and dry point drawings from the hand of great masters such as Raphael and Albrecht Dürer are of real importance. In fact from a certain point of view we may say that it is just these hand drawings which carry with them the finest interest. We find here the wonderful result that the entire spirit of the master is expressed directly in such manual facility, a facility which places with the greatest ease, in instantaneous work, without any preliminary essays, the essential substance of the master's conception. The border drawings of Dürer, for example, in the Prayer-book of the Munich library, are of indescribable ideality and freedom. Idea and execution appear in such a case to be one and the same thing, whereas in finished pictures we cannot avoid the sense that the consummate result is only secured after repeated over-paintings, a continuous process of advance and finish.

In despite of this, however, it is only through its employment of colour that the art of painting is able to give a real and vital presentment to the wealth of soul-life. All the schools of painting have, however, not retained the art of colouring at the same high level. It is a significant fact that we may, with an exception here and there, assert that it is only the Venetians and the Dutch[283] who have become consummate masters in their use of it. Both peoples were linked to the sea-coast, both situated on a low-lying land divided by fens, streams, and canals. In the case of the Dutch we may find an explanation in the fact that, on account of their having so perpetually a cloud-covered horizon, their conception of a gray background became fixed in their minds, and owing to this very gloomy prepossession they were the more driven to study colour in all its effects and variety of lighting, shadow, and chiaroscuro, to emphasize this and to discover in this the main task of their artistic efforts. In contrast to that of the Venetians and the Dutch the painting of the Italians generally, if we except that of Correggio and one or two others, appears to be more dry, sapless, cold, and lifeless. Looked at more closely we may emphasize the following points in connection with the art of colouring as the most important.

(αα) In the first place we have the abstract basis of all colour in light and dark. When we posit this contrast and its transitions by themselves without further distinctions of colour effect, we get thereby simply the contrasts supplied us by white as light and black as shadow together with their transitional grades and nuances, contrasts which offer to the art of drawing its integrating quality, appertaining as they do to the real plastic character of form, and producing the prominence, retreat, rondure, and distance of objects. We may incidentally mention in this connection the art of engraving on the plate which is wholly concerned with light and shadow as such[284]. Apart from the infinite assiduity and labour it implies we find in this highly valuable art, at the point of its supreme attainment, soul intimately associated with the utility of great variety of form[285], a variety which the art of bookbinding also possesses. Such an art, however, is not wholly occupied with effects of light and shade as that of simple draughtsmanship is; it endeavours further in its elaboration to become distinctly a rival of painting, and in addition to light and shade such as is purely the effect of illumination, also strives to express those distinctions of more emphatic light and darkness which are primarily the result of local colour; we find, for example, in a copperplate engraving that an attempt is made by its use of light effects to render visible the distinction between blond and black hair.

In painting, however, as already remarked, mere light and darkness only supply the fundamental basis, albeit such a foundation is of the greatest importance. For it is this contrast and only this which defines the comparative prominence and retirement, the rondure, and generally the actual appearance of form as sensuous shape, all that we understand by modelling. Masters of colour in this respect simply carry the process to the most extreme contrasts of the most brilliant light and the deepest shadow, and merely produce thereby their grand effects. Such contrasts are, however, only permissible in so far as they avoid harshness, that is, in so far as they are made within the limits of a just interplay of intermediate tones and colour transitions, which bind the entire composition in a fluid unity and render the finest gradations of tint possible. If such contrasts are entirely absent the entire effect will be flat, because it is precisely this distinction between that which is more brilliant and more obscure which gives emphatic prominence to particular aspects of the work and a like subordination to others. And especially in the case of compositions having a large content, and where the distance between objects is considerable, it is necessary to introduce the deepest shadow in order to make the scale of light and shadow a broad one.

With regard to the closer definition of light and shade we find that this depends more than anything else upon the mode of lighting accepted by the artist. The light of day, that of morning, noon, and evening, sunlight or moonlight, a clear or clouded sky, the light of tempest, candle-light, a light that is veiled, or falls upon the object or diffuses itself gradually, every conceivable mode of lighting, in short, is possible, and the cause of every kind of effect. In treating a subject of public interest, full of incident, a situation that at once appeals to our common sense, the question of external lighting is of subordinate importance. The artist will avail himself here with most advantage of ordinary daylight, if, that is, the demands of dramatic vividness, and a desire to emphasize particular figures and groups, or to throw into the background others, do not render a less usual mode of lighting necessary, which may fall in more readily with such objects.

The great painters of the earlier school have consequently as a rule made little use of such contrasts or specific schemes of lighting. And they did rightly, inasmuch as their emphasis was rather on the spiritual aspect as such than on the sensuous impression of their pictures. And on account of the pre-eminent ideality and spiritual significance of the content they were able to dispense with the aspect of their work which inclined more or less to the material side. In the case of landscapes, on the contrary, and subjects of less importance taken from ordinary life, the question of lighting makes a very different appeal. In these important artistic and, often, artificial and mysterious effects are indispensable. In the landscape the bold contrasts between large masses in illumination and other parts in the strongest shadow will receive their full effect, but tend also to develop the artistic mannerism. Conversely we find, more especially in the treatment of landscape, reflections of light, the flash and its counterfeit, that wonderful echo of light, which arises from the interplay of light and dark, and offers an ample and progressive subject of study both to the artist and the spectator. Such a scheme of lighting, which the artist has either by direct imitation or imaginatively conceived in his work, can, however, by itself only be a transient one, which is subject to rapid change. However sudden or uncommon the lighting thus permanently retained may be, the artist must see in the treatment of his composition, even though it be as full of movement as possible, that the whole, despite all its variety, is not injured by mere restlessness and wavering motive, but is throughout clear and marked with unity.

(ββ) In accordance with what has already been stated the art of painting, however, has not merely to express light and dark in its purely abstract intension, but to add to it the distinctions of colour. Light and shadow must be coloured light and shadow. We have therefore in the second place to discuss colour simply.

The first point we have to deal with here is the brightness and obscurity of particular colours respectively to one another, that is in so far as they are operative as light and dark in their varied relations, and either emphasize or suppress and impair their individual effect. Red, for example, and still more yellow, is at an equal grade of intensity more brilliant than blue. This is dependent upon the nature of the colours themselves, which in recent times Goethe has for the first time fully explained[286]. In other words, we find that in blue shadow is of main significance, which, in its first operation through a brighter, but not as yet fully transparent medium, appears to our sight as blue. The sky, for example, is dark, and on the highest mountains it is yet darker. Seen through a transparent but thick medium, such as the atmosphere of its lower planes is, it appears as blue, and its brightness increases in proportion as the air is less transparent. In the case of yellow, on the contrary, essential brightness works through a density, which, however, suffers this brightness to shine through it. Smoke, for example, is such an obscuring medium; looked at in front of anything black which works its way through it, it appears of a bluish tint, and before anything bright it appears yellow and reddish. Genuine red is the actively royal and concrete colour, in which blue and yellow, themselves also extremes of opposition, press together in fusion, We may also regard green as such a union, not, however, in a unity that is concrete, but merely as a difference that is cancelled, as a medium of satiated and tranquillized neutrality[287]. These colours are the purest, simplest, and original cardinal colours. We may consequently find a symbolical significance in the way that the old masters made use of them. Especially is this so in their use of blue and red. Blue corresponds with the milder, sensuous, more tranquil aspect, a contemplation which is rich in feeling, in so far as it has obscurity for its principle, and offers no resistance, whereas the brightness therein rather suggests that which resists, produces, is alive and blithesome. Red corresponds with what is masculine, dominant, and royal, green with that which is indifferent and neutral. According to such symbolism for example, the Virgin Mary is frequently clothed in red where she is enthroned, and set before us as queen of heaven; where she is depicted as mother, she wears a blue mantle[288]. All the other colours in their endless variety must be regarded as mere modifications of the above, in which we must recognize a certain degree of shadow fused with the cardinal colours. In this sense no painter would call violet a colour[289]. Furthermore all these colours, in their mutual relation to each other, are respectively of greater brightness or obscurity, a fact that the artist must bear in mind if he is not to fail in getting the just tone which any particular section of his modelling or distance effects ought to have. In other words we have here a source of exceptional difficulty. In the countenance, for example, the lip is red, the eyebrow dark, black, brown, or, if blonde, at least darker as such than the lip; in the same way the cheeks with their reddish tint are more brilliant in colour than the nose, with its main impression of yellow, brownish, or greenish tint. Such portions of the face can readily receive a greater brightness and intensity owing to this local colour than is consonant with their modelling as parts of the whole. In sculpture, indeed in mere drawing too, such parts of a composition receive their light and shadow wholly in reference to their particular form and its manner of lighting. A painter on the contrary must accept their local colouring, and this disturbs such a relation. Such a difficulty is even more obvious between objects more removed from one another. For the ordinary vision of sight it is our mind which determines the distance and form of such objects, not merely by means of their colour appearance, but also on a variety of other grounds. In painting, however, all that we have before us is colour, which as such is able to interfere with that which is demanded by mere brightness and darkness as such. The art of the painter, therefore, consists in his ability to resolve this contradiction, and so to arrange his colours that neither in their local tints, nor in their mutual relation in any other way, they impair the modelling as a whole. Only if success is secured in both respects are we likely to see the actual shape and colour of the objects realized in perfection. With what consummate art, for example, have the Dutch painted the sheen of satin dresses with all their variety of reflections and gradations of shadow in their folds, or the flash of silver, gold, copper, vessels of glass and velvet; and in the same way we may mention the lighting a Van Eyck gives to his jewels, gold borders, and metals. The colours by means of which the flash of gold is presented have nothing of metallic about them: looked at closely we merely see yellow, which by itself is of no great brightness. The entire effect is due on the one hand to the prominence of the form, and on the other to the contiguity of the mutual gradations of distinct colour tones.

A further aspect in the second place is the harmony of the colouring.

I have already observed that the very nature of the facts necessitates that colour should have itself an articulated system. And this complete result should appear. No fundamental colour should be wholly omitted, otherwise our sense of this integrated whole is lost. To an exceptional degree the old Italian masters and the Dutch satisfy us in this respect. We find in their pictures blue, yellow, red, and green[290]. It is this completeness which supplies the basis of our colour harmony. The colours, moreover, must be so arranged that not merely their artistic contrast, but also their mediation and resolution, and a repose and reconciliation as the result of such, is made visible to the sight. Such effective contrast and repose in conciliated extremes is brought about partly by the way the colours are associated, and partly by the degree of intensity which characterizes each colour. In early painting it was principally the Dutch school[291], which employed the cardinal colours in their purity and their unimpaired brilliance, by which means the harmony is rendered more difficult by reason of the emphasis laid on contrast, but when secured should be pleasing to the eye. Where, however, the decisive character and force of colour is insisted on the nature of the subject-matter itself should be more definite and simple. And by attending to this a higher degree of harmony between colouring and content is also obtained. The important personages, for instance, must receive the colour that is most emphatic, and in their characterization, their entire deportment and expression should appear more imposing than the subordinate figures, who will receive merely the composite colours. In landscape painting the contrast of pure cardinal colours is less pronounced. In scenes, on the contrary, in which human figures are of most importance, and more particularly where drapery occupies large spaces of canvas, the more simple colours will be in their right place. In such we have a scene taken from the world of spiritual life, in which that which is inorganic, the natural environment, is more abstract, in other words must not appear in its natural completeness and isolated manner of effect, and the varied tints of landscape in all the profusion of their gradations are less suitable. As a rule the landscape is not so entirely fitted to the environment of human scenes as a room, or generally that which is architectural, inasmuch as situations which take place in the open air are in general not accepted from a class in which the life of soul without considerable reserve is manifested. If a man is placed before us with the open landscape around him it should appear simply as environment. And in cases of this type it is right to make use of colours that are exceptionally prominent. But the use of such involves also boldness and power of execution. Sickly sweet, overpowered[292], doting faces are not the kind for such treatment. Such soft expressions, such over-diluted countenances, which, ever since Mengs gave them as people are wont to think typical of ideality, would be entirely pulverized by such decision of colour. In recent times and among us Germans, weak faces which have essentially nothing to say[293], carefully posed in ways that imagine themselves to possess grace, simplicity, and imposing character, are all the fashion. This lack of distinction, on the side of spiritual characterization, has its counterpart in and indeed produces a similar lack of definition in colour and tone, so that all colours are run together in one confusion, and forceless condition of mutilation and evaporization, and no real emphasis is laid on any. You cannot say that one suppresses another exactly, but then none adds contrast to another. It is no doubt a colour harmony of a kind, and frequently it impresses with its excessive sweetness and flattering endearment, but the note of distinction is absent. In this connection Goethe thus expresses himself in his observations added to the translation of Diderot's essay on painting: "Critics do not by any means admit that it is easier to make weak colour harmonious than a strong scheme: but it stands to reason when colour is strong, when colours are placed before us vividly, in that case the eye will experience their harmony or discord with greater vividness. If, however, we weaken our colours, employ some with brilliance, others in fusion, others in obscure squalour, then it is obvious no one will be able to say whether the picture he looks at is harmonious or not. One thing in any case we can say of it, it lacks distinction."

With harmony of colour, however, we have not by any means attained the goal of the art of colouring. To reach this consummate effect, in the third place, several other aspects must not be neglected. In this respect I will restrict my observations to three points, first, the so-called atmospheric perspective, secondly, flesh-colour, and in conclusion, the magic of colour brilliancy.[294]

Linear perspective is connected in the first instance merely with the different degrees of size, which the lines of objects possess in their greater or less remoteness from the human eye. This alteration and reduction of form is, however, not the only thing painting has to reproduce. In Nature everything is affected by the presence of atmosphere, not merely between different objects, but even different parts of them, a difference which asserts itself in colour. This tone of colour which thus as it were evaporates with the distance is what constitutes atmospheric perspective, in so far as thereby objects are modified partly in deliberate outline, and partly in respect to their light and shadow and general colouring. As a rule people think that what is nearest to the eye in the foreground is brightest, and what lies in the background is more obscure; in truth the matter is otherwise[295]. But lights and shadows in the foreground are strongest, in other words the contrast between light and shade has a more powerful effect, and outlines are more defined near to the spectator. In proportion, however, to the degree of their remoteness, they lose in definition of colour and form, because the contrast of their light and shadow is gradually reduced, until finally everything disappears in transpicuous gray. Different schemes of lighting, however, necessitate in this respect various modes of treatment. In landscape painting more especially, but also in other compositions, which present large spaces, atmospheric perspective is of first importance, and the great masters of colour have carried out by this means the most bewitching effects.

The most difficult achievement in colouring, the ideal and consummation of its art, is the colour effect of the human flesh[296], which unites in its perfection all other colour tones, without permitting any particular one to be singly prominent. The healthy red in the cheeks of youth is, no doubt, pure carmine without any admixture of blue, violet, or yellow, but this red is itself only a flush, or rather a sheen, which appears to rise on the surface, and imperceptibly passes into the prevailing flesh-tints. And this is an ideal[297] commixture of all the fundamental colours. Through the transparent yellow of the skin the red of the arteries and the blue of the veins is visible, and along with the light and shade and all the variety of sheen and reflection we have further tones of gray, brown, even green, which at first sight appear as contrary to Nature, but for all that may contribute to the justness and truth of the effect. Moreover, this composite treatment of many apparent tints is wholly without sheen as such, that is, it reflects nothing alien to it on its surface; its vital quality is entirely a result of itself and the living thing it is. It is this rendering of that which is the life shining through the organic integument which constitutes the main difficulty. We may compare it to a lake in the evening glow, in which we behold the objects that it reflects[298] no less than the clear depth and native character of water. The flash of metal combines on the contrary, no doubt, both light of its own and transparency, jewels both flash and are translucent, and something similar is seen in the case of velvet and silk-stuffs, but none of these approaches the life-conferred interfusion of colours apparent on the surface of the living flesh. The skin of animals, whether hair or hide, wool, and so forth, are in like manner of the most varied colouring, but it is a colour capable of more direct and independent definition in its parts, so that the variety is rather the result of different surfaces and planes, it is not a single transfusion and suffusion of many colours such as human flesh is. The nearest approach to it perhaps is the interplay of colour visible in the bunch of grapes, or the exquisitely tender gradations of translucent colour in the rose. And yet even this last example is unable to give us the counterfeit of ideal animation[299] which flesh-colour should possess. It is this volatile emanation of the soul exhibited on a non-transparent surface which is one of the most difficult problems of painting. For this ideality, this reflex of the inward life of soul must not appear on a surface as imported there, must not be pasted there as so many streaks, hatchings, and so forth of material colour, but seem to us itself to belong to the living whole[300], a transparent depth, as the blue of heaven, which offers our vision no repellent surface, but one in which we are infallibly invited to unfold. Already Diderot, in the essay on painting translated by Goethe, expressed himself as follows on this head: "He who once has truly felt and secured the apparition of flesh-colour is far on his way to perfect victory. Thousands of painters have died without such a feeling, and many thousands more will die without doing so."

In so far as the material is concerned, by means of which this untransparent vitality of flesh is reproduced, the first medium to declare its suitability for such an effect was the oil-pigment. Work in mosaics is of all the least fitting to present us such a composite effect. Its permanency is no doubt a recommendation, but inasmuch as it can only express colour gradations through variously coloured glass cubes or stones placed in juxtaposition, it is wholly unable to reproduce the intermingling flow of one unified presentment of many colours. Fresco and tempera painting carry us considerably further in this direction. Yet in the case of fresco-painting the colours are put on the wet plaster with too great rapidity, so that, on the one hand, the greatest facility and sureness of brushwork is an essential, and, on the other, the work has to be carried out with broad adjacent strokes, which on account of their drying so rapidly do not admit of a fine degree of finish[301]. The same kind of difficulty meets us in the case of tempera-painting, a process[302] which no doubt admits of great lucidity of expression[303] and beautiful contrasts of light and shadow, yet for all that, by reason of the fact that its medium dries so quickly, is less adapted to the fusion and elaboration of its effects, and necessitates an articulate surface made up of definite strokes of the brush. The oil pigment, on the contrary, not only permits of the most tender and subtle melting together and elaborate fusion of colour effect, so that transitions are so imperceptible we cannot say where one colour begins and where it leaves off, but it is, where its component elements are properly fused and the execution of it is as it should be, itself remarkable for a luminous quality like that of precious stones, and it can, by virtue of its distinctions between opaque or transparent colours[304], reproduce in a far higher degree than tempera painting the translucency of different layers of colour.

The third and last point for our consideration in this connection is the emanation[305] and mystery of colour in its entire effect. This witchery of colour appearance will mainly be found, where the substantive ideality of objects has become an effusion of spirit which enters into the scheme and treatment of its coloured presentment. In general, we may say that the magic consists in a handling of colour by means of which we obtain an interplay of scenic effect which is devoid of defined articulation as such, which is, in fact, simply the result of moulding of colour in the finest degree of fluency, a fusion of coloured material, an interplay of reflected points which pass into one another, and are so fine and evanescent in their gradations, so full of vital cohesion that the medium here seems already to have entered that of musical sound. From the point of view of modelling the mastery of chiaroscuro is part of this magic result, an aspect of the art in which among the Italians Leonardo da Vinci and, above all, Correggio were supreme. While introducing the very deepest shadow, the transparency of this is not only preserved, but is carried through imperceptible gradations to the most brilliant light. By this means roundness in the moulding of form is complete; there is no harshness of line or limit, but all is equable transition. Light and shadow are not here merely in their immediate effect as such, but gleam through one another much as a spiritual force is operative through an external shell. It is just an effect like this we find in the artistic treatment of colour, and the Dutch were no less than others consummate masters of this. By virtue of this ideality, this mutual relation between the parts, this interfusion of reflections and colour scintillations, this alternation and evanescence of transitional tones, a breath of soul and vitality is throughout communicated in the brilliancy, depth, the mild and juicy illumination of colour. It is this which gives us the magic effect of a masterpiece of colour; it is the unique gift of the genius of the artist who is himself the magician.

(γγ) And this brings us to the last point we have to discuss on this part of our subject.

We started with the linear perspective, we passed on then to drawing and concluded with colour; first considering light and shade in its relation to modelling, and, secondly, viewing it as colour simply, or more accurately, as the mutual relation between degrees of brightness and darkness in colours, regarding it, moreover, in its aspects of harmony, atmospheric perspective, flesh-colour and magical effect. We have now to consider more directly[306] the creative impulse of the artist in bringing about such colour effects.

The ordinary view is that the art of painting follows definite rules in attaining its results. This is, however, only true of the linear perspective, being as it is a wholly geometrical science, and even in this case rules must not obtrude themselves in their abstract stringency, if we are to preserve all that essentially contributes to our art. And, in the second place, we shall find that artistic drawing accommodates itself even less readily than perspective to universal rules, but least of all is this true of colouring. Sense of colour ought to be an artistic instinct or quality, should be as much a unique way of looking at and composing existing tones of colour, as it should be an essential aspect of creative power and invention. On account of this personal equation in the production of colour, the way, that is, the artist looks at and is active in the making of his world, the immense variety which we find in different modes of treating, it is no mere caprice and favourite mannerism of colouring, which is absent from the facts in rerum natura, but lies in the nature of the case. Goethe supplies us with an example of personal experience which, as confided in his "Dichtung und Wahrheit," illustrates what I mean: "As I returned to my cobbler's house [he had just visited the Dresden Gallery] once more to take lunch I could scarce trust the evidence of my eyes. I believed myself to see before me a picture of Van Ostade[307], so complete it was, that you might have hung it there and then in the Gallery. Composition of subject-matter, light, shadow, brown tone of the whole, all that is admirable in this artist's pictures I saw actually before me. It was the first time that I was aware, to such a high degree of the power which I subsequently exercised with intention, the power of seeing, that is, with the eyes of the particular artist, to whose works I had just happened to devote exceptional attention. This facility afforded me great enjoyment, but also increased the desire from time to time to persevere in the exercise of a talent which Nature seemed ungracious enough to disallow me[308]." This variety in the manner of colouring is exceptionally conspicuous in the painting of human flesh, quite apart from all modifications rendered necessary by the mode of lighting, age, sex, situation, and the like considerations. And for the rest, whether the subject depicted be daily life, outside or within the interior of private houses, taverns, churches, or other buildings, or it be that of Nature's landscape, with its wealth of objects and colour, which finds more or less accurate reflection in the personal essay of any particular painter, the result cannot fail to illustrate this varied play of form and colour effect[309], which will infallibly appear, due as it is to the manner in which each comprehends, reproduces, and creates his own work according to his own outlook, experience and imaginative powers.

(c) We have hitherto, in discussing the several points of view which are given effect to in the art of painting, referred, firstly, to its content, and secondly to the sensuous medium in which such content can be built up. We have in conclusion to define the mode under which the artist is bound to conceive and execute his content as a painter and under the conditions of his particular medium. We will divide the very considerable matter which such an investigation implies in the following manner:

First, we have to deal with the more general distinctions in forms of conception, which it will be necessary to classify and follow in their progressive advance to richer manifestations of life.

Secondly, we shall have to direct attention to the more definite aspects, which, within these general types of conception, are more directly referable to genuine pictorial composition, that is, the artistic motives apparent in the particular situation and manner of grouping selected.

Lastly, we propose to review rapidly the mode of characterization, which results from distinctions of subject-matter no less than modes of conception.

(α) With respect to the most generally prevailing modes of artistic conception[310], we shall find these are in some measure due to the content which has to be depicted, and in part are referable to the course of the art's evolution, which does not from the first seek to elaborate all that is apparent in any subject, but rather through a variety of stages and transitions makes itself fully mistress of Life and its manifestations.

(αα) The first position which the art of painting is able to secure still betrays its origin from sculpture and architecture: in the entire mode of its conception it is still in close association with these arts. And this will pre-eminently be the case where the artist restricts himself to individual figures, which he does not place before us in the vital connections of an essentially concrete situation, but in the simple independence of its self-repose. Out of the many sources of content which I have indicated as adapted to painting, we shall find religious subjects, Christ, his apostles, and the like are exceptionally suited to such abstract treatment. Such figures as these must necessarily be assumed to possess sufficient significance in their isolation, to be complete in themselves, and to unfold an object sufficiently substantive of adoration and love. Belonging to this type, particularly in early art, we meet with examples of Christ or his saints isolated without definite situation and environment. If we do find the latter it mainly consists in architectural embellishments, particularly Gothic; this is frequently the case in early Flemish or upper German art[311]. In this relation to architecture, among the columns and arches of which such figures as the twelve apostles and others are frequently composed, painting does not as yet attain to the life-like actuality of its later development, and we find that even the figures still retain in some measure a character which inclines to the statuesque, or to some extent do not move beyond such a general type as we find indicated in its fundamentals by Byzantine painting. For isolated figures of this character, devoid of any background or only retaining a purely architectonic outline, a more severe simplicity of colour, and a more emphatic brilliancy, is as it should be. The oldest school of painters have consequently employed a single-tinted ground of gold instead of a rich natural landscape, a ground which the colours of drapery have to confront, and to which they are compelled to adapt themselves; these are consequently more decisive and glaring than the colours employed in the periods of Art's finest bloom, just as we find as a rule that simple vivid colours such as red, blue, and the rest are most pleasing to uncultivated people.

To this earliest type of conception it is that for the most part the miracle-working pictures belong. To such as to something stupendous man is merely placed in a relation of stupidity, from which the aspect of their artistic merit vanishes, so that they are not brought nearer to his conscious life in friendly guise in accordance with their vital humanity and beauty, and the very pictures which are most revered in a religious sense are from an artistic standpoint the most execrable.

If, however, isolated figures of this type do not supply an object for devotion or interest as being already complete and independent personality, their execution, carried out as it is in consonance with the principle of statuesque conception, has no meaning at all. Portraits, for example, are of interest to relatives who know the man thus portrayed and his individuality. But where the personages thus depicted are forgotten or unknown the sympathy which is excited by their portraiture in a given action or situation, which gives definite content to a particular character, is of a wholly different kind to that which we find in the entirely simple type of conception above referred to. Really great portraits, when they face us in the fullest wealth of life all the means of art can display, possess in this wealth itself the power to stand forth from and step out of their frames. In looking at the portraits of Van Dyck, for example, more particularly when the pose of the figure is not wholly full face, but slightly turned away, the frame has struck me like the door of the world, which the man before me enters. When consequently individuals do not possess, as saints, angels and the like do, a characterization which is in itself sufficiently complete and acknowledged, and are only interesting by virtue of the definite character of a given situation, some single circumstance or particular action, it is not suitable to present them as independent figures. As an example of this the last work of Kügelchen in Dresden was a composition of four heads, half figures, namely, Christ, John the Evangelist, John the Baptist, and the Prodigal Son. So far as Christ and John the Evangelist are concerned I found the conception quite appropriate. But in the case of the Baptist, and in every respect in that of the Prodigal Son, I failed to connect with them the authentic character which could justify a treatment of them as half-length portraits. In such cases it is essential to place the figures in a condition of action or incident, or at least to show them in situations, by means of which, in vital association with external environment, they can assert the individuality which marks an essentially exclusive whole. The head of the Prodigal Son in the above picture expresses no doubt, very finely too, pain, profound repentance and remorse, but the only indication we have given us that this is the repentance of the Prodigal Son is a very diminutive herd of swine in the foreground. Instead of a symbolical reference of this kind we ought to see him among his swine, or at least in some other scene of his life. The Prodigal Son, in short, does not possess for us any further general characterization complete as such in our minds and only exists, in so far as he is not purely allegorical, in the well-known scenes of Biblical narrative. He should be depicted to us as leaving his father's house, or in his misery, his repentance and return, that is, in the concrete facts of the tale. Those swine put in the foreground do not carry us much further than a label with "The Prodigal Son" written on it.

(ββ) And generally it is obvious that painting, for the reason that its function is to accept as its content the wealth of soul-life in all its detail, is, to a yet greater extent than sculpture, unable to rest satisfied with that repose on itself which is without defined situation and the conception of a character taken by itself and alone simply. It is bound to make the effort to exhibit such self-subsistency and its content in specific situation, variety, and distinction of character viewed in their mutual relations and in association with their environment. It is, in fact, just this departure from purely eclectic and traditional types, from the architectonic composition of figures and the statuesque mode of conception; it is just this liberation from all that is devoid of movement and action, this striving after a living human expression, a characteristic individuality; it is this investment of a content with all the detail of the ideal and external condition that affects it which constitutes the advance of the art, in virtue of which it secures its own unique point of view. Consequently to painting as to no other plastic art is it not merely permitted, but it is even required from it, that it should unfold dramatic realization, and by the composition of its figures display their activity in a distinctly emphasized situation.

(γγ) And, in the third place, closely connected with this absorption in the complete wealth of existing life and the dramatic movement of circumstance and character, we are aware of the importance which is increasingly attached, both in conception and execution, to the individuality and the vital wealth of the colour aspect of all objects, in so far as in painting we attain to the supremest effects of vital truth which are capable of being expressed purely by colour.

This magical result of appearance can, however, be carried to such a pitch, that in contrast to it the exhibition of content becomes a matter of indifference, and painting tends to pass over, in the mere charm and perfume of its colour tones, and the contrast, fusion, and play of their harmonies, into the art of music, precisely as sculpture, in the elaboration of its reliefs, tends to associate itself with painting.

(β) What we have in the first instance now to pass in review are the particular lines[312] that pictorial composition is constrained to adhere to in its productions when presenting to us a definite situation and the more immediate motives referable to it by virtue of the way it concentrates and groups together various figures and natural objects in one self-exclusive whole.

(αα) What is of fundamental and pre-eminent importance here is the happy selection of a situation adapted to the art.

In this respect the imaginative powers of the painter possess an immeasurable field to select from, a field whose limits extend from the simplest situation[313] of an object insignificant in itself, such as a wreath of flowers, or a wineglass composed with plates, bread, and certain fruits, to rich compositions of important public events, political actions, coronation fêtes, battles, or even the Last Judgment, in which God the Father, Christ, his apostles, the heavenly legions, nay, our entire humanity, and earth, heaven, and hell are brought together. And here a closer inspection will show us that we must clearly distinguish what is truly pictorial on the one hand from that which is sculpturesque, and on the other from what is poetical in the sense that it is only poetry that can fully express it.

The essential difference between a pictorial, and sculpturesque situation consists, as we have already seen, in this, that the main function of sculpture is to place before us that which is self-subsistent in its tranquillity, without conflict under conditions that do not affect it, in which distinctness of definition is not the main demand, it is only in the relief that it really begins to approach a group composition, and an epic expanse of figures begins to represent actions involving motion, and which imply collision of opposing forces. The art of painting, on the contrary, only thoroughly takes up its proper task, when it moves away from figures composed independently of their more concrete relations, moves away from a situation that is deficient in its elaboration, in order that it may thus pass into the sphere of living movement, human conditions, passions, conflicts, actions in persistent association with external environment, and even in its composition of natural landscape is able to retain firmly this definite structure of a given situation and its most lifelike individuality. It was for this reason that from the first we maintained that painting was called upon to effect the exposition of character, soul, and ideal qualities, not in the way that this spiritual world enables us to recognize it directly in its external shape, but in the way it evolves and expresses its actual substance by means of actions.

And the truth we have just mentioned is that which brings painting into closer relation with poetry. Both arts have in this respect an advantage[314], and from another point of view, also a disadvantage. Painting is unable to give us the development of a situation, event, or action, as poetry or music, that is to say, in a series of changes; it can only embody one moment of time. A simple reflection is deducible from this, namely, that we must in this one moment have placed before us the substance of the situation or action in its entirety, the very bloom of it; consequently, that moment should be selected in which all that preceded and followed it is concentrated in one point. In the case of a battle, for example, this moment will be that of victory. The conflict is still apparent, but its decisive conclusion is equally so. The artist is able, therefore, to retain as it were the residue of the Past, which, in the very act of withdrawal and disappearance, still asserts itself in the Present, and furthermore can suggest what has yet to be evolved as the immediate result of a given situation. I cannot, however, here enlarge further on this head. The painter, however, together with this disadvantage as against the poet, is to this extent advantaged in that he can bring the precise scene before our vision in all the appearance of its reality, can depict it perfectly in all its detail. "Ut pictura poesis erit" is no doubt a favourite saying which is particularly and pertinaciously advanced by theorists, and is no doubt actually accepted and exemplified by narrative poetry in its descriptions of the seasons, its flowers, and its landscapes. Detailed transcription of such objects and situations is, however, not only a very dry and tedious affair, and indeed, so far from being exhaustive, always leaves something more to say. It is, further, contrasted with painting, only a confusing result, because it is forced to present as a successive series of ideas what painting sets before our vision once and for all, so that we constantly tend to forget what has gone before and lose it from our minds, despite the fact that it should be held in essential relation with that which follows, inasmuch as under the spatial condition it is in fact a part of it, and only is significant in this association and this immediacy. It is, however, just in this contemporaneous exposition of detail that the painter can restore that which, in respect to the progressive series of past and future events, he fails to secure.

There is, however, another respect in which painting yields place to poetry and music, and that is in its lyrical quality. The art of poetry can not only develop emotions and ideas generally as such respectively, but also in their transitions, movement, and increased intensity. In respect to concentrated intensity this is yet more the case in music, which is essentially concerned with soul-movement. To represent this painting has nothing beyond the expression of face and pose; and if it does exclusively direct its effort, to what is actually lyrical, it misconceives the means at hand. However much the soul's passion may be expressed in the play of the countenance or bodily movement, such expression should not be directly referable to emotion as such, but to emotions in so far as they are present, with a definite mode of expression, in an event or action. The fact that it reveals ideality in external form therefore does not connote the abstract meaning that it makes the nature of the soul visible by means of physiognomy and form, under the mode of which it expresses soul-life; it is rather just the individual situation of an action, passion in some specific outburst thereof, by means of which the emotion is unfolded and recognized. When, therefore, it is attempted to interpret the poetical quality of painting under the assumption that it should express the soul's emotion directly, without a motive and action more near to it in facial expression and pose, all that we do in such a case is to throw the art back upon an abstraction, which its effort should precisely strive to be rid of; we ask of it, in short, that it should master the peculiar and just contribution of poetry; and if it attempts to do this the result will be a barren and stale one.

I particularly insist on this point because in the exhibition of art we had here last year (1828) several pictures from the so-called Düsseldorf school have received much attention, the painters of which, while displaying in their work considerable knowledge and technical ability, have laid almost exclusive stress on this ideal aspect, on material that is only capable of adequate presentment in poetry. The content, for the most part borrowed from poems of Goethe or from Shakespeare, Ariosto, and Tasso, may be generally indicated as the ideal emotion of Love. As a rule the most capable of these pictures set before us a pair of lovers, Romeo and Juliet, for example, or Rinaldo and Armida, without any further situation, so that these couples have nothing more to do and express except the fact that they are in love with each other, in other words, they share a mutual attraction, gaze on each other as lovers, and as lovers look yet again. Naturally in such a case the main expression must be concentrated in the mouth and eyes; and we may add that our Rinaldo has been so placed relatively to his spider legs that he looks very much as though he did not know what to do with them. They are extensions which are entirely without meaning. Sculpture, as we have seen, dispenses with the glance of eye, the soul-flash; painting, on the other hand, seizes on this potent means of expression, but it must not focus everything at this one point, it should not make the fire or the refluent languor and yearning of the eye or soft friendliness of lips the soul and centre of expression without any other motives. Equally defective was the fisherman of Hübner, the theme of which was borrowed from that famous poem of Goethe, which depicts with such wonderful depth and charm of feeling the indefinite yearning for the repose, coolness and purity of water. The naked fisher lad, who in this picture is being drawn into the water, has, just as the male figures in the other pictures have, a very prosaic looking face, such as we could not imagine, if the features were in repose, to be capable of profound or beautiful emotions. And, as a rule, we cannot assert of these figures, whether male or female, that they are beautiful in a healthy sense; they, on the contrary, merely betray the nervous excitement, weakness, and disease of Love and emotional life generally, which people have no business to repeat and which we would willingly, whether in life or Art, be spared. To the same class of conception belongs the way that Schadow, the master of this school, has depicted Goethe's Mignon. The character of Mignon is wholly poetical. What makes her interesting is her Past, the severity of her destiny as it affects both her inward and outward life, the conflict of her Italian, wholly excited passion in a soul which is still obscure to itself, which can neither decide upon a course of action or object, and which, being this mystery to itself, merges itself in such and yet can do itself no good. It is this self-expression wholly divided in itself and yet retiring into itself, and only letting us see its confusion in isolated and unrelated eruptions, which creates the awful interest we cannot fail to experience in her. Such a network of contradictions we may no doubt imagine in our minds, but the art of painting is wholly unable to, present it to us, as Schadow has attempted to do, simply by means of Mignon's form and physiognomy, without defining further any situation or action. We may, therefore, assert generally that the above-mentioned pictures are conceived without any real insight for situations, motives, and expression. It is, in short, an inseparable condition of genuine artistic representations of painting that the entire subject-matter should be grasped with imaginative power, should be made visible to us in figurative form, which is expressed and manifests its ideal quality through a series of feeling, that is, through an action, which is of such significance to the emotion, that each and everything in the work of art appears to be entirely appropriated by the imagination to express the content selected. The old Italian painters have to a conspicuous degree, no less than their modern fraternity, depicted love-scenes, and in part borrowed the material from poetry; but they have known how to clothe the same with imagination and delight. Cupid and Psyche, Cupid and Venus, Pluto's rape of Proserpine, the rape of the Sabine women, such and other similar subjects the old masters depicted in lifelike and definite situations, in scenes properly motived and not merely as simple emotion conceived without imaginative grasp, without action. They have also borrowed love scenes from the Old Testament. We may find an example in the Dresden Gallery, a picture of Giorgione, in which Jacob, after his long journey, greets Rachel, presses her hand and kisses her; in the distance there stand a pair of youths by a spring, busily engaged in watering their herds, which are feeding, a large number of them, in the dale. Another picture presents to us Isaac and Rebecca. Rebecca gives Abraham's carls water to drink and is recognized in doing so. In the same way scenes are taken from Ariosto; we have Medor, for example, writing the name of Angelica on the edge of a spring. When, therefore, people nowadays refer to poetry in painting, this can only mean, as already insisted, that we must grasp a subject imaginatively and suffer emotions to unfold themselves in action; it excludes the idea of securing feeling simply as such or endeavouring thus to express it. Even poetry, which is capable of expressing emotion in its ideal or spiritual substance, is unfolded in ideas, images, and descriptions. If this art was content to abide by a mere "I love thee," repeated eternally, as its entire expression, such a consummation no doubt, might prove highly agreeable to those masters who have talked so much about the poetry of poetry, but it would be the blankest prose for all that. For art generally in its relation to emotion consists in the apprehension and enjoyment of the same by means of the imagination, which in poetry displays passion in its conceptions, and satisfies us in their expression, whether that expression be lyrical, or conveyed in epical events, or dramatic action. As a presentment of the inward life of soul, however, in painting the mouth, eye, and pose, do not alone suffice; we must have the total objective realization in its concreteness to make valid and vouch for such ideality.

The main thing, then, in a picture is that it present to us a situation, the scene of some action. And closely associated with this we have the primary law of intelligibility. In this respect religious subjects possess the supreme advantage, that they are universally known. The annunciation of the angel, the adoration of the shepherds or of the three kings, the repose in the flight to Egypt, the crucifixion, burial, resurrection, no less than the legends of the saints, were well known subjects with the public, for whom such pictures were painted, albeit to our own generation the stories of the martyrs are removed to some distance. For a particular church, for example, it was mainly the biography of its patrons or its guardian saints which was represented. Consequently it was not always the painters themselves who selected such subjects; particular circumstances rendered such selection inevitable for particular altars, chapels, and cloisters, so that the place where they are exhibited in itself contributes to their elucidation. And this is, in part, necessary, for in painting we do not find speech, words, and names, by which interpretation of poetry may be materially assisted to say nothing of all its other means. And in the same way in a royal residence, council-hall, or parliament-building, scenes of great events, important situations taken from the history of the state, city, and building in which they are found are there, and receive a just recognition in the place for which they were originally painted. It is hardly likely, for instance, that in painting a picture for one of our palaces an artist would select a subject borrowed from English or Chinese history, or from the life of King Mithridates. It is otherwise in picture galleries, where we have all kinds of subjects brought together that we could wish to buy or possess as examples of fine works of art. In such a case, of course, the peculiar relation of any picture to a definite locale, no less than its intelligibility, so far as it is thereby promoted, disappears. The same thing is true of the private collection. The collector brings together just what he can get; the principle is that of a public gallery, and his love of art or caprice may extend in other directions.

Allegorical pictures are far inferior to those of historical content in the matter of intelligibility; they are, moreover, for the reason that the ideal vitality and emphatic characterization of the figures must in great measure pass out of them, indefinite, and not motive to enthusiasm. Landscapes and situations borrowed from the reality of daily life, are, on the contrary, no less clear in their substantial import than, in respect to their characterization, dramatic variety, movement and wealth of existence, they supply a highly favourable opportunity for inventive power and executive ability.

(ββ) To render the defined situation of a picture intelligible, in so far as the artist is called upon to do this, the mere fact of its local place of exposition and a general knowledge of its subject will not suffice. As a general rule, these are purely external relations, under which the work as a work of art is less affected. The main point of real importance consists, on the contrary, in this that the artist be sufficiently endowed in artistic sense and general talent to bring into prominence and give form to the varied motives, which such a situation contains, with all the bounty of invention. Every action, in which the ideal world is manifested in that which is external, possesses immediate modes of expression, sensuous results and relations, which, in so far as they are actually the activities of spirit, betray and reflect its emotion, and consequently can be utilized with the greatest advantage as motives which contribute to the intelligibility of the work no less than its individual character. It is, for example, a frequent criticism of the Transfiguration picture of Raphael, that the composition is cut up into two unrelated parts; and this from an objective standpoint is the case. We have the transfiguration on the hill and the incident of the possessed child in the foreground. From an ideal[315] point of view, however, an association of supreme significance is undoubtedly present. For, on the one hand, the sensuous transfiguration of Christ is just this very exaltation of himself above the earth and his removal from his disciples, a removal which as such separation ought to be made visible; and from a further point of view the majesty of Christ is in this, an actual and particular case, to the highest degree emphasized by the fact that the disciples are unable to heal the possessed child without the assistance of their Master. In this instance, therefore, this twofold action is throughout motived, and the association is enforced before our eyes, both in its external and ideal aspect, by the incident that a disciple expressly points to Christ who is removed from them, and in doing so suggests the profounder truth of the Son of God to be at the same time on Earth, in accordance with the truth of that saying, "If two are gathered together in my name I am in the midst of them." I will give yet another illustration. Goethe on one occasion gave as a subject for a prize exhibition the representation of Achilles in female garments at the coming of Odysseus. In one drawing Achilles glances at the helmet of the armed hero, his heart fires up at the sight, and in consequence of this emotion the pearl necklace is broken which he wears round the neck. A lad seeks for and picks up the pieces from the ground. Such is an example of admirable motive.

Moreover, the artist finds he has to a more or less extent large spaces to fill in; he requires landscape as background, lighting, architectonic surrounding, and he has to introduce incidental figures and objects and so forth. All this material he should apply, in so far as it can be so adapted, as motives in the situation, and bring this external matter into unity with his subject in such a way that it is no longer insignificant. Two princes or patriarchs shake hands. If this is indicative of a peace treaty, and the seal upon the same, warriors, armed bands, and the like, preparations for a sacrifice to solemnize the pact, will be an obviously fitting environment. If such people happen to meet each other with a similar welcome on a journey, other motives will be necessary. To invent the same in a way that attaches real significance and individualization to the action, this it is which more than anything else will test the artistic insight of the painter so far as this aspect of his work is concerned. And in order to promote this not a few artists have also attached symbolical relations between background and the main action. In the composition, for example, of the Adoration of the three Kings, we not unfrequently find the holy Infant in His cradle beneath a ruined roof, around Him the walls of a building falling in decay, and in the background the commencement of a cathedral. The falling stone-work and the rising cathedral directly suggest the victory of the Christian church over paganism[316]. In the same way we find, not unfrequently, in pictures, more especially of the Van Eyck school, which depict the greeting of the angel Gabriel to Mary, flowering lilies like stamens. They indicate the maidenhood of the mother of God.

(γγ) Inasmuch as in the third place the art of painting, by virtue of the principle of ideal and external variety, in which it is bound to give clear definition to situations, events, conflicts, and actions, is forced to deal on its way with many kinds of distinction and contradiction in its subject-matter, whether purely natural objects or human figures, and, moreover, receives the task to subdivide this composite content, and create of it one harmonious whole, a way of posing and grouping its figures artistically, becomes one of the most important and necessary claims made upon it. Among the crowd of particular rules and definitions, however, which are applicable to this subject, what we are able to affirm in its most general terms can only be valid in quite a formal way, and I will merely draw attention shortly to a few of the main points.

The earliest mode of composition still remains entirely architectonic, a homogeneous juxtaposition of figures or a regular opposition and symmetrical arrangement, not merely of the figures themselves, but also their posture and movements. We may add that at this stage the pyramidal form of grouping is much in favour. When the subject is the Crucifixion of our Lord such shapes follow as a matter of course. Christ is suspended on high from the cross, and at the sides we have a group of the disciples, Mary the mother, or saints. In pictures of the Madonna also, in which Mary is seated with her Child on a raised throne, and we find adoring apostles, martyrs, and so forth, beneath them on either side we have a further illustration of this form. Even in the Sistine Madonna picture this mode of grouping is still in its fundamental features retained. And, generally, it brings repose to the eye because the pyramids, by virtue of its apex, makes the otherwise dispersed association coherent, giving an external point of unity to the group[317].

Within the limits, however, of such a generally abstract symmetrical composition, the pose of the figures may be marked in detail by great vividness and individuality, and equally the general expression and movement. The artist, while using in combination the means of his art, will have his several planes, whereby he is able more definitely to emphasize the more important figures as against the others; and he can in addition avail himself of his scheme of lighting and colour. The way he will arrange his groups to arrive at this result is sufficiently obvious. He will not, of course, place his main figures at the sides, or place subordinate ones in positions which are likely to attract the highest attention. And similarly he will throw the strongest light on objects which are part of the most significant content, rather than leave them in shadow, and emphasize with such strong light and the most conspicuous tints objects which are incidental.

In the case he adopts a method of grouping less symmetrical, and thereby more life-like, the artist will have to take especial pains not to make the figures press too closely on each other, which results in a confusion not unfrequently noticeable in certain pictures; we should not be under the necessity of having first to identify limbs and discover which belong to which, whether they be arms, legs, or other properties, such as drapery, armour, and so forth. It will, on the contrary, be wisest in the case of larger compositions, in the first instance no doubt, to separate the whole into component parts easily ascertained, but, at the same time, not to isolate them in dispersion entirely. And particularly will this be advisable where we have scenes and situations, which on their own account naturally tend to a broad and disunited effect such as the gathering of manna in the wilderness, market-fairs, and similar subjects.

On the above subject I must restrict myself here to these very general observations.

(γ) Having thus, firstly, dealt with the general types of pictorial composition, and, secondly, with a composition from the point of view of selection of situations, arrangement of motives and grouping, we will now add a few remarks upon the mode of characterization, by means of which painting is to be distinguished from sculpture and its ideal plastic character.

(αα) I have several times previously taken occasion to remark, that in painting the ideal and external particularity of soul-life is admitted in its freedom, and consequently is not necessarily that typical beauty of individualization which is inseparable from the Ideal itself, but one which is suffered to expand in every direction of particular appearance, by virtue of which we obtain that which in modern parlance is called characteristic. Critics have generally referred to "the characteristic" thus understood as the distinctive mark of modern art in its contrast to the antique; and, in the significance we are here attaching to the term, no doubt the above contrast is just. According to our modern criterion Zeus, Apollo, Diana, and the rest are really not characters at all in this sense, although we cannot fail to admire their infinitely lofty, plastic, and ideal individualities. We already find a more articulate individualization is approached by the Homeric Achilles, the Agamemnon and Clytemnestra of Aeschylus[318], or the Odysseus, Antigone, and Ismene in the type of spiritual development which by word and deed Sophocles unfolds to us, a definition in which these figures subsist in what appears to be consonant with their substantive nature, so that we can no doubt discover the presentment of character in the antique if we are prepared to call such creations characters. Still in Agamemnon, Ajax, Odysseus, and the rest, the individualization remains throughout of a generalized type, the character of a prince, of frantic rage, of cunning in its more abstract determinacy. The individual aspect is in the result closely intertwined with the general conception, and the character is merged in an individualization of ideal import. The art of painting, on the contrary, which does not restrain particularity within the limits of such ideality, is more than anything else occupied with developing the entire variety of that aspect of particularization which is accidental, so that what we have now set before us, instead of those plastic ideals of gods and men, is particular people viewed in all the varied appearance of their accidental qualities. Consequently perfection of corporeal form, and the fully realized consonancy of the spiritual or ideal aspect with its free and sane existence, in a word, all that in sculpture we referred to as ideal beauty, in the art of painting neither make the same claim upon us, nor generally are regarded as the matter of most importance, inasmuch as now it is the ideality of soul-life itself, and its manifestation as conscious life which forms the centre of interest. In this more ideal sphere that realm of Nature is not so profoundly insistent. Piety of heart, religion of soul can, no less than ethical sense, and activity in fact did in the Silenus face of Socrates, find a dwelling in a bodily form which, viewed on the outside simply, is ugly and distorted. No doubt in expressing spiritual beauty, the artist will avoid what is essentially ugly in external form, or will find a way to subdue and illumine it in the power of the soul which breaks through it, but he cannot for all that entirely dispense with ugliness[319]. For the content of painting, as we have above depicted it at length, includes within itself an aspect, for which it is precisely the abnormal and distorted traits of human figures and physiognomy, which are most able to express. This is no other than the sphere of what is bad and evil, which in religious subjects we find mainly represented by the common soldiers, who take a part in the passion of Christ, or by the sinners and devils in hell. Michelangelo was pre-eminent in his delineation of devils. In his imaginative realization, though we find he passes beyond the scale of ordinary human life, yet at the same time an affinity with it is retained. However much notwithstanding the impersonations which painting sets before us necessarily disclose an essentially complete whole of characteristic realization, we will not go so far as to maintain that we cannot find in them an analogue of that which we refer to as the Ideal in the most plastic type of art[320]. In religious subjects, no doubt, the feature of all importance is that of pure Love. This is exceptionally so in the case of the Virgin mother, whose entire life reposes in this love; it is more or less the same thing with the women who accompany the Master, and with John, the disciple of Love. In the expression of this we may also find the sensuous beauty of forms associated, as is the case with Raphael's conceptions. Such a close affinity must not, however, assert itself merely as formal beauty, but must be spiritually made vital through the most intimate expression of soul-life, and thereby transfigured; and this spiritual penetration must make itself felt as the real object and content. The conception, too, of beauty, has its real opportunity in the stories of Christ's childhood and those of John the Baptist. In the case of the other historical persons, whether apostles, saints, disciples, or wise men of antiquity, this expression of an emphasized intensity of soul-life is rather simply an affair of particular critical situations, apart from which they are mainly placed before us as independent characters of the actual world of experience, endowed with force and endurance of courage, faith and action, so that what most determines the gist of their characters in all its variety is an earnest and worthy manliness. They are not ideals of gods, but entirely individualized human ideals; not simply men, as they ought to be, but human ideals[321], as they actually are in a certain place, to which neither particular definition of character is wanting, nor yet a real association between such particularity and the universal type which completes them. Michelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo da Vinci, in his famous Last Supper, have supplied examples of this type, in the composition of which we find an entirely different quality of worth, majesty and nobility present than in those presented by other painters[322]. This is precisely the point at which painting meets on the same ground with the ancients, without, however, sacrificing the character of its own province.

(ββ) Inasmuch, moreover, as the art of painting, to the fullest extent among the plastic arts, acknowledges the claim of the specific form, and the individualized characterization to assert itself, so above all we find here the transition to real portraiture. We should be therefore wholly in the wrong if we condemned portrait painting as incompatible with the lofty aims of art. Who indeed could desire to lose the great number of excellent portraits painted by the great masters? Who is not, quite apart from the artistic merits of such works, curious to have definitely substantiated to their vision this actual counterfeit of the idea of famous personalities, their genius, and their exploits, which they may have otherwise had to accept from history. For even the greatest and most highly placed man was, or is, a veritable individual, and we desire to see in visible shape this individuality, and the spiritual impression of it in all its most actual and vital characteristics. But apart from objects, which lie outside the purview of art, we may assert in a real sense, that the advances in painting from its imperfect essays consist in nothing so much as this very elaboration of the portrait. It was, in the first instance, the pious and devotional sense which brought into prominence the ideal life of soul. A yet finer art added new life to this sense by adding to its product reality of expression and individual existence; and with this profounder penetration into external fact the inward life of spirit, the expression of which was its main object, was also enhanced and deepened. In order, however, that the portrait should be a genuine work of art the unity of the spiritual individuality must, as I have already stated, be stamped upon it, and the spiritual impression of the characterization must be the one mainly emphasized and made prominent. Every feature of the countenance contributes to this result in a conspicuous degree, and the fine instinct for detecting such in the artist will declare itself by the way in which he makes visible the unique impression of any personality by seizing and emphasizing precisely those traits, and parts in which this distinctive personal quality is expressed in its clearest and most vitally pregnant embodiment. In this respect a portrait may be very true to Nature, executed with the greatest perseverance, and yet entirely devoid of life, while a mere sketch[323], a few outlines from the hand of a master, may be infinitely more vivacious and arresting in its truth. Such a study should, however, by indicating the lines or features of real significance, reflect that character in its structural completeness[324], if on the simplest scale, which the previous lifeless execution and insistence upon crude fact glosses over and renders invisible. The most advisable course, as a rule, is to maintain a happy mean between such studies, and purely natural imitation. The masterly portraits of Titian are of this type. The impression such make on us is that of a complete personality. We get from them an idea of spiritual vitality, such as actual experience is unable to supply. The effect is similar to that afforded by the description of great actions and events in the hands of a truly artistic historian. We obtain from such a much loftier and vitally true picture of the facts than any we could have taken from the direct evidence of our senses. Concrete reality is so overburdened with the phenomenal, that is incidental or accidental detail, that we frequently cannot see the forest for the trees, and often the most important fact slips by us as a thing of common or daily occurrence. It is the indwelling insight and genius of the writer which first adds the quality of greatness to events or actions, presenting them fully in a truly historical composition, which rejects what is purely external, and only brings into prominence that through which that ideal substance is vitally unfolded. In this way, too, the painter should place before us the mind[325] and character of the impersonation by means of his art. If success is fully attained we may affirm that a portrait of this qualify is more to the mark, more like the personality thus conceived than the real man himself is. Albrecht Dürer has also executed portraits of this character. With a few technical means the traits are emphasized with such simplicity, definition, and dignity, that we wholly believe ourselves to be facing spiritual life itself. The longer we look at such a picture, the more profoundly we penetrate into it, the more it is revealed to us. It reminds one of a clear-cut drawing, instinct with genius, which completely gives expression to the characteristic, and for the rest is merely executive in its colour and outlines in so far as the same may make the characterization more intelligible, apparent, and finished as a whole, without entering into all the importunate detail of the facts of natural life. In the same way also Nature in her landscape paints every leaf, branch, and blade to the last shadow of a line or tint. Landscape painting, on the contrary, has no business to attempt such elaboration, but may only follow her subject to a principle of treatment, in which the expression of the whole is involved, which emphasizes detail, but nevertheless does not copy slavishly such particulars in all their threads, irregularities and so forth, assuming it is to remain essentially characteristic and individual work. In the human face the drawing of Nature is the framework of bone in its harsh lines, around which the softer ones are disposed and continue in various accidental details. Truly characteristicportraiture, however, despite all the importance we may rightly attach to these well defined lines, consists in other traits indicated with equal force, the countenance in short as elaborated by the creative artist.[326] In this sense we may say of the portrait that it not only can, but that it ought to flatter, inasmuch as it neglects what pertains to Nature's contingency, and only accepts that which contributes to the characteristic content of the individual portrayed, his most unique and most intimate self. Nowadays we find it the fashion to give every kind of face just a ripple of a smile, to emphasize its amiability, a very questionable fashion indeed, and one hard to restrain within the limit imposed. Charming, no doubt; but the merely polite amiability of social intercourse is not a fundamental trait of any character, and becomes in the hands of many artists only too readily the most insipid kind of sweetness.